our town by jerome bixby _the jets got all the young ones in smoky creek. only the old folks were left--with their memories. and the jets--friendly or hostile--would never get them...._ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, february 1955. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] a jet bomber and four fighters had appeared low over bald ridge, out of the east. they'd curved up as one to clear lawson's hill, their stubby wings almost brushing the treetops, their hiss and thunder rolling back and forth between the valley walls like a giant's derision; they'd dipped into the valley proper, obviously informed that smoky creek, tennessee (population 123) had no anti-aircraft installations, and circled the town at about five hundred feet. they circled and looked down--broad slavic faces with curious expressions, seen through plexiglass, as if thinking: _so this is an american small town._ then they took altitude and got to work. the first bomb was aimed at the big concrete railway bridge spanning the upper end of the valley; that was the main objective of the attack. the bomb exploded four hundred yards north of the bridge, at about six hundred feet altitude--the ideal point from which to flatten smoky creek. low altitude bombing can be tricky, of course, especially in mountain country. a-bombs were cheap though, turned out by the carload; not like 20 years before, when they were first developed. so it was likely the bombardier tripped a bomb over the town just for the hell of it. the next bomb got the bridge. the next tore up a quarter mile of track. the next tore up a quarter mile of road. that was the mission. the bomber circled, while the fighters strafed smoky creek for good measure; and then they roared away past lawson's hill, over bald ridge, into the east toward their invasion-coast base. everybody died. the bombs were midget a's, designed for tactical use; so smoky creek wasn't reduced to dust--just to sticks. there wasn't much heat from the bomb and there was hardly any residual radiation. but everybody in town died. concussion. smoky creek had been comprised of one main street and three cross streets, and that's not much area--the wave had thumped down from right above, like a giant fist. everybody died, except twenty-one old men and women who had been off in the woods at the far end of the valley, on their annual grandfolk's picnic. they didn't die, except inside. * * * * * three months later, an enemy jet came out of the sky and over the valley. a scoop arrangement under its belly was sniffing tennessee and alabama air for radioactive particles. it sniffed low over the town, and then again--a ruined town might hide an underground lab and converter--and then it barrel-rolled and crashed. nine rifle bullets had hit the motor; straight back through the jet intake, into the blades. a year after that another jet came low over the town, and it crashed too. only three bullets this time; but a jet motor's like a turbine--you get a blade or two, and it goes crazy. two years after that, ben bates (no longer mayor ben, because a mayor has to have a town; but still the man in charge) knocked off playing horseshoes in what had been the town hall. now the building served as a recreation hall; there were horseshoe pits at one end of the long room, there were tables for checkers and cards, and a short tenpin alley along one wall. three years ago the alley had been twice as long as it was now; but then there were young men around who could peg the length of it without tiring every time. overhead the roof sagged, and in one place you could see quite a piece of sky--but under the hole the old men had rigged a slanted board watershed that led to a drainage ditch; and scattered through the room were a lot of supporting posts and timber braces. actually the building was about as safe as it had ever been. there were other buildings like it; buildings that the bomb hadn't pounded flat or made too risky. they were propped up and nailed together and buttressed and practically glued so they'd stay up. from outside you'd think they were going to crumble any minute--walls slanted all cockeyed, boards peeled off and hanging, and roofs buckling in. but they were safe. fixed up every which way--from the inside. all from the inside; not an inch of repair on the outside. it had to be that way, because the town had to look like a dead town. after the men had finished propping, the women had come along with all the furniture and things they'd salvaged, and they swept and scrubbed and did a hundred jobs the men never would have thought of; and so the old people ended up with half a dozen buildings to live in, secretly and comfortably, in the town that had to look dead. "arthritis is bad," ben bates told his teammates and opponents. "hell, i'm just giving away points. maybe next week. i'll rest up, and kick you all around next week." he lit a cigar, a big grey man with long legs and a good-humored mouth, and he watched dan paray throw one short; then he strolled over to kibitz at the checker game between fat sam hogan and windy harris, at one of the tables near the door. late morning sunlight slanted in through the window by the table and struck light off windy's glasses as he leaned across the board, thumped a checker three times and said triumphantly, "king me, sam. you're getting blind, i swear. or dumber." behind his back ben bates heard a shoe ring against the stake; then he heard it spin off, and he grinned at owen urey's bullfrog cussing. tom pace was saying urgently, "look--look, jim, damn it, you didn't no more shoot down that plane singlehanded than i did. we was all shooting. godamighty--where you get off claiming _you_ brung it down?" ben turned and sat down at the table next to the checker game, and stretched his legs in the sunlight. he raised thick brows like clumps of steel-wool at tom and at old jim liddel, who sat in his pillowed armchair like a thin, scowling, bald, mansized spider. "you keep talking so high and mighty," tom said, "we'll carry you out o' here and take you and dump you in the creek. you can tell the fish about who got the plane." "still arguing over who planted the shot, huh," ben grinned. "regular feud, you two." "well, hell, ben," tom said, and bit down on his gums so his whiskers almost hid the end of his nose. "i just get filled up on this old windbag hollering how he--" "you go call me a windbag once more, tom pace," jim liddel said, and he stirred his all but helpless body in the armchair, "you're gonna have a sore eye, you seventy year old whippersnapper. _i_ brung it down." "in a hog's behind, you brung it down, mister dan'l boone!" "it 'us just after i let loose it started smoking," old jim snarled, "and nobody else was shooting right then! you're gonna get a sore eye, i swear--tobacco in it. i can spit to where you sit, and i can spit faster'n you can move, i bet, unless you're faster'n a fly, and you ain't. you just ask anybody who was there ... it 'us just after i shot it started--" tom pace thumped the table. "_i_ was there, you old ... now, now, jim, don't spit, for godsake! hold on. what i mean, i was there too, and maybe somebody's shot from a second or two before was what done the trick. maybe even my shot! takes a plane a while to know it's hurt, don't it? ever think o' that?" "maybe," ben bates said. "maybe, maybe. and maybe. let it go, you two. it ain't important who done it; we oughta just be grateful we got it." "grateful _i_ got it," jim liddel grunted. tom pace said, "now, looky here, jim--" ben bates nudged tom's leg under the table; and then slowly, fingering his jaw he said, "well, now, jim ... i figure maybe you did, at that. like you say, it smoked and crashed right after you shot, so i always kind o' figured it _was_ you brought it down. but that's a hard thing to prove." jim snorted. "can't prove it! but i got it, all right. a man knows when he sunk a shot." "in a varmint, maybe," tom pace objected, "or a man. but you claiming to know where to hit a plane the worst?" "we was _all_ shooting at the front, up where they put the motor," jim said nastily. "don't know about planes, but i know my aim. i got it square-on." "well," ben said, "why don't you just let it lay, eh, tom? jim's got a lot on his side." he looked sidewise at old jim, and saw that jim was still scowling at tom. old jim was ninety eight, and some set in his notions. "mm. hell," tom said reluctantly, after a second, "i ain't saying you _didn't_, jim. that ain't my intent. i just get burned when you yell you did, like no man dared say you was wrong. sure, maybe you're right. but ain't you willing to admit you might be wrong too?" "_no_," jim liddel yelled, and from the checker table came windy harris's encouraging, "you tell 'em who got that plane, jim!" ben bates scraped an inch of ash off his cigar against the table-edge, sighed and got up. he looked down at the glowering pair and said, "well, come the next plane, if there is one, we'll shove a rifle in your hand, jim, and see how good your eye is. you too, tom. till that time, reckon this is no place for a reasoning man." "sit down, ben bates," old jim snarled. "if you're a reasoning man, sit down. be glad to talk to one, after tom here goes away." "you go to hell. _i_ ain't going no place," tom said, and he picked up the cards and started shuffling them in his stiff hands. ben sat down and stretched out his legs again. after a second, old jim said wistfully, "you know, i wish i _could_ still handle a rifle, ben. or do anything but sit. no way for a man to live, to have dead legs and dying arms." he shifted in his cushions. "you know, i reckon when i start to really die--die all over--i'm gonna get up out o' this chair. i'll stand up, somehow, even if it kills me faster. a man oughta fall when he dies, like a tree, so they know he stood up in his time. a man oughtn'ta die sitting down." "sure, jim," ben said. "you're right about that." "never had a sick day in my life, until they dropped that bomb. why, i could outpitch and outchop and outshoot any of you whippersnappers, until they ..." old jim walloped the chair arm. "damn, i made up for it, though! didn't i? _they_ put me in a chair, i sat in it and _i_ got me an airyplane, and that's more'n they could do to me, by golly, they couldn't kill me!" "sure, jim," ben said. "and when my time comes, i'll be up and out o' this chair. man oughta fall and make a noise when he dies." "sure, jim," ben said. "but that's a long ways off, ain't it?" jim closed his eyes, and his face looked like a skull. "you squirts always think a man lives forever." * * * * * from outside came the late morning sounds: the murmuring of smoky creek at the edge of town, under its cool tunnel of willows; the twittering of a flock of robins circling above; the constant soft rustle of the trees that crowded the green hills around. from the warehouse down by the tracks came the faint sounds of livestock--and the voices of the men whose job it was to look after them this week: to feed them, turn them out into the big pens for an hour's sunlight, then drive them back into the warehouse again. lucky the warehouse had stood the bomb--it was perfect for the use. "wonder how the war's going," tom pace said. he dropped some cards and bent painfully to retrieve them; his voice was muffled: "i just wonder how it's going, you know? wonder who's killing more than who today. "maybe," tom continued, coming up, "it's all over. ain't seen no planes for couple years now. maybe somebody won." ben shrugged. "who knows. don't matter none to us. we're ready as we can be if another plane comes around. other than that, it ain't our concern." "darn tootin'," tom said, and pushed the cards together and started shuffling again. jim liddel said, "war!" and looked like he'd bit into spoiled meat. "never settled nothing ... just makes the biggest dog top-dog for a while, so he can get his way. man, i wish i could still lift a rifle, if an airyplane come around! i'd love to get me another one." he put his thin back against the cushions and pushed at the edge of the table with his hands. jim's fingers didn't move so well any more; some were curled and some were straight out, and the joints were different sizes, and now they were trembling a little. "sometimes when i think o' johnny and helen and all the kids--when i think o' that day, and those damn bombs, and that white tower o' smoke up over the town, i ... oh, godamighty, i'd love to see another airyplane! i'd shout and yell and pray; i'd pray almighty god for you to get it!" ben pulled on his cigar with stiff lips, and said slowly, "well, we might, jim. we just might. two out o' seven ain't bad." he puffed out smoke. "we been running in luck, so far, what with nobody ever coming back loaded for bear. reckon that means the other five didn't see us, low as they was; probably didn't even know they was being shot at." "they musta found bulletholes, though," tom pace said. "afterwards. not a chance we'd all miss--" he bobbed his beard at old jim--"'specially with dan'l boone here plugging away. they'd know they was shot at, all right. might even find rifle bullets." "maybe they did," ben said. "nobody ever come snooping back, though." "wouldn't know where to, would they?" windy harris said. he and fat sam hogan had stopped playing checkers, and had been listening. "smoky creek looks dead as sodom. buildings all down, and stuff knee-deep in the streets. bridge down, and the road out. and the valley is way the hell out o' the way ... no call for them to suspect it more'n anyplace else. less, even. they'd likely figure somebody took a potshot from a hill ... and there's a pack o' hills between here'n outside. "looks like," ben said. "we just got to keep it that way. we got a good plan: if the plane's up high, we just freeze under cover; if it comes down low a time or two, we figure we're likely spotted and start shooting. we shoot, and maybe it shoots too, and we pray." "it's a good plan," jim liddel said, looking out the window. "we got two." windy harris got up and stretched out his arms. "two ain't _enough_," old jim said bitterly. "well," windy said, "i hope we keep on getting 'em--them as sees us, anyway. hope nobody _ever_ knows we're here. it's peaceful here. way off by ourselves, nothing to do but get up and go to bed, and do what we want in between." he sent tobacco juice into the cuspidor by the door. "right now, me, i guess i'll go fishing down by the creek--promised maude i'd bring home a cat or two for supper. anybody come along?" tom pace shook his head, and old jim looked like he'd like to go, if he only could--and ben said, "maybe i'll be down a little while later, windy. keep to the trees." windy left, and tom pace shuffled the cards and looked over at jim liddel. "you going to play with ben and me, you old windbag, or you going to keep bragging so loud a man can't stand your company?" "why, you whippersnapper," jim growled, "you just go ahead and run 'em. reckon a reasoning man and a nitwit's about the best i can do right now." tom dealt out two cards, and said, "war!" without dealing out the rest. he looked at ben, his eyes cloudy. "got a cigar, ben?" ben handed one over and held a match, and tom got it going, puffing longer than he had to, like he didn't want to talk yet. then he said, "it didn't have to happen." he worked the cigar over to the corner of his mouth and settled it in the nest of stained whiskers there. "none of it had to happen--what happened here, and whatever happened outside the valley. it just didn't have to happen." "'course it didn't," ben said. "never has to. it just always does. some people got reasons to let it happen, and some ain't got the sense not to." fat sam hogan said, "i don't figure there's anything in the world a man can't sit down and talk out, instead o' reaching for a gun. don't know why that oughtn'ta hold for countries." ben bates looked at one of the two cards tom pace had dealt--his hole card. it was a four, and he lost interest. "yup," he said, "it holds all right ... they'll just both reach half the time anyway. one war on top of another. even one right after this one, ten years or so, if this one's over. i just bet. every country wants a piece out o' the next one's hide--or his poke--and they won't give an inch except in talk; they won't really buckle down to stop a war. never. not if they can't get what they want by talk." he looked at the card again, just in case--a four, sure enough. "only time there's never a war is when everybody has what they want, or figure they can get it without killing somebody. but the second they see that's the only way, then it's war. war, war, war. it's a rotten way to run a world, killing to decide who's right or wrong ... 'specially killing people who got damn little say about it. but i seen three-four wars now, and they don't look to stop soon, judging." he shook his head wonderingly. "put half the money they spend on killing toward curing, instead, and helping them that wants, and finding out all about diseases and such ... why, shucks, it'd be a brand-new world." "i seen five," jim liddel said. "i seen wars come and go. i fought in one. afterwards, every time, they say everything's fine. the war to save this or that's over, and things are fine. then somebody wants something somebody else has, and they're at it again, like two bulls trying to hump the same heifer. bulls don't have enough sense to know there's enough cows to go around; but people ought. it's a big enough world." he worked those hands of his together until they were clasped, and he pushed them that way against the table-edge until the overgrown knuckles looked like chalk. "when i think o' that noise, and that cloud, ... how we come running and screaming back here into all the dust and mess, and all them bodies ... i ... ben, i...." "you lost heavy, jim," ben said. he let smoke out of his lungs, and it curled off into the broad beam of sunlight that came through the window, and it looked like the smoke that had shadowed a murdered town. "heavy. you lost heavier'n any of us." "you can't count it," old jim said, and the chalk was whiter. "we all lost the same; i just had more of it. our kids and their kids--and _their_ kids ... lost heavy? what can a man lose more'n his life?... and if you're as old as us, what's your life except the family you made out o' your own flesh? what else's a man got when he's eighty or a hundred?" tom pace said, "ruth and dave and their kids. i remember little davey. he called me tom peach. i bought him a toy plane for his birthday. that was a couple days before the real planes come. i buried it with him ... i think. i think it was him i put it with. it mighta been joey ... they looked alike." "a man ain't nothing, when he's as old as us," jim liddel said, his skull sockets closed, "except what he done. _he_ ain't much any more, himself; he's mostly what he done with his life, whatever he done and left around that he can point to and say, 'i did that', that's all. and what's he got left if they take that away? we can't make it again. we made smoky creek; built it; wasn't a thing here that didn't come out o' us or ours. we made the valley, after god give it to us; wasn't a thing here we didn't let live or help live or make live. we made our families, and watched 'em fit into the town and the valley, like the valley fits into the world, and we watched 'em go on doing what we done before them: building and working and planting and raising families--going on, like people got to go on. that's the way it was. that's what we had. until they dropped the bomb and killed it--killed all we done that made us men." tears were squeezing out of the skull sockets, and ben bates caught tom pace's eye and looked away, out the window, at the green walls of the valley that was a coffin. "i just wish an airyplane would come around again," old jim said. "_i--just--wish._ you know, ben?" ben tried to talk and had to clear his throat; he put out his cigar in the ashtray, as if that was what was wrong with his throat, and said, "i know, jim. sure. and maybe you'll get your wish." he pushed back his chair and tried to grin, but it came out sour. "maybe you will, you old fire-eater--and what if one comes and we get spotted and it shoots us up or goes back and tells everybody we're here? that's one wish we don't want the good lord to grant, ain't it? ain't it, now?" jim didn't say anything. ben got up and said, "'bout noon. guess i'll go home for a bite and then go down and fish with windy." jim said, thinly, "i meant, i wish one would come and we'd _get_ it." "well, maybe one will," ben said, turning toward the door. "they built a slew o' them. and maybe _we_ will, if it does." * * * * * he stopped by the door of the town hall to listen carefully, his sharp old eyes half-shut. behind him, at the far end of the room, somebody made a ringer, and dave mason said, "nice, owen," in his reedy voice. ben listened and didn't hear what he was listening for. he stepped past the rifle that leaned beside the door and made his way to the end of the porch, walking close to the wall. the summer sun stood at noon, and the porch was in shadow; beyond, the street was a jumble of boards and broken glass, its canyon walls of leaning building-fronts and sagging porches, its caverns of empty windows and doorways shimmering in the heat. you couldn't see much dirt along the way; where the debris didn't come to your knees, it reached over your head. at the end of the porch ben stopped and listened again; heard nothing. he stepped down and walked as fast as he could--damn arthritis again--to the porch of the next building. this had been fat sam hogan's hardware store, and about all that was left of it was the porch; the rest was a twisted mess of wood that slumped away to the ground at the rear. the porch had been down too, right after the bombing--but the old men, working at night, had raised it and braced it up. something to walk under. a springfield stood, oiled and waiting, against the wall. ben paused and touched the barrel--it was his own. or rather it had once been his own; now it was the town's, strictly speaking, to be used by whoever was nearest it when the time came. it was a good gun, a straight-shooter, one of the best--which was why it was here instead of at his house. a man could get a better shot from here. he went on, hugging the wall. he passed a rifle wedged up between the fender and hood of norm henley's old model a, and he remembered how the bomb had flipped the car right over on its top, and how the car must have protected norm from the blast--just a little. enough so they found him two blocks up the street, in front of his mashed house, trailing blood from every hole in him, to get to his family before he died. ben passed rifles leaned against walls and chairs on porches, rifles standing behind trees, leaned in the cracks between what buildings still stood to provide cracks, even old jim's carbine lying under the ledge of the pump-trough in front of mason's general store. all of them in places where they were protected from rain or snow, but where they were easy to get at. he passed sixteen rifles--walking, as everybody walked when they were out of doors, as close to the walls of the buildings as possible. when you had to cross open spaces you ran as fast as your seventy or eighty year old legs would take you--and if you couldn't run, you walked real fast. and always you listened while you walked; particularly you listened before you went out. for planes. so you wouldn't be spotted from the air. at the end of the porch of the last building on the street, ben paused in the shade and looked out across the creek to where the first plane they'd shot down had crashed--the one jim claimed to have got by his lonesome. they'd buried what they found of the pilot, and cleared away every last bolt and nut and scrap of aluminum, but the long scar in the ground remained. ben looked at it, all broken up by rocks and flowers and bushes the old people had transplanted so it wouldn't show from the air; and he looked at the cemetery a hundred feet beyond at which the scar pointed like an arrow--the cemetery that wasn't a cemetery, because it didn't have headstones; just bodies. a town that was dead shouldn't have a lot of new graves--the dead don't bury themselves. a pilot might see a hundred graves he hadn't seen before and wonder--and strafe. so ben looked at the flat ground where those hundred bodies lay, with only small rocks the size of a man's fist with names scratched on them to mark who lay beneath; and he thought of his daughter may, and owen urey's son george who'd married may, and their three kids, and he remembered burying them there; he remembered their faces. the blood from eyes, nose, ears, mouth--_his_ blood it was, part of it. then ben looked up. "we ain't looking for trouble," he said to the empty blue bowl of sky. "but if you do come, we're ready. every day we're ready. if you stay up high, we'll hide. but if you come down low, we'll try to get you, you crazy murderers." * * * * * his house was only a few yards farther on; he got there by sticking under the trees, walking quickly from one to the next, his ears cocked for the jetsound that would flatten him against a trunk. way off to his left, across a long flat of sunflowers and goldenrod, he saw windy harris down on the creekbank, by the bridge. he yelled, "they biting?"--and windy's faint "got two!" reminded him of all old jim had said, and he shook his head. he left the trees and walked fast up his front path. his house was in pretty good shape. all four houses on the outskirts had come off standing--his and windy's and jim's and owen urey's. they'd needed just a little bracing here and there, and they were fine--except owen's. owen had stomped around in his, and listened to the sounds of it, and said he didn't trust it--and sure enough, the first big storm it had gone down. now ben and his wife susan lived downstairs in his house; joe kincaid and his wife anna lived on the second floor; and tom pace lived in the attic, claiming that climbing the stairs was good for his innards. anna kincaid was sitting on the porch-swing, peeling potatoes. ben said, "afternoon, anna," and saw her pale bright eyes flicker up at him, and that scared smile touched her mouth for just a second; then she hunched her shoulders and kept on with the potatoes, like he wasn't even there. ben thought, _it must be lonely to be that way_--and he attracted her attention again, his voice a little louder: "hope you're feeling fine, anna." again the flicker of eyes. "just fine, ben, thanks," she said, almost in a whisper. "peeling spuds." "i see." her knife sped over a potato, removing a spiral of skin. she popped out an eye with a twist of the point. "think keith'll be back from the war today, ben? it's been so long ... i hate to think o' my boy fighting out there so long. will they let him come home soon, ben?" "they will, anna. i think they will, real soon. maybe tomorrow." "_will they?_" "sure." keith kincaid was under one of those fist-sized rocks, out in the cemetery that wasn't a cemetery--next to his wife, june hogan, and their four kids. but anna kincaid didn't know that. since the bomb, anna hadn't known much of anything except what the old people told her, and they told her only things that would make her as happy as she could be: that keith was in the army, and june was off with the kids having a nice time in knoxville; and that they'd all be back home in a day or so. anna never wondered about that "day or so"--she didn't remember much from day to day. joe kincaid sometimes said that helped a little, as much as anything could. he could tell her the same nice things every day, and her eyes would light up all over again. he spent a lot of time with her, doing that. he was pretty good at it, too ... joe kincaid had been doctor joe before the bomb. he still doctored some, when he could, but he was almost out of supplies; and what with his patients being so old, he mostly just prayed for them. in the kitchen, susan had lunch ready and waiting--some chicken from last night, green beans, boiled potatoes and a salad from the tiny gardens the women tended off in the weedy ground and around the bases of trees where they wouldn't be seen. on the way in ben had noticed that the woodbox was about empty--he'd have to bring home another bag of charcoal from the "general store"--which was windy's barn, all braced up. into it the old people had taken every bit of clothing, canned food, hardware, anything at all they could use in the way of housekeeping and everyday living, and there it all stood; when somebody needed something, they went and took it. only the canned foods and tobacco and liquor were rationed. every week or so, around midnight, fat sam hogan and dan paray went into the big cave in lawson's hill, right near where the second plane had crashed, and set up a lot of small fires, back where the light wouldn't be seen; they made charcoal, and when it cooled they brought it down to the "store," for cooking and such--a charcoal fire doesn't give off much smoke. over coffee, ben said, "reckon i'll fish some this afternoon, honey. how's a cat or two for supper sound?" "why, goodness, ben, not for tonight," susan smiled. "you know tonight's the social; me and anna are fixing a big dinner--steaks and all the trimmings." "mm," ben said, draining his cup. "forgot today was sunday." "we're going to have some music, and owen urey's going to read shakespeare." ben pursed his lips, tasting the coffee. it was rationed to two cups a day; he always took his with his lunch, and sometimes he'd have sold a leg to dive into a full pot. "well ... i might as well fish anyway; take in some fun. fish'll keep till tomorrow, won't it?" "you can have it for breakfast." she sat down across the table and picked up the knitting she'd been on when ben came home; he had a hunch it was something for his birthday, so he tried not to look interested; too early to tell what it was, anyway. "ben," she said, "before you go--the curtain pole in the bay window come down when i was fixing the blankets over it for tonight. the socket's loose. you better fix it before you go. you'll maybe get home after anna and me want to light the lamps, and we can't do it till it's fixed." ben said, "sure, hon." he got the hammer and some nails from the toolbox and went into the parlor, and dragged the piano bench over in front of the bay window. the iron rod was leaning by the phonograph. he took it up with him on the chair and fitted the other end of it into the far socket, then fitted the near end into the loose socket, and drove nails around the base of the socket until the thing was solid as a rock. then he got the blanket from the couch and hung it down double over the rod, and fitted the buttonholes sewn all along its edge over the nails driven around the window casing, and patted it here and there until not a speck of light would escape when the lamps were lit. he inspected the blankets draped over the other windows; they were all right. the parlor was pretty dark now, so he struck a match to the oil lamp on the mantle, just so susan and anna could see to set the table. when the others arrived, they'd light the other lamps; but not until; oil was precious. the only time anybody in town ever lit a lamp was on social night: then the old people stayed up till around midnight for eats and entertainment; otherwise everybody got to bed at eight or so, and climbed out with the dawn. he went back into the kitchen and put away the hammer, and said, "my second cup still hot, honey?" she started to put down her knitting and get up, and he said, "just asking," and pressed her shoulder till she sat again. he went around her and filled his cup at the stove. "ben," she said, when he sat down again, "i wish you'd take a look at the phonograph too. last time the turntable made an awful lot of noise.... i wish it could sound better for tonight." "i know, honey," ben sighed. "that motor's going. there ain't much i can do about it, though. it's too old. i'm scared to take it apart; might not get it back together right. when it really quits, then i guess i'll fool around and see what i can do. heck, it didn't sound too bad." "it rattled during the soft parts of the music." ben shook his head. "if i try, i might ruin it for good." he smiled a little. "it's like us, suse--too old to really fix up much; just got to keep cranking it, and let it go downhill at its own pace." susan folded her knitting and got up. she came around the table, and he put an arm around her waist and pulled her into the chair beside him. "it'll go soon, won't it, ben?" she said softly. "then we won't have any music. it's a shame ... we all like to listen so much. it's peaceful." "i know." he moved his arm up and squeezed her thin shoulders. she put her head on his shoulder, and her grey hair tickled his cheek; he closed his eyes, and her hair was black and shining again, and he put his lips against it and thought he smelled a perfume they didn't even make any more. after a moment he said, "we got so much else, though, suse ... we got peaceful music you can't play on a machine. real peace. a funny kind of peace. in a funny-looking town, this one--a rag town. but it's ours, and it's quiet, and there's nothing to bother us--and just pray god we can keep it that way. outside, the war's going on someplace, probably. people fighting each other over god knows what--if even he knows. here, it's peaceful." she moved her head on his shoulder. "ben--will it ever come here, what's going on outside? even the war, if it's still going on?" "well, we were talking about that this morning down at the hall, suse. i guess it won't. if rifles can stop it, it won't. if they see us from the air, we'll shoot at 'em; and if we get 'em we'll clean up the mess so if anybody comes looking for a missing plane, they won't give smoky creek a second look. that's the only way anything can come, honey--if they see us from the air. nobody's going to come hiking over these mountains. there's noplace they'd want to get to, and it's sure no country for fighting." "if the war _is_ over, they'll likely be around to fix up the bridge and the road. won't they?" "maybe so. sooner or later." "oh, i hope they leave us alone." "don't worry, hon." "ben--about the phonograph--" "suse ..." he turned his head to look at her eyes. "it's good for longer'n we are. that motor. so's the bridge, the way it is, and the road ... we'll be gone first. before they get around to fix 'em. before the phonograph gives out. what we want is going to last us--and what we don't want will come too late to hurt us. _nothing's_ going to hurt our peace. i know that somehow. we got it, and it'll be like this for as long as we're here to enjoy it ... i _know_." "ben--" "if i want to go fishing," ben said, and pressed her head against his shoulder again, "i go. if i want to relax with the men, i do it. if i want to just walk and breathe deep, i do it--keeping to the trees, o' course. if i want to just be with you, i do it. it's quiet. it's real quiet in our rag town. it's a world for old people. it's just the way we want it, to live like we want to live. we got enough gardens and livestock, and all the canned stuff in the store, to last us for a ... for as long as we got. and no worries. about who's fighting who over what. about who won. about how the international mess is getting worse again, and we better make more bombs for the next one. about who's winning here and losing there and running neck-and-neck someplace else. we don't know any things like that, and we don't want to know. it don't matter none to us ... we're too old, and we seen too much of it, and it's hurt us too bad, and we know it just don't matter at all." "ben ... i got to crying today. about may and george and the children. i was crying, and thinking about that day...." "so did i think. none of us ever forgets for a minute. for a second." his lips thinned. "that's part of why we do what we do. rest is, we just want to be left alone." they sat in silence for a moment, his arm around her shoulders, his other hand holding hers. then he released her hand and thumped his own on the table, grinned at her and said, "life goes on, now! reckon i'll go down and get that cat--or go walking--or just go soak in some sun. what time are the folks showing up for--" jetsound slammed across the peaceful valley. * * * * * ben got up and walked as fast as he could to the door, picked up the rifle leaning there, cocked it. looking toward town he saw that tom pace had been on his way home, and the sound had caught him between trees. tom hesitated, then turned and dived toward the tree he'd just left--because a rifle was there. ben saw men pour out of the doorways of the two habitable buildings on main street; they stuck close to the walls, under the porches, and they picked up rifles. motionless, hidden, in shadows, under trees, in doorways, behind knotholes, they waited. to see if the plane would buzz the town again. it did. it came down low over main street while the thunders of its first pass still echoed and rolled. frightening birds out of trees, driving a hare frantically along the creekbank, blotting out the murmur of the creek and the tree-sounds, driving away peace. they saw the pilot peering through the plexiglass, down at the buildings ... he was past the town in four winks; but in two they knew that he was curious, and would probably come back for a third look. he circled wide off over the end of the valley, a vertical bank that brought a blinding flash of sunlight from one wing, and he came back. ben leveled his rifle and centered the nose of the plane in his sights. for some reason--probably because the valley walls crowded the town on both sides--the planes always lined up with main street when they flew low over the town. the plane grew at startling speed in ben's sights--it loomed, and the oval jet intake was a growling mouth--and he waited till it was about two seconds and a thousand feet from him; then he sent his bullet up into that mouth: a bullet aimed by a man who'd handled a rifle for sixty years, who could pop the head off a squirrel at a hundred feet. a running squirrel. that was the signal, ben's shot. from under the tree tom pace's rifle spoke. the jet was past town then, and he wheeled to follow it with his eyes; its whining thunder lashed down and pressed his ears, lowering suddenly in pitch as it receded; and though he couldn't hear them for the thunder, he knew that nineteen rifles had roared before it completed its turn, each aimed head-on at the plane. aimed by men and women who could shoot with ben, and even outshoot him. the plane coughed. lurched. it had time to emit a fuzzy thread of black smoke before it nosed down and melted into the ground and became a long ugly smear of mounds and shreds and tatters of flame. the sounds of the crash died. ben heard men shouting; loudest of all was old jim liddel's, "got him ... by god, i prayed, and we got him!" behind him susan was crying. ben saw men and women head for the crash-site; immediately they'd start to carry away what debris wasn't too hot to handle. then they'd wait, and as soon as anything was cool enough it would be carried off and hidden. and there'd be a burial tonight. ben saw that some of the men had carried old jim's chair out onto the porch of the town hall; and he saw that jim was half-standing out of his cushions, propped up on his fists and still shouting; and ben wondered if the maker wasn't on the porch there with jim, waiting for jim to fall and make his noise. * * * * * he turned away--at seventy you don't want to see a man die--and went inside and put his rifle on the kitchen table. he crossed to the cabinet under the sink to get his reamer and oiling rag. every rifle was taken care of that way. right now tom pace and dan paray were hurrying around gathering rifles to clean them, load them. no rifle must miss fire, or throw a bullet an inch off aim--because that might be the rifle whose aim was right. "lucky we got that one," he said. "i think he saw us, suse ... he come in low and sudden, and i think he saw us." "was--was it one of theirs, ben ... or one of ours?" "don't know. i didn't even look. i can't tell 'em apart. owen'll be around to tell me when they find out ... but i reckon it was one of ours. if he saw us and didn't shoot, then i reckon it was one of ours. like the last one." "oh, _ben_," susan said. "ben, ain't it against god?" ben stood looking out the window over the sink; watching a cloud of yellow dust settle over the wreckage of the plane, and a cloud of black smoke rising from the wreckage to darken the yellow. he knew some of the men would be passing buckets from the well, and spading dirt on the flames where they weren't too hot to get to. "that's the way it is," he said. "that's how we decided. god didn't stop the bomb dropping, suse ... for whatever reasons he had. it don't seem he'd deny us the right to shoot rifles, for the reasons we got. if we get turned away at the gates, we'll know we was wrong. but i don't think so." quiet was returning to the valley; the birds had already started singing again. you could hear the trees. from the direction of the creek came windy harris, running, and he broke the quiet with a shout as he saw ben by the window: "got it, huh, ben?" "sure did," ben said, and windy ran on. ben looked toward the porch of the town hall. old jim had sunk back into his pillowed chair, and he was shaking his fist, and ben could hear him yelling, "got it ... _got_ it, we did!" _he'll be around for a while yet, old jim_, ben thought, and turned back to the table. he sat down and listened to the sounds of the valley, and his eyes were the eyes of the valley--they'd seen a lot, and understood enough of it. "it don't matter whose it was," he said. "all of a cloth." he slid the reamer into the barrel of the rifle, and worked it. "the hell with the war. even if it's over, the hell with it. with any war. nothing's ever going to give us back what we lost. let 'em stay away, all them that's to blame. them and their planes and wars and bombs ... they're _crazy_!" his lips curled as he worked the reamer. "let 'em stay out o' what they left us for lives. don't want to hear what they're doing, or _how_, or _why_, or _who_ ... don't want to hear about it. it'd be _crazy_. the hell with 'em. _all_ o' them. _the hell with the whole twentieth century._" file was produced from images generously made available by the bibliothèque nationale de france (bnf/gallica) at http://gallica.bnf.fr and by first-hand history at http://www.1st-hand-history.org) * * * * * smithsonian institution--bureau of ethnology. illustrated catalogue of a portion of the collections made by the bureau of ethnology during the field season of 1881. william h. holmes. * * * * * contents. page. introductory 433 collections from jackson county, north carolina 434 from the cherokee indians 434 articles of stone 434 articles of clay 434 vegetal substances 435 animal substances 437 collections from cocke county, tennessee 438 from the fields at newport 438 articles of stone 438 from a mound on pigeon river 440 articles of clay 440 collections from sevier county, tennessee 442 the mcmahan mound 442 articles of stone 442 articles of clay 443 objects of metal 446 objects of shell 446 animal substances 453 from the fields of sevierville 453 articles of stone 453 articles of clay 456 collections from roane county, tennessee 457 mound at taylor's bend 457 articles of stone 457 articles of clay 457 objects of shell 458 from field at taylor's bend 458 articles of stone 458 vicinity of kingston 460 mound at niles' ferry 461 mounds near paint rock ferry 461 fragments of pottery 461 objects of shell 462 collections from jefferson county 463 mound on fain's island 463 articles of clay 463 from the fields of fain's island 465 articles of stone 465 objects of shell 466 animal substances 466 collections from mississippi county, arkansas 468 pemissicott mound 468 chickasawba mound 468 mounds in carson lake township 468 mounds at pecan point 469 articles of clay 469 field graves and fields in vicinity of pecan point 470 articles of stone 470 articles of clay 471 collections from arkansas county, arkansas 476 mounds at arkansas post 476 articles of clay 476 field graves about menard mounds 477 articles of stone 477 articles of clay 479 objects of metal 485 animal substances 485 collection from monroe county, arkansas 486 mound at lawrenceville 486 articles of clay 486 mounds at indian bay 487 articles of clay 488 collections from ohio 490 from mounds and fields 490 articles of stone 490 articles of clay 491 human remains 491 collections from oregon 492 articles of stone 492 collections from kentucky 493 collections from missouri 495 articles of clay 495 collections from other states 507 collections from peru 508 illustrations. fig. 116.--stone implement, tennessee 439 117.--sections of earthen vessels, tennessee 440 118.--earthen vessel, tennessee 444 119.--shell ornament, tennessee 447 120.--shell ornament, tennessee 447 121.--shell ornament, tennessee 448 122.--shell ornament, tennessee 448 123.--shell ornament, tennessee 449 124.--shell ornament, tennessee 449 125.--shell ornament, tennessee 450 126.--shell ornament, tennessee 450 127.--shell ornament, tennessee 451 128.--shell ornament, tennessee 452 129.--stone implement, tennessee 454 130.--stone implement, tennessee 454 131.--stone implement, tennessee 455 132.--stone implement, tennessee 455 133.--stone implement, tennessee 456 134.--stone implement, tennessee 459 135.--stone implement, tennessee 459 136.--shell bead, tennessee 462 137.--shell bead, tennessee 462 138.--shell bead, tennessee 462 139.--earthen vessel, tennessee 464 140.--shell ornament, tennessee 466 141.--shell ornament, tennessee 466 142.--stone implement, arkansas 470 143.--earthen vessel, arkansas 471 144.--earthen vessel, arkansas 472 145.--earthen vessel, arkansas 473 146.--earthen vessel, arkansas 473 147.--earthen vessel, arkansas 474 148.--earthen vessel, arkansas 474 149.--earthen vessel, arkansas 475 150.--earthen vessel, arkansas 476 151.--stone implement, arkansas 477 152.--earthen vessel, arkansas 478 153.--earthen vessel, arkansas 479 154.--earthen vessel, arkansas 479 155.--earthen vessel, arkansas 480 156.--earthen vessel, arkansas 480 157.--earthen vessel, arkansas 481 158.--earthen vessel, arkansas 482 159.--earthen vessel, arkansas 482 160.--earthen vessel, arkansas 482 161.--earthen vessel, arkansas 482 162.--earthen vessel, arkansas 483 163.--earthen vessel, arkansas 483 164.--earthen vessel, arkansas 484 165.--earthen vessel, arkansas 484 163.--earthen vessel, arkansas 485 167.--earthen vessel, arkansas 486 168.--earthen vessel, arkansas 487 169.--earthen vessel, arkansas 488 170.--earthen vessel, arkansas 489 171.--earthen vessel, arkansas 489 172.--method of plaiting sandals 493 173.--method of plaiting mat 493 174.--earthen vessel, missouri 495 175.--earthen vessel, missouri 496 176.--earthen vessel, missouri 497 177.--earthen vessel, missouri 497 178.--earthen vessel, missouri 498 179.--earthen vessel, missouri 498 180.--earthen vessel, missouri 499 181.--earthen vessel, missouri 499 182.--earthen vessel, missouri 500 183.--earthen vessel, missouri 500 184.--earthen vessel, missouri 501 185.--earthen vessel, missouri 501 186.--earthen vessel, missouri 502 187.--earthen vessel, missouri 502 188.--earthen vessel, missouri 502 189.--earthen vessel, missouri 503 190.--earthen vessel, missouri 504 191.--earthen vessel, missouri 504 192.--earthen vessel, missouri 505 193.--earthen vessel, missouri 505 194.--earthen vessel, missouri 505 195.--earthen vessel, missouri 506 196.--earthen vessel, missouri 506 197.--earthen vessel, missouri 506 198.--wooden mask, peru 509 199.--stone net-sinker, peru 510 200.--copper fish-hooks, peru 510 * * * * * illustrated catalogue of a portion of the ethnologic and archæologic collections made by the bureau of ethnology during the year 1881. by william h. holmes. * * * * * collection made by edward palmer, in north carolina, tennessee, and arkansas. introductory. mr. palmer began his explorations early in july, 1881, and continued with marked success until the end of the year. he first paid a visit to the cherokee indians of north carolina, and collected a large number of articles manufactured or used by this people, besides a number of antiquities from the same region. from carolina he crossed into tennessee, and began work by opening a number of mounds in cocke county. in september he opened a very important mound, which i have named the mcmahan mound. it is located in the vicinity of sevierville, sevier county. afterwards mounds were opened on fain's island, at dandridge, and at kingston. in september he crossed into arkansas and made extensive explorations at osceola, pecan point, arkansas post, and indian bay. it has devolved upon the writer to examine and catalogue this fine collection. in preparing the catalogue the plan of arrangement already adopted by the bureau has been carried out; that is, a primary classification by locality and a secondary by material. the descriptions of specimens are taken from the card catalogue prepared by the writer on first opening the collection, and will be given in full, excepting in cases where detailed descriptions have been furnished in separate papers, either in this or the preceding annual report. cuts have been made of a number of the more interesting specimens. the localities are named in the order of their exploration. collections from jackson county, north carolina. obtained chiefly from the cherokee indians. articles of stone. 62953. a small disk of dark-gray slate, 1¼ inches in diameter and 1½ inches in thickness. the form is symmetrical and the surface well polished. the sides are convex, slightly so near the center and abruptly so near the circumference. the rim or peripheral surface is squared by grinding, the circular form being accurately preserved. this specimen was obtained from an aged cherokee, who stated that it had formerly been used by his people in playing some sort of game. it seems not improbable that this stone has been used for polishing pottery. 62952. a small subglobular pebble used as a polishing stone for pottery. 62954. a polishing stone similar to the above. this implement was seen in use by the collector. 62947. a hemispherical stone, probably used as a nut-cracker. 62944. a stone implement somewhat resembling a thick, round-pointed pick, 4½ inches in length and 1 inch in diameter. it is perforated exactly as an iron pick would be for the insertion of a handle. the perforation has been produced by boring from opposite sides; at the surface it is five-eighths of an inch in diameter, and midway about three-eighths. the material seems to be an indurated clay or soft slate. the collector suggests that this specimen was probably used for smoothing bow-strings or straightening arrow-shafts. 62949. eight arrow points of gray and blackish chalcedony. 62950. pipe of gray, indurated steatite, of modern cherokee manufacture. 62951. pipe of dark greenstone, highly polished. it is well modeled, but of a recent type. 62888. grooved ax of compact greenish sandstone; found near bakersville, n.c. articles of clay. obtained from the southern band of cherokees, jackson county, north carolina. the manufacture of pottery, once so universally practiced by the atlantic coast indians, is still kept up by this tribe, rather, however, for the purpose of trade than for use in their domestic arts. the vessels are, to a great extent, modeled after the ware of the whites, but the methods of manufacture seem to be almost wholly aboriginal. 63070. a handled mug or cup of brownish ware. the form is not aboriginal. it is composed of clay, tempered, apparently, with pulverized shell. the surface has a slight polish produced by a polishing implement. the height is 4½ inches and the width nearly the same. 63068. large flat-bottomed bowl, 6 inches in height, 11 inches in diameter at the top, and 8 at the base. although made without a wheel, this vessel is quite symmetrical. the thickness is from one-fourth to one-half of an inch. the material has been a dark clay paste with tempering of powdered mica. 63066. a three-legged pot, with spherical body, resembling very closely in appearance the common iron cooking pot of the whites. the rim is 6 inches in diameter, and 1 inch high. the body is 9 inches in diameter. two handles are attached to the upper part of the body. the form is symmetrical and the surface highly polished. the polishing stone has been used with so much skill that the effect of a glaze is well produced. the materials used were clay and pulverized mica. the color is dark brown. 63067. a strong, rudely made vessel shaped like a half cask. the walls are about one-half an inch in thickness. the surface is rough, the polishing stone having been very carelessly applied. 63068. a flat-bottomed bowl symmetrical in shape but rudely finished. vegetal substances. 63063. basket sieve said to be used to separate the finer from the coarser particles of pounded corn. the coarse meal thus obtained is boiled and allowed to ferment. this is used as food and is called _connawhana_. the sieve is made of split cane carefully smoothed; some of the strips are dyed red and others brown. a simple ornamental design is worked in these colors. the opening is square, with rounded corners, the sides measuring 14 inches. the depth is 5 inches. the bottom is flat and loosely woven. 63072. a bottle-shaped basket, with constricted neck and rectangular body, used by the cherokees for carrying fish. height, 11 inches; width of mouth, 4 inches; diameter of body, 6 inches. it is made of strips of white oak or hickory, one-fourth of an inch in thickness. 63073. basket made of strips of white oak intended for the storage of seeds and for other household uses. the rim is about 5 inches in diameter; the body is 8 inches in diameter, the base being rectangular and flat. 63074. basket, made of cane, used for storing seed. 63076. two baskets, made of cane, probably used for household purposes. they are neatly ornamented with simple designs, produced by the use of colored strips. the rims are oval in shape, and the bases rectangular. the larger will hold about half a bushel, the smaller about a gallon. 63077. small basket with a handle, made of splints of white oak. yellow strips of hickory bark are used to ornament the rim. other colors are obtained by using bark of different trees, maple, walnut, etc. 63078. small cup or dish carved from laurel or cucumber wood. it is very neatly made. the depth is about 1 inch; the width 5 inches. 63064. large spoon, carved from laurel or cucumber wood, used by the cherokees in handling the _connawhana_, or fermented meal. the carving is neatly done. the heart-shaped bowl is 6 inches in length, 4 in width, and about 2 in depth. the handle is 12 inches long, and is embellished at the end by a knob and ring. the knob is carved to represent a turtle's or snake's head. 63065. a smaller spoon similar in shape to the above. 63087. a large, five-pronged fork carved from the wood of the _magnolia glauca_ (?). it resembles the iron forks of the whites. 63088. a small, three-pronged fork of the same pattern and material as the above. 63080. a wooden comb made in imitation of the shell combs used by white ladies for supporting and ornamenting the back hair. the carving is said to have been done with a knife. considerable skill is shown in the ornamental design at the top. the wood is maple or beech. 63089. a walnut paddle or club, used to beat clothes in washing. 63059. bow of locust wood, 5 feet long, one-half an inch thick, and 1½ inches wide in the middle, tapering at the ends to 1 inch. the back of the bow is undressed, the bark simply having been removed. the string, which resembles ordinary twine, is said to be made of wild hemp. the arrows are 40 inches in length. the shafts are made of hickory wood and have conical points. stone and metal points are not used, as the country abounds in small game only, and heavy points are considered unnecessary. in trimming the arrow two feathers of the wild turkey are used; these are close clipped and fastened with sinew. 63057. blow-gun used by the cherokees to kill small game. this specimen is 7 feet in length, and is made of a large cane, probably the _arundinaria macrosperma_. these guns are made from 5 to 15 feet in length, the diameter in large specimens reaching 1½ inches. 63058. arrows used with the blow-gun. the shafts, which are made of hickory wood, are 2 feet in length and very slender. the shooting end has a conical point; the feather end is dressed with thistle-down, tied on in overlapping layers with thread or sinew. the tip of down completely fills the barrel of the gun; and the arrow, when inserted in the larger end and blown with a strong puff, has a remarkable carrying and penetrating power. 63085. thistle-heads, probably the _cnicus lanceolatus_, from which the down is obtained in preparing the arrows of the blow-gun. 63061. ball-sticks or racquets made of hickory wood. rods of this tough wood, about 7 feet long, are dressed to the proper shape, the ends having a semicircular section, the middle part being flat. each is bent and the ends united to form a handle, leaving a pear-shaped loop 6 inches in width by about 12 in length, which is filled with a network of leather or bark strings sufficiently close to hold the ball. 63061. ball, 1½ inches in diameter, covered with buckskin, used with the racquets in playing the celebrated ball game of the cherokee, choctaw, creek, and seminole indians. animal substances. 63071. shell, probably a _unio_, used by potters to scrape the surface of clay vessels; seen in use. 63081. comb made of horn. the teeth are 2 inches in length, and have been made with a saw. it is used in dressing the hair. 63085. charm made of feathers and snake rattles; worn on the head or on some part of the costume. 63082. awl of iron set in a handle of deer's horn. collections from cocke county, tennessee. from fields near newport. articles of stone. 62752. grooved ax, 8 inches in length, 3½ in width, and about 1 in thickness; one side is quite flat, the other convex. the material is a banded schistose slate. 62758. a fine specimen of grooved ax, 7 inches in length, 4 in width, and 1½ in thickness. the groove is wide and shallow, and is bordered by two narrow ridges, which are in sharp relief all the way around. the material appears to be a greenish-gray diorite. 62759. a grooved ax, 6 inches long, 3½ inches wide, and 1 inch thick. this specimen is similar to the preceding, the groove being deeper on the lateral edges of the implement, and the upper end less prominent. it is made of a fine-grained gray sandstone. 62753. fragment of a grooved ax, of gray slate. the groove is shallow and irregular. 62754. celt of compact gray sandstone, somewhat chipped at the ends. it is 6½ inches in length by 2½ in width and 1½ in thickness. one face is flat, the other convex. the sides are nearly parallel. a transverse section would be sub rectangular. 62755. fragment of celt, 3 inches in length by 2 in width and about 1½ in thickness. the material is a fine grained sandstone or a diorite. 62756. a long, slender celt, very carefully finished, 7 inches in length, 2 in width, and less than 1 in thickness. the material is a very compact gray slate. it has apparently been recently used as a scythe-stone by some harvester. 62757. fragment of a small, narrow celt, both ends of which are lost. material, gray diorite. 62760. heavy celt of gray diorite, 8 inches in length by 3 in width and 2½ in thickness. 62762. a pestle of gray diorite, with enlarged base and tapering top, 5½ inches in length and 3 inches in diameter at the base. 62751. a pestle of banded schistose slate, 15 inches in length, and 2½ inches in diameter in the middle, tapering symmetrically toward the ends, which terminate in rounded points. 62763. a ceremonial (?) stone resembling somewhat a small broad-bladed pick, the outline being nearly semicircular. it is pierced as a pick is pierced for the insertion of a handle. it is 2½ inches in length, 1½ in width, and three-fourths of an inch in thickness. the material is a soft greenish mottled serpentine, or serpentinoid limestone. fig. 116. [illustration: fig. 116.] 62761. a pierced tablet of gray slate, 4½ inches long, 1½ inches wide, and half an inch thick. the two perforations are 2½ inches apart; they have been bored from opposite sides, and show no evidence of use. nine notches have been cut in one end of the tablet. it has been much injured by recent use as a whetstone. 62764. cup stone of rough sandstone, having seventeen shallow cup-like depressions, from 1 to 2 inches in diameter. the stone is of irregular outline, about 10 inches in diameter and 4 in thickness. 62765. a large pipe of gray steatite; the bowl is square and about 3 inches in length, by 1 in diameter. the stem end is 4 inches in length and three-fourths of an inch in diameter. the bowl has a deep, conical excavation. the same is true of the stem-end also. mound at the junction of the pigeon and french broad rivers. articles of clay. 62870. the mound from which these fragments were obtained was located 3 miles from newport. it was 12 feet square and 6 feet high. the original height was probably much greater. the pottery was mixed with ashes and _débris_ of what appeared to be three fire-places. no human remains were found. the fragments are not numerous, nor do they indicate a great variety in form. there is, however, considerable variety in decoration. _material._--the clay is generally gray or dark-reddish gray in the mass, and is apparently quite siliceous or sandy, numerous grains of quartz being visible. there is generally a sprinkling of finely-powdered mica, but no shell matter can be detected. when much weathered the surface is quite gritty. _form._--the leading form is a round-bodied, pot-shaped vase. there is one small hemispherical bowl. the outlines have been quite symmetrical. the mouths of the pots are wide, and the necks deeply constricted. the lip or rim exhibits a number of novel features. that of the larger specimen, of which a considerable segment remains, is furnished on the upper edge with a deep channel, nearly one-half an inch wide, and more than one-fourth of an inch deep. first section, fig. 117. others have a peculiar thickening of the rim, a sort of collar being added to the outside. this is about 1 inch in width, and is thicker below, giving a triangular section. third section, fig. 117. [illustration: fig. 117.] the walls of the vessels are usually quite thin. the bottoms were probably round, or nearly so. no fragments, however, of the lower parts of the vessels were collected. there is but one example of handle, and this presents no unusual features. middle section, fig. 117. _ornamentation._--the ornamentation is in some respects novel. the double or channeled rim of the larger specimen, the mouth of which has been 13 or 14 inches in diameter, is embellished with a line of flutings, which seem to be the impressions of a hollow bone or reed. the whole exterior surface is embellished with a most elaborate ornamental design, which resembles the imprint of some woven fabric. if a woven fabric has not been used, a pliable stamp, producing the effect of a fabric, has been resorted to. the fact that the sharply concave portions of the neck are marked with as much regularity as the convex body of the vessel, precludes the idea of the use of a solid or non-elastic stamp. the pattern consists of groups of parallel indented lines, arranged at right angles with one another, the puzzling feature being that there is no evidence of the passing of the threads or fillets over or under each other, such as would be seen if a woven fabric had been used. the outer surface of the triangular collar peculiar to many of the pots has been decorated with a herring-bone pattern, made by impressing a sharp implement. the handle in one case is similarly ornamented. this handle has been added _after_ the figure previously described was impressed upon the neck of the vessel. one small fragment shows another style of indented or stamped pattern, which consists of series of straight and curved lines, such as are characteristic of many of the vessels obtained from the gulf states. a small fragment of coal-black ware is entirely smooth on the outside, and indicates an unusually well finished and symmetrical vessel. another shows the impression of basket-work, in which a wide fillet or splint has served as the warp and a small twisted cord as the woof. one interesting feature of this vessel is that from certain impressions on the raised ridges we discover that the vessel has been taken from the net mold while still in a plastic state. still another reddish porous fragment has a square rim, which is ornamented with a series of annular indentations. collections from sevier county, tennessee. the mcmahan mound. on the west fork of the little pigeon river, at sevierville, on a rich bottom, 125 yards from the river, is a celebrated mound, the owners of which have for years refused to have it opened. mr. palmer spent several days in trying to obtain permission to open it, and was about leaving in despair, when the owners finally yielded, not, however, without requiring a number of concessions on the part of the collector, which concessions were put in the form of a legal document. this mound is 16 feet high and 240 feet in circumference. three feet below the surface, a stratum of burnt clay, 15 feet wide by 30 long, was reached. this has probably formed part of the roof of a dwelling. beneath this was a bed of charcoal 4 inches thick. in this bed remnants of cedar posts from 2 to 4 inches thick and 1 to 2 feet in length were found. below this was a stratum of ashes, covering a limited area to the depth of 4 feet. surrounding this, the earth contained fragments of numerous articles used by the inhabitants, while beneath came 4½ feet of earth, in which numerous skeletons had been deposited. the bodies had been interred without order, and the bones were so intermingled, and so far decayed, that no complete skeletons could be collected. beneath the layer of bones came a second deposit of ashes, 2 feet thick by 2½ feet in diameter, and beneath this a mass of red clay, 18 inches in thickness. in the earth surrounding the ashes and clay, a number of skeletons were found; these were in such an advanced stage of decomposition that only a few fragments of skulls could be preserved. three feet below the second layer of bones, the undisturbed soil was reached. two boxes of bones were collected, the well-preserved crania numbering about twenty. a great many interesting specimens of the implements, utensils, and ornaments of the mound-builders were obtained. the following catalogue includes everything of interest: articles of stone. 62787, 62792, 62778, 62769, 62784, 62788. numerous specimens of arrow-points, flakes, cores, and rough masses of gray and black chalcedony, obtained partly from the mound, and partly from the soil surrounding it. 62793. a somewhat conical object of black compact graphite. the flattish base is rubbed off in an irregular way, as if in grinding down for use as a pigment. 62790. fragment of hammerstone of gray micaceous sandstone, 5 inches long by 3 inches in diameter. it was found associated with the upper layer of skeletons. 62808. pipe carved from gray marble. the bowl is symmetrically shaped, and resembles a common clay pipe. it is about 1½ inches in height and 1 in diameter. the stem part is about one-fourth of an inch in length. found with the upper layer of skeletons. 62786. a perforated stone tube, 1¼ inches long and three-fourths of an inch in diameter. it is probably the upper part of a pipe bowl. 62794. a large number of minute quartz pebbles, probably used in a rattle or in playing some game of chance. found with the skeletons in the mound. 62798. three glass beads, found 4 feet below the surface of the mound. one is a bright blue bead of translucent glass. one is opaque, resembling porcelain. the third is of blue-gray glass, and has three longitudinal stripes of brown, underlaid by bands of white. all are cylindrical in shape, and are from three-eighths to half an inch in length, and about one-fourth of an inch in diameter. articles of clay. the collection of pottery from this mound is of much interest. there is but one entire vessel, but the fragments are so plentiful and well preserved that many interesting forms can be restored, and a very good idea of the ceramic work of this locality be formed. _form._--i have spent much time in the examination of these fragments, and have assigned each to the form of vessel to which it belonged. where large pieces are preserved, especially if the rim is included, we have little trouble in reconstructing the entire vessel, without fear of being seriously wrong. the lower parts of the bodies of all forms are round or slightly flattened, and but a small fragment of the rim is needed to tell whether the vessel was a bottle, pot, or bowl. i find, however, that the forms merge into each other in such a way that a complete graduated series can be found. of first importance, are the round or globular vases with more or less constricted necks. _ornamentation._--the inside of all forms is plain with the exception of accidental markings of the fingers. the rim is square, sharp, or round on the edge, and sometimes slightly enlarged or beaded on the outer margin. a collar is attached to many forms, which at the lower edge overhangs. it is added to the body with the rim, or as a strip afterward attached. it is often notched or indented with a stick, bone, or reed, or with the fingers. the necks of vases and pot-shaped vessels have a great variety of handles, knobs, and ornaments. some of the latter seem to be atrophied handles. in some cases a low horizontal ridge, from 1 to 4 or more inches in length is placed near the rim, in place of the continuous collar. in other cases a narrow, crescent-shaped ridge is attached, the points reaching down on the shoulder, the arch lying upon the neck. still others have one or more handles which connect the rim with the neck or shoulder of the vessel, leaving a round or oblong passage for a cord or vine. these handles were added after the vessel was completed. they are never ornamented. in one case an arched handle, like the handle of a basket, connects the opposite sides of the rim. this is the only entire vessel recovered from the mound. it was associated with the upper layer of skeletons. diameter 4½ inches. fig. 118. [illustration: fig. 118.] the body of these vessels is sometimes quite plain, but is more frequently covered with cord markings. these, with one or two exceptions, seem to be made by a series of fine cords, approximately parallel, but without cross-threads of any kind. there is little uniformity of arrangement. in the upper part, and about the base of the neck, the indented lines are generally vertical. on the bottom they are quite irregular, as if the vessel, in making, had been rolled about on a piece of netting or coarse cloth. the cords have been about the size of the ordinary cotton cord used by merchants. one exception is seen in a fragment of a large, rudely-made vase, in which we have the impression of a fabric, the warp of which, whether wood or cord, has consisted of fillets more than one-fourth of an inch in width, the woof being fine cord. this is what is frequently spoken of as the ear-of-corn impression. no incised or excavated lines have been noticed in these fragments of pot-shaped vessels. some of the most elegant vessels are without upright necks. the upper or incurved surface of the body is approximately flat, forming, with the lower part of the body a more or less sharp peripheral angle. the base is rounded, and, so far as we can judge from the examples, the bottom is slightly flattened. vessels having vertical or flaring rims are generally somewhat more shallow. the incurved upper surface is often tastefully ornamented with patterns of incised or excavated lines which are arranged in groups, in vertical or oblique positions, or encircle the vessel parallel with the border. one specimen has a row of stamped circles, made by a reed or hollow bone. bowls of the ordinary shape are variously decorated. in one case we have on the outside of the rim, and projecting slightly above it, a rudely-modeled grotesque face. a notched fillet passes around the rim, near the lip, connecting with the sides of this head. in another case a rude node is added to the rim. the only bowl having a flaring rim is without ornament. we have only one fragment of a bowl in which the body has been marked with cords. _composition._--the clay used in the pottery from this mound is generally fine in texture, and of a light-gray color. many of the fragments have been blackened by burning subsequently to their original firing, and some may have been originally blackened with graphite. the prevailing colors seen in the fragments are yellowish and reddish grays. the percentage of powdered shell used in tempering has usually been very large, forming at times at least half the mass. the flakes of shell are very coarse, being often as much as one-fourth of an inch in diameter. in many cases they have been destroyed by burning, or have dropped out from decay, leaving a deeply pitted surface. _pipes._--there are a number of pipes in the collection, most of which were found near the surface of the mound. in some cases they resemble modern forms very closely. the most striking example is made of a fine-grained clay, without visible admixture of tempering material. the color is a reddish gray. it is neatly and symmetrically formed, the surface being finished by polishing with a smooth, hard implement, and shaving with a knife. the bowl is 2 inches high, and the rim is bell-shaped above, with a smooth, flat lip, one-fourth of an inch wide. the diameter of the opening is nearly 2 inches. the base is conical. the stem part is one-half an inch long and one-half an inch in diameter. the bowl and stem are both conically excavated. another specimen is made of clay mixed with powdered shell. the bowl is cylindrical, being a little larger at the rim, which is ornamented with rows of punctures. the elbow is ornamented by a rosette of indented lines. the mouth piece has been broken away. objects of metal. 62797. one of the most instructive finds in this mound is a pair of brass pins, of undoubted european manufacture. the collector makes the statement, with entire confidence in its correctness, that they had been encased in the earth at the time of the interment of the bodies. one was associated with the upper and the other with the lower layer of bones. in size and shape they resemble our ordinary brass toilet pin. the head is formed of a spiral coil of wire, the diameter of which is about one-half that of the shaft of the pin. it is also stated by the collector that an iron bolt was found in the lower stratum of bones. this object was unfortunately lost. 62795. a small brass cylinder, found 3 feet 7 inches below the surface of the mound. the thin sheet of which the coil is made is about 1 inch square. the edges are uneven. it was probably used as a bead. objects of shell. few mounds have rivaled this in its wealth of shell ornaments. engraved gorgets cut from the body of the _busycon perversum_ and large pins from the columellæ of the same shell are especially numerous and well-preserved. large numbers of beads and unworked shells were also found. all were intimately associated with the skeletons. while many of the specimens are well-preserved, we find that many are in an advanced stage of decay, and unless most carefully handled, crumble to powder. similar shell ornaments are found in mounds in other parts of tennessee, as well as in neighboring states. these have been pretty fully described in the second annual report. 62830-62839. these pins are all made from the _busycon perversum_. the entire specimens range from 3 to 6 inches in length; two are fragmentary, having lost their points by decay. the heads are from one-half to 1 inch in length, and are generally less than 1 inch in diameter. they are somewhat varied in shape, some being cylindrical, others being conical above. the shaft is pretty evenly rounded, but is seldom symmetrical or straight. it is rarely above one-half an inch in diameter, and tapers gradually to a more or less rounded point. the groove of the canal shows distinctly in all the heads, and may often be traced far down the shaft. in a number of cases the surface retains the fine polish of the newly finished object, but it is usually somewhat weathered, and frequently discolored or chalky. these specimens were found in the mounds along with deposits of human remains, and generally in close proximity to the head; this fact suggests their use as ornaments for the hair. 62840-62843. a number of saucer-shaped shell gorgets, the upper edge being somewhat straightened, the result of the natural limit of the body of the shell. two small holes, for suspension occur near the upper margin. the diameter ranges from 3 to 6 inches. [illustration: fig. 119. 62831] [illustration: fig. 120. 62831] in studying the design the attention is first attracted by an eye-like figure near the left border. this is formed of a series of concentric circles, and is partially inclosed by a looped band about one-eighth of an inch in width, which opens downward to the left. this band is occupied by a series of conical dots or depressions, the number of which varies in the different specimens. the part of the figure inclosed by this band represents the head and neck of the serpent. to the right of the eye we have the mouth, which is usually shown in profile, the upper jaw being turned upward exhibiting a double row of notches or teeth. the body encircles the head in a single coil, which appears from beneath the neck on the right, passes around the front of the head, and terminates at the back in a pointed tail armed with well-defined rattles. the spots and scales of the serpent are represented in a highly conventionalized manner. [illustration: fig. 121. fig. 122. shell gorgets with engraved designs representing the rattlesnake.] 62841-62845. the handsome specimen given in fig. 124 is in a very good state of preservation. it is a deep, somewhat oval plate, made from a _busycon perversum_. the surface is nicely polished and the margins neatly beveled. the marginal zone is less than half an inch wide and contains at the upper edge two perforations, which have been considerably abraded by the cord of suspension. four long curved slits or perforations almost sever the central design from the rim; the four narrow segments that remain are each ornamented with a single conical pit. the serpent is very neatly engraved and belongs to the chevroned variety. the eye is large and the neck is ornamented with a single rectangular intaglio figure. the mouth is more than usually well defined. the upper jaw is turned abruptly backward and is ornamented with lines peculiar to this variety of the designs. [illustration: fig. 123. (62841.) fig. 124. (62845.) shell gorgets with engraved designs representing the rattlesnake.] the body of the serpent opposite the perforations for suspension is interrupted by a rather mysterious cross band, consisting of one broad and two narrow lines. as this is a feature common to many specimens, it probably had some important office or significance. 62847-62848. mask-like shell ornaments. by a combination of engraving and sculpture a rude resemblance to the human features is produced. the objects are generally made from large pear-shaped sections of the lower whorl of marine univalves. the lower portion, which represents the neck and chin, is cut from the somewhat constricted part near the base of the shell, while the broad outline of the head reaches the first suture at the noded shoulder of the body whorl. the simplest form is shown in fig. 125. a more elaborate form is given in fig. 126. [illustration: fig. 125. (62348.) mask-like object of shell.] [illustration: fig. 126. (62347.) mask-like object of shell.] these objects are especially numerous in the mounds of tennessee, but their range is quite wide, examples having been reported from kentucky, virginia, illinois, missouri, and arkansas, and smaller ones of a somewhat different type from new york. in size they range from 2 to 10 inches in length, the width being considerably less. they are generally found associated with human remains in such a way as to suggest their use as ornaments for the head or neck. there are, however, no holes for suspension except those made to represent the eyes, and these, so far as i have observed, show no abrasion by a cord of suspension. their shape suggests the idea that they may have been used as masks, after the manner of metal masks by some of the oriental nations. [illustration: fig. 127.--shell gorget with engraving of a curious human figure.] 62846. engraved shell, fig. 127. this very interesting object has been fully described in the second annual report of the bureau. the figure is so obscure that considerable study is necessary in making it out. 62930. engraved shell, fig. 128. this remarkable specimen has already been described in the second annual report of the bureau. the engraved design is certainly of a very high order of merit, and suggests the work of the ancient mexicans. 62816-62822, 62824, 62826, 62828, 62829. shell beads discoidal and cylindrical in form, made chiefly from the columellæ and walls of marine univalves. 62825. shell bead made by grinding off the apex of a large _oliva biplicata_. (?) 62827. beads made from _marginella_ (?) shells. 62825, 62827, 62850-62857, 62782. species of shell found in the mound, some with the skeletons, others near the surface. [illustration: fig. 128.--shell gorget with engraved design representing two fighting figures.] the following genera and species are provisionally determined: _unio multiplicatus._ _uhio ovatus._ _unio crassidens._ _unio victorum._ _marginella (?)._ _oliva (?)._ _io spinosa._ _trypanostoma anthonyi._ _anculosa subglobosa._ _busycon perversum._ 62823. a tooth-shaped fresh-water pearl, found with the skeletons. animal substances. 62861. fragments of deer-horn found near the surface of the mound. 62858. an implement of unusual form, made from a flat piece of bone, found with the skeletons in the mound. 62859, 62860. bone implements, needles and perforators, some of which are well preserved and retain the original polish; others are in a very advanced stage of decay. three boxes of human bones (not numbered). from the fields at sevierville. articles of stone. 62770. a small grooved ax, formed of a coarse textured stone, resembling diorite. it is 4½ inches in length and 2½ in width. the head is rounded and the cutting edge much battered. the groove is wide and shallow, and the bordering ridges prominent. the blade thins out quite abruptly. presented by j. b. emert. 62772. a celt 6¾ inches long, 2½ inches wide, and 1 inch thick. the material is a compact, blue-gray, banded slate. the sides are straight and a transverse section is somewhat rectangular. both edges are sharpened, and are very neatly beveled and polished. presented by w. p. mitchell. 62771. a small celt of compact greenish slate; one face is flat, the other convex. it is neatly made and perfectly preserved, the broader end being oblique and sharp. it is 3-1/8 inches in length. 62777. a rude, much-battered celt of coarse sandstone or diorite. it is 4 inches in length by 2 in width near the cutting edge. the top is somewhat conical. 62774. a large unsymmetrical celt made of coarse yellowish sandstone; one side is much battered. the cutting edge is round and dull. it is 9 inches in length by 5 in width near the broad end and is 1½ inches thick. 62785. a knife-blade-shaped object, apparently a fragment of a winged ceremonial stone. the whole surface is smooth and shows no evidence of use. it is made of fine-grained gray slate. it is 2 inches in length by five-eighths in width. 62775. a bell-shaped pestle made of yellowish gray quartzite. the surface has been evenly roughened by picking, but has become slightly polished on parts most exposed when in use. the base part is subrectangular in section, and the bottom is slightly but evenly convex. the upper part, which has been shaped for convenient grasping by the hand, is evenly rounded at the top. height, 4½ inches; width, of base, 3½ inches. 62766. a well-formed globe of gritty sandstone. the surface is roughened or granular. it is 2½ inches in diameter. 62789. portion of an oblong hammer stone, 4 inches in length by 3 in diameter in the middle part. one end has been much reduced by use. it is made of some dark, much decomposed, crystalline rock. 62768. asymmetrical sandstone ring, 2 inches in diameter and three-fourths of an inch in thickness. the perforation is about five-eighths of an inch in diameter. the surface is roughened by picking. [illustration: fig. 129.] 62767. a symmetrical, neatly finished disk of light gray quartzite. it is 4¼ inches in diameter and 1¼ inches in thickness at the circumference, and less than 1 inch thick at the center. 62869. an hour-glass shaped tube made of gray hydro-mica schist, which resembles very compact steatite. it is 5½ inches long, 2 inches in diameter at the widest part and 1¼ inches at the narrowest part. the most restricted part near the middle is girdled by a ridge or ring, on the circumference of which seventy or eighty shallow notches have been cut. the perforation is much enlarged at the ends, giving cup-like cavities. the walls are thin near the ends and quite thick near the middle, the passage being hardly more than one-quarter of an inch in diameter. the markings on the inside indicate that the excavation has been made by a gouging process, rather than by the use of a rotary perforator. [illustration: fig. 130.] 62776. a boat-shaped ceremonial stone of banded slate, 3 inches long, 1 inch wide, and 1 inch deep. from the side the outline is triangular, the two lines of the keel forming almost a right angle. from the top the outline is a long, pointed oval, as seen in the illustration, fig. 131. [illustration: fig. 131.] the trough-shaped excavation is more rounded in outline, and is three-fourths of an inch in depth. perforations have been made near the ends of this trough; these seem to be somewhat abraded on the outside by a cord of suspension or attachment which has passed between them along a groove in the apex or angle of the keel. [illustration: fig. 132. 62868] 62868. an amulet or charm of dark-greenish rock, probably a serpentine, carved to represent a bird's head. the more highly polished parts are quite dark, while freshly cut lines are whitish. the head is graphically represented, the bill, the eye, and nostril being well shown. a stand-like base takes the place of the body of the bird. around this, near the bottom, a groove has been cut for the purpose of attaching a string or securing a handle. in dressing the surface some implement has been used that has left file-like scratches. fig. 132 represents this object natural size. 62773. fragment of a stone disk or wheel that has lines cut upon it resembling in arrangement the grooves of an ordinary millstone. diameter, 6 inches; thickness, 2 inches. this is probably not an aboriginal work. [illustration: fig. 133. 63186] 63186. a banner-stone of unusual shape, made of gray slate. the cut, fig. 133, represents this object three-fourths natural size. the perforation is one-half an inch in diameter, and is quite symmetrical. the entire surface is well polished. articles of clay. a few specimens of potsherds were collected from the fields about sevierville. most of these are identical in every way with the pottery of the mound, but three examples are of a totally different type. the material of these is a fine sandy clay, tempered with a large percentage of finely pulverized mica. the forms of the vessels cannot be made out. the outer surfaces were ornamented by a stamped pattern of small square or lozenge-shaped figures, a number of these together were apparently formed by a single stamp. among the fragments we have half a dozen disks, from 1 to 2 inches in diameter, worked from ordinary potsherds. a small rudely modeled figure of a bird was also found with these fragments. there were also masses of indurated clay, which seem to have been used for chinking purposes. collections from roane county, tennessee. mound at taylor's bend. this mound is situated three hundred and fifty yards from the french broad river, on the farm of mr. william harris. it is 10 feet high and nearly 50 feet in circumference. its summit has been cultivated for many years, and the height has doubtless been much reduced. immediately under the surface soil a heavy bed of ashes and charcoal was reached, which at the border of the mound was only a few inches thick, but at the center was about 3 feet thick. in this stratum were found a few implements, and fragments of pottery, and two very much decayed skeletons. a part of one cranium was preserved. the mound beneath this stratum was composed chiefly of loam, with some sand in the center, and contained nothing of interest. articles of stone. 62885. a needle-like implement, made of a soft black stone that may be cannel coal. it is 3½ inches in length, but is not entire. the shaft is a little more than one-fourth of an inch in diameter, is nearly round, and tapers to a symmetrical point. the surface is highly polished. it was found in the stratum of ashes. articles of clay. 62890, 62892-6. a considerable number of fragments of pottery was found in the stratum of ashes. _form._--vases of the wide-mouthed, round-bodied variety are represented, also a number of hemispherical bowls. one large fragment representing a vessel with rounded bottom was found. _size._--the pot-like vases have been quite large, the mouths being as much as 14 inches in diameter. the larger bowls have been 10 inches or more in diameter. others are smaller. the walls of some of the larger vessels have been half an inch in thickness. _material._--classified by material, there are two varieties, one is composed of the usual clay and pulverized shells, the latter being coarse and exceedingly plentiful; the other has no shell material, but in its place an admixture of sand and small quartz pebbles. _ornamentation._--the inside is plain as usual, and many of the fragments have no exterior ornament. there are two varieties of surface markings; one consists of impressions of basket work, which indicate a broad series of fillets bound together by small twisted cords of grass or bark; the other appears to have been made by an open net-work of fine cords, which have been quite irregularly arranged. objects of shell. 62898. a shell pin made from the columella of a large univalve. the original polish is still preserved. the head is round and small, and the shaft 2 inches in length. found in the stratum of ashes. 62899. two species of shells, _io spinosa_ and _pleurocera conradii_ (?), obtained from the stratum of ashes. collections from the fields at taylor's bend. articles of stone. 62883. a lot of arrow points, spear points, and knives, having a wide range of shape and size. a serrated specimen is 3 inches in length, and is made of yellowish striped chalcedony. one is made of white translucent quartz, and others of dark gray and black chalcedony. 62881. a stone disk, 1¼ inches in diameter and three-eighths of an inch thick. it is of gray sandstone, nicely smoothed. the edge is rounded and the sides slightly convex. 62882. two stone disks similar to the preceding, but smaller. 62878. a small, thick, nearly symmetrical celt, 2½ inches in length, 1½ inches in width, and one-half of an inch thick. the edge is rounded in outline and well sharpened. the beveled areas are narrow and stand at an angle of 30° with each other. it is widest at the edge, tapering above to a conical point. the material is apparently a compact greenish diorite. 62877. a small celt similar to the preceding in form and material. it is 3¼ inches long, and 1¾ inches in width near the cutting edge, which is considerably battered. 62875. a curved celt of considerable interest, made of a greenish diorite. it is 8 inches in length, 2½ inches wide near the cutting edge, and about 1 inch thick. it tapers toward the apex to 1½ inches in width. a transverse section would be a sharp oval. a longitudinal section showing the thickness of the implement gives a bow-like figure, the median line of which would deflect nearly half an inch from a straight line. 62876. a celt, 3½ inches in length, of the usual form, made of a greenish diorite. 62874. a grooved ax of gray sandstone, 5 inches long, 3 inches wide, and 1 inch thick. the groove is deep and well rounded, and has two bordering ridges in high relief. the head is low and conical, and the blade narrow and rectangular. the surface has originally been quite smooth, but is now somewhat battered. [illustration: fig. 134. 62879] [illustration: fig. 135. 62880] 62871. a cylindrical pestle of gray diorite (?), 11 inches long and 2 inches in diameter. the general surface is rough, the points being smoothed by use. 62879. a perforated tablet, made of gray, chloritic schist, 2½ inches long by 1½ inches broad, illustrated in fig. 134. the sides are notched in a way that gives a dumb-bell like outline. the ends are almost square. series of notches have been cut in the terminal edges. on one of the lateral margins rude notches and zigzag lines have been engraved. in the middle of the plate there is a circular perforation one-fourth of an inch in diameter. midway between this and the ends are two other perforations, one being circular and one-eighth of an inch in diameter, and the other lozenge or diamond shaped and nearly one-fourth of an inch in width. these show no evidence of wear. the surface is uneven, though somewhat polished. it has probably been used for straightening arrow shafts and shaping strings. 62880. fragment of a perforated tablet carved from gray slate. it has been broken transversely near the middle, through a perforation which has been about one-eighth of an inch in diameter. the remnant is 2 inches in length and 1½ inches in width at the perforation. one side is plain, the other has a design of plain and zigzag lines. the edges are beveled and notched. see fig. 135. vicinity of kingston. on the farm of mr. m. biss, three miles from kingston, on the tennessee river, a mound was opened which was so located as to overlook the river, and at the same time guard the approach from two pieces of projecting wood. it was 11 feet high, 29 feet wide on the top, and 45 feet in diameter at the base. it was composed entirely of clay. three feet from the surface six very much decayed skeletons were found, no parts of which could be preserved. the bodies seem to have been deposited without definite order. no objects of art were obtained. opposite kingston, on the clinch river, are three mounds, located on the farm of t. n. clark. they are all small, and, with the exception of two much decayed skeletons and a single arrow point, contained nothing of interest. on the farm of s. p. evans, three miles below kingston, are three groups of mounds. the first contains five mounds; the second, a little higher up, has the same number, while the third has but two. they are all built of clay, and seem to be without remains of any sort. mound at niles' ferry. on the farm of j. w. niles, at this point, is a large mound that has the appearance of a creek or cherokee ball-ground. it was flat on the top, and had an area of 1¾ acres. the height was 15 feet. in outline it was somewhat triangular. this mound was also constructed of clay, and contained nothing of interest. in the fields, near by, human bones, pottery, stone implements, beads, etc., are frequently plowed up. from this locality the following specimens were collected: 62957. arrow heads and knives of gray and black chalcedony. 62955. unworked unio shells. 62956. a number of shell beads of usual size and form. mounds near paint rock ferry. about three hundred yards from the tennessee river, at paint rock ferry, is a large mound 40 feet in height, and covering an area of about about two acres. permission could not be obtained to open the mound, on account of the crop of corn that covered it. near its base, on opposite sides, were two smaller mounds. one of these was 5 feet high and 10 in diameter, and contained a stone grave. the body which it contained had been laid on the ground and covered a foot deep with earth. a flat rock had been laid upon this, and slabs of limestone set on edge all around. the inclosed space was 4 feet in width by 5 in length. earth had been used to cover the cist and form the mound. about this mound were scattered many slabs of stone which had been plowed up during previous years; and it is stated that human bones and various objects of art have, at different times, been brought to light. a short distance from the large mound, and near the river bank, is another mound on which a barn has been built. several hundred yards from the river, in a meadow, is a third mound, less than half as large as that first mentioned. the owner would not allow it to be disturbed. still another mound, near by, was oval in outline, 28 feet long, by 20 wide, and 12 high. it was composed of clay and contained nothing but a few pieces of pottery. 62939, 62940, 62945. fragments of pottery from the mounds at paint rock ferry. objects of shell. [illustration: fig. 136. fig. 137.] 62935, 62937. shell beads, buttons, and pendants, made from marine shells. a neatly made pendant is 1 inch in diameter and one-sixth of an inch thick. near the edge are two small perforations for suspension, and at the center is a conical pit, encircled by a shallow incised line. beside this, there are a number of buttons of similar shape, which have single perforations at the center. some of the smaller beads seem to have been painted red. figs. 136, 137, and 138. 62936. fragment of a large _busycon perversum_. 62942. teeth of the bear, and possibly of the horse found near the surface of one of the mounds. [illustration: fig. 138.] collections from jefferson county. mound on fain's island. this mound is located on the east end of the island. although it has been under cultivation for many years, it is still 10 feet in height. the circumference at the base is about 100 feet. near the surface a bed of burned clay was encountered, in which were many impressions of poles, sticks, and grass. this was probably the remains of the roof of a house, which had been about 16 feet long by 15 feet in width. the bed of clay was about 4 inches thick. beneath this was a layer of charcoal and ashes, with much charred cane. there were also indications of charred posts, which probably served as supports to the roof. four feet below the surface were found the remains of thirty-two human skeletons. with the exception of seventeen skulls, none of the bones could be preserved. there seems to have been no regularity in the placing of the bodies. articles of clay. the fragments of pottery from this mound are unusually large and well preserved, and exhibit a number of varieties of form and ornamentation. _forms._--the prevailing form is a pot-shaped vase, with wide mouth, and rounded body; the neck is short and straight or but slightly constricted. the handles or ears which connect the upper part of the neck with the shoulder are in some cases as much as 3 inches wide. the bowls are mostly hemispherical, but in a few cases have incurved lips, the shoulder being rounded and the base somewhat flattened. the largest specimens have been 11 or 12 inches in diameter. the vases have been somewhat larger. _material._--classified by material, there seem to be two varieties, one with a very large percentage of coarsely pulverized shell material, the other without visible _dégraissant_. the clay is usually fine and apparently without admixture of sand or other impurities. a little comminuted mica may be seen in some cases. _color._--the prevailing color is a reddish gray, more or less blackened by use. a remarkable variety has a bright red surface, the mass being gray. _ornamentation._--the ornamentation consists of cord and net impressions, incised lines, stamped figures, indented fillets, and life and fanciful forms modeled in relief. the study of cord impressions is quite interesting. the cords are twisted and as large as medium twine. these cords appear to have been disconnected, at least, not woven into a fabric, and the impressions are generally nearly vertical about the upper part of the vessel, but below take all positions, the result being a sort of hatching of the lines. this effect may be the result of placing the vessel upon a coarse fabric while the rim was being finished or the handles added. it seems possible that a loose net of cords, probably with fine crossthreads, is used to suspend the vessel in during the process of modeling. it appears, however, if this has been the case, that the vessel has been taken out of this net before it was burned. where handles have been added, it will be found that the cord markings have been destroyed by the touch of the fingers. but the body has impressions of the net made after the addition of the handles and ornaments, as the impressions appear on the outside or lower edges of these additions. the lower part of the body may still have been supported by the net during the process of drying; but as some vessels have no cord markings whatever, it is evident that it was not difficult to complete the vessel without the support of the net. [illustration: fig. 139.] by making a clay impression of one of the fragments i have been able to determine the character of the fabric used. it was loosely woven and quite flexible, the clay often receiving finger impressions through it. it was probably made of grasses or the fibre of bark. beside the net and cord marks, which may or may not be the result of an attempt at ornament, there are ornaments made of fillets of clay. in a number of cases a comb-like figure made of thin fillets has been added to the shoulder of a vase. in other cases a fillet has been carried around the neck of the vase and indented by the finger or an implement. the rim of one bowl has been ornamented with three deeply incised or excavated lines, which form a sort of embattled figure about the incurved lip. another has a series of shallow, vertical, incised lines near the rim, and a circle of annular indentations, three-eighths of an inch in diameter, about one-fourth of an inch from the lip. there are also various forms of noded ornaments on the rims of bowls. the handles of vases are in a few cases effectively ornamented. in one case the handle has been elaborated into a life form, representing a frog or human figure. the arms are attached to the upper part of the handle and lie extended along the rim. the handle proper represents the body, the breast being protruded. the legs lie flattened out upon the shoulder of the vessel, the feet being bent back beneath the body; height 3½ inches. this vessel is illustrated in fig. 139. from the fields of fain's island. articles of stone. 62906. a very handsome specimen of grooved ax. it is made of a remarkable variety of porphyritic diorite that resembles breccia. the matrix has the appearance of a gray speckled quartzite; the angular inclusions being whitish feldspar, with dark-greenish patches of hornblende. the surface is smooth and shows but little wear. the length is 7 inches, the width 4, and the thickness 2 inches. the groove is deep, and has two well-defined bordering ridges. the head is low and rounded, and occupies about one-third of the length of the implement. the blade is well-formed, the sides being parallel or nearly so. the edge is slightly rounded in outline, and is polished and sharp. 62907. a grooved stone ax, 5 inches in length, 4½ inches in width, and 1¼ inches in thickness. the groove is placed as in the preceding example, but has a bordering ridge on the upper side only. the head is very large and narrow. the blade is rectangular in outline, and has a rounded, moderately sharp edge. the material is a compact graphic diorite (?). 62904. a grooved ax, 4 inches in length, 3½ inches in width, and three-fourths of an inch in thickness. the groove, which is well defined, has no lateral ridges. it seems to have been made from a flattish, oval, river pebble. 62902. fragment of a pierced tablet of slate. 62903. a well shaped disk of translucent quartz, 1¾ inches in diameter and three-fourths of an inch in thickness. the sides are nearly flat, and the edge evenly rounded. the surface is quite smooth. 62905. steatite pipe found on the surface of the mound. the bowl is about 6 inches in length and 1 inch in thickness. a section is nearly square. the cavities are roughly excavated. objects of shell. 62916. well preserved specimen of _io spinosa_. 62955. specimens of _unio probatus_. 62914. a large specimen of shell pin, made from the columella of a _busycon perversum_. it is much discolored and in an advanced stage of decay. length nearly 4 inches. form as usual. 62913. a shell pin similar to the preceding. [illustration: fig. 140.--shell gorget with an engraved cross.] 62931. a number of large shell beads, made from the columellæ of marine shells. the larger specimens are cylindrical in form, and are 1 inch in length and upwards of 1 inch in diameter. [illustration: fig. 141.--shell gorget with the engraving of a spider.] 62932-62834. shell beads of various sizes and shapes, made from the columellæ and walls of marine shells. 62928. a shell ornament, on the convex surface of which a very curious ornamental design has been engraved. the design, inclosed by a circle, represents a cross such as would be formed by two rectangular tablets or slips, slit longitudinally and interlaced at right-angles to each other. the lines are neatly and deeply incised. the edge of the ornament has been broken away nearly all around. it is represented natural size in the cut. fig. 140. 62929. this disk is somewhat more convex on the front than is indicated in the engraving. it is 2½ inches in diameter, and is quite thin and fragile, although the surface has not suffered much from decay. the margin is ornamented with twenty-four very neatly-made notches or scallops. immediately inside the border on the convex side are two incised circles, on the 3 outer of which two small perforations for suspension have been made; inside of these, and less than half an inch from the margin, is a circle of seventeen subtriangular perforations, the inner angle of each being much rounded. inside of this again is another incised circle, about 1¼ inches in diameter, which incloses the highly conventionalized figure of an insect resembling a spider. the middle segment of the body is nearly round and has near the center a large conical perforation. this round portion corresponds to the thorax of the insect and has four pairs of legs attached to it. it is difficult to distinguish the anterior and posterior extremities of the body. it is probable that the subtriangular figure below is intended for the head, as the two circles with central dots are good representations of eyes. fig. 141. animal substances. 62910, 62911, 62912. a number of bone implements, including needles, perforators, and paddle-shaped objects, found with the skeletons in the mound. collections from mississippi county, arkansas. pemisscott mound. on pemisscott bayou, 22 miles northwest of osceola, on the farm of samuel hector, is a mound 20 feet in height, with a surface area of about one-fourth of an acre. the sides have been dug into extensively, but the central part remained untouched. it was composed of sand and bluish clay, but contained no remains of interest. it is stated by the proprietor that formerly there were three circular ditches extending around the slopes of the mound. when the surface of the mound was first plowed quantities of charcoal and potsherds were found. chickasawba mound. this mound is situated at chickasawba village, 24 miles north of osceola. it is 25 feet high, and covers an area of one-fourth of an acre. collectors had already done much work on this mound, but obtained little or nothing. the owner does not wish it disturbed further. a field of several acres near by abounds in fragments of pottery, stone implements, and the remains of houses and camp-fires. the field contained originally many small mounds or heaps, which were probably the sites of houses. in a number of cases skeletons have been found beneath these heaps. mounds in carson lake township. in carson lake township, 6 miles southwest of osceola, on the farm of hugh walker, are three mounds, which were much disturbed by the earthquake that visited the new madrid district in 1811. the first one inspected is 59 feet wide by 75 feet long, but exhibits no evidence of having been a dwelling or burial place. the second mound is about 100 yards from the first, and is circular in outline, having two ridge-like projections from opposite sides. it is 20 feet in height, and about 23 feet across at the top. a number of recent interments have been made near the summit. the third mound is 250 yards from the preceding, and is 6 feet high, 34 feet wide, and 35 feet long. six skeletons were found in this mound. a stratum of ashes, charcoal, and burned clay was associated with them. one cranium and a few bones were collected. 63049. burnt clay from the third mound just described. 63052. fragment of a plain vase; interior, reddish; exterior, yellowish-gray. other fragments are of ordinary undecorated ware. mounds at pecan point. on the land of r. w. friend, 1 mile west of the mississippi river, are two mounds. the one first examined is 5 feet high and 150 feet in circumference. the other is 4 feet high and 75 feet in circumference. two skeletons were found near the surface of the latter mound. near these mounds is another, 4 feet high and 20 feet in diameter. formerly this mound was covered with large trees, and the roots have penetrated the soil, causing much injury to the contents. it is the opinion of the collector that this mound, as well as many others of the same region, has been used as a dwelling site, and that when a death occurred the dwelling was burned down over the body. before building again the site was covered with a few inches of earth. there was no uniformity in the position of the graves or their contents. the following objects were obtained from this mound: articles of clay. 63009. a jar-shaped vase, with low neck and much compressed body. height, 4 inches; width, 5½ inches; surface, moderately smooth; color, almost black. 63022. a jar similar to the preceding, but somewhat taller. 63046. a rather unusual form of bottle-shaped vase. the neck is narrow and tapering. a fillet with finger indentations encircles the lip. the base of the neck is also ornamented with a collar or fillet. the body is globular, apparently a little pointed above. whole height, 10½ inches; width, 8 inches; color, gray. 63029. a small, large-necked vase, with globular body, and lip a little recurved. the body is ornamented with a number of indentations, probably made with the finger nail. color, dark gray. 63008. a large, thick-bodied vase, modeled to represent a hunchbacked human figure. the head is missing. it is 9 inches in width, and has been about 12 inches in height. ware of the ordinary dark variety. 62995. fragments of steatite vessels which have been from 1 to 2 feet in diameter. the walls about the rims were quite thin. 62959. a large clay pipe, found in the soil near the banks of the mississippi. field graves and fields in the vicinity of pecan point. articles of stone. 63204. a large lot of arrow-points of yellow and gray jasper. 62966, 62976, 62979-62998, 63000-63006. celts or knives made of jasper and yellowish jaspery slate, which range from 2 to 5 inches in length, and are less than 1 inch in width and half an inch in thickness. they have been chipped into the desired shape, and finished by grinding off the more prominent parts and producing in many eases sharp cutting edges. a good example is shown in fig. 142. [illustration: fig. 142.] 62965. a flat pebble, with rudely-made notches at the side. 62967, 62968, 62974. fragments of celts. 62970. yellowish jasper pebble, resembling a celt. 62000. fragment of a long, chipped, knife-like implement, the extremities of which are lost. 62975. fragment of a steatite vessel. 62969, 62971. sandstone pebbles. 62960. hammer-stone, with conical points, made from a pebble of cherty sandstone. 62962. slightly grooved fragment of rubbing-stone. 62964. flat pebble, slightly hollowed by use; a sort of shallow mortar. 62961. fragment of a stone similar to the preceding. 62972. fragment of concretionary iron ore, concave on one side. 62973. red paint. articles of clay. [illustration: fig. 143.] a large number of very fine vessels of clay was presented by dr. j. m. lindsley. they were obtained from a field near pecan point, within half a mile of the mississippi river. in the fields is a large mound which could not be opened on account of the crops. years ago, when the timber was cleared from this field, many small elevations or hillocks were observed scattered irregularly over the surface. the plow has obliterated these, but has brought to light many evidences of ancient occupation, such as charcoal, ashes, burned clay, stone implements, and human bones. 63207. a large, beautifully-formed jar has received this number. the neck is short and slender, and the rim slightly enlarged and recurved. the body is full and symmetrical, but greatly compressed vertically, the width being about twice the height. the ware is of the dark, porous variety. full height, 8 inches; width, 10 inches. 63010. a bottle-shaped jar or vase, with long neck and globular body. the form is unusually graceful. height is 10 inches. diameter of body, 6½ inches. this vessel is shown in fig. 143. 63012. a well-formed jar, with plain neck and globular body. seven and one-half inches in height, and 8½ in width. [illustration: fig. 144.] 63013. a medium sized, bottle-shaped vessel, of elegant proportions. a rudimentary foot or stand is added to the bottom. height, 8 inches. fig. 144. 63017. a small, much compressed, bottle-shaped vase. height, 5 inches; width, 6½ inches. 63018. a bottle-shaped vase of reddish-gray color, resembling the preceding in shape and size. 63019. a large, bottle-shaped vase, with long neck and subglobular body. it is unique in having a stand or base which seems to have been added after the body was somewhat hardened. this stand has been perforated for ornament, as shown in fig. 145. height, 8 inches; diameter, 6 inches. 63011. a small vase, ornamented with a series of ribs, which extend around the body from the neck to the base. this vessel is shown in fig. 146. it is in a fragmentary state. height, 4¼ inches; width, 7 inches. [illustration: fig. 145.] [illustration: fig. 146.] 63016. a medium-sized vase with vertically compressed body. height, 6 inches; diameter, 8½ inches. fig. 147. 63015. a plain bowl, with flattish bottom. diameter, 9 inches; height 5 inches. [illustration: fig. 147.] 63014. a well-made jar or vase, with globular body, 6 inches in width and 4½ in height. the surface of the vessel is completely covered with an irregular, bead-like ornamentation, made by pinching the soft clay between the thumb and fingers. fig. 148. diameter 5½ inches. [illustration: fig. 148.] 63020. a much compressed vase, 4½ inches in height and 7½ in width. four equi-distant protuberances are placed about the widest part of the body and rudely imitate the extremities of some animal. 63021. a small, jar-like vase, with globular body, 6 inches in height, and the same in diameter. the form is not quite symmetrical. 63022. a small vase, with large, high neck and much compressed body. height, 5½ inches; width, 6½ inches. 63023. a vase similar to the preceding. 63024. a medium-sized bowl, 7½ inches in diameter and 3 inches in height. the rim has an exterior ornament of thumb indentations. 63025. a small, rudely-constructed jar, 4 inches in height and 4½ in width. [illustration: fig. 149.] 63026. a jar having a high, wide neck, and small, globular body. the bottom is flat. height, 5 inches; width, 4½ inches. 63027. a small, rudely-constructed cup, of a reddish color. height, 1 inch; width, 1½ inches. 63045. a small, rudely-finished vase, with high, wide neck and short pedestal. the globular body is embellished with an encircling band of scroll-work of incised lines. the scrolls are bordered by triangular wings filled with reticulated lines, as shown in fig. 149; height, 4¾ inches. nos. 63113, 63026, and 63099 are plain vessels of similar form. additional numbers have been given to numerous fragments from this locality. collection from arkansas county. mounds at arkansas post. a group of well-known mounds is situated on the farm of the late frank menard, 8 miles south-east of the village of arkansas post. the largest mound is 965 feet in circumference at the top and considerably larger at the base. the slopes are covered with trees and bushes. this mound had already been dug into quite extensively, and it was thought useless to explore it further. connected with this mound by a ridge of earth 300 feet long and 20 feet across, is a small circular mound, 15 feet high and 45 feet in diameter, which bore evidence of having been occupied by houses. articles of clay. near the middle of the connecting ridge, just under the soil, a layer of burnt clay, about 5 or 6 feet in diameter, was found. at one side, imbedded in the _débris_ of clay, a large quantity of fragments of earthen vessels was discovered. they comprise a number of bowls of various sizes, which are all quite new-looking, and are of a type of ware quite distinct from that found in the fields and graves of the same locality. restorations of a large number have been made, and the collection proves to be extremely interesting. the collector argues, from the position of the fragmentary vessels, that they had been placed by their owners upon the roof of the house, which, he surmises, was destroyed by fire. 63040, 63034, 63170, 63421, 65412, 65409, 65422, 65405. plain bowls of yellowish-gray ware, restored from fragments described above. they are wide and shallow, and somewhat conical below; hand-made, and without polish. composed of clay, tempered with pulverized shell. the walls are usually quite thin. diameter 10 to 13 inches. height 3 to 6 inches. [illustration: fig. 150.] 63039, 63033, 63041-63043, 64045, 65406, 65401-65403, 65415,-65417, 65408, 65410. bowls corresponding in general character to those described above, but having tasteful designs of incised lines and indentations on the exterior surface. the most interesting of these designs consists of series of interlaced or of festooned lines. the exterior margin is encircled, in all cases, by ornaments consisting of parallel lines, groups of short incised lines, or rows of indentations. [illustration: fig. 151.] the principal design encircles the body beneath this, as shown in figs. 150 and 151. 63037, 63038, 63416. bowls similar to the above having interior decorations consisting of curved lines. 63035, 63099, 65404, 65411, 65413, 65414, 65418-65420, 65423. bowls corresponding to the above in general characters, but having flaring rims. they are mostly plain. a few have decorative designs of incised lines. some have been blackened by use as cooking vessels. field graves near menard mound. surrounding the menard mound is a field containing about twenty acres, which appears at one time to have been the site of a great number of dwellings, as, at a depth of from 1 to 2 feet, layers of burned clay are found. this field seems also to have been a great cemetery, as the remains of skeletons are found in great numbers. pottery is found in great abundance. it has, as a rule, been deposited near the heads of the dead, but no ornaments or implements have been discovered with the remains. the frequent plowing of the field has destroyed many earthen vessels, the interments having been made quite near the surface. it is a noticeable fact that the pottery from these graves is of a character quite distinct from that of the mound. it is of the class of ware so common in this region. articles of stone. 63129, 63122, 63150. arrow-points, spear-points, and knives of chalcedony, jasper, and quartz. 63132. celt or chisel of mack slate, 2½ inches long, and 1¼ wide at the wider end. 63133. celt of gray diorite. the blade is quite smooth; the upper part is roughened. length, 3 inches. width, 1½ inches. thickness, 1 inch. 63134. celt of yellow limestone, 2½ inches long, and 1½ inches wide. 63135. a two-edged celt of gray quartzite, 2¼ inches long, and three-fourths of an inch wide. [illustration: fig. 152.] 63136. celt of yellowish-gray jasper, chipped, and afterwards partially smoothed by grinding. four and one-half inches long, and 1½ inches wide. 63137. celt very similar to the preceding. 63138. celt of dark-gray slate; edge nicely sharpened. lower part smooth, upper part rough; 4½ inches long, 1½ inches wide, and nearly 1 inch thick. 63123. fragment of a large celt, with conical apex. 63124. a hammer-stone. 63131. a pebble of coarse sandstone, resembling a celt in shape. 63127. a quartz pebble, probably used as a polishing-stone. 63139. a boat-shaped implement of speckled volcanic rock, 3 inches long, 1 inch wide, and three-fourths of an inch thick at the middle part. 63140. an implement of grayish-red sandstone similar to the above in size and shape. the ends are slightly squared. 63126. a small disk of gray quartzite, having a shallow circular depression in each face. 63128. a pendant of gray slate, somewhat pear-shaped in outline, 1½ inches in diameter, and one-eighth of an inch thick. near the pointed end, a neat, biconical perforation has been made. 63121. an implement or ceremonial stone of ferruginous slate, possibly a clay iron-stone, or limonite. it has a hatchet-like outline, the blade being semicircular, and the upper part elongated and narrow. a large biconical perforation has been made near the center of the implement; a smaller one, as if for suspension, at the upper end. it is 6¼ inches long, 5½ inches wide, and three-fourths of an inch thick. fig. 152. articles of clay. 63113. a small reddish cup or vase. the rim is low and wide and is ornamented with four ears placed at regular intervals on the exterior surface. two of these are pierced as if for the insertion of a string. height, 3 inches. width, 5 inches. fig. 153. [illustration: fig. 153.] 63111. a small bottle-shaped vase. the surface has been painted red. height, 4 inches. width, 3½ inches. fig. 154. [illustration: fig. 154.] 63091. a small globular vase, with low neck of medium width, which has an ornament consisting of a band of clay, slightly raised and indented with oblique lines. yellowish-gray ware with dark stains. height, 6 inches. 63108. a low bottle-shaped vase, of yellowish ware, with flaring rim and somewhat flattened body. height, 5 inches; width 5 inches. fig. 155. [illustration: fig. 155.] 63098. a well-made bottle shaped vase, with low neck and globular body, somewhat conical above. color dark brownish. 7½ inches in height. shown in fig. 156. [illustration: fig. 156.] 63090. fragments of vases corresponding in characters to the preceding. one example has been painted red. 63110. a small bottle-shaped vase of red ware. height 6 inches, width 5½ inches. 63102. the body of a small bottle-shaped vase, much flattened, the outline being quite angular at the most expanded part. yellowish-gray in color and without polish. there are indications that a design in red has ornamented the body. width 4 inches. 63092. the body of a small bottle-shaped vase, globular in form. surface painted red and unusually well polished. diameter 4½ inches. 63100. neck and upper part of body of a vase resembling in form and color the example last described. 63120. a handsome bottle-shaped vase with flaring lip. the neck widens toward the base. the body is almost globular, being slightly pointed above, and expanded along the equatorial belt. the surface is only moderately smooth. the body is ornamented with a very handsome design of incised lines, which consists of a scroll pattern, divided into four sections by perpendicular lines. the design covers the upper part of the body, the lower part being plain. height, 9½ inches. fig. 157. [illustration: fig. 157.] 63112. a bottle-shaped vessel of dark, rudely finished ware. the body is modeled to represent a fish, the mouth and eyes appearing on one side, and the tail upon the other. width 3¼ inches. fig. 158. 63114, 63117. two small vessels with globular bodies, which have a curious resemblance to an ordinary tea-pot. a spout has, in each case, been added to the side of the body. figs. 159 and 160 show these vessels on a scale of one-half. [illustration: fig. 158.] [illustration: fig. 159.] 63115. an oblong, shallow basin. wide, flat handles have been added to the rim at the ends of the vessel; one of these is pierced. length 8¾ inches, width 4 inches, depth 2 inches. color dark gray. fig. 161. [illustration: fig. 160.] [illustration: fig. 161.] 63103, 63101, 63169, 63176, 63116, 63199, 63098. plain bowls of ordinary composition and appearance. fig. 162 is a good example. diameter 9 inches. [illustration: fig. 162.] 63096. a handsome bowl of dark ware. the body is ornamented with an incised design, which consists of a somewhat disconnected running scroll. the bottom, is flat. diameter 8¼ inches. fig. 163. [illustration: fig. 163.] 63109. a bowl of dark porous ware, very nicely made. the rim is ornamented at one side with a grotesque head, representing some wild animal, probably a panther. the ornament on the opposite side takes the place of the tail of the animal. diameter of bowl 8 inches. fig. 164. 63028, 63046. fragments of many vessels, chiefly of black porous ware, among which are a number of handles representing the heads of birds and quadrupeds, also the fragments of a vessel which restored give the vase shown in fig. 165. the designs are red on a yellowish ground. diameter 5½ inches. 63107. a large vase modeled to represent a grotesque human figure. it is painted with designs in red and white, the ground color being a reddish yellow. the figure has a kneeling posture. the hands are upraised against the shoulders, with palms turned forward. height, 10½ inches; width of shoulders, 8 inches. fig. 166. [illustration: fig. 164.] [illustration: fig. 165.] 63090, 63054, 63095. fragments of pottery having incised designs, similar to the dark ware already described. a few of these fragments have been worked into rude disks. [illustration: fig. 166.] objects of metal. 62048. a thin plate of copper, probably intended for a pendent ornament, as two perforations have been made at one end. it is rectangular in outline, and has suffered much from corrosion. 63113. a fragment of galena ore. animal substances. 63142. fragment of a needle-like perforator. a conical perforation has been made toward the larger end. the point has been lost. 63047. a cubical fragment of bone, the sides of which have been squared by cutting or grinding. collection from monroe county, arkansas. mound at lawrenceville. on the farm of daniel thompson, near lawrenceville, the remains of ancient habitations are of frequent occurrence. the fields have been cultivated for many years. in one case a bed of clay 8 inches thick, and covering an area of many hundred feet, was discovered near the surface; this is supposed to be the remains of the roof of a house. associated with it were a number of objects, among which were five very interesting specimens of pottery. articles of clay. 63151. a large bottle-shaped vase of red and white ware. the upper part of the neck is lost. the body is encircled by an ornamental design in white, upon a red ground, which resembles a rudely drawn greek fret. the diameter of the body is 9 inches; the height has been 11 or 12 inches. [illustration: fig. 167.] 63152. a fine bottle-shaped vase, resembling the preceding; very handsome, and in a remarkably good state of preservation. it also has a design in red and white. the original color of the vase has been a dull reddish yellow. the neck is red, the body is ornamented with four red and four white figures, which extend from the neck to the base of the vessel. these belts of color are separated by bands of the ground-color of the vessel. height 12 inches. fig. 167. 63153. a small rude cup of gray clay, without decoration. diameter 4 inches. 63154. an egg-shaped vessel, made in imitation of a gourd. the mouth of this vessel is a small round opening on the side, near the pointed end. the base is somewhat flattened. height 5 inches. fig. 168. [illustration: fig. 168.] 63155. a minute cup, 1½ inches in diameter. the rim is encircled by a series of rude notches. mounds at indian bay. a large mound 30 feet high and 250 feet long is located on the farm of mr. a. spencer, near indian bay. our collector, however, could not obtain permission to examine it. at the edge of indian bay corporation is another large mound, used as a cemetery by the white residents. in a field near by were two small mounds about 3 feet in height and 30 feet in circumference. in one of these, two feet beneath the surface, a skeleton was found, near the head of which three earthen vessels had been placed. from the other small mound a very interesting collection of pottery was procured, much of which was in a fragmentary condition. from these fragments a number of vessels have been reconstructed. these are given in the following list: articles of clay. 63046. a bottle-shaped vase of dart, grayish-brown ware. the neck is quite high and slender, and the body globular--a little elongated above. the rim and collar are ornamented with incised notches. height, 10 inches. 63171. a large symmetrically shaped vase or jug of a grayish yellow color. restored from fragments. the body of the jug is globular, the neck slightly flaring, the rim being notched on the outer edge. the ware is coarse and rough. height, 10½ inches. 63156, 63163, 63164, 63173, 63174. fragments of vessels similar to that last described. 63191. a low wide-mouthed vase of dark gray compact ware. the neck is decorated by two series of lines, which cross and recross the neck in such a manner as to form diamond-shaped figures. they are deeply incised. the rim is notched, and has three small nodes on the outer margin. the body is covered with an ornament produced by pinching the clay while in a soft state. height, 6½ inches; diameter, 9 inches. [illustration: fig. 169.] 63159. a very large wide-mouthed vase, the body of which is conical below. the rim and neck are ornamented in a manner very similar to the one last described. height, 16 inches; diameter, 19 inches. fig. 169. 63028, 63029, 63030, 63164, 63166, 63167. fragments of vessels similar to the one last described. 63192, 63195, 63196. three small vessels restored from fragments; two of these resemble deep bowls with flaring rims. the lip is notched on the outer margin. the other has an upright, slightly constricted neck, ornamented with a band of rude indentations. diameter, 6¾ inches. fig. 170. 63161. a shallow bowl of yellowish gray ware, ornamented with irregular notches about the rim. diameter, 9 inches. 63197, 63162, 63185. bowls similar to the preceding. 63194, 63160, 63168. large bowls with flaring rims. 63176. a very deep bowl. fragmentary. 63189. a large, handled cup or ladle of yellowish clay. the bowl part is 6 inches in diameter. the extremity of the handle has been lost. fig. 171. [illustration: fig. 170.] 63157, 63,158. large portions of the bodies of two vessels of unusual shape. [illustration: fig. 171.] collection from ohio. from mounds and fields. during the year 1881 small collections of stone implements and articles of pottery were forwarded to the bureau by dr. wills de haas. most of these are, however, without record, excepting of the most general character. the majority appear to have been obtained from warren county, at or in the vicinity of fort ancient. articles of stone. 65613. spear points or knives of gray chalcedony. three are very sharply pointed, and have probably been used as perforators. average width 1 inch, average length 2½ inches. 65615. lot of rudely chipped arrow or spear points of grayish, chalcedony. notches quite shallow. 65616. a lot of medium-sized, rather heavy arrow points of gray chalcedony. 65617. lot of neatly shaped, deeply notched spear and arrow points, averaging about 1 inch in width, and ranging from 2 to 3 inches in length. made of gray chalcedony. 65618. lot of arrow points, spear points, and knives of various sizes and shapes. material same as the preceding. 65619. lot of rudely finished knives and spear points, mostly wide and heavy, some being almost circular in outline. material same as the preceding. 65620. lot of large knives and spear points of variously colored chalcedony. 65621. knives and flakes of chalcedony. 65722. large lot of long, triangular knives or spear points, made of gray and reddish mottled chalcedony. they average about 2½ inches in length, and 1½ in width. 65623. large lot of flakes and fragments of gray and dark chalcedony or flint, left from the manufacture of implements. 65434-65451. celts and fragments of celts of greatly varied size and shape, made of a grayish, speckled rock, resembling diorite. 65429-65430, 65431. medium-sized, grooved axes-of ordinary forms. one is made of diorite (?), the others of gray rock resembling sandstone. 65426-65428. very large grooved axes of greenish diorite (?). the largest is 9½ inches long, 5 inches wide, and 3 inches thick. 65450. short, heavy pestles with broad bases and conical tops, made of gray diorite or sandstone. diameter of bases from 2½ to 4 inches. height from 3 to 6 inches. 65448. a long, heavy, cylindrical pestle. 65464-65492. bound, oblong, and flattish pebbles, comprising several varieties of stone, used as hammer-stones, nut-crackers, &c., varying from 1 to 6 inches in diameter. the sides of many are flattened or hollowed out by use. 65463. fragment of cup stone, made of coarse sandstone. on one side two cavities remain; on the other, three. these are about 1¼ inches in diameter, and about one-half an inch in depth. 65449. a grooved stone implement, made from a large pebble of coarse gray stone. the groove about the middle has evidently been made for attaching a handle. the upper lobe has been considerably reduced by picking, and the base, which would correspond to the edge of an ax, has been worked quite flat. length of lower part 4½ inches. height of implement 3 inches. articles of clay. 65484. a number of small fragments of pottery of ordinary varieties. collection from oregon. articles of stone. the following articles were forwarded to the bureau from john day river, oregon, by captain bendire: 64102-64113. arrow-points, knives, and flakes of obsidian, agate, etc., from indian graves on john day river. 64125-64139. fragments of stone implements, including celts, cylindrical pestles, etc., mostly of compact, eruptive rock. 64127. pipe of gray sandstone, shaped very much like an ordinary straight cigar-holder; 3 inches long, and 1 inch in diameter at the larger end. obtained from an indian grave on john day river. 64126. fragment of a pipe-stem (?) made of soft black stone, apparently a chloritic slate. a very neat, ornamental design has been engraved upon the cylindrical stem. 64129. fragment of an ornament carved from greenish sandstone. collections from kentucky. a small collection of ancient relics, obtained from caves in the vicinity of mammoth cave, kentucky, was presented to the bureau by mr. francis klett. with this collection were a number of articles of stone, some of which were probably obtained from the fields of the same region. 87276. fragments of gourds. [illustration: fig. 172.] 87277. two very beautifully knit or plaited sandals. the fiber used has probably been obtained from the inner bark of trees. the combination of threads is shown in fig. 172. a small piece of matting from the same place is shown in fig. 173. [illustration: fig. 173.] 27278. two bundles of charred sticks and reeds. 27280-27283. spearheads of chert or flint. 27284. stone knife. 27285. flake knife. 27286. small spearheads. 27287. flint knife. 27288. arrow heads. 27289. same; small and thin. 27290-27293. stone awls or perforators. 27294. leaden bullet. 27295. pieces of pottery. collections from missouri. articles of clay. a fine collection of earthen vessels was purchased for the bureau from mr. j. t. gouden, of morrow, ohio, through the agency of dr. wills de haas. few facts in regard to them have been furnished, excepting that they were taken from graves in the vicinity of charleston, mo. they resemble so closely the well-known types of missouri pottery that it is safe to conclude that they were obtained from ancient graves and mounds in the locality named. the numerous cuts accompanying this section are intended for subsequent use in a general treatise on the works of the moundbuilders. [illustration: fig. 174.] this ware is generally of the dark gray or black variety, handsmoothed, or but slightly polished, and tempered with pulverized shells. a few examples are yellowish-red in color. some of these have been painted red or have been ornamented with designs in red. in one case white paint has been used. the prevailing form is a bottle-shaped vessel, the neck being frequently high and slender, and the body globular or subglobular. the base is nearly always slightly flattened. 65556. an effigy vase of unusual form. the body is subrectangular. the upper part or neck is lost, but has doubtless been modeled to represent the human figure, as the feet remain attached to the shoulder of the vessel. the color is yellowish gray. diameter, 5 inches. fig. 174. [illustration: fig. 175.] 65603. an effigy vase of the dark ware. the body is globular. a kneeling human figure forms the neck. the mouth of the vessel occurs at the back of the head--a rule in this class of vessels. is is finely made and symmetrical. 9¾ inches high and 7 inches in diameter. fig. 175. 65595. effigy vase representing a kneeling or squatting human figure, moderately well modeled. the exterior surface is painted red. height, 7 inches; diameter, 5 inches. the locality is not known with certainty. 65604-65607, 65611, 65612. effigy vases of human figures. sizes, medium to small. the body below the waist is hemispherical, and the legs are not indicated. fig. 176. [illustration: fig. 176.] 65597. effigy vase, representing an owl. the body is globular. the wings are indicated at the sides, and the legs and tail serve as a tripod when the vessel is placed in an upright position. the head is quite grotesque. this is a usual form in the middle mississippi district. height, 8 inches; width, 5½ inches. 65608. small example, resembling the preceding. 65601, 65596. vases with globular bodies; the necks represent an owl's head. size, medium. 65605. a small vase similar to the above, but having a human head. 65558. a minute vessel modeled to represent a bird, the opening or mouth being on the under side of the body; length, 2 inches. fig. 177. [illustration: fig. 177.] 65599, 65602, 65604, 65610. bottle-shaped vases, with globular or flattish bodies and grotesque tops. the rounded heads are armed with a number of nodes or horns, but no features are shown. the largest is 7 inches in width by 7 in height. fig. 178. [illustration: fig. 178.] 65598. similar vase of medium size. the top is modeled to represent the curved stem and neck of a gourd. fig. 179. height 7 inches. [illustration: fig. 179.] 65600. vase similar to the above. the top representing a gourd with short conical neck. four lines are drawn from the stem down the sides which represent the natural markings of the gourd. height, 5½ inches; diameter, 5½ inches. [illustration: fig. 180.] 65555. a two-storied vessel, the lower part being a cup of flattened globular form. the upper part is similar in size and shape, but is modeled to represent a univalve shell, the apex being represented by a large node surrounded by six smaller nodes, and the base or spine by a graceful extension of the rim. the groove or depression that encircles the vessel between the upper and lower parts of the body is spanned by two minute handles. height, 5 inches; width, 4½. fig. 180. [illustration: fig. 181.] 65543, 65551, 65552, 65554, 65573. small bowls or cups, made in imitation of shell vessels, the noded apex occurring at one side, and the more or less pointed beak at the opposite side fig. 181. another similar specimen with hemispherical body is given in fig. 182. length, 6 inches. [illustration: fig. 182.] 65542, 65545, 65550. small vases with wide mouths, the rim and shoulders of which have the heads and extremities of frogs, modeled in relief. fig. 183. diameter, 6 inches. [illustration: fig. 183.] 65539, 65541, 65544, 65546. low, wide-mouthed vases or bowls, modeled about the rim to represent sunfish. a vertical view is given in fig. 184. 5 inches in length. 65579. a small bowl, the rim of which is embellished on one side with the head of a panther, on the other side a flattish projection which resembles a tail. 65580. a small bowl, having upon the rim a human head, the face of which is turned inward. on the opposite side is the usual flattish projection. fig. 185. diameter of bowl 5 inches. [illustration: fig. 184.] 65578. small bowl, the rim of which is embellished with the head of a fox or wolf; at the opposite side is the usual tail. [illustration: fig. 185.] 65576, 65577, 65581, 65585. bowls of various sizes, the rims of which are ornamented with the heads and tails of birds. no. 65576 is an unusually fine example. besides the features described it has been farther embellished by four incised lines which encircle the rim, forming a loop on the opposite sides as seen in fig. 186. bowl 9 inches in diameter. 65553. small bowl, the rim of which has been embellished by four pairs of nodes. fig. 187. diameter, 6 inches. 65547. a small globular cup of dark ware which has four large nodes about the rim, between these on the sides of the vessel, four ornamental figures have been painted in red, these consist of an inner circle occupied by a cross, and an exterior circle of rays or scallops. height, 2½ inches; width, 3½ inches. the rim has been perforated for the purpose of suspension. fig. 188. [illustration: fig. 186.] [illustration: fig. 187.] [illustration: fig. 188.] 65487, 65512, 65514, 65519, 65521, 65523, 65525, 65531. bottle-shaped vases. the bodies are generally globular. a few are conical above, while others are much compressed vertically. some are slightly ridged about the greatest circumference, while all are slightly flattened on the bottom. the necks are slender and long, being about equal to the body in height. they are generally narrowest in the middle, expanding trumpet-like toward the mouth, and widening more or less abruptly toward the shoulder below. in a few cases a ridge or collar encircles the base of the neck. the exterior surface is generally quite smooth, but never polished, although a polishing implement seems to have been used. the largest is 9 inches in height and 7 inches in diameter. no. 65501 has a very tasteful incised design, encircling the shoulder as shown in fig. 189. diameter 6½ inches. [illustration: fig. 189.] 65520. vase similar to the above in form, but with the addition of a base or stand, 1 inch high and 3 inches in diameter at the base. 65486. same, with the base divided into three parts, forming a kind of tripod, the legs being flat. fig. 190. height, 9 inches. 65513, 65526, 65530, 65532, 65539. bottle or jug shaped vases, resembling the preceding, but having wide, short necks. fig. 191 illustrates a typical form. height, 4¼ inches. 65485. a vase similar to the above, but of yellowish gray ware, decorated with a design in broad red and white lines. height, 6 inches; width, 6 inches. height of neck, 2 inches; width, 3 inches. 65538. similar to the above in shape, but with flattish body, and peculiar in having two small handles or ears at the base of the neck. fig. 192. diameter, 5 inches. 65548, 65561, 65562, 65564, 65569. small caps, with low, wide necks, and globular or subglobular bodies, having two handles or ears which connect the lip with the shoulder. [illustration: fig. 190.] [illustration: fig. 191.] 65572. a cup like the above, with four handles. 65563, 65565, 65568. small cups similar to the preceding, but having a variety of indented ornaments about the shoulder and upper part of the body; these ornaments consist of wide vertical lines, or of encircling scalloped lines. figs. 193 and 194. diameter of each, 4½ inches. [illustration: fig. 192.] [illustration: fig. 193.] [illustration: fig. 194.] 65570. has six nodes about the circumference, and a scalloped figure of three incised lines encircling the vessel above them. the handles have oblique incised lines upon the outer surface. 65588, 65590. bowls with scalloped rims. the largest is 9 inches in diameter and 3 inches in height. fig. 195. [illustration: fig. 195.] 65574, 65575, 65586, 65587, 65591, 65593. plain bowls, of various sizes, and somewhat varied shapes. figs. 196 and 197. drawn one-half the real size. [illustration: fig. 196.] [illustration: fig. 197.] collections from other states. 65447. stone implement of unusual form. it may be described as a flattish cylinder tapering slightly toward the ends, which are truncated. in one end a hole has been bored one-half an inch in diameter and three-fourths of an inch deep. a narrow, shallow groove encircles the implement near the middle. the material is a grayish slate. the form is symmetrical and the surface quite smooth. found upon the surface in hamilton county, indiana. 65353. a copper knife or poinard, with bent point. found by edward daniels while digging a cellar at ripon, wis. 65352. a handsome vase, shaped like a bowl with incurved rim, obtained from a mound on the farm of a. c. zachary, in morgan county, georgia. the incurved surface above has an ornamental design of incised lines resembling the greek fret. the most expanded portion of the vessel is encircled by a raised band, which is neatly ornamented with notches. the lower part of the body is shaped like a bowl with a flattened base. diameter 9½ inches. presented by j. c. c. blackburn. collection from peru, south america. a number of interesting articles were presented by mr. g. h. hurlbut. these were obtained from ancient graves in the vicinity of lima by an agent sent out for the purpose by mr. hurlbut while the city was invested by the chilian army. details of their occurrence were consequently not obtained. a study of this collection leads to the belief that all the specimens are from one interment, that is, the grave of a single individual. the fact that there is but one skull, one mask-like idol, and but a small number of articles of each, of the classes represented, tends to confirm this supposition. 65377. skull retaining the scalp and hair. the latter is long, coarse, and black. the lower jaw is missing. 65376. a mask-like wooden figure, the face being somewhat above life-size. fig. 198. it is of a form not unusual in peruvian graves. the features are fairly well shown. the eyes are formed by excavating oval depressions and setting in pieces of shell. first, oval pieces of white clam-shell are inserted, which represent the whites of the eye; upon these small circular bits of dark shell are cemented, representing the pupils. locks of hair have been set in beneath the shell, the ends of which project, forming the lashes of the eye. the back head is formed by a neatly-rounded bundle of leaves, held in place by a net-work of coarse cord. the edges of the wooden mask are perforated in several places; by means of these the back head, some long locks of fine flax which serve as hair, and a number of other articles have been attached. upon the crown a large bunch of brilliantly colored feathers has been fixed; behind this, extending across the top of the head, is a long pouch of coarse white cloth in which a great number of articles have been placed--little packages of beans and seeds, rolls of cloth of different colors and textures, minute bundles of wool and flax and cords, bits of copper and earth carefully wrapped in husks, bundles of feathers, etc. encircling the crown are long, narrow bands or sashes, one of which is white, the others having figures woven in brilliant colors. the ends of these hang down at the sides of the face. attached to one side of the mask by long stout cords is a pouch of coarse cotton cloth resembling a tobacco-bag. it is about 6 inches square. attached to the lower edge of this is a fringe of long, heavy cords. to the opposite side a net is suspended, in which had been placed innumerable articles, probably intended for the use of the dead--a sling, made of cords, very skillfully plaited; bundles of cord and flax; small nets containing beans, seeds, and other articles; copper fish-hooks, still attached to the lines, which are wound about bits of cornstalk or cane; neatly-made sinkers wrapped in corn-husks, together with a variety of other articles. [illustration: fig. 198.] 65380, 65382. sinkers of gray slate, shaped somewhat like a cigar, one or more groves partially encircling the ends. these were carefully wrapped in corn-husks. fig. 199. 65383, 65384. two copper fish-hooks and the cords to which they are attached. the hooks pierce the ends of the bit of cornstalk about which the cord is wound. fig. 200. [illustration: fig. 199. 1/1] [illustration: fig. 200. 1/2] 65387. a sling, 4 feet long. the extremities consist of a single cord, the middle part of 4 heavy, compactly-plaited cords. 65389. head-bands of coarse fabrication, having figures of red, yellow and white. 65391. a large piece of cloth, possibly a mantle, made by piecing together fragments of highly-colored cloths. 65390. a large piece of gauze-like white cotton fabric. 65385, 65386. small nets containing a variety of articles. 65386. a head ornament of red feathers, skillfully attached to cords. index animal substances, collection of objects of 437, 467, 485 arkansas: collections of pottery from 476-478 arkansas county ancient pottery 476-485 monroe county ancient pottery 486-489 bendire, capt. g., sent stone relics from oregon 492 blackburn, j. c. s., presented vase from mound 507 cocke county, tennessee, collection from 433, 438-441 collections in 1881: bought of j. t. couden 495-506 by capt. c. bendire 492 dr. willis de haas 490 g. h. hurlbut 508-510 edward palmer 483-489 from cherokee indians 433-489 arkansas: carson lake township 468 chiokasawha mound 469 lawrenceville 486 menard mound 447 mounds at arkansas post 476 pecan point 469, 470 pemiscott mound 468 georgia 506 indiana 506 missouri 495-509 north carolina 434, 437 ohio mounds 490-491 oregon 492-494 peru, south america 508-510 tennessee: newport 438 junction of pigeon and french broad rivers 440 jefferson county 463-468 roane county 457-462 sevier county 442-456 wisconsin 506 articles of animal substances 437, 453, 458, 460, 467 clay 434, 443, 456, 463, 469, 471-475, 476, 479-485, 487, 488, 491, 495-507 metal 446, 485 shell 437, 446, 452-456, 458, 461, 466 stone 431, 442, 453, 457, 465, 470,478, 490, 492 vegetal substances 435 de haas, dr. w., bought indian relics 490 collected indian relics 494-506 fain's island, collection of relics from 463 french broad river, relics from 440 gorget, shell 488, 466 hurlbut, g. h., presented collection from ancient peruvian graves 508-510 indian bay, ark., collection of indian relics from 486 jackson county, north carolina, indian relics from 434-437 jefferson county, tennessee, collection of indian relics from 463-468 lawrenceville, ark., collection of indian relics from 486 metal objects from tennessee 446 mississippi county, arkansas, collection from 468 missouri, collection of indian relics from 495-507 monroe county, arkansas, collection from 495 newport, tenn., collection of relics from 438-441 niles ferry, tenn., collection of relics from 462 north carolina; collections from jackson county 434-437 ohio, collection of indian relics from 490 oregon, collection of indian relics from 492-494 paint rock ferry, collection from 461 palmer, e., collection of indian relics by 433-439 peru, collection of relics from 508-510 pigeon river, tenn., collection of relics from 440 roane county, tenn., collection of relics from 457-462 sevier county, tenn., collection of relics from 441-456 shell objects, collection of 437, 446, 448, 450, 452-456, 458, 460, 466 stone objects, collection of 431, 442, 453, 457, 465, 470, 478, 490 tennessee, collection of relics from- cocke county 433, 438-441 jefferson county 463-468 newport 438-441 roane county 457-462 vegetal substances, collections of 435 * * * * * errors and anomalies: differences between table of contents and body text: _this list does not include trivial differences such as singular for plural, or inconsistent use of "the"_ collection made by edward palmer, in north carolina, tennessee, and arkansas. _first heading in body text, before "introductory": missing from table of contents_ from the fields at newport _body text has "near newport"_ from a mound on pigeon river _body text has "mound at the junction of the pigeon and french broad rivers."_ mounds near paint rock ferry // fragments of pottery _printed heading not used in body text_ pemissicott mound _body text reads "pemisscott"_ collections from ohio // human remains _category does not appear in body text_ collections from peru _body text reads "peru, south america"_ 63068 ... diameter _text reads "diamter"_ 62793 ... flattish base _text reads "flatish"_ collections from jefferson county _state not named: tennessee_ the vases have been somewhat larger. _text reads "somwhat"_ on pemisscott bayou _"o" in "bayou" invisible_ a large number of very fine vessels _text reads "vessls"_ 65353. a copper knife or poinard _so in original: "poniard"?_ [index] peru, collection of relics from ... 508-510 _text reads "508-511"_ produced from images generously made available by the library of congress, manuscript division.) [tr: ***] = transcriber note</p> [hw: ***] = handwritten note</p> slave narratives _a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves_ typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project 1936-1938 assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress _illustrated with photographs_ washington 1941 volume xv tennessee narratives prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of tennessee informants batson, frances 1 casey, julia 3 chappel, cecelia 5 childress, wiley 9 falls, robert 11 gaines, rachel 17 goole, frankie 19 gray, precilla 24 greer, jenny 27 grisham, emma 28 hudson, measy 31 hyde, patsy 33 kannon, ellis ken 37 martin, scott 40 matthews, ann 43 moore, rev. john 47 moss, andrew 49 moss, mollie 55 odell, andy 60 parker, laura ramsey 62 reece, naisy 64 simpkins, millie 66 star, joseph leonidas 70 thomas, dan 74 watkins, sylvia 76 young, narcissus 80 interview frances batson 1213 scovel st. nashville, tennessee "i dunno jes how ole i ez. i wuz baw'n 'yer in nashville, durin' slabery. i must be way pas' 90 fer i member de yankee soldiers well. de chilluns called dem de 'blue mans.' mah white folks wuz named crockett. dr. crockett wuz our marster but i don't member 'im mahse'f. he d'ed w'en i wuz small. mah marster wuz mean ter mah mammy w'en her oler chilluns would run 'way. mah oler br'er went ter war wid mah marster. mah younger br'er run 'way, dey caught 'im, tuk 'im home en whup'd 'im. he run 'way en wuz nebber found." "we wuzn't sold but mah mammy went 'way, en lef' me en i got up one mawnin' went ter mah mammy's room, she wuz gon'. i cried en cried fer her. mah missis wouldn't let me outa' de house, fer fear i'd try ter find her. atter freedum mah br'er en a yankee soldier kum in a waggin en git us. mah white folks sed, i don' see why you ez takin' dez chilluns. mah brudder said, 'we ez free now.' i member one whup'in mah missis gib me. me en her daughter slipped 'way ter de river ter fish. we kotch a fish en mah missis had hit cooked fer us but whup'd us fer goin' ter de river." "whar de buena vista schul ez hit useter be a yankee soldiers barrick. eber mawnin' dey hadder music. we chilluns would go on de hill, (whar the bag mill ez now) en listen ter dem. i member a black hoss de soldiers had, dat ef you called 'im jeff davis he would run you." "i member de ole well on cedar street, neah de capitol, en six mules fell in hit. dat wuz back w'en blackberries wuz growin' on de capitol hill. en morgan park wuz called de pleasure gyarden. en hit wuz full ob yankee soldiers. atter de war dere wuz so many german peeple ober 'yer, dat fum jefferson street, ter clay street, wuz called dutch town." "i wuzn't bawn w'en de sta'rs fell. we didn't git nothin' w'en we wuz freed. dunno much 'bout de klu klux klan." "mah mammy useter tell me how de white folks would hire de slaves out ter mek money fer de marster en she tole me sum ob de marsters would hide dere slaves ter keep de yankees fum gittin' dem." "i don' b'leeve in white en black ma'iages. mah sistah ma'ied a lite man. i wouldin' marry one ef hit would turn me ter gold. dunno nothin' 'bout votin', allus tho't dat wuz fer de men." "i can't think ob any tales er nuthin 'bout ghos'. 'cept one 'bout a marster tyin' a nigger ter a fence en wuz beatin' 'im. a yankee kum 'long made 'im untie de nigger en den de nigger beat de white man." "dis young peeples ez tough. i think half ob dem'll be hung, de way dey throw rocks at ole peoples. dat's why i's crippled now, a white boy hit me wid a rock. i b'long ter de methodist chuch." "since freedum i'se hired out, washed en cooked fer diff'ent peeple. de only song i member: 'hark fum de ground dis mournful sound.'" interview julia casey 811 9th avenue, so. nashville, tennessee i wuz bawn in west tennessee en wuz six y'ars ole w'en war broke out. mah missis wuz miss jennie mccullough en she ma'ried eldridge casey. mah missis's mammy wuz a widder en she gib me, mah mammy, man sistah violet, mah two br'ers andrew en alfred ter miss jennie fer a wed'un gif'. missis jennie en marster eldridge brung us ter nashville 'fore de war sta'ted. mah missis wuz good ter us. i'se bin w'll tuk keer ob, plenty ter eat en warm clothes ter w'ar. right now i'se got on long underw'ar en mah chemise. mah mammy d'ed fust y'ar ob freedum. dey tuk her 'way in a two-hoss waggin, 'bout four o'clock one evenin'. dere wuz no hurses er caskets den. w'en mah mammy d'ed, i still stayed wid missis jennie. she raised me. dat's why folks say i'se so peculiar. de yankee soldiers tuk mah sistah en two br'ers 'way durin' de war. i ez de mammy ob seven chilluns. all d'ed now but one. mah white folks didn't send me ter schul but i'se l'arned a few things ob how ter act. don't ax me 'bout der young people. dey ez pas' me. no manners 'tall. in slavery days you didn't hab ter worry 'bout yo clothes en rations but dese days you hab ter worry 'bout eve'ything. i 'longs ter de baptist chuch. useter go ter camp-meetin's en hab a big time wid good things ter eat. didn't go ter de baptizin' much. dey would leave de chuch singin' en shoutin'. dere ez three days in september dat we hab dinnah on de groun' en all baptist git tergedder. we calls hit de 'sociation. i'se neber voted cose dat ez de man's job. mah frens hab nebber had political jobs. don't b'leeve in ma'rige ob white en black en hit shouldn't be 'lowed. since freedom mah main job wuz cookin' but i'se done washin' en ironin'. atter mah health started failing, i done a lot ob nusin'. i'se aint abul ter wuk fur de las' five y'ars en de white folks hab he'ped me. de relief gibes me groc'eys, coal en pays mah rent. i hope ter git de ole age pension soon. mah ole favo'ite song ez "mazing grace, how sweet hit sounds." interview cecelia chappel 705 allison street nashville, tenn. "i'se bawn in marshall county, tennessee. i'm de olest ob ten chilluns en i'se 102 ya'rs ole. i feels lak i'se bin 'yer longer dan dat. mah mammy wuz brought ter nashville en sold ter sum peeple dat tuck her ter mississippi ter live." "mah marster en missus wuz named bob en nancy lord. eve'y slave had ter say missus en marster en also ter de white babies. i still says hit, en ef i kum ter yo do'r, i nebber kums in 'till you ax me. lots ob mah folks seze ter me dat i ez too ole fash'on en i seze i don' keer i wuz raised wid manners en too ole ter change." "our marster gib us good food en clothes. i wuz l'arnt how ter nit, weav, sew en spin. on rainy days we wuz gib a certain 'mount ob weavin' ter do en had ter git hit don'. i dunno how ter read er rite. de white folks didn' 'low us ter l'arn nuthin'. i declar' you bettuh not git kotch wid a papah in you han'. ef i had half a chance lak you chilluns hab, i'd go ter bed wid mah books." "our marster 'lowed us ter go ter chuch. i went bar'foot en had a rag tied 'roun mah haid en mah dress kum up ter mah 'nees. dat preacher-man would git up dere en tell us "now you min' yo marster en missis en don' steal fum dem." i stayed wid mah missis fer a long time atter i got freedum en i cried lak a fool w'en i had ter leave dem. mah missis seze "you ez jes as free as i ez," but i allus had good clothes en good food en i didn' know how i'd git dem atter i lef' her." "mah white folks wuz tight on us but, as ole as i ez, i offun think dat day nebber hit a lick dat i didn' need. ef'n dey hadn' raised me right, i might hab got in meaness en bin locked up half de time, but i ain't nebber bin 'rested, en i'se 'ferd ob de policemans. de fiel' slaves wuz whup'd in de fiel's by de oberseer en de marster en missis did hit at de house." "i tell you we had a hahd time. mah missis woulden' let dem sell me. i wuz a nuss en house gal. i wuz whup'd wid a bull whup, en got cuts on mah back menny a time. i'se not shamed ter say i got skyars on mah back now fum marster cuttin' hit wid dat bull whup. mah missis also whup'd me. w'en de missis got ready ter whup me, she would gib us sum wuk ter do, so she would kind ob git ober her mad spell 'fore she whup'd us. sum times she would lock us up in a dark closet en bring our food ter us. i hated bein' locked up. atter dey tuk me out ob de house, i wuked in de fiel' lak de urthurs. long 'fore day break, we wuz standin' in de fiel's leanin' on our hoes waitin' fer daylite en waitin' fer de horn ter blow so we would start ter wuk. ef'n we wan'ed ter go ter any place we had ter hab a pass wid our marster's name on hit en ef you didn' hab hit, you got tore ter pieces en den you marster tore you up w'en you got home." "one story mah daddy useter tell us wuz 'bout a slave named pommpy. he wuz allus prayin' fer de good lawd ter tek 'im 'way. one nite he wuz down on his 'nees prayin', "good lawd, kum en tek po pommpy out ob his misery." de marster ob pommpy 'year'd 'm en de marster made a leetle noise en pommpy seze, "who ez dat?" en his marster seze, "hits de lawd kum ter tek po pommpy out ob his misery." pommpy crawl under de bed en seze, "pommpy has bin gon' two er three days." "'nurther story: a partridge en a fox 'greed ter kil' a beef. dey kilt en skinned hit. b'fo dey divide hit de fox said, "mah wife seze sen' her sum beef fer soup," so he tuck a piece ob hit en carried hit down de hill, den kum back en said mah wife wants mo' beef fer soup. he kep dis up 'til all de beef wuz gon' 'cept de libber. de fox kum back en de partridge seze now lets cook dis libber en both ob us eat hit. de partridge cooked de libber, et hits part rite quick, en den fell ovuh lak hit wuz sick; de fox got skeered en said dat beef ez pizen en he ran down de hill en started bringin' de beef back en w'en he brought hit all back, he lef' en de partridge had all de beef." "don't member much now 'bout de klu klux klan en nothin' 'bout slave 'risings at any place. i don' member 'bout de sta'rs fallin', but i did see de comet, en hit looked lak a sta'r wid a long tail; atter freedum, i nebber year'd ob no slave gettin' land er money en i dunno nothin' 'bout de slave mart 'yer fer i didn' git ter kum ter town." "since freed, i hab nussed, cooked en don' diff'unt things. i wuk'ed fer one family fifteen y'ars en didn' miss a day. i has stayed at dis place fer de las' five y'ars. i had a stroke en wuz in de hospit'l a long time. i cain' git out; en 'roun' 'yer in de house, i has ter walk wid a stick." "i ain' nebber voted. one day sum men kum 'yer ter tek me ter vote. i tole dem w'en i got ready ter be a man, i would put on overalls." "i'se a member ob de missionary baptist chuch. i ain' bin fer a long time kaze i ain' able ter go. de ole song i members ez "dixie land," en "run nigger run, de pat-a rollers will git you." "oh lawdy! i think sum ob is young peeple ain' no count w'ile sum ob dem ez alright. i think each color should ma'rie his own color. hit makes me mad ter think 'bout hit. ef de good lawd had wanted dat, he would hab had us all one color." "fer a long time de relief gib me a quart ob milk a day, but now all i has ez w'at mah sistah harriett gibs me. she sin' got much wuk en sum days we don' hab much ter eat. ef mah missis wuz livin' i wouldin' go hongry." interview wiley childress 808 gay st. nashville, tennessee "i'se 83 y'ars ole en wuz bawn a slave. mah mammy b'longed ter de bosley's en mah daddy b'longed ter de scales." "w'en miss jane boxley ma'ried marster jerry scales, me en mah mammy, br'er en sistah wuz gib ter miss jane." "durin' de war mah missis tuk mah mammy en us chilluns wid her ter de mount'ins 'till de war wuz gon'. did'nt see no soldiers. don't member now nuthin' 'bout dem klu klux men en don't member de ole songs er 'bout slaves votin'." "dunno 'bout de young persons, white er black, dey ez all so wild now." "w'en we all wuz freed we had nuthin en no place ter go, so dat mah mammy lived wid our missis five y'ars longer." "de only story dat i member mah people tole me 'bout wuz on fedd, a slave on de next plantation. he wuz a big man en wuz de strongest man neah dat part ob de kuntry. he wouldin' 'low nobody ter whup 'in. de marster framed 'im by tellin' 'im ter bring his saddle hoss en w'en he kum wid de hoss several men 'peahrd en tole fedd dat dey wuz gonna whup 'im. he struck one ob de mans so hahd dey had ter hab de doctuh. de marster said let 'im 'lone he's too strong ter be whup'd. i'll hab ter shoot 'im. one time fedd run 'way en de white men whar he stopped know'd he wuz a good fighter en made a $250.00 bet dat nobody could lick 'im. a nigger fum de iron wuks fought fedd en fedd won. de iron wuks nigger wuz kilt right dere." "'fore freedum de slaves wuz promused forty acres ob land w'en freed but none eber got hit, en i 'year'd ob no one gittin' any money. i dunno nuthin' ob de slave 'risin's, ghostus er dreams, but i member mah folks talkin' 'bout fallin' sta'rs en a comet but i don' member now w'at dey said." "i'se wuk'd at a lot ob diff'ent jobs since mah freedum. i wuk'd at de maxwell house 15 years as store room porter, en hit wuz de only wo'th-while hotel in nashville at dat time. i wuk'd fuh de city fuh menny y'ars en den i wuk'd fuh foster & creighton 'till dey wore me out. i off'n think ob deze diff'nt men dat i wuk'd fuh but dey ez all de'd. de las' job i had wuz buildin' fiers en odd jobs fuh a lady up de street. she would gib me food en coal. she ez de'd now." "i'se not able ter wuk now en all i has ez a small groc'ey order dat de relief gibs me. dey keep promisin' ter gib me de old age pension en i wish dey would hurry hit up." _subject_ _slave stories_ robert falls 608 south broadway knoxville, tennessee interviewed by della yoe, foreman federal writers' project, first district, wpa room # 215 old ymca building state and commerce streets. knoxville, tennessee robert falls was born on december 14, 1840, in the rambling one-story shack that accomodated the fifteen slaves of his old marster, [hw: harry] beattie goforth, on a farm in claiborne county, north carolina. his tall frame is slightly stooped, but he is not subjected to the customary infirmities of the aged, other than poor vision and hearing. fairly comfortable, he is spending his declining years in contentment, for he is now the first consideration of his daughter, mrs. lola reed, with whom he lives at #608 s. broadway, knoxville, tennessee. his cushioned rocking chair is the honor seat of the household. his apology for not offering it to visitors, is that he is "not so fast on his feet as he used to be." despite uncle robert's protest that his "mind comes and goes", his memory is keen, and his sense of humor unimpaired. his reminiscences of slave days are enriched by his ability to recreate scenes and incidents in few words, and by his powers of mimicry. "if i had my life to live over," he declares, "i would die fighting rather than be a slave again. i want no man's yoke on my shoulders no more. but in them days, us niggers didn't know no better. all we knowed was work, and hard work. we was learned to say, 'yes sir!' and scrape down and bow, and to do just exactly what we was told to do, make no difference if we wanted to or not. old marster and old mistress would say, 'do this!' and we don' it. and they say, 'come here!' and if we didn't come to them, they come to us. and they brought the bunch of switches with them." "they didn't half feed us either. they fed the animals better. they gives the mules, ruffage and such, to chaw on all night. but they didn't give us nothing to chaw on. learned us to steal, that's what they done. why we would take anything we could lay our hands on, when we was hungry. then they'd whip us for lieing when we say we dont know nothing about it. but it was easier to stand, when the stomach was full." "now my father, he was a fighter. he was mean as a bear. he was so bad to fight and so troublesome he was sold four times to my knowing and maybe a heap more times. that's how come my name is falls, even if some does call me robert goforth. niggers would change to the name of their new marster, every time they was sold. and my father had a lot of names, but kep the one of his marster when he got a good home. that man was harry falls. he said he'd been trying to buy father for a long time, because he was the best waggoner in all that country abouts. and the man what sold him to falls, his name was collins, he told my father, "you so mean, i got to sell you. you all time complaining about you dont like your white folks. tell me now who you wants to live with. just pick your man and i will go see him." then my father tells collins, i want you to sell me to marster harry falls. they made the trade. i disremember what the money was, but it was big. good workers sold for $1,000 and $2,000. after that the white folks didn't have no more trouble with my father. but he'd still fight. that man would fight a she-bear and lick her every time." "my mother was sold three times before i was born. the last time when old goforth sold her, to the slave speculators,--you know every time they needed money they would sell a slave,--and they was taking them, driving them, just like a pack of mules, to the market from north carolina into south carolina, she begun to have fits. you see they had sold her away from her baby. and just like i tell you she begun having fits. they got to the jail house where they was to stay that night, and she took on so, jim slade and press worthy--them was the slave speculators,--couldnt do nothing with her. next morning one of them took her back to marse goforth and told him, "look here. we cant do nothing with this woman. you got to take her and give us back our money. and do it now,' they says. and they mean it too. so old marse goforth took my mother and give them back their money. after that none of us was ever separated. we all lived, a brother and two sisters and my mother, with the goforths till freedom." "and do you know, she never did get over having fits. she had them every change of the moon, or leastways every other moon change. but she kept on working. she was a hard worker. she had to be. old mistress see to that. she was meaner than old marster, she was. she would sit by the spinning wheel and count the turns the slave women made. and they couldn't fool her none neither. my mother worked until ten o'clock almost every night because her part was to 'spend so many cuts' a day, and she couldnt get through no sooner. when i was a little shaver, i used to sit on the floor with the other little fellows while our mothers worked, and sometimes the white folks girls would read us a bible story. but most of the time we slept. right there on the floor. then later, when i was bigger, i had to work with the men at night shelling corn, to take to town early mornings." "marster goforth counted himself a good old baptist christian. the one good deed he did, i will never forget, he made us all go to church every sunday. that was the onliest place off the farm we ever went. every time a slave went off the place, he had to have a pass, except we didnt, for church. everybody in thet country knowed that the goforth niggers didn't have to have no pass to go to church. but that didn't make no difference to the pattyroolers. they'd hide in the bushes, or wait along side of the road, and when the niggers come from meeting, the pattyroolers's say, 'whar's your pass'? us goforth niggers used to start running soon as we was out of church. we never got caught. that is why i tell you i cant use my legs like i used to. if you was caught without no pass, the pattyroolers give you five licks. they was licks! you take a bunch of five to seven pattyroolers each giving five licks and the blood flows." "old marster was too old to go to the war. he had one son was a soldier, but he never come home again. i never seen a soldier till the war was over and they begin to come back to the farms. we half-grown niggers had to work the farm, because all the famers had to give,--i believe it was a tenth--of their crops to help feed the soldiers. so we didnt know nothing about what was going on, no more than a hog. it was a long time before we knowed we was free. then one night old marster come to our house and he say he wants to see us all before breakfast tomorrow morning and to come on over to his house. he got something to tell us." "next morning we went over there. i was the monkey, always acting smart. but i believe they liked me better than all of the others. i just spoke sassy-like and say, "old marster, what you got to tell us"? my mother said, "shut your mouth fool. he'll whip you!" and old marster say,--"no i wont whip you. never no more. sit down thar all of you and listen to what i got to tell you. i hates to do it but i must. you all aint my niggers no more. you is free. just as free as i am. here i have raised you all to work for me, and now you are going to leave me. i am an old man, and i cant get along without you. i dont know what i am going to do." well sir, it killed him. he was dead in less than ten months." "everybody left right now, but me and my brother and another fellow. old marster fooled us to believe we was duty-bound to stay with him till we was all twenty-one. but my brother, that boy was stubborn. soon he say he aint going to stay there. and he left. in about a year, maybe less, he come back and he told me i didnt have to work for old goforth, i was free, sure enough free, and i went with him and he got me a job railroading. but the work was too hard for me. i couldnt stand it. so i left there and went to my mother. i had to walk. it was forty-five miles. i made it in a day. she got me work there where she worked." "i remember so well, how the roads was full of folks walking and walking along when the niggers were freed. didnt know where they was going. just going to see about something else somewhere else. meet a body in the road and they ask, 'where you going'? 'dont know.' 'what you going to do'? 'dont know.' and then sometimes we would meet a white man and he would say, 'how you like to come work on my farm'? and we say, 'i dont know.' and then maybe he say, "if you come work for me on my farm, when the crops is in i give you five bushels of corn, five gallons of molasses, some ham-meat, and all your clothes and vittals whils you works for me." alright! that's what i do. and then something begins to work up here, (touching his forehead with his fingers) i begins to think and to know things. and i knowed then i could make a living for my own self, and i never had to be a slave no more." "now, old marster goforth, had four sisters what owned slaves, and they wasnt mean to them like our old marster and mistress. some of the old slaves and their folks are still living on their places right to this day. but they never dispute none with their brother about how mean he treat his slaves. and him claiming to be such a christian! well, i reckon he's found out something about slave driving by now. the good lord has to get his work in some time. and he'll take care of them low down pattyroolers and slave speculators and mean marsters and mistress's. he's took good care of me in the years since i was free'd, only now, we needs him again now and then. i just stand up on my two feet, raise my arms to heaven, and say, 'lord, help me!' he never fails me. i asked him this morning, didnt i lola? asked him to render help. we need it. and here you come. lola, just watch that lady write. if you and me had her education, we'd be fixed now wouldnt we? i never had no learning." "thank you lady! (tucking the coin into his pocket wallet, along with his tobacco.) and thank you for coming. it does me a heap of good to see visitors and talk about the old times. come again, wont you? and next time you come, i want to talk to you about old age pensions. i come here from marian, n.c. three years ago, and they tell me i have to live here four, before i gets a pension. and as i done left north carolina, i cant get a pension from them. but maybe you can tell me what to do. i likes this place. and i do hopes i get a pension before i gets to be a 'hundred." interview rachel gaines 1025 10th ave. n. nashville, tennessee "lawdy! i'se dunno how ole i ez. b'leeves i'se 'round 95 ter 100 y'ars. de fust thing i members ez i wuz tuk in a waggin ter trenton, kentucky en sold ter dr. bainbridge dickerson jest lak dey sold cows en hosses. mah sistah wuz sold in de same way at bowling green, kentucky ter 'nuther marster." "i wuz sold only one time in mah life en dat wuz w'en marster dickinson bought me. atter freedum wuz 'clared de marster tole all his slaves dat dey could go wharever'y dey pleased but ef'n dey couldn't mek dere own livin' ter kum ter 'im en he would he'ps dem." "missus dickinson kep' me dere kaze i wuz nuss ter dere son howard who wuz sho a wild one. i member how he would tote out fried chicken, pig meat en uthuh good stuff ter us darkies. dey 'greed ter pay me $35.00 a yeah (en keep) en hit wuz gib me eve'y christmus mawning. dey treated me good, gib me all de clothes en uthuh things i needed ez ef'n i wuz one ob de fam'ly." "eve'y two weeks de marster would sen' fer jordan mcgowan who wuz de leader ob a string music ban'. dey would git dere friday nite early en de slaves would dance in de grape house dat nite en all day saturday up ter midnite. you don't hab now as good dance music en as much fun as de ole time days had. we allus had a big barbecue er watermelon feast eve'y time we had a dance. neber 'gin 'll dere be as good times as we useter hab. in mah time we neber y'ard ob wukouses er pen but now dey ez all filled." "i kin see now in mah mind de ole ice house on de plantation. in de wint'r de slaves would fill hit wid ice dey got off de crik en hit wuz not used 'til warm wedder cum. 'nother thing i members ez de "pat-a-rollers" (she refers to the police patrol of that day) who would kotch en whup runaway slaves en slaves 'way fum dere own plantations widout a pass wid dere marsters name signed on hit." "i member w'en nashville fust had street cars pulled 'long by hosses er mules en i also member de ole dummy cars, run by steam, ter glendale park also new town (now called west nashville)." "we had sum bad en good luck signs but i'se fergettin' sum, but i'se members 'bout a black cat crossin' ovuh de path in frunt ob you dat you sho would hab bad luck. w'en dat happened ter me, i would spit on de ground, turn 'round en back ober de place de cat crossed en de "bad luck" wuz gon' fum me. ef'n you found a ole hoss shoe dat had bin drapt'd by de hoss, hit meant good luck. sum peeples, white en black, w'en dey fin' a hoss shoe, dey would tack hit up on de frunt door frame wid de toe ter de groun'." "atter de marster en missus d'ed, i went ter nashville en made mah way fur menny y'ars by washin' en ironin' fer white peeple but atter i went blind i kum 'yer ter live wid mah daughter." interview frankie goole 204 5th ave. so. nashville, tenn. "i wuz bawn in smith county on uther side ob lebanon. ah'll be 85 y'ars ole christmas day. mah ole missis wuz named sallie, en mah marster wuz george waters. mah mammy's name wuz lucindia, she wuz sold fum me w'en i wuz six weeks ole, en mah missis raised me. i allus slept wid her. mah missis wuz good ter me, but (her son) mah marster whup'd me. dunno ob any ex-slaves votin' er holdin' office ob any kin. i member de ku klux klan en pat-a-rollers. dey would kum 'roun en whup de niggers wid a bull whup. ef'n dey met a niggah on de road dey'd say, "whar ez you gwin dis time ob mawnin'?" de slaves would say, "we ez gwine ovuh 'yer ter stay aw'ile," en den dey would start beatin' dem. i'se stod in our do'er en 'yeard de hahd licks, en screams ob de ones dat wuz bein' whup'd, en i'd tell mah missis, "listen ter dat!" she would say, "see, dat ez w'at will happen ter you ef'n you try ter leave." i member one nite a ku klux klan rode up ter our do'er. i tole mah missis sum body wuz at de do'er wantin' ter know whar mah marster wuz. she tole 'im he wuz d'ed en her son had gon' 'way dat mawnin'. he hunted all thro de house, en up in de loft, en said whar ez de niggers? mah missis tole i'm [tr: 'im] dey wuz down in de lettle house. he went down dere, woke dem up, axed dem 'bout dere marster en den whup'd all ob dem. ef de had de ku klux klan now dere wouldin' be so menny peeples on de kounty road en in de pen. i useter drive up de cows en mah feet would be so cole en mah toes cracked open en bleedin', en i'd be cryin' 'til i got almos' ter de house den i'd wipe mah eyes on de bottom ob mah dress, so de marster wouldin' know dat i had bin cryin'. he'd say, "frankie ain't you cryin'?" i'd say, "no suh." "ez you cole?" "yes, sir." he would say kum on en warm. w'en de niggers wuz freed, all ob mah missis slaves slipped 'way, 'cept me. one mawnin' she tole me ter go down en wake dem up, i went down en knocked, no body said nuthin'. i pushed on de do'er--hit kum op'n--en i fell in de room en hurt mah chin. i went back ter missis--en she sezs, "w'at ez de matter wid you?" i sezs, "uncle john en all ob dem ez gon'; i pushed on de do'er en fell in." she sezs you know dey ez not gone, go back en git dem up. i had ter go back, but dey wur'ent dere. no, i don't member de sta'rs fallin'. mah missis didunt gib me nuthin, cept mah clothes, en she put dem in a carpet bag. atter freedom mah mammy kum fum lebanon en got me. ah'll neber fergit dat day--oh lawdy! i kin see her now. mah ole missis' daughter-in-law had got a bunch ob switches ter whup me, i wuz standin' in de do'er shakin' all ovuh, en de young missis wuz tellin' me ter git mah clothes off. i sezs, "i se'd a 'oman kum'g thro de gate." mah missis sezs, "dat ez lucindia" en de young missis hid de switches. mah mammy sezs i'se kum ter git mah chile. mah missis tole her ter let me spend de nite wid her, den she'd send me ter de court house at 9 o'clock next mawnin'. so i stayed wid de missis dat nite, en she tole me ter alluz be a good girl, en don't let a man er boy trip me. i didunt know w'at she mean but i allus membered w'at she sai. i guess i wuz 'bout 12 y'ars ole w'en i lef' mah missis en mah mammy brought me ter nashville en put me ter wuk. de mawnin' i lef' mah missis, i went ter de court house en met mah mammy; de court room wuz jammed wid peeple. de jedge tole me ter hold my right hand up, i wuz so skeered i stuck both hands up. jedge sezs, "frankie ez dat yo mammy?" i sezs, "i dunno, she sezs she ez." (w'at did i know ob a mammy dat wuz tuk fum me at six weeks ole). he sezs, "wuz yo marster good ter you?" i sezs, "mah missis wuz, but mah marster wasn't--he whup'd me." de jedge said, "whar did he whup you?" i tole him on mah back. he sezs, "frankie, ez you laughin'?" i sezs, "no, sir." he said ter mah mammy, "lucindia tek dis chile en be good ter her fer she has b'en mistreated. sum day she can mek a livin' fer you." (en thank de lawd i did keep her in her ole days en wuz able ter bury her.) at dat time money wuz called chin plaster en w'en i lef' out ob de court room diff'ent peeple gib me money en i had mah hat almos' full. dat was de only money i had gib ter me. i nussed miss sadie pope fall; she ma'ried mat gardner. i also nussed miss sue porter houston. i den wuk'd at de bline schul. de fust pa'r ob shoes i eber had wuz atter i kum ter nashville. dey had high tops en wuz called bootees. i had sum red striped socks wid dem. de ole songs i member: "de ole time 'ligion." "i'm goin' ter join de ban." w'en dey would sing deze songs hit would almos' mek you ha'r stand up on yo haid, de way dem peeples would jump en shout! i member w'en sum ob de slaves run 'way durin' slavery. i dunno any tales; mah mammy wasn't a 'oman ter talk much. maybe ef she had bin i would hab had an easier time. as far as i know de ex-slaves hab had diff'ent kinds ob wuk since dere freedum. no, i ain' nebber se'd any ghos'. i'se bin in de woods en dark places, but didn't see nothin', en i'se not goin' ter say i did kaze i might git par'lized. i went ter schul one y'ar at fisk in de y'ar 1869. de last man i wuk'd fer wuz at de link hotel. den i started keepin' boarders. hab fed all deze nashville police. de police ez de ones dat hep'ed git deze relief orders fer me. i hab lived on dis street fer 60 years. i lived 22 y'ars whar de hermitage laundry ez. dat ez whar i got de name "mammie." w'iles livin' dere i raised eighteen chilluns white en black, en sum ob dem iz good ter me now. i had sum papah's 'bout mah age en diff'ent things, but w'en de back waters got up, dey got lost. i didn't hab ter move but i kep prayin' en talkin' ter de lawd en i b'leeve he 'yeard me fer de water didn't git in mah house. i member w'en de yellow fever en de cholera wuz 'yer, in 1870 en 1873. dey didn't hab coffins nuff ter put dem in, so dey used boxes en piled de boxes in waggins lak hauling wood. i'se aint worth a dime now w'en hit kums ter wukin' fer i'se aint able ter do nuthin, thoo i can't complain ob mah livin' since de relief has bin takin' keer ob me. dis young peeples, "oh mah lawd!" dey ain' worth talkin' 'bout. i tries ter shame deze 'omen, dey drink (i call hit ole bust haid whiskey), en do such mean things. i'se disgusted at mah own color. dey try ter know ter much, en dunno muthin', en dey don' do 'nuff wuk. i nebber voted en dunno nothin' 'bout hit. hab nebber had any frens in office. cain' member nothin' 'bout re'structon. i hab bin sick en still don' feel right. sumtimes i feels krazy. hab bin tole dat black cat crossin' road in frunt ob you wuz bad luck. i nebber did b'leeve in any signs. ef i ez ter hab bad luck, ah'll hab hit. i b'long ter de baptist chuch. de culored peeples useter hab camp meetin's, en dey'd last fer two weeks. lawd hab mercy did we hab a time at dem meetin's, preachin', singin', en shoutin'. en ovuh sum whar neah dey would be cookin' mutton en diff'ent good things ter eat. sum ob dem would shout 'til dere throats would be sore en hit seemed dat sum ob dem niggahs didn't keer ef dey got home ter wuk er not. i sumtimes wish fer de good ole days. deze days folks don't hab time fer 'ligion. de dog-gone ole radio en udder things ez takin' hits place. oh lawdie how dey did baptize down at de wha'f! de baptist peeple would gather at de wha'f on de fust sunday in may. dey would kum fum all de baptist chuches. would leave de chuch singin' en shoutin' en keep dat up 'til dey got ter de river. hab seen dem wid new clothes on git down on de groun en roll en git covered wid dirt. sum ob dem would almos' luze dere clothes, en dey'd fall down lak dey wuz dying. deze last few y'ars dey hab got ter stylish ter shout. interview precilla gray 807 ewing ave. nashville, tenn. i think i'se 107 y'ars ole. wuz bawn in williamson county 'fore de civil wah. guess de reason i hab libed so long wuz cose i tuk good keer ob mahself en wore warm clo'es en still do, w'ar mah yarn pettycoats now. hab had good health all mah life. hab tuk very lettle medicine en de wust sickness i eber had wuz small-pox. i'se bin a widah 'bout 70 y'ars. mah mammy d'ed w'en i wuz young but mah daddy libed ter be 103 y'ars ole. i nebber went ter schul a day in mah life, ma'ied 'fore freedum en w'en i got free, had ter wuk all de time ter mek a libin' fer mah two chillen. one libes in california en i lives wid de uther, tergedder wid mah great, great, grandson, five y'ars ole, in nashville. mah fust marster en missis wuz amos en sophia holland en he made a will dat we slaves wuz all ter be kep' among de fam'ly en i wuz heired fum one fam'ly ter 'nother. wuz owned under de "will" by haddas holland, missis mary haddock en den missis synthia ma'ied sam pointer en i libed wid her 'til freedum wuz 'clared. mah fust mistress had three looms en we had ter mek clothes fer ev'ery one on de plan'ashun. i wuz taught ter weav', card, spin en 'nit en ter wuk in de fiel's. i wuz 'feared ob de terbacker wums at fust but aunt frankie went 'long by me en showed me how ter pull de wum's head off. hab housed terbacker till 9 o'clock at nite. our marster whupped us w'en we needed hit. i got menny a whuppin'. marster amos wuz a great hunter en had lots ob dogs en me en mah cousin had de job ob cookin' dog food en feedin' de dogs. one day de marster went huntin' en lef three dogs in de pen fer us ter feed. one ob de dogs licked out ob de pan en we got a bunch ob switches en started wearin' de dogs out. we thought de marster wuz miles 'way w'en he walked up on us. he finished wearin' de bunch ob switches out on us. dat wuz a whuppin' i'll nebber fergit. w'en i wuz heired ter missis synthis, i wuked in de fiel's 'til she started ter raise chillens en den i wuz kep in de house ter see atter dem. missis had a lot ob cradles en dey kep two 'omen in dat room takin' keer ob de babies en lettle chillens 'longin' ter dere slaves. soon as de chillens, wuz seven y'ars ole, dey started dem ter 'nittin'. marster sam pointer, husband of missis synthis, wus a good man en he wuz good ter us en he fed en clothed us good. we wore yarn hoods, sha'ls, en pantletts which wuz 'nit things dat kum fum yo shoe tops ter 'bove yo knees. de marster wuz also a 'ligious man en he let us go ter chuch. he willed land fer a culled chuch at thompson station. i 'longs ter de foot washin' baptist, called de free will baptist. de marster bought mah husband william gray en i ma'ied 'im dere. w'en de civil wah wuz startin' dere wuz soldiers an tents eve'ywhar. i had ter 'nit socks en he'ps mek soldiers coats en durin' de wah, de marster sent 100 ob us down in georgia ter keep de yankees fum gittin' us en we camped out durin' de whole three y'ars. i member de klu klux. one nite a bunch ob us went out, dey got atter us. we waded a big crik en hid in de bushes ter keep dem fum gittin' us. hab gon' ter lots ob camp-meetin's. dey'd hab lots ob good things ter eat en fed eberbody. dey'd hab big baptizin's down at de cumberland riber and menny things. w'en freed, our white folks didn't gib us nuthin'. we got 'way en hired out fer an'thin' we could git. nebber knowed ob any plantashuns [tr: illegible, possibly "men"] be divided. d'ant member 'bout slave 'risings en niggers voting en wuz not ole er'nuff ter member de sta'rs fallin'. songs we use'ter sing wuz, "on jordan's bank i stand en cast a wistful eye en lak drops ob sweat, lak blood run down, i shed mah tears." i try not ter think 'bout de ole times. hit's bin so long ago so i don' member any tales now. i'se had a lot ob good times in mah day. our white folks would let us hab "bran dances" an we'd hab a big time. i has nebber voted en i think dat ez a man's wuk. don't b'leeve in signs, i hab allus tho't whut ez gwine ter be will be, en de only way ter be ez de rite way. eber since slavery i'se cooked fer peeple. i cooked fer mr. lea dillon fifteen y'ars. wuked at de union depot fer y'ars. five y'ars fer dr. douglas at his infirmary en i cooked fer en raised mrs grady's baby. hab wuked fer diff'ent folks ovuh town ter mek mah livin'. i ain't bin able ter wuk fer eight y'ars. dunno how much i weigh now, i hab lost so much. (she weighs now at least 250 pounds). all de ex-slaves i know hab wuked at diff'ent jobs lak i has. interview ex-slaves jenny greer 706 overton, street. nashville, tennessee "am 84 y'ars ole en wuz bawn in florence, alabama, 'bout seben miles fum town. wuz bawn on de collier plantashun en marster en missis wuz james en jeanette collier. mah daddy en mammy wuz named nelson en jane collier. i wuz named atter one ob mah missis' daughters. our family wuz neber sold er divided." "i'se bin ma'ied once. ma'ied neeley greer. thank de lawd i aint got no chilluns. chilluns ez so bad now i can't stand dem ter save mah life." "useter go ter de bap'isin's en dey would start shoutin' en singin' w'en we lef' de chuch. went ter deze bap'isin's in alabama, memphis, en 'yer in nashville. lawdy hab mercy, how we useter sing. only song i members ez 'de ole time 'ligion.' i useter go ter camp meetin's. eve'rbody had a jolly time, preachin', shoutin' en eatin' good things." "we didn't git a thing w'en we wuz freed. w'en dey said we wuz free mah people had ter look out fer demselves." "don' member now 'bout k.k.k. er 'structshun days. mah mammy useter tell us a lot ob stories but i'se fergot dem. i'se neber voted en dunno ob any frens bein' in office." "no mam, no mam, don't b'leeve in diff'ent colurs ma'rin. i member one ole sign--'bad luck ter empty ashes atter dark.'" "i'se hired out wuk'n in white folks house since freedum. i'se a widow now en live 'yer wid mah neice en mah sistah." interview emma grisham 1118 jefferson st. nashville, tennessee "i wuz bawn in nashville. i'se up in 90 y'ars, but i tell dem i'se still young. i lived on gallatin pike long 'fore de war, an uster se'd de soldiers ride by." "mah marsters name wuz wm. penn harding. mah daddy wuz sold at sparta, tennessee 'fore i wuz bawn en marster harding bought 'im. mah mammy erready 'longed ter de hardings." "i don' member much 'bout slavery i wuz small, but i know i wore a leetle ole slip wid two er three bottons in frunt. mammy would wash me en i'd go out frunt en play wid de white chilluns." "w'en de fightin' got so heavy mah white peeple got sum irish peeple ter live on de plantation, en dey went south, leavin' us wid de irish peeple." "i wuz leetle en i guess i didn't think much 'bout freedum, i'd allus had plenty ter eat en w'ar." "dunno ob any slaves gittin' nuthin at freedum." "our white folks didn't whup mah peeple; but de oberseers whup'd de slaves on uther plantations." "de yankees had camps on de capitol hill. en dere wuz soldier camps in east nashville en you had ter hab a pass ter git thro?" "i member w'en de pen wuz on 15th en chuch, en de convicts wuk'd 'round de capitol." "i went ter schul at fisk a short time, w'en hit wuz neah 12th en cedar, en a w'ile down on chuch st. mah teacher allus bragged on me fer bein' clean en neat. i didn't git much schuling, mah daddy wuz lak mos' ole folks, he though ef'n you knowd yo a, b, c's en could read a line, dat wuz 'nuff. en he hired me out. dunno w'at dey paid me, fer hit wuz paid ter mah daddy." "i wuz hired ter a mrs. ryne fer y'ars, whar de loveman store ez now. dere wuz a theatre whar montgomery ward store ez, a lot ob de theatre peeple roomed en bo'ded wid mrs. ryne, en dey would gib me passes ter de sho' en i'd slip up in de gall'ry en watch de sho'. i couldn't read a wud but i 'joy'd goin'. mah daddy wuz a driver fer mr. ryan." "i nussed fer a mrs. mitchell en she had a boy in schul. one summer she went 'way. a mrs. smith wid 10 boys wanted me ter stay wid her 'til mrs. mitchell got back en i staid en laked dem so well dat i wouldin go back ter mrs. mitchell's." "i went ter memphis en ma'ied george grisham in 1870. he jinned de army, as ban' leader, went ter san antonio, texas en i kum back ter mrs. smith's en stayed 'til her mammy lost her mind. mah husband d'ed in texas, fum heart truble. all his things wuz sent back ter me, en eve'y month i got a $30.00 pension fer me en mah daughter. w'en she wuz 16 dey cut hit down en i only git $12.00 now." "i edj'cated mah daughter at fisk; en she's bin teachin' schul since 1893. she buy dis place en we live tergedder. we hab good health en both ez happy. i hab a 'oman kum eve'y monday en wash fer us." "de ole songs i member ez: "harp fum de tomb dis mournful sound." "am i a soldier ob de cross." "ole signs ez: dream ob snakes, sign ob de'th.--ef a hen crows a sign ob de'th.--sneeze wid food in mouth means de'th.--ef a black cat crosses de road, walk backwards 'til you git pas' whar hit crossed. mah parents useter tell lots ob tales but i can't think ob dem." "oh honey, i dunno w'at dis young peeples ez kum'n ter. dey ez so diff'ent fum de way i wuz raised. i don't think much ob dis white en black mar'ages. hit shouldn't be 'lowed." "i 'long ter de missionary baptist." interview measy hudson 1209 jefferson st. nashville, tennessee "wuz bawn' in north carolina en i'se 90 y'ars ole in november. w'en war broke out we kum ter tennessee en hab bin 'yer eber since. wuz 'yer w'en old hood fi'rd de cannons. he said he wuz kum'n 'yer ter christmas dinnah, but he didn't do hit." "mah white folks wuz named harshaw. marster aaron harshaw d'ed en we wuz willed ter his chilluns en dat we wuz not ter be whup'd er 'bused in anyway. we wuz sold, but long 'fore de war mah daddy wuz freed en mah manny wuz not freed, but kep' a slave." "de marster's chilluns wuz small en eber new y'ar day, we wuz put on a block en hired out ter de high bidduh, en de money spent ter school de marster's chilluns." "i wuz tole dat sum ob de white peeples wuz so mean ter dere slaves dat de slaves would tek a pot en turn hit down in a hollow ter keep dere whites fum yearin' dem singin' en prayin'. de ku klux wuz bad on de ex-slaves at fust." "de white folks 'fore de war had w'at dey called "muster" en i would go down wid dem. i would dance en de folks would gib me money er gib me candy en durin' de war de soldiers wuz de prettiest things." "got nuthin' at freedum en wuz not lookin' fuh nuthin'. ef marster had lived he might hab gib us sump'in. he wuz a good man en good ter us. eber since mah freedum, i'se wuk'd as a laundress. wuk'd fer one fam'ly ober 21 y'ars. 'bout two y'ars ago i lefted a tub, en hurt mahself. i'se not able ter wuk now. i hab bin ma'ied twice en i'se voted three times." "i went ter schul at fisk, a short time, w'en hit wuz on 12th avenue, but i diden' git ter go long 'nuff ter git en edj'cation." "jis 'fore de civil war i members de comet. hit wuz lak a big sta'r wid a long tail. eve'body said hit wuz a sign ob judgement day." "bad luck signs: ef'n a picture falls, hit's a sign ob de'th--bad luck ter step ovuh a broom--ef a clock stop runnin' en later hit strike, dat means de'th." "sum ob de young peeple terday ez good but sum ob dem don't wan'ter be nuthin'. de last war ruined mos' ob de white en de black." "i b'leeves in de baptist 'ligion en 'longs ter de baptist church, 9th avenue n. on cedar street. de white 'oman i wuk'd fuh wan'ed me ter join de christian (colored) chuch. only song i now members ez "on jordans banks i stand." "don't think dis marrin' ob whites wid blacks should be 'lowed en think eve'y culor should stay ter hits-sef." "i don't member now 'bout any stories tole back in ole times. our white folks wuz christians en tried ter teach us right en dey diden' tek up much time tellin' stories." interview patsy hyde 504 9th avenue n. nashville, tennessee "dunno how ole i ez. i wuz bawn in slavery en b'longs ter de brown family. mah missis wuz missis jean r. brown en she wuz kin ter abraham lincoln en i useter y'ar dem talkin' 'bout 'im livin' in a log cabin en w'en he d'ed she had her house draped in black. marster brown wuz also good ter his slaves. de missis promus marster brown on his de'th bed nebber ter let us be whup'd en she kep her wud. sum ob de oberseers on urthur plantations would tie de slaves ter a stake en gib dem a good whup'in fer sump'in dey ought not ter done." "all cul'ed people wore cotton goods en de younger boys run 'round in der shurt tails. mah missis nit all de white chilluns stockin' en she made me sum. i had ter hold de yarn on mah hans w'en she wuz nittin'. i members one time i wuz keepin' flies off de table usin' a bunch ob peacock feathers en i went ter sleep standin' up en she tole me ter go back ter de kitchen." "i went en finish mah nap." "one day ole uncle elick woke marster brown fum his atter-noon nap tellin' 'im dat de prettiest men dat i ever seed wuz passin' by on de road. he went ter de winder en said, "good gawd, hit's dem damn yankees." mah white folks had a pretty yard en gyarden. soldiers kum en camped dere. i'd slip ter de winder en lissen ter dem." "w'en dey wuz fightin' at fort negley de cannons would jar our house. de soldier's ban' play on capitol hill, en play "rally 'roun' de flag boys, rally 'roun de flag." "de slaves would tek dere ole iron cookin' pots en turn dem upside down on de groun' neah dere cabins ter keep dere white folks fum hearin' w'at dey wuz sayin'. "dey claimed dat hit showed dat gawd wuz wid dem." "in slavery time peeples b'leeved in dreams. i members one nite i dreamed dat a big white thing wuz on de gatepost wida haid. i tole mah mammy en she said, "gawd wuz warning us." de ma'rige cer'mony in de days ob slavery wuz by de man en 'oman jumpin' ovuh a broom handle tergedder." "i don' member much 'boud de ku klux klan, but i does member seein' dem parade one time in nashville." (she evidently refers to the klan's last parade in 1869 in nashville, immediately preceeding the disbandment of the klan at fort negley.) "i members dat de northern soldier's ban' would play union ferever, rally 'roun de flag, en down wid de traitors en up wid de sta's en stripes." "de songs i members ez: i'se a soldier ob de cross. follow de lamb. i would not live allus. i axs not ter stay." "i member w'en de stars fell. hit wuz so dark en eberbody wuz skeered, en i member a comet dat looked lak a big red ball en had sump'in lak a tail on hit. eber one wuz skeered en wuz 'feard hit would hit de groun' en burn de worl' up. i member de fust street lites in nashville. w'en de lamp mans would kum 'round en lite de lamps dey would yell out "all ez well" en i also members de southern money goin' out en yankee money kum'n in, en also w'en dere wuzn't any coal 'yer en eve'ythin' wuz wood en mos' ob dis town wuz in de woods." "de slaves wuz tole dey would git forty ak'rs ob groun' en a mule w'en dey wuz freed but dey nebber got hit. w'en we wuz free we wuz tuned out widout a thing. mah grandmammy wuz an "ole mammie" en de missis kep her. atter freedum a lot ob yankee niggah gals kum down 'yer en hire out." "w'en i wuz a young girl hund'eds ob people went ter de wharf at de foot ob broadway on de fust sunday in may ob eber'y year fer de annual baptizin' ob new members inter de baptist (culored) churches ob de city. thousands ob white people would crowd both sides ob de cumberland riber, broadway en de sparkman street bridge ter witnus de doin's. on leavin' de chuches de pastor would lead de parade ter de wharf. dey would sing en chant all de way fum de chuch ter de river en sum ob de members would be ovuhkum wid 'ligious feelin' en dey would hop up en down, singin' en shoutin' all de time, or may be dey would start ter runnin' down de street en de brethern would hab ter run dem down en bring dem back." "we useter hav' dem champ meetin's en dey wuz "honeys," en i enjoy dem too. we wore bandanna handkerchiefs on our haids en long shawls ovuh our shoulders. at deze meetin's dey had all kinds ob good things ter eat en drink." "atter mah freedum i dun washin' en ironin' fer white families. neber ma'ried but i neber worries no matter w'at happens en dat's may be cause ob mah livin' so long." "things ter day ez mighty bad. not lak de ole days. worl' ez gwin ter end soon." "atter i got ter feeble ter do washin' en ironin' fer mah livin', i went ter de relief office ter git dem ter he'ps me, but dey wouldn't do a thing. i had no place ter go er no money ter do wid. dis culid 'oman tuk me in en does all she can fer me but now she ez disable ter wuk en i dunno w'at ter do. ef'n i could git a small grocer order each week til i git de ole age pension hit would he'p lots." interview ellis ken kannon 328 5th avenue n. st. mary's church nashville, tennessee "i dunno jes how ole i ez. i wuz bawn in tennessee as a slave. mah mammy kum frum virginia. our marster wuz ken kannon." "our mistress wouldn't let us slaves be whup'd but i member mah daddy tellin' 'bout de overseer whuppin' 'im en he run 'way en hid in a log. he tho't de blood hounds, he heered 'bout a half mile 'way, on his trail could heer 'im breathe but de hounds nebber fin' 'im. atter de hounds pas' on, mah daddy lef' de log hidin' place en w'en he got ter a blacksmith shop, he se'ed a white man wid a nigger who had handcuffs on en w'en de white man tuk off de handcuffs, de nigger axed mah daddy whar he wuz gwine en he tole 'im back ter mah mistress en de nigger sezs i ez too. mah daddy slipped 'way fum 'im en went home." "w'en i wuz a young boy, i didn't wear nothin' but a shirt lak all urthur boys en hit wuz a long thing lak a slip dat kum ter our knees. our mistress had a big fier place en w'en we would kum in cole she would say ain't you all cole. (you all was always used in the plural and not singular as some writers have it). w'ile we wuz warmin' she often played de organ fer us ter heer." "i waited on mah marster 'til he d'ed. dey let me stay rite wid de body. mah mistress, mammy ob de marster, wuz in bad health at dat time, en 'fore we sta'ted ter de graveyard, i put a feather bed in de car'age en got a pitcher ob water ready en 'fore we git dere she got awful sick." "durin' slavery de slaves hadder keep quiet en dey would turn a kittle upside down ter keep de white folks 'yearin dere prayers en chants. w'en a slave wanted ter go ter 'nother plantation he had ter hab a pass. ef' dey disobeyed dey got a whuppin, en ef dey had a pass widout de marsters signature dey got a whuppin. _ef'n dey had ter hab passes now dere wouldin' be no meaness_." "i member de klu klux klan kumin ter mah daddy's home axin fer water en dey would keep us totin' water ter dem fer fifteen ter twenty minutes. dey didn't whup er hurt any ob us. i also member 'yearin mah mammy en daddy tellin' us 'bout de sta'rs fallin'. i member de comet. hit wuz a big ball en had a long tail." "i hab 'yerd dem tell 'bout mr. robertson. he wuz mean ter his slaves en dey sezs dey could see a ball ob fier rollin' on de fence en w'en dey would git ter de spring, a big white thing lak a dog would crawl under de rock. de slaves wuz natur'ally superstitious en b'leeved in dreams, ole sayings en signs. i hab mahse'f se'ed things dat i ain't onderstan'. hab almost seen de things dat (apostle) john seed." "dunno nuthin 'bout any ob de ex-slaves voting er de nat turner 'bellion." "atter freedum mos' ob de slaves wuk'd fer dere livin' jes as i ez. de men in de fiel's, de 'omen in de house. i wuk'd at a hotel in mcminnville en one day, i wuz keepin' de flies off de table wid a brush made frum fine strips ob papah en de string broke en hit fell on de table. one man jumped up grabbed a cheer sayin' ah'll knock you down wid dis cheer." "de slave 'pected ter git 40 akers ob land en a mule but nobody eber got hit as fur as i know. we didn't git nuthin. our white peeple wuzzent able ter gib us anyting. eve'ythin' dey had wuz tuk durin' de wah. dey wuz good ter us an stuck wid us en mah peeple stayed wid mah mistress." "dis young gineratshun ob niggers, i 'clare dey ez jes 'bout gon'. dey won't wuk, all's stealin' en mabe wuk long 'nuff ter git a few clothes ter strut 'round in. i may be wrong but dat ez mah hones' pinion." "de songs--i member ez: de ole ship ob zion. do you think you'll be able ter tek me home." "i has bin 'yer fifteen y'ars en hab wuked onder two priests en now wukin under de third. dey hab all bin nice ter me. hab neber had any trubble wid white peeple en you'd be sprized how good dey ez ter me. dey don't treat me lak a nigger." "eber since i got mah freedum en 'fore i got dis chuch job, i dun all kinds ob odd jobs, waited on tables, pressin' clothes en anyting else dat kum 'long, but sum jobs wuz small pay but hit kep me 'live." "don't member any slave uprisin's. our peeple wuz good ter us." interview scott martin 438 fifth ave., no. "i'se 90 y'ars ole and wuz bawn in slavery in sumner county, tennessee and i b'long to marster dr. madison martin an' mah misses mary. and i wuk'd wid de stock an' wuz de houseman." "i hab neber been in any truble, neber 'rested en neber bin in jail. i knows how ter behave, but de young peeples ob terday ain' dun rite en dey don' 'mounts ter much. dar am a few dat am all rite. in de ole days dey wer' bettuh dan dey ez terday. de white and black ougher not ma'rie." "i has voted two times, but i disremembers who i voted fer. neber hadney frens in office en i nebr met any of de klu klux men. i didn' go out much en i neber wuz kotched w'en i did git out. i heered lots 'bout nigger uprisin' but dey wuz away off." "i b'long ter de missionary baptist chuch an' i useter preach in mah chuch 'ouse en udders w'en called. once a y'ar i wud be at de cumberland riber wha'f en' baptiz' culled peeples all da'. we useter hab camp meetin' in de ole days en hab good things ter eat en i would preach all day. i went ter schul two sessions en den i went to wuk." "i member de fust street kar line that run on east side of cumberland riber ter east end ob de ole wood bridge dat de 'arly settlers build. de kars wer' pulled by hosses en' mules. de whites en blacks mixed tergedder en den de law made de whites rid' in frunt en the blacks in de rearuh. i think dat wuz rite, but sum ob mah race wuz mad 'bout hit. i wuz on a kar one day and mules run'd 'way en de ole red mule got loose frum de kar en run'd ober a mile 'fore dey ketched him en dey brot 'im ba'k en de kar' pas' on. i members de ole l & n railroad on de east side. w'en my folks wud ride de train dey had 'ter hold me tite or i wuld git 'way frum dem en run en hide 'hind sum logs. i wuz scar'et ter ride on de kars." "atter freedum de slaves had'n no truble ter go whar dey wan'. menny lef' but menny stay wid der ole marsters. i stay wid my marster tell he d'ed. i den kum an' lib wid mah daddy on lebanon road. atter dat i libed on gallatin road an' den i kum ter nashville, an' wuk wid pic' and shovel on streets, sewers an' udder jobs. i heered dem sez dat de slaves wud git lan', hoss, money er sumpin' but i neber heerd ob nobody gittin nuthin'. dere wuz not slave 'raisings eroun' whar i wuz." "de fallin' st'ars wuz 'fore mah time, but i'se heer'd mah daddy tole 'bout hit. i se'd de comet wid hit shinnin' tail an' i fust b'leevd sumbody put hit up dere." "good luck sign wuz w'en a stray cat kum ter yo' house an' stay dere. bad luck sign wuz a black kat crossin' yo' path in frunt ob yer. ter ke'p frum havin' de bad luck yo' back up pas' whar hit crossed yer path en den spit an' yer hab no bad luck." "dem air ships luk nice but dey ez spoke 'boud in de holy bible, dat sum day dere wud be flyin' things in de air'h an' i think dat dese things am it. de otomobeels kiver nuder passag' in de bible which seze de peeple 'll rid' on de streets widout hosses en mules." "mah fav'rite songs am "i gwine to jine de gideon band," and "keep yo' lits bunnin'." "ter ole now ter wuk an' mah haid don' se'm ter be tergedder an' i'se gits he'ps frum de welfare." interview ann matthews 719 9th ave. south nashville, tennessee "i wuz bawn in murfreesboro on stones river. i dunno how ole i ez en hit meks me 'shamed ter tell peeple dat, but mah mammy would hit me in de mouth w'en i'd ax how ole i wuz. she say i wuz jes' tryin' ter be grown." "mah mammy's name wuz frankie en mah daddy wuz henry ken kannon. don' member much 'bout mah mammy 'cept she wuz a sho't fat indian 'oman wid a turrible tempah. she d'ed, durin' de war, wid black measles." "mah daddy wuz part indian en couldn't talk plain. w'en he go ter de store he'd hab ter put his han' on w'at he want ter buy. he d'ed eight months 'fore de centennial." "our marster en missis wuz landon en sweenie ken kannon. dey wuz good ter us, en we had'n good things ter eat." "i member de yankee en southern soldiers. one day me en mah young missis, en sum chilluns went up ter de road en we se'ed sum yankee soldiers kumin', i clum'ed on de fence, de urthurs run 'way en hid. one ob de soldiers sezs ter me, 'lettle girl who wuz dat wid you,' en i sezs, 'hit wuz miss puss en sum chilluns.' he laughed en sezs, 'you ez brave ain' you?'" "our missis let us go ter chuch. i 'long ter de chuch ob christ." "i dunno ob but one slave dat got lan' er nothin' w'en freedum wuz 'clared. we didn't git nuthin at freedum. mah daddy went back in de woods en built us a saplin house en dobbed hit wid mud. atter freedum mah daddy went 'way, en we chilluns staid in dat house in de woods by oursel's. dere wuz two weeks we didn't see a bit ob bre'd. i went up w'at ez called de nine mile cut neah tullahoma, en axed a 'oman ef she would let us hab sum bre'd. she gib me sum meat en bre'd, en tole me ter kum back. i went back home en we et sump'in, en i went back ter de 'oman's house, she gib me a sack ob flour en a big piece ob midlin' meat. we wuz skeered, bein' dere 'lone so i would set up wile mah br'ers slep', den i'd sleep in de daytime. one nite sumbody knocked at de do'er en hit wuz mah daddy en he had two sacks ob food, en de urthur chilluns got up en we et a big meal." "i useter 'yer de folks talk 'bout de sta'rs fallin', but dat happen' 'fore i wuz bawn." "i didn't go ter schul, mah daddy wouldin' let me. said he needed me in de fiel wors den i needed schul. i wuz allus sassy en stubbun. i run 'way fum mah daddy en kum ter nashville. i stayed at a schul on franklin pike, run by mrs. mcgathey. i wuz de only cul'ed person dere. dey wuz good ter me en eve'y chrismus i would git a big box ob clothes en things." "in manchester de klu klux klan wore big high hats, red handkerchiefs on dere faces en red covers on dere hosses. dey tuk two niggers out ob jail en hung dem ter a chestnut tree." "one nite w'en i wuz gwine wid mah daddy fum de fiel' home, we met sum ob de k.k.k. en dey said, 'ain't you out late henry? en who ez dat gal wid you?' mah daddy said, 'we ez gwine home fum wuk, en dis ez mah daughter.' dey said, 'whar has she bin, we ain't nebber se'ed her.' he told dem, 'i'd bin in nashville.' dey said dey'd be back dat nite but we didn't see dem." "w'en i wuz in manchester i promus de lawd i wouldin' dance. but one nite i wuz on de ball floor, dancin' fum one end ob de room ter de urthur en sump'in sezs go ter de do'er. i didn't go right den en 'gin hit sezs you ez not keepin' yo promus. i went ter de do'er en you could pick a pin off de groun' hit wuz so light. in de sky wuz de prettiest thing you ebber se'ed, so many culors, blue, white, green, red en yellow." "since freedum i'se wuked wid diff'ent peeple, cookin' en keepin' house. i'se de mammy ob three chilluns. two ob dem ez 'way fum 'yer, en i live 'yer wid mah daughter." "old songs, i member ez: dark wuz de nite. i'll live wid gawd forever, bye en bye. fum dis earth i go, oh lawd, w'at will 'kum ob me." "so yer wan't me ter tell you de truf? i think de young peeple ez nothin'. dey think dey ez smaht. most ob de ex-slaves i'se knowed has cooked en nussed, done laundry wuk; wuked in fiel's en diff'ent things." "i'se neber voted en hab neber paid any 'tention ter de niggers gittin' ter vote. don't hab any frens in political office. can't member any tales er signs." "i don't b'leeve in dese mixed white and black families en hit shouldn't be 'lowed." "durin' slavery de white folks didn't want de niggahs ter sing en pray, but dey would turn a pot down en meet at de pot in de nite en sing en pray en de white folks wouldn't 'yer dem." "ef a slave died de white folks wouldn't let nobody set up wid de body 'cept de niggers ob dat plantation, but urthur slaves would slip in atter dark, set up en den slip back ter dere plantation 'fore day." "w'en i useter go ter camp meetin' dey had big dinnahs en spread hit on de groun'. dey preached, sung, shouted en eve'ybody had a good time." "fum de camp meetin's dey would go ter de wharf en baptize. dey would tie handkerchiefs 'roun dere haids. w'en dey wuz dipped under de water sum ob dem would kum up shoutin'." a tale one time de preacher wuz in de river fixin' ter baptize a man. eve'ybody wuz singin' ole time 'ligion. a 'oman sung, "i don' lak dat thing 'hind you." bout dat time de pahson en de udder man se'd an alligator. de parson sezs, "no-by-god i don't either." he turned de man loose en dey both run 'way. interview rev. john moore 809 7th avenue so. nashville, tennessee "i wuz bawn in georgia (exact time not known) en mah mammy wuz half indian en mah daddy a slave. both ob dem owned by william moore. sum time atter dat marster moore sold mah daddy en den de moore sistuhs looked atter me en wuz allus good ter me. "lawdy, dey wuz good white folks." "durin' slavery times de slaves would hab ter git fum dere marster a pas' 'fore dey could visit dere own people on de uther plantations. ef'n you had no pass you would git in trouble ef caught wid out one which allus ment a good whuppin' w'en dey returned. at dat time menny slaves would run 'way en hide in caves en menny ob dem would go by de "ondergroun' railroad" ter canada whar slavery wuz not recognized." (the underground railroad consisted of hiding places throughout the states to canada and the slaves would make the trip under cover from station to station.) "de slaves would slip out at nite ter private meetin's en turn a pot bottom up on de groun' en leave a little hole under hit so de sound ob dere talkin' would go onder de pot en no one would 'year whut dey wuz talkin' 'bout." "de ex-slaves ob de better class did vote en de white peeple stuck wid de good cul'ed folks. i don' member now 'bout de nat turner 'bellion." "atter freedum de slaves wuz 'lowed ter stay on de plantation en 'lowed ter farm en gib half dey made. atter slavery i useter wuk fer fifty cents en git a peck ob meal, three pounds ob bacon en a quart ob syrup which would las' a week." "de ku klux klan's plan wuz ter whup all white er cul'ed people dat didn't stay at home en support dere families but would run 'roun en live a bad life. w'en de klan would be passin' through de slaves would call dem ghostus." "one nite mah br'er en me wuz sleepin' in de dining room. sumpin woke us an we seed sumpin' dat kum through de yard en got hold ob sum blocks. dat thing didn't hab no haid en didn't hab no tale en looked lak hit wuz backin' up on all four legs. nex mawnin' we could fin' no tracks ob whuteber hit wuz en de gate wuz also fasened." "dis young peoples 'cordin' ter de bible ez on de broad road ter ruin. dey think dey ez as good as de white people but dey ez classed as niggahs in mah eyes." "caint member any ob de ole songs now." subject--ex-slave stories andrew moss #88 auburn streets knoxville, tennessee "one ting dat's all wrong wid dis world today," according to andrew moss, aged negro, as he sits through the winter days before an open grate fire in his cabin, with his long, lean fingers clasped over his crossed knees, "is dat dey ain no 'prayer grounds'. down in georgia whar i was born,--dat was 'way back in 1852,--us colored folks had prayer grounds. my mammy's was a ole twisted thick-rooted muscadine bush. she'd go in dar and pray for deliverance of de slaves. some colored folks cleaned out knee-spots in de cane breaks. cane you know, grows high and thick, and colored folks could hide de'seves in dar, an nobody could see an pester em." "you see it was jes like dis. durin' de war, an befo de war too, white folks make a heap o fun of de colored folks for alltime prayin. sometime, say, you was a slave en you git down to pray in de field or by de side of de road. white marster come 'long and see a slave on his knees. he say, 'what you prayin' 'bout?' an you say, 'oh, marster i'se jes prayin' to jesus cause i wants to go to heaven when i dies.' an marster say, 'youse my negro. i git ye to heaven. git up off'n your knees.' de white folks what owned slaves thought that when dey go to heaven de collored folk's would be dar to wait on em. an ef'n it was a yank come 'long, he say too, 'what you prayin' 'bout?' you gives de same 'sponse. an he say, 'we'se gwine save you. we goin' to set you free. you wants to be free, dont you?' 'yessir, boss!' 'well den, yank say, come go 'long wid me.' ain no use keep sayin' 'please sir boss, i'll have to arsk my master.' yank say, 'what you mean, marster? you aint got no marster. we's settin' you free.'" "sometimes dey takes a' tie a rope 'round you, and they starts ridin' off but dey dont go too fas' so you walks behind. sometimes 'long comes another yank on a horse an he arsk, 'boy ain you tired?' 'yessir boss.' 'well den you git up here behind me and ride some.' den he wrop de rope all 'round de saddle horn. wrops and wrops, but leaves some slack. but he keeps you tied, so's you wont jump down and run away. an many's de time a prayin' negro got took off like dat, and want never seen no more." "'course ef'n you goes wid em, you 'member your trainin' and 'fore you leaves de field, you stacks your hoe nice, like you was quittin' de days work. dey learned the little'uns to do dat, soon's dey begins to work in de fields. dey had little hoes, handles 'bout de size of my arm, for de little fellers. i've walked many a mile, when i was a little feller, up and down de rows, followin' de grown folks, an chopping wid de hoe 'round de corners whar de earth was soft so de little uns could hoe easy. whoopee! let dat dinner horn blow, and evy body stacks dey hoes, nince, neat stacks standin up, and starts to run. some eats in dey own cabins, but dem what eats at de big house, sets down at a long table, and gets good grub too! evy night, our marster give us evy one a glass o whiskey. dat's to keep off decease. mornins' we had to all drink tar water for de same purpose. dat want so tasty." "my marster's name was george hopper. dat man paid taxes on more'n two-thousand acres of land in two counties. i lived in dem two counties. was born in wilkes and raised in lincoln county, georgia. we called it de middle-south. my marster he never did marry. lots of folks didnt, dey jes took up wid one another. marster hopper had five children by my grandmother. she was his house woman, dat's what he call 'er. an when he died he willed her and all dem chilluns a house, some land, and a little money. he'd of left em a heap more money and ud been one of the richest men in the country, ef'n de war hadn't broke out. when it was over he had a barrel full of 'federate greenbacks. but t'want no count. he done broke den. one day my uncle, he was the colored overseer, he went to danbury, six miles from whar we lived at, and he paid $5 for a pound of coffee. dat was befo de north whupped de south, and dey had'n killed-down de money value for de south." "talk about hard times! we see'd em in dem days, durin' de war and most specially after de surrender. folks dese days dont know what trouble looks like. we was glad to eat ash-cakes and drink parched corn and rye 'stead o coffee. i've seed my grandmother go to de smoke house, and scrape up de dirt whar de meat had drapped, and take it to de house fer seasonin. you see, both armies fed off'n de white folks, and dey cleaned out dey barns and cellars and smoke houses when dey come. one time, when de yanks was on de way to augusta, i was picking up chips to make the supper fire, when i see'd em comin'. i hit it out from dar and hide behind two little hills down by de big spring. after awhile my brother find me and he tell me to come on back to the house and see dem white mens dance. de yanks kep' comin' and dey eat all night. by daylight they was through marchin past." "an den come de rebels. when dey come we had five-thousand bushel of corn, one-hundred head o hogs, three-hundred and fifty galons of syrup 'en sech. when dey left, they took an set fire to evything, to keep it away from the yanks, aimin to starve em out o dat country. dat's what dey done. some of dem rebs was mean as the yanks. and dat was bein' mean. some called de yanks, 'de hornets', 'cause dey fight so. take a yank an he'd fight acrost a buzz saw and it circlin' fifty mile a minute." "dat time when the yanks was goin' to augusta, an i went to black my marster's boot,--he'd give us a two-cent peice, big as a quarter--for boot blackin, i say, 'marster who is dem soldiers?' an he say to me, 'dey's de yankees, come to try to take you awy from me.' an i say, 'looks like to me marster, ef'n dey wants to take us dey'd arsk you fer us.' marster laughed and say, 'boy! dem fellers dont axes wid words. dey does all dey talkin' wid cannons.' did you know that a white woman shot de first cannon dat was ever fired in de state o georgia? she was a yankee colonel's wife, dey say, named miss anna, i dunno the rest o her name. she wants to be de first to fire a cannon she say, to set the negroes free. dat was befo' de war, begin. de roar of dat cannon was in folkes ears for more'n five days and nights." uncle andrew gave a little grunt as he lifted himself out of his chair. his little frame seemed lost in the broad-shouldered lumber jacket that he wore. he had laid aside the paper sack from which he had been eating, when the visitor came, and removed an old stocking cap from his head. when the visitor suggested that he keep it on, as he might catch cold he replied, "i dont humor myself none." the sunlight fell upon his head and shoulders as he stood, to steady himself on his feet. traces of his ancestry of indian blood,--one of his grandfathers was a cherokee indian,--were evident in his features. his skin is jet-black, but his forehead high and his nose straight, with nostrils only slightly full. there was dignity in his bearing and beauty in his face, with its halo of cotton-white hair and beard, cut short and neatly parted in the middle of his chin. walking about the room, he called the visitor's attention to family portraits on the walls. some were colored crayons, and a few were enlarged snap-shots. proudly he pointed to the photograph of a huge-sized negro man, apparently in his thirties, and said, "he was our first comins'. reckon he took after his great granddaddy, who was eight feet tall and weighed twe-hundred and fifty pounds. that man's arms was so long, when dey hung down by his side, his fingers was below his knees. dis grandfather was free-born. my father, dave moss, he was sold three times. he had twenty-five children. but he had two wives. as i aforesaid, folks didn't always marry in dem days, jes took up wid one another. my mother was his title-wife. by her, he jes had me and my two full-brothers an one sister. my mother died two years after de war. my father give my sister to my grandmother. jes give 'er to 'er." "how come i live in knoxville, i was a young man, when i started off from georgia, aimin to go over de mountains to kentucky whar i heard dey pay good wages. i stopped in campbell country, tennessee wid another feller, an' i see'd a pretty gal workin' in de field. an i say's, i'm goin' to marry dat gal. sho 'nough me an her was married in less dan six months. her marster build us a log house and we lived dar 'till we come to knoxville, tennessee. now, all o my boys is dead. evy one o em worked for mr. peters (peters and bradley flour mills, of knoxville)--and dey all died workin' fer him. so mister willie, he say he gwine let me live here, in de company house, the rest o my days." the four room frame house stands near a creek at the dead end of an alley on which both whites and negroes live. the huge double bed, neatly made, stands between two windows from which there is an unobstructed view of the highway traversing north and south through northern knoxville, several blocks away from andrew's home. "i jes lay down on dat bed nights and watch them autimobiles flyin by. dey go blip! blip! and blip! an i say to my self, 'watch them fools!' folkes ain got de sense dey's born wid. ain smart like dey used to be. an times ain good like dey was. ef'n it hadnt been for some of dem crazy fools, actin up and smarty, me an my wife'd be gittin maybe a hun'ered an' more dollars a month, 'stead o the fifteen we gits 'tween us for ole' age help. they'd ought to let rosevelt alone. an its his own folks as is fitin' 'im. he is a big man even ef he is a democrat. i'm a republican though. voted my first time for blaine." "yes i votes sometimes now, when dey come gits me. an befo i got sick, i would ride the street car to town. an i goes down to de court house, and when i see dem cannons in deyard i cain keep from cryin'. my wife arsk me what make me go look at dem cannon ef'n dey makes me cry. an i tells her i cry 'bout de good and de bad times dem cannon bringed us. but no cannons or nothin' else, seems like going to bring back de good old times. but i dont worry 'bout all dese things much. accordin' to de good book's promise, weepin' may endure for a night, den come joy in de mornin. an i knows dat de day's soon come when i goes to meet my folks and my lord an marster in his heaven, whar dey ain no more weepin.'" subject--ex-slave stories aunt mollie moss # 88auburn street, knoxville, tennessee there is no street sign or a number on any of the ramshackled frame cottages that seemingly lean with the breezes, first one direction, then another, along the alley that wind's through the city's northernmost boundary and stops its meanderings at the doorstep of "uncle andrew moss" and his wife, "aunt mollie." the city directory of knoxville, tennessee officially lists the moss residence as # 88 auburn street. it rests upon its foundations more substantially, and is in better kept condition than its neighbors. in lieu of a "reg'lar" house number, the aged negro couple have placed a rusty automobile lisence tag of ancient vintage conspicuously over their door. it is their jesture of contempt for their nearest white neighbors who "dont seem to care whedder folkses know whar dey lib an maybe don wants em to." as for aunt mollie, she holds herself superior to all of her neighbors. she "ain got no time for po white trash noway." she shoo'ed two little tow-headed white girls from her doorstep with her broom as she stood in her door and watched a visitor approach. "g'wan way frum here now, can be bodder wid you chillun messin ups my front yard. take yo tings an go on back to yo own place!" "dats way dey do," she mummled as she lead the visitor inside the cottage, through the dining-room and kitchen into the living-room and bedroom. "don know what i gwine do when come summer time. keeps me all time lookin out for dem chilluns. dey's dat troublesome. brings trash in on my flo what i jes scoured, an musses 'roun, maybe tryin to steal sumpin an me watchin em too. dey wasnt teached manners and 'havior in odder folkses houses like what i war." when aunt mollie learned that it was to hear her story of how she was trained in manners end behaviorism, that the visitor had come, and to hear something of her recollections of slave days, her belligerent mood vanished. the satisfied manner in which she drew up chairs before the fire, took a pinch of snuff and settled her skirts, indicated that was going to be quite a session. she leaned her elbows on her knees, held her head between the palms of her hands and fumbled in her cloudy memory to gather a few facts to relate. uncle andrew, the more intelligent of the two, and quick to seize upon his opportunity, began his reminiscences immediately, saying "honey, wait now," when his wife thought herself well organized to talk, and frequently broke into his narrative. "wait untell i gits through. den you can talk." aunt mollie would frown and grunt, mumble to herself as she rocked back and forth in her chair. she pulled the two long braids of brown silky hair, streaked with white, and tied at the ends with cotton strings. she spat vigorously into the fire, kept muttering and shuffling her feet, which were encased in men's shoes. at last it came aunt mollie's turn to talk war-times. uncle andrew, well pleased with his recital, retired to his corner by the hearth and listened "mannerdly"--after first warning the visitor in a gentle undertone, that "my wife she ain got much mem'ry an she don hear good." aunt mollie's rambling reminiscences backed up his statement. she began. "reckon i mus be 'bout eighty-two, three year old. i dunno exactly. ef i knowed whar to find em, deys some my white folkes lib in dis town. seem like i can 'member dey names. i b'longed to marster billy cain, and was raised on his farm in campbell county, tennessee. oh, 'bout six, seven mile from jacksboro. wish i could go back dar some time. ain been dar sence me an moss married an live eight, ten or some more years in a log cabin he built for us. we was married march 7, de day atter cleveland was 'lected presi-dent. in 1885 did you say? well, reckon you're right. i ain had no schoolin an i can 'member lots o tings i used to know." "billy cain worked me in de fields. an his wife miss nancy say she gwine stop it, 'cause i was so pretty she fraid somebody come steal me." aunt mollie buried her face in her apron and had a good laugh. "dey said i was de pretties' girl anywhars about. had teeth jes like pearls. whoops! look at em now. ain got 'nuff left to chaw wid. you notices how light-complected i is? my own father was a full-blooded cherokee indian. de yanks captured him an killed him." "i was hoein in de field dat time moss com 'long and see me and say he gwine marry me. an, jes like he tell you, we was married in less dan six months. we been livin togedder evy since and we gits along good. we have had blessins' and got a lot to be thankful for. could have more to eat sometimes, but we gits along someways. i am a good cook. miss nancy she teached me all kinds o cookin, puttin up berries, makin pickles and bakin bread and cake an evy'ting. her ole man cain give us good grub dem days. monday mornins' we go to de cains to git rations for de week. dey gib us three pounds wheat, a peck o meal, a galon o molasses, two pound o lard, two pound o brown sugar, rice an evy'ting. i use to have plates an china white folks gib me. white woman come one day, say she wan buy 'em. took plum nigh all i had. did'n pay me much o nothin' either." "yes, lord. i does 'member 'bout de war. i've see'd de blue an i've see'd de grey. in 1862 i see'd de soldiers formin' in line. i was a great big girl. dem swords glisen' like stars. can' member whar dey was goin dat time. but i ain forgit de times soldiers come foragin. dey got all dey wanted, too. hep' dey sef's an dont pay for it, never. soldier see a chicken go under de house, he plop down and shoot, and den call me to crawl under de house and fetch it out." aunt mollie buried her head in her apron again and laughed like a child. "lordy how scared i was of de old gander dat blowed at me, whilst i was tryin' to drag 'em out alive, when i see'd de soldiers comin'." "billy cain, he was brudder-in-law to old townslee, who lived on a plantation in alabama. how come my mother was give to cain an come to tennessee, was one mornin' old townslee rode his horse out under a tree to blow up de slaves. blow de horn you know, to call 'em to work. somebody shot 'im. right off his horse. it was so dark, 'fore daylight, an' couldnt see and dey never did find out who shot 'im. heap o white folks had enemies dem days. so de slaves he owned was divided munxt his chilluns. my mother was one of nine dat come to billy cain dat way." "talk 'bout your shootin jest for devilment. lemme tell you 'bout old men john wynn. he live down dar 'bout ten mile from whar moss lived when he was a boy. i've heard em tell it many a time. dey say john wynn had 185 slaves. evy time it come george washington's birthday, old wynn he had a feast and invite all de slaves! he celebratin! he say. he seta a long table wid all kind good tings to eat. an he count de slaves, so's to be sure dey all come. an' den he'd take an pick out one and shoot him! den he say, "now youse all can go 'head an eat. throw dat nigger 'side an we bury im in mornin'." and he walks off to de big house. no! he wasn't drunk. jes de debil in 'im. well, he shot ten, twelve, maybe thirty dat way. an den de white folks hanged 'im to a tree. hanged im t'well he was good and dead, dey did." "now folkes can 'joy dey victuals wid sech goin's on. de slaves git so's dey scared to hear de bell ring. don' know what it mean. maybe death, maybe fire, maybe nudder sale o some body. gwine take 'em way. but when de bell ring dey had to come. let dat ole bell ring and de woods was full o negroes. maybe 500 hundred come from all over date county." aunt mollie was beginning to ramble and babble incoherently, her memories of her own and the experiences of others all confused in her mind. when she had about finished a story about how one of the slave women, "bust de skull" of the head of her marster,'" 'cause she was nussin a sick baby an' he tell her she got to git out in dat field an hoe" and the gory details of what the shovel did to the white marster's head, it was time for the visitors to close the interview. both uncle andrew and aunt mollie followed the visitor to the front door, and wished her "all de luck in de world. an thank you for comin'. an come see us agin, nudder time." interview andy odell 1313 pearl street nashville, tennessee "i wuz bawn east ob spring hill, tennessee. i dunno in w'at y'ar, but i wuz a ful' grown man w'en i wuz freed. (this will make him about 96 years old.). i wuz an onlies' chile en i nebber knowed mah daddy. mah mammy wuz sold 'way fum me. she ma'ied a man named brown en dey had seven chillun." "at fust i 'longed ter marster jim caruthers. w'en his daughter ma'ied fount odell, i wuz willed ter her en den mah marsters wuz fount en albert odell who wuz br'ers. mah white folks let us go ter chuch. i b'leeves in de baptist 'ligion. i nebber knowed any slave dat had ter hide ter sing er pray. i members de comet en hit wuz a sta'r wid a long tail en looked lak hit wuz burnin'. de sta'rs fell 'fore i wuz bawn." (the stars fell in 1833). "we had ter hab passes en if you didn't hab one, you got whupped. mah marster let me go ter chuch wid' out a pass. i members de klu klux klan but dey nebber bothered me, tho i 'yeard a lot 'bout dem. dey called demselves "white caps" en said dey wuz rite fum de grave. w'en a slave got whupped hit wuz cose dey disobey dere white folks en de overseer whupped dem. i though mah white folks wuz awful mean ter me sumtime." "i nebber b'leeved in ghos' but hab yeard lots 'bout dem. lots of peeples did b'leeve in dem back in dem times. uster sing a lot but i dunno names ob dem now. i dunno w'at ez gwine ter 'kum ob dis young crowd. i sho don't think diff'ent culers oughter ma'rie. de lawd didn't mean fer hit ter be dun. dunno ob any slave 'risin's in virginia er any uther place. don't member now de tales en sayin' ob de ole times." "member well w'en de war broke out en how dey had big dinners en marched 'round ovuh de fiel's, gittin' ready fer de war. i had a br'er kilt in de war en mah mammy got a lettle money fum 'im. also member dat w'en mah mammy got de money she bought me a hat." "i don't git nuthin at freedum en i dunno ob any slaves gittin' any land er money. i know dat w'en we wuz freed marster albert called us slaves in en said, "you all ez as free as i ez, but you can stay 'yer en wuk fer me ef'n you want ter." i staid wid 'im a good w'ile attar freedum." "since freedum i hab plowed, hoed, cut wood, en wuk'd in quarries pecking rock. hab nebber wuk'd in town fer i dunno de things 'bout town. i hab voted almost eve'y election since freedum 'til dese last few years. i hab had two frens in office but both ez de'd now. i uster think 'omen shouldn't vote, but i guess hit ez alri'te." interview laura ramsey parker 715 gay st. nashville, tennessee "i'se 87 y'ars ole. wuz bawn in slavery. wuz freed w'en de slavery stopped. mack ramsey wuz mah marster en he wuz sho good ter his slaves. he treated dem as human bein's. w'en he turned his slaves 'loose he gib dem no money, but gib dem lands, clothin' en food 'til dey could brang in dere fust crop. mah daddy rented a strip ob land 'til he wuz able ter buy de place. he lived on de same fer menny y'ars." "w'en i wuz ole er'nuff i wuz taught ter spin en weav. i bucum de nuss ter de marster's onlies' chile. soon atter i wuz freed, i went ter wisconsin, but only wuz dere fer a y'ar, den i kum back ter tennessee en nashville. i settled in dis house en i'se bin livin' in hit fer ovuh fifty y'ars. dere wuz no uther houses 'round 'yer at de time. i own de place. hab wuk'd all mah life seem ter me. at one time i wuz a chambermaid at de nicholson house now de tulane en later 'kum a sick nuss, a seamstress, dressmaker but now i pieces en sells bed quilts. i does mah own housekeepin' en washin'." "i don't member now, very much 'bout de ku klux klan. i do member dat one nite dey passed our home en i grab'ed a shotgun en said dat i wuz gwine ter shoot dem ef dey kum on de place. i members de battle ob murfreesboro, but i'se got no membrances ob any slave uprisin'." "i think very lettle ob de younger ginerashon. dere's many things ter day dat should be changed, but i'se 'yer en can't do nuthin' ter change hit. i's min'in mah own business. i puts mah faith en trust in gawd's han's; en treats mah nabers right; en lives honest. i 'longs ter de christian chuch, but don't wan'ter be called a "campbellite." "de songs i members ez: am i a soldier ob de cross. am i bawn ter die? 'tis 'ligion dat can gib." interview naisy reece 710 overton st. nashville, tennessee "i wuz bawn in slavery, in williamson county, guess i'se 'bout 80 y'ars ole. think i wuz fou' w'en de wah started." "mah mammy en daddy wuz mary en ennock brown." "mah missis en marster wuz polly en randall brown." "dunno ob any ob our fam'ly bein' sold. w'en freedum wuz declar' we wuz tu'n loose wid nothin'. mah daddy tuk us down in de kuntry, raised crops en made us wuk in de fiel'." "i'se cooked a leetle fer urther peeple, but mos' ob mah wuk has bin laundry. i didn't go ter schul much. i dunno w'at ter say 'bout de younger gineratshun; dere ez sich a diff'unce now ter w'at hit wuz w'en i wuz a girl. dunno any tales dat i useter 'year." "didn't see any klu klux klan, but i alluz got skeered en hid w'en we'd 'year dey wuz kumin'. i 'long ter de baptist church. i neber went ter menny camp-meetin's, but went ter a lot ob baptizins." "mammy tole us how de sta'rs fell en how skeered eberybody got. i saw de long tail comet." _signs_: "good luck ter git up 'fore day-lite ef'n youer gwin sum place er start sum wuk." "bad luck ter sweep flo' atter dark en sweep de dirt out." _songs_: "i couldn't hear anybody pray." "ole time 'ligion." "cross de riber jordan." "i'se neber voted, en hab neber had any frens in office. neber knowed nothin' 'bout de slave mart er de 'structshun days." interview millie simpkins "black mamie" 1004 10th avenue, no. nashville, tennessee i claims i's 109 ye'ars ole en wuz bawn neah winchester, tennessee. mah marster wuz boyd sims en mah missis wuz sarah ann ewing sims. mah mammy wus named judy ewing en mah daddy wuz moses stephens en he wus "free bawn." he wuz de marster's stable boy en followed de races. he run 'way en nebber kum back. mah fust missis wuz very rich. she had two slave 'omen ter dress her eve'y mawnin' en i brought her breakfust ter her on a silvah waitah. she wuz ma'ied three times, her second husband wuz joe carter en de third wuz judge gork. mah fust missis sold me kaze i wuz stubborn. she sent me ter de "slave yard" at nashville. de yard wuz full ob slaves. i stayed dere two weeks 'fore marster simpson bought me. i wuz sold 'way fum mah husband en i nebber se'd 'im 'gin. i had one chile which i tuk wid me. de slave yard wuz on cedar street. a mr. chandler would bid de slaves off, but 'fore dey started biddin' you had ter tek all ob yo clothes off en roll down de hill so dey could see dat you didn't hab no bones broken, er sores on yer. (i wouldin' tek mine off). ef nobody bid on you, you wuz tuk ter de slave mart en sold. i wuz sold dere. a bunch ob dem wuz sent ter mississippi en dey had dere ankles fas'end tergedder en dey had ter walk w'iles de tradahs rid. w'en i wuz sold ter marster simpkins, mah second mistress made me a house slave en i wuked only at de big house en mah wuk wus ter nuss en dress de chilluns en he'ps mah missis in her dressin'. de young slaves wuz hired out ter nuss de white chilluns. i wuz hired as nuss girl at seven y'ars ole en started cookin' at ten. i nebber had a chance ter go ter schul. i'm de mammy ob 14 chilluns, seven boys en seven gals. i wuz next ter de olest ob four chillun. mah missis useter hire me out ter hotels en taverns. sum marsters fed dare slaves meat en sum wouldin' let dem hab a bite. one marster we useter 'yer 'bout would grease his slaves mouth on sunday mawnin', en tell dem ef any body axed ef dey had meat ter say "yes, lots ob hit". w'en dey got ready ter whup dem dey'd put dem down on a pit widout any clothes, stand back wid a bull whup en cut de blood out. i member de niggers would run 'way en hide out. de only fun de young folks had wuz w'en de ole folks had a quiltin'. w'ile de ole folks wuz wukin' on de quilt de young ones would git in 'nuther room, dance en hab a good time. dey'd hab a pot turned down at de do'er ter keep de white folks fum 'yearin' dem. de white folks didn't want us ter l'arn nothin' en ef a slave picked up a lettle piece ob papah, dey would yell "put dat down you--you wan't ter git in our business." de white folks wouldin' let de slaves pray, ef dey got ter pray hit wuz w'iles walkin' 'hind de plow. white folks would whup de slaves ef dey 'yeard dem sing er pray. i wuz a big girl w'en dey build de capitol. i played on de hill 'fore hit wuz built en i toted blocks fum dere w'en hit wuz bein' built. i wuz livin' in dickson county w'en fort donelson wuz tuk. i seed de fust gun boat dat kum up de cumberland river. i wuz standin' in de do'er w'en i se'd hit kumin', but hit didn't tek me long ter git back in de back ob de house. i wuz skeered dey would shoot. mah marster run a fer'y en atter de gun boat kum up de riber, he got skeered en gib mah ole man de fer'y, en w'en de soldiers kum ter tek fort negley he set dem 'cross de river. a man at ashland city dat made whisk'y would hab mr. simpkins bring a load ob logs up ter ashland city en den bring a load ob whiskey down en hide hit so de yankees would'nt git hit. mah marster had a fish trap at de mouth ob harper en w'en de gun boat passed dey shot thro' de trap. i wuz right 'yer w'en de civil wah wuz gwin on, en de soldiers wuz dressed up en beatin' de drums. no honey we didn't git nothin' w'en we wuz freed. jes druv 'way widout nothin' ter do wid. we got in a waggin en druv ter nuther man's plantashun. mah ole man made a crap dere. sum ob de slaves might hab got sump'in but i dunno nobody dat did. i wuz skeered ter op'n mah do'er atter dark on 'count ob ku klux klan, dey wuz red hot. i member w'en de sta'rs fell. i wuz small but de ole folks run out en looked at dem, kum back set down en cried, dey tho't hit me'nt de worl' wuz kumin' ter an end. de peeple wuz skeered w'en dey se'd de comet wid de long tail. dey tho't hit wuz a sign ob wah. i'se cooked eve'y since i wuz freed. i stayed in henry galbles kitchen five long y'ars, en since i'se had dese strokes hit's broke me up 'till i kin do nothin'. i 'long ter de methodist church. i think de young peeples ez turrible, en dis white en black mar'iags not be 'lowed. de songs i member ez: "dark wuz de night". "good ole daniel". i'se nebber voted but i'se electioneered fer dem. hab nebber had any frens in office. i wuz 'yer w'en henry clay en james k. polk wuz runnin'. i wuz hired at de ole city hotel ovuh on de river. i wuz din'in room servant dere. mah marster would hab me sing a song fer him 'bout de democrats. "hooray de kuntry ez risin'; rise up en drown ole clay en his pizen". i guess ole clay wuz a right good fellow but he played cards wid de niggers in de cellar. de only thing i member 'bout de 'structshun time wuz sum ob de whites didn't wan' de niggers ter vote. i stays 'yer wid mah daughter. dat ez de only support i hab since i had deze strokes en bin unable ter do fer mahse'f. _ex-slave stories_ subject: _joseph_ _leonidas_ _star_, # 133 quebec place, _knoxville_, _tennessee_ if the poetic strain in the dunbar negroes of the south is an inheritance and not "just a gift from on high," knoxville, tennessee's aged negro poet,--born joseph leonidas star,--but prominently known in the community as "lee" star, poet, politician and lodge man,--thinks that georgia's poetic genius paul lawrence dunbar, "maybe took his writin' spells" from him. "my grandfather and paul lawrence dunbar's grandfather was cousins. he were a much younger man than i am, for i was eighty-one years old the twenty-sixth of december, 1937. so i reckon i give it down to my kin-man. but it seem to me, that poets is just born thataway. po'try is nothin' but truth anyway, and it's truth was sets us free. and that makes me a free-born citizen bothways and every ways. i were born free. i were always happy-natured and i expect to die thataway. one of my poems is named, 'be satisfied!' and i say in it that if a man's got somethin' to eat, and teeth to bite, he should be satisfied. you cant take your goods with you. old man rockefeller, when he died here awhile back, went away from here 'thout his hat and shoes. that's the way its goin' to be with all us, no matter what our color is." "the people 'round here calls me "lee" star, and i want to tell you, lee star is a free-born man. but of course, things bein' as they were, both my mother and father were slaves. that is for a few years. they lived in greenville, tennessee. my mother, maria guess, was free'd before the emancipation, by the good words of her young white mistress, who told 'me [tr: 'em] all when she was about to die, she wanted 'em to set maria free, 'cause she didn't want her little playmate to be nobodys else's slave. they was playmates you see. my mother was eleven years old when she was freed." "when she was about fourteen and my father henry dunbar wanted to marry he had to first buy his freedom. in them times a slave couldn't marry a free'd person. so he bought his freedom from his marster lloyd bullen, and a good friend of andrew johnson, the presi-dent. my father an' him was friends too. so he bought his freedom, for just a little of somethin' i disremember what, 'cause they didn't aim to make him buy his freedom high. he made good money though. he was a carpenter, blacksmith, shoe maker and knowed a lot more trades. his master was broadhearted, and good to his slaves, and he let 'em work at anything they want to, when they was done their part of white folks chore-work." "both my father and mother was learned in the shoe makin' trade. when they come to knoxville to live, and where i was born, they had a great big shoe shop out there close to where governor brownlow lived. knoxville just had three streets, two runnin' east and west and one run north and south. i well remember when general burnside come to knoxville. that was endurin' the siege of knoxville. before he marched his men out to the battle of fort saunders, he stopped his solider [tr: soldier] band in front of our shoe shop and serenaded my mother and father. i was a little boy and i climed up on the porch bannisters and sat there and lissen' to that music." "i remember another big man come here once when i was a boy and i served the transient trade at a little eatin' place right where the atkin ho-tel is now. jeff davis come there to eat, when he stopped over between trains. that was in 1869. no, i disremember what he eat or how he behave. he didnt seem no different from any other man. he was nince lookin' wore a long tail coat and his boots was plenty blacked. he favored pictures of abraham lincoln. was about middle-height and had short, dark chin-whiskers. i were very busy at the time, an' if they was any excitement i didnt know it." "yes, i've seen many a slave in my day. one of my boy playmates was a slave child. his name is sam rogan and he lives now at the county poor farm. i make it a point not to dwell too much on slave times. i was learned different. i've had considerable schoolin', went to my first school in the old first presbyterian church. my teachers was white folks from the north. they give us our education and give us clothes and things sent down here from the north. that was just after the surrender. i did see a terrible sight once. a slave with chains on him as long as from here to the street. he was in an ole' buggy, settin' between two white men and they was passin' througn knoxville. my mother and father wouldnt lissen' to me tell 'em about it when i got home. and i hope i forget everything i ever knowed or heard about salves [tr: slaves], and slave times." joseph leonidas star, no longer works at the shoemakers trade. he writes poetry and lives leisurely in a three room frame shanty, in a row of shabbier ones that face each other disconsolately on a typical negro alleyway, that has no shade trees and no paving. "lee's" house is the only one that does not wabble uneasily, flush with the muddy alley. his stands on a small brick foundation, a few feet behind a privet hedge in front, with a brick wall along the side in which he has cemented a few huge conch shells. after fifty-four years residence here, a political boss in his ward, and the only negro member of the young white men's republican league, star's influence in his community is attested by the fact that when he "destructed", the knoxville city council to "please do somethin' about it, knoxville being too big a city to keep callin' street's alleys," the city council promptly and unanimously voted to change the name of king's alley to quebec place. when the interviewer called, star's door was padlocked. but he appeared soon, having received word by the grape-vine system that some one "was to see him",--"they told me it was the sherriff" he laughed. he came down the long muddy alley at a lively clip. he claimes he is able to walk about 20 miles each day, just to keep in condition. he wore a broad-brimmed black "derby-hat", a neatly pressed serge suit in two tones, a soiled white pleated shirt and a frazzled-edged black bow tie. his coat lapels and vest-front were adorned with badges and emblems, including his masonic pins, a friendship medal, his republican button and a silver crucifix. the catholic church, according to lee, is the only one in knoxville which permits the black man to worship under the same roof with his white brothers. many of star's poems have been published in the local and state papers. he keeps a record of deaths of all citizens, and has done so for sixty years. he calls the one, which records murders and hanging, his "doomsday book", and "encoached" in it he claims is an accurate date record of all such events of importance in his lifetime. his records are neatly inscribed in a printing form and very legible. his conversation is marked by grammatical incongruities, but he does not speak the negro dialect. interview dan thomas 941 jefferson street nashville, tennessee "i wuz bawn in slavery in 1847 at memphis, tennessee en mah marster wuz deacon allays. mah mammy wuz de cook at de big house. mah mammy d'ed soon atter i wuz bawn, en de missis had me raised on a bottle. marster en missis treatus all dere slaves kindly en plenty ter eat en eve'y one wuz happy. i dunno nuthin 'bout mah daddy er whar he went. i hab no kin in dis worl'. all i eber yeard wuz dat all mah folks kum fum africa. mah missis would tell me dat i mus' be good en mine en eberbody will lak' you en ef she d'ed, dey would tek keer ob me. dat ez w'at dey hab don." "i wuked 'round de house 'tel i wuz 'bout ten y'ars ole en de marster put me ter wuk in his big whiskey house. w'en i got 'bout 21 y'ars ole, i would go out ter collect bills fum marster's customers en hit tuk me 'bout a week ter git all 'round. i wuzn't 'lowed ter tek money but had ter git dere checks. i also wuked 18 y'ars as bar tender. marster en mistress d'ed 'bout four y'ars 'fore whiskey went out ob de united states. i stay wid dem 'til dey d'ed." "atter de marster en missis d'ed de doctor sezs i would hab ter leave memphis on 'count ob my health. i kum ter nashville en got a job at de "powder plant" durin' de worl' war, en stayed dere 'til hit wuz ovuh. i den gets wuk at foster en creighton in nashville 'till dey tole me dat i wuz too ole ter wuk. i makes mah livin' now by haulin' slop en pickin' up things dat de white folks throw in dere trash pile en sum ob hit i sell ter de papah en junk dealers. de white peeple he'p me now also." "i se'd dem sell a lot ob slaves in mississippi, jes' lak hosses en hogs, one time w'en de marster en mistress made a trip down dere. lots ob times dey made trips 'round de kuntry en dey allus tuk me 'long. i se'd sum cru'l marsters dat hitched up dere slaves ter plows en made dem plow lak hosses en mules did." "atter de slaves got dere freedum, dey had ter look atter demselves, so dey would wuk on plantations till dey got so dey could rent a place, lak you rent houses en farms terday. sum got places whar dey wuk'd fer wages." "i voted three times in mah life but lawdy dat wuz a long time ago. i voted fer teddy roosevelt en woodrow wilson, en mah last vote wuz 'bout two y'ars pas'." "hab no tales handed down by mah peeple. w'en i would try ter git info'mation, atter i got o'ler, all dey would say wuz, "you wuz raised on a bottle en hab no peeple ob you own." "oh mah goodness! hit jes par'lises me ter see how dem young peeple ez doin' terday. lawdy hab mercy but dere ez as much diff'ent fum ole times as day en nite en hit looks lak things hab gone astray. wuz tole lots 'bout de ku klux klan en how dey would catch en whup de cul'ed peeple, but mah white folks made me stay in en dey neber got me." "i member seein' andrew jackson, general grant en abraham lincoln, member seein' general andrew jackson git'in ready fer war by marchin' his soldiers erroun'. i se'd 'im ride his big white hoss up en down ter see how dey marched." "one song i lack'd best ob all wuz, 'mah ole mammy ez de'd en gon',' 'let me sit b'neath de willow tree.' don't member uther songs now." interview sylvia watkins 411 14th avenue n. nashville, tennessee. i'se said ter be 91 y'ars ole. i wuz young w'en de war wuz goin' on. i wuz bawn in bedford county. mah mammy wuz named mariah. she had six chillun by mah daddy en three by her fust husband. mah missis wuz named emily hatchet en de young missises wuz mittie en bettie, dey wuz twins. we had good clothes ter w'ar en w'en we went ter de table hit wuz loaded wid good food en we could set down en eat our stomachs full. oh lawd i wish dem days wuz now so i'd hab sum good food. ob course, we had ter wuk in de fiel's en mek w'at we et. wen we'd finish our day's wuk our missis would let us go out en play hide en seek, puss in de corner, en diff'ent games. mah mammy wuz sold in virginia w'en she wuz a gurl. she sezs 'bou 60 ob em wuz put in de road en druv down 'yer by a slave trader, lak a bunch ob cattle. mah mammy en two ob mah sistahs wuz put on a block, sold en carried ter alabama. we neber 'yeard fum dem nomo', en dunno whar dey ez. i wuz willed ter mah young missis w'en she ma'ried. i wuz young en, ob course, she whuped me, but she wasn't mean ter me. i needed eve'y whupin' she eber gib me, cause i wuz allus fightin'. mah missis allus called me her lettle nig. mah daddy could only see mah mammy wednesday en saturday nites, en ef'n he kum wid'out a pass de pat-rollers would whup 'im er run 'im 'til his tongue hung out. on dem nites we would sit up en look fer daddy en lots ob times he wuz out ob bref cose he had run so much. mah white folks had a loom en we wove our own clothes. i wuz nuss en house girl en l'arned how ter sew en nit. mah young missis wuz blind 'fore she died. i useter visit her once a ye'r en she'd load me down wid things ter tek home, a linsey petticoat, ham bones, cracklins en diff'ent things. she died 18 years ago almos' a 100 ye'r ole. de white folks wouldn't let de slaves hab a book er papah fer fear dey'd l'arn sumpin', en ef dey wan'ed ter pray dey'd tu'n a kettle down at dere cabin do'er. i member yearin' mah mammy pray "oh father op'n up de do'ers en sho us lite." i'd look up ter de ceiling ter see ef he wuz gonna op'n up sumpin'; silly, silly me, thinkin' such. i's 'longs ter de missionary baptist chuch but i don't git ter go very off'n. i wuz tole 'fore freedum dat de slaves would git a mule, land en a new suit, but our missis didn't gib us a thing. she promis' me, mah br'rer, en three sistahs ef'n we would stay wid her a ye'r, en he'p her mek a crop she would gib us sump'in ter start us a crop on w'en we lef' her. mah daddy's marster wus named bob rankin, he gib mah daddy a hog, sum chickens, let him hab a cow ter milk en land ter raise a crop on. he wan'ed mah daddy ter git us tergedder ter he'p daddy raise a crop but since mah missis had promised us so much, daddy let us stay wid her a ye'r. on de nite mah daddy kum fer us, mah missis sezs i've not got nuthin ter gib you, fer i won't hab nobody ter do nuthin fer me. we went wid our daddy. we lived dere on marster rankin's farm fer ye'rs in fact so long we tho't de place 'longed ter mah daddy. we had a house wid big cracks in hit, had a big fier place, a big pot dat hong on de fier en a skillet dat we cooked corn bread in. had a hill ob taters under de house, would raise up a plank, rake down in de dirt git taters, put dem in de fier ter roast. we had meat ter eat in de middle ob de day but none at mawnin' er nite. we got one pair ob shoes a ye'r, dey had brass on de toes. i uster git out en shine de toes ob mine, we called hit gol' on our shoes. we wuked in de fiel' wid mah daddy, en i know how ter do eberting dere ez ter do in a fiel' 'cept plow, i wuz allus ter slender ter hold a plow. we had grease lamps. a thing lak a goose neck wid platted rag wick in hit. would put grease in hit. durin' slavery ef one marster had a big boy en 'nuther had a big gal da marsters made dem libe tergedder. ef'n de 'oman didn't hab any chilluns, she wuz put on de block en sold en 'nuther 'oman bought. you see dey raised de chilluns ter mek money on jes lak we raise pigs ter sell. mah mammy tole me 'bout de sta'rs fallin' en den i se'ed de second fallin' ob sta'rs. dey didn't hit de groun' lak de fust did. i member de comet hit had a long tail. i lef' mah daddy en kum ter nashville wid missis nellie rankin, (daddy's young missus) in 1882; hab bin 'yer eber since. i'se dun house wuk fer a lot ob peeples. kep house fer a 'oman in belle meade fer 14 ye'rs. now i'se aint able ter do nothin. i'se bin ma'ried twice. ma'ried jimm ferguson, libed wid 'im 20 ye'ars he d'ed. two ye'ars later i mar'ed george watkins, lived wid him 8 ye'ars; two ye'ars ago he died. i'se neber had any chilluns. i kep wan'in ter 'dopt a lettle gal, de fust husban' wouldn't do hit. 'bout 5-1/2 ye'ars ago de second husban' george kum in wid a tiny baby, sezs 'yer ez a boy baby i 'dopted. i sezs dat ez you own baby cose hits jes like yer. he denied hit, but eben now de boy ez e'zackly lak george. he's six ye'rs ole en gwine ter school. i'se got mah hands full tryin' ter raise 'im 'lone. w'en george died he had a small inshorance policy. i paid mah taxes, i owns dis home, en bought mahself three hogs. i sold two en kilt one. den i got three mor' jes' a short time ago. sum kind ob zeeze got among dem en dey all d'ed. yas i'se voted four er five times, but neber had any frens in office. i don' think dis white-black mar'iage should be 'lowed. dey should be whupped wid a bull whup. as far as i know de ex-slaves hab wuked at diff'ent kins ob jobs en now sum i know ez in de po-house, sum git' in relief order en urthers ez lak mahself, hab dere homes en gettin' 'long bes' dey kin. i needs milk en cod liver oil fer dis lettle boy but can't buy it. i dunno nothin' 'bout slave uprisin's. de songs i member ez: "all gawds chilluns up yonder." "i want ter shout salvation." "down by de river side." interview narcissus young rear 532 1st street no. nashville, tennessee "i'se 96 y'ars ole. bawn in slavery en mah marster wuz isham lamb en mah missis wuz martha lamb. mah mammy d'ed w'en i wuz three y'ars ole en i wuz raised in de house 'til i wuz big 'nuff ter wuk out in de fiels wid de uthers. mah missis l'arn me ter sew, weav en spin. i also he'lped ter cook en wuk in de house. atter i got big'er i went ter chuch wid mah white folks en had ter set wid urther slaves in dat part ob de chuch whar nobody but slaves would be 'lowed. in slavery i'se git no money fer wuk'n but i don' steal as mah white folks sho gib me en de uther slaves plenty good things ter eat. clothes good 'nuff fer anybody, candy, en we went ter parties en urther places, en w'at else could i'se wan'?" "mah missis l'arned me ter pray, "now i lay me down ter sleep. i pray de lawd mah soul ter keep, but if i should die 'fore i wake, i pray de lawd mah soul ter tek." i jined de primitive baptist chuch w'ile young en b'en dere ebe'y since." "i member de ole song back dere, "rock a bye baby, yo daddy's gon' a huntin' ter git a rabbit skin ter put de baby in." "i wuz whup'd by mah missis fer things dat i ought'n dun, but dat wuz rite. de hahdest whup'in she eber gib me wuz 'bout two hen aigs. i had gathured de aigs in a bucket en tuk dem ter de house en i se'd de big fier in de fier-place so i tuk out two ob de aigs en put dem in de hot ashes ter bake. mah missis se'd de aigs en axed who put dem dere. i tole her i didunt do hit, but she knowed i did. so she tole me she don' keer 'bout de two aigs, but dat she wuz gwine ter whup me fer tellin' a lie. dey don't raise chilluns lak dat now." "i don't b'leeve in niggers en whites ma'rin' en i wuz raised by de "quality" en i'se b'leeves eber one should ma'rie in dere culor." "i think de young peeples ob ter day ez dogs en sluts, en yer kin guess de rest." "one day 'bout 12 o'clock we se'd de yankee soldiers pas' our house. de missus hid her fine things, but dey don' kum on de place. all us niggers run ter de cellar en hid. we found de sugah barrels en we scracht 'round fer sum sugah ter eat." "one time de ku klux klan kum ter our house but dey harm nobody. guess day wuz lookin' fer sum slave er sum one fum 'nother plantation widout dere marster's pass." "i se'd a lot ob sta'rs fall one time but dey neber teched de groun'. en i members seein' a comet wid a long bright shinin' tail." "atter freedom all de slaves lef' de plantation but i stayed dere a long time. i kum ter nashville ovah thurty y'ars ago en i'se wuk'd as cook en house wuk'r twenty y'ars fer one party; eleben y'ars fer 'nother, en menny y'ars fer 'nother. i knows you won't b'leeve me but at one time i weigh ovuh 400 pounds, but now i'm nothin' but skin en bon'. (she weighs at least 200 pounds now). i bekum feeble en couldn't wuk out, en eber since den i'se bin kum' up a mountain, but now i git he'ps by de social security." * * * * * transcriber's notes corrected the typos per handwritten instructions. the inconsistencies in spelling and punctuation have been left as in the original text, except for adding the missing opening and closing quotation marks for consistency in certain interviews. one word at the bottom of page 25 was illegible, but upon careful examination at high magnification, and considering that the other interviewers asked whether families were divided, my best guess is the word may be men: nebber knowed ob any plantashuns men be divided. this etext was produced by les bowler, st. ives, dorset. down the ravine by charles egbert craddock. chapter i. the new moon, a gleaming scimitar, cleft the gauzy mists above a rugged spur of the cumberland mountains. the sky, still crimson and amber, stretched vast and lonely above the vast and lonely landscape. a fox was barking in the laurel. this was an imprudent proceeding on the part of the fox, considering the value of his head-gear. a young mountaineer down the ravine was reminded, by the sharp, abrupt sound, of a premium offered by the state of tennessee for the scalp and ears of the pestiferous red fox. all unconscious of the legislation of extermination, the animal sped nimbly along the ledge of a cliff, becoming visible from the ravine below, a tawny streak against the gray rock. swift though he was, a jet of red light flashing out in the dusk was yet swifter. the echoing crags clamored with the report of a rifle. the tawny streak was suddenly still. three boys appeared in the depths of the ravine and looked up. "thar now! ye can't git him off'n that thar ledge, birt," said tim griggs. "the contrairy beastis couldn't hev fund a more illconvenient spot ter die of he hed sarched the mounting." "i ain't goin' ter leave him thar, though," stoutly declared the boy who still held the rifle. "that thar fox's scalp an' his two ears air wuth one whole dollar." tim remonstrated. "look-a-hyar, birt; ef ye try ter climb up this hyar bluff, ye'll git yer neck bruk, sure." birt dicey looked up critically. it was a rugged ascent of forty feet or more to the narrow ledge where the red fox lay. although the face of the cliff was jagged, the rock greatly splintered and fissured, with many ledges, and here and there a tuft of weeds or a stunted bush growing in a niche, it was very steep, and would afford precarious foothold. the sunset was fading. the uncertain light would multiply the dangers of the attempt. but to leave a dollar lying there on the fox's head, that the wolf and the buzzard might dine expensively to-morrow! "an' me so tried for money!" he exclaimed, thinking aloud. nate griggs, who had not before spoken, gave a sudden laugh,--a dry, jeering laugh. "ef all the foxes on the mounting war ter hold a pertracted meet'n, jes' ter pleasure you-uns, thar wouldn't be enough scalps an' ears 'mongst 'em ter make up the money ye hanker fur ter buy a horse." to buy a horse was the height of birt's ambition. his mother was a widow; and as an instance of the fact that misfortunes seldom come singly, the horse on which the family depended to till their scanty acres died shortly after his owner. and so, whenever the spring opened and the ploughs all over the countryside were starting, their one chance to cultivate a crop was to hire a mule from their nearest neighbor, the tanner. birt was the eldest son, and his mother had only his work to offer in payment. the proposition always took the tanner in what he called a "jubious time." spring is the season for stripping the trees of their bark, which is richer in tannin when the sap flows most freely, and the mule was needed to haul up the piles of bark from out the depths of the woods to the tanyard. then, too, jubal perkins had his own crops to put in. as he often remarked in the course of the negotiation, "i don't eat tan bark-nor yit raw hides." although the mule was a multifarious animal, and ploughed and worked in the bark-mill, and hauled from the woods, and went long journeys in the wagon or under the saddle, he was not ubiquitous, and it was impossible for him to be in the several places in which he was urgently needed at the same time. therefore, to hire him out on these terms seemed hardly an advantage to his master. nevertheless, this bargain was annually struck. the poverty-stricken widow always congratulated herself upon its conclusion, and it never occurred to her that the amount of work that birt did in the tanyard was a disproportionately large return for the few days that the tanner's mule ploughed their little fields. birt, however, was beginning to see that a boy to drive that mule around the bark-mill was as essential as the mule himself. as providence had failed to furnish the tanner with a son for this purpose--his family consisting of several small daughters--birt supplied a long-felt want. the boy appreciated that his simple mother was over-reached, yet he could not see that she could do otherwise. he sighed for independence, for a larger opportunity. as he drove the mule round the limited circuit, his mind was far away. he anxiously canvassed the future. he cherished fiery, ambitious schemes,--often scorched, poor fellow, by their futility. with his time thus mortgaged, he thought his help to his mother was far less than it might be. but until he could have a horse of his own, there was no hope--no progress. and for this he planned, and dreamed, and saved. partly these considerations, partly the love of adventure, and partly the jeer in nate's laugh determined him not to relinquish the price set upon the fox's head. he took off his coat and flung it on the ground beside his rifle. then he began to clamber up the cliff. the two brothers, their hands in the pockets of their brown jeans trousers, stood watching his ascent. nate had sandy hair, small gray eyes, set much too close together, and a sharp, pale, freckled face. tim seemed only a mild repetition of him, as if nature had tried to illustrate what nate would be with a better temper and less sly intelligence. birt was climbing slowly. it was a difficult matter. here was a crevice that would hardly admit his eager fingers, and again a projection so narrow that it seemed to grudge him foothold. some of the ledges, however, were wider, and occasionally a dwarfed huckleberry bush, nourished in a fissure, lifted him up like a helping hand. he quaked as he heard the roots strain and creak, for he was a pretty heavy fellow for sixteen years of age. they did not give way, however, and up and up he went, every moment increasing the depth below him and the danger. his breath was short; his strength flagged, he slipped more than once, giving himself a great fright; and when he reached the ledge where the dead fox lay, he thought, "the varmint don't wuth it." nevertheless he whooped out his triumph to nate and tim in a stentorian halloo, for they had already started homeward, and presently their voices died in the distance. birt faced about and sat down on the ledge to rest, his feet dangling over the depths beneath. it was a lonely spot, walled in by the mountains, and frequented only by the deer that were wont to come to lick salt from the briny margin of a great salt spring far down the ravine. their hoofs had worn a deep excavation around it in the countless years and generations that they had herded here. the "lick," as such places are called in tennessee, was nearly two acres in extent, and in the centre of the depression the brackish water stood to the depth of six feet or more. birt looked down at it, thinking of the old times when, according to tradition, it was the stamping ground of buffalo as well as deer. the dusk deepened. the shadows were skulking in and out of the wild ravine as the wind rose and fell. they took to his fancy the form of herds of the banished bison, revisiting in this impalpable guise the sylvan shades where they are but a memory now. presently he began the rugged descent, considerably hampered by the fox, which he carried by the tail. he stopped to rest whenever he found a ledge that would serve as a seat. looking up, high above the jagged summit of the cliff that sharply serrated the zenith, he saw the earliest star, glorious in the crimson and amber sky. below, a point of silver light quivered, reflected in the crimson and amber waters of the "lick." the fire-flies were flickering among the ferns; he saw about him their errant gleam. the shadowy herds trooped down the mountain side. now and then his weight uprooted a bush in his hands, and the clods fell. he missed his footing as he neared the base, and came down with a thump. it was a gravelly spot where he had fallen, and he saw in a moment that it was the summer-dried channel of a mountain rill. as he pulled himself up on one elbow, he suddenly paused with dilated eyes. the evening light fell upon a burnished glimmer;--a bit of stone--was it stone?--shining with a metallic lustre. he looked at it for a moment, his eyes glowing in the contemplation of a splendid possibility. what were those old stories that his father used to tell of the gold excitement in tennessee in 1831, when the rich earth flung largess from its hidden wealth along the romantic banks of coca creek! gold had been found in tennessee--why not here? and once--why not again? the idea so possessed him that while he was skinning the fox his sharp knife almost sacrificed one of the two ears imperatively required by the statute, in order that the wily hunter may not be tempted to present one ear at a time, thus multiplying red foxes and premiums therefor like falstaff's "rogues in buckram." he took his way homeward through the darkening woods, carrying the pelt in his hand. it was not long before he could hear the dogs barking, and as he came suddenly upon a little clearing in the midst of the dense, encompassing wilderness, he saw them all trooping down from the unenclosed passage between the two log-rooms which constituted the house. an old hound had half climbed the fence, but as he laid his fore-paw on the topmost rail, his deep-mouthed bay was hushed,--he was recognizing the approaching step of his master. the yellow curs were still insisting upon a marauder theory. one of them barked defiance as he thrust his head between the rails of the fence. there was another head thrust through too, about on a level with towser's, but it was not a dog's head. as birt caught a glimpse of it, he called out hastily, "stand back thar, tennessee!" and then it was lost to view, for at the sound of his voice all the dogs came huddling over the bars, shrilly yelping a tumultuous welcome. when birt had vaulted over the fence, the little object withdrew its head from between the rails and came trotting along beside him, holding up its hand to clasp his. his mother, standing in the passage, her tall, thin figure distinct in the firelight that came flickering out through the open door, soliloquized querulously: "ef that thar child don't quit that fool way o' stickin' her head atwixt the rails ter watch fur her brother, she'll git cotched thar some day like a peeg in a pen, an' git her neck bruk." birt overheard her. "tennessee air too peart ter git herself hurt," he said, a trifle ashamed of his ready championship of his little sister, as a big rough boy is apt to be of gentler emotions. if ever infancy can be deemed uncouth, she was an uncouth little atom of humanity. her blue checked homespun dress, graced with big horn buttons, descended almost to her feet. her straight, awkwardly cropped hair was of a nondescript shade pleasantly called "tow." as she came into the light of the fire, she lifted wide black eyes deprecatingly to her mother. "she ain't pretty, i know, but she air powerful peart," birt used to say so often that the phrase became a formula with him. if she were "powerful peart," it was a fact readily apparent only to him, for she was a silent child, with the single marked characteristic of great affection for her eldest brother and a singular pertinacity in following him about. "i dunno 'bout tennie's peartness," his mother sarcastically rejoined. "'pears ter me like the chile hain't never hed good sense; afore she could walk she'd crawl along the floor arter ye, an' holler like a squeech-owel ef ye went off an' lef' her. an' ye air plumb teched in the head too, birt, ter set sech store by tennie. i look ter see her killed, or stunted, some day, in them travels o' hern." for when birt dicey went "yerrands" on the mule through the woods to the settlement, tennessee often rode on the pommel of his saddle. she followed in the furrow when he ploughed. she was as familiar an object at the tanyard as the bark-mill itself. when he wielded the axe, she perched on one end of the woodpile. but so far, she had passed safely through her varied adventures, and gratifying evidences of her growth were registered on the door. "stand back thar, tennessee!" in a loud, boyish halloo, was a command when danger was ahead, which she obeyed with the readiness of a veteran. sometimes, however, this incongruous companionship became irksome to him. her trusting, insistent affection made her a clog upon him, and he grew impatient of it. ah, little sister! he learned its value one day. the great wood fire was all aflare in the deep chimney-place. savory odors came from the gridiron and the skillet and the hoe, on the live coals drawn out on the broad hearth. the tow-headed children grew noisy as they assembled around the bare pine table, and began to clash their knives and forks. birt, unmindful, crouched by the hearth, silently turning his precious specimens about, that he might examine them by the firelight. tennessee, her chuffy hand on his shoulder, for she could reach it as he knelt, held her head close to his, and looked at them too with wide black eyes. his mother placed the supper on the table, and twice she called to him to come, but he did not hear. she turned and looked down at him, then broke out sharply in indignant surprise. "air ye bereft o' reason, birt dicey! ye set thar nosin' a handful o' rocks ez ef they war fitten ter eat! an' now look at the boy--a stuffin' 'em in his pockets ter sag 'em down and tear 'em out fur me ter sew in ag'in. waal, waal! sol'mon say ef ye spare the rod ye spile the child--mos' ennybody could hev fund that out from thar own 'sperience; but the wisest man that ever lived lef' no receipt how ter keep a boy's pockets whole in his breeches." chapter ii. birt dicey lay awake deep into the night, pondering and planning. but despite this unwonted vigil the old bark-mill was early astir, and he went alertly about his work. he felt eager, strong, capable. the spirit of progress was upon him. the tanyard lay in the midst of a forest so dense that, except at the verge of the clearing, it showed hardly a trace of its gradual despoliation by the industry that nestled in its heart like a worm in the bud. there were many stumps about the margin of the woods, the felled trees, stripped of their bark, often lying among them still, for the supply of timber exceeded the need. in penetrating the wilderness you might mark, too, here and there, a vacant space, where the chestnut-oak, prized for its tannin, had once grown on the slope. a little log house was in the midst of the clearing. it had, properly speaking, only one room, but there was a shed-room attached, for the purpose of storage, and also a large open shed at one side. the rail fence inclosed the space of an acre, perhaps, which was covered with spent bark. across the pits planks were laid, with heavy stones upon them to hold them in place. a rude roof sheltered the bark-mill from the weather, and there was the patient mule, with birt and a whip to make sure that he did not fall into reflective pauses according to his meditative wont. and there, too, was tennessee, perched on the lower edge of a great pile of bark, and gravely watching birt. he deprecated the attention she attracted. he was sometimes ashamed to have the persistent little sister seen following at his heels like a midday shadow. he could not know that the men who stopped and spoke to him and to her, and laughed at the infirmities of the infant tongue when she replied unintelligibly, thought better of him for his manifestation of strong fraternal affection. they said to each other that he was a "peart boy an' powerful good ter the t'other chill'en, an' holped the fambly along ez well ez a man-better'n thar dad ever done;" for birt's father had been characterized always as "slack-twisted an' onlucky." the shadows dwindled on the tan. the winds had furled their wings. white clouds rose, dazzling, opaque, up to the blue zenith. the querulous cicada complained in the laurel. birt heard the call of a jay from the woods. and then, as he once more urged the old mule on, the busy bark-mill kept up such a whir that he could hear nothing else. he was not aware of an approach till the new-comer was close upon him; in fact, the first he knew of nate griggs's proximity was the sight of him. nate was glancing about with his usual air of questioning disparagement, and cracking a long lash at the spent bark on the ground. "hello, nate!" birt cried out, eagerly. "i'm powerful glad ye happened ter kem hyar, fur i hev a word ter say ter ye." "i dunno ez i'm minded ter bide," nate said cavalierly. "i hates to waste time an' burn daylight a-jowin'." he was still cracking his lash at the ground. there was a sudden, half-articulate remonstrance. birt, who had turned away to the bark-mill, whirled back in a rising passion. "did ye hit tennessee?" he asked, with a dangerous light in his eyes. "no--i never!" nate protested. "i hain't seen her till this minute. she war standin' a-hint ye." "waal, ye skeered her, then," said birt, hardly appeased. "quit snappin' that lash. 'pears-like ter me ez ye makes yerself powerful free round this hyar tanyard." "tennie air a-growin' wonderful fast," the sly nathan remarked pleasantly. birt softened instantly. "she air a haffen inch higher 'n she war las' march, 'cordin' ter the mark on the door," he declared, pridefully. "she ain't pretty, i know, but she air powerful peart." "what war the word ez ye war layin' off ter say ter me?" nate asked, curiosity vividly expressed in his face. birt leaned back against the pile of bark and hesitated. last night he had thought nate the most desirable person to whom he could confide his secret whose aid he could secure. there were many circumstances that made this seem wise. but when the disclosure was imminent, something in those small, bead-like eyes, unpleasantly close together, something in the expression of the thin, pale face, something in nate's voice and manner repelled confidence. "nate," said birt, at last, speaking with that subacute conviction, so strong yet so ill-defined, which vividly warns the ill-judged and yet cannot stop the tongue constrained by its own folly, "what d'ye s'pose i fund in the woods yestiddy?" the two small eyes, set close together, seemed merged in one, so concentrated was their gaze. again their expression struck birt's attention. he hesitated once more. "ef i tell ye, will ye promise never ter tell enny livin' human critter?" "i hope i may drap stone dead ef i ever tell!" nate exclaimed. "i fund a strange metal in the woods yestiddy. what d'ye s'pose 't war?" nate shook his head. his breath was quick and he could not control the keen anxiety in his face. a strong flush rose to the roots of his sandy hair, his lips quivered, and his small eyes glittered with greedy expectation. his tongue refused to frame a word. "gold!" cried birt, triumphantly. "whar be it?" exclaimed nate. he was about to start in full run for the spot. "i ain't agoin' ter tell ye, without we-uns kin strike a trade." "waal," said nate, with difficulty repressing his impatience, "what air you-uns aimin' ter do?" "ye knows ez i hev ter bide hyar with the bark-mill mos'ly, jes' now," said birt, beginning to expound the series of ideas which he had carefully worked out in his midnight vigil, "'kase they hev got ter hev a heap o' tan ter fill them thar vats ag'in. ef i war ter leave an' go a-gold huntin', the men on the mounting would find out what i war arter, an' they'd come a-grabblin' thar too, an' mebbe git it all, 'kase i dunno how much or how leetle thar be. i wants ter make sure of enough ter buy a horse, or a mule, or su'thin', ef i kin, 'fore i tells ennybody else. an' i 'lowed ez ye an' me would go pardners. ye'd take my place hyar at the tanyard one day, whilst i dug, an' i'd bide in the tanyard nex' day. an' we would divide fair an' even all we fund." nate did not reply. he was absorbed in a project that had come into his head as his friend talked, and the two dissimilar trains of thought combined in a mental mosaic that would have amazed birt dicey. "ye see," birt presently continued, "i dunno when i kin git shet o' the tanyard this year. old jube perkins 'lows ez he air mighty busy 'bout'n them hides an' sech, an' he wants me ter holp around ginerally. he say ef i do mo' work'n i owes him, he'll make that straight with my mother. an' he declares fur true ef i don't holp him at this junctry, when he needs me, he won't hire his mule to my mother nex' spring; an' ye know it won't do fur we-uns ter resk the corn-crap an' gyarden truck with sech a pack o' chill'n ter vittle ez we-uns hev got at our house." nate deduced an unexpected conclusion. "ye oughter gin me more'n haffen the make," he said. "'kase ef 'twarn't fur me, ye couldn't git none. an' ef ye don't say two thurds, i'll tell every critter on the mounting an' they'll be grabblin' in yer gold mine d'rec'ly." "ye dunno whar it is," said birt, quietly. if a sudden jet from the cold mountain torrent, that rioted through the wilderness down the ravine hard by, had been dashed into nate's thin, sharp face, he could not have cooled more abruptly. the change almost took his breath away. "i don't mean that, nuther," he gasped with politic penitence, "kase i hev promised not ter tell. i dunno whether i kin holp nohow. i hev got ter do my sheer o' work at home; we ain't through pullin' fodder off'n our late corn yit." birt looked at him in silent surprise. nate was older than his friend by several years. he was of an unruly and insubordinate temper, and did as little work as he pleased at home. he often remarked that he would like to see who could make him do what he had no mind to do. "mebbe old jube wouldn't want me round 'bout," he suggested. "waal," said birt, eager again to detail his plans, "he 'lowed when i axed him this mornin' ez he'd be willin' ef i could trade with another boy ter take my place wunst in a while." nate affected to meditate on this view of the question. "but it will be toler'ble fur away fur me ter go prowlin' in the woods, ahuntin' fur gold, an' our fodder jes' a-sufferin' ter be pulled. ef the spot air fur off, i can't come an' i won't, not fur haffen the make." "'t ain't fur off at all--scant haffen mile," replied unwary birt, anxious to convince. "it air jes' yander nigh that thar salt lick down the ravine. i marks the spot by a bowlder--biggest bowlder i ever see--on the slope o' the mounting." the instant this revelation passed his lips, regret seized him. "but ye ain't ter go thar 'thout me, ye onderstand, till we begins our work." "i ain't wantin' ter go," nate protested. "i ain't sati'fied in my mind whether i'll ondertake ter holp or no. that pullin' fodder ez i hev got ter do sets mighty heavy on my stomach." "tim an' yer dad always pulls the fodder an' sech--i knows ez that air a true word," said birt, bluntly. "an' i can't git away from the tanyard at all ef ye won't holp me, 'kase old jube 'lowed he wouldn't let me swop with a smaller boy ter work hyar; an' all them my size, an' bigger, air made ter work with thar dads, 'ceptin' youuns." nate heard, but he hardly looked as if he did, so busily absorbed was he in fitting this fragment of fact into his mental mosaic. it had begun to assume the proportions of a distinct design. he suddenly asked a question of apparent irrelevancy. "this hyar land down the ravine don't b'long ter yer folkses--who do it b'long ter?" "don't b'long ter nobody, ye weasel!" birt retorted, in rising wrath. "d'ye s'pose i'd be a-stealin' of gold off'n somebody else's land?" nate's sly, thin face lighted up wonderfully. he seemed in a fever of haste to terminate the conference and get away. he agreed to his friend's proposition and promised to be at the bark-mill bright and early in the morning. as he trudged off, birt dicey stood watching the receding figure. his eyes were perplexed, his mind full of anxious foreboding. he hardly knew what he feared. he had only a vague sense of mischief in the air, as slight but as unmistakable as the harbinger of storm on a sunshiny summer day. "i wisht i hedn't tole him nuthin'," he said, as he wended his way home that night. "ef my mother hed knowed bout'n it all, i wouldn't hev been 'lowed ter tell him. she despises the very sight o' this hyar nate griggs--an' yit she say she dunno why." after supper he sat gloomy and taciturn in the uninclosed passage between the two rooms, watching alternately the fire-flies, as they instarred the dark woods with ever-shifting gold sparks, and the broad, pale flashes of heat lightning which from time to time illumined the horizon. there was no motion in the heavy black foliage, but it was filled with the shrill droning of the summer insects, and high in the branches a screech-owl pierced the air with its keen, quavering scream. "tennessee!" exclaimed birt, as the unwelcome sound fell upon his ear--"tennessee! run an' put the shovel in the fire!" whether the shovel, becoming hot among the live coals, burned the owl that was high in the tree-top outside, according to the countryside superstition, or whether by a singular coincidence, he discovered that he had business elsewhere, he was soon gone, and the night was left to the chorusing katydids and tree-toads and to the weird, fitful illuminations of the noiseless heat lightning. birt dicey rose suddenly and walked away silently into the dense, dark woods. "stop, tennessee! ye can't go too!" exclaimed mrs. dicey, appearing in the doorway just in time to intercept the juvenile excursionist. "ketch her, rufus! ef she wouldn't hev followed birt right off in the pitch dark! she ain't afeared o' nothin' when birt is thar. git that pomegranate she hed an' gin it ter her ter keep her from hollerin', rufe; i hed a sight ruther hear the squeech-owel." tennessee, overpowered by disappointment, sobbed herself to sleep upon the floor, and then ensued an interval of quiet. rufe, a towheaded boy of ten, dressed in an unbleached cotton shirt and blue-checked homespun trousers, concluded that this moment was the accepted time to count the balls in his brother's shot-pouch. this he proceeded to do, with the aid of the sullen glare from the embers within and the fluctuating gleams of the lightning without. there was no pretense of utility in rufe's performance; only the love of handling lead could explain it. "ye hed better mind," his mother admonished him. "birt war powerful tried the t'other day ter think what hed gone with his bullets. he'll nose ye out afore long." "they hev got sech a fool way o' slippin' through the chinks in the floor," said the boy in exasperation. "i never seen the beat! an' thar's no gittin' them out, nuther. i snaked under the house yestiddy an' sarched, an' sarched!--an' i never fund but two. an' towse, he dragged hisself under thar, too--jes' a-growlin' an' asnappin'. i thought fur sartin every minit he'd bite my foot off." he resumed his self-imposed task of counting the rifle balls, and now and then a sharp click told that another was consigned to that limbo guarded by towse. mrs. dicey stood in silence for a time, gazing upon the unutterably gloomy forest, the distant, throbbing stars, and the broad, wan flashes at long intervals gleaming through the sky. "it puts me in a mighty tucker ter hev yer brother a-settin' out through the woods this hyar way, an' a-leavin' of we-uns hyar, all by ourselves sech a dark night. i'm always afeared thar mought be a bar a-prowlin' round. an' the cornfield air close ter the house, too." "pete thompson--him ez war yander ter the tanyard day 'fore yestiddy with his dad," said the boy, "he tole it ter me ez how he seen a bar las' wednesday a-climbin' over the fence ter thar cornfield, with a haffen dozen roastin'-ears under his arm an' a watermillion on his head. but war it a haffen dozen? i furgits now ef pete said it war a haffen dozen or nine ears of corn the bar hed;" and he paused to reflect in the midst of his important occupation. "i'll be bound pete never stopped ter count 'em," said mrs. dicey. "pick that chile up an' come in. i'm goin' ter bar up the door." birt dicey plodded away through the deep woods and the dense darkness down the ravine. although he could not now distinguish one stone from another, he had an uncontrollable impulse to visit again the treasure he had discovered. the murmur of the gently bubbling water warned him of the proximity of the deep salt spring almost at the base of the mountain, and, guiding himself partly by the sound, he made his way along the slope to the great bowlder beneath the cliffs that served to mark the spot. as he laid his hand on the bowlder, he experienced a wonderful exhilaration of spirit. once more he canvassed his scheme. this was the one great opportunity of his restricted life. visions of future possibilities were opening wide their fascinating vistas. he might make enough to buy a horse, and this expressed his idea of wealth. "but ef i live ter git a cent out'n it," he said to himself, "i'll take the very fust money i kin call my own an' buy tennessee a chany cup an' sarcer, an' a string o' blue beads an' a caliky coat--ef i die fur it." his pleased reverie was broken by a sudden discovery. he was not standing among stones about the great bowlder; no--his foot had sunk deep in the sand! he stooped down in the darkness and felt about him. the spot was not now as he had left it yesterday afternoon. he was sure of this, even before a fleet, wan flash of the heat lightning showed him at his feet the unmistakable signs of a recent excavation. it was not deep, it was not broad; but it was fresh and it betrayed a prying hand. again the heat lightning illumined the wide, vague sky. he saw the solemn dark forests; he saw the steely glimmer of the lick; the distant mountains flickered against the pallid horizon; and once more--densest gloom. chapter iii. it was nate who had been here,--birt felt sure of that; nate, who had promised he would not come. convinced that his friend was playing a false part, birt went at once to the bark-mill in the morning, confident that he would not find nate at work in the tanyard according to their agreement. it was later than usual, and jubal perkins swore at birt for his tardiness. he hardly heard; and as the old bark-mill ground and ground the bark, and the mule jogged around and around, and the hot sun shone, and the voices of the men handling the hides at the tanpit were loud on the air, all his thoughts were of the cool, dark, sequestered ravine, holding in its cloven heart the secret he had discovered. rufus happened to come to the tanyard today. birt seized the opportunity. "rufe," he said, "ye see i can't git away from the mill, 'kase i'm 'bleeged ter stay hyar whilst the old mule grinds. but ef ye'll go over yander ter nate griggs's house an' tell him ter come over hyar, bein' ez i want to see him partic'lar, i'll fix ye a squir'l-trap before long ez the peartest old bushy-tail on the mounting ain't got the gumption ter git out'n. an' let me know ef nate ain't thar." rufe was disposed to parley. he stood first on one foot, then on the other. he cast calculating eyes at the bark-mill and out upon the deep forest. the exact date on which this promise was to be fulfilled had to be fixed before he announced his willingness to set out. ten to one, he would have gone without the bribe, had none been suggested, for he loved the woods better than the woodpile, and a five-mile tramp through its tangles wearied his bones not so much as picking up a single basketful of chips. some boys' bones are constituted thus, strange as it may seem. so he went his way in his somewhat eccentric gait, compounded of a hop, and a skip, and a dawdle. he had made about half a mile when the path curved to the mountain's brink. he paused and parted the glossy leaves of the dense laurel that he might look out over the precipice at the distant heights. how blue--how softly blue they were!--the endless ranges about the horizon. what a golden haze melted on those nearer at hand, bravely green in the sunshine! from among the beetling crags, the first red leaf was whirling away against the azure sky. even a buzzard had its picturesque aspects, circling high above the mountains in its strong, majestic flight. to breathe the balsamic, sunlit air was luxury, happiness; it was a wonder that rufe got on as fast as he did. how fragrant and cool and dark was the shadowy valley! a silver cloud lay deep in the waters of the "lick." why rufe made up his mind to go down there, he could hardly have said--sheer curiosity, perhaps. he knew he had plenty of time to get to nate's house and back before dark. people who sent rufe on errands usually reckoned for two hours' waste in each direction. he had no idea of descending the cliffs as birt had done. he stolidly retraced his way until he was nearly home; then scrambling down rocky slopes he came presently upon a deer-path. all at once, he noticed the footprint of a man in a dank, marshy spot. he stopped and looked hard at it, for he had naturally supposed this path was used only by the woodland gentry. "some deer-hunter, i reckon," he said. and so he went on. with his characteristic curiosity, he peered all around the "lick" when he was at last there. he even applied his tongue, calf-like, to the briny earth; it did not taste so salty as he had expected. as he rolled over luxuriously on his back among the fragrant summer weeds, he caught sight of something in the branches of an oak tree. he sat up and stared. it looked like a rude platform. after a moment, he divined that it was the remnant of a scaffold from which some early settler of tennessee had been wont to fire upon the deer or the buffalo at the "lick," below. such relics, some of them a century old, are to be seen to this day in sequestered nooks of the cumberland mountains. rufe had heard of these old scaffolds, but he had never known of the existence of this one down by the "lick." he sprang up, a flush of excitement contending with the dirt on his countenance; he set his squirrel teeth resolutely together; he applied his sturdy fingers and his nimble legs to the bark of the tree, and up he went like a cat. he climbed to the lower branches easily enough, but he caused much commotion and swaying among them as he struggled through the foliage. an owl, with great remonstrant eyes, suddenly looked out of a hollow, higher still, with an inarticulate mutter of mingled reproach, and warning, and anxiety. rufe settled himself on the platform, his bare feet dangling about jocosely. then, beating his hands on either thigh to mark the time he sang in a loud, shrill soprano, prone now and then to be flat, and yet, impartially, prone now and then to be sharp: thar war two sun-dogs in the red day-dawn, an' the wind war laid--'t war prime fur game. i went ter the woods betimes that morn, an' tuk my flint-lock, "nancy," by name; an' thar i see, in the crotch of a tree, a great big catamount grinnin' at me. a-kee! he! he! an' a-ho! ho! he! a pop-eyed catamount laffin' at me! and, as rufe sang, the anger and remonstrance in the owl's demeanor increased every moment. for the owl was a vocalist, too! bein' made game of by a brute beastis, war su'thin' i could in no ways allow. i jes' spoke up, for my dander hed riz, "cat--take in the slack o' yer jaw!" he bowed his back--nance sighted him gran', then the blamed old gal jes' flashed in the pan! a-kee! he! he! an' a-ho! ho! he! with a outraged catamount rebukin' of me! as rufe finished this with a mighty crescendo, he was obliged to pause for breath. he stared about, gaspily. the afternoon was waning. the mountains close at hand were a darker green. the distant ranges had assumed a rosy amethystine tint, like nothing earthly--like the mountains of a dream, perhaps. the buzzard had alighted in the top of a tree not far down the slope, a tree long ago lightning-scathed, but still rising, gaunt and scarred, above all the forest, and stretching dead stark arms to heaven. somehow rufe did not like the looks of it. he was aware of a revulsion of feeling, of the ebbing away of his merry spirit before he saw more. as he tried to sing: i war the mightiest hunter that ever ye see till that thar catamount tuk arter me! his tongue clove suddenly to the roof of his mouth. he could see something under that tree which no one else could see, not even from the summit of the crags, for the tree was beyond a projecting slope, and out of the range of vision thence. rufe could not make out distinctly what the object was, but it was evidently foreign to the place. he possessed the universal human weakness of regarding everything with a personal application. it now seemed strange to him that he should have come here at all; stranger still, that he should have mounted this queer relic of days so long gone by, and thus discovered that peculiar object under the dead tree. he began to think he had been led here for a purpose. now rufe was not so good a boy as to be on the continual lookout for rewards of merit. on the contrary, the day of reckoning meant with him the day of punishment. he had heard recounted an unpleasant superstition that when the red sunsets were flaming round the western mountains, and the valleys were dark and drear, and the abysses and gorges gloomed full of witches and weird spirits, satan himself might be descried, walking the crags, and spitting fire, and deporting himself generally in such a manner as to cause great apprehension to a small person who could remember so many sins as rufe could. his sins! they trooped up before his mental vision now, and in a dense convocation crowded the encompassing wilderness. rufe felt that he must not leave this matter in uncertainty. he must know whether that strange object under the tree could be intended as a warning to him to cease in time his evil ways-tormenting towse, pulling tennessee's hair, shirking the woodpile, and squandering birt's rifle balls. he even feared this might be a notification that the hour of retribution had already come! he scuttled off the platform, and began to swing himself from bough to bough. he was nervous and less expert than when he had climbed up the tree. he lost his grip once, and crashed from one branch to another, scratching himself handsomely in the operation. the owl, emboldened by his retreat, flew awkwardly down upon the scaffold, and perched there, its head turned askew, and its great, round eyes fixed solemnly upon him. suddenly a wild hoot of derision rent the air; the echoes answered, and all the ravine was filled with the jeering clamor. "the wust luck in the worl'!" plained poor rufe, as the ill-omened cry rose again and again. "'tain't goin' ter s'prise me none now, ef i gits my neck bruk along o' this resky foolishness in this cur'ous place whar owels watch from the lookout ez dead men hev lef'." he came down unhurt, however. then he sidled about a great many times through "the laurel," for he could not muster courage for a direct approach to the strange object he had descried. the owl still watched him, and bobbed its head and hooted after him. when he drew near the lightning-scathed tree, he paused rooted to the spot, gazing in astonishment, his hat on the back of his tow head, his eyes opened wide, one finger inserted in his mouth in silent deprecation. for there stood a man dressed in black, and with a dark straw hat on his head. he had gray whiskers, and gleaming spectacles of a mildly surprised expression. he smiled kindly when he saw rufe. incongruously enough, he had a hammer in his hand. he was going down the ravine, tapping the rocks with it. and rufe thought he looked for all the world like some over-grown, demented woodpecker. chapter iv. as rufe still stood staring, the old gentleman held out his hand with a cordial gesture. "come here, my little man!" he said in a kind voice. rufe hesitated. then he was seized by sudden distrust. who was this stranger? and why did he call, "come here!" perhaps the fears already uppermost in rufe's mind influenced his hasty conclusion. he cast a horrified glance upon the old gentleman in black, a garb of suspicious color to the little mountaineer, who had never seen men clad in aught but the brown jeans habitually worn by the hunters of the range. he remembered, too, the words of an old song that chronicled how alluring were the invitations of satan, and with a frenzied cry he fled frantically through the laurel. away and away he dashed, up steep ascents, down sharp declivities, falling twice or thrice in his haste, but hurting his clothes more than himself. it was not long before he was in sight of home, and towse met him at the fence. the feeling between these two was often the reverse of cordial, and as rufe climbed down from rail to rail, his sullen "lemme 'lone, now!" was answered by sundry snaps at his heels and a low growl. not that towse would really have harmed him--fealty to the family forbade that; but in defense of his ears and tail he thought it best to keep fierce possibilities in rufe's contemplation. rufe sat down on the floor of the uninclosed passage between the two rooms, his legs dangling over the sparse sprouts of chickweed and clumps of mullein that grew just beneath, for there were no steps, and towse bounded up and sat upright close beside him. and as he sought to lean on towse, the dog sought to lean on him. they both looked out meditatively at the dense and sombre wilderness, upon which this little clearing and humble log-cabin were but meagre suggestions of that strong, full-pulsed humanity that has elsewhere subdued nature, and achieved progress, and preempted perfection. towse soon shut his eyes, and presently he was nodding. presumably he dreamed, for once he roused himself to snap at a fly, when there was no fly. rufe, however, was wide awake, and busily canvassing how to account to birt for the lack of a message from nate griggs, for he would not confess how untrustworthy he had proved himself. as he reflected upon this perplexity, he leaned his throbbing head on his hand, and his attitude expressed a downcast spirit. this chanced to strike his mother's attention as she came to the door. she paused and looked keenly at him. "them hoss apples ag'in!" she exclaimed, with the voice of accusation. she had no idea of youthful dejection disconnected with the colic. rufe was roused to defend himself. "hain't teched 'em, now!" he cried, acrimoniously. "waal, sometimes ye air sorter loose-jointed in yer jaw, an' ain't partic'lar what ye say," rejoined his mother, politely. "i'll waste a leetle yerb-tea on ye, ennyhow." she started back into the room, and rufe rose at once. this cruelty should not be practiced upon him, whatever might betide him at the tanyard. he set out at a brisk pace. he had no mind to be long alone in the woods since his strange adventure down the ravine, or he might have hid in the underbrush, as he had often done, until other matters usurped his mother's medicinal intentions. when rufe reached the tanyard, birt was still at work. he turned and looked eagerly at the juvenile ambassador. "did nate gin ye a word fur me?" he called sonorously, above the clamor of the noisy bark-mill. "he say he'll be hyar ter-morrer by sun-up!" piped out rufe, in a blatant treble. a lie seemed less reprehensible when he was obliged to labor so conscientiously to make it heard. and then compunction seized him. he sat down by tennessee on a pile of bark, and took off his old wool hat to mop the cold perspiration that had started on his head and face. he felt sick, and sad, and extremely wicked,--a sorry contrast to birt, who was so honest and reliable and, as his mother always said, "ez stiddy ez the mounting." birt was beginning to unharness the mule, for the day's work was at an end. the dusk had deepened to darkness. the woods were full of gloom. a timorous star palpitated in the sky. in the sudden stillness when the bark-mill ceased its whir, the mountain torrent hard by lifted a mystic chant. the drone of the katydid vibrated in the laurel, and the shrill-voiced cricket chirped. two of the men were in the shed examining a green hide by the light of a perforated tin lantern, that seemed to spill the rays in glinting white rills. as they flickered across the pile of bark where rufe and tennessee were sitting, he noticed how alert birt looked, how bright his eyes were. for birt's hopes were suddenly renewed. he thought that some mischance had detained nate to-day, and that he would come to-morrow to work at the bark-mill. the boy's blood tingled at the prospect of being free to seek for treasure down the ravine. he began to feel that he had been too quick to distrust his friend. perhaps the stipulation that nate should not go to the ravine until the work commenced was more than he ought to have asked. and perhaps, too, the trespasser was not nate! the traces of shallow delving might have been left by another hand. birt paused reflectively in unharnessing the mule. he stood with the gear in one hand, serious and anxious, in view of the possibility that this discovery was not his alone. then he strove to cast aside the thought. he said to himself that he had been hasty in concluding that the slight excavation argued human presence in that lonely spot; a rock dislodged and rolling heavily down the gorge might have thus scraped into the sand and gravel; or perhaps some burrowing animal, prospecting for winter quarters, had begun to dig a hole under the bowlder. he was perplexed, despite his plausible reasoning, and he continued silent and preoccupied when he lifted tennessee to his shoulder and trudged off homeward, with rufe at his heels, and the small boy's conscience following sturdily in the rear. that sternly accusing conscience! rufe was dismayed, when he sat with the other laughing children about the table, to know that his soul was not merry. sometimes a sombre shadow fell upon his face, and once birt asked him what was the matter. and though he laughed more than ever, he felt it was very hard to be gay without the subtle essence of mirth. that lie!--it seemed to grow; before supper was over it was as big as the warping-bars, and when they all sat in a semicircle in the open passage, rufe felt that his conscience was the most prominent member of the party. the young moon sank; the night waxed darker still; the woods murmured mysteriously. and he was glad enough at last to be sent to bed, where after so long a time sleep found him. the morrow came in a cloud. the light lacked the sunshine. the listless air lacked the wind. still and sombre, the woods touched the murky, motionless sky. all the universe seemed to hold a sullen pause. time was afoot--it always is--but birt might not know how it sped; no shadows on the spent tan this dark day! over his shoulder he was forever glancing, hoping that nate would presently appear from the woods. he saw only the mists lurking in the laurel; they had autumnal presage and a chill presence. he buttoned his coat about him, and the old mule sneezed as he jogged round the barkmill. jubal perkins and a crony stood smoking much of the time to-day in the door of the house, looking idly out upon the brown stretch of spent bark, and the gray, weather-beaten sheds, and the dun sky, and the shadowy, mist-veiled woods. the tanner was a tall, muscular man, clad in brown jeans, and with boots of a fair grade of leather drawn high over his trousers. as he often remarked, "the tanyard owes me good foot-gear--ef the rest o' the mounting hev ter go barefoot." the expression of his face was somewhat masked by a heavy grizzled beard, but from beneath the wide brim of his hat his eyes peered out with a jocose twinkle. his mouth seemed chiefly useful as a receptacle for his pipe-stem, for he spoke through his nose. his voice was strident on the air, since he included in the conversation a workman in the shed, who was scraping with a twohandled knife a hide spread on a wooden horse. this man, whose name was andrew byers, glanced up now and then, elevating a pair of shaggy eyebrows, and settled the affairs of the nation with diligence and despatch, little hindered by his labors or the distance. birt took no heed of the loud drawling talk. in moody silence he drove the mule around and around the bark-mill. the patient old animal, being in no danger of losing his way, closed his eyes drowsily as he trudged, making the best of it. "i'll git ez mild-mannered an' meek-hearted ez this hyar old beastis, some day, ef things keep on ez disapp'intin' ez they hev been lately," thought birt, miserably. "they do say ez even he used ter be a turrible kicker." noon came and went, and still the mists hung in the forest closely engirdling the little clearing. the roofs glistened with moisture, and the eaves dripped. a crow was cawing somewhere. birt had paused to let the mule rest, and the raucous sound caused him to turn his head. his heart gave a bound when he saw that on the other side of the fence the underbrush was astir along the path which wound through the woods to the tanyard. somebody was coming; he hoped even yet that it might be nate. he eagerly watched the rustling boughs. the crow had flown, but he heard as he waited a faint "caw! caw!" in the misty distance. whoever the newcomer might be, he certainly loitered. at last the leaves parted, and revealed-rufe. birt's first sensation was renewed disappointment. then he was disposed to investigate the mystery of nate's non-appearance. "hello, rufe!" he called out, as soon as the small boy was inside the tanyard, "be you-uns sure ez nate said he'd come over by sunup?" rufe halted and gazed about him, endeavoring to conjure an expression of surprise into his freckled face. he even opened his mouth to exhibit astonishment--exhibiting chiefly that equivocal tongue, and a large assortment of jagged squirrel teeth. "hain't nate come yit?" he ventured. the tanner suddenly put into the conversation. "war it nate griggs ez ye war aimin' ter trade with ter take yer place wunst in a while in the tanyard?" birt assented. "an' he 'lowed he'd be hyar ter-day by sun-up. rufe brung that word from him yestiddy." rufe's conscience had given him a recess, during which he had consumed several horse-apples in considerable complacence and a total disregard of "yerb tea." he had climbed a tree, and sampled a green persimmon, and he endured with fortitude the pucker in his mouth, since it enabled him to make such faces at towse as caused the dog to snap and growl in a frenzy of surprised indignation. he had fashioned a corn-stalk fiddle--that instrument so dear to rural children!--and he had been sawing away on it to his own satisfaction and tennessee's unbounded admiration for the last half-hour. he had forgotten that pursuing conscience till it seized upon him again in the tanyard. "oh, birt," he quavered out, suddenly, "i hain't laid eyes on nate." birt exclaimed indignantly, and jubal perkins laughed. "i seen sech a cur'ous lookin' man, down in the ravine by the lick, ez it sot me all catawampus!" continued rufe. as he told of his defection, and the falsehood with which he had accounted for it, jubal perkins came to a sudden decision. "git on that thar mule, birt, an' ride over ter nate's, an' find out what ails him, ef so be ye hanker ter know. i don't want nobody workin' in this hyar tanyard ez looks ez mournful ez ye do--like ez ef ye hed been buried an' dug up. but hurry back, 'kase there ain't enough bark ground yit, an' i hev got other turns o' work i want ye ter do besides 'fore dark." "war that satan?" asked rufe abruptly. "whar?" exclaimed birt, startled, and glancing hastily over his shoulder. "down yander by the lick," plained rufe. "naw!" said birt, scornfully, "an' nuthin' like satan, i'll be bound!" he was, however, uneasy to hear of any man down the ravine in the neighborhood of his hidden treasure, but he could not now question rufe, for jube perkins, with mock severity, was taking the small boy to account. byers was looking on, the knife idle in his hands, and his lips distended with a wide grin in the anticipation of getting some fun out of rufe. "look-a-hyar, bub," said jubal perkins, with both hands in his pockets and glaring down solemnly at rufe; "ef ever i ketches ye goin' of yerrands no better'n that ag'in, i'm a-goin' ter--tan that thar hide o' yourn." rufe gazed up deprecatingly, his eyes widening at the prospect. byers broke into a horse laugh. "we've been wantin' some leetle varmints fur tanning ennyhow," he said. "ye'll feel mighty queer when ye stand out thar on the spent tan, with jes' yer meat on yer bones, an 'look up an' see yer skin a-hangin' alongside o' the t'other calves, an' sech--that ye will!" "an' all the mounting folks will be remarkin' on it, too," said perkins. which no doubt they would have done with a lively interest. "i reckon," said byers, looking speculatively at rufe, "ez't would take a right smart time fur ye ter git tough enough ter go 'bout in respect'ble society ag'in. 't would hurt ye mightily, i'm thinkin'. ef i war you-uns, i'd be powerful partic'lar ter keep inside o' sech an accommodatin'-lookin' little hide ez yourn be fur tanning." rufe's countenance was distorted. he seemed about to tune up and whimper. "an' ef i war you-uns, andy byers, i'd find su'thin' better ter do'n ter bait an' badger a critter the size o' rufe!" exclaimed birt angrily. "that thar boy's 'bout right, too!" said the man who had hitherto been standing silent in the door. "waal, leave rufe be, jubal!" said byers, laughing. "ye started the fun." "leave him be, yerself," retorted the tanner. when birt mounted the mule, and rode out of the yard, he glanced back and saw that rufe had approached the shed; judging by his gestures, he was asking a variety of questions touching the art of tanning, to which byers amicably responded. the mists were shifting as birt went on and on. he heard the acorns dropping from the chestnut-oaks--sign that the wind was awake in the woods. like a glittering, polished blade, at last a slanting sunbeam fell. it split the gloom, and a radiant afternoon seemed to emerge. the moist leaves shone; far down the aisles of the woods the fugitive mists, in elusive dryadic suggestions, chased each other into the distance. although the song-birds were all silent, there was a chirping somewhere--cheerful sound! he had almost reached his destination when a sudden rustling in the undergrowth by the roadside caused him to turn and glance back. two or three shoats lifted their heads and were gazing at him with surprise, and a certain disfavor, as if they did not quite like his looks. a bevy of barefooted, tow-headed children were making mud pies in a marshy dip close by. an ancient hound, that had renounced the chase and assumed in his old age the office of tutor, seemed to preside with dignity and judgment. he, too, had descried the approach of the stranger. he growled, but made no other demonstration. "whar's nate?" birt called out, for these were the children of nate's eldest brother. for a moment there was no reply. then the smallest of the small boys shrilly piped out, "he hev gone away!--him an' gran'dad's claybank mare." another unexpected development! "when will he come back?" "ain't goin' ter come back fur two weeks." "whar 'bouts hev he gone?" asked birt amazed. "dunno," responded the same little fellow. "when did he set out?" there was a meditative pause. then ensued a jumbled bickering. the small boys, the shoats, and the hound seemed to consult together in the endeavor to distinguish "day 'fore yestiddy" from "las' week." the united intellect of the party was inadequate. "dunno!" the mite of a spokesman at last admitted. birt rode on rapidly once more, leaving this choice syndicate settling down again to the mud pies. the woods gave way presently and revealed, close to a precipice, nate's home. the log house with its chimney of clay and sticks, the barn of ruder guise, the fodder-stack, the ash-hopper, and the rail fence were all imposed in high relief against the crimson west and the purpling ranges in the distance. the little cabin was quite alone in the world. no other house, no field, no clearing, was visible in all the vast expanse of mountains and valleys which it overlooked. the great panorama of nature seemed to be unrolled for it only. the seasons passed in review before it. the moon rose, waxing or waning, as if for its behoof. the sun conserved for it a splendid state. but the skies above it had sterner moods,--sometimes lightnings veined the familiar clouds; winds rioted about it; the thunder spoke close at hand. and then it was that mrs. griggs lamented her husband's course in "raisin' the house hyar so nigh the bluffs ez ef it war an' aigle's nest," and forgot that she had ever accounted herself "sifflicated" when distant from the airy cliffs. she stood in the doorway now, her arms akimbo--an attitude that makes a woman of a certain stamp seem more masterful than a man. her grizzled locks were ornamented by a cotton cap with a wide and impressive ruffle, which, swaying and nodding, served to emphasize her remarks. she was conferring in a loud drawl with her husband, who had let down the bars to admit his horse, laden with a newly killed deer. her manner would seem to imply that she, and not he, had slain the animal. "toler'ble fat," she commented with grave self-complacence. "he 'minds me sorter o' that thar tremenjious buck we hed las' september. he war the fattes' buck i ever see. take off his hide right straight." the big cap-ruffle flapped didactically. "lor'-a--massy, woman!" vociferated the testy old man; "ain't i agoin' ter? ter hear ye a-jowin', a-body would think i had never shot nothin' likelier'n a yaller-hammer sence i been born. s'pos'n ye jes' takes ter goin' a-huntin', an' skinnin' deer, an' cuttin' wood, an' doin' my work ginerally. pears-like ye think ye knows mo' 'bout'n my work'n i does. an' i'll bide hyar at the house." mrs. griggs nodded her head capably, in nowise dismayed. "i dunno but that plan would work mighty well," she said. this conjugal colloquy terminated as she glanced up and saw birt. "why, thar's young dicey a-hint ye. howdy birt! 'light an' hitch!" "naw'm," rejoined birt, as he rode into the enclosure and close up to the doorstep. "i hain't got time ter 'light." then precipitately opening the subject of his mission. "i kem over hyar ter see nate. whar hev he disappeared ter?" "waal, now, that's jes' what i'd like ter know," she replied, her face eloquent with baffled curiosity. "he jes' borried his dad's claybank mare, an' sot out, an' never 'lowed whar he war bound fur. nate hev turned twenty-one year old," she continued, "an' he 'lows he air a man growed, an' obligated ter obey nobody but hisself. from the headin' way that he kerries on hyar, a-body would s'pose he air older 'n the cumberland mountings! but he hev turned twentyone--that's a fac'--an' he voted at the las' election." (with how much discretion it need not now be inquired.) "i knows that air true," said birt, who had wistfully admired this feat of his senior. "waal--nate don't set much store by votin'," rejoined mrs. griggs. "nate, he say, the greatest privilege his kentry kin confer on him is ter make it capital punishment fur wimmen ter ax him questions!-which i hev done," she admitted stoutly. and the ruffle on her cap did not deny it. "nate air twenty-one," she reiterated. "an' i s'pose he 'lows ez i hev no call nowadays ter be his mother." "hain't ye got no guess whar he be gone?" asked birt, dismayed by this strange new complication. "waal, i hev been studyin' it out ez nate mought hev rid ter parch corn, whar his great-uncle, joshua peters, lives--him that merried my aunt, melissy baker, ez war a widder then, though born a scruggs. an' then, ag'in, nate mought hev tuk it inter his head ter go ter the cross-roads, a-courtin' a gal thar ez he hev been talkin' about powerful, lately. but they tells me," mrs. griggs expostulated, as it were, "that them gals at the cross-roads is in no way desirable,-specially this hyar elviry mills, ez mighty nigh all the boys on the mounting hev los' thar wits about,--what little wits ez they ever hed ter lose, i mean ter say. but nate thinks he hev got a right ter a ch'ice, bein' ez he air turned twenty-one." "did he say when he 'lowed ter come back?" birt asked. "'bout two or three weeks nate laid off ter be away; but whar he hev gone, an' what's his yerrand, he let no human know," returned mrs. griggs. "i hev been powerful aggervated 'bout this caper o' nate's. i ain't afeard he'll git hisself hurt no ways whilst he be gone, for nate is mighty apt ter take keer o' nate." she nodded her head convincingly, and the great ruffle on her cap shook in corroboration. "but i hain't never hed the right medjure o' respec' out'n nate, an' his dad hain't, nuther." birt listened vaguely to this account of his friend's filial shortcomings, his absent eyes fixed upon the wide landscape, and his mind busy with the anxious problems of nate's broken promises. and the big red ball of the setting sun seemed at last to roll off the plane of the horizon, and it disappeared amidst the fiery emblazonment of clouds with which it had enriched the west. but all the world was not so splendid; midway below the dark purple summits a dun, opaque vapor asserted itself in dreary, aerial suspension. beneath it he could see a file of cows, homeward bound, along the road that encircled the mountain's base. he heard them low, and this reminded him that night was near, for all that the zenith was azure, and for all that the west was aglow. and he remembered he had a good many odd jobs to do before dark. and so he turned his face homeward. chapter v. birt had always been held in high esteem by the men at the tanyard. suddenly, however, the feeling toward him cooled. he remembered afterward, although at the time he was too absorbed to fully appreciate it, that this change began one day shortly after he had learned of nate's departure. as he went mechanically about his work, he was pondering futilely upon his friend's mysterious journey, and his tantalizing hopes lying untried in the depths of the ravine. he hardly noticed the conversation of the men until something was said that touched upon the wish nearest his heart. "i war studyin' 'bout lettin' birt hev a day off," said the tanner. "an' ye'll bide hyar." "naw, jube--naw!" andy byers replied with stalwart independence to his employer. "i hev laid off ter attend. ef ye want ennybody ter bide with the tanyard, an' keer fur this hyar pit, ye kin do it yerse'f, or else birt kin. _i_ hev laid off ter attend." andy byers was a man of moods. his shaggy eyebrows to-day overshadowed eyes sombre and austere. he seemed, if possible, a little slower than was his wont. he bore himself with a sour solemnity, and he was at once irritable and dejected. "shucks, andy! ye knows ye ain't no kin sca'cely ter the old woman; ye couldn't count out how ye air kin ter her ter save yer life. now, i'm obleeged ter attend." it so happened that the tanner's great-aunt was distantly related to andy byers. being ill, and an extremely old woman, she was supposed to be lying at the point of death, and her kindred had been summoned to hear her last words. "i hed 'lowed ter gin birt a day off, 'kase i hev got ter hev the mule in the wagon, an' he can't grind bark. i promised birt a day off," the tanner continued. "that thar's twixt ye an' birt. i hain't got no call ter meddle," said the obdurate byers. "ye kin bide with the tanyard an' finish this job yerse'f, of so minded. i'm goin' ter attend." "i reckon half the kentry-side will be thar, an' _i_ wants ter see the folks," said jubal perkins, cheerfully. "then birt will hev ter bide with the tanyard, an' finish this job. it don't lie with me ter gin him a day off. i don't keer ef he never gits a day off," said byers. this was an unnecessarily unkind speech, and birt's anger flamed out. "ef we-uns war of a size, andy byers," he said, hotly, "i'd make ye divide work a leetle more ekal than ye does." andy byers dropped the hide in his hands, and looked steadily across the pit at birt, as if he were taking the boy's measure. "ye mean ter say ef ye hed the bone an' muscle ye'd knock me down, do ye?" he sneered. "waal, i'll take the will fur the deed. i'll hold the grudge agin ye, jes' the same." they were all three busied about the pit. the hides had been taken out, and stratified anew, with layers of fresh tan, reversing the original order,--those that had been at the bottom now being placed at the top. the operation was almost complete before jubal perkins received the news of his relative's precarious condition. he had no doubt that birt was able to finish it properly, and the boy's conscientious habit of doing his best served to make the tanner's mind quite easy. as to the day off, he was glad to have that question settled by a quarrel between his employees, thus relieving him of responsibility. birt's wrath was always evanescent, and he was sorry a moment afterward for what he had said. andy byers exchanged no more words with him, and skillfully combined a curt and crusty manner toward him with an aspect of contemplative dreariness. occasionally, as they paused to rest, byers would sigh deeply. "a mighty good old woman, mrs. price war." he spoke as if she were already dead. "a mighty good old woman, though small-sized." "a little of her went a long way. she war eighty-four year old, an' kep' a sharp tongue in her head ter the las'," rejoined the tanner, adopting in turn the past tense. rufe listened with startled interest. now and then he cocked up his speculative eyes, and gazed fixedly into the preternaturally solemn face of byers, who reiterated, "a good old woman, though smallsized." with this unaccustomed absorption rufe's accomplishment of getting under-foot became pronounced. the tanner jostled him more than once, birt stumbled against his toes, and byers, suddenly turning, ran quite over him. rufe had not far to fall, but byers was a tall man. his arms swayed like the sails of a windmill in the effort to recover his balance. he was in danger of toppling into the pit, and in fact only caught himself on his knees at its verge. "ye torment!" he roared angrily, as he struggled to his feet. "g'way from hyar, or i'll skeer ye out'n yer wits!" the small boy ruefully gathered his members together, and after the men had started on their journey he sat down on a pile of wood hard by to give birt his opinion of andy byers. "he air a toler'ble mean man, ain't he, birt?" but birt said he had no mind to talk about andy byers. "skeer me!" exclaimed rufe, doughtily. "it takes a heap ter skeer me!" he got up presently, and going into the shed began to examine the tools of the trade which were lying there. he had the two-handled knife, with which he was about to try his skill on a hide that was stretched over the beam of the wooden horse, when birt glanced up and came hastily to the rescue. rufe was disposed to further investigate the appliances of the tanyard left defenseless at his mercy, but at last birt prevailed on him to go home and play with tennessee, and was glad enough to see his tow-head, with his old hat perched precariously on it, bobbing up and down among the low bushes, as he wended his way along the path through the woods. the hides had all been replaced between layers of fresh tan before the men left, and birt had only to fill up the space above with a thicker layer, ten or fifteen inches deep, and put the boards securely across the top of the pit, with heavy stones upon them to weight them down. but this kept him busy all the rest of the afternoon. rufe was pretty busy too. when he came in sight of home tennessee was the first object visible in the open passage. the sunshine slanted through it under the dusky roof, and the shadows of the chestnut-oak, hard by, dappled the floor. lying there was an old mexican saddle, for which there was no use since the horse had died. tennessee was mounted upon it, the reins in her hands, the headstall and bit poised on the peaked pommel. she jounced back and forth, and the skirts of the saddle flapped and the stirrups clanked on the floor, and the absorbed eyes of the little mountaineer were fixed on space. away and away she cantered on some splendid imaginary palfrey, through scenes where conjecture fails to follow her: a land, doubtless, where all the winds blow fair, and sparkling waters run, and jeopardy delights, and fancy's license prevails--all very different, you may be sure, from the facts, an old saddle on a puncheon floor, and a little black-eyed mountaineer. how far tennessee journeyed, and how long she was gone, it is impossible to say. she halted suddenly when her attention was attracted to a phenomenon within one of the rooms. the door was ajar and the solitary rufe was visible in the dusky vista. he stood before a large wooden chest. he had lifted the lid, and kept it up by resting it upon his head, bent forward for the purpose, while he rummaged the contents with vandal hands. tennessee stared at him, with indignant surprise gathering in her widening eyes. now that chest contained, besides a meagre store of quilts and comforts, her own and her mother's clothes, the fewer garments of the boys of the family being alternately suspended on the clothesline and their own frames. she resented the sacrilege of rufe's invasion of that chest. she turned on the saddle and looked around with an air of appeal. her mother, however, was down the hill beside the spring, busy boiling soap, and quite out of hearing. tennessee gazed vaguely for a moment at the great kettle with the red and yellow flames curling around it, and her mother's figure hovering over it. then she looked back at rufe. he continued industriously churning up the contents of the chest, the lid still poised upon that head that served so many other useful purposes--for the gymnastic exhibition involved in standing on it; for his extraordinary mental processes; for a lodgment for his old wool hat, and a field for his crop of flaxen hair. all the instinct of the proprietor was roused within tennessee. she found her voice, a hoarse, infantile wheeze. "tum out'n chist!" she exclaimed, gutturally. "tum out'n chist!" rufe turned his tow-head slowly, that he might not disturb the poise of the lid of the chest resting upon it. he fixed a solemn stare on tennessee, and drawing one hand from the depths of the chest, he silently shook his fist. and then he resumed his researches. tennessee, alarmed by this impressive demonstration, dismounted hastily from the saddle as soon as his threatening gaze was withdrawn. she tangled her feet in the stirrups and her hands in the reins, and lost more time in scrambling off the floor of the passage and down upon the ground; but at last she was fairly on her way to the spring to convey an account to her mother of the outlaw in the chest. in fact, she was not far from the scene of the soapboiling when she heard her name shouted in stentorian tones, and pausing to look back, she saw rufe gleefully capering about in the passage, the headstall on his own head, the bit hanging on his breast, and the reins dangling at his heels. now this beguilement the little girl could never withstand, and indeed few people ever had the opportunity to drive so frisky and high-spirited a horse as rufe was when he consented to assume the bit and bridle. he was rarely so accommodating, as he preferred the role of driver, with what he called "a pop-lashee!" at command. she forgot her tell-tale mission. she turned with a gurgle of delight and began to toddle up the hill again. and presently mrs. dicey, glancing toward the house, saw them playing together in great amity, and rejoiced that they gave her so little trouble. they were still at it when birt came home, but then tennessee was tired of driving, and he let her go with him to the wood-pile and sit on a log while he swung the axe. no one took special notice of rufe's movements in the interval before supper. he disappeared for a time, but when the circle gathered around the table he was in his place and by no means a non-combatant in the general onslaught on the corn-dodgers. afterward he came out in the passage and sat quietly among the others. the freshened air was fragrant, and how the crickets were chirring in the grass! on every spear the dew was a-glimmer, for a lustrous moon shone from the sky. somehow, despite the long roads of light that this splendid pioneer blazed out in the wilderness, it seemed only to reveal the loneliness of the forests, and to give new meaning to the solemnity of the shadows. the heart was astir with some responsive thrill that jarred vaguely, and was pain. yet the night had its melancholy fascination, and they were all awake later than usual. when at last the doors were barred, and the house grew still, and even the vigilant towse had ceased to bay and had lodged himself under the floor of the passage, the moon still shone in isolated effulgence, for the faint stars faded before it. the knowledge that in all the vast stretch of mountain fastnesses he was the only human creature that beheld it, as it majestically crossed the meridian, gave andy byers a forlorn feeling, while tramping along homeward. he had made the journey afoot, some eight miles down the valley, and was later far in returning than others who had heeded the summons of the sick woman. for she still lay in the same critical condition, and his mind was full of dismal forebodings as he toiled along the road on the mountain's brow. the dark woods were veined with shimmering silver. the mists, hovering here and there, showed now a blue and now an amber gleam as the moon's rays conjured them. on one side of the road an oak tree had been uptorn in a wind-storm; the roots, carrying a great mass of earth with them, were thrust high in the air, while the bole and leafless branches lay prone along the ground. this served as a break in the density of the forest, and the white moonshine possessed the vacant space. as he glanced in that direction his heart gave a great bound, then seemed suddenly to stand still. there, close to the verge of the road, as if she had stepped aside to let him pass, was the figure of an old woman--a small-sized woman, tremulous and bent. it looked like old mrs. price! as he paused amazed, with starting eyes and failing limbs, the wind fluttered her shawl and her ample sunbonnet. this shielded her face and he could not see her features. her head seemed to turn toward him. the next instant it nodded at him familiarly. to the superstitions mountaineer this suggested that the old woman had died since he had left her house, and here was her ghost already vagrant in the woods! the foolish fellow did not wait to put this fancy to the test. with a piercing cry he sprang past, and fled like a frightened deer through the wilderness homeward. in his own house he hardly felt more secure. he could not rest--he could not sleep. he stirred the embers with a trembling hand, and sat shivering over them. his wife, willing enough to believe in "harnts"* as appearing to other people, was disposed to repudiate them when they presumed to offer their dubious association to members of her own family circle. * ghosts. "dell-law!" she exclaimed scornfully. "i say harnt! old mrs. price, though spry ter the las', war so proud o' her age an' her ailments that she wouldn't hev nobody see her walk a step, or stand on her feet, fur nuthin'. her darter-in-law tole me ez the only way ter find out how nimble she really be war ter box one o' her gran'chill'n, an' then she'd bounce out'n her cheer, an' jounce round the room after thar daddy or mammy, whichever hed boxed the chill'n. that fursaken couple always hed ter drag thar chill'n out in the woods, out'n earshot of the house, ter whip 'em, an' then threat 'em ef they dare let thar granny know they hed been struck. but elsewise she hed ter be lifted from her bed ter her cheer by the h'a'th. she wouldn't hev her sperit seen a-walkin' way up hyar atop o' the mounting, like enny healthy harnt, fur nuthin' in this worl'. whatever 'twar, 'twarn't her. an' i reckon of the truth war knowed, 'twarn't nuthin' at all--forg, mebbe." this stalwart reasoning served to steady his nerves a little. and when the moon went down and the day was slowly breaking, he took his way, with a vacillating intention and many a chilling doubt, along the winding road to the scene of his fright. it was not yet time by a good hour or more to go to work, and nothing was stirring. a wan light was on the landscape when he came in sight of the great tree prone upon the ground. and there, close to the edge of the road, as if she had stepped aside to let him pass, was the figure of a little, bent old woman--nay, in the brightening dawn, a bush--a blackberry bush, clad in a blue-checked apron, a red plaid shawl, and with a neat sunbonnet nodding on its topmost spray. his first emotion was intense relief. then he stood staring at the bush in rising indignation. this sandy by-way of a road led only to his own house, and this image of a small and bent old woman had doubtless been devised, to terrify him, by some one who knew of his mission, and that he could not return except by this route. only for a moment did he feel uncertain as to the ghost-maker's identity. there was something singularly familiar to him in the plaid of the shawl--even in the appearance of the bonnet, although it was now limp and damp. he saw it at "meet'n" whenever the circuit rider preached, and he presently recognized it. this was mrs. dicey's bonnet! his face hardened. he set his teeth together. an angry flush flared to the roots of his hair. not that he suspected the widow of having set this trap to frighten him. he was not learned, nor versed in feminine idiosyncrasies, but it does not require much wisdom to know that on no account whatever does a woman's best bonnet stay out all night in the dew, intentionally. the presence of her bonnet proved the widow's alibi. like a flash he remembered birt's anger the previous day. "told me he'd make me divide work mo' ekal, an' ez good ez said he'd knock me down ef he could. an' i told him i'd hold the grudge agin him jes' the same--an' i will!" he felt sure that it was birt who had thus taken revenge, because he was kept at work while his fellow-laborer was free to go. byers thought the boy would presently come to take the garments home, and conceal his share in the matter, before any one else would be likely to stir abroad. "an' i'll hide close by with a good big hickory stick, an' i'll gin him a larrupin' ez he won't furgit in a month o' sundays," he resolved, angrily. he opened his clasp-knife, and walked slowly into the woods, looking about for a choice hickory sprout. he did not at once find one of a size that he considered appropriate to the magnitude of birt's wickedness, and he went further perhaps than he realized, and stayed longer. he had a smile of stern satisfaction on his face when he was lopping off the leaves and twigs of a specimen admirably adapted for vengeance. he was stealthy in returning, keeping behind the trees, and slipping softly from bole to bole. at last, as the winding road was once more in view, he crouched down behind the roots of the great fallen oak. "i don't want him ter git a glimge of me, an' skeer him off afore i kin lay a-holt on him," he said. he intended to keep the neighboring bush under close watch, and through the interlacing roots he peered out furtively at it. his eyes distended and he hastily rose from his hiding-place. the blackberry bush was swaying in the wind, clothed only in its own scant and rusty leaves. a wren perched on a spray, chirped cheerful matins. chapter vi. his scheme was thwarted. the boy had come and gone in his absence, all unaware of his proximity and the impending punishment so narrowly escaped. but when andy byers reached the tanyard and went to work, he said nothing to birt. he did not even allude to the counterfeit apparition in the woods, although mrs. price's probable recovery was more than once under discussion among the men who came and went,-indeed, she lived many years thereafter, to defend her lucky grandchildren against every device of discipline. byers had given heed to more crafty counsels. on the whole he was now glad that he had not had the opportunity to make birt and the hickory sprout acquainted with each other. this would be an acknowledgment that he had been terrified by the manufactured ghost, and he preferred foregoing open revenge to encountering the jocose tanner's ridicule, and the gibes that would circulate at his expense throughout the country-side. but he cherished the grievance, and he resolved that birt should rue it. he had expected that birt would boast of having frightened him. he intended to admit that he had been a trifle startled, and in treating the matter thus lightly he hoped it would seem that the apparition was a failure. however, day by day passed and nothing was said. the ghost vanished as mysteriously as it had come. only mrs. dicey, taking her bonnet and apron and shawl from the chest, was amazed at the extraordinary manner in which they were folded and at their limp condition, and when she found a bunch of cockle-burs in the worsted fringes of the shawl she declared that witches must have had it, for she had not worn it since early in april when there were no cockle-burs. she forthwith nailed a horseshoe on the door to keep the witches out, and she never liked the shawl so well after she had projected a mental picture of a lady wearing it, riding on a broomstick, and sporting also a long peaked nose. birt hardly noticed the crusty and ungracious conduct of andy byers toward him. he worked on doggedly, scheming all the time to get off from the tanyard, and wondering again and again why nate had gone, and where, and when he would return. one day--a gray day it was and threatening rain--as he came suddenly out of the shed, he saw a boy at the bars. it was nate griggs! no; only for a moment he thought this was nate. but this fellow's eyes were not so close together; his hair was less sandy; there were no facial indications of extreme slyness. it was only nathan's humble likeness, his younger brother, timothy. he had nate's coat thrown over his arm, and he shouldered his brother's rifle. tim came slouching slowly into the tanyard, a good-natured grin on his face. he paused only to knock rufe's hat over his eyes, as the small boy stood in front of the low-spirited mule, both hands busy with the animal's mouth, striving to open his jaws to judge by his teeth how old he might be. "the critter'll bite ye, rufe!" birt exclaimed, for as rufe stooped to pick up his hat the mule showed some curiosity in his turn, and was snuffling at rufe's hay-colored hair. rufe readjusted his head-gear, and ceasing his impolite researches into the mule's age, came up to the other two boys. tim had paused by the shed, and leaning upon the rifle, began to talk. "i war a-passin' by, an' i thought i'd drap in on ye." "hev you-uns hearn from nate since he hev been gone away?" demanded birt anxiously. "he hev come home," responded tim. "when did he git home?" birt asked with increasing suspicion. "las' week," said tim carelessly. another problem! why had nate not communicated with his partner about their proposed work? it seemed a special avoidance. "i onderstood ez how he aimed ter bide away longer," birt remarked. "he did count on stayin' longer," said tim, "but he rid night an' day ter git hyar sooner. it 'pears like ter me he war in sech a hurry so ez ter start me ter work, and nuthin' else in this worl'. i owe nate a debt, ye see, an' i hev ter work it out. i hev been so onlucky ez i couldn't make out ter pay him nohow in the worl'. ye see, i traded with nate fur a shoat, an' the spiteful beastis sneaked out'n my pen, an' went rootin' round the aidge o' the clearin', an' war toted off bodaciously by a bar ez war a-prowlin' round thar. an' i got no good o' that thar shoat, 'kase the bar hed him, but i hed to pay fur him all the same. an' dad gin his cornsent ter nate ter let me work a month an' better fur him, ter pay out'n debt fur the shoat." "what work be you-uns goin' ter do?" birt had a strong impression, amounting to a conviction, that there was something behind all this, which he was slowly approaching. "why," said tim, in surprise, "hain't ye hearn bout'n nate's new land what he hev jes' got 'entered' ez he calls it? he hev got a grant fur it from the land-office down yander in sparty, whar he hev been." "new land--'entered!'" faltered birt. tim nodded. "nate fund a trac' o' land a-layin' ter suit his mind what b'longed ter nobody but the state--vacant land, ye see--an' so he went ter the 'entry-taker,' they calls him, an' gits it 'entered,' an' the surveyor kem an' medjured it, an' then nate got a grant fur it, an' now it air his'n. the gov'nor o' the state hev sot his name ter that thar grant--the gov'nor o' tennessee!" reiterated tim pridefully. "an' the great seal o' the state!" "whar be the land?" gasped birt, possessed by a dreadful fear. his face was white, its muscles rigid. its altered expression could not for an instant have escaped the notice of timothy's brother nathan. "why, it lays bout'n haffen mile off--all down the ravine nigh that thar salt-lick; but look-a-hyar, birt--what ails ye?" the stunned despair in the white face had at last arrested his careless attention. "don't ye be mindin' of me--i feel sorter porely an' sick all of a suddint; tell on 'bout the land an' sech," said birt. he sat down on the end of the wood-pile, and tim, still leaning on the rifle, recommenced. he was generally much cowed and kept down by nate, and was unaccustomed to respect and consideration. therefore he felt a certain gratification in having so attentive a listener. "waal, i never hearn o' this fashion o' enterin' land like nate done in all my life afore; though dad say that's the law in tennessee, ter git a title ter vacant land ez jes' b'longs ter the state. mebbe them air the ways ez nate l'arned whilst he war a-hangin' round the settlemint so constant, an' forever talkin' ter the men thar." birt's precocity had never let him feel at a disadvantage with nate, although his friend was five years older. now he began to appreciate that nate was indeed a man grown, and had become sophisticated in the ways of his primitive world by his association with the other men at the settlement. there was a pause. but the luxury of being allowed to talk without contradiction or rebuke presently induced tim to proceed. "he war hyar mighty nigh all day long," he said reflectively. "he eat his dinner along of we-uns." "who? the gov'nor o' the state?" exclaimed birt, astounded. "naw, 'twarn't him," tim admitted somewhat reluctantly, since birt seemed disposed to credit "we-uns" with a gubernatorial guest. "it's the surveyor i'm talkin' 'bout. nate hed ter pay him three dollars an' better fur medjurin' the land. he tole nate ez his land war ez steep an' rocky a spot ez thar war in tennessee from e-end ter e-end. he axed nate what ailed him ter hanker ter pay taxes on sech a pack o' bowlders an' bresh. he 'lowed the land warn't wuth a cent an acre." "what did nate say?" asked birt, who hung with feverish interest on every thoughtless word. "waal, nate 'lows ez he hev fund a cur'ous metal on his land; he say it air gold!" tim opened his eyes very wide, and smacked his lips, as if the word tasted good. "he 'lowed ez he needn't hev been in sech a hurry ter enter his land, 'kase the entry-taker told it ter him ez it air the law in tennessee ez ennybody ez finds a mine or val'able min'ral on vacant land hev got six months extry ter enter the land afore ennybody else kin, an' ef ennybody else wants ter enter it, they hev ter gin the finder o' the mine thirty days' notice." tim winked, an impressive demonstration but for the insufficiency of eyelashes: "the surveyor he misdoubted, an' 'lowed ez gold hed never been fund in these parts. he said they fund gold in them mountings furder east 'bout twenty odd year ago--in 1831, i believe he said. he 'lowed them mountings hain't got no coal like our'n hev, an' the cumberland mountings hain't got no gold. an' then in a minit he tuk ter misdoubtin' on the t'other side o' his mouth. he 'lowed ez nate's min'ral mought be gold, an' then ag'in it moughtn't." the essential difference between these two extremes has afforded scope for vacillation to more consistent men than the surveyor. "thar's the grant right now, in the pocket o' nate's coat," said tim, shifting the garment on his arm to show a stiff, white folded paper sticking out of the breast pocket. "i reckon when he tole me ter tote his gun an' coat home, he furgot the grant war in his pocket, 'kase he fairly dotes on it, an' won't trest it out'n his sight." nate was in the habit of exacting similar services from his acquiescent younger brother, and tim had his hands full, as he tried to hold the gun, and turn the coat on his arm. he finally hung the garment on a peg in the shed, and shouldered the weapon. suddenly he whirled around toward rufe, who was still standing by. "what in the nation air inside o' that thar boy?" he exclaimed. "a chicken, ain't it?" for a musical treble chirping was heard proceeding apparently from rufe's pocket. this chicken differed from others that rufe had put away, in being alive and hearty. the small boy entered into the conversation with great spirit, to tell that a certain hen which he owned had yesterday come off her nest with fourteen of the spryest deedies that ever stepped. one in especial had so won upon rufe by its beauty and grace of deportment that he was carrying it about with him, feeding it at close intervals, and housing it in the security of his pocket. the deedie hardly made a moan. there was no use in remonstrating with rufe,--everything that came within his eccentric orbit seemed to realize that,--and the deedie was contentedly nestling down in his pocket, apparently resigned to lead the life of a portemonnaie. rufe narrated with pardonable pride the fact that, some time before, his great-uncle, rufus dicey, had sent to him from the "valley kentry" a present of a pair of game chickens, and that this deedie was from the first egg hatched in the game hen's brood. but rufe was not selfish. he offered to give tim one of the chicks. now poultry was tim's weakness. he accepted with more haste than was seemly, and at once asked for the deedie in the small boy's pocket. rufe, however, refused to part from the chick of his adoption, and presently tim, with the gun on his shoulder, left the tanyard in company with rufe, to look over the brood of game chicks, and make a selection from among them. birt hardly noticed what they did or said. every faculty was absorbed in considering the wily game which his false friend had played so successfully. it was all plain enough now. the fruit of his discovery would be plucked by other hands. there was to be no division of the profits. nate griggs had coveted the whole. his craft had secured it for himself alone. he had the legal title to the land, the mine--all! there seemed absolutely no vulnerable point in his scheme. with suddenly sharpened perceptions, birt realized that if he should now claim the discovery and the consequent right of thirty days' notice of nate's intention, by virtue of the priority of entering land accorded by the statute to the finder of a mine or valuable mineral, it would be considered a groundless boast, actuated by envy and jealousy. he had told no one but nate of his discovery--and would not nate now deny it! however, one thing in the future was certain,--nathan griggs should not escape altogether scathless. for a long time birt sat motionless, revolving vengeful purposes in his mind. every moment he grew more bitter, as he reflected upon his wrecked scheme, his wonderful fatuity, and the double dealing of his chosen coadjutor. but he would get even with nate griggs yet; he promised himself that,--he would get even! at last the falling darkness warned him home. when he rose his limbs trembled, his head was in a whirl, and the familiar scene swayed, strange and distorted, before him. he steadied himself after a moment, finished the odd jobs he had left undone, and presently was trudging homeward. a heavy black cloud overhung the woods; an expectant stillness brooded upon the sultry world; an angry storm was in the air. the first vivid flash and simultaneous peal burst from the sky as he reached the passage between the two rooms. "ye air powerful perlite ter come a-steppin' home jes' at suppertime," said his mother advancing to meet him. "ye lef' no wood hyar, an' ye said ye would borry the mule, an' come home early apurpose to haul some. an' me hyar with nuthin' to cook supper with but sech chips an' blocks an' bresh ez i could pick up off'n the groun'." birt's troubles had crowded out the recollection of this domestic duty. "i clean furgot," he admitted, penitently. then he asked suddenly, "an' whar war rufe, an' pete, an' joe, ez ye hed ter go ter pickin' up of chips an' sech off'n the groun'?" he turned toward the group of small boys. "air you-uns all disabled somehows, ez ye can't pick up chips an' bresh an' sech?" he said. "an' ef ye air, whyn't ye go ter the tanyard arter me?" "they war all off in the woods, a-lookin' arter rufe's trap ez ye sot fur squir'ls," mrs. dicey explained. "it hed one in it, an' i cooked it fur supper." birt said that he could go out early with his axe and cut enough wood for breakfast tomorrow, and then he fell silent. once or twice his preoccupied demeanor called forth comment. "whyn't ye eat some o' the squir'l, birt?" his mother asked at the supper table. "pears-like ter me ez it air cooked toler'ble tasty." birt could not eat. he soon rose from the table and resumed his chair by the window, and for half an hour no word passed between them. the thunder seemed to roll on the very roof of the cabin, and it trembled beneath the heavy fall of the rain. at short intervals a terrible blue light quivered through crevices in the "daubin'" between the logs of the wall, and about the rude shutter which closed the glassless window. now and then a crash from the forest told of a riven tree. but the storm had no terrors for the inmates of this humble dwelling. pete and joe had already gone to bed; tennessee had fallen asleep while playing on the floor, and rufe dozed peacefully in his chair. even mrs. dicey nodded as she knitted, the needles sometimes dropping from her nerveless hand. birt silently watched the group for a time in the red light of the smouldering fire and the blue flashes from without. at length he softly rose and crept noiselessly to the door; the fastening was the primitive latch with a string attached; it opened without a sound in his cautious handling, and he found himself in the pitchy darkness outside, the wild mountain wind whirling about him, and the rain descending in steady torrents. he had stumbled only a few steps from the house when he thought he indistinctly heard the door open again. he dreaded his mother's questions, but he stopped and looked back. he saw nothing. there was no sound save the roar of the wind, the dash of the rain, and the commotion among the branches of the trees. he went on once more, absorbed in his dreary reflections and the fierce anger that burned in his heart. "i'll git even with nate griggs," he said, over and again. "i'll git even with him yit." chapter vii. when birt reached the fence, he discovered that the bars were down. rufe had forgotten to replace them that afternoon when he drove in the cow to be milked. despite his absorption, birt paused to put them up, remembering the vagrant mountain cattle that might stray in upon the corn. he found the familiar little job difficult enough, for it seemed to him that there was never before so black a night. even looking upward, he could not see the great wind-tossed boughs of the chestnut-oak above his head. he only knew they were near, because acorns dropped upon the rail in his hands, and rebounded resonantly. but an owl, blown helplessly down the gale, was not much better off, for all its vaunted nocturnal vision. as it drifted by, on the currents of the wind, its noiseless, outstretched wings, vainly flapping, struck birt suddenly in the face, and frightened by the collision, it gave an odd, peevish squeak. birt, too, was startled for a moment. then he exclaimed irritably, "oh, g'way owel"--realizing what had struck him. the next moment he paused abruptly. he thought he heard, close at hand, amongst the glooms, a faint chuckle. something--was it?-somebody laughing in the darkness? he stood intently listening. but now he heard only the down-pour of the rain, the sonorous gusts of the wind, the multitudinous voices of the muttering leaves. he said to himself that it was fancy. "all this trouble ez i hev hed along o' nate griggs hev mighty nigh addled my brains." the name recalled his resolve. "i'll git even with him, though. i'll git even with him yit," he reiterated as he plodded on heavily down the path, his mind once more busy with all the details of his discovery, his misplaced confidence, and the wreck of his hopes. it seemed so hard that he should never before have heard of "entering land," and of that law of the state according priority to the finder of mineral. the mine was his, but he had hid the discovery from all but nate, who claimed it himself, and had secured the legal title. "but i'll git even with him," he said resolutely between his set teeth. he had thought it a lucky chance to remember, in his reverie before the fire-lit hearth, that peg in the shed at the tanyard on which tim had hung his brother's coat. somehow the episode of the afternoon had left so vivid an impression on birt's mind that hours afterward he seemed to see the dull, clouded sky, the sombre, encircling woods, the brown stretch of spent tan, the little gray shed, and within it, hanging upon a peg, the butternut jeans coat, a stiff white paper protruding from its pocket. that grant, he thought, had taken from him his rights. he would destroy it--he would tear it into bits, and cast it to the turbulent mountain winds. it was not his, to be sure. but was it justly nate's?--he had no right to enter the land down the ravine. and so birt argued with his conscience. now wherever conscience calls a halt, it is no place for reason to debate the question. the way ahead is no thoroughfare. birt did not recognize the tearing of the paper as stealing, but he knew that all this was morally wrong, although he would not admit it. he would not forego his revenge--it was too dear; he was too deeply injured. in the anger that possessed his every faculty, he did not appreciate its futility. there were other facts which he did not know. he was ignorant that the deed which he contemplated was a crime in the estimation of the law, a penitentiary offense. and toward this terrible pitfall he trudged in the darkness, saying over and again to himself, "i'll git even with nate griggs; he'll hev no grant, no land, no gold--no more 'n me. i'll git even with him." his progress seemed incredibly slow as he groped along the path. but the rain soon ceased; the wind began to scatter the clouds; through a rift he saw a great, glittering planet blazing high above their dark turmoils. how the drops pattered down as the wind tossed the laurel!--once they sounded like footfalls close behind him. he turned and looked back into the obscurities of the forest. nothing--a frog had begun to croak far away, and the vibrations of the katydid were strident on the damp air. and here was the tanyard, a denser area of gloom marking where the house and shed stood in the darkness. he did not hesitate. he stepped over the bars, which lay as usual on the ground, and walked across the yard to the shed. the eaves were dripping with moisture. but the coat, still hanging within on the peg, was dry. he had a thrill of repulsion when he touched it. his hand fell. "but look how nate hev treated me," he remonstrated with his conscience. the next moment he had drawn the grant half-way out of the pocket, and as he moved he almost stepped upon something close behind him. all at once he knew what it was, even before a flash of the distant lightning revealed a little tow-head down in the darkness, and a pair of black eyes raised to his in perfect confidence. it was the little sister who had followed him to-night, as she always did when she could. "stand back thar, tennessee!" he faltered. he was trembling from head to foot. and yet tennessee was far too young to tell that she had seen the grant in his hands, to understand, even to question. but had he been seized by the whole griggs tribe, he could not have been so panic-stricken as he was by the sight of that unknowing little head, the touch of the chubby little hand on his knee. he thrust the grant back into the pocket of nate's coat. his resolve was routed by the presence of love and innocence. not here-not now could he be vindictive, malicious. with some urgent, inborn impulse strongly constraining him, he caught the little sister in his arms, and fled headlong through the darkness, homeward. as he went he was amazed that he should have contemplated this revenge. "why, i can't afford ter be a scoundrel an' sech, jes' 'kase nate griggs air a tricky feller an' hev fooled me. ef tennessee hedn't stepped up so powerful peart i moughtn't hev come ter my senses in time. i mought hev tore up nate's grant by now. but arter this i ain't never goin' ter set out ter act like a scamp jes' 'kase somebody else does." his conscience had prevailed, his better self returned. and when he reached home, and opening the door saw his mother still nodding over her knitting, and rufe asleep in his chair, and the fire smouldering on the hearth, all as he had left it, he might have thought that he had dreamed the temptation and his rescue, but for his dripping garments and tennessee in his arms all soaking with the rain. the noise of his entrance roused his mother, who stared in drowsy astonishment at the bedraggled apparition on the threshold. "tennie follered me ter the tanyard 'fore i fund her out," birt explained. "it 'pears ter hev rained on her, considerable," he added deprecatingly. tennie was looking eagerly over her shoulder to note the effect of this statement. her streaming hair flirted drops of water on the floor; her cheeks were ruddy; her black eyes brightened with apprehension. "waal, sir! that thar child beats all. never mind, tennie, ye'll meet up with a wild varmint some day when ye air follerin' birt off from the house, an' i ain't surprised none ef it eats ye! but shucks!" mrs. dicey continued impersonally, "i mought ez well save my breath; tennie ain't feared o' nuthin', ef birt air by." the word "varmint" seemed to recall something to tennessee. she began to chatter unintelligibly about an "owel," and to chuckle so, that birt had sudden light upon that mysterious laugh which he had heard behind him at the bars. in his pride in tennessee he related how the owl had startled him, and the little girl, invisible in the darkness, had laughed. "tennessee ain't pretty, i know, but she air powerful peart," he said, affectionately, as he placed her upon her feet on the floor. birt was out early with his axe the next day. the air was delightfully pure after the rain-storm; the sky, gradually becoming visible, wore the ideal azure; the freshened foliage seemed tinted anew. and the morning was pierced by the gilded, glittering javelins of the sunrise, flung from over the misty eastern mountains. as the day dawned all sylvan fascinations were alert in the woods. the fragrant winds were garrulous with wild legends of piney gorges; of tumultuous cascades fringed by thyme and mint and ferns. every humble weed lent odorous suggestions. the airy things all took to wing. and the spider was a-weaving. birt had felled a slender young ash, and was cutting it into lengths for the fireplace, when he noticed a squirrel, sleek woodland dandy, frisking about a rotten log at some little distance, by the roadside. suddenly the squirrel paused, then nimbly sped away. there was the sound of approaching hoofs along the road, and presently from around the curve a woman appeared mounted on a sorrel mare, and with a long-legged colt ambling in the rear. it was mrs. griggs, setting out on a journey of some ten miles to visit her married daughter who lived on a neighboring spur. she had taken an early start to "git rid o' the heat o' the noon," as she explained to mrs. dicey, who had run out to the rail fence when she reined up beside it. birt dropped his axe and joined them, expecting to hear more about nate's grant and the gold mine. rufe and tennessee added their company without any definite intention. pete and joe were hurrying out of the house toward the group. all the dogs congregated, some of them climbing over the fence to investigate the colt, which was skittish under the ordeal. even the turkey-gobbler, strutting on the outskirts of the assemblage, had an attentive aspect, as if he, too, relished the gossip. mrs. griggs's pink calico sunbonnet surmounted the cap with the explanatory ruffle. she carried a fan of turkey feathers, and with appropriate gesticulation, it aided in expounding to mrs. dicey the astonishing news that nate had found a gold mine on vacant land, and had entered the tract. they intended to send specimens to the state assayer, and they were all getting ready to begin work at once. another surprise to birt! the ignorant mountain boy had never heard of the assayer. but indeed nate had only learned of the existence of the office and its uses during that memorable trip to sparta. the prideful mrs. griggs from her elevation, literal and metaphorical, supplemented all this by the creditable statements that nate had turned twenty-one, had cast his vote, and had a right to a choice at the cross-roads. then she chirruped to the rawboned sorrel mare, and jogged off down the road, followed by the frisky colt, whose long, slender legs when in motion seemed so fragile that it was startling to witness the temerity with which he kicked up his frolicsome heels. the dogs, with that odd canine affectation of having just perceived the intruders, pursued them with sudden asperity, barking and snapping, and at last came trotting nimbly home, wagging their tails and with a dutiful mien. mrs. dicey went back into the house, and sat for a time in envious meditation, fairly silenced, and with her apron flung over her face. then she fell to lamenting that she had been working all her life for nothing, and it would take so little to make the family comfortable, and that her children seemed "disabled somehow in thar heads, an' though always rootin' around in the woods, hed never fund no gold mine nor nuthin' else out o' the common." birt kept silent, but the gloom and trouble in his face suddenly touched her heart. "thar now, birt!" she exclaimed, with a world of consolation in her tones, "i don't mean ter say that, nuther. ain't i a-thinkin' day an' night o' how smart ye be--stiddy an' sensible an' hard-workin' jes' like a man--an' what a good son ye hev been to me! an' the t'other chill'n air good too, an' holps me powerful, though rufe air hendered some, by the comical natur o' the critter." she broke out with a cheerful laugh, in which birt could not join. "an' i mus' be gittin' breakfus fur the chill'n," she said, kneeling down on the hearth, and uncovering the embers which had been kept all night under the ashes. "don't ye fret, sonny. i ain't goin' ter grudge nate his gold mine. i reckon sech a good son ez ye be, an' a gold mine too, would be too much luck fur one woman. don't ye fret, sonny." birt's self-control gave way abruptly. he rose in great agitation, and started toward the door. then he paused, and broke forth with passionate incoherence, telling amidst sobs and tears the story of the woodland's munificence to him, and how he had flung the gift away. in recounting the hopes that had deluded him, the fears that had gnawed, and the despair in which they were at last merged, he did not notice, for a time, her look as she still knelt motionless before the embers on the hearth. he faltered, and grew silent; then stared dumbly at her. she seemed as one petrified. her face had blanched; its lines were as sharp and distinct as if graven in stone; only her eyes spoke, an eloquent anguish. her faculties were numbed for a moment. but presently there was a quiver in her chin, and her voice rang out. and yet did she understand? did she realize the loss of the mine? for it was not this that she lamented "birt dicey!" she cried in an appalled tone. "did ye hide it from yer mother--an' tell nate griggs?" birt hung his head. the folly of it! "what ailed ye, ter hide it from me?" she asked deprecatingly, holding out her worn, hard-working hands. "hev i ever done ye harm?" "nuthin' but good." "don't everybody know a boy's mother air bound ter take his part agin all the worl'?" "everybody but me," said the penitent birt. "what ailed ye, ter hide it from me? what did ye 'low i'd do?" "i 'lowed ye wouldn't want me ter go pardners with nate," he said drearily. "i reckon i wouldn't!" she admitted. "ye always said he war a snake in the grass." "he hev proved that air a true word." "i wisht i hedn't tole him!" cried birt vainly. "i wisht i hedn't." he watched her with moody eyes as she rose at last with a sigh and went mechanically about her preparations for breakfast. there was a division between them. he felt the gulf widening. "i jes' wanted it fur you-uns, ennyhow," he said, defending his motives. "i 'lowed ez i mought make enough out'n it ter buy a horse." "i hain't got time ter sorrow 'bout'n no gold mine," she said loftily. "i used ter believe ye set a heap o' store by yer mother, an' war willin' ter trust her--ye an' me hevin' been through mighty hard times together. but ye don't--i reckon ye never did. i hev los' mo' than enny gold mine." and this sorrow for a vanished faith resolved itself into tears with which she salted her humble bread. chapter viii. if she had had any relish for triumph, she might have found it in birt's astonishment to learn that she understood all the details of entering land, which had been such a mystery to him. "'twar the commonest thing in the worl', whenst i war young, ter hear 'bout'n folks enterin' land," she said. "but nowadays thar ain't no talk 'bout'n it sca'cely, 'kase the best an' most o' the land in the state hev all been tuk up an' entered--'ceptin' mebbe a trac', hyar an' thar, full o' rock, an' so steep 't ain't wuth payin' the taxes on." simple as she was, she could have given him valuable counsel when it was sorely needed. he hung about the house later than was his wont, bringing in the store of wood for her work during the day, and "packing" the water from the spring, with the impulse in his attention to these little duties to make what amends he might. when at last he started for the tanyard, he knew by the sun that he was long over-due. he walked briskly along the path through the sassafras and sumach bushes, on which the rain-drops still clung. he was presently brushing them off in showers, for he had begun to run. it occurred to him that this was no time to seem even a trifle remiss in his work at the tanyard. since he had lost all his hopes down the ravine, the continuance of jube perkins's favor and the dreary routine with the mule and the bark-mill were his best prospects. it would never do to offend the tanner now. "with sech a pack o' chill'n ter vittle ez we-uns hev got at our house," he muttered. as he came crashing through the underbrush into view of the tanyard, he noticed instantly that it did not wear its usual simple, industrial aspect. a group of excited men were standing in front of the shed, one of them gesticulating wildly. and running toward the bars came tim griggs, panting and whitefaced, and exclaiming incoherently at the sight of birt. "oh, birt," he cried, "i war jes' startin' to yer house arter youuns; they tole me to go an' fetch ye. fur massy's sake, gimme nate's grant. i'm fairly afeared o' him. he'll break every bone i own." he held out his hand. "gimme the grant!" "nate's grant!" exclaimed birt aghast. "i hain't got it! i hain't" he paused abruptly. he could not say that he had not touched it. tim's wits were sharpened by the keen anxiety of the crisis. he noticed the hesitation. "ye hev hed it," he cried wildly. "ye know ye hev been foolin' with it. ye know 'twar you-uns!" he changed to sudden appeal. "don't put the blame off on me, birt," he pleaded. "i'm fairly afeared o' nate." "ain't the grant in the pocket o' his coat--whar ye left it hangin' on a peg in the shed?" asked birt, dismayed. "naw--naw!" exclaimed tim, despairingly. "he missed his coat this mornin', bein' the weather war cooler, an' then the grant, an' he sent me arter it. an' i fund the coat a-hangin' thar on the peg, whar i hed lef' it, bein' ez i furgot it when i went off with rufe ter look at his chickens, an' the pocket war empty an' the paper gone! nate hev kem ter sarch, too!" once more he held out his hand. "gimme the grant. nate 'lows 'twar you-uns ez tuk it, bein' ez i lef' it hyar." birt flushed angrily. "i'll say a word ter nate griggs!" he declared. and he pushed past the trembling tim, and took his way briskly into the tanyard. there was a vague murmur in the group as he approached, and nate griggs came out from its midst, nodding his head threateningly. his hat, thrust far back on his sandy hair, left in bold relief his long, thin face with its small eyes, which seemed now so close together that his glance had the effect of a squint. he scanned birt narrowly. this was the first time the two had met since birt's ill-starred confidence there by the bark-mill. "what ails ye, ter 'low ez it air me ez hev got yer grant, nate griggs?" birt asked, steadily meeting the accusation. the excitement had impaired for the moment nate griggs's cunning. "'kase," he blurted out, "ye hev been a-tryin' ter purtend ez ye fund the mine fust, an' hev been a-tellin' folks 'bout'n it." "prove it," said birt, in sudden elation. "who war it i tole, an' when?" the sly nathan caught his breath with a gasp. his craft had returned. admit that to him birt had divulged the discovery of the mine! confess, when! this would invalidate the entry! "ye tole tim," nate said shamelessly, "an' ez ter when--'twar yestiddy evenin' at the tanyard. didn't he, tim?" and he whirled around to his younger brother for confirmation of this audacious and deliberate falsehood. the abject tim--poor tool!--frightened and cowering, nodded to admit it. "gimme the grant, birt," he faltered, helplessly. "i oughtn't ter hev furgot it." "look-a-hyar, birt," said the tanner with a solemnity which the boy did not altogether understand, "gin nate the grant." "i hain't got it," replied birt, badgered and growing nervous. "tell him, then, ye never teched it." birt's impulse was to adopt the word. but he had seen enough of falsehood. he had done with concealment. "i did tech it," he said boldly, "but i hain't got it. i put it back in the pocket o' the coat." jube perkins laid a sudden hand upon his collar. "'tain't no use denyin' it, birt," he said with the sharp cadence of dismay. "gin the grant back ter nate, an' mebbe he won't go no furder 'bout'n it. stealin' a paper like that air a pen'tiary crime!" birt reeled under the word. he thought of his mother, the children. he had a bitter foretaste of the suspense, the fear, the humiliation. and he was helpless. for no one would believe him! his head was in a whirl. he could not stand. he sank down upon the wood-pile, vaguely hearing a word here and there of what was said in the crowd. "his mother air a widder-woman," remarked one of the group. "an' she air mighty poor." andy byers was laughing cynically. absorbed though he was, birt experienced a subacute wonder that any one could feel so bitterly toward him as to laugh at a moment like this. how had he made andy byers his enemy! nobody noticed it, for nate was swaggering about in the crowd, enjoying this conspicuous opportunity to display all the sophistications he had acquired in his recent trip to sparta. he was calling upon them to witness that he did not care for the loss of the grant--the paper was nothing to him!--for it was on record in the land office, and he could get a certified copy from the register in no time at all. but his rights were his rights!--and ten thousand diceys should not trample on them. birt had doubtless thought, being ignorant, that he could destroy the title by making away with the paper; and if there was law in the state, he should suffer for it. and after this elaborate rodomontade, nate strode out of the tanyard, with the obsequious tim following humbly. birt told his story again and again, to satisfy curious questioners during the days that ensued. and when he had finished they would look significantly at one another, and chuckle incredulously. the tanner seemed to earnestly wish to befriend him, and urged him to confess. "the truth's the only thing ez kin save ye, birt." "i'm tellin' the truth," poor birt would declare. then jube perkins argued the question: "how kin ye expec' ennybody ter b'lieve ye when ye say tennessee purvented ye from takin' the grant--ennything the size o' leetle tennie, thar." and he pointed at the little sister, who was perched upon the woodpile munching an indian peach. somehow birt did not accurately define the moral force which she had wielded, for he was untaught, and clumsy of speech, and could not translate his feelings. and jube perkins was hardly fitted to understand that subtle coercion of affection. when he found that birt would only reiterate that tennie "kem along unbeknown an' purvented" him, jube perkins gave up the effort at last, convinced of his guilt. and andy byers said that he was not surprised, for he had known for some little time that birt was a "most mischievious scamp." only his mother believed in him, requiting his lack of confidence in her with a fervor of faith in him that, while it consoled, nevertheless cut him to the heart. it has been many years since then, for all this happened along in the fifties, but birt has never forgotten how staunchly she upheld him in every thought when all the circumstances belied him. now that misfortune had touched him, every trace of her caustic moods had disappeared; she was all gentleness and tenderness toward him. and day by day as he went to his work, meeting everywhere a short word, or a slighting look, he felt that he could not have borne up, save for the knowledge of that loyal heart at home. he was momently in terror of arrest, and he often pondered on nate's uncharacteristic forbearance. perhaps nate was afraid that birt's story, told from the beginning in court, might constrain belief and affect the validity of the entry. birt vainly speculated, too, upon the strange disappearance of the grant. there it was in the pocket of the coat late that night, and the next morning early--gone! sometimes he suspected that nate had only made a pretense of losing the grant, in order to accuse him and prejudice public opinion against him, so that he might not be believed should he claim the discovery of the mineral down the ravine. his mother sought to keep him from dwelling upon his troubles. "we won't cross the bredge till we git thar," she said. "mebbe thar ain't none ahead." but her fears for his sake tortured her silent hours when he was away. when he came back from his work, there always awaited him a bright fire, a good supper, and cheerful words as well, although these were the most difficult to prepare. the dogs bounded about him, tennessee clung to his hand, the boys were hilarious and loud. by reason of their mother's silence on the subject, that birt might be better able to go, and work, and hold up his head among the men who suspected him, the children for a time knew nothing of what had happened. now rufe, although his faults were many and conspicuous, was not lacking in natural affection. had he understood that a cloud overhung birt, he could not have been so merry, so facetious, so queerly and quaintly bad as he was on his visits to the tanyard, which were peculiarly frequent just now. if birt had had the heart for it, he might have enjoyed some of rufe's pranks at the expense of andy byers. the man had once found a sort of entertainment in making fun of rufe, and this had encouraged the small boy to retaliate as best he could. at this time, however, byers suddenly became the gravest of men. he took little notice of the wiles of his elfish antagonist, and whenever he fell into a snare devised by rufe, he was irritable for a moment, and had forgotten it the next. he had never a word or glance for birt, who marveled at his conduct. he seemed perpetually brooding upon some perplexity. occasionally in the midst of his work he would stand motionless for five minutes, the two-handled knife poised in his grasp, his eyes fixed upon the ground, his shaggy brows heavily knitted, his expression doubting, anxious. the tanner commented upon this inactivity, one day. "hev ye tuk root thar, andy?" he asked. byers roused himself with a start. "naw," he replied reflectively, "but i hev been troubled in my mind some, lately, an' i gits ter studyin' powerful wunst in a while." as he bent to his work, scraping the two-handled knife up and down the hide stretched over the wooden horse, he added, "i hev got so ez i can't relish my vittles sca'cely, bein' so tormented in my mind, an' my sleep air plumb broke up; 'pears like ter me ez i hev got a reg'lar gift fur the nightmare." "been skeered by old mis' price's harnt lately?" rufe asked suddenly from his perch upon the wood-pile. byers whirled round abruptly, fixing an astonished gaze upon rufe, unmindful that the knife slipped from his grasp, and fell clanking upon the ground. chapter ix. this grave, eager gaze rufe returned with the gayest audacity. "been skeered by old mis' price's harnt lately?" he once more chirped out gleefully. he was comical enough, as he sat on the top of the wood-pile, hugging his knees with both arms, his old, bent, wool hat perched on the back of his tow head, and all his jagged squirrel teeth showing themselves, unabashed, in a wide grin. jubal perkins laughed lazily, as he looked at him. then, with that indulgence which rufe always met at the tanyard, and which served to make him so pert and forward, the tanner said, humoring the privileged character, "what be you-uns a-talkin' 'bout, boy? mrs. price ain't dead." "he hev viewed old mis' price's harnt," cried rufe, pointing at andy byers, with a jocosely crooked finger. "he air so peart an' forehanded a-viewin' harnts, he don't hev to wait till folkses be dead. he hev seen mis' price's harnt--an' it plumb skeered the wits out'n him." perkins did not understand this. his interest was suddenly alert. he took his pipe from his mouth, and glanced over his shoulder at byers. "what air rufe aimin' at, andy?" he asked, surprised. byers did not reply. he still gazed steadfastly at rufe; the knife lay unheeded on the ground at his feet, and the hide was slipping from the wooden horse. at last he said slowly, "birt tole ye 'bout'n it, eh?" "naw, sir! naw!" rufe rocked himself fantastically to and fro in imminent peril of toppling off the wood-pile. "'twar tom byers ez tole me." "tom!" exclaimed byers, with a galvanic start. for tom was his son, and he had not suspected filial treachery in the matter of the spectral blackberry bush. rufe stared in his turn, not comprehending byers's surprise. "tom," he reiterated presently, with mocking explicitness. "tom byers--i reckon ye knows him. that thar freckled-faced, snaggledtoothed, red-headed tom byers, ez lives at yer house. i reckon ye mus' know him." "tom tole ye--what?" asked the tanner, puzzled by byers's grave, anxious face, and rufe's mysterious sneers. rufe broke into the liveliest cackle. "tom, he 'lowed ter me ez he war tucked up in the trundle-bed, fast asleep, that night when his dad got home from old mis' price's house, whar he had been ter hear her las' words. tom, he 'lowed he war dreamin' ez his gran'dad hed gin him a calf--tom say the calf war spotted red an' white--an' jes' ez he war a-leadin' it home with him, his dad kem racin' inter the house with sech a rumpus ez woke him up, an' he never got the calf along no furder than the turn in the road. an' thar sot his dad in the cheer, declarin' fur true ez he hed seen old mis' price's harnt in the woods, an' b'lieved she mus' be dead afore now. an' though thar war a right smart fire on the h'a'th, he war shiverin' an' shakin' over it, jes' the same ez ef he war out at the wood-pile, pickin' up chips on a frosty mornin'." and rufe crouched over, shivering in every limb, in equally excellent mimicry of a ghost-seer, or an unwilling chip-picker under stress of weather. "my!" he exclaimed with a fresh burst of laughter; "whenst tom tole me 'bout'n it i war so tickled i war feared i'd fall. i los' the use o' my tongue. i couldn't stop laffin' long enough ter tell tom what i war laffin' at. an' ez tom knowed i war snake-bit las' june, he went home an' tole his mother ez the p'ison hed done teched me in the head, an' said he reckoned, ef the truth war knowed, i hed fits ez a constancy. i say--fits!" once more the bewildered tanner glanced from one to the other. "why, ye never tole me ez ye hed seen su'thin' strange in the woods, andy," he exclaimed, feeling aggrieved, thus balked of a sensation. "an' the old woman ain't dead, nohow," he continued reasonably, "but air strengthenin' up amazin' fast." "waal," put in rufe, hastening to explain this discrepancy in the spectre, "i hearn you-uns a-sayin' that mornin', fore ye set out from the tanyard, ez she war mighty nigh dead an' would be gone 'fore night. an' ez he hed tole me he'd skeer the wits out'n me, i 'lowed ez i could show him ez his wits warn't ez tough ez mine. though," added the roguish rufe, with a grin of enjoyment, "arter i hed dressed up the blackberry bush in mam's apron an' shawl, an' sot her bonnet a-top, it tuk ter noddin' and bowin' with the wind, an' looked so like folks, ez it gin me a skeer, an' i jes' run home ez hard ez i could travel. an towse, he barked at it!" andy byers spoke suddenly. "waal, birt holped ye, then." "he never!" cried rufe, emphatically, unwilling to share the credit, or perhaps discredit, of the enterprise. "birt dunno nuthin' 'bout it ter this good day." rufe winked slyly. "birt would tell mam ez i hed been a-foolin' with her shawl an' bonnet." andy byers still maintained a most incongruous gravity. "it warn't birt's doin', at all?" he said interrogatively, and with a pondering aspect. jubal perkins broke into a derisive guffaw. "what ails ye, andy?" he cried. "though ye never seen no harnt, ye 'pear ter be fairly witched by that thar tricked-out blackberry bush." rufe shrugged up his shoulders, and began to shiver in imaginary terror over a fancied fire. "old--mis'--price's--harnt!" he wheezed. the point of view makes an essential difference. jube perkins thought rufe's comicality most praiseworthy--his pipe went out while he laughed. byers flushed indignantly. "ye aggervatin' leetle varmint!" he cried suddenly, his patience giving way. he seized the crouching mimic by the collar, and although he did not literally knock him off the wood-pile, as rufe afterward declared, he assisted the small boy through the air with a celerity that caused rufe to wink very fast and catch his breath, when he was deposited, with a shake, on the soft pile of ground bark some yards away. rufe was altogether unhurt, but a trifle subdued by this sudden aerial excursion. the fun was over for the present. he gathered himself together, and went demurely and sat down on the lowest log of the wood-pile. after a little he produced a papaw from his pocket, and by the manner in which they went to work upon it, his jagged squirrel teeth showed that they were better than they looked. towse had followed his master to the tanyard, and was lying asleep beside the woodpile, with his muzzle on his forepaws. he roused himself suddenly at the sound of munching, and came and sat upright, facing rufe, and eyeing the papaw gloatingly. he wagged his tail in a beguiling fashion, and now and then turned his head blandishingly askew. of course he would not have relished the papaw, and only begged as a matter of habit or perhaps on principle; but he was given no opportunity to sample it, for rufe hardly noticed him, being absorbed in dubiously watching andy byers, who was once more at work, scraping the hide with the two-handled knife. jubal perkins had gone into the house for a coal to re-kindle his pipe, for there is always a smouldering fire in the "smoke-room" for the purpose of drying the hides suspended from the rafters. he came out with it freshly glowing, and sat down on the broad, high pile of wood. as the first whiff of smoke wreathed over his head, he said, "what air the differ ter ye, andy, whether 't war bub, hyar, or birt, ez dressed up the blackberry bush? ye 'pear ter make a differ a-twixt 'em." still byers was evasive. "whar's birt, ennyhow?" he demanded irrelevantly. "waal," drawled the tanner, with a certain constraint, "i hed been promisin' birt a day off fur a right smart while, an' i tole him ez he mought ez well hev the rest o' ter-day. he 'lowed ez he warn't partic'lar 'bout a day off, now. but i tole him ennyhow ter go along. i seen him a while ago passin' through the woods, with his rifle on his shoulder--gone huntin', i reckon." "gone huntin'!" ejaculated rufe in dudgeon, joining unceremoniously in the conversation of his elders. "now, birt mought hev let me know! i'd hev wanted ter go along too." "mebbe that air the reason he never tole ye, bub," said perkins dryly. for he could appreciate that rufe's society was not always a boon, although he took a lenient view of the little boy. any indulgence of birt was more unusual, and andy byers experienced some surprise to hear of the unwonted sylvan recreations of the young drudge. he noticed that the mule was off duty too, grazing among the bushes just beyond the fence, and hobbled so that he could not run away. this precaution might have seemed a practical joke on the mule, for the poor old animal was only too glad to stand stock still. rufe continued his exclamatory indignation. "jes' ter go lopin' off inter the woods huntin', 'thout lettin' me know! an' i never gits ter go huntin' nohow! an' mam won't let me tech birt's rifle, 'thout it air ez empty ez a gourd! she say she air feared i'll shoot my head off, an' she don't want no boys, 'thout heads, jouncin' round her house--shucks! which way did birt take, mister perkins?--'kase i be goin' ter ketch up." "he war headed fur that thar salt lick, whenst i las' seen him," replied the tanner; "ef ye stir yer stumps right lively, mebbe ye'll overhaul him yit." rufe rose precipitately. towse, believing his petition for the papaw was about to be rewarded, leaped up too, gamboling with a display of ecstasy that might have befitted a starving creature, and an elasticity to be expected only of a rubber dog. as he uttered a shrill yelp of delight, he sprang up against rufe, who, reeling under the shock, dropped the remnant of the papaw. towse darted upon it, sniffed disdainfully, and returned to his capers around rufe, evidently declining to believe that all that show of gustatory satisfaction had been elicited only by the papaw, and that rufe had nothing else to eat. thus the two took their way out of the tanyard; and even after they had disappeared, their progress through the underbrush was marked by an abnormal commotion among the leaves, as the saltatory skeptic of a dog insisted on more substantial favors than the succulent papaw. the tanner smoked for a time in silence. then, "birt ain't goin' ter be let ter work hyar ag'in," he said. byers elevated his shaggy eyebrows in surprise. "ye see," said the tanner in a confidential undertone, "sence birt hev stole that thar grant, i kin argufy ez he mought steal su'thin' else, an' i ain't ekal ter keepin' up a spry lookout on things, an' bein' partic'lar 'bout the count o' the hides an' sech. i can't feel easy with sech a mischeevious scamp around." byers made no rejoinder, and the tanner, puffing his pipe, vaguely watched the wreaths of smoke rise above his head, and whisk buoyantly about in the air, and finally skurry off into invisibility. a gentle breeze was astir in the woods, and it set the leaves to whispering. the treetoads and the locusts were trolling a chorus. so loudly vibrant, it was! so clamorously gay! some subtle intimation they surely had that summer was ephemeral and the season waning, for the burden of their song was, let us now be merry. the scarlet head of a woodpecker showed brilliantly from the bare dead boughs of a chestnut-oak, which, with its clinging lichens of green and gray, was boldly projected against the azure sky. and there, the filmy moon, most dimly visible in the afternoon sunshine, swung like some lunar hallucination among the cirrus clouds. "ye 'lows ez i ain't doin' right by birt?" the tanner suggested presently, with more conscience in the matter than one would have given him credit for possessing. "i knows ye air doin' right," said byers unexpectedly. all at once the woodpecker was solemnly tapping--tapping. byers glanced up, as if to discern whence the sudden sound came, and once more bent to his work. "ye b'lieves, then, ez he stole that thar grant from nate griggs?" asked perkins. "i be sure he done it," said byers, unequivocally. the tanner took his pipe from his lips. "what ails ye ter say that, andy?" he exclaimed excitedly. andy byers hesitated. he mechanically passed his fingers once or twice across the blunt, curved blade of the two-handled knife. "ye'll keep the secret?" "in the sole o' my boot," said the tanner. "waal, i knows ez birt stole the grant. i hev been powerful changeful, though, in my thoughts bout'n it. at fust i war glad when he war suspicioned 'bout'n it, an' i war minded to go an' inform on him an' sech, ter pay him back; 'kase i held a grudge ag'in him, believin' ez he hed dressed out that thar blackberry bush ez mrs. price's harnt. an' then i'd remember ez his mother war a widder-woman, an' he war nothin' but a boy, an' boys air bound ter be gamesome an' full o' jokes wunst in a while, an' i'd feel like i war bound ter furgive him 'bout the harnt. an' then ag'in i got toler'ble oneasy fur fear the law mought hold me 'sponsible fur knowin' 'bout birt's crime of stealin' the grant an' yit not tellin' on him. an' i'd take ter hopin' an' prayin' the boy would confess, so ez i wouldn't hev ter tell on him. i hev been mightily pestered in my mind lately with sech dilly-dallyin'." again the sudden tapping of the woodpecker filled the pause. "did ye see him steal the grant, andy?" asked the tanner, with bated breath. "ez good ez seen him. i seen him slyin' round, an' i hev fund the place whar he hev hid it." and the woodpecker still was solemnly tapping, high up in the chestnut-oak tree. chapter x. birt, meanwhile, was trudging along in the woods, hardly seeing where he went, hardly caring. he had not had even a vague premonition when the tanner told him that he might have the rest of the day off. he did not now want the holiday which would once have so rejoiced him, and he said as much. and then the tanner, making the disclosure by degrees, being truly sorry to part with the boy, intimated that he need come back no more. birt unharnessed the mule by the sense of touch and the force of habit, for blinding tears intervened between his vision and the rusty old buckles and worn straps of leather. the animal seemed to understand that something was amiss, and now and then turned his head interrogatively. somehow birt was glad to feel that he left at least one friend in the tanyard, albeit the humblest, for he had always treated the beast with kindness, and he was sure the mule would miss him. when he reached home he loitered for a time outside the fence, trying to nerve himself to witness his mother's distress. and at last his tears were dried, and he went in and told her the news. it was hard for him nowadays to understand that simple mother of his. she did nothing that he expected. to be sure her cheek paled, her eyes looked anxious for a moment, and her hands trembled so that she carefully put down upon the table a dish which she had been wiping. but she said quite calmly, "waal, sonny, i dunno but ye hed better take a day off from work, sure enough, an' go a-huntin'. thar's yer rifle, an' mebbe ye'll git a shot at a deer down yander by the lick. the chill'n haint hed no wild meat lately, 'ceptin' squir'ls out'n rufe's trap." and then he began to cry out bitterly that nobody would give him work, and they would all starve; that the tanner believed he had stolen the grant, and was afraid to have him about the hides. "'tain't no differ ez long ez 'tain't the truth," said his mother philosophically. "we-uns will jes' abide by the truth." he repeated this phrase over and over as he struggled through the tangled underbrush of the dense forest. it was all like some terrible dream; and but for tennessee, it would be the truth! how he blessed the little sister that her love for him and his love for her had come between him and crime at that moment of temptation. "so powerful peart!" he muttered with glistening eyes, as he thought of her. the grant was gone, to be sure; but he did not take it. they accused him--and falsely! it was something to be free and abroad in the woods. he heard the wind singing in the pines. their fine, penetrating aroma pervaded the air, and the rusty needles, covering the ground, muffled his tread. once he paused--was that the bleat of a fawn, away down on the mountain's slope? he heard no more, and he walked on, looking about with his old alert interest. he was refreshed, invigorated, somehow consoled, as he went. o wise mother! he wondered if she foresaw this when she sent him into the woods. he had not before noted how the season was advancing. here and there, in the midst of the dark green foliage, leaves shone so vividly yellow that it seemed as if upon them some fascinated sunbeam had expended all its glamours. in a dusky recess he saw the crimson sumach flaring. and the distant blue mountains, and the furthest reaches of the azure sky, and the sombre depths of the wooded valley, and the sheeny splendors of the afternoon sun, and every incident of crag or chasm--all appeared through a soft purple haze that possessed the air, and added an ideal embellishment to the scene. down the ravine the "lick" shone with the lustre of a silver lakelet. he saw the old oak-tree hard by, with the historic scaffold among its thinning leaves, and further along the slope were visible vague bobbing figures, which he recognized as the "griggs gang," seeking upon the mountain side the gold which he had discovered. suddenly he heard a light crackling in the brush,--a faint footfall. it reminded him of the deer-path close at hand. he crouched down noiselessly amongst the low growth and lifted his rifle, his eyes fixed on the point where the path disappeared in the bushes, and where he would first catch a glimpse of the approaching animal. he heard the step again. his finger was trembling on the trigger, when down the path leisurely walked an old gentleman attired in black, a hammer in his hand, and a pair of gleaming spectacles poised placidly upon the bridge of an intellectual roman nose. and this queer game halted in the middle of the deer-path, all unconscious of his deadly danger. it was a wonder that the rifle was not discharged, for the panicstricken birt had lost control of his muscles, and his convulsive finger was still quivering on the trigger as he trembled from head to foot. he hardly dared to try to move the gun. for a moment he could not speak. he gazed in open-mouthed amazement at the unsuspecting old gentleman, who was also unaware of the far more formidable open mouth of the rifle. "now, ain't ye lackin' fur head-stuffin'?" suddenly yelled out birt, from his hiding-place. the startled old man jumped, with the most abrupt alacrity. in fact, despite his age and the lack of habit, he bounded as acrobatically from the ground as the expected deer could have done. he was, it is true, a learned man; but science has no specific for sudden fright, and he jumped as ignorantly as if he did not know the difficult name of any of the muscles that so alertly exercised themselves on this occasion. birt rose at last to his feet and looked with a pallid face over the underbrush. "now, ain't ye lackin' fur head-stuffin'," he faltered, "a-steppin' along a deer-path ez nat'ral ez ef ye war a big fat buck? i kem mighty nigh shootin' ye." the old gentleman recovered his equilibrium, mental and physical, with marvelous rapidity. "ah, my young friend,"--he motioned to birt to come nearer,--"i want to speak to you." birt stared. one might have inferred, from the tone, that the gentleman had expected to meet him here, whereas birt had just had the best evidence of his senses that the encounter was a great surprise. the boy observed his interlocutor more carefully than he had yet been able to do. he remembered all at once rufe's queer story of meeting, down the ravine, an eccentric old man whom he was disposed to identify as satan. as the stranger stood there in the deer-path, he looked precisely as rufe had described him, even to the baffling glitter of his spectacles, his gray whiskers, and the curiously shaped hammer in his hand. birt, although bewildered and still tremulous from the shock to his nerves, was not so superstitious as rufe, and he shouldered his gun, and, pushing out from the tangled underbrush, joined the old man in the path. "i want," said the gentleman, "to hire a boy for a few days--weeks, perhaps." he smiled with two whole rows of teeth that never grew where they stood. birt wished he could see the expression of the stranger's eyes, indistinguishable behind the spectacles that glimmered in the light. "what do you say to fifty cents a day?" he continued briskly. birt's heart sank suddenly. he had heard that satan traded in souls by working on the avarice of the victim. the price suggested seemed a great deal to birt, for in this region there is little cash in circulation, barter serving all the ordinary purposes of commerce. as he hesitated, the old man eyed him quizzically. "afraid of work, eh?" "naw, sir!" said birt, sturdily. ah, if the bark-mill, and the old mule, and the tan-pit, and the wood-pile, and the cornfield might testify! "fifty cents a day--eh?" said the stranger. at the repetition of the sum, it occurred to birt, growing more familiar with the eccentricity of his companion, that he ought not in sheer silliness to throw away a chance for employment. "kin i ask my mother?" he said dubiously. "by all means ask your mother," replied the stranger heartily. birt's last fantastic doubt vanished. oh no! this was not satan in disguise. when did the enemy ever counsel a boy to ask his mother! birt still stared gravely at him. all the details of his garb, manner, speech, even the hammer in his hand, were foreign to the boy's experience. presently he ventured a question. "do you-uns hail from hyarabouts?" the stranger was frank and communicative. he told birt that he was a professor of natural science in a college in one of the "valley towns," and that he was sojourning, for his health's sake, at a little watering-place some twelve miles distant on the bench of the mountain. occasionally he made an excursion into the range, which was peculiarly interesting geologically. "but what i wish you to do is to dig for--bones." "bones?" faltered birt. "bones," reiterated the professor solemnly. did his spectacles twinkle? birt stood silent, vaguely wondering what his mother would think of "bones." presently the professor, seeing that the boy was not likely to ask amusing questions, explained. he informed birt that in the neighborhood of salt licks--"saline quagmires" he called them--were often found the remains of animals of an extinct species, which are of great value to science. he gave birt the extremely long name of these animals, and descanted upon such conditions of their existence as is known, much of which birt did not understand. although this fact was very apparent, it did not in the least affect the professor's ardor in the theme. he was in the habit of talking of these things to boys who did not understand, and alack! to boys who did not want to understand. one point, however, he made very clear. with the hope of some such "find," he was anxious to investigate this particular lick,--about which indeed he had heard a vague tradition of a "big bone" discovery, such as is common to similar localities in this region,-and for this purpose he proposed to furnish the science and the fifty cents per diem, and earnestly desired that some one else should furnish the muscle. he was accustomed to think much more rapidly than the men with whom birt was associated, and his briskness in arranging the matter had an incongruous suggestion of the giddiness of youth. he said that he would go home with birt to fetch the spade, and while there he could settle the terms with the boy's mother, and then they could get to work. he started off at a dapper gait up the deer-path, while birt, with his rifle on his shoulder, followed. a sudden thought struck birt. he stopped short. "now _i_ dunno which side o' that thar lick nate griggs's line runs on," he remarked. "never mind," said the professor, waving away objections with airy efficiency; "i shall first secure the consent of the owner of the land." birt cogitated for a moment. "nate griggs ain't goin' ter gin his cornsent ter nobody ter dig ennywhar down the ravine, ef it air inside o' his lines," he said confidently, "'kase i--'kase he-leastwise, 'kase gold hev been fund hyar lately, an' he hev entered the land." the professor stopped short in the path. "gold!" he ejaculated. "gold!" was there a vibration of incredulity in his voice? birt remembered all at once the specimens which he had picked up that memorable evening, down the ravine, when he shot the red fox. here they still were in his pocket. they showed lustrous, metallic, yellow gleams as he placed them carefully in the old man's outstretched hand, telling how he came by them, of his mistaken confidence, the betrayed trust, and ending by pointing at the group of gold-seekers, microscopic in the distance on the opposite slope. "i hev hearn tell," he added, "ez nate air countin' on goin' pardners with a man in sparty, who hev got money, to work the gold mine." now and then, as he talked, he glanced up at his companion's face, vaguely expecting to discover his opinion by its expression, but the light still played in a baffling glitter upon his spectacles. birt could only follow when the professor suddenly handed back the specimens with a peremptory "come--come! we must go for the spade. but when we reach your mother's house i will test this mineral, and you shall see for yourself what you have lost." mrs. dicey's first impression upon meeting the stranger and learning of his mission was not altogether surprise as birt had expected. her chief absorption was a deep thankfulness that the floors all preserved their freshly scoured appearance. "fur ef rufe hed been playin' round hyar ter-day, same ez common, the rubbish would have been a scandal ter the kentry," she reflected. in fact, all was so neat, albeit so poor, that the stranger felt as polite as he looked, while he talked to her about employing birt in his researches. birt, however, had little disposition to listen to this. he was excited by the prospect of testing the mineral, and he busied himself with great alacrity in preparing for it under the professor's directions. he suffered a qualm, it is true, as he pounded the shining fragments into a coarse powder, and then he drew out with the shovel a great glowing mass of live coals on the hearth. the dogs peered eagerly in at the door, having followed the stranger with the liveliest curiosity. towse, bolder than the rest, entered intrepidly with a nonchalant air and a wagging tail, for he and rufe, having failed to find birt, had just returned home. the small boy paused on the threshold in amazed recognition of the old gentleman who had occasioned him such a fright that day down the ravine. the professor gesticulated a great deal as he bent over the fire and gave birt directions, and, with his waving hands and the glow on his hoary hair and beard, he looked like some fantastic sorcerer. somehow rufe was glad to see the familiar countenances of pete and joe, and was still more reassured to note that his mother was quietly standing beside the table, as she stirred the batter for bread in a wooden bowl. tennessee had pressed close to birt, her chubby hand clutching his collar as he knelt on the hearth. he held above the glowing coals a long fire shovel, on which the pulverized mineral had been placed, and his eyes were very bright as he earnestly watched it. "if it is gold," said the old man, "a moderate heat will not affect it." the shovel was growing hot. the live coals glowed beneath it. the breath of the fire stirred tennessee's flaxen hair. and birt's dilated eyes saw the yellow particles still glistening unchanged in the centre of the shovel, which was beginning to redden. chapter xi. suddenly--was the glistening yellow mineral taking fire? it began to give off sulphurous fumes. and drifting away with them were all birt's golden visions and nate's ill-gotten wealth--ending in smoke! the sulphurous odor grew stronger. even towse stopped short, and gazed at the shovel with a reprehensive sniff. "ker-shoo!" he sneezed. and commenting thus, he turned abruptly and went hastily out, with a startled look and a downcast tail. his sneeze seemed to break the spell of silence that had fallen on the little group. "it be mighty nigh bodaciously changed ter cinders!" exclaimed birt, staring in amaze at the lustreless contents of the shovel from which every suggestion of golden glimmer had faded. "what do it be, ef 'tain't gold?" "iron pyrites," said the professor. "'fools' gold,' it is often called." he explained to birt that in certain formations, however, gold is associated with iron pyrites, and when the mineral is properly roasted, this process serving to expel the sulphur, the fine particles of gold are found held in the resulting oxide of iron. but the variety of the mineral discovered down the ravine he said was valueless, unless occurring in vast quantities, when it is sometimes utilized in the production of sulphur. "i wonder," birt broke out suddenly, "if the assayer won't find no gold in them samples ez nate sent him." the professor laughed. "the assayer will need the 'philosopher's stone' to find gold in any samples from this locality." "ye knowed then, all the time, ez this stuff warn't gold?" asked birt. "all the time," rejoined the elder. "an' nate hev got the steepest, rockiest spot in the kentry ter pay taxes on," resumed birt, reflectively. "an' he hev shelled out a power o' money ter the surveyor, an' sech, a'ready. i reckon he'll be mightily outed when he finds out ez the min'ral ain't gold." birt stopped short in renewed anxiety. that missing grant! somehow he felt sure that nate, balked of the great gains he had promised himself, would wreak his disappointment wherever he might; and since the land was of so little value, he would not continue to deny himself his revenge for fear that an investigation into the priority of the mineral's discovery might invalidate the entry. once more birt was tortured by the terror of arrest--he might yet suffer a prosecution from malignity, which had hitherto been withheld from policy. if only the mystery of the lost grant could be solved! the conversation of the elders had returned to the subject of the investigations around the "lick" and the terms for birt's services. as so much time had been consumed with the pyrites, the professor concluded with some vexation that they could hardly arrange all the preliminaries and get to work this afternoon. "i dare say we had best begin to-morrow morning," he said at last. "birt can't go a-diggin' no-ways, this evenin'," put in the officious rufe, who stood, according to his wont, listening with his mouth and eyes wide open, "'kase ez i kem home by the tanyard jube perkins hollered ter me ter tell birt ter come thar right quick. i furgot it till this minit," he added, with a shade of embarrassment that might pass for apology. birt felt a prophetic thrill. this summons promised developments of importance. only a few hours ago he was discharged under suspicion of dishonesty; why this sudden recall? he did not know whether hope or fear was paramount. he trembled with eager expectancy. he seized his hat, and strode out of the house without waiting to hear more of the professor's plans or the details of the wages. he had reached the fence before he discovered tennessee close at his heels. he cast his troubled eyes down upon her, and met her pleading, upturned gaze. he was about to charge her to go back. but then he remembered how she had followed him with blessings--how mercy had kept pace with her steps. he would not deny her the simple boon she craved, and if she were troublesome and in his way, surely he might be patient with her, since she loved him so! he lifted her over the fence, and then started briskly down the path, the sturdy, light-footed little mountain girl delightedly trudging along in the rear. when he entered the tanyard no one was there except jube perkins and andy byers the tanner, lounging as usual on the wood-pile, and the workman, with scarcely less the aspect of idleness, dawdlingly scraping a hide on the wooden horse. birt discerned a portent in the unwonted solemnity of their faces, and his heart sank. "waal, birt, we-uns hev been a-waitin' fur ye," said the tanner in a subdued, grave tone that somehow reminded birt of the bated voices in a house of death. "set down hyar on the wood-pile, fur andy an' me hev got a word ter say ter ye." birt's dilated black eyes turned in dumb appeal from one to the other as he sank down on the wood-pile. his suspense gnawed him like an actual grief while jubal perkins slowly shifted his position and looked vaguely at andy byers for a suggestion, being uncertain how to begin. "waal, birt," he drawled at last, "ez yer dad is dead an' ye hev got nobody ter see arter ye an' advise ye, andy an' me, we-uns agreed ez how we'd talk ter ye right plain, an' try ter git ye ter jedge o' this hyar matter like we-uns do. andy an' me know more 'bout the law, an' 'bout folks too, than ye does. these hyar griggs folks hev always been misdoubted ez a fractious an' contrary-wise fambly. ef enny griggs ain't aggervatin' an' captious, it air through bein' plumb terrified by the t'others. they air powerful hard folks--an' they'll land ye in the state prison yet, i'm thinkin'. i wonder they hain't started at ye a'ready. but thar's no countin' on 'em, 'ceptin' that they'll do all they kin that air ha'sh an' grindin'." "that air a true word, birt," said andy byers, speaking to the boy for the first time in many days. "ef they hev thar reason fur it, they mought hold thar hand fur a time, but fust or las' they'll hev all out'n ye ez the law will allow 'em." birt listened in desperation. all this was sharpened by the certainty that the mineral was only valueless pyrites, and the prescience of nate's anger when this fact should come to his knowledge, and prudence no longer restrain him. his rage would vent itself on his luckless victim for every cent, every mill, that the discovery of the "fools' gold" had cost him. "they'll be takin' ye away from the mountings ter jail ye an' try ye, an' mebbe ye'll go ter the pen'tiary arter that. an' how will yer mother, an' brothers, an' sister, git thar vittles, an' firewood, an' corn-crap an' clothes, an' sech--rufe bein' the oldest child, arter you-uns?" demanded the tanner. "an' even when ye git back--i hate ter tell ye this word--nobody will want ye round. they'll be feared ye'd be forever pickin' an' stealin'." "but we-uns will stand up fur ye, bein' ez ye air the widder's son," said byers eagerly. "we-uns will gin the griggs tribe ter onderstand that." "an' mebbe the griggses won't want ter do nuthin', ef they hain't got no furder cause fur holdin' a grudge," put in the tanner. "what be ye a-layin' off fur me ter do?" asked birt wonderingly. "ter gin nate's grant back ter him," they both replied in a breath. "i hev not got it!" cried poor birt tumultuously. "i never stole it! i dunno whar it be!" the tanner's expression changed from paternal kindliness to contemptuous anger. "air ye goin' ter keep on bein' a liar, birt, ez well ez a thief?" he said sternly. "i dunno whar it be," reiterated birt desperately. "_i_ know whar it be," said byers. birt gazed at him astounded. "whar?" he cried eagerly. "whar ye hid it," returned byers coolly. birt's lips moved with difficulty as he huskily ejaculated "i never hid it--i never!" "ye needn't deny it. i ez good ez seen ye hide it." birt looked dazed for a moment. then the blood rushed to his face and as suddenly receded, leaving it pale and rigid. he was cold and trembling. he could not speak. the tanner scrutinized him narrowly. then he said, "tell him 'bout it, andy. tell him jes' ez ye tole me. an' mebbe he'll hev sense enough ter gin it up when he sees he air fairly caught." "waal," said byers, leaning back against the wall of the smokehouse, and holding the knife idly poised in his hand, "i kem down ter the tanyard betimes that mornin' arter the storm. both ye an' birt war late. i noticed nate griggs's coat hangin' thar in the shed, with a paper stickin' out'n the pocket, ez i started inter the smoke-house ter tend ter the fire. i reckon i mus' hev made consider'ble racket in thar, 'kase i never hearn nuthin' till i sot down afore the fire on a log o' wood, an' lit my pipe. all of a suddenty thar kem a step outside, toler'ble light on the tan. i jes' 'lowed 't war ye or birt. but i happened ter look up, an' thar i see a couple o' big black eyes peepin' through that thar crack in the wall." he turned and pointed out a crevice where the "daubin'" had fallen from the "chinkin'" between the logs. "ye can see," he resumed, "ez this hyar crack air jes' the height o' birt. waal, them eyes lookin' in so onexpected didn't 'sturb me none. i hev knowed the dicey eye fur thirty year, an' thar ain't none like 'em nowhar round the mountings. but i 'lowed 't war toler'ble sassy in birt ter stand thar peerin' at me through the chinkin'. i never let on, though, ez i viewed him. an' then, them eyes jes' set up sech a outdacious winkin' an' wallin', an' squinchin', ez i knowed he war makin' faces at me. so i jes' riz up--an' the eyes slipped away from thar in a hurry. i war aimin' ter larrup birt fur his sass, but i stopped ter hang up a skin ez i hed knocked down. it never tuk me long, much, but when i went out, thar warn't nobody ter be seen in the tanyard." he paused to place one foot upon the wooden horse, and he leaned forward with a reflective expression, his elbow on his knee, and his hand holding his bearded chin. the afternoon was waning. the scarlet sun in magnified splendor was ablaze low down in the saffron west. the world seemed languorously afloat in the deep, serene flood of light. shadows were lengthening slowly. the clangor of a cow-bell vibrated in the distance. the drone of andy byers's voice overbore it as he recommenced. "waal, i was sorter conflusticated, an' i looked round powerful sharp ter see whar birt hed disappeared to. i happened ter cut my eye round at that thar pit ez he hed finished layin' the tan in, an' kivered with boards, an' weighted with rocks that day ez ye an' me hed ter go an' attend on old mrs. price. ye know we counted ez that thar pit wouldn't be opened ag'in fur a right smart time?" the tanner nodded assent. "waal, i noticed ez the aidge o' one o' them boards war sot sorter catawampus, an' i 'lowed ez 't war the wind ez hed 'sturbed it. ez i stooped down ter move it back in its place, i seen su'thin' white under it. so i lifted the board, an' thar i see, lyin' on the tan a-top o' the pit, a stiff white paper. i looked round toward the shed, an' thar hung the coat yit--with nuthin' in the pocket. i didn't know edzactly what ter make of it, an' i jes' shunted the plank back over the paper in the pit like i fund it, an' waited ter see what mought happen. an' all the time ez that thar racket war goin' on bout'n the grant, i knowed powerful well whar 't war, an' who stole it." birt looked from one to the other of the two men. both evidently believed every syllable of this story. it was so natural, so credible, that he had a curious sense of inclining toward it, too. had he indeed, in some aberration, taken the grant? was it some tricksy spirit in his likeness that had peered through the chinking at andy byers? he could find no words to contend further. he sat silent, numb, dumfounded. "birt," said the tanner coaxingly, "thar ain't no use in denyin' it enny mo'. let's go an' git that grant, an' take it ter nate an' tell the truth." the words roused birt. he clutched at the idea of getting possession of the paper that had so mysteriously disappeared and baffled and eluded him. he could at least return it. and even if this should fail to secure him lenient treatment, he would feel that he had done right. he rose suddenly in feverish anxiety. andy byers and perkins, exchanging a wink of congratulation, followed him to the pit. "it air under this hyar board," said byers, moving one of the heavy stones, and lifting a broad plank. perkins pressed forward with eager curiosity, never having seen this famous grant. the ground bark on the surface was pretty dry, the layer being ten or fifteen inches thick, and the tanning infusion had not yet risen through it. byers stared with a frown at the tan, and lifted another board. nothing appeared beneath it on the smooth surface of the bark. in sudden alarm they took away the boards, one after another, till all were removed, and the whole surface of the pit was exposed. then they looked at each other, bewildered. for once more the grant was gone. chapter xii. jubal perkins broke the silence. "andy byers," he exclaimed wrathfully, "what sort 'n tale is this ez ye air tryin' ter fool me with?" byers, perturbed and indignant, was instantly ready to accuse birt. "ye hev been hyar an' got the grant an' sneaked it off agin, hev ye!" he cried, scowling at the boy. then he turned to the tanner. "i hope i may drap dead, jube," he said earnestly, "ef that grant warn't right hyar"--he pointed at the spot--"las' night whenst i lef' the tanyard. i always looked late every evenin' ter be sure it hedn't been teched, thinkin' i'd make up my mind in the night whether i'd tell on birt, or no. but i never could git plumb sati'fied what to do." his tone carried conviction. the tanner looked at birt with disappointment in every line of his face. there was severity, too, in his expression. he was beginning to admit the fitness of harsh punishment in this case. "ye don't wuth all this gabblin' an' jawin' over ye, ye miser'ble leetle critter," he said. "an' i ain't goin' ter waste another breath on ye." birt stood vacantly staring at the tan. all the energy of the truth was nullified by the futility of protestation. the two men exchanged a glance of vague comment upon his silence, and then they too looked idly down at the pit. tennessee abruptly caught birt's listless hand as it hung at his side, for towse had suddenly entered the tanyard, and prancing up to her in joyous recognition, was trying to lick her face. "g'way, towse," she drawled gutturally. she struck vaguely at him with her chubby little fist, which he waggishly took between his teeth in a gingerly gentle grip. "stand back thar, tennessee," birt murmured mechanically. as usual, towse was the precursor of rufe, who presently dawdled out from the underbrush. he quickened his steps upon observing the intent attitude of the party, and as he came up he demanded vivaciously, "what ails that thar pit o' yourn, mister perkins?-thought ye said 't warn't goin' ter be opened ag'in fore-shortly." for a moment the tanner made no reply. then he drawled absently, "nuthin' ails the pit, rufe--nuthin'." rufe sat down on the edge of it, and gazed speculatively at it. presently he began anew, unabashed by the silence of the grave and contemplative group. "this hyar tan hev got sorter moist atop now; i wonder ef that thar grant o' nate's got spi'led ennywise with the damp." birt winced. it had been a certain mitigation of his trouble that, thanks to his mother's caution, the children at home knew nothing of the disgrace that had fallen upon him, and that there, at least, the atmosphere was untainted with suspicion. the next moment he was impressed by the singularity of rufe's mention of the missing grant and its place of concealment. "look-a-hyar, rufe," he exclaimed, excitedly; "how d'ye know ennything 'bout nate's grant an' whar 't war hid?" rufe glanced up scornfully, insulted in some occult manner by the question. "how did i know, birt dicey? how d'ye know yerse'f?" he retorted. "i knows a heap, ginerally." perkins, catching the drift of birt's intention, came to the rescue. "say, bub, how d'ye know the grant war ever put hyar?" "kase," responded rufe, more amicably, "i seen it put hyar--right yander." he indicated the spot where the paper lay, according to byers, when it was discovered. birt could hardly breathe. his anxieties, his hopes, his fears, seemed a pursuing pack before which he was almost spent. he panted like a hunted creature. tennessee was swinging herself to and fro, holding by his hand. sometimes she caught at towse's unlovely ear, as he sat close by with his tongue lolled out and an attentive air, as if he were assisting at the discussion. "who put it thar, bub?" demanded perkins. it would not have surprised birt, so perverse had been the course of events, if rufe had accused him on the spot. "pig-wigs griggs," replied rufe, unexpectedly. a glance of intelligence passed between the men. "tell 'bout it, rufe," said the tanner, suppressing all appearance of excitement. "ye ain't goin' ter do nuthin' ter pig-wigs fur foolin' with yer pit, ef i tell ye?" asked rufe, quickly. "naw, bub, naw. which griggs do ye call 'pig-wigs?'" "why--pig-wigs," rufe reiterated obviously. then he explained. "he air nate's nevy. he air nate's oldest brother's biggest boy,--though he ain't sizable much. he air 'bout haffen ez big ez me--ef that," he added reflectively, thinking that even thus divided he had represented pig-wigs as more massive than the facts justified. "ye see," he continued, "one day when his uncle tim war over hyar ter the tanyard, i gin him one o' my game deedies; an' ez soon ez he got home he showed 'em all that thar deedie--powerful, spryest poultry ye ever see!" rufe smiled ecstatically as only a chicken fancier can. "an' pig-wigs war plumb de-stracted fur a deedie too. an' he run all the way over hyar ter git me ter gin him one. but the deedies hed all gone ter bed, an' the old hen war hoverin' of 'em, an' i didn't want ter 'sturb 'em," said rufe considerately. "so i tole pig-wigs ter meet me at the tanyard early, an' i'd fetch him one. an' ez his granny war goin' visitin' her merried daughter, she let him ride behind her on thar sorrel mare ez fur ez the tanyard. so he got hyar 'fore i did. an' i kem an' gin him the deedie." rufe paused abruptly, as if, having narrated this important transaction, he had exhausted the interest of the subject. byers was about to speak, but the tanner with a gesture repressed him. "ye hain't tole 'bout the pit an' the grant yit, bubby," he reminded the small boy. byers's display of impatience was not lost upon rufe, and it added to the general acrimony of their relations. "waal," the small boy began alertly, "we-uns hed the deedie behind the smoke-house thar, an' i seen him"--rufe pointed at byers with disfavor--"a-comin' powerful slow inter the tanyard, an' i whispered ter pig-wigs griggs ter be quiet, an' not let him know ez we-uns war thar, 'kase he war always a-jawin' at me, 'thout the tanner war by ter keep him off'n me. so we-uns bided thar till he went inter the smoke-house. an' then ez we-uns kem by the shed, pig-wigs seen his uncle nate's coat hangin' on a peg thar, 'kase that thar triflin' tim hed furgot, an' lef' it thar when he went ter see the deedies. an' pig-wigs griggs, he 'lowed he knowed the coat war his uncle nate's by the favior of it, an' he reckoned the paper stickin' out'n the pocket war the grant he hed hearn nate talkin' 'bout. an' i whispered ter him ez he hed better ondertake ter tote it home ter nate. an' pig-wigs said he couldn't tote the coat, bein' so lumbered up with the deedie. but he would tote the grant in one hand an' the deedie in t'other. he couldn't put the deedie in one o' his pockets, 'kase his mother sews 'em all up, bein' ez he would kerry sech a passel o' heavy truck in 'em,--rocks an' sech, reg'lar bowlders," added rufe, with a casual remembrance of the museum in his own pockets. "so pig-wigs's mother sewed 'em all up, 'kase she said they war tore out all the time, an' she seen no sense in a boy hevin' a lot o' slits in his clothes ter let in the air slanchwise on him. an' pig-wigs 'lowed he'd tote the grant ef i would git it fur him. an' i did." "how did you-uns reach up ter that thar peg?" demanded byers, pointing to the peg on which the coat had hung, far beyond rufe's reach. "clumb up on the wooden horse," said rufe promptly. "i peeked through the chinkin' an' seen ye thar a-smokin' yer pipe over the fire." rufe winked audaciously, suddenly convincing byers as to the possessor of the big black eyes, which he had recognized as characteristic of the dicey family, when they had peered through the chinking. "waal, how did the grant git inter the pit, rufe, an' what hev become of it?" asked byers, overlooking these personalities, for he felt a certain anxiety in the matter, being the last person known to have seen the grant, which, by reason of his delay and indecision, had again been spirited away. "pig-wigs put it thar, i tell ye," reiterated rufe. "ye see, i hed got outside o' the gate, an' pig-wigs war a good ways behind, walkin' toler'ble slow, bein' ez he hed ter kerry the grant in one hand an' the deedie in t'other. an' thar i see a-cropin' along on the ground a young rabbit--reg'lar baby rabbit. an' i motioned ter pig-wigs ter come quick--i hed fund suthin'. an' ez pig-wigs couldn't put the deedie down, he laid the grant on top o' the boards ez kivered the pit. but the wind war brief, an' kem mighty nigh blowin' that grant away. so pig-wigs jes' stuck it down 'twixt two planks, an' kem ter holp me ketch the rabbit. but pig-wigs warn't no 'count ter holp. an' the rabbit got away. an' whilst pig-wigs war foolin' round, he drapped his deedie, an' stepped on it--tromped the life out'n it." rufe's expression was of funereal gravity. "an' then he follered me every foot o' the way home, beggin' an' beggin' me ter gin him another. but i wouldn't. i won't gin no more o' my deedies ter be tromped on, all round the mounting." rufe evidently felt that the line must be drawn somewhere. "an' what hev gone with that thar grant? 't war hyar yestiddy." "i dunno," responded rufe, carelessly. "mebbe pig-wigs reminded hisself 'bout'n it arter awhile, an' kem an' got it." this proved to be the case. for andy byers concerned himself enough in the matter to ride the old mule over to nate's home, to push the inquiries. nate was just emerging from the door. the claybank mare, saddled and bridled, stood in front of the cabin. he was evidently about to mount. "look-a-hyar, ye scamp!" byers saluted him gruffly, "whyn't ye let we-uns know ez ye hed got back that thar grant o' yourn, ez hev sot the whole mounting catawampus? pig-wigs hearn ye talkin' 'bout it at las', and tole ye ez he hed it, i s'pose?" nate affected to examine the saddle-girth. he looked furtively over the mare's shoulder at andy byers. he could not guess how much of the facts had been developed. in sheer perversity he was tempted to deny that he had the grant. but byers was a heavy man of scant patience, and he wore a surly air that boded ill to a trifler. nate nodded admission. "pig-wigs fotched it home, eh?" demanded byers, leaning downward. once more nate lifted his long, thin questioning face. his craft had no encouragement. "ef ye be minded to call him 'pig-wigs'--his right name air benjymen--'t war him ez fotched it home." "now ye air a mighty cantankerous, quar'lsome, aggervatin' critter!" byers broke out irritably. "ain't ye 'shamed o' this hyar hurrah ye hev kicked up fur nuthin'? accusin' o' birt wrongful, an' sech?" "naw; i ain't 'shamed o' nuthin'!" said nate hardily, springing into the saddle. "i'm a-ridin' ter the settlemint ter git word from the assayer 'bout'n the gold ez i hev fund. an' when i rides back i'll be wuth more'n enny man in the mountings or sparty either!" and he gave the mare the whip, and left andy byers, with his mouth full of rebukes, sitting motionless on the dozing old mule. the mare came back from the settlement late that night under lash and spur, at a speed she had never before made. day was hardly astir when nate griggs, wild-eyed and haggard, appeared at the tanyard in search of birt. he was loud with reproaches, for the assayer had pronounced the "gold" only worthless iron pyrites. he had received, too, a jeering letter from his proposed partner in sparta, who had found sport in playing on his consequential ignorance and fancied sharpness. and now nate declared that birt, also, had known that the mineral was valueless, and had from the first befooled him. in some way he would compel birt to refund all the money that had been expended. how piteous was nate as he stood and checked off, on his trembling fingers, the surveyor's fee, the entry-taker's fee, the register's fee, the secretary of state's fee, the assayer's fee--oh, ruin, ruin! and what had he to show for it! a tract of crags and chasms and precipitous gravelly slopes and gullies worth not a mill an acre! and this was all--for the office of laughing-stock has no emoluments. where was birt? he would hold birt to account. andy byers, listening, thought how well it was for birt that nate no longer had the loss of the grant as a grievance. perkins mysteriously beckoned nate aside. "nate," he said in a low voice, "birt air powerful mad 'bout that thar accusin' him o' stealin' the grant, when 't war some o' yer own folks, 'pig-wigs,' ez hed it all the time. i seen him goin' 'long towards yer house a leetle while ago. i reckon he air lookin' fur you. he hed that big cowhide, ez i gin him t'other day, in one hand. ye jes' take the road home, an' ye'll ketch up with him sure." nate's wits were in disastrous eclipse. could he deduce nothing from the tanner's grin? he spent the day at the settlement without ostensible reason, and only at nightfall did he return home, and by a devious route, very different from that indicated by jubal perkins. inquiry developed the fact that the boundaries of nate's land did not include the salt lick, and his talents as an obstructer were not called into play. the professor was free to dig as he chose for the antique bones he sought, and many a long day did he and birt spend in this sequestered spot, with the great crags towering above and the darkling vistas of the ravine on either hand. there was a long stretch of sunny weather, and somehow that shifting purple haze accented all its languorous lustres. it seemed a vague sort of poetry a-loose in the air, and color had license. the law which decreed that a leaf should be green was a dead letter. how gallantly red and yellow they flared; and others, how tenderly pink, and gray, and purplish of hue! what poly-tinted fancies underfoot in the moss! strange visitants came from the north. flocks of birds, southward bound, skimmed these alien skies. sometimes they alighted on the tree-tops or along the banks of the torrent, chattering in great excitement, commenting mightily on the country. birt had never been so light-hearted as during these days. the cessation of anxiety was itself a sort of happiness. the long, hard ordeal to which the truth had subjected him had ended triumphantly. "mighty onexpected things happen in this worl'," he said, reflectively. "it 'pears powerful cur'ous to me, arter all ez hev come an' gone, ez _i_ ain't no loser by that thar gold mine down the ravine." he himself was surprised that he did not rejoice in nate's mortification and defeat. but somehow he had struck a moral equilibrium; in mastering his anger and thirst for revenge, he had gained a stronger control of all the more unworthy impulses of his nature. meantime there was woe at the tanyard. jube perkins had been anxious to have birt resume his old place on the old terms. the professor, however, would not release the boy from his engagement. it seemed that this man of science could deduce subtle distinctions of character in the mere wielding of a spade. he had never seen, he said, any one dig so conscientiously and so intelligently as birt. the tanner suddenly found that conscience might prove a factor even in so simple a matter as driving the old mule around the bark-mill. the boy who had taken birt's place was a sullen, intractable fellow, and brutal. when he yelled and swore and plied the lash, the old mule would occasionally back his ears. the climax came one day when the rash boy kicked the animal. now this reminded the mild-mannered old mule of his own youthful prowess as a kicker. he revived his reputation. he seemed to stand on his fore-legs and his muzzle, while his hind-legs played havoc behind him. the terrified boy dared not come near him. the bark-mill itself was endangered. jube perkins had not done so much work for a twelvemonth as in his efforts to keep the boy, the mule, and the bark-mill going together. there were no "finds" down by the lick to rejoice the professor, and he went away at last boneless, except in so far as nature had provided him. he left birt amply rewarded for his labor. so independent did mrs. dicey feel with this sum of money in reserve, that she would not agree that birt should work on the old terms with the tanner. birt was dismayed by this temerity. once more, however, he recognized her acumen, for jubal perkins, although he left the house in a huff, came back again and promised good wages. ignorant and simple as she was, her keen instinct for her son's best interest, his true welfare, endowed her words with wisdom. thenceforth he esteemed no friend, no ally, equal to his mother. it delighted him to witness her triumph in the proof of his innocence, and indeed she did not in this matter bear herself with meekness. it made him feel so prosperous to note her relapse into her old caustic habit of speech. ah, if he were hurt or sore beset, every word would be tenderness. birt shortly compassed a much desired object. the mule's revival of his ancient glories as a "turrible kicker" had injured his market value, and birt's earnings enabled him to purchase the animal at a low price. the mule lived to a great age, always with his master as "mild-mannered" as a lamb. for some time birt saw nothing of nate, but one day the quondam friends met face to face on a narrow, precipitous path on the mountain side. abject fear was expressed in nate's sharp features, for escape was impossible. there was no need of either fear or flight. "how air ye, i'on pyrite!" cried birt cheerfully. the martyr's countenance changed. "ye never done me right 'bout that thar mine, birt dicey," nate said reproachfully. "ye mus' hev knowed from the fust ez them thar rocks war good fur nuthin'." "ye air the deceivinest sandy-headed pyrite that ever war on the top o' this mounting, an' ye knows it," birt retorted in high good humor; "an' ef it war wuth my while i'd gin ye a old-fashion larrupin' jes' ter pay ye fur the trick ez ye played on me. but i ain't keerin' fur that, now. stan' back thar, tennessee!" since then, tennessee, always preserving the influence she wielded that memorable night, has grown to be a woman--never pretty, but, as her brother still stoutly avers, "powerful peart." generously made available by the internet archive/american libraries.) [illustration: a swift, erect figure stepped into the middle of the road _page 101_] the ordeal a mountain romance of tennessee by charles egbert craddock author of "the raid of the guerilla," "the prophet of the great smoky mountains," "the fair mississippian," etc. with a frontispiece in color by douglas duer philadelphia & london j. b. lippincott company 1912 copyright, 1911, by j. b. lippincott company copyright, 1912, by j. b. lippincott company published september, 1912 printed by j. b. lippincott company at the washington square press philadelphia, u.s.a. transcriber's notes: this paragraph in chapter ii. is obviously a printer's error: here they found a change of sentiment prevailing. although failing in no observance of courtesy, mrs. briscoe had been a little less than complaisant toward the departed guest. this had been vaguely perceptible to briscoe at the time, but now she gency constrained him. in addition, a table of contents has been created for the convenience of the reader. contents i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. ix. x. xi. xii. xiii. xiv. the ordeal i. nowhere could the idea of peace be more serenely, more majestically, expressed. the lofty purple mountains limited the horizon, and in their multitude and imposing symmetry bespoke the vast intentions of beneficent creation. the valley, glooming low, harbored all the shadows. the air was still, the sky as pellucid as crystal, and where a crag projected boldly from the forests, the growths of balsam fir extending almost to the brink, it seemed as if the myriad fibres of the summit-line of foliage might be counted, so finely drawn, so individual, was each against the azure. below the boughs the road swept along the crest of the crag and thence curved inward, and one surveying the scene from the windows of a bungalow at no great distance could look straight beyond the point of the precipice and into the heart of the sunset, still aflare about the west. but the realization of solitude was poignant and might well foster fear. it was too wild a country, many people said, for quasi-strangers, and the briscoes were not justified in lingering so long at their summer cottage here in the great smoky mountains after the hotel of the neighboring springs was closed for the season, and its guests and employees all vanished town-ward. hitherto, however, the briscoes had flouted the suggestion, protesting that this and not the spring was the "sweet o' the year." the autumn always found the fires flaring on the cosy hearths of their pretty bungalow, and they were wont to gaze entranced on the chromatic pageantry of the forests as the season waned. presently the indian summer would steal upon them unaware, with its wild sweet airs, the burnished glamours of its soft red sun, its dreamy, poetic, amethystine haze. now, too, came the crowning opportunity of sylvan sport. there were deer to stalk and to course with horses, hounds, and horns; wild turkeys and mountain grouse to try the aim and tax the pedestrianism of the hunter; bears had not yet gone into winter quarters, and were mast-fed and fat; even a shot at a wolf, slyly marauding, was no infrequent incident, and edward briscoe thought the place in autumn an elysium for a sportsman. he had to-day the prospect of a comrade in these delights from his own city home and of his own rank in life, despite the desertion of the big frame hotel on the bluff, but it was not the enticement of rod and gun that had brought julian bayne suddenly and unexpectedly to the mountains. his host and cousin, edward briscoe, was his co-executor in a kinsman's will, and in the settlement of the estate the policy of granting a certain power of attorney necessitated a conference more confidential than could be safely compassed by correspondence. they discussed this as they sat in the spacious reception hall, and had bayne been less preoccupied he must have noticed at once the embarrassment, nay, the look of absolute dismay, with which briscoe had risen to receive him, when, unannounced, he appeared in the doorway as abruptly as if he had fallen from the clouds. as it was, the brief colloquy on the business interests that had brought him hither was almost concluded before the problem of his host's manner began to intrude on bayne's consciousness. briscoe's broad, florid, genial countenance expressed an unaccountable disquietude; a flush had mounted to his forehead, which was elongated by his premature baldness; he was pulling nervously at his long dark mustache, which matched in tint the silky fringe of hair encircling his polished crown; his eyes, round and brown, and glossy as a chestnut, wandered inattentively. he did not contend on small points of feasibility, according to his wont--for he was of an argumentative habit of mind--in fact, his acquiescence in every detail proposed was so complete and so unexpected that bayne, with half his urgency unsaid, came to the end of his proposition with as precipitate an effect as if he had stumbled upon it in the dark. "well, that's agreed, is it? easily settled! i really need not have come--though"--with a complaisant after-thought--"it is a pleasure to look in on you in your woodland haunts." briscoe suddenly leaned forward from his easy chair and laid his hand on his cousin's knee. "julian," he said anxiously, "i hate to tell you--but my wife has got that woman here." bayne stared, blankly unresponsive. "what woman?" he asked wonderingly. "mrs. royston, you know--lillian marable, that was." bayne looked as if suddenly checked in headlong speed--startled, almost stunned. the blood rushed in a tumultuous flood to his thin cheeks, then receded, leaving his face mottled red and white. his steel-gray eyes suddenly glowed like hot metal. there was a moment of tense silence; then he said, his voice steady and controlled, his manner stiff but not without dignity, "pray do not allow that to discompose you. she is nothing to me." "i know--i know, of course. i would not have mentioned it, but i feared an unexpected meeting might embarrass you, here in this seclusion where you cannot avoid each other." "you need not have troubled yourself," bayne protested, looking fixedly at his cigar as he touched off the long ash with a delicate fillip. there was a great contrast in the aspect of the two, which accorded with their obvious differences of mind and temperament. briscoe, a man of wealth and leisure, portly and rubicund, was in hunting togs, with gaiters, knickers, jacket, and negligee shirt, while bayne, with no trace of the disorder incident to a long journey by primitive methods of transportation, was as elaborately groomed and as accurately costumed in his trig, dark brown, business suit as if he had just stepped from the elevator of the sky-scraper where his offices as a broker were located. his manner distinctly intimated that the subject was dismissed, but briscoe, who had as kindly a heart as ever beat, was nothing of a diplomat. he set forth heavily to justify himself. "you see--knowing that you were once in love with her----" "oh, no, my dear fellow," bayne hastily interrupted; "i never loved _her_. i loved only my own dream of one fair woman. it did not come true, that's all." briscoe seemed somewhat reassured, but in the pervasive awkwardness of his plight as host of both parties he could not quit the subject. "just so," he acquiesced gladly; "a mere dream--and a dream can make no sensible man unhappy." bayne laughed with a tense note of satire. "well, the awakening was a rude jar, i must confess." for it had been no ordinary termination of an unhappy love affair. it befell within a fortnight of the date set for the prospective marriage. all the details of publicity were complete: the cards were out; the "society columns" of the local journals had revelled in the plans of the event; the gold and silver shower of the bridal presents was raining down. the determining cause of the catastrophe was never quite clear to the community--whether a lover's quarrel with disproportionate consequences, by reason of the marplot activities of a mercenary relative of the lady's, advocating the interests of a sudden opportunity of greater wealth and station; or her foolish revenge for a fancied slight; or simply her sheer inconstancy in a change of mind and heart. at all events, without a word of warning, julian bayne, five years before, had the unique experience of reading in a morning paper the notice of the marriage of his promised bride to another man, and of sustaining with what grace he might the rôle of a jilted lover amidst the ruins of his nuptial preparations. in the estimation of the judicious, he had made a happy escape, for the cruelty involved in the lady's methods and the careless flout of the opinion of the sober, decorous world were not _indicia_ of worthy traits; but he was of sensitive fibre, and tingled and winced with the consciousness of the cheap gibe and the finger of scorn. he often said to himself then, however, as now to the friend of his inmost thought, "i would not be bound to a woman capable of such treachery for----" words failed him, inadequate, though he spoke calmly. his face had resumed its habitual warm pallor. his clear-cut features, something too sharply defined for absolute regularity, with the unassertive effect of his straight auburn hair, his deliberate, contemplative glance, his reserved, high-bred look, the quiet decorum of his manner, were not suggestive of the tumult of his inner consciousness, and the unresponsiveness of his aspect baffled briscoe. with some inapposite, impulsive warmth he protested: "but she has had bitter cause for repentance, julian. royston was a brute. the only decent thing he ever did was dying! she has been an awfully unhappy woman. i know you will be sorry for that." "neither glad nor sorry. she is nothing to me. not because she dealt me a blow after a very unfair fashion, but because she is nothing in herself that i could really care for. she has no delicate sensibilities, no fine perceptions; she is incapable of constancy. don't you understand? she has no capacity to feel." briscoe had a look of extenuating distress--a sentiment of loyalty to his fair guest. "oh, well, now, she is devoted to her child--a most loving mother." "certainly, she may grow in grace--let us hope that she will! and now suppose we talk a little about that wonderful magazine shot-gun you have so often offered to lend me. this is my chance to prove its values--the only time in the last five years that i could spare a week from the office." he rose and turned with his easy, lithe grace towards the gun-rack, but briscoe sat still in pondering dismay. for it was obvious that julian bayne had no intention of soon relaxing the tension of the situation by the elimination of the presence of the jilted lover. pride, indeed, forbade his flight. his self-respect clamored for recognition. there was no cause for humiliation in his consciousness, and he could not consent to abase himself before the untoward and discordant facts. he did not disguise from himself, however, that, if he might have chosen earlier, he would have avoided the ordeal of the meeting, from which he shrank in anticipation. already he was poignantly conscious of the heavy draughts it made on his composure, and he raged inwardly to note how his fingers trembled as he stood before the rack of guns, now and again a weapon in his hands, feigning an interest in examining the construction first of one and then of another. the entire place suggested a devotion to sport and whole-souled hospitality. the vast spread of the autumnal landscape, in wonderful clarity and depth of tint, was visible through the large, open front doors. there was an effort to maintain in this apartment the aspect in some sort of a lodge in the wilderness; the splendid antlers over the mantel-piece, beneath which, in a deep stone chimney-place, a fire of logs smouldered; the golden eagle, triumph of taxidermy, poising his wings full-spread above the landing of the somewhat massive staircase; the rack of weapons--rifles, shot-guns, hunting-knives; the game-bags; the decoration of the walls, showing the mask and brush of many a fox, and the iridescent wings of scores of wild-fowl; the rugs scattered about made of the pelts of wolves, catamounts, and bears of the region--all served to contribute to the sylvan effect. but the glister of the hardwood floor, waxed and polished; the luxury of the easy chairs and sofas; the centre-table strewn with magazines and papers, beneath a large lamp of rare and rich ware; the delicate aroma of expensive cigars, were of negative, if not discordant, suggestion, and bespoke the more sophisticated proclivities and training of the owner. in the interval of awkward silence, briscoe remained motionless in his easy chair, a rueful reflectiveness on his genial face incongruous with its habitual expression. when a sudden disconcerted intentness developed upon it, bayne, every instinct on the alert, took instant heed of the change. the obvious accession of dismay betokened the increasing acuteness of the crisis, and briscoe's attitude, as of helpless paralysis, stricken as it were into stone as he gazed toward the door, heralded an approach. there were light footfalls on the veranda, a sudden shadow at the door. the next moment two ladies were entering, their hands full of autumn leaves, trophies of their long walk. bayne, summoning to his aid all the conservative influences of pride and self-respect, was able to maintain an aspect of grave composure as, fully warned, he turned to meet them. nevertheless, the element of surprise to the new-comers rendered it an awkward moment to all the group. mrs. briscoe, considerably in advance of her guest, paled at the sight of him, and, silent and visibly shocked, paused as abruptly as if she beheld a ghost. it was a most uncharacteristic reception, for she was of a gracious and engaging personality and a stately type of beauty. she was tall and graceful, about thirty years of age, in full bloom, so to speak, extremely fair, the delicacy of her complexion enhanced by the contrast with her dark hair worn _en pompadour_. her gown of dark red cloth, elaborately braided and with narrow borders of otter fur, had a rich depth of color which accorded with her sumptuous endowments. the rôle of cordial hostess she was wont to play with especial acceptability, but now she had lost its every line, its most trivial patter. she said not one word as bayne clasped her hand with the conventional greeting, but only looked at him with her hazel eyes at once remonstrant, pleading, compassionate. the moment of vantage, short as it was, afforded by the precedence of her hostess in the matter of salutation, gave mrs. royston the opportunity to catch her breath and find her voice. she had not seen this man since, five years ago, he had left her home her expectant bridegroom. but beyond a fluctuating flush in her fair cheek, a dilation of her blue eyes, a flutter of those eyelids which he had always esteemed a special point of her beauty, being so smooth, so full, so darkly lashed, she conserved an ostensible calm, although she felt the glance of his eye as sensitively as red hot steel. but he--as he dropped the hand of his hostess and advanced toward her guest--in one moment his fictitious composure deserted him. for this was not the widow in weeds whom he had expected to see, not the woman of whom he had trained himself to think, when he must needs think of her at all, as another man's wife. this was his own fair past, the unfulfilled promise of his future, the girl he had adored, the ideal wife whom he had worshipped in his cherished dreams! just as always heretofore, she stood now, so fresh, so fair, so candid-seeming, wearing her white serge gown with her usual distinction, a spray of golden-rod fastened in her mass of yellow hair that glowed with a sheen of differing gold. how had time spared her! how had griefs left her scathless! it was an effort to reflect that two years and more had elapsed since he had read the obituary of archibald royston, with scornful amusement to mark the grotesque lie to the living in the fulsome tribute to the dead. in some sort, bayne was prepared for change, for the new identity that the strange falling out of events betokened. he had never realized her, he had never divined her character, he would have said. she was now, as she had always been, an absolute stranger. but this little hand--ah, he knew it well! how often it had lain in his clasp, and once more every fibre thrilled at its touch. with all his resolution, he could not restrain the flush that mounted to his brow, the responsive quiver in his voice as he murmured her name, the name of archibald royston's wife, so repugnant to his lips. he was in a state of revolt against himself, his self-betrayal, to realize that she and the two briscoes could not fail to mark his confusion, attributing his emotion to whatsoever cause they would. indeed, in the genial altruism of host, briscoe had succeeded in breaking from the thrall of embarrassment to shield and save the situation. "why, here is archie!" he exclaimed resonantly. "how are _you_, old man?" his clear tones were vibrant with disproportionate elation at the prospect of a diversion of the painful interest of the scene. for at the moment a fine blond boy of three years burst in at the rear door of the apartment and came running to meet mrs. royston, just apprised, doubtless, of her return from her afternoon stroll. he looked very fresh in his white linen dress, his red leather belt, and twinkling red shoes. with the independent nonchalance of childhood, he took no note of the outstretched arms and blandishing smile of mr. briscoe, who sought to intercept him, but made directly toward his mother. his gleaming reflection sped along in the polished, mirroring floor, but all at once both semblance and substance paused. with a sudden thought the child put his dimpled hands over his smiling pink face, while his blue eyes danced merrily between the tips of his fingers. then he advanced again, lunging slowly along, uttering the while a menacing "mew! mew! mew!" his mother had no heart for his fun. she could scarcely summon the strength and attention requisite for this fantastic infantile foolery when all her capacities were enlisted to support her dignity in the presence of this man, necessarily inimical, censorious, critical, who had once meant so much in her life. but she could not rebuff the baby! she would not humble his spirit! she must enter into his jest, whatever the effort cost her. it was poor acting certainly. she affected fright, as the child expected. she cowered dismayed. "oh, oh!" she cried, watching his erratic approach. "what _is_ that?" she pretended flight, but sank into a chair, apparently overpowered. she gazed down at the child with the lifted hands of horror as he clasped the folds of her gown, his eyes shining with fun, his teeth glittering between his red lips, his laughter rippling with delight. "me scared oo,' mamma," he squealed ecstatically. "oo didn't know what me was. oo t'ought me was a great big bear." whereupon she looked down at him with amazed recognition. "is it _you_, archie? dear me, i thought it was a great big bear." "mew! mew! mew!" he repeated in joy. "why, archie, old man, bears don't mew!" cried the genial briscoe, recovering his equanimity. "bears _growl_--didn't you know that?" he straightway began to teach the little fellow a very noisy and truculent vocalization of the ursine type, which archie, who was a great favorite with his host, eagerly imitated, briscoe appearing throughout the duet at the pitiable disadvantage of the adult imbecile disporting himself in infantile wise. the tumult of the child's entrance had the effect of relaxing for briscoe the tension of the situation, but when archie's nurse appeared at the door and he ran away at her summons, the host looked apprehensively about the circle as the party ranged themselves around the fire, its glow beginning to be welcome in the increasing chill of the evening. ordinarily, this was a household of hilarious temperament. life had been good to the briscoes, and they loved it. they were fond of rich viands, old wines, genial talk, good stories, practical jests, music, and sport; the wife herself being more than a fair shot, a capital whip, and a famous horsewoman. even when there was no stranger within the gates, the fires would flare merrily till midnight, the old songs echo, and the hours speed away on winged sandals. but this evening neither host nor hostess could originate a sentence in the presence of what seemed to their sentimental persuasions the awful tragedy of two hearts. indeed, conversation on ordinary lines would have been impossible, but that bayne with an infinite self-confidence, as it seemed to mrs. briscoe, took the centre of the stage and held it. all bayne's spirit was up! the poise and reserve of his nature, his habit of sedulous self-control, were reasserted. he could scarcely forgive himself their momentary lapse. he felt it insupportable that he should not have held his voice to normal steadiness, his pulses to their wonted calm, in meeting again this woman who had wrought him such signal injury, who had put upon him such insufferable indignity. surely he could feel naught for her but the rancor she had earned! from the beginning, she had been all siren, all deceit. she was but the semblance, the figment, of his foolish dream, and why should the dream move him still, shattered as it was by the torturing realities of the truth? why must he needs bring tribute to her powers, flatter her ascendency in his life, by faltering before her casual presence? he rallied all his forces. he silently swore a mighty oath that he at least would take note of his own dignity, that he would deport himself with a due sense of his meed of self-respect. though with a glittering eye and a strong flush on his cheek, he conserved a deliberate incidental manner, and maintained a pose of extreme interest in his own prelection as, seated in an arm-chair before the fire he began to talk with a very definite intention of a quiet self-assertion, of absorbing and controlling the conversation. he described at great length the incidents of his trip hither, and descanted on the industrial and political conditions of east tennessee. this brought him by an easy transition to an analysis of the peculiar traits of its mountain population, which included presently their remarkable idiosyncrasies of speech. when he was fairly launched on this theme, which was of genuine interest to him, for he had long fostered a linguistic fad, all danger of awkward silence or significant pauses was eliminated. he found that briscoe could furnish him with some fresh points in comparative philology, to his surprise and gratification, for he never expected aught bookish of his host. but like men of his type, briscoe was a close observer and learned of the passing phase of life. he took issue again and again with the deductions of the traveller. "you think it queer that they use 'you-uns' in the singular number? then why do you use '_you_' in the singular number? i haven't heard you 'thou-ing' around here this evening. just as grammatical in that respect as you are! and on the same principle, why do you say 'you were' to me instead of 'you was,' which would be more singular--ha! ha! ha!" "what _i_ think so curious is the double-barrelled pronouns themselves, 'you-uns' and 'we-uns.'" mrs. royston forced herself to take part in the colloquy at the first opportunity. "not at all queer," bayne promptly contended. "the correlatives of that locution appear in other languages. the french has _nous autres_, the italian, _noi altri_, the spanish, _nosotros_." "and pray consider our own classical 'we-all,'" mrs. briscoe gayly interposed, surprised that she could pluck up the spirit for this interruption. "more interesting to me is the survival in this sequestered region of old english words and significations, altogether obsolete elsewhere," continued bayne. "now, when i asked the driver yesterday the name of a very symmetrical eminence in the midst of the ranges he said it had no name, that it was no mountain--it was just the 'moniment' of a little ridge, meaning the image, the simulacrum. this is spenser's usage." "look here, julian," said briscoe, rising suddenly, all his wonted bluff self again, "if you fire off any more of your philologic wisdom at us i'll throw you over the cliff. we are skilled in the _use_ of words--honest, straight talk--not their dissection. i want to get at something that we can all enjoy. tune this violin and come and play some of those lovely old things that you and gladys used to practise together." "yes, yes, indeed," exclaimed mrs. briscoe cordially, and, rising promptly, she approached the piano. briscoe also started toward the instrument, to open it for her. "mrs. royston and i will be a generous audience and applaud enthusiastically. but stop--what is that?" he suddenly paused, the lid of the piano half lifted in his hands, the scattered sheet music falling in a rustling shower to the floor. "what _is_ that?" he reiterated, motionless and hearkening. ii. a voice was calling from out the rising mists, calling again and again, hailing the house. briscoe dropped the lid of the piano and strode to the door, followed by bayne, the ladies standing irresolute on the hearthrug and gazing apprehensively after them. the sudden changes incident to the mountain atmosphere were evidenced in the opaque density of the fog that had ensued on the crystalline clearness of the sunset. it hung like a curtain from the zenith to the depths of the valley, obscuring all the world. it had climbed the cliffs; it was shifting in and out among the pillars of the veranda; it even crossed the threshold as the door was opened, then shrank back ghostly-wise, dissolving at the touch of the warm home radiance. as the lamp-light flickered out, illuminating its pervasive pallor, the new-comer urged a very lame horse to the steps of the veranda. the two friends waiting within looked at each other in uncertainty as to their policy in admitting the stranger. then as his rapid footfalls sounded on the veranda, and a stalwart figure appeared in the doorway, briscoe tilted the shade of the lamp on the table to throw its glare full on the new-comer's face, and broke forth with an acclaim of recognition and welcome. to be sure, he was but a casual acquaintance, and briscoe's cordiality owed something of its fervor to his relief to find that the visitor was of no untoward antecedents and intentions. an old school-fellow he had been long ago in their distant city home, who chanced to be in the mountains on a flying trip--no belated summer sojourner, no pleasure-seeker, but concerned with business, and business of the grimmest monitions. a brisk, breezy presence he had, his cheeks tingling red from the burning of the wind and sun and the speed of his ride. he was tall and active, thirty-five years of age perhaps, with a singularly keen eye and an air intimating much decision of character, of which he stood in need for he was a deputy collector of the revenue service, and in the midst of a dangerous moonshining raid his horse had gone dead lame. "i hardly expected to find you still here at this season," he said to briscoe, congratulating himself, "but i took the chances. you must lend me a horse." briscoe's instincts of hospitality were paramount, and he declared that he would not allow the new-comer to depart so summarily. he must stay and dine; he must stay the night; he must join the hunt that was planned for to-morrow--a first-rate gun was at his disposal. "i'll get you back to glaston without delay. i'll let you drive the dog-cart with fairy-foot, the prettiest bit of horse-flesh that ever wore a shoe--trots to beat the band! you can hunt all day with bayne and me, and a little before sunset you can start for shaftesville, and she will whisk you there in an hour and a quarter, twenty miles. you needn't start till five o'clock to catch the seven-ten train, with lots of time to spare." in spite of all denial, the telephone bell was presently jangling as briscoe rang up the passenger-agent at the railroad depot in the little town of shaftesville, twenty miles away. "twenty-six--yes, central, i _did_ say twenty-six!... hello, tucker, is that you?... see here--mr. frank dean will be there with the dog-cart and fairy-foot to-morrow evening to catch the seven-ten train for glaston--leaves here about an hour by sun. will you do me the favor to hire a responsible party there to bring the mare back?... can't spare a man from here. lost two of my dogs--yes, my fine, full-blooded hounds--you remember damon and pythias? strayed off from the pack, and all hands and the cook have got to get out straightway and hunt them. wolves--awfully afraid they will get the hounds. outnumber them and pull them down--fierce at this season.... yes, i hope so! you'll look out for fairy-foot?... thanks, awfully.... yes, _he_ would do--careful fellow! tell him to drive slowly coming back. dean will race her down there at the top of her speed. (hush up, frank, _i_ know what i am talking about.) mr. dean will be there all right. thank you very much. do as much for you some day. goo'-by." but dean's protests were serious. his duties admitted of no trifling. he wanted no such superfine commodity as fairy-foot, but a horse stout and sound he must have to-night and the favor of leaving his disabled steed in briscoe's stable. he explained that his misfortune in laming the horse and the fog combined had separated him from the revenue posse just from a secluded cove, where his men had discovered and raided an illicit distillery in a cavern, cutting the copper still and worm to bits, demolishing the furnace and fermenters, the flake-stand and thumper, destroying considerable store of mash and beer and singlings, and seizing and making off with a barrel of the completed product. a fine and successful adventure it might have seemed, but there were no arrests. the moonshiners had fled the vicinity. for aught the officer had to show for it, the "wild-cat" was a spontaneous production of the soil. he made himself very merry over this phase of the affair, when seated at the prettily appointed dinner table of the bungalow, and declared that however the marshal might regard the matter, he could not call it a "water-haul." the repast concluded, he insisted that he must needs be immediately in the saddle again. he scarcely stayed for a puff of an after-dinner cigar, and when he had bidden the ladies adieu both bayne and briscoe went with him to the stable, to assist in the selection of a horse suited to his needs. little archie ran after them, begging to be admitted to their company. briscoe at once caught him up to his shoulder, and there he was perched, wisely overlooking the choice of an animal sound and fresh and strong as the three men made the tour from stall to stall, preceded by a brisk negro groom, swinging a lantern to show the points of each horse under discussion. in three minutes the revenue officer, mounted once more, tramped out into the shivering mists and the black night. the damp fallen leaves deadened the sound of departing hoofs; the obscurities closed about him, and he vanished from the scene, leaving not a trace of his transitory presence. briscoe lingered in the stable, finding a jovial satisfaction in the delight of little archie in the unaccustomed experience, for the child had the time of his life that melancholy sombre night in the solitudes of the great mountains. his stentorian shouts and laughter were as bluff as if he were ten years old, and as boisterous as if he were drunk besides. briscoe had perched him on the back of a horse, where he feigned to ride at breakneck speed, and his cries of "gee!" "dullup!" "g'long!" rang out imperiously in the sad, murky atmosphere and echoed back, shrilly sweet, from the great crags. the stable lantern showed him thus gallantly mounted, against the purple and brown shadows of the background, his white linen frock clasped low by his red leather belt, his cherubic legs, with his short half hose and his red shoes, sticking stiffly out at an angle of forty-five degrees, his golden curls blowing high on his head, his face pink with joy and laughter. the light shone too in the big, astonished eyes of the fine animal he bestrode, now and then turning his head inquisitively toward briscoe--who stood close by with a cautious grasp on the skirts of the little boy--as if wondering to feel the clutch of the infantile hands on his mane and the tempestuous beat of the little feet as archie cried out his urgency to speed. archie would not willingly have relinquished this joy till dawn, and the problem how to get him peaceably off the horse became critical. he had repeatedly declined to dismount, when at length a lucky inspiration visited briscoe. the amiable host called for an ear of corn, and with this he lured the little horseman to descend, in order to feed a "poor pig" represented as in the last stages of famine and dependent solely on the ministrations of the small guest. here renewed delights expanded, for the "poor pig" became lively and almost "gamesome," being greatly astonished by the light and men and the repast at this hour of the night. as he was one of those gormands who decline no good thing, he affably accepted archie's offering, so graciously indeed that the little fellow called for another ear of corn more amply to relieve the porcine distresses, the detail of which had much appealed to his tender heart. it seemed as if the choice of the good mr. briscoe lay between the fiction of riding an endless race or playing the samaritan to the afflicted pig, when in the midst of archie's noisy beatitudes sleep fell upon him unaware, like a thief in the night. as he waited for the groom to reappear with the second relay of refreshments, briscoe felt the tense little body in his clasp grow limp and collapse; the eager head with its long golden curls drooped down on his shoulder; the shout, already projected on the air, quavered and failed midway, giving place to a deep-drawn sigh, and young royston was fairly eclipsed for the night, translated doubtless to an unexplored land of dreams where horses and pigs and revenue officers and mountains ran riot together "in much admired disorder." briscoe bore him tenderly in his arms to the house, and, after transferring him to his nurse, rejoined with bayne the ladies in the hall. here they found a change of sentiment prevailing. although failing in no observance of courtesy, mrs. briscoe had been a little less than complaisant toward the departed guest. this had been vaguely perceptible to briscoe at the time, but now she gency constrained him." "i don't see why you should have asked him to dine," she said to her husband. "he was difficult to persuade, and only your urgency constrained him." her face was uncharacteristically petulant and anxious as she stood on the broad hearth at one side of the massive mantelpiece, one hand lifted to the high shelf; her red cloth gown with the amber-tinted gleams of the lines of otter fur showed richly in the blended light of fire and lamp. her eyes seemed to shrink from the window, at which nevertheless she glanced ever and anon. "i delight in the solitude here, and i have never felt afraid, but i think that since this disastrous raid that revenue officer is in danger in this region from the moonshiners, and that his presence at our house will bring enmity on us. it really makes me apprehensive. it was not prudent to entertain him, and certainly not at all necessary--it was almost against his will, in fact." "well, well, he is gone now," returned briscoe easily, lifting the lid of the piano and beginning to play a favorite air. but she would not quit the subject. "while you three were at the stable i thought i heard a step on the veranda--you need not laugh--lillian heard it as well as i. then, when you were so long coming back, i went upstairs to get a little shawl to send out to you to put over archie as you came across the yard--the mists are so dank--and i saw--i am _sure_ i saw--just for a minute--a light flicker from the hotel across the ravine." briscoe, his hands crashing out involuntarily a discordant chord, looked over his shoulder with widening eyes. "why, gladys, there is not a soul in the hotel now!" "that is why the light there seemed so strange." "besides, you know, you _couldn't_ have seen a light for the mists." "the mists were shifting; they rose and then closed in again. ask lillian--she happened to be standing at the window there, and she said she saw the stars for a few moments." "_now, now, now!_" exclaimed briscoe remonstrantly, rising and coming toward the hearth. "you two are trying to get up a panic, which means that this delicious season in the mountains is at an end for us, and we must go back to town. why can't you understand that mrs. royston saw the stars and perhaps a glimpse of the moon, and that then you both saw the glimmer of their reflection on the glass of the windows at the vacant hotel. is there anything wonderful in that? i appeal to julian." "i don't know anything about the conditions here, but certainly that explanation sounds very plausible. as to the step on the veranda, ned and i can take our revolvers and ascertain if anyone is prowling about." the proposition appealed to mrs. briscoe, and she was grateful for the suggestion, since it served, however illogically, to soothe her nerves. she looked at bayne very kindly when he came in with his host, from the dripping densities of the fog, his face shining like marble with the pervasive moisture, his pistol in his hand, declaring that there was absolutely nothing astir. but indeed there was more than kind consideration in mrs. briscoe's look; there was question, speculation, an accession of interest, and he was quick to note an obvious, though indefinable, change in mrs. royston's eyes as they rested upon him. she had spent the greater portion of the evening tête-à-tête with her hostess, the men being with the horses. he was suddenly convinced that meantime he had been the theme of conversation between the two, and--the thought appalled him!--mrs. briscoe had persuaded her friend that to see again the woman who had enthralled him of yore was the lure that had brought him so unexpectedly to this solitude of the mountains. his object was a matter of business, they had been told, to be sure, but "business" is an elastic and comprehensive term, and in fact, in view of the convenience of mail facilities, it might well cloak a subterfuge. naturally, the men had not divulged to the women the nature of the business, more especially since it concerned the qualifications of a prospective attorney-in-fact. this interpretation of his stay bayne had not foreseen for one moment. his whole being revolted against the assumption--that he should languish again at the feet of this traitress; that he should open once more his heart to be the target of her poisonous arrows; that he should drag his pride, his honest self-respect, in the dust of humiliation! how could they be so dull, so dense, as to harbor such a folly? the thought stung him with an actual venom; it would not let him sleep; and when toward dawn he fell into a troubled stupor, half waking, half dreaming, the torpid state was so pervaded with her image, the sound of her voice, that he wrested himself from it with a conscious wrench and rose betimes, doubtful if, in the face of this preposterous persuasion, he could so command his resolution as to continue his stay as he had planned. iii. on descending the stairs, bayne found the fire newly alight in the hall, burning with that spare, clear brilliancy that the recent removal of ashes imparts to a wood fire. all the world was still beclouded with mists, and the windows and doors looked forth on a blank white nullity--as inexpressive, as enigmatical, as the unwritten page of the unformulated future itself. the present seemed eliminated; he stood as it were in the atmosphere of other days. but whither had blown the incense of that happy time? the lights on the shrine had dwindled to extinction! what had befallen his strong young hopes, his faith, his inspiration, that they had exhaled and left the air vapid and listless? he was conscious that he was no more the man who used to await her coming, expectant, his eyes on the door. he had now scarcely a pulse in common with that ardent young identity he remembered as himself--his convictions of the nobler endowments of human nature; his candid unreserve with his fellows; his aspirations toward a fair and worthy future; his docile, sweet, almost humble content with such share of the good things of this life as had been vouchsafed him; his strength, as "with the strength of ten," to labor night and day with the impetus of his sanctified impulses; but, above all, his love, that had consecrated his life, his love for this woman who he believed--poor young fool!--loved him. how could five years work such change? world-worn he was and a-weary, casuistic, cautious, successful in a sort as the logical result of the exercise of sound commercial principles and more than fair abilities, but caring less and less for success since its possession had only the inherent values of gain and was hallowed by no sweet and holy expectation of bestowal. he could have wept for the metamorphosis! whatever he might yet become, he could never be again this self. this bright, full-pulsed identity was dead--dead for all time! icarus-like, he had fallen midway in a flight that under other conditions might have been long and strong and sustained, and he bemoaned his broken wings. so much depression of spirit was in his attitude, even listless despair, as he stood in the vacant apartment, looking down at the silver bowl on the table, filled with white roses and galax leaves, freshly gathered; so much of the thought in his mind was expressed in his face, distinct and definite in the firelight, despite the clouds at the dim window, that lillian royston, descending the stair unperceived, read in its lineaments an illuminated text of the past. "oh, julian, julian, i was cruel to you--i was cruel to you!" she cried out impulsively in a poignant voice. he started violently at the sound, coming back indeed through the years. he looked up at her, seeing as in a dream her slim figure clad in a gray cloth gown, on the landing of the stair. her face was soft and young and wistful; her aspect had conquered the years; she was again the girl he knew of old, whom he had fancied he had loved, crying out in the constraining impetus of a genuine emotion, "i was cruel to you! i was cruel to you!" the next moment he was all himself of to-day--cool, confident, serene, with that suggestion of dash and vigor that characterized his movements. "why, don't mention it, i beg," he said with a quiet laugh and his smooth, incidental society manner, as if it were indeed a matter of trifling consequence. then, "i am sure neither of us has anything to regret." the last sentence he thought a bit enigmatical, and he said to briscoe afterward that, although strictly applicable, he did not quite know what he had meant by it. for the door had opened suddenly, and his host had inopportunely entered at the instant. although briscoe had affected to notice nothing, he heard the final sentence, and he was disposed to berate bayne when the awkward breakfast was concluded and the party had scattered. "you were mighty sarcastic, sure," he observed to bayne over their cigars in the veranda, for with all the world submerged in the invisibilities of the mists the day's hunt was necessarily called off. "why, i was rattled," bayne declared. "i did not expect to hear her upbraid herself." "she is _so_ sensitive," said briscoe compassionately. he had heard from his wife the interpretation that she had placed on bayne's sudden visit to this secluded spot, and though he well knew its falsity, he could but sympathize with her hope. "lillian is very sensitive." "i think it is up to me to be sensitive on that subject; but her sensitiveness at this late day is what gave _me_ the cold shivers." briscoe eyed him sternly, the expression incongruous with the habitual aspect of his broad, jovial, florid face. their features were visible to each other, though now and then the fog would shift between the rustic chairs in which they sat. julian bayne laughed. how easily even now did this woman convert every casual acquaintance into an eager partisan! "if she is growing sensitive for her cruelties to me, i am apprehensive that it may be in her mind to make amends. i should keep away from her--discretion being the better part of valor." briscoe drew back with an air of averse distaste. he spoke guardedly, however, remembering that he was in his own house and fearful of going too far; yet he could not let this pass. "you surprise me, julian. i never imagined _you_ could say anything so--so--caddish." "why don't you say 'currish' and be done with it?" julian's eyes flashed fire. his face had flushed deeply red. every muscle was tense, alert. then he checked himself hastily. he turned his cigar in his hand and looked intently at it as he reflected that this woman had already done harm enough in his life. he would not allow her to inflict the further and irreparable injury of coming between him and the friend he loved as a brother. he slipped quietly into his former easy attitude before he resumed, smiling: "currish, indeed it may be, but that is exactly the kind of old dog tray i am." "you will please take notice that _i_ have said nothing of the sort," briscoe stiffly rejoined. "but i think and i do say that it is a preposterous instance of coxcombry to subject such a woman as mrs. royston--because of a generous moment of self-reproach for a cruel and selfish deed--to the imputation of inviting advances from a man who coyly plans evasion and flight--and she scarcely two years a widow." "time cuts no ice in the matter," bayne forced himself to continue the discussion. "she has certainly shown the manes of archibald royston the conventional respect." "she made an awful mistake, we all know that! and although i realized that it was on account of that rubbishy little quarrel you and she got up at the last moment, i felt for her, because to people generally her choice was subject to the imputation of being wholly one of interest. they were so dissimilar in taste, so uncongenial; and i really think _he_ did not love her!" "_he_ had no other motive, at all events." "oh, of course he had a certain preference for her; and it was the sort of triumph that such a man would relish--to carry her off from you at the last moment. i always recognized _his_ influence in the sensational elements of that dénouement. he liked her after a fashion--to preside in a princess-like style in his big house, to illustrate to advantage his florid expenditure of money, to sparkle with wit and diamonds at the head of his table--a fine surface for decoration she has! but royston couldn't love--couldn't really care for anything but himself--a man of that temperament." bayne rose; he had reached the limit of his endurance; he could maintain his tutored indifference, but he would not seek to analyze the event anew or to adjust himself to the differentiations of sentiment that briscoe seemed disposed to expect him to canvass. the encroachments of the surging seas of mist had reduced the limits of the world to the interior of the bungalow, and the myriad interests and peoples of civilization to the little household circle. the day in the pervasive constraint that hampered their relations wore slowly away. under the circumstances, even the resources of bridge were scarcely to be essayed. bayne lounged for hours with a book in a swing on the veranda. briscoe, his hands in his pockets, his hat on the back of his head, his cigar cocked between his teeth--house-bound, he smoked a prodigious number of them for sheer occupation--strolled aimlessly in and out, now in the stables, now listening and commenting as gladys at the piano played the music of his choice. lillian had a score of letters to write. her mind, however, scarcely followed her pen as she sat in the little library that opened from the big, cheery hall. her thoughts were with all that had betided in the past and what might have been. she canvassed anew, as often heretofore, her strange infatuation, like a veritable aberration, so soon she had ceased to love her husband, to make the signal and significant discovery that he was naught to love. she had always had a sort of enthusiasm for the truth in the abstract--not so much as a moral endowment, but a supreme fixity, the one immutable value, superior to vicissitudes. she could not weep for a lie; she could only wonder how it should ever have masqueraded as the holy verities. she would not rehearse her husband's faults, and the great disaster of the revelation of his true character that made the few short years she had passed with him stretch out in retrospect like a long and miserable life. it was over now, and her friends could not disguise their estimation of the end as a blessed release. but peace had not come with it. she was not impervious to remorse, regret, humiliation, for her course. the sight of bayne, the sound of his voice, had poignantly revived the past, and if she had suffered woeful straits from wanton cruelty, she could not deny to herself that she had been consciously, carelessly, and causelessly cruel. in withdrawing herself to the library she had thwarted certain feints of mrs. briscoe's designed to throw them together in her hope of their reconciliation. lillian had become very definitely aware that this result was far alien to any expectation on bayne's part, and her cheeks burned with humiliation that she should for one moment, with flattered vanity and a strange thrill about her heart, have inclined to mrs. briscoe's fantastic conviction as to the motive of his journey hither. indeed, within his view she could now scarcely maintain her poise and the incidental unconscious mien that the conventions of the situation demanded. she welcomed the movement in the folds of the curtaining mist that betokened a prospect of lifting and liberating the house-bound coterie. presently, as she wrote, she heard the stir of the wind in the far reaches of the valley. the dense white veil that swung from the zenith became suddenly pervaded with vague shivers; then tenuous, gauzy pennants were detached, floating away in great lengths; the sun struck through from a dazzling focus in a broad, rayonnant, fibrous emblazonment of valley and range, and as she rose and went to the window to note the weather signs she could not resist the lure of escape. she had struggled all day with an eager desire to be out of the house, removed from the constantly recurring chances of meeting bayne, quit of the sight of him. she instantly caught up her broad gray hat with its flaunting red and gray ostrich plumes and called out to mrs. briscoe a suggestion that they should repair to the vacant hotel for a tramp on its piazzas, for it was the habit of the two ladies in rainy or misty weather to utilize these long, sheltered stretches for exercise, and many an hour they walked, on dreary days, in these deserted precincts. "i'll overtake you," was mrs. briscoe's rejoinder, and until then lillian had not noticed the employ of her hostess. the gardener was engaged in the removal of the more delicate ornamental growths about the porte-cochère and parterre to the shelter of the flower-pit, for bright chill weather and killing frosts would ensue on the dispersal of the mists. mrs. briscoe herself was intent on withdrawing certain hardier potted plants merely from the verge of the veranda to a wire-stand well under the roof. briscoe was at the gun-rack in the hall, restoring to its place the favorite rifle he had intended to use to-day. he could not refrain from testing its perfect mechanism, and at the first sharp crack of the hammer, liberated by a tentative pull on the trigger, little archie sprang up from his play on the hearth-rug, where he was harnessing a toy horse to mrs. briscoe's work-basket by long shreds of her zephyr, and ran clamoring for permission to hold the gun. mrs. briscoe saw him through the open door and instantly protested: "come away, archie!" then to her husband, "you men are always killing somebody with an unloaded gun. come away, archie!" "nonsense, gladys!" briscoe remonstrated. "let the child see the rifle. there is not a shell in the whole rack." she noticed her husband not at all. "come away, archie," she besought the little man, staring spellbound with his big blue eyes. he had scant care for the authority of "gad-ish," as gladys loved for him lispingly to call her. only when she began to plead that she had no one to help her with her flowers, to carry the pots for her, did he wrench himself from the contemplation of the flashing steel mechanism that had for him such wonderful fascination and lend his flaccid baby muscles to the fiction of help. he began zealously to toil to and fro, carrying the smallest pots wherever she bade him. her own interest in the occupation was enhanced by the colloquy that ensued whenever she passed her small guest. "hello, archie!" she would call for the sake of hearing the saucy, jocose response: "oh, oo gad-ish!" as the juvenile convoy fared along with his small cargo. lillian felt that she could not wait. gladys might come at her leisure. she burst impulsively out of the door, throwing on her hat as she went, albeit wincing that she must needs pass bayne at close quarters as he still lounged in the veranda swing. he looked up at the sound of the swift step and the sudden stir, and for one instant their eyes met--an inscrutable look, fraught with an undivined meaning. for their lives, neither could have translated its deep intendment. she said no word, and he merely lifted his hat ceremoniously and once more bent his eyes on his book. she was like a thing long imprisoned, liberated by some happy chance. her feet seemed scarcely to touch the ground as she sped along down the ravine, then across the rustic bridge that spanned the chasm through which rushed the tumultuous mountain stream foaming among the boulders deep in its depths, and breaking ever and anon into crystal cascades. on the opposite side she soon struck into the mountain road that had been graded and tamed and improved by the hotel management into the aspect of a sophisticated driveway, as it swept up to the great flight of steps at the main entrance of the big white building. iv. the vacant hotel, bereft of the pleasure-seeking crowds whose presence seemed the essential condition of its existence, looked strangely sinister in the silent golden splendor of the clearing afternoon, with its tiers of deserted piazzas, its band-stand mute and empty, the observatory perched above the precipice, seemingly so precarious as to have all the effect of teetering in the wind. languid now, preoccupied, lillian ascended the long flight of steps to the piazza and paused to look out at the great spread of the landscape, wreathed in flying mists and of a different aspect from this increase of elevation. she had begun to stroll aimlessly along in the possession of the seclusion she craved, when she suddenly noted the fact that the front door stood a trifle ajar. she paused with a repugnant sense of a lapse of caution. then she reflected that bolts and locks could add but little security in a desert solitude like this, where a marauder might work his will from september to june with no witnesses but the clouds and winds to hinder. she had forgotten the insistent declaration of gladys that she had seen a light flicker from these blank windows the preceding night. indeed, even at the time she had accounted it but the hysteric adjunct of their panic in the illusion of a stealthy step on the veranda of the bungalow. she was animated only by the simplest impulse of idle curiosity when she laid her hand on the bolt. the big door swung open at once on well-oiled hinges, and she found herself in the spacious hotel office, on one side of which were the clerk's desk and the office clock, looking queerly disconsolate without the loitering groups of humanity wont to congregate about the counter. the day glared garishly through the great skylight on the dusty interior; the big windows held expansive sections of mountain landscape, bronze, blue, and scarlet, like vivid paintings in frames. a staircase of fine and stately proportions descended from the lofty reach of the upper story, dividing into two sweeping flights from the landing. a massive mantel-piece was on the opposite side, with an immense fireplace, and heavy brass andirons and fender. she was a stranger to the interior of the place, for her visit to the locality began after the closing of the hotel, but though she looked about with a vague sub-current of interest as she sauntered through the building, glad of any pretext to prolong her absence from the bungalow, her mind was really introverted. she felt that she could never forgive herself her part in the scene of the morning, that wild, impulsive cry that voiced at once confession and a plea for pardon. at the sheer recollection of his rejoinder she tingled and winced as from the touch of fire. "don't mention it," quotha. and they neither had aught to regret--he was sure of that, forsooth! regret! it was only another name for her life. there was nothing but regret, night and day, sleeping and waking. but oh, how could she have said the words! what was it to him? he cared naught for her now and her cruelties--an old, old story to him, to be sure, told to the end, the pages shut. and she must needs seem to seek to turn the leaf anew! what else indeed could he think? surely she had been beguiled by gladys' vicarious sentimentality as to the lure of his coming, even while she had flouted the possibility. suddenly--a sound! it broke upon her absorption so abruptly that in an instant every muscle was adjusted for flight, though she paused and looked fearfully over her shoulder. only an echo, she told her plunging heart--an echo of her own footfalls in the resonant emptiness of the deserted place. she had wandered down a long corridor, from which doors opened only on one side into the big bare dining-room, the chairs all ranged on the tops of the many round tables, standing at equidistant intervals. an echo--doubtless that was all. she upbraided herself to have sustained so sudden and causeless a fright. her heart was beating like a trip-hammer. it seemed to fill all the building with the wild iteration of its pulsations. as she sought to reassure herself, she remembered that in a cross-hall she had noted the telephone, the wire still intact, as she knew, for the connection of the hotel was with that of the bungalow on a party-line of the exchange at shaftesville, twenty miles away. if she should be really frightened, she could in one moment call up the house across the ravine. the next instant she was almost palsied with recurrent terror: the footfall, stealthy, shuffling, weighty, sounded again. it was never the echo of her own deft, light step! a distinct, sibilant whisper suddenly hissed with warning throughout the place, and as she turned with the instinct of flight she caught a glimpse in the darkling mirror across the dining-room of a fugitive speeding figure, then another, and still another, all frantically, noiselessly fleeing--why or whom, she could not descry, she did not try to discriminate. without a word or a sound--her voice had deserted her--she turned precipitately and fled in the opposite direction through the corridor, down a cross-hall, and burst out of a side door upon a porch that was the nearest outlet from the building. this porch was less intended as an exit, however, than an outlook. true, there were steps that led down at one side to the ground, but the descent thence was so steep, so rugged and impracticable, that obviously no scheme of utility had prompted its construction. jagged outcropping ledges, a chaos of scattered boulders, now and again a precipitous verge showing a vertical section of the denuded strata, all formed a slant so precarious and steep that with the sharp sound of the door, closing on its spring, bayne looked up from his seat in the swing on the veranda across the ravine in blank amazement to see her there essaying the descent, as if in preference to an exit by the safe and easy method of the winding road at the front of the edifice. lillian, still with all the impetus of terror in her muscles, her breath short and fluttering, her eyes distended and unseeing, plunged wildly down the rugged, craggy declivity, painfully aware of his wonder as he gazed from the distance, prefiguring, too, his disapproval. perhaps this had its unnerving influence, though swift and surefooted ordinarily, her ankle turned amidst the gravel shifting beneath her flying steps, and she sank suddenly to the ground, slipped down a precipitous incline, caught herself, half crouching against a gigantic boulder. there was no recourse for bayne. no one else was within view. though between his teeth he muttered his distaste for the devoir that should bring him to her side, and the solicitude he was constrained to show, he leaped from the veranda and started down the ravine to her assistance, to "make his manners," as he said sarcastically to himself. but when he had come to the little rustic bridge and, glancing up, saw that she had not yet risen, he began to run, and before he reached her, climbing the ascent with athletic agility, he called out to ask if the fall had hurt her. "i don't know," she faltered, and when he was at her side she looked up at him with a pale and quivering face. "try to stand," he urged, as he leaned down and took her arm. "let me lift you. there! how did it happen?" "my ankle turned," she replied, rising with effort and standing unsteadily, despite his support. "does it pain you?" he queried with polite solicitude, looking down at the dainty low-cut gray shoe. "bear your weight on it." she essayed the experiment. "no," she barely whispered; "it is all right." he fixed upon her a look of questioning amazement, as she still held trembling to his arm. "what is the matter, then?" "there is somebody in the hotel." he gave a hasty glance upward from under the stiff brim of his hat. "hardly likely--but i'll examine and see." he was about to start off when she tightened her clutch on his arm. "no, no," she pleaded. "don't leave me! i don't know why--but i can't stand. i can't walk." "did you really hear something?" he asked sceptically. the light note of satire stung her pride. "oh, i _saw_ them, and they saw me," she protested. "i saw three men, and they all ran as i came into the dining-room." he broke into a short laugh. "got them on the run, did you? not very formidable they were, you must admit. shadows, i fancy. there is a large mirror on the blank side of the dining-room opposite the door. don't you suppose it possible that you saw only your own moving reflection?" her pride was roused. the pulse of anger began to tint her face with a dull crimson. "i should imagine i could distinguish my own reflection from three men--rough-looking men with slouched hats, all running and looking backward over their shoulders." it had been a conscious effort to nerve herself for this protest in defence of her poise and capacity, but at the mere recollection of the scene she had conjured up anew she fell to trembling, looking very pale again and as if she might faint. "well, it is no great matter, as the intruders were bluffed off," he said suavely, putting the question aside. "i will send one of briscoe's grooms to investigate the premises. but now, suppose we go to the piazza, and let you rest there and recover from the strain to your ankle." once more he glanced down at the dainty shoe with its high french heel. "i don't wonder it turned. a proper shoe for mountaineering!" that rancor against a frivolity of feminine fashion that holds a menace to health or safety, so characteristic of the utilitarian masculine mind, was a touch of his old individuality, and it made him seem to her more like himself of yore. the resemblance did not tend to confirm her composure, and she was almost piteous as she protested that she could not, she would not, go near the hotel again. "why, you need not, then," he reassured her abruptly, waiving the possibility of insistence, as much as to say it was no concern of his. "i might walk to the observatory," she suggested, "and--and--i need not detain you then." "in view of three bandits in slouched hats, although all on the back-track--and although i am convinced that it was but their astral apparitions with which you were favored--i will venture to intrude my society until i can see you to the briscoe bungalow." "oh, there's no intrusion," she rejoined petulantly. "you must know i couldn't mean that!" "i never know what you mean, i am sure!" he said with that tense note of satire. then he paused with a vague wonder at himself thus to trench on the emotional phases between them that must be buried forever. remembering her own allusion that morning, her cry of regret and appeal, he was apprehensive of some renewal of the topic that he had thus invited, and he began to move hastily down the slope, supporting her with care, but with a certain urgency too. he was obviously eager to terminate the conversational opportunity, and when it was requisite to pause to rest he improved the respite by beckoning to one of the stablemen passing near, bound toward a pasture in the rear of the hotel with a halter in his hand, and ordering him to investigate the building to discover any signs of intrusion. the man hearkened in patent surprise, then asked if he might defer the commission till he had harnessed fairy-foot, mr. briscoe having ordered out the dog-cart and his favorite mare. "plenty of time, plenty of time! we can't hope to overtake them, with the start they have already. just see if there are any signs of intrusion into the place and report. and now, mrs. royston, shall we move on?" the observatory was a structure strong but singularly light and airy of effect, poised on the brink of the mountain, above a slant so steep as to be precipitous indeed, terminating in a sheer vertical descent, after affording such foothold as the supporting timbers required. a great landscape it overlooked of wooded range and valley in autumnal tints and burnished sunset glow, but this made only scant impression on the minds of both, looking out with preoccupied, unseeing eyes. the balustrade around the four sides formed the back of a bench, and on this seat lillian sank down, still feeble and fluttering, painfully agitated, acutely aware that, as she had no obvious physical hurt, the nervous shock she had sustained might scarcely suffice to account for her persistent claim on his aid and attention. certainly he was warranted in thinking anything, all he would, since her wild, impulsive appeal in the early morning. how had it chanced, that cry from her heart! it was a triumph in some sort for him, unsought, complete, yet so pitiable, so mean, that he did not even care for it. his face was not triumphant; rather, listless, anxious, careworn. he was gazing down toward the bungalow where briscoe stood at the head of the flight of the veranda steps, drawing on his driving gloves, while fairy-foot, the fine mare, now resplendent in the least restrictions of harness that might control her bounding spirits and splendid strength, stood between the shafts of the dog-cart on the drive, a groom at her head, holding the bit. mrs. briscoe had approached, and they discerned from her husband's gestures that he was inviting her to accompany him. they could not hear the words at this distance, but presently briscoe, the most transparently candid of men, suddenly whirled and glanced up toward the observatory across the ravine, showing plainly that the two had become the subject of conversation. lillian was all unstrung, her powers of self-control annulled. she broke out with as unreasoning a sense of injury as a sensitive child might have felt. "they are talking about us!" she wailed. "they are not the first!" bayne could not restrain his curt, bitter laugh, the unconscious humor of the suggestion was so patent, albeit the edge cut deep. "and how do you suppose that fact makes _me_ feel?" she asked, looking up at him, her eyes full of tears, her heart swelling, her face scarlet. bayne would have given much to avoid this moment. but now that the discussion was upon him, he said to himself that he would not traffic with the insincerities, he would not be recreant to his own identity. he would not fawn, and bow, and play the smug squire of dames, full of specious flatteries, and kiss the hand that smote him. "and how do you suppose that _i_ should think you could feel at all?" he retorted sternly. it was so unlike him, the rebuke--he had so ardently worshipped her, even her faults, which were like shining endowments in his estimation--that for the first time she felt the full poignancy of his alienation. he was no longer hers, loving, regretting, always yearning after her, the unattainable! had he not said only to-day that neither of them had aught to regret? was this what he had really felt through the long years of their separation? was it she who had forfeited him, rather than he who had lost her? she sat quite still, almost stunned by the realization, a vague sense of bereavement upon her. a woman's faith in the constancy of a lover is a robust endowment! it withstands change and time and many a coercive intimation. "i suppose," she said at length, quite humbly, "it is natural that you should say that to me." "you asked for it," he replied tersely. then they were both silent for a space, looking down at the group on the veranda of the bungalow. "may i have the honor and pleasure of your company, madam?" briscoe had asked his wife with fantastic formality. "you may _not_!" she rejoined with a gay laugh. "and why not?" "i declare, ned, you live so much up here in the wilderness, with your bears and deer and catamounts and mountaineers, that you are likely to forget all the _bienséance_ you ever knew. don't you perceive that my duties as chaperon to those lovers should lie nearest my heart?" then it was that he turned and cast that comprehending glance at the two in the distant observatory. knowing how far from bayne's mind was the emotion, the intention, she ascribed to him, that she would fain foster, his face grew rueful and overcast. he shook his head with disconsolate rebuke. "oh, you woman, you!" but the reproach did not strike home. mrs. briscoe was quite satisfied to be a woman, and was avowedly seeking to add to the normal subtleties of this state the special craft of a matchmaker. briscoe desired to avoid being drawn into any confession of his knowledge of bayne's attitude of mind, and, aware of his own lack of diplomacy, sheered off precipitately from the subject. he turned, beaming anew, to the little boy who was looking on, cherubically roseate, at the sleek mare and the smart groom at her bit. "then, archibald royston, esquire, may i hope that _you_ will favor me?" archibald royston, esquire, suddenly apprehending in the midst of his absorption the nature of the invitation, gave two elastic bounces straight up and down expressive of supreme ecstasy; then, his arms outstretched, he began to run wildly up and down the veranda, looking in at the doors and windows as he passed, seeking his mother and her permission. "oh!" cried lillian, springing to her feet as she watched the dumb-show at the distance. "they want archie to go to drive. oh, how can i make them hear me? i am sure ned will not take him without permission." she waved her hand, but the distance was obviously too great for the signal to be understood, and briscoe's attitude was doubtful and perplexed. there was no time to be lost, for it was growing late, and a postponement, as far as archie was concerned, seemed inevitable. "oh, the poor little fellow will be so disappointed! the mare will be off before i can make them understand." "wait," said bayne authoritatively. he sprang upon the bench, and in this commanding position placed both hands megaphone-like to his lips, and as archie came running along the veranda again, having descried his mother in the distance, and with outstretched arms bleating forth his eager, unheard appeal, bayne shouted, his voice clear as a trumpet, "yes, you _may go_!" not until he was once more on the floor of the observatory did he realize the form of the permission, and what relish its assumption of authority must give the matchmaking mrs. briscoe. apparently, it did not impress lillian as they stood together and she smilingly watched the group at the bungalow, when archie was swung to a seat in the dog-cart beside his host. it seemed for a moment that they were off, but mrs. briscoe, with womanly precaution, bethought herself to throw a wrap into the vehicle. throughout the day the close curtaining mists had resisted all stir of air, and the temperature had been almost sultry. since the lifting of the vapors, the currents of the atmosphere were flowing freely once more, and the crystal clarity that succeeded was pervaded by an increasing chilliness. before nightfall it would be quite cold, and doubtless the smart little red coat, gay with its persian embroideries, would be brought into requisition. for many a month afterward, whenever lillian closed her eyes, she saw that little red coat. shutting out the light, the world, brought neither rest nor darkness; instead, the long flaring vistas of gold and russet foliage and gray crags and flaming sunset remained indelible, and amidst it all one vivid point of scarlet hue as the little red coat was tossed through the air like a red leaf flying in the wind. now, as all unprescient she watched the group, she thought again they were gone. but no! fairy-foot was a handful, even for so capital a whip as briscoe. he obviously considered that the boy would be more secure stowed on the floor of the vehicle, half under the soft rug, and braced by the firm foot planted on either side against the dash-board. "how considerate!" the watching mother thought with a glow of gratitude, noting the caution. suddenly the groom leaped aside; the splendid mare sprang forward; there was a whirl of wheels, a whorl of rays as the gleaming spokes caught the sunshine, and they were gone indeed! "oh!" cried mrs. royston, her eyes bright and soft with tenderness, "what a delight for archie! he fairly adores to go with ned. he owes it to you this time. you always took little things so much to heart." "and great ones, too, to my sorrow," he said. her face changed. she was trembling once more on the brink of tears. she looked up at him with earnest appeal. "i wish, julian, that we could forget the past." "i do not," he returned, stern and grave, gazing far away over the landscape. "no," she cried in a sudden transport of painful emotion; "you hold it against me like a grudge--a grudge that you despise too much to wreak vengeance for its sake. the past will always live in your memory--you hold it like a sword to my throat. you know that i shall always feel the torture of its edge, but in your magnanimity"--with sarcastic emphasis--"you forbear to thrust in the murderous blade." "good god, lillian!" exclaimed bayne, losing his balance altogether at the accusation. "how have i arrogated magnanimity, or anything else? i assume nothing! i have sought to efface myself while here, as far as might be. for the sake of all concerned--you, the briscoes, _les convenances_, myself--i could not run away at the sight of you, like a whipped hound! but i perceive my error. i will get out of this forthwith. heaven knows it has been anything but a pleasure!" "don't let me stand between you and your friends," she sobbed, weeping now in the reaction of sentiment. "don't let me drive you away." "why not?" he sought relief from the pressure of the circumstances by affecting a lighter tone. "by your own account, you have stampeded three men this afternoon. i shall be the fourth! the fugitives are counting up like falstaff's 'rogues in buckram.' are you ready to go now? we are leaving mrs. briscoe alone." he did not offer to assist her to rise. somehow, he could resist aught, all, save the touch of that little hand. it brought back to him as nothing else the girl he had loved, and who had loved him. oh, he was sure of it once! this woman was a changeling in some mystic sort--the same in aspect, yet how alien to his ideal of yore! she did not seem to mark the lapse of courtesy. she sat still, with her broad gray hat tilted back on her head, a soft and harmonious contrast with her golden hair and roseate face. her ungloved hands were clasped in her lap, her eyes were melancholy, meditative, fixed on the distant mountains. "i wish we might reach some mutual calm thought of the past, like the tranquil unimpassioned brightness of the close of this troubled, threatening day. we don't care now for the clouds that overcast the morning. to attain some quiet sentiment of forgiveness----" "_i_ ask no pardon," he said curtly. "oh!"--she gazed up at him with all her soul in her eyes--"_you_ have no need!" had she been warned in a dream, she could have compassed no surer method of reducing his pride than this self-abnegating generosity. but suddenly an alien sound impinged on the quietude. the sharp note of a rifle shattered the silence, the fragmentary echoes clamoring back from the rocks like a volley of musketry. "how startling that was!" she exclaimed, turning to look in the opposite direction over the placid valley commanded by the observatory, with the purple mountains encircling the horizon. "how this clear air carries the sound!" "that was not distant," bayne observed. "damp air is a better conductor of sound than a clear atmosphere." "it was like blasting," she submitted. "it was a rifle-shot," he discriminated. "a still-hunter, probably. the deer come down from the coverts toward evening to drink. some rock may have fallen along the river-bank, dislodged by the concussion." a sense of melancholy was in the air, gathering with the gathering darkness. the light was fading out of the west, and the early autumnal dusk was at hand. lillian was sensible of an accession of lassitude, a realization of defeat in a cause which she felt now it was futile to have essayed. why should he forgive? how was reparation possible? she could not call back the past--she could not assuage griefs that time had worn out long ago, searing over the wounds. she was quite silent as she rose and together they took their way down toward the bungalow. while she flagged now and again, she walked without assistance, though he kept close and ready at her side. gladys watched their progress expectantly, but her face fell as they drew near and she could discern their listless expression and manner. she did not await their arrival, but turned, disappointed, within. it was already time to dress for dinner, the ladies habitually observing this formality, although briscoe often went in knickerbockers till midnight. lillian paused on the veranda and gazed down the road, winding away into the dusky red flare of the fading west, for the drive must needs be short in this season of early nightfall. there was no sign of approach along its smooth and shadowy curves, and at the end of the long vista, where the jagged verges of crags serrated the serene green sky a star shone, white and splendid, amidst the vanishing vermilion suffusions of the sunset-tide. v. in the light of after events, one might wonder if the genial, care-free edward briscoe remembered any detail of the discarded arrangement of the previous evening for the transportation of his transitory guest, frank dean, to shaftesville; if he realized that at the moment when the revenue officer would have been starting on the journey, as the host had insistently planned it, he was himself at the turn of the road and just beyond the jutting crag; if he divined that the vibrations of the telephone wire had betrayed the matter to a crafty listening ear on the party-line in the vacant hotel across the ravine--or was the time too short for the consideration? did he even recognize the significance of the apparition when a swift, erect figure stepped openly from under the shadowy boughs of the balsam firs into the middle of the road, that the bead might be drawn straight? did he appreciate that the flash is sooner sped than the missile and know his fate before the rifle-ball crashed into his skull!--or was the instant all inadequate and did he enter eternity ere he was well quit of this world? frightened by the sudden appearance of the man in the middle of the thoroughfare, the funnel-shaped flare of light, the sharp report of the weapon, the mare, trotting at full speed, swerved, plunged, backed, the reins hanging loose about her heels, her driver having fallen forward upon the dashboard. the dog-cart began to careen to one side as the animal continued to back and rear, deterred from flight by the figure standing still directly in the road. suddenly she sought to turn in the restricted narrow space, and instantly the wheels were over the verge of the precipice. all useless were the convulsive efforts of the creature to maintain her footing on the rocky brink, the clutching hoofs, the elastic bounds. with the weight of the vehicle, the dead man leaning heavily on the dashboard, it was but a moment of suspense--then like a thunderbolt the whole went crashing down into the valley, the depth to be conjectured by the considerable interval of time before the sound of rending boughs and surging foliage in the air gave token that the wreck was hurtling through the trees on the levels a thousand feet below. two other men, armed with rifles, had sprung from among the firs and stood aghast and listening on the verge of the crag. there was no longer a sound. the tragedy was complete, irrevocable, before a word was uttered. "'t warn't _him_!" gasped the youngest--hardly more than a boy indeed. his broad, beardless face was ghastly white, and his lips trembled as violently as his shaking hand. "lawd! that was _edward briscoe_! what a pity, _sure_! it war a plumb mistake, copenny," plained an elder man, whose rifle had not been fired. there was a regretful cadence in his voice akin to tears, and he held his long, ragged red beard in one hand as he peered down into the unresponsive depths. "you oughter hev made sure afore ye teched the trigger, copenny, that he _war_ the revenuer!" cried the young fellow, alvin holvey, with a sudden burst of petulance, despite the tragic realization expressed in his quivering face. "ye're sech a dead shot that ye could hev spared a minute ter make sure of the revenuer, afore _he_ could hev pulled a shooting-iron." the man who had fired the fatal shot had seemed hitherto stunned, silent and motionless. now he exclaimed in self-justification: "why, i war sure, plumb sure, i thought. we-uns chased that man dean clear to briscoe's house last night--his horse went lame and he got lost from his posse--but when i fund he hed sheltered with briscoe, we-uns went into the empty hotel ter wait and watch fur him ter go. not knowin' how many men briscoe hev got thar, we-uns didn't want ter tackle the house. an' whilst at the hotel the briscoes' tellyfun-bell rung--ye know it's on a party line with the hotel connection--an' i tuk down the thing they call the receiver an' listened. an' that's jes' the way briscoe planned it: ter send the revenuer down an hour by sun with the dog-cart an' his fine mare. shucks! ef briscoe war minded ter step into frank dean's shoes, he hev jes' hed ter take what war savin' up fur the revenuer, that's all!" once more he relapsed into silent staring at the brink, balked, dumfounded, and amazed. suddenly he seemed to respond to some inward monition of danger, of responsibility. "i be enough of a dead shot ter stop all that dad-burned talk of yourn!" he drawled in a languid, falsetto, spiritless voice, but with an odd intimation of a deadly intention. "ye both done the deed the same ez ef ye hed pulled the trigger; ye holped ter plan it, an' kem along ter see it done an' lend a hand ef needed. ye both done the deed the same ez me--that's the law, an' ye know it. that is sure the law in tennessee." "waal, now, phineas copenny, 't warn't right nor fair ter we-uns ter clumsy it up so," protested the young mountaineer. "ef it hed been the revenuer, i'd hev nare word ter say. i'd smack my lips, fur the deed would taste good ter me, an' i'd stand ter it. but this hyar mr. briscoe--why, we-uns hev not even got a gredge agin him." "no, nor nobody else that ever i hearn of. mr. briscoe war a plum favor_ite_, far an' nigh," said old jubal clenk, the eldest of the party. "but shucks!" he continued, with a change of tone and the evident intention of preserving harmony among the conspirators. "'twar jes' an accident, an' that's what it will pass fur among folks ginerally. mr. briscoe's mare skeered an' shied an' backed off'n the bluff--that air whut the country-side will think. whenst his body is fund his head will be mashed ter a jelly by the fall, an' nobody kin say he kem otherwise by his death--jes' an accident in drivin' a skittish horse-critter." whether it was a sound, whether it was a movement, none of the group was accurately aware. it may have been merely that mesmeric influence of an intently concentrated gaze that caused them suddenly to turn. they beheld standing in the road--and they flinched at the sight--a witness to all the proceedings. a small, a simple, object to excite such abject terror as blanched the faces of the group--a little boy, a mere baby, staring at the men with wide blue eyes and unconjecturable emotions. he had doubtless been enveloped in the rug which had fallen from the vehicle as it first careened in the road, and which now lay among the wayside weeds. his toggery of the juvenile mode made him seem smaller than he really was; his scarlet cloth coat, embroidered in persian effects, was thick and rendered his figure chubby of aspect; his feet and legs were encased in bulky white leggins; he wore a broad white beaver hat, its crown encircled by a red ribbon, and his infantile jauntiness of attire was infinitely incongruous with the cruel tragedy and his piteous plight. although perhaps stunned at first by the shock of the fall, he was obviously uninjured, and stood sturdily erect and vigilant. he looked alert, inquiring, anxious, resolved into wonder, silently awaiting developments. his eyes shifted from one speaker to another of the strange party. "lord! he'll tell it all!" exclaimed alvin holvey, appalled and in hopeless dismay. "naw, he won't, now," snarled copenny rancorously. "thar will be a way ter stop his mouth." "why, he is too leetle ter talk. he don't sense nuthin'," cried old clenk, with an eager note of expostulation, attesting that he was human, after all. "don't do nuthin' else rash, phineas copenny, fur the love of god!" jubal clenk dropped on one knee in front of the little boy, and the two were inscrutably eyeing each other at close quarters. "hello, bubby! whar's yer tongue? cat got it?" he asked in a grandfatherly fashion, while the other men looked on, grim and anxious, at this effort to gauge the mentality of the child and their consequent danger from him. still staring, the little boy began slowly to shake his head in negation. "what's yer name, squair? what's yer name?" but the child still stared silently, either uncomprehending or perceiving that his safety lay in incompetency. clenk rose to his feet in sudden relief. "he don't sense nuthin'! he's too little to talk. he can't tell wuth shucks! we will jes' leave him hyar in the road, an' the folks that find what's down thar in the valley will find him too. i wonder somebody ain't passed a'ready. an' sure we-uns oughter be a-travellin'." but holvey revolted against this offhand assumption of confidence. he made a supplemental effort on his own account. "why don't ye tell yer name, bubby?" he asked cajolingly. "'tause," the child answered abruptly, "i tan't talk." copenny burst into sudden sardonic laughter, with wondrous little mirth in the tones, and the other miscreants were obviously disconcerted and disconsolate, while the small schemer, whose craft had failed midway, looked affrighted and marvelling from one to another, at a loss to interpret the mischance. "dadburn it!" said the mercurial clenk, as depressed now as a moment earlier he had been easily elated. "we-uns will jes' hev ter take him along of us an' keep him till he furgits all about it." "an' when will ye be sure o' that?" sneered copenny. "he is as tricky as a young fox." half stunned by the tremendous import of the tragedy he had witnessed, the child scarcely entered into its true significance in his concern for his own plight. he realized that he was being riven from his friends, his own, and made a feeble outcry and futile resistance, now protesting that he would tell nothing, and now piteously assuring his captors that he could not talk, while they gathered him up in the rug, which covered head and feet, even the flaunting finery of his big, white beaver hat. in the arms of the grandfatherly clenk he was carried along the bridle-path in the dulling sunset, and presently dusk was descending on the austere mountain wilderness; the unmeasured darkness began to pervade it, and silence was its tenant. as the party went further and further into the woods, the struggles of the child grew fitful; soon he was still, and at last--for even care must needs have pity for his callow estate--he was asleep, forgetting in slumber for a time all the horror that he had seen and suffered. but when he came to himself he was a shivering, whimpering bundle of homesick grief. he wanted his mother--he would listen to naught but assurances that they were going to her right away--right away! it was a strange place wherein he found himself--all dark, save for flaring torches. he could not understand his surroundings, and indeed he did not try. he only rubbed his eyes with his fists and said again and again that he wanted his mother. he was seated on a small stone pillar, a stalagmite in a limestone cavern, where there were many such pillars and pendants of like material hanging from the roof, all most dimly glimpsed in the torch-light against an infinitude of blackness. the men who had brought him hither, and others whom he had not heretofore seen, were busied about a dismantled stone furnace, gathering up such poor belongings as had escaped the wreckings of the revenue force. now and then a glitter from the fragments of the copper still and the sections of the coils of the worm marked the course their ravages had taken, and all the chill, cavernous air was filled with the sickly odor of singlings and the fermenting mash adhering to the broken staves of the great riven tanks, called the beer-tubs. the moonlight came into this dark place at the further end, for this was one of the many caves among the crags that overhang the little tennessee river, and once, looking toward the jagged portal, archie saw a sail, white in the beams on the lustrous current, and asked if they were going in that boat to his mother, for, he said, he knew that she did not live in this cellar. "yes, yes," clenk assured him. they were making ready to leave now, though not in that boat. "an' look-a-hyar! what a pretty! ye kin hev this ter play with ef ye will be good." he led the little boy up to a tallow dip blazing on the head of a barrel, that he might have light to examine the token. it was a small bit of the cavernous efflorescence, which, growing on subterranean walls, takes occasionally definite form, some specimens resembling a lily, others being like a rose; the child tried feebly to be grateful, and put it with care into one of the pockets of his little red coat--his pockets in which he had once felt such plethora of pride! vi. when next he saw the river the lunar lustre had dulled on the currents. no more the long lines of shimmering light trailing off into the deep shadow of the wooded banks, no more the tremulous reflection of the moon, swinging like some supernal craft in the great lacustrine sweep where the stream broadens in rounding the point. now a filmy veil was over all, yet the night was so fine that the light filtered through the mist, and objects were still discernible, though only vaguely visible, like the furnishings of a dream. a rowboat was rocking on the ripples among the boulders at the water's edge. as the child made the perilous descent in the practised clasp of the grandfatherly clenk, he could look up and see the jagged portal of the cave he had left, high above the river, though not so high as the great, tall deciduous trees waving their lofty boughs on the summit of the cliffs. certain grim, silent, gaunt figures, grotesquely contorted in the mist, the child's wide blue eyes traced out, as the other moonshiners climbed too down the rugged face of the crag, all burdened with bundles of varying size and unimaginable contents--food, clothing, or such appliances of their craft as the hurried revenue raiders had chanced to overlook. the little boy must have contended with fear in this awesome environment, the child of gentlest nurture, but he thought he was going to his mother, or perchance he could not have submitted with such docility, so uncomplainingly. only when they had reached the rocky marge of the water and he had been uncoiled from the rug and set upon his feet did he lift his voice in protest. clenk had stepped into the boat and seated himself, the oars rattling smartly in the rowlocks, the sound sharp on the misty air, as he laid hold on them. "so far, so good," he exclaimed cheerily. "won't they be fur trackin' of _him_?" one of the moonshiners, whom the child had not seen before, seemed disposed to rebuke this easy optimism. "what fur? they will think bubby went over the bluff too," clenk declared definitely. "there's nuthin' ter show fur it, though," copenny joined the opposite opinion. "nuthin' needed in that mixtry of horseflesh an' human carcass an' splintered wood and leather," argued clenk. "yes, they will hev ter gather up them remains in a shovel," acquiesced holvey. the shadowy form of the doubter who had introduced the subject, thick-set, stoop-shouldered, showed in its attitude that he was lowering and ill at ease. "waal, you-uns hev made a powerful botch of the simple little trick of drawing a bead on a revenuer anyhow. takin' one man fur another--i never dreamed o' the beat! copenny war so sure o' the man an' the mare! _i_ never purtended to know either. seems ter me ye oughter be willin' ter lis'n ter reason now." "waal, let's hear reason, then," copenny's sardonic falsetto tones rasped on the air, and the little head under the broad white, gayly beribboned hat turned up attentively, as the child stood so low down among the big booted feet of the armed moonshiners. "why, how easy it would hev been ter throw su'thin' over the bluff----" the counsellor began. "good lord!" clenk exclaimed angrily, from his seat in the boat, "ain't ye got _no_ human feelin's, jack drann? we-uns never went ter shed the innercent blood nohow. we-uns war loaded fur that tricky revenuer, an' edward briscoe war kilt by mistake. an' now ye ter be talkin' 'bout heavin' the leetle, harmless deedie over the bluff!" "what ails yer hearin'?" retorted drann angrily. "i said _su'thin'_--his coat, his hat--throw _su'thin'_ over, ter make folks think he war in the accident, too--mare run away and the whole consarn flopped bodaciously over the bluff! they will scour the kentry fur bubby ef thar ain't su'thin' positive ter make them _sure_ ez he be dead, too." jubal clenk, so readily cast down, meditated dolorously, as he sat still in the boat, on this signal omission in the chain of evidence. "it would sure hev made it all 'pear a heap mo' like an accident," he said disconsolately. then, with suddenly renewing hopefulness, "but 't ain't too late yet--good many hours 'fore daylight. we kin send the coat an' hat back an' toss them over the bluff long before it is light good." thus it was that the moonshiners laid hold on the boy's simple possessions, and thus it was that archie fought and contended for his own. he clutched at the cuffs as copenny dragged the sleeves over his wrists; he held on to his hat with both hands, despite the grip of the elastic under his chin, and he stamped and screamed in a manner that he had heretofore known to inspire awe and respect in the nursery and disarm authority. alack, it had lost its efficacy now! most of the men took no notice whatever of his callow demonstrations of wrath, though old clenk, with a curious duality of mental process, laughed indulgently at his antics of infantile rage, despite his own absorptions, his sense of danger, his smart of loss and wreck of prospects. it was copenny who undertook to carry the coat and rug back to the spot, and they willingly agreed to this on the score that he knew best the precise locality where the catastrophe had befallen. secretly, however, he had resolved not to rejoin his companions at a named rendezvous, for he had bethought himself that if all fled but him, remaining in his accustomed home, he would necessarily avoid implication in the crime with them. the boat had been provisioned with a view to their escape by water when the ambush of the revenue officer had been planned, and they were now congratulating themselves on their foresight as they prepared to embark. clenk had an ill-savored story to tell of the apprehension of a malefactor through the coercion of hunger, constrained to stop and beg a meal as he fled from justice, and drann had known a man whose neck was forfeited by the necessity of robbing a hen-roost, the cackling poultry in this instance as efficient in the cause of law and order as the geese that saved rome. copenny, listening sardonically, could not be thankful for such small favors. his venture as a moonshiner at all events was, so to speak, a side line of employ. he was trained a blacksmith, and had a pretty fair stake in the world, according to the rating of a working-man of this region, now in jeopardy of total loss. the rest had nothing to lose, and as ever and anon they fell to canvassing the opportunities of beginning anew in a fresh place the dubious struggle for bare subsistence, his determination to slip free of them was confirmed. the morrow would see him in his appointed place--nay, he perceived a sure means of hoodwinking any possible suspicion of the authorities by finding a conspicuous position in the searching parties who would go out, he knew, as the night wore on and the alarm was given that the owner of the bungalow had not returned. the boat with the others embarked was far up the river before the child had ceased to sob and plain for his precious gear. he began to listen curiously to the splash of the oars as they marked time and the boat rode the waves elastically. there was no other sound in all the night-bound world, save once the crisp, sharp bark of a fox came across the water from the dense, dark riparian forests. the mists possessed all the upper atmosphere, but following the boat were white undiscriminated presentments on the sombre surface of the river, elusive in the vapor and suggestive of something swimming in pursuit. once archie pointed his mittened hand at this foaming wake, but the question died on his lips as the dank autumnal air buffeted his chill cheek. he shivered in his thin little white linen dress, meant for indoor wear only, with its smart red leather belt clasped low and loose about it, and the hardship of cold and hunger tamed him. he was glad to nestle close to the pasty-faced holvey, who had not yet recovered the normal glow of complexion, and to stick his yellow head under the moonshiner's arm for warmth while he steered the craft. indeed, when the boat was at length run into one of the small, untenanted islands and the party disembarked, the little boy began to chirp genially and to laugh for joy as a fire was kindled amidst the rocks and brush of the interior, invisible from the shores. he basked in the blaze and grew pink and gay, and even sought to initiate a game of peek-a-boo from behind his white mittens with one of the ruffians; and although a bit dashed when the surly, absorbed eyes stared unresponsively at him, he plucked up spirit to ask if they were going to have supper, and to say that he wanted some, and that he was a very good boy. "breakfast, bub--this is the 'tother end of the day," clenk explained, preparing to broil slices of meat on the coals. there was soon a johnny-cake baked on a board set up before the flames, but the pork was evidently a new proposition to the small captive, and although he eyed it greedily he could make no compact with it. now and again he licked with a grimace of distaste the unsavory chunk given him, and desisted, to watch with averse curiosity the working jaws of the men and the motion of the muscles in their temples as they hastily gobbled the coarse fare which they cut with their clasp-knives. the fire duplicated their number with their shadows, and occasionally he eyed these semblances speculatively as they stretched on the sandy ground or skulked in the underbrush behind their unconscious principals. once or twice he lifted his own arm with an alert gesture in imitative energy, and looked over his shoulder at his squat little image, to note its obedience to his behest. one might have thought he had put the greater part of the fat meat in smears about his rosy cheeks and fresh baby lips, and certainly the pleated bosom of his immaculate linen suit had received a generous remembrance. the remnant was still in his hand when he began to nod in the drowsy influences of the heat of the fire; he had collapsed into insensibility long before the coals were raked apart to dull and die. he had no knowledge of the fact when he was borne away by holvey, who had been delegated to assume charge of him, and who sulked in disaffection under the responsibility and his doubts of the success of their plan. once more in the boat, the chill of the dank river atmosphere awakened little archie. he sent forth a peevish, imperative call, "mamma!" so shrill and constraining, reaching so far across the dark water, that a hand before his lips smothered its iteration in his throat. "bee-have!" holvey hissed in his ear, and as the child struggled into a sitting posture his involuntary bleat, "mamma!" was so meekened by fear and plaintive recollection and submissive helplessness that it could scarcely have been distinguished a boat's length distant. the moon was down, but the morning star was in the sky, splendid, eloquent, charged with a subtle message expressed in no other sidereal scintillation, heralding not only the dawn, but palpitant with the prophecy and the assurance of eternal day. there was a sense of light about the eastern mountains, albeit so heavily looming. and suddenly, all at once, the faces of the shadowy men who had borne him hither were fully revealed, and as he sat and shivered in his thin little dress he eyed them, first one for a long time, and then another, and he shivered throughout with a fear more chilly than the cold. perhaps it was well for the equilibrium of his reason that fear so acute could not continue. he presently began to cough, and when he sought to reply to a question he could only wheeze. an infantile captive wields certain coercions to fair treatment peculiar to nonage. the moonshiners had suddenly before their eyes the menace of croup or pneumonia, and, to do them justice, the destruction of the child had not been part of their project. there ensued gruff criminations and recriminations among them before the baby was rolled up in a foul old horse-blanket, and a dose of the pure moonshine whisky, tempered with river water, was poured down his throat. it may have been the slumber induced by this potent elixir, or it may have been the effects of fever, but he was not conscious when they reached the forks of the tennessee and were pulling up the oconalufty river. he only knew vaguely when once more they had disembarked, though now and then he sought vainly to rouse himself to the incidents of a long march. finally he was still and silent so long in old clenk's arms as to excite immediate fears. now and again as they forged along at the extreme limit of their endurance they took the time to shake up the poor baby and seek by suggestion to induce him to say that he felt better. but his head had begun to roll heavily from side to side, and they could not disguise from themselves that he looked at them with uncomprehending eyes, and, left to himself, sank immediately into stupor that simulated slumber. "fellows," said old clenk drearily, "i believe this leetle chap be agoin' ter make a die of it!" but he was still alive the following morning when the chill, clouded day broke, and a happy thought occurred to old clenk. throughout his illness the child had instinctively refused the coarse food proffered him, and this was brought anew to their notice when they paused to eat their scanty rations in a deep, secluded dell. a stream ran foaming, crystal clear, amidst great rocks hemming it in on every side, save where a jungle of undergrowth made close to the verge. a sudden sound from these bosky recesses set every nerve of the fugitives a-quiver. only the tinkle of a cow-bell, keen and clear in the chill rare air! there was the exchange of a sheepish grin as the tones were recognized, when suddenly clenk arose, a light as of inspiration on his dull old face. "soo, cow, soo!" he called softly; then listened intently for a responsive stir in the bushes. a muttered low--and he pressed into the covert in the direction of the sound. the docile animal lifted her head at an approach, then calmly fell a-grazing again. she let down her milk readily, though looking over her shoulder questioningly during the process, for clenk was no practised hand. he contrived, however, to fill a "tickler" in which there was a small residue of whisky, which possibly aided the efficacy of the milk, for the child was perceptibly revived after the first draught was forced down his throat, and when an hour or two afterward the bottle was put to his lips he voluntarily drank a few swallows with obvious relish. "ye leetle old toper," cried clenk delightedly, waxing jocose in his relief, "ye been swindling me! ye hev been playin' sick to trick me out 'n this fine milk punch!" archie did not comprehend the banter, but he smiled feebly in response to the jovial tone, and after a time babbled a good deal in a faint little voice about a train of steam-cars, exponent of a distant civilization, that with a roar of wheels and clangor of machinery and scream of whistles and clouds of smoke went thundering through the wild and wooded country. to the old man's delight, he sought to lift himself to a sitting posture in clenk's arms, and asked if they were to travel soon on the "choo-choo train." yes, indeed, he was assured, and he seemed to experience a sort of gratified pride in the prospect. with this fiction in mind, he presently fell into a deep and refreshing slumber. suddenly the child was all himself again, glad, hopeful, expectant, with the sense of being once more under a roof, touched by a woman's hand. then he looked keenly into the face before him--such a strange face! he was tempted to cry out in terror; but the mind is plastic in early youth: he had learned the lesson that now his protests and shrieks availed naught. a strange face, of a copper hue, with lank black hair hanging straight on both sides, a high nose, a wide, flat, thin-lipped mouth, and great, dark, soft eyes amidst many wrinkles. he could not have thus enumerated its characteristics, nor even described its impression on his mind; but he realized its fundamental difference from all the faces he had ever seen, and its unaccustomed aspect appalled him. he was petrified by his uncomprehending amazement and an intensity of grief that was not meet for his tender years in this extreme. he could hardly realize his own identity. he did not seem himself, this child on the floor in front of a dull wood fire, squalid, wrapped in an old horse-blanket, facing this queer woman, sitting opposite him on the uneven flagging of the hearth. all at once his fortitude gave way. he broke forth into sobs and cries; his heart was heavy with the sense of desertion, for he wept not for his home, his mother, his kind friends, ned and gad-ish--on these blessings he had lost all hold, all hope. he mourned for his late companions, forsooth!--the big men, the boat, the river, the star. they had so cruelly forsaken him, and here he was so poignantly unfamiliar and helpless. when the woman held out a finger to him and smiled, he bowed his head as he wept and shook it to and fro that he might not see her, for her yellow teeth had great gaps among them, and as she laughed a strange light came into her eyes, and he was woe--woe!--for his comrades of the rowlocks and the tennessee river. it would have seemed a strange face to others as well as to the poor baby. for this was indeed an indian woman. a late day, certainly, for a captive among the cherokees, but the moonshiners felt that they had scored a final victory when they left the little creature within the qualla boundary, the reservation where still lingers a remnant of that tribe, the "eastern band," on the north carolina side of the great smoky mountains, a quaint survival of ancient days amidst the twentieth century. the moonshiners had represented the little boy as the son of one of their party, recently a widower. they stated that they were seeking work among the laborers employed in a certain silver mine beyond the qualla boundary, and that they had lost his kit with the rest of his clothes in the oconalufty river hard by. leaving some goods, purchased at a cross-roads store on the way, to supply this need, with a small sum of money for his board in advance, and fixing an early day for their return, they departed. their story excited no suspicion at quallatown: the craft of the cherokees is an antiquated endowment, and has not kept pace with modern progress. even the woman, who arrogated a spirit of prophecy and had long practised the devices of a fortune-teller, thus accustomed to scan the possibilities and in some degree versed in the adjustment of the probabilities, accorded the homely verisimilitude of their worldly-wise representations the meed of a simple and respectful credulity. the mountaineers were ignorant indeed in their sort, but far too sophisticated to entertain aught but the most contemptuous disbelief in her pretensions of special foresight and mysterious endowment. they did not fear her discrimination, and told their story, through an interpreter, with a glib disregard of any uncanny perspicacity on her part. she was one of the many indians of the reservation who speak no english. her cabin was far from quallatown, and indeed at a considerable distance from any other dwelling. with her and her few associates, the moonshiners thought the child would soon forget his name, his language, and his terrible experience, and they promised themselves that when all was buried in oblivion they would come and reclaim him and place him more suitably among themselves, and see to it that he should have some chance, some show in the world to make a man of himself. all of this had served to soothe the vague pricks of conscience, which from time to time had harassed them as the attractions of the child began to make an impress even on their indurated hearts, and all was forgotten as soon as they caught the first glimpse of the red clay embankment of the new railroad, crawling across the valley country far away in one of the adjoining states; for they sought employment in the construction gangs here, and the silver mines of their pretended destination held all its treasures unmolested for any pick or shovel of their wielding. vii. the discovery of the catastrophe came late to the inmates of the bungalow on the crag. the suave resplendent sunset drew slowly to a majestic close. the color deepened and glowed in the red west, even while the moon made speed to climb the eastern mountains. long burnished silver shafts were all aslant in the woods, the dense autumnal foliage still visibly russet and yellow, before mrs. briscoe came out on the veranda where bayne lounged in the swing, although no longer able to scan the pages of the magazine in his hand. "don't you think it is odd that ned is so late?" she asked. "i don't know his habit," he rejoined carelessly. "but it is almost as light as day in the road." "he is usually so particular about detaining the servants," she said uneasily, evidently a bit disconcerted. "dinner has been ready to serve for nearly an hour." she returned indoors after a little, but bayne still swung languidly to and fro, all unprescient of the impending disclosure. presently he glanced through the window of the hall near at hand, noting how the tints of the pretty gowns of the two women now before the fire imparted a rich pictorial effect to the interior, the one costume being of a canary tint, with bretelles and girdle of brown velvet, while mrs. briscoe's striking beauty was accentuated by the artistic blending of two blues. in the interval, while his attention was diverted from the scene without, a change had supervened there, and he experienced a sudden disquieting monition as he observed that the groom, who had been hovering in the road at some distance, had been joined by another stable-man, and that the butler, easily distinguishable from the others in the gathering gloom by his white shirt front, was swiftly crossing the lawn toward them. bayne sprang from the swing, leaped silently from the veranda into the grass, and walked quickly toward the group. they had already descried his approach, and eagerly met him half way--in a state verging on panic, he found to his own fright and dismay. something had happened, they averred. mr. briscoe was never late like this. he had too much consideration for his household. he would not risk occasioning mrs. briscoe anxiety. he would not keep little archie out in the night air--he was very particular about little archie. oh, fairy-foot was all right--there was not a horse in tennessee that mr. briscoe could not handle. they had no fear at all about the mare. but after mr. briscoe had driven away, the groom who had been ordered to investigate the hotel had found signs of intrusion in the vacant building. broken victuals were on the hearth of the serving-room adjoining the great dining-hall, and an old slouched hat was lying in that apartment, evidently dropped inadvertently near one of the tables. a rude lantern with a candle burned down almost to the socket was in an upper chamber, usually illuminated by acetylene gas, as was all the building. bayne remembered, according the circumstance a fresh and added importance, the fleeing apparition in the vacant hotel that had frightened lillian, and mrs. briscoe's declaration that a light had flashed the previous night from the interior of the deserted building. but this intrusion was not necessarily of inimical significance, he argued. tramps, perhaps, or some belated hunter stealing a shelter from the blinding fog, or even petty thieves, finding an unguarded entrance--it might mean no more. in fact, such intrusion was the normal incident of any vacant house in remote seclusion, unprotected by a caretaker. but this reasoning did not convince the servants. something had happened, they reiterated; something terrible had happened! bayne, flouting fear as a folly, yet himself feeling the cold chill of dismay, dared not dismiss their anxieties as groundless. he hastily arranged for a patrol of the only road by which briscoe could return, incongruously feeling at the moment absurd and shamefaced in view of his host's indignation and ridicule should he presently appear. bayne had ordered the phaeton with the intention of himself rousing the country-side and organizing a search when, to his consternation, the two ladies, who had observed the colloguing group, issued on the veranda, frantic with terror, pale and agonized. both had grasped the fact of disaster, albeit unformulated, yet both hoped against hope. "take me with you!" lillian cried, seizing bayne's wrist in a grip like steel. "take me to my child!" he could not be rid of her importunacy, and he came to think it was well that the two should be separated, for mrs. briscoe had not abandoned all self-control, and her gallant struggle for composure appealed for his aid. "no," she had said firmly; "ned would expect me to wait for him here. dead or alive, he will come back to me here." he was glad to get lillian out of her sight and hearing. with every muscle relaxed, almost collapsed, curiously ghastly in her gay gown, she was lifted bodily into the vehicle, repeating constantly with bloodless lips and a strange, false, mechanical voice, "take me to my dead child!" once as they spun swiftly through the misty sheen and dewy shadow, the moisture-laden boughs that thrust across the narrow roadway now and again filliping them on the cheeks with perfumed showers, she turned that death-smitten face toward him and said in her natural, smooth tones, "you have your revenge at last. it couldn't be a heavier blow!" "i want you to be still!" he cried with vehement rudeness. "i can't drive straight if you rattle me. i am taking you to your child." and once more broke forth the eerie shrilling anew: "take me to my child! take me to my dead child!" at the first house that bayne roused, he was encumbered and harassed by her strange intolerance that they should speak of briscoe at all; for the summer sojourner was a favorite with his humble neighbors, and a great tumult of concern ensued on the suggestion that he had encountered disaster in some sort. it all seemed to the jealous mother-heart to minimize her own sacred grief. "but he had my child with him, my dead child!" she would shrill out. and the slow rustic's formulation of a suggestion or a plan must needs tarry in abeyance as he gazed awestruck at this ghastly apparition, decked in trim finery, mowing and wringing her hands, shown under the hood of the phaeton in the blended light of the moon and the mountaineer's lantern, while his household stood half-clad in the doorway and peered out, mute and affrighted, as at a spectre. the scanty population of the district turned out to the last man. the woods of the vicinity were pervaded with exploring parties, now and again hallooing their signals, till the crags rang with the melancholy interchange of hail and hopeless response. in fact, the night was nearly spent before a hunter, roused by the echoing clamors, joined the search with the statement that he had been at a "deer stand" in the valley during the afternoon, and had noted at a distance some object crash down from the summit of a certain crag. he had fancied it only a fragment of the rock falling, and had not the curiosity to leave his occupation and go so far to investigate the nature of a circumstance seemingly of so little significance. thus it came about that the inquisition of the coroner's jury resulted in a verdict of death by accident. it was supposed that the little child's body was crushed indistinguishably in the mangled mass of horse and man, themselves scarcely to be disintegrated in the fall from so stupendous a height. the big white beaver hat of the child was found floating on the surface of a deep pool hard by, half quagmire, half quicksand, and would in itself have sufficed to dispel any doubts of his fate, had doubt been entertained. the burial was accomplished as best might be, and the dolorous incident seemed at an end. but throughout the dry, soft indian summer the little boy's jaunty red coat swung in the wind, unseen, unheeded, on the upper boughs of a tree in the valley, where it had chanced to lodge when the treacherous copenny had cast it forth from the bluff above to justify the hypothesis of the fall of the little fellow from those awful heights. gradually the catastrophe ceased to be the paramount sensation of the country-side. bayne's interests of necessity had drawn him back to his city office. he had remonstrated against the decision of the two bereaved women to remain in the bungalow for a time. he had advocated change, travel, aught that might compass a surcease of the indulgence of sorrow and dreary seclusion, that are so dear and so pernicious to the stricken heart. but in their affliction the two clung together and to the place endeared by tender associations of the recent habitation of the beloved and vanished. they said that none could feel for them as each for the other, and, in fact, their awful tragedy had cemented an affection already almost sisterly. thus the bungalow caged through the opening of wintry weather these tenants of woe who had come like the birds for sunshine and summer only. since the community continued in absolute ignorance that any crime had been committed, there was no sense of insecurity or apprehension of danger, other than might menace any country house, isolated and secluded in situation. the normal precautions were taken, the household was strengthened, and mrs. marable, lillian's aunt, or rather her uncle's wife, who had come to her at the first news of her affliction, had consented to remain during her stay. owing to the discovery of the intrusion into the hotel, with no other fear than material injury to the property by frisky boys of the vicinity, the management had installed there a caretaker with his family, who was also, as weather favored, to superintend some repairs to the building. it had been arranged by bayne, previous to his departure, that the eldest son, a stalwart youth of twenty, should sleep in a room at the bungalow, having his rifle loaded and pistols at hand, provided against any menace of disturbance. thus the winter closed in upon a seclusion and solitude of funereal intimations. the winds were loosed and rioted through the lonely recesses of the craggy ravines and the valley with a wild and eerie blare; the leaves, rustling shrilly, all sere now, so long the weather had held dry, fled in myriads before the gusts. soon they lay on the ground in dense masses, and in the denudation of the trees the brilliant tints of the little coat, swinging so high in the blast, caught the eye of a wandering hunter. at first sight, he thought it but a flare of the autumnal foliage, and gave it no heed, but some days afterward its persistence struck his attention. it seemed a tragic and piteous thing when he discovered its nature. he cut the tree down, too high it was lodged for other means to secure it, and after the county officials had examined it, he brought it to the mother. over it lillian shed such tears as have bedewed the relics of the dead since first this sad old world knew loss, since first a grave was filled. how unavailing! how lacerating! how consoling! she began to feel a plaintive sympathy for all the bereaved of earth, and her heart and mind grew more submissive as she remembered that only for this cause jesus wept, albeit a "man of sorrows and acquainted with grief." the little coat, so gayly decorated, reminded her of another coat of many colors, its splendor testimony of the gentlest domestic affection, brought stained with blood to another parent long ago, to interpret the cruel mystery of a son's death. and after all these centuries she felt drawn near to jacob in the tender realization of a common humanity, and often repeated his despairing words, "i shall go down into the grave unto my son mourning." then her heart was pierced with self-pity for the contrast of his gratuitous affliction with her hopeless grief. so happy in truth was he, despite his thought of woe, that he should have lamented as dead his son, who was so full of life the while, whose future on earth was destined to be so long and so beneficent. she spoke of this so often and so wistfully that it seemed to gladys to precipitate an illusion, which afterward absorbed her mind to the exclusion of all else. viii. one sinister day when the slate-hued clouds hung low, and the valley was dark and drear with its dense leafless forests, when the mountains gloomed a sombre purple and no sound but the raucous cawing of crows broke upon the sullen air, lillian's paroxysms of grief seemed to reach a climax. their intensity alarmed her two companions, and the forced composure and latent strength of character of gladys were tried to the utmost to sustain her own equilibrium. but as the afternoon wore away lillian grew calmer, though her mind never deviated from the subject. the trio had ceased to sit in the large reception hall, for its gun-rack and rods and reels, its fur rugs, its trophies of sport, its mandolin and flute and piano, were now pathetically reminiscent of the vanished presence of its joyous and genial owner. they used instead the small library which opened from it, where a spacious bay-window gave ample light in the dreary days, and the big wood fire sent its flash and fragrance to the remotest corner. it filled with a rich glow the fabric of the little red coat as the mother held the sleeve to her lips and then turned it to readjust the cuff creased in folding. "he used to look so pretty in it. my beauty! my baby! my own!" she cried out in a voice muffled, half-smothered, by her choking throat. "and he thought it so fine! he valued it beyond all his other possessions," she continued presently with a melancholy smile, even while the tears, so bitter that they stung her cheeks, coursed down her face; for she had begun to find a languid, sad pleasure now and then in discursive reminiscence, and gladys, who knew the little fellow so well, could respond with discretion and stimulate this resource for the promotion of calm and resignation. "you remember, gladys, don't you, how he delighted in these pockets? you were with me when he first got the coat. he doubted if he were really going to have pockets, because there were none in his little white reefer. do you remember how he looked when i lifted the flap--isn't the embroidery lovely?--and put his dear little hand into his first pocket? how surprised he was when i showed him this pocket between the facing and the lining! i wanted him to have enough pockets--he admired them so! he had never dreamed of finding one here. i told him it was his inside pocket--he called it his 'shy pocket.'" "a good name for it, too," commented gladys. "nobody would ever think to find a pocket there." lillian had suddenly ceased to speak. she had suited the action to the word and slipped her own fingers into the pocket. there was something within. she drew it forth, startled, her pale face all contorted and ghastly. it was a bit of stone, of white stone, fashioned by curious nature in the similitude of a lily, wrought in the darkness, the silence of the depths of the earth. lillian had previously seen such things; she recognized the efflorescence of a limestone cavern. she sprang up suddenly with a scream that rang through the room with the force and volume of a clarion tone. "this child has been in a cave!" she shrilled, remembering the raid on the moonshiners' cavern. "he is not dead. he is stolen, _stolen_!" the logic of the possibilities, cemented by her renewal of frantic hope, had constructed a stanch theory. she was reasoning on its every phase. the coercion of this significant discovery had suggested the truth. "this coat was left as a blind, a bluff, to cover the tracks of a crime. gladys, gladys, think--_think_!" but poor gladys, in her deep mourning gown, all her splendid beauty beclouded by grief, sadly shook her head, unconvinced. the child had possibly found the stone, she argued. "would he not have shared his joy with every creature in the household?" demanded lillian. "did he ever have a thought that i did not know?" "it might have been given to him," gladys sadly persisted. "remember his disposition, gladys, his grateful little heart. he would have worn us all out, showing the gift and celebrating the generosity of the giver. how flattered he was, always, to be considered! he never seemed in the least to care for the value of the thing. he would cherish an empty spool from a friend's hand. it was wonderful how he loved to be loved. i feel sure, i _know_, that coat was taken from him; and he is alive, _stolen_." and from this conviction she would not depart. it was a folly, a frenzy, her two friends contended. its indulgence would threaten her sanity. they besought her to consider anew. the discovery of such a stone in this mountain region was altogether devoid of significance. right reason and religion alike dictated submission to the decrees of providence. these arguments were all thrown away. neither could urge aught to restrain her. with a swift strength of gait that seemed amazing to those who had witnessed her feeble dragging about the house for weeks past, lillian flashed through the door, and suddenly there was the keen tinkle of a bell in the darkening, chill spaces of the unused hall. the other two, startled, appalled, as in the contemplation of the aberrations of acute mania, scarcely knowing whether to follow or to call for help, remained motionless, gazing at each other in pallid agitation, awaiting developments, of which they could divine naught. lillian, however, was perfectly calm as she called up "long distance" and gave the address of julian bayne in the city of glaston--the number of his office and his residence as well. the two women in the firelight glanced at each other in mute significance. then lillian urged the operator at shaftesville to the utmost diligence. "find him wherever he is. send special messenger. get him to the 'phone at once. emergency call! make them understand that at the glaston exchange." mrs. marable, a little, precise, wrinkled old lady, with a brown taffeta gown and a marie stuart lace cap, cherished the traditions of the old school of propriety, and the controlling influence proved strong even amidst this chaos of excitements. as mrs. royston returned in a state of absolute exaltation to the fireside, "lillian," said mrs. marable coldly, "the officers of the law are the proper parties for you to appeal to, if you are going to pursue this obsession. why should you call up that--man? why don't you call the sheriff of the county?" "because i want julian bayne. i believe in him! i can trust him! it is almost like the hand of omnipotence--there is help in the very thought of him." there were no more tears. she sat strong, elate, her head held high, her hands folded calmly on the crape pleats of the black gown she wore for the child's sake, ready to wait the evening through. but there was a prompt response. when the telephone-bell jarred out suddenly in the dim stillness of the hall, gladys sprang up with a sharp cry, her hands to her ears, as if to shut out the sound. but lillian ran lightly out of the room, and the two heard in wonder the sure vibrations of her clear composed accents. "yes, long distance, this is mrs. royston." then suddenly her tones were pervaded with embarrassment: "oh, mr. _john_ bayne.... oh, the father of mr. julian bayne.... no, no, no commands.... thank you very much. only the present address of mr. julian bayne." once more the two in the library exchanged a glance expressive of more than either would have been willing to put into words. for there was a very definite interval of delay at the telephone, and it would need no sorcerer to divine that the father might deem that this lady, who had so signally befooled his son heretofore, had no beneficent concern to serve with his address. but the old gentleman was evidently the pink of punctilio. moreover, julian bayne had already proved himself man enough to be safely chargeable with his own affairs. "at crystal?... thirty miles from shaftesville?... telephone exchange there?... so much obliged! good-by!" the bitter disappointment! the torturing delay! gladys dreaded to witness their effects on lillian, baffled at the outset in this miserable delusion that her child still lived, because of a bit of stone in the pocket of a coat he had worn. it would debilitate her as completely as if her belief were founded on cogent reason. but lillian, with a singularly fresh aspect, with a buoyant energy, swept into the room after calling up crystal, cool, collected, as competent of dealing with delay and suspense as factors in her plan as if it were some commonplace matter of business, and naturally dependent on the contingencies which environ the domain of affairs. the lamps came in and filled the room with a golden glow, as she sat in a majestic assurance that gave her an aspect of a sort of regal state. her hair, ill-arranged, disordered in lying down throughout the day in her reclining chair, showed in its redundance the splendor of its tint and quality; her face, lately so wan and lean and ghastly, was roseate, and the lines had strangely filled out in soft curves to their wonted contour; her hands lay supple and white and quiet in her lap, with not a tense ligament, not a throbbing fibre--delicate, beautiful hands--it seemed odd to her companions to think how they had seen her wring them in woe and clench them in despair. her black gown with its heavy folds of crape had an element of incongruity with that still, assured, resolved presence, expressing so cheerful a poise, so confident a control of circumstance. she did not expend herself in protest when at ten o'clock they besought her to go to bed, to be called should the telephone-bell ring. her negation was so definite that they forbore futile importunacy. she did not even waste her strength in urgency when they declared that they would keep the vigil with her. she merely essayed a remonstrance, and, since it was obviously vain, she desisted. she would not discuss the theme. she had no words. it even seemed that she had no thoughts, no fears, no plans. she was annulled in waiting--waiting for the moment, the opportunity to take action. while the time went by, she sat there as under a spell of suspended animation, fresh, clear, capable, tireless, silent. the housemaid came in once and mended the fire, but later gladys, mindful of the curiosity of servants, forbore to ring the bell and threw on the logs herself; then sat down to gaze again into the depths of the coals, flickering to a white heat at the end of the glowing red perspective, and wonder what was to come to them all--indeed, what was this strange thing that had already befallen them in the obsession of this silent woman, who sat so still, so suddenly endued with vigor, so brilliant with health and freshness, out of a state of mental anguish bordering on nervous prostration? was it all fictitious?--and was there something terrible to ensue when it should collapse? and what action was incumbent on her hostess, left to face this problem in this lonely country house in the dead hours of night? ix. the wind had risen; the swaying of the great trees outside was partially visible as well as drearily audible to the group, for gladys had postponed ordering the shutters closed, and then had forgotten them. the gigantic dim shapes of the oaks surged to and fro in an undiscriminated shadowy turmoil. it was a dark night, and cloudy. vast masses of vapor were on the march, under the coercion of the blast that followed fast and scourged and flouted the laggards. mrs. marable noted now and again a light and tentative touch on the panes, and began to wonder how far the illumined window could be seen down the road. was it not calculated to allure marauders and nighthawks to this lonely house? she was moved to hope that the stalwart son of the hotel caretaker, who occupied a room at the bungalow for the greater security of its occupants, was not a heavy sleeper; though from the stolid, phlegmatic appearance of the young man, of a sluggish temperament, she drearily thought it possible that he could be roused by no less means than applying a torch to his bed furniture to bring him out in a light blaze. she experienced a great revulsion of relief when she began to recognize the mysterious sound that had attracted her attention. it was sleet--no longer slyly touching the glass here and there, but dashing with all the force of the wind in tinkling showers against it. the sound had its chilly influence even before the warm fire. suddenly the shock of the bell, jangling out its summons in the dark cold hall! again lillian's composed, swift exit in response. crystal had answered, and here was mr. julian bayne at the hotel and on the wire. could he come to her at once, at her utmost need, and by the first train? oh! (at last a poignant cadence of pain) there was no train? crystal was not on a railroad at all? (a pause of silent, listening expectancy, then the keen vibration of renewed hope.) oh, could he? could he really drive across country? but wasn't it too far? oh, a fast horse? fifty miles? but weren't the roads dreadful? "oh--oh, gladys, he has rung off! he was in such a hurry i could hardly understand him. i could hear him calling out his orders in the hotel office to have his horse harnessed, while he was talking to me." the effort was triumphantly made, and julian bayne was coming, but as she returned from the chill hall to the illumined, warm room the tinkle of ice on the window-pane caught her attention for the first time. "snow?" she said, appalled; then, listening a moment: "and there is sleet! i wonder if it is more than a flurry." she ran to the window, but, already frozen, the sash refused to rise. she pressed her cheek to the pane and beheld aghast a ghostly and sheeted world, so fast had the snowflakes fallen, and still the sleet sent its crystal fusillade against the glass. "oh!" she exclaimed, "julian bayne can never come safely through this ice storm and up the mountain. listen--listen! it is hailing now! oh, he will break his neck! remember what a wild and savage thing it is that julian bayne calls a fast horse! he will lose his way in the woods and freeze to death; and after all, it is perhaps for nothing. i can wait--i can wait--time is not _so_ essential. oh, i will postpone his coming! i will call him up again! run, gladys, ring the bell! call up long distance! i can't get there quickly enough." and indeed it seemed some feeble old woman hirpling through the shadows, rather than the vigorous commanding presence of a few minutes ago. gladys felt that the reaction was ominous as lillian held the receiver with a hand that shook as with palsy. all had feared the usual delay, but while they were still in the hall the bell jangled, and the night-clerk of the hotel in crystal responded--little to a cheering effect to the listener, though of this he was unaware. mr. bayne had already set out, he stated glibly. he must be five miles away by this time (the clerk evidently thought that he pleased his interlocutor by his report of the precipitation with which mr. bayne had obeyed her summons). mr. bayne was a good judge of horse-flesh, and the clerk would venture to say that he had never handled the ribbons over a higher-couraged animal than the one he had between the shafts to-night. pretty well matched, horse and driver--ha! ha! ha! if anything could get through the ice-storm to-night, it was those two! oh, yes, it had been snowing hard at crystal for two hours past. so he rang off jauntily, fancying that julian bayne's presence was much desired at some house-party or romantic elopement, or other lightsome diversion in the upper country. "how could i? how could i, gladys?" lillian said again and again, white, wild-eyed, and haggard, so limp and nerveless that she could not have reached the library had not the other ladies supported her between them, half carrying her to her reclining chair. "you both think i was wrong, don't you?" she looked up at them with agonized eyes, pleading for reassurance. "well, dear, time is not an element of importance just now, it would seem, to be considered against other disadvantages--so many weeks having already passed. a day or two more would not have mattered," returned mrs. marable, fatally candid. once again the blast drove against the windows with elemental frenzy, shaking the sashes, that being hung loosely, rattled in their casings. no more the dark, glossy spaces between the long red curtains reflected fragmentary bits of the bright, warm room within, or gave dull glimpses of the bosky grove and the clouded sky without. the glass was now blankly white, opaque, sheeted with ice, and only the wind gave token how the storm raged. it was indeed a wild night for a drive of fifty miles through a mountain wilderness, over roads sodden with the late rains, the deep mire corrugated into ruts by the wheels of travel and now frozen stiff. but the roads might well be hopelessly lost under drifts of snow, and the woods were as uncharted as a trackless ocean. many water-courses were out of the banks with the recent floods. gladys remembered that the county paper had chronicled the sweeping away of several bridges; others were left doubtless undermined, insecure, trembling to their fall. julian would be often constrained to trust his life to his plucky horse, swimming when out of his depth, and dragging after him, as best he might, the vehicle, heavy with its iron fixtures, and reeking with the water and the tenacious red clay mire. and then, too, the mountain streams were beset with quick-sands--indeed, every detail of the night journey was environed with danger. he could scarcely be expected to win through safely, and gladys felt a rush of indignation that he should have attempted the feat. must a man be as wax in a woman's hands--especially a woman whom he knew unreliable of old, who had failed him when his whole heart was bound up in her? at her utmost need, she had said, to be sure, but he had not canvassed the urgency of the necessity, he had not even asked a question! he had simply rushed forth into the blizzard. but even while she contemned his foolhardiness, she was woe for lillian!--to entertain a hope, even though the folly of illusion, as an oasis in her deep distress, a sentiment so revivifying, so potent, that it seemed to raise her as it were from the dead; and yet within the hour to be battered down by self-reproach, an anguish of anxiety, of torture, of suspense, for the fate of the man she had so arbitrarily called to her aid, to make the hope effective in the rescue of her child. poor little archie! it was difficult indeed to think of him as dead! gladys felt that she must find some way to sustain lillian. "why, what are we thinking of?" she exclaimed. "julian bayne will be half frozen when he gets here. his room must be prepared--something hot to drink, and something to eat. no, lillian, you _mustn't_ ring the bell! the servants have been at work all day, and have earned their rest. we will just take this matter in charge ourselves. you go to the kitchen and see if the fire has kept in the range. if not, make it up. you will find wood at hand, laid ready for getting breakfast. mrs. marable, look in the refrigerator, please, and see what there is for him to eat. i will get out the bed linen and blankets, for he will be exhausted, no doubt." but when she stood alone in the upper hall, at the door of the vacant guest-room, the candle in her hand, gladys had a sudden keen intimation that she was herself but human, endowed with muscles susceptible of overstrain, with nerves of sensitive fibre, with instincts importunate with the cry of self-interest, with impulses toward collapse, tears, terrors, anxieties--all in revolt against the sedulous constraint of will. the light of the candle in her hand, thrown upward on her face, showed the fictitious animation that she had sustained vanish out of its lineaments, as life itself might flicker to extinction, and leave a mask like death. it was a tragic mask. her lids fell over her hopeless eyes; her lips drooped; the flush of her splendid florid beauty had faded as if it had never bloomed. she discovered that she was gasping in the dull, chill air. she leaned against the balustrade of the stairs, limp, inert, as if every impetus of vigor had deserted her. but it would never do for her to faint, she reflected. she must act for others, with just judgment, with foresight, with effective housewifely care, and with good heart and courage. "i must think for the rest--as ned would, if he were here," she said, still half fainting. she got the window open hard by, and a vagrant gust of the cold air stung her face as with a lash. but she was out of the direct course of the blast as it came shrilly fluttering from over the roof, and she could maintain her position, although she could scarcely breathe in the keen frigidity. snow had fallen, deeper than she had ever seen. with it had come that strange quality of visibility that seems to appertain to a sheeted world like an inherent luminosity; or was it perchance some vague diffusion of light from the clouded moon, skulking affrighted somewhere in the grim and sullen purlieus of the sky? she listened, thinking to hear the stir of horses in their stalls, some sound from barn or byre, the wakening of the restless poultry, all snugly housed; but the somnolent stillness of the muffled earth continued unbroken, and only the frantic wind screamed and howled and wailed. one sombre hour succeeded another as if the succession were endless. long, long before there was the sense of a boreal dawn in the chill darkness, the house stood in readiness, though none came. the servants were presently astir; the fires were freshly flaring, the furniture rearranged. in view of the freeze, the gardener had seen fit to cut all the blooms in the pit to save them from blight, and a great silver bowl on the table in the hall, and the vases in the library, were filled with exotics. the fragrance oppressed lillian in some subtle sort; the spirit of the scene was so alien to the idea of festival or function; the dim gaunt morning was of so funereal an aspect; the gathering of household companions, gloomy, silent, expectant, into one room duly set in order, was so suggestive, that the array of flowers and the heavy perfumed air gave the final significant impression of douleur and doom. at the first glimpse of dawn, gladys had despatched a groom, well mounted and with a fresh led horse, out on the road to descry perchance some approach of mr. bayne, to afford assistance if this were needed. hours went by, and still there was no news, no return of the messenger. now and again mrs. briscoe sought to exchange a word with mrs. marable to relieve the tension of the situation; but the elder lady was flabby with fatigue; her altruistic capabilities had been tried to the utmost in this long vigil and painful excitement, which were indeed unmeet for her age and failing strength. she did not enter into the troubled prevision of gladys, who had been furtively watching a strange absorption that was growing in lillian's manner, a fevered light in her eyes. suddenly, as if in response to a summons, lillian rose, and, standing tall and erect in her long black dress, she spoke in a voice that seemed not her own, so assured, so strong, monotonous yet distinct. "you cruel woman," she said, as if impersonally. but gladys perceived in a moment that she had in mind her own arraignment, as if another were taxing her with a misdeed. "in this bitter black night, in this furious ice-storm, and you did not forbid it! you did not explain your need. you summoned him to risk his life, _his life_, that he might something the earlier offer his fallible opinion, perhaps worth no more than that bit of stone! you would not wait till daylight--you would not wait one hour. you cruel woman! already you had the best of him, his heart, to throw away at a word as if it were naught--merely a plaything, a tawdry gaud--the best and tenderest and noblest heart that ever beat!--and for a silly quarrel, and for your peevish vanity, you consented to humiliate his honest pride and to hold him up to ridicule, jilted on his wedding-day. and but that he is so brave and genuine and fine of fibre, he would never have had the courage to hold up his head again. but even the basest of the yokels and groundlings could not make merry over the cozening of so noble a gentleman! and now, because of your faith in his magnanimity, you summon him forth in an ice-storm at your 'utmost need,' all careless of his suffering, at the risk of his life. and he, fool that he is, without even a question, regardless of all that has come and gone--or, more foolish still, forgiving and forgetting--obeys your behest! you have taken all he had left, you cruel woman!--his life, this time, his life, _his life_!" gladys literally cowered under this storm of words, as if the pitiless hail had beaten on her own head. but as lillian, her arms outstretched, her voice broken into shrill cries, rushed to the door, mrs. briscoe sprang forward, caught her arm, and sought to detain her. "what are you going to do, lillian?" "to raise the country-side, the county--to search for all that the storm and the floods and that baneful woman have left of him!" she broke away hastily from the restraining clutch of gladys, who, following her closely, saw her reel backward as if in shrinking affright from a shadowy figure standing in the dim hall. x. julian bayne, his long coat covered with snow and jingling with icicles, his chill face scarlet with cold, his lips emitting a cloud of visible breath, his eyes intent beneath the brim of his frost-rimmed hat, stood gazing as if petrified by the strange scene he had witnessed just enacted within, the strange words he had overheard. "what is all this?" he cried at length. "did you think i couldn't make it?" then to lillian specially, as he took her hand, "am i late?" he asked solicitously. "i made all the speed i could. i hope i haven't killed the horse." he glanced over his shoulder through the open door, where he could see a bit of the snowy drive, on which the groom was slowly leading the animal, heavily blanketed, up and down before taking him to the stable. although sobbing now and again from the stress of his exertions, the horse had evidently sustained no permanent injury. "i came instantly," julian repeated. "what is it?" "nothing!" cried lillian hysterically, clinging to his arm. "they all think it is _nothing_--nothing at all." he stared at her somewhat grimly, though evidently mystified. "come," he said, "let us get at the rights of this. and i'd really like a glimpse of the fire--i'm half frozen." he threw off his overcoat, stiffened with the ice, and strode into the library toward the blazing hearth. mrs. marable was suddenly roused to remember the decoction that she herself had prepared, and put the glass into his hand. but he took only a single swallow, gazing in absorption at gladys, who had undertaken to detail the discovery of the stone in the pocket of the little red coat, and the theory that mrs. royston had desperately based upon it. lillian herself was hanging her head in shame for her folly, that she should for this fantastic illusion have inflicted on this man of all men, on whom indeed she had least claim, the agony he had endured, and the peril of his life. she could never have described the overwhelming tumult of her heart when he lifted his head at the end of the story, with a look of grave and intent pondering. "this stone is the efflorescence of a limestone cavern, given to him, no doubt, but when and where? and how is it that you did not know it, knowing his every thought?" he said in a tense, excited voice. lillian was on her feet again in an instant, her eyes shining, her cheeks flushed, her voice trembling. "oh, julian, you think it is possible that archie is alive! oh, i believe it! i believe it! and the thought is like the elixir of life, like the ecstasy of heaven!" he made no direct reply, but turned hastily to go to the telephone. "you cannot afford to lose any chance, even the most remote. the county officers must be notified, advertisements sent out, and offers of reward. there is not a moment to be wasted." "but gladys thinks it is a folly," cried lillian, following him into the hall, eager to test the negative view, fearful of her trembling hope; "and my aunt is troubled for my sanity." as he waited for the line, which was "busy," he turned and sternly surveyed her. "why should you defer to their views, lillian? haven't you yet had enough of ordering your life by the standards of others? be yourself--if you have any identity left at this late day. rely on your own judgment, consult your own intuitions, rest on your own sense of right and justice and conscience, and you cannot err!" "oh, julian!" she exclaimed in tearful amaze. "how can you say that of me--of _me_?" he looked startled for one moment, as if he had spoken inadvertently, for her guidance, his inmost thought, without regard to its personal significance. then, with a rising flush and a conscious eye, he sought to laugh off the episode. "oh, well, i didn't _mean_ it, you know! only the compliments of the newly arrived." and as the bell jingled he took down the receiver with obvious relief. in the presence of poor gladys, for whose calamity there could be no prospect of alleviation, the subject of briscoe's death and the child's abduction as connected therewith could not be discussed in all its bearings. only mrs. marable joined lillian in the library that afternoon when the sheriff arrived, and the mother's eager hopes were strengthened to note the serious importance he attached to the discovery of the bit of stone in the pocket of the little red coat. he was obviously nettled that it should have remained there unnoted while the garment was in his keeping, but lillian tactfully exhibited the unusual inner pocket in the facing, the "shy pocket," which, thus located, offered some excuse for the failure to find earlier its contents. with julian bayne's suggestions, the sheriff presently hammered out a theory very closely related to the truth. the visit of the revenue officer was detailed by bayne, and considered significant, the more since it began to be evident that briscoe was murdered, and in his case a motive for so perilous a deed was wholly lacking. the stone lily in the child's pocket made it evident that he himself had been in the moonshiners' cavern, the only one known to the vicinity, or that the stone had been given to him by some frequenter of that den--hardly to be supposed previous to the catastrophe. in fact, the sheriff declared that he had reason to believe that the child was wearing the coat at the time of the tragedy, and thus it could not have been cast loosely from the vehicle at the moment when the mare had fallen from the bluff to the depths below. it had been restored to the locality in a clumsy effort to prove the child's death. the officer was a big, burly man, handsome in his way, his ponderosity suggesting a formidable development of muscle rather than fat. his manner was as weighty as his appearance. he seemed as if he might have been manufactured in a tobacco factory, so was the whole man permeated by nicotian odors of various sorts, but he politely declined to smoke during the long and wearing consultation, even with the permission of the ladies present, and stowed away in his breast pocket the cigars that bayne pressed upon him, as he remarked, for reference at a moment of greater leisure. bolt upright, a heavy hand on either big-boned knee, his shaven jowl drooping in fleshy folds over his high stiff collar, he sat gazing into the fire with round, small, gray, bullet-like eyes, while the top of his bald head grew pink and shining with warmth. he had a loud, countrified voice in his normal speech, that gave an intimation of a habit of hallooing to hounds in a fox-chase, or calling the cattle on a thousand hills, but it had sunk to a mysterious undertone when he next spoke, expressive of the importance of the disclosure he was about to make. a few days previous, he said, he had chanced to arrest an irish mechanic who, during the season, had been employed at the neighboring hotel in replacing some plaster that had fallen by reason of leakage. since then, a hard drinking man, he had been idly loafing, occasionally jobbing, about the country, but the offence charged was that of being concerned in a wholesale dynamiting of fish in the tennessee river some months ago. the man protested violently against his arrest, being unable to procure bail, and declared he could prove an alibi but for fear that a worse thing befall him. this singular statement so stimulated the officer's curiosity that his craft was enlisted to elicit the whole story. little by little he secured its details. it seemed that on the day when the fish were dynamited contrary to law, the irishman was some thirty miles distant from the spot--the day of the briscoe tragedy. he believed that he was the last man who had seen briscoe alive--unless indeed he were done to death. he was afoot, walking in the county road, not more than two miles from the vacant hotel, when he saw a dog-cart coming like the wind toward him. the gentleman, driving a splendid mare, checked his speed on catching sight of him, and called out to him. upon approaching, he recognized mr. briscoe, whom he had often seen when at work at the neighboring hotel. on this occasion mr. briscoe asked him to hold the mare while he slipped a coat on the little boy whom he had in the dog-cart with him--a red coat it was--for it took all he knew to drive the mare with both hands. and the irishman declared it took all _he_ knew to hold the mare for the single minute required to slip the child into the coat. twice the plunging animal lifted him off his feet as he swung to the bit. but the gentleman did not forget to pay him royally. mr. briscoe tossed him a dollar, and then, with "the little bye in his red coat" sitting on the floor of the vehicle, he was off like a cyclone and out of sight in a moment. almost immediately afterward the irishman heard the sharp crack of a rifle, and a tumultuous crash, as of some heavy fall into the depths of the valley. to his mind, the sound of the weapon intimated some catastrophe, and he said nothing at the time as to his meeting with mr. briscoe. that circumstance seemed to him of no importance. he was afraid of being numbered among the suspects if any evil deed had been done. he heard the searching parties out all night, and it was a terrible sound! "it was too aisy fur a poor man to be laid by the heels fur a job he niver done, bedad, as was the case at present." he permitted himself, however, to be persuaded to let a charge of vagrancy be entered against him and go to jail, really to be held as a witness in the event of more developments in the briscoe case; for the authorities desired that no arrests in that connection should be made public until the significance of the fact that at the time of the tragedy the child was wearing the coat--afterward found hanging loose, without a rent or a blemish, on the tree in the valley--should be fully exploited. if it were indeed a direful instance of murder and abduction, as the sheriff now believed, he wished the miscreants to rest unwitting of the activity of the officers and the menace of discovery. "but it seems a pity for the poor innocent irishman to have to stay in jail. how good of him to consent!" exclaimed mrs. marable pathetically. the sheriff was all unacclimated to the suave altruism of fashionable circles. his literal eyebrows went up to an angle of forty-five degrees; he turned his belittling eyes on mrs. marable, as if she were a very inconsiderable species of wren, suddenly developing a capacity for disproportionate mischief. "not at all, madam," he made haste to say. "he can be legally held for a witness, lest he get away and out of reach of a subpoena. it is the right of the state, and of mrs. briscoe as well, who will doubtless join the public prosecution. we are asking nothing of nobody, and taking nothing off nobody, neither." "but i should like," said lillian, "to arrange that he shall suffer no hardship. i shall be happy to defray any expense to make him thoroughly comfortable." the sheriff looked down on feminine intelligence. the law was exclusively man's affair. he made it and administered it. the officer had seldom known women to intrude into it, save to get the worst of it. its minister had an air of burly ridicule that trenched on contempt as he broke into a laugh of great relish. "the county can accommodate its boarders without your help, mrs. royston. much obliged, all the same. he ain't no nice customer. he is mighty lucky to be sure of his grub and fire and shelter this tough winter. he ain't got to do any work. he has the freedom of the yard and the halls and the office at all hours. no, madam, he is as snug as a bug in a rug. you'll have a chance to spend all the money that you care to put up in this affair, if i'm not mightily mistaken. no use in wastin' any of it on micky." the fact that the child had not been wearing the coat when starting on the drive, but had been seen in it immediately previous to the catastrophe; that it should be subsequently found and not on his body, of which no trace had ever been discovered, went far to convince the authorities that the garment had been restored to the locality afterward in pursuance of an effort to prove his death. they had begun to believe that the child had in some manner escaped at the time of the tragedy, and was now held in retreat lest he disclose incriminating evidence. but it was a barren triumph of logic. they realized that any demand of the reward offered must needs bring a counter inquiry concerning the facts of briscoe's murder, and therefore from the beginning they had little hope that any good result would ensue from the wide publicity and the extended search that his mother and her adviser had inaugurated. the child remained as if caught up in the clouds. though extravagant offers of reward for any information concerning him, as well as for his ultimate recovery, were scattered broadcast throughout the country; though every clue, however fantastic or tenuous or obviously fraudulent, was as cautiously examined as if it really held the nucleus of discovery; though fakers and cheats of preposterous sorts harassed the proceedings and wrought many malevolent bits of mischief in disappointed revenge, being treated with a leniency which would suffer aught, all, rather than clog any vague chance of a revelation of the seclusion of the lost child--there seemed no prospect, no hope. it had been lillian's instinct to continue in the place where the child had been last seen--she felt a fictitious sense of proximity in the familiar localities that had known him. but with the exigencies of the systematic effort for his recovery she returned to her own home in the city of glaston, whither gladys accompanied her, as being more accessible when her presence in the search was required. julian bayne gave himself wholly to the effort. he travelled here and there, pervading the country like some spirit of unrest, threading the intricacies of city slums, north, south, east, and west, personally interviewing all manner of loathly creatures, damaged by vice and sloth and ignorance and crime almost out of all semblance of humanity. he had not dreamed that such beings existed upon the earth. sometimes, unaware of the circumstances and the danger they courted, they caught up a child wherewith to deceive him, if it might be, generally a pitiable, puny thing, swarming with vermin, half famished and forlorn. but julian was dubious how ill treatment and lack of nourishment might have transformed the heir of the proud archibald royston, and in each instance he summoned lillian through long journeys, tortured with alternations of hope and suspense, to inspect the waif. all without avail. true, she invariably bettered the condition of the little creature, thus fortunate in attracting her notice, purveying clothes and food, and paying a good round price for the consent of its keepers to place it in some orphanage or other juvenile refuge. so exhaustive, so judicious, so tireless, was the search, so rich the reward, that as time went by and no result ensued, the authorities became more than ever convinced that since the child's abduction was complicated with the more desperate crime of briscoe's murder, this effectually precluded any attempt at his restoration by the kidnappers; for indeed, to those who knew the facts, the large reward was obviously the price of a halter. as this theory gained strength, their ardor in the search declined, and lillian and julian realized that more than ever the child's restoration would depend on their individual exertions. the effort came to seem an obsession on the part of bayne. he was worn and weary; his business interest languished, and his friends, remonstrating in vain, regarded it as the culminating injury to his life and prospects already wrought by the influence of this woman. indeed, one of the chief difficulties of the continuance of the enterprise was the resistance they must needs maintain to the remonstrance of friends. this finally came to be so urgent that it even involved an effort to circumscribe the futile activities. in view of the provisions of mr. royston's will no portion of the minor's estate could be used to defray the extremely lavish expenses that the thoroughness and extent of the search involved. all the large disbursements of money came from mrs. royston's own share of her husband's fortune. this brought her uncle, mr. marable, into the discussion. her resources would not sustain these heavy draughts, he urged. in case the child remained perdu, to be sure, and the legal presumption of his death obtain by reason of the lapse of time, his estate would by the terms of the will vest in her, and thus financially all might be well. but on the contrary, should he be found in the course of time, this wild extravagance would result in bankrupting her. she thought it necessary to keep detectives in constant pay to hold their efforts and interest to the search, even though the ultimate rich reward were dangled continually before their eyes. the flamboyant advertisements, the widespread publicity over half the world, had involved commensurate cost. large sums had been disbursed for information merely that was rooted in error and bore only disappointment. then, too, were the inevitable mistakes, the fakes and cheats, and the expenses of a score of agents effecting nothing. mr. marable rubbed the wisps of gray hair on either side of his corrugated temples, and wrung his solvent hands in financial anguish. he sought in this cause to take advantage of bayne's influence with lillian, and made an effort to induce him to remonstrate with her. they were in the library of her house in glaston, looking over some papers together, a real estate mortgage, in fact, by which lillian intended to raise a large sum for more unrestricted use in the extension of the search. bayne sat at the table, scanning the money-lender's memoranda, his experience as a broker having developed a keen scent for any untoward or mischievous detail. "but in seeking the wisest methods of economy, the essential opportunity may escape her. while she is financiering, the child may die in the hands of his abductors, or he may succumb to hardship otherwise--be disfigured by disease or disabled by exposure, or slaughtered, so to speak, mentally or morally, or spirited away and be heard of never again. no, no," bayne declared definitely; "i could not advise her to consider money in this connection." mr. marable could ill brook contradiction or dissent. he quivered with more than the infirmities of age as he stood by the table, supporting himself on his cane. "you don't reflect, mr. bayne, that though she gets the child's estate if he dies or continues lost--if he lives and this expenditure goes on, she will be penniless--you don't realize that. she will be a poor woman--she will have nothing left of her provision as a widow." "well, that suits me to the ground," bayne retorted unexpectedly. "i shall be glad to profit as little as possible by mr. royston's property." the notary public, come to take mrs. royston's acknowledgment, was announced at the moment, and the two gentlemen, still wrangling, went into the reception room to meet him. mrs. marable, her eternal battenberg in her hands, looked up through the meshes of a perplexity, as visible as if it were a veritable network, at gladys, who was standing in the recess of the bay-window, a book in her hand. "i didn't understand that remark of mr. bayne's as to the poverty of mr. royston's widow," the old lady submitted. gladys, the match-maker, laughed delightedly. "_i did!_" she cried triumphantly. as she went out of the room, she encountered lillian in the hall, summoned to sign and acknowledge the papers. the flush on the cheek of gladys, the triumph in her eyes, the laugh in the curves of her beautiful lips, arrested mrs. royston's attention. "what are you laughing about?" she asked, in a sort of plaintive wonderment. "about something that julian said just now." "what was it?" lillian queried, still bewildered in a sort. the flush deepened on mrs. briscoe's cheek, her eyes were full of light, her voice chimed with a sort of secret joy. "i will not tell you!" she cried, and, still smiling, she floated down the hall, her book in her hand. lillian stood motionless in amaze. something that julian bayne had said to work this metamorphosis! something that she must not hear, must not know! the look in her friend's eyes, the tone of her voice, stayed with lillian in every moment of surcease of torment for the child's rescue, and worked their own mission of distress. had she thought indeed that she could hold julian bayne's heart through all vicissitudes of weal and woe, of time and change? she had of her own free choice thrown it away once as a thing of no worth. she had never justified her course, or thought it could be deemed admirable as an exponent of her character. and here she was constantly contrasted with a woman who had no fault, no foible, who was generous, whole-souled, splendid, and beautiful, already with a strong hold on his affections, close to him, the widow of his cousin who was always the friend of his heart. and so sweet she was, so unconscious of any thought of rivalry! that night she came late to lillian's room to say good-night once more, to counsel hope, and urge an effort to sleep. even when she seemed gone at last, she opened the door again to blow a kiss and smile anew. when the door had closed finally lillian, standing near the mirror, could but note the difference. she was ghastly in her gay and modish attire, for she had instantly laid aside her mourning for the death of the boy, as an affront to her faith that he still lived. the sharp tooth of suspense had eaten into her capacities of endurance; her hopes preyed upon her in their keen, fictitious exaltations; the alternations of despair brought her to the brink of the grave. she was reduced almost to a shadow; she would go about the affair--she would entertain no other--with a sort of jerking, spasmodic activity as unlike muscular energy as if she were an automaton. she had no rest in her sleep, and would scream and cry out in weird accents at intervals, and dream such dreams! she would blanch when questioned, and close her lips fast, and never a word escaped them of what these visions of terror might be. xi. how the mother-heart would have rejoiced could lillian have divined that her child was well and happy, though affectionate in new ties while she languished in his absence! archie had begun to adore the old indian fortune-teller who cuddled and coddled him in loving delight. she lived for a time in grievous fear of his departure, but when no news came of the men who had placed him there, and the date fixed for their return passed without event, she began to gloat on the possibility of desertion. she tried all her ancient savage spells and methods of forecast--many strange jugglings with terrapin shells and white beads and pointed sticks and the aspect of the decoction of magic herbs. with fervor, she gave herself also to her pagan invocations to those spirits of zootheism and personified elements of nature, so real even to the modern cherokee, esteemed so potent in the ordering of human affairs. suddenly her hope glowed into triumph! she had a fantastic conviction that the child was bound fast. the signs intimated that the great mystic red spider, _kananiski gigage_, had woven his unseen web about the boy, and he could not escape from those constraining meshes. as to the men--she concluded that they were blown away somewhere. the wind had attended to that little matter. "_agaluga hegwa! atigale yata tsutu negliga_," she exclaimed in grateful rapture. ("oh, great whirlwind! by you they must have been scattered.") happiness had long held aloof. she was of the poorest of the tribe; childless, for many years; a widow; she suffered much from rheumatism; she was slowly going blind; she was deemed unlucky and avoided. for more than once of late years she had in important crises predicted disaster, and this prophecy, by fortuitous circumstances, had been fulfilled; thus those to whom a deceitful hope is preferable to a warning of trouble sought by fleeing the oracle to elude the misfortune. being esteemed a witch, and associated with dark dealings and prone to catastrophe, she lived in peculiar solitude, and the two spent the long months of the winter within the cabin together, while the mountain snows lay heavy on the eaves and the mountain winds beat and gibed at the door. great icicles hung from the dark fissures of the crags; frosty scintillations tipped the fibres of the pines; wolves were a-prowl--sometimes their blood-curdling howls from afar penetrated to the hut where the ill-assorted companions sat together in the red glow of the fire, and roasted their sweet potatoes and apples on the hearth, and cracked nuts to pound into the rich paste affected by the cherokees, and drank the bland "hominy-water," and gazed happily into each other's eyes, despite their distance apart at the two termini of life, the beginning and the end. as she could speak no english, yet they must needs find a medium of exchange for their valuable views, she tried to teach him to speak cherokee. he was a bird, her little bird, she told him by signs, and his name was _tsiskwa_. this she repeated again and again in the velvet-soft fluting of her voice. but no! he revolted. his name was archie royston, he declaimed proudly. he soon became the monarch of this poor hearth, and he deported himself in royal fashion. "oo tan't talk," he said patronizingly to her one day, after listening in futile seriousness to her unintelligible jargon. forthwith he essayed to teach her to speak english, and, humoring his every freak, she sought to profit. she would fix intent eyes upon him and turn her head askew to listen heedfully while she lisped after his lisping exposition of "archie royston." he grew heady with his sense of erudition. he would fairly roll on the puncheon floor in the vainglory of his delight when she identified chair and fire and bed and door by their accurate english names. sometimes, in a surge of emotion, hardly gratitude or a sense of comfort, neither trust nor hope, but the sheer joy of love, the child would come at her in a tumultuous rush, cast himself in her arms, and cover her face with kisses--the face that had at first so terrified him, that was so typical of cruelty and craft and repellent pride. then as they nestled together they would repeat in concert--poor woman! perhaps she thought it a mystic invocation charged with some potent power of prayer or magic--"ding-dong-bell!" and the comparative biographies of little johnny green and little johnny stout, and the vicissitudes of the poor pussycat submitted to their diverse ministrations. he was wont to sing for her also, albeit tunelessly, and as he sat blond and roseate and gay, warbling after his fashion on the hearth, her clouded old eyes were relumed with a radiance that came from within and was independent of the prosaic light of day. his favorite ditty was an old nursery rhyme in which the name "pretty polly hopkins" occurs with flattering iteration, and he began to apply it to her, for he had come to think her very beautiful--such is the gracious power of love! and while the snow was flying, and the sleet and hail tinkled on the batten shutter, and the draughts bleated and whined in the crevices, he made the rafters ring: "'pretty, pretty polly hopkins, how de do?--how de do?' "'none the better, tommy tompkins, for seeing you, for seeing you!' "'polly, i've been to france and there spent all my cash.' "'more the fool for you, mister tompkins, fool for you, fool for you!'" it was a valuable course in linguistics for the inmates of the cabin, and archie royston was far more intelligible and skilled in expressing himself when that door, that had been closed on the keen blast, was opened to let in the suave spring sunshine and the soft freshness of the mountain air. xii. with the return of fine weather the work of railroad construction on the extension of the g. t. & c. line began to be pressed forward with eager alacrity. indeed, it had languished only when the ground was deeply covered with snow or locked so fast in the immobile freeze that steel and iron could not penetrate it. the work had been persistently pushed at practicable intervals, whenever the labor could be constrained to it. possibly this urgency had no ill results except in one or two individual cases. the sons of toil are indurated to hardship, and most of the gang were brawny irish ditchers. jubal clenk, already outworn with age and ill nourished throughout a meagre life, unaccustomed, too, to exposure to the elements (for the industry of moonshining is a sheltered and well-warmed business), was the only notable collapse. he began by querulously demanding of anyone who would listen to him what he himself could mean by having an "out-dacious pain" under his shoulder-blade. "i feel like i hev been knifed, that's whut!" he would declare. this symptom was presently succeeded by a "misery in his breast-bone," and a racking cough seemed likely to shake to pieces his old skeleton, growing daily more perceptible under his dry, shrivelled skin. a fever shortly set in, but it proved of scanty interest to the local physician, when called by the boss of the construction gang to look in upon him, in one of the rickety shacks which housed the force of laborers, and which was his temporary home. "there's no show for him," the doctor laconically remarked. "lungs, heart, throat, all have got into the game. you had better get rid of him--he will never be of any use again." "throw him over the bluff, eh?" the jolly, portly boss asked with a twinkling eye. "we ain't much on transportation yet." "well, it's no great matter. he'll provide his own transportation before long;" and the physician stepped into his buggy with an air of finality. the old man had, however, unsuspected reserves of vitality. he crept out into the sunshine again, basking in the vernal warmth with a sense of luxury, and entering into the gossip of the ditchers with an unwonted mental activity and garrulity. one day--one signal day--as he sat clumped up on a pile of timber destined for railroad ties, his arms hugging his knees, his eyes feverishly bright and hollow, a personal interest in his condition was developed in the minds of his old pals and fellow-laborers, drann and holvey, albeit of no humane tendency. it was the nooning hour, and the men at their limited leisure lay in the sun on the piles of lumber, like lizards. "gee!" exclaimed one burly fellow, rising on his elbow. "how i'd like ter git my paw on that reward--five thousand dollars for any information!" "i'm in fur money ez sure ez ye air born! all signs favor," exclaimed old clenk eagerly. "i dream about money mighty nigh every night. paid in ter me--chink--chink--i allus takes it in gold. goin' ter bed is the same ter me that goin' ter the bank is ter most folks." his interpolations into the conversation usually failed to secure even a contemptuous rebuff; they passed as if unheard. but such is the coercive power of gold, albeit in the abstract, that this tenuous vision of wealth had its fascination. the brawny workman held the newspaper aside to look curiously over at the piteous wreck, as the old ragamuffin grinned and giggled in joyous retrospect, then began to read again the advertisement: "twenty-five thousand dollars in cash if the information leads to the recovery of the child." "do they head them advertisements '_suckers, attention_'?" asked one of the men who labored under the disadvantage of illiteracy. the scraps read aloud from the papers were his only source of information as to their contents. "they _oughter_ say 'suckers, attention,' for they don't even tell whut the kid looks like. i wouldn't know him from adam ef i wuz ter pass him in the road." "but they _do_ tell what he looks like!" exclaimed the reader. "here it all is: blue eyes, golden hair, fair skin, rosy cheeks----" "cutest leetle trick!" exclaimed old clenk, with a reminiscent smile at the image thus conjured up. the words passed unnoticed save by drann and holvey. they exchanged one glance of consternation, and the fancied security in which they had dwelt, as fragile as a crystal sphere, was shattered in an instant. the old man was broken by his illness, his recent hardships. he was verging on his dotage. his senile folly might well cost them their lives or liberty. indeed, as the description progressed, detailing the child's attire even to his red shoes, the old fellow's fingers were toying fatuously with one of them in his deep coat pocket among the loose tobacco that fed his pipe. "that don't half ekal _him_," he broke out suddenly. "never war sech another delightsome leetle creeter." a moment of stunned amazement supervened among the group. "why, say, old noah, did you ever see that kid?" at length demanded the reader, with a keen look of suspicion. it was the inimical expression, rather than a definite consciousness of self-betrayal, that sent the old man's drifting mind back to its moorings. "jes' listenin' ter that beautiful readin'," he grinned, his long yellow tobacco-stained teeth all bare in a facial contortion that essayed a smile, his distended lips almost failing of articulation. "them was fine clothes sure on that lovely child." the flamboyant advertisements had often before been read aloud in the construction camp, and the matter might have passed as the half-fevered babblings of a sick old man, but for that look of stultified comment, of anguished foreboding, that was interchanged between the two accomplices. only one man, however, had the keen observation to catch that fleeting signal, and the enterprise to seek to interpret it. the next day, when clenk did not reappear, this man quietly slipped to the shack where the three lived together. there was a padlock knocking in the wind on the flimsy door. this said as plain as speech that there was no one within. ordinarily this would have precluded all question, all entrance. but the intruder was seeking a pot of gold, and informed by a strong suspicion. with one effort of his brawny hands, he pulled loose from the top first the strap of one of the broad upright boards that formed the walls, then the board itself. he turned sideways and slipped his bulk through the aperture, the board swinging elastically back into place. there was a stove in the squalid little apartment, instead of the open fires common to the region. it was masked in a dusky twilight, but as his eyes became accustomed to the obscurity and the disorder, his suspicion exhaled, and a heavy sense of disappointment clogged his activities like a ball and chain. there in his bunk lay clenk, his eyes shining with the light of fever, his illness affording an obvious explanation of the precaution of his comrades in locking the door while they were away at work, at the limits of the construction line, to protect him from molestation by man or beast. nevertheless, the intruder made an effort to hold his theory together. he approached the bunk, and with an insidious craft sought to draw the old man out. but clenk was now on his guard. his comrades had bitterly upbraided him with his self-betrayal, that indeed threatened the safety of all. in fact, their courage was so reduced by the untoward episode that he more than suspected they intended to flee the region, and he was disposed to give the fact that he was left cooped up here under lock and key no such humane interpretation as the intruder had placed upon it. they had left him to starve, if not discovered, while they sought to compass a safe distance. at all events, he was so broken in mind and body that his story was more than likely to be discredited, unless their own clumsy denials and guilty faces were in evidence to confirm its truth. now his garrulity had vanished; he licked his thin lips ever and anon, and looked up over the folds of the red blanket drawn to the chin with a bright, inscrutable eye and said nothing. his weakness was so great that the policy of lying silent and supine, rather than exert his failing powers, was commended by his inclination as well as his prudence. though it was in vain that the spy plied him with question and suggestion, one phrase was like a galvanic current to this inert atrophy of muscle and mind. "look here, old man," the intruder said at length, baffled and in despair, "you mark my words!" the brawny form had come close in the shadow and towered over the recumbent and helpless creature, speaking impressively through his set teeth. "you mark my words: your pals are going to do you." a quiver of patent apprehension ran over the dimly descried face, and under the blanket the limbs writhed feebly; but clenk's resolution held firm, and with a curse, balked and lowering, the man stepped out at the place where he had effected his entrance at the moment when his scheme might have borne fruit. for old clenk had struggled up in bed. this threat was true. he had vaguely suspected the fact, but in the words of another his fear had an added urgency. he had betrayed his accomplices, he had betrayed himself. doubtless it was a race between them as to who could soonest seize the opportunity to turn state's evidence. and why should he fear the law more than another? as matters stood, he would be left to bear the brunt of its vengeance, while the active perpetrator of the deed escaped, and the accessories sought shelter beneath the ægis of the law itself. he was not long in reasoning it out. the strength of his resolution imparted a fictitious vigor to his muscles. while unaided he could never have stirred the heavy board, his efforts made it give, loosened as it had already been, so that his thin, wiry body could slip between its edge and the rest of the wall. he had one moment of intense terror lest it slip elastically back and hold him pinioned there, but a convulsive struggle sufficed, and he stepped out, exhausted and trembling, into the gathering dusk, a lowering assemblage of darkling mountains, and at a little distance the shacks of the construction gang. the doors were aflare with flickering lights from within, and the unctuous smell of frying pork was on the air. it was well for his enterprise that at the critical moment the camp was discussing its well-earned supper and had scant attention to bestow on other interests. an hour later the men on a hand-car, whizzing down the portion of the track that was sufficiently complete for this mode of progression, gave little heed that a workman from the camp was stealing a ride, sitting in a huddled clump, his feet dangling. whether discharged or in the execution of some commission for the construction boss, they did not even canvass. far too early it was for the question of rates or passes to vex the matter of transportation. they did not even mark when he dropped off, for the hand-car ran into the yards at the terminus, carrying only its own crew. clenk was equally fortunate in creeping into an empty freight here unobserved, and when it was uncoupled and the engine swept into the round-house in the city of glaston, it was verging again toward sunset, and he was hundreds of miles from his starting-point. some monitions of craft were vaguely astir in his dull old brain. he had resolved to throw himself on the mercy of the mother, ere he trusted himself to the clutches of the law. he winced from the mere thought of those sharp claws of justice, but he promised himself that he would be swift. he could not say how holvey and drann might secure precedence of him. they had gotten the start, and they might hold it. but if he should tell the mother where they had left the child, he would surely have a friend at court. when he was in the street he walked without hesitation up to the first responsible-looking man he met, and, showing him the advertisement in the newspaper, boldly asked to be directed to the house of that lady. so dull he was, so unaccustomed to blocks and turnings and city squares, that after an interval of futile explanation the stranger turned out of his way and walked a short distance with him. all the world had heard of the tragedy and the mysterious disappearance of the child, and, although suspecting a fake, even a casual stranger would not disregard a chance of aid. it was well that the distance was not great, for even his excitement was hardly adequate to sustain clenk's failing physique. when the old mountaineer paused on the concrete sidewalk to which the spacious grounds of the suburban residence sloped, he looked about with disfavor. "can't see the house fur the trees," he muttered, for the great oaks, accounted so magnificent an appurtenance in glaston, were to him the commonest incident of entourage, and a bare door-yard, peeled of grass, a far more significant token of sophistication. as he approached, however, the stately mansion presently appeared, situated on a considerable eminence, and with long flights of stone steps from a portico, enriched with corinthian columns, and from two successive terraces at some little distance in front. here were tall stone vases on either hand, and beside one of these at the lower terrace two ladies had paused, waiting, descrying his approach. one was gowned in deep black, sad of aspect, though serene, and very beautiful. the other wore a dress all of sheer white embroideries, with knots of brocaded lilac ribbon, festival of intimation, but her face was thin, wan, worn, tortured out of all semblance of calm or cheer. he came falteringly toward them, and stood for a moment uncertain. then--for the scope of his cultivation did not include the civility of lifting his hat--he said, "which of ye two wimin hev los' a child?" his voice was quavering, even sympathetic, and very gentle as he looked at them. "i have lost my little son!" cried lillian in a keen, strained tone, agonized anew by the mere mention of the catastrophe. "have you any information about him? i am ready to pay for it." she had been warned a hundred times that eagerness in proffering money, in making the reward so obviously sure, was not conducive to accelerating the disclosure, bringing into play the innate perversity of human nature, and a desire to trade on the situation and increase the gains; yet try as she might, she could not refrain from invoking always the cogent aid of gold. "i ain't so particular 'bout the money, lady. i got su'thin' on my mind. i be bent on makin' it square with the law. an' then, too, that leetle archie air a mighty gamesome leetle trick." he laughed slightly as with a pleasant fleeting reminiscence. "come mighty nigh dyin', though--skeered me, fur a fack. powerful tight squeak he had!" all at once his eyes, glancing over his shoulder, lighted on bayne, who had just come to call on the ladies and now stood at the bottom of the flight of the terrace steps. clenk drew back with an obvious shock. "why, look-a-hyar, _you_ ain't mr. briscoe!" he exclaimed insistently, as with a desire to reassure himself. his eyes large, light, distended, were starting out of his head. his jaw quivered violently. the grimy, claw-like hand he extended shook as with a palsy. when together, briscoe and bayne had scant facial resemblance; but apart, that stamp of consanguinity might easily recall for each the face of the other. bayne, with his wonted subtlety of divination, replied at once, "no, but mr. briscoe was my cousin." "oh, ho--oh, ho--i see," the old man said, tractable and easily convinced. "i know--lawd! i got reason ter know that briscoe's dead. i war afeared o' seein' su'thin' oncommon--his harnt, or some sech. the idee shuk me powerful. i hev had a fever lately. lemme sit down--i--i--can't stand up. i been hevin' a misery lately in my breast-bone--oh!"--he waved his hand in the air with a pathetic, grasping gesture--"me breath is gone--me breath, me breath----" he sank down on an iron bench at one side on the velvety turf and feebly gasped. "i'll get some brandy," gladys said in a low tone to lillian, and sped swiftly up the steps toward the house. suddenly clenk partially lifted himself and dived into one of the pockets of his loose coat. he brought up a little red shoe, all tarnished and tobacco-stained, and held it out to lillian with a faint and flickering smile of bestowal, certain of gratitude as well as recognition. "does you-uns know that leetle foot?" lillian swayed for a moment as if she might fall. then, with a piercing shriek, she darted forward and seized it from his shaking grasp. she held it up to the light, and as gladys returned, herself bearing the tray with the glass and decanter, lillian convulsively clutched her arm and, speechless and trembling, pointed to the name in tarnished gilt on the inside of the sole--her own shoemaker, who had constructed the delicate little hand-sewed slipper! "where is he now--where is this child?" bayne demanded precipitately, his own breath short, his pulses beating in his temples till the veins seemed near bursting. "i can't rightly say _now_," the old man drawled; "but--but i kin tell you where we-uns lef' him. 't war a awful bis'ness, that crackin' off briscoe--that warn't in the plan at all. we-uns war after the revenuer. what right had he ter bust our still an' break up our wu'm and pour our mash an' singlings out on the ground? ain't it our'n? ain't the corn an' apples an' peaches our'n? didn't we grow 'em?--an' what right hev the gover'ment ter say we kin eat 'em, but can't bile 'em--eh? they b'long ter we-uns--an' gosh! the gover'ment can't hender! but we never meant no harm ter briscoe. lawd! lawd! that warn't in the plan at all. but the child viewed it, an', by gosh! i b'lieve that leetle creetur could hev told the whole tale ez straight as a string--same ez ef he war twenty-five year old. that deedie of a baby-child talked sense--horse-sense--he _did_, fur a fack!" "where--where----" lillian was using every power of her being to restrain the screams of wild excitement, to sustain the suspense. "where did you last see him?" asked bayne. he had grown deadly white, and the old man, lifting his face, gazed vaguely from one to the other. their intense but controlled excitement seemed subtly imparted to his nerves. the details of the tragedy had become hackneyed in his own consciousness, but their significance, their surfeit of horror, revived on witnessing their effect on others. "look-a-hyar, you two an' this woman will stan' up fur me when i gin myself up fur state's evidence, ef i put ye on the track fur findin' bubby? he's thar all right yit, i'll be bound--well an' thrivin, i reckon. he hev got backbone, tough ez a pine knot." "yes, yes, indeed; we pledge ourselves to sustain you," cried lillian. bayne was putting the glass of brandy into the grimy, shaking paw, mindful of the old man's shattered composure. "it be a mighty risk i be a-runnin'"--the old, seamed face was of a deadly pallor and was beginning to glister with a cold sweat. "i reckon i oughtn't ter tell nuthin' exceptin' ter the officers, but--but--i 'lowed leetle archie's mother would help me some again them bloodhounds o' the law." "i'll move heaven and earth to aid you!" cried lillian. "see here, i can _promise_ that you shall be held harmless, for i am the prosecutor," gladys struck suddenly into the conversation, pale but calm, every fibre held to a rigorous self-control. "i am mr. briscoe's wife, his widow. now tell me, _where_ did you last see that child?" "wh--wh--wh--whut? you the widder?" clenk's eyes were starting from their sockets as he gazed up at her from his crouching posture on the bench, his head sunk between his shoulders, his hand with the untasted glass in it trembling violently. "an' ye say that ye too will stand by me? then lemme tell it--lemme tell it now. 't was--what d'ye call that place?--i ain't familiar with them parts. _wait_"--as bayne exclaimed inarticulately--"lemme think a minit." he dropped his head on one of his hands, his arm, supported by the back of the bench, upholding it. his slouched hat had fallen off on the stone pavement, and his shock of gray hair moved in the soft breeze. the moment's interval in the anguish of suspense seemed interminable to the group. "drink a little brandy," bayne counselled, hoping to stimulate his powers. he evidently heard, and sought to obey. the hand holding the untasted liquor quivered, the glass swayed, fell from his nerveless grasp, and shivered to fragments on the stone pavement. bayne sprang to his side and lifted his head. ah, a drear and ghastly face it was, turned up to the gorgeous sunset, the gentle ambient air, the happy, fleeting shadows of the homing birds. "has he fainted?" asked lillian. "the man is dead!" bayne cried with a poignant intonation. "he is dead! he is dead!" for while they had waited for the word that had eluded him he had gone out into the great wordless unknown. his failing strength had thwarted his will. his spirit had given him the slip. xiii. every appliance of resuscitation known to science was brought into use, but in vain. no scrap of paper, no clue of identification, was found upon the body. the three, bound together in such close ties of sympathy, were stricken as with a new and appalling affliction. the burden was all the heavier for that momentary lightening of a treacherous hope. for a time bayne could not reconcile himself to this new disaster. so overwhelming indeed, so obvious, was its effect that lillian, ever with her covetous appropriation of every faculty, her grasping claim on every identity in this sacred cause, feared that despair had at last overtaken him, and that he would succumb and give over definitely the search. the idea roused her to a sort of galvanic energy in promoting the project, and she would continually formulate fantastic plans and suggest to him tenuous theories with feverish volubility, only to have him thrust them aside with a lacklustre indifference that their futility merited. "he is discouraged, gladys; he is at the end of his resources," she said aside to her friend. "he can try no more." "how can _you_ believe that?" cried gladys. even in this crisis lillian noted anew with a wounded amazement the significant smile on the fair face of her friend, the proud pose of her head. could she arrogate such triumphant confidence in the temper and nature of a man who did not love her?--whose heart and mind were not trusted to her keeping? that doubt assailed lillian anew in bayne's absence, and in the scope for dreary meditation that the eventless days afforded it developed a fang that added its cruelties to a grief which she had imagined could be supplemented by no other sorrow. it was merely sympathy that animated him in her behalf, she felt sure; it was pity for her helplessness when none other would abet the hopeless effort to recover the child. his conviction that archie still lived constrained him by the dictates of humanity to seek his rescue. he was doubtless moved, too, by the great generosity of his heart, his magnanimity; but not by love--never by love! how could it be, indeed, in the face of all that had come and gone, and of the constant contrast, mind, body, and soul, with the perfect, the peerless gladys! in this, the dreariest of his absences, seldom a word came to the two women waiting alternately in agonized expectation or dull despair. for bayne was much of the time beyond the reach of postal and telegraphic facilities. in the endeavor to discover some clue to identify that strange visitant of the smiling spring sunset, and thus reach other participants in the crime of the murder and the abduction, bayne had the body conveyed to the great smoky range, within the vicinity of the briscoe bungalow, discerning from the speech of the man, as well as from his familiarity with the deed, that he was a native mountaineer. lillian had desired to bestow upon him, in return for his intention of aid at the last, a decent burial, but the interpretation of the metropolitan undertaker of this commission was so far in excess of the habit of the rustic region that men who had known old clenk all their lives did not recognize him as he lay in his coffin, clean, bathed, shaven, clad in a suit of respectable black and with all the dignity of immaculate linen, and they swore that they had never before seen him. the alertness of copenny's guilty conscience sharpened his faculties. his keen eyes penetrated the disguise of this reputable aspect at once, though he sedulously kept his own counsel. he heard the details of the death in the rounds of the mountain gossip, and divined what clenk's errand had been. he deemed that the effort to turn state's evidence had met its condign punishment, and he felt more assured and secure now that it had been attempted and had failed. bayne, however, had scant time to push his investigations here, where indeed the ground had been previously so thoroughly searched, for he was summoned away by another lure of a clue far to the northeast. his recent bitter disappointment, on the verge of a discovery of importance, perhaps enabled him better to bear in this instance the result of a fruitless quest, for he had definitely ceased to hope. he had begun to believe the child was dead. clenk's words implied no present knowledge of his seclusion. the allusion to a severe illness suggested possibilities of relapse, of a weakening of the constitution as much from lack of proper attention and nourishment as from disease. on the lonely railway journey from the scene of this latest disappointment, bayne was dismayed to note from time to time how blank were the hours before him, how his invention had flagged! what to do next, what tortuous path to try, he did not know. now and again he sought to spur up his jaded faculties to perceive in the intricate circumstances of all his futile plans some fibre of a thread, untried hitherto, that might serve to unravel all this web of mystery. but no! he seemed at the end. his mind was dull, stagnant; his thoughts were heavy; he was oblivious of the surroundings. the incidents of the passing moment scarcely impinged upon his consciousness. he did not share the vexation of his fellow-passengers when a wreck of freight cars on the track bade fair to delay the train some hours, awaiting the clearance of the obstructions. it hardly mattered where he spent the time. he had lost all interests, all hold on other phases of life, and this that he had made paramount, essential, baffled and deluded and denied him, and in its elusiveness it seemed now to have worn him quite out. then once more he sought to goad his drooping spirits, to rouse himself to a keener efficiency. he would not give up the emprise, he declared again, he would not be conquered save by time itself. it was rather an instinct, in pursuance of this revival of his resolution, to seek to rid himself of his own thoughts, the constant canvass of his despair; this had necessarily a resilient effect, benumbing to the possibilities of new inspiration. he sought to freshen his faculties, to find some diversion in the passing moment that might react favorably on the plan nearest his heart. he forced himself to listen, at first in dull preoccupation, to the talk of a group in the smoker; it glanced from one subject to another--the surroundings, the soil, the timber, the mining interests--and presently concentrated on a quaint corner of the region, near the scene of the stoppage, the qualla boundary. this was the reservation of a portion of the tribe of cherokee indians, the eastern band, who nearly a century earlier had evaded, in the dense fastnesses of these ranges, removal with their brethren to the west, and had finally succeeded in buying this mountainous tract of fifty thousand acres. as bayne looked out of the window, urging his mind to appraise the human interest of the entourage, to apprehend its significance, he bethought himself of a certain old cherokee phrase that used to baffle him in his philological studies. he remembered in a sort of dreary wonder that he had once felt enough curiosity concerning this ancient locution to maintain a correspondence with the ethnological bureau of the smithsonian institution as to its precise signification--and now he could scarcely make shift to recollect it. he had then been hard on the track of the vanishing past; his wish was to verify, solely for the sake of scholastic accuracy, these words of the ancient cherokee tongue, the ayrate dialect, which was formerly the language of their lowland settlements in this region, but which, since the exodus of the majority of these indians to the west and the fusion of the lingering remnant of their upper and lower towns into this tribal reservation east of the great smoky mountains, has become lost, merged with the ottare (atali) dialect, once distinctively the speech of their highland villages only, but now practically modern cherokee. as bayne recalled the circumstances, he noted one of the qualla indians loitering about the scene of the wreck. he put a question to him from out the window of the coach, and discovered that he spoke english with some facility. the old habit reasserted itself with inherent energy, and presently bayne was moved to leave the car and sit on a pile of wood near the track, where, with his new acquaintance, he floundered over verbal perversions of modern changes and lost significations of the language and the contortions of anglicized idioms, till at length he remarked that if his interlocutor would act as interpreter he should like to converse on the subject of these words with some old cherokee who had never learned english and had seldom heard it spoken. the qualla boundary is sufficiently permeated with the spirit of the past to feel that time is the intimate possession of man. in that languid environment there is no frenzy to utilize it lest it fly away. no man is hurried into his grave within the reservation. it seemed not more strange to the indian than to the linguist to spend an hour or so in meditating on a queer word that has lost its meaning amidst the surges of change. the tribesman, lending himself readily to the investigation, suddenly bethought himself of the ancient sibyl in her remote cabin on the steep slant of the mountain, among the oldest and the least progressive denizens of the qualla boundary. despite her arrogations of uncanny foreknowledge of human events, despite her mystic lore of spells and charms, she had no faint presentiment of the fact when fate came boldly here and laid a hand on her door. none of her familiars of the air, of the earth, gave her warning. often she thought of this afterward with bitterness, with upbraiding. the mountain climber, _atali kuli_ (the ginseng), must, she was sure, have known of this inimical ascent of the steeps, but he only burrowed the deeper, and treacherously made no sign. as to _agaluga hegwa_, the great whirlwind--she would have bidden him arise quickly--"_ha-usi-nuli datule-hu gu!_"--but to what avail! doubtless he was asleep somewhere on the sunny slopes. the ancient white fire was covered with ash; not a glimmer did _higayuli tsunega_ afford her, not a flicker. what a mockery was it that _kananiski gigage_ should pretend to weave his web so fast, so fine, about the child, and yet suffer its strong meshes to be burst apart by a mere word. it was not the obsolete word which the visitor sought, for as he sat outside her door in a chair, brought from within the cabin, while she crouched on the threshold, and the interpreter perched on the stump of a tree, an interruption occurred that flung those enigmatic syllables back on the mysterious past forever. "polly hopkins" in her poor and ragged calico gown--for the picturesque indian garb of yore is now but a tradition in the qualla boundary--had barely lifted her head in her flapping old sunbonnet that scarcely disguised its pose of surprised expectation, when a sound came from the interior of the house as turbulent as the approach of a troop of wild horses, and instantly there rushed out into the sunshine a sturdy blond child with wide, daring blue eyes, golden hair, muscular bare legs, arrayed in a queer little frock of blue gingham, and no further garb than the graces of his own symmetry. for a moment bayne was like a man in a dream. to be confronted suddenly with the realization of all his hopes, the consummation of all his struggles, took his breath away. he had not been sufficiently acquainted with the boy to recognize him at once in this different attire, and with the growth and vigor of nearly a year's time, but the incongruity of his fair complexion, his blond hair, in this entourage, his exotic aspect, made bayne's heart leap and every nerve tremble. meeting the gaze of the big, unafraid blue eyes, he asked at a venture in english, "and what is your name, young man?" "archie royston," promptly replied the assured and lordly youngster. "alchie loyston," mechanically repeated the old sibyl. even the glance of her dimmed eyes was a caress as she fondly turned them toward the child. bayne looked as if he might faint. a sharp exclamation was scarcely arrested on his lips. he flushed deeply, then turned pale with excitement. for months past, flaring in all the public prints, that name had been advertised with every entreaty that humanity must regard, with every lure that might excite cupidity, with every threat that intimidation could compass. and here, in this sequestered spot, out of the world, as it were, among the remnant of an indian tribe, of a peculiarly secluded life, of a strange archaic speech and an isolated interest, was craftily hidden the long-lost child. any ill-considered remark might even yet jeopardize his restoration, might result in his withdrawal, sequestered anew and inaccessible. julian bayne became poignantly mindful of precaution. he affected to write down the cherokee words as the interpreter and the old sibyl discussed them, but his pencil trembled so that he could hardly fashion a letter. it was an interval to him of urgent inward debate. he scarcely dared to lose sight of the boy for one moment, yet he more than feared the slightest demonstration unsupported. he was in terror lest he find the situation changed when next he approached the fortune-teller's cabin, a few hours later, but the little blond boy, half nude, was playing in the lush grass before the open door. the visitor was bolder now, being accompanied by officers of the law; so bold indeed that he was able to pity the grief of the poor, unintelligible squaw, volleying forth a world of words of which every tenth phrase was "alchie loyston." by what argument she sought to detain him, what claims she preferred, what threats she voiced, can never be known. the sheriff of the county was obdurate, deaf to all intents and purposes. he shook his head glumly when it was suggested that she might remain with the child until his mother should arrive in response to the telegram already sent. "might poison him--indians are queer cattle! mocking-birds will do that if the young ones are caged, through the bars, by jing!" all night long, like some faithful dog, she lay on the floor outside the door of the room where they kept the child, her face to the threshold; and on the inner side, in emulation and imitation, little archie lay on the floor and echoed her every groan and responded to her lightest whisper. but sleep was good to him, and when he was quite unconscious the officers took him up and placed him on a bed, while they awaited in great excitement and with what patience they could muster the response to the telegram sent by bayne, couched in guarded phrase and held well within the facts: child here in the qualla boundary, answering to description in advertisements. says his name is archie royston. will not talk further. well-treated. held for identification. awaiting advices. xiv. lillian, at her home in glaston, replied by wire in that tumult of emotion which each new lure was potent to excite, despite the quicksands of baseless hope that had whelmed its many precursors. still, she expected only another instance of deliberate and brazen fraud, or crafty and sleek imposture, or, worse still, honest mistake. the little suit-case, packed with all that the child might need, which had journeyed through so many vicissitudes, so many thousand miles, was once more in her hand as she took the train. she never forgot that long night of travel, more poignant than all her anguished journeyings that had preceded it. hurtling through the air, it seemed, with a sense of fierce speed, the varied clangors of the train, the ringing of the rails, the frequent hoarse blasts of the whistle, the jangling of the metallic fixtures, the jarring of the window-panes, all were keenly differentiated by her exacerbated and sensitive perceptions, and each had its own peculiar irritation. she scarcely hoped that she might sleep, and it was only with a dutiful sense of conserving her strength and exerting the utmost power of her will in the endeavor, that she lay down when her berth was prepared. but the seclusion, the darkness within the curtains, oppressed her, for unwittingly the sights and sounds of the outer world had an influence to make her quit of herself, in a measure, and to focus her mind on some trivial object of the immediate present. she drew the blind at the window that she might see the scurrying landscape--the fields, the woods, the river--and now and again the sparkling lights of a city, looking in the distance as if some constellation, richly instarred with golden glamours, had fallen and lay amidst the purple glooms of the hills. for these elevations, and the frequent tunnels as the dawn drew near, gave token that the mountains were not distant; the great central basin of tennessee lay far to the west; the engine was often climbing a steep grade, as she noted from the sound. she was going to the mountains, to the mountains--to meet what? sometimes she clasped her hands and prayed aloud in her fear and heart-ache and woe. then she blessed the many clamors of the train that had lacerated her tenderest fibres, for they deadened the sound of her piteous plaints, and she was a proud woman who would fain that none heard these heart-throbs of anguish but the pitying god himself. she must have slept from time to time, she thought, for she was refreshed and calmer when she looked forth from the window and beheld the resplendent glories of the sunrise amidst the great smoky mountains. vast, far-stretching, lofty, as impressive as the idea of eternity, as awesome as the menace of doom, as silent as the unimagined purposes of creation, they lifted their august summits. they showed a deep, restful verdure in the foreground, and in more distant reaches assumed the blandest enrichments of blue, fading and fading to mere illusions of ranges, and finally dreaming away to the misty mirages of the horizon. lillian was ready, erect, tense, waiting, for miles and miles before her destination could be reached, when suddenly the conductor appeared, his face alive with the realization of sensation. the sheriff of the county had flagged the train. he had a vehicle in waiting for mrs. royston, in order that she might curtail the distance, as the house where the child was held was on the verge of the qualla boundary, and the nearest station was still some miles further. there were few words spoken on that hasty morning drive under the vast growths of the dense and gigantic valley woods. the freshness of the forest air, the redundant bloom of the rhododendron, the glimpse now and again of a scene of unparalleled splendor of mountain range and the graces of the oconalufty river, swirling and dandering through the sunshine as if its chant in praise of june must have a meaning translated to the dullest ear--all was for lillian as if it had not been. the officers had cast but one glance at her tense, pale face, then turned their eyes away. the suspense, the pain, the torture of fear could end only with that signal moment of identification. though the group respected her sorrow in silence, they themselves experienced the rigors of uncertainty and agitation when the log cabin came into view amidst the laurel, and every man of them trooped in, following her, when the door opened and she was ushered into the little, low-ceiled room, so mean, so rough, so dingy of hue. but for her it held the wealth of the universe, the joy of all the ages. there upon the bed lay her sleeping child, larger, more vigorous, than she remembered him, garbed in a quaint little garment of blue gingham; his blond hair clipped close, save for two fine curls on top, worn indeed like a scalp-lock; his long lashes on his cheeks, rosy ripe; his red lips slightly parted; his fine, firm-fleshed, white arms tossed above his head; his long, bare legs and plump, dimpled feet stretched out at their full length. his lips moved with an unformulated murmur as her hysterical, quavering scream of joyful recognition rang through the room. then he opened his big blue eyes to find his mother bending over him. he did not recognize her at once, and after a peevish sleepy stare he pushed her aside, calling plaintively for his precious "polly hopkins." "oh, bring polly hopkins, whoever she is!" cried the poor rebuffed mother. "and heaven bless her if she has been good to him." but when the dismal old squaw blundered into the room, more blinded by grief and tears than infirmity, the identity of his visitor came back suddenly to him with the recollections of the past, and in all the transcendent joy of an invaluable possession he called out, "look, mamma! ain't her pretty? so-o pretty! me s-sweet polly hopkins!" and sitting up in bed, he threw his arms around both as they knelt beside it, and all three wept locked in the same tender embrace. for lillian would not hear of the implication of "polly hopkins" in the suspicion of the abduction, and the rigors of the law were annulled so far as she was concerned. on the contrary, mrs. royston's first effort was to ameliorate the old woman's condition, to take her at once to their home to be cherished there forever. when the ancient sibyl, affrighted at the idea of removal and change, positively refused, the mother tenderly begged that she would tell then what could be done for her. "polly hopkins" asked but one boon: the boy. that was the limit of her demand. lillian was fain to solace her earnest desire to bestow rich reward by settling a comfortable annuity on her and contracting for a snug, stanch house to be built here, with every appliance that could add to her comfort, and for this "polly hopkins" cared not at all; for her poor home had been full of joy with "alchie loyston." "i am glad i can afford it," said lillian, with a gush of tears--how long it had been since she could say she was glad of aught! "though she will not come with me, i shall have the best specialist in the united states to leave everything and come here and take the cataracts from her eyes. at least, she shall have her sight restored." but alack, it was not "alchie loyston" whom she should see! as for lillian, she would scarcely consent to be separated from the child for one moment. the authorities conceived it necessary to take his statement in private--but allowed her to stand just outside the door--before his mind could be influenced by the comments of others or the involuntary assimilation of their views with his knowledge of the facts, for there was still a large reward for any information leading to the apprehension of the murderers of edward briscoe. little archie had obviously been a witness of that catastrophe and kidnapped to prevent his revealing the identity of its perpetrators. indeed, this was a well-founded fear, for he was very glib with the details of that momentous occasion, and he had no sooner mentioned the name of phineas copenny, or "phinny 'penny," in his infantile perversion, than the north carolina official turned aside and indited a telegram to the sheriff of the county in tennessee where the crime had been committed. none of his capacity to make himself understood had the boy lost by the craft of the moonshiners in placing him where he would never hear an english word and was likely to forget the language. a very coherent story he told still later when he was brought into the criminal court at shaftesville, being the capital of the county in tennessee where the deed was perpetrated, and confronted by copenny. one of the moonshiners, arrested on suspicion of complicity with the murder, had turned state's evidence and had given testimony as to the details of the plot to ambush the revenue officer, and the delegation of phineas copenny and two others to execute it. another testified that he had afterward heard of the murderous plan and of the mistake in the identity of the victim; but as neither of these parties was present at the catastrophe, the story of the child was relied on as an eye-witness to corroborate this proof. the admission of his testimony was hotly contested because of his tender years, despite the wide inclusiveness of the statute, and its inadequacy would possibly have resulted in a reversal of the case had an appeal been taken. but phineas copenny made no motion for a new trial and desired no appeal. he had feared, throughout, the possible capture and conclusive testimony of drann and holvey, and, lest a worse thing befall him, he accepted a sentence of a long term in the penitentiary. in view of the turpitude of "lying in wait," though a matter of inference and not proof, he doubted the saving grace of that anomaly of the tennessee law that in order to constitute murder in the first degree the victim of a premeditated slaughter must be the person intended to be slain. there was scant doubt as to his guilt in the minds of the jury. the boy singled out copenny from a crowd in which he had been placed to test his recognition by the little witness. he remembered the man's name, and called him by it. he gave an excited account of the shooting, although this was the least intelligible part of his testimony, for he often interrupted himself to exclaim, "pop-gun--_bang!_" disconnectedly, as the scene renewed itself in his memory. he explained the disappearance of mr. briscoe and the mare by the statement that "phinny runned out--pop-gun--_bang!_--an' bofe felled over the bluff." he called the moonshiners' cave a cellar, however, and declared that he went hunting for his mamma in a boat, and the counsel for the defence made the most of such puerilities and contradictions. but the child was very explicit concerning the riving from him of his coat by phineas copenny, and the plan to throw it over the bluff, and it made a distinct impression on the jury when he added that copenny took his hat also--for no mention had been made of the discovery of the hat in the quagmire in the valley--and that copenny had broken the elastic that held it under his chin and this snapped his cheek. he could, nevertheless, give no account how he reached the qualla boundary, and he broke off suddenly, dimpling, bright-eyed, and roseate, to ask the judge if he knew "polly hopkins." "her is so-o pretty!" he cried out in tender regret. mrs. royston was nettled by the laughter elicited by this query, with its obvious fervor of enthusiasm, for she divined that the merriment of the crowd was charged with ridicule of the incongruous object of his callow adoration, the forlorn old fortune-teller, who had been so gentle and so generous, albeit so alien to the civilization of the present day. lillian could but realize that the ministering angel is of no time or nationality, and the transcendent beauty of its apparition may well be a matter of spiritual and not merely visual perception. the heart of a woman is no undecipherable palimpsest for the successive register of fleeting impressions. here was written in indelible script the tenderest thought of affection, the kindest charity, and all the soft graces of fostering sentiment, with no compensatory values of reciprocal loyalty, or the imposing characters of authority. for the old squaw could not even understand the justice of the dispensation; it seemed to her that with impunity she was deserted, denied; her plea was a jest to right reason; her love, in which the child had once rejoiced, was superfluous, worthless, now that he had come to his own; her poor hearth, which his bright infantile smiles had richly illumined, was dark, desolate; the inexorable logic of law and worldly advantages was beyond her ken, and she felt that she had only rescued and cherished the little waif that she herself might be lacerated by grief and bereaved for his sake, and fain to beat her breast and to heap ashes on her head. poor, poor, "pretty polly hopkins!" cheering news of her, however, now and again came from the mountains. the noted oculist, after his final visit to her, stopped over in glaston to report to mrs. royston the complete success of the treatment, knowing the gratification the details would afford. he brought, too, the intelligence that she was free of her old torture from rheumatism, which had been of the muscular sort, resulting from exposure and deprivation, and had yielded to the comforts of the trig, close house that mrs. royston had built for her, and the abundance of warm furnishings and nutritious food, a degree of luxury indeed which was hardly known elsewhere in the boundary. her prosperity had evolved the equivocal advantage of restoring her prestige as a sibyl, and she had entered upon a new lease of the practice of the dark arts of fortune-telling and working charms and spells. he gave a humorous account of her expressions of gratitude to him for the restoration of her sight, which facetiousness bayne, who chanced to be present, perceived did not add to mrs. royston's pleasure; for she regarded "polly hopkins" very seriously indeed. before the physician quitted the "boundary," the old squaw bestowed upon him, through the interpreter, certain secret magic formulæ for working enchantments on his city patients, and thereby effecting rapid cures and filling his coffers. knowing of bayne's hobby for linguistics, the oculist jocularly turned these archaic curios over to him. in that connection bayne recounted that after the child had departed with his mother from the mountains, he himself being detained by final arrangements with the authorities, his interest in researches into the arcana of old cherokee customs had been revived by seeing the sibyl seated on the ground, swaying and wailing and moaning, and casting ashes on her head as if making her mourning for the dead. at the time he had marked the parity of the observance with the hebraic usage, and he intended to make an examination into the origin of the curious tradition of the identity of the american indians with the lost tribes of israel. train-time forced the oculist to a hasty leave-taking, and it was only after he was gone that bayne noticed the evidence of restrained emotion in lillian's face. bayne had been about to conclude his own call, which concerned a matter of business, the claim of a reward which he considered fraudulent, but he turned at the door, his hat in his hand and came back, leaning against the mantel-piece opposite her. he noted that the tears stood deep in her eyes. "i can't bear to think of her unhappiness," she said, "when i consider all i owe to her." "you had better consider what you owe to me," bayne gayly retorted, seeking to effect a diversion. "oh, you, you! but for _you_! when i think of what you have done for archie, and for me, i could fall down at your feet and worship you!" she exclaimed with tearful fervor. "oh, oh, this is so sudden!" he cried, with a touch of his old whimsicality. "don't--don't make fun of me!" she expostulated. "bless you, i am serious indeed! i expected something like this, but not so soon; and, in fact, i expected to say it _myself_--but i could not have done it better!" "did you really intend to say it, to come back to me?" she gazed appealingly at him. "as soon as we had time for such trifles." he would not enter into her saddened mood. "but one thing i want to know: did you _really_ intend it, or was it only my cruel affliction that brought you back to me--motives of sheer humanity--because no one else would help me, because they thought i was the prey of frenzied fancies to believe that archie still lived?" julian was silent for a moment, obviously hesitating. then he reluctantly admitted, "no, i should never have come back." she threw herself back in the chair with a little pathetic sigh. he looked at her with a smile at once tender and whimsical. she too smiled faintly, then took up the theme anew. "but, julian," she persisted, "it is very painful to reflect that you had deliberately shut me out of your heart forever; that when you saw me again you had no impulse to renew the past. had you none, really?" the temptation was strong to give her the reassurance she craved. she had suffered so bitterly that a pang of merely sentimental woe seemed a gratuitous cruelty. yet he was resolved that there should never come the shadow of falsehood between them. he was glad--joyous! the future should make brave amends for the past. he sought to cast off the bitter retrospection with which she had invested the situation. his gay laughter rang out. "madam, i will not deceive you! i intended that you should _never_ get another shot at me; but circumstances have been too much for me--and i have ceased to struggle against them." [illustration: he was pallid and panting] the young mountaineers _short stories_ by charles egbert craddock with illustrations by malcolm fraser [illustration] boston and new york houghton, mifflin and company the riverside press, cambridge 1897 copyright, 1897, by mary n. murfree. _all rights reserved_. _the riverside press, cambridge, mass., u. s. a._ electrotyped and printed by h. o. houghton and company. contents page the mystery of old daddy's window 1 'way down in poor valley 26 a mountain storm 63 borrowing a hammer 83 the conscripts' hollow 103 a warning 172 among the cliffs 186 in the "chinking" 208 on a higher level 230 christmas day on old windy mountain 245 list of illustrations page he was pallid and panting (see page 221) _frontispiece._ together they went over the cliff 48 how long was it to last 190 in the midst of the torrent 242 the mystery of old daddy's window picture to yourself a wild ravine, gashing a mountain spur, and with here and there in its course abrupt descents. one of these is so deep and sheer that it might be called a precipice. high above it, from the steep slope on either hand, beetling crags jut out. their summits almost meet at one point, and thus the space below bears a rude resemblance to a huge window. through it you might see the blue heights in the distance; or watch the clouds and sunshine shift over the sombre mountain across the narrow valley; or mark, after the day has faded, how the great scorpio draws its shining curves along the dark sky. one night jonas creyshaw sat alone in the porch of his log cabin, hard by on the slope of the ravine, smoking his pipe and gazing meditatively at "old daddy's window." the moon was full, and its rays fell aslant on one of the cliffs, while the rugged face of the opposite crag was in the shadow. suddenly he became aware that something was moving about the precipice, the brink of which seems the sill of the window. although this precipice is sheer and insurmountable, a dark figure had risen from it, and stood plainly defined against the cliff, which presented a comparatively smooth surface to the brilliant moonlight. was it a shadow? he asked himself hastily. his eyes swept the ravine, only thirty feet wide at that point, which lies between the two crags whose jutting summits almost meet above it to form old daddy's window. there was no one visible to cast a shadow. it seemed as if the figure had unaccountably emerged from the sheer depths below. only for a moment it stood motionless against the cliff. then it flung its arms wildly above its head, and with a nimble spring disappeared--upward. jonas creyshaw watched it, his eyes distended, his face pallid, his pipe trembling in his shaking hand. "mirandy!" he quavered faintly. his wife, a thin, ailing woman with pinched features and an uncertain eye, came to the door. "thar," he faltered, pointing with his pipe-stem--"jes' a minit ago--i seen it!--a ghost riz up over the bluff inter old daddy's window!" the woman fell instantly into a panic. "'twarn't a-beckonin', war it? 'twarn't a-beckonin'? 'kase ef it war, ye'll hev ter die right straight! that air a sure sign." a little of jonas creyshaw's pluck and common sense came back to him at this unpleasant announcement. "not on _his_ say-so," he stoutly averred. "i ain't a-goin' ter do the beck nor the bid of enny onmannerly harnt ez hev tuk up the notion ter riz up over the bluff inter old daddy's window, an' sot hisself ter motionin' ter me." he rose hastily, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and followed his wife into the house. there he paused abruptly. the room was lighted by the fitful flicker of the fire, for the nights were still chilly, and an old man, almost decrepit, sat dozing in his chair by the hearth. "mirandy," said jonas creyshaw in a whisper, "'pears like ter me ez father hed better not be let ter know 'bout'n that thar harnt. it mought skeer him so ez he couldn't live another minit. he hev aged some lately--an' he air weakly." this was "old daddy." before he had reached his thirtieth year, he was thus known, far and wide. "he air the man ez hev got a son," the mountaineers used to say in grinning explanation. "ter hear him brag 'bout'n that thar boy o' his'n, ye'd think he war the only man in tennessee ez ever hed a son." throughout all these years the name given in jocose banter had clung to him, and now, hallowed by ancient usage, it was accorded to him seriously, and had all the sonorous effect of a title. so they said nothing to old daddy, but presently, when he had hobbled off to bed in the adjoining shed-room, they fell to discussing their terror of the apparition, and thus it chanced that the two boys, tad and si, first made, as it were, the ghost's acquaintance. tad, a stalwart fellow of seventeen, sat listening spellbound before the glowing embers. si, a wiry, active, tow-headed boy of twelve, perched with dangling legs on a chest, and looked now at the group by the fire, and now through the open door at the brilliant moonlight. "waal, sir," he muttered, "i'll hev ter gin up the notion o' gittin' that comical young ow_el_, what i hev done set my heart onto. 'kase ef i war ter fool round old daddy's window, _now_, whilst i war a-cotchin' o' the ow_el_, the ghost mought--cotch--_me!_" a sorry ghost, to be sure, that has nothing better to do than to "cotch" _him!_ but perhaps si creyshaw is not the only one of us who has an inflated idea of his own importance. he was greatly awed, and he found many suggestions of supernatural presence about the familiar room. as the fire alternately flared and faded, the warping-bars looked as if they were dancing a clumsy measure. the handle of a portly jug resembled an arm stuck akimbo, and its cork, tilted askew, was like a hat set on one side; si fancied there was a most unpleasant grimace below that hat. the churn-dasher, left upon a shelf to dry, was sardonically staring him out of countenance with its half-dozen eyes. the strings of red pepper-pods and gourds and herbs, swinging from the rafters, rustled faintly; it sounded to si like a moan. he wished his father and mother would talk about some wholesome subject, like spot's new calf, for instance, instead of whispering about the mystery of old daddy's window. he wished tad would not look, as he listened, so much like a ghost himself, with his starting eyes and pale, intent face. he even wished that the baby would wake up, and put some life into things with a good healthy, rousing bawl. but the baby slept peacefully on, and after so long a time si creyshaw slept too. with broad daylight his courage revived. he was no longer afraid to think of the ghost. in fact, he experienced a pleased importance in giving old daddy a minute account of the wonderful apparition, for he _felt_ as if he had seen it. "'pears ter me toler'ble comical, gran'dad, ez they never tole ye a word 'bout'n it all," he said in conclusion. "ye mought hev liked ter seen the harnt. ef he war 'quainted with ye when he lived in this life, he mought hev stopped an' jowed sociable fur a spell!" how brave this small boy was in the cheerful sunshine! old daddy hardly seemed impressed with the pleasure he had missed in losing a sociable "jow" with a ghostly crony. he sat silent, blinking in the sunshine that fell through the gourd-vines which clambered about the porch where si had placed his chair. "'twarn't much of a sizable sperit," si declared; he seemed courageous enough now to measure the ghost like a tailor. "it warn't more'n four feet high, ez nigh ez dad could jedge. toler'ble small fur a harnt!" still the old man made no reply. his wrinkled hands were clasped on his stick. his white head, shaded by his limp black hat, was bent down close to them. there was a slow, pondering expression on his face, but an excited gleam in his eye. presently, he pointed backward toward a little unhewn log shanty that served as a barn, and rising with unwonted alacrity, he said to the boy,-"fotch me the old beastis!" silas creyshaw stood amazed, for old daddy had not mounted a horse for twenty years. "studyin' 'bout'n the harnt so much hev teched him in the head," the small boy concluded. then he made an excuse, for he knew his grandfather was too old and feeble to safely undertake a solitary jaunt on horse-back. "i war tole not ter leave ye fur a minit, gran'dad. i war ter stay nigh ye an' mind yer bid." "that's my bid!" said the old man sternly. "fotch the beastis." there was no one else about the place. jonas creyshaw had gone fishing shortly after daybreak. his wife had trudged off to her sister's house down in the cove, and had taken the baby with her. tad was ploughing in the cornfield on the other side of the ravine. si had no advice, and he had been brought up to think that old daddy's word was law. when the old man, mounted at last, was jogging up the road, tad chanced to come to the house for a bit of rope to mend the plough-gear. he saw, far up the leafy vista, the departing cavalier. he cast a look of amazed reproach upon si. then, speechless with astonishment, he silently pointed at the distant figure. si was a logician. "i never lef' _him_," he said. "he lef' _me_." "ye oughter rej'ice in yer whole bones while ye hev got 'em," tad returned, with withering sarcasm. "when dad kems home, some of 'em 'll git bruk, sure. warn't ye tole not ter leave him fur _nuthin'_, ye triflin' shoat!" "he lef' _me_!" si stoutly maintained. meantime, old daddy journeyed on. except for the wonderful mountain air, the settlement, three miles distant, had nothing about it to indicate its elevation. it was far from the cliffs, and there was no view. it was simply a little hollow of a clearing scooped out among the immense forests. when the mountaineers clear land, they do it effectually. not a tree was left to embellish the yards of any of the four or five little log huts that constituted the hamlet, and the glare was intense. as six or eight loungers sat smoking about the door of the store, there was nothing to intercept their astonished view of old daddy when he suddenly appeared out of the gloomy forest, blinking in the sun and bent half double with fatigue. even the rudest and coarsest of these mountaineers accord a praiseworthy deference to the aged among them. old daddy was held in reverential estimation at home, and was well accustomed to the respect shown him now, when, for the first time in many years, he had chosen to jog abroad. they helped him to dismount, and carried him bodily into the store. after he had tilted his chair back against the rude counter, he looked around with an important face upon the attentive group. "my son," shrilly piped out old daddy,--"my son air the strongest man ever seen, sence samson!" "i hev always hearn that sayin', old daddy," acquiesced an elderly codger, who, by reason of "rheumatics," made no pretension to muscle. a gigantic young blacksmith looked down at his corded hammer-arm, but said nothing. a fly--several flies--buzzed about the sorghum barrel. "my son," shrilly piped out old daddy,--"my son air the bes' shot on this hyar mounting." "that's a true word, old daddy," assented the schoolmaster, who had ceased to be a nimrod since devoting himself to teaching the young idea how to shoot. the hunters smoked in solemn silence. the shadow of a cloud drifted along the bare sandy stretch of the clearing. "my son," shrilly piped out old daddy,--"my son hev got the peartest boys in tennessee." "i'll gin ye that up, old daddy," cheerfully agreed the miller, whose family consisted of two small "daughters." the fathers of other "peart boys" cleared their throats uneasily, but finally subsided without offering contradiction. a jay-bird alighted on a blackberry bush outside, fluttered all his blue and white feathers, screamed harshly, bobbed his crested head, and was off on his gay wings. "my son," shrilly piped out old daddy,--"my son hev been gifted with the sight o' what no other man on this mounting hev ever viewed." the group sat amazed, expectant. but the old man preserved a stately silence. only when the storekeeper eagerly insisted, "what hev jonas seen? what war he gin ter view?" did old daddy bring the fore legs of the chair down with a thump, lean forward, and mysteriously pipe out like a superannuated cricket,-"my son,--my son hev seen a harnt, what riz up over the bluff a-purpose!" "whar 'bouts?" "when?" "waal, sir!" arose in varied clamors. so the proud old man told the story he had journeyed three laborious miles to spread. it had no terrors for him, so completely was fear swallowed up in admiration of his wonderful son, who had added to his other perfections the gift of seeing ghosts. the men discussed it eagerly. there were some jokes cracked--as it was still broad noonday--and at one of these old daddy took great offense, more perhaps because the disrespect was offered to his son rather than to himself. "jes' gin jonas the word from me," said the young blacksmith, meaning no harm and laughing good-naturedly, "ez i kin tell him percisely what makes him see harnts; it air drinkin' so much o' this onhealthy whiskey, what hain't got no tax paid onto it. i looks ter see him jes' a-staggerin' the nex' time i comes up with him." old daddy rose with affronted dignity. "my son," he declared vehemently,--"my son ain't gin over ter drinkin' whiskey, tax or no tax. an' he ain't got no call ter stagger--_like some folks!_" and despite all apology and protest, he left the house in a huff. his old bones ached with the unwonted exercise, and were rudely enough jarred by the rough roads and the awful gaits of his ancient steed. the sun was hot, and so was his heart, and when he reached home, infinitely fatigued and querulous, he gave his son a sorry account of his reception at the store. as he concluded, saying that five of the men had sent word that they would be at jonas creyshaw's house at moon-rise "ter holp him see the harnt," his son's brow darkened, and he strode heavily out of the room. he usually exhibited in a high degree the hospitality characteristic of these mountaineers, but now it had given way to a still stronger instinct. "si," he said, coming suddenly upon the boy, "put out right now fur bently's store at the settle_mint_, an' tell them sneaks ez hang round thar ter sarch round thar own houses fur harnts, ef they hanker ter see enny harnts. ef they hev got the insurance ter kem hyar, they'll see wusser sights 'n enny harnts. tell 'em i ain't a-goin' ter 'low no man ter cross my doorstep ez don't show old daddy the right medjure o' respec'. they'd better keep out'n my way ginerally." so with this bellicose message si set out. but an unlucky idea occurred to him as he went plodding along the sandy road. "whilst i'm a-goin' on this hyar harnt's yerrand"----the logical si brought up with a shiver. "i went ter say--whilst i'm a-goin' on this hyar yerrand fur the harnt"----this was as bad. "whilst," he qualified once more, "i'm a-goin' on this hyar yerrand _'bout'n_ the harnt, i mought ez well skeet off in them deep woods a piece ter see ef enny wild cherries air ripe on that tree by the spring. i'll hev plenty o' time." but even si could not persuade himself that the cherries were ripe, and he stood for a moment under the tree, staring disconsolately at the distant blue ridges shimmering through the heated air. the sunlight was motionless, languid; it seemed asleep. the drowsy drone of insects filled the forest. as si threw himself down to rest on the rocky brink of the mountain, a grasshopper sprang away suddenly, high into the air, with an agility that suggested to him the chorus of a song, which he began to sing in a loud and self-sufficient voice:- "the grasshopper said--'now, don't ye see thar's mighty few dancers sech ez me- sech ez _me_!--sech ez me!'" this reminded si of his own capabilities as a dancer. he rose and began to caper nimbly, executing a series of steps that were singularly swift, spry, and unexpected,--a good deal on the grasshopper's method. his tattered black hat bobbed up and down on his tow head; his brown jeans trousers, so loose on his lean legs, flapped about hilariously; his bare heels flew out right and left; he snapped his fingers to mark the time; now and then he stuck his arms akimbo, and cut what he called the "widgeon-ping." but his freckled face was as grave as ever, and all the time that he danced he sang:- "in the middle o' the night the rain kem down, an' gin the corn a fraish start out'n the ground, an' i thought nex' day ez i stood in the door, that sassy bug mus' be drownded sure! but thar war goggle-eyes, peart an' gay, twangin' an' a-tunin' up--'now, dance away! ye may sarch night an' day ez a constancy an' ye won't find a fiddler sech ez me! sech ez _me_!--sech ez me!'" as he sank back exhausted upon the ground, a new aspect of the scene caught his attention. those blue mountains were purpling--there was an ever-deepening flush in the west. it was close upon sunset, and while he had wasted the time, the five men to whom his father had sent that stern message forbidding them to come to his house were perhaps on their way thither, with every expectation of a cordial welcome. there might be a row--even a fight--and all because he had loitered. how he tore out of the brambly woods! how he pounded along the sandy road! but when he reached the settlement close upon nightfall, the storekeeper's wife told him that the men had gone long ago. "they war powerful special ter git off early," she added, "'kase they wanted ter be thar 'fore old daddy drapped off ter sleep. some o' them foolish, slack-jawed boys ter the store ter-day riled the old man's feelin's, an' they 'lowed ter patch up the peace with him, an' let him an' jonas know ez they never meant no harm." this suggestion buoyed up the boy's heart to some degree as he toiled along the "short cut" homeward through the heavy shades of the gloomy woods and the mystic effects of the red rising moon. but he was not altogether without anxiety until, as he drew within sight of the log cabin on the slope of the ravine, he heard old daddy piping pacifically to the guests about "my son," and jonas creyshaw's jolly laughter. the moon was golden now; si could see its brilliant shafts of light strike aslant upon the smooth surface of the cliff that formed the opposite side of old daddy's window. he stopped short in the deep shadow of the more rugged crag. the vines and bushes that draped its many jagged ledges dripped with dew. the boughs of an old oak, which grew close by, swayed gently in the breeze. hidden by its huge hole, si cast an apprehensive glance toward the house where his elders sat. certainly no one was thinking of him now. "this air my chance fur that young ow_el_--ef ever," he said to himself. the owl's nest was in the hollow of the tree. the trunk was far too bulky to admit of climbing, and the lowest branches were well out of the boy's reach. some thirty feet from the ground, however, one of the boughs touched the crag. by clambering up its rugged, irregular ledges, making a zigzag across its whole breadth to the right and then a similar zigzag to the left, si might gain a position which would enable him to clutch this bough of the tree. thence he could scramble along to the owl's stronghold. he hesitated. he knew his elders would disapprove of so reckless an undertaking as climbing about old daddy's window, for in venturing toward its outer verge, a false step, a crumbling ledge, the snapping of a vine, would fling him down the sheer precipice into the depths below. his hankering for a pet owl had nevertheless brought him here more than once. it was only yesterday evening--before he had heard of the ghost's appearance, however--that he had made his last futile attempt. he looked up doubtfully. "i ain't ez strong ez--ez some folks," he admitted. "but then, come ter think of it," he argued astutely, "i don't weigh nuthin' sca'cely, an' thar ain't much of me ter hev ter haul up thar." he flung off his hat, he laid his wiry hands upon the wild grape-vines, he felt with his bare feet for the familiar niches and jagged edges, and up he went, working steadily to the right, across the broad face of the cliff. its heavy shadow concealed him from view. only one ledge, at the extreme verge of the crag, jutted out into the full moonbeams. but this, by reason of the intervening bushes and vines, could not be seen by those who sat in the cabin porch on the slope of the ravine, and he was glad to have light just here, for it was the most perilous point of his enterprise. by deft scrambling, however, he succeeded in getting on the moonlit ledge. "i clumb like a painter!" he declared triumphantly. he rested there for a moment before attempting to reach the vines high up on the left hand, which he must grasp in order to draw himself up into the shadowy niche in the rock, and begin his zigzag course back again across the face of the cliff to the projecting bough of the tree. but suddenly, as he still stood motionless on the ledge in the full radiance of the moon, the clamor of frightened voices sounded at the house. until now he had forgotten all about the ghost. he turned, horror-stricken. there was the frightful thing, plainly defined against the smooth surface of the opposite cliff--some thirty feet distant--that formed the other side of old daddy's window. and certainly there are mighty few dancers such as that ghost! it lunged actively toward the precipice. it suddenly dashed wildly back--gyrating continually with singularly nimble feet, flinging wiry arms aloft and maintaining a sinister silence, while the frightened clamor at the house grew ever louder and more shrill. several minutes elapsed before si recognized something peculiarly familiar in the ghost's wiry nimbleness--before he realized that the shadow of the cliff on which he stood reached across the ravine to the base of the opposite cliff, and that the figure which had caused so much alarm was only his own shadow cast upon its perpendicular surface. he stopped short in those antics which had been induced by mortal terror; of course, his shadow, too, was still instantly. it stood upon the brink of the precipice which seems the sill of old daddy's window, and showed distinctly on the smooth face of the cliff opposite to him. he understood, after a moment's reflection, how it was that as he had climbed up on the ledge in the full moonlight his shadow had seemed to rise gradually from the vague depths below the insurmountable precipice. he sprang nimbly upward to seize the vines that shielded him from the observation of the ghost-seers on the cabin porch, and as he caught them and swung himself suddenly from the moonlit ledge into the gloomy shade, he noticed that his shadow seemed to fling its arms wildly above its head, and disappeared upward. "that air jes' what dad seen las' night when i war down hyar afore, a-figurin' ter ketch that thar leetle ow_el_," he said to himself when he had reached the tree and sat in a crotch, panting and excited. after a moment, regardless of the coveted owl, he swung down from branch to branch, dropped easily from the lowest upon the ground, picked up his hat, and prepared to skulk along the "short cut," strike the road, and come home by that route as if he had just returned from the settlement. "'kase," he argued sagely, "ef them skeered-ter-death grown folks war ter find out ez _i_ war the _harnt_--i mean ez the _harnt_ war _me_--ennyhow," he concluded desperately, "i'd ketch it--sure!" so impressed was he with this idea that he discreetly held his tongue. and from that day to this, jonas creyshaw and his friends have been unable to solve the mystery of old daddy's window. 'way down in poor valley chapter i there was the grim big injun mountain to the right, with its bare, beetling sandstone crags. there was the long line of cherty hills to the left, covered by a dark growth of stunted pines. between lay that melancholy stretch of sterility known as poor valley,--the poorest of the several valleys in tennessee thus piteously denominated, because of the sorry contrast which they present to the rich coves and fertile vales so usual among the mountains of the state. how poor the soil was, ike hooden might bitterly testify; for ever since he could hold a plough he had, year after year, followed the old "bull-tongue" through the furrows of the sandy fields which lay around the log cabin at the base of the mountain. in the intervals of "crappin'" he worked at the forge with his stepfather, for close at hand, in the shadow of a great jutting cliff, lurked a dark little shanty of unhewn logs that was a blacksmith's shop. when he first began this labor, he was, perhaps, the youngest striker that ever wielded a sledge. now, at eighteen, he had become expert at the trade, and his muscles were admirably developed. he was tall and robust, and he had never an ache nor an ill, except in his aching heart. but his heart was sore, for in the shop he found oaths and harsh treatment, and even at home these pursued him; while outside, desolation was set like a seal on poor valley. one drear autumnal afternoon, when the sky was dull, a dense white mist overspread the valley. as ike plodded up the steep mountain side, the vapor followed him, creeping silently along the deep ravines and chasms, till at length it overtook and enveloped him. then only a few feet of the familiar path remained visible. suddenly he stopped short and stared. a dim, distorted something was peering at him from over the top of a big boulder. it was moving--it nodded at him. then he indistinctly recognized it as a tall, conical hat. there seemed a sort of featureless face below it. a thrill of fear crept through him. his hands grew cold and shook in his pockets. he leaned forward, gazing intently into the thick fog. an odd distortion crossed the vague, featureless face--like a leer, perhaps. once more the tall, conical hat nodded fantastically. "ef ye do that agin," cried ike, in sudden anger, all his pluck coming back with a rush, "i'll gin ye a lick ez will weld yer head an' the boulder together!" he lifted his clenched fist and shook it. "haw! haw! haw!" laughed the man in the mist. ike cooled off abruptly. he had been kicked and cuffed half his life, but he had never been laughed at. ridicule tamed him. he was ashamed, and he remembered that he had been afraid, for he had thought the man was some "roamin' harnt." "i dunno," said ike sulkily, "ez ye hev got enny call ter pounce so suddint out'n the fog, an' go ter noddin' that cur'ous way ter folks ez can't half see ye." "i never knowed afore," said the man in the mist, with mock apology in his tone and in the fantastic gyrations of his nodding hat, "ez it air you-uns ez owns this mounting." he looked derisively at ike from head to foot. "ye air the biggest man in tennessee, ain't ye?" "naw!" said ike shortly, feeling painfully awkward, as an overgrown boy is apt to do. "waal, from yer height, i mought hev thunk ye war that big injun that the old folks tells about," and the stranger broke suddenly into a hoarse, quavering chant:- "'a red man lived in tennessee, mighty big injun, sure! he growed ez high ez the tallest tree, an' he sez, sez he, "big injun, me!" mighty big injun, sure!'" "waal, waal," in a pensive voice, "so ye ain't him? i'm powerful glad ye tole me that, sonny, 'kase i mought hev got skeered hyar in the woods by myself with that big injun." he laughed boisterously, and began to sing again:- "'settlers blazed out a road, ye see, mighty big injun, sure! he combed thar hair with a knife. sez he, "it's combed fur good! big injun, me!" mighty big injun, sure!'" he broke out laughing afresh, and ike, abashed and indignant, was about to pass on, when the man gayly balanced himself on one foot, as if he were about to dance a grotesque jig, and held out at arm's length a big silver coin. it was a dollar. that meant a great deal to ike, for he earned no money he could call his own. "free an' enlightened citizen o' these nunited states," the man addressed him with mock solemnity, "i brung this dollar hyar fur you-uns." "what air ye layin' off fur me ter do?" asked ike. the man grew abruptly grave. "jes' stable this hyar critter fur a night an' day." for the first time ike became aware of a horse's flank, dimly seen on the other side of the boulder. "ter-morrer night ride him up ter my house on the mounting. ye hev hearn tell o' me, hain't ye, jedge? my name's grig beemy. don't kem till night, 'kase i won't be thar till then. i hev got ter stop yander--yander"--he looked about uncertainly, "yander ter the sawmill till then, 'kase i promised ter holp work thar some. i'll gin ye the dollar now," he added liberally, as an extra inducement. "i'll be powerful glad ter do that thar job fur a dollar," said ike, thinking, with a glow of self-gratulation, of the corn which he had raised in his scanty leisure on his own little patch of ground, and which he might use to feed the animal. "but hold yer jaw 'bout'n it, boy. yer stepdad wouldn't let the beastis stay thar a minute ef he knowed it, 'kase--waal--'kase me an' him hev hed words. slip the beastis in on the sly. pearce tallam don't feed an' tend ter his critters nohow. i hev hearn ez his boys do that job, so he ain't like ter find it out. on the sly--that's the trade." ike hesitated. once more the man teetered on one foot, and held out the coin temptingly. but ike's better instincts came to his aid. "that barn b'longs ter pearce tallam. i puts nuthin' thar 'thout his knowin' it. i ain't a fox, nur a mink, nur su'thin wild, ter go skulkin' 'bout on the sly." then he pressed hastily on out of temptation's way. "haw! haw! haw!" laughed the man in the mist. there was no mirth in the tones now; his laugh was a bitter gibe. as it followed ike, it reminded him that the man had not yet moved from beside the boulder, or he would have heard the thud of the horse's hoofs. he turned and glanced back. the opaque white mist was dense about him, and he could see nothing. as he stood still, he heard a muttered oath, and after a time the man cleared his throat in a rasping fashion, as if the oath had stuck in it. ike understood at last. the man was waiting for somebody. and this was strange, here in the thick fog on the bleak mountainside. but ike said to himself that it was no concern of his, and plodded steadily on, till he reached a dark little log house, above which towered a flaring yellow hickory tree. within, ranged on benches, were homespun-clad mountain children. a high-shouldered, elderly man sat at a table near the deep fireplace, where a huge backlog was smouldering. through the cobwebbed window-panes the mists looked in. ike did not speak as he stood on the threshold, but his greedy glance at the scholars' books enlightened the pedagogue. "do you want to come to school?" he asked. then the boy's long-cherished grievance burst forth. "they hev tole me ez how it air agin the law, bein' ez i lives out'n the _dee_stric'." the teacher elevated his grizzled eyebrows, and ike said, "i kem hyar ter ax ye ef that be a true word. i 'lowed ez mebbe my dad tole me that word jes' ter hender me, an' keep me at the forge. it riles me powerful ter hev ter be an ignorunt all my days." to a stranger, this reflection on his "dad" seemed unbecoming. the teacher's sympathy ebbed. he looked severely at the boy's pale, anxious face, as he coldly said that he could teach no pupils who resided outside his school district, except out of regular school hours, and with a charge for tuition. ike hooden had no money. he nodded suddenly in farewell, the door closed, and when the schoolmaster, in returning compassion, opened it after him, and peered out into the impenetrable mist, the boy was nowhere to be seen. he had taken his despair by the hand, and together they went down, down into the depths of poor valley. he stood so sorely in need of a little kindness that he felt grateful for the friendly aspect of his stepbrother, whom he met just before he reached the shop. "'pears like ye air toler'ble late a-gittin' home, ike," said jube. "i done ye the favior ter feed the critters. i 'lowed ez ye would do ez much fur me some day. i'll feed 'em agin in the mornin', ef ye'll forge me three lenks ter my trace-chain ter-night, arter dad hev gone home." now this broad-faced, sandy-haired, undersized boy, who was two or three years younger than ike, and not strong enough for work at the anvil, was a great tactician. it was his habit, in doing a favor, rigorously to exact a set-off, and that night when the blacksmith had left the shop, jube slouched in. the flare of the forge-fire illumined with a fitful flicker the dark interior, showing the rod across the corner with its jingling weight of horseshoes, a ploughshare on the ground, the barrel of water, the low window, and casting upon the wall a grotesque shadow of jube's dodging figure as he began to ply the bellows. presently he left off, the panting roar ceased, the hot iron was laid on the anvil, and his dodging image on the wall was replaced by an immense shadow of ike's big right arm as he raised it. the blows fell fast; the sparks showered about. all the air was ajar with the resonant clamor of the hammer, and the anvil sang and sang, shrill and clear. when the iron was hammered cold, jube broke the momentary silence. "i hev got," he droned, as if he were reciting something made familiar by repetition, "two roosters, 'leven hens, an' three pullets." there was a long pause, and then he chanted, "one o' the roosters air a dominicky." he walked over to the anvil and struck it with a small bit of metal which he held concealed in his hand. "i hev got two shoats, a bag o' dried peaches, two geese, an' i'm tradin' with mam fur a gayn-der." he quietly slipped the small bit of shining metal in his pocket. "i hev got," he droned, waxing very impressive, "a red heifer." ike paused meditatively, his hammer in his hand. a new hope was dawning within him. he knew what was meant by jube, who often recited the list of his possessions, seeking to rouse enough envy to induce ike to exchange for the "lay out" his interest in a certain gray mare. now the mare really belonged to ike, having come to him from his paternal grandfather. this was all of value that the old man had left; for the deserted log hut, rotting on another bleak waste farther down in poor valley, was worth only a sigh for the home that it once was,--worth, too, perhaps, the thanks of those it sheltered now, the rat and the owl. the mare had worked for pearce tallam in the plough, under the saddle, and in the wagon all the years since. but one day, when the boy fell into a rage,--for he, too, had a difficult temper,--and declared that he would sell her and go forth from poor valley never to return, he was met by the question, "hain't the mare lived off'n my fields, an' hain't i gin ye yer grub, an' clothes, an' the roof that kivers ye?" thus pearce tallam had disputed his right to sell the mare. but it had more than once occurred to him that the blacksmith would not object to jube's buying her. hitherto ike had not coveted jube's variegated possessions. but now he wanted money for schooling. it was true he could hardly turn these into cash, for in this region farm produce of every description is received at the country stores in exchange for powder, salt, and similar necessities, and thus there is little need for money, and very little is in circulation. still, ike reflected that he might now and then get a small sum at the store, or perhaps the schoolmaster might barter "l'arnin'" for the heifer or the shoats. his hesitation was not lost upon jube, who offered a culminating inducement to clinch the trade. he suddenly stood erect, teetered fantastically on one foot, as if about to begin to dance, and held out a glittering silver dollar. the hammer fell from ike's hands upon the anvil. "'twar ye ez grig beemy war a-waitin' fur thar on the mounting in the mist!" he cried out, recognizing the man's odd gesture, which jube had unconsciously imitated. doubtless the dollar was offered to jube afterward, exactly as it had been offered to him. and jube had taken it. the imitative monkey thrust it hastily into his pocket, and came down from his fantastic toe, and stood soberly enough on his two feet. "grig beemy gin ye that thar dollar," said ike. jube sullenly denied it. "he never, now!" "his critter hev got no call ter be in dad's barn." "his critter ain't hyar," protested jube. "this dollar war gin me in trade ter the settle_mint_." ike remembered the queer gesture. how could jube have repeated it if he had not seen it? he broke into a sarcastic laugh. "that's how kem ye war so powerful 'commodatin' ez ter feed the critters. ye 'lowed ez i wouldn't see the strange beastis, an' then tell dad. foolin' me war a part o' yer trade, i reckon." jube made no reply. "ef ye war ez big ez me, or bigger, i'd thrash ye out'n yer boots fur this trick. ye don't want no lenks ter yer chain. ye jes' want ter be sure o' keepin' me out'n the barn. waal--thar air yer lenks." he caught up the tongs and held the links in the fire with one hand while he worked the bellows with the other. then he laid them red-hot upon the anvil. his rapid blows crushed them to a shapeless mass. "and now--thar they ain't." jube did not linger long. he was in terror lest ike should tell his father. but ike did not think this was his duty. in fact, neither boy imagined that the affair involved anything more serious than stabling a horse without the knowledge of the owner of the shelter. when ike was alone a little later, an unaccustomed sound caused him to glance toward the window. something outside was passing it. his position was such that he could not see the object itself, but upon the perpendicular gray wall of the crag close at hand, and distinctly defined in the yellow flare that flickered out through the window from the fire of the forge, the gigantic shadow of a horse's head glided by. he understood in an instant that jube had slipped the animal out of the barn, and was hiding him in the misty woods, expecting that ike would acquaint his father with the facts. he had so managed that these facts would seem lies, if pearce tallam should examine the premises and find no horse there. all the next day the white mist clung shroud-like to poor valley. the shadows of evening were sifting through it, when ike's mother went to the shop, much perturbed because the cow had not come, and she could not find jube to send after her. "ike kin go, i reckon," said the blacksmith. so ike mounted his mare and set out through the thick white vapor. he had divined the cause of jube's absence, and experienced no surprise when on the summit of the mountain he overtook him, riding the strange horse, on his way to beemy's house. "i s'pose that critter air yourn, an' ye mus' hev bought him fur a pound o' dried peaches, or sech, up thar ter the settle_mint_," sneered ike. jube was about to reply, but he glanced back into the dense mist with a changing expression. "hesh up!" he said softly. "what's that?" it was the regular beat of horses' hoofs, coming at a fair pace along the road on the summit of the mountain. the riders were talking excitedly. "i tell ye, ef i could git a glimpse o' the man ez stole that thar horse, it would go powerful hard with me not to let daylight through him. i brung this hyar shootin'-iron along o' purpose. waal, waal, though, seein' ez ye air the sheriff, i'll hev ter leave it be ez you-uns say. i wouldn't know the man from adam; but ye can't miss the critter,--big chestnut, with a star in his forehead, an'"-something strange had happened. at the sound of the voice the horse pricked up his ears, turned short round in the road, and neighed joyfully. the boys looked at each other with white faces. they understood at last. jube was mounted on a stolen horse within a hundred yards of the pursuing owner and the officers of the law. could explanations--words, mere words--clear him in the teeth of this fact? "drap out'n the saddle, turn the critter loose in the road, an' take ter the woods," urged ike. "they'll sarch an' ketch me," quavered jube. he was frantic at the idea of being captured on the horse's back, but if it should come to a race, he preferred trusting to the chestnut's four legs rather than to his own two. ike hesitated. jube had brought the difficulty all on himself, and surely it was not incumbent on ike to share the danger. but he was swayed by a sudden uncontrollable impulse. "drap off'n the critter, turn him loose, an' i'll lope down the road a piece, an' they'll foller me, in the mist." he might have done a wiser thing. but it was a tough problem at best, and he had only a moment in which to decide. in that swift, confused second he saw jube slide from the saddle and disappear in the mist as if he had been caught up in the clouds. he heard the horse's hoofs striking against the stones as he trotted off, whinnying, to meet his master. there was a momentary clamor among the men, and then with whip and spur they pressed on to capture the supposed malefactor. chapter ii all at once it occurred to ike, as he galloped down the road, that when they overtook him, they would think that he was the thief, and that he had been leading the horse. he had been so strong in his own innocence that the possibility that they might suspect him had not before entered his mind. he had intended only to divert the pursuit from jube, who, although free from any great wrong-doing, was exposed to the most serious misconstruction. the knowledge of the pursuers' revolvers had made this a hard thing to do, but otherwise he had not thought of himself, nor of what he should say when overtaken. they would question him; he must answer. would they believe his story? could he support it? grig beemy of course would deny it. and jube--had he not known how jube could lie? would he not fear that the truth might somehow involve him with the horse-thief? ike, with despair in his heart, urged his mare to her utmost speed, knowing now the danger he was in as a suspected horse-thief. suddenly, from among his pursuers, a tiny jet of flame flared out into the dense gray atmosphere, something whizzed through the branches of the trees above his head, and a sharp report jarred the mists. perhaps the officer fired into the air, merely to intimidate the supposed criminal and induce him to surrender. but now the boy could not stop. he had lost control of the mare. frightened beyond measure by the report of the pistol, she was in full run. on she dashed, down sharp declivities, up steep ascents, and then away and away, with a great burst of speed, along a level sandy stretch. the black night was falling like a pall upon the white, shrouded day. ike knew less where he was than the mare did; he was trusting to her instinct to carry him to her stable. more than once the low branches of a tree struck him, almost tearing him from the saddle, but he clung frantically to the mane of the frightened animal, and on and on she swept, with the horsemen thundering behind. he could hear nothing but their heavy, continuous tramp. he could see nothing, until suddenly a dim, pure light was shining in front of him, on his own level, it seemed. he stared at it with starting eyeballs. it cleft the vapors,--they were falling away on either side,--and they reflected it with an illusive, pearly shimmer. in another moment he knew that he was nearing the abrupt precipice, for that was the moon, riding like a silver boat upon a sea of mist, with a glittering wake behind it, beyond the sharply serrated summit line of the eastern hills. he could no longer trust to the mare's instinct. he trusted to appearances instead. he sawed away with all his might on the bit, striving to wheel her around in the road. she resisted, stumbled, then fell upon her knees among a wild confusion of rotting logs and stones that rolled beneath her, as, snorting and angry, she struggled again to her feet. once more ike pulled her to the left. there was a great displacement of earth, a frantic scramble, and together they went over the cliff. the descent was not absolutely sheer. at the distance of twelve or fourteen feet below, a great bulging shelf of rock projected. they fell upon this. the boy had instantly loosed his hold of the reins, and slipped away from the prostrate animal. the mare, quieted only for a moment by the shock, sprang to her feet, the stones slipped beneath her, and she went headlong over the precipice into the dreary depths of poor valley. the pursuers heard the heavy thud when she struck the ground far below. they paused at the verge of the crag, and talked in eager, excited tones. they did not see the boy, as he sat cowering close to the cliff on the ledge below. ike listened in great trepidation to what they were saying; he experienced infinite surprise when presently one of them mentioned grig beemy's name. [illustration: together they went over the cliff] so they knew who had stolen the horse! it was little consolation to ike, with his mare lying dead at the foot of the cliff, to reflect that if he had had the courage to face the emergency, and rely upon his innocence, his story would only have confirmed their knowledge of the facts. although the master of the horse did not know the thief "from adam," beemy had been seen with the animal and recognized by others, who, accompanying the sheriff and the owner, had traced him for two days through many wily doublings in the mountain fastnesses. they now concluded to press on to beemy's house. ike knew they would find him there waiting for jube and the horse. beemy had feared that he would be followed, and this was the reason that he had desired to rid himself of the animal for a day and night, until he could make sure and feel more secure. as the horsemen swept round the curve, ike remembered how close was the road to the cliff. if he had only given the mare her head, she would have carried him safely around it. but there she lay dead, way down in poor valley, and he had lost all he owned in the world. night had come, and in the dense darkness he did not dare to move. only a step away was the edge of the precipice, over which the mare had slipped, and he could not tell how dangerous was the bluff he must climb to regain the summit. he felt he must lie here till dawn. he was badly jarred by his fall. time dragged by wearily, and his bruises pained him. he knew at length that all the world slept,--all but himself and some distant ravening wolf, whose fierce howl ever and anon set the mists to shivering in poor valley where he prowled. this blood-curdling sound and his bitter thoughts were but sorry company. after a long time he fell asleep. fortunately, he did not stir. when he regained consciousness and a sense of danger, he found still around him that dense white vapor, through which the pale, drear day was slowly dawning. above his head was swinging in the mist a cluster of fox-grapes, with the rime upon them, and higher still he saw a quivering red leaf. it was the leaf of a starveling tree, growing out of a cleft where there was so little earth that it seemed to draw its sustenance from the rock. it was a scraggy, stunted thing, but it was well for him that it had struck root there, for its branches brushed the solid, smooth face of the cliff, which he could not have surmounted but for them and the grape-vine that had fallen over from the summit and entangled itself among them. as he climbed the tree, he felt it quake over the abysses, which the mists still veiled. he had a sense of elation and achievement when he gained the top, and it followed him home. there it suddenly deserted him. he found pearce tallam in a frenzy of rage at the discovery, which he had made through jube's confession, that a stolen horse had been stabled on his premises. despite his tyranny and his fierce, rude temper, he was an honest man and of fair repute. although he realized that neither boy knew that the animal had been stolen, he gave jube a lesson which he remembered for many a long day, and ike also came in for his share of this muscular tuition. for in the midst of the criminations and recriminations, the violent blacksmith caught up a horseshoe and flung it across the shop, striking ike with a force that almost stunned him. he was a man in strength, and it was hard for him not to return the blow; but he only walked out of the shop, declaring that he would stay for no more blows. "cl'ar out, then!" called out pearce tallam after him. "i don't keer ef ye goes fur good." he met, at the door of the dwelling, a plaintive reproach from his mother. "'count o' ye not tellin' on jube, he mought hev been tuk up fur a horse-thief. i dunno what i'd hev done 'thout him," she added, "'long o' raisin' the young tur-r-keys, an' goslin's, an' deedies, an' sech; he hev been a mighty holp ter me. he air more of a son ter me than my own boy." she did not mean this, but she had said it once half in jest, half in reproach, and then it became a formula of complaint whenever ike displeased her. now he was sore and sensitive. "take him fur yer son, then!" he cried. "i'm a-goin' out'n pore valley, ef i starves fur it. i shows my face hyar no more." as he shouldered his gun and strode out, he noted the light of the forge-fire quivering on the mist, but he little thought it was the last fire that pearce tallam would ever kindle there. he glanced back again before the dense vapor shut the house from view. his mother was standing in the door, with her baby in her arms, looking after him with a frightened, beseeching face. but his heart was hardened and he kept on,--kept on, with that deft, even tread of the mountaineer, who seems never to hurry, almost to loiter, but gets over the ground with surprising rapidity. he left the mists and desolation of poor valley far behind, but not that frightened, beseeching face. he thought of it more often when he lay down under the shelter of a great rock to sleep than he did of the howl of the wolf which he had heard the night before, not far from here. late the next afternoon he came upon the outskirts of a village. he entered it doubtfully, for it seemed metropolitan to him, unaccustomed as he was to anything more imposing than the cross-roads store. but the first sound he heard reassured him. it was the clear, metallic resonance of an anvil, the clanking of a sledge, and the clinking of a hand-hammer. here, at the forge, he found work. it had been said in poor valley that he was already as good a blacksmith even as pearce tallam. he had great natural aptitude for the work, and considerable experience. but his wages only sufficed to pay for his food and lodging. still, there was a prospect for more, and he was content. in his leisure he made friends among those of his own age, who took him about the town and enjoyed his amazement. he examined everything wrought in metal with such eager interest, and was so outspoken about his ambition, that they dubbed him tubal-cain. he was struck dumb with amazement when, for the first time in his life, he saw a locomotive gliding along the rails, with a glaring headlight and a cloud of flying sparks. once, when it was motionless on the track, they talked to the engineer, who explained "the workings of the critter," as ike called it. the boy understood so readily that the engineer said, after a time, "you're a likely feller, for such a derned ignoramus! where have you been hid out, all this time?" "way down in pore valley," said ike very humbly. "he's concluded to be a great inventor," said one of his young friends, with a merry wink. "he's a mighty artificer in iron," said the wit who had named him tubal-cain. the engineer looked gravely at ike. "why, boy," he admonished him, "the world has got a hundred years the start of you!" "i kin ketch up," ike declared sturdily. "there's something in grit, i reckon," said the engineer. then his wonderful locomotive glided away, leaving ike staring after it in silent ecstasy, and his companions dying with laughter. he started out to overtake the world at a night-school, where his mental quickness contrasted oddly with his slow, stolid demeanor. he worked hard at the forge all day; but everybody was kind. outside of poor valley life seemed joyous and hopeful; progress and activity were on every hand; and the time he spent here was the happiest he had ever known,--except for the recollection of that frightened, beseeching face which had looked out after him through the closing mists. he wished he had turned back for a word. he wished his mother might know he was well and happy. he began to feel that he could go no further without making his peace with her. so one day he left his employer with the promise to return the following week, "ef the lord spares me an' nuthin' happens," as the cautious rural formula has it, and set out for his home. the mists had lifted from it, but the snow had fallen deep. poor valley lay white and drear--it seemed to him that he had never before known how drear--between the grim mountain with its great black crags, its chasms, its gaunt, naked trees, and the long line of flinty hills, whose stunted pines bent with the weight of the snow. there was no smoke from the chimney of the blacksmith's shop. there were no footprints about the door. an atmosphere charged with calamity seemed to hang over the dwelling. somehow he knew that a dreadful thing had happened even before he opened the door and saw his mother's mournful white face. she sprang up at the sight of him with a wild, sobbing cry that was half grief, half joy. he had only a glimpse of the interior,--of jube, looking anxious and unnaturally grave; of the listless children, grouped about the fire; of the big, burly blacksmith, with a strange, deep pallor upon his face, and as he shifted his position--why, how was that? the boy's mother had thrust him out of the door, and closed it behind her. the jar brought down from the low eaves a few feathery flakes of snow, which fell upon her hair as she stood there with him. "don't say nuthin' 'bout'n it," she implored. "he can't abide ter hear it spoke of." "what ails dad's hand?" he asked, bewildered. "it's gone!" she sobbed. "he war over ter the sawmill the day ye lef'--somehow 'nuther the saw cotched it--the doctor tuk it off." "his right hand!" cried ike, appalled. the blacksmith would never lift a hammer again. and there the forge stood, silent and smokeless. what this portended, ike realized as he sat with them around the fire. their sterile fields in poor valley had only served to eke out their subsistence. this year the corn-crop had failed, and the wheat was hardly better. the winter had found them without special provision, but without special anxiety, for the anvil had always amply supplied their simple needs. now that this misfortune had befallen them, who could say what was before them unless ike would remain and take his stepfather's place at the forge? ike knew that this contingency must have occurred to them as well as to him. he divined it from the anxious, furtive glances which they one and all cast upon him from time to time,--even pearce tallam, whose turn it was now to feel that greatest anguish of calamity, helplessness. but must he relinquish his hopes, his chance of an education, that plucky race for which he was entered to overtake the world that had a hundred years the start of him, and be forever a nameless, futureless clod in poor valley? his mother had the son she had chosen. and surely he owed no duty to pearce tallam. the hand that was gone had been a hard hand to him. he rose at length. he put on his leather apron. "waal--i mought ez well g' long ter the shop, i reckon," he remarked calmly. "'pears like thar's time yit fur a toler'ble spot o' work afore dark." it was a hard-won victory. even then he experienced a sort of satisfaction in knowing that pearce tallam must feel humiliated and of small account to be thus utterly dependent for his bread upon the boy whom he had so persistently maltreated. in his pale face ike saw something of the bitterness he had endured, of his broken spirit, of his humbled pride. the look smote upon the boy's heart. there was another inward struggle. then he said, as if it were a result of deep cogitation,-"ye'll hev ter kem over ter the shop, dad, wunst in a while, ter advise 'bout what's doin'. 'pears ter me like mos' folks would 'low ez a boy no older 'n me couldn't do reg'lar blacksmithin' 'thout some sperienced body along fur sense an' showin'." the man visibly plucked up a little. was he, indeed, so useless? "that's a fac', ike," he said gently. "i reckon ye kin make out toler'ble--cornsiderin'. but i'll be along ter holp." after this ike realized that he had been working with something tougher than iron, harder than steel,--his own unsubdued nature. he traced an analogy from the forge; and he saw that those strong forces, the fires of conscience and the coercion of duty, had wrought the stubborn metal of his character to a kindly use. gradually the relinquishment of his wild, vague ambition began to seem less bitter to him; for it might be that these were the few things over which he should be faithful,--his own forge-fire and his own fiery heart. and so he labors to fulfill his trust. the spring never comes to poor valley. the summer is a cloud of dust. the autumn shrouds itself in mist. and the winter is snow. but poverty of soil need not imply poverty of soul. and a noble manhood may nobly exist "'way down in poor valley." a mountain storm "ef the filly war bridle-wise"-"the filly _air_ bridle-wise." a sullen pause ensued, and the two brothers looked angrily at each other. the woods were still; the sunshine was faint and flickering; the low, guttural notes of a rain-crow broke suddenly on the silence. presently thad, mechanically examining a bridle which he held in his hand, began again in an appealing tone: "'pears like ter me ez the filly air toler'ble well bruk ter the saddle, an' she would holp me powerful ter git thar quicker ter tell dad 'bout'n that thar word ez war fotched up the mounting. they 'lowed ez 'twar jes' las' night ez them revenue men raided a still-house, somewhar down thar in the valley, an' busted the tubs, an' sp'iled the coppers, an' arrested all the moonshiners ez war thar. an' ef they war ter find out 'bout'n this hyar still-house over yander in the gorge, they'd raid it, too. an' thar be dad," he continued despairingly, "jes' sodden with whiskey an' ez drunk ez a fraish b'iled ow_el_, an' he wouldn't hev the sense nor the showin' ter make them off'cers onderstand ez he never hed nothin' ter do with the moonshiners--'ceptin' ter go ter thar still-house, an' git drunk along o' them. an' i dunno whether the off'cers would set much store by that sayin' ennyhow, an' i want ter git dad away from thar afore they kem." "i don't believe that thar word ez them men air a-raidin' round the mountings no more 'n _that_!" and ben kicked away a pebble contemptuously. thad was in a quiver of anxiety. while ben indulged his doubts, the paternal "b'iled ow_el_" might at any moment be arrested on a charge of aiding and abetting in illicit distilling. "ye never b'lieve nothin' till ye see it--ye sateful dunce!" he exclaimed excitedly. thus began a fraternal quarrel which neither forgot for years. ben turned scarlet. "waal, then, jes' leave my filly in the barn whar she be now; ye kin travel on shank's mare!" thad started off up the steep slope. "ef ye ain't a-hankerin' fur me ter ride that thar filly, ez air ez bridle-wise ez ye be, jes' let's see ye kem on, an'--hender!" "i hopes she'll fling ye, an' ye'll git yer neck bruk," ben called out after him. "i wish ennything 'ud happen, jes' so be i mought never lay eyes on ye agin," thad declared. as he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that his brother was not following, and when he reached the flimsy little barn, there was nothing to prevent him from carrying out his resolution. nevertheless, he hesitated as he stood with the door in his hand. a clay-bank filly came instantly to it, but with a sudden impulse he closed it abruptly, and set out on foot along a narrow, brambly path that wound down the mountain side. he had descended almost to its base before the threatening appearance of the sky caught his attention. a dense black cloud had climbed up from over the opposite hills, and stretched from their jagged summits to the zenith. there it hung in mid-air, its sombre shadow falling across the valley, and reaching high up the craggy slope, where the boy's home was perched. the whole landscape wore that strange, still, expectant aspect which precedes the bursting of a storm. suddenly a vivid white flash quivered through the sky. the hills, suffused with its ghastly light, started up in bold relief against the black clouds; even the faint outlines of distant ranges that had disappeared with the strong sunlight reasserted themselves in a pale, illusive fashion, flickering like the unreal mountains of a dream about the vague horizon. a ball of fire had coursed through the air, striking with dazzling coruscations the top of a towering oak, and he heard, amidst the thunder and its clamorous echo, the sharp crash of riving timber. all at once he had a sense of falling, a sudden pain shot through him, darkness descended, and he knew no more. when he gradually regained consciousness, it seemed that a long time had elapsed since he was trudging down the mountain side. he could not imagine where he was now. he put out his hand in the intense darkness that enveloped him, and felt the damp mould beside him,--above--below. for one horrible instant he recalled a sickening story of a man who was negligently buried alive. he had always believed that this was only a fireside fiction invented in the security of the chimney corner; but was it to have a strange confirmation in his own fate? he was pierced with pity for himself, as he heard the despair in his voice when he sent forth a wild, hoarse cry. what a cavernous echo it had! again and again, after his lips were closed, that voice of anguish rang out, and then was silent, then fitfully sounded once more on another key. he strove to rise, but the earth on his breast resisted. with a great effort he finally burst through it; he felt the clods tumbling about him; he sat upright; he rose to his full height; and still all was merged in the densest darkness, and, when he stretched up his arms as high as he could reach, he again felt the damp mould. the truth had begun vaguely to enter his mind even before, in shifting his position, he caught sight of a rift in the deep gloom, some fifteen feet above his head. then he realized that at the moment of the flash of lightning, unmindful of his footing, he had strayed aside from the path, stumbled, fallen, and, as it chanced, was received into one of those unsuspected apertures in the ground which are common in all cavernous countries, being sometimes the entrance to extensive caves, and which are here denominated "sink-holes." these cavities were exceedingly frequent in the valley, on the boundary of which thad lived, and his familiarity with them did away for the moment with all appreciation of the perplexity and difficulty of the situation. he laughed aloud triumphantly. instantly these underground chambers broke forth with wild, elfish voices that mimicked his merriment till it died on his lips. he preferred utter loneliness to the vague sense of companionship given by these weird echoes. somehow the strangeness of all that had happened to him had stirred his imagination, and he could not rid himself of the idea that there were grimacing creatures here with him, whom he could not see, who would only speak when he spoke, and scoffingly iterate his tones. he was faint, bruised, and exhausted. he had been badly stunned by his fall; but for the soft, shelving earth through which he had crashed, it might have been still worse. he could scarcely move as he began to investigate his precarious plight. even if he could climb the perpendicular wall above his head, he could not thence gain the aperture, for, as his eyes became more accustomed to the darkness, he discovered that the shape of the roof was like the interior of a roughly defined dome, about the centre of which was this small opening. "an' a human can't walk on a ceilin' like a fly," he said discontentedly. "can't!" cried an echo close at hand. "fly!" suggested a distant mocker. thad closed his mouth and sat down. he had moved very cautiously, for he knew that these sink-holes are often the entrance of extensive caverns, and that there might be a deep abyss on any side. he could do nothing but wait and call out now and then, and hope that somebody might soon take the short cut through the woods, and, hearing his voice, come to his relief. his courage gave way when he reflected that the river would rise with the heavy rain which he could hear steadily splashing through the sink-hole, and for a time all prudent men would go by the beaten road and the ford. no one would care to take the short cut and save three miles' travel at the risk of swimming his horse, for the river was particularly deep just here and spanned only by a footbridge, except, perhaps, some fugitive from justice, or the revenue officers on their hurried, reckless raids. this reminded him of the still-house and of "dad" there yet, imbibing whiskey, and sharing the danger of his chosen cronies, the moonshiners. ben, at home, would not have his anxiety roused till midnight, at least, by his brother's failure to return from the complicated feat of decoying the drunkard from the distillery. thad trembled to think what might happen to himself in the interval. if the volume of water pouring down through the sink-hole should increase to any considerable extent, he would be drowned here like a rat. was he to have his wish, and see his brother never again? and poor ben! how his own cruel, wicked parting words would scourge him throughout his life,--even when he should grow old! thad's eyes filled with tears of prescient pity for his brother's remorse. "ef ennything war ter happen hyar, sure enough, i wish he mought always know ez i don't keer nothin' now 'bout'n that thar sayin' o' his'n," he thought wistfully. he still heard the persistent rain splashing outside. the hollow, unnatural murmur of a subterranean stream rose drearily. once he sighed heavily, and all the cavernous voices echoed his grief. when that terrible flash of lightning came, ben was still on the slope of the mountain where his brother had left him. the next moment he heard the wild whirl of the gusts as they came surging up the valley. he saw the frantic commotion of the woods on distant spurs as the wind advanced, preceded by swirling columns of dust which carried myriads of leaves, twigs, and even great branches rent from the trees, as evidence of its force. ben turned, and ran like a deer up the steep ascent. "it'll blow that thar barn spang off'n the bluff, i'm thinkin'--an' the filly--cobe--cobe!" he cried out to her as he neared the shanty. he stopped short, his eyes distended. the door was open. there was no hair nor hoof of the filly within. he could have no doubt that his brother had actually taken his property for this errand against his will. "that thar boy air no better 'n a low-down horse-thief!" he declared bitterly. the gusts struck the little barn. it careened this way and that, and finally the flimsy structure came down with a crash, one of the boards narrowly missing ben's head as it fell. he had a hard time getting to the house in the teeth of the wind, but its violence only continued a few minutes, and when he was safe within doors he looked out of the window at the silent mists, beginning to steal about the coves and ravines, and at the rain as it fell in serried columns. long after dark it still beat with unabated persistence on the roof of the log cabin, and splashed and dripped with a chilly, cheerless sound from the low eaves. sometimes a drop fell down the wide chimney, and hissed upon the red-hot coals, for ben had piled on the logs and made a famous fire. he could see that his mother now and then paused to listen in the midst of her preparations for supper. once as she knelt on the hearth, and deftly inserted a knife between the edges of a baking corn-cake and the hoe, she looked up suddenly at ben without turning the cake. "i hearn the beastis's huff!" she said. ben listened. the fire roared. the rain went moaning down the valley. "ye never hearn nothin'," he rejoined. nevertheless, she rose and opened the door. the cold air streamed in. the firelight showed the mists, pressing close in the porch, shivering, and seeming to jostle and nudge each other as they peered in, curiously, upon the warm home-scene, and the smoking supper, and the hilarious children, as if asking of one another how they would like to be human creatures, instead of a part of inanimate nature, or at best the elusive spirits of the mountains. there was nothing to be seen without but the mists. "thad tuk the filly, ye say fur true?" she asked, recurring to the subject when supper was over. ben nodded. "i hopes ter conscience she'll break his neck," he declared cruelly. his mother took instant alarm. she turned and looked at him with a face expressive of the keenest anxiety. "'pears like to me ez the only reason thad kin be so late a-gittin' back air jes' 'kase it air a toler'ble aggervatin' job a-fotchin' of dad home," she said, striving to reassure herself. "that air a true word 'bout'n dad, ennyhow," ben assented bitterly. his old grandfather suddenly lifted up his voice. "this night," said the graybeard from out the chimney corner,--"this night, forty years ago, my brother, ephraim grimes, fell dead on this cabin floor, an' no man sence kin mark the cause." a pause ensued. the rain fell. the pallid, shuddering mists looked in at the window. "ye ain't a-thinkin'," cried the woman tremulously, "ez the night air one app'inted fur evil?" the old man did not answer. "this night," he croaked, leaning over the glowing fire, and kindling his long-stemmed cob-pipe by dexterously scooping up with its bowl a live coal,--"this night, twenty-six years ago, thar war eleven sheep o' mine--ez war teched in the head, or somehows disabled from good sense--an' they jumped off'n the bluff, one arter the other, an' fell haffen way down the mounting, an' bruk thar fool necks 'mongst the boulders. they war dead. thar shearin's never kem ter much account nuther. 'twar powerful cur'ous, fust an' last." the woman made a gesture of indifference. "i ain't a-settin' of store by critters when humans is--is--whar they ain't hearn from." but ben was susceptible of a "critter" scare. "i hope, now," he exclaimed, alarmed, "ez that thar triflin' no-'count thad grimes ain't a-goin' ter let my filly lame herself, nor nothin', a-travelin' with her this dark night, ez seems ter be a night fur things ter happen on ennyhow. oh, shucks! shucks!" he continued impatiently, "i jes' feels like thar ain't no use o' my tryin' ter live along." three of the children who habitually slept in the shed-room had started off to go to bed. as they opened the connecting door, there suddenly resounded a wild commotion within. they shrieked with fright, and banged the door against a strong force which was beginning to push from the other side. the old grandfather rose, pale and agitated, his pipe falling from his nerveless clasp. "this night," he said, with white lips and mechanical utterance,--"this night"-"satan is in the shed-room!" shouted the three small boys, as they held fast to the door with a strength far beyond their age and weight. nevertheless, they were hardly able to cope with the strength on the other side of the door, and it was alternately forced slightly ajar, and then closed with a resounding slam. once, as the firelight flickered into the dark shed-room, the ignorant, superstitious mountaineers had a fleeting glimpse of an object there which convinced them: they beheld great gleaming, blazing eyes, a burnished hoof, and--yes--a flirting tail. "i believe it is satan himself!" cried ben, with awe in his voice. in the wild confusion and bewilderment, ben was somehow vaguely aware that satan had often been in the shed-room before,--in the antechamber of his own heart. whenever this heart of his was full of unkindness, and hardened against his brother, although those better fraternal instincts which he kept repressed and dwarfed might repudiate this cruelty under the pretext that he did not really mean it, still the great principle of evil was there in the moral shed-room, clamoring for entrance at the inner doors. and this, we may safely say, may apply to wiser people than poor ben. in the midst of the general despair and fright, something suddenly whinnied. at the sound the three small boys fell in a limp, exhausted heap on the floor, and, as the door no longer offered resistance, the unknown visitor pranced in: it was the filly, snorting and tossing her mane, and once more whinnying shrilly for her supper. in a moment ben understood the whole phenomenon. thad had left the barn door unfastened, and, when that terrible flash of lightning came and the wind arose, the frightened animal had instantly fled to the house for safety. she had doubtless pushed open the back door of the shed-room easily enough, but it had closed behind her, and she had remained there a supperless prisoner. the small boys picked themselves up from among the filly's hoofs, with disconnected exclamations of "wa-a-a-l, sir!" while ben led the animal out, with a growing impression that he would try to "live along" for a while, at all events. he had led satan out of the moral shed-room, as well. the reappearance of the filly without thad had raised a great anxiety about his brother's continued absence. all at once he began to feel as if those brutal wishes of his were prophetic,--as if they were endowed with a malignant power, and could actually pursue poor thad to some violent end. he did not understand now how he could have framed the words. when a fellow really likes his brother,--and most fellows do,--there is scant use or grace or common-sense in keeping up, from mere carelessness, or through an irritable habit, a continual bickering, for these germs of evil are possessed of a marvelous faculty for growth, and some day their gigantic deformities will confront you in deeds of which you once believed yourself incapable. ben's hands were trembling as he folded a blanket, and laid it on the animal's back to serve instead of a saddle. "i'm a-goin' ter the still-house ter see ef thad ever got thar," he said, when his mother appeared at the door. he added, "i'm a-gittin' sorter skeered ez su'thin' mought hev happened ter him." his grandfather hobbled out into the little porch. "them roads air turrible rough fur that thar filly, ez ain't fairly broke good yit, nor used ter travel," he suggested. "i'd gin four hunderd fillies, ef i hed 'em, jes' ter know that thar boy air safe an' sound," ben declared, as he mounted. he took the short cut, judging that, at the point where it crossed the river, the stream was still fordable. when he heard his brother's piteous cries for help, he quaked to think what might have happened to thad if he had not recognized the presence of satan in the moral shed-room, and summarily ejected him. the rainfall had been sufficient to aggregate considerable water in the gullies about the sink-hole, and these, emptying into the cavity and sending a continuous stream over the boy, had served to chill him through and through, and he had a pretty fair chance of being drowned, or dying from cold and exhaustion. ben pressed on to the still-house at the best speed he could make, and such of the moonshiners as were half sober came out with ropes and a barrel, which they lowered into the cavity. thad managed to crawl into the barrel, and, after several ineffectual attempts, he was drawn up through the sink-hole. there was no formal reconciliation between the two boys. it was enough for ben to feel thad's reluctance to unloose his eager clutch upon his brother's arms, even after he had been lifted out upon the firm ground. and thad knew that that complicated sound in ben's throat was a sob, although, for the sake of the men who stood by, he strove to seem to be coughing. "right smart of an idjit, now, ain't ye?" demanded ben, hustling back, so to speak, the tears that sought to rise in his eyes. "waal, stranger, how's yer filly?" retorted thad, laughing in a gaspy fashion. there was a tone of forgiveness in the inquiry. the answer caught the same spirit. "middlin',--thanky,--jes' middlin'," said ben. and then they and "dad" fared home together by the light of the moonshiners' lantern. borrowing a hammer on a certain bold crag that juts far over a steep wooded mountain slope a red light was seen one moonless night in june. sometimes it glowed intensely among the gray mists which hovered above the deep and sombre valley; sometimes it faded. its life was the breath of the bellows, for a blacksmith's shop stands close beside the road that rambles along the brink of the mountain. generally after sunset the forge is dark and silent. so when three small boys, approaching the log hut through the gloomy woods, heard the clink! clank! clink! clank! of the hammers, and the metallic echo among the cliffs, they stopped short in astonishment. "thar now!" exclaimed abner ryder desperately; "dad's at it fur true!" "mebbe he'll go away arter a while, ab," suggested jim gryce, another of the small boys. "then that'll gin us our chance." "waal, i reckon we kin stiffen up our hearts ter wait," said ab resignedly. all three sat down on a log a short distance from the shop, and presently they became so engrossed in their talk that they did not notice when the blacksmith, in the pauses of his work, came to the door for a breath of air. they failed to discreetly lower their voices, and thus they had a listener on whose attention they had not counted. "ye see," observed ab in a high, shrill pipe, "dad sets a heap o' store by his tools. but dad, ye know, air a mighty slack-twisted man. he gits his tools lost" (reprehensively), "he wastes his nails, an' then he 'lows ez how it war _me_ ez done it." he paused impressively in virtuous indignation. a murmur of surprise and sympathy rose from his companions. then he recommenced. "dad air the crankiest man on this hyar mounting! he won't lend me none o' his tools nowadays,--not even that thar leetle hammer o' his'n. an' i'm obleeged ter hev that thar leetle hammer an' some nails ter fix a box fur them young squir'ls what we cotched. so we'll jes' hev ter go ter his shop of a night when he is away, an'--an'--an' borry it!" the blacksmith, a tall, powerfully built man, of an aspect far from jocular, leaned slightly out of the door, peering in the direction where the three tow-headed urchins waited. then he glanced within at a leather strap, as if he appreciated the appropriateness of an intimate relation between these objects. but there was no time for pleasure now. he was back in his shop in a moment. his next respite was thus entertained:-"what makes him work so of a night?" asked jim gryce. "waal," explained ab in his usual high key, "he rid ter the settle_mint_ this mornin'; he hev been a-foolin' round thar all day, an' the crap air jes' a-sufferin' fur work! so him an' uncle tobe air layin' thar ploughs in the shop now, kase they air goin' ter run around the corn ter-morrer. workin', though, goes powerful hard with dad enny time. i tole old bob peachin that, when i war ter the mill this evenin'. him an' the t'other men thar laffed mightily at dad. an' i laffed too!" there was an angry gleam in stephen ryder's stern black eyes as he turned within, seized the tongs, and thrust a piece of iron among the coals, while tobe, who had been asleep in the window at the back of the shop, rose reluctantly and plied the bellows. the heavy panting broke forth simultaneously with the red flare that quivered out into the dark night. presently it faded; the hot iron was whisked upon the anvil, fiery sparks showered about as the rapid blows fell, and the echoing crags kept time with rhythmic beats to the clanking of the sledge and the clinking of the hand-hammer. the stars, high above the far-stretching mountains, seemed to throb in unison, until suddenly the blacksmith dealt a sharp blow on the face of the anvil as a signal to his striker to cease, and the forge was silent. as he leaned against the jamb of the door, mechanically adjusting his leather apron, he heard ab's voice again. "old bob say he ain't no 'count sca'cely. he 'lowed ez he had knowed him many a year, an' fund him a sneakin', deceivin' critter." the blacksmith was erect in a moment, every fibre tense. "that ain't the wust," ab gabbled on. "old bob say, though't ain't known ginerally, ez he air gin ter thievin'. old bob 'lowed ter them men, hangin' round the mill, ez he air the biggest thief on the mounting!" the strong man trembled. his blood rushed tumultuously to his head, then seemed to ebb swiftly away. that this should be said of him to the loafers at the mill! these constituted his little world. and he valued his character as only an honest man can. he was amazed at the boldness of the lie. it had been openly spoken in the presence of his son. one might have thought the boy would come directly to him. but there he sat, glibly retailing it to his small comrades! it seemed all so strange that stephen ryder fancied there was surely some mistake. in the next moment, however, he was convinced that they had been talking of him, and of no one else. "i tole old bob ez how i thought they oughtn't ter be so hard on him, ez he warn't thar to speak for hisself." all three boys giggled weakly, as if this were witty. "but old bob 'lowed ez ennybody mought know him by his name. an' then he told me that old sayin':- 'stephen, stephen, so deceivin', that old satan can't believe him!'" here ben gryce broke in, begging the others to go home, and come to "borry" the hammer next night. ab agreed to the latter proposition, but still sat on the log and talked. "old bob say," he remarked cheerfully, "that when he do git 'em, he shakes 'em--shakes the life out'n 'em!" this was inexplicable. stephen ryder pondered vainly on it for an instant. but the oft-reiterated formula, "old bob say," caught his ears, and he was absorbed anew in ab's discourse. "old bob say ez my mother air one of the best women in this world. but she air so gin ter humoring every critter a-nigh her, an' tends ter 'em so much, an' feeds 'em so high an' hearty, ez they jes' gits good fur nothin' in this world. that's how kem she air eat out'n house an' home now. old bob say ez how he air the hongriest critter! say he jes' despise ter see him comin' round of meal times. old bob say ef he hev got enny good lef' in him, my mother will kill it out yit with kindness." the blacksmith felt, as he turned back into the shop and roused the sleepy-headed striker, that within the hour all the world had changed for him. these coarse taunts were enough to show in what estimation he was held. and he had fancied himself, in countrified phrase, "respected by all," and had been proud of his standing. so the bellows began to sigh and pant once more, and kept the red light flaring athwart the darkness. the people down in the valley looked up at it, glowing like a star that had slipped out of the sky and lodged somehow on the mountain, and wondered what stephen ryder could be about so late at night. when he left the shop there was no sign of the boys who had ornamented the log earlier in the evening. he walked up the road to his house, and found his wife sitting alone in the rickety little porch. "hev that thar boy gone ter bed?" he asked. "waal," she slowly drawled, in a soft, placid voice, "he kem hyar 'bout'n haffen hour ago so nigh crazed ter go ter stay all night with jim an' benny gryce ez i hed ter let him. old man gryce rid by hyar in his wagon on his way home from the settle_mint_. so ab went off with the gryce boys an' thar gran'dad." thus the blacksmith concluded his tools were not liable to be "borrowed" that night. he had a scheme to insure their safety for the future, but in order to avoid his wife's remonstrances on ab's behalf, he told her nothing of it, nor of what he had overheard. early the next morning he set out for the mill, intending to confront "old bob" and demand retraction. the road down the deep, wild ravine was rugged, and he jogged along slowly until at last he came within sight of the crazy, weather-beaten old building tottering precariously on the brink of the impetuous torrent which gashed the mountain side. crags towered above it; vines and mosses clung to its walls; it was a dank, cool, shady place, but noisy enough with the turmoil of its primitive machinery and the loud, hoarse voices of the loungers striving to make themselves heard above the uproar. there were several of these idle mountaineers aimlessly strolling among the bags of corn and wheat that were piled about. long, dusty cobwebs hung from the rafters. sometimes a rat, powdered white with flour and rendered reckless by high living, raced boldly across the floor. the golden grain poured ceaselessly through the hopper, and leaning against it was the miller, a tall, stoop-shouldered man about forty years of age, with a floury smile lurking in his beard and a twinkle in his good-humored eyes overhung by heavy, mealy eyebrows. "waal, steve," yelled the miller, shambling forward as the blacksmith appeared in the doorway. "come 'long in. whar's yer grist?" "i hev got no grist!" thundered steve, sternly. "waal--ye're jes' ez welcome," said the miller, not noticing the rigid lines of the blacksmith's face, accented here and there by cinders, nor the fierceness of the intent dark eyes. "i reckon i'm powerful welcome!" sneered stephen ryder. the tone attracted "old bob's" attention. "what ails ye, steve?" he asked, surprised. "i'm a deceivin', sneakin' critter--hey," shouted the visitor, shaking his big fist; he had intended to be calm, but his long-repressed fury had found vent at last. the miller drew back hastily, astonishment and fear mingled in a pallid paste, as it were, with the flour on his face. the six startled on-lookers stood as if petrified. "ye say i'm a thief!--a thief!--a thief!" with the odious word ryder made a frantic lunge at the miller, who dodged his strong right arm at the moment when his foot struck against a bag of corn lying on the floor and he stumbled. he recovered his equilibrium instantly. but the six bystanders had seized him. "hold him hard, folkses!" cried honest bob peachin. "hold hard! i'll tell ye what ails him--though ye mustn't let on ter him--he air teched in the head!" he winked at them with a confidential intention as he roared this out, forgetting in his excitement that mental infirmity does not impair the sense of hearing. this folly on his part was a salutary thing for stephen ryder. it calmed him instantly. he felt that he had need for caution. a fearful vista of possibilities opened before him. he remembered having seen in his childhood a man reputed to be suddenly bereft of reason, but who he believed was entirely sane, bound hand and foot, and every word, every groan, every effort to free himself, accounted the demonstration of a maniac. this fate was imminent for him. they were seven to one. he trembled as he felt their hands pressing upon the swelling muscles of his arms. with an abrupt realization of his great strength, he waited for a momentary relaxation of their clutch, then with a mighty wrench he burst loose from them, flung himself upon his mare, and dashed off at full speed. he did no work that afternoon, although the corn was "suffering." he sat after dinner smoking his pipe on the porch of his log cabin, while he moodily watched the big shadow of the mountain creeping silently over the wooded valley as the sun got on the down grade. deep glooms began to lurk among the ravines of the great ridge opposite. the shimmering blue summits in the distance were purpling. a redbird, alert, crested, and with a brilliant eye, perched idly on the vines about the porch, having relinquished for the day the job of teaching a small, stubby imitation of himself to fly. the shocks of wheat in the bare field close by had turned a rich red gold in the lengthening rays before stephen ryder realized that night was close at hand. all at once he heard a discordant noise which he knew that ab ryder called "singing," and presently the boy appeared in the distance, his mouth stretched, his tattered hat stuck on the back of his tow-head, his bare feet dusty, his homespun cotton trousers rolled up airily about his knees, his single suspender supporting the structure. his father laughed a little at sight of him, rather sardonically it must be confessed, and saying to his wife that he intended to go to the shop for a while, he rose and strolled off down the road. when supper was over, however, ab was immensely relieved to see that his father had no idea of continuing his work. consequently the usual routine was to be expected. generally, when summoned to the evening meal, the blacksmith hastily plunged his head in the barrel of water used to temper steel, thrust off his leather apron, and went up to the house without more ado. he smoked afterward, and lounged about, enjoying the relaxation after his heavy work. he did not go down to lock the shop until bed-time, when he was shutting up the house, the barn, and the corn-crib for the night. in the interval the shop stood deserted and open, and this fact was the basis of ab's opportunity. to-night there seemed to be no deviation from this custom. he ascertained that his father was smoking his pipe on the porch. then he went down the road and sat on the log near the shop to wait for the other boys who were to share the risks and profits of borrowing the hammer. all was still--so still! he fancied that he could hear the tumult of the torrent far away as it dashed over the rocks. a dog suddenly began to bark in the black, black valley--then ceased. he was vaguely over-awed with the "big mountings" for company and the distant stars. he listened eagerly for the first cracking of brush which told him that the other boys were near at hand. then all three crept along cautiously among the huge boles of the trees, feeling very mysterious and important. when they reached the rude window, ab sat for a moment on the sill, peering into the intense blackness within. "it air dark thar, fur true, ab," said jim gryce, growing faint-hearted. "let's go back." "naw, sir! naw, sir!" protested ab resolutely. "i'm on the borry!" "how kin we find that thar leetle hammer in sech a dark place?" urged jim. "waal," explained ab, in his high key, "dad air mightily welded ter his cranky notions. an' he always leaves every tool in the same place edzactly every night. bound fur me!" he continued in shrill exultation as he slapped his lean leg, "i know whar that thar leetle hammer air sot ter roost!" he jumped down from the window inside the shop, and cut a wiry caper. "i'm a man o' bone and muscle!" he bragged. "kin do ennything." the other boys followed more quietly. but they had only groped a little distance when jim gryce set up a sharp yelp of pain. "shet yer mouth--ye pop-eyed catamount!" ab admonished him. "dad will hear an'--ah-h-h!" his own words ended in a shriek. "oh, my!" vociferated the "man of bone and muscle," who was certainly, too, a man of extraordinary lung-power. "oh, my! the ground is hot--hot ez iron! they always tole me that satan would ketch me--an' oh, my! now he hev done it!" he joined the "pop-eyed catamount" in a lively dance with their bare feet on the hot iron bars which were scattered about the ground in every direction. these were heated artistically, so that they might not really scorch the flesh, but would touch the feelings, and perhaps the conscience. as the third boy's scream rent the air, and told that he, too, had encountered a torrid experience, ab ryder became suddenly aware that there was some one besides themselves in the shop. he could see nothing; he was only vaguely conscious of an unexpected presence, and he fancied that it was in the corner by the barrel of water. all at once a gruff voice broke forth. "i'm on the borry!" it remarked with fierce facetiousness. "i want ter borry a boy--no! a man o' bone an' muscle--fur 'bout a minit and a quarter!" a strong arm seized ab by his collar. he felt himself swept through the air, soused head foremost into the barrel of water, then thrust into a corner, where he was thankful to find there was no more hot iron. "i want to borry another boy!" said the gruff voice. and the "pop-eyed catamount" was duly ducked. "'twould pleasure me some ter borry another!" the voice declared with grim humor. but ben was the youngest and smallest, and only led into mischief by the others. they never knew that the blacksmith relented when his turn came, and that he got a mere sprinkle in comparison with their total immersion. then stephen ryder set out for home, followed by a dripping procession. "i'll l'arn ye ter 'borry' my tools 'thout leave!" he vociferated as he went along. when they had reached the house, he faced round sternly on ab. "whyn't ye kem an' tell me ez how the miller say i war a sneakin', deceivin' critter, an'--an'--an' a thief!" his wife dropped the dish she was washing, and it broke unheeded upon the hearth. ab stretched his eyes and mouth in amazement. "old bob peachin never tole me no sech word sence i been born!" he declared flatly. "then what ailed ye ter go an' tell sech a lie ter gryce's boys las' night jes' down thar outside o' the shop?" stephen ryder demanded. ab stared at him, evidently bewildered. "ye tole 'em," continued the blacksmith, striving to refresh his memory, "ez bob peachin say ez how ye mought know i war deceivin' by my bein' named stephen--an' that i war the hongriest critter--an'"-"'twar the t-a-a-a-rrier!" shouted ab, "the little rat tarrier ez we war a-talkin' 'bout. he hev been named steve these six year, old bob say. he gimme the dog yestiddy, 'kase i 'lowed ez the rats war eatin' us out'n house an' home, an' my mother hed fed up that old cat o' our'n till he won't look at a mice. old bob warned me, though, ez steve, _the tarrier_, air a mighty thief an' deceivin' ginerally. old bob say he reckons my mother will spile the dog with feedin' him, an' kill out what little good he hev got lef' in him with kindness. but i tuk him, an' brung him home ennyhow. an' las' night arter we hed got through talkin' 'bout borryin' (he looked embarrassed) the leetle hammer, we tuk to talkin' 'bout the tarrier. an' yander he is now, asleep on the chil'ren's bed!" a long pause ensued. "m'ria," said the blacksmith meekly to his wife, "hev ye tuk notice how the gyarden truck air a-thrivin'? 'pears like ter me ez the peas air a-fullin' up consider'ble." and so the subject changed. he had it on his conscience, however, to explain the matter to the miller. for the second time old bob peachin, and the men at the mill, "laffed mightily at dad." and when ab had recovered sufficiently from the exhaustion attendant upon borrowing a hammer, he "laffed too." the conscripts' hollow chapter i "i'm a-goin' ter climb down ter that thar ledge, an' slip round ter the hollow whar them conscripts built thar fire in the old war times." nicholas gregory paused on the verge of the great cliff and cast a sidelong glance at barney pratt, who was beating about among the red sumach bushes in the woods close at hand, and now and then stooping to search the heaps of pine needles and dead leaves where they had been blown together on the ground. "conscripts!" barney ejaculated, with a chuckle. "that's precisely what them men war determinated _not_ ter be! they war a-hidin' in the mountings ter git shet o' the conscription." "waal, i don't keer ef _ye_ names 'em 'conscripts' or no," nicholas retorted loftily. "that's what other folks calls 'em. i'm goin' down ter the hollow, whar they built thar fire, ter see ef that old missin' tur-r-key-hen o' our'n hain't hid her nest off 'mongst them dead chunks, an' sech." "a tur-r-key ain't sech a powerful fool ez that," said barney, coming to the edge of the precipice and looking over at the ledge, which ran along the face of the cliff twenty feet below. "how'd she make out ter fotch the little tur-r-keys up hyar, when they war hatched? they'd fall off'n the bluff." "a tur-r-key what hev stole her nest away from the folks air fool enough fur ennything," nicholas declared. perhaps he did not really expect to find the missing fowl in such an out-of-the-way place as this, but being an adventurous fellow, the sight of the crag was a temptation. he had often before clambered down to the ledge, which led to a great niche in the solid rock, where one night during the war some men who were hiding from the conscription had kindled their fire and cooked their scanty food. the charred remnants of logs were still here, but no one ever thought about them now, except the two boys, who regarded them as a sort of curiosity. sometimes they came and stared at them, and speculated about them, and declared to each other that _they_ would not consider it a hardship to go a-soldiering. then nick would tell barney of a wonderful day when he had driven to the county town in his uncle's wagon. there was a parade of militia there, and how grand the drum had sounded! and as he told it he would shoulder a smoke-blackened stick, and stride about in the conscripts' hollow, and feel very brave. he had no idea in those days how close at hand was the time when his own courage should be tried. "kem on, barney!" he urged. "let's go down an' sarch fur the tur-r-key." but barney had thrown himself down upon the crag with a long-drawn sigh of fatigue. "waal," he replied, in a drowsy tone, "i dunno 'bout'n that. i'm sorter banged out, 'kase i hev had a powerful hard day's work a-bilin' sorghum at our house. i b'lieves i'll rest my bones hyar, an' wait fur ye." as he spoke, he rolled up one of the coats which they had both thrown off, during their search for the nest on the summit of the cliff, and slipped it under his head. he was far the brighter boy of the two, but his sharp wits seemed to thrive at the expense of his body. he was small and puny, and he was easily fatigued in comparison with big burly nick, who rarely knew such a sensation, and prided himself upon his toughness. "waal, barney, surely ye air the porest little shoat on g'liath mounting!" he exclaimed scornfully, as he had often done before. but he made no further attempt to persuade barney, and began the descent alone. it was not so difficult a matter for a sure-footed mountaineer like nick to make his way down to the ledge as one might imagine, for in a certain place the face of the cliff presented a series of jagged edges and projections which afforded him foothold. as he went along, too, he kept a strong grasp upon overhanging vines and bushes that grew out from earth-filled crevices. he had gone down only a short distance when he paused thoughtfully. "this hyar wind air blowin' powerful brief," he said. "i mought get chilled an' lose my footin'." he hardly liked to give up the expedition, but he was afraid to continue on his way in the teeth of the mountain wind, cold and strong in the october afternoon. if only he had his heavy jeans coat with him! "barney!" he called out, intending to ask his friend to throw it over to him. there was no answer. "that thar barney hev drapped off ter sleep a'ready!" he exclaimed indignantly. he chanced to glance upward as he was about to call again. there he saw a coat lying on the edge of the cliff, the dangling sleeve fluttering just within his reach. when he dragged it down and discovered that it was barney's instead of his own, he was slightly vexed, but it certainly did not seem a matter of great importance. "that boy hev got _my_ coat, an' this is his'n. but law! i'd ruther squeeze myself small enough ter git inter his'n, than ter hev ter yell like a catamount fur an hour an' better ter wake him up, an' make him gimme mine." he seated himself on a narrow projection of the crag, and began to cautiously put on his friend's coat. he had need to be careful, for a precarious perch like this, with an unmeasured abyss beneath, the far blue sky above, the almost inaccessible face of a cliff on one side, and on the other a distant stretch of mountains, is not exactly the kind of place in which one would prefer to make a toilet. besides the dangers of his position, he was anxious to do no damage to the coat, which although loose and baggy on barney, was rather a close fit for nick. "i ain't used ter climbin' with a coat on, nohow, an' i mus' be mighty keerful not ter bust barney's, 'kase it air all the one he hev got," he said to himself as he clambered nimbly down to the ledge. then he walked deftly along the narrow shelf, and as he turned abruptly into the immense niche in the cliff called the conscripts' hollow, he started back in sudden bewilderment. his heart gave a bound, and then it seemed to stand still. he hardly recognized the familiar place. there, to be sure, were the walls and the dome-like roof, but upon the dusty sandstone floor were scattered quantities of household articles, such as pots and pails and pans and kettles. there was a great array of brogans, too, and piles of blankets, and bolts of coarse unbleached cotton and jeans cloth. "waal, sir!" he exclaimed, as he gazed at them with wild, uncomprehending eyes. then the truth flashed upon him. a story had reached goliath mountain some weeks before, to the effect that a cross-roads store, some miles down the valley, had been robbed. the thieves had escaped with the stolen goods, leaving no clue by which they might be identified and brought to justice. nick saw that he had made a discovery. here it was that the robbers had contrived to conceal their plunder, doubtless intending to wait until suspicion lulled, when they could carry it to some distant place, where it could safely be sold. suddenly a thought struck him that sent a shiver through every fibre of his body. this store was robbed in a singular manner. no bolt was broken,--no door burst open. there was a window, however, that lacked one pane of glass. the aperture would not admit a man's body. it was believed that the burglars had passed a boy through it, who had handed out the stolen goods. and now, nick foolishly argued, if any one should discover that _he_ knew where the plunder was hidden, they would believe that _he_ was that boy who had robbed the store! he began to resolve that he would say nothing about what he had seen,--not even to barney. he thought his safety lay in his silence. still, he did not want his silence to be to the advantage of wicked men, so he tried to persuade himself that the burglars would soon be traced and captured without the information which he knew it was his duty to give. "ter be sartain, the officers will kem on this place arter a while," he said meditatively. then he shook his head doubtfully. the crag was far from any house, and except the dwellers on goliath mountain, few people knew of this great niche in it. "they war sly foxes what stowed away thar plunder hyar!" he exclaimed in despair. often, when nick had before stood in the conscripts' hollow, he had imagined that he would make a good soldier. but his idea of a soldier was a fine uniform, and the ra-ta-ta of martial music. he had no conception of that high sense of duty which nerves a man to face danger; even now he did not know that he was a coward as he faltered and feared in the cause of right to encounter suspicion. courage!--nick thought that meant to crack away at a bear, if you were lucky enough to have the chance; or to kill a rattlesnake, if you had a big heavy stone close at hand; or to scramble about among crags and precipices, if you felt certain of the steadiness of your head and the strength of your muscles. but he did not realize that "courage" could mean the nerve to speak one little word for duty's sake. he would not speak the word,--he had determined on that,--for might they not think that _he_ was the boy who had robbed the store? he was quivering with excitement when he turned and began to walk along the ledge toward those roughly hewn natural steps by which he had descended. he knew that his agitation rendered his footing insecure. he was afraid of falling into the depths beneath, and he pressed close against the cliff. on the narrow ledge, hardly two yards distant from the conscripts' hollow, a clump of blackberry bushes was growing from a crevice in the rock. they had never before given him trouble; but now, as he brushed hastily past, they seemed to clutch at him with their thorny branches. as he tore away from them roughly, he did not observe that he had left a fragment of his brown jeans clothing hanging upon the thorns, as a witness to his presence here close to the conscripts' hollow, where the stolen goods lay hidden. there was a coarse, dark-colored horn button attached to the bit of brown jeans, which was a three-cornered scrap of his coat. no! of _barney's_ coat. and was it to be a witness against poor barney, who had not gone near the conscripts' hollow, but was lying asleep on the summit of the crag, supposing he had his own coat under his own head? he did not discover his mistake until some time afterward, for when nick had slowly and laboriously climbed up the steep face of the cliff, he stripped off his friend's torn coat before he roused him. barney was awakened by having his pillow dragged rudely from under his head, and when at last he reluctantly opened his eyes on the hazy yellow sunlight, and saw nick standing near on the great gray crag, he had no idea that this moment was an important crisis in his life. the wind was coming up the gorge fresh and free; the autumnal foliage, swaying in it, was like the flaunting splendors of red and gold banners; the western ranges had changed from blue to purple, for the sun was sinking. "it's gittin' toler'ble late, barney," said nick. "let's go." he had on his own coat now, and he was impatient to be off. "did ye find the tur-r-key's nest in the conscripts' hollow?" asked barney, with a lazy yawn, and still flat on his back. "no," said nick curtly. then it occurred to him that it would be safer if his friend should think he had not been in the hollow. "no," he reiterated, after a pause, "i didn't go down ter the ledge arter all." he had begun to lie,--where would it end? "whyn't you-uns go?" demanded barney, surprised. "the wind war blowin' so powerful brief," nick replied without a qualm. "so i jes' s'arched fur a while in the woods back thar a piece." in a moment more, barney rose to his feet, picked up his coat, and put it on. he did not notice the torn place, for the garment was old and worn, and had many ragged edges. it lacked, however, but one button, and that missing button was attached to the triangular bit of brown jeans that fluttered on the thorny bush close to the conscripts' hollow. all unconscious of his loss, he went away in the rich autumnal sunset, leaving it there as a witness against him. chapter ii after this, nicholas gregory was very steady at his work for a while. he kept out of the woods as much as possible, and felt that he knew more already than was good for him. above all, he avoided that big sandstone cliff and the conscripts' hollow, where the goods lay hidden. he heard no more of the search that had been made for the burglars and their booty, and he congratulated himself on his caution in keeping silent about what he had found. "now, ef it hed been that thar wide-mouthed barney, stid o' me, he'd hev blabbed fust thing, an' they'd all hev thunk ez he war the boy what them scoundrels put through the winder ter steal the folkses' truck. they'd hev jailed him, i reckon." he had begun to forget his own part in the wrong-doing,--that his silence was helping to screen "them scoundrels" from the law. this state of mind continued for a week, perhaps. then he fell to speculating about the stolen goods. he wondered whether they were all there yet, or whether the burglars had managed to carry them away. his curiosity grew so great that several times he was almost at the point of going to see for himself; but one morning, early, when an opportunity to do so was suddenly presented, his courage failed him. his mother had just come into the log cabin from the hen-house with a woe-begone face. "i do declar'!" she exclaimed solemnly, "that i'm surely the afflictedest 'oman on g'liath mounting! an' them young fall tur-r-keys air so spindlin' an' delikit they'll be the death o' me yit!" they were so spindling and delicate that they were the death of themselves. she had just buried three, and her heart and her larder were alike an aching void. "three died ter-day, an' two las' wednesday!" as she counted them on her fingers she honored each with a shake of the head, so mournful that it might be accounted an obituary in dumb show. "i hev had no sort'n luck with this tur-r-key's brood, an' the t'other hev stole her nest away, an' i hev got sech a mean no-'count set o' chillen they can't find her. waal! waal! waal! this comin' winter the lord'll be _obleeged_ ter pervide." this was washing-day, and as she began to scrub away on the noisy washboard, a sudden thought struck her. "ye told me two weeks ago an' better, nick, that ye hed laid off ter sarch the conscripts' hollow; ye 'lowed ye hed been everywhar else. did ye go thar fur the tur-r-key?" she faced him with her dripping arms akimbo. nick's face turned red as he answered, "that thar tur-r-key ain't a-nigh thar." "what ails ye, nick? thar's su'thin' wrong. i kin tell it by yer looks. ye never hed the grit ter sarch thar, i'll be bound; did ye, now?" nick could not bring himself to admit having been near the place. "no," he faltered, "i never sarched thar." "ye'll do it now, though!" his mother declared triumphantly. "i'm afeard ter send jacob on sech a yerrand down the bluffs, kase he air so little he mought fall; but he air big enough ter go 'long an' watch ye go down ter the hollow--else ye'll kem back an' say ye hev sarched thar, when ye ain't been a-nigh the bluff." there seemed for a moment no escape for nick. his mother was looking resolutely at him, and jacob had gotten up briskly from his seat in the chimney-corner. he was a small tow-headed boy with big owlish eyes, and nick knew from experience that they were very likely to see anything he did _not_ do. he must go; and then if at any time the stolen goods should be discovered, jacob and his mother, and who could say how many besides, would know that he had been to the conscripts' hollow, and must have seen what was hidden there. in that case his silence on the subject would be very suspicious. it would seem as if he had some connection with the burglars, and for that reason tried to conceal the plunder. he was saying to himself that he would not go--and he must! how could he avoid it? as he glanced uneasily around the room, his eyes chanced to fall on a little object lying on the edge of the shelf just above the washtub. he made the most of the opportunity. as he slung his hat upon his head with an impatient gesture, he managed to brush the shelf with it and knock the small object into the foaming suds below. his mother sank into a chair with uplifted hands and eyes. "the las' cake o' hop yeast!" she cried. "an' how air the bread ter be raised?" to witness her despair, one would think only jack-screws could do it. "surely i _am_ the afflictedest 'oman on g'liath mounting! an' ter-morrer brother pete's wife an' his gals air a-comin', and i hed laid off ter hev raised bread." for "raised bread" is a great rarity and luxury in these parts, the nimble "dodgers" being the staff of life. "i never went ter do it," muttered nick. "waal, ye kin jes' kerry yer bones down the mounting ter sister mirandy's house, an' ax her ter fotch me a cake o' her yeast when she kems up hyar ter-day ter holp me sizin' yarn. arter that i don't keer what ye does with yerself. ef ye stays hyar along o' we-uns, ye'll haul the roof down nex', i reckon. 'pears like ter me ez boys an' men-folks air powerful awk'ard, useless critters ter keep in a house; they oughter hev pens outside, i'm a-thinkin'." she had forgotten about the turkey, and nick was glad enough to escape on these terms. it was not until after he had finished his errand at aunt mirandy's house that he chanced to think again of the conscripts' hollow. as he was slowly lounging back up the mountain, he paused occasionally on the steep slope and looked up at the crags high on the summit, which he could see, now and then, diagonally across a deep cove. when he came in sight of the one which he had such good reason to remember, he stopped and stood gazing fixedly at it for a long time, wondering again whether the robbers had yet carried off their plunder from its hiding-place. he was not too distant to distinguish the conscripts' hollow, but from his standpoint, he could not at first determine where was the ledge. he thought he recognized it presently in a black line that seemed drawn across the massive cliff. but what was that upon it? a moving figure! he gazed at it spell-bound for a moment, as it slowly made its way along toward the hollow. then he wanted to see no more; he wanted to know no more. he turned and fled at full speed along the narrow cow-path among the bushes. suddenly there was a rustle among them. something had sprung out into the path with a light bound, and as he ran, he heard a swift step behind him. it seemed a pursuing step, for, as he quickened his pace, it came faster too. it was a longer stride than his; it was gaining upon him. a hand with a grip like a vise fell upon his shoulder, and as he was whirled around and brought face to face with his pursuer, he glanced up and recognized the constable of the district. this was a tall, muscular man, dressed in brown jeans, and with a bushy red beard. he knew nick well, for he, too, was a mountaineer. "ye war a-dustin' along toler'ble fast, nicholas gregory," he exclaimed; "but nothin' on g'liath mounting kin beat me a-runnin' 'thout it air a deer. ye'll kem along with me now, and stir yer stumps powerful lively, too, kase i hain't got no time ter lose." "what am i tuk up fur?" gasped nick. "s'picious conduc'," replied the man curtly. nick knew no more now than he did before. the officer's next words made matters plainer. "things look mightily like ye war set hyar ter watch that thar ledge. ez soon ez ye seen our men a-goin' ter the conscripts' hollow ter sarch fur that thar stole truck, ye war a-goin' ter scuttle off an' gin the alarm ter them rascally no-'count burglars. i saw ye and yer looks, and i suspicioned some sech game. ye don't cheat the law in _this_ deestrick--not often! ye air the very boy, i reckon, what holped ter rob blenkins's store. whar's the other burglars? ye'd better tell!" "i dunno!" cried nick tremulously. "i never had nothin' ter do with 'em." "ye hev told on yerself," the man retorted. "why did ye stand a-gapin' at the conscripts' hollow, ef ye didn't know thar was suthin special thar?" nick, in his confusion, could invent no reply, and he was afraid to tell the truth. he looked mutely at the officer, who held his arm and looked down sternly at him. "ye air a bad egg,--that's plain. i'll take ye along whether i ketches the other burglars or no." they toiled up the steep ascent in silence, and before very long were on the summit of the mountain, and within view of the crag. there on the great gray cliff, in the midst of the lonely woods, were several men whom nick had never before seen. their busy figures were darkly defined against the hazy azure of the distant ranges, and as they moved about, their shadows on the ground seemed very busy too, and blotted continually the golden sunshine that everywhere penetrated the thinning masses of red and bronze autumn foliage. a wagon, close at hand, was already half full of the stolen goods, and a number of men were going cautiously up and down the face of the cliff, bringing articles, or passing them from one to another. "well, this _is_ a tedious job!" exclaimed the sheriff, john stebbins by name. he was a quick-witted, good-natured man, but being active in temperament, he was exceedingly impatient of delay. "how long did it take 'em to get all those heavy things down into the conscripts' hollow,--hey, bub?" he added, appealing to nick, who had been brought to his notice by the constable. it was terrible to nick that they should all speak to him as if he were one of the criminals. he broke out with wild protestations of his innocence, denying, too, that he had had any knowledge of what was hidden in the conscripts' hollow. "then what made ye run, yander on the slope, when ye seen thar war somebody on the ledge?" demanded the constable. nick had a sudden inspiration. "waal," he faltered, with an explanatory sob, which was at once ludicrous and pathetic, "i war too fur off ter make out fur sure what 'twar on the ledge. 'twar black-lookin', an' i 'lowed 'twar a b'ar." all the men laughed at this. "i sot out ter run ter aunt mirandy's house ter borry job's gun ter kem up hyar, an' mebbe git a crack at him," continued nick. "that doesn't seem unnatural," said the sheriff. then he turned to the constable. "this ain't enough to justify us in holding on to the boy, jim, unless we can fix that scrap with the button on him. where is it?" "d'ye know whose coat this kem off'n?" asked the constable, producing a bit of brown jeans, with a dark-colored horn button attached to it. "how'd it happen ter be stickin' ter them blackberry-bushes on the ledge?" nick recognized it in an instant. it was barney pratt's button, and a bit of barney pratt's coat. but he knew well enough that he himself must have torn it when he wore it down to the conscripts' hollow. he realized that he should have at once told the whole truth of what he knew about the stolen goods. he was well aware that he ought not to suffer the suspicion which had unjustly fallen upon him to be unjustly transferred to barney, who he knew was innocent. but he was terribly frightened, and foolishly cautious, and he did not care for justice, nor truth, nor friendship, now. his only anxiety was to save himself. "that thar piece o' brown jeans an' that button kem off'n barney pratt's coat. i'd know 'em anywhar," he answered, more firmly than before. he noted the fact that the searching eyes of both officers were fixed upon his own coat, which was good and whole, and lacked no buttons. he had not even a twinge of conscience just now. in his meanness and cowardice his heart exulted, as he saw that suspicion was gradually lifting its dark shadow from him. he cared not where it might fall next. "we'll have to let you slide, i reckon," said the sheriff. "but what size is this barney pratt?" "he air a lean, stringy little chap," said nick. "is that so?" said the sheriff. "well, this is a bit of his coat and his button; and they were found on the ledge, close to the conscripts' hollow where the plunder was hid; and he's a small fellow, that maybe could slip through a window-pane. that makes a pretty strong showing against him. we'll go for barney pratt!" chapter iii barney pratt expected this day to be a holiday. very early in the morning his father and mother had jolted off in the wagon to attend the wedding of a cousin, who lived ten miles distant on a neighboring mountain, and they had left him no harder task than to keep the children far enough from the fire, and his paralytic grandmother close enough to it. this old woman was of benevolent intentions, although she had a stick with which she usually made her wants known by pointing, and in her convulsive clutch the stick often whirled around and around like the sails of a windmill, so that if barney chanced to come within the circle it described, he got as hard knocks from her feeble arm as he could have had in a tussle with big nick gregory. he was used to dodging it, and so were the smaller children. without any fear of it they were all sitting on the hearth at the old woman's feet,--ben and melissa popping corn in the ashes, and tom and andy watching barney's deft fingers as he made a cornstalk fiddle for them. suddenly barney glanced up and saw his grandmother's stick whirling over his head. her eyes were fastened eagerly upon the window, and her lips trembled as she strove to speak. "what d'ye want, granny?" he asked. then at last it came out, quick and sharp, and in a convulsive gasp,--"who air all that gang o'folks a-comin' yander down the road?" barney jumped up, threw down the fiddle, and ran to the door with the children at his heels. there was a quiver of curiosity among them, for it was a strange thing that a "gang o'folks" should be coming down this lonely mountain road. they went outside of the log cabin and stood among the red sumach bushes that clustered about the door, while the old woman tottered after them to the threshold, and peered at the crowd from under her shaking hand as she shaded her eyes from the sunlight. presently a wagon came up with eight or ten men walking behind it, or riding in it in the midst of a quantity of miscellaneous articles of which barney took no particular notice. as he went forward, smiling in a frank, fearless way, he recognized a familiar face among the crowd. it was nick gregory's, and barney's smile broadened into a grin of pleasure and welcome. then it was that nick's conscience began to wake up, and to lay hold upon him. as the sheriff looked at barney he hesitated. he balanced himself heavily on the wheel, instead of leaping quickly down as he might have done easily enough, for he was a spare man and light on his feet. nick overheard him speak in a low voice to the constable, who stood just below. "_that_ ain't the fellow, is it, jim?" "that's him, percisely," responded jim dow. "he don't _look_ like it," said stebbins, jumping down at last, but still speaking under his breath. "waal, thar ain't no countin' on boys by the _outside_ on 'em," returned the constable emphatically; he had an unruly son of his own. the sheriff walked up to barney. "you're barney pratt, are you? well, youngster, you'll come along with us." there was silence for a moment. barney stared at him in amaze. not until he had caught sight of the constable, whom he knew in his official character, did he understand the full meaning of what had been said. he was under arrest! as he realized it, everything began to whirl before him. the yellow sunshine, the gorgeously tinted woods, the blue sky, and the silvery mists hovering about the distant mountains, were all confusedly mingled in his failing vision. he looked as if he were about to faint. but in a few minutes he had partially recovered himself. "i dunno what this air done ter me fur," he said tremulously, glancing up at the officer whose hand was on his shoulder. "hain't ye been doin' nothin' mean lately?" demanded jim dow sternly. barney shook his head. "let's see ef this won't remind ye," said the constable, producing the bit of jeans and the button. as nick watched barney turning the piece of cloth in his hand and examining the button, he felt a terrible pang of remorse. but he was none the less resolved to keep the freedom from danger which he had secured at the expense of his friend. to explain would be merely to exchange places with barney, and he was silent. "this hyar looks like a scrap o' my coat," said barney, utterly unaware of the significance of his words. as he fitted it into the jagged edges of the garment, the officers watched the proceeding closely. "'pears like ter me ez it war jerked right out thar--yes--kase hyar air the missin' button, too." his air of unconsciousness puzzled the sheriff. "do you know where you lost this scrap?" he asked. "somewhars 'mongst the briers in the woods, i reckon," replied barney. "no; you tore it on a blackberry bush on the ledge of a bluff; it was close to the conscripts' hollow, where some burglars have hidden stolen plunder. i found the scrap and the button there myself." barney felt as if he were dreaming. how should his coat be torn on that ledge, where he had not been since the cloth was woven! the next words almost stunned him. "ye see, sonny," said the constable, "we believes ye're the boy what holped to rob blenkins's store by gittin' through a winder-pane an' handin' out the stole truck ter the t'other burglars. ye hev holped about that thar plunder somehows,--else this hyar thing air a liar!" and he shook the bit of cloth significantly. "we'd better set out, jim," said stebbins, turning toward the wagon. "we'll pass blenkins's on the way, and we'll stop and see if this chap can slip through the window-pane. if he can't, it's a point in his favor, and if he can, it's a point against him. as we go, we can try to get him to tell who the other burglars are." "kem on, bubby; we can't stand hyar no longer, a-wastin' the time an' a-burnin' of daylight," said the constable. barney seemed to have lost control of his rigid limbs, and he was half-dragged, half-lifted into the wagon by the two officers. the crowd began to fall back and disperse, and he could see the group of "home-folks" at the door. but he gave only one glance at the little log cabin, and then turned his head away. it was a poor home, but if it had been a palace, the pang he felt as he was torn from it could not have been sharper. in that instant he saw granny as she stood in the doorway, her head shaking nervously and her stick whirling in her uncertain grasp. he knew that she was struggling to say something for his comfort, and he had a terrible moment of fear lest the wagon should begin to move and her feeble voice be lost in the clatter of the wheels. but presently her shrill tones rang out, "no harm kin kem, sonny, ter them ez hev done no harm. all that happens works tergether fur good, an' the will o' god." little breath as she had left, it had done good service to-day,--it had brought a drop of balm to the poor boy's heart. he did not look at her again, but he knew that she was still standing in the doorway among the clustering red leaves, whirling her stick, and shaking with the palsy, but determined to see the last of him. and now the wagon was rolling off, and a piteous wail went up from the children, who understood nothing except that barney was being carried away against his will. little four-year-old melissa--she always seemed a beauty to barney, with her yellow hair, and her blue-checked cotton dress, and her dimpled white bare feet--ran after the wagon until the tears blinded her, and she fell in the road, and lay there in the dust, sobbing. then barney found his voice. his father and mother would not return until to-morrow, and the thought of what might happen at home, with nobody there but the helpless old grandmother and the little children, made him forget his own troubles for the time. "take good keer o' the t'other chillen, andy!" he shouted out to the next oldest boy, thus making him a deputy-guardian of the family, "an' pick melissy up out'n the dust, an' be sure ye keeps granny's cheer close enough ter the fire!" then he turned back again. he could still hear melissa sobbing. he wondered why the two men in the wagon looked persistently in the opposite direction, and why they were both so silent. the children stood in the road, watching the wagon as long as they could see it, but nick had slunk away into the woods. he could not bear the sight of their grief. he walked on, hardly knowing where he went. he felt as if he were trying to get rid of himself. he appreciated fully now the consequences of what he had done. barney, innocent barney, would be thrust into jail. he began to see that the most terrible phase of moral cowardice is its capacity to injure others, and he could not endure the thought of what he had brought upon his friend. soon he was saying to himself that something was sure to happen to prevent them from putting barney in prison,--he shouldn't be surprised if it were to happen before the wagon could reach the foot of the mountain. in his despair, he had flung himself at length upon the rugged, stony ground at the base of a great crag. when this comforting thought of barney's release came upon him, he took his hands from his face, and looked about him. from certain ledges of the cliff above, the road which led down the valley was visible at intervals for some distance. there he could watch the progress of the wagon, and see for a time longer what was happening to barney. there was a broad gulf between the wall of the mountain and the crag, which, from its detached position and its shape, was known far and wide as the "old man's chimney." it loomed up like a great stone column, a hundred feet above the wooded slope where nick stood, and its height could only be ascended by dexterous climbing. he went at it like a cat. sometimes he helped himself up by sharp projections of the rock, sometimes by slipping his feet and hands into crevices, and sometimes he caught hold of a strong bush here and there, and gave himself a lift. when he was about forty feet from the base, he sat down on one of the ledges, and turning, looked anxiously along the red clay road which he could see winding among the trees down the mountain's side. no wagon was there. his eyes followed the road further and further toward the foot of the range, and then along the valley beyond. there, at least two miles distant, was a small moving black object, plainly defined upon the red clay of the road. barney was gone! there was no mistake about it. they had taken him away from goliath mountain! he was innocent, and nick knew it, and nick had made him seem guilty. there was no one near him now to speak a good word for him, not even his palsied old grandmother. it all came back upon nick with a rush. his eyes were blurred with rising tears. unconsciously, in his grief, he made a movement forward, and suddenly clutched convulsively at the ledge. he had lost his balance. there was a swift, fantastic whirl of vague objects before him, then a great light seemed flashing through his very brain, and he knew that he was falling. he knew nothing else for some time. he wondered where he was when he first opened his eyes and saw the great stone shaft towering high above, and the tops of the sun-gilded maples waving about him. then he remembered and understood. he had fallen from that narrow ledge, hardly ten feet above his head, and had been caught in his descent by the far broader one upon which he lay. "it knocked the senses out'n me fur a while, i reckon," he said to himself. "but i hev toler'ble luck now, sure ez shootin', kase i mought hev drapped over this ledge, an' then i'd hev been gone fur sartain sure!" his exultation was short-lived. what was this limp thing hanging to his shoulder? and what was this thrill of pain darting through it? he looked at it in amazement. it was his strong right arm--broken--helpless. and here he was, perched thirty feet above the earth, weakened by his long faint, sore and bruised and unnerved by his fall, and with only his left arm to aid him in making that perilous descent. it was impossible. he glanced down at the sheer walls of the column below, shook his head, and lay back on the ledge. reckless as he was, he realized that the attempt would be fatal. then came a thought that filled him with dismay,--how long was this to last?--who would rescue him? he knew that a prolonged absence from home would create no surprise. his mother would only fancy that he had slipped off, as he had often done, to go on a camp-hunt with some other boys. she would not grow uneasy for a week, at least. he was deep in the heart of the forest, distant from any dwelling. no one, as far as he knew, came to this spot, except himself and barney, and their errand here was for the sake of the exhilaration and the hazard of climbing the crag. it was so lonely that on the old man's chimney the eagles built instead of the swallows. his hope--his only hope--was that some hunter might chance to pass before he should die of hunger. the shadow of the great obelisk shifted as the day wore on, and left him in the broad, hot glare of the sun. his broken arm was fevered and gave him great pain. now and then he raised himself on the other, and looked down wistfully at the cool, dusky depths of the woods. he heard continually the impetuous rushing of a mountain torrent near at hand; sometimes, when the wind stirred the foliage, he caught a glimpse of the water, rioting from rock to rock, and he was oppressed by an intolerable thirst. thus the hours lagged wearily on. chapter iv when the wagon was rolling along the road in the valley, barney at first kept his eyes persistently fastened upon the craggy heights and the red and gold autumnal woods of goliath mountain, as the mighty range stretched across the plain. but presently the two men began to talk to him, and he turned around in order to face them. they were urging him to confess his own guilt and tell who were the other burglars, and where they were. but barney had nothing to tell. he could only protest again and again his innocence. the men, however, shook their heads incredulously, and after a while they left him to himself and smoked their pipes in silence. when barney looked back at the mountains once more, a startling change seemed to have been wrought in the landscape. instead of the frowning sandstone cliffs he loved so well, and the gloomy recesses of the woods, there was only a succession of lines of a delicate blue color drawn along the horizon. this was the way the distant ranges looked from the crags of his own home; he knew that they were the mountains, but which was goliath? suddenly he struck his hands together, and broke out with a bitter cry. "i hev los' g'liath!" he exclaimed. "i dunno whar i live! an' whar _is_ melissy?" a difficult undertaking, certainly, to determine where among all those great spurs and outliers, stretching so far on either hand, was that little atom of dimpled pink-and-white humanity known as "melissy." the constable, being a native of these hills himself, knew something by experience of the homesickness of an exiled mountaineer,--far more terrible than the homesickness of low-landers; he took his pipe promptly from between his lips, and told the boy that the second blue ridge, counting down from the sky, was "g'liath mounting," and that "melissy war right thar somewhar." barney looked back at it with unrecognizing eyes,--this gentle, misty, blue vagueness was not the solemn, sombre mountain that he knew. he gazed at it only for a moment longer; then his heart swelled and he burst into tears. on and on they went through the flat country. the boy felt that he could scarcely breathe. even tourists, coming down from these mountains to the valley below, struggle with a sense of suffocation and oppression; how must it have been then with this half-wild creature, born and bred on those breezy heights! the stout mules did their duty well, and it was not long before they were in sight of the cross-roads store that had been robbed. it was a part of a small frame dwelling-house, set in the midst of the yellow sunlight that brooded over the plain. all the world around it seemed to the young backwoodsman to be a big cornfield; but there was a garden close at hand, and tall sunflowers looked over the fence and seemed to nod knowingly at barney, as much as to say they had always suspected him of being one of the burglars, and were gratified that he had been caught at last. poor fellow! he saw so much suspicion expressed in the faces of a crowd of men congregating about the store, that it was no wonder he fancied he detected it too in inanimate objects. of all the group only one seemed to doubt his guilt. he overheard blenkins, the merchant, say to jim dow,-"it's mighty hard to b'lieve this story on this 'ere boy; he's a manly looking, straight-for'ard little chap, an' he's got honest eyes in his head, too." "he'd a deal better hev an honest heart in his body," drawled jim dow, who was convinced that barney had aided in the burglary. when they had gone around to the window with the broken pane, barney looked up at it in great anxiety. if only it should prove too small for him to slip through! certainly it seemed very small. he had pulled off his coat and stood ready to jump. "up with you!" said stebbins. the boy laid both hands on the sill, gave a light spring, and went through the pane like an eel. "that settles it!" he heard stebbins saying outside. and all the idlers were laughing because it was done so nimbly. "that boy's right smart of a fool," said one of the lookers-on. "now, if that had been me, i'd hev made out to git stuck somehows in that winder; i'd have scotched my wheel somewhere." "ef ye hed, i'd have dragged ye through ennyhow," declared jim dow, who had no toleration of a joke on a serious subject. "this hyar boy air a deal too peart ter try enny sech fool tricks on _me_!" barney hardly knew how he got back into the wagon; he only knew that they were presently jolting along once more in the midst of the yellow glare of sunlight. it had begun to seem that there was no chance for him. like nick, he too had madly believed, in spite of everything, that something would happen to help him. he could not think that, innocent as he was, he would be imprisoned. now, however, this fate evidently was very close upon him. suddenly jim dow spoke. "i s'pose ye war powerful disapp'inted kase ye couldn't git yerself hitched in that thar winder; ye air too well used to it,--ye hev been through it afore." "i hev never been through it afore!" cried barney indignantly. "well, well," said stebbins pacifically, "it wouldn't have done you any good if you hadn't gone through the pane just now. i'd have only thought you were one of those who stood on the outside. you see, the _main_ point against you is that scrap of your coat and your button found right there by the conscripts' hollow,--though, of course, your going through the window-pane so easy makes it more complete." barney's tired brain began to fumble at this problem,--how did it happen? he had not been on the ledge nor at the conscripts' hollow for six months at least. yet there was that bit of his coat and his button found on the bush close at hand only to-day. was it possible that he could have exchanged coats by mistake with nick the last afternoon that they were on the crag together? "did nick wear _my_ coat down on the ledge, i wonder, an' git it tored? did nick see the plunder in the conscripts' hollow, an' git skeered, an' then sot out ter lyin' ter git shet o' the blame?" as he asked himself these questions, he began to remember, vaguely, having seen, just as he was falling asleep, his friend's head slowly disappearing beneath the verge of the crag. "nick started down ter the ledge, anyhow," he argued. did he dream it, or was it true, that when nick came back he seemed at first strangely agitated? all at once barney exclaimed aloud,-"this hyar air a powerful cur'ous thing 'bout'n that thar piece what war tored out'n my coat!" "what's curious about it?" asked stebbins quickly. jim dow took his pipe from his mouth, and looked sharply at the boy. barney struggled for a moment with a strong temptation. then a nobler impulse asserted itself. he would not even attempt to shield himself behind the friend who had done him so grievous an injury. he _knew_ nothing positively; he must not put his suspicions and his vague, half-sleeping impressions into words, and thus possibly criminate nick. he himself felt certain now how the matter really stood,--that nick had no connection whatever with the robbery, but having accidentally stumbled upon the stolen goods, he had become panic-stricken, had lied about it, and finally had saved himself at the expense of an innocent friend. still, barney had no _proof_ of this, and he felt he would rather suffer unjustly himself than unjustly throw blame on another. "nothin', nothin'," he said absently. "i war jes' a-studyin' 'bout'n it all." "well, i wouldn't think about it any more just now," said good-natured stebbins. "you look like you had been dragged through a keyhole instead of a window-pane. this town we're coming to is the biggest town you ever saw." barney could not respond to this attempt to divert his attention. he could only brood upon the fact that he was innocent, and would be punished as if he were guilty, and that it was nick gregory, his chosen friend, who had brought him to this pass. he would not be unmanly, and injure nick with a possibly unfounded suspicion, but his heart burned with indignation and contempt when he thought of him. he felt that he would go through fire and water to be justly revenged upon him. he determined that, if ever he should see nick again, even though years might intervene, he would tax him with the injury he had wrought, and make him answer for it. barney clenched his fists as he looked back at the ethereal blue shadows that they said were the solid old hills. perhaps, however, if he had known where, in the misty uncertainty that enveloped goliath mountain, nick gregory was at this moment,--far away in the lonely woods, helpless with his broken arm, perched high up on the "old man's chimney,"--barney might have thought himself the more fortunately placed of the two. before he was well aware of it, the wagon was jolting into the town. he took no notice of how much larger the little village was than any he had ever seen before. his attention was riveted by the faces of the people who ran to the doors and windows, upon recognizing the officers, to stare at him as one of the burglars. when the wagon reached the public square, a number of men came up and stopped it. barney was surprised that they took so little notice of him. they were talking loudly and excitedly to the officers, who grew at once loud and excited, too. the boy roused himself, and began to listen to the conversation. the burglars had been captured!--yes, that was what they were saying. the deputy-sheriff had nabbed the whole gang in a western district of the county this morning early, and they were lodged at this moment in jail. barney's heart sank. would he be put among the guilty creatures? he flinched from the very idea. suddenly, here was the deputy-sheriff himself, a young man, dusty and tired with his long, hard ride, but with an air of great satisfaction in his success. he talked with many quick gestures that were very expressive. sometimes he would leave a sentence unfinished except by a brisk nod, but all the crowd caught its meaning instantly. this peculiarity gave him a very animated manner, and he seemed to barney to enjoy being in a position of authority. he pressed his foaming horse close to the wagon, and leaning over, looked searchingly into barney's face. the poor boy looked up deprecatingly from under his limp and drooping hat-brim. all the crowd stood in silence, watching them. after a moment of this keen scrutiny, the deputy turned to the constable with an interrogative wave of the hand. "this hyar's the boy what war put through the winder-pane ter thieve from blenkins," said jim dow. "thar's consider'ble fac's agin him." "you mean well, jim," said the deputy, with a short, scornful laugh. "but your performance ain't always equal to your intentions." he lifted his eyebrows and nodded in a significant way that the crowd understood, for there was a stir of excitement in its midst; but poor barney failed to catch his meaning. he hung upon every tone and gesture with the intensest interest. all the talk was about him, and he could comprehend no more than if the man spoke in a foreign language. still, he gathered something of the drift of the speech from the constable's reply. "that thar boy's looks hev bamboozled more'n one man ter-day, jes' at fust," jim dow drawled. "_looks_ ain't nothin'." "i'd believe 'most anything a boy with a face on him like that would tell me," said the deputy. "and besides, you see, one of those scamps," with a quick nod toward the jail, "has turned state's evidence." barney's heart was in a great tumult. it seemed bursting. there was a hot rush of blood to his head. he was dizzy--and he could not understand! state's evidence,--what was that? and what would that do to him? chapter v barney observed that these words produced a marked sensation. the crowd began to press more closely around the deputy-sheriff's foaming horse. "who hev done turned state's evidence?" asked jim dow. "little jeff carew,--you've seen that puny little man a-many a time--haven't you, jim? he'd go into your pocket." "he would, i know, powerful quick, ef he thunk i hed ennything in it," said jim, with a gruff laugh. "i didn't mean that, though it's true enough. i only went ter say that he's small enough to go into any ordinary-sized fellow's pocket. some of the rest of them wanted to turn state's evidence, but they weren't allowed. they were harder customers even than jeff carew,--regular old jail-birds." barney began to vaguely understand that when a prisoner confesses the crime he has committed, and gives testimony which will convict his partners in it, this is called turning "state's evidence." but how was it to concern barney? an old white-haired man had pushed up to the wagon; he polished his spectacles on his coat-tail, then put them on his nose, and focused them on barney. those green spectacles seemed to the boy to have a solemnly accusing expression on their broad and sombre lenses. he shrank as the old man spoke,-"and is this the boy who was slipped through the window to steal from blenkins?" "no," said the deputy, "this ain't the boy." barney could hardly believe his senses. "fact is," continued the deputy, with a brisk wave of his hand, "there wasn't any boy with 'em,--so little jeff carew says. _he_ jumped through the window-pane _himself_. we wouldn't believe that until we measured one there at the jail of the same size as blenkins's window-glass, and he went through it without a wriggle." barney sprang to his feet. "oh, tell it ter me, folkses!" he cried wildly; "tell it ter me, somebody! will they keep me hyar all the same? an' when will i see g'liath mounting agin, an' be whar melissy air?" he had burst into tears, and there was a murmur of sympathy in the crowd. "oh, that lets you out, i reckon, youngster," said stebbins. "i'm glad enough of it for one." the old man turned his solemnly accusing green spectacles on stebbins, and it seemed to barney that he spoke with no less solemnly accusing a voice. "he ought never to have been let in." stebbins replied, rather eagerly, barney thought, "why, there was enough against that boy to have clapped him in jail, and maybe convicted him, if this man hadn't turned state's evidence." "we hed the fac's agin him,--dead agin him," chimed in jim dow. "that just shows how much danger an innocent boy was in; it seems to me that somebody ought to have been more careful," the old man protested. "that's so!" came in half a dozen voices from the crowd. barney was surprised to see how many friends he had now, when a moment before he had had none. but he ought to have realized that there is a great difference between _being_ a young martyr, and _seeming_ a young thief. "i want to see the little fellow out of this," said the old man with the terrible spectacles. he saw him out of it in a short while. there was an examination before a magistrate, in which barney was discharged on the testimony of jeff carew, who was produced and swore that he had never before seen the boy, that he was not among the gang of burglars who had robbed blenkins's store and dwelling-house, and that he had had no part in helping to conceal the plunder. in opposition to this, the mere finding of a scrap of barney's coat close to the conscripts' hollow seemed now of slight consequence, although it could not be accounted for. when the trial was over, the old man with the green spectacles took barney to his house, gave him something to eat, and saw him start out homeward. as barney plodded along toward the blue mountains his heart was very bitter against nick gregory, who had lied and thrown suspicion upon him and brought him into danger. whenever he thought of it he raised his clenched fist and shook it. he was a little fellow, but he felt that with the strength of this grievance he was more than a match for big nick gregory. he would force him to confess the lies that he had told and his cowardice, and all goliath mountain should know it and despise him for it. "i'll fetch an' kerry that word to an' fro fur a thousand mile!" barney declared between his set teeth. now and then a wagoner overtook him and gave him a ride, thus greatly helping him on his way. as he went, there was a gradual change in the blue and misty range that seemed to encircle the west, and which he knew, by one deep indentation in the horizontal line of its summit, was goliath mountain. it became first an intenser blue. as he drew nearer still, it turned a bronzed green. it had purpled with the sunset before he could distinguish the crimson and gold of its foliage and its beetling crags. night had fallen when he reached the base of the mountain. there was no moon; heavy clouds were rolling up from the horizon, and they hid the stars. nick gregory, lying on the ledge of the "old man's chimney," thirty feet above the black earth, could not see his hand before his face. the darkness was dreadful to him. it had closed upon a dreadful day. the seconds were measured by the throbs and dartings of pain in his arm. he was almost exhausted by hunger and thirst. he thought, however, that he could have borne it all cheerfully, but for the sharp remorse that tortured him for the wrong he had done to his friend, and his wild anxiety about barney's fate. nick felt that he, himself, was on trial here, imprisoned on this tower of stone, cut off from the world, from everything but his sternly accusing conscience and his guilty heart. for hours he had heard nothing but the monotonous rushing of the water close at hand, or now and then the shrill, quavering cry of a distant screech-owl, or the almost noiseless flapping of a bat's wings as they swept by him. he had hardly a hope of deliverance, when suddenly there came a new sound, vague and indistinguishable. he lifted himself upon his left elbow and listened again. he could hear nothing for a moment except his own panting breath and the loud beating of his heart. but there--the sound came once more. what was it? a dropping leaf? the falling of a fragment of stone from the "chimney"? a distant step? it grew more distinct as it drew nearer; presently he recognized it,--the regular footfall of some man or boy plodding along the path. that path!--a recollection flashed through his mind. no one knew that short cut up the mountain but him and barney; they had worn the path with their trampings back and forth from the "old man's chimney." he thought he must be dreaming, or that he had lost his reason; still he shouted out, "hold on, thar! air it ye, barney?" the step paused. then a reply came in a voice that he hardly recognized as barney's; it was so fierce, and so full of half-repressed anger. "yes, it air barney,--ef _ye_ hev any call ter know." "how did ye git away, barney?--how did ye git away?" exclaimed nick, with a joyous sense of relief. "a _thief's_ word cl'ared me!" this bitter cry came up to nick, sharp and distinct, through the dark stillness. he said nothing at the moment, and presently he heard barney speak again, as he stood invisible, and enveloped in the gloom of the night, at the foot of the mighty column. "'twar my bes' frien' ez sunk me deep in trouble. but the _thief_, he fished me up. he 'lowed ter the jestice ez i never holped him ter steal nothin' nor ter hide it arterward, nuther." nick said not a word. the hot tears came into his eyes. barney, he thought, could feel no more bitterly toward him than he felt toward himself. "how kem my coat ter be tored down thar on the ledge, close ter the conscripts' hollow, whar i hain't been sence the cloth war wove?" there was a long pause. "i wore it thar, barney, 'stid o' mine," nick replied at last. "i never knowed, at fust, ez i hed tored it. i was so skeered when i seen the stole truck, i never knowed nothin'." "an' then ye spoke a lie! an' arterward, ye let the folks think ez 'twar me ez hed tored that coat close by the conscripts' hollow!" "i was skeered haffen ter death, barney!" nick was very contemptible in his falsehood and cowardice,--even in his repentance and shame and sorrow. at least, so the boy thought who stood in the darkness at the foot of the great column. suddenly it occurred to barney that this was a strange place for nick to be at this hour of the night. his indignation gave way for a moment to some natural curiosity. "what air ye a-doin' of up thar on the old man's chimney?" he asked. "i kem up hyar this mornin' early, ter watch the wagon a-takin' ye off. then i fell and bruk my arm, an' i can't git down 'thout bein' holped a little." there was another silence, so intense that it seemed to nick as if he were all alone again in the immensity of the mountains, and the black night, and the endless forests. he had expected an immediate proffer of assistance from barney. he had thought that his injured friend would relent in his severity when he knew that he had suffered too; that he was in great pain even at this moment. but not a word came from barney. "i hed laid off ter ax ye ter holp me a little," nick faltered meekly, making his appeal direct. there was no answer. it was so still that the boy, high up on the sandstone pillar, could hear the wind rising among the far spurs west of goliath. the foliage near at hand was ominously quiet in the sultry air. once there was a flash of lightning from the black clouds, followed by a low muttering of thunder. then all was still again,--so still! nick raised himself upon his left arm, and leaned cautiously over the verge of the ledge, peering, with starting eyes, into the darkness, and hoping for another flash of lightning that he might see below for an instant. a terrible suspicion had come to him. could barney have slipped quietly away, leaving him to his fate? he could see nothing in the impenetrable gloom; he could hear nothing in the dark stillness. barney had not yet gone, but he was saying to himself, as he stood at the foot of the great obelisk, that here was his revenge, far more complete than he had dared even to hope. he could measure out his false friend's punishment in any degree he thought fit. he could leave him there with his broken arm and his pangs of hunger for another day. he deserved it,--he deserved it richly. the recollection was still very bitter to barney of the hardships he had endured at the hands of this boy, who asked him now for help. why did he not refuse it? why should he not take the revenge he had promised himself? and then he knew there was danger in now trying to climb the jagged edges of the old man's chimney. his nerves were shaken by the excitements of the day; he was fagged out by his long tramp; the wind was beginning to surge among the trees; it might blow him from his uncertain foothold. but when it gained more strength, might it not drive nick, helpless with his broken arm, from that high ledge? as this thought crossed his mind, he tore off his hat, coat, and shoes, and desperately began the ascent. he thought he knew every projection and crevice and bush so well that he might have found his way blindfolded, and guided by the sense of touch alone. but he did not lack for light. before he was six feet up from the ground, the clouds were rent by a vivid flash, and an instantaneous peal of thunder woke all the echoes. this was the breaking of the storm; afterward, there was a continuous pale flickering over all the sky, and at close intervals, dazzling gleams of lightning darted through the rain, which was now falling heavily. "i'm a-comin', nick!" shouted barney, through the din of the elements. somehow, as he climbed, he felt light-hearted again. it seemed to him that he had left a great weight at the foot of the gigantic sandstone column. could it be that bitter revenge he had promised himself? he had thought only of nick's safety, but he seemed to have done himself a kindness in forgiving his friend,--the burden of revenge is so heavy! his troubles were already growing faint in his memory,--it was so good to feel the rain splashing in his face, and his rude playfellow, the mountain wind, rioting around him once more. he was laughing when at last he pulled himself up, wet through and through, on the ledge beside nick. "it's airish up hyar, ain't it?" he cried. "barney," said nick miserably, "i dunno how i kin ever look at ye agin, squar' in the face, while i lives." "shet that up!" barney returned good-humoredly. "i don't want ter ever hear 'bout'n it no more. i'll always know, arter this, that i can't place no dependence in ye; but, law, ye air jes' like that old gun o' mine; sometimes it'll hang fire, an' sometimes it'll go off at half-cock, an' ginerally it disapp'ints me mightily. but, somehows, i can't determinate to shoot with no other one. i'll hev ter feel by ye jes' like i does by that thar old gun." the descent was slow and difficult, and very painful to nick, and fraught with considerable danger to both boys. they accomplished it in safety, however, and then, with barney's aid, nick managed to drag himself through the woods to the nearest log cabin, where his arm was set by zealous and sympathetic amateurs in a rude fashion that probably would have shocked the faculty. they had some supper here, and an invitation to remain all night; but barney was wild to be at home, and nick, in his adversity, clung to his friend. the rain had ceased, and they had only half a mile further to go. barney's heart was exultant when he saw the light in the window of his home, and the sparks flying up from the chimney. he had some curiosity to know how the family circle looked without him. "ye wait hyar, nick, a minute, an' i'll take a peek at 'em afore i bounce in 'mongst 'em," he said. "i'm all eat up ter know what melissy air a-doin' 'thout me." but the sight smote the tears from his eyes when he stole around to the window and glanced in at the little group, plainly shown in the flare from the open fire. granny looked ten years older since morning. the three small boys, instead of popping corn or roasting apples and sweet potatoes, as was their habit in the evenings, sat in a dismal row, their chins on their freckled, sunburned hands, and their elbows on their knees, and gazed ruefully at the fire. and melissy,--why, there was melissy, a little blue-and-white ball curled up on the floor. asleep? no. barney caught the gleam of her wide-open blue eyes; but he missed something from them,--the happy expression that used to dwell there. he went at the door with a rush. and what an uproar there was when he suddenly sprang in among them! melissy laughed until she cried. granny whirled and whirled her stick, and nodded convulsively, and gasped out eager questions about the trial and the "jedge." the little boys jumped for joy until they seemed strung on wire. soon they were popping corn and roasting apples once more. the flames roared up the chimney, and the shadows danced on the wall, and as the hours wore on, they were all so happy that when midnight came, it caught them still grouped around the fire. a warning it was night on elm ridge. so black, so black that the great crags and chasms were hidden, the forest was lost in the encompassing gloom, the valley and the distant ranges were gone,--all the world had disappeared. there was no wind, and the dark clouds above the dark earth hung low and motionless. solomon grow found it something of an undertaking to grope his way back from the little hut of unhewn logs, where he had stabled his father's horse, to the door of the cabin and the home-circle within. he fumbled for the latchstring, and pulling it carelessly, the door flew open suddenly, and he almost fell into the room. "why d' ye come a-bustin' in hyar that thar way, sol?" his mother demanded rather tartly. "ef ye hed been raised 'mongst the foxes, ye couldn't show less manners." "door slipped out'n my hand," said sol, a trifle sullenly. "waal--air ye disabled anywhar so ez ye can't shet it, eh?" asked his father, with a touch of sarcasm. sol shut the door, drew up an inverted tub, seated himself upon it, and looked about, loweringly. he thought he had been needlessly affronted. still, he held his peace. within, there was a great contrast to the black night outside. the ash and hickory logs in the deep fireplace threw blue and yellow flames high up the wide stone chimney. the flickering light was like some genial, cheery smile forever coming and going. it illumined the circle about the hearth. there sat sol's mother, idle to-night, for it was sunday. his grandmother, too, was there, so old that she seemed to confirm the story told of these healthy mountains, to the effect that people are obliged to go down in the valley to die, else they would live forever. there was sol's father, a great burly fellow, six feet three inches in height, still holding out his hands to the blaze, chilled through and through by his long ride from the church where he had been to hear the circuit-rider preach on "forgiveness of injuries." he was beginning now to quarrel vehemently with his brother-in-law, jacob smith, about the shabby treatment he had recently experienced in the non-payment of work,--for work in this country is a sort of circulating medium; a man will plough a day for another man, on condition that the favor is rigorously reciprocated. jacob smith had been to the still, and apparently had imbibed the spirit there prevailing, to more effect than sol's father had absorbed the spirit that had been taught in church. in plain words, jacob smith was very drunk, and very quarrelsome, and very unreasonable. the genial firelight that played upon his bloated face played also over objects much pleasanter to look upon,--over the strings of red pepper-pods hanging from the rafters; over the bright variegations of color in the clean patchwork quilt on the bed; over the shining pans and pails set aside on the shelf; over the great, curious frame of the warping-bars, rising up among the shadows on the other side of the room, the equidistant pegs still holding the sized yarn that solomon's mother had been warping, preparatory to weaving. on the other side of the room, too, was a little tow-headed child sitting in a cradle, which, small as he was, he had long ago outgrown as a bed. it was only a pine box placed upon rude rockers, and he used it for a rocking-chair. his bare, fat legs hung out on one side of the box, and as he delightedly rocked back and forth, his grotesque little shadow waved to and fro on the wall, and mocked and flouted him. what he thought of it, nobody can ever know; his grave eyes were fixed upon it, but he said nothing, and the silent shadow and substance swayed joyously hither and thither together. the quarrel between the two men was becoming hot and bitter. one might have expected nothing better from jacob smith, for when a man is drunk, the human element drops like a husk, and only the unreasoning brute is left. but had john grow forgotten all the good words he had heard to-day from the circuit-rider? had they melted into thin air during his long ride from the church? were the houseless good words wandering with the rising wind through the unpeopled forest, seeking vainly a human heart where they might find a lodgment? the men had risen from their chairs; the drunkard, tremulous with anger, had drawn a sharp knife. john grow was not so patient as he might have been, considering the great advantage he had in being sober, and the good words with which he had started out from the "meet'n'-house." he laid his heavy hand angrily upon the drunken man's shoulder. in another moment there would have been bloodshed. but suddenly the dark shadows at the other end of the room swayed with a strange motion; a great creaking sound arose, and the warping-bars tottered forward and fell upon the floor with a crash. the wranglers turned with anxious faces. no one was near the bars, it seemed that naught could have jarred them; but there lay the heavy frame upon the floor, the pegs broken, and the yarn twisted. "a warning!" cried sol's mother. "a warning how you-uns spen' the evenin' o' the lord's day in yer quar'lin', an' fightin', an' sech. an' ye, john grow, jes' from the meet'n'-house!" she did not reproach her brother,--nobody hopes anything from a drunkard. "a sign o' bad luck," said the grandmother. "it 'minds me o' the time las' winter that the wind blowed the door in, an' straight arter that the cow died." "them signs air ez likely ter take hold on folks ez on cattle," said jacob smith, half-sobered by the shock. there was a look of sudden anxiety on the face of solomon's mother. she crossed the room to the youngster rocking in the cradle. "come, benny," she said, "ye oughter go ter bed. ye air wastin' yer strength sittin' up this late in the night. an' ye war a-coughin' las' week. ye must go ter bed." benny clung to his unique rocking-chair with a sturdy strength which promised well for his muscle when he should be as old as his great, strong brother solomon. he had been as quiet, hitherto, as if he were dumb, but now he lifted up his voice in a loud and poignant wail, and after he was put to bed, he resurrected himself from among the bedclothes, ever and anon, with a bitter, though infantile, jargon of protest. "i'm fairly afeard o' them bars," said mrs. grow, looking down upon the prostrate timbers. "it's comical that they fell down that-a-way. i hopes 'tain't no sign o' bad luck. i wouldn't hev nothin' ter happen fur nothin'. an' benny war a-coughin' las' week." she had not even the courage to put her fear into words. and she tenderly admonished tow-headed benny, who was once more getting out of bed, to go to sleep and save his strength, and remember how he was coughing last week. "he hed a chicken-bone acrost his throat," said his father. "no wonder he coughed." solomon rose and went out into the black night,--so black that he could not distinguish the sky from the earth, or the unobstructed air from the dense forest around. he walked about blindly, dragging something heavily after him. the weight of concealment it was. he knew something that nobody knew besides. at the critical moment of the altercation, he had stepped softly among the shadows to the warping-bars,--a strong push had sent the great frame crashing down. he was back in an instant among the others, and by reason of the excitement his agency in the sensation was not detected. like his biblical namesake, solomon was no fool. had he been reared in a cultivated community, with the advantages of education, he might have been one of the bright young fellows who manage other young fellows, who control debating societies, who are prominent in mysterious associations, the secret of which is at once guarded and represented by a cerberus of three greek letters. but, wise as he was, solomon was not a prophet. he had intended only to effect a diversion, and stop the quarrel. he had had no prevision of the panic of superstition that he had raised in the minds of these simple people; for the ignorant mountaineer is a devout believer in signs and warnings. as solomon wandered about outside, he heard his father stumbling from the door of the house to the barn to see if aught of evil had come to the cow or the horse. he knew how his grandmother's heart was wrung with fear for her heifer, and he could hardly endure to think of his mother's anxieties about benny. no prophetic eye was needed to foresee the terrors that would beset her in the days to come, when she would walk back and forth before the bars, warping the yarn to be woven into cloth for his and benny's clothes; how she would regard the harmless frame as an uncanny thing, endowed with supernatural powers, and look askance at it, and shrink from touching it; how she would watch for the sign to come true, and tremble lest it come. he turned about, dragging and tugging this weight of concealment after him, reã«ntered the house, and sat down beside the fire. his uncle jacob smith had gone to his own home. the others were telling stories, calculated to make one's hair stand on end, about signs and warnings, and their horrible fulfillment. "granny," said solomon suddenly. "waal, sonny?" said his grandmother. when the eyes of the family group were fixed upon him, solomon's courage failed. "nothin'," he said hastily. "nothin' at all." "why, what ails the boy?" exclaimed his mother. "i tell ye now, solomon," said his grandmother, with an emphatic nod, "ye hed better respec' yer elders,--an' a sign in the house!" solomon slept little that night. toward day he began to dream of the warping-bars. they seemed to develop suddenly into an immense animated monster, from which he only escaped by waking with a sudden start. then he found that a great white morning, full of snow, was breaking upon the black night. and what a world it was now! the mountain was graced with a soft white drapery; on every open space there were vague suggestions of delicate colors: in this hollow lay a tender purple shadow; on that steep slope was an elusive roseate flush, and when you looked again, it was gone, and the glare was blinding. the bare black branches of the trees formed strangely interlaced hieroglyphics upon the turquoise sky. the crags were dark and grim, despite their snowy crests and the gigantic glittering icicles that here and there depended from them. a cascade, close by in the gorge, had been stricken motionless and dumb, as if by a sudden spell; and still and silent, it sparkled in the sun. the snow lay deep on the roof of the log cabin, and the eaves were decorated with shining icicles. the enchantment had followed the zigzag lines of the fence, and on every rail was its embellishing touch. all the homely surroundings were transfigured. the potato-house was a vast white billow, the ash-hopper was a marble vase, and the fodder-stack was a great conical ermine cap, belonging to some mountain giant who had lost it in the wind last night. "i mought hev knowed that we-uns war a-goin' ter hev this spell o' weather by the sign o' the warpin'-bars fallin' las' night," said john grow, stamping off the snow as he came in from feeding his horse. "i hope 'tain't no worse sign," said his wife. "but i misdoubts." and she sighed heavily. "'tain't no sign at all," said solomon suddenly. he could keep his secret no longer. "'twar me ez flung down them warpin'-bars." for a moment they all stared at him in silent amazement. "what fur?" demanded his father at last. "just ter enjye sottin' 'em up agin? i'll teach ye ter fling down warpin'-bars!" "waal," said the peacemaker, hesitating, "it 'peared ter me ez uncle jacob smith war toler'ble drunk,--take him all tergether,--an' ez he hed drawed a knife, i thought that ye an' him hed 'bout quar'led enough. an' so i flung down the warpin'-bars ter git the fuss shet up." "waal, sir!" exclaimed his grandmother, red with wrath. "ez ef _my_ son couldn't stand up agin all the smiths that ever stepped! ye must fling down the warpin'-bars an' twist the spun-truck--fur jacob smith!" "look-a-hyar, sol," said his father gruffly, "'tend ter yerself, an' yer own quar'ls, arter this, will ye!" then, with a sudden humorous interpretation of the incident, he broke into a guffaw. "i hev lived a consider'ble time in this tantalizin' world, an' ez yit i dunno ez i hev hed any need o' sol ter pertect _me_." but sol had unburdened his mind, and felt at ease again; not the less because he knew that but for his novel method of making peace, there might have been something worse than a sign in the house. among the cliffs it was a critical moment. there was a stir other than that of the wind among the pine needles and dry leaves that carpeted the ground. the wary wild turkeys lifted their long necks with that peculiar cry of half-doubting surprise so familiar to a sportsman, then all was still for an instant. the world was steeped in the noontide sunlight, the mountain air tasted of the fresh sylvan fragrance that pervaded the forest, the foliage blazed with the red and gold of autumn, the distant chilhowee heights were delicately blue. that instant's doubt sealed the doom of one of the flock. as the turkeys stood in momentary suspense, the sunlight gilding their bronze feathers to a brighter sheen, there was a movement in the dense undergrowth. the flock took suddenly to wing,--a flash from among the leaves, the sharp crack of a rifle, and one of the birds fell heavily over the bluff and down toward the valley. the young mountaineer's exclamation of triumph died in his throat. he came running to the verge of the crag, and looked down ruefully into the depths where his game had disappeared. "waal, sir," he broke forth pathetically, "this beats my time! if my luck ain't enough ter make a horse laugh!" he did not laugh, however. perhaps his luck was calculated to stir only equine risibility. the cliff was almost perpendicular; at the depth of twenty feet a narrow ledge projected, but thence there was a sheer descent, down, down, down, to the tops of the tall trees in the valley far below. as ethan tynes looked wistfully over the precipice, he started with a sudden surprise. there on the narrow ledge lay the dead turkey. the sight sharpened ethan's regrets. he had made a good shot, and he hated to relinquish his game. while he gazed in dismayed meditation, an idea began to kindle in his brain. why could he not let himself down to the ledge by those long, strong vines that hung over the edge of the cliff? it was risky, ethan knew,--terribly risky. but then,--if only the vines were strong! he tried them again and again with all his might, selected several of the largest, grasped them hard and fast, and then slipped lightly off the crag. he waited motionless for a moment. his movements had dislodged clods of earth and fragments of rock from the verge of the cliff, and until these had ceased to rattle about his head and shoulders he did not begin his downward journey. now and then as he went he heard the snapping of twigs, and again a branch would break, but the vines which supported him were tough and strong to the last. almost before he knew it he stood upon the ledge, and with a great sigh of relief he let the vines swing loose. "waal, that warn't sech a mighty job at last. but law, ef it hed been peter birt stid of me, that thar wild tur-r-key would hev laid on this hyar ledge plumb till the jedgmint day!" he walked deftly along the ledge, picked up the bird, and tied it to one of the vines with a string which he took from his pocket, intending to draw it up when he should be once more on the top of the crag. these preparations complete, he began to think of going back. he caught the vines on which he had made the descent, but before he had fairly left the ledge, he felt that they were giving way. he paused, let himself slip back to a secure foothold, and tried their strength by pulling with all his force. presently down came the whole mass in his hands. the friction against the sharp edges of the rock over which they had been stretched with a strong tension had worn them through. his first emotion was one of intense thankfulness that they had fallen while he was on the ledge instead of midway in his precarious ascent. "ef they hed kem down whilst i war a-goin' up, i'd hev been flung plumb down ter the bottom o' the valley, 'kase this ledge air too narrer ter hev cotched me." he glanced down at the sombre depths beneath. "thar wouldn't hev been enough left of me ter pick up on a shovel!" he exclaimed, with a tardy realization of his foolish recklessness. the next moment a mortal terror seized him. what was to be his fate? to regain the top of the cliff by his own exertions was an impossibility. he cast his despairing eyes up the ascent, as sheer and as smooth as a wall, without a crevice which might afford a foothold, or a shrub to which he might cling. his strong head was whirling as he again glanced downward to the unmeasured abyss beneath. he softly let himself sink into a sitting posture, his heels dangling over the frightful depths, and addressed himself resolutely to the consideration of the terrible danger in which he was placed. [illustration: how long was it to last] taken at its best, how long was it to last? could he look to any human being for deliverance? he reflected with growing dismay that the place was far from any dwelling, and from the road that wound along the ridge. there was no errand that could bring a man to this most unfrequented portion of the deep woods, unless an accident should hither direct some hunter's step. it was quite possible, nay, probable, that years might elapse before the forest solitude would again be broken by human presence. his brothers would search for him when he should be missed from home,--but such boundless stretches of forest! they might search for weeks and never come near this spot. he would die here, he would starve,--no, he would grow drowsy when exhausted and fall--fall--fall! he was beginning to feel that morbid fascination that sometimes seizes upon those who stand on great heights,--an overwhelming impulse to plunge downward. his only salvation was to look up. he would look up to the sky. and what were these words he was beginning to faintly remember? had not the circuit-rider said in his last sermon that not even a sparrow falls to the ground unmarked of god? there was a definite strength in this suggestion. he felt less lonely as he stared resolutely at the big blue sky. there came into his heart a sense of encouragement, of hope. he would keep up as long and as bravely as he could, and if the worst should come,--was he indeed so solitary? he would hold in remembrance the sparrow's fall. he had so nerved himself to meet his fate that he thought it was a fancy when he heard a distant step. but it did not die away, it grew more and more distinct,--a shambling step, that curiously stopped at intervals and kicked the fallen leaves. he sought to call out, but he seemed to have lost his voice. not a sound issued from his thickened tongue and his dry throat. the step came nearer. it would presently pass. with a mighty effort ethan sent forth a wild, hoarse cry. the rocks reverberated it, the wind carried it far, and certainly there was an echo of its despair and terror in a shrill scream set up on the verge of the crag. then ethan heard the shambling step scampering off very fast indeed. the truth flashed upon him. it was some child, passing on an unimaginable errand through the deep woods, frightened by his sudden cry. "stop, bubby!" he shouted; "stop a minute! it's ethan tynes that's callin' of ye. stop a minute, bubby!" the step paused at a safe distance, and the shrill pipe of a little boy demanded, "whar is ye, ethan tynes?" "i'm down hyar on the ledge o' the bluff. who air ye ennyhow?" "george birt," promptly replied the little boy. "what air ye doin' down thar? i thought it war satan a-callin' of me. i never seen nobody." "i kem down hyar on vines arter a tur-r-key i shot. the vines bruk, an' i hev got no way ter git up agin. i want ye ter go ter yer mother's house, an' tell yer brother pete ter bring a rope hyar fur me ter climb up by." ethan expected to hear the shambling step going away with a celerity proportionate to the importance of the errand. on the contrary, the step was approaching the crag. a moment of suspense, and there appeared among the jagged ends of the broken vines a small red head, a deeply freckled face, and a pair of sharp, eager blue eyes. george birt had carefully laid himself down on his stomach, only protruding his head beyond the verge of the crag, that he might not fling away his life in his curiosity. "did ye git it?" he asked, with bated breath. "git what?" demanded poor ethan, surprised and impatient. "the tur-r-key--what ye hev done been talkin' 'bout," said george birt. ethan had lost all interest in the turkey. "yes, yes; but run along, bub. i mought fall off'n this hyar place,--i'm gittin' stiff sittin' still so long,--or the wind mought blow me off. the wind is blowin' toler'ble brief." "gobbler or hen?" asked george birt eagerly. "it air a hen," said ethan. "but look-a-hyar, george, i'm a-waitin' on ye, an' ef i'd fall off'n this hyar place, i'd be ez dead ez a door-nail in a minute." "waal, i'm goin' now," said george birt, with gratifying alacrity. he raised himself from his recumbent position, and ethan heard him shambling off, kicking every now and then at the fallen leaves as he went. presently, however, he turned and walked back nearly to the brink of the cliff. then he prostrated himself once more at full length,--for the mountain children are very careful of the precipices,--snaked along dexterously to the verge of the crag, and protruding his red head cautiously, began to parley once more, trading on ethan's necessities. "ef i go on this yerrand fur ye," he said, looking very sharp indeed, "will ye gimme one o' the whings of that thar wild tur-r-key?" he coveted the wing-feathers, not the joint of the fowl. the "whing" of the domestic turkey is used by the mountain women as a fan, and is considered an elegance as well as a comfort. george birt aped the customs of his elders, regardless of sex,--a characteristic of very small boys. "oh, go 'long, bubby!" exclaimed poor ethan, in dismay at the dilatoriness and indifference of his unique deliverer. "i'll give ye both o' the whings." he would have offered the turkey willingly, if "bubby" had seemed to crave it. "waal, i'm goin' now." george birt rose from the ground and started off briskly, exhilarated by the promise of both the "whings." ethan was angry indeed when he heard the boy once more shambling back. of course one should regard a deliverer with gratitude, especially a deliverer from mortal peril; but it may be doubted if ethan's gratitude would have been great enough to insure that small red head against a vigorous rap, if it had been within rapping distance, when it was once more cautiously protruded over the verge of the cliff. "i kem back hyar ter tell ye," the doughty deliverer began, with an air of great importance, and magnifying his office with an extreme relish, "that i can't go an' tell pete 'bout'n the rope till i hev done kem back from the mill. i hev got old sorrel hitched out hyar a piece, with a bag o' corn on his back, what i hev ter git ground at the mill. my mother air a-settin' at home now a-waitin' fur that thar corn-meal ter bake dodgers with. an' i hev got a dime ter pay at the mill; it war lent ter my dad las' week. an' i'm afeard ter walk about much with this hyar dime; i mought lose it, ye know. an' i can't go home 'thout the meal; i'll ketch it ef i do. but i'll tell pete arter i git back from the mill." "the mill!" echoed ethan, aghast. "what air ye doin' on this side o' the mounting, ef ye air a-goin' ter the mill? this ain't the way ter the mill." "i kem over hyar," said the little boy, still with much importance of manner, notwithstanding a slight suggestion of embarrassment on his freckled face, "ter see 'bout'n a trap that i hev sot fur squir'ls. i'll see 'bout my trap, an' then i hev ter go ter the mill, 'kase my mother air a-settin' in our house now a-waitin' fur meal ter bake corn-dodgers. then i'll tell pete whar ye air, an' what ye said 'bout'n the rope. ye must jes' wait fur me hyar." poor ethan could do nothing else. as the echo of the boy's shambling step died in the distance, a redoubled sense of loneliness fell upon ethan tynes. but he endeavored to solace himself with the reflection that the important mission to the squirrel-trap and the errand to the mill could not last forever, and before a great while peter birt and his rope would be upon the crag. this idea buoyed him up as the hours crept slowly by. now and then he lifted his head and listened with painful intentness. he felt stiff in every muscle, and yet he had a dread of making an effort to change his constrained position. he might lose control of his rigid limbs, and fall into those dread depths beneath. his patience at last began to give way. his heart was sinking. his messenger had been even more dilatory than he was prepared to expect. why did not pete come? was it possible that george had forgotten to tell of his danger? the sun was going down, leaving a great glory of gold and crimson clouds and an opaline haze upon the purple mountains. the last rays fell on the bronze feathers of the turkey still lying tied to the broken vines on the ledge. and now there were only frowning masses of dark clouds in the west; and there were frowning masses of clouds overhead. the shadow of the coming night had fallen on the autumnal foliage in the deep valley; in the place of the opaline haze was only a gray mist. and now came, sweeping along between the parallel mountain ranges, a sombre rain-cloud. the lad could hear the heavy drops splashing on the treetops in the valley, long, long before he felt them on his head. the roll of thunder sounded among the crags. then the rain came down tumultuously, not in columns, but in livid sheets. the lightnings rent the sky, showing, as it seemed to him, glimpses of the glorious brightness within,--too bright for human eyes. he clung desperately to his precarious perch. now and then a fierce rush of wind almost tore him from it. strange fancies beset him. the air was full of that wild symphony of nature, the wind and the rain, the pealing thunder, and the thunderous echo among the cliffs, and yet he thought he could hear his own name ringing again and again through all the tumult, sometimes in pete's voice, sometimes in george's shrill tones. he became vaguely aware, after a time, that the rain had ceased, and the moon was beginning to shine through rifts in the clouds. the wind continued unabated, but, curiously enough, he could not hear it now. he could hear nothing; he could think of nothing. his consciousness was beginning to fail. george birt had indeed forgotten him,--forgotten even the promised "whings." not that he had discovered anything so extraordinary in his trap, for his trap was empty, but when he reached the mill, he found that the miller had killed a bear and captured a cub, and the orphan, chained to a post, had deeply absorbed george birt's attention. to sophisticated people, the boy might have seemed as grotesque as the cub. george wore an unbleached cotton shirt. the waistband of his baggy jeans trousers encircled his body just beneath his armpits, reaching to his shoulder-blades behind, and nearly to his collar-bone in front. his red head was only partly covered by a fragment of an old white wool hat; and he looked at the cub with a curiosity as intense as that with which the cub looked at him. each was taking first lessons in natural history. as long as there was daylight enough left to see that cub, did george birt stand and stare at the little beast. then he clattered home on old sorrel in the closing darkness, looking like a very small pin on the top of a large pincushion. at home, he found the elders unreasonable,--as elders usually are considered. supper had been waiting an hour or so for the lack of meal for dodgers. he "caught it" considerably, but not sufficiently to impair his appetite for the dodgers. after all this, he was ready enough for bed when small boy's bedtime came. but as he was nodding before the fire, he heard a word that roused him to a new excitement. "these hyar chips air so wet they won't burn," said his mother. "i'll take my tur-r-key whing an' fan the fire." "law!" he exclaimed. "thar, now! ethan tynes never gimme that thar wild tur-r-key's whings like he promised." "whar did ye happen ter see ethan?" asked pete, interested in his friend. "seen him in the woods, an' he promised me the tur-r-key whings." "what fur?" inquired pete, a little surprised by this uncalled-for generosity. "waal,"--there was an expression of embarrassment on the important freckled face, and the small red head nodded forward in an explanatory manner,--"he fell off'n the bluffs arter the tur-r-key whings--i mean, he went down to the ledge arter the tur-r-key, and the vines bruk an' he couldn't git up no more. an' he tole me that ef i'd tell ye ter fotch him a rope ter pull up by, he would gimme the whings. that happened a--leetle--while--arter dinner-time." "who got him a rope ter pull up by?" demanded pete. there was again on the important face that indescribable shade of embarrassment. "waal,"--the youngster balanced this word judicially,--"i forgot 'bout'n the tur-r-key whings till this minute. i reckon he's thar yit." "mebbe this hyar wind an' rain hev beat him off'n the ledge!" exclaimed pete, appalled, and rising hastily. "i tell ye now," he added, turning to his mother, "the best use ye kin make o' that thar boy is ter put him on the fire fur a back-log." pete made his preparations in great haste. he took the rope from the well, asked the crestfallen and browbeaten junior a question or two relative to locality, mounted old sorrel without a saddle, and in a few minutes was galloping at headlong speed through the night. the rain was over by the time he had reached the sulphur spring to which george had directed him, but the wind was still high, and the broken clouds were driving fast across the face of the moon. when he had hitched his horse to a tree, and set out on foot to find the cliff, the moonbeams, though brilliant, were so intermittent that his progress was fitful and necessarily cautious. when the disk shone out full and clear, he made his way rapidly enough, but when the clouds intervened, he stood still and waited. "i ain't goin' ter fall off'n the bluff 'thout knowin' it," he said to himself, in one of these eclipses, "ef i hev ter stand hyar all night." the moonlight was brilliant and steady when he reached the verge of the crag. he identified the spot by the mass of broken vines, and more indubitably by ethan's rifle lying upon the ground just at his feet. he called, but received no response. "hev ethan fell off, sure enough?" he asked himself, in great dismay and alarm. then he shouted again and again. at last there came an answer, as though the speaker had just awaked. "pretty nigh beat out, i'm a-thinkin'!" commented pete. he tied one end of the cord around the trunk of a tree, knotted it at intervals, and flung it over the bluff. at first ethan was almost afraid to stir. he slowly put forth his hand and grasped the rope. then, his heart beating tumultuously, he rose to his feet. he stood still for an instant to steady himself and get his breath. nerving himself for a strong effort, he began the ascent, hand over hand, up, and up, and up, till once more he stood upon the crest of the crag. and, now that all danger was over, pete was disposed to scold. "i'm a-thinkin'," said pete severely, "ez thar ain't a critter on this hyar mounting, from a b'ar ter a copper-head, that could hev got in sech a fix, 'ceptin' ye, ethan tynes." and ethan was silent. "what's this hyar thing at the e-end o' the rope?" asked pete, as he began to draw the cord up, and felt a weight still suspended. "it air the tur-r-key," said ethan meekly. "i tied her ter the e-end o' the rope afore i kem up." "waal, sir!" exclaimed pete, in indignant surprise. and george, for duty performed, was remunerated with the two "whings," although it still remains a question in the mind of ethan whether or not he deserved them. in the "chinking" not far from an abrupt precipice on a certain great mountain spur there stands in the midst of the red and yellow autumn woods a little log "church-house." the nuts rattle noisily down on its roof; sometimes during "evenin' preachin'"--which takes place in the afternoon--a flying-squirrel frisks near the window; the hymns echo softly, softly, from the hazy sunlit heights across the valley. "that air the doxol'gy," said tom brent, one day, pausing to listen among the wagons and horses hitched outside. he was about to follow home his father's mare, that had broken loose and galloped off through the woods, but as he glanced back at the church, a sudden thought struck him. he caught sight of the end of little jim coggin's comforter flaunting out through the "chinking,"--as the mountaineers call the series of short slats which are set diagonally in the spaces between the logs of the walls, and on which the clay is thickly daubed. this work had been badly done, and in many places the daubing had fallen away. thus it was that as jim coggin sat within the church, the end of his plaid comforter had slipped through the chinking and was waving in the wind outside. now jim had found the weather still too warm for his heavy jeans jacket, but he was too cool without it, and he had ingeniously compromised the difficulty by wearing his comforter in this unique manner,--laying it on his shoulders, crossing it over the chest, passing it under the arms, and tying it in a knot between the shoulder-blades. tom remembered this with a grin as he slyly crept up to the house, and it was only the work of a moment to draw that knot through the chinking and secure it firmly to a sumach bush that grew near at hand. it never occurred to him that the resounding doxology could fail to rouse that small, tow-headed, freckle-faced boy, or that the congregation might slowly disperse without noticing him as he sat motionless and asleep in the dark shadow. the sun slipped down into the red west; the blue mountains turned purple; heavy clouds gathered, and within three miles there was no other human creature when jim suddenly woke to the darkness and the storm and the terrible loneliness. where was he? he tried to rise: he could not move. bewildered, he struggled and tugged at his harness,--all in vain. as he realized the situation, he burst into tears. "them home-folks o' mine won't kem hyar ter s'arch fur me," he cried desperately, "kase i tole my mother ez how i war a-goin' ter dust down the mounting ter aunt jerushy's house ez soon ez meet'n' war out an' stay all night along o' her boys." still he tried to comfort himself by reflecting that it was not so bad as it might have been. there was no danger that he would have to starve and pine here till next sunday, for a "protracted meeting" was in progress, service was held every day, and the congregation would return to-morrow, which was thursday. his philosophy, however, was short-lived, for the sudden lightning rent the clouds, and a terrific peal of thunder echoed among the cliffs. "the storm air a-comin' up the mounting!" he exclaimed, in vivacious protest. "an' ef this brief wind war ter whurl the old church-house off'n the bluff an' down inter the valley whar-r--would--i--be?" all at once the porch creaked beneath a heavy tread. a clumsy hand was fumbling at the door. "strike a light," said a gruff voice without. as a lantern was thrust in, jim was about to speak, but the words froze upon his lips for fear when a man strode heavily over the threshold and he caught the expression of his face. it was an evil face, red and bloated and brutish. he had small, malicious, twinkling eyes, and a shock of sandy hair. a suit of copper-colored jeans hung loosely on his tall, lank frame, and when he placed the lantern on a bench and stretched out both arms as if he were tired, he showed that his left hand was maimed,--the thumb had been cut off at the first joint. a thickset, short, swaggering man tramped in after him. "waal, amos brierwood," he said, "it's safes' fur us ter part. we oughter be fur enough from hyar by daybreak. divide that thar traveler's money--hey?" they carefully closed the rude shutters, barred the door, and sat down on the "mourners' bench," neither having noticed the small boy at the other end of the room. poor jim, his arms akimbo and half-covered by his comforter, stuck to the wall like a plaid bat,--if such a natural curiosity is imaginable,--feverishly hoping that the men might go without seeing him at all. for surely no human creature could be more abhorrent, more incredibly odious of aspect, than amos brierwood as he sat there, his red, brutish face redder still with a malign pleasure, his malicious eyes gloating over the rolls of money which he drew from a pocket-book stolen from some waylaid traveler, snapping his fingers in exultation when the amount of the bills exceeded his expectation. the leaves without were fitfully astir, and once the porch creaked suddenly. brierwood glanced at the door sharply,--even fearfully,--his hand motionless on the rolls of money. "only the wind, amos, only the wind!" said the short, stout man impatiently. but he, himself, was disquieted the next moment when a horse neighed shrilly. "that ain't my beastis, amos, nor yit your'n!" he cried, starting up. "it air the traveler's, ye sodden idjit!" said brierwood, lifting his uncouth foot and giving him a jocose kick. but the short man was not satisfied. he rose, went outside, and jim could hear him beating about among the bushes. presently he came in again. "'twar the traveler's critter, i reckon; an' that critter an' saddle oughter be counted in my sheer." then they fell to disputing and quarreling,--once they almost fought,--but at length the division was made and they rose to go. as brierwood swung his lantern round, his malicious eyes fell upon the poor little plaid bat sticking against the wall. he stood in the door staring, dumfounded for a moment. then he clenched his fist, and shook it fiercely. "how did ye happen ter be hyar this time o' the night, ye limb o' satan?" he cried. "dunno," faltered poor jim. the other man had returned too. "waal, sir, ef that thar boy hed been a copper-head now, he'd hev bit us, sure!" "_he mought do that yit_," said amos brierwood, with grim significance. "he hev been thar all this time,--'kase he air tied thar, don't ye see? an' he hev _eyes_, an' he hev _ears_. what air ter hender?" the other man's face turned pale, and jim thought that they were afraid he would tell all he had seen and heard. the manner of both had changed, too. they had a skulking, nervous way with them now in place of the coarse bravado that had characterized them hitherto. amos brierwood pondered for a few minutes. then he sullenly demanded,-"what's yer name?" "it air jeemes coggin," quavered the little boy. "coggin, hey?" exclaimed brierwood, with a new idea bringing back the malicious twinkle to his eyes. he laughed as though mightily relieved, and threw up his left hand and shook it exultingly. the shadow on the dark wall of that maimed hand with only the stump of a thumb was a weird, a horrible thing to the child. he had no idea that his constant notice of it would stamp it in his memory, and that something would come of this fact. he was glad when the shadow ceased to writhe and twist upon the wall, and the man dropped his arm to his side again. "what's a-brewin', amos?" asked the other, who had been watching brierwood curiously. they whispered aside for a few moments, at first anxiously and then with wild guffaws of satisfaction. when they approached the boy, their manner had changed once more. "waal, i declar, bubby," said brierwood agreeably, "this hyar fix ez ye hev got inter air sateful fur true! it air enough ter sot enny boy on the mounting cat-a-wampus. 'twar a good thing ez we-uns happened ter kem by hyar on our way from the tan-yard way down yander in the valley whar we-uns hev been ter git paid up fur workin' thar some. we'll let ye out. who done yer this hyar trick?" "dunno--witches, i reckon!" cried poor jim, bursting into tears. "witches!" the man exclaimed, "the woods air a-roamin' with 'em this time o' the year; bein', ye see, ez they kem ter feed on the mast." he chuckled as he said this, perhaps at the boy's evident terror,--for jim was sorrowfully superstitious,--perhaps because he had managed to cut unnoticed a large fragment from the end of the comforter. this he stuffed into his own pocket as he talked on about two witches, whom he said he had met that afternoon under an oak-tree feeding on acorns. "an' now, i kem ter remind myself that them witches war inquirin' round 'bout'n a boy--war his name jeemes coggin? le''s see! that boy's name _war_ jeemes coggin!" while jim stood breathlessly, intently listening, brierwood had twisted something into the folds of his comforter so dexterously that unless this were untied it would not fall; it was a silk handkerchief of a style never before seen in the mountains, and he had made a knot hard and fast in one corner. "thar, now!" he exclaimed, holding up the fragment of knitted yarn, "i hev tore yer comforter. never mind, bubby, 'twar tore afore. but it'll do ter wrop up this money-purse what b'longs ter yer dad. he lef' it hid in the chinking o' the wall over yander close ter whar i war sittin' when i fust kem in. i'll put it back thar, 'kase yer dad don't want nobody ter know whar it air hid." he strode across the room and concealed the empty pocket-book in the chinking. "ef ye won't tell who teched it, i'll gin a good word fur ye ter them witches what war inquirin' round fur ye ter-day." jim promised in hot haste, and then, the rain having ceased, he started for home, but brierwood stopped him at the door. "hold on thar, bub. i kem mighty nigh furgittin' ter let ye know ez i seen yer brother alf awhile back, an' he axed me ter git ye ter go by tom brent's house, an' tell tom ter meet him up the road a piece by that thar big sulphur spring. will ye gin tom that message? tell him alf said ter come quick." once more jim promised. the two men holding the lantern out in the porch watched him as he pounded down the dark road, his tow hair sticking out of his tattered black hat, the ends of his comforter flaunting in the breeze, and every gesture showing the agitated haste of a witch-scared boy. then they looked at each other significantly, and laughed loud and long. "he'll tell sech a crooked tale ter-morrer that alf coggin an' his dad will see sights along o' that traveler's money!" said brierwood, gloating over his sharp management as he and his accomplice mounted their horses and rode off in opposite directions. when jim reached tom brent's house, and knocked at the door, he was so absorbed in his terrors that, as it opened, he said nothing for a moment. he could see the family group within. tom's father was placidly smoking. his palsied "gran'dad" shook in his chair in the chimney-corner as he told the wide-eyed boys big tales about the "injuns" that harried the early settlers in tennessee. "tom," jim said, glancing up at the big boy,--"tom, thar's a witch waitin' fur ye at the sulphur spring! go thar, quick!" "not ef i knows what's good fur me!" protested tom, with a great horse-laugh. "what ails ye, boy? ye talk like ye war teched in the head!" "i went ter say ez alf coggin air thar waitin' fur ye," jim began again, nodding his slandered head with great solemnity, "an' tole me ter tell ye ter kem thar quick." he took no heed of the inaccuracy of the message; he was glancing fearfully over his shoulder, and the next minute scuttled down the road in a bee-line for home. tom hurried off briskly through the woods. "waal, sir! i'm mighty nigh crazed ter know what alf coggin kin want o' me; goin' coon-huntin', mebbe," he speculated, as he drew within sight of an old lightning-scathed tree which stood beside the sulphur spring and stretched up, stark and white, in the dim light. the clouds were blowing away from a densely instarred sky; the moon was hardly more than a crescent and dipping low in the west, but he could see the sombre outline of the opposite mountain, and the white mists that shifted in a ghostly and elusive fashion along the summit. the night was still, save for a late katydid, spared by the frost, and piping shrilly. he experienced a terrible shock of surprise when a sudden voice--a voice he had never heard before--cried out sharply, "hello there! help! help!" as he pressed tremulously forward, he beheld a sight which made him ask himself if it were possible that alf coggin had sent for him to join in some nefarious work which had ended in leaving a man--a stranger--bound to the old lightning-scathed tree. even in the uncertain light tom could see that he was pallid and panting, evidently exhausted in some desperate struggle: there was blood on his face, his clothes were torn, and by all odds he was the angriest man that was ever waylaid and robbed. "ter-morrer he'll be jes' a-swoopin'!" thought tom, tremulously untying the complicated knots, and listening to his threats of vengeance on the unknown robbers, "an' every critter on the mounting will git a clutch from his claws." and in fact, it was hardly daybreak before the constable of the district, who lived hard by in the valley, was informed of all the details of the affair, so far as known to tom or the "traveler,"--for thus the mountaineers designated him, as if he were the only one in the world. by reason of the message which jim had delivered, and its strange result, they suspected the coggins, and as they rode together to the justice's house for a warrant, this suspicion received unexpected confirmation in a rumor that they found afloat. every man they met stopped them to repeat the story that coggin's boy had told somebody that it was his father who had robbed the traveler, and hid the empty pocket-book in the chinking of the church wall. no one knew who had set this report in circulation, but a blacksmith said he heard it first from a man named brierwood, who had stopped at his shop to have his horse shod. it was still early when they reached jim coggin's home; the windows and doors were open to let out the dust, for his mother was just beginning to sweep. she had pushed aside the table, when her eyes suddenly distended with surprise as they fell upon a silk handkerchief lying on the floor beside it. the moment that she stooped and picked it up, the strange gentleman stepped upon the porch, and through the open door he saw it dangling from her hands. he tapped the constable on the shoulder. "that's my property!" he said tersely. the officer stepped in instantly. "good-mornin', mrs. coggin," he said politely. "'t would pleasure me some ter git a glimpse o' that handkercher." "air it your'n?" asked the woman wonderingly. "i jes' now fund it, an' i war tried ter know who had drapped it hyar." the officer, without a word, untied the knot which amos brierwood had made in one corner, while the coggins looked on in open-mouthed amazement. it contained a five-dollar bill, and a bit of paper on which some careless memoranda had been jotted down in handwriting which the traveler claimed as his own. it seemed a very plain case. still, he got out of the sound of the woman's sobs and cries as soon as he conveniently could, and sauntered down the road, where the officer presently overtook him with alf and his father in custody. "whar be ye a-takin' of us now?" cried the elder, gaunt and haggard, and with his long hair blowing in the breeze. "ter the church-house, whar yer boy says ye hev hid the traveler's money-purse," said the officer. "_my boy_!" exclaimed john coggin, casting an astounded glance upon his son. poor alf was almost stunned. when they reached the church, and the men, after searching for a time without result, appealed to him to save trouble by pointing out the spot where the pocket-book was concealed, he could only stammer and falter unintelligibly, and finally he burst into tears. "ax the t'other one--the leetle boy," suggested an old man in the crowd. alf's heart sank--sank like lead--when jim, suddenly remembering the promised "good word" to the witches, piped out, "i war tole not ter tell who teched it,--'kase my dad didn't want nobody ter know 'twar hid thar." john coggin's face was rigid and gray. "the lord hev forsook me!" he cried. "an' all my chillen hev turned liars tergether." then he made a great effort to control himself. "look-a-hyar, jim, ef ye hev got the truth in ye,--speak it! ef ye know whar i hev hid anything,--find it!" jim, infinitely important, and really understanding little of what was going on, except that all these big men were looking at him, crossed the room with as much stateliness as is compatible with a pair of baggy brown jeans trousers, a plaid comforter tied between the shoulder-blades in a big knot, a tow-head, and a tattered black hat; he slipped his grimy paw in the chinking where amos brierwood had hid the pocket-book, and drew it thence, with the prideful exclamation,-"b'longs ter my dad!" the officer held it up empty before the traveler,--he held up, too, the bit of comforter in which it was folded, and pointed to the small boy's shoulders. the gentleman turned away, thoroughly convinced. alf and his father looked from one to the other, in mute despair. they foresaw many years of imprisonment for a crime which they had not committed. the constable was hurrying his prisoners toward the door, when there was a sudden stir on the outskirts of the crowd. old parson payne was pushing his way in, followed by a tall young man, who, in comparison with the mountaineers, seemed wonderfully prosperous and well-clad, and very fresh and breezy. "you're all on the wrong track!" he cried. and his story proved this, though it was simple enough. he was sojourning in the mountains with some friends on a "camp-hunt," and the previous evening he had chanced to lose his way in the woods. when night and the storm came on, he was perhaps five miles from camp. he mistook the little "church-house" for a dwelling, and dismounting, he hitched his horse in the laurel, intending to ask for shelter for the night. as he stepped upon the porch, however, he caught a glimpse, through the chinking, of the interior, and he perceived that the building was a church. there were benches and a rude pulpit. the next instant, his attention was riveted by the sight of two men, one of whom had drawn a knife upon the other, quarreling over a roll of money. he stood rooted to the spot in surprise. gradually, he began to understand the villainy afoot, for he overheard all that they said to each other, and afterward to jim. he saw one of the men cut the bit from the comforter, wrap the pocket-book in it, and hide it away, and he witnessed a dispute between them, which went on in dumb show behind the boy's back, as to which of two bills should be knotted in the handkerchief which they twisted into the comforter. the constable was pressing him to describe the appearance of the ruffians. "why," said the stranger, "one of them was long, and lank, and loose-jointed, and had sandy hair, and"--he paused abruptly, cudgeling his memory for something more distinctive, for this description would apply to half the men in the room, and thus it would be impossible to identify and capture the robbers. "he hedn't no thumb sca'cely on his lef' hand," piped out jim, holding up his own grimy paw, and looking at it with squinting intensity as he crooked it at the first joint, to imitate the maimed hand. "no thumb!" exclaimed the constable excitedly. "amos brierwood fur a thousand!" jim nodded his head intelligently, with sudden recollection. "that air the name ez the chunky man gin him when they fust kem in." and thus it was that when the coggins were presently brought before the justice, they were exonerated of all complicity in the crime for which brierwood and his accomplice were afterward arrested, tried, and sentenced to the state prison. jim doubts whether the promised "good word" was ever spoken on his behalf to the witches, who were represented as making personal inquiries about him, because he suspects that the two robbers were themselves the only evil spirits roaming the woods that night. on a higher level as jack dunn stood in the door of his home on a great crag of persimmon ridge and loaded his old rifle, his eyes rested upon a vast and imposing array of mountains filling the landscape. all are heavily wooded, all are alike, save that in one the long horizontal line of the summit is broken by a sudden vertical ascent, and thence the mountain seems to take up life on a higher level, for it sinks no more and passes out of sight. this abrupt rise is called "elijah's step,"--named, perhaps, in honor of some neighboring farmer who first explored it; but the ignorant boy believed that here the prophet had stepped into his waiting fiery chariot. he knew of no foreign lands,--no syria, no palestine. he had no dream of the world that lay beyond those misty, azure hills. indistinctly he had caught the old story from the nasal drawl of the circuit-rider, and he thought that here, among these wild tennessee mountains, elijah had lived and had not died. there came suddenly from the valley the baying of a pack of hounds in full cry, and when the crags caught the sound and tossed it from mountain to mountain, when more delicate echoes on a higher key rang out from the deep ravines, there was a wonderful exhilaration in this sylvan minstrelsy. the young fellow looked wistful as he heard it, then he frowned heavily. "them thar saunders men hev gone off an' left me," he said reproachfully to some one within the log cabin. "hyar i be kept a-choppin' wood an' a pullin' fodder till they hev hed time ter git up a deer. it 'pears ter me ez i mought hev been let ter put off that thar work till i war through huntin'." he was a tall young fellow, with a frank, freckled face and auburn hair; stalwart, too. judging from his appearance, he could chop wood and pull fodder to some purpose. a heavy, middle-aged man emerged from the house, and stood regarding his son with grim disfavor. "an' who oughter chop wood an' pull fodder but ye, while my hand air sprained this way?" he demanded. that hand had been sprained for many a long day, but the boy made no reply; perhaps he knew its weight. he walked to the verge of the cliff, and gazed down at the tops of the trees in the valley far, far below. the expanse of foliage was surging in the wind like the waves of the sea. from the unseen depths beneath there rose again the cry of the pack, inexpressibly stirring, and replete with woodland suggestions. all the echoes came out to meet it. "i war promised ter go!" cried jack bitterly. "waal," said his mother, from within the house, "'tain't no good nohow." her voice was calculated to throw oil upon the troubled waters,--low, languid, and full of pacifying intonations. she was a tall, thin woman, clad in a blue-checked homespun dress, and seated before a great hand-loom, as a lady sits before a piano or an organ. the creak of the treadle, and the thump, thump of the batten, punctuated, as it were, her consolatory disquisition. her son looked at her in great depression of spirit as she threw the shuttle back and forth with deft, practiced hands. "wild meat air a mighty savin'," she continued, with a housewifely afterthought. "i ain't denyin' that." thump, thump, went the batten. "but ye needn't pester the life out'n yerself 'kase ye ain't a-runnin' the deer along o' them saunders men. it 'pears like a powerful waste o' time, when ye kin take yer gun down ter the river enny evenin' late, jes' ez the deer air goin' ter drink, an' shoot ez big a buck ez ye hev got the grit ter git enny other way. ye can't do nothin' with a buck but eat him, an' a-runnin' him all around the mounting don't make him no tenderer, ter my mind. i don't see no sense in huntin' 'cept ter git somethin' fitten ter eat." this logic, enough to break a sportsman's heart, was not a panacea for the tedium of the day, spent in the tame occupation of pulling fodder, as the process of stripping the blades from the standing cornstalks is called. but when the shadows were growing long, jack took his rifle and set out for the profit and the pleasure of still-hunting. as he made his way through the dense woods, the metallic tones of a cow-bell jangled on the air,--melodious sound in the forest quiet, but it conjured up a scowl on the face of the young mountaineer. "everything on this hyar mounting hev got the twistin's ter-day!" he exclaimed wrath-fully. "hyar is our old red cow a-traipsing off ter andy bailey's house, an' thar won't be a drap of milk for supper." this was a serious matter, for in a region where coffee and tea are almost unknown luxuries, and the evening meal consists of such thirst-provoking articles as broiled venison, corn-dodgers, and sorghum, one is apt to feel the need of some liquid milder than "apple-jack," and more toothsome than water, wherewith to wet one's whistle. in common with everything else on the mountain, jack, too, had the "twistin's," and it was with a sour face that he began to drive the cow homeward. after going some distance, however, he persuaded himself that she would leave the beaten track no more until she reached the cabin. he turned about, therefore, and retraced his way to the stream. there had been heavy rains in the mountains, and it was far out of its banks, rushing and foaming over great rocks, circling in swift whirlpools, plunging in smooth, glassy sheets down sudden descents, and maddening thence in tumultuous, yeasty billows. an old mill, long disused and fallen into decay, stood upon the brink. it was a painful suggestion of collapsed energies, despite its picturesque drapery of vines. no human being could live there, but in the doorway abruptly appeared a boy of seventeen, dressed, like jack, in an old brown jeans suit and a shapeless white hat. jack paused at a little distance up on the hill, and parleyed in a stentorian voice with the boy in the mill. "what's the reason ye air always tryin' ter toll off our old red muley from our house?" he demanded angrily. "i ain't never tried ter toll her off," said andy bailey. "she jes' kem ter our house herself. i dunno ez i hev got enny call ter look arter other folkses' stray cattle. mind yer own cow." "i hev got a mighty notion ter cut down that thar sapling,"--and jack pointed to a good-sized hickory-tree,--"an' wear it out on ye." "i ain't afeard. come on!" said andy impudently, protected by his innocence, and the fact of being the smaller of the two. there was a pause. "hev ye been a-huntin'?" asked jack, beginning to be mollified by the rare luxury of youthful and congenial companionship; for this was a scantily settled region, and boys were few. andy nodded assent. jack walked down into the rickety mill, and stood leaning against the rotten old hopper. "what did ye git?" he said, looking about for the game. "waal," drawled andy, with much hesitation, "i hain't been started out long." he turned from the door and faced his companion rather sheepishly. "i hopes ye ain't been poppin' off that rifle o' your'n along that deer-path down in the hollow, an' a-skeerin' off all the wild critters," said jack dunn, with sudden apprehension. "ef i war ez pore a shot ez ye air, i'd go a-huntin' with a bean-pole instead of a gun, an' leave the game ter them that kin shoot it." andy was of a mercurial and nervous temperament, and this fact perhaps may account for the anomaly of a mountain-boy who was a poor shot. andy was the scoff of persimmon ridge. "i hev seen many a gal who could shoot ez well ez ye kin,--better," continued jack jeeringly. "but law! i needn't kerry my heavy bones down thar in the hollow expectin' ter git a deer ter-day. they air all off in the woods a-smellin' the powder ye hev been wastin'." andy was pleased to change the subject. "it 'pears ter me that that thar water air a-scuttlin' along toler'ble fast," he said, turning his eyes to the little window through which the stream could be seen. it _was_ running fast, and with a tremendous force. one could obtain some idea of the speed and impetus of the current from the swift vehemence with which logs and branches shot past, half hidden in foam. the water looked black with this white contrast. here and there a great, grim rock projected sharply above the surface. in the normal condition of the stream, these were its overhanging banks, but now, submerged, they gave to its flow the character of rapids. the old mill, its wooden supports submerged too, trembled and throbbed with the throbbing water. as jack looked toward the window, his eyes were suddenly distended, his cheek paled, and he sprang to the door with a frightened exclamation. too late! the immense hole of a fallen tree, shooting down the channel with the force and velocity of a great projectile, struck the tottering supports of the crazy, rotting building. it careened, and quivered in every fibre; there was a crash of falling timbers, then a mighty wrench, and the two boys, clinging to the window-frame, were driving with the wreck down the river. the old mill thundered against the submerged rocks, and at every concussion the timbers fell. it whirled around and around in eddying pools. where the water was clear, and smooth, and deep, it shot along with great rapidity. the convulsively clinging boys looked down upon the black current, with its sharp, treacherous, half-seen rocks and ponderous driftwood. the wild idea of plunging into the tumult and trying to swim to the bank faded as they looked. here in the crazy building there might be a chance. in that frightful swirl there lurked only a grim certainty. the house had swung along in the middle of the stream; now its course was veering slightly to the left. this could be seen through the window and the interstices of the half-fallen timbers. the boys were caged, as it were; the doorway was filled with the heavy debris, and the only possibility of escape was through that little window. it was so small that only one could pass through at a time,--only one could be saved. jack had seen the chance from far up the stream. there was a stretch of smooth water close in to the bank, on which was a low-hanging beech-tree,--he might catch the branches. they were approaching the spot with great rapidity. only one could go. he himself had discovered the opportunity,--it was his own. life was sweet,--so sweet! he could not give it up; he could not now take thought for his friend. he could only hope with a frenzied eagerness that andy had not seen the possibility of deliverance. in another moment andy lifted himself into the window. a whirlpool caught the wreck, and there it eddied in dizzying circles. it was not yet too late. jack could tear the smaller, weaker fellow away with one strong hand, and take the only chance for escape. the shattered mill was dashing through the smoother waters now; the great beech-tree was hanging over their heads; an inexplicable, overpowering impulse mastered in an instant jack's temptation. "ketch the branches, andy!" he cried wildly. his friend was gone, and he was whirling off alone on those cruel, frantic waters. in the midst of the torrent he was going down, and down, and down the mountain. now and then he had a fleeting glimpse of the distant ranges. there was "elijah's step," glorified in the sunset, purple and splendid, with red and gold clouds flaming above it. to his untutored imagination they looked like the fiery chariot again awaiting the prophet. the familiar sight, the familiar, oft-repeated fancy, the recollection of his home, brought sudden tears to his eyes. he gazed wistfully at the spot whence he believed the man had ascended who left death untasted, and then he went on in this mad rush down to the bitterness of death. even with this terrible fact before him, he did not reproach himself with his costly generosity. it was strange to him that he did not regret it; perhaps, like that mountain, he had suddenly taken up life on a higher level. the sunset splendor was fading. the fiery chariot was gone, and in its place were floating gray clouds,--the dust of its wheels, they seemed. the outlines of "elijah's step" were dark. it looked sad, bereaved. its glory had departed. suddenly the whole landscape seemed full of reeling black shadows,--and yet it was not night. the roar of the torrent was growing faint upon his ear, and yet its momentum was unchecked. soon all was dark and all was still, and the world slipped from his grasp. [illustration: in the midst of the torrent] "they tell me that thar jack dunn war mighty nigh drownded when them men fished him out'n the pond at skeggs's sawmill down thar in the valley," said andy bailey, recounting the incident to the fireside circle at his own home. "they seen them rotten old timbers come a-floatin' ez peaceable on to the pond, an' then they seen somethin' like a human a-hangin' ter 'em. the water air ez still ez a floor thar, an' deep an' smooth, an' they didn't hev no trouble in swimmin' out to him. they couldn't bring him to, though, at fust. they said in a little more he would hev been gone sure! now"--pridefully--"ef he hed hed the grit ter ketch a tree an' pull out, like i done, he wouldn't hev been in sech a danger." andy never knew the sacrifice his friend had made. jack never told him. applause is at best a slight thing. a great action is nobler than the monument that commemorates it; and when a man gives himself into the control of a generous impulse, thenceforward he takes up life on a higher level. christmas day on old windy mountain the sun had barely shown the rim of his great red disk above the sombre woods and snow-crowned crags of the opposite ridge, when rick herne, his rifle in his hand, stepped out of his father's log cabin, perched high among the precipices of old windy mountain. he waited motionless for a moment, and all the family trooped to the door to assist at the time-honored ceremony of firing a salute to the day. suddenly the whole landscape catches a rosy glow, rick whips up his rifle, a jet of flame darts swiftly out, a sharp report rings all around the world, and the sun goes grandly up--while the little tow-headed mountaineers hurrah shrilly for "chris'mus!" as he began to re-load his gun, the small boys clustered around him, their hands in the pockets of their baggy jeans trousers, their heads inquiringly askew. "they air a-goin' ter hev a pea-fow_el_ fur dinner down yander ter birk's mill," rick remarked. the smallest boy smacked his lips,--not that he knew how pea-fowl tastes, but he imagined unutterable things. "somehows i hates fur ye ter go ter eat at birk's mill, they air sech a set o' drinkin' men down thar ter malviny's house," said rick's mother, as she stood in the doorway, and looked anxiously at him. for his elder sister was birk's wife, and to this great feast he was invited as a representative of the family, his father being disabled by "rheumatics," and his mother kept at home by the necessity of providing dinner for those four small boys. "hain't i done promised ye not ter tech a drap o' liquor this chris'mus day?" asked rick. "that's a fac'," his mother admitted. "but boys, an' men-folks ginerally, air scandalous easy ter break a promise whar whiskey is in it." "i'll hev ye ter know that when i gin my word, i keeps it!" cried rick pridefully. he little dreamed how that promise was to be assailed before the sun should go down. he was a tall, sinewy boy, deft of foot as all these mountaineers are, and a seven-mile walk in the snow to birk's mill he considered a mere trifle. he tramped along cheerily enough through the silent solitudes of the dense forest. only at long intervals the stillness was broken by the cracking of a bough under the weight of snow, or the whistling of a gust of wind through the narrow valley far below. all at once--it was a terrible shock of surprise--he was sinking! was there nothing beneath his feet but the vague depths of air to the base of the mountain? he realized with a quiver of dismay that he had mistaken a huge drift-filled fissure, between a jutting crag and the wall of the ridge, for the solid, snow-covered ground. he tossed his arms about wildly in his effort to grasp something firm. the motion only dislodged the drift. he felt that it was falling, and he was going down--down--down with it. he saw the trees on the summit of old windy disappear. he caught one glimpse of the neighboring ridges. then he was blinded and enveloped in this cruel whiteness. he had a wild idea that he had been delivered to it forever; even in the first thaw it would curl up into a wreath of vapor, and rise from the mountain's side, and take him soaring with it--whither? how they would search these bleak wintry fastnesses for him,--while he was gone sailing with the mist! what would they say at home and at birk's mill? one last thought of the "pea-fow_el_," and he seemed to slide swiftly away from the world with the snow. he was unconscious probably only for a few minutes. when he came to himself, he found that he was lying, half-submerged in the great drift, on the slope of the mountain, and the dark, icicle-begirt cliff towered high above. he stretched his limbs--no bones broken! he could hardly believe that he had fallen unhurt from those heights. he did not appreciate how gradually the snow had slidden down. being so densely packed, too, it had buoyed him up, and kept him from dashing against the sharp, jagged edges of the rock. he had lost consciousness in the jar when the moving mass was abruptly arrested by a transverse elevation of the ground. he was still a little dizzy and faint, but otherwise uninjured. now a great perplexity took hold on him. how was he to make his way back up the mountain, he asked himself, as he looked at the inaccessible cliffs looming high into the air. all the world around him was unfamiliar. even his wide wanderings had never brought him into this vast, snowy, trackless wilderness, that stretched out on every side. he would be half the day in finding the valley road that led to birk's mill. he rose to his feet, and gazed about him in painful indecision. the next moment a thrill shot through him, to which he was unaccustomed. he had never before shaken except with the cold,--but this was fear. for he heard voices! not from the cliffs above,--but from below! not from the dense growth of young pines on the slope of the mountain,--but from the depths of the earth beneath! he stood motionless, listening intently, his eyes distended, and his heart beating fast. all silence! not even the wind stirred in the pine thicket. the snow lay heavy among the dark green branches, and every slender needle was encased in ice. rick rubbed his eyes. it was no dream. there was the thicket; but whose were the voices that had rung out faintly from beneath it? a crowd of superstitions surged upon him. he cast an affrighted glance at the ghastly snow-covered woods and sheeted earth. he was remembering fireside legends, horrible enough to raise the hair on a sophisticated, educated boy's head; much more horrible, then, to a young backwoodsman like rick. on this, the most benign day that ever dawns upon the world, was he led into these endless wastes of forest to be terrified by the "harnts"? suddenly those voices from the earth again! one was singing a drunken catch,--it broke into falsetto, and ended with an unmistakable hiccup. rick's blood came back with a rush. "i hev never hearn tell o' the hoobies gittin' boozy!" he said with a laugh. "that's whar they hev got the upper-hand o' humans." as he gazed again at the thicket, he saw now something that he had been too much agitated to observe before,--a column of dense smoke that rose from far down the declivity, and seemed to make haste to hide itself among the low-hanging boughs of a clump of fir-trees. "it's somebody's house down thar," was rick's conclusion. "i kin find out the way to birk's mill from the folkses." when he neared the smoke, he paused abruptly, staring once more. there was no house! the smoke rose from among low pine bushes. above were the snow-laden branches of the fir. "ef thar war a house hyar, i reckon i could see it!" said rick doubtfully, infinitely mystified. there was a continual drip, drip of moisture all around. yet a thaw had not set in. rick looked up at the gigantic icicles that hung to the crags and glittered in the sun,--not a drop trickled from them. but this fir-tree was dripping, dripping, and the snow had melted away from the nearest pine bushes that clustered about the smoke. there was heat below certainly, a strong heat, and somebody was keeping the fire up steadily. "an' air it folkses ez live underground like foxes an' sech!" rick exclaimed, astonished, as he came upon a large, irregularly shaped rift in the rocks, and heard the same reeling voice from within, beginning to sing once more. but for this bacchanalian melody, the noise of rick's entrance might have given notice of his approach. as it was, the inhabitants of this strange place were even more surprised than he, when, after groping through a dark, low passage, an abrupt turn brought him into a lofty, vaulted subterranean apartment. there was a great flare of light, which revealed six or seven muscular men grouped about a large copper vessel built into a rude stone furnace, and all the air was pervaded by an incomparably strong alcoholic odor. the boy started back with a look of terror. that pale terror was reflected on each man's face, as on a mirror. at the sight of the young stranger they all sprang up with the same gesture,--each instinctively laid his hand upon the pistol that he wore. poor rick understood it all at last. he had stumbled upon a nest of distillers, only too common among these mountains, who were hiding from the officers of the government, running their still in defiance of the law and eluding the whiskey-tax. he realized that in discovering their stronghold he had learned a secret that was by no means a safe one for him to know. and he was in their power; at their mercy! "don't shoot!" he faltered. "i jes' want ter ax the folkses ter tell me the way ter birk's mill." what would he have given to be on the bleak mountain outside! one of the men caught him as if anticipating an attempt to run. two or three, after a low-toned colloquy, took their rifles, and crept cautiously outside to reconnoitre the situation. rick comprehended their suspicion with new quakings. they imagined that he was a spy, and had been sent among them to discover them plying their forbidden vocation. this threatened a long imprisonment for them. his heart sank as he thought of it; they would never let him go. after a time the reconnoitring party came back. "nothin' stirrin'," said the leader tersely. "i misdoubts," muttered another, casting a look of deep suspicion on rick. "thar air men out thar, i'm a-thinkin', hid somewhar." "they air furder 'n a mile off, ennyhow," returned the first speaker. "we never lef' so much ez a bush 'thout sarchin' of it." "the off'cers can't find this place no-ways 'thout that thar chap fur a guide," said a third, with a surly nod of his head at rick. "we're safe enough, boys, safe enough!" cried a stout-built, red-faced, red-bearded man, evidently very drunk, and with a voice that rose into quavering falsetto as he spoke. "this chap can't do nothin'. we hev got him bound hand an' foot. hyar air the captive of our bow an' spear, boys! mighty little captive, though! hi!" he tried to point jeeringly at rick, and forgot what he had intended to do before he could fairly extend his hand. then his rollicking head sank on his breast, and he began to sing sleepily again. one of the more sober of the men had extinguished the fire in order that they should not be betrayed by the smoke outside to the revenue officers who might be seeking them. the place, chilly enough at best, was growing bitter cold. the strange subterranean beauty of the surroundings, the limestone wall and arches, scintillating wherever they caught the light; the shadowy, mysterious vaulted roof; the white stalactites that hung down thence to touch the stalagmites as they rose up from the floor, and formed with them endless vistas of stately colonnades, all were oddly incongruous with the drunken, bloated faces of the distillers. rick could not have put his thought into words, but it seemed to him that when men had degraded themselves like this, even inanimate nature is something higher and nobler. "sermons in stones" were not far to seek. he observed that they were making preparations for flight, and once more the fear of what they would do with him clutched at his heart. he was something of a problem to them. "this hyar cub will go blab," was the first suggestion. "he will keep mum," said the vocalist, glancing at the boy with a jovially tipsy combination of leer and wink. "hyar is the persuader!" he rapped sharply on the muzzle of his pistol. "this'll scotch his wheel." "hold yer own jaw, ye drunken 'possum!" retorted another of the group. "ef ye fire off that pistol in hyar, we'll hev all these hyar rocks"--he pointed at the walls and the long colonnades--"answerin' back an' yelpin' like a pack o' hounds on a hot scent. ef thar air folks outside, the noise would fotch 'em down on us fur true!" rick breathed more freely. the rocks would speak up for him! he could not be harmed with all these tell-tale witnesses at hand. so silent now, but with a latent voice strong enough for the dread of it to save his life! the man who had put out the fire, who had led the reconnoitring party, who had made all the active preparations for departure, who seemed, in short, to be an executive committee of one,--a long, lazy-looking mountaineer, with a decision of action in startling contrast to his whole aspect,--now took this matter in hand. "nothin' easier," he said tersely. "fill him up. make him ez drunk ez a fraish b'iled ow_el_. then lead him to the t'other eend o' the cave, an' blindfold him, an' lug him off five mile in the woods, an' leave him thar. he'll never know what he hev seen nor done." "that's the dinctum!" cried the red-bearded man, in delighted approval, breaking into a wild, hiccupping laugh, inexpressibly odious to the boy. rick had an extreme loathing for them all that showed itself with impolitic frankness upon his face. he realized as he had never done before the depths to which strong drink will reduce men. but that the very rocks would cry out upon them, they would have murdered him. in the preparations for departure all the lights had been extinguished, except a single lantern, and a multitude of shadows had come thronging from the deeper recesses of the cave. in the faint glimmer the figures of the men loomed up, indistinct, gigantic, distorted. they hardly seemed men at all to rick; rather some evil underground creatures, neither beast nor human. and he was to be made equally besotted, and even more helpless than they, in order that his senses might be sapped away, and he should remember no story to tell. perhaps if he had not had before him so vivid an illustration of the malign power that swayed them, he might not have experienced so strong an aversion to it. now, to be made like them seemed a high price to pay for his life. and there was his promise to his mother! as the long, lank, lazy-looking mountaineer pressed the whiskey upon him, rick dashed it aside with a gesture so unexpected and vehement that the cracked jug fell to the floor, and was shivered to fragments. rick lifted an appealing face to the man, who seized him with a strong grip. "i can't--i won't," the boy cried wildly. "i--i--promised my mother!" he looked around the circle deprecatingly. he expected first a guffaw and then a blow, and he dreaded the ridicule more than the pain. but there were neither blows nor ridicule. they all gazed at him, astounded. then a change, which rick hardly comprehended, flitted across the face of the man who had grasped him. the moonshiner turned away abruptly, with a bitter laugh that startled all the echoes. "_i--i_ promised _my_ mother, too!" he cried. "it air good that in her grave whar she is she can't know how i hev kep' my word." and then there was a sudden silence. it seemed to rick, strangely enough, like the sudden silence that comes after prayer. he was reminded, as one of the men rose at length and the keg on which he had been sitting creaked with the motion, of the creaking benches in the little mountain church when the congregation started from their knees. and had some feeble, groping sinner's prayer filled the silence and the moral darkness! the "executive committee" promptly recovered himself. but he made no further attempt to force the whiskey upon the boy. under some whispered instructions which he gave the others, rick was half-led, half-dragged through immensely long black halls of the cave, while one of the men went before, carrying the feeble lantern. when the first glimmer of daylight appeared in the distance, rick understood that the cave had an outlet other than the one by which he had entered, and evidently miles distant from it. thus it was that the distillers were well enabled to baffle the law that sought them. they stopped here and blindfolded the boy. how far and where they dragged him through the snowy mountain wilderness outside, rick never knew. he was exhausted when at length they allowed him to pause. as he heard their steps dying away in the distance, he tore the bandage from his eyes, and found that they had left him in the midst of the wagon road to make his way to birk's mill as best he might. when he reached it, the wintry sun was low in the western sky, and the very bones of the "pea-fow_el_" were picked. on the whole, it seemed a sorry christmas day, as rick could not know then--indeed, he never knew--what good results it brought forth. for among those who took the benefit of the "amnesty" extended by the government to the moonshiners of this region, on condition that they discontinue illicit distilling for the future, was a certain long, lank, lazy-looking mountaineer, who suddenly became sober and steady and a law-abiding citizen. he had been reminded, this christmas day, of a broken promise to a dead mother, and this by the unflinching moral courage of a mere boy in a moment of mortal peril. such wise, sweet, uncovenanted uses has duty, blessing alike the unconscious exemplar and him who profits by the example. the riverside press cambridge, massachusetts, u. s. a. electrotyped and printed by h. o. houghton and co. books by mr. torrey. birds in the bush. 16mo, $1.25. a rambler's lease. 16mo, $1.25. the foot-path way. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. a florida sketch-book. 16mo, $1.25. spring notes from tennessee. 16mo, $1.25. houghton, mifflin & co. boston and new york. spring notes from tennessee by bradford torrey we travelled in the print of olden wars; yet all the land was green. robert louis stevenson. [illustration] boston and new york houghton, mifflin and company the riverside press, cambridge 1896 copyright, 1896, by bradford torrey. _all rights reserved._ _the riverside press, cambridge, mass., u. s. a._ electrotyped and printed by h. o. houghton & co. contents. page an idler on missionary ridge 1 lookout mountain 28 chickamauga 57 orchard knob and the national cemetery 89 an afternoon by the river 102 a morning in the north woods 113 a week on walden's ridge 124 some tennessee bird notes 183 a list of birds 213 index 221 spring notes from tennessee. an idler on missionary ridge. i reached chattanooga on the evening of april 26th, in the midst of a rattling thunder-shower,--which, to look back upon it, seems to have been prophetic,--and the next morning, after an early breakfast, took an electric car for missionary ridge. among my fellow-passengers were four louisiana veterans fresh from their annual reunion at birmingham, where, doubtless, their hearts had been kindled by much fervent oratory, as well as by much private talk of those bygone days when they did everything but die for the cause they loved. as the car mounted the ridge, one of them called his companions' attention to a place down the valley where "the rebels and the yankees" (his own words) used to meet to play cards. "a regular gambling-hole," he called it. their boys brought back lots of coffee. in another direction was a spot where the rebels once "had a regular picnic," killing some extraordinary number of yankees in some incredibly brief time. i interrupted the conversation, and at the same time made myself known as a stranger and a northerner, by inquiring after the whereabouts of orchard knob, general grant's headquarters; and the same man, who seemed to be the spokesman of the party, after pointing out the place, a savin-sprinkled knoll between us and the city, kindly invited me to go with him and his comrades up to the tower,--on the site of general bragg's headquarters,--where he would show me the whole battlefield and tell me about the fight. we left the car together for that purpose, and walked up the slope to the foot of the observatory,--an open structure of iron, erected by the national government; but just then my ear caught somewhere beyond us the song of a bachman's finch,--a song i had heard a year before in the pine woods of florida, and, in my ignorance, was unprepared for here. i must see the bird and make sure of its identity. it led me a little chase, and when i had seen it i must look also at a summer tanager, a chat, and so on, one thing leading to another; and by the time i returned to the observatory the veterans had come down and were under some apple-trees, from one of which the spokesman was cutting a big walking-stick. he had stood under those trees--which were now in bloom--thirty years before, he said, with general bragg himself. i was sorry to have missed his story of the battle, and ashamed to have seemed ungrateful and rude, but i forget what apology i offered. at this distance it is hard to see how i could have got out of the affair with much dignity. i might have heard all about the battle from a man who was there, and instead i went off to listen to a sparrow singing in a bush. i thought, to be sure, that the men would be longer upon the observatory, and that i should still be in season. probably that was my excuse, if i made one; and in all likelihood the veteran was too completely taken up with his own concerns to think twice about the vagaries of a stray yankee, who seemed to be an odd stick, to say nothing worse of him. well, the loss, such as it was, was mine, not his; and i have lost too much time in the way of business to fret over a little lost (or saved) in the way of pleasure. as for any apparent lack of patriotic feeling, i suppose that the noblest patriot in the world, if he chanced to be also an ornithologist, would notice a bird even amid the smoke of battle; and why should not i do as much on a field from which the battle smoke had vanished thirty years before? so i reason now; at the time i had no leisure for such sophistries. every moment brought some fresh distraction. the long hill--woodland, brambly pasture, and shrubby dooryard--was a nest of singing birds; and when at last i climbed the tower, i came down again almost as suddenly as my louisiana friends had done. the landscape,--the city and its suburbs, the river, the mountains,--all this would be here to-morrow; just now there were other things to look at. here in the grass, almost under my nose, were a pair of bewick wrens, hopping and walking by turns, as song sparrows may sometimes be found doing; conscious through and through of my presence, yet affecting to ignore it; carrying themselves with an indescribable and pretty demureness, as if a nest were something never dreamed of by birds of their kind; the female, nevertheless, having at that moment her beak bristling with straws, while the male, a proud young husband, hovered officiously about her with a continual sweetly possessive manner and an occasional burst of song. till yesterday bewick's wren had been nothing but a name to me. then, somewhere after crossing the state line, the train stopped at a station, and suddenly through the open window came a song. "that's a bewick wren," i said to myself, as i stepped across the aisle to look out; and there he stood, on the fence beside the track, his long tail striking the eye on the instant. he sang again, and once again, before the train started. tennessee was beginning well with a visiting bird-gazer. there must be some wrennish quality about the bewick's song, it would seem: else how did i recognize it so promptly? and yet, so far as i am able to give an account of my own impressions, it had in my ears no resemblance to any wren song i had ever heard. i think it never suggested to me any music except the song sparrow's. the truth is, i suppose, that we _feel_ resemblances and relationships of which the mind takes no cognizance. i wandered at a venture down the further slope, turning this way and that as a song invited me. here were southerners and northerners fraternally commingled: summer tanagers, carolina wrens, blue-gray gnatcatchers, cardinal grosbeaks, chats, bachman finches, field sparrows, chippers, white-throated sparrows, chewinks, indigo buntings, black-poll warblers, myrtle-birds, prairie warblers, a maryland yellow-throat, a bay-breasted warbler, a black-and-white creeper, a redstart, brown thrushes, catbirds, a single mocking-bird, wood thrushes, red-eyed vireos, white-eyed vireos, wood pewees, a quail, and, in the air, purple martins and turkey buzzards. on the ridge, as well as near the foot on our way up, a mocking-bird and a wood thrush sang within hearing of each other. comparison as between birds so dissimilar is useless and out of place; but how shall a man avoid it? the mocking-bird is a great vocalist,--yes, and a great singer; but to my northern ears the wood thrush carried the day with his _voice_. having climbed the ridge again,--though climbing might be thought rather too laborious a word for so gradual a slope,--and started down on the side toward the city, i came to a patch of blackberry vines, in the midst of which sat a thrasher on her nest, all a mother's anxiety in her staring yellow eyes. close by her stood an olive-backed thrush. there, too, was my first hooded warbler, a female. she escaped me the next instant, though i made an eager chase, not knowing yet how common birds of her sort were to prove in that chattanooga country. in my delight at finding missionary ridge so happy a hunting-ground for an opera-glass naturalist, i went thither again the very next morning. this time some virginia veterans were in the car (they all wore badges), and when we had left it, and were about separating,--after a bit of talk about the battle, of course,--one of them, with almost painful scrupulosity, insisted upon assuring me that if the thing were all to be done over again, he should do just as before. one of his comrades, seeing me a northerner, interrupted him more than once in a vain attempt to smooth matters over. they had buried the hatchet, he said; let bygones be bygones. but the first man was not to be cajoled with a phrase. he spoke without passion, with no raising of the voice, quite simply and amicably: he too accepted the result; the thing never _would_ be done over again; only let his position be understood,--he had nothing to take back. it was impossible not to respect such conscientiousness. for my own part, at any rate, i felt no prompting to argue against it, being sufficiently "opinionated" to appreciate a difficulty which some obstinate people experience in altering their convictions as circumstances change, or accepting the failure of a cause as proof of its injustice. if a man is not _too_ obstinate, to be sure, time and the course of events may bring him new light; but that is another matter. once, when the men were talking among themselves, i overheard one say, as he pointed down the hill, "the rebels were there, and the union men yonder." that careless recurrence of the word "rebel" came to me as a surprise. the principal excitement of the morning was a glimpse of a kentucky warbler, a bird most peculiarly desired. i had finished my jaunt, and was standing beside the bramble patch not far from the railway, where i had seen the hooded warbler the day before, when the splendid creature flashed into sight, saw me, uttered a volley of quick, clear notes, and vanished up the hillside. i ran after him, but might as well have remained where i was. "he _is_ a beauty!" i find written in my notebook. and so he is, clothed in lustrous olive and the most gorgeous of yellows with trimmings of black, all in the best of taste, with nothing patchy, nothing fantastic or even fanciful. i was again impressed with the abundance of chats, indigo-birds, and white-eyed vireos. bachman sparrows were numerous, also, in appropriate localities,--dry and bushy,--and i noted a bluebird, a yellow-throated vireo, and, shouting from a dead treetop, a great crested flycatcher. my most vivid recollection of this second visit, however, is of the power of the sun, an old enemy of mine, by whom, in my ignorance of spring weather in tennessee, i allowed myself to be taken at a cruel noonday disadvantage. even now, in the deep frigidity of a massachusetts winter, i cannot think of missionary ridge without seeing again those long stretches of burning sunshine, wherein the least spot of shade was like a palm in the desert. in every such shelter i used to stand awhile, bareheaded; then, marking the next similar haven, so many rods ahead, i would hoist my umbrella and push forward, cringing at every step as if i were crossing a field under fire. possibly i exaggerate, but, if i do, it is very little; and though it be an abuse of an exquisite poem, i say over to myself again and again a couplet of miss guiney's:- "weather on a sunny ridge, showery weather, far from here." in truth, early as the season was, the excessive heat, combined with a trying dog-day humidity, sadly circumscribed all my tennessee rambles. as for my umbrella, my obligations to it were such that nothing but a dread of plagiarism has restrained me from entitling this sketch "an umbrella on missionary ridge." nature never intended me for a tropical explorer. often i did nothing more than seek a shady retreat and stay there, letting the birds come to me, if they would. improved after this indolent fashion, one of the hottest of my forenoons became also one of the most enjoyable. i left the car midway up the ridge,--at the angle of the y,--and, passing my thrasher's blackberry tangle and descending a wooded slope, found myself unexpectedly in a pleasant place, half wood, half grassy field, through which ran a tiny streamlet, the first one i had seen in this dry and thirsty land. near the streamlet, on the edge of the wood, quite by itself, stood a cabin of most forlorn appearance, with a garden patch under the window,--if there _was_ a window, as to which i do not remember, and the chances seem against it,--the whole closely and meanly surrounded by a fence. in the door stood an aged white woman, looking every whit as old and forlorn as the cabin, with a tall mastiff on one side of her and a black cat on the other. "your dog and cat are good friends," i remarked, feeling it polite to speak even to a stranger in so lonesome a spot. "yes," she answered gruffly, "they're good friends, only once in a while he wants to kill her." she said nothing more, and her manner did not encourage further attempts at neighborly intercourse; but as i passed the cabin now and then during the forenoon, the birds leading me about, i heard her muttering often and at considerable length to her hens and ducks. evidently she enjoyed conversation as well as most people, only she liked to pick her own company. she was "aunt tilly," i learned afterwards, and had lived there by herself for many years; one of the characters of the city, a fortune-teller, whose professional services were in frequent request. in this favored nook, especially along the watercourse, were many birds, some of them at home for the summer, but the greater part, no doubt, lying over for a day or two on their long northward journey. not one of them but was interesting to me here in a new country, however familiar it might have become in new england. here were at least eleven kinds of warblers: black-polls of both sexes, black-throated blues, chestnut-sides, myrtle-birds, golden warblers, black-and-white creepers, redstarts (have we anything handsomer?), maryland yellow-throats, blue golden-wings, chats, and kentuckies. here were blue-gray gnatcatchers, bluebirds, wood thrushes, veeries, an olive-backed thrush, catbirds, thrashers, carolina wrens, tufted titmice, a carolina chickadee, summer tanagers uncounted, orchard orioles, field sparrows, chippers, a bachman sparrow (unseen), a cardinal, a chewink, flocks of indigo-birds and goldfinches, red-eyed vireos, white-eyed vireos, a yellow-throated vireo, kingbirds, and a crested flycatcher. in an oak at the corner of aunt tilly's cabin a pair of gnatcatchers had built a nest; an exquisite piece of work, large and curiously cylindrical,--not tapering at the base,--set off with a profusion of gray lichens, and saddled upon one limb directly under another, as if for shelter. if the gnatcatcher is not a great singer (his voice is slender, like himself), he is near the head of his profession as an architect and a builder. twice, in the most senseless manner, one of the birds--the female, i had no doubt, in spite of the adjective just applied to her conduct--stood beside the nest and scolded at me; then, having freed her mind and attracted my attention, she got inside and began pecking here and there at the rim, apparently giving it the final touches. the tufted tits whistled unseen with all their characteristic monotony. the veeries and the olive-back kept silence, but the wood thrushes, as was their daily habit, made the woods ring. one of them was building a nest. most admired of all were the kentucky warblers, of which there were at least five. it was my first real sight of them, and, fortunately, they were not in the least bashful. they spent the time mostly on the ground, in open, grassy places, especially about the roots of trees and thorn-bushes,--the latter now snowy with bloom,--once in a while hopping a few inches up the bole, as if to pick off insects. in movement and attitude they made me think often of the connecticut warbler, although when startled they took a higher perch. once i saw one of them under a pretty tuft of the showy blue baptisia (_b. australis_),--a new bird in the shadow of a new flower! who says that life is an old story? from the general manner of the birds,--more easily felt than defined,--as well as from their presence in a group and their silence, i inferred, rightly or wrongly, that they had but recently arrived. for aught i yet knew, they might be nothing but wayfarers,--a happy uncertainty which made them only the more interesting. of their beauty i have already spoken. it would be impossible to speak of it too highly. as i took the car at noon, i caught sight of a wonderfully bright blood-red flower on the bank above the track, and, as i was the only passenger, the conductor kindly waited for me to run up and pluck it. it turned out to be a catchfly, and, like the kentucky warbler, it became common a little later. "indian pink," one of my walden's ridge friends said it was called; a pretty name, but to me "battlefield pink" or "carnage pink" would have seemed more appropriate. i had found an aviary, i thought, this open grove of aunt tilly's, with its treasure of a brook, and at the earliest opportunity i went that way again. indeed, i went more than once. but the birds were no longer there. what i had seen was mainly a flock of "transients," a migratory "wave." on the farther side of the ridge, however, i by and by discovered a spot more permanently attractive,--a little valley in the hillside. here was a spring, and from it, nearly dry as it was, there still oozed a slender rill, which trickled halfway down the slope before losing itself in the sand, and here and there dribbled into a basin commodious enough for a small bird's bath. several times i idled away an hour or two in this retreat, under the shadow of red maples, sweet-gums, sycamores, and tupelos, making an occasional sortie into the sun as an adventurous mood came over me or a distant bird-call proved an irresistible attraction. they were pleasant hours, but i recall them with a sense of waste and discomfort. in familiar surroundings, such waitings upon nature's mood are profitable, wholesome for body and soul; but in vacation time, and away from home, with new paths beckoning a man this way and that, and a new bird, for aught he can tell, singing beyond the next hill,--at such a time, i think, sitting still becomes a burden, and the cheerful practice of "a wise passiveness" a virtue beyond the comfortable reach of ordinary flesh and blood. along the upper edge of the glen a road ran downward into the valley east of the ridge, and now and then a carriage or a horseman passed. it would have been good to follow them. all that valley country, as i surveyed it from the railway and the tower, had an air of invitingness: beautiful woods, with footpaths and unfrequented roads. in them i must have found birds, flowers, and many a delightful nook. if the fates could have sent me one cool day! yet for all my complaining, i have lived few more enjoyable sunday forenoons than one that i passed most inactively in this same hillside hollow. as i descended the bank to the spring, two or three goldfinches were singing (goldfinch voices go uncommonly well in chorus, and the birds seem to know it); a female tanager sat before me calling _clippity_, _clippity_; a field sparrow, a mocking wren, and a catbird sang in as many different directions; and a pair of thrashers--whose nest could not be far away--flitted nervously about, uttering characteristic moaning whistles. if they felt half as badly as their behavior indicated, their case was tragical indeed; but at the moment, instead of pitying them, i fell to wondering just when it is that the thrasher _smacks_ (all friends of his are familiar with his resounding imitation of a kiss), and when it is that he whistles. i have never made out, although i believe i know pretty well the states of mind thus expressed. the thrasher is to a peculiar degree a bird of passion; ecstatic in song, furious in anger, irresistibly pitiful in lamentation. how any man can rob a thrasher's nest with that heartbroken whistle in his ears is more than i can imagine. indigo-birds are here, of course. their number is one of the marvels of this country,--though indeed the country seems made for them, as it is also for chats and white-eyed vireos. a bit farther down the valley, as i come to the maples and tupelos, with their grateful density of shade, a wood pewee sings, and then a wood thrush. at the same moment, an acadian flycatcher, who is always here (his nest is building overhead, as, after a while, i discover), salutes me with a quick, spiteful note. "no trespassing," he says. landowners are pretty much alike. i pass on, but not far, and beside a little thicket i take up my stand, and wait. it is pleasant here, and patience will be rewarded. yes, there is a magnolia warbler, my second tennessee specimen; a great beauty, but without that final perfection of good taste (simplicity) which distinguishes the kentucky. i see him, and he is gone, and i am not to be drawn into a chase. now i have a glimpse of a thrush; an olive-back, from what i can see, but i cannot be sure. still i keep my place. a blue-gray gnatcatcher is drawling somewhere in the leafy treetops. thence, too, a cuckoo fires off a lively fusillade of _kuks_,--a yellow-bill, by that token. next a black-poll warbler shows himself, still far from home, though he has already traveled a long way northward; and then, in one of the basins of the stream (if we may call it a stream, in which there is no semblance of a current), a chat comes to wash himself. now i see the thrush again; or rather, i hear him whistle, and by moving a step or two i get him with my eye. he _is_ an olive-back, as his whistle of itself would prove; and presently he begins to sing, to my intense delight. soon two others are in voice with him. am i on missionary ridge or in the crawford notch? i stand motionless, and listen and listen, but my enjoyment is interrupted by a new pleasure. a warbler, evidently a female, from a certain quietness and plainness, and, as i take it, a blue-winged yellow, though i have never seen a female of that species (and only once a male--three days ago at chickamauga), comes to the edge of the pool, and in another minute her mate is beside her. him there is no mistaking. they fly away in a bit of lovers' quarrel, a favorite pastime with mated birds. and look! there is a scarlet tanager; the same gorgeous fellow, i suppose, that was here two days ago, and the only one i have seen in this lower country. what a beauty he is! one of the finest; handsomer, so i think, than the handsomest of his all-red cousins. now he calls _chip-cherr_, and now he breaks into song. there he falls behind; his cousin's voice is less hoarse, and his style less labored and jerky. now straight before me, up a woody aisle, an olive-backed thrush stands in full view and a perfect light, facing me and singing, a lovely chorister. looking at him, i catch a flutter of yellow and black among the leaves by the streamlet; a kentucky warbler, i suspect, but i dare not go forward to see, for now the thrushes are in chorus again. by and by he comes up from his bath, and falls to dressing his feathers: not a kentucky, after all, but a canadian flycatcher, my first one here. he, too, is an exquisite, with fine colors finely laid on, and a most becoming jet necklace. while i am admiring him, a blue yellow-back begins to practice his scales--still a little blurred, and needing practice, a critic might say--somewhere at my right among the hillside oaks; another exquisite, a beauty among beauties. i see him, though he is out of sight. and what seems odd, at this very moment his rival as a singer of the scale, the prairie warbler, breaks out on the other side of me. like the chat and the indigo-bird, he is abundantly at home hereabout. all this woodland music is set off by spaces of silence, sweeter almost than the music itself. here is peace unbroken; here is a delicious coolness, while the sun blazes upon the dusty road above me. how amiable a power is contrast--on its softer side! i think of the eager, bloody, sweaty, raging men, who once stormed up these slopes, killing and being killed. the birds know nothing of all that. it might have been thousands of years ago. the very trees have forgotten it. two or three cows come feeding down the glade, with the lazy tinkle of a bell. and now my new friend, the blue-winged yellow warbler, sings across the path (across the aisle, i was going to say), but only two or three times, and with only two insignificant lisping syllables. the chary soul! he sings to the eye, i suppose. i go over to look at him, and my sudden movement startles the thrushes, who, finding themselves again in the singers' gallery, cannot refrain from another chorus. at the same moment the canadian warbler comes into sight again, this time in a tupelo. the blue-wings are found without difficulty; they have a call like the black-and-white creeper's. a single rough-winged swallow skims above the treetops. i have seen him here before, and one or two others like him. as i return to the bed of the valley, a female cardinal grosbeak flutters suspiciously about a thicket of tall blackberry vines. her nest should be there, i think, but a hasty look reveals nothing. again i come upon the canadian warbler. if there is only one here, he is often in my way. i sit down upon the leaning, almost horizontal, bole of a large tupelo,--a new tree to me, but common in this country. the thick dark-colored bark is broken deeply into innumerable geometrical figures, giving the tree a noticeable, venerable appearance, as wrinkles lend distinction and character to an old man's face. another species, which, as far as i can tell, should be our familiar tupelo of massachusetts, is equally common,--a smaller tree, with larger leaves. the moisture here, slight as it now is, gives the place a vegetation of its own and a peculiar density of leafage. from one of the smaller tupelos (i repeat that word as often as i can, for the music of it) cross-vine streamers are swinging, full of red-and-yellow bells. scattered thinly over the ground are yellow starflowers, the common houstonia, a pink phlox, and some unknown dark yellow blossom a little like the fall dandelion,--cynthia, i guess. my thoughts are recalled by a strong, sharp _chip_ in a voice i do not recognize,--a kentucky warbler's, as presently turns out. he walks about the ground amid the short, thin grass, seemingly in the most placid of moods; but at every few steps, for some inscrutable reason, he comes out with that quick, peremptory call. and all the while i keep saying to myself, "what a beauty!" but my forenoon is past. i rise to go, and at the motion he takes flight. near the spring the goldfinches are still in full chorus, and just beyond them in the path is a mourning dove. that was a good season: hymns without words, "a sermon not made with hands," and the world shut out. three days afterward, fast as my vacation was running away, i went to the same place again. the olive-backed thrushes were still singing, to my surprise, and the kentucky warblers were still feeding in the grass. the scarlet tanager sang (it is curious how much oftener i mention him than the comparatively unfamiliar, but here extremely common summer tanager), the cuckoo called, the acadian flycatcher was building her nest,--on a horizontal limb of a maple,--and a goldfinch warbled as if he could never cease. a veery sang, also (i heard but one other in tennessee), with a chestnut-sided warbler, two redstarts (one of them in the modest garb of his mother), a carolina chickadee, a mocking wren, a pine warbler, a prairie warbler, and a catbird. in time, probably, all the birds for a mile around might have been heard or seen beside that scanty rill. to-day, however, my mood was less sundayish than before, and in spite of the heat i ventured across an open pasture,--where a bachman's finch was singing an ingenious set of variations, and a rabbit stamped with a sudden loudness that made me jump,--and then through a piece of wood, till i came to another hollow like the one i had left, but without water, and therefore less thickly shaded. here was the inevitable thicket of brambles (since i speak so much of chats and indigo-birds, the presence of a sufficiency of blackberry bushes may be taken for granted), and i waited to see what it would bring forth. a field sparrow sang from the hillside,--a sweet and modest tune that went straight to the heart, and had nothing to fear from a comparison with bachman's finch or any other. what a contrast in this respect between him and his gentle-seeming but belligerent and tuneless cousin whom we call "chippy."[1] here, likewise, were a pair of complaining carolina wrens and an acadian flycatcher. a thrush excited my curiosity, having the look of a gray-cheek, but showing a buff eye-ring; and while i was coaxing him to whistle, and so declare himself,--often a ready means of identification, and preferable on all accounts to shooting the bird,--there came a furious outburst from the depths of the brier patch, with a grand flurry of wings: a large bird and two smaller ones engaged in sudden battle, as well as i could make out. at the close of the _mãªlã©e_, which ended as abruptly as it had begun, the thicket showed two wrens, a white-throated sparrow, and a female cardinal. the cardinal flew away; the affair was no business of hers, apparently; but in a minute she was back again, scolding. then, while my back was turned, everything became quiet; and on my stepping up to reconnoitre, there she sat in her nest with four eggs under her. at that moment a chat's loud voice was heard, and, turning quickly, i caught the fellow in the midst of a brilliant display of his clownish tricks, ridiculous, indescribable. at a little distance, it is hard to believe that it can be a bird, that dancing, shapeless thing, balancing itself in the air with dangling legs and prancing, swaying motions. well, that is the chat's way. what more need be said? every creature must express himself, and birds no less than other poets are entitled to an occasional "fine frenzy." my little excursion had brought me nothing new, and, like all my similar ventures on missionary ridge, it ended in defeat. the sun was too much for me; to use a word suggested by the place, it carried too many guns. i took a long and comfortable siesta under a magnificent chestnut oak. then it was near noon, and, with my umbrella spread, i mounted the hill to the railway, and waited for a car. footnote: [1] if i could have my way, he should be known as the doorstep sparrow. the name would fit him to a nicety. lookout mountain. lookout mountain was at first a disappointment. i went home discouraged. the place was spoiled, i thought. about the fine inn were cheap cottages,--as if one had come to a second-class summer resort; while the lower slopes of the mountain, directly under lookout point on the side toward the city, were given up to a squalid negro settlement, and, of all things, a patent-medicine factory,--a shameful desecration, it seemed to me. i was half ready to say i would go there no more. the prospect was beautiful,--so much there was no denying; but the air was thick with smoke, and, what counted for ten times more, the eye itself was overclouded. a few northern warblers were chirping in the evergreens along the edge of the summit, between the inn and the point,--black-polls and bay-breasts, with black-throated greens and carolina wrens; and near them i saw with pleasure my first tennessee phoebes. in the street car, on the way back to chattanooga, i had for my fellow-passengers a group of confederate veterans from different parts of the south, one of whom, a man with an empty sleeve, was showing his comrades an interesting war-time relic,--a bit of stone bearing his own initials. he had cut them in the rock while on duty at the point thirty years before, i heard him say, and now, remembering the spot, and finding them still there, he had chipped them off to carry home. these are all the memories i retain of my first visit to a famous and romantic place that i had long desired to see. my second visit was little more remunerative, and came to an untimely and inglorious conclusion. not far from the inn i noticed what seemed to be the beginning of an old mountain road. it would bring me to st. elmo, a passing cottager told me; and i somehow had it fast in my mind that st. elmo was a particularly wild and attractive woodland retreat somewhere in the valley,--a place where a pleasure-seeking naturalist would find himself happy for at least an hour or two, if the mountain side should insufficiently detain him. the road itself looked uncommonly inviting, rough and deserted, with wild crags above and old forest below; and without a second thought i took it, idling downward as slowly as possible, minding the birds and plants, or sitting for a while, as one shady stone after another offered coolness and a seat, to enjoy the silence and the prospect. be as lazy as i could, however, the road soon gave signs of coming to an end; for lookout mountain, although it covers much territory and presents a mountainous front, is of a very modest elevation. and at the end of the way there was no sylvan retreat, but a village; yes, the same dusty little suburb that i had passed, and looked away from, on my way up. _that_ was st. elmo!--and, with my luncheon still in my pocket, i boarded the first car for the city. one consolation remained: i had lived a pleasant hour, and the mountain road had made three additions to my local ornithology,--a magnolia warbler, a blackburnian warbler, and a hairy woodpecker. there was nothing for it but to laugh at myself, and try again; but it was almost a week before i found the opportunity. then (may 7) i made a day of it on the mountain, mostly in the woods along the western bluffs. an oven-bird's song drew me in that direction, to begin with; and just as the singer had shown himself, and been rewarded with an entry as "no. 79" in my tennessee catalogue, a cuckoo, farther away, broke into a shuffling introductory measure that marked him at once as a black-bill. till now i had seen yellow-bills only, and though the voice was perhaps a sufficient identification, a double certainty would be better, especially in the retrospect. luckily it was a short chase, and there sat the bird, his snowy throat swelling as he cooed, while his red eye-ring and his abbreviated tail-spots gave him a clear title to count as "no. 80." as i approached the precipitous western edge of the mountain, i heard, just below, the sharp, wiry voice of a blackburnian warbler; a most splendid specimen, for in a moment more his orange-red throat shone like fire among the leaves. from farther down rose the hoarse notes of a black-throated blue warbler and two or three black-throated greens. here were comfortable, well-shaded boulders and delightful prospects,--a place to stay in; but behind me stood a grove of small pine-trees, out of which came now and then a warbler's _chip_; and in may, with everything on the move, and anything possible, invitations of that kind are not to be refused. warbler species are many, and there is always another to hope for. i turned to the pines, therefore, as a matter of course, and was soon deeply engaged with a charming bevy of northward-bound passengers,--myrtle-birds, palm warblers, black-throated blues (of both sexes), a female cape may warbler (the first of her sex that i had seen) magnolias, bay-breasts, and many black-polls. it makes a short story in the telling; but it was long in the doing, and yielded more excitement than i dare try to describe. to and fro i went among the low trees (their lowness a most fortunate circumstance), slowly and with all quietness, putting my glass upon one bird after another as something stirred among the needles, and hoping every moment for some glorious surprise. in particular, i hoped for a cerulean warbler; but this was not the cerulean's day, and, if i had but known it, these were not the cerulean's trees. none but enthusiasts in the same line will be able to appreciate the delight of such innocent "collecting,"--birds in the memory instead of specimens in a bag. even on one's home beat it quickens the blood; how much more, then, in a new field, where a man is almost a stranger to himself, and rarities and novelties seem but the order of the day. again and again, morning and afternoon, i traversed the little wood, leaving it between whiles for a rest under the big oaks on the edge of the cliffs, whence, through green vistas, i gazed upon the farms of lookout valley and the mountains beyond. a scarlet tanager called,--my second one here,--wood thrush voices rang through the mountain side forest, a single thrasher was doing his bravest from the tip of a pine (our "brown mocking-bird" is anything but a skulker when the lyrical mood is on him), while wood pewees, red-eyed vireos, yellow-throated vireos, black-and-white creepers, and i do not remember what else, joined in the chorus. just after noon an oven-bird gave out his famous aerial warble. to an aspiring soul even a mountain top is but a perch, a place from which to take wing. all these birds, it will be noticed, were such as i might have seen in massachusetts; and indeed, the general appearance of things about me was pleasantly homelike. here was much of the pretty striped wintergreen, a special favorite of mine, with bird-foot violets, the common white saxifrage (dear to memory as the "mayflower" of my childhood), the common wild geranium (cranesbill, which we were told was "good for canker"), and maple-leaved viburnum. one of the loveliest flowers was the pink oxalis, and one of the commonest was a pink phlox; but i was most pleased, perhaps, with the white stonecrop (_sedum ternatum_), patches of which matted the ground, and just now were in full bloom. the familiar look of this plant was a puzzle to me. i cannot remember to have seen it often in gardens, and i am confident that i never found it before in a wild state except once, fifteen years ago, at the great falls of the potomac. yet here on lookout mountain it seemed almost as much an old friend as the saxifrage or the cranesbill. i ate my luncheon on sunset rock, which literally overhangs the mountain side, and commands the finest of valley prospects; and then, after another turn through the pines, where the warblers were still busy with their all-day meal,--but not the new warbler, for which i was still looking,--i crossed the summit and made the descent by the st. elmo road, as before. how long i was on the way i am unable to tell; i had learned the brevity of the road, and, like a schoolboy with his tart, i made the most of it. midway down i caught sudden sight of an olive bird in the upper branch of a tree, with something black about the crown and the cheek. "what's that?" i exclaimed; and on the instant the stranger flew across the road and up the steep mountain side. i pushed after him in hot haste, over the huge boulders, and there he stood on the ground, singing,--a kentucky warbler. seeing him so hastily, and on so high a perch, and missing his yellow under-parts, i had failed to recognize him. as it was, i now heard his song for the first time, and rejoiced to find it worthy of its beautiful author: _klurwã©e_, _klurwã©e_, _klurwã©e_, _klurwã©e_, _klurwã©e_; a succession of clear, sonorous dis-syllables, in a fuller voice than most warblers possess, and with no flourish before or after. like the bird's dress, it was perfect in its simplicity. i felt thankful, too, that i had waited till now to hear it. things should be desired before they are enjoyed. it was another case of the schoolboy and his tart; and i went home good-humored. lookout mountain was not wholly ruined, after all. the next day found me there again, to my own surprise, for i had promised myself a trip down the river to shellmound. in all the street cars, as well as in the city newspapers, this excursion was set forth as supremely enjoyable, a luxury on no account to be missed,--a fine commodious steamer, and all the usual concomitants. the kind people with whom i was sojourning, on cameron hill, hastened the family breakfast that i might be in season; but on arriving at the wharf i found no sign of the steamer, and, after sundry attempts to ascertain the condition of affairs, i learned that the steamer did not run now. the river was no longer high enough, it was explained; a smaller boat would go, or might be expected to go, some hours later. little disposed to hang about the landing for several hours, and feeling no assurance that so doing would bring me any nearer to shellmound, i made my way back to the read house, and took a car for lookout mountain. in it i sat face to face with the same conspicuous placard, announcing an excursion for that day by the large and commodious steamer so-and-so, from such a wharf, at eight o'clock. but i then noticed that intending passengers were invited, in smaller type, to call at the office of the company, where doubtless it would be politely confided to them that the advertisement was a "back number." so the mistake was my own, after all, and, as the american habit is, i had been blaming the servants of the public unjustly. i was no sooner on the summit than i hastened to the pine wood. at first it seemed to be empty, but after a little, hearing the drawling _kree_, _kree_, _kree_, of a black-throated blue, i followed it, and found the bird. next a magnolia dropped into sight, and then a red-cheeked cape may, the second one i had ever seen, after fifteen or twenty years of expectancy. he threaded a leafless branch back and forth on a level with my eyes. i was glad i had come. soon another showed himself, and presently it appeared that the wood, as men speak of such things, was full of them. there were black-polls, also, with a blackburnian, a bay-breast, and a good number of palm warblers, (typical _palmarum_, to judge from the pale tints); but especially there were cape mays, including at least two females. as to the number of males it is impossible to speak; i never had more than two under my eye at once, but i came upon them continually,--they were always in motion, of course, being warblers,--till finally, as i put my glass on another one, i caught myself saying, in a tone of disappointment, "only a cape may." but yesterday i might as well have spoken of a million dollars as "only a million." so soon does novelty wear off. the magnolia and the blackburnian were in high feather, and made a gorgeous pair as chance brought them side by side in the same tree. they sang with much freedom; but the cape mays kept silence, to my deep regret, notwithstanding the philosophical remarks just now volunteered about the advantages derivable from a bird's gradual disclosure of himself. such pieces of wisdom, i have noticed, when by chance they do not fall into the second or third person, are commonly applied to the past rather than the present; a man's past being, in effect, not himself, but another. in morals, as in archery, the target should be set at a fair distance. the cape may's song is next to nothing,--suggestive of the black-poll's, i am told,--but i would gladly have bought a ticket to hear it. the place might have been made on purpose for the use to which it was now put. the pinery, surrounded by hard-wood forest, was like an island; and the warblers, for the most part, had no thought of leaving it. had they been feeding in the hard wood,--miles of tall trees,--i should have lost them in short order. at the same time, the absence of undergrowth enabled me to move about with all quietness, so that none of them took the least alarm. not a black-throated green was seen or heard, though yesterday they had been in force both among the pines and along the cliffs. a flock of myrtle warblers were surprisingly late, it seemed to me; but it was my last sight of them. the reader will perceive that i was not exploring lookout mountain, and am in no position to set forth its beauties. it is eighty odd miles long, we are told, and in some places more than a dozen miles wide. i visited nothing but the northern point, the tennessee end, the larger part of the mountain being in georgia; and even while there i looked twice at the birds, and once at the mountain itself. at noon, i lay for a long time upon a flat boulder under the tall oaks of the western bluff, looking down upon the lower woods, now in tender new leaf and most exquisitely colored. there are few fairer sights than a wooded mountain side seen from above; only one must not be too far above, and the forest should be mainly deciduous. the very thought brings before my eyes the long, green slopes of mount mansfield as they show from the road near the summit,--beauty inexpressible and never to be forgotten; and miles of autumn color on the sides of kinsman, cannon, and lafayette, as i have enjoyed it by the hour, stretched in the september sunshine on the rocks of bald mountain. perhaps the earth itself will never be fully enjoyed till we are somewhere above it. the lookout woods, as i now saw them, were less magnificent in sweep, but hardly less beautiful. and below them was the valley bottom,--lookout valley, once the field of armies, now the abode of peaceful industry: acres of brown earth, newly sown, with no trace of greenness except the hedgerows along the brooks and on the banks of lookout creek. and beyond the valley was raccoon mountain, wooded throughout; and behind that, far away, the cumberland range, blue with distance. a phoebe came and perched at my elbow, dropping a curtsey with old-fashioned politeness by way of "how are you, sir?" and a little afterward was calling earnestly from below. this is one of the characteristic birds of the mountain, and marks well the difference in latitude which even a slight elevation produces. i found it nowhere in the valley country, but it was common on lookout and on walden's ridge. then, behind me on the summit, another northern bird, the scarlet tanager, struck up a labored, rasping, breathless tune, hearty, but broken and forced. i say labored and breathless; but, happily, the singer was unaware of his infirmity (or can it be i was wrong?), and continued without interruption for at least half an hour. if he was uncomfortably short-breathed, he was very agreeably long-winded. oven-birds sang at intervals throughout the day, and once i heard again the black-billed cuckoo. yes, hooker was right: lookout mountain is northern, not southern. but then, as if to show that it is not exactly yankee land, in spite of oven-bird and black-bill, and notwithstanding all that hooker and his men may have done, a cardinal took a long turn at whistling, and a carolina wren came to his support with a _cheery_, _cheery_. a far-away crow was cawing somewhere down the valley, no very common sound hereabout; a red-eye, our great american missionary, was exhorting, of course; a black-poll, on his way to british america, whispered something, it was impossible to say what; and a squirrel barked. i lay so still that a black-and-white creeper took me for a part of the boulder, and alighted on the nearest tree-trunk. he goes round a bole just as he sings, in corkscrew fashion. now and then i caught some of the louder phrases of a distant brown thrush, and once, when every one else fell silent, a catbird burst out spasmodically with a few halting, disjointed eccentricities, highly characteristic of a bird who can sing like a master when he will, but who seems oftener to enjoy talking to himself. lizards rustled into sight with startling suddenness; and one big fellow disappeared so instantaneously--in "less than no time," as the yankee phrase is--that i thought "quick as a lizard" might well enough become an adage. here and there i remarked a chestnut-tree, the burs of last year still hanging; and chestnut oaks were among the largest and handsomest trees of the wood, as they were among the commonest. the temperature was perfect,--so says my penciled note. let the confession not be overlooked, after all my railing at the fierce tennessee sun. it made all the pleasure of the hour, too, that there were no troublesome insects. i had been in that country for ten days, the mercury had been much of the time above 90â°, and i had not seen ten mosquitoes. i left my boulder at last, though it would have been good to remain there till night, and wandered along the bluffs to the point. here it was apparent at once that the wind had shifted. for the first time i caught sight of lofty mountains in the northeast; the great smokies, i was told, and could well believe it. i sat down straightway and looked at them, and had i known how things would turn, i would have looked at them longer; for in all my three weeks' sojourn in chattanooga, that was the only half-day in which the atmosphere was even approximately clear. it was unfortunate, but i consoled myself with the charm of the foreground,--a charm at once softened and heightened, with something of the magic of distance, by the very conditions that veiled the horizon and drew it closer about us. it is truly a beautiful world that we see from lookout point: the city and its suburbs; the river with its broad meanderings, and, directly at our feet, its great moccasin bend; the near mountains,--raccoon and sand mountains beyond lookout valley, and walden's ridge across the river; and everywhere in the distance hills and high mountains, range beyond range, culminating in the cumberland mountains in one direction, and the great smokies in another. and as we look at the fair picture we think of what was done here,--of historic persons and historic deeds. at the foot of the cliffs on which we stand is white house plateau, the battlefield of lookout mountain. chattanooga itself is spread out before us, with orchard knob, cameron hill, and the national cemetery. yonder stretches the long line of missionary ridge, and farther south, recognizable by at least one of the government towers, is the battlefield of chickamauga. here, if anywhere, we may see places that war has made sacred. the feeling of all this is better enjoyed after one has grown oblivious to the things which at first do so much to cheapen the mountain,--the hotels, the photographers' shanties, the placards, the hurrying tourists, and the general air of a place given over to showmen. much of this seeming desecration is unavoidable, perhaps; at all events, it is the part of wisdom to overlook it, as, fortunately, by the time of my third visit i was pretty well able to do. if that proves impossible, if the visitor is of too sensitive a temperament,--to call his weakness by no worse a name,--he can at least betake himself to the woods, and out of them see enough, as i did from my boulder, to repay him for all his trouble. the battlefield, as has been said, lies at the base of the perpendicular cliffs which make the bold northern tip of the mountain,--lookout point. i must walk over it, though there is little to see, and after a final look at the magnificent panorama i descended the steps to the head of the "incline," or, as i should say, the cable road. the car dropped me at a sentry-box marked "columbus" (it was easy to guess in what year it had been named), and thence i strolled across the plateau,--so called in the narratives of the battle, though it is far from level,--past the craven house and cloud fort, to the western slope looking down into lookout valley, out of which the union forces marched to the assault. the place was peaceful enough on that pleasant may afternoon. the air was full of music, and just below me were apple and peach orchards and a vineyard. in such surroundings, half wild, half tame, i had hope of finding some strange bird; it would be pleasant to associate him with a spot so famous. but the voices were all familiar: wood thrushes, carolina wrens, bluebirds, summer tanagers, catbirds, a maryland yellow-throat, vireos (red-eyes and white-eyes), goldfinches, a field sparrow (the dead could want no sweeter requiem than he was chanting, but the wood pewee should have been here also), indigo-birds, and chats. in one of the wildest and roughest places a kentucky warbler started to sing, and i plunged downward among the rocks and bushes (here was maiden-hair fern, i remember), hoping to see him. it was only my second hearing of the song, and it would be prudent to verify my recollection; but the music ceased, and i saw nothing. at the turn, where the land begins to decline westward, i came to a low, semicircular wall of earth. here, doubtless, on that fateful november morning, when clouds covered the mountain sides, the confederate troops meant to make a stand against the invader. now a wilderness of young blue-green persimmon-trees had sprung up about it, as about the craven house was a similar growth of sassafras. i had already noticed the extreme abundance of sassafras (shrubs rather than trees) in all this country, and especially on missionary ridge. with my thoughts full of the past, while my senses kept watch of the present, i returned slowly to the "incline," where i had five minutes to wait for a downward car. it had been a good day, a day worth remembering; and just then there came to my ear the new voice for which i had been on the alert: a warbler's song, past all mistake, sharp, thin, vivacious, in perhaps eight syllables,--a song more like the redstart's than anything else i could think of. the singer was in a tall tree, but by the best of luck, seeing how short my time was, the opera-glass fell upon him almost of itself,--a hooded warbler; my first sight of him in full dress (he might have been rigged out for a masquerade, i thought), as it was my first hearing of his song. if it had been also my last hearing of it, i might have written that the hooded warbler, though a frequenter of low thickets, chooses a lofty perch to sing from. so easy is it to generalize; that is, to tell more than we know. the fellow sang again and again, and, to my great satisfaction, a kentucky joined him,--a much better singer in all respects, and much more becomingly dressed; but i gave thanks for both. then the car stopped for me, and we coasted to the base, where the customary gang of negroes, heavily chained, were repairing the highway, while the guard, a white man, stood over them with a rifle. it was a strange spectacle to my eyes, and suggested a considerable postponement of the millennium; but i was glad to see the men at work. two days afterward (may 10), in spite of "thunder in the morning" and one of the safest of weather saws, i made my final excursion to lookout, going at once to the warblers' pines. there were few birds in them. at all events, i found few; but there is no telling what might have happened, if the third specimen that came under my glass--after a black-poll and a bay-breast--had not monopolized my attention till i was driven to seek shelter. that was the day when i needed a gun; for i suppose it must be confessed that even an opera-glass observer, no matter how much in love he may be with his particular method of study, and no matter how determined he may be to stick to it, sees a time once in a great while when a bird in the hand would be so much better than two in the bush that his fingers fairly itch for something to shoot with. from what i know of one such man, i am sure it would be exaggerating their tenderness of heart to imagine observers of this kind incapable of taking a bird's life under any circumstances. in fact, it may be partly a distrust of their own self-restraint, under the provocations of curiosity, that makes them eschew the use of firearms altogether. my mystery on the present occasion was a female warbler,--of so much i felt reasonably assured; but by what name to call her, that was a riddle. her upper parts were "not olive, but of a neutral bluish gray," with light wing-bars, "not conspicuous, but distinct," while her lower parts were "dirty, but unstreaked." what at once impressed me was her "bareheaded appearance" (i am quoting my penciled memorandum), with a big eye and a light eye-ring,--like a ruby-crowned kinglet, for which, at the first glance, i mistook her. if my notes made mention of any dark streaks or spots underneath, i would pluck up courage and hazard a glorious guess, to be taken for what it might be worth. as it is, i leave guessing to men better qualified, for whose possible edification or amusement i have set down these particulars. while i was pursuing the stranger, but not till i had seen her again and again, and secured as many "points" as a longer ogling seemed likely to afford me, it began thundering ominously out of ugly clouds, and i edged toward some woodland cottages not far distant. then the big drops fell, and i took to my heels, reaching a piazza just in time to escape a torrent against which pine-trees and umbrella combined would have been as nothing. the lady of the house and her three dogs received me most hospitably, and as the rain lasted for some time we had a pleasant conversation (i can speak for one, at least) about dogs in general and particular (a common interest is the soul of talk); in illustration and furtherance of which the spaniel of the party, somewhat against his will, was induced to "sit up like a gentleman," while i boasted modestly of another spaniel, antony by name, who could do that and plenty of tricks beside,--a perfect wonder of a dog, in short. thus happily launched, we went on to discuss the climate of tennessee (whatever may be the soul of talk, the weather supplies it with members and a bodily substance) and the charms of lookout mountain. she lived there the year round, she said (most of the cottagers make the place a summer resort only), and always found it pleasant. in winter it wasn't so cold there as down below; at any rate, it didn't feel so cold,--which is the main thing, of course. sometimes when she went to the city, it seemed as if she should freeze, although she hadn't thought of its being cold before she left home. it is one form of patriotism, i suppose,--parochial patriotism, perhaps we may call it,--that makes us stand up pretty stoutly for our own dwelling-place before strangers, however we may grumble against it among ourselves. in the present instance, however, no such qualifying explanation seemed necessary. in general, i was quite prepared to believe that life on a mountain top, in a cottage in a grove, would be found every whit as agreeable as my hostess pictured it. the rain slackened after a while, though it was long in ceasing altogether, and i went to the nearest railway station (sunset station, i believe) and waited half an hour for a train to the point, chatting meanwhile with the young man in charge of the relic-counter. then, at the point, i waited again--this time to enjoy the prospect and see how the weather would turn--till a train passed on "the broad gauge" below. just beyond fort cloud it ran into a fine old forest, and a sudden notion took me to go straight down through the woods and spend the rest of the day rambling in that direction. the weather had still a dubious aspect, but, with motive enough, some things can be trusted to providence, and, the steepness of the descent accelerating my pace, i was soon on the sleepers, after which it was but a little way into the woods. once there, i quickly forgot everything else at the sound of a new song. but _was_ it new? it bore some resemblance to the ascending scale of the blue yellow-back, and might be the freak of some individual of that species. i stood still, and in another minute the singer came near and sang under my eye; the very bird i had been hoping for,--a cerulean warbler in full dress; as dr. coues says, "a perfect little beauty." he continued in sight, feeding in rather low branches,--an exception to his usual habit, i have since found,--and sang many times over. his complaisance was a piece of high good fortune, for i saw no second specimen. the strain opens with two pairs of notes on the same pitch, and concludes with an upward run much like the blue yellow-back's, or perhaps midway between that and the prairie warbler's. so i heard it, i mean to say. but everything depends upon the ear. audubon speaks of it as "extremely sweet and mellow" (the last a surprising word), while mr. ridgway is quoted as saying that the bird possesses "only the most feeble notes." the woods of themselves were well worth a visit: extremely open, with broad barren spaces; the trees tall, largely oak,--chestnut oak, especially,--but with chestnut, hickory, tupelo, and other trees intermingled. here, as afterward on walden's ridge, i was struck with the almost total absence of mosses, and the dry, stony character of the soil,--a novel and not altogether pleasing feature in the eyes of a man accustomed to the mountain forests of new england, where mosses cover every boulder, stump, and fallen log, while the feet sink into sphagnum as into the softest of carpets. comfortable lounging-places continually invited me to linger, and at last i sat down under a chestnut oak, with a big broken-barked tupelo directly before me. over the top of a neighboring boulder a lizard leaned in a praying attitude and gazed upon the intruder. once in a while some loud-voiced tree-frog, as i suppose, uttered a grating cry. a blue-gray gnatcatcher was complaining,--snarling, i might have said; a red-eye, an indigo-bird, a field sparrow, and a carolina wren took turns in singing; and a sudden chat threw himself into the air, quite unannounced, and, with ludicrous teetering motions, flew into the tupelo and eyed me saucily. a few minutes later, a single cicada (seventeen-year locust) followed him. with my glass i could see its monstrous red eyes and the orange edge of its wing. it kept silence; but without a moment's cessation the musical hum of distant millions like it filled the air,--a noise inconceivable. i would gladly have sat longer, as i would gladly have gone much farther into the woods, for i had seen none more attractive; but a rumbling of thunder, a rapid blackening of the sky, and a recollection of the forenoon's deluge warned me to turn back. and now, for the first time, although i had been living within sound of locusts for a week or more, i suddenly came to trees in which they were congregated. the branches were full of them. heard thus near, the sound was no longer melodious, but harsh and shrill. it seemed cruel that my last day on lookout mountain should be so broken up, and so abruptly and unseasonably concluded, but so the fates willed it. my retreat became a rout, and of the remainder of the road i remember only the hurry and the warmth, and two pleasant things,--a few wild roses, and the scent of a grapevine in bloom; two things so sweet and homelike that they could be caught and retained by a man on the run. chickamauga. the field of chickamauga--a worthily resounding name for one of the great battlefields of the world--lies a few miles south of the tennessee and georgia boundary, and is distant about an hour's ride by rail from chattanooga. a single morning train outward, and a single evening train inward, made an all-day excursion necessary, and the time proved to be none too long. unhappily, as i then thought, the sun was implacable, with the mercury in the nineties, though it was only the 3d of may; and as i was on foot, and the national reservation covers nine or ten square miles, i saw hardly more than a corner of the field. this would have been a more serious disappointment had my errand been of a topographical or historical nature. as the case was, being only a sentimental pilgrim, i ought perhaps to have welcomed the burning heat as a circumstance all in my favor; suiting the spirit of the place, and constraining me to a needful moderation. when a man goes in search of a mood, he must go neither too fast nor too far. as the scripture saith, "bodily exercise profiteth little." so much may readily be confessed now; for wisdom comes with reflection, and it is no great matter to bear a last year's toothache. from the railway station i followed, at a venture, a road that soon brought me to a comfortable, homelike house, with fine shade trees and an orchard. this was the dyer estate,--so a tablet informed all comers. here, in september, 1863, lived john dyer, who suddenly found his few peaceful acres surrounded and overrun by a hundred thousand armed men, and himself drafted into service--if he needed drafting--as guide to the confederate commander. since then strange things had happened to the little farmhouse, which now was nothing less than a sort of government headquarters, as i rightly inferred from the general aspect of things round about, and the american flag flying above the roof. i passed the place without entering, halting only to smile at the antics of a white-breasted nuthatch,--my first tennessee specimen,--which was hopping awkwardly about the yard. it was a question of something to eat, i suppose, or perhaps of a feather for the family nest, and precedents and appearances went for nothing. two or three minutes afterward i came face to face with another apparition, a horseman as graceful and dignified, not to say majestic, as the nuthatch had been lumbering and ungainly; a man in civilian's dress, but visibly a soldier, with a pose and carriage that made shoulder-straps superfluous; a man to look at; every inch a major-general, at the very least; of whom, nevertheless,--the heat or something else giving me courage,--i ventured to inquire, from under my umbrella, if there were any way of seeing some of the more interesting portions of the battlefield without too much exposure to the sun. he showed a little surprise (military gentlemen always do, so far as i have observed, when strangers address them), but recovered himself, and answered almost with affability. yes, he said, if i would take the first turn to the left, i should pass the spot over which longstreet made the charge that decided the fate of the contest, and as he spoke he pointed out the field, which appeared to be part of the dyer farm; then i should presently come within sight of the kelly house, about which the fighting was of the hottest; and from there i should do well to go to the snodgrass hill tower and the snodgrass house. to do as much as that would require little walking, and at the same time i should have seen a good share of what was best worth a visitor's notice. i thanked him, and followed his advice. the left-hand road, of which my informant had spoken, ran between the forest--mostly of tall oaks and long-leaved pines--and the grassy dyer field. here it was possible to keep in the shade, and life was comparatively easy; so that i felt no stirrings of envious desire when two gentlemen, whom i recognized as having been among my fellow-passengers from chattanooga, came up behind me in a carriage with a pair of horses and a driver. as they overtook me, and while i was wondering where they could have procured so luxurious a turnout, since i had discovered no sign of a public conveyance or a livery stable, the driver reined in his horses, and the older of the gentlemen put out his head to ask, "were you in the battle, sir?" i answered in the negative; and he added, half apologetically, that he and his companion wished to get as many points as possible about the field. in the kindness of my heart, i told him that i was a stranger, like himself, but that the gentleman yonder, on horseback, seemed to be well acquainted with the place, and would no doubt answer all inquiries. with a queer look in his face, and some remark that i failed to catch, my interlocutor dropped back into his seat, and the carriage drove on. it was only afterward that i learned--on meeting him again--that he was no other than general boynton, the man who is at the head of all things pertaining to chickamauga and its history. in the open field several bachman finches were singing, while the woods were noisier, but less musical, with maryland yellow-throats, black-poll warblers, tufted titmice, and two sorts of vireos. sprinkled over the ground were the lovely spring beauty and the violet wood sorrel, with pentstemon, houstonia, and a cheerful pink phlox. here i soon heard a second nuthatch, and fell into a kind of fever about its notes, which were clearer, less nasal, than those of our new england birds, it seemed to me, and differently phrased. such peculiarities might indicate a local race, i said to myself, with that predisposition to surprise which is one of the chief compensations of life away from home. as i went on, a wood pewee and a field sparrow began singing,--two birds whose voices might have been tuned on purpose for such a place. of the petulant, snappish cry of an acadian flycatcher not quite the same could be said. one of the "unreconstructed," i was tempted to call him. the kelly house, on the way to which through the woods my yankee eyes were delighted with the sight of loose patches of rue anemones, was duly marked with a tablet, and proved to be a cabin of the most primitive type, standing in the usual bit of fenced land (the smallness of the houseyards, as contrasted with the miles of open country round about, is a noticeable feature of southern landscapes), with a corn-house near by, and a tumble-down barn across the way. for some time i sat beside the road, under an oak; then, seeing two women, older and younger, inside the house, i asked leave to enter, the doors being open, and was made welcome with apparent heartiness. the elderly woman soon confided to me that she was seventy-six years old,--a marvelous figure she seemed to consider it; and when i tried to say something about her comparative youthfulness, and the much greater age of some ladies of my acquaintance (no names being mentioned, of course), she would only repeat that she was awful old, and shouldn't live much longer. she meant to improve the time, however,--and the unusual fortune of a visitor,--and fairly ran over with talk. she didn't belong about here. oh no; she came from "'way up in tennessee, a hundred and sixty miles!" "'pears like i'm a long way from home," she said,--"a hundred and sixty miles!" again i sought to comfort her. that wasn't so very far. what did she think of me, who had come all the way from massachusetts? she threw up her hands, and ejaculated, "oh, lor'!" with a fervor to which a regiment of exclamation points would scarcely do justice. yet she had but a vague idea of where massachusetts was, i fancy; for pretty soon she asked, "where did you say you was from? pennsylvany?" and when i said, "oh no, massachusetts, twice as far as that," she could only repeat, "oh, lor'!" her grandson was at work in the park, and she had come down to live with him and his wife. but she shouldn't live long. the wonder of this new world was still strong upon her. "them moniment things they've put up," she said, "have you seen 'em? men cut in a rock!--three of 'em? have you seen 'em? ain't they a sight to see?" she referred to the granite monuments of the regulars, on which are life-size figures in high relief. and had i seen the tower on the hill, she proceeded to ask,--an open iron structure,--and what did i think of _that_? she wouldn't go up in it for a bushel of money. "oh yes, you would," i told her. "you would like it, i'm sure." but she stuck to her story. she wouldn't do it for a bushel of money. she should be dizzy; and she threw up her hands, literally, at the very thought, while her granddaughter sat and smiled at my waste of breath. i asked if many visitors came here. "oh, lor', yes!" the old lady answered. "more'n two dozen have been here from 'way up in chicago." the mention of visitors led the younger woman to produce a box of relics, and i paid her a dime for three minie-balls. "i always get a nickel," she said, when i inquired the price; but when i selected two, and handed her a ten-cent piece, she insisted upon my taking another. wholesale customers deserved handsome treatment. she had picked up such things herself before now, but her husband found most of them while grubbing in the woods. the cabin was a one-room affair, of a sort common in that country ("cracker-boxes," one might call them, if punning were not so frowned upon), with a big fireplace, two opposite doors, two beds in diagonally opposite corners, and, i think, no window. here was domestic life in something like its pristine simplicity, a philosopher might have said: the house still subordinate to the man, and the housekeeper not yet a slave to furniture and bric-ã -brac. but even a philosopher would perhaps have tolerated a second room and a light of glass. as for myself, i remembered that i used to read of "poor white trash" in anti-slavery novels. by this time the sun had so doubled its fury that i would not cross the bare kelly field, and therefore did not go down to look at the "men cut in a rock;" but after visiting a shell pyramid which marks the spot where colonel king fell,--and near which i saw my first tennessee flicker,--i turned back toward snodgrass hill, keeping to the woods as jealously as any soldier can have done on the days of the battle. at the foot of the hill was a well, with a rude bucket and a rope to draw with. here i drank,--having to stand in the sun, i remember,--and then sat down in the shelter of large trees near by, with guideboards and index-fingers all about me, while a bachman finch, who occupied a small brush-heap just beyond the well (_he_ had no fear of sunshine), entertained me with music. he was a master. i had never heard his equal of his own kind, and seldom a bird of any kind, that seemed so much at home with his instrument. he sang "like half a dozen birds," to quote my own pencil; now giving out a brief and simple strain, now running into protracted and intricate warbles; and all with the most bewitching ardor and sweetness, and without the slightest suggestion of attempting to make a show. a field sparrow sang from the border of the grass land at the same moment. i wished he could have refrained. nothing shall induce me to say a word against him; but there are times when one would rather be spared even the opportunity for a comparison. as i went up the hill under the tall trees, largely yellow pines, a crested flycatcher stood at the tip of one of the tallest of them, screaming like a bird of war; and further on was a red-cockaded woodpecker, flitting restlessly from trunk to trunk, its flight marked with a musical woodpeckerish wing-beat,--like the downy's purr, but louder. i had never seen the bird before except in the pine-lands of florida, nor did i see it afterward except on this same hill, at a second visit. it is a congener of the downy and the hairy, ranking between them in size, and by way of distinction wears a big white patch, an ear-muff, one might say, on the side of its head. its habitat is strictly southern, so that its name, _dryobates borealis_, though easily rememberable, seems but moderately felicitous. perhaps the most enjoyable part of the day--the most comfortable, certainly, but the words are not synonymous--was a two-hour siesta on the snodgrass hill tower, above the tops of the highest trees. the only two landmarks of which i knew the names were missionary ridge and lookout mountain; the latter running back for many miles into georgia, like a long wooded plateau, till it rises into high point at its southern end, and breaks off precipitously. farther to the south were low hills followed by a long mountain of beautiful shape,--pigeon mountain, i heard it called,--with elevations at each end and in the middle. and so my eye made the round of the horizon, hill after hill in picturesque confusion, till it returned to missionary ridge, with walden's ridge rising beyond, and lookout point on the left: a charming prospect, especially for its atmosphere and color. the hard woods, with dark pines everywhere among them to set them off, were just coming into leaf, with all those numberless, nameless, delicate shades of green that make the glory of the springtime. the open fields were not yet clear green,--if they ever would be,--but green and brown intermixed, while the cultivated hillsides, especially on missionary ridge, were of a deep rich reddish-brown. the air was full of beautifying haze, and cumulus clouds in the south and west threw motionless shadows upon the mountain woods. around me, in different parts of the battlefield, were eight or ten houses and cabins, the nearest of them, almost at my feet, being the snodgrass house, famous as the headquarters of general thomas, the hero of the fight,--the "rock of chickamauga,"--who saved the union army after the field was lost. all was peaceful enough there now, with the lines full of the week's washing, which a woman under a voluminous sunbonnet was at that moment taking in (in that sun things would dry almost before the clothes-pins could be put on them, i thought), while a red-gowned child, and a hen with a brood of young chickens, kept close about her feet. her husband, like the occupant of the kelly house, was no doubt one of the government laborers, who to-day were burning refuse in the woods,--invisible fires, from each of which a thin cloud of blue smoke rose among the trees. the dyer house, in a direction nearly opposite the snodgrass house, stood broadly in the open, with an orchard behind it, and dark savins posted here and there over the outlying pasture. even at noonday the air was full of music: first an incessant tinkle of cow-bells rising from all sides, wondrously sweet and soothing; then a continuous, far-away hum, like a sawmill just audible in the extreme distance, or the vibration of innumerable wires, miles remote, perhaps,--a noise which i knew neither how to describe nor how to guess the origin of, the work of seventeen-year locusts, i afterward learned; and then, sung to this invariable instrumental accompaniment,--this natural pedal point, if i may call it so,--the songs of birds. the singers were of a quiet and unpretentious sort, as befitted the hour: a summer tanager; a red-eyed vireo; a tufted titmouse; a maryland yellow-throat, who cried, "what a pity! what a pity! what a pity!" but not as if he felt in the least distressed about it; a yellow-throated vireo, full-voiced and passionless; a field sparrow, pretty far off; a wood pewee; a yellow-billed cuckoo; a quail; a carolina wren, with his "cherry, cherry, cherry!" and a carolina chickadee,--a modest woodland chorus, interrupted now by the jubilant cackling of a hen at the snodgrass house (if a man's daily achievements only gave him equal satisfaction!) and now by the scream of a crested flycatcher. the most interesting member of the choir, though one of the poorest of them all as a singer, is not included in the foregoing enumeration. while i lay dreaming on the iron floor of the tower, enjoying the breeze, the landscape, the music, and, more than all, the place, i was suddenly brought wide awake by a hoarse drawling note out of the upper branches of a tall oak a little below my level. i caught a glimpse of the bird, having run down to a lower story of the tower for that purpose. then he disappeared, but after a while, from the same tree, he called again; and again i saw him, but not well. another long absence, and once more, still in the same tree, he sang and showed himself: a blue-winged yellow warbler, an exquisite bunch of feathers, but with a song of the oddest and meanest,--two syllables, the first a mere nothing, and the second a husky drawl, in a voice like the blue golden-wing's. insignificant and almost contemptible as it was, a shabby expression of connubial felicity, to say the least, i counted myself happy to have heard it, for novelty covers a multitude of sins. the yellow-throated warblers were hardly less interesting than the blue-wing, though they threw me into less excitement. for a long time i heard them without heeding them. from the day of my arrival in chattanooga i had been surrounded by indigo-birds in numbers beyond anything that a new england mind ever dreams of. as a matter of course they were singing here on snodgrass hill, or so i thought. but by and by, as the lazy notes were once more repeated, there came over me a sudden sense of difference. "_was_ that an indigo-bird?" i said to myself. "wasn't it a yellow-throated warbler?" i was sitting among the tops of the pine-trees; the birds had been droning almost in my very ears, and without a thought i had listened to them as indigo-birds. it confirmed what i had written in florida, that the two songs are much alike; but it was a sharp lesson in caution. when a prudent man finds himself thus befooled, he begins to wonder how it may be with the remainder of that precious body of notions, inherited and acquired, to which, in all but his least complacent moods, he has been accustomed to give the name of knowledge. here was a lesson, also, in the close relation that everywhere subsists between the distribution of plants and the distribution of animals. these were the only yellow pines noticed in the neighborhood of chattanooga; and in them, and nowhere else, i found two birds of the southern pine-barrens, the red-cockaded woodpecker and the yellow-throated warbler. at the base of the tower, when i finally descended, i paused a moment to look at a cluster of graves, eight or ten in all, unmarked save by a flagging of small stones; one of those family or neighborhood burying-grounds, the occupants of which--happier than most of us, who must lie in crowded cities of the dead--repose in decent privacy, surrounded by their own, with no ugly staring white slabs to publish their immemorable names to every passer-by. from the hill it was but a few steps to the snodgrass house, where a woman stood in the yard with a young girl, and answered all my inquiries with cheerful and easy politeness. none of the snodgrass family now occupied the house, she said, though one of the daughters still lived just outside the reservation. the woman had heard her describe the terrible scenes on the days of the battle. the operating-table stood under this tree, and just there was a trench into which the amputated limbs were thrown. yonder field, now grassy, was then planted with corn; and when the federal troops were driven through it, they trod upon their own wounded, who begged piteously for water and assistance. a large tree in front of the house was famous, the woman said; and certainly it was well hacked. a picture of it had been in "the century." general thomas was said to have rested under it; but an officer who had been there not long before to set up a granite monument near the gate told her that general thomas didn't rest under that tree, nor anywhere else. two things he did, past all dispute: he saved the federal army from destruction and made the snodgrass farmhouse an american shrine. when our talk was ended i returned to the hill, and thence sauntered through the woods--the yellow-throated warblers singing all about me in the pine-tops--down to the vicinity of the railroad. here, finding myself in the sun again, i made toward a shop near the station,--shop and post-office in one,--where fortunately there were such edibles, semi-edibles, as are generally to be looked for in country groceries. meanwhile there came on a tennessee thunder shower, lightning of the closest and rain by the bucketful; and, driven before it, an indiana soldier made his appearance, a wiry little man of fifty or more. he had been spending the day on the field, he told me. in one hand he carried a battered and rusty cartridge-box, and out of his pockets he produced and laid on the counter a collection of bullets. his were relics of the right stamp,--found, not purchased,--and not without a little shamefacedness i showed him my three minie-balls. "oh, you have got all federal bullets," he said; and on my asking how he could tell that, he placed a confederate ball beside them, and pointed out a difference in shape. he was a cheery, communicative body, good-humored but not jocose, excellent company in such an hour, though he had small fancy for the lightning, it seemed to me. perhaps he had been under fire so often as to have lost all relish for excitement of that kind. he was not at the battle of chickamauga, he said, but at vicksburg; and he gave me a vivid description of his work in the trenches, as well as of the surrender, and the happiness of the half-starved defenders of the city, who were at once fed by their captors. all his talk showed a lively sense of the horrors of war. he had seen enough of fighting, he confessed; but he couldn't keep away from a battlefield, if he came anywhere near one. he had been to the national cemetery in chattanooga, and agreed with me that it was a beautiful place; but he had heard that southern soldiers were lying in unmarked graves just outside the wall (a piece of misinformation, i have no doubt), and he didn't think it right or decent for the government to discriminate in that way. the confederates were just as sincere as the union men; and anyhow, vengeance ought not to follow a man after he was dead. evidently he had fought against an army and a cause, not against individuals. when the rain was over, or substantially so, i proposed to improve an hour of coolness and freshness by paying another visit to headquarters; but my indiana veteran was not to be enticed out of shelter. it was still rather wet, he thought. "i'm pretty careful of my body," he added, by way of settling the matter. it had been through so much, i suppose, that he esteemed it precious. i set out alone, therefore, and this time went into the dyer house, after drinking from a covered spring across the way. but there was little to see inside, and the three or four officers and clerks were occupied with maps and charts,--courteous, no doubt, but with official and counting-house courtesy; men of whom you could well enough ask a definite question, but with whom it would be impossible to drift into random talk. there was far better company outside. even while i stood in the back door, on my way thither, there suddenly flashed upon me from a treetop by the fence a splendid baltimore oriole. he fairly "gave me a start," and i broke out to the young fellow beside me, "why, there's a baltimore oriole!" the exclamation was thrown away, but i did not mind. it was the birds' own hour,--late afternoon, with sunshine after rain. the orchard and shade-trees were alive with wings, and the air was loud. how brilliant a company it was a list of names will show: a mocking-bird, a thrasher, several catbirds, a pair of bluebirds, a pair of orchard orioles, a summer tanager, a wood pewee, and a flicker, with goldfinches and indigo-birds, and behind the orchard a bachman finch. for bright colors and fine voices that was a chorus hard to beat. as for the baltimore oriole, the brightest bird of the lot, and the only one of his race that i found in all that country, he looked most uncommonly at home--to me--in the john dyer trees. i was never gladder to see him. a strange fate this that had befallen these georgia farms, owned once by dyer, snodgrass, kelly, brotherton, and the rest: the plainest and most ordinary of country houses, in which lived the plainest of country people, with no dream of fame, or of much else, perhaps, beyond the day's work and the day's ration. then comes bragg retreating before rosecrans, who is manoeuvring him out of tennessee. here the confederate leader turns upon his pursuers. here he--or rather, one of his subordinates--wins a great victory, which nevertheless, as a southern historian says, "sealed the fate of the southern confederacy." now the farmers are gone, but their names remain; and as long as the national government endures, pilgrims from far and near will come to walk over the historic acres. "this is the dyer house," they will say, "and this is the kelly house, and this is the snodgrass house." so fame catches up a chance favorite, and consigns the rest to oblivion. my first visit to chickamauga left so pleasant a taste that only two days afterward i repeated it. in particular i remembered my midday rest among the treetops, and my glimpse of the blue-winged warbler. it would be worth a day of my vacation to idle away another noon so agreeably, and hear again that ridiculous makeshift of a bird-song. field ornithology has this for one of its distinguishing advantages, that every excursion leaves something for another to verify or finish. this time i went straight to snodgrass hill through the woods, and was barely on the steps of the tower before i heard the blue-wing. as well as i could judge, the voice came from the same oak that the bird had occupied two days before. i was in luck, i thought; but the miserly fellow vouchsafed not another note, and i could not spend the forenoon hours in waiting for him. two red-cockaded woodpeckers were playing among the trees, where, like the blue-wing and the yellow-throats, they were doubtless established in summer quarters. "sap-suckers," one of the workmen called them. they were common, he said, but likely enough he failed to discriminate between them and their two black-and-white relatives. red-headed woodpeckers were _not_ common here (i had seen a single bird, displaying its colors from a lofty dead pine), but were abundant and very destructive, so my informant declared, on lookout mountain. turkeys were still numerous on the mountain, and only the sunday before one had been seen within the park limits. the bachman finch was again in tune at his brush-heap near the well, and between the music and a shady seat i was in no haste to go further. finally, i experimented to see how near the fellow would let me approach, taking time enough not to startle him in the process. it was wonderful how he held his ground. the "rock of chickamauga" himself could not have been more obstinate. i had almost to tread on him before he would fly. he was a great singer, a genius, and a poet, "with modest looks, and clad in homely russet brown," and withal a lover of the sun,--a bird never to be forgotten. i wish i knew how to praise him. to-day, as on my previous visit, i remarked a surprising scarcity of migrants. with the exception of black-poll warblers, i am not certain that i saw any, though i went nowhere else without finding them in good variety. had my imagination been equal to such a stretch, i might have suspected that northern birds did not feel at home on the scene of a great southern victory. here and there a nuthatch called, and again i seemed to perceive a decided strangeness in the voice. from the tip of a fruit-tree in the kelly yard a thrasher or a mocker was singing like one possessed. it was impossible to be sure which it was, and the uncertainty pleased me so much, as a testimony to the thrasher's musical powers, that i would not go round the house in the sun to get a nearer observation. instead, i went down to look at the monuments of the regulars, with their "men cut in a rock." thence i returned to snodgrass hill for my noonday rest, stopping once more at the well, of course, and reading again some of the placards, the number of which just here bore impressive witness to the fierceness of the battle at this point. one inscription i took pains to copy:- [pointing hand sign] gen. j. b. hood was wounded 11.10 a. m. 20 sept. '63 in edge of timber on cove road 1/2 mile east of south, loosing his leg. it was exactly eleven o'clock as i went up the hill toward the tower, and the workmen were already taking down their dinner-pails. standard time, so called, is an unquestioned convenience, but the stomach of a day-laborer has little respect for convention, and is not to be appeased by a setting back of the clock. for my own part, i was not hungry,--in that respect, as in some others, i might have envied the day-laborers,--but as men of a certain amusing sort are said to turn up their trousers in new york when it rains in london, so i felt it patriotic to nibble at my luncheon as best i could, now that the clocks were striking twelve in boston. the hour (but it was two hours) calls for little description. the breeze was delicious, and the hazy landscape beautiful. the cow-bells and the locusts filled the air with music, the birds kept me company, and for half an hour or more i had human society that was even more agreeable. when the workmen had eaten their dinner at the foot of the tower, four of them climbed the stairs, and my field-glass proved so pleasing a novelty that they stayed till their time was up, to the very last minute. one after another took the glass, and no sooner had it gone the rounds once than it started again; for meanwhile every man had thought of something else that he wanted to look at. they were above concealing their delight, or affecting any previous acquaintance with such a toy, and probably i never before gave so much pleasure by so easy a means. i believe i was as happy as if the blue-wing had sung a full hour. they were rough-looking men, perhaps, at least they were coarsely dressed, but none of them spoke a rude word; and when the last moment came, one of them, in the simplest and gentlest manner, asked me to accept three relics (bullets) which he had picked up in the last day or two on the hill. it was no great thing, to be sure, but it was better: it was one of those little acts which, from their perfect and unexpected grace, can never be forgotten. a jaunt through the woods past the kelly house, after luncheon, brought me to a superfine, spick-and-span new road,--like the new government "boulevard" on missionary ridge, of which it may be a continuation,--following which i came to the brotherton house, another war-time landmark, weather-beaten and fast going to ruin. in the woods--cleared of underbrush, and with little herbage--were scattered ground flowers: houstonia, yellow and violet oxalis, phlox, cranesbill, bird-foot violets, rue anemones, and spring beauties. i remarked especially a bit of bright gromwell, such as i had found first at orchard knob, and a single tuft of white american cowslip (_dodecatheon_), the only specimen i had ever seen growing wild. the flower that pleased me most, however, was the blood-red catchfly, which i had seen first on missionary ridge. nothing could have been more appropriate here on the bloody field of chickamauga. appealing to fancy instead of to fact, it nevertheless spoke of the battle almost as plainly as the hundreds of decapitated trees, here one and there one, which even the most careless observer could not fail to notice. from the brotherton house to the post-office was a sunny stretch, but under the protection of my umbrella i compassed it; and then, passing the widow glenn's (rosecrans's headquarters), on the road to crawfish springs, i came to a diminutive body of water,--a sink-hole,--which i knew at once could be nothing but bloody pond. at the time of the fight it contained the only water to be had for a long distance. it was fiercely contended for, therefore, and men and horses drank from it greedily, while other men and horses lay dead in it, having dropped while drinking. now a fence runs through it, leaving an outer segment of it open to the road for the convenience of passing teams; and when i came in sight of the spot, two boys were fishing round the further edge. not far beyond was an unfinished granite tower, on which no one was at work, though a derrick still protruded from the top. it offered the best of shade,--the shadow of a great rock,--in the comfort of which i sat awhile, thinking of the past, and watching the peaceful labors of two or three men who were cultivating a broad ploughed field directly before me, crossing and recrossing it in the sun. then i took the road again; but by this time i had relinquished all thought of walking to crawfish springs, and so did nothing but idle along. once, i remember, i turned aside to explore a lane running up to a hillside cattle pasture, stopping by the way to admire the activities--and they _were_ activities--of a set of big scavenger beetles. next, i tried for half a mile a fine new road leading across the park to the left, with thick, uncleared woods on one side; and then i went back to bloody pond. the place was now deserted, and i took a seat under a tree opposite. prodigious bullfrogs, big enough to have been growing ever since the war, lay here and there upon the water; now calling in the lustiest bass, now falling silent again after one comical expiring gulp. it was getting toward the cool of the afternoon. already the birds felt it. a wood thrush's voice rang out at intervals from somewhere beyond the ploughed land, and a field sparrow chanted nearer by. at the same time my eye was upon a pair of kingbirds,--wayfarers hereabout, to judge from their behavior; a crested flycatcher stood guard at the top of a lofty dead tree, and a rough-winged swallow alighted on the margin of the pool, and began bathing with great enjoyment. it made me comfortable to look at him. by and by two young fellows with fishing-poles came down the railroad. "why is this called bloody pond?" i asked. "why?" "yes." "why, there were a lot of soldiers killed here in the war, and the pond got bloody." the granite tower in the shadow of which i had rested awhile ago was general wilder's monument, they said. his headquarters were there. then they passed on down the track out of sight, and all was silent once more, till a chickadee gave out his sweet and quiet song just behind me, and a second swallow dropped upon the water's edge. the pond was of the smallest and meanest,--muddy shore, muddy bottom, and muddy water; but men fought and died for it in those awful september days of heat and dust and thirst. there was no better place on the field, perhaps, in which to realize the horrors of the battle, and i was glad to have the chickadee's voice the last sound in my ears as i turned away. orchard knob and the national cemetery. the street cars that run through the open valley country from chattanooga to missionary ridge, pass between two places of peculiar interest to northern visitors,--orchard knob on the left, and the national cemetery on the right. of these, the knob remains in all the desolation of war-time; unfenced, and without so much as a tablet to inform the stranger where he is and what was done here; a low, round-topped hill, dry, stony, thin-soiled, with out-cropping ledges and a sprinkling of stunted cedars and pines. some remains of rifle-pits are its only monument, unless we reckon as such a cedar rather larger than its fellows, which must have been of some size thirty years ago, and now bears the marks of abundant hard usage. the hill was taken by the federal troops on the 23d of november, 1863, by way of "overture to the battle of chattanooga," grant, thomas, hooker, granger, howard, and others overlooking the engagement from the ramparts of fort wood. the next day, as all the world knows, hooker's men carried lookout mountain, while the multitude below, hearing the commotion, wondered what could be going on above them, till suddenly the clouds lifted, and behold, the confederates were in full flight. then, says an eye-witness, there "went up a mighty cheer from the thirty thousand in the valley, that was heard above the battle by their comrades on the mountain." on the day following, for events followed each other fast in that spectacular campaign, grant and thomas had established themselves on orchard knob, and late in the afternoon the union army, exceeding its orders, stormed missionary ridge, put the army of bragg to sudden rout, and completed one of the really decisive victories of the war. for a man who wishes to feel the memory of that stirring time there is no better place than orchard knob, where grant stood and anxiously watched the course of the battle, a battle of which he declared that it was won "under the most trying circumstances presented during the war." for my own part, i can see the man himself as i read the words of one who was there with him. the stormers of missionary ridge, as i have said, after making the demonstration they had been ordered to make, kept on up the slope, thinking "the time had come to finish the battle of chickamauga." "as soon as this movement was seen from orchard knob," writes general fullerton, "grant turned quickly to thomas, who stood by his side, and i heard him say angrily, 'thomas, who ordered those men up the ridge?' thomas replied in his usual slow, quiet manner, 'i don't know; i did not.' then, addressing general gordon granger, he said, 'did you order them up, granger?' 'no,' said granger; 'they started up without orders. when those fellows get started all hell can't stop them.'" in the heat of battle a soldier may be pardoned, i suppose, if his speech smells of sulphur; and after the event an army is hardly to be censured for beating the enemy a day ahead of time. i speak as a civilian. military men, no doubt, find insubordination, even on the right side, a less pardonable offense; a fact which may explain why general grant, in his history of the battle, written many years afterward, makes no mention of this its most dramatic incident, so that the reader of his narrative would never divine but that everything had been done according to the plans and orders of the general in command. orders or no orders, the fight was won. that was more than thirty years ago. it was now a pleasant may afternoon, the afternoon of may-day itself. the date, indeed, was the immediate occasion of my presence. i had started from chattanooga with the intention of going once more to missionary ridge, which just now offered peculiar attractions to a stranger of ornithological proclivities. but the car was full of laughing, smartly dressed colored people; they were bound for the same place, it appeared, on their annual picnic; and, being in a quiet mood, i took the hint and dropped out by the way. there was much to feel but little to see at orchard knob; and yet i recall two plants that i found there for the first time; a low gromwell (_lithospermum canescens_), with clustered bright yellow flowers, and an odd and homely greenish milkweed (_asclepias obovata_). the yarrow-leaved ragwort was there also, and the tall blue baptisia; but as well as i can recollect, not one dainty and modest nosegay-blossom; not even the houstonia, which seemed to grow everywhere, though after a strangely sparse and depauperate fashion. as i said to begin with, the knob is a desolate place. it made me think of the scriptural phrase about "the besom of destruction." i can imagine that mourners of the "lost cause," if such there still be, might see upon it the signs of a place accursed. far otherwise is it with the national cemetery. that is a spot of which the nation takes care. here are shaven lawns, which, nevertheless, you are permitted to walk over; and shrubbery and trees, both in grateful profusion, but not planted so thickly as to make the inclosure either a wood or a garden; and where the ledge crops out, it is pleasingly and naturally draped with vines of the virginia creeper. one thing i noticed upon the instant; there were no english sparrows inside the wall. the city is overrun with them beyond anything i have seen elsewhere; within two hundred feet of the cemetery gate, as i passed out, there were at least two hundred sparrows; but inside, on three visits, i saw not one! how this exemption had been brought about, i did not learn; but it makes of the cemetery a sort of heavenly place. i felt the silence as the sweetest of music (it was a sunday afternoon), and thought instantly of comus and his "prisoned soul" lapped in elysium. if i knew whom to thank, i would name him. a mocking-bird, aloft upon the topmost twig of a tall willow near the entrance, was pouring forth a characteristic medley, in the midst of which he suddenly called _wick-a-wick_, _wick-a-wick_, in the flicker's very happiest style. "so flickers must now and then come to chattanooga," i said to myself, for up to that time i had seen none. it was a pleasure to hear this great songster of the south singing above these thousands of northern graves. it seemed _right_; for time and the event will prove, if, indeed, they have not proved already, that the south, even more than the north, has reason to be glad of the victory which these deaths went far to win. a tablet on one of the cannons which stand upright on the highest knoll informs visitors that the cemetery was "established" in 1863. the number of burials is given as 12,876, of which nearly five thousand are of bodies unidentified. a great proportion of the stones bear nothing but a number. on others is a name, or part of a name, with the name of the state underneath. one i noticed that was inscribed:- john n. y. an attendant of whom i inquired if any new england men were here, answered that there were a few members of the thirty-third massachusetts. i hope the new englanders resident in chattanooga do not forget them on memorial day. twice in the year, at least, the place has many northern visitors. they arrive on wings, mostly by night, and such of them as came under my eye acted as if they appreciated the quiet of the inclosure, a quiet which their own presence made but the more appreciable. scattered over the lawns were silent groups of white-throated sparrows,--on their way to new hampshire, perhaps, or it might be to upper michigan; and not far from the entrance, and almost directly under the mocking-bird, were two or three white-crowned sparrows, the only ones found in tennessee. on an earlier visit (april 29) i saw here my only tennessee robins--five birds; and most welcome they were. months afterward, a resident of missionary ridge wrote to me that a pair had nested in the cemetery that year, though to his great regret he did not know of it till too late. he had never seen a robin's nest, he added, and was acquainted with the bird only as a migrant. such are some of the deprivations of life in eastern tennessee. may and june without robins or song sparrows! on the last of my three visits, a small flock of black-poll warblers were in the trees, and two of them gave me a pleasant little surprise by dropping to the ground, and feeding for a long time upon the lawn. that was something new for black-polls, so far as my observation had gone, and an encouraging thing to look at: another sign, where all signs are welcome, that the life of birds is less strictly instinctive--less a matter of inherited habit, and more a matter of personal intelligence--than has commonly been assumed. in general, no doubt, like human beings, they do what their fathers did, what they themselves have done heretofore. so much is to be expected, since their faculties and desires remain the same, and they have the same world to live in; but when exceptional circumstances arise, their conduct becomes exceptional. in other words, they do as a few of the quicker-witted among men do--suit their conduct to altered conditions. a month ago i should have said, after years of acquaintance, that no birds could be more strictly arboreal than golden-crowned kinglets. but recently, i happened upon a little group of them that for a week or more fed persistently on the ground in a certain piece of wood. then and there, for some reason, food was plentiful on the snow and among the dead leaves; and the kinglets had no scruples about following where duty called them. at the same time a friend of mine, a young farmer, was at his winter's work in the woods; and being alone, and a lover of birds, he had taken a fancy to experiment with a few chickadees, to see how tame a little encouragement would make them. a flock of five came about him day after day, at luncheon-time, and by dint of sitting motionless he soon had two of them on terms of something like intimacy; so that they would alight on his hand and help themselves to a feast. he was not long in discovering, and reporting to me, that they carried much of the food to the trees round about, and packed it into crannies of the bark. "are you sure of that?" i asked. "oh, yes," he answered; "i saw them do it, and then i went to the trees and found the crumbs." did any one ever suspect the chickadee of such providence? if so, i never heard of it; and it is more likely, i think, that the birds had never before done anything of the sort; but now, finding suddenly a supply far in excess of the demand (one day they ate and carried away half a doughnut), they had sense enough to improve the opportunity. what they had done, or had not done, in times past, was nothing to the point, since they were creatures not of memory alone, but of intelligence and a measure of reason. beside the unmistakable migrants,--white-throats, white-crowns, and black-polls,--there were numbers of more southern birds in the national cemetery. among them i noticed a yellow-billed cuckoo, crow blackbirds, orchard orioles, summer tanagers, catbirds, a thrasher, a bluebird, wood pewees, chippers, blue-gray gnatcatchers, yellow warblers, wood thrushes, and chats. all these looked sufficiently at home except the chats; and it helps to mark the exceeding abundance of these last in the chattanooga region that they should show themselves without reserve in a spot so frequented and so wanting in close cover. one of the orioles sang in the manner of a fox sparrow, while one that sang daily under my window, on cameron hill, never once suggested that bird, but often the purple finch. the two facts offer a good idea of this fine songster's quality and versatility. the organ tones of the yellow-throated vireo and the minor whistle of the wood pewee were sweetly in harmony with the spirit of the place, a spirit hard fully and exactly to express, a mingling of regret and exultation. what mattered it that all these men had perished, as it seemed, before their time?--that so many of them were lying in nameless graves? we shall all die; few of us so worthily; and when we are gone, of what use will be a name upon a stone, a name which, after a few years at the most, no passer-by will be concerned to read? happy is he who dies to some purpose. it would have been good, i thought, to see over the cemetery gate the brave old latin sentence, _dulce et decorum est pro patria mori_. the human visitors, of whom one day there might have been a hundred, were largely people of color. all were quiet and orderly, in couples and family groups. most of them, i remarked, went to look at the only striking monument in the grounds, a locomotive and tender (the "general") on a pedestal of marble--"ohio's tribute to the andrews raiders, 1862." on three faces of the pedestal are lists of the "exchanged," the "executed," and the "escaped." one thing, one only, grated upon my feelings. in a corner of the inclosure is the superintendent's house, with a stable and out-buildings; and at the gate the visitor is suddenly struck in the face with this notice in flaring capitals: keep out! this means you! that is brutality beyond excuse. but perhaps it answers its purpose. for my own part, i got out of the neighborhood as quickly as possible. i liked better the society of the graves; at such a price a dead soldier was better than a live superintendent; and to take the unpleasant taste out of my mouth i stopped to read again a stanza on one of the metal tablets set at intervals along the driveway:- "on fame's eternal camping ground their silent tents are spread, and glory guards, with solemn round, the bivouac of the dead." far be the day when these southern fields of northern graves shall fall into forgetfulness and neglect. an afternoon by the river. to an idler desirous of seeing wild life on easy terms chattanooga offers this advantage, that electric cars take him quickly out of the city in different directions, and drop him in the woods. in this way, on an afternoon too sultry for extended travel on foot, i visited a wooded hillside on the further bank of the tennessee, a few miles above the town. the car was still turning street corner after street corner, making its zigzag course toward the bridge, when i noticed a rustic old gentleman at my side looking intently at the floor. apparently he suspected something amiss. he was unused to the ways of electricity, i thought,--a verdancy by no means inexcusable. but as he leaned farther forward, and looked and listened with more and more absorption, the matter--not his ignorance, but his simple-hearted betrayal of it--began to seem amusing. for myself, to be sure, i knew nothing about electricity, but i had wit enough to sit still and let the car run; a degree of sophistication which passes pretty well as a substitute for wisdom in a world where men are distinguished from children not so much by more knowledge as by less curiosity. in the present instance, however, as the event proved, the dunce's cap belonged on the other head. my countryman's stare was less verdant than his next neighbor's smile; for in a few minutes the conductor was taking up a trap door at our feet, to get at the works, some part of which had fallen out of gear, though they were still running. twice the car was stopped for a better examination into the difficulty, and at last a new wedge, or something else, was inserted, and we proceeded on our way, while the motorman who had done the job busied himself with removing from his coat, as best he could, the oil with which it had become besmeared in the course of the operation. it was rather hard, he thought, to have to spoil his clothes in repair-shop work of that kind, especially as he was paid nothing for it, and had to find himself. as for my rustic-looking seatmate, he was an old hand at the business, it appeared, and his practiced ear had detected a jar in the machinery. we left the car in company, he and i, at the end of the route, and pretty soon it transpired that he was an old union soldier, of massachusetts parentage, but born in canada and a member of a michigan regiment. just how these autobiographical details came to be mentioned i fail now to remember, but in that country, where so much history had been made, it was hard to keep the past out of one's conversation. he had been in sheridan's force when it stormed missionary ridge. as they went up the heights, he said, they were between two fires; as much in danger from federal bullets as from confederate; "but sheridan kept right on." an old woman who lived on the ridge told him that she asked general bragg if the yankees would take the hill. "take the hill!" said bragg; "they could as well fly." just then she saw the blue-coats coming, and pointed them out to the general. he looked at them, put spurs to his horse, "and," added the woman, "i ain't seen him since." all of which, for aught i know, may be true. the talkative veteran was now on his way to find an old friend of his who lived somewhere around here, he didn't know just where; and as my course lay in the same general direction we went across lots and up the hill together, he rehearsing the past, and i gladly putting myself to school. in my time history was studied from text-books; but the lecture system is better. by and by we approached a solitary cabin, on the dilapidated piazza of which sat the very man for whom my companion was looking. "very sick to-day," he said, in response to a greeting. his appearance harmonized with his words,--and with the piazza; and his manners were pitched on the same key; so that it was in a downright surly tone that he pointed out a gate through which i could make an exit toward the woods on the other side of the house. i had asked the way, and was glad to take it. not that i was greatly offended. a sick man on one of his bad days has some excuse for a little impatience; a far better excuse than i should have for alluding to the matter at this late date, if i did not improve the occasion to add that this was the only bit of anything like incivility that i have ever received at the south, where i have certainly not been slow to ask questions of all sorts of people. a little jaunt along a foot-path brought me unexpectedly to a second cabin, uninhabited. it was built of boards, not logs, with the usual outside chimney at one end, a broad veranda, a door, and no window; a house to fill a social economist with admiration at the low terms to which civilized life can be reduced. thoreau himself was outdone, though the veranda, it must be confessed, seemed a dispensable bit of fashionable conformity, with forest trees on all sides crowding the roof. half the floor had fallen away; yet the house could not have been long unoccupied, for at one end the wall was hung with newspapers, among which was a boston "weekly" less than two years old. from it looked the portrait of a new england college president, and at the head of the page stood a list of "eminent contributors." i ran the names over, but somehow, in these wild and natural surroundings, they did not seem so very impressive. i think it has been said before, perhaps by thoreau, that most of what we call literature wears an artificial and unimportant look when taken out-of-doors. near this cabin i struck a road ("a sort of road," according to my notebook) through the woods, following which i shortly came to a grave-yard, or rather to a bunch of graves, for there was no inclosure, nor even a clearing. one grave--or it may have been a tiny family lot--was surrounded by a curb of stone. the others, with a single exception, were marked only by low mounds of gravel. the one exception was a grave with a head-board,--the grave of "little theodosia," a year and some months old. "theodosia!"--even into a windowless cabin a baby brings romance. under the name and the two dates was this legend: "she is happy." of ten inscriptions on marble monuments nine will be found less simply appropriate. by a circuitous course the wood road brought me to a larger cabin, in a larger clearing. here a pleasant-spoken, neighborly woman, with a child in her arms, called off her dog, and pointed out a path beyond a pair of bars. that path, she said, would carry me to the river,--to the water's edge. and so it did, down a pleasant wooded hillside, which an unwonted profusion of bushes and ferns made exceptionally attractive. at the end of the path a lordly elm and a lordlier buttonwood, both of them loaded with lusty vines (besides clusters of mistletoe, i believe), gave me shelter from the sun while i sat and gazed at the strong eager current of the tennessee hurrying onward without a ripple. as my foot touched the beach a duck--i could not tell of what kind--sprang out of the water and went dashing off. she had learned her lesson. in the duck's primer one of the first questions is: "what is a man?" and the answer follows: "man is a gun-bearing animal." in the treetops a golden warbler and a redstart were singing. then i heard a puffing of steam, and by and by a tug came round a turn, pushing laboriously up stream a loaded barge. it was the ocoee of chattanooga, and the two or three mariners on board seemed to find the sight of a stranger in that unlooked-for place a welcome break in the monotony of their inland voyage. on the bushy, ferny slope, as i returned, two kentucky warblers were singing in opposite directions. so i called them, at all events. but they were too far away to be gone after, as my mood then was, and soon i began to wonder whether i might not be mistaken. possibly they were carolina wrens, whose _cherry_ is not altogether unlike the kentucky's _klurwee_. the question will perhaps seem unreasonable to readers long familiar with the two birds; but let them put themselves in a stranger's place, remembering that this was only his third or fourth hearing of the kentucky's music. as the doubt grew on me (and nothing grows faster than doubt) i sat down and listened. yes, they were kentuckies; but anon the uncertainty came back, and i kept my seat. then a sound of humming-bird wings interrupted my cogitations, and in another moment the bird was before me, sipping at a scarlet catchfly,--battlefield pink. i caught the flash of his throat. it was as red as the flower--beyond which there is nothing to be said. then he vanished (rather than went away), as humming-birds do; but in ten minutes he was there again. i was glad to see him. birds of his kind were rare about chattanooga, though afterwards, in the forests of walden's ridge, they became as common as i ever saw them anywhere. the two invisible kentuckies wore out my patience, but as i came to the bars another sang near me. him, by good luck, i saw in the act, and for the time, at least, my doubts were quieted. in the woods and thickets, as i sauntered along, i heard blue golden-winged warblers, two more kentuckies, a blue-gray gnatcatcher, a bachman's finch, a wood pewee, a quail, and the inevitable chats, indigo-birds, prairie warblers, and white-eyed vireos. then, as i drew near the car track, i descended again to the river-bank and walked in the shade of lofty buttonwoods, willows, and white maples, with mistletoe perched in the upper branches, and poison ivy climbing far up the trunks; the whole standing in great contrast to the comparatively stunted growth, mainly oak,--and largely black jack,--on the dry soil of the hillside. across the river were broad, level fields, brown with cultivation, in which men were at work, and from the same direction came loud rasping cries of batrachians of some kind. for aught that my ear could detect, they might be common toads uttering their mysterious, discordant midsummer screams in full chorus. here were more indigo-birds, with red-eyes, white-eyes, lisping black-poll warblers, redstarts, a yellow-billed cuckoo (furtive as ever, like a bird with an evil conscience), catbirds, a thrasher, a veery in song (a luxury in these parts), orchard orioles, goldfinches, and chippers. a bluebird was gathering straws, and a carrion crow, one of two seen in tennessee, was soaring high over the river. the "pavilion," at the terminus of the car route, was deserted, and i sat on the piazza enjoying the really beautiful prospect--the river, the woods, and the cultivated fields. the land hereabout was all in the market. in truth, the selling of building lots seemed to be one of the principal industries of chattanooga; and i was not surprised to find the good-humored young fellow behind the counter--with its usual appetizing display of cigars, drinks, and confectionery--full of the glories and imminent possibilities of this particular "suburb." he believed in the river. folks would come this way, where it was high and cool. (on that particular afternoon, to be sure, it was neither very high nor very cool, but of course the weather isn't always good anywhere.) "lookout mountain ain't what it used to be," he said, in a burst of confidence. "it's done seen its best days. yes, sir, it's done seen its best days." it was not for a stranger, with no investment in view, to take sides in such competitions and rivalries. i believed in the river and the mountain both, and hoped that both would survive their present exploitation. i liked his talk better when it turned upon himself. nothing is more exhilarating than an honest bit of personal brag. he was never sick, he told me. he knew nothing of aches or pains. he could do anything without getting tired. save for his slavery to the counter, he seemed almost as well off as the birds. a morning in the north woods. the electric car left me near the tennessee,--at "riverview,"--and thence i walked into the woods, meaning to make a circuit among the hills, and at my convenience board an inward-bound car somewhere between that point and the city. the weather was of the kind that birds love: warm and still, after heavy showers, with the sun now and then breaking through the clouds. the country was a suburb in its first estate: that is to say, a land company had laid out miles of streets, but as yet there were no houses, and the woods remained unharmed. that was a very comfortable stage of the business to a man on my errand. the roads gave the visitor convenience of access,--a ready means of moving about with his eyes in the air,--and at the same time, by making the place more open, they made it more birdy; for birds, even the greater part of wood birds, like the borders of a forest better than its darker recesses. one thing i soon perceived: the rain had left the roads in a condition of unspeakable adhesiveness. the red clay balled up my heels as if it had been moist snow, till i pitched forward as i walked. i fancied that i understood pretty well the sensations of a young lady in high-heeled shoes. one moment, too, my feet were weighted with lead; then the mass fell off in a sudden big lump, and my next few steps were on air. a graceful, steady, self-possessed gait was out of the question. as for abstaining from all appearance of evil--well, as another and more comfortable scripture says, "there is a time for everything." however, i was not disposed to complain. we read much about the tribulations of northern soldiers on the march in virginia,--of entire armies mud-bound and helpless. henceforth i shall have some better idea of what such statements mean. in that part of the world, i am assured, rubber overshoes have to be tied on the feet with strings. mother earth does not believe in such effeminacies, and takes it upon herself to pull them off. the seventeen-year locusts made the air ring. heard at the right distance, the sound has a curious resemblance, noticed again and again, to the far-away, barely audible buzz of an electric car. for a week the air of the valley woods had been full of it. i wondered over it for a day or two, with no suspicion of its origin. then, as i waited for a car at the base of missionary ridge, a colored man who stood beside me on the platform gave me, without meaning it, a lesson in natural history. "the locuses are goin' it, this mornin', ain't they?" he said. "the locuses?" i answered, in a tone of inquiry. "yes. don't you hear 'em?" he meant my mysterious universal hum, it appeared. but even then i did not know that he spoke of the big, red-eyed cicada that i had picked off a fence a day or two before and looked at for a moment with ignorant curiosity. and even when, by dint of using my own eyes, i learned so much, i was still unaware that this cicada was the famous seventeen-year locust. here in the north woods i more than once passed near a swarm of the insects. at short range the noise loses its musical character; so that it would be easy to hear it without divining any connection between it and the grand pervasive hum of the universal chorus. one of the first birds at which i stopped to look was a kentucky warbler, walking about the ground and pausing now and then to sing; one of six or seven seen and heard during the forenoon. few birds are more freely and easily observed. i mean in open woodlands with clear margins, such as i was now exploring. in a mountain forest, where they haunt brookside jungles of laurel and rhododendron, the story is different, as a matter of course. how it happens that the same bird is equally at home in surroundings so dissimilar is a question i make no attempt to answer. all the hill woods, mostly oak, were dry and stony; but after a while i came unexpectedly to a valley, a place of another sort; not moist, to be sure, but looking as if it had been moist at some time or other; and with pleasant grassy openings and another set of trees--red maples, persimmons, and sweet-gums. here was a fine bunch of birds, including many migrants, and i went softly hither and thither, scanning the branches of one tree after another, as a note or the stirring of a leaf attracted me, ready every minute for the sight of something new and wonderful. i found nothing,--nothing new and wonderful, i mean,--but i had all the exhilaration of the chase. in the company, nearly all of them in song, were wood thrushes, a silent palm warbler (red-poll), a magnolia warbler, three canadian flycatchers, many black-polls, one or two redstarts, a chestnut-sided warbler, a black-and-white creeper, a field sparrow, a yellow-throated vireo, a wood pewee, an acadian flycatcher, and two or more yellow-billed cuckoos. the red-poll was of a very pale complexion (but i assert nothing as to its exact identity, specific or sub-specific), and seemed to me unreasonably late. it was the 11th of may, and birds of its kind had been passing through massachusetts by the middle of april. chestnut-sides were scarce enough to be interesting, and it was good to hear this lover of berry fields and the gray birch singing from a sweet-gum. when at last i turned away from the grassy glade,--where cattle were pasturing, as i now remember,--and went back among the dry hills (through the powdery soil of which the almost daily showers seemed to run as through a sieve), i presently caught sight of a scarlet tanager,--a beauty, and, except on the mountains, a rarity. then i stopped--on a street corner!--to admire the singing of a bachman's finch, wishing also to compare his plumage with that of a bird seen and greatly enjoyed a few days before at chickamauga. to judge from my limited observation, this is one of the sparrows--the song sparrow being another--which exhibit a strange diversity of individual coloration; as if the fashion were not yet fully set, or perhaps were being outgrown. the bird here in the north woods, so far as color and markings went, might well enough have been of a different species from that of the chickamauga singer, yet there was no reason to suspect the presence of more than one variety of _peucã¦a_, so far as i knew, and the music of the two birds was precisely the same. a wonderfully sweet and various tune it is; with sometimes a highly ventriloquial effect, as if the different measures or phrases came from different points. it opens like the song heard in the florida flat-woods, but is even more varied, both in voice and in musical form. so it seemed to me, i mean to say; but hearing the two a year apart, i cannot speak without reserve. it is pleasanter--as well as safer--to praise both singers than to exalt one to the pulling down of the other. in appearance, bachman's finch is one of the dullest, dingiest, least prepossessing members of its great family; but its voice and musical genius make it a treasure, especially in this comparatively sparrowless country of eastern tennessee. i have remarked that i found this bird upon a street corner. unhappily my notes do not enable me to be more specific. it may have been at the corner of court and tremont streets, or, possibly, at the junction of tremont and dartmouth streets. all these names appear in my memoranda. boston people should have had a hand in this business, i said to myself. it was on federal street (so much i put down) that i saw my only tennessee rose-breasted grosbeak. he, or rather she, was the most interesting bird of the forenoon, and matched the one baltimore oriole seen at chickamauga. i heard the familiar _click_, as of rusty shears, and straightway took chase. for some minutes my search was in vain, and once i feared i had been fooled. a bird flew out of the right tree, as i thought, but showed yellow, and the next moment set up the _clippiticlip_ call of the summer tanager. could that bird have also a note like the rose-breast's? it was not impossible, of course, for one does not exhaust the vocabulary of a bird in a month's acquaintance; but i could not think it likely, thick as tanagers had been about me; and soon the _click_ was repeated, and this time i put my eye on its author,--a feminine rose-breast. perhaps it was nothing more than an accident that she was my only specimen; but so showy a bird, with so lovely a song and so distinctive a signal, could hardly have escaped notice had it been in any degree common. wood thrushes sang on all sides. they had need to be abundant and free-hearted, since they stand in that region for the whole thrush family. blue golden-winged warblers, too, were generously distributed, and, as happens to me now and then in massachusetts, i found one with a song so absurdly peculiar that i spent some time in making sure of its author. it is to be hoped that this tendency to individual variation will persist and increase in the case of this species till something more melodious than its present sibilant monotony is evolved; till beauty and art are mated, as they ought to be. who would not love to hear the music of all our birds a few millions of years hence? what a singer the hermit thrush will be, for example, when his tune is equal to his voice! indigo-birds, white-eyed vireos and prairie warblers abounded. as for the chats, they saluted me on the right and on the left, till i said, "chats, chattanooga," and felt almost as if nature had perpetrated a huge fantastic pun on her own account. if i could have had the ear of the enterprising owners of this embryo suburb,--a syndicate, i dare say they call themselves,--i would have suggested to them to name it "chat city." i wandered carelessly about, now following a bird over a rounded hill (one, i remember, was covered literally from end to end with the common brake,--_pteris_,--which will give the reader an idea of its sterility), now keeping to the road. in such a soil flowers were naturally scarce; but i noticed houstonia, phlox, hieracium, senecio, pentstemon, and specularia. like the brake, the names are suggestive of barrenness. the senecio (ragwort), a species with finely cut leaves (_s. millefolium_), was first seen on missionary ridge. there, as here, it had a strange, misplaced appearance in my eyes, looking much like our familiar _s. aureus_, but growing in dry woods! so the morning passed. the hours were far too brief, and i would have stretched them into the afternoon, but that my trunk was packed for walden's ridge. it was necessary to think of getting back to the city, and i took a quicker pace. two more kentucky warblers detained me for a moment; a quail sprang up from under my feet; and on the other side of the way an oven-bird sang--the only one found in the valley. then i came to the car-track; but somehow things wore an unexpected look, and a preacher, very black, solemn, and shiny, gave me to understand, in answer to a question, that the city lay not where i thought, but in an opposite direction. instead of making a circuit i had cut straight across the country (an unusual form of bewilderment), and had come to another railway. but no harm was done. in that corner of the world all roads lead to chattanooga. a week on walden's ridge. i. throughout my stay in chattanooga i looked often and with desire at a long, flat-topped, perpendicular-sided, densely wooded mountain, beyond the tennessee river. its name was walden's ridge, i was told; the top of it was eighty miles long and ten or twelve miles wide; if i wanted a bit of wild country, that was the place for me. was it accessible? i asked. and was there any reasonable way of living there? oh yes; carriages ran every afternoon from the city, and there were several small hotels on the mountain. so it happened that i went to walden's ridge for my last week in tennessee, and have ever since thanked my stars--as new england christians used to say, in my boyhood--for giving me the good wine at the end of the feast. the wine, it is true, was a little too freely watered. i went up the mountain in a rain, and came down again in a rain, and of the seven intervening days five were showery. the showers, mostly with thunder and lightning, were of the sort that make an umbrella ridiculous, and my jaunts, as a rule, took me far from shelter. yet i had little to complain of. now and then i was put to my trumps, as it were; my walk was sometimes grievously abbreviated, and my pace uncomfortably hurried, but by one happy accident and another i always escaped a drenching. worse than the water that fell--worse, and not to be escaped, even by accident---was that which saturated the atmosphere, making every day a dog-day, and the week a seven-day sweat. and then, as if to even the account, on the last night of my stay i was kept awake for hours shivering with cold; and in the morning, after putting on all the clothing i could wear, and breakfasting in a snowstorm, i rode down the mountain in a state suggestive of approaching congelation. "my feet are frozen, i know they are," said the lady who sat beside me in the wagon; but she was mistaken. this sudden drop in the temperature seemed to be a trial even to the natives. as we drove into chattanooga, it was impossible not to smile at the pinched and woebegone appearance of the colored people. what had they to do with weather that makes a man hurry? and the next morning, when an enterprising, bright-faced white boy ran up to me with a "'times,' sir? have a 'times'?" i fear he quite misapprehended the more or less quizzical expression which i am sure came into my face. i was looking at his black woolen mittens, and thinking how well he was mothered. it was the 19th of may; for at least three weeks, to my own knowledge, the city had been sweltering under the hottest of midsummer heats,--94â° in the shade, for example; and now, mittens and overcoats! i should be sorry to exaggerate, or leave a false impression. in this day of literary conscientiousness, when writers of fiction itself are truth-tellers first, and story-tellers afterwards,--if at all,--it behooves mere tourists and naturalists to speak as under oath. be it confessed, then, that the foregoing paragraphs, though true in every word, are not to be taken too seriously. if the weather, "the dramatic element in scenery," happened not to suit the convenience of a naturally selfish man, now ten times more selfish than usual--as is the rule--because he was on his annual vacation, it does not follow that it was essentially bad. the rains were needed, the heat was to have been expected, and the cold, unseasonable and exceptional, was not peculiar to tennessee. as for the snow, it was no more than i have seen before now, even in massachusetts,--a week or two earlier in the month; and it lent such a glory to the higher alleghanies, as we passed them on our way homeward, that i might cheerfully have lain shivering for _two_ nights in that unplastered bedroom, with its window that no man could shut, rather than miss the spectacle. eastern tennessee, i have no doubt, is a most salubrious country; properly recommended by the medical fraternity as a refuge for consumptive patients. if to me its meteorological fluctuations seemed surprisingly wide and sudden, it was perhaps because i had been brought up in the equable climate of new england. it would be unfair to judge the world in general by that favored spot. the road up the mountain--the "new road," as it is called--is a notable piece of work, done, i was told, by the county chain-gangs. the pleasure of the ascent, which naturally would have been great, was badly diminished by the rain, which made it necessary to keep the sides of the wagon down; but i was fortunate in my driver. at first he seemed a stolid, uncommunicative body, and when we came to the river i made sure he could not read. as we drove upon the bridge, where straight before his eyes was a sign forbidding any one to drive or ride over the bridge at a pace faster than a walk, under a penalty of five dollars for each offense, he whipped up his horse and his mule (the mule the better horse of the two), and they struck into a trot. halfway across we met another wagon, and its driver too had let his horses out. illiteracy must be pretty common in these parts, i said to myself. but whatever my driver's educational deficiencies, it did not take long to discover that in his own line he was a master. he could hit the ear of his mule with the end of his whip with a precision that was almost startling. in fact, it _was_ startling--to the mule. for my own part, as often as he drew back his hand and let fly the lash, my eye was glued to the mule's right ear in spite of myself. had my own ears been endowed with life and motion, instead of fastened to my head like blocks of wood, i think they too would have twitched. i wondered how long the man had practiced his art. he appeared to be not more than forty-five years old. perhaps he came of a race of drivers, and so began life with some hereditary advantages. at all events, he was a specialist, with the specialist's motto, "this one thing i do." we were hardly off the bridge and in the country before i began plying him with questions about this and that, especially the wayside trees. he answered promptly and succinctly, and turned out to be a man who had kept his eyes open, and, better still, knew how to say, "no, suh," as well as, "yes, suh." (there is no mark in the dictionaries to indicate the percussive brevity of the vowel sound in "suh" as he pronounced it.) the big tupelo he recognized as the "black-gum." "but isn't it ever called 'sour-gum'?" "no, suh." he knew but one kind of tupelo, as he knew but one kind of "ellum." there were many kinds of oaks, some of which he named as we passed them. this botanical catechism presently waked up the only other passenger in the wagon, a modest girl of ten or twelve years. she too, it appeared, had some acquaintance with trees. i had asked the driver if there were no long-leaved pines hereabout. "no, suh," he said. "but i think i saw some at chickamauga the other day," i ventured. (it was the only place i did see them, as well as i remember.) "yes, sir," put in the girl, "there are a good many there." "good for you!" i was ready to say. it was a pretty rare schoolgirl who, after visiting a battlefield, could tell what kind of pines grow on it. persimmons? yes, indeed, the girl had eaten them. there was a tree by the fence. had i never eaten them? she seemed to pity me when i said "no," but i fancied she would have preferred to see me begin with one a little short of ripe. as for the birds of walden's ridge, the driver said, there were partridges, pheasants, and turkeys. he had seen ravens, also, but only in winter, he thought, and never in flocks. his brother had once shot one. about smaller birds he could not profess to speak. by and by he stopped the carriage. "there's a bird now," he said, pointing with his whip. "what do you call that?" it was a summer tanager, i told him, or summer redbird. did he know another redbird, with black wings and tail? yes, he had seen it; that was the male, and this all-red one was the female. oh no, i explained; the birds were of different species, and the females in both cases were yellow. he did not insist,--it was a case of a driver and his fare; but he had always been told so, he said, and i do not flatter myself that i convinced him to the contrary. it is hard to believe that one man can be so much wiser than everybody else. a massachusetts farmer once asked me, i remember, if the night-hawk and the whippoorwill were male and female of the same bird. i answered, of course, that they were not, and gave, as i thought, abundant reason why such a thing could not be possible. but i spoke as a scribe. "well," remarked the farmer, when i had finished my story, "some folks _say_ they be, but i guess they _ain't_." with such converse, then, we beguiled the climb to the "brow,"--the top of the cliffs which rim the summit of the mountain, and give it from below a fortified look,--and at last, after an hour's further drive through the dripping woods, came to the hotel at which i was to put up--or with which i was to put up--during my stay on the ridge. i had hardly taken the road, the next morning, impatient to see what this little world on a mountain top was like, before i came to a lovely brook making its devious course among big boulders with much pleasant gurgling, in the shadow of mountain laurel and white azalea,--a place highly characteristic of walden's ridge, as i was afterwards to learn. just now, naturally, there was no stopping so near home, though a kentucky warbler, with his cool, liquid song, did his best to beguile me; and i kept on my way, past a few houses, a tiny box of a post-office, a rude church, and a few more houses, till just beyond the last one the road dropped into the forest again, as if for good. and there, all at once i seemed to be in new hampshire. the land fell away sharply, and at one particular point, through a vista, the forest could be seen sloping down on either side to the gap, beyond which, miles away, loomed a hill, and then, far, far in the distance, high mountains dim with haze. it was like a note of sublimity in a poem that till now had been only beautiful. from the bottom of the valley came a sound of running water, and between me and the invisible stream a chorus of olive-backed thrushes were singing,--the same simple and hearty strains that, in june and july, echo all day long through the woods of the crawford notch. the birds were on their way from the far south, and were happy to find themselves in so homelike a place. then, suddenly, amid the golden voices of the thrushes, i caught the wiry notes of a warbler. they came from the treetops in the valley, and--so i prided myself upon guessing--belonged to a cerulean warbler, a bird of which i had seen my first and only specimen a week before, on lookout mountain. down the steep hillside i scrambled,--new hampshire clean forgotten,--and was just bringing my glass into play when the fellow took wing, and began singing at the very point i had just left. i hastened back; he flew again, farther up the hill, and again i put myself out of breath with pursuing him. again and again he sang, now in this tree, now in that, but there was no getting sight of him. the trees should have been shorter, or the bird larger. straight upward i gazed, till the muscles of my neck cried for mercy. at last i saw him, flitting amid the dense foliage, but so far above me, and so exactly between me and the sun, that i might as well not have seen him at all. it was a foolish half-hour. the bird, as i afterwards discovered, was nothing but a blue yellow-back, with an original twist to his song. in massachusetts, i should not have listened to it twice, but on new hunting-grounds a man is bound to look for new game; else what would be the use of traveling? it was a foolish half-hour, i say; but i wish some moralist would explain, in a manner not inconsistent with the dignity of human nature, how it happens that foolish half-hours are commonly so much more enjoyable at the time, and so much pleasanter in the retrospect, than many that are more reasonably employed. i swallowed my disappointment, and presently forgot it, for at the first turn in the road i found myself following the course of a brook or creek, between which and myself was a dense thicket of mountain laurel and rhododendron, with trees and other shrubs intermingled. the laurel was already in full bloom, while the rhododendrons held aloft clusters of gorgeous rose-purple buds, a few of which, the middle ones of the cluster, were just bursting into flower. here was beauty of a new order,--such wealth and splendor of color in surroundings so romantic. and the place, besides, was alive with singing birds: hooded warblers, kentucky warblers, a canadian warbler, a black-throated blue, a black-throated green, a blue yellow-back, scarlet tanagers, wood pewees, wood thrushes, a field sparrow (on the hillside beyond) a cardinal, a chat, a bunch of white-throated sparrows, and who could tell what else? it was an exciting moment. luckily, a man can look and listen both at once. here was a fringe-tree, a noble specimen, hung with creamy-white plumes; here was a magnolia, with big leaves and big flowers; and here was a flowering dogwood, not to be put out of countenance in any company; but especially, here were the rhododendrons! and all the while, deep in the thickest of the bushes, some unknown bird was singing a strange, breathless jumble of a song, note tripping over note,--like an eager churchman with his responses, i kept saying to myself, with no thought of disrespect to either party. it cost me a long vigil and much patient coaxing to make the fellow out, and he proved to be merely a wilson's blackcap, after all; but he was the only bird of his kind that i saw in tennessee. on this first visit i did not get far beyond the creek, through the bed of which the road runs, with a single log for foot-passengers. i had spent at least an hour in going a hundred rods, and it was already drawing near dinner time. but i returned to the spot that very afternoon, and half a dozen times afterward. so poor a traveler am i, so ill fitted to explore a new country. whenever nothing in particular offered itself, why, it was always pretty down at falling water creek. there i saw the rhododendrons come into exuberant bloom, and there i oftenest see them in memory, though i found them elsewhere in greater abundance, and in a setting even more romantic. more romantic, perhaps, but hardly more beautiful. i remember, just beyond the creek, a bank where sweet bush (_calycanthus_), wild ginger (_asarum_), rhododendron, laurel, and plenty of trailing arbutus (the last now out of flower) were growing side by side,--a rare combination of beauty and fragrance. and within a few rods of the same spot i sat down more than once to take a long look at a cross-vine covering a dead hemlock. the branches of the tree, shortening regularly to the top, were draped heavily with gray lichens, while the vine, keeping mostly near the trunk and climbing clean to the tip,--fifty feet or more, as i thought,--was hung throughout with large, orange-red, gold-lined bells. their numbers were past guessing. here and there a spray of them swung lightly from the end of a branch, as if inviting the breeze to lend them motion and a voice. the sight was worth going miles to see, and yet i passed it three times before it caught my eye, so full were the woods of things to look at. after all, _is_ it a poor traveler who turns again and again into the same path? whether is better, to read two good books once, or one good book twice? a favorite shorter walk, at odd minutes,--before breakfast and between showers,--was through the woods for a quarter of a mile to a small clearing and a cabin. on a sunday afternoon i ventured to pass the gate and make a call upon my neighbors. the doors of the house stood open, but a glance inside showed that there was no one there, and i walked round it, inspecting the garden,--corn, beans, and potatoes coming on,--till, just as i was ready to turn back into the woods, i descried a man and woman on the hillside not far away; the man leading a mule, and the woman picking strawberries. at sight of a stranger the woman fell behind, but the man kept on to the house, greeted me politely, and invited me to be seated under the hemlock, where two chairs were already placed. after tying the mule he took the other chair, and we fell into talk about the weather, the crops, and things in general. when the wife finally appeared, i rose, of course; but she went on in silence and entered the house, while the husband said, "oh, keep your seat." we continued our conversation till the rain began to fall. then we picked up our chairs and followed the woman inside. she sat in the middle of the room (young, pretty, newly married, and sunday-dressed), but never once opened her lips. her behavior was in strict accordance with local etiquette, i was afterward assured (as if _all_ etiquette were not local); but though i admire feminine modesty as much as any man, i cannot say that i found this particular manifestation of it altogether to my liking. silence is golden, no doubt, and gold is more precious than silver, but in cases of this figurative sort i profess myself a bimetallist. a _little_ silver, i say; enough for small change, at any rate; and if we can have a pretty free coinage, why, so much the better, though as to that, it must be admitted, a good deal depends upon the "image and superscription." however, my hostess followed her lights, and reserved her voice--soft and musical let us hope--for her husband's ear. they had not lived in the house very long, he told me, and he did not know how many years the land had been cleared. there was a fair amount of game in the woods,--turkeys, squirrels, pheasants, and so on,--and in winter the men did considerable hunting. formerly there were a good many deer, but they had been pretty well killed off. turkeys still held out. they were gobbling now. his father had been trying for two or three weeks, off and on, to shoot a certain old fellow who had several hens with him down in the valley. his father could call with his mouth better than with any "caller," but so far the bird had been too sharp for him. the son laughed good-naturedly when i confessed to an unsportsmanlike sympathy with the gobbler. the cabin, built of hewn logs, with clay in the chinks, was neatly furnished, with beds in two corners of the one room, a stone chimney, two doors directly opposite each other, and no window. the doors, it is understood, are always to be open, for ventilation and light. such is the custom; and custom is nowhere more powerful than in small rustic communities. if a native, led away by his wife, perhaps, puts a window into his new cabin, the neighbors say, "oh, he is building a glass house, isn't he?" it must be an effeminate woman, they think, who cannot do her cooking and sewing by the light of the door. none the less, in a climate where snow is possible in the middle of may, such a spartan arrangement must sometimes be found a bit uncomfortable by persons not to the manner born. a preacher confided to me that in his pastoral calls he had once or twice made bold to push to a door directly at his back, when the wind was cold; but the innovation was ill received, and the inmates of the house, doubtless without wishing to hurt their minister's feelings,--since he had meant no harm, to be sure, but was simply unused to the ways of the world,--speedily found some excuse for rectifying his mistake. probably there is no corner of the world where the question of fresh air and draughts is not available for purposes of moral discipline. beside the path to the cabin, on the 13th of may, was a gray-cheeked thrush, a very gray specimen, sitting motionless in the best of lights. "look at me," he seemed to say. "i am no olive-back. my cheeks are not sallow." on the same day, here and in another place, i saw white-throated sparrows. their presence at this late hour was a great surprise, and suggested the possibility of their breeding somewhere in the carolina mountains, though i am not aware that such an occurrence has ever been recorded. another recollection of this path is of a snow-white milkweed (_asclepias variegata_),--white with the merest touch of purple to set it off,--for the downright elegance of which i was not in the least prepared. the queen of all milkweeds, surely. after nightfall the air grew loud with the cries of batrachians and insects, an interesting and novel chorus. on my first evening at the hotel i was loitering up the road, with frequent auditory pauses, thinking how full the world is of unseen creatures which find their day only after the sun goes down, when in a woody spot i heard behind me a sound of footsteps. a woman was close at my heels, fetching a pail of water from the spring. i remarked upon the many voices. she answered pleasantly. it was the big frogs that i heard, she reckoned. "do you have whippoorwills here?" i asked. "plenty of 'em," she answered, "plenty of 'em." "do you hear them right along the road?" "yes, sir; oh yes." we had gone hardly a rod further before we exclaimed in the same breath, "there is one now!" i inquired if there was another bird here, something like the whippoorwill, meaning the chuck-will's-widow. but she said no; she knew of but one. "how early does the whippoorwill get here?" said i. "pretty early," she answered. "by the first of april, should you say?" "yes, sir, i think about then. i know the timber is just beginning to put out when they begin to holler." this mannerly treatment of a stranger was more christian-like than the stately silence of my lady of the cabin, it seemed to me. i liked it better, at all events. i had learned nothing, perhaps; but unless a man is far gone in philosophy he need not feel bound to increase in wisdom every time a neighbor speaks to him; and anyhow, that expression about the "putting out of the timber" had given me pleasure. hearing it thus was better than finding it upon a page of stevenson, or some other author whose business in life is the picking of right words. let us have some silver, i repeat. i am ready to believe, what i have somewhere read, that men will have to give account not only for every idle word, but for every idle silence. the summit of the ridge, as soon as one leaves its precipitous rocky edge,--the brow, so called,--is simply an indefinite expanse of gently rolling country, thin-soiled, but well watered, and covered with fine open woods, rambling through which the visitor finds little to remind him of his elevation above the world. i heard a resident speak of going to the "top of the mountain," however, and on inquiry learned that a certain rocky eminence, two miles, more or less, from fairmount (the little "settlement" where i was staying), went by that name, and was supposed to be the highest point of the ridge. my informant kindly made me a rough map of the way thither, and one morning i set out in that direction. it would be shameful to live for a week on the "summit" of a mountain, and not once go to the "top." the glory of walden's ridge, as compared with lookout mountain,--so the dwellers there say,--is its streams and springs; and my morning path soon brought me to the usual rocky brook bordered with mountain laurel, holly, and hemlock. to my new england eyes it was an odd circumstance, the hemlocks growing always along the creeks in the valley bottoms. beyond this point i passed an abandoned cabin,--no other house in sight,--and by and by a second one, near which, in the garden (better worth preserving than the house, it appeared), a woman and two children were at work. yes, the woman said, i was on the right path. i had only to keep a straight course, and i should bring up at the "top of the mountain." a little farther, and my spirits rose at the sight of a circular, sedgy, woodland pond, such a place as i had not seen in all this chattanooga country. it ought to yield something new for my local ornithological list, which up to this time included ninety species, and not one of them a water-bird. i did my best, beating round the edge and "squeaking," but startled nothing rarer than a hooded warbler and a cardinal grosbeak. next i traversed a long stretch of unbroken oak woods, with single tall pines interspersed; and then all at once the path turned to the right, and ran obliquely downhill to a clearing in which stood a house,--not a cabin,--with a garden, orchard trees, and beehives. this should be the german shoemaker's, i thought, looking at my map. if so, i was pretty near the top, though otherwise there was no sign of it; and if i had made any considerable ascent, it had been as children increase in stature,--and as the good increase in goodness,--unconsciously. a woman of some years was in the garden, and at my approach came up to the fence,--a round-faced, motherly body. yes, the top of the mountain was just beyond. i could not miss it. "you do not live here?" she asked. no, i explained; i was a stranger on the ridge,--a stranger from boston. "from washington?" "no, from boston." "oh! from boston!--massachusetts!--oh-h-h!" she would go part way with me, she said, lest i should miss the path. perhaps she wished to show some special hospitality to a man from massachusetts; or possibly she thought i must be more in danger of getting bewildered, being so far from home. but i could not think of troubling her. was there a spring near by, where i could drink? "i have water in the house," she answered. "but isn't there a creek down in the valley ahead?" oh yes, there was a creek; but had i anything to drink out of? i thanked her. yes, i had a cup. "my husband will be at home by the time you come back," she said, as i started on, and i promised to call. the scene at the brook, halfway between the german's house and the top, would of itself have paid me for my morning's jaunt. i stood on a boulder in mid-current, in the shadow of overhanging trees, and drank it in. such rhododendrons and laurel, now in the perfection of their beauty! one rhododendron bush was at least ten feet high, and loaded with blooms. another lifted its crown of a dozen rose-purple clusters amid the dark foliage of a hemlock. a magnolia-tree stood near; but though it was much taller than the laurel or the rhododendron, and had much larger flowers, it made little show beside them. birds were singing on all hands, and numbers of gay-colored butterflies flitted about, sipping here and there at a blossom. i remember especially a fine tiger swallow-tail; the only one i saw in tennessee, i believe. i remember, too, how well the rhododendron became him. here, as in many other places, the laurel was nearly white; a happy circumstance, as it and the rhododendron went the more harmoniously together. even in this high company, some tufts of cinnamon fern were not to be overlooked; the fertile cinnamon-brown fronds were now at their loveliest, and showed as bravely here, i thought, as in the barest of massachusetts swamp-lands. a few rods more, up a moderate slope, and i was at the top of the mountain,--a wall of out-cropping rocks, falling off abruptly on the further side, and looking almost like an artificial rampart. beyond me, to my surprise, i heard the hum of cicadas,--seventeen-year locusts,--a sound of which the lower country had for some time been full, but of which, till this moment, i had heard nothing on the ridge. as for the prospect, it was far reaching, but only in one direction, and through openings among the trees. directly before me, some hundreds of feet below, was a piece of road, with a single cabin and a barn; and much farther away were other cabins, each with its private clearing. elsewhere the foreground was an unbroken forest. for some time i could not distinguish the ridge itself from the outlying world. mountains and hills crowded the hazy horizon, range beyond range. moving along the rocks, i found a vista through which chattanooga and lookout mountain were visible. another change, and a stretch of the tennessee river came into sight, and, beyond it, missionary ridge with its settlements and its two observatories. evidently i was considerably above the level of the brow; but whether this was really the top of the mountain--reached, in some mysterious way, without going uphill--was more than i could say.[2] nor did it matter. i was glad to be there. it was a pleasant place and a pleasant hour, with an oak root for a seat, and never an insect to trouble me. that, by the way, was true of all those tennessee forests,--when i was there, i mean; from what i heard, the ticks and jiggers must be bad enough later in the season. as men do at such times,--for human nature is of noble origin, and feels no surprise at being well treated,--i took my immunity as a matter of course, and only realized how i had been favored when i got back to massachusetts, where, on my first visit to the woods, i was fairly driven out by swarms of mosquitoes. the shoemaker was at home when i reached his house on my return, and at the urgent invitation of himself and his wife i joined them on the piazza for a bit of neighborly chat. i found him a smallish man, not german in appearance, but looking, i thought, like thoreau, only grown a little older. he had been on walden's ridge for fifteen years. before that he was in south carolina, but the yellow fever came along and made him feel like getting out. yes, this was a healthy country. he had nothing to complain of; he was sixty-two years old and his doctors' bills had never amounted to "five dollar." "do _you_ like living here?" i asked his wife. "no," she answered promptly; "i never did. but then," she added, "we can't help it. if you own something, you know, you have to stay." the author of walden would have appreciated that remark. there was no shoemaking to be done here, the man said, his nearest neighbor being half a mile distant through the woods; and there was no clover, so that his bees did not do very well; and the frost had just killed all his peach-trees; but when i asked if he never felt homesick for germany, the answer came like a pistol shot,--"no." i inquired about a cave, of which i had heard reports. yes, it was a good cave, they said; i could easily find it. but their directions conveyed no very clear idea to my mind, and by and by the woman began talking to her husband in german. "she is telling him he ought to go with me and show me the way," i said to myself; and the next moment she came back to english. "he will go with you," she said. i demurred, but he protested that he could do it as well as not. "take up a stick; you might see a snake," his wife called after him, as we left the house. he smiled, but did not follow her advice, though i fancied he would have done so had she gone along with us. a half-mile or so through the pathless woods brought us to the cave, which might hold a hundred persons, i thought. the dribbling "creek" fell over it in front. then the man took me to my path, pointed my way homeward, and, with a handshake (the silver lining of which was not refused, though i had been troubled with a scruple), bade me good-by. first, however, he told me that if i found any one in boston who wanted to buy a place on walden's ridge, he would sell a part of his or the whole of it. i remember him most kindly, and would gladly do him a service. if any reader, having a landed investment in view, should desire my intervention in the premises, i am freely at his command; only let him bear in mind the terms of the deed: "if you own something, you know, you have to stay." ii. fairmount, as has already been said, is but a clearing in the forest. instead of a solitary cabin, as elsewhere, there are perhaps a dozen or two of cabins and houses scattered along the road, which emerges from the woods at one end of the settlement, and, after a mile or so in the sun, drops into them again at the other end. the glory of the place, and the reason of its being, as i suppose, is a chalybeate spring in a woody hollow before the post-office. there may be a shop of some kind, also, but memory retains no such impression. one building, rather larger than most of its neighbors, and apparently unoccupied, i looked at more than once with a measure of that curiosity which is everywhere the stranger's privilege. it sat squarely on the road, and boasted a sort of portico or piazza,--it puzzled me what to call it,--but there was no vestige of a chimney. one day a ragged, bright-faced boy met me at the right moment, and i asked, "did some one use to live in that house?" "that?" said he, in a tone i shall never forget. "that's a barn. that over there is the dwelling." my ignorance was fittingly rebuked, and i had no spirit to inquire about the piazza. probably it was nothing but a lean-to. even in my humiliation, however, it pleased me to hear what i should have called that good literary word "dwelling" on such lips. a yankee boy might have said "dwelling-house," but no yankee of any age, or none that i have ever known, would have said "dwelling," though he might have read the word in books a thousand times. i thought of a spruce colored waiter in florida, who, when i asked him at breakfast how the day was likely to turn out, answered promptly, "i think it will be inclement." it may reasonably be counted among the minor advantages of travel that it enriches one's every-day vocabulary. another fairmount building (an unmistakable house, this time) is memorable to me because on the doorstep, day after day, an old gentleman and a younger antagonist--they might have been grandfather and grandson--were playing checkers. "i hope you are beating the young fellow," i could not help saying once to the old gentleman. he smiled dubiously, and made some halting reply suggestive of resignation rather than triumph; and it came to me with a kind of pang, as i passed on, that if growing old is a bad business, as most of us think, it is perhaps an unfavorable symptom when a man finds himself, not out of politeness, but as a simple matter of course, taking sides with the aged. fairmounters, living in the woods, have no outlook upon the world. if they wish to see off, they must go to the brow, which, by a stroller's guess, may be two miles distant. my first visit to it was the pleasanter--the more vacational, so to speak--for being an accident. i sauntered aimlessly down the road, past the scattered houses and orchards (the raising of early apples seemed to be a leading industry on the ridge, though a chattanooga gentleman had assured me that the principal crops were blackberries and rabbits), and almost before i knew it, was in the same delightful woods that had welcomed me wherever i had gone. and in the same woods the same birds were singing. my notes make particular record of hooded and kentucky warblers, these being two of my newer acquaintances, as well as two of the commoner ridge songsters; but i halted for some time, and with even a livelier interest, to listen to an old friend (no acquaintance, if you please),--a black-throated green warbler. it was one of the queerest of songs: a bar of five or six notes, uniform in pitch, and then at once, in perfect form and voice,--the voice being a main part of the music in the case of this warbler,--the familiar _trees_, _trees_, _murmuring trees_. where could the fellow have picked up such a ditty? no doubt there was some story connected with it. nothing is born of itself. a dozen years ago, in the green mountains,--at bread-loaf inn,--i heard from the forest by the roadside a song utterly strange, and hastened in search of its author. after much furtive approach and diligent scanning of the foliage, i had the bird under my opera-glass,--a black-throated blue warbler! with my eye still upon him, he sang again and again, and the song bore no faintest resemblance to the _kree_, _kree_, _kree_, which all new england bird-lovers know as the work of _dendroica cã¦rulescens_. in what private school he had been educated i have no idea; but i believe that every such extreme eccentricity goes back to something out of the common in the bird's early training. i felt in no haste. life is easy in the tennessee mountains. a pile of lumber, newly unloaded near the road,--in the woods, of course,--offered a timely seat, and i took it. some chattanooga gentleman was planning a summer cottage for himself, i gathered. may he enjoy it for twenty years as much as i did for twenty minutes. not far beyond, near a fork in the road, a man of twenty-five or thirty, a youth of sixteen or seventeen, and a small boy were playing marbles in a cabin yard. i interrupted the sport long enough to inquire which road i had better take. i was going nowhere in particular, i explained, and wanted simply a pleasant stroll. "then i would go to the brow, if i were you," said the man. "keep a straight road. it isn't far." i thanked him, and with a cheery "come on!" to his playmates he ran back, literally, to the ring. yes, life is easy in the tennessee mountains. it is not to be assumed, nevertheless, that the man was a do-nothing: probably he had struck work for a few minutes only; but, like a sensible player, he was enjoying the game while it lasted. perhaps it is a certain inborn puritanical industriousness, against which i have never found the courage effectually to rebel, that makes me look back upon this dooryard comedy as one of the brightest incidents of my tennessee vacation. fancy a massachusetts farmer playing marbles at nine o'clock in the forenoon! at that moment, it must be owned, a rebuke of idleness would have fallen with a poor grace from my massachusetts lips. if the player of marbles had followed his questioner round the first turn, he would have seen him standing motionless beside a swamp, holding his head on one side as if listening,--though there was nothing to be heard,--or evoking ridiculous squeaking noises by sucking idiotically the back of his hand. well, i was trying to find another bird, just as he was trying to knock another marble out of the ring. the spot invited such researches,--a bushy swamp, quite unlike the dry woods and rocky woodland brooks which i had found everywhere else. i had seen my first cerulean warbler on lookout mountain, my first cape may warbler on cameron hill, my first kentucky warbler on missionary ridge, and my first blue-winged yellow warbler at the chickamauga battlefield. if walden was to treat me equally well, as in all fairness it ought, now was the time. looking, listening, and squeaking were alike unrewarded, however, till i approached the same spot on my return. then some bird sang a new song. i hoped it was a prothonotary warbler, a bird i had never seen, and about whose notes i knew nothing. more likely it was a louisiana water-thrush, a bird i had seen, but had never heard sing. whichever it was, alas, it speedily fell silent, and no beating of the bush proved of the least avail. meanwhile i had been to the brow, where i had sat for an hour or more on the edge of the mountain, gazing down upon the world. the sky was clouded, but here and there were fugitive patches of sunshine, now on missionary ridge, now on the river, now glorifying the smoke of the city. southward, just across the valley and over chattanooga, was lookout mountain; eastward stretched missionary ridge, with many higher hills behind it; and more to the north, and far in the distance, loomed the great smoky mountains, in all respects true to their name. the valley at my feet was beautiful beyond words: green forests interspersed with green clearings, lonely cabins, and bare fields of red earth. at the north, walden's ridge made a turn eastward, narrowing the valley, but without ending it. chimney swifts were cackling merrily, and the air was full of the hum of seventeen-year locusts,--miles and miles of continuous sound. from somewhere far below rose the tinkle of cow-bells. even on that cloudy and smoky day it was a glorious landscape; but it pleased me afterward to remember that the eye returned of itself again and again to a stretch of freshly green meadow along a slender watercourse,--a valley within the valley. of all the fair picture, that was the most like home. meanwhile there was no forgetting that undiscovered stranger in the swamp. whoever he was, he must be made to show himself; and the next day, when the usual noonday deluge was past, i looked at the clouds, and said: "we shall have another, but in the interval i can probably reach the brow. there i will take shelter on the piazza of an unoccupied cottage, and, when the rain is over, go back to the swamp, see my bird, and thence return home." so it turned out--in part. the clouds hurried me, but i reached the brow just in season, climbed the cottage fence, the gate being padlocked, and, thoroughly heated as i was, paced briskly to and fro on the piazza in a chilling breeze for an hour or more, the flood all the while threatening to fall, and the thunder shaking the house. there was plenty to look at, for the cottage faced the great smokies, and though we were under the blackest of clouds, the landscape below was largely in the sun. the noise of the locusts was incessant. nothing but the peals of thunder kept it out of my ears. so far, then, my plans had prospered; but to find the mysterious bird,--that was not so easy. the swamp was silent, and i was at once so cold and so hot, and so badly under the weather already, that i dared not linger. in the woods, nevertheless, i stopped long enough to enjoy the music of a master cardinal,--a bewitching song, and, as i thought, original: _birdy_, _birdy_, repeated about ten times in the sweetest of whistles, and then a sudden descent in the pitch, and the same syllables over again. at that instant, a carolina wren, as if stirred to rivalry, sprang into a bush and began whistling _cherry_, _cherry_, _cherry_ at his loudest and prettiest. it was a royal duet. the cardinal was in magnificent plumage, and a scarlet tanager near by was equally handsome. if the tanager could whistle like the cardinal, our new england woods would have a bird to brag of. not far beyond these wayside musicians i came upon a boy sitting beside a wood-pile, with his saw lying on the ground. "it is easier to sit down than to saw wood, isn't it?" said i. possibly he was unused to such aphoristic modes of speech. he took time to consider. then he smiled, and said, "yes, sir." the answer was all-sufficient. we spoke from experience, both of us; and between men who _know_, whatever the matter in hand, disagreement is impossible and amplification needless. three days later--my last day on the ridge--i had better luck at the swamp. the stranger was singing on the nearer edge as i approached, and i had simply to draw near and look at him,--a louisiana water-thrush. he sang, and i listened; and farther along, at the little bridge where i had first heard the song, another like him was in tune. the strain, as warbler songs go ("water-thrushes" being not thrushes, but warblers), is rather striking,--clear, pretty loud, of about ten notes, the first pair of which are longest and best. i speak of what i heard, and give, of course, my own impression. audubon pronounces the notes "as powerful and mellow, and at times as varied," as those of the nightingale, and wilson waxes almost equally enthusiastic in his praise of the "exquisitely sweet and expressive voice." here, as in florida, i was interested to perceive how instantly the bird's appearance and carriage distinguished it from its northern relative, although the descriptions of the two species, as given in books, sound confusingly alike. it is matter for thankfulness, perhaps, that language is not yet so all-expressive as to render individual eyesight superfluous. i kept on to the brow, and some time afterward was at mabbitt's spring, quenching my thirst with a draught of liquid iron rust, when a third songster of the same kind struck up his tune. the spring, spurting out of the rock in a slender jet, is beside the same stream--little falling water--that makes through the swamp; and along its banks, it appeared, the water-thrushes were at home. i was glad to have heard the famous singer, but my satisfaction was not without alloy. walden, after all, had failed to show me a new bird, though it had given me a new song. the most fatiguing, and perhaps the most interesting of my days on the ridge was the one day in which i did not travel on foot. passing through the village, on my return from one of my earlier visits to falling water, i stopped a nice-looking man (if he will pardon the expression, copied from my notes), driving a horse with a pair of clothes-line reins. he had an air of being at home, and naturally i took him for a native. would he tell me something about the country, especially about the roads, so that i might improve my scanty time to the best advantage? very gladly, he answered. he had walked and driven over the mountain a good deal, surveying, and if i would call at his house, a short distance down the road,--the house with the big barn,--he would make me a rough map, such as would answer my purpose. at the same time he mentioned two or three shorter excursions which i ought not to miss; and when i had thanked him for his kindness, he gathered up the reins and drove on. intending no disrespect to the inhabitants of the ridge, i may perhaps be allowed to say that i was considerably impressed by a certain unexpected propriety, and even elegance, of diction, on the part of my new acquaintance. i remember in particular his description of a pleasant cold spring as being situated not far from the "confluence" of two streams. _con-fluens_, i thought, flowing together. having always something else to do, i omitted to call at his house, and one day, when we met again in the road, i apologized for my neglect, and asked another favor. he was familiar with the country, and kept a horse. could he not spare a day to take me about? if he thought this proposal a bit presumptuous, courtesy restrained him from letting the fact be seen, and, after a few minutes of deliberation,--his hands being pretty full just then, he explained,--he promised to call for me two mornings later, at seven o'clock. we would take a luncheon along, and make a day of it. he appeared at the gate in due season, and in a few minutes we were driving over a road new to me, but through the same spacious oak woods to which i had grown accustomed. we went first to burnt cabin spring, one of the famous chalybeate springs of the mountain,--a place formerly frequented by picnic parties, but now, to all appearance, fallen into neglect. we stretched our legs, drank of the water, admired the flowers and ferns, talking all the while (it was here that my companion told a story of a young theologian from grant university, who, in a solemn discourse, spoke repeatedly of jacob as having "euchred his brother out of his birthright"), and then, while a "pheasant" drummed near by, took our places again in the buggy. another stage, still through the oak woods, and we were at signal point, famous--in local tradition, at least--as the station from which general sherman signaled encouragement to the union army beleaguered in chattanooga, in danger of starvation or surrender. i had looked at the bold, jutting crags from lookout mountain and elsewhere, and rejoiced at last to stand upon them. it would have been delightful to spend a long day there, lying upon the cliffs and enjoying the prospect, which, without being so far-reaching as from point lookout, or even from the eastern brim of walden, is yet extensive and surpassingly beautiful. the visitor is squarely above the river, which here, in the straitened valley between the ridge and raccoon mountain, grows narrower and narrower till it rushes through the "suck." even at that elevation we could hear the roar of the rapids. a short distance above the suck, and almost at our feet, lay williams island. a farmer's eden it looked, with its broad, newly planted fields, and its house surrounded by out-buildings and orchard-trees. the view included chattanooga, missionary ridge, and much else; but its special charm was its foreground, the part peculiar to itself,--the valley, the river, and raccoon mountain. along the river-banks were small clearings, each with its one cabin, and generally a figure or two ploughing or planting. a man in a strangely long boat--a dugout, probably--was making his difficult way upstream with a paddle. the tennessee, in the neighborhood of chattanooga, at all events, is too swift for pleasure-boating. seen from above, as i commonly saw it, it looked tranquil enough; but when i came down to its edge, now and then, the speed and energetic sweep of the smooth current laid fast hold upon me. from the mountains to the sea is a long, long journey, and no wonder the river felt in haste. i had gone to signal point not as an ornithologist, but as a patriot and a lover of beauty; but, being there, i added one to my list of tennessee birds,--a red-tailed hawk, one of the very few hawks seen in all my trip. sailing below us, it displayed its rusty, diagnostic tail, and put its identity at once beyond question. our next start--far too speedy, for the day was short--was for williams point; but on our way thither we descended into the valley of shoal creek, down which, with the creek to keep it company, runs the old mountain road, now disused and practically impassable. here we hitched the horse, and strolled downwards for perhaps half a mile. i was never in a lovelier spot. the mountain brook, laughing over the stones, is overhung with laurel and rhododendron, which in turn are overhung by precipitous rocks broken into all wild and romantic shapes, with here and there a cavern--"rock-house"--to shelter a score of travelers. the place was rich in ferns and other plants, which, unhappily, i had no time to examine, and all the particulars of which have faded out of my memory. we walked far enough to look over the edge of the mountain, and up to the signal point cliffs. if i could have stayed there two or three hours, it would have been a memorable season. as it was, the stroll was enlivened by one little adventure, at which i have laughed too many times ever to forget it. i had been growing rapturous over the beauty of things, when my companion said, "there are some people whom it is no pleasure to take into places like this. they can't keep their eyes off the ground, they are so bitten with the fear of snakes." he was a few paces ahead of me, as he spoke, and the sentence was barely finished before he shouted, "look at that huge snake!" and sprang forward to snatch up a stone. "get a stick!" he cried. "get a stick!" from his manner i took it for granted that the creature was a rattlesnake, and a glance at it, lying motionless among the stones beside the road, did not undeceive me. i turned hurriedly, looking for a stick, but somehow could not find one, and in a moment more was recalled by shouts of "come and help me! it will get away from us!" it was a question of life and death, i thought, and i ran forward and began throwing stones. "look out! look out! you'll bury it!" cried my companion; but just then one of my shots struck the snake squarely in the head. "that's a good one!" exclaimed the other man, and, picking up a dead stick, he thrust it under the disabled creature and tossed it into the road. then he bent over it, and, with a stone, pounded its head to a jelly. such a fury as possessed him! he might have been bruising the head of satan himself, as no doubt he was--in his mind; for my surveyor was also a preacher, as had already transpired. "it isn't a venomous snake, is it?" i ventured to ask, when the work was done. "oh, i think not," and he pried open its jaws to look for its fangs. "i don't generally kill innocent snakes," i ventured again, a little inopportunely, it must be confessed. "well, _i_ do," said the preacher. "the very sight of a snake stirs my hatred to its depths." after that it was natural to inquire whether he often saw rattlesnakes hereabouts. (the driver who brought me up the mountain had said that they were not common, but that i "wanted to look out sharp for them in the woods.") my companion had never seen one, he answered, but his wife had once killed one in their dooryard. then, by way of cooling off, after the fervor of the conflict, he told me about a gentleman and his little boy, who, having come to spend a vacation on the ridge, started out in the morning for a stroll. they were quickly back again, and the boy, quite out of breath, came running into the garden. "oh, mr. m.," he cried, "we saw a rattlesnake, and papa fired off his pistol!" "a rattlesnake! where is it? what did it look like?" "why, we didn't see it, but we heard it." "what was the noise like?" asked mr. m., and he took a pencil from his pocket and began tapping on a log. "that's it!" said the boy, "that's it!" they had heard a woodpecker drilling for grubs,--or drumming for love,--whereupon the man had fired his pistol, and for them there was no more walking in the woods. after our ramble along shoal creek we rested at the ford, near a brilliant show of laurel and rhododendron, and ate our luncheon to the music of the stream. i finished first, as my evil habit is, and was crossing the brook on natural stepping-stones when a bird--a warbler of some unknown kind--saluted me from the thicket. making my companion a signal not to disturb us by driving into the stream, i gave myself up to discovering the singer; edging this way and that, while the fellow moved about also, always unseen, and sang again and again, now a louder song, now, with charming effect, a quieter and briefer one, till i was almost as badly beside myself as the preacher had been half an hour before. but my warfare was less successful than his, for, with all my pains, i saw not so much as a feather. there is nothing prettier than a jungle of laurel and rhododendron in full bloom, but there are many easier places in which to make out a bird. williams point, which we reached on foot, after driving as near it as the roughness of the unfrequented road would comfortably allow, is not in itself equal to signal point, but affords substantially the same magnificent prospect. near it, in the woods, stood a newly built cabin, looking badly out of place with its glaring unweathered boards; and beside the cabin stood a man and woman in a condition of extreme disgust. the man had come up the mountain to work in some coal-mine, if i understood him correctly; but the tools were not ready, there was no water, his household goods were stranded down in the valley somewhere (the hens were starving to death, the woman added), and, all in all, the pair were in a sorry plight. here, as at signal point, i made an addition to my local ornithology, and this time too the bird was a hawk. we were standing on the edge of the cliff, when a sparrow hawk, after alighting near us, took wing and hung for some time suspended over the abyss, beating against the breeze, and so holding itself steady,--a graceful piece of work, the better appreciated for being seen from above. here, also, for the first time in my life, i was addressed as a "you-un." "where be you-uns from?" asked the woman at the cabin, after the ordinary greetings had been exchanged. i believe, in my innocence, i had always looked upon that word as an invention of story-writers. somewhere in this neighborhood we traversed a pine wood, in which my first walden pine warbler was trilling. then, for some miles, we drove along the brow, with the glory of the world--valley, river, and mountain--outspread before us, and the great smokies looming in the background, barely visible through the haze. for seven miles, i was told, one could drive along that mountain rim. surely the city of chattanooga is happy in its suburbs. here were many cottages, the greater number as yet unopened; and not far beyond the one under the piazza of which i had weathered the thunderstorm of the day before, the road entered the forest again. then, as the way grew more and more difficult, we left the horse behind us, and by and by came to a foot-path. this brought us at last to falling water fall, where little falling water--after threading the swamp and passing mabbitt's spring, as before described--tumbles over a precipice which my companion, with his surveyor's eye, estimated to be one hundred and fifty feet in height. the slender stream, broken into jewels as it falls, strikes the bottom at some distance from the foot of the cliffs, which here form the arc of a circle, and are not perpendicular, but deeply hollowed. after enjoying the prospect from this point,--holding to a tree and leaning over the edge of the rocks,--we retraced our steps till we came to a steep, zigzag path, which took us to the foot of the precipice. here, as well as above, were laurel and rhododendron in profusion. one big rhododendron-tree grew on the face of the cliff, thirty feet over our heads, leaning outward, and bearing at least fifty clusters of gorgeous rose-purple flowers; and a smaller one, in a similar position, was equally full. the hanging gardens of babylon may have been more wonderful, but i was well content. from the point where we stood the ledge makes eastward for a long distance, almost at right angles, and the cliffs for a mile--or, more likely, for two or three miles--were straight before us, broken everywhere into angles, light gray and reddish-brown intermixed, with the late afternoon sun shining full upon them, and the green forest fringing them above and sweeping away from them below. it was a breathless clamber up the rocks again, tired and poorly off as i was, but i reached the top with one hand full of rhododendrons (it seemed a shame to pick them, and a shame to leave them), and in half an hour we were driving homeward, our day's work done; while my seatmate, who, besides being preacher, lawyer, surveyor, and farmer, was also a mystic and a saint,--though he would have refused the word,--fell into a strain of reminiscence, appropriate to the hour, about the inner life of the soul, its hopes, its struggles, and its joys. i listened in reverent silence. the passion for perfection is not yet so common as to have become commonplace, and one need not be certain of a theory in order to admire a practice. he had already told me who his father was, and i had ceased to wonder at his using now and then a choice phrase. my friend (he will allow me that word, i am sure) had given me a day of days, and with it a new idea of this mountain world; where the visitor finds hills and valleys, creeks and waterfalls, the most beautiful of forests, with clearings, isolated cabins, straggling settlements, orchards, and gardens, and where he forgets again and again that he is on a mountain at all. even now i had seen but a corner of it, as i have seen but a corner of the larger world on which, for these few years back, i have had what i call my existence. and even of what i saw, much has gone undescribed: stately tulip-trees deep in the forest, with humming-birds darting from flower to flower among them; the flame-colored azalea; the ground flowers of the woods, including some tiny yellow lady's-slippers, too dainty for the foot of cinderella herself; the road to sawyer's springs; and numbers of birds, whose names, even, i have omitted. it was a wonderful world; but if the hobbyist may take the pen for a single sentence, it may stand confessed that the greatest wonder of all was this,--that in all those miles of oak forest i found not one blue jay. another surprising circumstance, which i do not remember to have noticed, however, till my attention was somewhat rudely called to it, was the absence of colored people. with the exception of three servants at the hotel, i saw none but whites. walden's ridge, although stanchly union in war-time, and largely republican now, as i was told, is a white man's country. i had gone to bed one night, and was fast asleep, when i was wakened suddenly by the noise of some one hurrying up the stairs and shouting, "where's the gun? where's the gun? shorty's been shot!" "shorty" was the colored waiter, and the speaker was a general factotum, an english boy. the colored people--shorty, his wife, and the cook--had been out on the edge of the woods behind the house, when three men had fired at them, or pretended to do so. it was explained the next morning that this was only an attempt (on the part of some irresponsible young men, as the older residents said) to "run the niggers off the mountain,"--after what i understood to be a somewhat regular custom. "niggers" did not belong there; their place was down below. if a chattanooga cottager brought up a colored servant, he was "respectfully requested" to send him back, and save the natives the trouble of attending to the matter. in short, the ridgites appeared to look upon "niggers" as northern laborers look upon non-union men--"scabs." the hotel-keeper, an englishman, with an englishman's notions about personal rights, was naturally indignant. he would hire his own servants, or he would shut the house. in any event, the presence of "whitecaps," real or imaginary, must affect his summer patronage. i fully expected to see the colored trio pack up and go back to chattanooga, without waiting for further hints; but they showed no disposition to do anything of the sort, and, i must add, rose in my estimation accordingly. of the feeling of the community i had a slight but ludicrous intimation a day or two after the shooting. i passed a boy whom i had noticed in the road, some days before, playing with a pig, lifting him by the hind legs and pitching him over forwards. "he can turn a somerset good," he had said to me, as i passed. now, for the sake of being neighborly, i asked, "how's the pig to-day?" he smiled, and made some reply, as if he appreciated the pleasantry; but a more serious-looking playmate took up his parable, and said, "the pig'll be all right, if the folks up at the hotel don't shoot him." his tone and look were intended to be deeply significant. "oh, i know you," they implied: "you are up at the hotel, where they threaten to shoot white folks." for my last afternoon--wars and rumors of wars long since forgotten--i went to the place that had pleased me first, the valley of falling water creek. the cross-vine on the dead hemlock had by this time dropped the greater part of its bells, but even yet many were hanging from the uppermost branches. the rhododendron was still at the height of its splendor. all the gardens were nothing to it, i said to myself. crossing the creek on the log, and the branch on stepping-stones, i went to quench my thirst at the marshall spring, which once had a cabin beside it, and frequent visitors, but now was clogged with fallen leaves and seemingly abandoned. it was perhaps more beautiful so. directly behind it rose a steep bank, and in front stood an oak and a maple, the latter leaning toward it and forming a pointed arch,--a worthy entrance. mossy stones walled it in, and ferns grew luxuriantly about it. just over them, an azalea still held two fresh pink flowers, the last till another may. in such a spot it would have been easy to grow sentimental; but there came a rumbling of thunder, the sky darkened, and, with a final hasty look about me, i picked up my umbrella and started homeward. my last walk had ended like many others in that showery, fragmentary week. but what is bad weather when the time is past? all those black clouds have left no shadow on walden's ridge, and the best of all my strolls beside falling water, a stroll not yet finished, "the calm sense of seen beauty without sight," suffers no harm. as thoreau says, "it is after we get home that we really go over the mountain." footnote: [2] it was _not_ the top of the mountain; so i am now informed, on the best of authority. i followed the map, but misunderstood the man who drew it. it was a map of some other route, and i did not see the top of the mountain, after all. some tennessee bird notes. whoever loves the music of english sparrows should live in chattanooga; there is no place on the planet, it is to be hoped, where they are more numerous and pervasive. mocking-birds are scarce. to the best of my recollection, i saw none in the city itself, and less than half a dozen in the surrounding country. a young gentleman whom i questioned upon the subject told me that they used to be common, and attributed their present increasing rarity to the persecution of boys, who find a profit in selling the young into captivity. their place, in the city especially, is taken by catbirds; interesting, imitative, and in their own measure tuneful, but poor substitutes for mocking-birds. in fact, that is a rã´le which it is impossible to think of any bird as really filling. the brown thrush, it is true, sings quite in the mocking-bird's manner, and, to my ear, almost or quite as well; but he possesses no gift as a mimic, and furthermore, without being exactly a bird of the forest or the wilderness, is instinctively and irreclaimably a recluse. it would be hard, even among human beings, to find a nature less touched with urbanity. in the mocking-bird the elements are more happily mingled. not gregarious, intolerant of rivalry, and, as far as creatures of his own kind are concerned, a stickler for elbow-room,--sharing with his brown relative in that respect,--he is at the same time a born citizen and neighbor; as fond of gardens and dooryard trees as the thrasher is of scrublands and barberry bushes. "man delights me," he might say, "and woman also." he likes to be listened to, it is pretty certain; and possibly he is dimly aware of the artistic value of appreciation, without which no artist ever did his best. add to this endearing social quality the splendor and freedom of the mocker's vocal performances, multifarious, sensational, incomparable, by turns entrancing and amusing, and it is easy to understand how he has come to hold a place by himself in southern sentiment and literature. a city without mocking-birds is only half southern, though black faces be never so thick upon the sidewalks and mules never so common in the streets. if the boys have driven the great mimic away from chattanooga, it is time the fathers took the boys in hand. civic pride alone ought to bring this about, to say nothing of the possible effect upon real estate values of the abundant and familiar presence of this world-renowned, town-loving, town-charming songster. from my window, on the side of cameron hill, i heard daily the singing of an orchard oriole--another fine and neighborly bird--and a golden warbler, with sometimes the _fidgety_, _fidgety_ of a maryland yellow-throat. what could _he_ be fussing about in so unlikely a quarter? an adjoining yard presented the unnatural spectacle--unnatural, but, i am sorry to say, not unprecedented--of a bird-house occupied in partnership by purple martins and english sparrows. they had finished their quarrels, if they had ever had any,--which can hardly be open to doubt, both native and foreigner being constitutionally belligerent,--and frequently sat side by side upon the ridge-pole, like the best of friends. the oftener i saw them there, the more indignant i became at the martins' un-american behavior. such a disgraceful surrender of the monroe doctrine was too much even for a man of peace. i have never called myself a jingo, but for once it would have done me good to see the lion's tail twisted. with the exception of a few pairs of rough-wings on missionary ridge, the martins seemed to be the only swallows in the country at that time of the year; and though _progne subis_, in spite of an occasional excess of good nature, is a most noble bird, it was impossible not to feel that by itself it constituted but a meagre representation of an entire family. swallows are none too numerous in massachusetts, in these days, and are pretty certainly growing fewer and fewer, what with the prevalence of the box-monopolizing european sparrow, and the passing of the big, old-fashioned, widely ventilated barn; for there is no member of the family, not even the sand martin, whose distribution does not depend in great degree upon human agency. even yet, however, if a massachusetts man will make a circuit of a few miles, he will usually meet with tree swallows, barn swallows, cliff swallows, sand martins, and purple martins. in other words, he need not go far to find all the species of eastern north america, with the single exception of the least attractive of the six; that is to say, the rough-wing. as compared with the people of eastern tennessee, then, we are still pretty well favored. it is worth while to travel now and then, if only to find ourselves better off at home. it might be easy to suggest plausible reasons for the general absence of swallows from a country like that about chattanooga; but the extraordinary scarcity of hawks, while many persons--not ornithologists--would account it less of a calamity, is more of a puzzle. from walden's ridge i saw a single sparrow hawk and a single red-tail; in addition to which i remember three birds whose identity i could not determine. five hawks in the course of three weeks spent entirely out of doors, in the neighborhood of mountains covered with old forest! taken by itself, this unexpected showing might have been ascribed to some queer combination of accidents, or to a failure of observation. in fact, i was inclined so to explain it till i noticed that mr. brewster had chronicled a similar state of things in what is substantially the same piece of country. writing of western north carolina, he says:[3] "the general scarcity--one may almost say absence--of hawks in this region during the breeding season is simply unaccountable. small birds and mammals, lizards, snakes, and other animals upon which the various species subsist are everywhere numerous, the country is wild and heavily forested, and, in short, all the necessary conditions of environment seem to be fulfilled." certainly, so far as my ingenuity goes, the mystery is "unaccountable;" but of course, like every other mystery, it would open quickly enough if we could find the key. turkey vultures were moderately numerous,--much less abundant than in florida,--and twice i saw a single black vulture, recognizable, almost as far as it could be seen (but i do not mean at a first glance, nor without due precaution against foreshortened effects), by its docked tail. both are invaluable in their place,--useful, graceful, admirable, and disgusting. the vultures, the martins, and the swifts were the only common aerial birds. the swifts, happily, were everywhere,--jovial souls in a sooty dress,--and had already begun nest-building. i saw them continually pulling up against the twigs of a partially dead tree near my window. in them nature has developed the bird idea to its extreme,--a pair of wings, with just body enough for ballast; like a racing-yacht, built for nothing but to carry sail and avoid resistance. their flight is a good visual music, as emerson might have said; but i love also their quick, eager notes, like the sounds of children at play. and while it has nothing to do with tennessee, i am prompted to mention here a bird of this species that i once saw in northern new hampshire on the 1st of october,--an extraordinarily late date, if my experience counts for anything. with a friend i had made an ascent of mount lafayette (one of the days of a man's life), and as we came near the profile house, on our return to the valley, there passed overhead a single chimney swift. what he could be doing there at that season was more than either of us could divine. it was impossible to feel any great concern about him, however. the afternoon was nearly done, but at the rate he was traveling it seemed as if he might be in mexico before sunrise. and easily enough he may have been, if mr. gã¤tke is right in his contention that birds of very moderate powers of wing are capable of flying all night at the rate of four miles a minute! the comparative scarcity of crows about chattanooga, and the amazing dearth of jays in the oak forest of walden's ridge, have been touched upon elsewhere. as for the jays, their absence must have been more apparent than real, i am bound to believe. it was their silent time, probably. still another thing that i found surprising was the small number of woodpeckers. for the first four days i saw not a single representative of the family. it would be next to impossible to be so much out of doors in massachusetts at any season of the year with a like result. during my three weeks in tennessee i saw eight flickers, seven hairy woodpeckers, two red-heads, and two or three red-cockaded woodpeckers, besides which i heard one downy and one "logcock." the last-named bird, which is big enough for even the careless to notice, seemed to be well known to the inhabitants of walden's ridge, where i heard it. by what they told me, it should be fairly common, but i saw nothing of its "peck-holes." the first of my two red-headed woodpeckers was near the base of missionary ridge, wasting his time in exploring pole after pole along the railway. did he mistake them for so many dead trees still standing on their own roots? dry and seemingly undecayed, they appeared to me to offer small encouragement to a grub-seeker; but probably the fellow knew his own business best. on questions of economic entomology, i fear i should prove but a lame adviser for the most benighted woodpecker that ever drummed. and yet, being a man, i could not help feeling that this particular red-head was behaving uncommonly like a fool. was there ever a man who did not take it as a matter of course that he should be wiser than the "lower animals"? humming-birds cut but a small figure in my daily notes till i went to walden's ridge. there, in the forest, they were noticeably abundant,--for humming-birds, that is to say. it seemed to be the time of pairing with them; more than once the two sexes were seen together,--an unusual occurrence, unless my observation has been unfortunate, after the nest is built, or even while it is building. one female piqued my curiosity by returning again and again to the bole of an oak, hovering before it as before a flower, and more than once clinging to its rough upright surface. at first i took it for granted that she was picking off bits of lichen with which to embellish the outer wall of her nest; but after each browsing she alighted here or there on a leafless twig. if she had been gathering nest material, she would have flown away with it, i thought. at another time, in a tangle of shrubbery, i witnessed a most lively encounter between two humming-birds; a case of fighting or love-making,--two things confusingly alike to an outsider,--in the midst of which one of the contestants suddenly displayed so dazzling a gorget that for an instant i mistook it for a scarlet flower. i did not "wipe my eye," not being a poet, nor even a "rash gazer," but i admired anew the wonderful flashing jewel, now coal-black, now flaming red, with which, perhaps, the male ruby-throat blinds his long-suffering mate to all his shameful treatment of her in her season of watchfulness and motherly anxiety. does she never remind him, i wonder, that there are some things whose price is far above rubies? i had never seen the humming-bird so much a forest-dweller as here, and gladly confessed that i had never seen him when he looked so romantically at home and in place. the tulip-trees, in particular, might have been made on purpose for him. as the chattanooga neighborhood was poorly supplied with hawks, woodpeckers, and swallows, so was it likewise with sparrows, though in a less marked degree. the common species--the only resident species that i met with, but my explorations were nothing like complete--were chippers, field sparrows, and bachman sparrows; the first interesting for their familiarity, the other two for their musical gifts. in a comparison between eastern tennessee--as i saw it--and eastern massachusetts, the bachman sparrow must be set against the song sparrow, the vesper sparrow, and the swamp sparrow. it is a brilliant and charming songster, one of the very finest; but it would be too costly a bargain to buy its presence with loss of the song sparrow's abounding versatility and high spirits, and the vesper sparrow's unfailing sweetness, serenity, and charm. so much for the sparrows, commonly so called. if we come to the family as a whole, the goodly family of sparrows and finches, we miss in tennessee the rose-breasted grosbeak and the purple finch, two of our best esteemed massachusetts birds, both for music and for beauty; to offset which we have the cardinal grosbeak, whose whistle is exquisite, but who can hardly be ranked as a singer above either the rose-breast or the linnet, to say nothing of the two combined. at the season of my visit,--in the latter half of the vernal migration,--the preponderance of woodland birds, especially of the birds known as wood warblers, was very striking. of ninety-three species observed, twenty-eight belonged to the warbler family. in this list it was curious to remark the absence of the nashville and the tennessee. the circumstance is significant of the comparative worthlessness--except from a historical point of view--of locality names as they are applied to american birds in general. here were maryland yellow-throats, cape may warblers, canada warblers, kentucky warblers, prairie warblers, palm warblers, acadian flycatchers, but not the two birds (the only two, as well as i remember) that bear tennessee names.[4] the absence of the nashville was a matter of wonderment to me. dr. rives, i have since noticed, records it as only a rare migrant in virginia. yet by some route it reaches eastern new england in decidedly handsome numbers. its congener, the blue golden-wing, surprised me in an opposite direction,--by its commonness, both in the lower country near the river and on walden's ridge. this, too, is a rare bird in virginia; so much so that dr. rives has never met with it there. in certain places about chattanooga it was as common as it is locally in the towns about boston, where, to satisfy a skeptical friend, i once counted eleven males in song in the course of a morning's walk. that the chattanooga birds were on their breeding grounds i had at the time no question, although i happened upon no proof of the fact. in the same way, from the manner in which the oven-birds were scattered over walden's ridge in the middle of may, i assumed, rather hastily, that they were at home for the summer. months afterward, however, happening to notice their southern breeding limits as given by the best of authorities,--"breeding from ... virginia northward,"--i saw that i might easily have been in error. i wrote, therefore, to a chattanooga gentleman, who pays attention to birds while disclaiming acquaintance with ornithology, and he replied that if the oven-bird summered in that country he did not know it. the case seemed to be going against me, but i bethought myself of mr. brewster's "ornithological reconnaissance in western north carolina," and there i read,[5] "the open oak woodlands, so prevalent in this region, are in every way adapted to the requirements of the oven-bird, and throughout them it is one of the commonest and most characteristic summer birds." "open oak woodlands" is exactly descriptive of the walden's ridge forest; and eastern tennessee and western north carolina being practically one, i resume my assured belief (personal and of no authority) that the birds i saw and heard were, as i first thought, natives of the mountain. birds which are at home have, as a rule, an air of being at home; a certain manner hard to define, but felt, nevertheless, as a pretty strong kind of evidence--not proof--by a practiced observer. several of the more northern species of the warbler family manifested an almost exclusive preference for patches of evergreens. i have elsewhere detailed my experience in a grove of stunted pines on lookout mountain. a similar growth is found on cameron hill,--in the city of chattanooga,--one side of which is occupied by dwellings, while the other drops to the river so precipitously as to be almost inaccessible, and is even yet, i was told, an abode of foxes. on the day after my arrival i strolled to the top of the hill toward evening, and in the pines found a few black-polls and yellow-rumps. i was in a listless mood, having already taken a fair day's exercise under an intolerable sun, but i waked up with a start when my glass fell on a bird which at a second glance showed the red cheeks of a cape may warbler. for a moment i was almost in poor susan's case,- "i looked, and my heart was in heaven." then, all too soon, as happened to poor susan also, the vision faded. but i had seen it. yes, here it was in tennessee, the rarity for which, spring after spring, i had been so many years on the watch. i had come south to find it, after all,--a bird that breeds from the northern border of new england to hudson's bay! it is of the nature of such excitements that, at the time, the subject of them has no thought of analyzing or justifying his emotions. he is better employed. afterward, in some vacant mood, with no longer anything actively to enjoy, he may play with the past, and from an evil habit, or flattering himself with a show of intellectuality, may turn his former delight into a study; tickling his present conceit of himself by smiling at the man he used to be. how very wise he has grown, to be sure! all such refinements, nevertheless, if he did but know it, are only a poorer kind of child's play; less spontaneous, infinitely less satisfying, and equally irrational. ecstasy is not to be assayed by any test that the reason is competent to apply; nor does it need either defense or apology. it is its own end, and so, like beauty, its own excuse for being. that is one of the crowning felicities of this present order of things,--the world, as we call it. what dog would hunt if there were no excitement in overhauling the game? and how would elderly people live through long evenings if there were no exhilaration in the odd trick? "what good does it do?" a prudent friend and adviser used to say to me, smiling at the fervor of my first ornithological enthusiasm. he thought he was asking me a poser; but i answered gayly, "it makes me happy;" and taking things as they run, happiness is a pretty substantial "good." so was it now with the sight of this long-desired warbler. it taught me nothing; it put nothing into my pocket; but it made me happy,--happy enough to sing and shout, though i am ashamed to say i did neither. and even a sober son of the puritans may be glad to find himself, in some unexpected hour, almost as ineffably delighted as he used to be with a new plaything in the time when he had not yet tasted of the tree of knowledge, and knew not that the relish for playthings could ever be outgrown. i cannot affirm that i went quite as wild over my first cape may warbler as i did over my first sled (how well the rapture of that frosty midwinter morning is remembered,--a hard crust on the snow, and the sun not yet risen!), but i came as near to that state of heavenly felicity--to reã«nter which we must become as little children--as a person of my years is ever likely to do, perhaps. it is one precious advantage of natural history studies that they afford endless opportunities for a man to enjoy himself in this sweetly childish spirit, while at the same time his occupation is dignified by a certain scientific atmosphere and relationship. he is a collector of insects, let us say. whether he goes to the adirondacks for the summer, or to florida for the winter, he is surrounded with nets and cyanide bottles. he travels with them as another travels with packs of cards. every day's catch is part of the game; and once in a while, as happened to me on cameron hill, he gets a "great hand," and in imagination, at least, sweeps the board. commonplace people smile at him, no doubt; but that is only amusing, and he smiles in turn. he can tell many good stories under that head. he delights to be called a "crank." it is all because of people's ignorance. they have no idea that he is mr. so-and-so, the entomologist; that he is in correspondence with learned men the country over; that he once discovered a new cockroach, and has had a grasshopper named after him; that he has written a book, or is going to write one. happy man! a contributor to the world's knowledge, but a pleasure-seeker; a little of a savant, and very much of a child; a favorite of heaven, whose work is play. no wonder it is commonly said that natural historians are a cheerful set. for the supplying of rarities and surprises there are no birds like the warblers. their pursuit is the very spice of american ornithology. the multitude of species (mr. chapman's "handbook of the birds of eastern north america" enumerates forty-five species and sub-species) is of itself an incalculable blessing in this respect. no single observer is likely ever to come to the end of them. they do not warble, it must be owned, and few of them have much distinction as singers, the best that i know being the black-throated green and the kentucky; but they are elegant and varied in their plumage, with no lack of bright tints, while their extreme activity and their largely arboreal habits render their specific determination and their individual study a work most agreeably difficult and tantalizing. the ornithologist who has seen all the warblers of his own territory, say of new england, and knows them all by their notes, and has found all their nests,--well, he is himself a pretty rare specimen. as for my experience with the family in tennessee, i was glad, of course, to scrape acquaintance--or to renew it, as the case might be--with the more southern species, the kentucky, the hooded, the cerulean, the blue-wing, and the yellow-throat: that was partly why i was here; but perhaps i enjoyed quite as keenly the sight of our own new england birds moving homeward; tarrying here and there for a day, but not to be tempted by all the allurements of this fine country; still pushing on, northward, and still northward, as if for them there were no place in the world but the woods where they were born. of the southern species just named, the kentucky was the most abundant, with the hooded not far behind. the prairie warbler seemed about as common here as in its favored massachusetts haunts; but unless my ear was at fault its song went somewhat less trippingly: it sounded labored,--too much like the scarlet tanager's in the way of effort and jerkiness. unlike the golden warbler, the prairie was found not only in the lower country, but--in less numbers--on walden's ridge. the two warblers that i listed every day, no matter where i went, were the chat and the black-and-white creeper. when all is said, the kentucky, with its beauty and its song, is the star of the family, as far as eastern tennessee is concerned. i can hear it now, while falling water goes babbling past in the shade of laurel and rhododendron. as for the chat, it was omnipresent: in the valley, along the river, on missionary ridge, on lookout mountain, on walden's ridge, in the national cemetery, at chickamauga,--everywhere, in short, except within the city itself. in this regard it exceeded the white-eyed vireo, and even the indigo-bird, i think. black-polls were seen daily up to may 13, after which they were missing altogether. the last cape may and the last yellow-rump were noted on the 8th, the last redstart and the last palm warbler on the 11th, the last chestnut-side, magnolia, and canadian warbler on the 12th. on the 12th, also, i saw my only wilson's blackcap. in my last outing, on the 18th, on walden's ridge, i came upon two blackburnians in widely separate places. at the time, i assumed them to be migrants, in spite of the date. one of them was near the hotel, on ground over which i had passed almost daily. why they should be so behindhand was more than i could tell; but only the day before i had seen a thrush which was either a gray-cheek or an olive-back, and of course a bird of passage. "the flight of warblers did not pass entirely until may 19," says mr. jeffries, writing of what he saw in western north carolina.[6] the length of time occupied by some species in accomplishing their semi-annual migration is well known to be very considerable, and is best observed--in spring, at least--at some southern point. it is admirably illustrated in mr. chapman's "list of birds seen at gainesville, florida."[7] tree swallows, he tells us, were abundant up to may 6, a date at which massachusetts tree swallows have been at home for nearly or quite a month. song sparrows were noted march 31, two or three weeks after the grand irruption of song sparrows into massachusetts usually occurs. bobolinks, which reach massachusetts by the 10th of may, or earlier, were still very abundant--both sexes--may 25! such dates are not what we should have expected, i suppose, especially in the case of a bird like the bobolink, which has no very high northern range; but they seem not to be exceptional, and are surprising only because we have not yet mastered the general subject. nothing exists by itself, and therefore nothing can be understood by itself. one thing the most ignorant of us may see,--that the long period covered by the migratory journeys is a matter for ornithological thankfulness. in massachusetts, for example, spring migrants begin to appear in late february or early march, and some of the most interesting members of the procession--notably the mourning warbler and the yellow-bellied flycatcher--are to be looked for after the first of june. the autumnal movement is equally protracted; so that for at least half the year--leaving winter with its arctic possibilities out of consideration--we may be on the lookout for strangers. one of the dearest pleasures of a southern trip in winter or early spring is the very thing at which i have just now hinted, the sight of one's home birds in strange surroundings. you leave new england in early february, for instance, and in two or three days are loitering in the sunny pine-lands about st. augustine, with the trees full of robins, bluebirds, and pine warblers, and the savanna patches full of meadow larks. myrtle warblers are everywhere. phoebes salute you as you walk the city streets, and flocks of chippers and vesper sparrows enliven the fields along the country roads. in a piece of hammock just outside the town you find yourself all at once surrounded by a winter colony of summer birds. here are solitary vireos, maryland yellow-throats, black-and-white creepers, prairie warblers, red-poll warblers, hermit thrushes, red-eyed chewinks, thrashers, catbirds, cedar-birds, and many more. white-eyed vireos are practicing in the smilax thickets,--though they have small need of practice,--and white-bellied swallows go flashing and twittering overhead. the world is good, you say, and life is a festival. my vacation in tennessee afforded less of contrast and surprise, for a twofold reason: it was near the end of april, instead of early in february, so that migrants had been arriving in massachusetts for six or seven weeks before my departure; and tennessee has nothing of the foreign, half-tropical look which florida presents to yankee eyes; but even so, it was no small pleasure to step suddenly into a world full of summer music. such multitudes of birds as were singing on missionary ridge on that first bright forenoon! the number of species was not great, when it came to counting them,--morning and afternoon together yielded but forty-two; but the whole country seemed alive with wings. and of the forty-two species, thirty-two were such as summer in massachusetts or pass through it to their homes beyond. here were already (april 27) the olive-backed thrush, and northern warblers like the black-poll, the bay-breast, and the cape may, none of which would be due in massachusetts for at least a fortnight. here, too, were yellow-rumps and white-throated sparrows, though the advance guard of both species had reached new england before i left home. the white-throats lingered on walden's ridge on the 13th of may, a fact which surprised me more at the time than it does in the review. one bird was seen on this first day, and not afterward. i had been into the woods north of the city, and was returning, when from the bridge over the tennessee i caught sight of a small flock of black birds, which at first, even with the aid of my glass, i could not make out, the bridge being so high above the river and its banks. while i was watching them, however, they began to sing. they were bobolinks. probably the species is not common in eastern tennessee, as the name is wanting in dr. fox's "list of birds found in roane county, tennessee, during april, 1884, and march and april, 1885."[8] i have ventured upon some slight ornithological comparison between southeastern tennessee and eastern massachusetts, and, writing as a patriot (or a partisan), have seen to it that the scale inclined northward. to this end i have made as much as possible of the absence of robins, song sparrows, and vesper sparrows, and of the comparative dearth of swallows; but of course the loyal tennessean is in no want of a ready answer. robins, song sparrows, vesper sparrows, and swallows are _not_ absent, except as breeding birds. he has them all in their season,[9] and probably hears them sing. on the whole, then, he may fairly retort, he has considerably the advantage of us yankees: he sees our birds on their passage, and drinks his fill of their music before we have caught the first spring notes; while we, on the other hand, see nothing of his distinctively southern birds unless we come south for the purpose. well, they are worth the journey. bachman's finch alone--yes, the one dingy, shabbily clad little genius by the chickamauga well--might almost have repaid me for my thousand miles on the rail. * * * * * it was a strange mingling of sensations that possessed me in chattanooga. the city itself was like other cities of its age and size, with some appearance of a community that had been in haste to grow,--a trifle impatient, shall we say (impatience being one of the virtues of youth), to pull down its barns and build greater; just now a little checked in its ambition, as things looked; yet still enterprising, still fairly well satisfied with itself, with no lack of energy and bustle. as it happened, there was a stir in local politics at the time of my visit (possibly there always is), and at the street corners all patriotic citizens were exhorted to do their duty. "vote for tom ---for sheriff," said one placard. "vote for bob ----," said another, in capitals equally importunate. in tennessee, as everywhere else, the politician knows his trade. familiarity, readiness with the hand, freedom with one's own name (tom, not thomas, if you please), and a happy knack at remembering the names of other people,--these are some of the preã«lection tests of statesmanship. all in all, then, between politics and business, the city was "very much alive," as the saying goes; but somehow it was not so often the people about me that occupied my thoughts as those who had been here thirty years before. precious is the power of a first impression. because i was newly in the country i was constantly under the feeling of its past. hither and thither i went in the region round about, listening at every turn, spying into every bush at the stirring of a leaf or the chirp of a bird; yet i had always with me the men of '63, and felt always that i was on holy ground. footnotes: [3] _the auk_, vol. iii. p. 103. [4] both these warblers--the nashville and the tennessee--were named by wilson from the places where the original specimens were shot. concerning the tennessee warbler he sets down the opinion that "it is most probably a native of a more southerly climate." it would be a pity for men to cease guessing, though the shrewdest are certain to be sometimes wrong. [5] _the auk_, vol. iii. p. 175. [6] _the auk_, vol. vi. p. 120. [7] _ibid._, vol. v. p. 267. [8] _the auk_, vol. iii. p. 315. of sixty-two species seen by me during the last four days of april, eleven are not given by dr. fox, namely, wilson's thrush, black-poll warbler, bay-breasted warbler, cape may warbler, black-throated blue warbler, palm warbler, chestnut-sided warbler, blue golden-winged warbler, bobolink, acadian flycatcher, yellow-billed cuckoo. [9] see dr. fox's list. a list of birds found in the neighborhood of chattanooga from april 27 to may 18, 1894. 1. green heron. _ardea virescens._--a single individual seen from a car window. no other water birds were observed except three or four ducks and a single wader, all upon the wing and unidentified. 2. bob white. quail. partridge. _colinus virginianus._--common. 3. ruffed grouse. "pheasant." _bonasa umbettus._--heard drumming on walden's ridge. 4. carolina dove. mourning dove. _zenaidura macroura._--a small number seen. 5. turkey vulture. turkey buzzard. _cathartes aura._--common. 6. black vulture. carrion crow. _catharista atrata._--two birds seen. 7. red-tailed hawk. _buteo borealis._--one bird seen from walden's ridge. 8. sparrow hawk. _falco sparverius._--one bird, on walden's ridge. 9. yellow-billed cuckoo. _coccyzus americanus._--common. first noticed april 29. 10. black-billed cuckoo. _coccyzus erythrophthalmus._--seen twice on lookout mountain, may 7 and 8, and once on walden's ridge, may 12. 11. belted kingfisher. _ceryle alcyon._--a single bird heard on walden's ridge. 12. hairy woodpecker. _dryobates villosus._--my notes record seven birds. no attempt was made to determine their specific or sub-specific identity, but they are presumed to have been _d. villosus_, not _d. villosus audubonii_. 13. downy woodpecker. _dryobates pubescens._--a single bird was heard (not seen) on walden's ridge,--a noticeable reversal of the usual relative commonness of this species and the preceding. 14. red-cockaded woodpecker. _dryobates borealis._--found only at chickamauga, on snodgrass hill, in long-leaved pines--two or three birds. 15. pileated woodpecker. "logcock." _ceophloeus pileatus._--said to be common on walden's ridge, where i heard its flicker-like shout. 16. red-headed woodpecker. _melanerpes erythrocephalus._--one seen near missionary ridge and one at chickamauga. the scarcity of this bird, and the absence of the red-bellied and the yellow-bellied, were among the surprises of my visit. 17. flicker. golden-winged woodpecker. _colaptes auratus._--not common. three birds were seen at chickamauga, and it was occasional on walden's ridge, where i listed it five days of the seven. 18. whippoorwill. _antrostomus vociferus._--undoubtedly common. i heard it only on walden's ridge, the only place where i went into the woods after dark. 19. nighthawk. _chordeiles virginianus._--common. 20. chimney swift. _chã¦tura pelagica._--abundant. 21. ruby-throated humming-bird. _trochilus colubris._--common in the forests of walden's ridge. seen but twice elsewhere. first seen april 28. 22. kingbird. _tyrannus tyrannus._--seen but three times--nine specimens in all. first seen april 29. 23. crested flycatcher. _myiarchus crinitus._--noticed daily, with two exceptions. 24. phoebe. _sayornis phoebe._--common on lookout mountain and walden's ridge. not seen elsewhere. 25. wood pewee. _contopus virens._--very common. much the most numerous member of the family. present in good force april 27, and gathering nest materials april 29. 26. acadian flycatcher. green-crested flycatcher. _empidonax virescens._--common. 27. blue jay. _cyanocitta cristata._--scarce (for the blue jay), and not seen on walden's ridge! 28. crow. _corvus americanus._--apparently much less common than in eastern massachusetts. 29. bobolink. _dolichonyx oryzivorus._--a small flock seen, and heard singing, april 27. 30. orchard oriole. _icterus spurius._--common, but not found on walden's ridge. 31. baltimore oriole. _icterus galbula._--a single bird, at chickamauga, may 3. 32. crow blackbird. _quiscalus quiscula?_--seen on sundry occasions in the valley country, but specific distinction not made out. both forms--_q. quiscula_ and _q. quiscula ã¦neus_--are found in tennessee. see dr. fox's list of birds found in roane county, tennessee. "the auk," vol. iii. p. 315. my own list of the icterid㦠is remarkable for its omissions, especially of the cowbird, the red-winged blackbird (which, however, i am pretty certain that i saw on the wing) and the meadow lark. 33. house sparrow. english sparrow. _passer domesticus._--distressingly superabundant in the city and its suburbs. 34. goldfinch. _spinus tristis._--abundant. still in flocks. 35. white-crowned sparrow. _zonotrichia leucophrys._--seen but once (may 1), two birds, in the national cemetery. 36. white-throated sparrow. _zonotrichia albicollis._--common. still present on walden's ridge (in two places) may 13. sang very little. 37. chipping sparrow. doorstep sparrow. _spizella socialis._--common. 38. field sparrow. _spizella pusilla._--common. 39. bachman's sparrow. _peucã¦a ã¦stivalis bachmanii._--common. one of the best of singers. 40. chewink. towhee. _pipilo erythrophthalmus._--rather common. much less numerous than i should have expected from the nature of the country. 41. cardinal grosbeak. _cardinalis cardinalis._--seen daily, but seemingly not very numerous. 42. rose-breasted grosbeak. _habia ludoviciana._--a single female, may 11. 43. indigo-bird. _passerina cyanea._--very abundant. for the first time i saw this tropical-looking beauty in flocks. 44. scarlet tanager. _piranga erythromelas._--common on the mountains, but seemingly rare in the valley. 45. summer tanager. _piranga rubra._--common throughout. 46. purple martin. _progne subis._--common. 47. rough-winged swallow. _stelgidopteryx serripennis._--a few birds seen. 48. red-eyed vireo. _vireo olivaceus._--common. one of the species listed every day. 49. yellow-throated vireo. _vireo flavifrons._--common. seen or heard every day except april 27. 50. white-eyed vireo. _vireo noveboracensis._--abundant. heard every day. 51. black-and-white creeper. _mniotilta varia._--very common. 52. blue-winged warbler. _helminthophila pinus._--one bird seen at chickamauga, and a pair on missionary ridge. 53. golden-winged warbler. _helminthophila chrysoptera._--common, especially in the broken woods north of the city. 54. panda warbler. blue yellow-backed warbler. _compsothlypis americana._--only on walden's ridge. 55. cape may warbler. _dendroica tigrina._--one bird seen on cameron hill, and a small company on lookout mountain--april 27, and may 7 and 8. 56. yellow warbler. golden warbler. _dendroica ã¦stiva._--common, but not observed on walden's ridge. 57. black-throated blue warbler. _dendroica cã¦rulescens._--common, april 27 to may 14. 58. myrtle warbler. yellow-rumped warbler. _dendroica coronata._--noted april 27 and 28, and may 7 and 8. 59. magnolia warbler. _dendroica maculosa._--not uncommon, may 1 to 12. 60. cerulean warbler. _dendroica coerulea._--one bird, a male in song, on lookout mountain. 61. chestnut-sided warbler. _dendroica pensylvanica._--listed on six dates--april 27 to may 12. 62. bay-breasted warbler. _dendroica castanea._--seven or eight individuals--april 27 to may 10. 63. black-poll warbler. _dendroica striata._--common to may 13. 64. blackburnian warbler. _dendroica blackburniã¦._--seven birds--may 1 to 18. 65. yellow-throated warbler. _dendroica dominica._ (_albilora?_)--found only at chickamauga (snodgrass hill), where it seemed to be common. 66. black-throated green warbler. _dendroica virens._--common. 67. pine warbler. _dendroica vigorsii._--not numerous, but found in appropriate places. 68. palm warbler. _dendroica palmarum._--the specific--or sub-specific--identity of this bird was not certainly determined, but i judged the specimens--seen on four dates, april 29 to may 11--to be as above given, rather than _d. palmarum hypochrysea_. 69. prairie warbler. _dendroica discolor._--very common. 70. oven-bird. _seiurus aurocapillus._--common on lookout mountain and walden's ridge. seen but once in the lower country. 71. louisiana water-thrush. _seiurus motacilla._--a few birds seen on walden's ridge. 72. kentucky warbler. _geothlypis formosa._--very common, and in places very unlike. 73. maryland yellow-throat. _geothlypis trichas._--common. 74. yellow-breasted chat. _icteria virens._--very common. 75. hooded warbler. _sylvania mitrata._--common, especially along the woodland streams on walden's ridge. 76. wilson's blackcap. _sylvania pusilla._--a single bird on walden's ridge, may 12, in free song. 77. canadian warbler. _sylvania canadensis._--seen on three dates--may 6, 11, and 12. 78. redstart. _setophaga ruticilla._--common. not seen after may 14. 79. mocking-bird. _mimus polyglottos._--rare. not found on the mountains. 80. catbird. _galeoscoptes carolinensis._--very common, both in the city and in the country round about. 81. brown thrasher. _harporhynchus rufus._--common. 82. carolina wren. mocking wren. _thryothorus ludovicianus._--common. 83. bewick's wren. _thryothorus bewickii._--not common. seen only on missionary ridge. 84. white-breasted nuthatch. _sitta carolinensis._--common at chickamauga and on walden's ridge. a single bird noticed on lookout mountain. 85. tufted titmouse. _parus bicolor._--common. 86. carolina chickadee. _parus carolinensis._--common. 87. blue-gray gnatcatcher. _polioptila cã¦rulea._--common. 88. wood thrush. _turdus mustelinus._--very common. a bird with its beak full of nest materials was seen april 29, at the base of missionary ridge. 89. wilson's thrush. veery. _turdus fuscescens._--rare. 90. gray-cheeked thrush. _turdus aliciã¦_, or _t. alici㦠bicknelli_.--two birds, may 2 and 13. 91. swainson's thrush. olive-backed thrush. _turdus ustulatus swainsonii._--in good numbers and free song. seen on four dates, the latest being may 12. 92. robin. _merula migratoria._--five birds in the national cemetery, april 29. 93. bluebird. _sialia sialis._--common. young birds out of the nest, april 28. index. arbutus, 137. azalea:- flame-colored, 178. pink, 182. white, 132. baptisia, blue, 14, 93. blackbird:- crow, 99. red-winged, 215. bluebird, 9, 13, 78, 99, 111, 207. bobolink, 205, 209. buzzard, turkey, 6, 188. catbird, 6, 17, 25, 43, 47, 78, 99, 111, 183, 207. catchfly, scarlet, 15, 85, 109. cedar-bird, 207. chat, yellow-breasted, 3, 6, 9, 13, 17, 19, 27, 47, 55, 99, 110, 121, 135, 204. chewink, 6, 13, 207. chickadee, blackcap, 98. chickadee, carolina, 13, 25, 71, 88. cowslip, 85. cranesbill, 34, 85. creeper, black-and-white, 6, 12, 33, 42, 117, 204, 207. cross-vine, 23, 137, 181. crow, 42, 189. cuckoo:- black-billed, 31, 42. yellow-billed, 19, 24, 71, 99, 111, 117. dogwood, flowering, 136. dove, mourning, 24. fern:- cinnamon, 148. maiden-hair, 47. finch:- bachman's, 2, 6, 9, 13, 25, 66, 78, 81, 110, 118, 193, 194, 210. purple, 194. flicker, 66, 78, 190. flycatcher:- acadian, 17, 24, 26, 62, 117. crested, 9, 13, 67, 71, 87. yellow-bellied, 206. fringe-tree, 135. ginger, wild, 137. gnatcatcher, blue-gray, 6, 13, 18, 55, 99, 110. goldfinch, 13, 17, 24, 25, 47, 78, 111. gromwell, 85, 92. grosbeak:- cardinal, 6, 13, 23, 26, 42, 135, 146, 162. rose-breasted, 119, 194. grouse, ruffed (pheasant), 167. hawk:- red-tailed, 169, 187. sparrow, 174, 187. hieracium, 122. houstonia, 23, 61, 85, 93. humming-bird, ruby-throated, 109, 178, 191. indigo-bird, 6, 9, 13, 17, 47, 55, 72, 78, 110, 111, 121, 204. jay, blue, 178, 189. kingbird, 13, 87. kinglet, golden-crowned, 97. lady's-slipper, yellow, 178. lizard, 43, 55. locust, seventeen-year, 55, 70, 83, 114, 149. magnolia, 136, 148. martin, purple, 6, 185. maryland yellow-throat, 6, 13, 47, 61, 70, 185. milkweed, 92, 142. mistletoe, 110. mocking-bird, 6, 78, 82, 94, 183. mountain laurel, 132, 135, 147, 169, 173, 176. nuthatch, white-breasted (carolina), 58, 61, 82. oriole:- baltimore, 78. orchard, 13, 78, 99, 111, 185. oven-bird, 31, 33, 42, 122, 196. oxalis:- violet, 34, 61, 85. yellow, 85. pentstemon, 61, 122. pewee, wood, 6, 17, 33, 62, 71, 78, 99, 117, 135. phlox, 23, 34, 61, 85, 122. phoebe, 28, 41, 207. pink, indian, 15. quail, 6, 71, 122. ragwort (senecio), 93, 122. raven, 130. redstart, 6, 13, 25, 108, 117. rhododendron, 135-137, 147, 169, 173, 176, 181. robin, 96, 207, 210. rue anemone, 62, 85. saxifrage, 34. sparrow:- bachman's (see finch). chipping, 6, 13, 26, 99, 111, 193, 207. field, 6, 13, 17, 25, 47, 55, 62, 67, 70, 87, 117, 135, 193. house (english) 93, 183, 185. song, 4, 194, 205, 210. vesper, 194, 207, 210. white-crowned, 96. white-throated, 6, 26, 95, 135, 142, 208. specularia, 122. spring beauty, 61, 85. stonecrop, white, 34. swallow:- rough-winged, 22, 87, 88, 187. tree (white-bellied), 187, 205, 207. sweet bush, 137. swift, chimney, 189. tanager:- scarlet, 20, 24, 33, 41, 118, 131, 135, 162. summer, 3, 6, 13, 17, 20, 47, 70, 78, 120, 131. thrasher (brown thrush), 6, 7, 13, 17, 33, 82, 99, 111, 183, 207. thrush:- gray-cheeked, 141. hermit, 207. louisiana water, 163. olive-backed (swainson's), 7, 13, 14, 19, 20, 22, 24, 133, 208. wilson's (veery), 13, 14, 25, 111. wood, 6, 13, 14, 17, 33, 47, 87, 99, 117, 120, 135. titmouse, tufted, 13, 14, 61, 70. tulip-tree, 178, 193. tupelo, 23. turkey, wild, 81, 130, 140. viburnum, maple-leaved, 34. violet, bird-foot, 34, 85. vireo:- red-eyed, 6, 13, 33, 42, 47, 55, 70. solitary, 207. white-eyed, 6, 9, 13, 17, 47, 110, 121, 204, 207. yellow-throated, 9, 13, 33, 70, 99, 117. vulture:- black (carrion crow), 111, 188. turkey, 6, 188. warbler:- bay-breasted, 6, 28, 32, 38, 49, 208. blackburnian, 30, 31, 38, 204. black-poll, 6, 12, 19, 28, 32, 38, 42, 49, 61, 81, 96, 117, 198, 204, 208. black-throated blue, 12, 31, 32, 37, 135, 157. black-throated green, 28, 31, 135, 156, 202. blue-winged, 20, 22, 71, 79, 80. blue yellow-backed, 21, 134, 135. canadian, 21, 22, 23, 117, 135, 204. cape may, 32, 37, 39, 198, 200, 204, 208. cerulean, 53. chestnut-sided, 12, 25, 117, 204. connecticut, 14. golden-winged, 13, 110, 120, 195. hooded, 7, 48, 135, 146, 156, 203. kentucky, 9, 13, 14, 19, 24, 35, 47, 49, 109, 110, 116, 122, 132, 135, 156, 202-204. magnolia, 19, 30, 32, 37, 117, 204. mourning, 206. myrtle (yellow-rumped), 6, 12, 32, 39, 198, 204, 207, 208. nashville, 195. palm (red-poll), 32, 38, 117, 204, 207. pine, 25, 175, 207. prairie, 6, 21, 25, 110, 121, 203, 207. tennessee, 195. wilson's blackcap, 136, 204. yellow (golden), 12, 99, 108, 185, 203, yellow-throated, 72, 73, 75, 80. water-thrush, louisiana, 163. whippoorwill, 143. wintergreen, striped, 34. woodpecker:- downy, 191. golden-winged, 66, 190. hairy, 30, 190. pileated, 191. red-cockaded, 67, 73, 80, 191. red-headed, 80, 190, 191. wren:- bewick's, 4. carolina (mocking), 6, 13, 17, 25, 26, 28, 42, 47, 55, 71, 109, 162. produced from images generously made available by the library of congress.) doctor quintard, chaplain c.s.a. and second bishop of tennessee doctor quintard chaplain c.s.a. and second bishop of tennessee being his story of the war (1861-1865) edited and extended by the rev. arthur howard noll _historiographer of the diocese of tennessee, author of "history of the church in the diocese of tennessee," etc._ the university press of sewanee tennessee 1905 to the friends and comrades of doctor quintard in the army of the confederacy and in the church militant these memoirs of his life in war times- extended to include an account of his work for the upbuilding of the church in tennessee and for the advancement of christian education in the south--are most affectionately dedicated [illustration: charles quintard.] preface the chapters of this volume containing the memoirs of the war were written by bishop quintard about the year 1896 and are to be read with that date in mind. the work of the editor thereon has been devoted to bringing them into conformity with a plan agreed upon in personal interviews with bishop quintard about that time. in the first and in the last two chapters of the book the editor has drawn freely, even to the extent of transcribing entire sentences and paragraphs, upon the bishop's own addresses in the diocesan journals of tennessee; upon memorial addresses by his successor, the rt. rev. dr. gailor; upon material used in some of the chapters of the editor's "history of the church in the diocese of tennessee;" and upon documents preserved in the archives of the university of the south. thanks are due to the rev. bartow b. ramage, the rev. rowland hale and mr. george e. purvis, among others, for valuable assistance in the original preparation of the memoirs. a. h. n. _sewanee, tennessee,_ _may, 1905._ contents i. introduction 1 ii. personal narrative--the beginning of the war and valley mountain 10 iii. personal narrative--big sewell mountain, winchester and romney 31 iv. personal narrative--norfolk 43 v. personal narrative--perryville 50 vi. personal narrative--murfreesboro 64 vii. personal narrative--shelbyville 69 viii. personal narrative--a dramatic episode 83 ix. personal narrative--chickamauga 87 x. personal narrative--atlanta 95 xi. personal narrative--columbus (georgia) and the journey into tennessee 102 xii. personal narrative--franklin 112 xiii. personal narrative--the crumbling of the confederacy 125 xiv. personal narrative--the close of the war 143 xv. a long episcopate 149 xvi. bishop quintard and sewanee 164 chapter i introduction writers upon the late civil war have never done full justice to the high religious character of the majority of those who composed the confederate government and its army, and the high religious principles which inspired them. not only was the conviction of conscience clear in the southern soldiers, that they were right in waging war against the federal government, but the people of the south looked upon their cause as a holy one, and their conduct of affairs, civil and military, was wholly in accord with such a view. the confederacy, as it came into existence, committed its civil affairs, by deliberate choice, to men, not only of approved morality, but of approved religious character as well. it was not merely by accident, that, in the organization of its army, choice was made of such men as robert e. lee and thomas j. jackson,--not to mention a large number of other christian soldiers,--as leaders. and it seemed in no way incongruous in the conduct of a war of such a character, that commissions were offered to and accepted by the rev. william nelson pendleton, rector of grace church, lexington, virginia, and the rt. rev. leonidas polk, d. d., bishop of louisiana. a religious tone pervades the state papers pertaining to the confederacy,--its proclamations, and its legislation. the same religious tone is conspicuous in a majority of the military leaders. it is found upon investigation to have impressed itself upon the officers of regiments and companies and upon the private soldiers in the ranks throughout the whole army. so that there is more than an ordinary basis for the statement, surprising as such a statement may appear at first, that the armies of the confederate states had in them a larger proportion than any other in history since those of cromwell's nicknamed "roundheads," of true and active christian men. the provision made for the spiritual needs of the men in the field was quite remarkable. in the great haste with which the army of the confederacy was organized, equipped and sent to the field, there might have been found abundant apology for the omission of chaplains from the official staffs. yet there was no need for seeking such an apology, for the chaplains were not overlooked. even imputing a love of excitement and adventure to the young men who composed in such large measure the fighting forces of the confederacy at the first, they did not neglect to secure the services of a chaplain for each regiment which went to the seat of war. it was naturally thought that work might be found for chaplains in the hospitals, but it was early discovered that a chaplain had opportunities for efficient work at all times,--in the midst of active campaigns and when the army was in winter quarters. nor was their work in vain. few religious services in times of peace equalled in attendance, in fervor or results, those held at, or in the immediate vicinity of, encampments of the confederate army. the camps of regiments which had been sent forth with prayer and benediction, were often the seats of earnest religious life. it is estimated that 15,000 men in the army of virginia alone, made some open and public profession of their allegiance to christ during the war, and were affected in their subsequent lives by religious experiences gained in the war. and the number is especially remarkable of men in the southern army who after the close of the war entered the sacred ministry and won distinction in their holy calling. a study of what might be called "the religious phases" of this war history should be approached through a consideration of the chaplains of the confederacy. they were a regimental institution, and their number might be determined by the number of regiments engaged in the war. they were, for the most part, men of brains, of a keen sense of humor, and of fidelity to what they regarded as their duty; sticking to their posts; maintaining the most friendly and intimate relations with "the boys;" ever on the look-out for opportunities to do good in any way; ready to give up their horses to some poor fellows with bare and blistered feet and to march in the column as it hurried forward; going on picket duty with their men and bivouacking with them in the pelting storm; sharing with them at all times their hardships and their dangers, gaining a remarkably wide experience during four years of army life, and probably with it all acquiring the pleasing art of the _raconteur_. if an individual were desired for a more particular illustration of the religious phases of confederate war history, he might be found in the rev. charles todd quintard, m. d., of the first tennessee regiment, and after the war, second bishop of tennessee. he not only fully conformed to the type above indicated but in some respects he surpassed it, for his knowledge of the healing art and his surgical skill were ever at the demands of his fellow soldiers. he was one of the earliest to enter the service of the confederate army, and was probably the most widely known and the best beloved of all the chaplains. dr. quintard was born in stamford, connecticut, on the 22nd of december, 1824. his ancestors were huguenots who left france after the revocation of the edict of nantes and settled the country north of manhattan island, between long island sound and the hudson river. those who knew dr. quintard at any period of his life had no difficulty in detecting his french ancestry in his personal appearance, as well as in his manner,--his vivacity and demonstrativeness. though not a few who failed to get well acquainted with him fell into the error of supposing that some of his mannerisms were an affectation acquired in some of his visits to england subsequent to the war. his father was isaac quintard, a man of wealth and education, a prominent citizen of stamford, having been born in the same house in which he gave his son a birthplace, and in which he died in 1883 in the ninetieth year of his age. the doctor was a pupil at trinity school, new york city, and took his master's degree at columbia college. he studied medicine with dr. james r. wood and dr. valentine mott, and was graduated, with the degree of doctor of medicine, at the university of the city of new york, in 1847. after a year at bellevue hospital, he removed to georgia, and began the practice of medicine at athens in that state, where he was a parishioner of the rev. william bacon stevens, afterwards bishop of pennsylvania. in 1851 he accepted the chair of physiology and pathological anatomy in the medical college of memphis, tennessee, and became in that city co-editor with dr. ayres p. merrill, of the "memphis medical recorder." there also he formed a close friendship with bishop otey, and in january, 1854, he was admitted a candidate for holy orders. that year he appeared in the twenty-sixth annual convention of the church in the diocese of tennessee, held in st. john's church, knoxville, as the lay representative of st. paul's church, randolph. st paul's church has since passed out of existence, and the town of randolph no longer appears upon the map of the state of tennessee. studying theology under the direction of his bishop, he was ordered deacon in calvary church, memphis, in january, 1855, and a year later was advanced to the priesthood. his diaconate was spent in missionary work in tipton county,--one of the mississippi river counties of tennessee. upon his advancement to the priesthood he became rector of calvary church, memphis. in the latter part of 1856, he resigned the rectorship of his memphis parish, and at the urgent request of bishop otey, accepted the rectorship of the church of the advent, nashville. he had charge also of the church of the holy trinity in that city, and extended his work to edgefield, (now east nashville), and to the parish of st ann. he served the diocese as a member of the standing committee, and as a clerical deputy to the general convention meeting in richmond, virginia, in the fall of 1859. he was a man of varied and deep learning--a preacher of power and attractiveness, and ranked among the clergymen of greatest prominence and popularity in nashville. he was of ardent temperament, affectionate disposition, and possessed personal magnetism to a remarkable degree, especially with young men, who looked up to him with an affection which is now rarely if ever shown by young men to the ministry. this, and the influence he had over young men, are illustrated by the organization in 1859 of the rock city guard, a militia company composed largely of the young men of nashville. dr. quintard was at once elected chaplain of that organization, and its first public parade was for the purpose of attending services in a body at the church of the advent at which he officiated. his was a churchmanship of a type in those days considerably in advance of the average in the ante-bellum period in the south. he was clearly under the spell of the "oxford movement," and of the english "tractarians," and occupied a position to which churchmen generally in this country did not approach until ten or twenty years later. he was a "sacerdotalist,"--a pronounced "sacramentarian" at times when the highest "high" churchmen of the country would have hesitated long before applying those terms to themselves. to him baptism was, not "a theory and a notion," but "a gift and a power." and baptized children were to be educated, "not with a view to their becoming christians, but because they were already christians." consequently he regarded confirmation, not as "joining the church," or as merely a ratifying and renewing of the vows and promises of holy baptism, and hence as something which man does for god;--but as something which god does for man,--the bestowal of the gifts of the holy spirit. to the preparation of candidates for confirmation he therefore gave his most earnest attention, even to the extent of preparing "a plain tract on confirmation," and (in 1861), "a preparation for confirmation," a manual of eighty-nine pages. his veneration for the church's liturgical inheritance was great, and the books of devotion he compiled and had printed for the use of soldiers during the war were drawn from the ancient sources. he attached the utmost importance to the holy communion as a means of spiritual life, and throughout the war he availed himself of every opportunity of administering it to the soldiers in camp, in the way-side churches as he passed them, and in towns where he temporarily rested with the army. with a host of friends in nashville and vicinity, who looked up to him with love and reverence, it is not strange that doctor quintard should have been the choice for chaplain of those who enlisted from that city for the defence of their homes and firesides in 1861. many of the young men of his parish enlisted in the first tennessee regiment, of which he was elected chaplain, and feeling as he did that these young men would need his spiritual care far more than those of his parishioners who were left behind, he felt it his duty to accept the office and go with his regiment to the seat of war. both he and his parishioners supposed that his absence would not exceed six months. he did not return to nashville until after the collapse of the confederacy and the surrender of lee's army in 1865. during those four years he gathered up a rich fund of experiences, both grave and gay. always an accomplished _raconteur_ and brilliant conversationalist, it is but natural that a wide circle of friends in different parts of the world should have begged him to commit to writing the story of the war as he saw it and as none but he could tell it, and permit its publication. about the year 1896 he consented to do this and entered with considerable enthusiasm upon the literary task thus set for him. it was quite characteristic of him, however, that the work as he projected it was likely to have been a laudation of the men with whom he was brought into contact during the civil strife, at the expense of the personal experiences of which his friends were more anxious to read. for doctor quintard was an enthusiast and an optimist. no man was ever more loyal to his friends than he. his estimate of human character was always based upon whatever good he could find in a man. nothing was a greater delight to him in recalling the scenes of the war than to describe some deed of heroism, some noble trait of character, or some mark of friendship that was shown him by a soldier; to acknowledge some kindness shown him, or to correct some error of judgment that had been passed upon some actor in the drama of the civil war. some of the men whom he paused to eulogize were those to whom fame had otherwise done but scant justice, and his estimate of them is in more than one instance an addition of worth to the history of the people of the southern states. the death of doctor quintard on the 15th of february, 1898, prevented the completion of the work he had begun more than two years previously; but left it in such form that it has not been entirely impossible to gratify the wishes of his friends in regard thereto, and to make a valuable contribution to the pictures of life in the southern states during the troubled days of the civil war. chapter ii personal narrative--the beginning of the war and valley mountain while rector of the church of the advent, nashville, i was elected chaplain of a military company of somewhat more than local fame, known as the "rock city guard." this election was only a compliment shown me by the men who composed the guard. i was not a military man nor had i any fondness for military life. so i regarded myself as chaplain only by courtesy. but on thanksgiving day, 1860, the rock city guard and other military organizations of nashville requested me to officiate at the thanksgiving services to be held under their auspices. the services were held in the hall of representatives in the state capitol, and there was an immense congregation present. it was a time of great anxiety and the occasion was a memorable one. rumors of approaching war were abundant, and the newspapers were filled with discussions as to the course the south would pursue in case mr. lincoln, then recently elected, should take his seat as president of the united states. the subject of my discourse was: "obedience to rulers,"--my text being: "righteousness exalteth a nation; but sin is a reproach to any people." (proverbs, xiv, 34.) my sermon was what might be called "a strong plea for the union." in december, south carolina seceded, and on the 18th of the following april,--after a bombardment of thirty-four hours,--fort sumter surrendered and the civil war was fairly begun. president lincoln at once called for seventy-five thousand volunteers to serve for ninety days and put down the insurrection in south carolina. tennessee being called upon for her quota, responded through her governor, isham g. harris:--"tennessee will not furnish a single man for coercion, but fifty thousand, if necessary, for the defence of her rights or those of her southern brethren." this undoubtedly expressed the sentiments of the vast majority of tennesseeans, who did not favor secession and deplored war, but who were nevertheless determined to stand with the people of the south. in the spring of 1861, the states of virginia, north carolina and arkansas, which had hitherto refused to secede, joined their fortunes to those of the already seceded states; and in june, tennessee decided to unite with the southern confederacy. she was slow to draw the sword. in april, the rock city guard, now enlarged into a battalion, was mustered into the service of the state. subsequently a regiment was formed, consisting of the rock city guard and the following companies;--the williamson greys, of williamson county; the tennessee riflemen, and the railroad boys of nashville; the brown guards, of maury county; the rutherford rifles, of rutherford county; and the martin guards, of giles county. this was known as the first tennessee regiment. the field officers elected were: colonel george maney (afterwards made a brigadier-general); lieutenant-colonel, t. f. sevier; major, a. m. looney. lieutenant r. b. snowden, of company c., was appointed adjutant; dr. william nichol, surgeon, and dr. j. r. buist, assistant surgeon. on the 10th of july, 1861, orders were received by the regiment to repair to virginia. being very urgently pressed by members of the rock city guard and their friends in nashville to accompany the regiment as chaplain, i resolved to do so. this, of course, made it necessary for me to break up my household. i removed my family to georgia, left my parish in the hands of the rev. george c. harris, and prepared to join my regiment in virginia. my friend, general washington barrow, who had formerly been minister to portugal, thinking that i would have need of a weapon for my defence, sent me his old courtsword, which had enjoyed a long and quiet rest,--so long, indeed, that it had become rusted in its scabbard. i remember well my first attempt to unsheath the sword. i seized the handle and pulled with might and main, but to no effect. a friend came to my assistance. i took the sword handle,--he the scabbard. we pulled and we pulled, but the sword refused to come forth. i am not aware that i ever succeeded in drawing that sword "in defence of my country." on my departure for virginia i left it at home. the first battle of bull run was fought july 21, 1861. my cousin, captain thomas edward king, of georgia, having been severely wounded, i went to richmond to look after him, leaving nashville on the 1st of august. after he had sufficiently recovered to return to his home, i joined my regiment at valley mountain on the 23rd of august. some of the entries made in my pocket diary while on this trip are not devoid of interest as illustrating the condition of the southern army and of the southern country at this early stage of the war. my route was through knoxville and bristol. at the latter place, which is on the boundary line between tennessee and virginia, i missed the train for lynchburg by an hour, found all the hotels crowded, and the railroad pressed to its utmost in conveying troops. while waiting i visited two sick men from nashville of whom i had heard, and then strolled out to camp, a mile from the town. there i witnessed the execution of the sentence of a court-martial upon two private soldiers convicted of selling whiskey to other soldiers. the culprits were drummed around the camp, riding on rails, each with three empty bottles tied to his feet, and a label, "ten cents a glass," pinned to his back. at lynchburg i missed connections for richmond saturday night and so spent a very pleasant sunday in the former place. i found lynchburg a very quaint old town, built on steep hills, from the foot of which the james river finds its way sluggishly to the sea. i preached at st. paul's church on "the love of god." arriving at richmond, i found the place so crowded that i began to think i would not be able to get even a lodging. the spottswood and exchange hotels were crowded to overflowing, and i could not get the sign of a room, though i did succeed in getting some dinner at the latter house. but calling on the rev. mr. peterkin, i was asked to stay with him, and had for a co-guest the rev. a. toomer porter, chaplain of the hampton legion,--after the war a prominent educator and founder of a famous school in charleston, s. c. at the rev. mr. peterkin's i had the pleasure of meeting the rev. william nelson pendleton, then a colonel in the confederate army, afterwards a major-general in command of lee's artillery. he had been in command of the artillery that did such execution at the battle of manassas, and gave me a most interesting account of that fight. there was not a masked battery on the ground. his guns were within two hundred yards of the nearest of those of the enemy and within four hundred yards of those that were at the greatest distance. yet he did not lose a man. i learned from mr. peterkin where to find my wounded cousin, and with him found two other wounded soldiers. i made daily visits to the wounded during my stay in richmond; met bishop atkinson; called, with the rev. mr. porter, upon mrs. wade hampton, who was a daughter of the honorable george duffie; and visited mr. john stewart in his princely establishment four miles out from richmond, where i attended services at the church built by mr. stewart and his brother at a cost of fourteen thousand dollars. it was at this time that i received and accepted my appointment as chaplain in the confederate army. on the sunday i spent in the city that was shortly afterwards to become the capital of the confederate states, i preached at st. james' church in the morning, at the monumental church in the evening, and again at st. james' at night. another interesting incident of this visit to richmond was in regard to the rev. john flavel mines, a chaplain in the federal army, who had been captured, released on parole, and had been for two days at the rev. mr. peterkin's house, where i met him. by order of general winder he was rearrested, and the poor fellow was quite crushed by the idea of having to go to prison. he was especially fearful of contracting consumption, of which some of his family had died. he wrote two piteous letters to me begging me to intercede on his behalf. after two efforts i succeeded in visiting him in the afterwards famous "libby" prison, where i found him in company with the hon. alfred ely, a member of congress from rochester, n. y., who had been captured at manassas. i did all i could to cheer the prisoners up. mr. mines subsequently renounced the ministry and accepted a colonel's commission in the federal army. after the war he entered upon a literary career, and wrote some charming books under the _nom de plume_ of "felix oldboy." on my way to my regiment i found in staunton, virginia, that the deaf and dumb asylum was used as a hospital, and i wrote to the editor of the nashville "banner" asking contributions from the citizens of tennessee for the sick and wounded and advising the establishing of a depository at staunton under the supervision of the rev. james a. latanã©. the citizens of staunton made up two boxes of stores and comforts for the sick of my regiment. i preached in staunton sunday morning and night and left for milboro. i went thence to huntersville, which i reached on the 21st of august after a bit of just the toughest travel i had ever made. i found jackson's river so swollen by rains that it was impossible to ford with the stage. the passengers mounted the horses,--two on each horse,--and forded the stream. my travelling companion the night of this occurrence and the following day was colonel wheeler, ex-minister to nicaragua, vestryman in dr. pinckney's church in washington, d. c., one of the most agreeable men to take a trip with i had ever met. his wife was a daughter of sully the artist. we were again delayed at back creek, and while waiting for a chance to cross, i read "master humphrey's clock," a volume found in a knapsack on jackson's mountain. the owner's name on the fly-leaf was "b. b. ewing, comp. i, 12th miss. reg't." the book was wet and mouldy. i finally mounted one of the stage horses and swam the creek and so reached gatewoods,--a delightful place,--a valley shut in on all sides by most picturesque mountains. it was twelve miles from huntersville. i finally reached colonel fulton's camp, over the worst road i ever travelled, and thence found huntersville,--a most wretched and filthy town in those days, where there were many sick soldiers in a meeting-house, in public and private buildings and in tents. huntersville was twenty-seven miles from valley mountain where our troops were stationed. i was very anxious to get on for there was a battle daily expected. resuming the journey in an ambulance, i had to leave it within a mile in consequence of the wretched state of the roads, and walked all day over the most horrible roads, the rain at times coming down in torrents. i felt occasionally that i must give out, but finally reached big springs and received a warm welcome from general anderson, general donelson, colonel fulton, major duval and other officers. my clothes were so wet that the water could be wrung out of them and my first care was to dry them. that done, i set out for the camp at valley mountain three miles distant, and reached it on the morning of friday the 23rd of august, which happened to be the first clear day i had seen for more than a week. the following sunday i began my duties as chaplain, and had services in camp which were well attended. that week our scouts had a running fire with the enemy's pickets, and one of our lieutenants captured a federal soldier. as it was the first achievement of the kind by any of our regiment, our camp was greatly enlivened by it. about this time i was appointed assistant surgeon, but i did not wish to accept the office as i felt that it might separate me from my regiment. i do not remember, however, any time throughout the war, when there was any opportunity offered for me to assist the work of the surgeons that i did not do it. one afternoon a courier arrived at colonel maney's headquarters with orders for the regiment to report to general loring. while colonel maney was reading the order, a sudden volley of small arms resounded through the mountain, and some one, thinking the federal forces had attacked general lee's position, ordered the long roll beaten. this startled the camp, every man seized his gun and cartridge box, and the regiment was at once in line. for at that time the boys were all spoiling for a fight. i well remember how good mrs. sullivan, the wife of an irish private and a kind of "daughter of the regiment," drew off her shoes and gave them to a soldier who was barefoot. the boys started off for general lee's headquarters without rations, without blankets, and many of them without coats or shoes. in this plight they reported for duty. it was altogether a false alarm. a regiment had been on picket duty and was firing off guns in order to clean them. nevertheless it happened that the action of our boys was in conformity to an order received regularly enough about five minutes later, requiring our regiment to take position within a very short distance of the enemy's entrenchments, and the regiment remained out in consequence from friday morning until sunday, in full view of the enemy. a few days after this general lee determined on a movement on the enemy holding a fortified position on cheat pass. the camp became a scene of great animation in anticipation of an important impending battle. to me it was a memorable week beginning on monday september 8th--a week of such experiences as i had never dreamed would fall to my lot, and of such fatigues as i never imagined myself capable of enduring. general lee's plans were undoubtedly well and skilfully laid, but "the wisest schemes of mice and men gang aft aglee." the plan, to my mind, was somewhat complicated inasmuch as it demanded concerted action on the part of too many commanders far removed from each other. thus general henry r. jackson of georgia, with rust of arkansas, was to attack the enemy at cheat pass where he was strongly entrenched. general loring with donelson was to engage the enemy at crouch's and huttonville and force his way up to cheat pass, while anderson with his brigade was to pass over cheat mountain and engage the enemy in the rear. the rock city guard, with the regiment, left camp at valley mountain on monday, and moved to a new camp three or four miles in advance. i remained behind for a day to care for the sick and then followed the regiment. at nine o'clock on tuesday morning general s. r. anderson's brigade, consisting of colonel maney's regiment and two others, started on. the route was not by a road but through fields and over mountains the most precipitous, in going up which we had to wind single file along the sides and reach the top by very circuitous paths. the paths were exceedingly steep, rocky and rough, and our horses had to be taken to the rear. at one time i reached the top of the mountain and sat down for a little rest under a great boulder that projected out into the pathway. an officer in front called out to me, "tell them that the order is to 'double quick!'" i passed the command to another officer, who turned to those behind him who were struggling up the mountain pass and called out to them, "the order is to 'double quick' back there!" whereupon the rear of the regiment turned and rushed down the mountain. in the flight the major was upset, and flat on his back and with heels in the air he poured forth benedictions of an unusual kind for a presbyterian elder. our first night out, after i had travelled twelve miles on foot, (i had lent to a less fortunate officer the horse that had been presented to me but a few days previously), we halted at 10 o'clock. soon after it began to rain heavily. i had been carrying the blankets of lieutenant joe van leer, who had been exceedingly kind to me throughout the march, and when i came up to him he said, "i have a capital place where we may sleep. i'll put my blankets on the ground and we'll cover with yours, as they are heavier." so he cleaned out a hollow on the side of the mountain, and there we lay down for the night. we had my blanket and his rubber coat for a covering. shortly after midnight a little river began running down my neck. the rain was pouring in torrents, and the basin van leer had scooped out was soon filled; so i spent the night as did the georgia soldier who said that he had slept in the bed of a river with a thin sheet of water over him. this was not altogether a unique experience for me as we shall soon see. the next morning, after breaking our fast on cold meat and "gutta percha" bread, we took up our line of march and had gone but a mile or so when we heard the fire of musketry at our left. we supposed this was by the scouts sent out by general donelson. this day, (wednesday), was the severest of all upon our men. we made slow progress and the march was very toilsome. we kept perfect silence, expecting every moment to come up with scouting parties of the enemy. at about three o'clock the order was passed along the line, just as one half the regiment had reached the top of the mountain, to "double-quick forward!" the drums of the enemy were distinctly heard, and we moved as rapidly as possible, and were about an hour in descending. all the horses were left behind, as the mountain was found so steep and rocky that it was impossible for them to go any further. we clambered down the rocks, clinging to the bushes and jumping from rock to rock, and at nine o'clock we halted for the night. not a word was spoken above a whisper, nor a fire lighted, although it was very cold. van leer arranged our blankets as on the previous night, and with much the same result. for soon after we lay down the rain came as though the windows of heaven were opened, and about eleven o'clock we were thoroughly saturated. a rivulet ran down my back and joe and i actually lay in a pool of water all night. i thought it impossible for me to stand it, but as there was no alternative, i kept quiet and thought over all i had ever read of the benefits of hydropathy. i consoled myself with the reflection that the water-cure might relieve me of an intense pain i had suffered for some hours in my left knee,--and so it did. at the same time i would hesitate long before recommending the same treatment for every other pain in the left knee. in the morning i was well soaked, my finger ends were corrugated and my whole body chilled through. i was very hungry also, but all i could get to eat was one tough biscuit that almost defied my most vigorous assaults. we were ordered to be on the parkersburg pike that day, (thursday), at daybreak. to show how little we understood the art of war at that time, soon after we started, a well mounted horseman passed halfway down the line of the regiment without detection. he proved to be a federal courier. lieutenant-colonel sevier finally halted him and said in surprise: "why, you're a yankee!" to which the courier coolly replied: "i'm so thankful you found me out; i was so afraid of being shot." the colonel took from him a fine pair of pistols, sword, carbine and his horse, which he gave to major looney who was thoroughly knocked up. half a mile further on brought us to the parkersburg pike, three miles and a half from cheat mountain pass. the brigade was, as rapidly as possible, put in position. the first tennessee was at the head of a column towards cheat pass. in about ten minutes a body of the enemy, about one hundred strong, in ambush on the opposite side of the road and only about twenty-five yards from our troops, began firing into our left, composed of the companies from pulaski, columbia and murfreesboro. the enemy were completely concealed but our men stood the fire nobly. not a man flinched. after two or three volleys had been fired, captain field ordered a charge and the enemy fled. we lost two killed, two missing and sixteen wounded. we captured lieutenant merrill of the engineer corps, u. s. a., attached to general rosecrans' command. i fell into conversation with him, and found him not only a most intelligent gentleman but also a most genial and pleasant companion,--as most west pointers are. we also captured seven privates, and left on the roadside two wounded men of the enemy who were so disabled that they could not be moved, though we dressed their wounds and made them as comfortable as possible. the enemy lost some eight or ten killed,--how many wounded i do not know. my first experience in actual battle was very different from what i had anticipated. i had expected an open field and a fair fight, but this bushwhacking was entirely out of my line. the balls whistled in a way that can never be appreciated by one who has not heard them. we held our position until four o'clock in the afternoon, anxiously listening for general h. r. jackson's fire, upon which the whole movement depended; but not a gun was heard in that direction. general donelson, however, met a party of the enemy and engaged them, killing seventeen and taking sixty-eight prisoners. he then waited for us,--of course waited in vain, and like us withdrew. when we left the turnpike, we took with us our wounded, all but five of whom were carried on horses, the others on litters. about two miles from the highway we came to the house of a mr. white, where we deposited seven of our wounded men and left them. the brigade halted in a meadow. after attending to the wounded, i lay down by a wheat-stack with joe van leer, who made a very comfortable bed for us. at daylight i returned to the house to assist the surgeons in dressing the wounds of our men. this occupied us until nine o'clock. the brigade in the meantime had moved forward and left us. we supposed that they had stationed a guard for our protection, but it had been neglected, and when we left, a man suggested to us that we better remove the white badges from our caps, for we might come across some scouting party of the enemy. we took his advice and in addition i took the precaution to tie a white handkerchief to a stick, and so i led the way. after winding about over the hills for a mile or so, we came upon a body of men behind a fallen tree with their guns pointed at us ready to fire. we heard the click of the locks and i instantly threw up the white flag, and this possibly saved our party from being shot down _by our own men_. it was a detachment that had been sent back for us, and as they saw us winding along without our badges, they supposed us a party of the enemy on the trail of our forces. one man was very much overcome when he found out who we were. about a mile further on we came up with the main body of our troops, which had been halted for us by colonel hatton, who, on discovering that we were in the rear, ran the whole length of the column to inform general anderson of the fact. it felt mighty good to get with the brigade again. in less than half an hour after we left mr. white's house, a party of the enemy was in possession there. at half past twelve word was passed along the line that the enemy were following us. immediately a line of battle was formed, but very shortly we moved on to get a more advantageous position. we rolled down one precipice and climbed up another and again the line of battle was formed. then it was discovered that a small part of the enemy's forces was on its way by a route that crossed ours to reinforce crouch's, so there was no fighting. friday night we camped about one mile from the place we occupied our first night out. i had no provisions, but various persons gave me what made up a tolerably good supper, to wit,--a roasting ear, a slice of bacon and a biscuit; and in the morning i found on a log a good-sized piece of fresh meat, not strikingly clean, but i sliced off a piece of it and cooked it on a long stick. the fire, i reckon, removed all impurities; and joe van leer brought me half a cup of coffee and another biscuit. we rested here until seven o'clock at night, when we took up our march for brady's gate. at about eleven o'clock we rested for the night and had the pleasure of meeting two men from nashville who had brought out a couple of ambulances loaded with nick-nacks for the rock city guard. out of their supplies we had a comfortable breakfast, and again started for brady's gate and reached it at 1 p. m. at this point the enemy had been in great numbers,--some three or four thousand. everywhere in the woods they had erected comfortable booths and rustic benches. our brigade took position expecting an attack, and waited until half-past six, and then once more started on our march. about eight o'clock the rain poured down in torrents and once more we were thoroughly drenched. the brigade remained all night in an open meadow, but colonel sevier insisted upon my taking his horse, and so i rode forward with major looney and some other officers to a house half a mile further on, and dr. buist, van leer, myself and five others took up quarters for the night in a smoke-house. unfortunately the shingles were off just over my head and the rain came through pretty freely. the next morning we started for our old camp at valley mountain, which we reached at eleven o'clock. it really seemed like getting home. the tents looked more than familiar,--inviting even. i rested well and ate well and felt well generally. the march left many of our men bare-footed. some of them made the last of the tramp in their stocking feet, and when we reached our quarters they had not even a thread to cover them. one of captain jack butler's men made the remark that if the enemy took the captain prisoner they would not believe him if he told them his rank; and when i looked at the dear fellow, ragged and barefooted, with feet cut and swollen, i thought so too. but then when i looked down at my own feet and saw my own toes peeping,--nay, rather boldly showing themselves,--as plain as the nose on my face;--and found that almost a majority of our regiment were bootless and shoeless by the hardness of the march, i realized what we had gone through. the path by which we ascended to the top of cheat mountain was one which the foot of man probably never trod before. the guide said that he knew that he could cross it but did not think that the brigade could. i would not have undertaken the march, i presume, could i have foretold what it would be. i made the whole trip, with the exception of a few miles, on foot; for the morning we started out, lieutenant john house, of franklin, a noble fellow, was very weak from an attack of fever from which he had not entirely convalesced. i insisted upon his taking my horse and so i did not ride at all until sunday the 15th. my horse proved a most valuable one. on our return one of the wounded men rode her down the steepest hills and she did not once miss a foot. being raised in that region she had the faculty of adapting herself to the provender, while other tennessee horses grew thin and became useless. as a result of the expedition, our forces had driven in all the outposts of the enemy, made a thorough survey of all their works, had killed, wounded and captured about two hundred of their men, and all with a loss of less than thirty on our side. but the campaign in that section was abandoned and all our forces were transferred to another section. i was very glad to believe that my labors among the soldiers as their chaplain were not all thrown away. it was very delightful to see how well our regular daily evening service in camp was attended. and i was greatly pleased to find so many of the young men anxious to receive the holy communion when i celebrated on the fifteenth sunday after trinity, the day before we started on the expedition. the whole regiment seemed devoted to me. one of the captains told the major that he believed every man in his company would lay down his life for me. certainly i met nothing but kindness from officers and men. and so i was led to hope that some good would yet grow out of the seed sown in those wild mountains. on friday the 13th of september, general loring was anxious to have a reconnaissance made, and assigned the duty to major fitzhugh lee, son of general robert e. lee. colonel j. a. washington, a brother-in-law of general lee and one of his personal aides, asked permission to accompany the party, which was granted. they had advanced a considerable distance when major lee told the colonel that it was unsafe for them to proceed further. but the colonel was anxious to make a thorough exploration. major lee, however, decided not to endanger the lives of his men by taking them along, and so halted them and rode on with colonel washington, accompanied by two privates. they had not gone far when they were fired upon by a large picket guard lying in ambush by the roadside. colonel washington was instantly killed, being pierced by three balls through the breast. major lee's horse was shot under him and one of the privates also lost his horse. major lee escaped on colonel washington's horse. a flag was sent to the federal camp the next day by general lee, and colonel washington's body was given up. the enemy offered to send it the whole distance in an ambulance, but this offer colonel stark, the bearer of the flag, declined. this sad occurrence was the occasion of my first acquaintance with general lee, the most conspicuous character in the struggle between the states. i saw him at cheat mountain when he had just learned of the death of colonel washington. he was standing with his right arm thrown over the neck of his horse,--(a blooded animal, thoroughly groomed),--and i was impressed first of all by the man's splendid physique, and then by the look of extreme sadness that pervaded his countenance. he felt the death of his relative very keenly and seemed greatly dispirited. it was my high privilege later on to be brought in contact with this great and good man and to learn most thoroughly to appreciate his exalted character and to understand why his life is to-day an enduring inheritance of his country and of the church of christ. personally he was a man of rare gifts, physical and mental. to these were added the advantages of finished culture. he was a very bayard in manner and bearing. the habits of temperance, frugality and self-control, formed by him in youth, adhered to him through life. chapter iii personal narrative--big sewell mountain, winchester and romney from valley mountain i was sent with the sick of our brigade to a place named edrai where a number of our troops were encamped. i think it was about sixteen miles distant, but on account of the condition of the roads, i was fully three days in making the trip. i had given up my horse to lieutenant van leer and i was busy each day of the march administering to the wants of the sick, several of whom died on the way. a cup of strong coffee was made for me by the sergeant in command of our escort, (we had coffee in those days, later our ingenuity was taxed to discover substitutes for it), which was the only thing that refreshed me on the march. instead of a coffee mill, a hatchet handle was used to beat up the grains which were then boiled in a tin cup. i was a long time drinking that cup of coffee. the last day of the journey i felt myself breaking down and determined to reach edrai as soon as possible. accordingly i took the middle of the road, not avoiding the holes which were abundant, and walked through slush and mud, reaching edrai just in the gloaming. there was one brick house in the place, to which i made my way. to my delight i found there major looney of my regiment, who received me with great cordiality. i was so exhausted that i was obliged to support myself in my chair, and the major, seeing how greatly prostrated i was, gave me a large drink of brandy. it produced not the slightest effect on me, and so in fifteen minutes more he repeated the dose, and "richard was himself again." i went out at once, borrowed a horse of a friend who was a lieutenant in a virginia regiment, and rode back to meet my sick train. the next day i officiated at the burial of those who had died en route. shortly after this, general lee ordered us to reinforce general john b. floyd, who was strongly intrenched at big sewell mountain, facing the federal army under general rosecrans and only a mile distant. i passed through the hot springs on the way to big sewell mountain; and from there, making our way was very gradual, for rains had been destructive of the roads. in some places every trace of the road had been so completely washed away that no one would dream that any had ever been where were then gullies eight or ten feet or even fifteen feet deep. fences, bridges and even houses had been washed away, farms ruined, and at white sulphur springs the guests had to be taken from the lower story of the hotel. major looney, captain foster and myself were detained at this point for several days, and i went back and forth to hold services and to visit the sick. at big sewell mountain i was brought into very pleasant relations with general lee. at white sulphur springs, mrs. lee had entrusted me with a parcel to deliver to the general at my first opportunity. upon my arrival i at once called upon him and spent several hours with him in most delightful intercourse. from his headquarters we could see the whole federal encampment. with the audacity of ignorance, i said to him: "why, general, there are the federals! why don't we attack them?" in his gentle voice, he replied; "ah, it is sometimes better to wait until you are attacked." from the camp at big sewell mountain i was sent, in the latter part of october to accompany a detachment of our sick men to the hospitals at white sulphur and hot springs, virginia. when i reached the latter place, being only fifteen miles from a railroad, i determined to run down to staunton to get, if possible, some clean clothing. my visit was timely, for a few hours after my arrival in staunton i received by train two boxes,--one from rome, georgia, and one from nashville. in the latter box were two pairs of heavy winter boots, a pair of winter pants, flannel under-clothing and a great variety of useful articles, and my wardrobe was now so generally well supplied that i could help along some who were in worse condition than i was in. my visit to staunton was otherwise a rich treat. somehow or other everybody seemed to have heard of me or to know me, and all extended to me the most overflowing cordiality and hospitality. i was first the guest of the rev. mr. latanã© and afterwards of dr. stribling, the superintendent of the insane asylum. mrs. stribling and her daughter sent by me two trunks filled with things for our regiment, and a lady met me on the street and handed me ten dollars for the use of the sick. about the middle of november i received orders from general loring to proceed from huntersville to the lewisburg line and to transport all the sick and convalescent belonging to his division to the hospitals at warm, hot and bath alum springs. i accordingly left general loring's headquarters one friday at noon, and crossing the greenbrier bridge, six miles above huntersville, took the road to hillsboro, a little hamlet ten miles distant, where i spent the night very pleasantly, without charge, at the home of mr. baird. thence i rode to the residence of mr. renick, sixteen miles, and found three of our regiment who had been sick for some weeks but were then greatly improved and glad to get away under my protection. on sunday morning i rode five miles to the town of frankford and my name (and fame) having preceded me, i was urged to have services in the presbyterian church. of course i was very glad to do so and had a good and very attentive congregation. at frankford there lived a dr. renick who had been extremely kind to all of our tennessee soldiers. he turned his home into a hospital and he and his wife devoted themselves most assiduously to the welfare of the sick, refusing any remuneration. i stopped at his house and at his request baptized his youngest child, a little girl about eighteen months old, born on easter sunday. the parents were quite unacquainted with the ecclesiastical calendar, yet the father said: "i'm going to give her a good episcopal name, doctor," and so he had me give her in baptism the name of "margaret easter sunday." i was glad she was not born on quinquagesima sunday for i might in that case have had to give her that name. the following day i went to lewisburg and thence to white sulphur springs, hoping to be in part relieved by one of the surgeons, whom i ordered to join his regiment with the sick men belonging to it. there were more than one thousand patients at white sulphur springs and there had been forty deaths within the past thirteen days. i shall never forget the dinner we had in camp one sunday about the last of november. it was the best of the season. beef, venison, preserved peaches, raspberries and plums, rice, fine old madeira, currant wine and many other things,--most of which had been sent by dr. stribling,--made a real feast quite in contrast with our usual camp fare. at that time the boys were going into winter quarters and were building very snug, roofed cabins. one sunday early in december, after having service in the camp near huntersville, with a pass from general loring to go to richmond and return at the public charge, i started first for staunton to look after the interests of a young man from maury county, tennessee, who while in a state of intoxication, killed another man by the accidental discharge of his pistol. that i arrived safely in staunton i felt to be a matter of special congratulation on account of the roads i had to travel. the mud was from two to three feet deep. the young prisoner was a noble fellow to whom i had become very much attached, and was clear of any intentional wrong, i was sure. after calling upon him in staunton and consulting with his lawyer, we concluded to engage the services of the hon. alexander h. stuart, formerly secretary of the interior under president fillmore, and i went to richmond to see that eminent man. on my return to staunton i had the trial put off until the january term of court. when it was finally held, i was called upon to testify to the good character of the accused and i am glad to say that the verdict of the jury was in the end: "not guilty." our regiment's stay at big sewell was not long. there was a good deal of marching to and fro, and rosecrans finally escaped lee and jackson. from big sewell, general loring, to whose division we were attached, was invited to join general thomas j. jackson at winchester. there for the first time i met that distinguished general and i was very cordially received by the rev. mr. meredith, the rector of the parish, and was made to feel quite at home in the rectory. this was the beginning of a severe and disastrous campaign. the weather was bitterly cold and during the second night of our encampment a severe snow-storm arose. i can never forget the appearance of the troops as they arose the next morning from their snowy couches. it suggested thoughts of the resurrection morn. in spite of it all, the troops were very cheerful, and as they shook the snow from their uniforms, began singing a song, the chorus of which was: "so let the wide world wag as it will, we'll be gay and happy still!" after some delay we began our march against bath on new year's day 1862. it was one of the coldest winters known to the oldest inhabitant. snow, sleet and rain came down upon us in all their wrath. we had a skirmish on the march. general jackson wished to drive the enemy's forces from the gap in capon mountain opposite bath where they were posted. i begged him to allow me to bring up the first tennessee regiment. they were some distance in the rear, but i brought them forward in short time. as they passed by in double-quick, the general said to me: "what a splendid regiment!" in his report of the engagement, general jackson said: "the order to drive the enemy from the hill was undertaken with a patriotic enthusiasm which entitles the first tennessee and its commander to special praise." it was here that captain bullock issued his unique command: "here, you boys, just separate three or four yards, and pie-root!" (pirouette). they did pirouette and made the enemy dance as well. as the federal troops retreated through the gap in the mountain, they came face to face with a brigade of the virginia militia. each fired a volley and fled as fast as legs could carry them, in opposite directions. to the boys looking down upon the scene from the mountain, it was a comical sight. as the infantry put the federals to flight on capon mountain, captain turner ashby drove the federal cavalry along the highway in the valley like leaves before the wind. we reached romney without further obstruction. on sunday i officiated in a church which was crowded to its utmost capacity. i shall never forget the grave attention which "stonewall" jackson paid to my discourse. the text from which i preached was: "be sure your sin will find you out." the march from winchester to romney was one of great hardship and was utterly fruitless of military results. the situation in our camp in the latter part of january 1862, was rather disturbed. the two generals, stonewall jackson and loring, did not work well together. their commands were separate. jackson commanded the army of the valley district; loring the army of the north west. the former had written begging the secretary of war to send loring and all his forces to co-operate with him (jackson), in that section and expressing the opinion that the two could drive the enemy from the whole region. the secretary of war enclosed jackson's letter to loring, leaving the movement to his (loring's) discretion, but at the same time expressing his opinion and that of the president, as decidedly in favor of it. accordingly loring went expecting some prompt and decided work. but no sooner had he arrived in winchester, than general jackson began to work to merge the two armies into one and to take general loring's command under his control. jackson had but one brigade, while loring had three under his control. the troops of the latter, from the highest officer to the lowest private, were perfectly devoted to their general. of course a vast amount of ill feeling was stirred up, and the affair reached a climax when an order was issued for our troops to build winter quarters in romney, while jackson's brigade marched back to ease and comfort at winchester. i cannot begin to tell all that our troops suffered through the stupidity and want of forethought, (as i then thought it), of major-general jackson. it is enough to say that we were subjected to the severest trials that human nature could endure. we left winchester with 2,700 men in general anderson's brigade of tennesseeans. that number was reduced to 1,100. when we reached the position opposite the town of hancock, maryland, the first regiment numbered 680. in romney, it mustered only 230 men fit for duty. i felt that general loring ought to demand that he might be allowed to withdraw his forces from the command of major-general jackson. so far as the personal staff of general loring (including myself) was concerned, it was comfortably situated in a very pleasant new house. but no one could possibly imagine the horrible condition of affairs at romney among the troops; and when stonewall jackson took his command back to winchester, the men of loring's command shouted to them: "there go your f. f. v.'s!" the "pet lambs" of the stonewall brigade were comfortably housed at winchester while the troops of loring's command were left behind in romney to endure the bitter, biting weather. this movement on the part of jackson was the subject of much bitter comment. a report thereof was taken to richmond and laid before the secretary of war. he was greatly surprised that jackson should have withdrawn his forces to winchester, leaving the reinforcing column behind,--or as it was expressed at the time, "leaving the guests,--the invited guests,--out in the cold." as a result of the controversy that ensued, general jackson was required by the secretary of war to direct general loring to return with his command to winchester. this we did on the 1st of february, and while in winchester i was called to officiate at the funerals of a number of our men who had died from sickness and exposure. and it was while there that we received the news of the fall of fort donelson. although jackson complied with the order of the secretary of war, he regarded it as a case of interference with his command and took umbrage. it was by the exercise of great tact on the part of general joseph e. johnston, commander-in-chief of the department, and of governor john letcher, of virginia, that jackson was prevailed upon to withhold his resignation, and his valuable services were preserved to the army of the confederacy. on the 10th of february, 1862, the first and third regiments, tennessee volunteers, with a georgia regiment, were by the command of the secretary of war, ordered to proceed to knoxville, tennessee, and to report for duty to general albert sidney johnston. a different disposition was made of the seventh and fourteenth tennessee volunteers and of an arkansas regiment, and all the remainder of the command of brigadier-general loring was to proceed to manassas, virginia, to report for duty to general joseph e. johnston. it was with a sad heart that "the boys" of the first tennessee bade farewell, on the 7th of february, to the seventh and fourteenth regiments and to their warm-hearted and hospitable virginia friends. during the march against romney, general loring had me commissioned by the secretary of war as his aide-de-camp. i was very strongly opposed to holding such a commission, and declined to accept, but i could not leave general loring in the troubles and anxieties that distressed him, and so as a member of his staff, i travelled around considerably at that time, going from camp to camp, attending the trial of my friend at staunton, and going to richmond on military business. to get from romney to staunton on one occasion i had to take a horse-back ride of forty-three miles to winchester, then to go by stage eighteen miles to strasburg, and thence by rail via manassas and gordonsville. this was a roundabout way but was preferable at the time to a much shorter route down the valley from winchester. on the 21st of february, i went with general loring to norfolk, to which point he had been ordered, instead, as i had hoped, to georgia, where i would have been nearer my family. at this time he was promoted to major-general. we went, of course, by way of richmond where i called with him on president jefferson davis and was very agreeably disappointed in his personal appearance and bearing. i might have witnessed the ceremonies of his inauguration, but as the day set for that function proved very inclement, i was glad that i chose to spend it on the cars between richmond and norfolk. on that day general loring had a very severe chill followed by congestion of the right lung, which was the precursor of an attack of pneumonia affecting both lungs. i watched by his bedside in norfolk through all his illness, which prolonged my visit in that city for several weeks. chapter iv personal narrative--norfolk at norfolk i had the pleasure of intercourse with such friends as john tattnall, son of commander tattnall; benjamin loyall and lieutenant walter butt of the ironclad "virginia," with the clergy of the city and with many charming families. how can i ever forget the old-time virginia hospitality that was meted out to me--the enthusiastic reception i had from all kinds and conditions of men? how well i remember mr. tazewell taylor! he was well up in genealogy, and not only knew all of the old families of virginia, but the principal families of the whole south. it was quite delightful to hear him, "in the midst of war's alarums," talk over "old times" and old folks. those days before the war were all so different from what we have known since. no one born since the war can write intelligently of the blessed old days in the south. but if any one would read a true account of the trials and woes of a southern household during the dreadful war-time, let him read "the diary of a southern refugee during the war," written by mrs. judith w. mcguire for the members of her family, "who were too young to remember those days." mrs. mcguire's book is a wonderful record of hope, joys, sorrows and trials, and of the way in which, amid it all, the faithful women of the south cheered the hearts of the heroes in the field. one sunday in march i preached a sermon at st. paul's church, (old st. paul's, built in 1739,) exhorting the people to the work before them, reminding them that in the conflict in which we were engaged, not only the rights of our people and the glory of our nation, but the church of god was imperilled. it was my "old war sermon," rearranged for virginia. at the solicitation of clergy and people formally presented, i repeated it several times in norfolk. on ash wednesday i preached again in st. paul's to a fine congregation and was requested to repeat my sermon, which was on the good samaritan, the following sunday in the same church and subsequently in christ church. i met many persons of distinction in the city. general huger, who was in command in norfolk, called upon me. general howell cobb was there as commissioner on the part of the confederate government to arrange with general wood on the part of the united states, about the exchange of prisoners. in the latter part of february, i became interested in the transformation by which the "merrimac" became the "virginia" of the confederate navy. one day i slipped off from my patient, general loring, while he was sleeping, and went to portsmouth to visit the wonderful craft. the part that appeared above water suggested to me a book opened at an angle of forty-five degrees and the fore edges of its cover placed on a table. at the bow was a sharp projection by which it was expected to pierce the side of any ship it might run against. all the machinery was below water. the roof was about thirty-eight inches in thickness, of timber very heavily plated with iron. the fore and aft guns were the heaviest, carrying shot and shell eighty-five and ninety pounds in weight. the others were very heavy also and magnificent of their kind. she carried ten guns in all. her new steel-pointed and wrought iron shot were destined to do some terrific work. she was likely to escape injury unless struck below the water-line, and there was not much danger of that occurring as she was in a measure protected below that line also. she drew rather too much water, as lieutenant spotswood told me at the time of my visit. while i was at norfolk, the great battle between the "virginia" and the "monitor" and ships of war "congress" and "cumberland" took place. i witnessed the destruction of the "congress" and the "cumberland." the first days fight was on the 8th of march. by special invitation, the rev. j. h. d. wingfield, (who afterwards became bishop of northern california), celebrated the blessed sacrament in his church, (trinity church, portsmouth), for the officers of the "virginia" before they went into battle. when the "virginia" cast off her moorings at norfolk navy yard and steamed down the river, the "congress" and the "cumberland" (frigates) had been lying for some time off newport news. officers and men on the "virginia" were taking things quietly as if they were really on an ordinary trial trip. as they drew near the "congress," captain buchanan, the commander of the "virginia," made a brief and stirring appeal to his crew, which was answered by cheers. he then took his place by the side of the pilot near the wheel. my friend lieutenant j. r. eggleston commanded the nine-inch broadside guns next abaft the engine-room hatch, and he was ordered to serve one of them with hot shot. suddenly he saw a great ship near at hand bearing down upon the "virginia." in a moment twenty-five solid shot and shell struck the sloping side of the "virginia" and glanced high into the air, many of the shells exploding in their upward flight. in reply to this broadside from the "congress" one red hot shot and three nine-inch shells were hurled into her and the "virginia" steamed on without pausing. suddenly there was a jar as if the vessel had run aground. there was a cheering forward and lieutenant eggleston passed aft, waving his hat and crying: "we have sunk the 'cumberland.'" she had been struck about amidship by the prow of the "virginia," and in sinking tore the prow from the bow of her assailant and carried it down with her. the "virginia" then moved some distance up the river in order to turn about in the narrow channel. as soon as the "congress" saw her terrible foe coming down upon her, she tried to escape under sail, but ran aground in the effort. the "virginia" took position under her stern and a few raking shots brought down her flag. captain porcher, in command of the confederate ship "beaufort," made an effort to take the officers and wounded men of the "congress" prisoners. two officers came on board the "beaufort" and surrendered the "congress." captain porcher asked them to get the officers and wounded men aboard his vessel as quickly as possible as he had been ordered to burn the "congress." he was begged not to do so as there were sixty wounded men on board the "congress," but his orders were peremptory. while he was making every effort to move the wounded, a tremendous fire was opened on the "beaufort" from the shore. the federal officers begged him to hoist a white flag lest all the wounded men should be killed. the fact that the federals were firing on a white flag flying from the mainmast of the "congress" was brought to the attention of the federal officers, who claimed, however, that they were powerless to stop the fire as it proceeded from a lot of volunteers who were not under the control of the officers on board the "beaufort." the fire continuing, captain porcher returned it, but with little effect. he estimated the loss in the federal fleet, in killed, drowned, wounded and missing, of nearly four hundred men. the total loss of the confederates did not exceed sixty. captain buchanan and his flag-lieutenant were wounded and taken to the naval hospital at norfolk. catesby jones succeeded to the command of the "virginia." about an hour before midnight the fire reached the magazine of the "congress" and she blew up. the next day the "virginia" steamed out towards the "minnesota," when the "monitor" made her appearance. the latter came gallantly forward, and then began the first battle ever fought between ironclads. it continued several hours, neither vessel, so far as could be ascertained at the time, inflicting by her fire any very serious damage on the other. the "virginia" then got ready to try what ramming would do for the "monitor." what it did was to silence the latter forever in the presence of the "virginia." unfortunately, just before the "virginia" struck the "monitor," the former stopped her engine under the belief that the momentum of the ship would prove sufficient for the work. had the "virginia" kept on at full speed, she would undoubtedly have run the "monitor" under. as it was, the latter got such a shaking up that she sought safety in shoal water whither she knew the "virginia" could not follow her. it should be remembered that the "virginia" drew twenty-two feet of water and was very hard to manage, whereas the "monitor" was readily managed and drew but ten feet of water. the following day the rev. mr. wingfield was called upon to offer up prayers and thanksgiving for the victory, on board the gallant ship. it was a solemn, most impressive and affecting scene, as those valiant men of war fell upon their knees on the deck and bowed their heads in reverence and godly fear. the weather-beaten faces of many of the brave seamen were observed to be bathed in tears and trembling with emotion under the influence of that memorable service. after this commodore tattnall was placed in command of the "virginia," and on the morning of the 11th of april the "virginia" went down hampton roads with the design of engaging the enemy to the fullest extent. i received a concise cypher telegram, ("splinters," was all it said), from my dear friend john tattnall, son of the commodore, and i at once set out to see what was going on. with general loring, (who was by that time fully recovered from his illness), and quite a party of friends and officers, i went down the bay in a cockle-shell of a steamer, to witness the engagement. in order to provoke the enemy, commodore tattnall ordered two of his gunboats to run into the transport anchorage and cut out such of the vessels as were lying nearest the "virginia." this was successfully done within sight of and almost within gun-shot of the "monitor," but she could not be drawn into an engagement. although the enemy refused to fight, the "monitor" threw a number of shells, several of which passed over our little steamer. we deemed it, therefore, good military, (and naval) tactics to withdraw and let the contestants attend to their own business. chapter v personal narrative--perryville hearing about this time of the extreme illness of my bishop, the right reverend james hervey otey, in jackson, mississippi, i left norfolk, with considerable regret, for the society of that city i had found most charming, and my stay there had been very pleasant. i went by way of mobile, having for my travelling companion from montgomery, alabama, to that city, captain j. f. lay, a brother of the then bishop of arkansas. the captain was a member of beauregard's staff. general forney was in command at mobile and i had a very pleasant chat with him. his left arm was still almost useless from a severe wound received in the dranesville fight. i met also the rev. mr. pierce, who afterwards became bishop of arkansas; and madame le vert, one of the most distinguished of southern writers. i had a drive down the bay over one of the finest shell roads in the world. and on the sunday that i spent in mobile, i preached my "war sermon,"--adapted, of course, to the people of mobile. i found my beloved bishop at the residence of mrs. george yerger, in jackson, and remained in attendance on him for several weeks. he was then removed from jackson to the residence of mrs. johnstone at annandale. there he enjoyed all that kindness and wealth could give. he was able to drive out after a time, and i remember how thoroughly he enjoyed the music of the spring birds. there was one bird that he called the "wood-robin," whose notes were especially enjoyed, and the carriage was frequently stopped that he might listen to the warbling of this bird. from annandale i went to visit my family in rome, georgia, and spent some time in attendance upon the hospitals there. then i returned to general loring's headquarters for a brief visit to the general to whom i was warmly attached, and to make farewell visits to sundry officers and bid my old military companions a final adieu. for my intention it then was to leave the army. general loring's headquarters were at new river, virginia, at a place called the narrows, because the river gashed through peter's mountain, which rises abruptly from the banks on either side. the general and all the staff gave me a most cordial greeting, but the former told me that i had no business to resign and that he had kept the place open for me. if i would not be his aide he had a place for me as chaplain. but my resignation had already been accepted on the 14th of june by the secretary of war. as soon as i had determined to resign, i forwarded to the secretary of war a copy of my resignation to general loring and the former had accepted it. the general, colonel myer, colonel fitzhugh and myself, with a cavalry escort, went for a little outing to the salt sulphur springs, dining on our way at the gray sulphur springs. the former place was really one of the pleasantest of all the watering places i visited in virginia. the grounds were rolling, well laid out and very well shaded. the houses were principally of stone and capable of accommodating about four hundred guests. there were two springs of great value there, the salt sulphur and the iodine. the first possessed all the sensible properties of sulphur water in general; its odor, for instance, was very like that of a "tolerable egg," and might be perceived at some distance from the spring; and in taste it was cousin-german to a strong solution of epsom salts and magnesia. like most of the sulphurous, this water was transparent and deposited a whitish sediment composed of its various saline ingredients mingled with sulphur. the iodine spring was altogether remarkable and was the only one possessing similar properties in all the country round. it was peculiarly adapted to cutaneous eruptions and glandular diseases. the salt sulphur spring was hemmed in on every side by mountains. general william wing loring, of whom i was then taking my leave, was not only a very charming companion but he was altogether a remarkable man. a braver man never lived. he was a north carolinian by birth, and only a few years older than myself. yet he was already the hero of three wars--the seminole war, the war with mexico and that in which we were then engaged. and in 1849 he had marched across the continent to oregon with some united states troops as an escort for a party of gold-seekers. he had also engaged in indian warfare and had taken part in the utah expedition in 1858. his frontier services in the united states army were equalled only by those of that grand soldier, albert sidney johnston. the following year, he had leave of absence from the army and visited europe, egypt and the holy land. he was in command of the department of new mexico in may 1861 and resigned to accept a commission as brigadier-general in the confederate army. as major-general he served to the end of the war, leading a division and frequently commanding a corps--always with credit to himself and to the service in which he was engaged. it was at vicksburg, in 1863, that he received the familiar nickname of "old blizzard." after the war he took service with the khedive of egypt as general of brigade and was decorated in 1875 with the "imperial order of osmariah," and was promoted to be general of a division. four years later he was mustered out of the egyptian service. in 1883 he published "a confederate soldier in egypt,"--a most readable book. he died in new york city three years later at the age of sixty-eight. i officiated at his funeral in st. augustine, florida, on the 19th of march, 1886. the commanding general of the army post at st. augustine acted as one of the pall-bearers, and at the cemetery the body was borne from the gun-carriage to the grave by three federal and three ex-confederate soldiers. a salute was fired at the grave by a battery of united states artillery. i had looked toward the diocese of alabama for some parochial work, but the bishop of alabama, the rt. rev. dr. wilmer, not only could offer me no work in his jurisdiction, but strongly advised me to go back to the army as chaplain and surgeon, assuring me that there was work for me in that capacity. in june, i had a petition from my old regiment to rejoin it. i had no difficulty in getting a chaplain's commission. general loring wrote me a strong letter, and that, with the aid of a telegram from general (and bishop) polk, secured it. so i returned to the army of tennessee at chattanooga, and was enthusiastically received by the officers and members of my regiment; and especially by general polk and his staff, upon which i found my dear friends colonel harry yeatman, colonel william b. richmond and colonel william d. gale. in august 1862 we advanced into kentucky, crossing over walden's ridge and the cumberland mountains by way of pikeville and sparta, tennessee. my first intention was to leave chattanooga with general polk and his staff, but on finding that dr. buist was going alone, i concluded to accompany him. so we two started off at 10 a.m. on the 28th of august, and following the route of our immense wagon train, which stretched out for miles along the road, we supposed we were all right and knew nothing to the contrary until we reached the top of walden's ridge where we found general bragg, general buckner and governor harris. the governor put us right as to our way and we had a long ride back to get into the road taken by our brigade, which was quite different from that taken by the wagon train. we rode until after four o'clock in the afternoon, and then stopped at a house that was crowded with soldiers and refugees. we had a bed made on the floor for us and, with many others, slept well until 1 a.m., when we started on, and after a couple of hours learned that the army had halted. we rode into camp, about thirty miles from chattanooga, at dinner time with ravenous appetites. we were having pretty good living just then, for the country was admirably watered. a great many country women visited our camp to hear our band play. we continued our march to mumfordville, kentucky, where the louisville and nashville railroad crosses green river. there on the 16th of september, with a loss of fifty killed and wounded, we captured some four thousand prisoners with as many guns and much ammunition, besides killing and wounding seven hundred of the enemy. the federal forces were commanded by general wilder, since the war a most prominent citizen of chattanooga, for whom i entertain the heartiest and most cordial regard. general chalmers, one of general bragg's brigadiers, was conspicuous in this fight for the gallantry and skill with which he handled his troops. when the federal forces surrendered on the 17th, i stood beside the road and saw them lay down their arms. though there were but four thousand, i thought as they passed by me that the whole federal army had surrendered to general bragg. the night following this battle i found a sleeping place in a graveyard. on the 23rd of september we reached bardstown, kentucky, and took possession. in the meantime general buell, leaving a strong guard at nashville, marched to louisville where his army was increased to fully one hundred thousand men. it was not until october and after he had reorganized his army and was in danger of being superseded in the command thereof that he began his campaign against general bragg's forces. the latter had collected an immense train, mostly of federal army wagons loaded with supplies. and it being clear that the two great objects of our invasion of kentucky--the evacuation of nashville and the inducement of kentucky to join the confederacy--would fail, bragg decided only to gain time to effect a retreat with his spoils. he harrassed the advance of buell on bardstown and springfield, retired to danville and thence marched to harrodsburg to effect a juncture with general kirby-smith. on the 7th of october he moved to perryville, where on wednesday, the 8th, a battle was fought between a portion of bragg's army and buell's advance, commanded by general mccook. at this battle of perryville our regiment captured from the federals four twelve-pounder napoleon brass guns, which were afterwards, by special order, presented to the battery of maney's brigade. the night before the battle i shared blankets in a barnyard with general leonidas polk, bishop of louisiana. the battle began at break of day by an artillery duel, the federal battery being commanded by colonel charles carroll parsons and the confederates by captain william w. carnes. colonel parsons was a graduate of west point and captain carnes was a graduate of the naval academy at annapolis. i took position upon an eminence at no great distance, commanding a fine view of the engagement, and there i watched the progress of the battle until duty called me elsewhere. captain carnes managed his battery with the greatest skill, killing and wounding nearly all the officers, men and horses connected with parsons' battery. parsons fought with great bravery and coolness and continued fighting a single gun until the confederate infantry advanced. the officer in command ordered colonel parsons to be shot down. as the muskets were leveled at him, he drew his sword and stood at "parade rest," ready to receive the fire. the confederate colonel was so impressed with this display of calm courage that he ordered the guns lowered, saying: "no! you shall not shoot down such a brave man!" and colonel parsons was allowed to walk off the field. subsequently i captured colonel parsons for the ministry of the church in the diocese of tennessee. he was brevetted for his bravery at perryville and he performed other feats of bravery in the war. at murfreesboro he repelled six charges, much of the time under musketry fire. he was often mentioned in official reports of battles. after the war he was on frontier duty until 1868 when he returned to west point as a professor. shortly after my consecration as bishop of tennessee, i preached in the church of the holy trinity, brooklyn, new york, on "repentance and the divine life." this sermon made a deep impression upon colonel parsons, as he told me when i subsequently met him at a reception at the residence of the hon. hamilton fish. i visited him twice at west point by his invitation, and a correspondence sprang up between us. in 1870 he resigned his commission in the army to enter the ministry. he studied theology with me at memphis, and it was my privilege to ordain him to the diaconate and advance him to the priesthood. his first work was at memphis. then for a while he was at cold spring, new york. he returned, however, to memphis and became rector of a parish of which mr. jefferson davis was a member and a vestryman. he remained heroically at his post of duty during the great epidemic of yellow fever in 1878. he was stricken with the fever and died at my episcopal residence on the 6th of september. captain carnes was the first man i confirmed after my consecration to the episcopate of tennessee. with the advance of cheatham's division the battle of perryville began in good earnest. general cheatham was supported by general cleburne and general bushrod johnson, but it was not long before the whole confederate line from right to left was advancing steadily, driving back the enemy. it was a fierce struggle. until nightfall the battle raged with unexampled fury,--a perfect hurricane of shell tore up the earth and scattered death on all sides, while the storm of musketry mowed down the opposing ranks. maney's brigade did the most brilliant fighting of the day. it was in the charge by which the federal battery was captured that major-general jackson of the federal army was killed. it was shortly after noon that the battle began with a sudden crash followed by a prolonged roar. i was resting at the time in the woods, discussing questions of theology with the rev. dr. joseph cross, a wesleyan chaplain whom i had first met on the march into kentucky. i sprang to my horse at once and said to him: "let us go! there will be work enough for us presently!" he mounted his horse and followed me up a hill where we paused in full view of the enemy's line. i dismounted and sat down in the shelter of a large tree, saying as i did so: "you better get off your horse! the enemy is training a battery this way and there will be a shell here in a short time!" scarcely were the warning words uttered than a shell struck the tree twenty feet above my head and a shower of wooden splinters fell about me. i jumped into my saddle again and rode at full speed down the hill, followed by my friend, who shouted with laughter at what he called my resemblance to an enormous bird in flight, with my long coat-skirts like wings lying horizontal on the air. when he overtook me at the creek, i said to him: "this is the place. you will remain with me and i shall give you something more serious to do than laughing at a flying buzzard." dr. cross assisted me that fearful day. we met many times subsequently during the war and afterwards, i ordained him deacon and priest, and he was for a time on my staff of clergy in the diocese of tennessee. when the wounded were brought to the rear, at three o'clock in the afternoon, i took my place as a surgeon on chaplain's creek, and throughout the rest of the day and until half past five the next morning, without food of any sort, i was incessantly occupied with the wounded. it was a horrible night i spent,--god save me from such another. i suppose excitement kept me up. about half past five in the morning of the 9th, i dropped,--i could do no more. i went out by myself and leaning against a fence, i wept like a child. and all that day i was so unnerved that if any one asked me about the regiment, i could make no reply without tears. having taken off my shirt to tear into strips to make bandages, i took a severe cold. the total loss of the confederates, (whose force numbered of all arms only 16,000), was 510 killed, 2,635 wounded and 251 captured or missing, and of this loss a great part was sustained by our regiment. how well i remember the wounded men! one of the rock city guard, brought to me mortally wounded, cried out: "oh, doctor, i have been praying ever since i was shot that i might be brought to you." one of the captains was wounded mortally, it was thought at first, but it was afterwards learned that the ball which struck him in the side, instead of passing through his body, had passed around under the integuments. lieutenant woolridge had both eyes shot out and still lives. a stripling of fifteen years fell in the battle apparently dead, shot through the neck and collar-bone, but is still living. lieutenant-colonel patterson was killed at his side. the latter was wounded in the arm early in the action. he bound his handkerchief around his arm and in the most gallant and dashing style urged his men forward until a grape shot struck him in the face killing him instantly. two days after the battle i went to the enemy's line with a flag of truce. and the following day general polk, (who had won the hearts of the whole army), asked me to go with him to the church in harrodsburg. i obtained the key and as we entered the holy house, i think that we both felt that we were in the presence of god. general polk threw his arms about my neck and said: "oh, for the blessed days when we walked in the house of god as friends! let us have prayer!" i vested myself with surplice and stole and entered the sanctuary. the general knelt at the altar railing. i said the litany, used proper prayers and supplications, and then turned to the dear bishop and general and pronounced the benediction from the office for the visitation of the sick. "unto god's gracious mercy and protection i commit thee. the lord bless thee and keep thee. the lord make his face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee. the lord lift up the light of his countenance upon thee and give thee peace, both now and evermore. amen." the bishop bowed his head upon the railing and wept like a child on its mother's breast. shortly after this service, general kirby-smith begged me that he might go to the church with me, so i returned, and he too was refreshed at god's altar. general kirby-smith was a most remarkable character. a few years later it was my pleasure to have him as one of my neighbors at sewanee, tennessee, where he did much towards making the university of the south what it is. he was kindly, big-hearted, and no man was a better friend. he was a very devoted communicant of the church, and during the war, whenever opportunity offered, he held services and officiated as lay-reader. in an epidemic of cholera at nashville, some years after the war, he was called upon to say the burial office over his own rector who had died of the dread disease. he entered upon his duties in the university of the south in 1875, as professor of mathematics and gave a great deal of attention to botany and natural science. his end on the 28th of march, 1893, was very peaceful. he died as he had lived--bright, strong in his christian faith and hope. one of his last connected utterances was the fourth verse from the twenty-third psalm. on good friday, the 31st of march, 1893, it was my high privilege to commit his body to the earth in the cemetery at sewanee. chapter vi personal narrative--murfreesboro after the battle of perryville, both bragg and kirby-smith were compelled to retreat by way of cumberland gap to chattanooga. during this retreat i was in charge of the regiment as surgeon, dr. buist having been left behind to care for our sick and wounded. every morning i filled my canteen with whiskey and strapped it to the pommel of my saddle to help the wearied and broken down to keep up in the march. i was riding a splendid bay which had been brought from maury county and presented to me by the members of the regiment. he was the best saddle horse i ever rode. one day the colonel commanding the regiment rode up to me on his old gray nag and said: "doctor, this horse of mine is very rough. would you mind exchanging with me for a little while?" i was off my horse before he had finished speaking. with a smiling countenance and a look of great gratitude he mounted my bay and rode off some hundred yards or more to the front, accompanied by the lieutenant-colonel, the major and one or two other officers--when they wheeled and saluted me, the colonel holding aloft my canteen of whiskey and waving it with great glee, each one taking a drink. when that canteen was returned to me every drop of the whiskey had disappeared. i was an "innocent abroad." from chattanooga i went to rome, georgia, to visit my family and to obtain some fresh clothing of which i was sorely in need. there were many hospitals established there and among them was one named for me, "quintard hospital." i spent much of my time in the hospitals, and also went to columbus, georgia, to secure clothing for my regiment. mr. rhodes brown, president of one of the principal woolen mills in columbus, gave me abundant supplies of the very best material. besides this generous donation, he gave me a thousand dollars to use as i saw fit. after some weeks i rejoined the army which had moved on to murfreesboro. on my way up, i met at stevenson, alabama, captain jack butler of my regiment, who informed me that a telegraphic dispatch from general polk had just passed over the line ordering me to murfreesboro. i asked how he knew it, and he told me that he had caught it as it clicked over the wire, which seemed very wonderful to me then. immediately on reaching murfreesboro i reported to general polk and said: "general, i am here in response to your telegram." he was greatly astonished and asked how it was possible for me to have made the journey from rome, georgia, in so brief a time. general bragg, who was in command at murfreesboro, was attacked by rosecrans on the last day of the year 1862. a great battle resulted and the fighting continued until the 2d day of january, 1863. i was on the field dressing the wounded, as usual, when an order came for me to repair to the hospitals. while crossing the fields on my way to the hospitals in town, a tremendous shell came flying towards me, and i felt sure it would strike me in the epigastric region. i leaned down over the pommel of my saddle and the shell passed far above my head. as i rose to an upright position, i found that my watchguard had been broken and that a gold cross which had been suspended from it, was lost. i never expected to see it again. the next day, a colonel, moving with his command at "double quick" in line of battle, picked up the cross and returned it to me the day following. it is still in my possession--a valued relic of the battle of murfreesboro. as dr. buist was still in perryville, kentucky, i was practically surgeon of the regiment. as the wounded of the first tennessee were brought in, they always called for me, and it was my high privilege to attend nearly, if not quite all, the wounded of my regiment. some of them were desperately wounded; among these was bryant house, nicknamed among the boys, who were artists in bestowing nicknames, "shanty." he had been shot through the body. the surgeon into whose hands he had first fallen told him that it was impossible to extract the ball and that there was no hope for him. "well, send for my chaplain," he said, doubtless thinking that i would offer up a prayer in his behalf. instead of that, however, i went in search of the ball with my surgical instruments, and was successful. "shanty" died in september, 1895. he was for years after the war a conductor on the nashville, chattanooga and st. louis railway, and took great delight in telling this story. i continued at work in the hospital located in soule college until the army was about to fall back to shelbyville, when i was sent for by general polk, who asked if i would go to chattanooga in charge of willie huger, whose leg had been amputated at the thigh. he was placed in a box car with a number of other wounded men and i held the stump of his thigh in my hands most of the journey. when we reached chattanooga i was more exhausted than my patient. i remained with him for some time. the dear fellow finally recovered, married a daughter of general polk, and now resides in new orleans. general james e. rains, a member of my parish in nashville, fell while gallantly leading his men at the battle of murfreesboro. general hanson of kentucky, likewise gave up his life. his last words were: "i am willing to die with such a wound in so glorious a cause!" here it was that colonel marks, afterwards governor of tennessee, was severely wounded and lamed for life. after the first day's fight, general bragg sent a telegram to richmond in the following words: "god has indeed granted us a happy new year." but subsequently hearing that rosecrans was being heavily reinforced from nashville, he retired to shelbyville, carrying with him his prisoners and the spoils of battle, for the confederates captured and carried off 30 cannon, 6,000 small arms, and over 6,000 prisoners, including those captured by cavalry in the rear of the union army. wheeler's cavalry also captured and burned 800 wagons. chapter vii personal narrative--shelbyville having placed willie huger in comfortable quarters in chattanooga and watched over him as long as i was able to, i returned to the army. at shelbyville, i found general polk's headquarters occupying the grounds of william gosling, esquire. the gosling family were old friends of mine and insisted upon my making their house my home. general polk had his office in the house. mrs. gosling was an ideal housekeeper and made me feel in every respect at home. we remained nearly six months in shelbyville, most of the army being camped about tullahoma. soon after the battle of murfreesboro, general bragg was removed from the command of the army of the tennessee and general johnston was sent to shelbyville. on the 7th of february, 1863, we had a grand review by general johnston, who rode my horse--to me the most interesting item of the review. for i had seen so much of marching and countermarching that i was tired of it all--thoroughly disgusted indeed. it was a brilliant pageant, nevertheless. the troops looked and marched well, and general johnston expressed the greatest satisfaction with what he witnessed. he said he had never seen men he would rather trust. i found general johnston a charming man. i was constantly with him at general polk's headquarters and enjoyed his visit to the army very much. he was of perfectly simple manners, of easy and graceful carriage and a good conversationalist. he had used his utmost endeavor to keep general bragg in command of the army of the tennessee; though when he was ordered, in may, to take command of the forces of mississippi, general bragg remarked to me, "doctor, he was kept here too long to watch me!" afterwards in command of the army of the tennessee, no man enjoyed a greater popularity than he did. soldiers and citizens alike recognized that general johnston possessed a solid judgment, invincible firmness, imperturbable self-reliance and a perseverance which no difficulties could subdue. it was my privilege to be frequently with the general after the war and more and more he entered into the religious life, illustrating in his daily walk and conversation the highest type of the christian gentleman. he was one of the pall-bearers at the funeral of general sherman at a time when his health was far from strong. he caught cold and died of heart failure in march, 1891. the weather was at times very inclement while we were in shelbyville and i suffered much illness. i kept at my work as well as i could, however, and often i preached before distinguished congregations; as, for example, when generals johnston, polk, cheatham and nearly all the general officers and staffs were present. the congregations were usually large. i recall reading with a great deal of zest, one day when the weather was very inclement and i was by illness kept in the house, a publication entitled "robinson crusoe." perhaps my readers may have heard of such a book. and one night in february, general polk and i remained up until two o'clock, and the bishop-general gave me a detailed account of the manner in which his mind was turned to serious things while he was at west point--practically the same story that may be found in dr. william m. polk's recently published life of his father. on another occasion the general and i were riding out together and he mentioned the following odd incident to me: his eldest son when at college in the north purchased a gold-headed walking-stick as a present to the bishop. wishing his name and seal engraved upon it, the son took it to an engraver in new york, giving him a picture of the bishop's seal as published in a church almanac. the seal was a simple shield having for its device a cross in the center, with a crosier and key laid across it. by some hocus pocus the artist engraved a crosier and a _sword_ instead of the key. the bishop had the cane still when he told me this, and i think it was his intention to adopt that device as his seal thenceforth. but, of course, as we all know, the bishop's death before the close of the war prevented his adopting a seal for his future work in the episcopate. it must not be supposed, however, that my time was idly spent in shelbyville or in reading such books as "robinson crusoe" and listening to the charming conversation of general polk and others. on the 2nd of march, at the request of my fellow-chaplains, general bragg issued an order to the effect that i was assigned to duty at the general hospitals of polk's corps, and was to proceed to a central point and there establish my office. with the approval of medical officers, i was to visit the different hospitals, rendering such services and affording such relief and consolation to the sick and wounded as a minister only could give. on my copy of this order was endorsed "transportation furnished in kind from wartrace to atlanta, mch. 3, '63." so i went off and was gone several weeks, visiting my family in rome, georgia, before my return. i made also a trip to columbia, tennessee, on business relating to my new appointment--a distance of forty miles from shelbyville, over roads none of the best at that time. while i was in rome i received a very characteristic letter from my friend, colonel yeatman, on polk's staff, which gave me an amusing account of the services held in shelbyville on the day appointed by the president of the confederate states to be observed as a day of fasting and prayer. the chaplain of an alabama regiment preached a very good sermon, the letter says, and then "your brother ---wound up with a prayer--eminently a _war prayer_--in which he prayed that their (the yankees') moral sensibilities might be awakened by the 'roar of our cannon and the gleam of our bayonets and that the _stars and bars_ might soon wave in triumph through these beleagured states!' and then after prescribing a course which he desired might be followed by the lord, he quit." it is such a good example of the manner in which some persons attempt to preach to the people while they pray to god, that it is quite worth quoting here. the visit of bishop elliott, of georgia, to shelbyville was a great event. he arrived on the 23rd of may and was most affectionately welcomed by his friend general polk, and remained with us at mr. gosling's house two weeks. services were held every day and the bishop preached. everywhere he was received most enthusiastically. the presbyterian church in shelbyville, was by far the largest church building in the town, and as it was without a pastor at the time, i had been invited to occupy it and had accepted the very kind invitation. we accordingly held services there on sunday, the 24th of may. in the morning i said the service and the bishop celebrated the holy communion and preached. in the afternoon the bishop preached one of his most eloquent sermons, and i presented a class of ten persons for confirmation. it included colonel yeatman; colonel porter (of the sixth tennessee); major hoxton, chief of artillery on hardee's staff; lieutenant smith, on general cheatham's staff; surgeon green, (fourth tennessee); four privates of my own regiment; one private of the fifty-first alabama cavalry; and a lady. it was a very novel sight to see a large church crowded in every part with officers and soldiers. scarcely a dozen of the gentler sex were to be seen. the attention of this large body of soldiers was earnest and like that of men who were thoughtful about their souls. being anxious for the bishop to officiate for my regiment, i made an appointment with him for the following day, to preach to the brigade under general george maney, at their camp. the service was held at the headquarters of colonel porter of the sixth regiment. the attendance was very large and the bishop said he had never had a more orderly or attentive congregation in a church. i conducted the service and the bishop preached. on tuesday i was very unwell but felt it my duty to drive six miles to the front and visit, with the bishop, the brigade of general manigault, of south carolina. he was on outpost duty and was only a few miles from the pickets of general rosecrans' army. the service was at five o'clock. the whole brigade was in attendance, having been marched to the grove arranged for the service, under arms. i assisted in the service and undertook to baptize a captain of the twenty-eighth alabama, but was taken ill, and being unable to proceed, the bishop took my place. it was a very solemn service indeed. the captain knelt in the presence of his brother soldiers and enlisted under the banner of christ crucified. after which the bishop preached to the assembled officers and soldiers seated on the ground in concentric circles. it was an admirable extempore discourse which fell with great effect upon the hearts of all who heard it. on returning to shelbyville, i betook myself to bed, and using proper remedies, i had a comfortable night. the following day, i fasted and lounged about headquarters. mr. vallandigham, who had been sent to us by the federal authorities because of what were regarded as disloyal utterances made in political speeches in ohio, dined with us, and my great desire to see him gave me strength to endure a long sitting at table, though i ate nothing. mr. vallandigham was altogether a different man from what i had expected. he was about my own age and height, had remarkably fine features, a frank, open countenance, beautiful teeth and a color indicating very high health. he wore no side-whiskers nor moustache but a beard slightly tinged with gray, on his chin. in manner he was extremely easy and polite; in conversation very fluent and entertaining. he was greatly pleased with the kind reception he had met from the officers of the army and the citizens of shelbyville, but was very desirous of avoiding all public demonstration. on thursday morning, feeling much better, i accompanied bishop elliott to wartrace, the headquarters of general hardee. general polk and colonel richmond accompanied us. later colonel yeatman brought mr. vallandigham over in general polk's ambulance and we had a "goodlie companie." at eleven o'clock we held a service in the presbyterian church, the use of which was kindly tendered me. there was a large congregation, consisting of officers, soldiers and ladies. the bishop read part of the morning service and i preached an extempore sermon. i had not expected to say anything, but the bishop having declined to preach, i was determined not to disappoint the congregation altogether. and i had great reason to be thankful that i did preach, for it gave me the opportunity to have a long and very delightful conversation with general hardee about confirmation. in the afternoon, services were to have been held for the brigades of general wood and general lucius polk, but rain coming on, and the services having been arranged for the open air, it was thought best to postpone them to a future occasion. the train that evening brought a very agreeable addition to our party in the person of lieutenant-colonel freemantle of the coldstream guard of the british army. the guard was the oldest regiment in the british service. colonel freemantle was only about eight and twenty, and was on furlough,--just taking a hasty tour through the confederacy to look at our army and become acquainted with our officers. he was very intelligent and very companionable. his grandfather and his father were adjutants of the coldstream guard, and he had held the same office. his family was an ancient and honorable one, and he seemed worthy to wear his ancestral honors. he accompanied general polk and myself to shelbyville the next day, and was for a while the general's guest. he had left england three months before and had come into the confederacy by way of texas. the following sunday i held services again in the presbyterian church at shelbyville, preached to a crowded congregation, and presented another class to the bishop for confirmation. in the afternoon we drove to wartrace where i said evening prayer at the headquarters of general wood, and the bishop preached to an immense concourse. between four and five thousand persons were present and the services were most impressive and solemn. on monday morning, (june 1st), we attended a review of general liddell's brigade. after the review, general hardee had the brigade formed in a hollow square and the bishop addressed it briefly upon the religious aspects of the struggle in which we were engaged. a memorable incident of bishop elliott's visit to our army was general bragg's baptism and confirmation. as soon as i found that the bishop was able to give us a visit, i made very earnest appeals to the officers and soldiers of our army to confess christ before men. but there was one man in the army whom i felt i could never get at. he was the commander-in-chief, general braxton bragg. he had the reputation of being so stern and so sharp in his sarcasm, that many men were afraid to go near him. yet i had often thought of him in connection with my work. he never came to the holy communion, and i never heard of his being a member of any religious denomination. immediately after i received notice of bishop elliott's proposed visit, i determined to have a talk with general bragg. it was late one afternoon when i started for his headquarters. i found two tents and a sentry at the outer one, and when i asked for general bragg the sentry said: "you cannot see him. he is very busy, and has given positive orders not to be disturbed, except for a matter of life and death." that cooled my enthusiasm and i returned to my own quarters; but all the night long i blamed myself for my timidity. the next day i started out again, found the same sentry and received the same reply. this time, however, i was resolved to see the general, no matter what happened, so i said: "it _is_ a matter of life and death." the sentry withdrew and in a few minutes returned and said: "you can see the general, but i advise you to be brief. he is not in a good humour." this chilled me, but i went in. i found the general dictating to two secretaries. he met me with: "well, dr. quintard, what can i do for you? i am quite busy, as you see." i stammered out that i wanted to see him alone. he replied that it was impossible, but i persisted. finally he dismissed the secretaries, saying to me rather sternly: "your business must be of grave importance, sir." i was very much frightened, but i asked the general to be seated, and then, fixing my eyes upon a knot-hole in the pine board floor of the tent, talked about our blessed lord, and about the responsibilities of a man in the general's position. when i looked up after a while i saw tears in the general's eyes and took courage to ask him to be confirmed. at last he came to me, took both my hands in his and said: "i have been waiting for twenty years to have some one say this to me, and i thank you from my heart. certainly, i shall be confirmed if you will give me the necessary instruction." i had frequent interviews with him subsequently on the subject and he was baptized and confirmed. the latter service took place in shelbyville, on the afternoon of our return from wartrace. wishing to make the usual record, i asked the general to give me the names of his parents and the date of his birth. in reply he sent me the following note: my dear doctor: i was born in the town of warrenton, warren county, north carolina, on the 21st of june, 1817, son of thomas bragg and margaret crossland, his wife. though too late in seeking, [but not,] i hope, in obtaining the pardon offered to all who penitently confess, i trust time will yet be allowed me to prove the sincerity with which i have at last undertaken the task. for the kindness and consideration of yourself and the good and venerable bishop, for whom my admiration has ever been very great, i shall never cease to be grateful. my mind has never been so much at ease, and i feel renewed strength for the task before me. faithfully yours, braxton bragg. toward the end of our stay in shelbyville, it was my privilege to assist in getting two ladies through the enemy's lines. the rev. mr. clark, rector of st. paul's church, augusta, georgia, had been appointed by the bishop of georgia, a missionary to the army,--that is, a sort of chaplain under diocesan control and for whose support the confederate government was in no way responsible. the plan was intended to continue the work which the bishop had begun by his visit to our army. mr. clark desired to send his mother and sister to nashville, and communicating with me in advance, i made all necessary arrangements for their transit through the lines before they arrived in our camp at shelbyville. i obtained a pass from general bragg and his permission for mr. edmund cooper, of shelbyville, to write such letters to federal officers as he saw fit. mr. cooper was in a position to be of great service to us, for although a union man and afterwards private secretary to president johnson and assistant secretary of the united states treasury, his brothers were in the confederate army. he accordingly gave us letters to general rosecrans and governor andrew johnson. general wheeler wrote to colonel webb, in command of our outposts, requesting him to do all in his power for the welfare of the party. in the morning the two ladies, accompanied by the rev. mr. clark, my old class-mate dr. frank stanford, then general wheeler's medical director, and myself, left shelbyville in a fine four-horse ambulance. on our way "to the front," nine miles out, we reached general martin's headquarters, where our passports were examined and approved. three miles further on, we reached colonel webb, who gave us a note to lieutenant spence of the outer picket, still three miles further in advance. lieutenant spence conducted us to a house where we were kindly received and made to feel quite at home. he sent one of his scouts forward to the residence of colonel lytle, two miles further on in the "neutral ground," to inform him of our arrival and to take letters to him from mr. cooper and myself asking his assistance in conveying the ladies through the enemy's lines. about two o'clock colonel and mrs. lytle arrived in their carriage. the latter kindly offered to accompany the ladies through the federal lines to the house of a friend where they could remain until they could communicate with general rosecrans. at this point we made our adieus and on returning to camp stopped for dinner at colonel, (afterward general) strahl's headquarters. the day was a pleasant one and the whole party was greatly pleased with the trip. the rev. mr. clark remained with me over the following sunday and held services for one of our regiments. chapter viii personal narrative--a dramatic episode a short time before we left shelbyville i was a participant in one of the most solemn, and at the same time one of the most dramatic, scenes of my whole life. i was requested one day by general polk to visit two men who were sentenced to be shot within a few days for desertion. one of them belonged to the nineteenth tennessee regiment and the other to the eighth tennessee. the former was a man forty-seven years of age, the latter not more than twenty-three. i cannot describe the feelings which oppressed me on my first visit in compliance with the general's request. i urged upon both men, with all the powers of my persuasion, an attention to the interests of their souls. the younger man was, i believe, really in earnest in endeavouring to prepare for death, but the other seemed to have no realizing sense of his condition. i found that the younger man had a cumberland presbyterian minister for a chaplain for whom i sent and who would minister to him. i called upon governor harris and begged him to see the judges of the court and find if there was any possibility of having the men pardoned. i never begged so hard for anything in my life as for the lives of these men. i had a special sympathy for the older man, for he had deserted to visit his wife and children. however, the day came for their execution. the cumberland presbyterian chaplain baptized the man belonging to his regiment. i remained in town the night preceding the day appointed for the execution, and from eight o'clock to nine, the cumberland presbyterian chaplain and myself engaged in prayer privately in behalf of the condemned men. at seven in the morning i gave them the most comfortable sacrament of christ's body and blood. both prisoners seemed deeply and profoundly penitent and to be very much in earnest in preparing for death. the room in which they were confined was a very mean and uncleanly one. half the window was boarded up, and the light struggled through the dirt that begrimed the other half. but the sacrament itself and the thought that the prisoners would so soon be in eternity, made it all very solemn. the prisoners made an effort to give themselves up to god, and seemed to feel that this was the occasion for bidding farewell to earth and earthly things. i pronounced the benediction, placing my hand upon the head of each, and commending them to the mercy of god. at eight o'clock, the older man, to whom i was to minister in his last moments, was taken from his cell, ironed hand and feet. he was placed in an ambulance, surrounded by a guard, and we started for the brigade of colonel strahl, seven miles out of town. on reaching strahl's headquarters, the prisoner was placed in a room and closely guarded until the hour fixed for his execution,--one o'clock,--should arrive. a squad of twenty-four men was marched into the yard, and stacking arms, was marched off in order that the guns might be loaded by an officer,--one half with blank cartridges. leaving headquarter preceded by a wagon bearing the prisoner's coffin and followed by the squad which was to do the execution, we arrived on the ground precisely at one o'clock. the brigade was drawn up on three sides of a square. colonel strahl and his staff; captain stanford; major jack, general polk's adjutant; and captain spence of general polk's staff, rode forward with me. a grave had been dug. the coffin was placed beside the grave, the prisoner was seated on it and i took my place by his side. captain johnston, colonel strahl's adjutant, advanced and read the sentence of the court and the approval of the general. the prisoner was then informed that if he wished to make any remarks, he had now an opportunity. he requested me to cut off a lock of his hair and preserve it for his wife. he then stood up and said: "i am about to die. i hope i am going to a better world. i trust that one and all of my companions will take warning by my fate." he seated himself on his coffin again and i began the psalm: "out of the deep have i called unto thee, o lord," and after that the "comfortable words." we then knelt down together, and i said the confession from the communion office. then i turned to the office for the visitation of prisoners, and used the prayer beginning, "o father of mercies and god of all comfort," and so on down to the benediction, "unto god's gracious mercy and protection i commit you." i then shook hands with him and said: "be a man! it will soon be over!" the firing squad was in position, the guns were cocked, the order had been given to "take aim," when major jack rode forward and read "special order, no. 132," the purport of which was that since the sentence of the court-martial and order for the execution of the prisoner, facts and circumstances with regard to the history and character of the man had come to the knowledge of the lieutenant-general commanding which in his judgment palliated the offence of desertion of which the man had been condemned and warranted a suspension of his execution. the sentence of death was therefore annulled, and the man was pardoned and ordered to report to his regiment for duty. the poor fellow did not understand it at first, but when the truth burst upon him, he exclaimed: "thank god! thank god!" and the tears streamed down his face. the whole scene was most impressive, and was calculated to have a good effect upon all who were present. the other prisoner was executed at high noon in another locality. chapter ix personal narrative--chickamauga on the last day of june, 1863, rosecrans began to advance on bragg. that was the signal for our leaving shelbyville. on the 3rd of july the union army entered tullahoma. on the morning of the 2nd, as i left the headquarters of general bragg, i met my friend governor isham g. harris. he looked very bright and cheerful and said to me: "to-morrow morning you will be roused up by the thunder of our artillery." but instead of being thus aroused i found myself in full retreat toward winchester. thence i rode to cowan, where i found general bragg and his staff, and general polk with his staff. i rode up to them and said to general bragg: "my dear general, i am afraid you are thoroughly outdone." "yes," he said, "i am utterly broken down." and then leaning over his saddle he spoke of the loss of middle tennessee and whispered: "this is a great disaster." i said to him: "general, don't be disheartened, our turn will come next." i found colonel walters, his adjutant-general, lying in the corner of a rail fence, with his hands under his head, looking the very picture of despair. i said to him; "my dear colonel, what is the matter with you?" his reply was: "how can you ask such a question, when you know as well as i do what has happened?" our troops were at this time moving rapidly across the sewanee mountain, over country which subsequently became very familiar to me in times of peace. i said to him; "my dear colonel, i am afraid you've not read the psalms for the day." "no," he answered. "what do they say?" i replied in the words of the first verse of the eleventh psalm: "in the lord put i my trust; how say ye then to my soul, that she should flee as a bird unto the hill?" i gave my horse to one of "the boys," and at the request of general bragg, i accompanied him by rail to chattanooga. on the 21st of august, a day appointed by the president of the confederate states for fasting, humiliation and prayer, while i was preaching in a church, the union army appeared opposite chattanooga and began shelling the town. i think my sermon on that occasion was not long. early in september, general mccook and general thomas moved in such a way as to completely flank the confederate position. general bragg immediately began his retreat southward, and having been joined by general longstreet and his forces, attacked general thomas at lee and gordon's mills, twelve miles south of chattanooga, on the 19th of september. it was a bitter fight, but the day closed without any decisive results to either side. after this the great battle of chickamauga was fought. undoubtedly general thomas saved the union army from utter ruin, but longstreet, by his prompt action in seizing an opportunity, won the victory for the confederate army. the troops led by brigadier-general archibald gracie fired the last gun and stormed the last strong position held by the enemy at the battle of chickamauga, and so memorable was his conduct on that day, that the people in that vicinity have given the hill the name of gracie hill. it was a great privilege to know general gracie as i did. he was a character that old froissart would have delighted to paint. chivalrous as a bayard, he had all the tenderness of a woman. a warrior by nature as well as a soldier by education, (he graduated at west point in 1852,) and profession, he had a horror of shedding blood and would almost shed tears in the hour of victory over the thin ranks of his brigade. a few months before his death he became a communicant of the church. one great personal loss i sustained in the battle of chickamauga was that of my dear friend, colonel w. b. richmond, a member of general polk's staff. he was a true friend, a thoroughly well rounded character and a most gallant soldier. he was the treasurer of the diocese of tennessee, before the war. brigadier-general helm of kentucky was killed at chickamauga, as was also brigadier-general preston smith. among the dead was my cousin, captain thomas e. king, of roswell, georgia, who had sufficiently recovered from his fearful wounds at the first battle of manassas, to act as honorary aide-de-camp to general smith. here also general hood lost a leg. the day after the battle i was sent to the field with one hundred and fifty ambulances to gather up the wounded. it was a sad duty. i saw many distressing sights. i was directed to convey the federal wounded to the field hospitals fitted up by the federal surgeons that had been captured to the number of not less than fifty, i think. i labored all the day and at nightfall i came upon a wretched hut into which a half dozen wounded men had dragged themselves. i found there among them, a young fellow about seventeen years of age. he had a severe wound in his leg and a small bone had been torn away. i chatted with him pleasantly for a while and promised to take him to the hospital early the next morning. early the next day when i went to fulfill my promise, i saw a surgeon's amputating knife on the head of a barrel by the door of the hut, and found that my young friend had been weeping bitterly. when i asked him what was the matter, he replied: "the surgeon has been examining my wound and says that my leg must be amputated. i would not care for myself, but my poor mother--" and then he burst into an agony of tears. "nonsense!" i said to him. "they shall not take off your leg." and lifting him up bodily, i placed him in an ambulance and took him to the hospital, where the next day i found him bright and cheerful. i learned subsequently that the "surgeon" who was about to amputate his leg unnecessarily, was a doctor who had come up from georgia to get a little practice in that line. the boy subsequently became a railway conductor and used to say many years later, "you know i belong to bishop quintard. he saved my leg and perhaps my life at chickamauga. the leg young saw-bones was going to amputate is now as good as the other." another warm friend of mine, john marsh, was horribly wounded at the battle of chickamauga; so sorely wounded that he could not be removed from the field. a tent was erected over him and i nursed him until he was in a condition to be taken to the hospital. on the 1st of october, i obtained leave of absence from my duties as chaplain of polk's corps, volunteered my services as an assistant surgeon, was assigned to duty as such at marietta, georgia, and reported as promptly as possible to surgeon d. d. saunders, who was in charge of the hospitals at that post. i took marsh with me and there he slowly recovered his health. i prepared him for baptism and it was my great pleasure to baptize him and present him to bishop elliott for confirmation. when he was to be baptized, knowing that it would be painful for him to kneel because of his recent and scarcely healed wounds, i told him that he might sit in his chair. "no," he said. "let me kneel; let me kneel." and so he knelt, as i placed upon his brow the sign of the cross. our victory was complete at chickamauga and rosecrans' army threw down their arms and retreated pell-mell in the direction of chattanooga. the confederates followed on the 21st of september and took possession of missionary ridge and lookout mountain. for two months the two armies confronted each other at chattanooga. matters remained quiet in both armies until november, when the confederate lines extended around chattanooga from the mouth of chattanooga creek above, to moccasin point below the town. to my great regret, general polk was relieved of his command on the 29th of september, in consequence of a misunderstanding with general bragg, the commanding general. his application for a court of inquiry was dismissed and a month later he was assigned to a new field of duty, alike important and difficult--the best evidence that president davis could offer of his appreciation of the bishop-general's past services and of his expectations of his future career. it was while we were in chattanooga, before the battle of chickamauga, that the "order of the southern cross" was organized. there came to general polk's headquarters, (on whose staff i was serving,) several officers, who stated that they had been considering the propriety if not the necessity of instituting an organization within the army, both social and charitable in its character, whose aim would be as a military brotherhood, to foster patriotic sentiment, to strengthen the ties of army fellowship and at the same time to provide a fund, not only for the mutual benefit of its members, but for the relief of disabled soldiers and the widows and orphans of such as might perish in the confederate service. they requested bishop polk to attend a meeting that evening to consider the subject further, and he finding it inconvenient to attend, asked me to go as his representative. so i went. some six or eight of us met at tyne's station, about nine miles northwest of chattanooga. after sufficient discussion and explanation to bring us to a common understanding of the purposes of the proposed order, general pat cleburne, general john c. brown, general liddell and myself were appointed a committee to draft a constitution and plan of organization. we met every day, i think, for a week or ten days, and the outcome of our labors was a little pamphlet, in appearance similar to the catechisms of our sunday school days. it was in fact three by five inches in size, contained twenty-five pages and was from the press of burke, boykin & co., macon, georgia. it was entitled "constitution of the comrades of the southern cross, adopted august 28, 1863." several "companies" were at once organized and but for the unfavorable course of events, i do not doubt that the order would have rapidly extended throughout the armies of the confederacy. but active military operations were very soon afterward begun, and the army was kept constantly on the move until the "bottom dropped out," and the "order of the southern cross"--like the southern confederacy--went to pieces. the confederate veterans' organization subsequently embodied some of the features which it was intended that the comrades of the southern cross should possess. chapter x personal narrative--atlanta general bragg was defeated by general grant at chattanooga in november 1863, and early in the following month he was, at his own request, relieved of the command of the confederate army. he was called to richmond to act for a while as military adviser to president davis. his life subsequent to the war was quiet. he was a god-fearing man in peace and in war. he died in 1876. he was succeeded in the command by general joseph e. johnston, whose army was encamped in and around atlanta. soon afterward i secured the use of a methodist church building on the corner of garnet and forsyth streets, assembled a congregation, held services and instituted a work which resulted in the establishment of st. luke's parish. a suitable lot was soon obtained and with the help of men detailed from the army, a building was speedily erected. it was a most attractive building, handsomely furnished, and although somewhat "confederate" in style, would have compared favorably with most churches built in the days of peace and prosperity. within its portals devout worshippers,--many distinguished confederate officers among them,--were delighted to turn aside from the bloody strife of war and bow themselves before the throne of grace. on the 8th of may, 1864, while i was in atlanta in charge of st. luke's church and in attendance upon the hospitals, the following telegram came to me from major henry hampton: "can't you come up tomorrow? general hood wishes to be baptized." it was impossible for me to go, but it was a great pleasure for me to learn afterwards that general polk arrived with his staff that day and that night he baptized his brother general. it was the eve of an expected battle. it was a touching sight, we may be sure,--the one-legged veteran, leaning upon his crutches to receive the waters of baptism and the sign of the cross. a few nights later, general polk baptized general johnston and lieutenant-general hardee, general hood being witness. these were two of the four ecclesiastical acts performed by bishop polk after receiving his commission in the army. i was then chaplain-at-large under the appointment of the general commanding. being anxious for the bishop of georgia to consecrate the new church, i arranged for him to visit that portion of the army then at dalton. at dalton i baptized brigadier-general strahl in his camp in the presence of his assembled brigade, and at night we held services in the methodist church at dalton. the church was so densely packed that it was impossible for bishop elliott and myself to enter by the front door. fortunately there was a small door in the rear of the church, opening into what i should call the chancel. we were obliged to vest ourselves in the open air. i crawled through the little doorway first, and then taking the bishop by his right hand, did all i could to help him through. i read evening prayer and the bishop preached; after which i presented a class for confirmation in which were general hardee, general strahl, two other generals, a number of officers of the line and many privates. the next day i accompanied the bishop to marietta where he held an ordination service at which i preached the sermon. and the day following he consecrated to the service of almighty god, st. luke's church, atlanta. in the afternoon of that day i presented a class of five persons to the bishop for confirmation,--the first-fruits of my labors in st. luke's parish. it was about this time that i prepared some little books adapted to the use of the soldiers as a convenient substitute for the book of common prayer. i also prepared a booklet, entitled, "balm for the weary and wounded." it was through the great kindness and generosity of mr. jacob k. sass, the treasurer of the general council of the church in the confederate states, that i was enabled to publish these two little volumes. the first four copies of the latter booklet that came from the press were forwarded to general polk and he wrote upon three of them the names of general j. e. johnston, lieutenant-general hardee and lieutenant-general hood, respectively, and "with the compliments of lieutenant-general leonidas polk, june 12, 1864." they were taken from the breastpocket of his coat, stained with his blood, after his death, and forwarded to the officers for whom he had intended them. on the 14th of june, i telegraphed to general polk from atlanta that i would visit him at his headquarters and give him the blessed sacrament. two telegrams came to me that day. one was from major mason and read as follows: "lieutenant-general polk's remains leave here on the 12 o'clock train and will go directly through to augusta." the other was as follows: "to the rev. dr. quintard, atlanta, georgia. lieutenant-general polk was killed to-day by a cannon ball. his body goes down to atlanta to-day. be at the depot to meet it and watch the trains. douglass west, a. a. g." i was never more shocked and overwhelmed. on reaching atlanta the body of the dead bishop and general was escorted to st. luke's church, and placed in front of the altar. he was dressed in his gray uniform. on his breast rested a cross of white roses and beside his casket lay his sword. throughout the following morning, thousands of soldiers and citizens came to pay their last tribute of affection. at noon, assisted by the rev. john w. beckwith, of demopolis, (afterwards bishop of georgia), i held funeral services and made an address. the body was then escorted to the railway station by the dead general's personal staff, together with general g. w. smith, general wright, general ruggles, general reynolds, colonel ewell and many officers of the army, soldiers and citizens, and a committee representing the city of atlanta. at augusta the body remained two days at st. paul's church and lay in state at the city hall until st. peter's day, june 29th, when the final rites were held in st. paul's church. the bishops of georgia, mississippi and arkansas officiated. the sermon was by the bishop of georgia. the burial was in the chancel of the church. bishop polk's was the first funeral to take place in st. luke's church, atlanta. there was but one other, that of a child named after and baptized by bishop elliott, for whom bishop polk had stood as sponsor but a short time before. in august, 1864, i was in macon, georgia, not knowing precisely what to do or where to go. the times were very distressing. i took charge of the church and parish in macon for the rector who had been sick but was slowly recovering. this was in accordance with a letter from the bishop of georgia, who had written me about the middle of the previous month, that i had been sadly tossed about and needed rest and that i might go to macon for that purpose. but a few days later i was with bishop lay of arkansas, in atlanta, and with the army again, though compelled to go on sundays to macon to officiate for the sick rector at that place. i remained at general hood's headquarters in atlanta, expecting to move with the general into tennessee. the city was being shelled by the federals, and some of the shells fell very thickly about the general's headquarters. i thought the locality seemed very unhealthy, but as the general and his staff did not seem in the least disturbed, bishop lay and i concluded that everything was going on all right according to the art of war and we stood it with the best of them. on one particular day when more shells were thrown than in all the other days put together, there were, strange to say, no casualties. on the 10th of august, at headquarters, i presented a class to bishop lay for confirmation. it included general hood and some officers of his staff. in speaking to me the night before his confirmation, the general said: "doctor, i have two objects in life that engage my supreme regard. one is to do all i can for my country. the other is to be ready and prepared for death whenever god shall call me." learning that st. luke's church had been injured in the bombardment of the city, bishop lay and i made a visit to it. we looked in wonder at the sight that met our eyes upon our entering the sacred edifice. one of the largest shells had torn through the side of the building and struck the prayer desk on which the large bible happened to be lying. the prayer desk was broken and the bible fell under it and upon the shell so as apparently to smother it and prevent its exploding. i lifted up the bible and removed the shell and gathered up all the prayer books i could find for the soldiers in the camps. before leaving the church i sat in one of the seats for a few moments and thought of the dear friends who had assisted in the building of the church, and who had offered up the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving in that place; of the bishop who had but a short time before consecrated it; of the bishop-general over whom i had said the burial service there; of the now scattered flock and the utter desolation of god's house. as i rose to go, i picked up a handkerchief that had been dropped there at the child's funeral, which was the last service held there. i wrote a little story subsequently about "nellie peters' pocket handkerchief, and what it saw," and it was published in the columns of the "church intelligencer." this was the last time i visited st. luke's church of which i have such tender memories. it was destroyed in the "burning of atlanta." on the 6th of september, 1864, a general pass was issued to me by order of general hood and signed by general f. a. shoup, his chief of staff. this pass is an interesting relic of my early associations with one who subsequent to the war came under my jurisdiction as a priest of the church when i was bishop of tennessee. he married a daughter of bishop elliott, took orders in the church, so distinguished himself in the ministry as to receive the degree of doctor of divinity, and was for a long time my neighbor at sewanee, where he was a professor in the university of the south. chapter xi personal narrative--columbus (georgia) and the journey into tennessee when the fall of atlanta seemed imminent, general johnston advised me to remove my family from the city and i decided to go to columbus, georgia. the rector of trinity church in that town was ill, and the bishop of georgia appointed me a missionary to the army, at a stipend of $3,000 per year, to be paid as long as the churches in georgia remained open, and to be continued to me while i was in columbus and while the rev. mr. hawks, rector of trinity church, was ill. my appointment was subsequently made that of permanent missionary to the army. so in october, 1864, i rented a very comfortable house two miles from town, for which i paid rent in advance for nine months--twenty-five hundred dollars, confederate money. but everything seemed to be on the same generous scale, for when on the sunday after my arrival, i preached in trinity church, the offerings for the poor amounted to one thousand dollars. we met with great cordiality from all the people of the town, especially from mr. j. rhodes brown, who placed me under great obligations by his kindness. we met in columbus the musical prodigy, "blind tom," who belonged to one of our neighbors, general bethune. i had heard him in a public performance two years previously in richmond. i was calling on the bethunes one day, and on hearing my voice, tom came into the parlor and in the most uncouth way paid his respects to the ladies and myself. he was not as much as usual in the humor for playing, having already spent four hours at the piano that day for the amusement of some cavalrymen who had visited him. nevertheless he cheerfully sat down to the piano and gave us some delightful music, and sang us some french songs, in which his powers of mimicry were wonderfully displayed. his playing was most marvellous. it seemed as though inspired. he was then a lad of fifteen. his musical talents were exhibited in his earliest childhood. during all the month of october i was in constant attendance upon the sick and wounded in the hospitals of columbus and holding daily religious services in my capacity of missionary to the army. my brother-in-law, dr. h. m. anderson, having been ordered to selma with the polk hospital to which he was attached, spent a week with me and did much to assist me in my medical services. greatly to my satisfaction he afterwards received orders to report for duty to the hospitals in columbus. one day, at the carnes hospital, in the presence of a large number of surgeons and convalescents, i baptized an infant. that day was made ever memorable by the generous donation of my friend, mr. j. rhodes brown, who handed me a thousand dollars to be appropriated to the purchase of reading matter for the army. he also presented me with a pair of blankets for my own use, and subsequently with three hundred yards of excellent cloth to clothe my regiment. to this he thoughtfully added buttons, thread and lining and three hundred pairs of socks. the cloth at that time was valued at forty-five dollars a yard. "the liberal soul shall be made fat." about the middle of october, general g. p. t. beauregard assumed command of the military division east of the mississippi river, including the department of tennessee and georgia commanded by general hood, who, however, was to retain command of his department. on assuming command, general beauregard published an address to his army in excellent tone and taste, promising a forward movement. it caused great enthusiasm. the general was very popular with his troops and his name was a tower of strength. on the 8th of november, captain wickham informed me that he would leave for the army on the morrow and i immediately made my arrangements to accompany him. leaving columbus on a freight train, after a long and wearying journey we reached montgomery, alabama, and found accommodations, or what passed for such, in the topmost story of the principal hotel. while in montgomery i dined at dr. scott's in company with a number of tennessee friends, among whom were colonel battle, late in command of the twentieth tennessee, and then state treasurer; colonel ray, secretary of state; general dunlap, comptroller; henry watterson, and albert roberts who then edited the _montgomery mail_. colonel battle followed me after i left the house, and handed me a roll of bills, which he begged me to accept from colonel ray, general dunlap and himself, to assist me in defraying my expenses. the money came very opportunely and i thanked him very heartily, for i had not five dollars in my pocket at the time. i took a steamer for selma. the vessel was crowded to excess--in the cabin, on the deck and all about the guards. still i had a much pleasanter night than i anticipated--on the floor of the cabin. at selma, i met the rev. mr. ticknor, who handed me a letter from my dear friend, the bishop of alabama, containing a check for five hundred dollars, which he begged me to accept for my own comfort. i left for demopolis at eight the following morning, in company with captain wickham and my friend major thomas peters, formerly of general polk's staff. at demopolis i had the pleasure of seeing the rev. john w. beckwith, who had officiated with me at the funeral of general polk and who was afterwards to become the bishop of georgia. continuing on our journey we sailed down the tombigbee river to the terminus of the railway, where we took cars and started for meridian, mississippi. it was a most tedious trip on the river, taking up about ten hours to make fifty miles. and when we reached the cars we found them crowded to excess. i stopped at macon, mississippi, to visit captain yates who had lost his leg at atlanta and to whom i had ministered there. i met the heartiest of welcomes, and found the captain greatly improved and getting about a little on crutches. his nephew, who had lost a leg at murfreesboro, was visiting him. i started off from macon with abundant supplies furnished by mrs. yates, among which were two roast turkeys, a ham and "all the et ceteras." when the train came along i found major winter, of the engineers, in the car with his baggage and implements. he kindly invited me to a seat and i had a comfortable ride to okalona, mississippi. it having been decided not to go forward until general cheatham could be heard from, captain wickham, captain bradford and i went on to columbus, mississippi, where i was very cordially received by bishop green of mississippi. wednesday, the 16th of november, having been set apart by the president of the confederate states as a day of supplication and prayer for god's blessing on our cause, i officiated in st. paul's church, columbus, and preached from the text: "think not that i am come to send peace on earth: i came not to send peace, but a sword." general cheatham telegraphed me to go forward. so i left west point, mississippi, on the 19th of november, in a car loaded with corn. the party on our car included brigadier-general quarles, sterling cockrill, of nashville, captains shute, wickham, bradford, jones, mayrant and colonel young of the forty-ninth tennessee regiment, besides some ladies and young people. the day wore away pleasantly enough in such company and about 8 o'clock at night we reached corinth, mississippi, where the rev. mr. markham, an excellent presbyterian minister from new orleans, shared my blankets with me. here we had information that general sherman was making his way to the seaboard and was within thirty miles of macon, georgia. captain wickham and myself passed on with others, and at half-past four in the evening of thursday, the 22nd of november, we crossed the line into tennessee. in consequence of the wretched condition of the roads and the rough weather, we had had a hard time of it. i made my way with all possible speed, through mount pleasant to ashwood and to the house of my dear friend, general lucius polk. such greetings as i received! how i thanked god for the friends he had given me! general chalmers and his staff were guests at general polk's, and the next day we had many happy meetings. all day long there was a constant stream of visitors to hamilton place, the residence of general polk. general hood and governor harris came early in the day as did also general cheatham. then came general john c. brown, general gibson, general bate, handsome frank armstrong, and general walthall, who with his staff, spent the night with us. i offered a special prayer of thanksgiving to god for our return to tennessee, and the following day was one of supreme enjoyment. i did not move out of the house but just rested and tried to realize that i was once more in tennessee. on the 27th, advent sunday, i had morning prayer at the residence of general lucius polk, and baptized two children, making a record of the same in the parish register. on the following day our forces entered columbia. i accompanied them and found the good people of the town in a state of the wildest enthusiasm. almost the first person i met was my dear friend, the rev. dr. pise who went with me to call on several families. these were days of great hopefulness. general beauregard telegraphed to general hood that sherman was making his way rapidly to the atlantic coast and urged hood to advance to relieve general lee. general hood proposed to press forward with all possible speed, and said to me confidentially that he would either beat the enemy to nashville or make the latter go there double quick. so the race began to see who would get to nashville first. that night the enemy was still on the opposite side of duck river, but it was thought he would withdraw next morning. at all events our forces were to cross at daylight. general hood urged me to go with the ambulance. when he told me "good-bye," i prayed god's blessing, guidance and direction upon him. "thank you, doctor," he replied, "that is my hope and trust." and as he turned away he remarked: "the enemy must give me fight or i will be in nashville before to-morrow night." general cheatham and general stewart crossed duck river at sunrise; general lee shortly afterwards. there was considerable shelling of the town, and colonel beckham was wounded, but no lives were lost. by wednesday the enemy had all withdrawn, our forces had crossed over and the wagons were crossing. i crossed the river at two o'clock with major john green, of south carolina, and dr. phillips, of hoxton's artillery. we met on the road several hundred prisoners going to the rear. at spring hill we heard that the federal commanders were in a sad way. general stanley had been heard to say, "i can do nothing more; i must retreat." three trains of cars were burned by the federals at this place. very much has been said about the confederates' "lost opportunity," as it is called, at spring hill, and general cheatham has been faulted for not doing something very brilliant there that would have changed the whole complexion of affairs. it is said that he failed to give battle when the "enemy was marching along the road almost under the camp fires of the main body of our army." during the war and after its close i was brought into such intimate association with general b. f. cheatham, that i learned to appreciate his high character. he was a man of admirable presence. in manner he was free, without frivolity,--cheerful, kind-hearted and ever easy of access. he was a gentleman without pretensions and a politician without deceit; a faithful friend and a generous foe; strong in his attachments and rational in his resentments. he was clear in judgment, firm in purpose and courageous as a lion. he was fruitful in expedients, prompt in action and always ready for a fight. he won victory on many a well-contested field; but, best of all, he ruled his own spirit. he participated in the greater number of battles in the war with mexico; and in the civil war he won distinction and promotion at belmont, shiloh, perryville, murfreesboro, chickamauga, and on many fields besides, he exhibited the most perfect self-possession,--the utmost disregard of peril. he possessed in an eminent degree the indispensable quality of a soldier which enabled him to go wherever duty or necessity demanded his presence. he understood thoroughly that it was better that a leader should lose his life than his honor. i have every confidence in the statement he once made: "during my services as a soldier under the flag of my country in mexico, and as an officer of the confederate armies, i cannot recall an instance where i failed to obey an order literally, promptly and faithfully." major saunders, of french's division, has said: "the assumption that schofield's army would have been destroyed at spring hill, and one of the most brilliant victories of the war achieved, had it not been for the misconduct of cheatham, is one of the delusions that has survived the war.... no circumstance or incident that his strategy developed can be found that justifies [the] attacks [made] on the military reputation of general cheatham." my own opinion has always been that general cheatham was in no way at fault in his conduct at spring hill. and this opinion has been strengthened by the letter from governor harris to governor james d. porter, dated may 20, 1877, and the brief letter from general hood to cheatham, dated december 13, 1864, both recently published in "southern historical papers," vol. 9, p. 532. i baptized general cheatham, confirmed him, officiated at his marriage, and it was my sad privilege to say the burial service over him. he died in nashville, tennessee, september 4th. 1886. his last words were: "bring me my horse! i am going to the front!" just before moving toward franklin, general strahl came to me and said: "i want to make you a present," and presented me with a splendid horse, named "the lady polk." i used the horse through the remainder of the war and at its close sold her, and with the money erected in st. james' church, bolivar, tennessee, a memorial window to general strahl and his adjutant, lieutenant john marsh, both of them killed in the fearful battle of franklin. both of these men i had baptized but a few months previously, and both were confirmed by bishop elliott. chapter xii personal narrative--franklin the battle of franklin was fought on the 30th of november, 1864, and was one of the bloodiest of the war. on that dismal november day, our line of battle was formed at 4 o'clock in the afternoon and marched directly down through an open field toward the outer breastworks of the enemy. a sheet of fire was pouring into the very faces of our men. the command was: "forward! forward men!" never on earth did men fight against greater odds, but they advanced towards the breastworks,--on and on,--and met death without flinching. the roar of battle was kept up until after midnight and then gradually died away, as the enemy abandoned their interior line of defences and rapidly retreated to nashville. we had about 23,000 men engaged. they fought with great gallantry, drove the enemy from their outer line of temporary works into their interior line, captured several stands of colors and about one thousand prisoners. but our losses were about 4,500 brave men, and among them major-general pat cleburne, brigadier-general john adams, brigadier-general o. f. strahl, brigadier-general gist, brigadier-general granberry and brigadier-general john c. carter was mortally wounded. among the wounded were major-general john c. brown, brigadier-generals manigault, quarles, cockrill, scott and george gordon. general john adams, on reaching the vicinity of franklin, had immediately formed his line of battle near the residence of colonel john mcgavock and led his troops into the fight. a more gallant set of officers and men never faced a foe. general adams was calm, cool and self-possessed and vigilantly watched and directed the movements of his men and led them on for victory or for death. he was severely wounded early in the action and was urged to leave the field. he calmly replied: "no, i will not! i will see my men through!" and at the same time gave an order to captain thomas gibson, his aide-de-camp and brigade inspector. when he fell he was in the act of leaping his horse, "old charlie," over the outer works. both horse and his rider were instantly killed,--the general falling within our lines, while old charlie lay astride the works. the general received two wounds in the right leg, four balls entered his body, one ball passed through his breast and one entered his right shoulder-blade. these wounds were all received simultaneously and his death was instantaneous. major-general cleburne's mare was dead on the works and the general himself was pierced with no less than forty-nine bullets. the bodies of these two brave generals were brought from the battlefield in an ambulance and taken to the residence of colonel mcgavock, whose house and grounds were literally filled with the confederate dead and wounded. mrs. mcgavock rendered every assistance possible and her name deserves to be handed down to future generations as that of a woman of lofty principle, exalted character and untiring devotion. captain gibson, general adams' aide and brigade inspector, although badly wounded, accompanied by captain blackwell, conveyed the body of his commander to the residence of the general's brother, major nathan adams, in pulaski. i officiated at the funeral and his mortal remains were placed in the cemetery by the side of those of his father and mother. as a soldier, general adams was active, calm and self-possessed, brave without rashness, quick to perceive and ever ready to seize the favorable moment. he enjoyed the confidence of his superiors and the love and respect of his soldiers and officers. in camp and on the march he looked closely to the comfort of his soldiers, and often shared his horse on long marches with his sick and broken-down men. he was a member of the episcopal church and a sincere and humble christian. for a year or more before his death he engaged, morning, noon and night in devotional exercises. he invariably fasted on friday and other days of abstinence appointed by the book of common prayer. he was guided in all his actions by a thoughtful and strict regard for truth, right and duty. in all the relations of life he was upright, just and pure. there is no shadow on his memory and he left to his children the heritage of an unblemished name and to coming generations the sublime heroism of a southern soldier. after the battle general strahl's horse lay by the road-side and the general by his side,--both dead. all his staff were killed. general strahl was a native of ohio, but he had come to tennessee in his youth, and was as thoroughly identified with the latter state as any of her sons. he gave to the fourth tennessee regiment its drill and discipline and made it a noted regiment before he succeeded general a. p. stewart in command of a brigade. he was just recovering from a dangerous wound received at atlanta the previous july when he entered upon the tennessee campaign, which ended for him fatally. general gist, of south carolina, was lying dead with his sword still grasped in his hand and reaching across the fatal breastworks. general granberry of texas, and his horse were seen on the top of the breastworks,--horse and rider,--dead! i went back to columbia, hired a negro to make some plain coffins, helped him to put them into a wagon, drove with him about sixteen miles, and buried these brave men,--strahl, gist, and granberry,--under the shadow of the ivy-mantled tower of st. john's church, ashwood,--with the services of the church. then i returned to the field. major-general john c. brown, general george gordon, and general carter were seriously wounded,--the last named, mortally. after ministering to these and many another, i returned to columbia to the hospital in the columbia institute. here i found captain william flournoy and adjutant mckinney of the first tennessee regiment, both severely wounded. there were hundreds of wounded in the institute. i buried major-general cleburne from the residence of mrs. william polk. a military escort was furnished by captain long and every token of respect was shown to the memory of the glorious dead. after the funeral, i rode out to hamilton place with general lucius polk. there i found general manigault wounded in the head and major prince, of mobile, wounded in the foot. returning to columbia, i met captain stepleton and through him paid the burial expenses of my dear friend, john marsh,--three hundred dollars. the dear fellow had given me a farewell kiss as he entered the battle. i also gave the rev. dr. pise one hundred dollars and left myself without funds. while in columbia i sent wagons down to the webster settlement to procure supplies for our wounded at franklin. having visited the sick and wounded in the hospitals at columbia, i went with captain stepleton towards franklin. i reached the house of mr. harrison, about three miles from franklin, at dark, and stopped to see my friends, general carter, general quarles, captain tom henry, and captain matt pilcher. captain pilcher was shot in the side. captain henry was wounded slightly in the head. both were doing well. general quarles had his left arm shattered. general carter was shot through the body and his wound was mortal. i knelt by the side of the wounded and commended them to god. i had prayers with the family before retiring. all that night we could hear the guns around nashville very distinctly, but all i could learn in the morning was that our lines were within a mile and a half of the city. the following day was the second sunday in advent, december 4th. i rode to franklin to see dr. buist, the post surgeon. all along the way were abundant marks of the terrific battle,--dead horses and burnt wagons,--but at the line of the breastworks near mr. carter's house, where the heaviest fighting was done, there was a great number of horses piled almost one upon another. mr. carter's son was shot within a few yards of his home. returning to mr. harrison's house with dr. buist, who went down to attend to the wounded, i visited them all and had prayers with them. the doctor and myself returned to franklin in the evening and william clouston called and took me to his house for the night. there i found general cockrill of missouri, wounded in the legs and in the right arm but full of life and very cheerful. lieutenant anderson, one of his staff, who had lost a part of one foot at vicksburg, was now wounded in the other. captain john m. hickey, in command of a company in a missouri regiment, while charging the main lines of the works just in front of the cotton gin, was desperately wounded, his leg being shattered. he fell into the mud and while in this deplorable condition, his left arm was badly broken by a minnie ball and soon afterwards he was shot in the shoulder. with thousands of dead and wounded lying about him, he lay upon the field of battle for fifteen hours, without food, water or shelter, in the freezing cold, and half of that time exposed to the plunging shot and shell of both friend and foe. i devoted my time while in franklin, to visiting the hospitals. in one room of brown's division hospital, in the court house, i dressed a goodly number of wounds, after which i went to visit general cockrill and thence to army headquarters at the residence of john overton. i met with a most cordial welcome, not only from general hood, but also from mr. overton's family and several ladies from nashville. on wednesday, i rode with governor harris to franklin and thence to mr. harrison's, to be with general john c. carter who was nearing his end. i found general quarles and captain pilcher both doing well. major dunlap was also improving. lieutenant-colonel jones of the twenty-fourth south carolina, however, was not doing so well, having had a profuse hemorrhage. on visiting general carter, i read a short passage of holy scripture and had prayers with him for which he thanked me in the most earnest manner. in his lucid moments my conversation with him was exceedingly interesting. but his paroxysms of pain were frequent and intense and he craved for chloroform and it was freely administered to him. he could not be convinced that he was going to die. "but," i said, "general, if you should die, what do you wish me to say to your wife?" "tell her," he replied, "that i have always loved her devotedly and regret leaving her more than i can express." i had prayers with all the wounded and with the family of mr. harrison, and sat up with general carter until half past twelve o'clock. lieutenant-colonel jones died some time in the night. general carter died the following saturday. i wrote to the rev. dr. pise at columbia to attend his funeral as his body was to be taken there for temporary burial. it was bitterly cold and the roads were very slippery. general carter was a native of georgia but a citizen of tennessee. he had been advanced for merit from a lieutenant at the beginning of the war to the command of a brigade. he had a wonderful gentleness of manner coupled with dauntless courage. every field officer of his brigade but one, was killed, wounded or captured on the enemy's works at the dreadful battle of franklin. the following sunday, (third sunday in advent,) i celebrated the holy communion at army headquarters. that night general forrest shared my bed with me. one of the men remarked: "it was the lion and the lamb lying down together." the following day, in the methodist church at brentwood, i united in the holy bonds of matrimony, major william clare and miss mary hadley, of nashville. the major's attendants were dr. foard, medical director, and major moore, chief commissary. a large number of officers were present. after the marriage, the party returned to the residence of mr. overton where a sumptuous dinner was provided. my empty purse was replenished by a fee of two hundred dollars, besides which a friend sent me, the following morning, fifty dollars in greenbacks. i left headquarters the following day in dr. foard's ambulance for franklin and on the way picked up a couple of wounded men and carried them to the hospital. we met governor harris and colonel ray, secretary of state. i spent the evening at mrs. carter's with my friends, colonel rice and captain tom henry. the next day i made efforts to purchase shoes for my family. the merchants had hidden their goods and were unwilling to dispose of them for confederate money. but by offering to pay in greenbacks, i not only secured shoes but all sorts of goods. meeting captain kelly, of the rock city guard, then off duty in consequence of wounds received in the recent battle, i proposed to him to go to georgia for clothing for the soldiers. to this he agreed and we left for columbia. while there i attended a meeting of the ladies, the object of which was to organize a relief association. distressing reports began to come in of a reverse to our arms at nashville. at first i did not credit them, but later i met colonel harvie, the inspector general, who not only confirmed the very worst of the reports, but expressed both indignation and disgust at the conduct of our troops. general lucius polk sent a buggy for me and i drove out to hamilton place and spent the night. the next day, (fourth sunday in advent,) i celebrated the holy communion in the parlor at hamilton place, and after administering to the company assembled there, carried the consecrated elements to the rooms of general manigault and major prince, that they might also receive the comfortable sacrament. in the afternoon i drove back to columbia and assisted the rev. dr. pise at the marriage of miss hages to major william e. moore, chief commissary of the army. after this i rode to the residence of mr. vaught, where i found general hood and his staff. i was glad to find the general bearing up well under the disaster to our arms. it was now a very serious question whether general hood should hold the line of duck river, (even if it were possible for him to do so,) or fall back across the tennessee. one officer remarked to the general in my presence, that while god was on our side so manifestly that no man could question it, it was still very apparent that our people had not yet passed through all their sufferings. the general replied that the remark was a just one. he had been impressed with the fact at spring hill, where the enemy was completely within our grasp, and notwithstanding all his efforts to strike a decisive blow, he had failed. and now again at nashville, after the day's fighting was well nigh over, when all had gone successfully until the evening, our troops had broken in confusion and fled. early the following morning, general forrest reached headquarters and advised strongly that general hood withdraw without delay south of the tennessee. "if we are unable to hold the state, we should at once evacuate it," were the words of general forrest. at nine o'clock in the morning, cannonading began at rutherford hill. after a couple of hours, word came from general cheatham that he had repulsed the enemy, and the firing ceased. general hood finally decided to fall back south of the tennessee; and governor harris, in whose judgment i had great confidence, thought it the best we could do. still it was a dark day to me, and the thought of leaving the state of tennessee once more, greatly depressed me. tuesday, the 20th of december, was a day of gloominess. i felt in bidding farewell to columbia, that i was parting with my dearest and most cherished hopes. i recalled the days of our march into tennessee, so full of delightful intercourse with strahl, and marsh and other friends. after saying "good-bye," i rode on to pulaski, thirty miles, where i was cordially received at the home of mrs. ballentine. the next day i baptized six persons there, and later at the headquarters of general hood, in the residence of the honorable thomas jones, four of mr. jones' children. after this baptism mr. jones joined us at prayers in general hood's room. the general said, "i am afraid that i have been more wicked since i began this retreat than for a long time past. i had so set my heart upon success,--had prayed so earnestly for it,--had such a firm trust that i should succeed, that my heart has been very rebellious. but," he added, "let us go out of tennessee, singing hymns of praise." the weather was exceeding inclement. so many of our poor boys were barefooted that there was very great suffering. the citizens of pulaski did all they could to provide shoes. i dined on wednesday with governor harris, at major nathan adams' and spent the night with colonel rice. the general informed me the next day that the enemy effected a crossing of duck river at columbia at noon, and began shelling the town. but forrest told them by flag, that if the shelling were not stopped, he would put their wounded directly under the fire. the firing consequently ceased. our forces all moved on towards bainbridge. general hood left the following morning. i joined governor harris as he was not to be detained en route. we rode thirty miles to a little town called lexington, where colonel rice, captain ballentine and myself obtained rough accommodations for the night. the next day, we started for lamb's ferry, thinking to find a boat there, but learned that general roddy had ordered it to elk river to cross his command. i therefore had another journey of eighteen miles to make. just at the close of the day i found my friend, major-general clayton, camped by the road-side, and not knowing general hood's location, i decided to accept general clayton's very cordial invitation to spend the night with him. it was christmas eve. after supper the general called up all his staff and couriers and we had prayers. the next day, christmas day and sunday, was very sad and gloomy. i had prayers at general clayton's headquarters, after which i rode down to the river and watched the work of putting down the pontoons. some one brought me a christmas gift of two five dollar gold pieces from mrs. thomas jones of pulaski. the following day i crossed the river at nine o'clock. on crossing the river on our forward march, i had sung "jubilate." now i was chanting "de profundis." i joined general hood at tuscumbia on the 27th and found the general feeling the disaster more since he reached tuscumbia than at any time since the retreat began. and after various adventures, i reached aberdeen on saturday, the last day of 1864. though an entire stranger in aberdeen, i received a most cordial welcome at the home of mr. needham whitfield, whose family were church people. and thus ended the year 1864. chapter xiii personal narrative--the crumbling of the confederacy new year's day fell on a sunday in 1865. there being no resident priest in aberdeen, the vestry of st. john's church requested me to officiate for them, which i did both morning and evening, having large congregations. and on the following tuesday, i began holding daily services in the church, which were exceedingly well attended. at the first of these services, i preached on "earnestness in the christian life." i remained in aberdeen until the 14th of january, holding daily services, visiting the members of the parish and performing such priestly offices as were desired. then i left for columbus, mississippi, where i had a cordial welcome at the house of mr. john c. ramsey, a vestryman of st. paul's church. the bishop of the diocese, bishop green, was making columbus his home, but was absent at the time and expected to return on the following monday. i met the rev. mr. schwrar, of tennessee, at the bishop's residence, and on the following sunday i preached at st. paul's church, both morning and night, the services being taken by the rev. mr. schwrar and the rev. mr. bakewell of new orleans. i held services daily, morning and evening, during that week, at most of which i preached. at this time the minds of the people of the south were becoming impressed with the idea that the victory and independence of the confederate states were no longer certain. on the 19th of january, general hood was relieved of his command and lieutenant-general taylor took temporary command. both officers and privates were holding meetings in the army asking for the return of general johnston. general hood deserved well of his country for his bravery, for his devotion, for his energy and enterprise. but the troops longed for general joseph e. johnston, the country was crying out for him, and congress of the confederate states was demanding that the president restore him to the command of the army of the tennessee. and i am satisfied that no other man, had he the genius of a cã¦sar or a napoleon, could have commanded that army so well as general johnston. on sunday the 22nd of january, the rev. john m. schwrar, deacon, was advanced to the priesthood in st. paul's church, columbus, by bishop green. i presented him for ordination and preached the sermon, from the text: "what shall one then answer the messengers of the nation? that the lord hath founded zion and the poor of his people shall trust in it." isaiah xiv, 32. it saddened me to think that, because of the death of bishop otey of tennessee, mr. schwrar had need to be ordained outside of the diocese to which he belonged canonically. but after the close of the war and i had become bishop otey's successor, mr. schwrar was one of my most faithful and beloved clergymen, was for several years secretary of the diocese of tennessee and missionary in charge of several important places near memphis. in the epidemic of yellow fever in 1878, he remained bravely at his post and died of the fever. a few days after the ordination, i met at general elzy's, colonel baskerville, captain hudson, james d. b. de bow and others and we discussed the policy of putting the negroes into the army as our soldiers, and we all agreed to the wisdom of so doing. we also discussed the rumors then current of the readiness of the foreign powers to recognize us on the basis of gradual emancipation. and mr. de bow, who was the editor of the "southern quarterly review," stated that governor aiken of south carolina, the owner of over a thousand slaves, had spoken to him more than two years previously in favor of emancipation to secure recognition, and had urged him to employ his pen to bring the subject before the people of the confederate states. it was at this time reported that commissioners had gone from the confederacy to washington on a peace mission. i spent wednesday, the 1st of february, with colonel baskerville and with mr. de bow, who was of the opinion that we should have peace on the 1st of may. the thought of peace almost made me hold my breath, but i feared that the time was not yet. at the same time the president of the confederate states appointed a day of fasting, humiliation and prayer. lieutenant-colonel llewellyn hoxton, whom i had presented to bishop elliott for confirmation at shelbyville in 1863, spent a night with me. he belonged to an old virginia family from alexandria where he was carefully nurtured in the church and had instilled into his mind and heart the principles of virtue and religion by the quiet and steady influences of a christian home. he graduated at west point, in 1861, just at the time of the breaking out of the war. after reaching washington, he resigned his commission in the united states army in order that he might go with his state. his resignation was not accepted, but his name was stricken from the roll. he crossed over to virginia and was ordered by the secretary of war of the confederacy, to report to general polk. he was a most faithful soldier and on many a battlefield displayed conspicuous gallantry. i was unable to get transportation from columbus before the 7th of february, and before leaving, bishop green handed me an envelope containing two hundred dollars, an offering from a member of st. paul's parish. after many annoyances, owing to the crowded state of the trains, i arrived in meridian. here i found captain frierson of tennessee. dr. foster the post surgeon, met me at the railway station and i accepted an invitation to be his guest during his detention at that place. at his quarters, i found a number of nashville friends--general maney, captain alexander porter, captain rice, major vaulx, captain kelly and others. i visited colonel hurt who was commanding maney's brigade. the brigade was smaller than my old regiment at the beginning of the war. of all the thousand and more who came out in the first tennessee regiment in may, 1861, i found but fifty men remaining. many had been killed in battle, others had sickened and died, some were "in the house of bondage," and, worst of all, some had deserted their colors. i left meridian on thursday, the 9th of february, for demopolis, alabama, where i arrived at three o'clock in the evening. my visit to demopolis was a pleasant one. while there the report of the peace commission was made public. the failure of the commission was used to rally the spirits of the people, who were told that every avenue to peace was closed, excepting that which might be carved out with the sword. but this attempt to raise the drooping spirits of the south failed. the feeble flare of excitement produced by the fiasco of the peace commission was soon totally extinguished. leaving demopolis, i accompanied the rev. mr. beckwith to greensboro, alabama, to see bishop wilmer. during this visit the bishop held a confirmation service at which i preached and the offerings, amounting to $530, were given to me for army missions. after the service a gentleman took me to one side and stated that several gentlemen of the congregation desired to present me with a slight token of their regard and presented me with $700. it took me greatly by surprise. accompanied by frank dunnington, i went to selma. we put up for the night at a hotel. in the morning i paid for lodging and breakfast $13. i declined the breakfast. the following day i had the great pleasure of meeting my friend colonel harry yeatman. that morning i visited the naval works, and spent some time with captain ap catesby jones. we had much pleasant chat about our virginia friends. it seemed strange to find a naval establishment in an inland town or upon the banks of a small river. but the truth is, the confederate government had learned the wisdom of selecting such places for the manufacture of gunboats and naval ordnance in order that they might be the better protected from the raids of the federals. captain catesby jones had accomplished a vast amount of work at this place. he had some four hundred workmen employed, only ninety of whom were white. he had up to the time i visited him, turned out one hundred and ninety guns, besides doing a vast amount of other work for the government. he went through the works with me and showed me the different steps, from the melting of the ore to the drilling of the guns. he was casting the brooks gun almost exclusively and said that it combined more good points than any other. while in the office at the naval works, mr. phillips, of north carolina, came in to take a look at the works. he was just from richmond having travelled with vice-president alexander h. stephens as far as atlanta. he told a story which illustrated mr. lincoln's wit, and as we all thought at that time, lack of dignity and perhaps also lack of sympathy with those who were interested in the war on the southern side. mr. hunter, one of the commissioners from the south, suggested, during a four hours' interview with mr. lincoln and mr. seward, many instances in history in which governments had treated with insurgents, and mentioned one in the time of charles i of england. mr. lincoln replied: "seward may know all about the history of that time. all i know is, that charles i lost his head." i reached montgomery by steamer too late saturday night for the train to columbus, georgia. i was therefore obliged to spend sunday in montgomery. my expenses on the steamer, exclusive of fare, were twenty-five dollars, to wit: three cups of coffee furnished by one of the servants, fifteen dollars; and "tip" to the boy for waiting on me and caring for my traps, ten dollars. with the rev. mr. mitchell, i went that night to a meeting of the citizens of montgomery, called to consider the condition of affairs then existing. the theater in which the meeting was held, was crowded to excess. when we arrived, governor watts was addressing the assembled multitude. we could scarcely get standing room. the governor spoke for more than an hour, made many good points, defended president davis, and altogether his speech was an able one, practical and thoroughly patriotic. he referred to the different spirit displayed by the people at home from that of the soldiers in the field. he was followed by other speakers and a series of patriotic resolutions was adopted by the people present. i spent sunday in montgomery, preached morning and evening and baptized the son of lieutenant-general albert j. smith. leaving montgomery the next morning, i arrived at columbus, georgia, at five o'clock in the evening, after an absence of more than three months. i was glad to find my family well. i took up my work of assisting the rev. mr. hawks as before my departure for tennessee. the 1st of march was ash wednesday and it rained incessantly. i said morning prayer and preached for the rector of the parish, who though able to attend the service, was looking very badly. his active labors were evidently at an end. three weeks later, my former classmate, dr. frank stanford, put him under the influence of chloroform, and operated upon him with a knife, removing a cancer. he bore the operation well, and was present to give his blessing, when on the 5th of april, at the rectory, i united in the bonds of matrimony, captain john s. smith, aide-de-camp to general hood, and sallie c. hawks, the reverend gentleman's daughter. and his health continued reasonably good so long as i remained in columbus. during the season of lent i officiated every sunday for mr. hawks and delivered a course of lectures on "confirmation." on the 10th of march, friday and the day appointed by president davis as a day of fasting, humiliation and prayer, i preached to a crowded congregation from isaiah iv, 12. i attended to funerals, baptisms and other parochial duties for mr. hawks. among the baptisms, was that of general warner, chief engineer of the naval works at columbus. another was that of captain rodolph morerod, of the thirty-third tennessee, strahl's brigade. he was of swiss parentage, a native of indiana and a practicing physician before the war. major-general john c. brown spent an evening with me just before he left to join his command, having recovered sufficiently from the wound received at the battle of franklin. he made a full statement to me of his movements at spring hill, which satisfied me that his skirts were clear of even a shadow of blame for the neglect of a great opportunity, as is sometimes said. i had always believed it, for he was at once one of the noblest of men and most accomplished of soldiers. i had united him in the bonds of matrimony with miss bettie childress, a little more than a year previously, at griffin, georgia, under somewhat romantic circumstances. invitations had been issued for the wedding to take place at nine o'clock, in the evening of the 23rd of february, (1864). the groom, accompanied by nine officers of his staff, arrived in griffin on the 22nd. but the following morning he received a telegram from general joseph e. johnston, ordering him to report at once at rome, georgia. the officers who were with him were likewise recalled. general brown at once sought miss childress and laid the case before her. "you will have to return to your command," she said. "but not before you are my wife," he replied. i was in attendance at the hospitals in griffin at the time and was sent for and married them at one o'clock in the afternoon in the presence of a few friends. the groom said "good by" to his bride and went to the seat of war. two weeks later he had a leave of absence and with his bride took a wedding journey. i baptized the children of this marriage, confirmed all but one, performed the ceremony at the marriage of the eldest daughter and officiated at her funeral a year later. i was with the heart-broken father at the death-bed of a second daughter and stood with him at her grave. thus i knew general brown in peace and war, in joy and sorrow, in sunshine and beneath the clouds, and i always knew him as a true man--faithful in all the relations of life, broad-minded and generous, an enterprising citizen, a lawyer, a statesman,--a man always to be depended upon. he had the good judgment, the force and decision of character, the methodical habit and the fidelity and integrity of purpose which compelled confidence and made success easy. after i became bishop of tennessee and especially during his term as governor of tennessee, we were warm friends. his death on the 17th of august, 1889, was sudden and unexpected. i was apprised thereof by telegram and hastened to the funeral at pulaski, tennessee, where i laid him to rest with the solemn and impressive services of the church. at another time we had as our guests lieutenant-colonel dawson of the 154th tennessee, and brigadier-general felix h. robertson, both nearly recovered from their wounds. but i received the most distressing news of the death of mr. jacob k. sass, president of the bank of charleston and treasurer of the council of the church in the confederate states of america. he had just escaped from columbia, south carolina, before its fall, and died at unionville. he was one of the noblest laymen of the church, of large heart and mind, full of love for christ and the church,--abundant in labors, earnest-minded and pure-hearted. mr. rhodes brown one day handed me a brief and pointed note, to the following effect: "to the rev. dr. quintard, for his private use, from a few friends." the note contained $2500 and was no doubt given to enable me to purchase theological books and i think mr. brown was the sole donor. on palm sunday, (april 9th) i brought before the church people at the services, the importance of establishing an orphanage and church home in columbus, and gave notice that the offerings on the following sunday (easter) would be for that purpose. on good friday it was with great delight that i received into the church by baptism, my old friend general washington barrow, of nashville. he was one of my earliest friends in that city and always commanded my highest and warmest regard. he had received a classical education, studied law and was admitted to the bar. he was american charge-d'affaires in portugal from 1841 to 1844, served in congress as a whig from tennessee, was state senator in 1860 and 1861, and a member of the commission that negotiated a military league between the southern states on the 4th of may, 1861. he was arrested in march, 1862, by governor johnson, of tennessee, on charge of disloyalty and was imprisoned in the penitentiary at nashville, but was released the following week by order of president lincoln. he died in st. louis, in october, 1866. before easter came, charleston,--the city by the sea,--after as gallant a defence as the records of history, ancient or modern, furnish,--had fallen. columbia had suffered severely from a visit of the federal forces. selma, alabama, had been taken and the larger part of it burned. finally the rumors that had reached us from time to time, that richmond had fallen, were confirmed. general howell cobb wrote to the mayor of columbus, urging him to do all in his power to arouse the citizens to a sense of their duty, to oppose the arming of the negroes, and to promise from the military authorities all the assistance that could be rendered. but from the address of president davis upon the occasion of the fall of richmond, and from the proclamation of the governor of alabama to the people of his state when it was threatened with an invasion of federal troops, it was evident that hope was dying out in the hearts of the people and that the end of the confederacy was not far off. easter eve the enemy was in montgomery and that city was surrendered by the mayor without an effort at defence. everything in columbus was in commotion. the tranquility of the place was not in the least served by the distressing news that was received of the assassination of president lincoln. absurd preparations were made for the defence of the city, but it was an insignificant force that could be gathered there. thus easter dawned. the first service of the day was at half-past five in the morning when i celebrated the holy communion. there was a very large attendance at this service. many men were present. it was most solemn and impressive. all hearts were filled with forebodings of what was to come. the enemy was close at hand. at the second service at half-past ten, i said the litany and celebrated the holy communion. i did not preach, feeling that it was a time for prayer and supplication only. the offerings as previously announced, were for the church home and orphanage. they amounted to $33,000. i stood at the altar for a considerable time administering the sacrament to officers and soldiers who came to receive before going to the field. among these i recognized general finley, of florida, and lieutenant green, son of the bishop of mississippi. i was deeply touched by seeing an officer who was very devout, kneel at the chancel rail, and then hasten away, equipped for battle, clasping his wife by the hand as he tore himself from her. at noon the federal artillery began firing upon the city. the fight for the defence of columbus was quite a brisk affair. major-general howell cobb was chief in command, his second being colonel leon von zinken, commander of the post. our whole force was less than 4,000, while that of the federals amounted to some 12,000 or 15,000, under major-general james h. wilson. the enemy not only greatly outnumbered our force but was splendidly equipped. the enemy was twice repulsed, but of course our troops had, before very long, to give way before such superiority of numbers and equipment. about ten and a half o'clock on monday morning, our troops fell back across the river into the city and beat a hasty retreat on the road to macon, numbers of them passing by my house. i had made but little preparation for the coming of the enemy. i had in my possession the money collected at the offertory at the sunday morning service. this i wrapped up in a piece of rubber cloth and a friend put it in the top of a tall pine tree for me. it may be there yet for aught i know. i had at my house a considerable amount of silver ware. this was rapidly gathered up, put in a sack and lowered into a well. some battle-field trophies were thrown into another well. about mid-night we retired to rest thinking we might be disturbed at any moment. but it was not until eight o'clock on tuesday morning that any of the federal soldiers put in an appearance. the first man who rode into my front yard was a sergeant of the tenth missouri cavalry. he asked if i had seen any confederates about there, to which i replied: "not since last night." "which way were they going?" he next inquired. "towards macon." "can we get something to eat?" "yes, breakfast will soon be ready. will you walk in?" he rode off and called a lieutenant, who rode up, hitched his horse in the front yard, taking the precaution to throw the front gates wide open. as he went up the steps of the porch, i asked him his name. he then gave it as jones, but after breakfast he told me his name was freese, which it evidently was. i had with me as a guest, mr. samuel noble, a very dear friend who had arrived from selma on sunday morning. he was a pennsylvanian, who had been sent south by the federal government to secure cotton and prevent its being destroyed by the confederates. at selma he had fallen under the suspicion of the federals and after being released by them, was taken up as a spy by our soldiers. he was asked with whom he was acquainted and gave me as his reference. he was accordingly sent on to columbus in charge of a lieutenant, who instantly released him upon my recognizing him. he was of great service to me in the emergencies which now arose. lieutenant freese seemed a gentlemanly fellow enough and gave me the following paper for my protection: i have paid a visit to the house of the rev. c. t. quintard, (where samuel noble of pennsylvania is a guest,) for the protection of his person and property. all soldiers will leave everything unmolested until general wilson can send out a guard as applied for. this property must remain unmolested. henry h. freese, 1st lieut co. d. 10th mo. cavalry, volunteer u. s. a. armed with this document, mr. noble determined to keep out all intruders. several friends took shelter at my house. infamous outrages were committed in the presence of ladies at my nearest neighbor's; and in his effort to protect us, mr. noble was twice put in imminent danger, pistols being placed at his head with threats that he would be shot. so i went to headquarters to secure a guard. a neighbor went with me and a soldier agreed to protect my premises until my return. i called first on general winslow, with a note from mr. noble addressed to both general winslow and captain hodge, his acting adjutant-general. captain hodge not only treated me with great courtesy, but accompanied me to the office of the provost marshal. not finding the latter as i desired, i determined to call upon general wilson. i wrote out a statement of what had transpired at my neighbor's house and sent it in to the general with my card. the general himself came to the door, shook hands with me very cordially and invited me into his room where he introduced me to general mccook. i asked general mccook to read the statement i had written and he did so. then rising from his seat and pacing the floor, he said with great warmth: "doctor, if you could identify these men who have committed this outrage, i would hang them in a minute if i could put my hands on them." he immediately gave orders to his adjutant who in turn gave the necessary orders to the provost marshal. by this means i secured a guard for my own house and for three of my neighbors. it was to the great relief of my family that i finally returned home, for they feared from my long absence that some mishap had befallen me. we had a quiet night and i had the good fortune the next morning to save both of my horses. on leaving the breakfast table, i walked out on the front porch, and saw two federal soldiers putting their saddles on my horses. i called to the lieutenant in command of the guard, to know if i must give them both up. he came out immediately, buckled on his sword, went to the men, gave them a sound thumping with his sword and ordered them to unsaddle and give up the horses. they at once obeyed and i put the horses in the basement of my house. when an hour later four other soldiers came dashing up expecting to secure my horses, they failed to find them, and mr. noble went out and put the intruders off the premises. a few days later the guards were all called in, the troops having been ordered forward on the road to macon. a number of stragglers came to the house from time to time and made efforts to enter it, but without success. one night the torch was applied to the government property, factories, etc., in columbus. the heavens were brilliantly lighted up and at intervals there were tremendous explosions. the loudest was at one o'clock, when the magazine was fired. it shattered the glass in houses two miles away. all along the river, the enemy left a scene of desolation and ruin. all the bridges were destroyed. the factories, naval works, nitre works, and cotton houses, were all burned. the shops in the town were all pillaged chiefly by the poor of the town. the destruction is said to have involved about fifteen millions of dollars. chapter xiv personal narrative--the close of the war from columbus i made my way as best i could with my family, to atlanta, where i was the guest of my friend mr. richard peters. the affairs of the confederacy, its armies, its political organization, had all come to naught. general thomas and his army had effected a junction with general grant. cavalry, infantry and artillery completely surrounded the confederate forces, whose supply of ammunition was nearly exhausted. overwhelming circumstances compelled the capitulation of general lee at appomattox court house, on sunday april 9th, 1865. a few days later occurred the assassination of president lincoln and that event was followed by the proclamation offering a reward for the apprehension of jefferson davis and certain other persons,--not as the chief actors in the recent war,--but as _particeps criminis_ in that atrocious crime. in my stay at atlanta i was brought somewhat in touch with the march of events. on the 20th of may the honorable ben hill was brought to atlanta. he had been an intimate friend of president davis and was a man of fine intellect. he bore himself nobly in the then depressing state of affairs. i had a long and most interesting conversation with him. mr. mallory, who had been secretary of the confederate navy, seemed to take a pessimistic view of the situation, and told me that his greatest regret was that he had spent four years of his life in working for a people unfit for independence. major-general howell cobb, although a paroled prisoner of war, was brought into atlanta under guard, probably to accompany mr. hill and mr. mallory to washington. i had half an hour's conversation with him. he told me that he had no regrets for the past so far as his own conduct was concerned; that he was willing to let his record stand without the dotting of an _i_ or the crossing of a _t_; that he felt that the future had nothing in store for him; that he was willing to submit to the united states laws; and that he had no desire to escape from the united states officers. "indeed," said he, "were there now two paths before me, one leading to the woods and the other to the gallows, i would rather take the latter than compromise my self-respect by attempting to escape." on sunday, the 21st of may, i officiated in the central presbyterian church, atlanta. there was an immense congregation present. it was made up of about an equal number of federals and confederates. before beginning the service, i made a brief address in which i expressed my views as to the duties of all true men in the then present condition of the country. i said that every man should do his utmost to heal the wounds and to hide the seams and scars of the fratricidal war that had just closed. i told the congregation that i would not use the prayer for the president of the united states at that service, simply because it had not yet been authorized by the bishop of the diocese whose ecclesiastical jurisdiction in the matter i recognized. i then proceeded with the service. a few evenings later, major e. b. beaumont, adjutant-general on major-general wilson's staff, took tea with us. he was from wilkes-barre, pennsylvania, and an intimate friend of mr. peters' relatives in that state. as soon as he reached macon, he wrote to mr. peters requesting him to call on him for any assistance he might be able to render. he was then on his way home on thirty days' leave. he was a graduate of west point, and,--like all from that institution with whom i was ever brought in contact,--a gentleman. from him i heard the federal side of the story of the columbus fight. i appreciated more than ever how utterly absurd was the attempt on the part of the confederates to defend the place! we had but a handful of untrained militia and a squad of veterans from the hospitals, against 13,000 of the best disciplined and best equipped troops of the federal army! from atlanta i started for nashville, accompanied by my family and my friend mr. peters, who was most anxious to get to philadelphia. the railroad between atlanta and chattanooga had been destroyed but had been re-built as far south as kingston, georgia. i found an old friend, the engineer in charge of the work of construction, who gladly received us into his coach and provided us with abounding hospitality. as there was considerable difficulty in getting through chattanooga, i called upon the federal commander at kingston, and asked him if he would kindly facilitate my movements. i handed him my passport upon which he endorsed his name and asked me to hand it to an officer in an adjoining room. the latter, to my surprise, provided me with free passes to nashville. arrived at nashville, i was very cordially received at the residence of my friend, colonel harry yeatman. this was on a friday. the next day, the rev. w. d. harlow, then in charge of christ church, called upon me. i said to him in the course of our conversation: "i shall be glad to take part with you in the services tomorrow." for the hall, used by my congregation previous to the war, had been taken by the military, in 1862, and converted into barracks, and my congregation was scattered. "perhaps you had better not," he said. "and pray, why not?" i asked. "the authorities might not like it," he replied. "very well," i rejoined, "if they do not like it, let them come and arrest me. i shall not object in the least." i learned subsequently that he had called upon general parkhurst of michigan, then provost marshal of nashville, informed him of my arrival and asked him if i would be permitted to officiate. "ah," replied the general, "has the doctor returned? where does he officiate? i shall be glad to attend his services." later i was called upon to visit the general's wife in sickness and i found myself very busily engaged in visiting the sick and wounded of the federal forces at nashville and in burying their dead. for weeks i was in constant attendance in the hospitals and in camp. gradually i began to realize that i had been unconsciously converted from a confederate to a federal chaplain. when i decided to take my family to new york, i was waited upon by a committee of federal officers, the chairman of which made a touching address and asked me to accept a purse of gold in token of the high appreciation in which my services had been held by the federal officers in nashville. i need hardly say that i was both surprised and gratified. in those days the railways were in charge of military conductors, the coaches were greatly crowded and it was difficult to obtain seats. but general parkhurst came to my assistance, sent his adjutant to the railway station to secure seats for me and my family, and placed a guard over them. thus my family made a very comfortable journey. on reaching new york, i was most cordially received by my friend the rev. dr. morgan, rector of st. thomas' church, and was invited to preach for him the following sunday. his was therefore the first church in the north in which i preached or held service of any kind after the war. i returned to tennessee on the 1st of september, 1865, and on the 6th of that month, a special convention of the diocese met in pursuance of the call of the standing committee, to elect a bishop to succeed bishop otey, who had died in april, 1863. the convention met in christ church, nashville. on the second day, the convention proceeded to the election. and in the afternoon of that day, the president of the convention, the rev. dr. pise, announced that the clergy, by an almost unanimous vote, had nominated me for that high office. the laity retired to consider the nomination and soon returned and reported that they had ratified the same. the president thereupon announced that i had been duly elected bishop of the diocese of tennessee. with my consecration in st. luke's church, philadelphia, in the presence of the general convention of the protestant episcopal church in the united states of america, on wednesday, the 11th of october, 1865, i felt that the war between the states was indeed over. chapter xv a long episcopate the consecration of dr. quintard to the episcopate of tennessee was of peculiar significance in the history of the church in the united states. the consecration took place at the first meeting of the general convention after the close of the war. at that convention all doubts as to the mutual relations of the northern and southern dioceses were dispelled. the latter had never been dropped from the roll of the general convention, notwithstanding the fact that pending the war they had been forced by the exigencies of the case, to withdraw from the northern dioceses and organize the "protestant episcopal church in the confederate states of america." they were still regarded as constituent members of the american national church. each day of the convention meeting in 1862, the southern dioceses had been called in their proper turn, beginning with alabama; and though absent, their right to be present was never questioned. still the question must have arisen in the minds of many of the southern churchmen as to how far this feeling might extend among the church people of the north. with the general convention meeting in philadelphia in october came the opportunity for the church and the church people of the north to express clearly their feelings towards their southern brethren; and this they did, first, by the cordial welcome extended to the two southern bishops present, and to the clerical and lay deputies in attendance from three southern dioceses; secondly, by the ratification of the consecration of the rt. rev. dr. wilmer to the episcopate of alabama, which had taken place in 1862, at the hands of southern bishops acting wholly independently of the church in the north; and thirdly, by the almost unanimous vote upon the report made to the house of deputies on the consecration of the bishop-elect of tennessee, wholly ignoring the especially conspicuous official position he had held in the confederate army and the prominent part he had taken in the affairs of the church in the confederate states. his consecration, therefore, furnished a very significant act by which to crown the work of reunion of the northern and southern dioceses. the service of consecration was, in dignity of ritual, quite in advance of the times. dr. quintard prepared himself therefor, by a vigil held in the church of st. james-the-less. the consecrator was the rt. rev. dr. hopkins, bishop of vermont and presiding bishop of the church in the united states. five other bishops of northern dioceses united in the act of consecration, as did also the rt. rev. francis fulford, d.d., bishop of montreal and metropolitan of canada, whose presence "contributed to a growing sense of the unity of the church throughout the whole american continent." in the history of the diocese of tennessee, the consecration of a second bishop marked, of course, a distinct and important epoch. that diocese had met with other losses than that of her ante-bellum bishop. the war had swept away, to a large extent, the results of his work and that of his clergy. all the horrors of war had been visited upon the state and diocese. churches had been mutilated and destroyed and congregations had been scattered. the effects of the war were very deeply impressed upon the mind of the new and young bishop in the first series of visitations made by him in his diocese,--a sad and laborious journey beginning in november, 1865. the evidences of devastation were fresh and visible on every side. in some places, where before there were promising parishes and missions, there was no fit building left standing in which services could be held. only three churches in the whole diocese were uninjured and very few were fit for occupation. many were in ruins. the returns from two of the parishes showed similarly severe inroads upon congregations. in one of these there remained 65 out of 147 communicants reported before the war. in the other, ten only remained out of 65 previously reported. the bishop never faltered as he confronted conditions which foretold the anxious care, the exhausting labors, the weary journeys, the disappointments, the fears and the griefs the coming years were to bring. it was with the utmost cheerfulness that he took up the burdens of the episcopate, and in gathering up the _disjecta membra_ of the church in tennessee and in strengthening the things that remained, bishop quintard was a marvel. in labors, in journeyings and in "the care of all the churches," he was truly an apostle,--not a step behind any of the heroes of the american missionary episcopate. his jurisdiction, though nominally a diocese, was virtually a missionary district in all respects save that it never received its due proportion of the church's funds devoted to missionary enterprises. with far-sighted statesmanship, dr. quintard perceived in 1865, that the church's effectiveness could be enhanced by the division of the diocese of tennessee and the establishment of the see episcopate in the three chief cities,--memphis, nashville and knoxville. and from that time on, a division of the diocese that would increase the efficiency of the work of the church therein, was kept constantly before the minds of the people. but strange to say, the very arguments used in support of the plea for the relief needed, were made the excuse for not granting it. "it is impossible for the church to grow in such a large territory under the supervision of a single bishop, let him work never so hard nor so wisely," constantly pleaded the diocese of tennessee. "the church is not growing fast enough in the diocese of tennessee to warrant a division of that diocese and an increase of episcopal supervision therein," was the invariable reply. and so it was not until five years before the bishop's death,--not until after he had worn himself out by his efforts to perform single-handed the work of three bishops in his diocese,--not until after repeated illness had warned him that he must have relief,--that a coadjutor was elected and consecrated for him. the wide-spread popularity of dr. quintard, his personal magnetism and the large-hearted charity he had manifested in time of war, were not without their effect for a time upon the work he had undertaken. wherever he appeared there flocked to meet him his old friends of the camp and battle-field. they felt that the religion he preached, having stood the test of adversity in war-time, was a good religion for times of peace,--a good religion to rule the every-day business of life. they readily yielded in large numbers to his persistent appeals to them to confess christ before men. in his record of official acts published in the diocesan journal from year to year, he noted such gratifying incidents as the baptism and confirmation at his hands of some of the officers and men with whom his acquaintance had begun on the battle-field or in camp. in the few months that elapsed between his consecration and the meeting of his first diocesan convention, 314 persons were confirmed by him in tennessee, and that number was a good yearly average of his confirmations for nearly thirty-three years; and his 470 confirmations, 152 sermons and 112 addresses, reported to the convention in 1867, for the first full year of his episcopate, were a sample of the pace he set for himself at the beginning of his episcopate. but as before the war, bishop otey in an episcopate of little less than twenty-nine years, discovered that there was a remarkable tendency among churchmen to move away from tennessee, so it was after the war, as bishop quintard was to find. bishop otey confirmed more than 6,000 persons in tennessee, yet the diocese never numbered more than 3,500 communicants before the war arrested its development. many of those whom the ante-bellum bishop confirmed took their way, like the star of empire, westward, and began to colonize the dioceses of missouri, texas and california. bishop quintard, by actual count, confirmed more than 12,000 persons, and yet his diocese was never, to the day of his death, able to count 6,000 communicants. despite the difficulties of the field in which it was given him to labor for the upbuilding of the church, the bishop was in the forefront of every movement which went on in the church in the latter part of the nineteenth century. he was a pioneer in the adoption of the cathedral system in the american church. he was among the first to utilize the work of the sisterhoods in the administration of diocesan charitable institutions. with his refined and cultivated tastes, it was natural that he should give attention to the improvement of ecclesiastical architecture in his diocese. and he was a leader in the work of the church for the negro. in 1883, a conference of bishops, presbyters and laymen was held in sewanee, to consider the relations of the church to the colored people of the south. a canon was proposed for the organization of work among colored people, which, when it came before the general convention, was known as "the sewanee canon." it was never adopted by the general convention but the work among the negroes in tennessee was organized in accordance with its suggestions. in the list of the american episcopate, bishop quintard's name is the seventy-fifth. it is an unusual name, especially conspicuous by beginning with an unusual letter. these may seem trivial circumstances to receive mention here, but the fact is that they seem significant of the striking position which the bishop held among his brethren, of the peculiarities of his personality, and of the attention he attracted to himself throughout the country. he was, as has been seen, a link between the ante-bellum and the post-bellum bishop. he was likewise a link between the clergymen of the old school and those of the new. it is curious to those who knew him later than 1870, to see him represented in the portraits taken soon after his elevation to the episcopate, wearing the "bands,"--the surviving fragment of the broad collars worn in milton's time. he probably gave them up about the time of his first visit to england in 1867. he must have been among the first in america to wear his college hood when officiating. for it is related that after he had officiated on one occasion in a church in connecticut, a lady was heard to exclaim in great indignation, "the idea of that southern bishop coming to this church and wearing a rebel flag on his back!" in sympathy with the oxford movement in the church of england, he was a leader in that movement as it affected the church in america, and so was called a "high churchman," at a time when that term was of somewhat different application from what it is now. and he was then called a "ritualist," and was regarded as an extremist though at the present day he would be considered a very moderate ritualist. he was always a welcome visitor in all parts of the country and people not only delighted to hear him preach but especially enjoyed social intercourse with him. his conversation was extremely entertaining, partly because of the breadth of his experiences in times of war and in times of peace;--as a traveller in england and as the hard-working bishop of a southern diocese, but also because his talk scintillated with wit and quick repartee. when some one in new york asked him why he had named a church at sewanee, "st. paul's-on-the-mountain," he answered: "sewanee is cherokee indian for 'mother mountain,' and you know st. paul preached on _mars_ hill." on another occasion a man was attempting to argue with him in regard to what he chose to call "the use of forms" in the church. "well," said the bishop, "you know that when the earth was without form, it was void; and that is the way with many christians." the bishop enjoyed a reputation as a pulpit orator that became wider than national. his voice was "as musical as the lute and resonant as a bugle." the southern newspapers between 1868 and 1875 praised his eloquence and noted the fact that, in spite of his belonging to a school of thought not altogether popular in the south at that time, people of all shades of opinion thronged the churches to hear him preach. he was a ready extemporaneous speaker, yet his sermons were for the most part carefully prepared and written out and delivered from the manuscript. some of them became widely known through many repetitions, and not a few became famous. one of these had a history the bishop was as fond of telling as he was of repeating the sermon. it was known as the "bishop's samson sermon," and was from the text, "i will go out as at other times and shake myself." (judges xvi, 20.) when first delivered in one of the parishes of tennessee, the bishop was informed by a disgusted hearer that it was "positively indecent," and not fit to be preached before any congregation. consequently the sermon was "retired" until it was almost forgotten. some time afterward, however, it was by accident included among sermons provided for use on one of the bishop's series of visitations; and when discovered with his homiletic ammunition, the bishop read it over carefully but without finding anything in it that could be characterized as indecent. so he determined to "try it again." it made a deep and wholesome impression upon the minds of those who then heard it. he preached it one sunday night in christ church, st. louis, and after the service a gentleman said to him, "bishop, if you will preach that sermon here tomorrow night, i will have this church full of men to hear you." the sermon was accordingly preached the following night and the gentleman kept his promise. the sermon was preached at trinity college, port hope, canada; at west point, before a congregation of cadets; at sewanee, tennessee, before successive classes of students of the university of the south;--it was preached everywhere the bishop went,--usually at some one's request who had heard it before and who wanted the impression made on his mind at the first hearing, renewed. numberless were the letters received by the bishop telling him of hearing that sermon and of good resulting from it. in his repeated visits to england, bishop quintard enjoyed a distinction never before, and rarely since, accorded to any member of the american episcopate. the first of these visits was made in 1867 in order that he might be present at, and participate in, the meeting of the first pan-anglican or lambeth conference. he attended subsequent conferences up to 1897, a few months before his death. at each of these visits he was the recipient of an unusual amount of attention from english bishops and from the english people of every rank and he revolutionized the opinions of the englishmen of that day as to america and americans. the english newspapers were captivated by his powers in the pulpit. one of the liverpool daily papers said that "the bishop of tennessee speaks english better than an englishman and preaches with the fire and clearness of lacordaire." one of the leading london papers devoted two editorial columns to a description of him and said; "the bishop of tennessee is the first american we ever heard whose speech did not bewray him." "his exterior is impressive." "his voice strong and searching and his enunciation deliberate." "his well-turned sentences are like solid carved mahogany." "he is a type of the highest average of the american public man." "his sermon was in every sense sufficient, strong, well-knit and balanced, and adequately emotional, while never falling short of the full dignity of the preacher's office and evident character. if the church in america has many such bishops it is indeed a living, efflorescent, healing branch of the great tree, which, according to dr. quintard, has never withered a day in england since the epoch of the apostles." he was a guest of the bishop of london at fulham palace; was present at his ordination examinations and took part with him in the ordination of twenty-five priests and nineteen deacons in the famous chapel royal, whitehall; at the invitation of the bishop of london, he preached the first sermon at the special evening services in st. paul's cathedral; he officiated at the service at the laying of the corner stone of the church of st. paul, old brentford,--the stone being laid by h. r. h. mary adelaide, princess of teck; he laid the foundation stone of st. chad's church, haggeston, london; he was present with bishops from the far-away south sea islands, from canada, and elsewhere, at the laying of the foundation stone of keble memorial college, oxford; he reopened the restored parish church of garstag; he assisted the archbishop of york and preached the sermon at the consecration of the church of st. michael, sheffield; he assisted the archbishop of york at the parish church, sheffield, where a class, numbering six hundred, was confirmed; he administered the apostolic rite for the bishops of london and winchester; and on the invitation of the bishops of oxford and ely, took part in their lenten missions in 1868. a second visit was made in 1875-6. his reception by the most rev. the archbishops, the rt. rev. the bishops, the clergy and the laity of the english church was all that could be asked. on two occasions he administered the apostolic rite of confirmation for the lord bishop of london and on two occasions held confirmations at the request of the archbishop of canterbury. he assisted the archbishop of york also at the confirmation of more than 500 candidates presented in one class. by the invitation of the archbishop of canterbury, he participated in the opening services of the convocation of canterbury and was the first bishop of the church, not a member of the convocation, to be admitted to that service. the service was held in the chapel of henry vii in westminster abbey. he assisted at the opening service of keble college, oxford, the laying of the foundation stone of which he had witnessed eight years before. he united, with bishops of the anglican communion from england and africa, in the consecration, in st paul's cathedral, of a bishop for asia,--the rt. rev., dr. mylne, bishop of bombay. he visited the continent also and scotland; attended the church congress at stoke-upon-trent; and assisted at the consecration of the cathedral of cumbrae, in the diocese of argyle and the isles. returning to england he was again present at the opening of the convocation of canterbury. the degree of doctor of laws was conferred upon him by the university of cambridge on the occasion of this visit. he was again in england in 1881 and attended, by invitation, the funeral of dean stanley, (july 25th). on the invitation of the queen's domestic chaplain, the hon. and rev. dr. wellesley, he preached in the chapel royal, windsor, on sunday, august 14th. no american had ever previously been invited to preach in this chapel. he took for his text on that occasion: "if thou hast run with the footmen and they have wearied thee, then how canst thou contend with horses? and if in the land of peace, wherein thou trustedst they wearied thee, then how wilt thou do in the swelling of jordan?" (jeremiah xii: 5.) in these three visits, therefore, the bishop performed every service appertaining to the episcopal office. such experiences were absolutely unique for an american bishop at that time. it had often been asserted that the bishops and clergy of the church in america were not permitted to officiate in the church of england. these visits of the bishop not only gave him an extended acquaintance among the bishops and clergy and prominent laity of the english church, but changed the relations between them and the american church, so that the latter has since been held in higher regard by the church of england. how much this was influential in leading up to the present amicable relations existing between england and america, it is not necessary for us to inquire, though doubtless such an influence might be taken into account in tracing up the history of the present anglo-american alliance. in 1887 the bishop was in england and was present by invitation of the dean of westminster, in the abbey at the queen's jubilee. he assisted at an anniversary service of the order of st. john of jerusalem, in the chapel royal, savoy. as a chaplain of the order, he attended a meeting in the chapter house, clerkenwell gate. the following year, as chaplain of the order, he assisted at the installation of h. r. h. the prince of wales, (now edward vii), as grand prior of the order of st. john, in succession to the duke of manchester, who for twenty-five years had held the office. he was also in attendance, in 1888, at the lambeth conference, was the guest of the archbishop at lambeth palace, and assisted at the consecration of two bishops. with the lord bishop of peterborough, he was presenter of one of them,--the rev. dr. thicknesse, consecrated bishop suffragan of leicester, in the diocese of peterborough. chapter xvi bishop quintard and sewanee the enthusiasm with which bishop quintard, immediately after his consecration, took up and pushed forward whatever promised to be of spiritual benefit to the people of the south, was characteristic of the man. especially attractive to him was the scheme set forth in the address by bishop polk to the bishops of the southern dioceses, published in 1856, emphasizing the importance of building up an educational institution upon broad foundations, for the promotion of social order, civil justice, and christian truth; to be centrally located within the southern states. the scheme had been formulated and developed by its projector and originator, bishop polk; and "the university of the south" was duly organized in 1857. a liberal charter was secured from the state of tennessee; title was acquired to a domain of nearly ten thousand acres of land upon the top of sewanee mountain; the corner-stone of a main college building was laid; and pledges of an endowment amounting to half a million of dollars were obtained before the war broke out. in the fall of 1865, before his election to the episcopate, dr. quintard met upon a train between nashville and columbia, the rev. david pise, a prominent presbyter of the diocese of tennessee, and secretary of the board of trustees of the university of the south as it was organized before the war. on the same train was major george r. fairbanks, of florida, a lay trustee on said board. the conversation of these three gentlemen was upon the proposed university. the magnificent domain secured for that institution, it was asserted, would revert to its donors unless the proposed university were in operation within ten years of the date of the donation, that is, in 1868. dr. quintard pledged himself not only to save the domain, but to revive the scheme for the university and to establish such an institution of learning as bishop polk, bishop otey, and others had in view when the university of the south was organized in 1857. the day that he took his seat for the first time in the house of bishops, dr. quintard entered into correspondence with the rev. john austin merrick, d.d., a "man of godly and sound learning," and offered to meet him in winchester, tennessee, on a specified day; to go with him to sewanee and see what might be done toward carrying out the educational enterprise which was intended to mean so much to the southern people, and which meant all the more to them in the condition in which the war had left them. the way for such a movement had been prepared at the special convention of the diocese of tennessee at which dr. quintard had been elected bishop. reviving a measure that had evidently been adopted in 1861, at the last convention over which bishop otey had presided, (the journal of this convention was lost in the printing office to which it was committed for publication,) the special convention of 1865 appointed a committee to take measures for establishing, (with the concurrence of the executive committee of the board of trustees of the university,) a diocesan training and theological school upon the university domain. dr. quintard, as bishop-elect, had made sure that the war had not impaired the charter, nor up to that time, the title to the domain; even though it had swept away the endowment, and though soldiers of both armies, marching over the mountain and encamping about the spot, had amused themselves by blowing up the corner-stone laid in 1860, and making out of the fragments trinkets for their sweet-hearts. in the course of his first series of visitations throughout his immense diocese, in march 1866, bishop quintard arrived in winchester, and there met the rev. dr. merrick, the rev. thomas a. morris, rector of the church in winchester, and major george r. fairbanks. accompanied by these gentlemen he ascended the mountain, visited "university place," (sewanee,) and found shelter and a most cordial hospitality in a log cabin occupied by mr. william tomlinson. he selected locations for buildings for the diocesan training school and a site for a chapel. in the evening he erected a rustic cross about twelve feet in height, upon the latter site, which is the exact spot whereon now stands the oratory of st. luke's hall. gathered around the cross with the bishop and his companions, were members of mr. tomlinson's household, a few mountaineers and some negro workmen. the nicene creed was recited and the bishop knelt down and prayed god to give to those who were then engaging in a great enterprise, "grace both to perceive and know what things they ought to do, and strength faithfully to fulfill the same." the woods rang with the strains of "gloria in excelsis." it was a scene worthy of association with those of the sixteenth century, where discoverers and conquistadores preempted new lands by planting a cross and claiming the territory for their king and for the church. thus was the domain at sewanee reclaimed for the king of kings and for the cause of christian education. the site selected for the university in ante-bellum times was ideal for the purpose to which it was consecrated. sewanee is on a spur of the cumberland mountains,--a plateau some two thousand feet above the level of the sea and about one thousand feet above the surrounding valleys. the scenery is of unparalleled grandeur with many points of picturesque beauty,--primeval forests, cliffs, ravines and caves,--immediately at hand. the climate is of such a character as to exempt the residents from malarial or pulmonary troubles. it is especially adapted to the requirements of a school whose terms were to be held in the summer months and with mid-winter vacations, to suit the convenience of a southern population whose home life was more or less likely to be broken up in the summer. the conception of a grand landed domain as an important feature in the planning and planting of an institution of learning, was at that time quite unusual in america. colleges and universities had previously looked to populous centers and environment to build them up and sustain them. the university of the south deliberately chose to go out into the wilderness and create therein its own environment. the site had been carefully studied by bishop hopkins, who was an accomplished architect and landscape gardener, and who had it mapped, and had a tentative scheme of buildings designed for it upon the models of the english universities. in furtherance of the enterprise, bishop quintard accepted the tender of a lease, for educational purposes, of a school property in winchester, twelve miles from sewanee, at the foot of the mountains; and there established "sewanee college," with major fairbanks as president of the board of trustees, and with rev. f. l. knight, d. d., and a competent faculty in charge. although this collegiate institute was formally opened and remained in operation for a time, the bishop found it too expensive for him to maintain; and so, as the university developed, he gave up the lease of the winchester property and concentrated his efforts upon the work at sewanee. he made immediate efforts to collect funds to advance the work of building up the diocesan training school. he recorded with deep gratitude the gift of $1000 and of a handsome communion service from mrs. barnum of baltimore. the following may, out of funds thus early collected, a building was erected and called "otey hall." that summer the bishop and major fairbanks erected residences near otey hall and removed their families to sewanee. the episcopal residence at sewanee was at first a log dwelling-house. this was improved and added to until it assumed the character of what the bishop was wont to call "the cucumber-vine style of architecture," and acquired the name of fulford hall, in commemoration of the canadian metropolitan who had participated in the bishop's consecration. memphis had been made the residence of bishop otey in the latter part of his episcopate, and as the work at sewanee increased and that place became widely known and its importance recognized, the memphians regarded it with some jealousy and sought to secure the person of the bishop by providing a residence for him in that city on the western borders of the diocese. the bishop accordingly adopted memphis as his winter residence. but his work at sewanee was too dear to his heart to permit his abandoning his home there,--as much as a bishop could be said to have a home anywhere. and so while memphis became officially the ecclesiastical capital of his diocese, he strove earnestly to make sewanee the scholastic, and, to some extent, the ecclesiastical capital of all the southern dioceses, and in great measure he succeeded. it would be impossible to estimate the value of the bishop's thus fixing his residence at sewanee, not only to the work of building up the university, but in its influence upon the cause of christian education. for the university of the south "has been built up upon men, not upon things." the faith, the enthusiasm and the personal magnetism of bishop quintard drew around him at sewanee a band of high-minded and consecrated clergymen and laymen of fine scholarship and noble aims. thus was realized the idea of bishop polk, who, when on one occasion he was asked in reference to the apparently isolated location of the university, "where will you get your society?" replied, "we will make it; and not only so, but we will surround our university with such a society as is nowhere else possible in this land." the tone, the temper, the social and religious atmosphere of sewanee came from bishop quintard more than from anyone else. for the first twenty years of the university's existence at least, it could almost be said that bishop quintard was sewanee and that sewanee was bishop quintard; and throughout that period fulford hall was the visible center of sewanee life. into it the bishop gathered the spolia of his travels, rich art treasures, rare and valuable books and autographs, and made it a most interesting place to visit. when the building was destroyed by fire in june, 1889, most of its interior attractions were saved from the flames through the energetic efforts of the students of the university, and the elegant building which replaced it, retains the name of fulford hall. therein the bishop passed the last years of his life. it is still the residence of the vice-chancellor of the university. bishop elliott of georgia, the senior bishop of the southern dioceses, was likewise deeply interested in the university and was ex-officio chancellor. at the suggestion of bishop quintard, he called a meeting of the board of trustees to be held at "university place" in october, 1866. it was attended by the bishops of georgia, mississippi, arkansas and tennessee, respectively, together with several clerical and lay members of the board who unanimously resolved that the work of establishing the university be prosecuted. bishop quintard was appointed a commissioner to solicit funds for the erection of plain but substantial buildings, in order that the university might begin its work at the earliest possible date. he accordingly made a trip to new orleans where he held services in all the churches and made an earnest appeal at every service to the church people of that city to carry on the work in which the first bishop of louisiana had been so deeply interested. he was able to report the results of his visit to new orleans, at a meeting of the board of trustees held at a private residence in montgomery, alabama, in february, 1867. bishop elliott had died in december, 1866, and bishop green, of mississippi, had succeeded him in the chancellorship of the university. bishop quintard's report to the board was of such a character that the board proceeded to the reorganization of the university forthwith. the bishop offered otey hall, at sewanee, which was capable of accommodating a goodly number of students, as part of the property of the university, on condition that the board adopt the diocesan training school (for which the building had been intended,) as the theological department of the university, and the offer was accepted. the actual establishment of the theological department was delayed, however, for nearly ten years and until more favorable opportunities offered. the deliberations of the board upon the question of the most feasible plan for beginning work, resulted in the recommendation that a vice-chancellor be elected, and that this officer be charged with the duty of soliciting subscriptions and otherwise advancing the interests of the university. bishop quintard was thereupon elected vice-chancellor and major fairbanks was appointed commissioner of lands and buildings to act as general agent and business manager; to be associated with the bishop in the work of soliciting subscriptions; to reside at the university site; and, under the direction of the executive committee, to have charge of all business affairs of the university. no more efficient officers could have been selected, and with this action of the board, the university scheme might be said to have been fairly launched. of the trials and antagonisms the bishop was to meet with in his work, there is no need to speak now. it was no easy matter to solicit funds for this project at that time. not only had the south been impoverished by the war, but the southern people had not become fully acquainted with the changed condition of their affairs, and did not fully appreciate the value of a plan to educate their sons and make the best citizens of them. in june, 1867, at the request of the trustees, the bishop made an attempt to raise funds for the erection of additional buildings, confining his efforts to the state and diocese of georgia. early in august the corner-stone of st. augustine's chapel was laid by bishop green, in the presence of a concourse of clergy and laity. the occasion was signalized by a dignity of ceremonial befitting the prospective magnitude of the undertaking. the function began with a celebration of the holy communion in the portion of otey hall then used as a chapel. the bishops and clergy moved in solemn procession to the spot selected. the doctors wore hoods expressive of their degrees. a scholastic as well as an ecclesiastical tone was thereby given to the function, and from that time forward the university of the south conformed in the details of its regulations to the models set by the english universities. in 1871, the university, then in full working order, adopted the cap and gown for the distinctive uniform of its advanced students, divided the academic department into juniors and gownsmen, and provided rich robes for the chancellor and vice-chancellor. in these respects it was quite in advance of other institutions of learning in america, though its customs have since grown in favor with other and older universities. still it was possible for some one who attended the commencement in 1891, to write:--"probably nowhere else in america is there any such formal and stately collegiate ceremony as at sewanee." in 1867, the bishop being in england, he consented at the earnest solicitation of his friends, to spend the winter there, and to do what he could to promote the cause of the university. the influential friends he made in england took up with enthusiasm a movement which resulted in such liberal offerings that the university was enabled to start afresh with most encouraging prospects of final and complete success. the rev. frederick w. tremlett, of st peter's church, belsize park, london, inaugurated the movement and a committee was appointed which issued a circular inviting subscriptions. the committee consisted of the archbishop of york, the earl of carnarvon, viscount cranbourne, (afterwards lord salisbury,) the lord bishop of oxford, earl nelson, lord john manners, the rt. hon. w. e. gladstone and others. the archbishop of canterbury, the most rev. campbell tait, in a letter, expressed his deepest interest in the project and subscribed twenty-five pounds toward it. the archbishop of york, and bishops of the anglican communion from all parts of her majesty's realms, expressed a like sympathy. among the subscribers were names of great distinction both in state and church. considerably more than ten thousand dollars was thereby raised, and with this sum the bishop returned to america. much needed buildings were erected in sewanee, and on the 18th of september, 1868, as vice-chancellor, the bishop formally opened the junior department of the university of the south. thus after twelve years of labor and anxiety, of disappointment and sorrow,--after the death of bishops polk, otey, elliott, rutledge and cobbs,--all of them actively interested in the project for building a church university of the first class in the south that would in some degree do for our country what the universities of oxford and cambridge have so well done for england and the civilized world,--the university of the south began its work for god and our land. that day has since been annually observed at sewanee as "foundation day." among the men who were early attracted to the work at sewanee, were brigadier-general josiah gorgas, (who had been head of the confederate ordnance department, and became at first head-master of the junior academic department of the university, and was afterward made vice-chancellor;) brigadier-general f. a. shoup, (who was now the rev. professor shoup, acting-chaplain and professor of mathematics;) general e. kirby-smith; and colonel f. t. sevier, the bishop's old friend of the first tennessee regiment, who became commandant of cadets and head-master of the grammar school. for it was but natural that the military feature of the school should commend itself to men who had just passed through war and had seen the benefit of military discipline upon life and character. these men felt that a higher duty awaited them at the close of the war, than trying to make money,--that the training of the youths of the land as christian citizens was of paramount importance,--and they gave themselves up to that educational work. the splendid sacrifice of these and others set high the standard of the university and invested it with a poetic beauty and a sacredness that dwells there still. "nowhere in the south," said charles dudley warner, in 1889, "and i might say, nowhere in the republic, have i found anything so hopeful as the university of the south." "of the wisdom of founding this university," said a visitor who spent the summer of 1878 at sewanee, "no one would question after a single visit here. its highest development is yet to be obtained. its present standard is equal to the best, but its aims are to reach the highest and best culture obtainable. it is slowly and surely reaching forward and satisfactorily filling the measure of its allotted work.... it is difficult to explain to one who has had no opportunity for a personal observation, how many excellent formative influences are here combined.... everything here promotes a feeling of reverence and respect for sacred things. the presence and influence of men of high standard in church and state, whose example is potent for good.... the book of nature is always open here to the investigations of the geologist, the botanist, and the student of natural history.... the physical education goes on with that of the intellect; an invigorating atmosphere strengthens the capacity.... the various gymnastic and military exercises give a clear complexion, an elastic step and a noble carriage; and then mind and body, acting in healthy unison, fill out the measure of a well rounded man." bishop quintard's ideals regarding the university to the upbuilding of which he was giving the most valuable years of his life, were shadowed forth in his words to the convention of his diocese in 1874, in referring to the meeting of the board of trustees which he had attended the previous year. "it is the aim and purpose of any true system of education to draw out, to strengthen and to exhibit in active working, certain powers which exist in man,--planted, indeed, by god, but latent in man until they shall have been so drawn out. education is not the filling of a mind with so much knowledge, though, of course, it includes the imparting of knowledge. as education is the drawing out of the dormant powers of the whole man, it must in its highest sense be commensurate with the whole man. the body must be trained by healthful exercise, the mind or thinking power, must be drawn out and strengthened, and finally a heart must be sanctified and a will subdued. it is the aim and object of the university of the south to give to its students every advantage,--physical, mental and moral; to develop a harmonious and symmetrical character; to fit and prepare men for every vocation in the life that now is, where we are strangers and sojourners; and to teach all those things which a christian ought to know and believe to his soul's health. the momentous and concerning truth that intellectual power unrestrained and unregulated by sound moral and religious principle tends only to mischief and misery in our race, has been in the educational systems of the age, almost overlooked." the heroic struggle the university was making, began to attract admiring attention. gifts began to flow into it,--small as compared with those that have been given to the cause of education in these later days, but large when the impoverished condition of the south from which many of them came, is taken into consideration. and not only was the continued existence of the university guaranteed, but its ultimate success was assured. the responsibility and work devolving upon the vice-chancellor of a university, even in its nascent stages, were too great a burden when added to the cares of a large and exacting diocese, and bishop quintard resigned the office of vice-chancellor in 1868 in order that some one else might be elected to fill that position. an effort to secure the valuable services of general robert e. lee, for the university, resulted in the following letter:- washington college, lexington, va., 23 sept., 1868. rt. rev'd. and dear sir,--absence from lexington has prevented me until to-day from replying to your kind interesting letter of the 20th of august last. i have followed with deep interest the progress of the university of the south from its origin, and my wishes for its success have been as earnest as my veneration for its founders and respect for its object have been sincere. its prosperity will always be to me a source of pleasure, and i trust that in the providence of god its career may be one of eminent benefit to our country. that it has survived the adverse circumstances with which it has been surrounded and has surmounted the difficulties with which it has had to contend, is cause of great rejoicing to me, and i am glad to learn that it has so fair a prospect of advancement and usefulness. i need not, then, assure you that i feel highly honored that its board of trustees has thought of me for the office of vice-chancellor, and i beg that you will present to them my fervent thanks for their favorable consideration. they have, however, been misinformed as to my feelings concerning my present position, and even were they as represented, i could not now resign it with propriety unless i saw it would be for the benefit of the college. i must therefore respectfully decline your proposition, and ask you to accept my grateful thanks for the frank and courteous manner in which it has been tendered, as well as for the considerate measures you proposed to promote my convenience and comfort. i am, with great respect and highest regard, your friend and obt. servt., r. e. lee. rt. rev'd. wm. m. green, d.d., chancellor of university of the south. commodore matthew fontaine maury was then elected by the board, and when commodore maury declined, the bishop withdrew his resignation and continued his work. in various parts of the south, in the north and in england, he represented the needs of the university. a trip made to new orleans and galveston in 1870 was in some respects characteristic of the bishop's appeals and of the breadth of scope of the university as presented by him. in galveston, the first person who responded to his appeal was a hebrew; one of the most active helpers was a presbyterian, and these two with a churchman composed a committee to work for the university of the south. in 1871 the academic department was formally organized by the election of five professors. in 1872, the bishop again resigned the vice-chancellorship and general gorgas was elected to succeed him. general gorgas was in time succeeded by the rev. dr. telfair hodgson, and he in turn by the rev. dr. thomas f. gailor. in 1893 the last named was succeeded by bishop quintard's son-in-law, dr. b. lawton wiggins, an alumnus of the university of the south, and the preserver of what his father-in-law had founded. but the bishop's interest in the university was not relaxed. wherever he went he represented the needs of the university as well as those of his diocese. in 1876, he attended a "matinee" at the london residence of lord shrewsbury. cards of invitation had been issued by the earl and countess of shrewsbury and about three hundred guests assembled. the lord bishop of winchester presided at this meeting, which was organized in the interests of the university of the south--not so much to collect money for the university as to make known in england the work the university was doing. the church in scotland was represented by the primus and by the bishop of edinburgh; the irish church by the bishop of derry and raphoe and by the bishop of moray and ross. a large number of prominent clergymen were present. addresses were made by the bishops, by lord shrewsbury, a. j. beresford-hope, m.p., and others. in 1887 bishop green died and was succeeded in the chancellorship by bishop gregg of texas. when the latter died in 1893, his logical successor was bishop quintard, who, however, felt unfitted for the office by reason of his infirmity of deafness which had come to him in his later years. he accordingly stood aside and favored the election of the rt. rev. dr. dudley, bishop of kentucky. bishop quintard had seen buildings of permanent character grow up upon the university domain,--built of sewanee sand-stone, unsurpassed either in quality or appearance as a building material. he had seen the theological department opened in 1878, the medical department opened in 1892, and the law department in 1893. he had acted as consecrator at the elevation of an alumnus of the university to the episcopate of louisiana[a]. he had consecrated as his own coadjutor one whose life had been closely connected with sewanee and the university. he had ordained to the priesthood many alumni. he had seen degrees conferred upon many men who were to go out into the world and carry the influence of the noble work the bishop himself had done so much toward establishing. and in many ways he had seen in the church university, whose broad foundations had been wisely laid by godly men who inaugurated the enterprise, a visible advance made toward the ideals set for it by its founders and re-founder. footnote a: five other alumni have been elevated to the episcopate since the bishop's death. the last convention at which the bishop presided, was held in sewanee in 1897. the bishop, shortly afterward, went to england to be present at the lambeth conference held that year. he returned to sewanee somewhat refreshed in body and resumed the work of his diocese. but further rest became necessary and he went to darien, georgia, in search thereof. there the end came on the 15th of february, 1898. his body was brought back to sewanee, lay for a time in the otey memorial church, watched by the clergy and the sisters of st. mary, and was thence taken to st. augustine's chapel, where the service was said over it by the bishops in attendance. the university was not in session at the time, but the university town was filled with sorrowing friends, representing the army of the late confederate states, the clergy and laity of the diocese, the house of bishops, and the alumni of the university. the coadjutor bishop of tennessee, now bishop quintard's successor, committed his body to the ground in the sewanee cemetery. a movement was begun soon after the bishop's death to endow a professorship in the theological department of the university as a memorial of him. very fittingly, the new grammar school dormitory, erected on the university domain in 1901, was named the "quintard memorial." but the greatest monument and the most lasting one, to the second bishop of tennessee, is and will be the university which he re-founded and did much to build up. the end appendix the following is a copy of the petition, with signatures attached, of the rock city guard, which induced dr. quintard to suspend his parochial work in nashville, and enter the military service of the confederacy. we the undersigned members of the "battalion of rock city guard" do hereby respectfully invite the rev. c. t. quintard to accompany us throughout the campaign as our friend and spiritual adviser, and we hereby pledge ourselves to sustain him and attend regularly whatever service he may institute, being willing to be guided by him. f. j. reamer, c. h. stockell, john gee haily, w. wills, e. c. leonhard, john b. johnson, robt. gordon, b. m. franklin, nat hampton, jr., jno. m. pearl, robert swan, john w. mcwhirter, john w. branch, d. w. sumner, m. n. brown, joseph freeman, j. c. march, r. j. howse, jas. mcmanus, r. s. bugg, e. w. fariss, douglas lee, sam robinson, f. i. loiseau, v. l. benton, wm. t. hefferman, james p. shockly, wm. morrow, berry morgan, rowe foote, r. r. hightower, h. b. finn, joseph a. carney, d. j. roberts, j. h. hough, a. w. harris, i. m. cockrill, r. a. withers, r. w. gillespie, j. h. bankston, harry ross, r. darrington, t. j. gattright, john k. sloan, b. j. mccarty, l. h. mclemore, a. j. phillips, w. a. mayo, r. h. fiser, james t. gunn, wm. a. ellis, t. h. atkeison, r. b. rozell, r. cheatham, w. n. johns, j. p. shane, j. l. cooke, geo. a. diggons, t. o. harris, victor vallette, d. g. carter, j. w. thomas, j. clarke, f. m. geary, w. b. ross, wm. baxter, j. t. henderson, john w. barnes, james p. kirkman, h. n. stothart, d. k. sanford, r. w. burke, james carrigan, t. h. griffin, w. p. prichard, j. h. allen, p. bartola, g. t. hampton, f. h. morgan, wm. r. elliston, jr., wm. h. everett, t. b. lanier, i. l. smith, t. c. lucas, w. p. wadlington, jas. w. nichol, wm. b. maney, john a. murkin, jr., j. walker coleman, jo h. sewell, g. e. valette, geo. m. mace, mason vannoy. index aberdeen, miss., 124 adams, gen. john, 112-114 adams, maj. nathan, 114, 123 aiken, gov. of s. c., 127 anderson, dr. h. m., 103 anderson, gen. s. r., 17, 19, 20, 39 anderson, lieut., 117 annandale, miss., 50, 51 appomattox court house, 143 armstrong, frank, 107 ashby, capt. turner, 38 ashwood, tenn., 107, 115 athens, ga., 5 atkinson, bishop, 14 atlanta, 72, 95-102, 115, 142-145 augusta, ga., 80, 99 back creek, va., 16 bainbridge, ga., 123 baird, mr., 34 bakewell, rev. mr., 125 ballentine, capt., 123 ballentine, mrs., 122 bardstown, ky., 56 barnum, mrs., 161 barrow, gen. washington, 12, 136 baskerville, col., 127 bate, gen., 107 bath, 37 bath alum springs, 34 battle, col., 104, 105 "beaufort," 47 beaumont, maj. e. b., 145 beauregard, gen. g. p. t., 104, 108 beckwith, bishop john w., 98, 105, 129 beresford-hope, hon. a. j., 181 bethune, gen., 102 big sewell mountain, 32, 33, 36 blackwell, capt., 114 "blind tom," 102 bolivar, tenn., 111 bombay, bishop of, 161 bradford, capt., 106, 107 brady's gate, 26 bragg, gen. braxton, 55, 56, 64, 65, 67, 69, 70, 72, 77-80, 87, 88, 92, 95 brentwood, 120 bristol, 13 brown, gen. john c., 93, 107, 112, 115, 133-135 brown, j. rhodes, 65, 102, 103, 135 buchanan, capt., 46, 47 buckner, gen., 55 buell, gen., 56 buist, dr. j. r., 12, 27, 54, 64, 66, 117 bullock, capt., 37 burke, boykin & co., 93 butler, capt. jack, 27, 65 butt, lieut. walter, 43 cambridge university, 175 canterbury, archbishop of, 174 capon mountain, 37, 38 carnes, capt. w. w., 57, 58 carnes hospital, 103 carter, gen. john c, 112, 115-119 chalmers, gen., 55, 107 chaplain's creek, 60 charleston, s. c., 14, 136 chattanooga, 54, 55, 64, 67, 69, 88, 92, 95, 145, 146 cheatham, gen. b. f., 59, 70, 106, 107, 109, 122 cheat mountain, 19, 23, 28, 30 cheat pass, 19, 23 chickamauga, 87-94, 110 childress, miss bettie, 133, 134 clare, maj. william, 120 clark, rev. mr., 80-82 clayton, gen., 124 cleburne, gen. pat., 59, 93, 112, 113, 116 clouston, william, 117 cobb, gen. howell, 44, 136, 138, 144 cobbs, bishop, 175 cockrill, gen., 112, 117, 118 cockrill, sterling, 106 columbia, s. c., 135 columbia, tenn., 23, 72, 108, 115-123, 164 columbia institute, 116 columbus, ga., 65, 102, 104, 131-145 columbus, miss., 106, 125-128 "congress," 45-48 cooper, hon. edmund, 80, 81 corinth, miss., 107 cowan, tenn., 87 cross, rev. dr. joseph, 59, 60 crouch's, 19, 26 "cumberland," 45, 46 cumberland gap, 64 cumbrae, 161 dalton, ga., 96 danville, ky., 56 darien, ga., 182 davis, jefferson, 42, 58, 92, 95, 132, 133, 137, 143 dawson, col., 135 debow, james d. b., 127 demopolis, ala., 98, 105, 129 derry and raphoe, bishop of, 180 donelson, gen., 17, 19, 24 duck river, 108, 121, 123 dudley, bishop, 181 duffie, hon. george, 14 dunlap, gen., 104, 105, 118 dunnington, frank, 130 duval, maj., 17 edinburgh, bishop of, 180 edgefield, tenn., 6 edrai, 31 edward vii, 162 eggleston, lieut. j. r., 46 elk river, 124 elliott, bishop, 73-80, 91, 96-99, 101-105, 111, 128, 171, 175 ely, hon. alfred, 15 elzy, gen., 127 ewell, col., 99 fairbanks, maj. george r., 165, 166, 169, 172 "felix old boy," 16 field, capt., 23 finley, gen., 138 fitzhugh, col., 51 flournoy, capt. william, 116 floyd, gen. j. b., 32 foard, dr., 120 forney, gen., 50 forrest, gen., 119, 122, 123 fort donelson, 40 foster, capt., 32 foster, dr., 128 foundation day, 175 franklin, tenn., 28, 111, 112-124 freemantle, lt.-col., 76, 77 freese, lieut. h. h., 139, 140 frierson, capt., 128 fulford, bishop, 150 fulford hall, 169, 170 fulton, col., 17 gailor, bishop, 180-182 gale, col. w. d., 54 galveston, 179 gatewoods, 17 gibson, capt. thomas, 113, 114 gibson, gen., 117 gist, gen., 112, 115 gordon, gen. george, 112, 115 gordonsville, 42 gorgas, gen. josiah, 175, 180 gosling, william, 69, 73 gracie, gen. archibald, 89 granberry, gen., 112, 115 grant, gen., 95, 142 gray sulphur springs, 52 green, bishop, 99, 106, 125-128, 138, 171, 173, 179, 181 green, lieut., 138 green, maj. john, 109 green, surgeon, 73 greenbrier bridge, 34 green river, 55 greensboro, ala., 129 gregg, bishop, 181 griffin, ga., 133, 134 hadley, miss mary, 120 hages, miss, 121 hamilton place, 107, 116, 121 hampton, maj. henry, 96 hampton, mrs. wade, 14 hampton roads, 49 hancock, md., 39 hanson, gen., 67 hardee, gen., 76, 77, 96, 97 harlow, rev. w. d., 146 harris, gov., 11, 55, 83, 87, 107, 111, 118, 120, 122, 123 harris, rev. george c., 12 harrodsburg, 56, 61 harvie, col., 121 hatton, col., 25 hawks, rev. mr., 102, 132, 133 hawks, miss sallie c., 132 helm, gen., 89 henry, capt. tom, 116, 120 hickey, capt. john m., 117 hill, hon. ben, 143, 144 hillsboro, va., 34 hodge, capt., 141 hodgson, rev. dr. telfair, 180 hood, gen., 90, 96-100, 104, 107, 108, 111, 118, 121-126, 132 hopkins, bishop, 150 hot springs, va., 32-34 house, bryant, 66 house, lieut. john, 28 hoxton, maj., 73, 109, 128 hudson, capt., 127 huger, gen., 44 huger, willie, 67, 69 hunter, mr., 131 huntersville, va., 16, 17, 34, 35 huttonville, 19 hurt, col., 129 iodine springs, 52 jack, maj., 85, 86 jackson, miss., 50 jackson, gen. h. r., 19, 24 jackson, gen. t. j., (stonewall) 1, 36-40, 59 johnson, gen. bushrod, 59 johnson, gov., (president) 81, 136 johnston, gen. albert sidney, 41, 53 johnston, capt., 85 johnston, gen. joseph e., 40, 41, 69, 70, 95-97, 102, 126, 134 johnstone, mrs., 50 jones, capt. ap catesby, 48, 130 jones, capt., 107 jones, lt.-col., 118, 119 jones, hon. thomas, 123 jones, mrs. thomas, 124 keble college, oxford, 161 kelly, capt., 120, 129 king, capt. thomas edward, 12, 89, 90 kingston, ga., 145, 146 kirby-smith, gen., 56, 62-64, 175 knight, rev. dr. f. l., 168 knoxville, tenn., 5, 13, 41, 152 lamb's ferry, 123 lambeth conference, 182 lambeth palace, 163 latanã©, rev. james a., 16, 33 lay, bishop, 99, 100 lay, capt. j. f., 50 lee and gordon's mills, 88 lee, fitzhugh, 29 lee, gen. robert e., 1, 18, 19, 29-33, 108, 109, 143, 178, 179 leicester, bishop of, 103 letcher, gov. john, 40 le vert, madame, 50 lewisburg, 35 liddell, gen., 77, 93 lincoln, president, 10, 11, 131, 136, 137, 143 london, 160 long, capt., 116 longstreet, 88, 89 lookout mountain, 92 looney, maj., 12, 23, 27, 31, 32 loring, gen. w. w., 18, 19, 29, 34-44, 49-54 louisville, 56 loyall, benj., 43 lynchburg, va., 13 lytle, col., 81 macon, ga., 93, 99, 107, 138, 139, 142, 145 macon, miss., 106 mallory, hon. mr., 143, 144 manassas, 41, 42, 90 manchester, duke of, 162 maney, gen. george, 11, 18, 20, 57, 59, 74, 128 manigault, gen., 74, 112, 116, 121 manners, lord john, 174 marietta, ga., 91, 97 markham, rev. mr., 107 marks, col., 67 marsh, lieut. john, 91, 92, 111, 116, 122 martin, gen., 81 mary adelaide, 160 mason, maj., 98 maury, com. m. f., 179 mayrant, capt., 107 mccook, gen., 56, 88, 141 mcgavock, col. john, 113 mcguire, mrs. judith w., 43 mckinney, adjt., 116 memphis, tenn., 5, 6, 58,127, 152, 169 meredith, rev. mr., 36 meridian, miss., 105, 128, 129 merrick, rev. dr. john a., 165, 166 merrill, dr. ayres p., 5 merrill, lieut., 23 "merrimac," 44-48 mines, john flavel, 15 "minnesota," 48 missionary ridge, 92 mitchell, rev. mr., 131 mobile, 50, 116 "monitor," 45-49 montgomery, ala., 50, 104, 131, 132, 137, 171 moray and ross, bishop of, 181 morerod, capt. ralph, 133 morgan, rev. dr., 147 moore, maj. william e., 120, 121 morris, rev. thomas a., 166 mott, dr. valentine, 5 mount pleasant, tenn., 107 mumfordville, ky., 55 murfreesboro, tenn., 23, 58, 64-69, 110 myer, col., 51 mylne, bishop, 161 narrows, 51 nashville, tenn., 6, 8, 10, 11, 26, 33, 56, 63, 67, 68, 80, 108, 109, 111, 120-122, 136, 145, 146-148, 152, 164 "nellie peters' pocket handkerchief," 101 nelson, earl, 174 new orleans, la., 171, 179 newport news, 45 new river, va., 51 new york, 5, 147 nichol, dr. william, 12 noble, samuel, 140-142 norfolk, va., 42-50 okalona, miss., 106 "old blizzard," 53 order of southern cross, 92, 94 otey, bishop, 50, 126, 148, 154, 165, 169, 175 otey hall, 169, 171 overton, john, 118, 120 oxford, 160, 175 oxford, bishop of, 174 parkersburg pike, 22, 23 parkhurst, gen., 146, 147 parsons, col. c. c., 57, 58 patterson, lt.-col., 61 pendleton, rev. william nelson, 1, 14 perryville, 50-63, 64, 66, 110 peterborough, bishop of, 163 peterkin, rev. mr., 14, 15 peters, maj. thomas, 105 peters, richard, 143, 145 peter's mountain, 51 philadelphia, 145, 148, 149 phillips, dr., 107 phillips, mr., 131 pierce, bishop, 50 pikeville, tenn., 54 pilcher, capt. matt., 116, 118 pinckney, rev. dr., 16 pise, rev. dr., 108, 116, 119, 121, 148, 164 polk, bishop and gen., 1, 54, 57, 61, 62, 65, 67, 69-73, 76, 77, 83, 87, 92, 93, 96-98, 101, 105, 128, 164, 165, 170, 175 polk, dr. william m., 71 polk, gen. lucius, 76, 101, 108, 116, 121 polk hospital, 103 polk, mrs. william, 116 porcher, capt., 47 porter, capt. alexander, 129 porter, col., 73, 74 porter, gov. james d., 111 porter, rev. a. toomer, 14 port hope, canada, 158 portsmouth, va., 45 prince of wales, 162 prince, maj., 116, 121 pulaski, tenn., 23, 114, 122, 135 quarles, gen., 106, 112, 116-118 quintard hospital, 65 quintard, isaac, 4 quintard memorial, 183 rains, gen. james e., 61 ramsey, john c, 125 randolph, tenn., 5 ray, col., 104, 105, 120 renick, dr., 34 rennick, mr., 34 reynolds, gen., 99 rice, col., 120, 123, 129 richmond, col. w. b., 54, 89 richmond, va., 13, 14, 35, 41, 67, 95, 102, 136, 137 roberts, albert, 105 robertson, gen. felix h., 135 rock city guard, 6, 10-12, 19, 26, 61, 120 roddy, gen., 124 rome, ga., 33, 51, 65, 72 romney, 38-41 rosecrans, gen., 23, 32, 36, 65, 67, 74, 81, 82, 87, 92 ruggles, gen., 99 rust, gen., 19 rutherford hill, 122 rutledge, bishop, 175 salt sulphur springs, 51, 52 sass, jacob k., 97, 135 saunders, maj., 110 saunders, surgeon d. d., 91 schwrar, rev. john m., 125-127 scott, dr., 104 scott, gen., 112 selma, ala., 103, 105, 130, 136, 140 sevier, col. f. t., 12, 23, 27, 175 sewanee, 62, 63, 87, 101, 154-158, 164-183 seward, w. h., 131 shelbyville, tenn., 67-87 sherman, gen. w. t., 70, 107, 108 shoup, gen. f. a., 101, 175 shrewsbury, earl and countess of, 180 shute, capt., 106 smith, capt. john s., 132 smith, gen. a. j., 132 smith, gen. g. w., 98 smith, gen. preston, 89, 90 smith, lieut., 73 snowden, r. b., 12 sparta, tenn., 54 spence, capt., 81, 85 spotswood, lieut., 45 springfield, 56 spring hill, 109-111, 121 stamford, conn., 4 stanford, dr. frank, 81, 132 stanford, capt., 85 stanley, dean, 161 stanley, gen., 109 staunton, va., 16, 33, 35, 36, 41 st. augustine, fla., 53 st. louis, mo., 136, 158 st. luke's, atlanta, 95-101 stephens, alexander h., 131 stepleton, capt., 116 stevens, bishop, 5 stevenson, ala., 65 stewart, gen. a. p., 109, 115 stewart, john, 14, 15 stoke-upon-trent, 161 strahl, gen. o. f., 82, 84, 85, 96, 97, 111, 112, 115, 122 strasburg, 42 stribling, dr. and mrs., 33, 35 stuart, hon. a. h. 36 sullivan, mrs., 18 tait, archbishop, 174 tattnall, commodore, 43, 49 tattnall, john, 43, 49 taylor, gen., 126 taylor, tazewell, 43 thicknesse, bishop, 163 thomas, gen., 88, 89, 143 ticknor, rev. mr., 105 tomlinson, william, 166 tremlett, rev. f. w., 174 tullahoma, 69, 87 tuscumbia, ala., 124 unionville, s. c., 135 university of the south, 62, 63, 101, 158, 164-183 university place, 166 vallandigham, c. l., 75, 76 valley mountain, 13, 17, 19, 27, 31 van leer, joe, 20-26, 31 vaught, mr., 121 vaulx, maj., 129 "virginia," 44-49 von zinken, leon, 138 walden's ridge, 54, 55 walters, col., 87 walthall, gen., 107 warm springs, 34 warner, charles dudley, 176 warner, gen., 133 wartrace, 72, 76, 77, 79 washington, col. j. a., 29, 30 watterson, henry, 104 watts, gov. of ala., 131 webb, col., 81 wellesley, rev. dr., 161 west, douglas, 98 westminster abbey, 161, 162 west point, miss., 106 west point, n. y., 57, 58, 71, 89, 128, 145 wheeler, col., 16 wheeler, gen. joseph, 68, 81 white sulphur springs, 32, 33, 35 whitfield, needham, 124 wickham, capt., 104-107 wiggins, dr. b. l., 180 wilder, gen., 55 wilmer, bishop, 54, 105, 129, 150 wilson, gen. james h., 138, 140, 141, 145 winchester, bishop of, 180 winchester, tenn., 165, 168 winchester, va., 36, 38-42, 87 winder, gen., 15 windsor, eng., 161 wingfield, bishop, 45, 48 winslow, gen., 141 winter, maj., 106 wood, dr. james r., 5 wood, gen., 44, 76, 77 woolridge, lieut., 61 wright, gen., 98 yates, capt., 106 yeatman, col. harry, 54, 72, 73, 76, 130, 146 yerger, mrs. george, 50 york, archbishop of, 174 young, col., 107 -----------------------------------------------------------------------transcriber's notes: missing or obscured punctuation was corrected. typographical errors were silently corrected. spelling and hyphenation were made consistent when a predominant form was found in this book; otherwise it was not changed. text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). the tinder-box [illustration: "you don't need another vine," i answered mutinously.] the tinder-box by maria thompson daviess author of "the melting of molly," "miss selina lue," "sue jane," etc. with illustrations by john edwin jackson new york the century co. _published, november, 1913_ i dedicate this book to hannah daviess pittman who blazed my trail and still does contents chapter page i. the load 3 ii. the maiden lance 26 iii. a flint-spark 48 iv. sweeter when tamed? 79 v. deeper than shoulders or ribs 105 vi. man and the asafetida spoon 136 vii. some smolderings 173 viii. an attained to-morrow 211 ix. dynamite 248 x. together? 282 illustrations "you don't need another vine," i answered mutinously....._frontispiece_ he stood calmly in the midst of sallie's family and baggage, both animate and inanimate 38 "say, polk, i let the pup git hung by her apron to the wheel of your car" 98 his gray eyes were positively mysterious with interrupted dreams 182 "we must not allow the men time to get sore over this matter of the league" 218 "is this right?" he asked 244 "she's our mother," he said 276 scrouged so close to his arm that it was difficult for both of them to walk 280 the tinder box chapter i the load all love is a gas, and it takes either loneliness, strength of character, or religion to liquefy it into a condition to be ladled out of us, one to another. there is a certain dangerously volatile state of it; and occasionally people, especially of opposite sexes, try to administer it to each other in that form, with asphyxiation resulting to both hearts. and i'm willing to confess that it is generally a woman's fault when such an accident occurs. that is, it is a mistake of her nature, not one of intent. but she is learning! also when a woman is created, the winds have wooed star-dust, rose-dew, peach-down, and a few flint-shavings into a whirlwind of deviltry, and the world at large looks on in wonder and sore amazement, as well as breathless interest. i know, because i am one, and have just been waked up by the gyrations of the cyclone; and i'm deeply confounded. i don't like it, and wish i could have slept longer, but fate and jane mathers decreed otherwise. at least jane decreed, and fate seems so far helpless to controvert the decree. i might have known that when this jolly, easy-going old fate of mine, which i inherited from a lot of indolent, pleasure-loving harpeth valley tennesseans, let me pack up my graduating thesis, my b.s., and some delicious frocks, and go off to paris for a degree from the beaux arts in architecture, we would be caught up with by some kind of nemesis or other, and put in our place in the biological and ethnological scheme of existence. yes, fate and i are placed, and jane did it. also, i am glad, now that i know what is going to happen to me, that i had last week on shipboard, with richard hall bombarding my cardiac regions with his honest eyes and booming voice discreetly muffled to accord with the moonlight and the quiet places around the deck. i may never get that sort of a joy-drink again, but it was so well done that it will help me to administer the same to others when the awful occasion arrives. "a woman is the spark that lights the flame on the altar of the inner man, dear, and you'll have to sparkle when your time comes," he warned me, as i hurried what might have been a very tender parting, the last night at sea. "_spark_"--she's a conflagration by this new plan of jane's, but i'm glad he didn't know about it then. he may have to suffer from it yet. it is best for him to be as happy as he can as long as he can. "evelina, dear," said jane, as she and mary elizabeth conners and i sat in the suite of apartments in which our proud alma mater had lodged us old grads, returned for our second degrees, "your success has been remarkable, and i am not surprised at all that that positively creative thesis of yours on the twentieth century garden, to which i listened to-night, procured you an honorable mention in your class at the beaux arts. the french are a nation that quickly recognizes genius. i am very happy to-night. all your honors and achievements make me only the more certain that i have chosen the right person for the glorious mission i am about to offer you." "oh, no, jane!" i exclaimed, from a sort of instinct for trouble to come. i know that devoted, twenty-second century look in jane's intense, near-sighted eyes, and i always fend from it. she is a very dear person, and i respectfully adore her. indeed, i sometimes think she is the real spine in my back that was left out of me, and of its own strength got developed into another and a finer woman. she became captain of my freshman soul, at the same time she captured the captaincy of the boat crew, on which i pulled stroke, and i'm still hitting the water when she gives the word, though it now looks as if we are both adrift on the high and uncharted seas--or sitting on the lid of a tinder-box, juggling lighted torches. "you see, dear," she went on to say slowly, drawing mary elizabeth into the spell-bound circle of our intensity, as we three sat together with our newly-engraved sheepskins on our knees, "for these two years while you have been growing and developing along all your natural lines in a country which was not your own, in a little pool i should call it, out of even sight and sound of the current of events, we have been here in your own land engaged in the great work of the organization and reorganization which is molding the destinies of the women of our times, and those that come after us. that is what i want to talk to you about, and devoutly have i been praying that your heart will be receptive to the call that has claimed the life of mary elizabeth and me. there is a particular work, for which you are fitted as no other woman i have ever known is fitted, and i want to lay the case plainly before you to-night. will you give me a hearing?" and the hearing i gave that beloved and devout woman was the _reveille_ that awakened me to this--this whirlwind that seems to be both inside me and outside me, and everywhere else in the whole world. it's not woman's suffrage; it has gone way down past the road from votes for women. i wish i could have stopped in that political field of endeavor before jane got to me. she might have left me there doing little things like making speeches before the united states senate and running for governor of tennessee, after i had, single-handed, remade the archaic constitution of that proud and bat-blind old state of my birth; but such ease was not for me. of course for years, as all women have been doing who are sensible enough to use the brains god gave them and stop depending on their centuries-seasoned intuitions and fascinations, i have been reading about this feminist revolution that seems all of a sudden to have revoluted from nobody knows where, and i have been generally indignant over things whether i understood them or not, and i have felt that i was being oppressed by the opposite sex, even if i could not locate the exact spot of the pain produced. i have always felt that when i got to it i would shake off the shackles of my queer fondness and of my dependence upon my oppressors, and do something revengeful to them. when my father died in my junior year and left me all alone in the world, the first thing that made me feel life in my veins again was the unholy rage i experienced when i found that he had left me bodaciously and otherwise to my fifth cousin, james hardin. cousin james is a healthy reversion to the primitive type of father abraham, and he has so much aristocratic moss on him that he reminds me of that old gray crag that hangs over silver creek out on providence road. artistically he is perfectly beautiful in an old-testament fashion. he lives in an ancient, rambling house across the road from my home, and he is making a souvenir collection of derelict women. everybody that dies in glendale leaves him a relict, and including his mother, cousin martha, he now has either seven or nine female charges, depending on the sex of sallie carruthers's twin babies, which i can't exactly remember, but will wager is feminine. my being left to him was an insult to me, though of course father did not see it that way. he adored the crag, as everybody else in glendale does, and wouldn't have considered not leaving him precious me. wanting to ignore cousin james, because i was bound out to him until my twenty-fifth year or marriage, which is worse, has kept me from glendale all these four years since father died suddenly while i was away at college, laid up with the ankle which i broke in the gymnasium. still, as much as i resent him, i keep the letter the crag wrote me the night after father died, right where i can put my hand on it if life suddenly panics me for any reason. it covers all the circumstances i have yet met. i wonder if i ought to burn it now! but, to be honest with myself, i will have to confess that the explosively sentimental scene on the front porch, the night i left for college, with polk hayes has had something to do with my cowardice in lingering in foreign climes. i feel that it is something i will have to go on with some day, and the devil will have to pick up the chips. polk is the kind of man that ought to be exterminated by the government in sympathy for its women wards, if his clan didn't make such good citizens when they do finally marry. he ought at least to be labeled "poison for the very young." i was very young out on the porch that night. still, i don't resent him like i do the archaic crag. and as jane talked, my seasoned indignation of four years against my keeper flared up, and while she paused at intervals for breath i hurled out plans for his demolishment. i wish now i had been more conservatively quiet, and left myself a loophole, but i didn't. i walked into this situation and shut the door behind me. "yes, evelina, i think you will have to insist forcibly on assuming charge of your own social and financial affairs in your own home. it may not be easy, with such a man as you describe, but you will accomplish it. however, many mediocre women have proved their ability to attend to their own fortunes, and do good business for themselves; but your battle is to be fought on still higher grounds. you are to rise and establish with your fellow-man a plane of common citizenship. you do it for his sake and your own, and for that of humanity." "suppose, after i get up there on that plateau, i didn't find any man at all," i ventured faint-heartedly, but with a ripple of my risibles; the last in life i fear. "you must reach down your hands to them and draw them up to you," she answered in a tone of tonic inspiration. "you are to claim the same right to express your emotions that a man has. you are to offer your friendship to both men and women on the same frank terms, with no degrading hesitancy caused by an embarrassment on account of your sex. it is his due and yours. no form of affection is to be withheld from him. it is to be done frankly and impressively, and when the time comes--" i can hardly write this, but the memory of the wonderful though fanatic light in jane's eyes makes me able to scrawl it--"that you feel the mating instinct in you move towards any man, i charge you that you are to consider it a sacred obligation to express it with the same honesty that a man would express the same thing to you, in like case, even if he has shown no sign of that impulse toward you. no contortions and contemptible indirect method of attack, but a fearless one that is yours by right, and his though he may not acknowledge it. the barbaric and senseless old convention that denies women the right of selection, for which god has given her the superior instinct, is to be broken down by just such women as you. a woman less dowered by beauty and all feminine charm could not do it just yet, but to you, to whom the command of men is a natural gift, is granted the wonderful chance to prove that it can be done, honestly and triumphantly, with no sacrifice of the sacredness of womanhood." "oh, jane." i moaned into the arm of the chair on which i had bowed my head. i am moaning; now just as much, down in the bottom of my heart. where are all my gentle foremothers that smiled behind their lace fans and had their lily-white hands kissed by cavalier gentlemen in starched ruffles, out under the stars that rise over old harpeth, that they don't claim me in a calm and peaceful death? still, as much as i would like to die, i am interested in what is going to happen. "yes, evelina," she answered in an adamant tone of voice, "and when i have the complete record of what, i know, will be your triumphant vindication of the truth that it is possible and advisable for women to assert their divine right to choose a mate for their sacred vocation of bearing the race, i shall proceed, as i have told you, to choose five other suitable young women to follow your example, and furnish them the money, up to the sum of a hundred thousand dollars, after having been convinced by your experience. be careful to make the most minute records, of even the most emotional phases of the question, in this book for their guidance. of course, they will never know the source of the data, and i will help you elucidate and arrange the book, after it is all accomplished." if jane hadn't had two million dollars all this trouble would not be. "i can never do it!" i exclaimed with horror, "and the men will hate it--and me. and if i did do it, i couldn't write it." i almost sobbed as a vision flashed before me of thus verbally snap-shotting the scene with dear old dickie as we stood against the rail of the ship and watched the waves fling back silvery radiance at the full moon, and i also wondered how i was to render in serviceable written data his husky: "a woman is the flame that lights the spark--" also, what would that interview with polk hayes look like reproduced with high lights? "now," she answered encouragingly, "don't fear the men, dear. they are sensible and business-like creatures, and they will soon see how much to their advantage it is to be married to women who have had an equal privilege with themselves of showing their preferences. then only can they be sure that their unions are from real preferences and not compromises, on the part of their wives, from lack of other choice. of course, a woman's pride will make her refrain from courtship, as does her brother man, until she is financially independent, and self-supporting, lest she be put in the position of a mendicant." jane has thought the whole thing out from genesis to revelation. still, that last clause about the mendicant leaves hope for the benighted man who still wants the cling of the vine. a true vine would never want--or be able--to hustle enough to flower sordid dollars instead of curls and blushes. "a woman would have to be--to be a good deal of a woman, not any less one, to put such a thing across, jane," i said, with a preflash of some of the things that might happen in such a cruel crusade of reformation and deprivation of rights. "that is the reason i have chosen you to collect the data, evelina," answered jane, with another of those glorious tonic looks, issuing from my backbone in her back. "the ultimate woman must be superb in body, brain, and heart. you are that now more nearly than any one i have ever seen. you are the woman!" i was silenced with awe. "jane plans to choose five girls who would otherwise have to spend their lives teaching in crowded cities after leaving college and to start them in any profession they choose, with every chance of happiness, in the smaller cities of the south and middle west," said mary elizabeth gently, and somehow the tears rose in my eyes, as i thought how the poor dear had been teaching in the high school in chicago the two glorious years i had been frolicking abroad. no time, and no men to have good times with. and there were hundreds like her, i knew, in all the crowded parts of the united states. and as i had begun, i thought further. just because i was embarrassed at the idea of proposing to some foolish man, who is of no importance to me, himself, or the world in general, down in glendale, where they have all known me all my life, and would expect anything of me anyway after i have defied tradition and gone to college, five lovely, lonely girls would have to go without any delightful suitors like richard--or polk hayes, forever. and, still further, i thought of the other girls, coming under the influence of those five, who might be encouraged to hold up their heads and look around, and at least help out their richards in their matrimonial quest, and as i sat there with jane's compelling and mary elizabeth's hungry eyes on me, i felt that i was being besought by all the lovers of all the future generations to tear down some sort of awful barrier and give them happiness. and it was the thought of the men that was most appealing. it takes a woman who really likes them as i do, and has their good really at heart, to see their side of the question as jane put it, poor dears. suddenly, i felt that all the happiness of the whole world was in one big, golden chalice, and that i had to hold it steadily to give drink to all men and all women--with a vision of little unborn kiddies in the future. then, before i could stop myself, i decided--and i hope the dear lord--i say it devoutly--indeed i do!--will help that poor man in glendale if i pick out the wrong one. i'm going to do it. "i accept your appointment and terms, jane," i said quietly, as i looked both those devout, if fanatic, women in the face. "i pledge myself to go back to glendale, to live a happy, healthy, normal life, as useful as i can make it. i had intended to do that anyway, for if i am to evolve the real american garden. i can't do better than sketch and study those in the harpeth valley, for at least two seasons all around. i shall work at my profession whole-heartedly, take my allotted place in the community, and refuse to recognize any difference in the obligations and opportunities in my life and that of the men with whom i am thrown, and to help all other women to take such a fearless and honest attitude--if glendale blows up in consequence. i will seek and claim marriage in exactly the same fearless way a man does, and when i have found what i want i shall expect you to put one hundred thousand dollars, twenty to each, at the disposal of five other suitable young women, to follow my example, as noted down in this book--if it has been successful. shall i give you some sort of written agreement?" "just record the agreement as a note in the book, and i will sign it," answered jane, in her crispest and most business-like tone of voice, though i could see she was trembling with excitement, and poor mary elizabeth was both awe-struck and hopeful. i'll invite mary elizabeth down to glendale, as soon as i stake out my own claim, poor dear! and here i sit alone at midnight, with a huge, steel-bound, lock-and-keyed book that jane has had made for me, with my name and the inscription, "in case of death, send unopened to jane mathers, boston, massachusetts," on the back, committed to a cause as crazy and as serious as anything since the pilgrimages, or the quest of the knights for the grail. it also looks slightly like trying to produce a modern don quixote, feminine edition, and my cheeks are flaming so that i wouldn't look at them for worlds. and to write it all, too! i have always had my opinion of women who spill their souls out of an ink-bottle, but i ought to pardon a nihilist, that in the dead of night, cold with terror, confides some awful appointment he has had made him, to his nearest friend. i am the worst nihilist that ever existed, and the bomb i am throwing may explode and destroy the human race. but, on the other hand, the explosion might be of another kind. suppose that suddenly a real woman's entire nature should be revealed to the world, might not the universe be enveloped in a rose glory and a love symphony? we'll see! also, could the time ever come when a woman wouldn't risk hanging over the ragged edge of heaven to hold on to the hand of some man? never! then, as that is the case, i see we must all keep the same firm grip on the creatures we have always had, and haul them over the edge, but we must not do it any more without letting them know about it--it isn't honest. yes, women must solidify their love into such a concrete form that men can weigh and measure it, and decide for themselves whether they want to--to climb to heaven for it, or remain comfortable old bachelors. we mustn't any more lead them into marriage blinded by the overpowering gaseous fragrance called romantic love. but, suppose i should lose all love for everybody in this queer quest for enlightenment i have undertaken? please, god, let a good man be in glendale, tennessee, who will understand and protect me--no, that's the wrong prayer! protect him--no--both of us! chapter ii the maiden lance a woman may shut her eyes, and put a man determinedly out of her heart, and in two minutes she will wake up in an agony of fear that he isn't there. now, as i have decided that glendale is to be the scene of this bloodless revolution of mine--it would be awful to carry out such an undertaking anywhere but under the protection of ancestral traditions--i have operated richard hall out of my inmost being with the utmost cruelty, on an average of every two hours, for this week jane and i have been in new york; and i have still got him with me. i, at last, became determined, and chose the roof-garden at the astor to tell him good-by, and perform the final operation. first i tried to establish a plane of common citizenship with him, by telling him how much his two years' friendship across the waters had meant to me, while we studied the same profession under the same masters, drew at the same drawing-boards and watched dear old paris flame into her jeweled night-fire from montmarte, together. i was frankly affectionate, and it made him suspicious of me. then i tried to tell him just a little, only a hint, of my new attitude towards his sex, and before he had had time even to grasp the idea he exploded. "don't talk to me as if you were an alienist trying to examine an abstruse case, evelina," he growled, with extreme temper. "go on down and rusticate with your relatives for the summer, and fly the bats in your belfry at the old moss-backs, while i am getting this cincinnati and gulf stations commission under way. then, when i can, i will come for you. let's don't discuss the matter, and it's time i took you back to your hotel." not a very encouraging tilt for my maiden lance. i've had a thought. if i should turn and woo dickie, like he does me, i suppose we would be going-so fast in opposite directions that we would be in danger of passing each other without recognizing signals. i wonder if that might get to be the case of humanity at large if women do undertake the tactics i am to experiment with, and a dearth of any kind of loving and claiming at all be the result. i will elucidate that idea and shoot it into jane. but i have no hope; she'll have the answer ticketed away in the right pigeon-hole, statistics and all, ready to fire back at me. i have a feeling that jane won't expect such a diary as this locked cell of a book is becoming, but i can select what looks like data for the young from these soul squirmings, and only let her have those for the five. i don't know which are which now, and i'll have to put down the whole drama. and my home-coming last night was a drama that had in it so much comedy, dashed with tragedy, that i'm a little breathless over it yet. jane, and my mind is breathing unevenly still. considering the situation, and my intentions, i was a bit frightened as the huge engine rattled and roared its way along the steel rails that were leading me back, down into the harpeth valley. but, when we crossed the kentucky line, i forgot the horrors of my mission, and i thrilled gloriously at getting hack to my hills. old harpeth had just come into sight, as we rounded into the valley and providence knob rested back against it, in a pink glow that i knew came from the honeysuckle in bloom all over it like a mantle. i traveled fast into the twilight, and i saw all the stars smile out over the ridge, in answer to the hearth stars in the valley, before i got across silver creek. i hadn't let any one know that i was coming, so i couldn't expect any one to meet me at the station at glendale. there was nobody there i belonged to--just an empty house. i suppose a man coming home like that would have whistled and held up his head, but i couldn't. i'm a woman. suddenly, that long glowworm of a train stopped just long enough at glendale to eject me and my five trunks, with such hurried emphasis that i felt i was being planted in the valley forever, and i would have to root myself here or die. i still feel that way. and as i stood just where my feet were planted, in the dust of the road, instead of on the little ten-foot platform, that didn't quite reach to my sleeper steps, i felt as small as i really am in comparison to the universe. i looked after the train and groveled. then, just as i was about to start running down the track, away from nowhere and to nowhere, i was brought to my senses by a loud boohoo, and then a snubby choke, which seemed to come out of my bag and steamer-blanket that stood in a pile before me. "train's gone, train's gone and left us! i knew it would, when sallie stopped to put the starch on her face all over again. and cousin james, he's as slow as molasses, and i couldn't dress two twins in not time to button one baby. oh, damn, oh, damn!" and the sobs rose to a perfect storm of a wail. just at that moment, down the short platform an electric light, that was so feeble that it seemed to show a pine-knot influence in its heredity, was turned on by the station-agent, who was so slow that i perceived the influence of a descent from old mr. territt, who drove the stage that came down from the city before the war, and my fellow-sufferer stood revealed. she was a slim, red-haired bunch of galatea, stylish of cut as to upturned nose and straight little skirt but wholly and defiantly unshod save for a dusty white rag around one pink toe. a cunning little straw bonnet, with an ecru lace jabot dangled in her hand, and her big brown eyes reminded me of jane's at her most inquisitive moments. "if you was on a train, what did you git offen it _here_ for?" she demanded of me, with both scorn and curiosity in her positive young voice. "i don't know why," i answered weakly, not at all in the tone of a young-gallant-home-from-the-war mood i had intended to assume towards the first inhabitant of my native town to whom i addressed a remark. "we was all a-goin' down to hillsboro, to visit aunt bettie pollard for a whole week, to cousin tom's wedding, but my family is too slow for nothing but a funeral. and cousin james, he's worse. he corned for us ten minutes behind the town clock, and mammy dilsie had phthisic, so i had to fix the two twins, and we're done left. i wisht i didn't have no family!" and with her bare feet the young rebel raised a cloud of dust that rose and settled on my skirt. "there they come now," she continued, with the pained contempt still rising in her voice. and around the corner of the station hurried the family party, with all the haste they would have been expected to use if they had not, just two minutes earlier, beheld their train go relentlessly on down the valley to hillsboro and the wedding celebration. i hadn't placed the kiddie, but i might have known, from her own description of her family, to whom she belonged. first came sallie carruthers, sailing along in the serene way that i remembered to have always thought like a swan in no hurry, and in her hands was a wet box from which rose sterns protruded. next in the procession came aunt dilsie, huge and black and wheezing, fanning herself with a genteel turkey-tail fan, and carrying a large covered basket. but the tail-piece of the procession paralyzed all the home-coming emotions that i had expected to be feeling, save that of pure hilarity. james hardin was carrying two bubbly, squirmy, tousle-headed babies, on one arm, and a huge suitcase in the other hand, and his gray felt hat set on the back of his shock of black hair at an angle of deep desperation, though patience shone from every line of his strong, gaunt body, and i could see in the half light that there were no lines of irritation about his mouth, which richard had said looked to him like that of the prophet hosea, when i had shown him the picture that father had had snapped of himself and the crag, with their great string of quail, on one of their hunting-trips, just before father died. "eve!" he exclaimed, when he suddenly caught sight of me, standing in the middle of the dusty road, with my impedimenta around me, and as he spoke he dropped both babies on the platform in a bunch, and the small trunk on the other side. then he just stood and looked, and i had to straighten the roar that was arising in me at the sight of him into a conventional smile of greeting, suitable to bestow on an enemy. but before the smile was well launched, sallie bustled in and got the full effect of it. "why, evelina shelby, you darling thing, when did you come?" she fairly bubbled, as she clasped me in the most hospitable of arms, and bestowed a slightly powdery kiss on both my cheeks. i weakly and femininely enjoyed the hug, not that a man might not have--sallie is a dear, and i always did like her gush, shamefacedly. "she got often that train that left us, and she ain't got a bit of sense, or she wouldn't," answered the blue bunch for me, in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "what for did you all unpack outen the surrey, if you sawed the train go by?" she further demanded, with accusing practicality. "don't you know when youse left?" "oh, henrietta," exclaimed sallie, looking at the young-philosopher with terrified helplessness. "please don't mind her, evelina. i don't understand her being my child, and nobody does, unless it was henry's grandmother on his mother's side. you had heard of my loss?" if i hadn't heard of the death of henry carruthers, sallie's elaborate black draperies, relieved by the filmy exquisiteness of white crepe ruches at the neck and wrists, would have proclaimed the fact. suddenly, something made me look at cousin james, as he stood calmly in the midst of sallie's family and baggage, both animate and inanimate, and the laugh that had threatened for minutes fairly flared out into his placid, young prophet face. "oh, i am so sorry, sallie, and so glad to see all of you that i'm laughing at the same time," i exclaimed to save myself from the awfulness of greeting a young widow's announcement of her sorrow in such an unfeeling manner. to cover my embarrassment and still further struggles with the laugh that never seemed to be able to have itself out, i bent and hugged up one of the toddlers, who were balancing against the crag's legs, with truly feminine fervor. "i'm glad to see you, evelina," said cousin james gently, and i could see that the billows of my mirth had got entirely past him. i was glad he had escaped, and i found myself able to look with composure at his queer, long-tailed gray coat, which made me know that little old mr. pinkus, who had been father's orderly all through the war, was still alive and tailoring in his tiny shop down by the post-office, though now that father is dead he probably only does it for cousin james. the two of them had been his only customers for years. and as i looked, i saw that the locks that curled in an ante-bellum fashion around the crag's ears, were slightly sprinkled with gray, and remembered how he had loved and stood by father, even in the manner of wearing pinkus clothes; my heart grew very large all of a sudden, and i held out my hand to him. [illustration: he stood calmly in the midst of sallie's family and baggage, both animate and inanimate.] "i'm glad to be at home," i said, gazing straight into his eyes, with a look of affection that you would have been proud of, jane,--using unconsciously, until after i had done it, the warmth i had tried unsuccessfully on richard hall at the astor, not forty-eight hours ago, but two thousand miles away. and it got a response that puzzles me to think of yet. it was just a look, but there was a thought of father in it, also a suggestion of the glance he bestowed on sallie's twins. i remembered that the crag seldom speaks, and that's what makes you spend your time breathlessly listening to him. "well, come on, everybody, let's go home and undress, and forget about the wedding," came in henrietta's positive and executive tones. "let's go and take the strange lady with us. we can have company if we can't be it. she can sleep other side of me, next the wall." i have never met anybody else at all like henrietta carruthers, and i never shall unless jane mathers marries and--i sincerely hope that some day she and jane will meet. and the next ten minutes was one of the most strenuous periods of time i ever put in, in all my life. i longed, really longed, to go home with sallie and henrietta, and sleep next the wall at widegables with the rest of the crag's collection. but i knew glendale well enough to see plainly that if i thus once give myself up to the conventions that by saturday night they would have me nicely settled with his relicts, or in my home with probably two elderly widows and a maiden cousin or so to look after me. and then, by the end of the next week, they would have the most suitable person in town fairly hunted by both spoken and mental influence, to the moonlight end of my front porch, with matrimonial intentions in his pocket. i knew i had to take a positive stand, and take it immediately. i must be masculinely firm. no feminine wiles would serve in such a crisis as this. so, i let cousin james pack me into his low, prehistoric old surrey, in the front seat, at his side, while sallie took aunt dilsie and one twin with her on the back seat. henrietta scrouged down at my feet, and i fearingly, but accommodatingly, accepted the other twin. it was a perfect kitten of a baby, and purred itself to sleep against my shoulder as soon as anchored. the half-mile from the station, along the dusty, quiet village streets, was accomplished in about the time it would take a modern vehicle to traverse manhattan lengthwise, and at last we stopped at the gate of widegables. the rambling, winged, wide-gabled, tall-columned old pile of time-grayed brick and stone, sat back in the moonlight, in its tangle of a garden, under its tall roof maples, with a dignity that went straight to my heart. there is nothing better in france or england, and i feel sure that there are not two hundred houses in america as good. i'll paint it, just like i saw it to-night, for next spring's salon. a bright light shone from the windows of the dining-room in the left wing, where the collection of clinging vines were taking supper, unconscious of the return of the left-behinds that threatened. and as i glanced at my own tall-pillared, dark old house, that stands just opposite widegables, and is of the same period and style, i knew that if i did not escape into its emptiness before i got into cousin martha's comfortable arms, surrounded by the rest of the crag's family, i would never have the courage to enter into the estate of freedom i had planned. "sallie," i said firmly, as i handed the limp kitten down to aunt dilsie, as henrietta took the other one--"puppy" i suppose i will have to call the young animal,--from her mother and started on up the walk in the lead of the return expedition, "i am going over to stay in my own home to-night. i know it seems strange, but--i _must_. please don't worry about me." "why, dear, you can't stay by yourself, with no man on the place," exclaimed sallie, in a tone of absolute panic. "i'll go tell cousin martha you are here, while cousin james unpacks your satchel and things." and she hurried in her descent from the ark, and also hurried in her quest for the reinforcement of cousin martha's authority. "i'm going to escape before any of them come back," i said determinedly to the crag, who stood there still, just looking at me. "i'm not up to arguing the question to-night, for the trip has been a long one, and this is the first time i have been home since--just let me have to-night to myself, please." i found myself pleading to him, as he held up his arms to lift me clear of the wheels. his eyes were hurt and suffering for a second, then a strange light of comprehension came from them into mine, like a benediction, as he gently set me on my feet. "must you, eve?" "yes," i answered, with a gulp that went all the way down to my feminine toes, as i glanced across the road at the grim, dark old pile that towered against the starlit sky. "i want to stay in my own house to-night--and--and i'm not afraid." "you won't need to be frightened. i understand, i think--and here's your key, i always carry it in my pocket. your father's candle is on the mantel. you shall have to-night to yourself. good-night, and bless your home-coming, dear!" "good-night," i answered as i turned away from his kind eyes quickly, to keep from clinging-to him with might and main, and crossed the road to my own gate. with my head up, and trying for the whistle, at least in my heart, i went quickly along the front walk with its rows of blush peonies, nodding along either edge. the two old purple lilacs beside the front steps have grown so large they seemed to be barring my way into my home with longing, sweet embraces, and a fragrant little climbing rose, that has rioted across the front door, ever since i could remember, bent down and left a kiss on my cheeks. the warm, mellow old moon flooded a glow in front of me, through the big front door, as i opened it, and then hastened to pour into the wide windows as i threw back the shutters. logs lay ready for lighting in the wide fireplace at the end of the long room, and father's tobacco jar gleamed a reflected moonlight from its pewter sides from the tall mantel-shelf. the old hooks melted into the dusk of their cases along the wall, and the portrait of grandfather shelby lost its fierce gaze and became benign from its place between the windows. i was being welcomed to the home of my fathers, with a soft dusk that was as still and sweet as the grave. sweet for those that want it; but i didn't. suddenly, i thrilled as alive as any terror-stricken woman that ever found herself alone anywhere on any other edge of the world, and then as suddenly found myself in a complete condition of fright prostration, crouched on my own threshold. i was frightened at the dark, and could not even cry. then almost immediately, while i crouched quivering in every nerve i seemed to hear a man's voice say comfortingly: "you don't need to be frightened." courageously i lifted my eyes and looked down between the old lilac bushes, and saw just what i expected i would, a tall, gray figure, pacing slowly up and down the road. then it was that fear came into me, stiffened my muscles and strengthened my soul--fear of myself and my own conclusions about destiny and all things pertaining thereto. i never want to go through such another hour as i spent putting things in order in father's room, which opens off the living-room, so i could go to bed by candle-light in the bed in which he and i were both born. i wanted to sleep there, and didn't even open any other part of the grim old house. and when i put out the candle and lay in the high, old four-post bed, i again felt as small as i really am, and i was in danger of a bad collapse from self-depreciation when my humor came to the rescue. i might just as well have gone on and slept between henrietta and the wall, as was becoming my feminine situation, for here my determination to assert my masculine privileges was keeping a real man doing sentry duty up and down a moonlight road all night--and i wanted it. "after this, james hardin, you can consider yourself safe from any of my attentions or intentions," i laughed to myself, as i turned my face into the pillow, that was faintly scented from the lavender in which mother had always kept her linen. "i've been in glendale two hours, and one man is on the home base with his fingers crossed. james, you are free! oh, jane!" chapter iii a flint spark the greatest upheavals of nature are those that arrive suddenly, without notifying the world days beforehand of their intentions of splitting the crust of the universe wide open. one is coming to glendale by degrees, but the town hasn't found out about it yet. i'm the only one who sees it, and i'm afraid to tell. when old harpeth, who has been looking down on a nice, peaceful, man ordained, built, and protected world, woke glendale up the morning after my arrival and found me defiantly alone in the home of my fathers--also of each of my foremothers, by the courtesy of dower--he muttered and drew a veil of mist across his face. slight showers ensued, but he had to come out in less than an hour from pure curiosity. i found the old garden heavenly in its riot of neglected buds, shoots, and blooms, wet and welcoming with the soft odors of heaven itself. it was well i was out early to enjoy it, for that was to be the day of my temptation and sore trial. i am glad i have recorded it all, for i might have forgotten some day how wonderfully my very pliant, feminine attitude rubbed in my masculine intentions as to my life on the blind side of all the forces brought to bear on me to put me back into my predestined place in the scheme of the existence. "your cousin james's home is the place for you, evelina, and until he explained to me how you felt last night i was deeply hurt that you hadn't come straight, with sallie, to me and to him," said cousin martha, in as severe a voice as was possible for such a placid individual to produce. cousin martha is completely lovely, and the mossback gets his beauty from her. she is also such a perfect dear that her influence is something terrific, even if negatively expressed. "i have come to help you get your things together, so you can move over before dinner," she continued with gentle force. "now, what shall we put in the portmanteau first? i see you have unpacked very little, and i am glad that it confirms me in my feeling that your coming over here for the night was just a dutiful sentiment for your lost loved ones, and not any unmaidenly sense of independence in the matter of choice where it is best for you to live. of course, such a question as that must be left to your guardian, and of course james will put you under my care." "i--i really thought that perhaps cousin james did not have room for me, cousin martha," i answered meekly. "how many families has he with him now?" i asked with a still further meekness that was the depths of wiliness. "there are three of us widows, whom he sustains and comforts for the loss of our husbands, and also the three norton girls, cousins on his father's side of the house, you remember. it is impossible for them to look after their plantation since their father's death robbed them of a protector, at least, even though he had been paralyzed since gettysburg. james is a most wonderful man, my dear--a most wonderful man. though as he is my son i ought to think it in silence." "indeed he is," i answered from the heart. "but--but wouldn't it be a little crowded for him to have another--another vine--that is, exactly what would he do with me? i know widegables is wide, but that is a houseful, isn't it?" "well, all of us did feel that it made the house uncomfortably full when sallie came with the three children, but you know henry carruthers left james his executor and guardian of the children, and sallie of course couldn't live alone, so mrs. hargrove and i moved into the south room together, and gave sallie and the children my room. it is a large room, and it would be such a comfort to sallie to have you stay with her and help her at night with the children. she doesn't really feel able to get up with them at all. then dilsie could sleep in the cabin, as she ought to on account of the jimsonweed in her phthisic pipe. it would be such a beautiful influence in your lonely life, evelina, to have the children to care for." i wondered if cousin martha had ever heard that galatea bunch indulge in such heartfelt oaths as had followed that train down the track last night! "it would be lovely," i answered--and the reply was not all insincerity, as i thought of the darkness of that long night, and the bunch's offer of a place at her sturdy little back "next the wall." "but i will be so busy with my own work, cousin martha, that i am afraid i couldn't do justice to the situation and repay the children and sallie for crowding them." "why, you couldn't crowd us, evelina, honey," came in sallie's rich voice, as she sailed into the room, trailing the pup and the kit at her skirts and flying lavender ribbons at loose ends. "we've come to help you move over right away." "well, not while i have a voice in the affairs of my own husband's niece! how are you, evelina, and are you crazy, sallie carruthers?" came in a deep raven croak of a voice that sounded as if it had harked partly from the tomb, as aunt augusta shelby stood in the doorway, with reproof on her lips and sternness on her brow. "peter and i will have evelina move down immediately with us. james hardin has as much in the way of a family as he can very well stand up under now." and as she spoke, aunt augusta glared at sallie with such ferocity that even sallie's sunshiny presence was slightly dimmed. "are you ready, evelina? peter will send the surrey for your baggage," she continued, and for a moment i quailed, for aunt augusta's determination of mind is always formidable, but i summoned my woman's wit and man's courage, and answered quickly before she fairly snatched me from under my own roof-tree. "that would be lovely, aunt augusta, and how are you?" i answered and asked in the same breath, as i drew near enough to her to receive a business-like peck on my cheek. "i expect to have you and uncle peter to look after me a lot, but somehow i feel that father would have liked--liked for me to live here and keep my home--his home--open. some way will arrange itself. i haven't talked with cousin james yet," i felt white feathers sprouting all over me, as i thus invoked the masculine dominance i had come to lay. "you'll have to settle that matter with your uncle peter, then, for, following his dictates of which i did not approve, i have done our duty by the orphan. now, evelina, let me say in my own person, that i thoroughly approve of your doing just as you plan." and as she uttered this heresy, she looked so straight and militant and altogether commanding, that both cousin martha and sallie quailed. i felt elated, as if my soul were about to get sight of a kindred personality. or rather a soul-relative of yours, jane. "oh, she would be so lonely, mrs. shelby, and she--" sallie was venturing to say with trepidation, when aunt augusta cut her short without ceremony. "lonely, nonsense! such a busy woman as i now feel sure evelina is going to be, will not have time to be lonely. i wish i could stay and talk with you further about your plans, but i must hurry back and straighten out peter's mind on that question of the town water-supply that is to come up in the meeting of the city council to-day. he let it be presented all wrong last time, and they got things so muddled that it was voted on incorrectly. i will have to write it out for him so he can explain it to them. i will need you in many ways to help me help peter be mayor of glendale, evelina. i am wearied after ten years of the strain of his office. i shall call on you for assistance often in the most important matters," with which promise, that sounded like a threat, she proceeded to march down the front path, almost stepping on henrietta, who was coming up the same path, with almost the same emphasis. there was some sort of an explosion, and i hope the kind of words i heard hurled after the train were not used. "that old black crow is a-going to git in trouble with me some day, marfy," henrietta remarked, as she settled herself on the arm of cousin martha's chair, after bestowing a smudgy kiss on the little white curl that wrapped around one of the dear old lady's pink little ears. i had felt that way about cousin martha myself at the bunch's age, and we exchanged a sympathetic smile on the subject. "well, what _are_ you going to do, evelina?" asked sallie, and she turned such a young, helpless, wondering face up to me from the center of her cluster of babies, that my heart almost failed me at the idea of pouring what seemed to me at that moment the poison of modernity into the calm waters of her and cousin martha's primitive placidity. "you'll have to live some place where there is a man," she continued, with worried conviction. my time had come, and the fight was on. oh, jane! "i don't believe i really feel that way about it," i began in the gentlest of manners, and slowly, so as to feel my way. "you see, sallie dear, and dearest cousin martha, i have had to be out in the world so much--alone, that i am--used to it. i--i haven't had a man's protection for so long that i don't need it, as i would if i were like you two blessed sheltered women." "i know it has been hard, dear," said cousin martha gently looking her sympathy at my lorn state, over her glasses. "i don't see how you have stood it at all," said sallie, about to dissolve in tears. "the love and protection and sympathy of a man are the only things in life worth anything to a woman. since my loss i don't know what i would have done without cousin james. you must come into his kind care, evelina." "i must learn to endure loneliness," i answered sadly, about to begin to gulp from force of example, and the pressure of long hereditary influence. i'm glad that i did not dissolve, however, before what followed happened, for in the twinkling of two bare feet i was smothered in the embrace of henrietta, who in her rush brought either the pup or the kit, i can't tell which yet, along to help her enfold me. "i'll come stay with you forever, and we don't need no men! don't like 'em no-how!" she was exclaiming down my back, when a drawl from the doorway made us all turn in that direction. "why, henrietta, my own, can it be you who utter such cruel sentiments in my absence?" and polk hayes lounged into the room, with the same daring listlessness that he had used in trying to hold me in his arms out on the porch the night i had said good-by to him and glendale, four years ago. henrietta's chubby little body gave a wriggle of delight, and much sentiment beamed in her rugged, small face, as she answered him with enthusiasm, though not stopping to couch her reply in exactly complimentary terms. "you don't count, pokie," she exclaimed, as she made a good-natured face at him. "that's what evelina said four years ago--and she has proved it," he answered her, looking at me just exactly as if he had never left off doing it since that last dance. "how lovely to find you in the same exuberant spirits in which i left you, polk, dear," i exclaimed, as i got up to go and shake hands with him, as he had sunk into the most comfortable chair in the room, without troubling to bestow that attention upon me. some men's hearts beat with such a strong rhythm that every feminine heart which comes within hearing distance immediately catches step, and goes to waltzing. it has been four years since mine swung around against his, at that dance, but i'm glad cousin martha was there, and interrupted, us enough to make me drag my eyes from his, as he looked up and i looked down. "please help us to persuade evelina to come and live with james and me, polk, dear," she said, glancing at him with the deepest confidence and affection in her eyes. there is no age-limit to polk's victims, and cousin martha had always adored him. "all women do, evelina, why not you--live with james?" he asked, and i thought i detected a mocking flicker in his big, hazel, dangerous eyes. "if i ever need protection it will be james--and cousin martha i will run to for it--but i never will," i answered him, very simply, with not a trace of the defiance i was fairly flinging at him in either my voice or manner. paris and london and new york are nice safe places to live in, in comparison with glendale, tennessee, in some respects. i wonder why i hadn't been more scared than i was last night, as the train whirled me down into proximity to polk hayes. but then i had had four years of forgetting him stored up as a bulwark. "but what _are_ you going to do, evelina?" sallie again began to question, with positive alarm in her voice, and i saw that it was time for me to produce some sort of a protector then and there--or capitulate. and i record the fact that i wanted to go home with sallie and cousin martha and the babies and--and live under the roof of the mossback forever. all that citizenship-feeling i had got poured into me from jane and had tried on dickie, good old dickie, had spilled out of me at the first encounter with polk. there is a great big hunt going on in this world, and women are the ones only a short lap ahead. can we turn and make good the fight--or won't we be torn to death? it has come to this it seems: women must either be weak, and cling so close to man that she can't be struck, keep entirely out of the range of his fists and arms,--or develop biceps equal to his. jane ought to have had me in training longer, for i'm discovering that i'm weak--of biceps. "are you coming--are you coming to live with us, evelina? are you coming? answer!" questioned the small henrietta, as she stood commandingly in front of me. "please, evelina," came in a coax from sallie, while the kit crawled over and caught at my skirt as cousin martha raised her eyes to mine, with a gentle echo of the combined wooings. then suddenly into polk's eyes flamed still another demand, that something told me i would have to answer later. i had capitulated and closed this book forever when the deliverance came. jasper, a little older, but as black and pompous as ever, stood in the doorway, and a portly figure, with yellow, shining face, on the step behind him. "why, uncle jasper, how did you know i was here?" i exclaimed, as i fairly ran to hold out my hand to him. "mas' james sont me word last night, and i woulder been here by daybreak, missie, 'cept i had to hunt dis yere suitable woman to bring along with me. make your 'beesence to miss evelina, lucy petunia," he commanded. "you needn't to bother to show her anything, child," he continued calmly, "i'll learn her all she needs to know to suit us. then, if in a week she have shown suitable ability to please us both, my word is out to marry her next sunday night. ain't that the understanding, tuny?" he this time demanded. "yes, sir," answered the petunia with radiant but modest hope shining from her comely yellow face. "i've kept everything ready for you child, since old mas' died, and i ain't never stayed offen the place a week at a time--i was just visiting out petunia's way when i heard you'd come, and gittin' a wife to tend to us and back to you quick was the only thing that concerned me. now, we can all settle down comf'table, while i has tuny knock up some dinner, a company one i hopes, if miss martha and the rest will stay with us." jasper's manner is an exact copy of my father's courtly grace, done in sepia, and my eyes misted for a second, as i reciprocated his invitation, taking acceptance for granted. "of course they will stay, uncle jasper." "well," remarked sallie with a gasp, "you've gone to housekeeping in two minutes, evelina." "jasper has always been a very forceful personality," said cousin martha. "he managed everything for your father at the last, evelina, and i don't know how the whole town would have been easy about the colonel unless they had trusted jasper." "i like the terms on which he takes unto himself a wife," drawled polk, as he lighted a cigarette without looking at me. "good for jasper!" "however, it does take a 'forceful personality' to capture a 'suitable woman' in that manner," i answered with just as much unconcern, and then we both roared, while even sallie in all her anxiety joined in. the commanding, black old man, and the happy-faced, plump, little yellow woman, had saved one situation--and forced another, perhaps? jasper's home-coming dinner party was a large and successful one. two of the dear little old horton lady-cousins got so impatient at cousin martha's not bringing me back to widegables that they came teetering over to see about it, heavily accompanied by mrs. hargrove, whose son had been cousin james's best friend at the university of virginia, and died and left her to him since i had been at college. the ponderosity of her mind was only equaled by that of her body. i must say petunia made a hit with the dear old soul, by the seasoning of her chicken gravy. sallie wanted to send the children home, but jasper wouldn't let her, and altogether we had eleven at the table. polk maneuvered for a seat at the head of my festive board, with a spark of the devil in his eyes, but jasper's sense of the proprieties did not fail me, and he seated cousin martha in father's chair, with great ceremony. and as i looked down the long table, bright with all the old silver jasper had had time to polish, gay with roses from my garden, that he had coaxed henrietta into gathering for him, which nodded back and forth with the bubbling babies, suddenly my heart filled to the very brim with love of it all--and for mine own people. but, just as suddenly, a vision came into my mind of the long table across the road at widegables, with the mossback seated at one end with only two or three of his charges stretched along the empty sides to keep him company. i wanted him to be here with us! i wanted him badly, and i went to get him. i excused myself suddenly, telling them all just why. i didn't look at polk, but cousin martha's face was lovely, as she told me to run quickly. i found him on the front porch, smoking his pipe alone, while the two little relics, whom he had had left to dine with him, were taking their two respective naps. our dinner was late on account of the initiation of petunia, and he had finished before we began. "i stole most of your family to-day," i plunged headlong into my errand, "but i want you, too, most of all." "you've got me, even if you do prefer to keep me across the road from you," he answered, with the most solemn expression on his face, but with a crinkle of a smile in the corners of his deep eyes. i can't remember when i didn't look with eagerness for that crinkle in his eyes, even when i was a child and he what i at that time considered a most glorious grownup individual, though he must have been the most helpless hobbledehoy that ever existed. "you don't need another vine," i answered mutinously. "you know i want you, but jasper's is the privilege of looking after you," he answered calmly. "i want you to be happy, evelina," and i knew as i raised my eyes to his that i could consider myself settled in my own home. "well, then, come and have dinner number two with me," i answered with a laugh that covered a little happy sigh that rose from my heart at the look in the kind eyes bent on mine. i felt, jane, you would have approved of that look! it was so human to human. he came over with me, and that was one jolly party in the old dining-room. they all stayed until almost sunset, and almost everybody in town dropped in during the afternoon to welcome me home, and ask me where i was going to live. jasper and petunia hovering in the background, the tea-tray out on the porch set with the silver and damask all of them knew of old, and the appearance of having been installed with the full approval of cousin martha and james and the rest of the family, stopped the questions on their lips, and they spent the afternoon much enlivened but slightly puzzled. time doesn't do much to people in a place like the harpeth valley, that is out of the stream of modern progress; and most of my friends seem to have just been sitting still, rocking their lives along in the greatest ease and comfort. still, mamie hall has three more kiddies, which, added to the four she had when i left, makes a slightly high, if charming, set of stair-steps. mamie also looks decidedly worn, though pathetically sweet. ned was with her, and as fresh as any one of the buds. maternity often wilts women, but paternity is apt to make men bloom with the importance of it. ned showed off the bunch as if he had produced them all, while mamie only smiled like an angel in the background. a slight bit of temper rose in a flush to my cheeks, as i watched caroline lellyett sit on the steps and feed cake to one twin and two stair-steps with as much hunger in her eyes for them as there was in theirs for the cake. lee greenfield is the responsible party in this case, and she has been loving him hopelessly for fifteen years. lots of other folks wanted to marry her, but lee has pinned her in the psychic spot and is watching her flutter. polk departed in the trail of nell kirkland's fluffy muslin skirts, smoldering dangerously, i felt. nell has grown up into a most lovely individual, and i felt uneasy about her under folk's ministrations. her eyes follow him rather persistently. on the whole, i am glad jane committed me to this woman's cause. i'll have to begin to exercise the biceps of nell's heart--as soon as i get some strength into my own. and after they had all gone, i sat for an hour out on the front steps of my big, empty old house, and enjoyed my own loneliness, if it could be called enjoying. i could hear the petunia's happy giggle, answering jasper's guttural pleasantries, out on the cabin porch behind the row of lilac bushes. i do hope that petunia gets much and the right sort of courting during this week that jasper has allowed her! with the last rays of the sun, i had found time to read a long, dear letter from richard hall, and though i had transferred it from my pocket to my desk, while i dressed for the afternoon, its crackle was still in my mind. i wondered what it all meant, this dissatisfied longing that human beings send out across time and distance, one to and for another. if a woman's heart were really like a great big golden chalice, full to the brim with the kind of love she is taught god wants her to have in it for all mankind, both men and women, why shouldn't she offer drafts of it to every one who is thirsty, brothers as well as sisters? i wonder how that would solve jane's problem of emotional equality! i do love dicky--and--and i do love polk--with an inclination to dodge. now, if there were enough of the right sort of love in me, i ought to be able to get them to see it, and drink it for their comforting, and have no trouble at all with them about their wanting to seize the cup, drain all the love there is in it, shut it away from the rest of the world--and then neglect it. yes, why can't i love polk as i love you, jane, and have him enjoy it? yes, why? i think if i had dicky off to myself for a long time, and very gently led him up to the question of loving him hard in this new way, he might be induced to sip out of the cup just to see if he liked it--and it might be just what he craved, for the time being; but i doubt it. he would storm and bluster at the idea. of course the crag would let a woman love him in any old kind of new or experimental way she wanted to, if it made her happy. he would take her cup of tenderness and drink it as if it were sacramental wine, on his knees. but he doesn't count. he has to be man to so many people that there is danger of his becoming a kind of superman. think of the old mossback being a progressive thing like that! i laughed out loud at the idea--but the echo was dismal. i wonder if sallie will marry him. and as i sat and thought and puzzled, the moonlight got richer and more glowing, and it wooed open the throats of the thousand little honeysuckle blossoms, clinging to the vine on the trellis, until they poured out a perfect symphony of perfume to mingle in a hallelujah from the lilacs and roses that ascended to the very stars themselves. i had dropped my head on my arms, and let my eyes go roaming out to the dim hills that banked against the radiant sky, when somebody seated himself beside me, and a whiff of tobacco blew across my face, sweet with having joined in the honeysuckle chorus. nobody said a word for a long time, and then i looked up and laughed into the deep, gray eyes looking tenderly down into mine. with a thrill i realized that there was one man in the world i could offer the chalice to and _trust_ him to drink--moderately. "jamie," i said in a voice as young as it used to be when i trailed at his heels, "thank you for letting me be contrary and independent and puzzling. i have been busy adventuring with life, in queer places and with people not like--like us. now i want a little of real living and to think--and feel. may i?" "you may, dear," the crag answered in a big comfortable voice, that was a benediction in itself. "i understood last night when you told me that you wanted to come home alone. i can trust jasper with you, and i am going to sleep down at the lodge room, right across the road here, so i can hear you if you even think out loud. no one shall worry you about it any more. now will you promise to be happy?" i could not answer him, i was so full of a deepness of peace. i just laid my cheek against the sleeve of his queer old gray coat, to show him what i could not say. he let me do it, and went on smoking without noticing me. then, after a little while, he began to tell me all about father and his death, that had come so suddenly while he seemed as well as ever, and how he had worried about my probably not wanting to be left to him, and that he wanted me to feel independent, but to please let him do all that i would to help me, and not to feel that i was alone with nobody to love me. that he was always there, and would be forever and ever. and he did stay so late that jasper had to send him home! there is such a thing as a man's being a father and mother and grown sister and brother and a college-chum and a preacher of the gospel and a family physician to a woman--with no possibility of being her husband either. she wouldn't so drag such a man from his high estate as to think of such a worldly relation in connection with him. i have certainly collected some phenomena in the reaction of a woman's heart this day. did you choose me wisely for these experiments, jane? it takes a woman of nerve to go to housekeeping in a tinder-box, when she isn't sure she even knows what flint is when she sees it, and might strike out a spark without intending it at all. chapter iv sweeter when tamed? i wonder if men ever melt suddenly into little boys, and try to squirm and run back to hide their heads in their mothers' skirts. it is an open secret that starchy, modern women often long to wilt back into droopy musk roses, that climb over gates and things, but they don't let each other. when i feel myself getting soluble, i write it out to jane and i get a bracing cold wave of a letter in reply. the one this morning was on the subject of love, or, at least, that is what jane would have said it was on. she wrote: yes, it is gratifying to know that mary elizabeth is so happily engaged to the young teacher who has been in her work with her. she writes that she was encouraged by our resolution, at last to be her best self while in his presence as she had not had the courage to do last year. you see, evelina? and also, you are right in your conclusion that there is not enough abstract love in this world of brotherhood and sisterhood; that the doctrine of divine love calls us to give more and more of it. we cannot give too much! but also, considerations for the advancement of the world call for experiments by the more illumined women along more definite and concrete lines. how old is this mr. hayes, on whom you have chosen to note the reactions of sisterly affection? are you sure that he is not a fit subject for your consideration in the matter of a choice for a mate? remember to be as frank in your expressions of regard for him as he is in his of regard for you. that is the crux of the whole matter. be frank, be courageous! let a man look freely into your heart, and thus encouraged he will open his to you. then you will both have an opportunity to judge each other with reference to a life-long union. it is the only way; and remember what rests on you in this matter. the destinies of many women are involved. * * * * * i don't say this in a spirit of levity, but i do wish polk hayes and jane mathers were out on the front steps in the moonlight, after a good supper that has made him comfortable, jane to be attired in something soft that would float against his arm, whether she wanted it to or not! i believe it would be good for jane, and make things easier for me. be frank with polk as to how much he asphyxiates me? i know better than to blow out the gas like that! no, jane! but what is a woman going to do when she is young and hearty and husky, with the blood running through her veins at a two-forty rate, when her orchard is in bloom, the mocking-birds are singing the night through, and she is not really in love with anybody? the loneliness does fill her heart full of the solution of love, and she has got to pour off some of it into somebody's life. there is plenty of me to be both abstract and concrete, at the same time, and i thought of uncle peter. uncle peter is the most explosive and crusty person that ever happened in glendale, and it takes all of aunt augusta's energy, common-sense and force of character to keep him and the two chips he carries on his shoulders, as a defiance to the world in general, from being in a constant state of combustion. he has been ostensibly the mayor of glendale for twenty-five years, and aunt augusta has done the work of the office very well indeed, while he has blown up things in general with great energy. he couldn't draw a long breath without her, but of course he doesn't realize it. he thinks he is in a constant feud with her and her sex. his ideas on the woman question are so terrific that i have always run from them, but i concluded that it would be a good thing for me to liquefy some of my vague humanitarianism, and help aunt augusta with him, while she wrestles with the city council on the water question. anyway, i have always had a guarded fondness for the old chap. i chose a time when i knew aunt augusta had to be busy with his report of the disastrous concrete paving trade the whole town had been sold out on, and i lay in wait to capture him and the chips. this morning i waited behind the old purple lilac at the gate, which immediately got into the game by sweeping its purple-plumed arms all around me, so that not a tag of my dimity alarmed him as he came slowly down the street. "uncle peter," i said, as i stepped out in front of him suddenly, "please, uncle peter, won't you come in and talk to me?" "hey? evelina?" "yes, uncle peter, it's evelina," and i hesitated with terror at the snap in his dear old eyes, back under their white brows. then i let my eyes uncover my heart full of the elixir i had prepared for him, and offered him as much as he could drink. "i'm lonely," i said, with a little catch in my voice. "lonely--hey?" he grumbled, but his feet hesitated opposite my gate. in about two and a half minutes i had him seated in a cushioned rocker on the south side of the porch. jasper had given us both a mint julep, and uncle peter was much jess thirsty than he had been for a long time. aunt augusta is as temperate in all things as a steel ramrod. "you see, uncle peter, i needed you so that i just had to kidnap you," i said to him, as he wiped his lips with a pocket-handkerchief, as stiffly starched as was his wife herself. "why didn't you go over and live in james's hennery--live with james--hey?" he snapped, with the precision of a pistol cap. to be just, i suppose aunt augusta's adamant disposition accounts, to some extent, for uncle peter's explosive way of thinking and speaking. a husband would have to knock aunt augusta's nature down to make any impression whatever on it. uncle peter always has the air of firing an idea and then ducking his head to avoid the return shot. "his house is so full, and i need a lot of space to carry on my work," i answered him, with the words i have used so often in the last two weeks that they start to come when the petunia asks me if i want waffles or batter-cakes for supper. "well, sallie carruthers will get him, and then there'll be a dozen more to run the measure over--children--hey? all girls! a woman like sallie would not be content with producing less than a dozen of her kind--hey?" his chuckle was so contagious that i couldn't help but join him, though i didn't like it so very much. but why shouldn't i? sallie is such a gorgeous woman that a dozen of her in the next generation will be of value to the state. still, i didn't like it. i didn't enjoy thinking of cousin james as so serving his country. "carruthers left her to james--he'll have to take care of her. henry turned toes in good time. piled rotten old business and big family on to james's shoulders, and then died--good time--hey? get a woman on your hands, only thing to do is to marry or kill her. poor james--hey?" he peered at me with a twinkle in his eyes that demanded assent from me. "why, uncle peter, i don't know that sallie has any such idea. she grieves dreadfully over mr. carruthers, and i don't believe she would think of marrying again," i answered, trying to put enough warmth in my defense to convince myself. "most women are nothing but gourd-vines, grow all over a corn-stalk, kill it, produce gourds until it frosts, and begin all over again in the next generation. james has to do the hoeing around sallie's roots, and feed her. might as well marry her--hey?" "does--does cousin james have to support sallie and the children, uncle peter?" i asked, coming with reluctance down to the rock-bed of the discussion. "thinks he does, and it serves him right--serves him right for starting out to run a widow-ranch in the first place; it's like making a collection of old shoes. he let henry carruthers persuade him to mortgage everything and buy land on the river for the car-shops of the new railroad, which just fooled the town out of a hundred thousand dollars, and is going by on the other side of the river with the shops up at bolivar. if james didn't get all the lawing in alton county they would all starve to death--which would be hard on the constitution of old lady hargrove, and her two hundred-weight." "oh, has cousin james really lost all of his fortune?" i asked, and i was surprised at the amount of sympathetic dismay that rose in me at the information. "everything but what he carries around under that old gray hat of his--not so bad a fortune, at that!--hey?" i feel i am going to love uncle peter for the way he disdainfully admires cousin james. "and--and all of his--his guests are really dependent on him?" i asked again, as the stupendous fact filtered into my mind. "all the flock, all the flock," answered uncle peter, with what seemed, under the circumstances, a heartless chuckle. "they each one have little dabs of property, about as big as a handful of chicken feed, and as they have each one given it all to james to manage, they expect an income in return--and get it--all they ask for. a lot of useless old live stock--all but sallie, and she's worse--worse, hey?" i agreed with his question--but i didn't say so. "glad your money is safe in public town bonds and city securities, evelina. if james could, he might lose it, and you'd have to move over. it would then be nip and tuck between you and sallie which got james--nip and tuck--hey?" "oh, uncle peter!" i exclaimed with positive horror that was flavored with a large dash of indignation. "well, yes, a race between a widow and a girl for a man is about like one between a young duck and a spring chicken, across a mill-pond--girl and chicken lose--hey? but let sallie have him, since you don't need him. i've got to go home and listen to augusta talk about my business, that she knows nothing in the world about, or i won't be ready for town meeting this afternoon. women are all fools,--hey?" "will you come again, uncle peter?" i asked eagerly. i had set out to offer uncle peter a cup of niecely affection, and i had got a good, stiff bracer to arouse me in return. "i will, whenever i can escape augusta," he answered, and there was such a kindly crackle in his voice that i felt that he had wanted and needed what i had offered him. "i'll drop in often and analyze the annals of the town with you. glad to have you home, child, good young blood to stir me up--hey?" and as i sat and watched the mayor go saunteringly down the street, with his crustiness carried like a child on his shoulder, which it delighted him to have knocked off, so that he could philosophize in the restoring of it to its position, suddenly a realization of the relation of glendale to the world in general was forced upon me--and i quailed. glendale is like a dozen other small towns in the harpeth valley; they are all drowsy princesses who have just waked up enough to be wondering what did it. the tentative kiss has not yet disclosed the presence of the prince of revolution, and they are likely to doze for another century or two. i think i had better go back into the wide world and let them sleep on. one live member is likely to irritate the repose of the whole body. their faint stirrings of progress are pathetic. they have an electric plant, but, as i have noted before, the lights therefrom show a strong trace of their pine-knot heredity, and go out on all important occasions, whether of festivity or tragedy. kerosene lamps have to be kept filled and cleaned if a baby or a revival or a lawn festival is expected. they have a lovely, wide concrete pavement in front of six of the stores around the public square, but no two stretches of the improvement join each other, and it makes a shopping progression around the town somewhat dangerous, on account of the sudden change of grade of the sidewalk, about every sixty feet. aunt augusta wanted uncle peter to introduce a bill in the city council forcing all of the property owners on the square to put down the pavement in front of their houses, at small payments per annum, the town assuming the contract at six per cent. uncle peter refused, because he said that he felt a smooth walk around the square would call out what he called "a dimity parade" every afternoon. they have a water system that is supplied by so much mud from the river that it often happens that the town has to go unwashed for a week, while the pipes are cleaned out. there is a wonderful spring that could be used, with a pump to supply the town, aunt augusta says. the city council tied up the town for a hundred thousand dollars' subscription to the new railroad, and failed to tie the shops down in the contract. they are to be built in bolivar. a great many of the rich men have lost a lot of money thereby, cousin james the most of all, and everybody is sitting up in bed blinking. there are still worse things happening in the emotional realm of glendale. lee greenfield has been in the state of going to ask caroline lellyett to marry him for fifteen years, and has never done it. caroline has been beautiful all her life, but she is getting so thin and faded at thirty that she is a tragedy. lee goes to see her twice a week, and on sunday afternoon takes her out in his new and rakish runabout, that is as modern as his behavior is obsolete. caroline knows no better, and stands it with sublime patience and lack of character. that is a situation i won't be able to keep my hands off of much longer. ned hall's wife has seven children with the oldest one not twelve, and she looks fifty. ned goes to all the dances at the glendale hotel dining-room and looks thirty. he dresses beautifully and nell and all the girls like to dance with him. just ordinary torture wouldn't do for him. polk hayes wouldn't be allowed to run loose in london society. sallie carruthers is a great big husky woman, with three children that she is responsible for having had. she and her family must consume tons of green groceries every month and a perfectly innocent man pays for them. mrs. dodd, the carpenter-and-contractor's wife is a boston woman who came down here--before i could write all about that boston girl so that jane could understand perfectly the situation polk came around from the side street and seated himself on the railing of the porch so near the arm of my chair that i couldn't rock without inconveniencing him. i am glad he found me in the mood i was in and i am glad to record the strong-minded--it came near being the strong-armed--contest in which we indulged. "me for a woman that has a lot of spirit--she is so much sweeter when tamed, evelina," was one of the gentle remarks with which he precipitated the riot. "i think it has been spunkily fascinating of you to come and live by yourself in this old barn. it keeps me awake nights just to think of you over here--alone. how long is the torture to go on?" jane, i tried, but if i had frankly and courageously shown polk hayes what was in my heart for him at that moment, i couldn't have answered for the results. from the time i was eighteen until i was twenty the same sort of assault and battery had been handed out to me from him. he had beaten me with his love. he didn't want me--he doesn't want any woman except so long as he is uncertain that he can get her. just because i had been firm with him when even a child and denied him, he has been merciless. and now that i am a woman and armed for the combat, it will be to the death. shall i double and take refuge in a labyrinth of subterfuge or turn and fight? so i temporized to-day. "it is lonely--but not quite 'torture' to me, with the family so close, across the street," i answered him, and i went on whipping the lace on a piece of fluff i am making, to discipline myself because i loathe a needle so. "please don't you worry over me, dear." i raised my eyes to his and i tried the common citizenship look. it must have carried a little way for he flushed, the first time i ever saw him do it, and his hand with the cigarette in it shook. "evelina, are you real or a--farce?" he asked, after a few minutes of peace. "i'm trying to be real, polk," i answered, and this time i raised my eyes with perfect frankness. "if you could define a real woman, polk, in what terms would you express her?" i asked him straight out from the shoulder. "hell fire and a hallelujah chorus, if she's beautiful," he answered me promptly. i laughed. i thought it was best under the circumstances. "i'll tell you, evelina," he continued, stealthily. "a man just can't generalize the creatures. apparently they are craving nothing so much as emotional excitement and when you offer it to them they want to go to housekeeping with it. love is a business with them and not an art." "would you like to try a genuine friendship with one. polk?" i asked, and again struck from the shoulder--with my eyes. "help! not if you mean yourself, beautiful," he answered promptly and with fervor. "i wouldn't trust myself with you one minute off-guard like that." "you could safely." "but i won't!" "will you try?" "no!" "will you go over and sit in that chair while i tell you something calmly, quietly, and seriously? it'll give you a new sensation and maybe it will be good for you." i looked him straight in the face and the battle of our eyes was something terrific. i had made up my mind to have it out with him then and there. there was nothing else to do. i would be frank and courageous and true to my vow--and accept the consequences. he slid along the railing of the porch and down into the chair in almost a daze of bewilderment. "polk," i began, concealing a gulp of terror, "i love you more than i can possibly--" [illustration: "say, polk, i let the pup git hung by her apron to the wheel of your car."] "say, polk, i let the pup git hung by her apron to the wheel of your car out in the road and her head is dangersome kinder upside down. it might run away. can you come and git her loose for me?" henrietta's calmness under dire circumstances was a lesson to both polk and me, for with two gasps that sounded as one we both raced across the porch, down the path and out to the road where folk's hupp runabout stood by the worn old stone post that had tethered the horses of the wooers of many generations of the maids of my house. but, prompt as our response to henrietta's demand for rescue had been, cousin james was there before us. he stood in the middle of the dusty road with the tousled mite in his arms, soothing her frightened sobs against his cheek with the dearest tenderness and patting sallie on the back with the same comforting. "oh, henrietta, how could you nearly kill your little sister like this?" sallie sobbed. "please say something positive to her, james!" "henrietta," began cousin james with a suspicion of embarrassment at polk's and my presence at the domestic scene. polk choked a chuckle and i could have murdered him. "wait a minute," said henrietta, in her most commanding voice. "sallie, didn't you ask me to take that pup from aunt dilsie, 'cause of the phthisic, and keep her quiet while the kit got a nap, and didn't i ask you if it would be all right if i got her back whole and clean?" "yes, henrietta, but you--" "ain't she whole all over and clean?" "yes, but--" "couldn't nobody do any better than that with one of them twins. i won't try. if i have to 'muse her it has to be in my own way." and with her head in the air the bunch marched up the walk to the house. at this polk shouted and the rest of us laughed. "polk, please don't encourage henrietta in the way she treats me and her little sisters," sallie begged between her laughs and her half-swallowed sobs. "i need my friends' help with my children, not to have them make it hard for me. henrietta is devoted to you and you could influence her so for the best. please try to help me make a real woman out of her and not some sort of a terrible--terrible suffragette." sallie is the most perfectly lovely woman i almost ever saw. she has great violet eyes with black lashes that beg you for a piece of your heart, and her mouth is as sweet as a blush rose with cheeks that almost match it in rosiness. she and the babies always remind me of a cluster rose and roses, flower and buds, and i don't see why every man that sees her is not mad about her. they all used to be before she married, and i suppose they will be again as soon as the crepe gets entirely worn off her clothes. as she stood with the bubbly baby in her arms and looked up at polk i couldn't see how he could take it calmly. "sallie," he answered seriously, with a glint in his eyes over at me, "if you'll give me a few days longer, i will then have found out by experience what a real woman is and i'll begin on henrietta for you accordingly." "don't be too hard on the kiddie," cousin james answered him with the crinkle in the corner of his eyes that might have been called shrewd in eyes less beautifully calm. "let's trust a lot to henrietta's powers of observation of her mother and--her neighbors." he smiled suddenly, with his whole face, over both sallie and me, and went on down the street in a way that made me sure he was forgetting all about all of us before he reached the corner of the street. "isn't that old mossback a treat for the sight of gods and men?" asked polk with a laugh as we all stood watching the old gray coat-tails flapping in the warm breeze that was rollicking across the valley. "i don't know what i would do without him," said sadie softly, with tears suddenly misting the violets in her eyes as she turned away from us with the baby in her arms and went slowly up the front walk of widegables. "please come stay with me a little while, evelina," she pleaded back over her shoulder. "i feel faint." i hesitated, for, as we were on my side of the road, polk was still my guest. "go on with sallie, sweetie," he answered my hesitating. "i don't want the snapped-off fraction of a declaration like you were about to offer me. i can bide my time--and get my own." with which he turned and got into his car as i went across the street. jane, i feel encouraged. i have done well to-day to get half way through my declaration of independence--though he doesn't think that is what it is going to be--to polk. if i can just tell him how much i love him, before he makes love to me we can get on such a sensible footing with each other. i'll command the situation then. but suppose i do get polk calmed down to a nice friendship after old plato's recipe, what if i want to marry him? do i want to marry a friend? yes, i do! no--no! chapter v deeper than shoulders and ribs there are many fundamental differences between men and women which strike deeper than breadth of shoulders and number of ribs on the right side. men deliberately unearth matters of importance and women stumble on the same things in the dark. it is then a question of the individual as to the complications that result. one thing can be always counted on. a woman likes to tangle life into a large mass and then straighten out the threads at her leisure--and the man's leisure too. glendale affairs interest me more every day. this has been a remarkable afternoon and i wish jane had been in glendale to witness it. "say, evelina, all the folks over at our house have gone crazy, and i wish you would come over and help cousin james with 'em," henrietta demanded, as i sat on my side porch, calmly hemming a ruffle on a dress for the kitten. everybody sews for the twins and, as much as i hate it, i can't help doing it. "why, henrietta, what is the matter?" i demanded, as i hurried down the front walk and across the road at her bare little heels. by the time i got to the front gate i could hear sounds of lamentation. "a railroad train wants to run right through the middle of all their dead people and sallie started the crying. dead's dead, and if cousin james wants 'em run over. i wants 'em run over too." she answered over her shoulder as we hurried through the wide front hall. and a scene that beggars description met my eyes, as i stood in the living-room door. i hope this account i am going to try and write will get petrified by some kind of new element they will suddenly discover some day and the manuscript be dug up from the ruins of glendale to interest the natives of the argon age about 2800 a. d. sallie sat in the large armchair in the middle of the room weeping in the slow, regular way a woman has of starting out with tears, when she means to let them flow for hours, maybe days, and there were just five echoes to her grief, all done in different keys and characters. cousin martha knelt beside the chair and held sallie's head on her ample bosom, but i must say that the expression on her face was one of bewilderment, as well as of grief. the three little horton cousins sat close together in the middle of the old hair-cloth sofa by the window and were weeping as modestly and helplessly as they did everything else in life, while mrs. hargrove, in her chair under her son's portrait, was just plainly out and out howling. and on the hearth-rug, before the tiny fire of oak chips that the old ladies liked to keep burning all summer, stood the master of the house and, for once in my life, i have seen the personification of masculine helplessness. he was a tragedy and i flew straight to him with arms wide open, which clasped both his shoulders as i gave him a good shake to arouse him from his paralyzation. "what's the matter?" i demanded, with the second shake. "i'm a brute, evelina," he answered, and a sudden discouragement lined every feature of his beautiful biblical face. i couldn't stand that and i hugged him tight to my breast for an instant and then administered another earthquake shake. "tell me exactly what has happened," i demanded, looking straight into his tragic eyes and letting my hands slip from his shoulders down his arms until they held both of his hands tight and warm in mine. jane, i was glad that i had offered the cup of my eyes to him full of this curious inter-sex elixir of life that you have induced me to seek so blindly, for he responded to the dose immediately and the color came back into his face as he answered me just as sensibly as he would another man. "the men who are surveying the new railroad from cincinnati to the gulf have laid their experimental lines across the corner of greenwood cemetery and they say it will have to run that way or go across the river and parallel the lines of the other road. if they come on this side of the river they will force the other road to come across, too, and in that case we will get the shops. it just happens that such a line will make necessary the removal of--of poor henry's remains to another lot. sallie's is the only lot in the cemetery that is that high on the bluff. henry didn't like the situation when he bought it himself, and i thought that, as there is another lot right next to her mother's for sale, she would not--but, of course, i was brutal to mention it to her. i hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me, sallie." and as he spoke he extracted himself from me and walked over and laid his hand on sallie's head. "it was such a shock to her--poor henry," sobbed little cousin jasmine, and the other two little sisters sniffed in chorus. "to have railroad trains running by greenwood at all will be disturbing to the peace of the dead," snorted mrs. hargrove. "we need no railroad in glendale. we have never had one, and that is my last word--no!" "four miles to the railroad station across the river is just a pleasant drive in good weather," said cousin martha, plaintively, as she cuddled sallie's sobs more comfortably down on her shoulder. "i feel that henry would doubt my faithfulness to his memory, if i consented to such a desecration," came in smothered tones from the pillowing shoulder. and not one of all those six women had stopped to think for one minute that the minor fact of the disturbing of the ashes of henry carruthers would be followed by the major one of the restoration of the widow's fortune and the lifting of a huge financial burden off the strong shoulders they were all separately and collectively leaning upon. i exploded, but i am glad i drew the crag out on the porch and did it to him alone. "evelina, you are refreshing if strenuous," he laughed, after i had spent five minutes in stating my opinions of women in general and a few in particular. "but i ought not to have hurt sallie by telling her about the lines until they are a certainty. it is so far only a possibility. they may go across the river anyway." "and as for seeing sallie swaddled in your consideration, and fed yourself as a sacrifice from a spoon, i am tired of it," i flamed up again. "it's not good for her. feed and clothe her and her progeny,--men in general have brought just such burdens as that upon you in particular by their attitude towards us,--but do let her begin to exert just a small area of her brain on the subject of the survival of the fit to live. you don't swaddle or feed me!" "eve," he said, softly under his breath as his wonderful gentle eyes sank down way below the indignation and explosiveness to the quiet pool that lies at the very bottom of my heart. nobody ever found it before and i didn't know it was there myself, but i felt as if it were being drained up into heaven. "eve!" he said again, and it is a wonder that i didn't answer: "adam!" i don't know just what would have happened if uncle peter hadn't broken in on the interview with his crustiest chips on both shoulders and so much excitement bottled up that he had to let it fly like a double reporter. "dodson is down at the hotel looking for you, james," he began as he hurried up the steps. "big scheme this--got him in a corner if the c. & g. comes along this side of old harpeth--make him squeal--hey?" "who's dodson?" i asked with the greatest excitement. i was for the first time getting a whiff of the schemes of the masculine mighty, but i was squelched promptly by uncle peter. "we've no time for questions, evelina, now--go back to your tatting--hey?" he answered me as he began to buttonhole the crag and lead him down the steps. "dodson is the man who is laying down and contracting for the line across the river, evelina," answered cousin james without taking any notice whatever of uncle peter's squelching of me. "if this other line can just be secured he will have to come to our terms--and the situation will be saved." as he spoke he took my hand in his and led me at his side, down the front walk to the gate, talking as he went, for uncle peter was chuckling on ahead like a steam tug in a hurry. "and the shades of henry will again assume the maintenance of his family," i hazarded with lack of respect of the dead, impudence to cousin james about his own affairs, and unkindness by implication to sallie, who loves me better than almost anybody in the world does. and i got my just punishment by seeing a lovely look of tender concern rise in cousin james's eyes as he stopped short in the middle of the walk. "i want to go back a minute to speak to sallie before i go on down town," he said, quickly, and before uncle peter's remonstrances had exploded, he had taken the steps two at a bound and disappeared in the front door. "sooner he marries that lazy lollypop the better," fumed uncle peter, as he waited at the gate. "the way for a man to quench his thirst for woman-sweets is to marry a pot of honey like that, and then come right on back to the bread and butter game. here's a letter jasper gave me to bring along for you from town. go on and read it and do not disturb the workings of my brain while i wait for james--workings of a great brain--hey?" i took the letter and hurried across the street because i wanted anyway to get to some place by myself and think. there was no earthly reason for it but i felt like an animal that has been hurt and wants to go off and lick its wounds. a womanly woman that lives a lovely appealing life right in a man's own home has a perfect right to gain his love, especially if she is beautifully unconscious of her appeal. besides, why should a man want to take an independent, explosive, impudent firebrand with all sorts of dreadful plots in her mind to his heart? he wouldn't and doesn't! there is no better sedative for a woman's disturbed and wounded emotions than a little stiff brain work. richard's letter braced my viny drooping of mind at once and from thinking into the crag's affairs of sentiment, i turned with masculine vigor to begin to mix into his affairs of finance. however, i wish that the first big business letter i ever got in my life hadn't had to have a strain of love interest running through it! still dickie is a trump card in the man pack. it seems that as his father is one of the most influential directors and largest stockholders in this new branch of the cincinnati and gulf railroad he has got the commission for making the plans for all the stations along the road, and he wants to give me the commission for drawing all the gardens for all the station-yards. it will be tremendous for both of us so young in life, and i never dared hope for such a thing. i had only hoped to get a few private gardens of some of my friends to laze and pose over, but this is startling. my mind is beginning to work on in terms of hedges and fountains already and dickie may be coming south any minute. and besides the hedges and gravel paths i have a feeling that dickie's father and the crag and sallie's girl-babies are fomenting around in my mind getting ready to pop the cork of an idea soon. the combination feels like some kind of a hunch--i sat still for a long time and let it seethe, while i took stock of the situation. there is a strange, mysterious kind of peace that begins to creep across the harpeth valley, just as soon as the sun sinks low enough to throw the red glow over the head of old harpeth. i suppose it happens in other hill-rimmed valleys in other parts of the universe, but it does seem as if god himself is looking down to brood over us, and that the valley is the hollow of his hand into which he is gathering us to rest in the darkness of his night. i felt buffeted and in need of him as i sank down under the rose-vine over the porch and looked out across my garden to the blue and rose hills beyond. i have been in glendale a whole month now, and i can't see that my influence has revolutionized the town as yet. i don't seem to be of half the importance that i thought i was going to be. i have tried, and i have offered that bucket of love that i thought up to everybody, but whether they have drunk of it to profit i am sure i can't say. in fact, my loneliness has liquefied my gaseous affection into what almost looks like officiousness. still, i know uncle peter is happier than he ever was before, because he has got me to come to as a refuge from aunt augusta, a confidante for his views of life that he is not allowed to express at home, and also the certainty of one of jasper's juleps. sallie has grown so dependent on me that my shoulders are assuming a masculine squareness to support her weight. i am understudying cousin james to such an extent over at widegables that i feel like the heir to his house. cousin martha sends for me when the chimney smokes and the cows get sick. i have twice changed five dollars for little cousin jasmine, and sternly told the man from out on their farm on providence road that he must not root up the lavender bushes to plant turnip-greens in their places. i afterwards rented the patch from him to grow the lavender because he said he couldn't lose the price that the greens would bring him "for crotchets." mrs. hargrove has given me her will to keep for her, and the sealed instructions for her burial. i hope when the time comes the two behests will strike a balance, but i doubt it. her ideas of a proper funeral seem to coincide with those of queen victoria, whom she has admired through life and mourns sincerely. henrietta has not been heard to indulge in profane language since i had a long talk with her last week out in the garden, that ended in stubby tears and the gift of a very lovely locket which i impressed upon her was as chaste in design as i wished her speech to become. the twins have been provided with several very lovely pieces of wearing apparel from my rapidly skill-acquiring needle. that's on the credit side of my balance. but that is _all_--and it doesn't sound revolutionary, does it, jane? petunia married jasper according to his word of promise, and i have taught her to cook about five french dishes that he couldn't concoct to save his life, and which help her to keep him in his place. his pomposity grows daily but he eyes me with suspicion when he sees me in secret conclave with petunia. "we needs a man around this place," i heard him mutter the other day as i left the kitchen. i wonder! the garden has been weeded, replanted, trained, clipped and garnished, and my arms are as husky and strong as a boy's and my nose badly sunburned from my strenuosity with hoe and trimming scissors. all of which i have done and done well. but when i think of all those five girls that are waiting for me to solve the emotional formula by which they can work out and establish the fact that man equals woman, i get weak in the knees. jane's letters are just prods. * * * * * your highly cultivated artistic nature ought to be a very beautiful revelation to the spiritual character of the young methodist divine you wrote me of in your last letter. encourage him in every way with affectionate interest in his work, especially in the epworth league on his country circuit. i am enclosing fifty dollars' subscription to the work and i hope you will give as much you have not mentioned mr. hayes for several letters. i fear you are prejudiced against him. seek to know and weigh his character before you judge him as unfit for your love. * * * * * the highly spiritual mr. haley glared at polk for an hour out here on my porch, when he interrupted us in one of our epworth league talks, in such an unspiritual manner that polk said he felt as if he had been introduced to the apostle paul while he was still saul of tarsus. i had to pet the dominie decorously for a week before he regained his benign manner. of course, however, it was trying to even a highly spiritual nature like his to have polk insist on pinning a rose in my hair right before his eyes. about polk i feel that i am in the midst of one of those great calm, oily stretches of ocean that a ship is rocked gently in for a few hours before the storm tosses it first to heaven and then to hell. he is so psychic, and in a way attuned to me, that he partly understands my purpose in declaring my love for him to put him at a disadvantage in his love-making to me, and he hasn't let me do it yet, while his tacit suit goes on. it is a drawn battle between us and is going to be fought to the death. in the meantime nell-and while i was on the porch sitting with richard hall's letter in my hand, still unread, nell herself came down the front walk and sat down beside me. "why, i thought you had gone fishing with polk," i said as i cuddled her up to me a second. she laid her head on my shoulder and heaved such a sigh that it shook us both. "i didn't quite like to go with him alone and henrietta wouldn't go because a bee had stung the red-headed twin, and she wanted to stay to scold sallie," she answered with both hesitation and depression in her voice. "polk is--is strenuous for a whole day's companionship," i answered, experimentally, for i saw the time had come to exercise some of the biceps in nell's femininity in preparation for just what i knew she was to get from polk. my heart ached for what i knew she was suffering. i had had exactly those growing pains for months following that experience with him on the front porch after the dance four years ago. and i had had change of scene and occupation to help. "i don't understand him at all," faltered nell, and she raised her eyes as she bared her wound to me. "nell," i said with trepidation, as i began on this my first disciple, "you aren't a bit ashamed or embarrassed or humiliated in showing me that you love me, are you?" "you know i've adored you ever since i could toddle at your heels, evelina," she answered, and the love-message her great brown eyes flashed into mine was as sweet as anything that ever happened to me. "then, why should you wonder and suffer and restrain and be humiliated at your love for polk?" i asked, firing point blank at all of nell's traditions. "why not tell him about it and ask him if he loves you?" the shot landed with such force that nell gasped, but answered as straight out from the shoulder as i had aimed. "i would rather die than have polk hayes know how he--he affects me," she answered with her head held high. "then, what you feel for him is not worthy love, but something entirely unworthy," i answered loftily, with a very poor imitation of jane's impressiveness of speech. "i know it," she faltered into my shoulder, "if it were mr. james hardin i loved, i wouldn't mind anybody's knowing it, but something must be wrong with polk or me or the way i feel. what is it?" for a moment i got so stiff all over that nell raised her head from my shoulder in surprise. do all women feel about the crag as i do? "i don't know," i answered weakly. and i don't know! oh, jane, your simple experiment proposition is about to become compound quadratics. then i got a still further surprise. "i wouldn't in the least mind telling mr. james how i like him--if you think it is all right," nell mused, looking pensively at the first pale star that was rising over old harpeth. "i would enjoy it, because i have always adored him, and it would be so interesting to see what he'd say." "nell," i said suddenly with determination, "do it! tell any man you like how much you like him--and see what happens." "i feel as if--as if"--nell faltered and i don't blame her; i wouldn't have said as much to her--"i feel that to tell mr. james i love _him_ would ease the pain, the--pain--that i feel about polk. it would be so interesting to tell a man a thing like that." "do it!" i gasped, and went foot in the class in romantics. if any jungle explorer thinks he has mapped and charted a woman's heart he had better pack up his instruments of warfare and recorders and come down to glendale, tennessee. nell and i must have talked further along the same lines, but i don't remember what we said. i have recorded the high lights on the conversation, but long after i lost her i kept my whirlwind feeling of amazement. it was like trying to balance calmly on the lid of the tinder-box when you didn't know whether or not you had touched off the fuse. has honeysuckle-garbed old harpeth been seeing things like this go on for centuries and not interrupted? i think i would have been sitting there questioning him until now, if lee and caroline hadn't stopped at the gate and called to me. i think lee was giving caroline this stroll home from the post-office in the twilight as an extra treat in her week's allowance of him, and she was so soft and glowing and sweet and pale that i wonder the cherokee roses on my hedge didn't droop their heads with humility before her. "what's a lovely lady doing sitting all by herself in the gloaming?" lee asked in his rich, warm voice. i hate him! "come take a walk with us, evelina, dear," caroline begged softly, though i knew what it would mean to her if i should intrude on this precious hour with her near-lover. please, god--if i seem to be calling you into a profane situation i can't help it; i must have help!--show me some way to assist caroline to make lee into a real man and then get him for herself. she must have him and he needs her. and show me a way quick! amen! jane, i hope you will be able to pick the data out of this jumble, but i doubt it. anyway i'm grateful for the lock and key on this book. as i stood at the gate and watched lee and caroline saunter down the moon-flecked street a mocking bird in the tallest of the oak twins that are my roof shelter called wooingly from one of the top boughs and got his answer from about the same place on the same limb. if a woman starts out to be a trained nurse to an epidemic of love-making, she is in great danger of doing something foolish her own self. i am even glad it is prayer-meeting night for mr. haley; he is safe in performing his rituals. he might misunderstand this mood. i wonder if i ever was really over in sunny france being wooed and happy! of course, i decided the first night i was here that, as circumstances over which i had no control had decreed that cousin james should stand in the position of enforced protector to me, decent, communistic femino-masculine honor demands that i refrain from any manoeuvers in his direction to attract his thoughts and attention to the feminine me. i can only meet him on the ordinary grounds of fellowship. and i suppose the glad-to-see him coming up the street was of the neuter gender, but it was very interesting. "what did dodson have to say--is he coming across?" i demanded of him before he got quite to my gate. "not if he can help it," he answered as he came close and leaned against one of the tall stone posts, so that his grandly shaped head with its ante-bellum squirls of hair was silhouetted against the white-starred wistaria vine in a way that made me frantic for several buckets of monochrome water-colors and a couple of brushes as big as those used for white-washing. in about ten great splotches i could have done a masterpiece of him that would have drawn artistic fits from the public of gay paris. i never see him that i don't long for a box of pastels or get the ghost of the odor of oil-paint in my nose. "the whole thing will be settled in a month," he continued, with a sigh that had a hint of depression in it and an astral shape of sallie manifested itself hanging on his shoulder. however, i controlled myself and listened to him. "there is to be a meeting of the directors of both roads over in bolivar in a few weeks and they are to come to some understanding. the line across the river is unquestionably the cheapest and best grade and there is no chance of getting them to run along our bluff--unless we can show them some advantage in doing so, and i can't see what that will be." "what makes it of advantage for a railroad to run through any given point in a rural community like this, cousin james?" i asked, with a glow of intellect mounting to my head, the like of which i hadn't felt since i delivered my junior thesis in political economy with jane looking on, consumed with pride. "towns that have good stock or grain districts around them with good roads for hauling do what is called 'feeding' a railroad," he answered. "bolivar can feed both roads with the whole of the harpeth valley on that side of the river. they'll get the roads, i'm thinking. poor old glendale!" "isn't there anything to feed the monsters this side of the river?" i demanded, indignant at the barrenness of the south side of the valley of old harpeth. "very little unless it's the scenery along the bluff," he replied, with the depression sounding still more clearly in his voice and his shoulders drooped against the unsympathetic old stone post in a way that sent a pang to my heart. "jamie, is all you've got tied up in the venture?" i asked softly, using the name that a very small i had given him in a long ago when the world was young and not full of problems. "that's not the worst, evelina," he answered in a voice that was positively haggard. "but what belongs to the rest of the family is all in the same leaky craft. carruthers put sallie's in himself, but i invested the mites belonging to the others. of course, as far as the old folks are concerned, i can more than take care of them, and if anything happens there's enough life insurance and to spare for them. i don't feel exactly responsible for sallie's situation, but i do feel the responsibility of their helplessness. sallie is not fitted to cope with the world and she ought to be well provided for. i feel that more and more every day. her helplessness is very beautiful and tender, but in a way tragic, don't you think?" i wish i had dared tell him for the second time that day what i did think on the subject but i denied myself such frankness. anyway, men are just stupid, faithful children--some of them faithful, i mean. i felt that if i stood there talking with the crag any longer, i might grow pedagogical and teach him a few things so i sent him home across the road. i knew all six women would stay awake until they heard him lock them in, come down to the lodge and lock his own door. it is very unworthy of me to enjoy his playing a watch-dog of tradition across the road to an emancipated woman like myself. the situation both keeps me awake and puts me to sleep--and it is sweet, though i don't know why. god never made anything more wonderful than a good man,--even a stupid one. lights out! chapter vi max and the asafetida spoon i do wish the great man who is discovering how to put people into some sort of metaphysical pickle that will suspend their animations until he gets ready to wake them up, would hurry up with his investigations, so he can catch sallie before she begins to fade or wilt. sallie, just as she is, brought to life about five generations from now, would cause a sensation. some women are so feminine that they are sticky, unless well spiced with deviltry. sallie's loveliness hasn't much seasoning. still, i do love her dearly, and i am just as much her slave as are any of the others. i can't get out of it. "do you suppose we will ever get all of the clothes done for the twins?" nell sighed gently as we sat on my porch whipping yards of lace upon white ruffles and whipping up our own spirits at the same time. everybody in glendale sews for sallie's children and it takes her all her time to think up the clothes. "never," i answered. "she's coming, and i do believe she has got more of this ruffling. i see it floating down her skirt," nell fairly groaned. nell ought to like to sew. she isn't emancipated enough to hate a needle as i do. but the leaven is working and she's rising slowly. it might be well for some man to work the dough down a little before she runs over the pan. that's a primitively feminine wish and not at all in accordance with my own advanced ideas. i was becoming slightly snarled with my thread, and i was glad when sallie and her sweetness seated itself in the best rocker in the softest breeze, which nell had vacated for her. "children are the greatest happiness in life and also the greatest responsibility, girls," she said, in her lovely rich voice that always melts me to a solution of sympathy whenever she uses it pensively on me. "of course, i should be desolate without mine, but what could i do with them, if i didn't have all of you dear people to help me with them?" her wistful dependence had charm. i looked at the twin with the yellow fuzz on the top of its head that has hall-marked it as the kitten in my mind, seated on sallie's lap with her head on sallie's shoulder looking like a baby bud folded against the full rose, and i couldn't help laughing. kit had been undressed three times after her bath this morning while cousin martha, cousin jasmine and mrs. hargrove argued with each other whether she should or shouldn't have a scrap of flannel put on over her fat little stomach. henrietta finally decided the matter by being impudent and sensible to them all about the temperature. "don't you all 'spose god made the sun some to heat up kit's stomach?" she demanded scornfully, as she grabbed the little roly-poly bone of contention and marched off with her to finish dressing her on the front porch in the direct rays of her instituted heater. the household at large at widegables can never agree on the clothing of the twins and henrietta often has to finish their toilets thus, by force. aunt dilsie being reduced by her phthisic to a position that is almost entirely ornamental, henrietta's strength of character is the only thing that has made the existence of the twins bearable to themselves or other people. as i have said before, i do wish that some day in the future you will come under the direct rays of henrietta's influence, jane, dear! "yes, sallie, i should call them a responsibility," i answered her with a laugh, as i reached up my arms for the kitten. then, as the little yellow head snuggled in the hollow that was instituted in the beginning between a woman's breast and arm for the purpose of just such nestlings, i whispered as i laid my lips against her little ear, "and a happiness, too, darling." and as sallie rocked and recuperated her breath nell eyed the ruffle apprehensively. "are you going to let us make another dress for the kiddies, sallie, dear?" she finally was forced by her uneasiness to ask, though with the deepest sweetness and consideration in her voice. if i am ever a widow with young children i hope they will burn us all up with the deceased rather than keep me wrapped in a cotton-wool of sympathy, as all of us do sallie. "it's lovely of you, nell, to want to do more for the babies after all the beautiful things you and evelina have made them, and i may be able to get another white dress apiece for them after i give cousin james the bills, that are awful already, but this is some ruffling that i just forced mamie hall to let me bring up to you girls to do for her baby. the poor little dear is two months old and mamie is just beginning on his little dress for him. he has been wearing the plainest little slips. mamie says ned remarked on the fact that the baby was hardly presentable when you girls stopped in with him to see it the other day, nell. i urged her to get right to work fixing him up. it is wrong for children not to be kept as daintily as their father likes to see them." how any woman that is as spiritually-minded as i am, and who has so much love for the whole world in her heart, and such a deep purpose always to offer it to her fellowmen according to their need of it, can have the vile temper i possess i cannot see. "and the sight that would please me better than anything else i have even thought up to want to see," i found myself saying when i became conscious--i hope i didn't use any of the oaths of my forefathers which must have been tempting my refined foremothers for generations and which i secretly admire henrietta for indulging in on occasions of impatience with sallie--"would be ned hall left entirely alone with that squirming baby, that looks exactly like him, when it is having a terrible spell of colic and ned is in the midst of a sick headache, with all the other children cold, hungry, and cross, the cook gone to a funeral, and the nurse in a grouch because she couldn't go and--and he knowing that mamie was attired in a lovely, cool muslin dress, sitting up here on the porch with us sipping a mint julep and smoking a ten-cent cigar, resting and getting up an appetite for supper. i want him to have about five years of such days and then he would deserve the joys of parenthood that he now does not appreciate." "oh, mamie wouldn't smoke a cigar!" was the exclamation that showed how much sallie got of the motif of my eruption. "glorious!" exclaimed nell, with shining eyes. i must be careful about nell, she is going this new gait too fast for one so young. women must learn to fletcherize freedom if it is not to give them indigestion of purpose. "still ned provides everything in the world he can think of to help mamie," said caroline, who had come up the walk just in time to fan the flame in me by her sweet wistfulness, with a soft judiciousness in her voice and eyes. "and mamie adores the children and him." if one man is unattainable to a woman all the other creatures take on the hue of being valuable from the reflection. caroline is pathetic! "it would be robbing a woman of a privilege not to let her trot the colic out of her own baby," sallie got near enough in sight of the discussion to shout softly from the rear. i have often seen cousin martha on one side of the fire trotting the pup, and cousin jasmine on the other ministrating likewise to the kit. so sallie could take a good nap, which she didn't at all need, on the long sofa in the living-room at widegables. "ned is a delightful man and, of course, mamie adores him." nell agreed with an attitude of mind like to the attitude of a body sustained on the top rail of a shaky fence. "he doubtless would be just as delightful to mamie standing by dropping asafetida into a spoon to administer to the baby, as he is dancing with you at the assembly, nell," i said, still frothy around the temper. "he'll never do it again," was the prompt result i got from my shot. "the trouble with you, evelina," said sallie, with ruminative reflectiveness in her eyes, "is that you have never been married and do not understand how noble a man can be under--" "yes, i should say that you had hit evelina's trouble exactly on the head, sallie," came in polk's drawl as he came over the rose hedge from the side street and seated himself beside caroline on the steps. "well, if i ever have a husband he'll prove his nobility by being competent to make the correct connection between the asafetida spoon and his own baby," was the answer that came with so much force that i couldn't stop it after i fully realized folk's presence and sex. "help!" exclaimed polk, weakly, while nell blushed into the fold of her ruffle, caroline looked slightly shocked and sallie wholly scandalized at my lack of delicacy. i felt that the place had been reached, the audience provided, and the time ripe for the first gun in my general revolution planned for glendale. i spoke calmly in a perfect panic of fear. "i am glad polk is here to speak for the masculine side of the question," i said, looking all the three astonished women straight in the face. "polk, do you or do you not think that a man with a wife and seven children ought to assume at least some of the domestic strain resulting therefrom, like dropping the asafetida in the spoon for her while she is wrestling with the youngest-born's colic?" "do i have to answer?" pleaded polk, with desperation. "yes!" "then, under the circumstances i think the man ought to say: 'to hell with the spoon,' grab a gun, go out and shoot up a bear and a couple of wild turkeys for breakfast, throttle some coin out of some nearby business corporation, send two to five trained nurses back to the wigwam, stay down town to lunch and then go home with a tender little kiss for the madame who meets him fluffy and smiling at the door. that's my idea of true connubial bliss. applications considered in the order of their reception. nell, you are sweet enough to eat in that blue muslin. i'm glad i asked you to get one just that shade!" and the inane chorus of pleased laughs that followed polk hayes's brainless disposal of the important question in hand made me ashamed of being a woman--though it was funny. still i bided my time and polk saw the biding, i could tell by the expression in the corners of his eyes that he kept turned away from me. and in less than a half-hour he was left to my mercies, anything but tender. sallie took nell and caroline over home to help her decide how wide a band of white it would be decorous for her to sew in the neck of her new black meteor crepe. i see it coming that we will all have to unite in getting sallie out of mourning and into the trappings of frivolity soon and i dread it. it takes so many opinions on any given subject to satisfy sallie that she ought to keep a tabulated advice-book. "evelina," said polk, experimentally, after he had seen them safely across the street, and he moved along the steps until he sat against my skirts, "are your family subject to colic?" "no, they have strong brains instead," i answered icily. "said brains subject to colic, though," he mused in an impudent undertone. i laughed: i couldn't help it. one of the dangerous things about polk is that he gets you comfortable and warm of heart whenever he gets near you. it wouldn't matter at all to him if you should freeze later for lack of his warmth, just so he doesn't know about it. "polk," i began to say in a lovely serious tone of voice, looking him square in the eyes and determined that as we were now on the subject of basic things, like infantile colic, i would have it out with him along all lines, "there is an awful shock coming to you when you realize that--" "that in the heat of this erudite and revolutionary discussion, which an evil fate led me to drop in on, i have forgotten to give you this telegram that came for you while i was down at the station shipping some lumber. be as easy as you can with me, evelina, and remember that i am your childhood's companion when you decide between us." with which he handed me a blue telegram. i opened it hastily and found that it was from richard: am coming down to bolivar with c. & g. commission. be deciding about what i wrote you. must. richard. i sat perfectly still for several seconds because i felt that a good strong hand had reached out of the distance and gently grabbed me. dickie had bossed me strenuously through two years of the time before i had awakened to the fact that, for his good, i must take the direction of the affairs of him and his kind on my and my kind's shoulders. i suppose a great many years of emancipation will have to pass over the heads of women before they lose the gourd kind of feeling at the sight of a particularly broad, strong pair of shoulders. my heart sparkled at the idea of seeing dickie again and being browbeaten in a good old, methodical, tender way. i suppose the sparkle in my heart showed in my eyes, for polk sat up quickly and took notice of it very decidedly. "wire especially impassioned?" he asked, with a smolder in his eyes. "not especially." i answered serenely, "one of my friend's father is a director in the c. & g. and he is coming down with him for the conference over at bolivar between the two roads next week." "good," answered polk, heartily, as the flare died out of his eyes. i was glad he didn't have to see the wire for i wanted to use polk's brain a while if i could get his emotions to sleep in my presence. it is very exasperating for a woman to be offered flirtation when she is in need of common sense from a man. there are so many times she needs the one rather than the other, but the dear creatures refuse to realize it, if she's under forty. "polk, do you see any logical, honest or dishonest way to get that road to take the glendale bluff line?" i asked, with trepidation, for that was the first time i had ever even begun to discuss anything intelligently with polk. "none in the world, evelina," he answered with a nice, straight, intellectuality showing over his whole face and even his lazy, posing figure. "i remonstrated with james and henry carruthers both when they used their influence to have the bonds voted and i told james it was madness to invest in all that field and swamp property with just a chance of the shops. the trouble was that james had always left all his business to henry, along with the firm's business, for a man can't be the kind of lawyer james is, and carry the details of the handling of filthy lucre in the same mind that can make a speech like the one he made down in nashville last april, on the exchange of the judiciary. james can be the governor of this good state any time he wants to, or could, if henry hadn't turned toes and left him such a bag to hold--no reference to sallie's figure intended, which is all to the good if you like that kind of curves!" i took a moment to choose my words. "the c. & g. is going to take that bluff route," i answered calmly from somewhere inside me that i had never used to speak from before. "do you know anything of the character of mrs. joshua?" asked polk, admiringly, but slipping down from his intellectual attitude of mind and body and edging an inch nearer. "bet she had a strong mind or joshua never could have pulled off that sun and moon stunt." "do you know, polk, there is one woman in the world who could--could handle you?" i said, as a sudden vision of what jane would do, if polk sat on her skirts as he did on mine, flashed across my troubled brain. "i'd be mighty particular as to who handles me," he answered impudently, "want to try?" and with the greatest audacity he laid his head gently against my knee. i let it rest there a second and then tipped it back against the arm of the rocker. "it does hurt me to see a man like cousin james fairly throttled by women as he is being," i said as i looked across the street and noted that the porch of widegables was full to overflowing with the household of women. "evelina," said polk, as he stood up suddenly in front of me, "that old mossback is the finest man in this commonwealth, but from his situation nobody can extract him, unless it is a woman with the wiliness of the devil himself. poison the whole bunch and i'll back you. but we'll have to plot it later on. i see his reverence coming tripping along with a tract in his hand for you and i'll be considerate enough to sneak through the kitchen, get a hot muffin-cake that has been tantalizing my nose all this time you have been sentimentalizing over me, and return anon when i can have you all to myself in the melting moonlight in the small hours after all religious folk are in bed. until then!" and as he went back through the front hall mr. haley came down the front walk. "my dear miss shelby, how fortunate i am to find you alone," he exclaimed with such genuine delight beaming from his nice, good, friendly, gray eyes that i beamed up myself a bit out of pure responsiveness. "i am so glad to see you, mr. haley. hasn't it been a lovely day?" i answered, as i offered him the large rocker sallie had vacated. "it has, indeed, and i don't know when i have been as deeply happy. this hour with you will be the very climax of the day's perfections, i feel sure." i smiled. to follow you, jane, i "let a man look freely into my heart and thus encouraged he opened his to mine" and behold, i found sallie and the twins and henrietta all squatting in the dominie's cardiac regions, just as comfortably as they do it at widegables. "my sympathies have become so enlisted in the struggle which mrs. carruthers is having to curb the eccentricities of her oldest daughter that i feel i must lay definite plans to help her. it is very difficult for a young and naturally yielding woman like mrs. carruthers to discipline alone even so young a child as henrietta. i know you will help me all you can to help her. believe me, my dear friend, even in the short time you have been in glendale you have become a tower of strength to me. i feel that i can take my most difficult and sacred perplexities to you." now, what do you think of that, jane? be sure and rub this situation in on all the waiting five disciples. i defy any of them to do so well in less than three months. this getting on a plane of common citizenship with a fellow-man is easy. that is, with some men. still while you are getting on the plane somebody else gets the man. what about that? i didn't want mr. haley, but what if i had? "yes, henrietta is a handful, mr. haley," i answered with enthusiasm, for even the mention of henrietta enlivens me and somehow mr. haley's getting in the game of "curbing" her stirred up my risibles. "but--but sallie already has a good many people to help her with the children. i have been trying to--to influence henrietta--and she does not swear except on the most exasperating occasions now." "the dear little child created a slight consternation in her sunday school class last week when they were being taught the great dramatic story of jonah's three days' incarceration in the whale. to quote her exactly, so that you may see how it must have affected the other children, she said: 'i swallowed a live fly onct myself and i'm not damn fool enough to believe that whale kept jonah down three days, alive and kicking, no matter who says so.' "she then marched out of the class and has not returned these two succeeding sabbaths. it was to talk over the matter i called on mrs. carruthers this afternoon, and i have never had my sympathies so stirred. we must help her, my dear friend!" i never enjoyed anything more in my life than the hour i spent helping that dear, good, funny man plan first aids to the rearing of sallie's children. besides my coã¶peration he has planned to enlist that of aunt augusta, and i was wicked enough to let him do it. in a small village where the inhabitants have no chance at diversions like wagnerian operas and collapsing skyscrapers i felt that i had no right to avert the spectacle of aunt augusta's disciplining henrietta. i'll write you all about it, jane, in a special delivery letter. jasper whipped petunia with great apparent severity day before yesterday, and we have been having the most heavenly waffles and broiled chicken ever since. i dismissed jasper for doing it, but petunia came into my room and cried about it a half-hour, so i had to go out where he was rubbing the silver and forgive him and hire him over. "when a woman gits her mouth stuck out at a man and the world in general three days hand running they ain't nothing to cure it but a stick," he answered with lofty scorn. "yes'm, dat's so," answered petunia. "i never come outen a spell so easy before." and her yellow face had a pink glow of happiness all over it as she smiled lovably on the black brute. i went off into a corner and sat down for a quiet hour to think. nobody in the world knows everything. "supper's on the table," jasper announced, after having seen mr. haley go down the front walk to-night. jasper has such great respect for the cloth that never in the world would he have asked mr. haley in to supper without having at least a day to prepare for him. any of my other friends he would have asked, regardless of whether or not i wanted them. i somehow didn't feel that i could eat alone to-night, but it was too late to go for sallie or cousin jasmine, and besides it is weak-minded to feel that way. why shouldn't i want to eat by myself? this is a great big house for just one woman, and i don't see why i have to be that one! i never was intended to be single. i seem to even think double. way down in me there is a place that all my life i have been laying things aside in to tell some day to somebody that will understand. i don't remember a single one of them now, but when the time comes somebody is going to ask me a question very softly and it is going to be the key that will unlock the treasures of all my life, and he will take them out one by one, and look at them and love them and smile over them and scold over them and be frightened even to swearing over them, perhaps weep over them, and then--while i'm very close--pray over them. i could feel the tears getting tangled in my lashes, but i forced them back. now, i don't see why i should have been sentimentalizing over myself like that. just such a longing, miserable, wait-until-he-comes--and why-doesn't-he-hurry-or-i'll-take-the-wrong-man attitude of mind and sentiment in women in general is what i have taken a vow on my soul, and made a great big important wager to do away with. there are millions of lovely men in the world and all i have to do is to go out and find the right one, be gentle with him until he understands my mode of attack to be a bit different from the usual crawfish one employed by women from prehistoric times until now, but not later: and then domesticate him in any way that suits me. here i've been in glendale almost three months and have let my time be occupied keeping house for nobody but myself and to entertain my friends, planting a flower garden that can't be used at all for nourishment, and sewing on another woman's baby clothes. i've written millions of words in this book and there is as yet not one word that will help the five in the serious and important task of proving that they have a right to choose their own mates, and certainly nothing to help them perform the ceremonial. if i don't do better than this jane will withdraw her offer and there is no telling how many years the human race will be retarded by my lack of strength of character. what do men do when they begin to see the gray hairs on their temples and when they have been best-man at twenty-three weddings, and are tired of being at christenings and buying rattles, and things at the club all taste exactly alike, and they have purchased ten different kinds of hair-tonic that it bores them to death to rub on the tops of their own heads? i don't want any man i know! i might want polk, if i let him have half a chance to make me, but that would be dishonorable. i've got up so much nice warm sisterly love for dickie and mr. haley that i couldn't begin to love them in the right way now, i am afraid. still, i haven't seen dickie for three months and maybe my desperation will have the effect of enhancing his attractions. i hope so. still i am disgusted deeply with myself. i believe if i could experiment with mankind i could make some kind of creature that would be a lot better than a woman for all purposes, and i would-"supper's ready and company come," jasper came to the front door to announce for the third time, but this time with the unctuous voice of delight that a guest always inspires in him. i promptly went in to welcome my materialized desire whoever it happened to be. the crag was standing by the window in the half light that came, partly from the candles in their tall old silver candlesticks that were grandmother shelby's, and partly from the last glow of the sun down over the ridge. that was what i needed! "i was coming in from the fields across your back yard and i saw the table lighted and you on the front porch, star-gazing, and--and i got jasper to invite me." he said as he came over and drew out my chair on one side of that wide square table, while jasper stood waiting to seat him at the other, about a mile away. "i wanted you," i answered him stupidly, as i sank into my place and leaned my elbows on the table so i could drop my warm cheeks into my hands comfortably. i didn't see why i should be blushing. "that's the reason i came then," he answered, as he looked at me across the bowl of musk roses that were sending out waves of sweetness to meet those that were coming in from the honeysuckle climbing over the window. "if you were ever lonely and needed me, evelina, you would tell me, wouldn't you?" he asked, as he leaned towards me and regarded me still more closely. and again those two treacherous tears rose and tangled themselves in my lashes, though i did shake them away quickly as a smile quivered its way to command of my mouth. but i was not quick enough and he saw them. and what he did was just what i wanted him to do! he rose, picked up his chair and came around that huge old table and sat down at the corner just as near to my elbow as the steaming coffee pot would let him. "if you wanted me any time, would you tell me, evelina?" he insisted from this closer range. "no, i wouldn't," i answered with a laugh. "i would expect you to know it, and come just like you did to-night." "but--but it was i that wanted you badly in this case," he answered with an echo of the laugh. but even under the laugh i saw signs of excitement in his deep eyes and his long, lean hands shook as they handed me his cup to pour the coffee. jasper had laid his silver and napkin in front of him and retired to admonish petunia as to the exact crispness of her first waffle. "what is it?" i asked breathlessly, as i moved the coffee pot from between us to the other side. "just a letter that came to me from the democratic headquarters in the city, that shook me up a bit and made me want to--to tell _you_ about it. nobody else can know--i have been out on old harpeth all afternoon fighting that out, and telling you is the only thing i have allowed myself." "they want you to be the next governor," i said quickly. "and you will be, too," i added, again using that queer place in my brain that seems to know perfectly unknowable things and that only works in matters that concern him. "no!" "yes, your excellency," i hurled at him defiantly. "you witch, you," he answered me with a pleased, teasing whimsicality coming into his eyes. "of course, you guessed the letter and it was dear to have you do it, but we both know it is impossible. nobody must hear of it, and the telling you has been the best i could get out of it anyway. jasper, take my compliments to petunia, this chicken is perfection!" that eighth wonder of the world which got lost was something even more mysterious than the sphinx. it was a marvel that could have been used for women to compare men to. that man sat right there at my side and ate four waffles, two large pieces of chicken and a liver-wing, drank two cups of coffee, and then devoured a huge bowl of peaches and cream, with three muffin-cakes, while enduring the tragedy of the realization of having to decline the governorship of his state. i watched him do it, first in awe and then with a dim understanding of something, i wasn't sure what. most women, under the circumstances, would have gone to bed and cried it out or at least have refused food for hours. we've got to get over those habits before we get to the point of having to refuse to be governors of the states and railroad presidents and things like that. and while he ate, there i sat not able to more than nibble because i was making up my mind to do something that scared me to death to think about. that gaunt, craggy man in a shabby gray coat, cut ante-bellum wise, with a cravat that wound itself around his collar, snowy and dainty, but on the same lines as the coat and evidently of rural manufacture in the style favored by the flower and chivalry of the day of henry clay, had progressive me as completely overawed for several minutes as any painted redskin ever dominated a squaw--or as jasper did petunia in my own kitchen. but after we were left alone with the roses and the candles and his cigar, with only jasper's gratified voice mumbling over compliments to petunia in the distance, i took my courage in my hands and plunged. this can he used as data for the five. "james." i said, with such cool determination in my voice that it almost froze my own tongue, "i meant to tell you about it several weeks ago, i have decided to adopt sallie and all the children. i intend to legally adopt the children and just nominally adopt sallie, but it will amount to the same thing. i don't have to have your consent but i think it is courteous to ask for it." "what!" he exclaimed, as he sat up and looked at me with the expression an alienist might use in an important examination. "yes," i answered, gaining courage with time. "you see, i was crying out here on the porch with loneliness when you found me. i can't stand this any longer. i must have a family right away and sallie's just suits me. i have to take a great deal of interest in them anyway and it would be easier if i had complete control of them. it will leave you with enough family to keep you from being lonely and then we can all be happy together down into old age." "have you said anything about this to sallie?" he asked weakly as he dipped the end of his cigar into his glass of water and watched the sputter with the greatest interest. "not yet, but don't you feel sure that she will consent?" i asked, with confidence in my plan at fever heat. "sallie is so generous and she can't want to see me live lonely always, without any family at all. now, will she?" "she would consent!" he answered slowly, and then he laid his head down on the table right against my arm and shook so that the candlesticks rattled against the candles. "but i don't," he gasped, and for the life of me i couldn't tell whether he was crying or laughing, until he sat up again. "eve," he said, with his eyes fairly dancing into mine, "if women in general mean to walk over political difficulties as you are planning to walk away with this one of mine, i'm for feminine rule. don't you dare say one word about such a thing to sallie. of course, it is impossible as it is funny." it was a tragedy to have such a lovely scheme as i had thought up on the spur of the moment, knocked down suddenly by a half dozen positive words from a mere man, and for a moment my eyes fought with his in open rebellion. then i rose haughtily and walked out on the front porch. "dear," he said, as he followed me and took my hand in his and drew me near him, "don't you know that your wanting to put your shoulder under any burden i may be bearing lifts it completely? there are things in this situation that you can't understand. if i seem to make sacrifices, they come from the depths of my heart and are not sacrifices. will you believe me?" how can he help loving sallie with her so emphatically there? i answered him i suppose to his liking and he went on across the road to widegables and left me alone in the cruel darkness. please, god, when things seem to be drowning me like this make me swim with head up. amen! chapter vii some smolderings i'm a failure! yes, jane, i am! polk hayes is an up-to-date, bright man of the world, with lots of brains and i should say about the average masculine nature, and a great deal more than the average amount of human charm. however, he has got no more brains than i have, has had really fewer advantages, and it ought to be easy for me to hold my own against him. but i am about to fail on him. for the last two weeks he has been constantly with nell and has got her in a dreamy state that shows in her face and every movement of her slim body. and yet i know without the shadow of a doubt that he is just biding his time to try me out and get me on his own terms. my heart aches for nell, and i just couldn't see him murder her girlhood, and it will amount to that if he involves her heart any more than it is. i made up my mind to have it out with him and accordingly let him come and sit on my side steps with me late yesterday afternoon, when i have avoided being alone with him for a month. "polk," i asked him suddenly without giving him time to get the situation into his own hands, skilled in their woman-handling, "do you intend to marry nell or just plain break her heart for the fun you get out of it?" his dangerous eyes smoldered back at me for a long minute before he answered me: "men don't break women's hearts, evelina." "i think you are right," i answered slowly, "they do just wring and distort them and deform them for life. but i intend to see that nell's has no such torturous operation performed on it if i can appeal to you or convince her." "when you argue with nell be sure and don't tell her just exactly the things _you_ have done to _me_ all this summer through, evelina." he answered coolly. "what do you mean?" i demanded, positively cold with a kind of astonished fear. "i mean that i have never offered nell one half of the torture you have offered me, every day since you came home, with your damned affectionate friendliness. when i laugh, you answer it before it gets articulate, and when i gloom, you are as sympathetic as sympathy itself. i have held your hand and kissed it, instituting and not quenching a raging thirst thereby, as you are experienced enough to know. you have made yourself everything for me that is responsive and desirable and beautiful and worthy and have put me back every time i have reached out to grasp you. you don't want me, you don't want to marry me at all, you just want --excitement. you are as cold as ice that grinds and generates fire. very well, you don't have to take me--and i'll get what i can from nell--and others." "oh, polk, how could you have misunderstood me like this?" i moaned from the depths of an almost broken heart. but as i moaned i understood--i understood! i'm doing it all wrong! i had the most beautiful human love for him in my heart and he thought it was all dastardly, cold coquetting. an awful spark has been struck out of the flint. i'm not worthy to experiment with this dreadful man-and-woman question. i just laid my head down on my arms, resting on my knees and cowered at polk's feet. "don't--evelina, i didn't mean it." he said quickly in a shaken voice. but he did! i couldn't answer him and as i sat still and prayed in my heart for some words to come that would do away with the horror i heard sallie's voice from my front walk, and she and mr. haley, each carrying a sleeping twin, came around the corner of the porch. that interruption was a direct answer to prayer, for god knew that i just must have time to think before having this out with polk. i sometimes feel ashamed of the catastrophes i have to pray quick about, but what would i do if i couldn't? i don't know how i got through the rest of this evening, but i did--i pray for sleep. amen! watching the seasons follow each other in the harpeth valley gives me the agony of a dumb poet, who can feel though not sing. it was spring when i came down here four months ago, a young, tender, mist-veiled, lilac-scented spring that nestled firmly in your heart and made it ache with sweetness that you hardly understood yourself. but before i knew it the young darling, with her curls and buds and apple-blooms had gone and summer was rioting over the gardens and fields and hills, rich, lush colored, radiant, redolent, gorgeous, rose-scented and pulsing with a life that made me breathless. even the roads along the valley were bordered with flowers that the sun had wooed to the swooning point. but this week, early as it is, there has been a hint of autumn in the air, and a haze is beginning to creep over the whole world, especially in the early mornings, which are so dew-gemmed that they seem to be hinting a warning of the near coming of frost and snow. my garden has grown into a perfect riot of blooms, but for the last two weeks queer slugs have begun to eat the tender buds that are forming for october blooming, and i have been mourning over it by day and by night and to everybody who will listen. aunt augusta insists that the only thing to do is to get up with the first crack of dawn and carefully search out each slug, remove it and destroy it. she says if this is done for a week they will be exterminated. i carefully explained it all to jasper and when i came down to breakfast he was coming in with three queer green things, also with an injured air of having been kept up all night. i didn't feel equal to making him go on with the combat and ignored the question for two days until i saw all the buds on my largest neron done for in one night. i have always been able to get up at the break of day to go sketching--it was at daybreak that i made my sketch in the defleury gardens that captured the french art eye enough to get me my salon mention. if i could get up to splash water-colors at that hour, i surely could rush to the protection of my own roses, so i went to bed with gray dawn on my mind and the shutters wide open so the first light would get full in my eyes. i am glad that it was a good bright ray that woke me and partly dazzled me, for the sight i had, after i had been kneeling down in the rose bed for fifteen minutes, was something of a shock to me, though no reason in the world why it should have been. i can't remember that i ever speculated as to whether the crag wore pajamas or not, and i don't see that i should have been surprised that he did instead of the night shirt of our common ancestry. he came around the side of the house out of the sun-shot mist and was half way down the garden path before i saw him or he saw me, and i must say that his unconcern under the circumstances was rather remarkable. he was attired in a light blue silk pajama jacket that was open at the throat and half way down his broad breast. he had on his usual gray trousers, but tag's of blue trailed out and ruffled around his bare ankles, and across his bare heels that protruded from his slippers. his hair was in heavy tousled black curls all over his head and his gray eyes were positively mysterious with interrupted dreams. in one hand he carried a tin can and in the other a small pointed stick, which looked murderously fitted for the extermination of the marauders. i was positively nervous over the prospect of his embarrassment when he should catch sight of me, but there was none. "eve!" he exclaimed, with surprise, and a ray of pure delight drove away the dreams in his eyes. nobody in the wide world calls me eve but just the crag, and he does it in a queer, still way when he is surprised to see me, or glad, or sorry, or moved with any kind of sudden emotion. and queer as it is i have to positively control the desire to answer him with the correlated title--adam! "i forgot to tell you yesterday that i was coming over to get the slugs for you, dear," he said as he came down the row of roses next to mine, squatted opposite to where i was kneeling by the bushy, suffering neron and began to examine the under side of each leaf carefully. he was the most beautiful thing i have ever seen in the early light with his great chest bare and the blue of the pajamas melting into the bronze of his throat and calling out the gray in his eyes. i had to force myself into being gardener rather than artist, as we laughed together over the glass bowl and silver spoon i had brought out for the undoing of the slugs. some day i'm going to paint him like that! [illustration: his gray eyes were positively mysterious with interrupted dreams] i found out about the pajamas from questioning aunt martha discreetly. they seemed so incongruous in relation to the usual old henry clay coat and stock collar, that i had to know the reason why. mrs. hargrove's son was a very worldly man, she says, and wore them. it comforts her to make them for the crag to wear in memoriam. he wears the collars cousin martha makes him with her own fingers after the pattern she made his father's by, for the same reason, and lets cousin jasmine cut his hair because she always cut her father's, colonel horton's, until his death. that accounts for the ante-bellum curls and the irregular tags in the back. i almost laughed when cousin martha was telling me, but i remembered how a glow rose in my heart when i saw that he still had father's little old confederate comrade tailor cut his coats on the same pattern on which he had cut father's, since the days of reconstruction. sometimes it startles me to find that with all my emancipation i am very like other women. but i wonder what i would do if sallie attired him in any of the late henry's wearing apparel? "what do you suppose is the why of such useless things as slugs?" i speculated to stop that thought off sharp as we crawled down the row together, he searching one side of each bush and i the other. "well, they brought on this nice companionable hunt for them, didn't they?" he asked, looking over into my eyes with a laugh. "i wanted to see you early this morning anyway," he hastily resumed. "sallie and the dominie sat talking to you so late last night that i didn't feel it was fair to come across after they left. but i wanted you so i could hardly get to sleep, and i was just half awake from a dream of you, when i came into the garden." "my evenings don't belong to anybody, if you need them, jamie, and you don't have to be told that," i answered crossly when i thought what a grand time i might have been having talking about real things with the crag, instead of wrestling with polk's romantics or sallie's and mr. haley's gush. "go on and tell me all about it, while i crawl after you like a worm myself," i snapped still further. "well, here goes! in the city council meeting last night your uncle peter told us about the plans that they have made up at bolivar for entertaining the c. & g. commission, and the gloom of polk and lee, ned and the rest of them could have easily been cut in blocks and used for cold storage purposes. they are just all down and out about it and no fight left. of course, they all lose by the bond issue, but i can't see that it is bad enough to knock them all out like this. i got up in mighty wrath and--and i have got myself into one job. my eloquence landed me right into one large hole, and i am reaching out for a hand from you." "here it is," and i reached over and left a smear of loam across the back of his hand, while i brought away a brown circle around my wrist that the responsive grasp of his fingers left. "do you want me single-handed to get the bluff line chosen?" "not quite, but almost," he answered with another laugh. "you would if you tried. i haven't a doubt. do you remember the talk we had the other night about its seeming inhospitable of you not to invite the other gentlemen in the commission over to see you when you invite hall and his father? and you know you had partly planned some sort of entertainment for the whole bunch. you had the right idea at the right place, as you always do. as you said, we don't want bolivar to see us with what looks like a grouch on us at their good fortune, and i think that as the commission are all to be here as the guests of a private citizen, glendale ought to entertain them publicly. there is no hope to get the line for us, but i would like those men at least to see what the beauty of that bluff road would be. the line across the river runs through the only ugly part of the valley, and while i know in the balance between dollars and scenery, scenery will go down and out, still it would be good for them to see it and at least get a vision of what might have been, to haunt them when they take their first trip through the swamps across the country there. now, as you are to have them anyway, i want to have the whole town entertain the whole commission and bolivar with what is classically called among us a barbecue-rally, the countryside to be invited. bolivar is going to give them a banquet, to be as near like what the bolivarians imagine they have in new york as possible, and mrs. doctor henderson is to give them a pink tea reception to which carefully chosen presentables, like you and me, are to be invited. you remember that circus day in july?--a rally will be like that or more so. what do you think?" "oh, i think you are a genius to think about it," i gasped, as i sat down on a very cruet killarney branch and just as quickly sat up again, receiving comforting expressions of sympathy from across the bush, to which i paid no heed. "those blasã© city men will go crazy about it. we can have the barbecue up on the bluff, where we have always had it for the political rallies, and a fish-fry and the country people in their wagons with children tumbling all over everything and--and you will make a great speech with all of us looking on and being proud of you, because nobody in new york or beyond can do as well. we can invite a lot of people up from the city and over from bolivar and hillsboro and providence to hear you tell them all about tennessee while things are cooking and--" "this rally is to show off glendale not--the crag," he interrupted me with a quizzical laugh. now, how did he know i called him the crag in my heart? i suppose i did it to his face and never knew. i seem to think right out loud when i am with him and feel out loud, too. i ignored his levity, that was out of place when he saw how my brain was beginning to work well and rapidly. "you mean, don't you, jamie, that you want to get glendale past this place that is--humiliating--swimming with her head up?" i asked softly past a rose that drooped against my cheek. perfectly justifiable tears came to my lashes as i thought what a humiliation it all was to him and the rest of them, to be passed by an opportunity like that and left to die in their gray moldiness off the main line of life--shelved. "that is one of my prayers, to get past humiliations, swimming with my head up," i added softly, though i blushed from my toes to my top curl at the necessity that had called out the prayer the last time. it's awful on a woman to feel herself growing up stiff and sturdy by a man's side and then to get sight of a gourd-vine tangling itself up between them. i'm the dryad out of one of my own twin oaks down by the gate, and i want the other twin to be-i wonder if his eyes really look to other women like deep gray pools that you can look deeper and deeper into and never seem to get to the bottom, no matter if the look does seem to last forever and you feel yourself blushing and wanting to take your eyes away, or if it is just i that get so drowned in them! "you've a gallant stroke, evelina," he said softly, as i at last gained possession of my own sight. "and here i am with a hand out to you for assistance in carrying out your own plan that seems to be just the thing to--" "say, cousin james. aunt marfy says for you to come home to breakfast right away. mis' hargrove won't let nobody begin until you says the blessing, and cousin jasmine have got the headache from waiting for her coffee. what do you want to fool with evelina this time of day for anyway?" and with the delivery of which message and reproof henrietta stood on the edge of the path looking down upon us with great and scornful interest. "you've got on your night shirt and haven't combed your hair or washed your face," she continued sternly. "there'll be hell to pay with all the breakfast getting cold, and i'm empty down to my feet. come on, quick!" "henrietta," i said, sternly, as i rose to my feet, "i've asked you once not to say ugly words like that." "i'll go make the lightning toilet, henrietta. do run like a good girl and ask mrs. hargrove to let cousin jasmine have her cup of coffee right away. i'll be there before the rest are dead from hunger," and cousin james skilfully interrupted the threatened feminine clash as he emptied my glass bowl into his tin can and stuck the sharp stick in the ground for future reference. even henrietta's pointed allusion to his toilet had not in the least ruffled his equanimity or brought a shade of consciousness to his face. "mis' hargrove said that the bible said not for any woman to say a blessing at any table or at any place that anybody can hear her, when cousin marfy wanted to be polite to the lord by saying just a little one and go on before we was all too hungry," answered henrietta, in her most scornfully tolerant voice. "if women eat out loud before everybody why can't they pray their thank-you out loud like any man?" "answer her, evelina," laughed cousin james, as he hurried down the walk away from us. "henrietta," i asked, in a calmly argumentative tone of voice as she and i walked up the path to the house, "didn't mr. haley talk to you just yesterday and tell you how wicked it is for you to use--use such strong words as you do?" mr. haley had told me just a few days ago that he and aunt augusta had agreed to open their campaign of reform on henrietta by a pastoral lecture from him, to be followed strongly by a neighborly one from her. "no, he never did any such thing," answered henrietta, promptly--and what henrietta says is always the truth, because she isn't afraid of anybody or anything enough to tell a lie---"he just telled me over and over in a whole lot of words how i ought to love and be good to sallie. if i was to love sallie that kind of way, he said, i would be so busy i couldn't do none of the things sallie don't like to do herself and makes me do. 'stid er saying, 'my precious mother, i love you and want to be good because you want me to,' about every hour, i had better wipe the twins' noses, and wash the dirt often them, and light aunt dilsie's phthisic pipe, and get things upstairs for sallie and miss jasmine and everybody when they are downstairs. i'm too busy, i am, to be so religious. and i'm too hungry to talk any more about it." with which she departed. i sank on the side steps and laughed until a busy old bumble-bee came down from a late honeysuckle blossom and buzzed around to see what it was all about. henrietta's statement of the case was a graphic and just one. sallie has got a tendril around henrietta which grows by the day. poor tot, she does have a hard and hardening time--and how can i lecture her for swearing? with a train of thought started by henrietta i sat at my solitary breakfast in a deeply contemplative mood. life was going to press hard on henrietta. and reared in the fossilized atmosphere of widegables, which tried to draw all its six separate feminine breaths as one with a lone, supporting man, how was she to develop the biceps of strength of mind and soul, as well as body, to meet the conditions she was likely to have to meet? still her coming tussle with aunt augusta would be a tonic at least. i was just breaking a last muffin and beginning to smile when i saw a delegation coming down the street and turning into my front gate; i rose to meet it with distinction. aunt augusta marched at the head and nell and caroline were on each side of her, while sallie and mamie hall brought up the rear, walking more deliberately and each carrying a baby, comparing some sort of white tags of sewing. cousin martha was crossing the road in their wake with her knitting bag and palm leaf fan. one thing i am proud of having accomplished this summer is the establishing of friendly relations with aunt augusta. i made up my mind that she probably needed to have some of my affection ladled out to her more than anybody in glendale, and i worked on all the volatile fear and resentment and dislike i had ever had for her all my life, and i have succeeded in liquefying it into a genuine liking for the martial old personality. if aunt augusta had been a man she would have probably led a regiment up san juan hill, died in the trenches, and covered herself and family with glory. she is the newest woman in the harpeth valley, and though sixty years old, she is lineally sallie carruthers's own granddaughter. "evelina," she began, as soon as she had martialed her forces into rocking-chairs, though she had jasper bring her the stiffest and straightest-backed one in the house, "i have collected as many women as i had time to, and have come up here to tell you, and them, that the men in glendale are so lacking in sense and judgment that the time has come for women to stand forth and assume the responsibility of them and glendale in general. as the wife of the poor decrepit mayor, i appoint myself chairman of the meeting pro tem and ask you to take the first minutes. if disgrace is threatening us we must at least face it in an orderly and parliamentary way. and i--" "oh, mrs. shelby, is it--is it smallpox?" and as sallie spoke she hugged up the puppy baby, who happened to be the twin in her arms, so that she bubbled and giggled, mistaking her embraces for those of frolicsome affection. mamie turned pale and held her baby tight and i could see that she was having light spasms of alarm, one for each one of the children and one for ned. "smallpox, fiddlesticks--i said disgrace, sallie carruthers, and the worst kind of disgrace--municipal disgrace." and as aunt augusta named the plague that was to come upon us, she looked as if she expected it to wilt us all into sear and dried leaves. and in point of fact, we all did rustle. "tell us about it," said nell, with sparkling eyes and sitting up in her low rocker as straight as aunt augusta did in her uncompromising seat. the rest of them just looked helpless and undecided as to whether to be relieved or not. "yes, municipal disgrace threatens the town, and the women must rise in their strength and avert it," she declaimed majestically with her dark eyes snapping. "yesterday afternoon james hardin, who is the only patriotic male in glendale, put before the town council a most reasonable and pride-bestirring proposition originated by evelina shelby, one of glendale's leading citizens, though a woman. she wants to offer the far-famed hospitality of glendale--which is the oldest and most aristocratic town in the harpeth valley, except perhaps hillsboro, and which is not in the class with a vulgarly rich, modern place like bolivar, that has a soap-factory and streetcars, and was a mud-hole in the landscape when the first shelby built this very house,--to the commission of magnates who are to come down about the railroad lines that are to be laid near us. james agrees with her and urges that it is fitting and dignified that, when they are through with their vulgar trafficking over at insignificant bolivar, they be asked to partake of real southern hospitality at its fountain head, especially as evelina is obliged to invite two of them as personal friends. do you not see it in that light?" and aunt augusta looked at us with the martial mien of a general commanding his army for a campaign. "it would be nice," answered mamie, as she turned little ned over on his stomach across her knee and began to sway him and trot him at the same time, which was his signal to get off into a nap. "but ned said last night that he had lost so much in the bond subscription, that he didn't feel like spending any more money for an entertainment, that wouldn't do one bit of good about the taxes or bonds or anything. the baby was beginning to fret, so i don't think i understood it exactly." "i don't think you did," answered aunt augusta, witheringly, "that is not the point at all, and--" "but mr. greenfield said last night, while he was discussing it with father, that it would do no good whatever and probably be an embarrassment to the commission, our putting in a pitiful bid like that. he--" but caroline got no further with the feminine echo of her masculine opinion-former. "peter shelby put that objection much more picturesquely than lee greenfield," aunt augusta snapped. "he said that licking those men's hands would turn his stomach, after swallowing that bond issue. however, all this has nothing to do with the case. i am trying to--" "polk said last night that he thought it would be much more spectacular for all the good looking women in town to go when we are invited to mrs. henderson's tea for the big bugs, and dazzle 'em so that it would at least put glendale on the map," said nell, with spirit. "he made me so mad that i--" "mr. haley thinks that we should be very careful not to feel malice or envy towards bolivar, but to rejoice at their good fortune in getting both roads and the shops, even if it does mean a loss to us. what is material wealth in this world anyway when we can depend so on--" sallie's expression was so beautifully silly and like the dominie's, that it was all that i could do not to give vent to an unworthy shout. nell saw it as i did and i felt her smother a giggle. but before aunt augusta could get her breath to put the crux of the matter straight before her feminine tribunal, aunt martha beat her to it as she placidly rocked back and forth knitting lace for a petticoat for henrietta. "of course, glendale doesn't really care about the railroad; in fact, we would much rather not have our seclusion broken in upon, especially as they might choose the route they have prospected"--with a glance at sallie--"but it is to show them our friendliness, more bolivar than the actual commission, and our desire to rejoice with them in their good fortune. it would be very mean spirited of us to ignore them and not assist them in entertaining their guests, especially as some of them must be invited. we've never been in such an attitude as that to bolivar!" "exactly, martha," answered aunt augusta with relief. "the thought of proud old glendale putting herself in an attitude of municipal sulks towards common bolivar seemed an unbearable disgrace to me. didn't we invite them up for a great fish-fry on the river when they opened that odious soap factory, and ask them to let us help take care of some of their delegates when they had the methodist conference? they sent one of the two bishops to you, you remember, martha, and i am sure your entertainment of him was so lavish that he went home ill. no man said us nay in the exercising our right of religious hospitality, why should they in our civic? we must not allow the town to put us in such an attitude! must not! it was for this that i called this meeting at evelina's, as she was the one to propose this public-spirited and creditable plan." "but what shall we do if they don't want to have it?" asked mamie. "i have asked, when did the men of glendale begin to dictate to the women as to whom they should offer their hospitality?" answered aunt augusta, as she arose to her feet. "are we free women, and have we, or have we not, command of our own storerooms and our own servants and our own time and strength?" and as i looked up at the tall, fierce, white-haired old dame of high degree, daughter of the women of the colonies and the women of the wilderness days, i got exactly the same sensation i had when i saw the goddess of liberty loom up out of the mist as i sailed into the harbor of my own land from a foreign one. and what i was feeling i knew every woman present was feeling in a greater or less degree, except perhaps sallie, for her face was a puzzle of sore amazement and a pleading desire for further sleep. "have we or have we not?" aunt augusta again demanded, and just then a most wonderful thing happened! jane stood in our midst! oh, jane, you were a miracle to me, but i must go on writing about it all calmly for the sake of the five! i made a mad rush from my rocker to throw myself into her arms, but she stopped me with one glance of her cold, official eye that quelled me, and stood attention before aunt augusta. "madam president," she said in her grandest parliamentary voice, "it was by accident that i interrupted the proceedings of what i take to be an official meeting. have i your permission to withdraw? i am miss shelby's guest, miss mathers, and i can easily await her greetings until the adjournment of this body." oh, jane, and my arms just hungry for you! "madam," answered aunt augusta, in her grandest manner and a voice so filled with cordiality that i hardly knew it, "it is the pleasure of the chair to interrupt proceedings and to welcome you. evelina, introduce us all!" it was all just glorious! i never saw anybody get a more lovely ovation than jane did from my friends, for they had all heard about her, read with awe clippings i showed them about her speeches and--were about ready for her. sallie kissed her on both cheeks, mamie laid the baby in her arms with a devout expression, and nell clung to her with the rapture of the newly proselyted in her face. aunt martha made her welcome in her dearest manner and caroline beamed on her with the return of a lot of the fire and spirit of the youth that hanging on the doled-out affections of lee greenfield had starved in her. and it was characteristic of jane and her methods that it took much less time than it takes me to write it, for her to get all the greetings over with, explain that she had sent me a letter telling me that she was coming that must have gone astray, get everybody named and ticketed in her mind, and get us all back to business. aunt augusta explained the situation to her with so much feeling and eloquence that she swept us all off our feet, and when she was ready to put the question again to us as to our willingness to embark on our defiance of our fellow-townsmen, the answer of enthusiastic acquiescence was ready for her. "of course, as none of you have any official municipal status, the invitation will have to be given informally, in a social way, to the commission through miss shelby's friend, mr. richard hall," said jane, when aunt augusta had called on her to give us her opinion of the situation in general and the mode of procedure. "we find it best in all women-questions of the present, to do things in a perfectly legal and parliamentary way." "must we tell them about it or not?" asked mamie, in a wavering voice, looking up devoutly at jane, who had held young ned against the stiff white linen shirt of her traveling dress just as comfortably as if he were her own seventh. "did they consult you before deciding to refuse your suggestion?" asked jane, calmly and thoughtfully. "they did not," trumpeted aunt augusta. "then wouldn't it be the most regular way to proceed to get an acceptance of the invitation from the commission and then extend them one to be present?" pronounced jane, coolly, seemingly totally unconscious that she was exploding; a bomb shell. "it would, and we will consider it so settled," answered aunt augusta, dominatingly. this quick and revolutionary decision gave me a shock. i could see that a woman doesn't like to feel that there is a stick of dynamite between her and a man, when she puts her head down under his chin or her cheek to his, but advanced women must suffer that. still i'm glad that the crag is on our side of the fence. i felt sorry for mamie and caroline--and sallie looked a tragedy. in fact, a shade of depression was about to steal over the spirits of the meeting when aunt augusta luckily called for the discussion of plans for the rally. feeding other human beings is the natural, instituted, physiological, pathological, metaphysical, and spiritual outlet for a woman's nature, and that is why she is so happy when she gets out her family receipt book for a called rehearsal for the functioning of her hospitality. the revolution went home happy and excited over the martialing of their flesh pots. i'm glad jane is asleep across the hall to-night. if i had had to shoulder all this outbreak by myself i would have compromised by instituting a campaign of wheedling, the like of which this town never suffered before, and then when this glorious rally was finally pulled off, the cajoled masculine population would have fairly swelled with pride over having done it! of course, by every known test of conduct and economics, their attitude in the matter is entirely right. men work to all given points in straight, clear-cut, logical lines only to find women at the point of results waiting for them, with unforeseen culminations, which would have been impossible to them. and i am also glad the crag is partly responsible for starting, or at least unconsciously aiding, this scheme in high finance of mine; and he is also in reality the silent sponsor for this unhatched revolution. i am deeply contented to go to sleep with that comforting; thought tucked under my pillow. chapter viii an attained to-morrow i've changed my mind about a woman's being like a whirlwind. the women of now are the attained to-morrow that the world since the beginning has been trying to catch up with. jane is that, and then the day after, too, and what she has done to glendale in these two weeks has stunned the old town into a trance of delight and amazement. she has recreated us, breathed the breath of modernity into us, and started the machine up the grade of civilization at a pace that makes me hold my breath for fear of something jolting us. she and aunt augusta have organized an equality league, and that wheel came very near flying loose and being the finish of uncle peter. he came to see me the morning of the first meeting and, when i saw him coming up the front walk, i got an astral vision of the chips on his shoulder enlarged to twice their natural size, and called to jasper to mix the juleps very long and extra deep. but deep as they were, to the very top of the longest glasses, he couldn't drown his wrath in his. "women, women," he exploded from over the very mint sprig itself, "all fools, all fools from the beginning of time; made that way on purpose--on purpose--hey? world needs some sort of creature with no better sense than to want to spend their lives fooling with babies and the bread of life. human young and religion are the only things in the world men can't attend to for themselves and that's what they need women for. women with no brains--but all heart--all heart--hey?" "why should just a little brain hurt their heart-action. uncle peter?" i asked mildly. there is nothing in the world that i ever met that i enjoy any more than one of uncle peter's rages, and i always try to be meekly inflammatory. "they're never satisfied with using them to run church societies and children's internal organs, but they want to use 'em on men and civilization in general. where'd you get that yankee school-marm--hey? why don't she get a husband and a baby and settle down? ten babies, twenty babies if necessary--hey?" "you are entirely mistaken as to the plans that jane and aunt augusta have for the league they are forming this morning, uncle peter." i began to say with delight as to what was likely to ensue. "if you would only listen to jane while she--" "don't want to hear a word she has to say! all 'as the crackling of thorns under a pot'--all the talk of fools." "but surely you are not afraid to listen to her, uncle peter," i dared to say, and then stood away. "afraid, afraid--never was afraid of anybody in my life, augusta not excepted!" he exclaimed, as he rose in his wrath. "the men of this town will show the uprising hussies what we think of 'em, and put 'em back to the heels of men, where they belong--belong--hey?" and before i could remonstrate with him he was marching down the street like a whole regiment out on a charge that was to be one of extermination, or complete surrender. the crag told me that evening that the mayor's office of glendale had reeked of brimstone, for hours, and the next sunday aunt augusta sat in their pew at church, militantly alone, while he occupied a seat in the farthest limits of the amen corner, with equal militancy. but uncle peter's attitude during the time of jane's campaign for general equality in glendale was pathetically like that of an old log, that has been drifting comfortably down the stream of life with the tide that bore its comrades, and suddenly got its end stuck in the mud so that it was forced to stem alone the very tide it had been floating on. jane didn't throw any rocks at anybody's opinions or break the windows of anybody's prejudices. she had the most lovely heart to heart talks with the women separately, collectively, and in both small and large bunches. i had them in to tea in the combinations that she wanted them, and i must say that she was the loveliest thing with them that could be imagined. she was just her stiff, ugly self, starchily clad in the most beautifully tailored white linen, and they all went mad about her. the pup and the kit clutched at her skirts until anybody else would have been a mass of wrinkles, and the left breast of her linen blouse did always bear a slight impress of little ned's head. the congeniality of jane and that baby was a revelation to me and his colic ceased after the first time she kneaded it out of his fat little stomach with her long, slim, powerful hands according to a first-aid method she had learned in her settlement work, with mamie looking on in fear and adoration. it may have been bloodless surgery but i suspect it of being partly hypnotism, because the same sort of surgery was used on the minds of all my women friends and with a like result. the subject of the rally was a fine one for everybody to get together on from the start and, before any of them realized that they were doing anything but plan out the details of a big spread, the like of which they had been doing for hospitable generations, for the railroad commission, they were organized into a flourishing equality league, with officers and by-laws and a sinking fund in the treasury. "now, evelina," said jane, as she sat on the edge of my bed braiding her heavy, sleek, black braid that is as big as my wrist and that she declares is her one beauty, though she ought to know that her straight, strong-figure, ruddy complexion, aroma of strength and keen, near-sighted eyes are--well, if not beauties, something very winning, "we must not allow the men time to get sore over this matter of the league. we must make them feel immediately that they are needed and wanted intensely in the movement. they must be asked to take their place, shoulder to shoulder, with us in this fight for better conditions for the world and mankind in general. true to our theory we must offer them our comradely affection and openly and honestly express our need of them in our lives and in our activities. i was talking to mrs. carruthers and nell and mrs. hall and caroline, as well as your cousin martha, about it this afternoon and they all agreed with me that the men would have cause to be aggrieved at us about seeming thus to be organizing a life for ourselves apart from theirs, with no place in it provided for them. mrs. carruthers said that she had felt that the reverend mr. haley had been deeply hurt already at not being masked to open any of the meetings with prayer, and she volunteered to talk to him and express for herself and us our need of him." "that will be easy for sallie, for she has been expressing need of people in her fife as long as she has been living it," i answered with a good-natured laugh, though i would have liked to have that interview with the dominie myself. he is so enthusiastic that i like to bask in him once in a while. [illustration: "we must not allow the men to get sore over this matter of the league"] "i asked young mr. hayes to take me fishing with him to-morrow in order to have a whole quiet day with him alone so that we could get closely in touch with each other. i have had very little opportunity to talk with him, but i have felt his sympathy in several interested glances we have exchanged with each other. i am looking forward to the establishment of a perfect friendship with him." i told myself that i was mistaken in thinking that the expression in jane's eyes was softened to the verge of dreaminess and my inmost soul shouted at the idea of jane and polk and their day alone in the woods. since that night that polk humiliated me as completely as a man can humiliate a woman, he has looked at me like a whipped child, and i haven't looked at him at all i have used jane as a wide-spread fan behind which to hide from him. how was i to know what was going on on the other side of the fan? it is a relief to realize that in the world there are at least a few women like jane that don't have to be protected from polk and his kind. jane is one of the hunted that has turned and has come back to meet the pursuer with outstretched and disarming hand. this, i suspect, is to be about her first real tussle; skoal to the victor! "i advised your aunt augusta to ask you to talk again to your uncle peter, and nell is to seek an interview with mr. hardin at her earliest opportunity, though i think the only result will be instruction and uplift for nell, as a more illumined thing i never had said to me on the subject of the relation of men and women than the one he uttered to me last night, as he said good-by to me out on the porch in that glorious moonlight that seems brighter here in glendale than i have ever seen it out in the world anywhere else." "what did he say?" i asked perfectly naturally, though a double-bladed pain was twisted around in my solar plexus as the vision of jane's last night interview in the moonlight with the crag, and nell's soon-to-be-one, hit me broadside at the same time. i haven't had one by myself with him for a week. "why, of course, women are the breath that men draw into their lungs of life to supply eternal combustion," was what he said when i asked him point-blank what he thought of the league. "only let us breathe slowly as we ascend to still greater elevations with their consequent rarefied air," he added, with the most heavenly thoughtfulness in his fine face. "did it ever occur to you, evelina, that your cousin james is really a radiantly beautiful man? how could you be so mistaken, as to both him and his personal appearance, as to apply such a name as crag to him?" glendale is going to jane's head! "don't you think he looks scraggy in that long-tailed coat, shocks of taggy hair and a collar big enough to fit old harpeth?" i asked deceitfully. why shouldn't i tell jane what i really thought of cousin james and discuss him broadly and frankly? i don't know! lately i don't want to think about him or have anybody mention him in my presence. i've got a consciousness of him way off in a corner of me somewhere and i'm just brooding over it. everybody in town has been in this house since jane has been here, all the time, and i haven't seen him alone for ages it seems. maybe that's why i have had to make a desert island inside myself to take him to. "and i have been thinking since you told me of the situation in which he and mrs. carruthers have been placed by this financial catastrophe, how wonderful it will be if love really does come to them, when her grief is healed by time. he will rear her interesting children into women that will be invaluable to the commonwealth," jane continued as she tied a blue bow on the end of her long black plait. "do you think that there--there are any signs of--of such a thing yet?" i asked with pitiful weakness as i wilted down into my pillow. "just a bit in his manner to her, though i may be influenced in my judgment by the evident suitability of such a solution of the situation," she answered as she settled herself back against one of the posts of my high old bed and looked me clean through and through, even unto the shores of that desert island itself. "i hope you have been noting these different emotional situations and reactions among your friends carefully in your record, evelina," she continued in an interested and biological tone of voice and expression of eye. "in a small community like this it is much easier to get at the real underlying motive of such things than it is in a more complicated civilization. i have seen you transcribing notes into our book. since i have come to glendale i am more firmly determined than ever that the attitude of emotional equality that we determined upon in the spring is the true solution of most of the complicated man-and-woman problems. i am anxious to see it tried out in five other different communities that we will select. i would not seem to be indelicate, dear, but i do not see any signs of your having been especially drawn emotionally towards any of your friends, though your attitude of sisterly comradeship and frankness with them is more beautiful than i thought it was possible for such a thing to be. you are not being tempted to shirk any of your duties of womanhood because of your interest in your art, are you? i will confess to you that the thing that brought me down upon you was your news of this commission for the series of station-gardens. i think you will probably work better after this side of your nature is at rest. of course, a union with mr. hall would be ideal for you. you must consider it seriously." the "must" in jane's voice sounded exactly like that "must" looked in richard's telegram, which has been enforced with others just as emphatic ever since. there are some men who are big enough to take a woman with a wound in her heart and heal both it and her by their love. richard is one of that kind. what could any woman want more than her work and a man like that? after jane had laid her strong-minded head on the hard pillow, that i had had to have concocted out of bats of cotton for her, i laid my face against my own made of the soft breast feathers of a white flock of hovering hen-mothers and wept on their softness. a light was burning down in the lodge at the gate of widegables. he hasn't gone back to his room to sleep, even when i have jane's strong-mindedness in the house with me. i remember that i gave my word of honor to myself that i wouldn't try any of my modern emotional experiments on him the first night i slept in this house alone, with only him over there to keep me from dying with primitive woman fright. i shall keep my word to myself and propose to richard if my contract with jane and the five seems to call for it. in the meantime if i choose to cry myself to sleep it is nobody's business. i wonder if a mist rises up to heaven every night from all the woman-tears in all the world, and if god sees it, as it clings damp around the hem of his garment, and smiles with such warm understanding that it vanishes in a soft glow of sleep that he sends down to us! jane has arisen early several mornings and spent an hour before breakfast composing a masterly and machiavellian letter of invitation from the equality league to the inhabitants of glendale and the surrounding countryside to and beyond bolivar to attend the rally given by them in honor of the c. & g. railroad commission on tuesday next. it is to come out to-day in the weekly papers of glendale, bolivar, hillsboro, and providence, and i hope there will not be so many cases of heart-failure from rage that the gloom of many funerals will put out the light of the rally. i hope no man will beat any woman in the harpeth valley for it, and if he does, i hope he will do it so neither jane nor i will hear of it. it was aunt augusta who thought up the insulting and incendiary plan of having the rally as an offering of hospitality from the league, and i hope if uncle peter is going to die over it he will not have the final explosion in my presence. privately i spent a dollar and a half sending a night-letter to richard all about it and asking him if the commissioners would be willing to stand for this feminist plank in the barbecue deal. he had sent me the nicest letter of acceptance from the board when i had written the invitation to them through him, as coming from the perfectly ladylike feminine population of glendale, and i didn't like to get them into a woman-whirlwind without their own consent. i paid the boy at the telegraph office five dollars not to talk about the matter to a human soul, and threatened to have him dismissed if he did, so the bomb-shell was kept in until this afternoon. richard replied to the telegram with characteristic directness: delighted to be in at the fight. seven of us rabid suffragists, two on the fence, and a half roast pig will convert the other. found no answer to my question in letter of last tuesday. must! richard. it was nice of jane to write out and get ready her bomb-shell and then go off with polk, so as not to see it explode. but i'm glad she did. however, i did advise her to take a copy of it along with the reels and the lunch-basket to read to him, as a starter of their day to be devoted to the establishment of a perfect friendship between them. polk didn't look at me even once as i helped pack them and their traps into his hupp, but solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like polk in his white flannels, and he and jane made a picture of perfectly blended tailored smartness as they got ready for the break-away. there are some men that acquire feminine obligations as rough cheviot does lint and henrietta is one of polk's when it comes to the fishing days. he takes her so often that she thinks she owns him and all the trout in little harpeth, and she landed in the midst of the picnic with her fighting clothes on. "where are you and her going at,--fishing?" she asked in a calmly controlled voice that both of them had heard before, and which made us quail in our boots and metaphorically duck our heads. "yes, we--er thought we would," he answered with an uncertainty of voice and manner that bespoke abject fear. "i'll be d---if you shall," came the explosion, hot and loud. "i want to go fishing with you, polk, my own self, and she ain't no good for nothing any way. you can't take her!" "henrietta!" i both beseeched and commanded in one breath. "no, she ain't no good at all," was reiterated in the stormy young voice as henrietta caught hold of the nose of the panting hupp and stood directly in the path of destruction, if polk had turned the driving wheel a hair's breadth. "uncle peter says that she is er going to turn the devil loose in glendale, so they won't be no more whisky and no more babies borned and men will get they noses rubbed in their plates, if they don't eat the awful truck she is er going to teach the women to cook for their husbands. an' the men won't marry no more then at all, and i'll have to be a old maid like her." now, why did i write weeks ago that i would like to witness an encounter between jane and henrietta! i didn't mean it, but i got it! without ruffling a hair or changing color jane stepped out of the hupp and faced the foe. henrietta is a tiny scrap of a woman, intense in a wild, beautiful, almost hunted kind of way, and she is so thin that it makes my heart ache. she is being fairly crushed with the beautiful depending weight of her mother and the responsibility of the twins, and somehow she is most pathetic. i made a motion to step between her and jane, but one look in jane's face stopped me. "dear," she said, in her rich, throaty, strong voice as she looked pleadingly at the militant midget facing her. suddenly i was that lonesome, homesick freshman by the waters of lake waban, with jane's awkward young arm around me, and i stood aside to let henrietta come into her heritage of jane. "don't you want to come with us?" was the soft question that followed the commanding word of endearment. "no!" was the short, but slightly mollified answer as henrietta dug her toes into the dust and began to look fascinated. "i'm glad you don't want to come, because i've got some very important business to ask you to attend to for me," answered jane, in the brisk tone of voice she uses in doing business with women, and which interests them intensely by its very novelty and flatters them by seeming to endow them with a kind of brain they didn't know they possessed. "i want you to go upstairs and get my pocketbook. be careful, for there is over a hundred dollars in the roll of bills--evelina will give you the key to the desk--and go down to the drug store where they keep nice little clocks and buy me the best one they have. then please you wind it up yourself and watch it all day to see if it keeps time with the clock in your hall, and if it varies more than one minute, take it back and get another. while you are in the drug store, if you have time, won't you please select me a new tooth-brush and some nice kind of paste that you think is good? make them show you all they have. pay for it out of one of the bills." "want any good, smelly soap?" i came out of my trance of absolute admiration to hear henrietta ask in the capable voice of a secretary to a millionaire. her thin little face was flushed with excitement and importance, and she edged two feet nearer the charmer. "it would be a good thing to get about a half dozen cakes, wouldn't it?" answered jane, with slight uncertainty in her voice as if leaving the decision of the matter partly to henrietta. "yes, i believe i would," henrietta decided judicially. "the 'new mown hay' is what jasper got for petunia because he hit her too hard last week and swelled her eye. they is a perfumery that goes with it at one quarter a bottle. that makes it all cheaper." "exactly the thing, and we mustn't spend money unnecessarily," jane agreed. "but i don't want to trespass on your time, henrietta, dear," she added with the deference she would have used in speaking to the president of the nation league or the founder of hull house. "no, ma'am, i'm glad to do it, and i'll go quick 'fore it gets any later in the day for me to watch the clock," answered henrietta in stately tones that were very like jane's and which i had never heard her employ before. and before any of the three of us got our breath her bare little feet were flashing up my front walk. "help!" exclaimed polk as he leaned back from his wheel and fanned himself with his hat. "do you use the same methods with grown beasts that you do with cubs?" he added weakly. "it's the same she has always used on me, only this is more dramatic. beware!" i said with a laugh as i insisted on just one squeeze of jane's white linen arm as she was climbing back into the car. "that's a remarkably fine child and she should have good, dependable, business-like habits put in the place of faulty and useless ones. her profanity will make no difference for the present and can be easily corrected. don't interfere with her attending to my commissions, evelina. let's start, mr. hayes." and jane settled herself calmly for the spin out providence road. "all the hundred dollars all by herself, jane?" i called after them. "yes," floated back positively in the wake of the hupp. for several hours i attended to the business of my life in a haze of meditation. if henrietta ticks off the same number of minutes on the woman-clock from jane's standpoint, that jane has marked off from her own mother's, high noon is going to strike before we are ready for it. but it was only an hour or two of high-minded communing with the future that i got the time for, before i was involved in the whirl of dust that swirled around the storm center, to darken and throw a shadow over glendale about the time of the publication of the glendale news, which occurs every thursday near the hour of noon, so that all the subscribers can take that enterprising sheet home to consume while waiting for dinner, and can leave it for the women of their families to enjoy in the afternoon. i suspect that the digestion of jane's equality rally invitation interfered with the digestion of much fried chicken, corn, and sweet potatoes, under the roof-trees of the town and i spent the afternoon in hearing results and keeping up the spirits of the insurgents. caroline came in with her head so high that she had difficulty in seeing over her very slender and aristocratic nose, with a note from lee greenfield which had just come to her, asking her to go with him in his car over to hillsboro to spend the day with tom pollard's wife, a visit he knows she has been dying to make for two months, for she was one of pet's bridesmaids. he made casual and dastardly mention that there would be a moon to come home by, but ignored completely the fact that tuesday was the day on which he had been invited by the league, of which he knew she was a member, to meet and rally around the c. & g. commission. i helped her compose the answer, and i must say we hit lee only in high spots. i could see she was scared to death, and so was i, but her dander was up, and i backed mine up along side it for the purpose of support. besides i feel in my heart that that note will dynamite the rocky old situation between them into something more easily handled. she had just gone to dispatch the missive by their negro gardener when mamie and sallie came clucking in. mamie's face was pink and high-spirited, but sallie was in one complete slump of mind and body. "mr. haley has just stopped by to say that he thinks no price is too great to pay for peace, and fellowship, and good-will in a community," she said, as she dropped into a rocker and looked pensively after the retreating figure of the handsome young dominie, who had accompanied them to the gate but wisely no farther. he didn't know that jane had gone with polk. "and women to pay the price," answered mamie, spiritedly. "i have just told ned that as yet i do not know enough to argue the question of woman's wrongs with him, but i have learned a few of her rights. one of _mine_ is to have him accept any invitation i am responsible for having my friends offer him, and to accompany me to the entertainment if i desire to go. i reminded him that i had not troubled him often as an escort since my marriage. he was so scared that he almost let little ned drop out of his arms, and he got in an awful hurry to go to town, but he asked me to have his gray flannels pressed before tuesday and to buy him a blue tie to go with a new shirt he has. i never like to spank ned or the children, but i must say it does clear the atmosphere." "you don't think we could put it off or--or--" sallie faltered. "no!" answered mamie and i together, and as i spoke i called jasper to set out more rockers and have petunia get the tea-tray ready, for i saw aunt augusta go across the road to collect cousin martha and mrs. hargrove and the rest, while nell whirled by in her rakish little car on her way to the square and called that she would be back. when nell used a thousand dollars of her own money, left her by her grandmother, to buy that little buick, glendale promptly had a spell of epilepsy that lasted for days. the whole town still dodges and swears when it sees her coming, for she drives with a combination of feminine recklessness and masculine speed that is to say the least alarming. to see aunt augusta out for a spin with her is a delicious sight. and it was most interesting to listen to a minute description of the composite fit thrown by the male population of glendale, at their rally invitation, but as time was limited i finally coaxed the conversation around to the subject of the viands to be offered the lordly creatures in the way of propitiation for the insult that we were forcing them to swallow by taking matters in our own hands, and then we had a really glorious time. i am glad i have had a year or more in paris, months in italy, weeks in berlin, and a sojourn in england, just so that i can be sure myself and assure the others with authority that there are no such cooks in all the world as the women in the harpeth valley of tennessee, united states of america. the afternoon wore away on the wings of magic, and the long, purple shadows were falling across the street, a rustle of cool night wind was stirring the tree-tops and the first star was coming timidly out into the gloaming, before they all realized that it was time to hurry and scurry under roof-trees. lee greenfield was waiting at the gate for caroline. just as henrietta had taken a last peep at the clock on the hall table and gone to answer sallie's call to come and help aunt dilsie in the bedding of the kitten and the pup, polk's hupp stopped at the gate, and he and jane came up the front walk in the twilight together. she had on his flannel coat over her linen one and his expression was one of glorified and translucent daze. i didn't look at her--i felt as if i couldn't. i was scared! for a second she held me in her arms and kissed me, _really_--the first time she had ever done it in all my life--and then went on upstairs with a nice, cool good-night and "thank you" to polk. "evelina," he said, as he handed me the empty lunch-basket and also the empty fish-bucket, the first he had ever in his life brought in from little harpeth, "i was right about that hallelujah chorus being the true definition of the real woman--only they are more so. i have seen a light, and you pointed the way. will you forgive me for being what i was--and trust me--with--with--good-night!" he was gone! jane's kiss had been one of revelation--to me! for a long time i sat out there in the cool, hazy, windy autumn twilight breeze, that was heavy with the scent of luscious wild grapes and tasseled corn, fanning the flame of loneliness in me until i couldn't have stood it any longer if a tall gray figure of relief had not come up the street and called me down to my front gate. "hail the instigator of a bloodless revolution," laughed the crag as i stopped myself with difficulty on the opposite side of the gate from him. "the city fathers will have to capitulate, and now for the reign of the mothers!" "and the same old route to subjection chosen, through their stomachs to their civic hearts," i answered impudently. overlooking my pertness he went on: "mayor shelby was at home with mrs. augusta for two hours after dinner and, as i came by the post-office, i heard him telling polk in remarkably chastened, if not entirely chaste language, that it was 'better to let the women have their kick-up on a feeding proposition than on something worse,' as he classically put it." "i know it is a great victory," i answered weakly, "but i'm too tired to glory in it. i wish i was sallie's puppy being trotted across aunt dilsie's knee, or kit, getting a rocking in cousin martha's arms." "would any other arms do for the rocking?" came in a queer, audacious voice, with a note in it that stilled something in me and made all the world seem to be holding its breath. "i'm tired of revoluting and it's--it's tenderness i want," i faltered in a voice that hardly seemed strong enough to get so far up out of my heart as to reach the ears of the crag as he bent his head down close over mine. he had come on my side of the gate at the first weak little cry i had let myself make a minute or two before. [illustration: "is this right?" he asked] "is this right?" he asked, as he gently took me in his arms, hollowed his shoulder for a place for my head, and leaning against the old gate he began to swing me gently to and fro, his cheek against my hair and humming aunt dilsie's "swing low sweet chariot, fer to carry me home." it was. i know now what i want and i am going to have it. i'll fight the whole world with naked hands for him. and i'm also going to find some way to get him with all his absurd niceties of honor intact, just because that will make him happier. i'll begin at the beginning and some way unclasp those gourdy tendrils that sallie has been strangling him with. i will bunch all the rest of his feminine collection and take them on my own hands. i'm going to make a governor out of him, and then a united states senator and finally a supreme judge. help! think of the old mossback being a progressive, but that's my party and jane's. i know he is going to hate terribly to have me ask him to marry me, and i hate to hurt him so, but it is my duty to get jane's fifty thousand dollars so the five may be as happy as i am to-night; only there aren't five other crags. i know it will be a life-long mortification to him to have me do it, but he lost his chance to-night grand-mothering me. still, i did turn my lips away. i was not quite ready then--i am now. if he wants to go on wearing clothes like that i'm going to let him, even on the senate floor, but i can't ever stand for cousin jasmine to cut his hair any more. i want to do it myself, and i'm going to tell her so, and why. she and i have cried over that miniature of the lost young confederate cousin of hers and she'll understand me. but as i think it over--it always is best to be kind, and i believe i'll let him get through this rally--it's just four days--free and happy man. i don't know whether to go in and wake up jane or not. i would like to go to sleep with that kiss revelation between us, but maybe it is my duty to the five to extract some data from her while it is fresh, on the foam. i am afraid it is going to go hard with her, but somehow i have a newborn faith in polk that makes me feel that he will make it as easy as he can for her. isn't it a glorious thing to realize that neither she nor i will have to sit and be tortured by waiting to see what those men are going to do? chapter ix dynamite when a man injures a woman's feelings by any particular course of conduct to which she objects, the maternal in her rises to the surface and she treats and forgives him as she would a naughty child,--but a man makes any kind of woman-affront into a lover's quarrel. that is what masculine glendale has been doing to its women folks for four days, and i believe everybody has been secretly enjoying it. as to the rally, they have stood aside with their hands in their pockets and their noses in the air, and if it hadn't been for aunt augusta and nell and jane being natural-born carpenters and draymen, we might have had to give it up and let them go on with it to their own glory. when nell and jane went to see mr. dodd about building the long tables to serve the barbecue dinner on, he said he was too busy to do it and hadn't even any lumber to sell. then things happened in my back yard that it sounds like a romance to write about. jane sent me over to borrow the crag's team and wagon and henrietta and cousin martha and any of the rest of his woman-impedimenta that i could get. he was out of town, trying a case over at bolivar, and wouldn't get back until monday night. i am glad he wasn't here, for it would have gone hard with me to treat him in the manner that jane decided it was best for all the women in glendale to treat all the men in this crisis. it sounded sweet and cold as molasses dispenses itself to you in midwinter, and i could see it was a strain on mamie and caroline and mrs. kirkland, nell's mother, and young mrs. dodd, the carpenter's wife,--the boston girl that married him before she realized him,--to keep it up from day to day. besides that i'm going to be a politician's wife--though he doesn't know it yet--and i want the crag to be away from the necessity of taking any sides in this civilized warfare. that's one reason i am such a go-between for uncle peter and the league, i am making votes for my man, so i consider it all right for me never to deliver any of their messages to each other as they are given to me, but to twist them into agreeability to suit myself. sallie said the dominie was entirely on our side and that was why she went walking with him sunday afternoon. all the other men were cool to him and he is so sensitive. but to get back to the back yard. i glory in writing it and want the five to consider it as almost sacred data, though i hope they will never have to do likewise. jane and nell and aunt augusta took the two axes and one large hammer and tore down my back fence while i and the others loaded the planks on the wagon. jane appointed henrietta to sit and hold the slow old horses in case they should have got demoralized by the militant atmosphere pervading glendale and try to bolt. i never saw any human being enjoy herself as henrietta did, and it was worth it all just to look into her radiant countenance. jane took all the hard top blows to do herself and left the unloosening of the lower nails to aunt augusta while nell ripped off the planks that stuck. i could almost hear nell's long, polished finger nails go with a rip every time she jerked a particularly tough old plank into subjection, and aunt augusta dispensed encouraging axioms about pioneer work as she banged along behind jane. jane herself looked as cool as a cucumber, didn't get the least bit ruffled, and had the expression on her face that the truly normal woman has while she is hemming a baby's flannel petticoat. and though during the day many delightful crises were precipitated, the most interesting were the expressions that devastated polk hayes's and lee greenfield's faces as they came around the side of the house to see what all that hammering was about. "caroline!" exclaimed lee, in perfect agony, as he beheld the lady of his ardent, though long-restrained, affections poised across the wheel of the wagon tugging at the middle of a heavy plank which mrs. dodd and i were pushing up to her, while mamie, the mother of seven, stood firmly on top of the wagon guiding it into place. "help!" gasped polk, as he started to take the ax from jane by force. then we all stopped while jane quietly gurgled the molasses of the situation to them, and sent them on down the street sadder and wiser men. i thought polk was going to cry on her shoulder before he was finally persuaded to go and leave us to our fate, and the expression on lee's face as he looked up at torn, dirty, perspiring caroline, with a smudge on her nose and blood on her hand from an absolutely insignificant scratch, was such as ought to have been on ned's face as he ought to have been standing by mamie with the asafetida bottle. that's mixed up but the five ought to catch the point. it took up all of saturday afternoon and part of monday morning, but we built those tables, thereby disciplining masculine glendale with a severity that i didn't think could have been in us. we all rested on sunday, that is, ostensibly. jane put down all sorts of things on paper that everybody had to do on monday and on tuesday. henrietta sat by her in a state of trance and it did me good to see sallie out in the hammock at widegables taking care of both the kit and the pup, laboriously assisted by panting aunt dilsie, because jane explained to her so beautifully that she needed a lot of henrietta's time, that sallie acquiesced with good-natured bewilderment. of course, cousin jasmine helped her some, but she was busy aiding cousin martha to beat up some mysterious eggs in the kitchen--with the shutters shut because it was sunday. it was something that takes two days to "set" and was to be the _piã¨ce de rã©sistance_, after the barbecue. mrs. hargrove couldn't help sallie at all with the kiddies, either, because she was looking through all her boxes and bundles for a letter from her son, which she thought said something about favoring woman's rights, and if it is like she thinks it is, she is going to go to the barbecue and get things nice and hot instead of having them brought to her cold. i had hoped to get a few minutes sunday afternoon to myself so i could go up into the garret and look through one of the trunks i brought from paris with me to see how many sets of things i have got left. i am going to need a trousseau pretty soon, and i might need it more suddenly than i expect. i don't see any reason for people's not marrying immediately when they make up their minds, and my half of ours is made up strong enough to decidedly influence rapidity in his. but then i really don't believe that the crag would care very much about the high lights of a trousseau, and it was just as well that nell came in to get me to help her write a letter to national headquarters to know if she could have any kind of assignment in the campaign for the convention to alter the constitution in tennessee when it meets next winter. "have you made up your mind fully to go in for public life, nell?" i asked mildly. "some of your friends might not like it very much and--and--" "if you mean polk hayes, evelina," nell answered with the positiveness that only a very young person can get up the courage to use, "i have forgot that i was ever influenced by his narrow-minded, primitive personality at all. if i ever love and marry it will be a man who can appreciate and further my real woman's destiny." "well, then, that's all right," i answered with such relief in my heart that it must have showed in my voice and face. i had worried about nell since i could see plainly, though she hasn't told me yet, and i am sure he doesn't realize it, that jane had decided folk's destiny. nell is not twenty-one yet and she will find lots of men in the world that will be fully capable of making her believe they feel that way about her destiny, until they succeed in tying her up to using it for the real utilitarian purposes they are sure such a pretty woman is created for. it will take men in general another hundred years yet, and lots of suffering, to realize that a woman's destiny is anything but himself, and get to housekeeping with her on that basis. of course, i see the justice and need of perfect equality in all things between the sexes, emotional equality especially, but i hope the time will never come when men get as hungry to see their women folks as said feminists get to see them, after they have been away about four days out in the harpeth valley. it takes a woman's patience to stand the tug. the crag didn't jog into glendale on his raw-boned old horse until one-thirty monday night. i had been watching down providence road for him from my pillow ever since i put out my light at eleven, because jane had decided that it was our duty to go to bed early so as to be as fresh as possible for the rally in the morning. she had walked to the gate with polk at ten and hadn't come back until eleven, so, of course, she was ready to turn in. it was just foolish, primitive old convention that kept me from slipping on my slippers and dressing-gown--i've got the prettiest ones that ever came across the atlantic, louise de mereton, rue de rivoli, paris--and going down to the gate to see him for just a minute. that second he stood undecided in the middle of the road looking at my darkened house was agony that i'm not going to put up with very much longer. scientifically i feel that i'm thinking life with one lobe of my brain and breathing with one lung. still i made myself go to sleep. everybody believes in god in a different kind of way, and mine satisfies me entirely. i know that the hairs of my head are numbered and that not a sparrow falls; and i don't stop at that. i feel sure that my tears are measured and my smiles are rejoiced over, and when i want a good day to come to me i ask for it and mostly get it. there never was another like the one he sent me down this morning on the first slim ray of dawn that slid over the side of old harpeth! the sun was warm and jolly and hospitable from the arrival of its first rays, but the wind was deliciously cool and bracing and full of the wine of october. it came racing across the fields laden with harvest scents, blustering a bit now and then enough to bring down a shower of nuts or to make the yellow corn in the shocks in the fields rustle ominously of a winter soon to come. the maples on the bluff were garmented in royal crimson brocaded with yellow, the buck-bushes that grew along the edges of the rocks were strung with magenta berries and regiments of tall royal purple iron weeds and yellow-plumed golden-rod were marshaled in squads and clumps for a background for the long tables. jane and i with henrietta were out by the old gray moss rock at the first break of day, installing jasper and petunia and a few of their _confrã¨res_. jasper has always been king of all glendale barbecue-pits and he had had them dug the day before and filled with dry hickory fires all night, and his mien was so haughty that i trembled for the slaves under his command. his basket of "yarbs" was under the side of the rock in hoodoo-like shadows and the wagons of poor, innocent, sacrificed lambs and turkeys and sucking-pigs were backed up by the largest infernal pit. petunia was already elbow deep in a cedar tub of corn meal for the pones, and another minion was shucking late roasting-ears and washing the sweet potatoes to be packed down with the meat by eight o-clock. a wagon was to collect the baked hams and sandwiches and biscuits and confections of all variety and pedigree from the rest of the league at ten o'clock. we didn't know it then but another wagon was already being loaded very privately in town with ice and bottles, glasses and lemons and mint and kegs and schooners. i am awfully glad that the equality league had forgotten all about the wetting up of the rally, because i don't believe we would have been equal to the situation with aunt augusta and jane both prohibition enthusiasts, but it did so promote the sentiment of peace and good cheer during the day for us to all feel that the men had not failed us in a crisis, as well as in the natural qualities inherent in their offering for the feast. there was a whole case of uncle peter's private stock. could human nature have done better than that? but if we did forget to provide the liquids, i am glad we had the foresight to provide other viands enough to feed a regiment, because a whole army came. "evelina," gasped jane, as we stood on the edge of the bluff that commands a view of almost all the harpeth valley stretched out like the very garden of eden itself, crossed by silver creeks, lined with broad roads and mantled in the richness of the harvest haze, "can all those wagons full of people be coming to accept our invitation?" "yes, they're our guests," i answered, with the elation of generations of rally-givers rising in my breast, as i saw the stream of wagons and carriages and buggies, with now and then a motor-car, all approaching glendale from all points of the compass. "have we enough to feed them. jasper?" she turned and asked in still further alarm. "nothing never give out in glendale yit, since we took the cover offen the pits for old hickory in my granddad's time," he answered, with a trace of offense in his voice, as he stood over a half tub of butter mixing in his yarbs with mutterings that sounded like incantations. i drew jane away for i felt that it was no time to disturb him, when the basting of his baked meats was just about to begin. i was glad that about all the countryside had gathered, unhitched their wagons, picketed their horses, and got down to the enjoyment of the day before the motor-cars bringing the distinguished guests had even started from bolivar. it was great to watch the farmers slap neighbors on the back, exchange news and tobacco plugs, while the rosy women folks grouped and ungrouped in radiant good cheer with children squirming and tangling over and under and around the rejoicings. "this, evelina," remarked jane, with controlled emotion in her voice and a mist in her eyes behind their glasses, "is not only the bone and sinew but also the rich red blood in the arteries of our nation. i feel humbled and honored at being permitted to go among them." and the sight of dear old jane "mixing" with those harpeth valley farmer folk was one of the things i have put aside to remember for always. they all knew me, of course, and i was a bit teary at their greetings. big motherly women took me in their arms and younger ones laid their babies in my arms and laughed and cried over me, while every few minutes some rugged old farmer would call out for colonel shelby's "little gal" and look searchingly in my face for the likeness to my fire-eating, old confederate, politician father. but it was jane that took them by storm and kept them, too, through the crisis of the day. jane is the _reveille_ the harpeth valley has been waiting for for fifty years. i thought i was, but jane is it. and it was into an atmosphere of almost hilarious enjoyment that the distinguished commission arrived a few minutes before noon, just as jasper's barbecue-pits were beginning to send forth absolutely maddening aromas. nell whirled up the hill first and turned her buick across the road by the bluff with that rakish skill of hers that always sends my heart into my throat. and whom did she have sitting at her blue, embroidered linen elbow but richard hall himself? good old big, strong dandy dickie, how great it was to see him again, and if i had had my own heart in my breast it would have leaped with delight at the sight of him! but even the crag's that i had exchanged mine for, though it was an entire stranger to dickie, beat fast enough in sympathy with the dance in my eyes to send the color up to my face in good fashion as i hurried across a clump of golden-rod to meet him. "evelina, the lovely!" he exclaimed in his big booming voice, as he took me by both shoulders and shook me instead of shaking merely my hand. "richard the royal!" i answered in our old _quartier latin_ form of greeting. i didn't look right into his eyes as i always had, however, and something sent a keen pain through the exchanged heart in my breast at the thought that i might be obliged to hurt the dandy old dear. but suddenly the sight of nell's loveliness cheered me. she had had dick in that car with her ever since nine o'clock, almost three hours, showing him the sights of that teeming heavy lush harvest countryside around bolivar and glendale, all over which are low-roofed old country houses which brood over families that cluster around the unit that one man and a woman make in their commonwealth. nell's eyes were sweet as she looked at him. i'll wait and see if i need to worry over him. with the fervor i felt i had a right to, i then avoided the issue of richard's eyes, put it up to god and nell, and introduced him to jane. and while the three of them stood waiting for nell to back up the buick and put her spark-plug in her pocket,--only richard calmly took it and put it in his,--the rest of the cars came up the hill and turned into the edge of the golden-rod. aunt augusta was in the first one with the chairman of the commission, whose name even would have paralyzed anybody but aunt augusta; and mamie and cousin martha, caroline and several more of the ladies made up the rest of the committee who had gone to escort the distinguished guests to the rally. the crag was in the last car with a perfectly delicious old gray-haired edition of dickie, and i almost fell on both their necks at once. what saved them was polk appearing between us with three long mint-topped glasses. i'm glad old dick immediately had his eyebrows well tangled in the mint of his julep, for i got my own eyes farther down into cousin james's deep gray ones than i expected and it was hard to come up. i hadn't had a plunge in them for three days and i went pretty deep. "eve!" he said softly, as he raised his glass and smiled across his green tuft. yes, i know he knows that i know, there is an answer to that name when he says it that way, but i'm not going to give it until i am ready and the place is romantically secluded enough to suit me. he just dares me when he says it to me before other people. that reminds me, the harvest moon is full to-night and rises an hour later every evening from now on. i don't want to wait another month before i propose to him. i've always chosen moonlight for that catastrophe of my life. i wonder if men have as good times planning the culmination of their suits as i am having with mine? but i had to come down quickly to a little thing like the rally and give the signal to feed all the five hundred people, who by that time were nice, polite, ravening wolves, for jasper had uncovered the turkey-pit to keep them from getting too brown while the lambs caught up with them. jane was the master of ceremonies, because i balked at the last minute. i think i would be capable of managing even a national convention in chicago--that far away from the harpeth valley,--but i couldn't do it with my friends of pioneer generations looking on. a man or woman never grows up at all to the woman who has knitted baby socks for them or the man who has let them ride down the hill on the front of his saddle. and at the head of the center table jane asked the crag to sit beside her, so that he would be in place to command attention for her when she wanted to speak, and where everybody could hear him when he did. and while the table was piled high and emptied, and piled high again, so many bouquets of oratory were culled, tied, and cast at the guests along the table that i believe they would have been obliged to pay exclusive attention to them if the things to eat had not been just as odoriferous and substantial. before dinner was over everybody had spoken that was of a suitable age, and some that had heretofore in the harpeth valley been considered of an unsuitable sex. jane's speech of welcome made such an impression that it is no wonder some of the old mothers in israel got up to iterate it, as the dinner progressed. she, as usual, refrained from prejudice-smashing and stones-at-glass-houses throwing, and she hadn't said ten sentences before she had the whole feeding multitude with her. she began on the way our pioneer mothers had to contrive to keep larders stocked and good things ready for the households, and she tickled the palate of every man present by mentioning every achievement in a culinary way that every woman of his household had made in all the generations that had gone over harpeth valley. she called all the concoctions by their right names, too, and she always gave the name of the originator, who was some dear old lady that was sleeping in the greenwood at the foot of the hill, or in some grave over at providence or hillsboro or bolivar, and who was grandmother or great-grandmother to a hundred or more of the guests. i had wondered why jane had been poring over that old autograph manuscript receipt book in my desk for days, and as she paid these modern resurrecting compliments to the long gone cooks, tears and laughed literally deluged the table. and as she built up, achievement by achievement, the domestic woman-history of the valley, jane showed in the most insidious way possible how the pioneer women had been really the warp on which had been woven the woof of the whole history of their part of the nation, political, financial, and religious. i never heard anything like it in all my life, and as i looked down those long tables at those aroused, tense, farmer faces, i knew jane had cracked the geological crust of the harpeth valley, and built a brake that would stop any whirlwind on the woman-question that might attempt to come in on us over the ridge from the outside world. they saw her point and were hard hit. when "votes for women" gets to coming down providence road the farmers will hitch up a wagon and take mother and the children with a well-packed lunch basket to meet it half way. this is a prophecy! then, after jane sat down, i don't believe such a speechifying ever was before as resounded out over the river, even in the time of old hickory. everybody had something to say and got to his feet to say it well, even if some of them did brandish a turkey wing or a iamb rib to emphasize their points. and the women were the funniest things i ever beheld, as we were treated to one maiden speech after another, issuing from the lips of plump matrons anywhere from thirty to sixty. they had never done it before, but liked it after they had tried. mother mayberry from providence, who is the grand old woman of the whole valley, having established her claim to the title thirty years ago by taking up her dead doctor husband's practice and "riding saddlebags to suffering ever since," as she puts it, broke the feminine ice by rising from her seat by the side of one of the entranced magnates,--who had been so delighted with her and her philosophies that he could hardly do his dinner justice,--and addressing the rally in her wonderful old voice with her white curls flying and her cheeks as pink as a girl's. "children," she said, after everybody had clapped and clapped so she couldn't get a start for several minutes, "the harpeth valley women have been a-marching along behind the men for many a day, because their strong shoulders had to break undergrowth for both, but now husbands and fathers and sons have got their feet up on the bluff of paradise ridge, and it does look like they will be a-reaching down their hands to help us up, in the break of a new day, to stand by their side; and i, for one, say mount!--i'm ready!" a perfect war of applause answered her, and dickie's father got up to go down the whole length of the table to shake hands with her, but had to wait until she came out of the embrace of nell's fluffy arms, and got a hand free from the magnate on one side and aunt augusta on the other. even sallie began to look speechful, and i believe she would have got up and spoken a few words on the subject of women, and how they need men to look after them, but she said something to mr. haley, who shook his head and then got up and prosed beautifully to us for ten minutes, and would have gone on longer, if he hadn't seen henrietta begin to look mutinous. the feast had begun at one o'clock, but by jasper's skilful maneuvering of one gorgeous viand after the other, into the right place, by having relays of pones browned to the right turn and potatoes at the proper bursting point, it had been prolonged until the shadows of late afternoon were beginning to turn purple. "don't nobody ever leave one of my barbecue tables until sundown begins to tetch up the empty bones," has been his boast for years. and as he had cleared away the last scrap from the last table, he leaned against a tree, exhausted and triumphant, with alert, adoring eyes fixed on the crag, who had risen in his place at the head of the long central table. i had felt entirely too far away from him down at the other end with one of the junior magnates and dickie, but i was glad then that i sat so i could look straight into his face as the light from across the harpeth valley illumined it without, while a wonderful glow lit it from within. all of the others had spoken of the achievements of their families and forefathers and vaunted the human history of the valley, but he spoke of the great hill-rimmed earth pocket itself. he gave the earth credit for the crops that she had yielded up for her children's sustenance. he described how she had bred forest kings for the building of their homes, granted stores of fuel from her mines for their warming, and nourished great white cotton patches and flocks of sheep to clothe them from frosts and winds. and as he spoke in a powerful voice that intoned up in the tree-tops like a great deep bell, he turned and looked out over the valley with an expression like what must have been on moses's face when he saw into the promised land. [illustration: "she's our mother," he said] "she's our mother," he said, as he flung back the long lock from across his forehead and stretched out his strong arm and slender hand towards the sun that was dropping fast down to the rim of old harpeth. "she has bared her breasts to suckle us, covered us from sun and snow, and now she expects something from us. if she has built us strong and ready, then we are to answer when the world has need of us and her storehouses and mines. we are to give out her invitations and welcome all who are hungry and who come a-seeking. gentlemen, her wealth and her fertility are yours--and her beauty!" for a long, long minute every face in the assembly was turned to the setting sun, and a perfect glory rose from the valley and burned the call of its grandeur into their eyes. we seemed to be looking across fields and forests and streams to the dim purple hills that might be the ramparts of the holy city itself, while just below us lay the little quiet village of the dead whose souls must just have gone before. and after that everybody rose with one accord and began to hurry to start out upon the long roads homeward, just as the great yellow moon rose in the east to balance the red old sun that was sinking in the west. only the magnate sat still in his place for several long minutes looking out across to old harpeth, and i wondered whether he was thinking about the eternal city or how many rails it was going to take to span the valley at his feet. and i--i just stood on the edge of the bluff by myself and let my soul lift up its wings of rejoicing that my crag had got his beautiful desire for apostrophizing the mother-valley so all the world might hear. and then suddenly it came over me in a great warm, uplifting, awe-inspiring rush that a woman who takes on herself voluntarily the responsibility of marrying a poet and an orator and a mystic, who is the complete edition of a mossback that all those qualities imply, must square her shoulders for a long, steady, pioneer march through a strange country. could such achievement be for me? "please god!" i prayed right across into the sunset, "make me a full cup that never fails him!" i don't know how long i stood talking with god that way about my man, but when i turned and looked back under the maples everybody was gone, and i could hear the last rattle and whirl going down the hill. for a second i felt that there was nobody but him and me left on the hill, but even in that second my heart knew better. "now?" i questioned myself softly, out over to the yellow moon that had at last languidly and gracefully risen, putting the finishing touch to the scene i had been planning for my proposal. "evelina," said the crag quietly from where he stood leaning against the tallest maple, "shall we stay here forever and ever, or hurry down through the cemetery by the short cut to the station to say good-by to the railroaders as they expect us to do?" nobody ever had a better opening than that, and i ought to have said, "be mine, be mine," with some sort of personal variation of the theme, and have clapped him to my breast and been happy ever after. that is what a courageous man would have done under the circumstances, with an opportunity like that, but i got the worst kind of scare i ever experienced, and answered: "how much time have we got? do you think we can make it?" "plenty," he answered comfortably as i began to quicken my pace to the little gate that leads between the hedge into the little half-acre of those who rest. then as i tried to pass him, he caught my hand and made me walk in the narrow path close at his side. [illustration: scrounged so close to his arm that it was difficult for both of them to walk.] now even a very strong-minded woman, who had to go through a little graveyard with moonlight making the tombstones glower out from deep shadows of cedar trees, in the depths of which strange birds croak, while the wind rustles the dry leaves into piles as they fall, wouldn't feel like honorably proposing to the man she intended to marry, even if she was scrouged so close to his arm that it was difficult for both of them to walk, would she? i excuse myself this time, but i must hold myself to the same standard that i want to hold lee greenfield to. how do i know that he hasn't had all sorts of cold, creepy feeling's keeping him from proposing to caroline? i hereby promise myself that i will ask cousin james to marry me the next favorable opportunity i get, if i die with fright the next minute, or have to make the opportunity. still, i can't help wondering what does keep him so composed under the circumstances. surely he wouldn't refuse me, but how do i know for sure? how does a man even know if a woman is--? chapter x together? when business and love crowd each other on a man's desk he calmly puts love in a pigeon-hole to wait for a convenient time and attends strictly to business, while a woman takes up and coddles the tender passion and stands business over in the corner with its face to the wall to keep it from intruding. dickie has been here a whole week since the barbecue-rally, ostensibly trying to get me down to making a few preliminary sketches for the gardens to his c. & g. railroad stations, and, of course, i am going to do them. i'm interested in them and i'm sensible of the honor it is to get the chance of making them: but the moon didn't rise until after ten o'clock last night and i'm getting nervous about that scene of sentiment i'm planning. i can't think of gardens! still, i am glad he stayed and that everybody has been giving him a party and that nell is always there, for he hasn't had time to notice how i'm treating business and coddling-jane and polk and nell and caroline and lee and everybody else, including sallie and the dominie, have been all over my house all day and into the scandalous hours of the night, which in glendale begin at eleven o'clock and pass the limit at twelve, and i don't see how they stand so much of not being alone with each other. it is wearing me out. i had positively decided on my own side steps for the scene of my proposal to the crag, under the honeysuckle vine that still has a few brave and hearty blossoms to encourage me, with the harvest moon looking on, but moons and honeysuckle blossoms wait for no man and no woman especially. they are both fading, and i've never got the spot to myself more than a minute at a time yet. the crag, with absolutely no knowledge of my intentions, except it may be a psychic one, sits there every night and smokes and looks out at old harpeth and maddens me, while some one of the others walks in and out and around and about and sits down beside him, where i want to be. and as for the day time, i am so busy all day long, providing for this perpetual house-party, that i am dead to even friendship by night. jane is doing over glendale from city limits to the river, and i have to spend my time keeping the dear town from finding out what is being done to it. she is hunting out everybody's pet idea or ideal for some sort of change or improvement to his, especially _his_, native town, and then leading him gently up to accomplishing it so that he will think he has done it entirely by himself, but will tell the next man he meets that there is nothing in the world like a tine energetic woman with good horse sense. in fact, jane is courting the entire male population in a most scandalous fashion, and they'll be won before they know it. "now, that confederate monument ought to have been built long ago out of that boulder from the river instead of hauling in a slicked-up granite slab that would er made the glendale volunteers of '61 feel uncomfortable like they would do in the beds in the city hotels. great idea of mine and that yankee girl's--great idea--hey?" sputtered uncle peter, after jane had spent the evening down with him and aunt augusta. "it is a fine idea, uncle peter," i agreed with a concealed giggle. "i've subscribed the first five dollars of the fifty for hauling, setting up and inscribing it, and we are going to let the women give half of it out of the egg-money they have got in that equality quilting society--some kind of horse sense epidemic has broken out in this town, horse sense, evelina, hey?" and he went on down the street perfectly delighted at having at last accomplished his pet scheme. he thought of it as exclusively his own by now, of course. and the monument is just the beginning of what is going to begin in glendale. jane says so. "there could be no better place than this rural community to try out a number of theories i have had in political economy as related to the activities of women, evelina," she said to me to-day, looking at me in a benign and slightly confused way from behind her glasses. "mr. hayes and i were just talking some of them over to-night, and he seems so interested in seeing me institute some of the most important ones. how could you have ever thought such a man as he is lacking in seriousness of purpose, dear?" "i feel sure that it was just my own frivolous streak that called out the frivolous in polk, jane dear," i answered with trepidation, hoping and praying that the inquisition would not go much further, and trying to remember just what i had written her about polk. "it may have been that," jane answered, in a most naã¯vely relieved tone of voice. "but you don't know how happy i am, dear, to see that that streak is only an occasional charming vein that shows in you, but that you are now settling down steadily to your profession. i feel sure that when these garden drawings are done, you and mr. hall will have found your correct places in each other's lives and it will be just a glorious example of how superbly a man and woman can work together at the same profession. mr. hardin and i were talking about it just last night out on the side porch, and though he said very little i could see how gratified he was at the honors that had come to you and how much he likes mr. hall." that settled it, and i made up my mind that when the harvest lady left us to-night to sink behind old harpeth, she wasn't going to leave me weakly lonesome. she doesn't set until two o'clock, and i'm going to take all the time i need. and as serious and solemn as i feel over taking such a step for two as i am deciding on, i can't help looking forward to scribbling a terse and impersonal account of my having proposed to the man of my choice in this strong-minded book, adding a few words of sage advice for the five, locking it and handing it, key and all, to jane with a dramatic demand that she put her hundred thousand dollars in the trust company and begin to choose the five from those she has had in mind. then before she has had time to read it, i am going to sneakily get it back and blot or tear out some of the things i have written. i can decide later what will be data and what will be dangerous to the cause. "and you will be glad to have me--come and live for a time in your home life, dear?" jane recalled me to the question in hand by saying wistfully. "i feel that i have never had such good friends before, anywhere, as these of yours are to me, evelina," she added. that's one time i got jane completely in my arms and showed her what a really good hugging means south of mason and dixon's line. from later developments i am glad she had that slight initiation. it must have been serviceable to her new england disposition. then just as i was going to ask some of the plans she--and polk--had made, over came cousin jasmine, with cousin annie and mary, with mrs. hargrove puffing along behind them. they had come to see jane, but i was allowed to stay and have my breath knocked out by their mission. it seems jane had got a great big book from some firm in new york that tells alt about herb-growing, and how difficult it is to get the ones needed for condiments and perfumes, and offering to buy first-class lavender and thyme and bergamot and sweet fern and things of that kind in any quantities at a good price. she had shown it to the little old ladies who had been secretly grieving at the separation from their garden out on their poorly rented farm, and the leaven had worked--on mrs. hargrove also. they go back to the farm and she with them! she had decided on raising mint to both dry and ship fresh, because he of the gay pajamas always liked to have it strong and fresh for the julep of his ancestors. i hope she won't forget to take that pattern of japanese extraction with her and make some for the crag now and then, for it will save my time. horrors! "we have fully decided on our course of action, jane, and evelina, dears," said cousin jasmine in a positive little manner that she would have been as incapable of a month ago, as is a pet kitten of barking at the family dog, "but we do so dread to break it to dear james, because we feel that he may think we are not happy under his roof and be distressed. do you believe we shall be able to make him see that we must pursue our independent life, though always needing the support of his affection and interest?" "i believe you will, cousin jasmine," i said, wanting to both laugh and cry to see the crag's burdens begin to roll off his shoulders like this. and the tears that didn't rise would have been real ones, too, for i found that, down in the corner of my heart, i had adored the picture of my oak with the tender little old vines clinging around him. it was the producing gourd i had most objected to and i couldn't see but she would be there until i unclasped her tendrils. but i was forgetting that, in the modern theory of thought-waves, it is the simplest minds that get the ripples first and hardest. sallie came over just as soon as the other delegation had got home to take the twins off her hands. jane had gone upstairs to make more calculations on our reconstruction, and i was trying to get a large deep breath. "evelina." she said, as she sank in a chair near me and fastened her large, very young-in-soul, eyes on mine, "were you just joking nell, or did you mean it, when you said the other day that you thought it would be cowardly of a woman not to show a man that she loved him, if he for any reason was not willing to make the first advances to her?" sallie is perfectly lovely in the faint lavender and pink things that jane made her decide to get in one conversation, whereas while nell and caroline and i had been looking up and bringing her surreptitious samples of all colors from the store all summer. "well, i don't know that i exactly meant nell to take it all to heart," i answered without the slightest suspicion of what was coming. "but i do think, sallie, it would be no more than honest, fearless, and within a woman's own greater rights." "mr. haley was saying the other evening that a woman's sweet dependence was a man's most precious heritage," sallie gently mused out on the atmosphere that was beginning to be pretty highly charged. "doesn't a woman have to depend on her husband's tenderness and care all of the time--time she is bearing a child, sallie, even up to the asafoetida spoon crisis?" i asked with my cheeks in a flame but determined to stand my ground. "it does seem to me that nature puts her in a position to demand so much support from him in those times that she ought to rely on herself when she can. especially as she is likely to bring an indefinite number of such crises into their joint existence." sallie laughed, for she remembered the high horse i had mounted on the subject of mamie and ned hall the day after the assembly dance. and as i laughed suddenly a picture i had seen down at the hall's flashed across my mind. i had gone down to tell mamie something aunt augusta wanted her to propose next day at a meeting of the equality league about drinking water in the public school building. mamie has learned to make, with pink cheeks and shining eyes, the quaintest little speeches that always carry the house--and even made one at a public meeting when we invited the men to hand over our fifty dollars for the monument. ned's face was a picture as he held a ruffle of her muslin gown between his fingers while she stood up to do it. but the picture that flashed through my mind was dearer than that and i put it away in that jewel-box that i am going to open some day for my own man. both mamie's nurse and cook had gone to the third funeral of the season and mamie was feeding the entire family in the back yard. the kiddies were sitting in a row along the top of the back steps, eating cookies and milk, with bibs around their necks,--from the twelve year old jennie, who had tied on hers for fun, down to the chubby-kins next to the baby,--and mamie was sitting flat on the grass in front of them nursing little ned, with big ned sitting beside her with his arm around both her and the baby. he was looking first down into her face, and then at the industrious kiddie getting his supper from the maternal fount, and then at the handsome bunch on the steps, as he alternately munched a bite of his cookie and fed mamie one, to the delight of the children. the expression on his face as he looked at them, and her, and ate and laughed, is what is back of all that goes to make the american nation the greatest on earth. amen! "sallie," i said, as i reached out and took her plump white hand in mine, "our men are the most wonderful in the world and they are ours any way we get them. they don't care how it is done, and neither do we, just so we belong in the right way." "then you don't think it would be any harm for me to tell mr. haley i think i could live on eighteen hundred dollars a year, until he gets sent to a larger church?" was the bomb that, thus encouraged, sallie exploded in my face. i'm awfully glad that i didn't get a chance to answer, for i don't want to be responsible for the future failure or success of mr. haley's ministry. just then henrietta burst into the room with the kitten in her arms. "keep her for me, evelina, please, ma'am," she said, with the dearest little chuckle, but not forgetting the polite "please," which jane had had to suggest to her just once. what you've done for that wayward unmanageable genius of a child, jane dear, makes you deserve ten of your own. that is--help! "cousin augusta and nell and dickie and me is a going out to watch the man put the dyn'mite in the hole to blow the creek right up and glendale, too, so they can see if they is enough clean water to put in the waterworks," she continued to explain. "nell is a-going to take dickie in her car, and cousin augusta is a-going to take me and uncle peter in her buggy. dilsie have got the kit and cousin marfy is a-watching to see she don't do nothing wrong with her. oh, may i go, sallie? jane said i must always ask you." "yes, dearest," answered sallie, immensely flattered by the deference thus paid her. "how wonderful an influence the little talks mr. haley has had with henrietta have had on her," she said, with such a happy glow on her face as the reformed one departed that i succeeded in suppressing the laugh that rose in me at the memory of henrietta's account of the first one of the series. men need not fear that the time will ever come when they will cease to get the credit for making earth's wheels go around, from the female inhabitants thereof. so i smiled to myself and buried my face in the fragrance under the bubbly puppy girl's chin and coaxed her arms to clasp around my neck. they are the holy throb of a woman's life--babies. less than ten wouldn't satisfy me unless well scattered in ages, jane. on some questions i am not modern. "still i do feel so miserable leaving cousin james so alone all winter," sallie continued with the most beautiful sympathy in her voice, as she looked out of the window towards widegables. "i wonder if i ought to make up my mind to stay with him? he loves the children so, and you know the plans of cousin jasmine and the others to go back to their farm." "but he'll have his mother left," i said quietly but very encouragingly. i seemed to see the little green tendril that had unclasped from the oak turning on its stem and winding tight again. "miss mathers was encouraging cousin martha to go to colorado to see elizabeth and her family for a long visit this winter. she hasn't seen elizabeth since her mother died and she was so much interested in the easy way of traveling these days, as miss mathers described it, that she asked her to write for a time-table and what a ticket costs, just this morning. i really ought not to desert cousin james." "but think how lonely mr. haley is down in the parsonage and of his influence on henrietta," i urged. "yes, i do feel drawn in both ways," sighed the poor tender gourd. "and then you will be here by yourself, so you can watch over cousin james, as much as your work will allow you, can't you, evelina?" "yes, i'll try to keep him from being too much alone," i answered with the most deceitful unconcern. "i see him coming to supper and i must go, for i want to be with him all i can, if i am to leave him so soon. i may not make up my mind to it," with which threat sallie departed and left me alone in the gloaming, a situation which seems to be becoming chronic with me now. if i had it, i'd give another hundred thousand dollars to the cause, to hear that interview between sallie and the dominie. i wager he'll never know what happened and would swear it didn't, if confronted with a witness. and also i felt so nervous with all this asking-in-marriage surging in the atmosphere that it was with difficulty that i sat through supper and listened to jane and polk, who had come in with her, plan town sewerage. to-morrow night i knew the moon wouldn't rise until eleven o'clock, and how did i know anyway that sallie's emancipation might not get started on the wrong track and run into my crag? his chivalry would never let him refuse a woman who proposed to him and he'll be in danger until i can do it and tell the town about it. jane and polk had promised dickie and nell to motor down providence road as far as cloverbend in the moonlight, and i think caroline and lee were going too. polk looked positively agonized with embarrassed sorrow at leaving me all alone, and it was with difficulty that i got them off. i pleaded the greatest fatigue and my impatience amounted to crossness. after they had gone i dismissed jasper and petunia and locked the back doors, put out all the lights in the house and retired to the side steps, determined to be invisible no matter who called--and wait! and for one mortal hour there i sat alone in that waning old moonlight, that grew colder and paler by the minute, while the stiff breeze that poured down from old harpeth began to be vicious and icy as it nipped my ears and hands and nose and sent a chill down to my very toes. nobody came and there i sat! finally, with the tears tangling icily in my lashes, i got up and went into the house and lighted the fat pine under the logs in the hall. they had lain all ready for the torch for a whole year, just as i had lain for a lifetime until a few weeks ago. then suddenly they blazed--as i had done. my condition was pitiable. i felt that all nature had deserted me, the climate, indian summer, the harvest moon and my own charm, but my head was up and i was going to crackle pluckily along to my blaze, so i turned towards the door to go across the road and put my fate to the test, even if i took pneumonia standing begging at his front door. i hoped i would find him in the lodge and-"evelina," he exclaimed as he burst open my door, flung himself into the firelight and seized my arm like a robber baron of the twelfth century, making a grab for his lady-love in the midst of her hostile kindred, "i thought i would never get here! i ran all the way up from the office. here's a telegram from mr. hall that says that the two roads have merged and will take the bluff route past glendale, and give us the shops,--and wants to appoint me the general attorney for the southern section. they want me to come on to new york by the first train. can you marry me in the morning so we can take the noon express from bolivar? i won't go without you. please, dear, please," and as he stood and looked at me in the firelight, all the relief and excitement over his news died out of his lovely eyes and just the want of me filled them from their very depths. for several interminable centuries of time i stood perfectly still and looked into them daringly, drinking my fill for the first time and offering him a like cup in my own. "eve," he said so softly that i doubt if he really spoke the word. "adam!" i let myself go, and at last pressed my answer against his lips as he folded me tight and safe. it must have been some time after, i am sure i don't know how long, but i was most beautifully adjusted against his shoulder and he had my hand pressed to his cheek, when the awfulness of what had happened brought me straight up on my own feet and almost out of his arms. "oh, how could you have done it!" i fairly wailed, as i thought of what this awful complication was going to lose for the five to whom i felt more tender in that second than i had ever felt before. "done what?" he demanded in alarm, pressing both my hands against his breast and drawing me towards him again. "asked me to marry you when i--" "i have been fighting desperately to see some way to offer myself and all my impedimenta to you all this time, and this has made it all right, don't you see, dear?" he interrupted me to say, as he took possession of me again and held me with a tender fierceness, which had more of suffering in it than passion. "i have always wanted you, eve, since before you went away, but it didn't seem right to ask you to come into a life so encumbered as mine was. poverty made it seem impossible, but now, if you will be just a little patient with them all, i can arrange--" "i was going to arrange all that my own self, and now just see what you have done to me and a whole lot of other women, besides making me miserable all summer," and crowded so close under his chin that he couldn't see my face, i told him all about the tinder-box jane had loaded and then set me on the lid to see that it exploded. i had just worked myself up to the point of how my incendiary mission was about to touch off all the other love affairs in town, when he began to shake so with disrespectful laughter that i felt that my dignity was about to demand that i withdraw coldly from his arms, where i had just got so warm and comfortable and at home; but with the first slight intimation of my intention, which was conveyed by a very feeble indeed loosening of my arms from around his henry clay collar, he held me firmly against him and controlled his unseemly mirth, only i could still feel it convulsing his left lung,--though as i had no business being near enough to notice it, i felt it only fair not to. "please don't worry about those other five dear women," he begged, in the nicest and most considerate voice possible so that i tightened my arms again as i listened. "if miss mathers doesn't feel justified in giving up the dowries by your--your failure to prove the proposition, we can just invite them all down here and in glendale and bolivar and hillsboro and providence, to say nothing of the countryside, we can plant them all cozily. i can delicately explain to their choices exactly how to let them manage circumstances like--" he illustrated his scheme just here until it took time for me to get breath to listen to the rest of his apology--"this and there is no telling, with such a start as the cult has got in the harpeth valley already, how far ft will spread. please forgive me, dear!" "yes," i answered doubtfully. then i raised my head and looked him full in the face as i made my declaration calmly but with the perfect conviction that i still have and always will have, world without end. "yes, but don't you think for one minute i don't _know_ that what jane and i and all the most advanced women in the world are trying for is the right and just and the only way for men and women to come logically into the kind of heritage you and i have stumbled into. absolute freedom and equality between all human beings is going to be the price of kingdom come. i shall always be humiliated that i got scared out in the graveyard and didn't do it to you. it is going to be the regret of my life." "truly, i'm sorry, sweetheart," he answered most contritely. "if i were to take my hat and go back to the gate and come in again properly and let you do it, would that make you feel any better?" "no, it wouldn't," i answered quickly because why should i be separated from him all the two and a half minutes it would take to play out that farce, when i have been separated from him all the twenty-five years that stretch from now back until the day of my birth? "i am going to bear it bravely and hold up my head and tell jane--" "i wouldn't bother to hold up my head to tell her, evelina," came from the doorway in polk's delighted drawl as he and jane stepped into the room. "pretty comfortably placed, that head, i should say." "oh, jane!" i positively wailed as i extracted myself from the crag's gray arms and buried myself in jane's white serge ones that opened to receive me. and the seconds that i rested silently there polk spent in shaking both of the crag's hands and pounding him on the back so that i grew alarmed. "i didn't do it, jane, i didn't do it," i almost sobbed with fear of what her disappointment was going to be. "he beat me to it!" "truly. i'm sorry," cousin james added to my apology as he stood with his arm on polk's shoulder. "i dare you, _dare_, you to tell 'em, jane," polk suddenly said, coming over and putting a hand on one of my shoulders and one on jane's. "evelina and mr. hardin," jane answered gallantly with her head assuming its lovely independent pose, but with the most wonderful blush spreading the beauty that always ought to have been hers all over her one-time plain face, "the wager stands as won by evelina shelby. she had properly prepared the ground and sowed the seed of justice and right thinking that i--i harvested to-night. i had the honor of offering marriage to mr. hayes just about fifteen minutes ago. i consider that mode of procedure proved as feasible and as soon as i have received my answer, whatever it is, i shall immediately proceed with making the endowment and choosing the five young women according to the agreement." "polk!" i exclaimed, turning to him in a perfect panic of alarm. could he be trifling with jane? "evelina," answered polk, giving me a shake and a shove over in the direction of the crag, "you ought to know me better than to think i would answer such a question as jane put to me, while driving a cranky car in waning moonlight. if you and james will just mercifully betake yourselves out there on the porch in the cold for a few minutes i will try and add my data to this equality experiment with due dignity. go!" we went! "love-woman," whispered the crag, after i had broken it to him that we were going to be a governor of tennessee, and not a railroad attorney, and he had crooned his "swing low" over me and rocked me against his breast for a century of seconds, down on my old front gate, "you are right about the whole question. i see that, and i want to help--but if i'm stupid about life, will you hold my hand in the dark?" "yes," i answered with both generosity and courage. and truly if the world is in the dusk of the dawn of a new day, what can men and women do but cling tight and feel their way--together? narrative of the life of david crockett, of the state of tennessee. i leave this rule for others when i'm dead, be always sure you're right--then go ahead! the author. written by himself. sixth edition. philadelphia. e. l. carey and a. hart. baltimore: carey, hart & co. 1834. entered according to the act of congress, in the year 1834, by david crockett, in the clerk's office of the district court of the district of columbia. stereotyped by l. johnson, philadelphia. preface. fashion is a thing i care mighty little about, except when it happens to run just exactly according to my own notion; and i was mighty nigh sending out my book without any preface at all, until a notion struck me, that perhaps it was necessary to explain a little the reason why and wherefore i had written it. most of authors seek fame, but i seek for justice,--a holier impulse than ever entered into the ambitious struggles of the votaries of that _fickle_, _flirting_ goddess. a publication has been made to the world, which has done me much injustice; and the catchpenny errors which it contains, have been already too long sanctioned by my silence. i don't know the author of the book--and indeed i don't want to know him; for after he has taken such a liberty with my name, and made such an effort to hold me up to publick ridicule, he cannot calculate on any thing but my displeasure. if he had been content to have written his opinions about me, however contemptuous they might have been, i should have had less reason to complain. but when he professes to give my narrative (as he often does) in my own language, and then puts into my mouth such language as would disgrace even an outlandish african, he must himself be sensible of the injustice he has done me, and the trick he has played off on the publick. i have met with hundreds, if not with thousands of people, who have formed their opinions of my appearance, habits, language, and every thing else from that deceptive work. they have almost in every instance expressed the most profound astonishment at finding me in human shape, and with the _countenance_, _appearance_, and _common feelings_ of a human being. it is to correct all these false notions, and to do justice to myself, that i have written. it is certain that the writer of the book alluded to has gathered up many imperfect scraps of information concerning me, as in parts of his work there is some little semblance of truth. but i ask him, if this notice should ever reach his eye, how would he have liked it, if i had treated _him_ so?--if i had put together such a bundle of ridiculous stuff, and headed it with _his_ name, and sent it out upon the world without ever even condescending to ask _his_ permission? to these questions, all upright men must give the same answer. it was wrong; and the desire to make money by it, is no apology for such injustice to a fellow man. but i let him pass; as my wish is greatly more to vindicate myself, than to condemn him. in the following pages i have endeavoured to give the reader a plain, honest, homespun account of my state in life, and some few of the difficulties which have attended me along its journey, down to this time. i am perfectly aware, that i have related many small and, as i fear, uninteresting circumstances; but if so, my apology is, that it was rendered necessary by a desire to link the different periods of my life together, as they have passed, from my childhood onward, and thereby to enable the reader to select such parts of it as he may relish most, if, indeed, there is any thing in it which may suit his palate. i have also been operated on by another consideration. it is this:--i know, that obscure as i am, my name is making a considerable deal of fuss in the world. i can't tell why it is, nor in what it is to end. go where i will, everybody seems anxious to get a peep at me; and it would be hard to tell which would have the advantage, if i, and the "government," and "black hawk," and a great eternal big caravan of _wild varments_ were all to be showed at the same time in four different parts of any of the big cities in the nation. i am not so sure that i shouldn't get the most custom of any of the crew. there must therefore be something in me, or about me, that attracts attention, which is even mysterious to myself. i can't understand it, and i therefore put all the facts down, leaving the reader free to take his choice of them. on the subject of my style, it is bad enough, in all conscience, to please critics, if that is what they are after. they are a sort of vermin, though, that i sha'n't even so much as stop to brush off. if they want to work on my book, just let them go ahead; and after they are done, they had better blot out all their criticisms, than to know what opinion i would express of _them_, and by what sort of a curious name i would call _them_, if i was standing near them, and looking over their shoulders. they will, at most, have only their trouble for their pay. but i rather expect i shall have them on my side. but i don't know of any thing in my book to be criticised on by honourable men. is it on my spelling?--that's not my trade. is it on my grammar?--i hadn't time to learn it, and make no pretensions to it. is it on the order and arrangement of my book?--i never wrote one before, and never read very many; and, of course, know mighty little about that. will it be on the authorship of the book?--this i claim, and i'll hang on to it, like a wax plaster. the whole book is my own, and every sentiment and sentence in it. i would not be such a fool, or knave either, as to deny that i have had it hastily run over by a friend or so, and that some little alterations have been made in the spelling and grammar; and i am not so sure that it is not the worse of even that, for i despise this way of spelling contrary to nature. and as for grammar, it's pretty much a thing of nothing at last, after all the fuss that's made about it. in some places, i wouldn't suffer either the spelling, or grammar, or any thing else to be touch'd; and therefore it will be found in my own way. but if any body complains that i have had it looked over, i can only say to him, her, or them--as the case may be--that while critics were learning grammar, and learning to spell, i, and "doctor jackson, l.l.d." were fighting in the wars; and if our books, and messages, and proclamations, and cabinet writings, and so forth, and so on, should need a little looking over, and a little correcting of the spelling and the grammar to make them fit for use, its just nobody's business. big men have more important matters to attend to than crossing their _t_'s--, and dotting their _i_'s--, and such like small things. but the "government's" name is to the proclamation, and my name's to the book; and if i didn't write the book, the "government" didn't write the proclamation, which no man _dares to deny_! but just read for yourself, and my ears for a heel tap, if before you get through you don't say, with many a good-natured smile and hearty laugh, "this is truly the very thing itself--the exact image of its author, david crockett." washington city, february 1st, 1834. narrative of the life of david crockett. chapter i. as the public seem to feel some interest in the history of an individual so humble as i am, and as that history can be so well known to no person living as to myself, i have, after so long a time, and under many pressing solicitations from my friends and acquaintances, at last determined to put my own hand to it, and lay before the world a narrative on which they may at least rely as being true. and seeking no ornament or colouring for a plain, simple tale of truth, i throw aside all hypocritical and fawning apologies, and, according to my own maxim, just "_go ahead_." where i am not known, i might, perhaps, gain some little credit by having thrown around this volume some of the flowers of learning; but where i am known, the vile cheatery would soon be detected, and like the foolish jackdaw, that with a _borrowed_ tail attempted to play the peacock, i should be justly robbed of my pilfered ornaments, and sent forth to strut without a tail for the balance of my time. i shall commence my book with what little i have learned of the history of my father, as all _great men_ rest many, if not most, of their hopes on their noble ancestry. mine was poor, but i hope honest, and even that is as much as many a man can say. but to my subject. my father's name was john crockett, and he was of irish descent. he was either born in ireland or on a passage from that country to america across the atlantic. he was by profession a farmer, and spent the early part of his life in the state of pennsylvania. the name of my mother was rebecca hawkins. she was an american woman, born in the state of maryland, between york and baltimore. it is likely i may have heard where they were married, but if so, i have forgotten. it is, however, certain that they were, or else the public would never have been troubled with the history of david crockett, their son. i have an imperfect recollection of the part which i have understood my father took in the revolutionary war. i personally know nothing about it, for it happened to be a little before my day; but from himself, and many others who were well acquainted with its troubles and afflictions, i have learned that he was a soldier in the revolutionary war, and took part in that bloody struggle. he fought, according to my information, in the battle at kings mountain against the british and tories, and in some other engagements of which my remembrance is too imperfect to enable me to speak with any certainty. at some time, though i cannot say certainly when, my father, as i have understood, lived in lincoln county, in the state of north carolina. how long, i don't know. but when he removed from there, he settled in that district of country which is now embraced in the east division of tennessee, though it was not then erected into a state. he settled there under dangerous circumstances, both to himself and his family, as the country was full of indians, who were at that time very troublesome. by the creeks, my grandfather and grandmother crockett were both murdered, in their own house, and on the very spot of ground where rogersville, in hawkins county, now stands. at the same time, the indians wounded joseph crockett, a brother to my father, by a ball, which broke his arm; and took james a prisoner, who was still a younger brother than joseph, and who, from natural defects, was less able to make his escape, as he was both deaf and dumb. he remained with them for seventeen years and nine months, when he was discovered and recollected by my father and his eldest brother, william crockett; and was purchased by them from an indian trader, at a price which i do not now remember; but so it was, that he was delivered up to them, and they returned him to his relatives. he now lives in cumberland county, in the state of kentucky, though i have not seen him for many years. my father and mother had six sons and three daughters. i was the fifth son. what a pity i hadn't been the seventh! for then i might have been, by _common consent_, called _doctor_, as a heap of people get to be great men. but, like many of them, i stood no chance to become great in any other way than by accident. as my father was very poor, and living as he did _far back in the back woods_, he had neither the means nor the opportunity to give me, or any of the rest of his children, any learning. but before i get on the subject of my own troubles, and a great many very funny things that have happened to me, like all other historians and biographers, i should not only inform the public that i was born, myself, as well as other folks, but that this important event took place, according to the best information i have received on the subject, on the 17th of august, in the year 1786; whether by day or night, i believe i never heard, but if i did i, have forgotten. i suppose, however, it is not very material to my present purpose, nor to the world, as the more important fact is well attested, that i was born; and, indeed, it might be inferred, from my present size and appearance, that i was pretty _well born_, though i have never yet attached myself to that numerous and worthy society. at that time my father lived at the mouth of lime stone, on the nola-chucky river; and for the purpose not only of showing what sort of a man i now am, but also to show how soon i began to be a _sort of a little man_, i have endeavoured to take the _back track_ of life, in order to fix on the first thing that i can remember. but even then, as now, so many things were happening, that as major jack downing would say, they are all in "a pretty considerable of a snarl," and i find it "kinder hard" to fix on that thing, among them all, which really happened first. but i think it likely, i have hit on the outside line of my recollection; as one thing happened at which i was so badly scared, that it seems to me i could not have forgotten it, if it had happened a little time only after i was born. therefore it furnishes me with no certain evidence of my age at the time; but i know one thing very well, and that is, that when it happened, i had no knowledge of the use of breeches, for i had never had any nor worn any. but the circumstance was this: my four elder brothers, and a well-grown boy of about fifteen years old, by the name of campbell, and myself, were all playing on the river's side; when all the rest of them got into my father's canoe, and put out to amuse themselves on the water, leaving me on the shore alone. just a little distance below them, there was a fall in the river, which went slap-right straight down. my brothers, though they were little fellows, had been used to paddling the canoe, and could have carried it safely anywhere about there; but this fellow campbell wouldn't let them have the paddle, but, fool like, undertook to manage it himself. i reckon he had never seen a water craft before; and it went just any way but the way he wanted it. there he paddled, and paddled, and paddled--all the while going wrong,--until,--in a short time, here they were all going, straight forward, stern foremost, right plump to the falls; and if they had only had a fair shake, they would have gone over as slick as a whistle. it was'ent this, though, that scared me; for i was so infernal mad that they had left me on the shore, that i had as soon have seen them all go over the falls a bit, as any other way. but their danger was seen by a man by the name of kendall, but i'll be shot if it was amos; for i believe i would know him yet if i was to see him. this man kendall was working in a field on the bank, and knowing there was no time to lose, he started full tilt, and here he come like a cane brake afire; and as he ran, he threw off his coat, and then his jacket, and then his shirt, for i know when he got to the water he had nothing on but his breeches. but seeing him in such a hurry, and tearing off his clothes as he went, i had no doubt but that the devil or something else was after him--and close on him, too--as he was running within an inch of his life. this alarmed me, and i screamed out like a young painter. but kendall didn't stop for this. he went ahead with all might, and as full bent on saving the boys, as amos was on moving the deposites. when he came to the water he plunged in, and where it was too deep to wade he would swim, and where it was shallow enough he went bolting on; and by such exertion as i never saw at any other time in my life, he reached the canoe, when it was within twenty or thirty feet of the falls; and so great was the suck, and so swift the current, that poor kendall had a hard time of it to stop them at last, as amos will to stop the mouths of the people about his stockjobbing. but he hung on to the canoe, till he got it stop'd, and then draw'd it out of danger. when they got out, i found the boys were more scared than i had been, and the only thing that comforted me was, the belief that it was a punishment on them for leaving me on shore. shortly after this, my father removed, and settled in the same county, about ten miles above greenville. there another circumstance happened, which made a lasting impression on my memory, though i was but a small child. joseph hawkins, who was a brother to my mother, was in the woods hunting for deer. he was passing near a thicket of brush, in which one of our neighbours was gathering some grapes, as it was in the fall of the year, and the grape season. the body of the man was hid by the brush, and it was only as he would raise his hand to pull the bunches, that any part of him could be seen. it was a likely place for deer; and my uncle, having no suspicion that it was any human being, but supposing the raising of the hand to be the occasional twitch of a deer's ear, fired at the lump, and as the devil would have it, unfortunately shot the man through the body. i saw my father draw a silk handkerchief through the bullet hole, and entirely through his body; yet after a while he got well, as little as any one would have thought it. what become of him, or whether he is dead or alive, i don't know; but i reckon he did'ent fancy the business of gathering grapes in an out-of-the-way thicket soon again. the next move my father made was to the mouth of cove creek, where he and a man by the name of thomas galbreath undertook to build a mill in partnership. they went on very well with their work until it was nigh done, when there came the second epistle to noah's fresh, and away went their mill, shot, lock, and barrel. i remember the water rose so high, that it got up into the house we lived in, and my father moved us out of it, to keep us from being drowned. i was now about seven or eight years old, and have a pretty distinct recollection of every thing that was going on. from his bad luck in that business, and being ready to wash out from mill building, my father again removed, and this time settled in jefferson county, now in the state of tennessee; where he opened a tavern on the road from abbingdon to knoxville. his tavern was on a small scale, as he was poor; and the principal accommodations which he kept, were for the waggoners who travelled the road. here i remained with him until i was twelve years old; and about that time, you may guess, if you belong to yankee land, or reckon, if like me you belong to the back-woods, that i began to make up my acquaintance with hard times, and a plenty of them. an old dutchman, by the name of jacob siler, who was moving from knox county to rockbridge, in the state of virginia, in passing, made a stop at my father's house. he had a large stock of cattle, that he was carrying on with him; and i suppose made some proposition to my father to hire some one to assist him. being hard run every way, and having no thought, as i believe, that i was cut out for a congressman or the like, young as i was, and as little as i knew about travelling, or being from home, he hired me to the old dutchman, to go four hundred miles on foot, with a perfect stranger that i never had seen until the evening before. i set out with a heavy heart, it is true, but i went ahead, until we arrived at the place, which was three miles from what is called the natural bridge, and made a stop at the house of a mr. hartley, who was father-in-law to mr. siler, who had hired me. my dutch master was very kind to me, and gave me five or six dollars, being pleased, as he said, with my services. this, however, i think was a bait for me, as he persuaded me to stay with him, and not return any more to my father. i had been taught so many lessons of obedience by my father, that i at first supposed i was bound to obey this man, or at least i was afraid openly to disobey him; and i therefore staid with him, and tried to put on a look of perfect contentment until i got the family all to believe i was fully satisfied. i had been there about four or five weeks, when one day myself and two other boys were playing on the road-side, some distance from the house. there came along three waggons. one belonged to an old man by the name of dunn, and the others to two of his sons. they had each of them a good team, and were all bound for knoxville. they had been in the habit of stopping at my father's as they passed the road, and i knew them. i made myself known to the old gentleman, and informed him of my situation; i expressed a wish to get back to my father and mother, if they could fix any plan for me to do so. they told me that they would stay that night at a tavern seven miles from there, and that if i could get to them before day the next morning, they would take me home; and if i was pursued, they would protect me. this was a sunday evening; i went back to the good old dutchman's house, and as good fortune would have it, he and the family were out on a visit. i gathered my clothes, and what little money i had, and put them all together under the head of my bed. i went to bed early that night, but sleep seemed to be a stranger to me. for though i was a wild boy, yet i dearly loved my father and mother, and their images appeared to be so deeply fixed in my mind, that i could not sleep for thinking of them. and then the fear that when i should attempt to go out, i should be discovered and called to a halt, filled me with anxiety; and between my childish love of home, on the one hand, and the fears of which i have spoken, on the other, i felt mighty queer. but so it was, about three hours before day in the morning i got up to make my start. when i got out, i found it was snowing fast, and that the snow was then on the ground about eight inches deep. i had not even the advantage of moonlight, and the whole sky was hid by the falling snow, so that i had to guess at my way to the big road, which was about a half mile from the house. i however pushed ahead and soon got to it, and then pursued it, in the direction to the waggons. i could not have pursued the road if i had not guided myself by the opening it made between the timber, as the snow was too deep to leave any part of it to be known by either seeing or feeling. before i overtook the waggons, the earth was covered about as deep as my knees; and my tracks filled so briskly after me, that by daylight, my dutch master could have seen no trace which i left. i got to the place about an hour before day. i found the waggoners already stirring, and engaged in feeding and preparing their horses for a start. mr. dunn took me in and treated me with great kindness. my heart was more deeply impressed by meeting with such a friend, and "at such a time," than by wading the snow-storm by night, or all the other sufferings which my mind had endured. i warmed myself by the fire, for i was very cold, and after an early breakfast, we set out on our journey. the thoughts of home now began to take the entire possession of my mind, and i almost numbered the sluggish turns of the wheels, and much more certainly the miles of our travel, which appeared to me to count mighty slow. i continued with my kind protectors, until we got to the house of a mr. john cole, on roanoke, when my impatience became so great, that i determined to set out on foot and go ahead by myself, as i could travel twice as fast in that way as the waggons could. mr. dunn seemed very sorry to part with me, and used many arguments to prevent me from leaving him. but home, poor as it was, again rushed on my memory, and it seemed ten times as dear to me as it ever had before. the reason was, that my parents were there, and all that i had been accustomed to in the hours of childhood and infancy was there; and there my anxious little heart panted also to be. we remained at mr. coles that night, and early in the morning i felt that i couldn't stay; so, taking leave of my friends the waggoners, i went forward on foot, until i was fortunately overtaken by a gentleman, who was returning from market, to which he had been with a drove of horses. he had a led horse, with a bridle and saddle on him, and he kindly offered to let me get on his horse and ride him. i did so, and was glad of the chance, for i was tired, and was, moreover, near the first crossing of roanoke, which i would have been compelled to wade, cold as the water was, if i had not fortunately met this good man. i travelled with him in this way, without any thing turning up worth recording, until we got within fifteen miles of my father's house. there we parted, and he went on to kentucky and i trudged on homeward, which place i reached that evening. the name of this kind gentleman i have entirely forgotten, and i am sorry for it; for it deserves a high place in my little book. a remembrance of his kindness to a little straggling boy, and a stranger to him, has however a resting place in my heart, and there it will remain as long as i live. chapter ii. having gotten home, as i have just related, i remained with my father until the next fall, at which time he took it into his head to send me to a little country school, which was kept in the neighbourhood by a man whose name was benjamin kitchen; though i believe he was no way connected with the cabinet. i went four days, and had just began to learn my letters a little, when i had an unfortunate falling out with one of the scholars,--a boy much larger and older than myself. i knew well enough that though the school-house might do for a still hunt, it wouldn't do for _a drive_, and so i concluded to wait until i could get him out, and then i was determined to give him salt and vinegar. i waited till in the evening, and when the larger scholars were spelling, i slip'd out, and going some distance along his road, i lay by the way-side in the bushes, waiting for him to come along. after a while he and his company came on sure enough, and i pitched out from the bushes and set on him like a wild cat. i scratched his face all to a flitter jig, and soon made him cry out for quarters in good earnest. the fight being over, i went on home, and the next morning was started again to school; but do you think i went? no, indeed. i was very clear of it; for i expected the master would lick me up, as bad as i had the boy. so, instead of going to the school-house, i laid out in the woods all day until in the evening the scholars were dismissed, and my brothers, who were also going to school, came along, returning home. i wanted to conceal this whole business from my father, and i therefore persuaded them not to tell on me, which they agreed to. things went on in this way for several days; i starting with them to school in the morning, and returning with them in the evening, but lying out in the woods all day. at last, however, the master wrote a note to my father, inquiring why i was not sent to school. when he read this note, he called me up, and i knew very well that i was in a devil of a hobble, for my father had been taking a few _horns_, and was in a good condition to make the fur fly. he called on me to know why i had not been at school? i told him i was afraid to go, and that the master would whip me; for i knew quite well if i was turned over to this old kitchen, i should be cooked up to a cracklin, in little or no time. but i soon found that i was not to expect a much better fate at home; for my father told me, in a very angry manner, that he would whip me an eternal sight worse than the master, if i didn't start immediately to the school. i tried again to beg off; but nothing would do, but to go to the school. finding me rather too slow about starting, he gathered about a two year old hickory, and broke after me. i put out with all my might, and soon we were both up to the top of our speed. we had a tolerable tough race for about a mile; but mind me, not on the school-house road, for i was trying to get as far the t'other way as possible. and i yet believe, if my father and the schoolmaster could both have levied on me about that time, i should never have been called on to sit in the councils of the nation, for i think they would have used me up. but fortunately for me, about this time, i saw just before me a hill, over which i made headway, like a young steamboat. as soon as i had passed over it, i turned to one side, and hid myself in the bushes. here i waited until the old gentleman passed by, puffing and blowing, as tho' his steam was high enough to burst his boilers. i waited until he gave up the hunt, and passed back again: i then cut out, and went to the house of an acquaintance a few miles off, who was just about to start with a drove. his name was jesse cheek, and i hired myself to go with him, determining not to return home, as home and the school-house had both become too hot for me. i had an elder brother, who also hired to go with the same drove. we set out and went on through abbingdon, and the county seat of withe county, in the state of virginia; and then through lynchburgh, by orange court-house, and charlottesville, passing through what was called chester gap, on to a town called front royal, where my employer sold out his drove to a man by the name of vanmetre; and i was started homeward again, in company with a brother of the first owner of the drove, with one horse between us; having left my brother to come on with the balance of the company. i traveled on with my new comrade about three days' journey; but much to his discredit, as i then thought, and still think, he took care all the time to ride, but never to tie; at last i told him to go ahead, and i would come when i got ready. he gave me four dollars to bear my expenses upwards of four hundred miles, and then cut out and left me. i purchased some provisions, and went on slowly, until at length i fell in with a waggoner, with whom i was disposed to scrape up a hasty acquaintance. i inquired where he lived, and where he was going, and all about his affairs. he informed me that he lived in greenville, tennessee, and was on his way to a place called gerardstown, fifteen miles below winchester. he also said, that after he should make his journey to that place, he would immediately return to tennessee. his name was adam myers, and a jolly good fellow he seemed to be. on a little reflection, i determined to turn back and go with him, which i did; and we journeyed on slowly as waggons commonly do, but merrily enough. i often thought of home, and, indeed, wished bad enough to be there; but, when i thought of the school-house, and kitchen, my master, and the race with my father, and the big hickory he carried, and of the fierceness of the storm of wrath that i had left him in, i was afraid to venture back; for i knew my father's nature so well, that i was certain his anger would hang on to him like a turkle does to a fisherman's toe, and that, if i went back in a hurry, he would give me the devil in three or four ways but i and the waggoner had traveled two days, when we met my brother, who, i before stated, i had left behind when the drove was sold out. he persuaded me to go home, but i refused. he pressed me hard, and brought up a great many mighty strong arguments to induce me to turn back again. he pictured the pleasure of meeting my mother, and my sisters, who all loved me dearly, and told me what uneasiness they had already suffered about me. i could not help shedding tears, which i did not often do, and my affections all pointed back to those dearest friends, and as i thought, nearly the only ones i had in the world; but then the promised whipping--that was the thing. it came right slap down on every thought of home; and i finally determined that make or break, hit or miss, i would just hang on to my journey, and go ahead with the waggoner. my brother was much grieved at our parting, but he went his way, and so did i. we went on until at last we got to gerardstown, where the waggoner tried to get a back load, but he could not without going to alexandria. he engaged to go there, and i concluded that i would wait until he returned. i set in to work for a man by the name of john gray, at twenty-five cents per day. my labour, however, was light, such as ploughing in some small grain, in which i succeeded in pleasing the old man very well. i continued working for him until the waggoner got back, and for a good long time afterwards, as he continued to run his team back and forward, hauling to and from baltimore. in the next spring, from the proceeds of my daily labour, small as it was, i was able to get me some decent clothes, and concluded i would make a trip with the waggoner to baltimore, and see what sort of a place that was, and what sort of folks lived there. i gave him the balance of what money i had for safe keeping, which, as well as i recollect, was about seven dollars. we got on well enough until we came near ellicott's mills. our load consisted of flour, in barrels. here i got into the waggon for the purpose of changing my clothing, not thinking that i was in any danger; but while i was in there we were met by some wheel-barrow men, who were working on the road, and the horses took a scare and away they went, like they had seen a ghost. they made a sudden wheel around, and broke the waggon tongue slap, short off, as a pipe-stem; and snap went both of the axletrees at the same time, and of all devlish flouncing about of flour barrels that ever was seen, i reckon this took the beat. even _a rat_ would have stood a bad chance in a _straight_ race among them, and not much better in a crooked one; for he would have been in a good way to be ground up as fine as ginger by their rolling over him. but this proved to me, that if a fellow is born to be hung, he will never be drowned; and, further, that if he is born for a seat in congress, even flour barrels can't make a mash of him. all these dangers i escaped unhurt, though, like most of the office-holders of these times, for a while i was afraid to say my soul was my own; for i didn't know how soon i should be knocked into a cocked hat, and get my walking papers for another country. we put our load into another waggon, and hauled ours to a workman's shop in baltimore, having delivered the flour, and there we intended to remain two or three days, which time was necessary to repair the runaway waggon. while i was there, i went, one day, down to the wharf, and was much delighted to see the big ships, and their sails all flying; for i had never seen any such things before, and, indeed, i didn't believe there were any such things in all nature. after a short time my curiosity induced me to step aboard of one, where i was met by the captain, who asked me if i didn't wish to take a voyage to london? i told him i did, for by this time i had become pretty well weaned from home, and i cared but little where i was, or where i went, or what become of me. he said he wanted just such a boy as i was, which i was glad to hear. i told him i would go and get my clothes, and go with him. he enquired about my parents, where they lived, and all about them. i let him know that they lived in tennessee, many hundred miles off. we soon agreed about my intended voyage, and i went back to my friend, the waggoner, and informed him that i was going to london, and wanted my money and my clothes. he refused to let me have either, and swore that he would confine me, and take me back to tennessee. i took it to heart very much, but he kept so close and constant a watch over me, that i found it impossible to escape from him, until he had started homeward, and made several days' journey on the road. he was, during this time, very ill to me, and threatened me with his waggon whip on several occasions. at length i resolved to leave him at all hazards; and so, before day, one morning, i got my clothes out of his waggon, and cut out, on foot, without a farthing of money to bear my expenses. for all other friends having failed, i determined then to throw myself on providence, and see how that would use me. i had gone, however, only a few miles when i came up with another waggoner, and such was my situation, that i felt more than ever the necessity of endeavouring to find a friend. i therefore concluded i would seek for one in him. he was going westwardly, and very kindly enquired of me where i was travelling? my youthful resolution, which had brooked almost every thing else, rather gave way at this enquiry; for it brought the loneliness of my situation, and every thing else that was calculated to oppress me, directly to view. my first answer to his question was in a sprinkle of tears, for if the world had been given to me, i could not, at that moment, have helped crying. as soon as the storm of feeling was over, i told him how i had been treated by the waggoner but a little before, who kept what little money i had, and left me without a copper to buy even a morsel of food. he became exceedingly angry, and swore that he would make the other waggoner give up my money, pronouncing him a scoundrel, and many other hard names. i told him i was afraid to see him, for he had threatened me with his waggon whip, and i believed he would injure me. but my new friend was a very large, stout-looking man, and as resolute as a tiger. he bid me not to be afraid, still swearing he would have my money, or whip it out of the wretch who had it. we turned and went back about two miles, when we reached the place where he was. i went reluctantly; but i depended on my friend for protection. when we got there, i had but little to say; but approaching the waggoner, my friend said to him, "you damn'd rascal, you have treated this boy badly." to which he replied, it was my fault. he was then asked, if he did not get seven dollars of my money, which he confessed. it was then demanded of him; but he declared most solemnly, that he had not that amount in the world; that he had spent my money, and intended paying it back to me when we got to tennessee. i then felt reconciled, and persuaded my friend to let him alone, and we returned to his waggon, geared up, and started. his name i shall never forget while my memory lasts; it was henry myers. he lived in pennsylvania, and i found him what he professed to be, a faithful friend and a clever fellow. we traveled together for several days, but at length i concluded to endeavour to make my way homeward; and for that purpose set out again on foot, and alone. but one thing i must not omit. the last night i staid with mr. myers, was at a place where several other waggoners also staid. he told them, before we parted, that i was a poor little straggling boy, and how i had been treated; and that i was without money, though i had a long journey before me, through a land of strangers, where it was not even a wilderness. they were good enough to contribute a sort of money-purse, and presented me with three dollars. on this amount i travelled as far as montgomery court-house, in the state of virginia, where it gave out. i set in to work for a man by the name of james caldwell, a month, for five dollars, which was about a shilling a day. when this time was out, i bound myself to a man by the name of elijah griffith, by trade a hatter, agreeing to work for him four years. i remained with him about eighteen months, when he found himself so involved in debt, that he broke up, and left the country. for this time i had received nothing, and was, of course, left without money, and with but very few clothes, and them very indifferent ones. i, however, set in again, and worked about as i could catch employment, until i got a little money, and some clothing; and once more cut out for home. when i reached new river, at the mouth of a small stream, called little river, the white caps were flying so, that i couldn't get any body to attempt to put me across. i argued the case as well as i could, but they told me there was great danger of being capsized, and drowned, if i attempted to cross. i told them if i could get a canoe i would venture, caps or no caps. they tried to persuade me out of it; but finding they could not, they agreed i might take a canoe, and so i did, and put off. i tied my clothes to the rope of the canoe, to have them safe, whatever might happen. but i found it a mighty ticklish business, i tell you. when i got out fairly on the river, i would have given the world, if it had belonged to me, to have been back on shore. but there was no time to lose now, so i just determined to do the best i could, and the devil take the hindmost. i turned the canoe across the waves, to do which, i had to turn it nearly up the river, as the wind came from that way; and i went about two miles before i could land. when i struck land, my canoe was about half full of water, and i was as wet as a drowned rat. but i was so much rejoiced, that i scarcely felt the cold, though my clothes were frozen on me; and in this situation, i had to go above three miles, before i could find any house, or fire to warm at. i, however, made out to get to one at last, and then i thought i would warm the inside a little, as well as the outside, that there might be no grumbling. so i took "a leetle of the creater,"--that warmer of the cold, and cooler of the hot,--and it made me feel so good that i concluded it was like the negro's rabbit, "good any way." i passed on until i arrived in sullivan county, in the state of tennessee, and there i met with my brother, who had gone with me when i started from home with the cattle drove. i staid with him a few weeks, and then went on to my father's, which place i reached late in the evening. several waggons were there for the night, and considerable company about the house. i enquired if i could stay all night, for i did not intend to make myself known, until i saw whether any of the family would find me out. i was told that i could stay, and went in, but had mighty little to say to any body. i had been gone so long, and had grown so much, that the family did not at first know me. and another, and perhaps a stronger reason was, they had no thought or expectation of me, for they all had long given me up for finally lost. after a while, we were all called to supper. i went with the rest. we had sat down to the table and begun to eat, when my eldest sister recollected me: she sprung up, ran and seized me around the neck, and exclaimed, "here is my lost brother." my feelings at this time it would be vain and foolish for me to attempt to describe. i had often thought i felt before, and i suppose i had, but sure i am, i never had felt as i then did. the joy of my sisters and my mother, and, indeed, of all the family, was such that it humbled me, and made me sorry that i hadn't submitted to a hundred whippings, sooner than cause so much affliction as they had suffered on my account. i found the family had never heard a word of me from the time my brother left me. i was now almost _fifteen_ years old; and my increased age and size, together with the joy of my father, occasioned by my unexpected return, i was sure would secure me against my long dreaded whipping; and so they did. but it will be a source of astonishment to many, who reflect that i am now a member of the american congress,--the most enlightened body of men in the world,--that at so advanced an age, the age of fifteen, i did not know the first letter in the book. chapter iii. i had remained for some short time at home with my father, when he informed me that he owed a man, whose name was abraham wilson, the sum of thirty-six dollars, and that if i would set in and work out the note, so as to lift it for him, he would discharge me from his service, and i might go free. i agreed to do this, and went immediately to the man who held my father's note, and contracted with him to work six months for it. i set in, and worked with all my might, not losing a single day in the six months. when my time was out, i got my father's note, and then declined working with the man any longer, though he wanted to hire me mighty bad. the reason was, it was a place where a heap of bad company met to drink and gamble, and i wanted to get away from them, for i know'd very well if i staid there, i should get a bad name, as nobody could be respectable that would live there. i therefore returned to my father, and gave him up his paper, which seemed to please him mightily, for though he was poor, he was an honest man, and always tried mighty hard to pay off his debts. i next went to the house of an honest old quaker, by the name of john kennedy, who had removed from north carolina, and proposed to hire myself to him, at two shillings a day. he agreed to take me a week on trial; at the end of which he appeared pleased with my work, and informed me that he held a note on my father for forty dollars, and that he would give me that note if i would work for him six months. i was certain enough that i should never get any part of the note; but then i remembered it was my father that owed it, and i concluded it was my duty as a child to help him along, and ease his lot as much as i could. i told the quaker i would take him up at his offer, and immediately went to work. i never visited my father's house during the whole time of this engagement, though he lived only fifteen miles off. but when it was finished, and i had got the note, i borrowed one of my employer's horses, and, on a sunday evening, went to pay my parents a visit. some time after i got there, i pulled out the note and handed it to my father, who supposed mr. kennedy had sent it for collection. the old man looked mighty sorry, and said to me he had not the money to pay it, and didn't know what he should do. i then told him i had paid it for him, and it was then his own; that it was not presented for collection, but as a present from me. at this, he shed a heap of tears; and as soon as he got a little over it, he said he was sorry he couldn't give me any thing, but he was not able, he was too poor. the next day, i went back to my old friend, the quaker, and set in to work for him for some clothes; for i had now worked a year without getting any money at all, and my clothes were nearly all worn out, and what few i had left were mighty indifferent. i worked in this way for about two months; and in that time a young woman from north carolina, who was the quaker's niece, came on a visit to his house. and now i am just getting on a part of my history that i know i never can forget. for though i have heard people talk about hard loving, yet i reckon no poor devil in this world was ever cursed with such hard love as mine has always been, when it came on me. i soon found myself head over heels in love with this girl, whose name the public could make no use of; and i thought that if all the hills about there were pure chink, and all belonged to me, i would give them if i could just talk to her as i wanted to; but i was afraid to begin, for when i would think of saying any thing to her, my heart would begin to flutter like a duck in a puddle; and if i tried to outdo it and speak, it would get right smack up in my throat, and choak me like a cold potatoe. it bore on my mind in this way, till at last i concluded i must die if i didn't broach the subject; and so i determined to begin and hang on a trying to speak, till my heart would get out of my throat one way or t'other. and so one day at it i went, and after several trials i could say a little. i told her how well i loved her; that she was the darling object of my soul and body; and i must have her, or else i should pine down to nothing, and just die away with the consumption. i found my talk was not disagreeable to her; but she was an honest girl, and didn't want to deceive nobody. she told me she was engaged to her cousin, a son of the old quaker. this news was worse to me than war, pestilence, or famine; but still i knowed i could not help myself. i saw quick enough my cake was dough, and i tried to cool off as fast as possible; but i had hardly safety pipes enough, as my love was so hot as mighty nigh to burst my boilers. but i didn't press my claims any more, seeing there was no chance to do any thing. i began now to think, that all my misfortunes growed out of my want of learning. i had never been to school but four days, as the reader has already seen, and did not yet know a letter. i thought i would try to go to school some; and as the quaker had a married son, who was living about a mile and a half from him, and keeping a school, i proposed to him that i would go to school four days in the week, and work for him the other two, to pay my board and schooling. he agreed i might come on those terms; and so at it i went, learning and working back and forwards, until i had been with him nigh on to six months. in this time i learned to read a little in my primer, to write my own name, and to cypher some in the three first rules in figures. and this was all the schooling i ever had in my life, up to this day. i should have continued longer, if it hadn't been that i concluded i couldn't do any longer without a wife; and so i cut out to hunt me one. i found a family of very pretty little girls that i had known when very young. they had lived in the same neighborhood with me, and i had thought very well of them. i made an offer to one of them, whose name is nobody's business, no more than the quaker girl's was, and i found she took it very well. i still continued paying my respects to her, until i got to love her as bad as i had the quaker's niece; and i would have agreed to fight a whole regiment of wild cats if she would only have said she would have me. several months passed in this way, during all of which time she continued very kind and friendly. at last, the son of the old quaker and my first girl had concluded to bring their matter to a close, and my little queen and myself were called on to wait on them. we went on the day, and performed our duty as attendants. this made me worse than ever; and after it was over, i pressed my claim very hard on her, but she would still give me a sort of an evasive answer. however, i gave her mighty little peace, till she told me at last she would have me. i thought this was glorification enough, even without spectacles. i was then about eighteen years old. we fixed the time to be married; and i thought if that day come, i should be the happiest man in the created world, or in the moon, or any where else. i had by this time got to be mighty fond of the rifle, and had bought a capital one. i most generally carried her with me whereever i went, and though i had got back to the old quaker's to live, who was a very particular man, i would sometimes slip out and attend the shooting matches, where they shot for beef; i always tried, though, to keep it a secret from him. he had at the same time a bound boy living with him, who i had gotten into almost as great a notion of the girls as myself. he was about my own age, and was deeply smitten with the sister to my intended wife. i know'd it was in vain to try to get the leave of the old man for my young associate to go with me on any of my courting frolics; but i thought i could fix a plan to have him along, which would not injure the quaker, as we had no notion that he should ever know it. we commonly slept up-stairs, and at the gable end of the house there was a window. so one sunday, when the old man and his family were all gone to meeting, we went out and cut a long pole, and, taking it to the house, we set it up on end in the corner, reaching up the chimney as high as the window. after this we would go up-stairs to bed, and then putting on our sunday clothes, would go out at the window, and climb down the pole, take a horse apiece, and ride about ten miles to where his sweetheart lived, and the girl i claimed as my wife. i was always mighty careful to be back before day, so as to escape being found out; and in this way i continued my attentions very closely until a few days before i was to be married, or at least thought i was, for i had no fear that any thing was about to go wrong. just now i heard of a shooting-match in the neighbourhood, right between where i lived and my girl's house; and i determined to kill two birds with one stone,--to go to the shooting match first, and then to see her. i therefore made the quaker believe i was going to hunt for deer, as they were pretty plenty about in those parts; but, instead of hunting them, i went straight on to the shooting-match, where i joined in with a partner, and we put in several shots for the beef. i was mighty lucky, and when the match was over i had won the whole beef. this was on a saturday, and my success had put me in the finest humour in the world. so i sold my part of the beef for five dollars in the real grit, for i believe that was before bank-notes was invented; at least, i had never heard of any. i now started on to ask for my wife; for, though the next thursday was our wedding day, i had never said a word to her parents about it. i had always dreaded the undertaking so bad, that i had put the evil hour off as long as possible; and, indeed, i calculated they knowed me so well, they wouldn't raise any objection to having me for their son-in-law. i had a great deal better opinion of myself, i found, than other people had of me; but i moved on with a light heart, and my five dollars jingling in my pocket, thinking all the time there was but few greater men in the world than myself. in this flow of good humour i went ahead, till i got within about two miles of the place, when i concluded i would stop awhile at the house of the girl's uncle; where i might enquire about the family, and so forth, and so on. i was indeed just about ready to consider her uncle, my uncle; and her affairs, my affairs. when i went in, tho', i found her sister there. i asked how all was at home? in a minute i found from her countenance something was wrong. she looked mortified, and didn't answer as quick as i thought she ought, being it was her _brother-in-law_ talking to her. however, i asked her again. she then burst into tears, and told me her sister was going to deceive me; and that she was to be married to another man the next day. this was as sudden to me as a clap of thunder of a bright sunshiny day. it was the cap-stone of all the afflictions i had ever met with; and it seemed to me, that it was more than any human creature could endure. it struck me perfectly speechless for some time, and made me feel so weak, that i thought i should sink down. i however recovered from my shock after a little, and rose and started without any ceremony, or even bidding any body good-bye. the young woman followed me out to the gate, and entreated me to go on to her father's, and said she would go with me. she said the young man, who was going to marry her sister, had got his license, and had asked for her; but she assured me her father and mother both preferred me to him; and that she had no doubt but that, if i would go on, i could break off the match. but i found i could go no further. my heart was bruised, and my spirits were broken down; so i bid her farewell, and turned my lonesome and miserable steps back again homeward, concluding that i was only born for hardships, misery, and disappointment. i now began to think, that in making me, it was entirely forgotten to make my mate; that i was born odd, and should always remain so, and that nobody would have me. but all these reflections did not satisfy my mind, for i had no peace day nor night for several weeks. my appetite failed me, and i grew daily worse and worse. they all thought i was sick; and so i was. and it was the worst kind of sickness,--a sickness of the heart, and all the tender parts, produced by disappointed love. chapter iv. i continued in this down-spirited situation for a good long time, until one day i took my rifle and started a hunting. while out, i made a call at the house of a dutch widow, who had a daughter that was well enough as to smartness, but she was as ugly as a stone fence. she was, however, quite talkative, and soon begun to laugh at me about my disappointment. she seemed disposed, though, to comfort me as much as she could; and, for that purpose, told me to keep in good heart, that "there was as good fish in the sea as had ever been caught out of it." i doubted this very much; but whether or not, i was certain that she was not one of them, for she was so homely that it almost give me a pain in the eyes to look at her. but i couldn't help thinking, that she had intended what she had said as a banter for me to court her!!!--the last thing in creation i could have thought of doing. i felt little inclined to talk on the subject, it is true; but, to pass off the time, i told her i thought i was born odd, and that no fellow to me could be found. she protested against this, and said if i would come to their reaping, which was not far off, she would show me one of the prettiest little girls there i had ever seen. she added that the one who had deceived me was nothing to be compared with her. i didn't believe a word of all this, for i had thought that such a piece of flesh and blood as she was had never been manufactured, and never would again. i agreed with her, though, that the little varment had treated me so bad, that i ought to forget her, and yet i couldn't do it. i concluded the best way to accomplish it was to cut out again, and see if i could find any other that would answer me; and so i told the dutch girl i would be at the reaping, and would bring as many as i could with me. i employed my time pretty generally in giving information of it, as far as i could, until the day came; and i then offered to work for my old friend, the quaker, two days, if he would let his bound boy go with me one to the reaping. he refused, and reproved me pretty considerable roughly for my proposition; and said, if he was in my place he wouldn't go; that there would be a great deal of bad company there; and that i had been so good a boy, he would be sorry for me to get a bad name. but i knowed my promise to the dutch girl, and i was resolved to fulfil it; so i shouldered my rifle, and started by myself. when i got to the place, i found a large company of men and women, and among them an old irish woman, who had a great deal to say. i soon found out from my dutch girl, that this old lady was the mother of the little girl she had promised me, though i had not yet seen her. she was in an out-house with some other youngsters, and had not yet made her appearance. her mamma, however, was no way bashful. she came up to me, and began to praise my red cheeks, and said she had a sweetheart for me. i had no doubt she had been told what i come for, and all about it. in the evening i was introduced to her daughter, and i must confess, i was plaguy well pleased with her from the word go. she had a good countenance, and was very pretty, and i was full bent on making up an acquaintance with her. it was not long before the dancing commenced, and i asked her to join me in a reel. she very readily consented to do so; and after we had finished our dance, i took a seat alongside of her, and entered into a talk. i found her very interesting; while i was setting by her, making as good a use of my time as i could, her mother came to us, and very jocularly called me her son-in-law. this rather confused me, but i looked on it as a joke of the old lady, and tried to turn it off as well as i could; but i took care to pay as much attention to her through the evening as i could. i went on the old saying, of salting the cow to catch the calf. i soon become so much pleased with this little girl, that i began to think the dutch girl had told me the truth, when she said there was still good fish in the sea. we continued our frolic till near day, when we joined in some plays, calculated to amuse youngsters. i had not often spent a more agreeable night. in the morning, however, we all had to part; and i found my mind had become much better reconciled than it had been for a long time. i went home to the quaker's, and made a bargain to work with his son for a low-priced horse. he was the first one i had ever owned, and i was to work six months for him. i had been engaged very closely five or six weeks, when this little girl run in my mind so, that i concluded i must go and see her, and find out what sort of people they were at home. i mounted my horse and away i went to where she lived, and when i got there i found her father a very clever old man, and the old woman as talkative as ever. she wanted badly to find out all about me, and as i thought to see how i would do for her girl. i had not yet seen her about, and i began to feel some anxiety to know where she was. in a short time, however, my impatience was relieved, as she arrived at home from a meeting to which she had been. there was a young man with her, who i soon found was disposed to set up claim to her, as he was so attentive to her that i could hardly get to slip in a word edgeways. i began to think i was barking up the wrong tree again; but i was determined to stand up to my rack, fodder or no fodder. and so, to know her mind a little on the subject, i began to talk about starting, as i knowed she would then show some sign, from which i could understand which way the wind blowed. it was then near night, and my distance was fifteen miles home. at this my little girl soon began to indicate to the other gentleman that his room would be the better part of his company. at length she left him, and came to me, and insisted mighty hard that i should not go that evening; and, indeed, from all her actions and the attempts she made to get rid of him, i saw that she preferred me all holler. but it wasn't long before i found trouble enough in another quarter. her mother was deeply enlisted for my rival, and i had to fight against her influence as well as his. but the girl herself was the prize i was fighting for; and as she welcomed me, i was determined to lay siege to her, let what would happen. i commenced a close courtship, having cornered her from her old beau; while he set off, looking on, like a poor man at a country frolic, and all the time almost gritting his teeth with pure disappointment. but he didn't dare to attempt any thing more, for now i had gotten a start, and i looked at him every once in a while as fierce as a wild-cat. i staid with her until monday morning, and then i put out for home. it was about two weeks after this that i was sent for to engage in a wolf hunt, where a great number of men were to meet, with their dogs and guns, and where the best sort of sport was expected. i went as large as life, but i had to hunt in strange woods, and in a part of the country which was very thinly inhabited. while i was out it clouded up, and i began to get scared; and in a little while i was so much so, that i didn't know which way home was, nor any thing about it. i set out the way i thought it was, but it turned out with me, as it always does with a lost man, i was wrong, and took exactly the contrary direction from the right one. and for the information of young hunters, i will just say, in this place, that whenever a fellow gets bad lost, the way home is just the way he don't think it is. this rule will hit nine times out of ten. i went ahead, though, about six or seven miles, when i found night was coming on fast; but at this distressing time i saw a little woman streaking it along through the woods like all wrath, and so i cut on too, for i was determined i wouldn't lose sight of her that night any more. i run on till she saw me, and she stopped; for she was as glad to see me as i was to see her, as she was lost as well as me. when i came up to her, who should she be but my little girl, that i had been paying my respects to. she had been out hunting her father's horses, and had missed her way, and had no knowledge where she was, or how far it was to any house, or what way would take us there. she had been travelling all day, and was mighty tired; and i would have taken her up, and toated her, if it hadn't been that i wanted her just where i could see her all the time, for i thought she looked sweeter than sugar; and by this time i loved her almost well enough to eat her. at last i came to a path, that i know'd must go somewhere, and so we followed it, till we came to a house, at about dark. here we staid all night. i set up all night courting; and in the morning we parted. she went to her home, from which we were distant about seven miles, and i to mine, which was ten miles off. i now turned in to work again; and it was about four weeks before i went back to see her. i continued to go occasionally, until i had worked long enough to pay for my horse, by putting in my gun with my work, to the man i had purchased from; and then i began to count whether i was to be deceived again or not. at our next meeting we set the day for our wedding; and i went to my father's, and made arrangements for an infair, and returned to ask her parents for her. when i got there, the old lady appeared to be mighty wrathy; and when i broached the subject, she looked at me as savage as a meat axe. the old man appeared quite willing, and treated me very clever. but i hadn't been there long, before the old woman as good as ordered me out of her house. i thought i would put her in mind of old times, and see how that would go with her. i told her she had called me her son-in-law before i had attempted to call her my mother-in-law and i thought she ought to cool off. but her irish was up too high to do any thing with her, and so i quit trying. all i cared for was, to have her daughter on my side, which i knowed was the case then; but how soon some other fellow might knock my nose out of joint again, i couldn't tell. i however felt rather insulted at the old lady, and i thought i wouldn't get married in her house. and so i told her girl, that i would come the next thursday, and bring a horse, bridle, and saddle for her, and she must be ready to go. her mother declared i shouldn't have her; but i know'd i should, if somebody else didn't get her before thursday. i then started, bidding them good day, and went by the house of a justice of the peace, who lived on the way to my father's, and made a bargain with him to marry me. when thursday came, all necessary arrangements were made at my father's to receive my wife; and so i took my eldest brother and his wife, and another brother, and a single sister that i had, and two other young men with me, and cut out to her father's house to get her. we went on, until we got within two miles of the place, where we met a large company that had heard of the wedding, and were waiting. some of that company went on with my brother and sister, and the young man i had picked out to wait on me. when they got there, they found the old lady as wrathy as ever. however the old man filled their bottle, and the young men returned in a hurry. i then went on with my company, and when i arrived i never pretended to dismount from my horse, but rode up to the door, and asked the girl if she was ready; and she said she was. i then told her to light on the horse i was leading; and she did so. her father, though, had gone out to the gate, and when i started he commenced persuading me to stay and marry there; that he was entirely willing to the match, and that his wife, like most women, had entirely too much tongue; but that i oughtn't to mind her. i told him if she would ask me to stay and marry at her house, i would do so. with that he sent for her, and after they had talked for some time out by themselves, she came to me and looked at me mighty good, and asked my pardon for what she had said, and invited me stay. she said it was the first child she had ever had to marry; and she couldn't bear to see her go off in that way; that if i would light, she would do the best she could for us. i couldn't stand every thing, and so i agreed, and we got down, and went in. i sent off then for my parson, and got married in a short time; for i was afraid to wait long, for fear of another defeat. we had as good treatment as could be expected; and that night all went on well. the next day we cut out for my father's, where we met a large company of people, that had been waiting a day and a night for our arrival. we passed the time quite merrily, until the company broke up; and having gotten my wife, i thought i was completely made up, and needed nothing more in the whole world. but i soon found this was all a mistake--for now having a wife, i wanted every thing else; and, worse than all, i had nothing to give for it. i remained a few days at my father's, and then went back to my new father-in-law's; where, to my surprise, i found my old irish mother in the finest humour in the world. she gave us two likely cows and calves, which, though it was a small marriage-portion, was still better than i had expected, and, indeed, it was about all i ever got. i rented a small farm and cabin, and went to work; but i had much trouble to find out a plan to get any thing to put in my house. at this time, my good old friend the quaker came forward to my assistance, and gave me an order to a store for fifteen dollars' worth of such things as my little wife might choose. with this, we fixed up pretty grand, as we thought, and allowed to get on very well. my wife had a good wheel, and knowed exactly how to use it. she was also a good weaver, as most of the irish are, whether men or women; and being very industrious with her wheel, she had, in little or no time, a fine web of cloth, ready to make up; and she was good at that too, and at almost any thing else that a woman could do. we worked on for some years, renting ground, and paying high rent, until i found it wan't the thing it was cracked up to be; and that i couldn't make a fortune at it just at all. so i concluded to quit it, and cut out for some new country. in this time we had two sons, and i found i was better at increasing my family than my fortune. it was therefore the more necessary that i should hunt some better place to get along; and as i knowed i would have to move at some time, i thought it was better to do it before my family got too large, that i might have less to carry. the duck and elk river country was just beginning to settle, and i determined to try that. i had now one old horse, and a couple of two year old colts. they were both broke to the halter, and my father-in-law proposed, that, if i went, he would go with me, and take one horse to help me move. so we all fixed up, and i packed my two colts with as many of my things as they could bear; and away we went across the mountains. we got on well enough, and arrived safely in lincoln county, on the head of the mulberry fork of elk river. i found this a very rich country, and so new, that game, of different sorts, was very plenty. it was here that i began to distinguish myself as a hunter, and to lay the foundation for all my future greatness; but mighty little did i know of what sort it was going to be. of deer and smaller game i killed abundance; but the bear had been much hunted in those parts before, and were not so plenty as i could have wished. i lived here in the years 1809 and '10, to the best of my recollection, and then i moved to franklin county, and settled on beans creek, where i remained till after the close of the last war. chapter v. i was living ten miles below winchester when the creek war commenced; and as military men are making so much fuss in the world at this time, i must give an account of the part i took in the defence of the country. if it should make me president, why i can't help it; such things will sometimes happen; and my pluck is, never "to seek, nor decline office." it is true, i had a little rather not; but yet, if the government can't get on without taking another president from tennessee, to finish the work of "retrenchment and reform," why, then, i reckon i must go in for it. but i must begin about the war, and leave the other matter for the people to begin on. the creek indians had commenced their open hostilities by a most bloody butchery at fort mimms. there had been no war among us for so long, that but few, who were not too old to bear arms, knew any thing about the business. i, for one, had often thought about war, and had often heard it described; and i did verily believe in my own mind, that i couldn't fight in that way at all; but my after experience convinced me that this was all a notion. for when i heard of the mischief which was done at the fort, i instantly felt like going, and i had none of the dread of dying that i expected to feel. in a few days a general meeting of the militia was called for the purpose of raising volunteers; and when the day arrived for that meeting, my wife, who had heard me say i meant to go to the war, began to beg me not to turn out. she said she was a stranger in the parts where we lived, had no connexions living near her, and that she and our little children would be left in a lonesome and unhappy situation if i went away. it was mighty hard to go against such arguments as these; but my countrymen had been murdered, and i knew that the next thing would be, that the indians would be scalping the women and children all about there, if we didn't put a stop to it. i reasoned the case with her as well as i could, and told her, that if every man would wait till his wife got willing for him to go to war, there would be no fighting done, until we would all be killed in our own houses; that i was as able to go as any man in the world; and that i believed it was a duty i owed to my country. whether she was satisfied with this reasoning or not, she did not tell me; but seeing i was bent on it, all she did was to cry a little, and turn about to her work. the truth is, my dander was up, and nothing but war could bring it right again. i went to winchester, where the muster was to be, and a great many people had collected, for there was as much fuss among the people about the war as there is now about moving the deposites. when the men were paraded, a lawyer by the name of jones addressed us, and closed by turning out himself, and enquiring, at the same time, who among us felt like we could fight indians? this was the same mr. jones who afterwards served in congress, from the state of tennessee. he informed us he wished to raise a company, and that then the men should meet and elect their own officers. i believe i was about the second or third man that step'd out; but on marching up and down the regiment a few times, we found we had a large company. we volunteered for sixty days, as it was supposed our services would not be longer wanted. a day or two after this we met and elected mr. jones our captain, and also elected our other officers. we then received orders to start on the next monday week; before which time, i had fixed as well as i could to go, and my wife had equip'd me as well as she was able for the camp. the time arrived; i took a parting farewell of my wife and my little boys, mounted my horse, and set sail, to join my company. expecting to be gone only a short time, i took no more clothing with me than i supposed would be necessary, so that if i got into an indian battle, i might not be pestered with any unnecessary plunder, to prevent my having a fair shake with them. we all met and went ahead, till we passed huntsville, and camped at a large spring called beaty's spring. here we staid for several days, in which time the troops began to collect from all quarters. at last we mustered about thirteen hundred strong, all mounted volunteers, and all determined to fight, judging from myself, for i felt wolfish all over. i verily believe the whole army was of the real grit. our captain didn't want any other sort; and to try them he several times told his men, that if any of them wanted to go back home, they might do so at any time, before they were regularly mustered into the service. but he had the honour to command all his men from first to last, as not one of them left him. gen'l. jackson had not yet left nashville with his old foot volunteers, that had gone with him to natchez in 1812, the year before. while we remained at the spring, a major gibson came, and wanted some volunteers to go with him across the tennessee river and into the creek nation, to find out the movements of the indians. he came to my captain, and asked for two of his best woods-men, and such as were best with a rifle. the captain pointed me out to him, and said he would be security that i would go as far as the major would himself, or any other man. i willingly engaged to go with him, and asked him to let me choose my own mate to go with me, which he said i might do. i chose a young man by the name of george russell, a son of old major russell, of tennessee. i called him up, but major gibson said he thought he hadn't beard enough to please him,--he wanted men, and not boys. i must confess i was a little nettled at this; for i know'd george russell, and i know'd there was no mistake in him; and i didn't think that courage ought to be measured by the beard, for fear a goat would have the preference over a man. i told the major he was on the wrong scent; that russell could go as far as he could, and i must have him along. he saw i was a little wrathy, and said i had the best chance of knowing, and agreed that it should be as i wanted it. he told us to be ready early in the morning for a start; and so we were. we took our camp equipage, mounted our horses, and, thirteen in number, including the major, we cut out. we went on, and crossed the tennessee river at a place called ditto's landing; and then traveled about seven miles further, and took up camp for the night. here a man by the name of john haynes overtook us. he had been an indian trader in that part of the nation, and was well acquainted with it. he went with us as a pilot. the next morning, however, major gibson and myself concluded we should separate and take different directions to see what discoveries we could make; so he took seven of the men, and i five, making thirteen in all, including myself. he was to go by the house of a cherokee indian, named dick brown, and i was to go by dick's father's; and getting all the information we could, we were to meet that evening where the roads came together, fifteen miles the other side of brown's. at old mr. brown's i got a half blood cherokee to agree to go with me, whose name was jack thompson. he was not then ready to start, but was to fix that evening, and overtake us at the fork road where i was to meet major gibson. i know'd it wouldn't be safe to camp right at the road; and so i told jack, that when he got to the fork he must holler like an owl, and i would answer him in the same way; for i know'd it would be night before he got there. i and my men then started, and went on to the place of meeting, but major gibson was not there. we waited till almost dark, but still he didn't come. we then left the indian trace a little distance, and turning into the head of a hollow, we struck up camp. it was about ten o'clock at night, when i heard my owl, and i answered him. jack soon found us, and we determined to rest there during the night. we staid also next morning till after breakfast: but in vain, for the major didn't still come. i told the men we had set out to hunt a fight, and i wouldn't go back in that way; that we must go ahead, and see what the red men were at. we started, and went to a cherokee town about twenty miles off; and after a short stay there, we pushed on to the house of a man by the name of radcliff. he was a white man, but had married a creek woman, and lived just in the edge of the creek nation. he had two sons, large likely fellows, and a great deal of potatoes and corn, and, indeed, almost every thing else to go on; so we fed our horses and got dinner with him, and seemed to be doing mighty well. but he was bad scared all the time. he told us there had been ten painted warriors at his house only an hour before, and if we were discovered there, they would kill us, and his family with us. i replied to him, that my business was to hunt for just such fellows as he had described, and i was determined not to go back until i had done it. our dinner being over, we saddled up our horses, and made ready to start. but some of my small company i found were disposed to return. i told them, if we were to go back then, we should never hear the last of it; and i was determined to go ahead. i knowed some of them would go with me, and that the rest were afraid to go back by themselves; and so we pushed on to the camp of some of the friendly creeks, which was distant about eight miles. the moon was about the full, and the night was clear; we therefore had the benefit of her light from night to morning, and i knew if we were placed in such danger as to make a retreat necessary, we could travel by night as well as in the day time. we had not gone very far, when we met two negroes, well mounted on indian ponies, and each with a good rifle. they had been taken from their owners by the indians, and were running away from them, and trying to get back to their masters again. they were brothers, both very large and likely, and could talk indian as well as english. one of them i sent on to ditto's landing, the other i took back with me. it was after dark when we got to the camp, where we found about forty men, women, and children. they had bows and arrows, and i turned in to shooting with their boys by a pine light. in this way we amused ourselves very well for a while; but at last the negro, who had been talking to the indians, came to me and told me they were very much alarmed, for the "red sticks," as they called the war party of the creeks, would come and find us there; and, if so, we should all be killed. i directed him to tell them that i would watch, and if one would come that night, i would carry the skin of his head home to make me a mockasin. when he made this communication, the indians laughed aloud. at about ten o'clock at night we all concluded to try to sleep a little; but that our horses might be ready for use, as the treasurer said of the drafts on the united states' bank, on certain "contingences," we tied them up with our saddles on them, and every thing to our hand, if in the night our quarters should get uncomfortable. we lay down with our guns in our arms, and i had just gotten into a dose of sleep, when i heard the sharpest scream that ever escaped the throat of a human creature. it was more like a wrathy painter than any thing else. the negro understood it, and he sprang to me; for tho' i heard the noise well enough, yet i wasn't wide awake enough to get up. so the negro caught me, and said the red sticks was coming. i rose quicker then, and asked what was the matter? our negro had gone and talked with the indian who had just fetched the scream, as he come into camp, and learned from him, that the war party had been crossing the coosa river all day at the ten islands; and were going on to meet jackson, and this indian had come as a runner. this news very much alarmed the friendly indians in camp, and they were all off in a few minutes. i felt bound to make this intelligence known as soon as possible to the army we had left at the landing; and so we all mounted our horses, and put out in a long lope to make our way back to that place. we were about sixty-five miles off. we went on to the same cherokee town we had visited on our way out, having first called at radcliff's, who was off with his family; and at the town we found large fires burning, but not a single indian was to be seen. they were all gone. these circumstances were calculated to lay our dander a little, as it appeared we must be in great danger; though we could easily have licked any force of not more than five to one. but we expected the whole nation would be on us, and against such fearful odds we were not so rampant for a fight. we therefore staid only a short time in the light of the fires about the town, preferring the light of the moon and the shade of the woods. we pushed on till we got again to old mr. brown's, which was still about thirty miles from where we had left the main army. when we got there, the chickens were just at the first crowing for day. we fed our horses, got a morsel to eat ourselves, and again cut out. about ten o'clock in the morning we reached the camp, and i reported to col. coffee the news. he didn't seem to mind my report a bit, and this raised my dander higher than ever; but i knowed i had to be on my best behaviour, and so i kept it all to myself; though i was so mad that i was burning inside like a tar-kiln, and i wonder that the smoke hadn't been pouring out of me at all points. major gibson hadn't yet returned, and we all began to think he was killed; and that night they put out a double guard. the next day the major got in, and brought a worse tale than i had, though he stated the same facts, so far as i went. this seemed to put our colonel all in a fidget; and it convinced me, clearly, of one of the hateful ways of the world. when i made my report, it wasn't believed, because i was no officer; i was no great man, but just a poor soldier. but when the same thing was reported by major gibson!! why, then, it was all as true as preaching, and the colonel believed it every word. he, therefore, ordered breastworks to be thrown up, near a quarter of a mile long, and sent an express to fayetteville, where general jackson and his troops was, requesting them to push on like the very mischief, for fear we should all be cooked up to a cracklin before they could get there. old hickory-face made a forced march on getting the news; and on the next day, he and his men got into camp, with their feet all blistered from the effects of their swift journey. the volunteers, therefore, stood guard altogether, to let them rest. chapter vi. about eight hundred of the volunteers, and of that number i was one, were now sent back, crossing the tennessee river, and on through huntsville, so as to cross the river again at another place, and to get on the indians in another direction. after we passed huntsville, we struck on the river at the muscle shoals, and at a place on them called melton's bluff. this river is here about two miles wide, and a rough bottom; so much so, indeed, in many places, as to be dangerous; and in fording it this time, we left several of the horses belonging to our men, with their feet fast in the crevices of the rocks. the men, whose horses were thus left, went ahead on foot. we pushed on till we got to what was called the black warrior's town, which stood near the very spot where tuscaloosa now stands, which is the seat of government for the state of alabama. this indian town was a large one; but when we arrived we found the indians had all left it. there was a large field of corn standing out, and a pretty good supply in some cribs. there was also a fine quantity of dried beans, which were very acceptable to us; and without delay we secured them as well as the corn, and then burned the town to ashes; after which we left the place. in the field where we gathered the corn we saw plenty of fresh indian tracks, and we had no doubt they had been scared off by our arrival. we then went on to meet the main army at the fork road, where i was first to have met major gibson. we got that evening as far back as the encampment we had made the night before we reached the black warrior's town, which we had just destroyed. the next day we were entirely out of meat. i went to col. coffee, who was then in command of us, and asked his leave to hunt as we marched. he gave me leave, but told me to take mighty good care of myself. i turned aside to hunt, and had not gone far when i found a deer that had just been killed and skinned, and his flesh was still warm and smoking. from this i was sure that the indian who had killed it had been gone only a very few minutes; and though i was never much in favour of one hunter stealing from another, yet meat was so scarce in camp, that i thought i must go in for it. so i just took up the deer on my horse before me, and carried it on till night. i could have sold it for almost any price i would have asked; but this wasn't my rule, neither in peace nor war. whenever i had any thing, and saw a fellow being suffering, i was more anxious to relieve him than to benefit myself. and this is one of the true secrets of my being a poor man to this day. but it is my way; and while it has often left me with an empty purse, which is as near the devil as any thing else i have seen, yet it has never left my heart empty of consolations which money couldn't buy,--the consolations of having sometimes fed the hungry and covered the naked. i gave all my deer away, except a small part i kept for myself, and just sufficient to make a good supper for my mess; for meat was getting to be a rarity to us all. we had to live mostly on parched corn. the next day we marched on, and at night took up camp near a large cane brake. while here, i told my mess i would again try for some meat; so i took my rifle and cut out, but hadn't gone far, when i discovered a large gang of hogs. i shot one of them down in his tracks, and the rest broke directly towards the camp. in a few minutes, the guns began to roar, as bad as if the whole army had been in an indian battle; and the hogs to squeal as bad as the pig did, when the devil turned barber. i shouldered my hog, and went on to the camp; and when i got there i found they had killed a good many of the hogs, and a fine fat cow into the bargain, that had broke out of the cane brake. we did very well that night, and the next morning marched on to a cherokee town, where our officers stop'd, and gave the inhabitants an order on uncle sam for their cow, and the hogs we had killed. the next day we met the main army, having had, as we thought, hard times, and a plenty of them, though we had yet seen hardly the beginning of trouble. after our meeting we went on to radcliff's, where i had been before while out as a spy; and when we got there, we found he had hid all his provisions. we also got into the secret, that he was the very rascal who had sent the runner to the indian camp, with the news that the "red sticks" were crossing at the ten islands; and that his object was to scare me and my men away, and send us back with a false alarm. to make some atonement for this, we took the old scroundrell's two big sons with us, and made them serve in the war. we then marched to a place, which we called camp wills; and here it was that captain cannon was promoted to a colonel, and colonel coffee to a general. we then marched to the ten islands, on the coosa river, where we established a fort; and our spy companies were sent out. they soon made prisoners of bob catala and his warriors, and, in a few days afterwards, we heard of some indians in a town about eight miles off. so we mounted our horses, and put out for that town, under the direction of two friendly creeks we had taken for pilots. we had also a cherokee colonel, dick brown, and some of his men with us. when we got near the town we divided; one of our pilots going with each division. and so we passed on each side of the town, keeping near to it, until our lines met on the far side. we then closed up at both ends, so as to surround it completely; and then we sent captain hammond's company of rangers to bring on the affray. he had advanced near the town, when the indians saw him, and they raised the yell, and came running at him like so many red devils. the main army was now formed in a hollow square around the town, and they pursued hammond till they came in reach of us. we then gave them a fire, and they returned it, and then ran back into their town. we began to close on the town by making our files closer and closer, and the indians soon saw they were our property. so most of them wanted us to take them prisoners; and their squaws and all would run and take hold of any of us they could, and give themselves up. i saw seven squaws have hold of one man, which made me think of the scriptures. so i hollered out the scriptures was fulfilling; that there was seven women holding to one man's coat tail. but i believe it was a hunting-shirt all the time. we took them all prisoners that came out to us in this way; but i saw some warriors run into a house, until i counted forty-six of them. we pursued them until we got near the house, when we saw a squaw sitting in the door, and she placed her feet against the bow she had in her hand, and then took an arrow, and, raising her feet, she drew with all her might, and let fly at us, and she killed a man, whose name, i believe, was moore. he was a lieutenant, and his death so enraged us all, that she was fired on, and had at least twenty balls blown through her. this was the first man i ever saw killed with a bow and arrow. we now shot them like dogs; and then set the house on fire, and burned it up with the forty-six warriors in it. i recollect seeing a boy who was shot down near the house. his arm and thigh was broken, and he was so near the burning house that the grease was stewing out of him. in this situation he was still trying to crawl along; but not a murmur escaped him, though he was only about twelve years old. so sullen is the indian, when his dander is up, that he had sooner die than make a noise, or ask for quarters. the number that we took prisoners, being added to the number we killed, amounted to one hundred and eighty-six; though i don't remember the exact number of either. we had five of our men killed. we then returned to our camp, at which our fort was erected, and known by the name of fort strother. no provisions had yet reached us, and we had now been for several days on half rations. however we went back to our indian town on the next day, when many of the carcasses of the indians were still to be seen. they looked very awful, for the burning had not entirely consumed them, but given them a very terrible appearance, at least what remained of them. it was, somehow or other, found out that the house had a potatoe cellar under it, and an immediate examination was made, for we were all as hungry as wolves. we found a fine chance of potatoes in it, and hunger compelled us to eat them, though i had a little rather not, if i could have helped it, for the oil of the indians we had burned up on the day before had run down on them, and they looked like they had been stewed with fat meat. we then again returned to the army, and remained there for several days almost starving, as all our beef was gone. we commenced eating the beef-hides, and continued to eat every scrap we could lay our hands on. at length an indian came to our guard one night, and hollered, and said he wanted to see "captain jackson." he was conducted to the general's markee, into which he entered, and in a few minutes we received orders to prepare for marching. in an hour we were all ready, and took up the line of march. we crossed the coosa river, and went on in the direction to fort taladega. when we arrived near the place, we met eleven hundred painted warriors, the very choice of the creek nation. they had encamped near the fort, and had informed the friendly indians who were in it, that if they didn't come out, and fight with them against the whites, they would take their fort and all their ammunition and provision. the friendly party asked three days to consider of it, and agreed that if on the third day they didn't come out ready to fight with them, they might take their fort. thus they put them off. they then immediately started their runner to general jackson, and he and the army pushed over, as i have just before stated. the camp of warriors had their spies out, and discovered us coming, some time before we got to the fort. they then went to the friendly indians, and told them captain jackson was coming, and had a great many fine horses, and blankets, and guns, and every thing else; and if they would come out and help to whip him, and to take his plunder, it should all be divided with those in the fort. they promised that when jackson came, they would then come out and help to whip him. it was about an hour by sun in the morning, when we got near the fort. we were piloted by friendly indians, and divided as we had done on a former occasion, so as to go to the right and left of the fort, and, consequently, of the warriors who were camped near it. our lines marched on, as before, till they met in front, and then closed in the rear, forming again into a hollow square. we then sent on old major russell, with his spy company, to bring on the battle; capt. evans' company went also. when they got near the fort, the top of it was lined with the friendly indians, crying out as loud as they could roar, "how-dy-do, brother, how-dy-do?" they kept this up till major russel had passed by the fort, and was moving on towards the warriors. they were all painted as red as scarlet, and were just as naked as they were born. they had concealed themselves under the bank of a branch, that ran partly around the fort, in the manner of a half moon. russel was going right into their circle, for he couldn't see them, while the indians on the top of the fort were trying every plan to show him his danger. but he couldn't understand them. at last, two of them jumped from it, and ran, and took his horse by the bridle, and pointing to where they were, told him there were thousands of them lying under the bank. this brought them to a halt, and about this moment the indians fired on them, and came rushing forth like a cloud of egyptian locusts, and screaming like all the young devils had been turned loose, with the old devil of all at their head. russel's company quit their horses, and took into the fort, and their horses ran up to our line, which was then in full view. the warriors then came yelling on, meeting us, and continued till they were within shot of us, when we fired and killed a considerable number of them. they then broke like a gang of steers, and ran across to our other line, where they were again fired on; and so we kept them running from one line to the other, constantly under a heavy fire, until we had killed upwards of four hundred of them. they fought with guns, and also with their bows and arrows; but at length they made their escape through a part of our line, which was made up of drafted militia, which broke ranks, and they passed. we lost fifteen of our men, as brave fellows as ever lived or died. we buried them all in one grave, and started back to our fort; but before we got there, two more of our men died of wounds they had received; making our total loss seventeen good fellows in that battle. we now remained at the fort a few days, but no provision came yet, and we were all likely to perish. the weather also began to get very cold; and our clothes were nearly worn out, and horses getting very feeble and poor. our officers proposed to gen'l. jackson to let us return home and get fresh horses, and fresh clothing, so as to be better prepared for another campaign; for our sixty days had long been out, and that was the time we entered for. but the general took "the responsibility" on himself, and refused. we were, however, determined to go, as i am to put back the deposites, _if i can_. with this, the general issued his orders against it, as he has against the bank. but we began to fix for a start, as provisions were too scarce; just as clay, and webster, and myself are preparing to fix bank matters, on account of the scarcity of money. the general went and placed his cannon on a bridge we had to cross, and ordered out his regulars and drafted men to keep us from crossing; just as he has planted his globe and k. c. to alarm the bank men, while his regulars and militia in congress are to act as artillery men. but when the militia started to guard the bridge, they would holler back to us to bring their knapsacks along when we come, for they wanted to go as bad as we did; just as many a good fellow now wants his political knapsack brought along, that if, when we come to vote, he sees he has a _fair shake to go_, he may join in and help us to take back the deposites. we got ready and moved on till we came near the bridge, where the general's men were all strung along on both sides, just like the office-holders are now, to keep us from getting along to the help of the country and the people. but we all had our flints ready picked, and our guns ready primed, that if we were fired on we might fight our way through, or all die together; just as we are now determined to save the country from ready ruin, or to sink down with it. when we came still nearer the bridge we heard the guards cocking their guns, and we did the same; just as we have had it in congress, while the "government" regulars and the people's volunteers have all been setting their political triggers. but, after all, we marched boldly on, and not a gun was fired, nor a life lost; just as i hope it will be again, that we shall not be afraid of the general's globe, nor his k. c., nor his regulars, nor their trigger snapping; but just march boldly over the executive bridge, and take the deposites back where the law placed them, and where they ought to be. when we had passed, no further attempt was made to stop us; but the general said, we were "the damned'st volunteers he had ever seen in his life; that we would volunteer and go out and fight, and then at our pleasure would _volunteer_ and go home again, in spite of the devil." but we went on; and near huntsville we met a reinforcement who were going on to join the army. it consisted of a regiment of volunteers, and was under the command of some one whose name i can't remember. they were sixty-day volunteers. we got home pretty safely, and in a short time we had procured fresh horses and a supply of clothing better suited for the season; and then we returned to fort deposite, where our officers held a sort of a "_national convention_" on the subject of a message they had received from general jackson,--demanding that on our return we should serve out _six months_. we had already served three months instead of two, which was the time we had volunteered for. on the next morning the officers reported to us the conclusions they had come to; and told us, if any of us felt bound to go on and serve out the six months, we could do so; but that they intended to go back home. i knowed if i went back home i couldn't rest, for i felt it my duty to be out; and when out was, somehow or other, always delighted to be in the very thickest of the danger. a few of us, therefore, determined to push on and join the army. the number i do not recollect, but it was very small. when we got out there, i joined major russel's company of spies. before we reached the place, general jackson had started. we went on likewise, and overtook him at a place where we established a fort, called fort williams, and leaving men to guard it, we went ahead; intending to go to a place called the horse-shoe bend of the talapoosa river. when we came near that place, we began to find indian sign plenty, and we struck up camp for the night. about two hours before day, we heard our guard firing, and we were all up in little or no time. we mended up our camp fires, and then fell back in the dark, expecting to see the indians pouring in; and intending, when they should do so, to shoot them by the light of our own fires. but it happened that they did not rush in as we had expected, but commenced a fire on us as we were. we were encamped in a hollow square, and we not only returned the fire, but continued to shoot as well as we could in the dark, till day broke, when the indians disappeared. the only guide we had in shooting was to notice the flash of their guns, and then shoot as directly at the place as we could guess. in this scrape we had four men killed, and several wounded; but whether we killed any of the indians or not we never could tell, for it is their custom always to carry off their dead, if they can possibly do so. we buried ours, and then made a large log heap over them, and set it on fire, so that the place of their deposite might not be known to the savages, who, we knew, would seek for them, that they might scalp them. we made some horse litters for our wounded, and took up a retreat. we moved on till we came to a large creek which we had to cross; and about half of our men had crossed, when the indians commenced firing on our left wing, and they kept it up very warmly. we had left major russel and his brother at the camp we had moved from that morning, to see what discovery they could make as to the movements of the indians; and about this time, while a warm fire was kept up on our left, as i have just stated, the major came up in our rear, and was closely pursued by a large number of indians, who immediately commenced a fire on our artillery men. they hid themselves behind a large log, and could kill one of our men almost every shot, they being in open ground and exposed. the worst of all was, two of our colonels just at this trying moment left their men, and by _a forced march_, crossed the creek out of the reach of the fire. their names, at this late day, would do the world no good, and my object is history alone, and not the slightest interference with character. an opportunity was now afforded for governor carroll to distinguish himself, and on this occasion he did so, by greater bravery than i ever saw any other man display. in truth, i believe, as firmly as i do that general jackson is president, that if it hadn't been for carroll, we should all have been genteely licked that time, for we were in a devil of a fix; part of our men on one side of the creek, and part on the other, and the indians all the time pouring it on us, as hot as fresh mustard to a sore shin. i will not say exactly that the old general was whip'd; but i will say, that if we escaped it at all, it was like old henry snider going to heaven, "mita tam tite squeeze." i think he would confess himself, that he was nearer whip'd this time than he was at any other, for i know that all the world couldn't make him acknowledge that he was _pointedly_ whip'd. i know i was mighty glad when it was over, and the savages quit us, for i had begun to think there was one behind every tree in the woods. we buried our dead, the number of whom i have also forgotten; and again made horse litters to carry our wounded, and so we put out, and returned to fort williams, from which place we had started. in the mean time, my horse had got crippled, and was unfit for service, and as another reinforcement had arrived, i thought they could get along without me for a short time; so i got a furlough and went home, for we had had hard times again on this hunt, and i began to feel as though i had done indian fighting enough for one time. i remained at home until after the army had returned to the horse-shoe bend, and fought the battle there. but not being with them at that time, of course no history of that fight can be expected of me. chapter vii. soon after this, an army was to be raised to go to pensacola, and i determined to go again with them, for i wanted a small taste of british fighting, and i supposed they would be there. here again the entreaties of my wife were thrown in the way of my going, but all in vain; for i always had a way of just going ahead, at whatever i had a mind to. one of my neighbours, hearing i had determined to go, came to me, and offered me a hundred dollars to go in his place as a substitute, as he had been drafted. i told him i was better raised than to hire myself out to be shot at; but that i would go, and he should go too, and in that way the government would have the services of us both. but we didn't call general jackson "the government" in those days, though we used to go and fight under him in the war. i fixed up, and joined old major russel again; but we couldn't start with the main army, but followed on, in a little time, after them. in a day or two, we had a hundred and thirty men in our company; and we went over and crossed the muscle shoals at the same place where i had crossed when first out, and when we burned the black warriors' town. we passed through the choctaw and chickesaw nations, on to fort stephens, and from thence to what is called the cut-off, at the junction of the tom-bigby with the alabama river. this place is near the old fort mimms, where the indians committed the great butchery at the commencement of the war. we were here about two days behind the main army, who had left their horses at the cut-off, and taken it on foot; and they did this because there was no chance for forage between there and pensacola. we did the same, leaving men enough to take care of our horses, and cut out on foot for that place. it was about eighty miles off; but in good heart we shouldered our guns, blankets, and provisions, and trudged merrily on. about twelve o'clock the second day, we reached the encampment of the main army, which was situated on a hill, overlooking the city of pensacola. my commander, major russel, was a great favourite with gen'l. jackson, and our arrival was hailed with great applause, though we were a little after the feast; for they had taken the town and fort before we got there. that evening we went down into the town, and could see the british fleet lying in sight of the place. we got some liquor, and took a "horn" or so, and went back to the camp. we remained there that night, and in the morning we marched back towards the cut-off. we pursued this direction till we reached old fort mimms, where we remained two or three days. it was here that major russel was promoted from his command, which was only that of a captain of spies, to the command of a major in the line. he had been known long before at home as old major russel, and so we all continued to call him in the army. a major childs, from east tennessee, also commanded a battalion, and his and the one russel was now appointed to command, composed a regiment, which, by agreement with general jackson, was to quit his army and go to the south, to kill up the indians on the scamby river. general jackson and the main army set out the next morning for new orleans, and a colonel blue took command of the regiment which i have before described. we remained, however, a few days after the general's departure, and then started also on our route. as it gave rise to so much war and bloodshed, it may not be improper here to give a little description of fort mimms, and the manner in which the indian war commenced. the fort was built right in the middle of a large old field, and in it the people had been forted so long and so quietly, that they didn't apprehend any danger at all, and had, therefore, become quite careless. a small negro boy, whose business it was to bring up the calves at milking time, had been out for that purpose, and on coming back, he said he saw a great many indians. at this the inhabitants took the alarm, and closed their gates and placed out their guards, which they continued for a few days. but finding that no attack was made, they concluded the little negro had lied; and again threw their gates open, and set all their hands out to work their fields. the same boy was out again on the same errand, when, returning in great haste and alarm, he informed them that he had seen the indians as thick as trees in the woods. he was not believed, but was tucked up to receive a flogging for the supposed lie; and was actually getting badly licked at the very moment when the indians came in a troop, loaded with rails, with which they stop'd all the port-holes of the fort on one side except the bastion; and then they fell in to cutting down the picketing. those inside the fort had only the bastion to shoot from, as all the other holes were spiked up; and they shot several of the indians, while engaged in cutting. but as fast as one would fall, another would seize up the axe and chop away, until they succeeded in cutting down enough of the picketing to admit them to enter. they then began to rush through, and continued until they were all in. they immediately commenced scalping, without regard to age or sex; having forced the inhabitants up to one side of the fort, where they carried on the work of death as a butcher would in a slaughter pen. the scene was particularly described to me by a young man who was in the fort when it happened, and subsequently went on with us to pensacola. he said that he saw his father, and mother, his four sisters, and the same number of brothers, all butchered in the most shocking manner, and that he made his escape by running over the heads of the crowd, who were against the fort wall, to the top of the fort, and then jumping off, and taking to the woods. he was closely pursued by several indians, until he came to a small byo, across which there was a log. he knew the log was hollow on the under side, so he slip'd under the log and hid himself. he said he heard the indians walk over him several times back and forward. he remained, nevertheless, still till night, when he came out, and finished his escape. the name of this young man has entirely escaped my recollection, though his tale greatly excited my feelings. but to return to my subject. the regiment marched from where gen'l. jackson had left us to fort montgomery, which was distant from fort mimms about a mile and a half, and there we remained for some days. here we supplied ourselves pretty well with beef, by killing wild cattle which had formerly belonged to the people who perished in the fort, but had gone wild after their massacre. when we marched from fort montgomery, we went some distance back towards pensacola; then we turned to the left, and passed through a poor piny country, till we reached the scamby river, near which we encamped. we had about one thousand men, and as a part of that number, one hundred and eighty-six chickesaw and choctaw indians with us. that evening a boat landed from pensacola, bringing many articles that were both good and necessary; such as sugar and coffee, and liquors of all kinds. the same evening, the indians we had along proposed to cross the river, and the officers thinking it might be well for them to do so, consented; and major russell went with them, taking sixteen white men, of which number i was one. we camped on the opposite bank that night, and early in the morning we set out. we had not gone far before we came to a place where the whole country was covered with water, and looked like a sea. we didn't stop for this, tho', but just put in like so many spaniels, and waded on, sometimes up to our armpits, until we reached the pine hills, which made our distance through the water about a mile and a half. here we struck up a fire to warm ourselves, for it was cold, and we were chilled through by being so long in the water. we again moved on, keeping our spies out; two to our left near the bank of the river, two straight before us, and two others on our right. we had gone in this way about six miles up the river, when our spies on the left came to us leaping the brush like so many old bucks, and informed us that they had discovered a camp of creek indians, and that we must kill them. here we paused for a few minutes, and the prophets pow-wowed over their men awhile, and then got out their paint, and painted them, all according to their custom when going into battle. they then brought their paint to old major russell, and said to him, that as he was an officer, he must be painted too. he agreed, and they painted him just as they had done themselves. we let the indians understand that we white men would first fire on the camp, and then fall back, so as to give the indians a chance to rush in and scalp them. the chickasaws marched on our left hand, and the choctaws on our right, and we moved on till we got in hearing of the camp, where the indians were employed in beating up what they called chainy briar root. on this they mostly subsisted. on a nearer approach we found they were on an island, and that we could not get to them. while we were chatting about this matter, we heard some guns fired, and in a very short time after a keen whoop, which satisfied us, that whereever it was, there was war on a small scale. with that we all broke, like quarter horses, for the firing; and when we got there we found it was our two front spies, who related to us the following story:--as they were moving on, they had met with two creeks who were out hunting their horses; as they approached each other, there was a large cluster of green bay bushes exactly between them, so that they were within a few feet of meeting before either was discovered. our spies walked up to them, and speaking in the shawnee tongue, informed them that general jackson was at pensacola, and they were making their escape, and wanted to know where they could get something to eat. the creeks told them that nine miles up the conaker, the river they were then on, there was a large camp of creeks, and they had cattle and plenty to eat; and further, that their own camp was on an island about a mile off, and just below the mouth of the conaker. they held their conversation and struck up a fire, and smoked together, and shook hands, and parted. one of the creeks had a gun, the other had none; and as soon as they had parted, our choctaws turned round and shot down the one that had the gun, and the other attempted to run off. they snapped several times at him, but the gun still missing fire, they took after him, and overtaking him, one of them struck him over the head with his gun, and followed up his blows till he killed him. the gun was broken in the combat, and they then fired off the gun of the creek they had killed, and raised the war-whoop. when we reached them, they had cut off the heads of both the indians; and each of those indians with us would walk up to one of the heads, and taking his war club would strike on it. this was done by every one of them; and when they had got done, i took one of their clubs, and walked up as they had done, and struck it on the head also. at this they all gathered round me, and patting me on the shoulder, would call me "warrior--warrior." they scalped the heads, and then we moved on a short distance to where we found a trace leading in towards the river. we took this trace and pursued it, till we came to where a spaniard had been killed and scalped, together with a woman, who we supposed to be his wife, and also four children. i began to feel mighty ticklish along about this time, for i knowed if there was no danger then, there had been; and i felt exactly like there still was. we, however, went on till we struck the river, and then continued down it till we came opposite to the indian camp, where we found they were still beating their roots. it was now late in the evening, and they were in a thick cane brake. we had some few friendly creeks with us, who said they could decoy them. so we all hid behind trees and logs, while the attempt was made. the indians would not agree that we should fire, but pick'd out some of their best gunners, and placed them near the river. our creeks went down to the river's side, and hailed the camp in the creek language. we heard an answer, and an indian man started down towards the river, but didn't come in sight. he went back and again commenced beating his roots, and sent a squaw. she came down, and talked with our creeks until dark came on. they told her they wanted her to bring them a canoe. to which she replied, that their canoe was on our side; that two of their men had gone out to hunt their horses and hadn't yet returned. they were the same two we had killed. the canoe was found, and forty of our picked indian warriors were crossed over to take the camp. there was at last only one man in it, and he escaped; and they took two squaws, and ten children, but killed none of them, of course. we had run nearly out of provisions, and major russell had determined to go up the conaker to the camp we had heard of from the indians we had killed. i was one that he selected to go down the river that night for provisions, with the canoe, to where we had left our regiment. i took with me a man by the name of john guess, and one of the friendly creeks, and cut out. it was very dark, and the river was so full that it overflowed the banks and the adjacent low bottoms. this rendered it very difficult to keep the channel, and particularly as the river was very crooked. at about ten o'clock at night we reached the camp, and were to return by morning to major russell, with provisions for his trip up the river; but on informing colonel blue of this arrangement, he vetoed it as quick as general jackson did the bank bill; and said, if major russell didn't come back the next day, it would be bad times for him. i found we were not to go up the conaker to the indian camp, and a man of my company offered to go up in my place to inform major russell. i let him go; and they reached the major, as i was told, about sunrise in the morning, who immediately returned with those who were with him to the regiment, and joined us where we crossed the river, as hereafter stated. the next morning we all fixed up, and marched down the scamby to a place called miller's landing, where we swam our horses across, and sent on two companies down on the side of the bay opposite to pensacola, where the indians had fled when the main army first marched to that place. one was the company of captain william russell, a son of the old major, and the other was commanded by a captain trimble. they went on, and had a little skirmish with the indians. they killed some, and took all the balance prisoners, though i don't remember the numbers. we again met those companies in a day or two, and sent the prisoners they had taken on to fort montgomery, in charge of some of our indians. i did hear, that after they left us, the indians killed and scalped all the prisoners, and i never heard the report contradicted. i cannot positively say it was true, but i think it entirely probable, for it is very much like the indian character. chapter viii. when we made a move from the point where we met the companies, we set out for chatahachy, the place for which we had started when we left fort montgomery. at the start we had taken only twenty days' rations of flour, and eight days' rations of beef; and it was now thirty-four days before we reached that place. we were, therefore, in extreme suffering for want of something to eat, and exhausted with our exposure and the fatigues of our journey. i remember well, that i had not myself tasted bread but twice in nineteen days. i had bought a pretty good supply of coffee from the boat that had reached us from pensacola, on the scamby, and on that we chiefly subsisted. at length, one night our spies came in, and informed us they had found holm's village on the chatahachy river; and we made an immediate push for that place. we traveled all night, expecting to get something to eat when we got there. we arrived about sunrise, and near the place prepared for battle. we were all so furious, that even the certainty of a pretty hard fight could not have restrained us. we made a furious charge on the town, but to our great mortification and surprise, there wasn't a human being in it. the indians had all run off and left it. we burned the town, however; but, melancholy to tell, we found no provision whatever. we then turned about, and went back to the camp we had left the night before, as nearly starved as any set of poor fellows ever were in the world. we staid there only a little while, when we divided our regiment; and major childs, with his men, went back the way we had come for a considerable distance, and then turned to baton rouge, where they joined general jackson and the main army on their return from orleans. major russell and his men struck for fort decatur, on the talapoosa river. some of our friendly indians, who knew the country, went on ahead of us, as we had no trail except the one they made to follow. with them we sent some of our ablest horses and men, to get us some provisions, to prevent us from absolutely starving to death. as the army marched, i hunted every day, and would kill every hawk, bird, and squirrel that i could find. others did the same; and it was a rule with us, that when we stop'd at night, the hunters would throw all they killed in a pile, and then we would make a general division among all the men. one evening i came in, having killed nothing that day. i had a very sick man in my mess, and i wanted something for him to eat, even if i starved myself. so i went to the fire of a captain cowen, who commanded my company after the promotion of major russell, and informed him that i was on the hunt of something for a sick man to eat. i knowed the captain was as bad off as the rest of us, but i found him broiling a turkey's gizzard. he said he had divided the turkey out among the sick, that major smiley had killed it, and that nothing else had been killed that day. i immediately went to smiley's fire, where i found him broiling another gizzard. i told him, that it was the first turkey i had ever seen have two gizzards. but so it was, i got nothing for my sick man. and now seeing that every fellow must shift for himself, i determined that in the morning, i would come up missing; so i took my mess and cut out to go ahead of the army. we know'd that nothing more could happen to us if we went than if we staid, for it looked like it was to be starvation any way; we therefore determined to go on the old saying, root hog or die. we passed two camps, at which our men, that had gone on before us, had killed indians. at one they had killed nine, and at the other three. about daylight we came to a small river, which i thought was the scamby; but we continued on for three days, killing little or nothing to eat; till, at last, we all began to get nearly ready to give up the ghost, and lie down and die; for we had no prospect of provision, and we knew we couldn't go much further without it. we came to a large prairie, that was about six miles across it, and in this i saw a trail which i knowed was made by bear, deer, and turkeys. we went on through it till we came to a large creek, and the low grounds were all set over with wild rye, looking as green as a wheat field. we here made a halt, unsaddled our horses, and turned them loose to graze. one of my companions, a mr. vanzant, and myself, then went up the low grounds to hunt. we had gone some distance, finding nothing; when at last, i found a squirrel; which i shot, but he got into a hole in the tree. the game was small, but necessity is not very particular; so i thought i must have him, and i climbed that tree thirty feet high, without a limb, and pulled him out of his hole. i shouldn't relate such small matters, only to show what lengths a hungry man will go to, to get something to eat. i soon killed two other squirrels, and fired at a large hawk. at this a large gang of turkeys rose from the cane brake, and flew across the creek to where my friend was, who had just before crossed it. he soon fired on a large gobler, and i heard it fall. by this time my gun was loaded again, and i saw one sitting on my side of the creek, which had flew over when he fired; so i blazed away, and down i brought him. i gathered him up, and a fine turkey he was. i now began to think we had struck a breeze of luck, and almost forgot our past sufferings, in the prospect of once more having something to eat. i raised the shout, and my comrade came to me, and we went on to our camp with the game we had killed. while we were gone, two of our mess had been out, and each of them had found a bee tree. we turned into cooking some of our game, but we had neither salt nor bread. just at this moment, on looking down the creek, we saw our men, who had gone on before us for provisions, coming to us. they came up, and measured out to each man a cupfull of flower. with this, we thickened our soup, when our turkey was cooked, and our friends took dinner with us, and then went on. we now took our tomahawks, and went and cut our bee-trees, out of which we got a fine chance of honey; though we had been starving so long that we feared to eat much at a time, till, like the irish by hanging, we got used to it again. we rested that night without moving our camp; and the next morning myself and vanzant again turned out to hunt. we had not gone far, before i wounded a fine buck very badly; and while pursuing him, i was walking on a large tree that had fallen down, when from the top of it, a large bear broke out and ran off. i had no dogs, and i was sorry enough for it; for of all the hunting i ever did, i have always delighted most in bear hunting. soon after this, i killed a large buck; and we had just gotten him to camp, when our poor starved army came up. they told us, that to lessen their sufferings as much as possible, captain william russell had had his horse led up to be shot for them to eat, just at the moment that they saw our men returning, who had carried on the flour. we were now about fourteen miles from fort decatur, and we gave away all our meat, and honey, and went on with the rest of the army. when we got there, they could give us only one ration of meat, but not a mouthful of bread. i immediately got a canoe, and taking my gun, crossed over the river, and went to the big warrior's town. i had a large hat, and i offered an indian a silver dollar for my hat full of corn. he told me that his corn was all "_shuestea_," which in english means, it was all gone. but he showed me where an indian lived, who, he said, had corn. i went to him, and made the same offer. he could talk a little broken english, and said to me, "you got any powder? you got bullet?" i told him i had. he then said, "me swap my corn, for powder and bullet." i took out about ten bullets, and showed him; and he proposed to give me a hat full of corn for them. i took him up, mighty quick. i then offered to give him ten charges of powder for another hat full of corn. to this he agreed very willingly. so i took off my hunting-shirt, and tied up my corn; and though it had cost me very little of my powder and lead, yet i wouldn't have taken fifty silver dollars for it. i returned to the camp, and the next morning we started for the hickory ground, which was thirty miles off. it was here that general jackson met the indians, and made peace with the body of the nation. we got nothing to eat at this place, and we had yet to go forty-nine miles, over a rough and wilderness country, to fort williams. parched corn, and but little even of that, was our daily subsistence. when we reached fort williams, we got one ration of pork and one of flour, which was our only hope until we could reach fort strother. the horses were now giving out, and i remember to have seen thirteen good horses left in one day, the saddles and bridles being thrown away. it was thirty-nine miles to fort strother, and we had to pass directly by fort talladego, where we first had the big indian battle with the eleven hundred painted warriors. we went through the old battle ground, and it looked like a great gourd patch; the sculls of the indians who were killed still lay scattered all about, and many of their frames were still perfect, as the bones had not separated. but about five miles before we got to this battle ground, i struck a trail, which i followed until it led me to one of their towns. here i swap'd some more of my powder and bullets for a little corn. i pursued on, by myself, till some time after night, when i came up with the rest of the army. that night my company and myself did pretty well, as i divided out my corn among them. the next morning we met the east tennessee troops, who were on their road to mobile, and my youngest brother was with them. they had plenty of corn and provisions, and they gave me what i wanted for myself and my horse. i remained with them that night, though my company went across the coosa river to the fort, where they also had the good fortune to find plenty of provisions. next morning, i took leave of my brother and all my old neighbours, for there were a good many of them with him, and crossed over to my men at the fort. here i had enough to go on, and after remaining a few days, cut out for home. nothing more, worthy of the reader's attention, transpired till i was safely landed at home once more with my wife and children. i found them all well and doing well; and though i was only a rough sort of a backwoodsman, they seemed mighty glad to see me, however little the quality folks might suppose it. for i do reckon we love as hard in the backwood country, as any people in the whole creation. but i had been home only a few days, when we received orders to start again, and go on to the black warrior and cahawba rivers, to see if there was no indians there. i know'd well enough there was none, and i wasn't willing to trust my craw any more where there was neither any fighting to do, nor any thing to go on; and so i agreed to give a young man, who wanted to go, the balance of my wages if he would serve out my time, which was about a month. he did so, and when they returned, sure enough they hadn't seen an indian any more than if they had been all the time chopping wood in my clearing. this closed my career as a warrior, and i am glad of it, for i like life now a heap better than i did then; and i am glad all over that i lived to see these times, which i should not have done if i had kept fooling along in war, and got used up at it. when i say i am glad, i just mean i am glad i am alive, for there is a confounded heap of things i an't glad of at all. i an't glad, for example, that the "government" moved the deposites, and if my military glory should take such a turn as to make me president after the general's time, i'll move them back; yes, i, the "government," will "take the responsibility," and move them back again. if i don't, i wish i may be shot. but i am glad that i am now through war matters, and i reckon the reader is too, for they have no fun in them at all; and less if he had had to pass through them first, and then to write them afterwards. but for the dullness of their narrative, i must try to make amends by relating some of the curious things that happened to me in private life, and when _forced_ to become a public man, as i shall have to be again, if ever i consent to take the presidential chair. chapter ix. i continued at home now, working my farm for two years, as the war finally closed soon after i quit the service. the battle at new orleans had already been fought, and treaties were made with the indians which put a stop to their hostilities. but in this time, i met with the hardest trial which ever falls to the lot of man. death, that cruel leveller of all distinctions,--to whom the prayers and tears of husbands, and of even helpless infancy, are addressed in vain,--entered my humble cottage, and tore from my children an affectionate good mother, and from me a tender and loving wife. it is a scene long gone by, and one which it would be supposed i had almost forgotten; yet when i turn my memory back on it, it seems as but the work of yesterday. it was the doing of the almighty, whose ways are always right, though we sometimes think they fall heavily on us; and as painful as is even yet the remembrance of her sufferings, and the loss sustained by my little children and myself, yet i have no wish to lift up the voice of complaint. i was left with three children; the two oldest were sons, the youngest a daughter, and, at that time, a mere infant. it appeared to me, at that moment, that my situation was the worst in the world. i couldn't bear the thought of scattering my children, and so i got my youngest brother, who was also married, and his family to live with me. they took as good care of my children as they well could, but yet it wasn't all like the care of a mother. and though their company was to me in every respect like that of a brother and sister, yet it fell far short of being like that of a wife. so i came to the conclusion it wouldn't do, but that i must have another wife. there lived in the neighbourhood, a widow lady whose husband had been killed in the war. she had two children, a son and daughter, and both quite small, like my own. i began to think, that as we were both in the same situation, it might be that we could do something for each other; and i therefore began to hint a little around the matter, as we were once and a while together. she was a good industrious woman, and owned a snug little farm, and lived quite comfortable. i soon began to pay my respects to her in real good earnest; but i was as sly about it as a fox when he is going to rob a hen-roost. i found that my company wasn't at all disagreeable to her; and i thought i could treat her children with so much friendship as to make her a good stepmother to mine, and in this i wan't mistaken, as we soon bargained, and got married, and then went ahead. in a great deal of peace we raised our first crop of children, and they are all married and doing well. but we had a second crop together; and i shall notice them as i go along, as my wife and myself both had a hand in them, and they therefore belong to the history of my second marriage. the next fall after this marriage, three of my neighbours and myself determined to explore a new country. their names were robinson, frazier, and rich. we set out for the creek country, crossing the tennessee river; and after having made a day's travel, we stop'd at the house of one of my old acquaintances, who had settled there after the war. resting here a day, frazier turned out to hunt, being a great hunter; but he got badly bit by a very poisonous snake, and so we left him and went on. we passed through a large rich valley, called jones's valley, where several other families had settled, and continued our course till we came near to the place where tuscaloosa now stands. here we camped, as there were no inhabitants, and hobbled out our horses for the night. about two hours before day, we heard the bells on our horses going back the way we had come, as they had started to leave us. as soon as it was daylight, i started in pursuit of them on foot, and carrying my rifle, which was a very heavy one. i went ahead the whole day, wading creeks and swamps, and climbing mountains; but i couldn't overtake our horses, though i could hear of them at every house they passed. i at last found i couldn't catch up with them, and so i gave up the hunt, and turned back to the last house i had passed, and staid there till morning. from the best calculation we could make, i had walked over fifty miles that day; and the next morning i was so sore, and fatigued, that i felt like i couldn't walk any more. but i was anxious to get back to where i had left my company, and so i started and went on, but mighty slowly, till after the middle of the day. i now began to feel mighty sick, and had a dreadful head-ache. my rifle was so heavy, and i felt so weak, that i lay down by the side of the trace, in a perfect wilderness too, to see if i wouldn't get better. in a short time some indians came along. they had some ripe melons, and wanted me to eat some, but i was so sick i couldn't. they then signed to me, that i would die, and be buried; a thing i was confoundedly afraid of myself. but i asked them how near it was to any house? by their signs, again, they made me understand it was a mile and a half. i got up to go; but when i rose, i reeled about like a cow with the blind staggers, or a fellow who had taken too many "horns." one of the indians proposed to go with me, and carry my gun. i gave him half a dollar, and accepted his offer. we got to the house, by which time i was pretty far gone, but was kindly received, and got on to a bed. the woman did all she could for me with her warm teas, but i still continued bad enough, with a high fever, and generally out of my senses. the next day two of my neighbours were passing the road, and heard of my situation, and came to where i was. they were going nearly the route i had intended to go, to look at the country; and so they took me first on one of their horses, and then on the other, till they got me back to where i had left my company. i expected i would get better, and be able to go on with them, but, instead of this, i got worse and worse; and when we got there, i wan't able to sit up at all. i thought now the jig was mighty nigh up with me, but i determined to keep a stiff upper lip. they carried me to a house, and each of my comrades bought him a horse, and they all set out together, leaving me behind. i knew but little that was going on for about two weeks; but the family treated me with every possible kindness in their power, and i shall always feel thankful to them. the man's name was jesse jones. at the end of two weeks i began to mend without the help of a doctor, or of any doctor's means. in this time, however, as they told me, i was speechless for five days, and they had no thought that i would ever speak again,--in congress or any where else. and so the woman, who had a bottle of batesman's draps, thought if they killed me, i would only die any how, and so she would try it with me. she gave me the whole bottle, which throwed me into a sweat that continued on me all night; when at last i seemed to make up, and spoke, and asked her for a drink of water. this almost alarmed her, for she was looking every minute for me to die. she gave me the water, and, from that time, i began slowly to mend, and so kept on till i was able at last to walk about a little. i might easily have been mistaken for one of the kitchen cabinet, i looked so much like a ghost. i have been particular in giving a history of this sickness, not because i believe it will interest any body much now, nor, indeed, do i _certainly_ know that it ever will. but if i should be forced to take the "white house," then it will be good history; and every one will look on it as important. and i can't, for my life, help laughing now, to think, that when all my folks get around me, wanting good fat offices, how so many of them will say, "what a good thing it was that that kind woman had the bottle of draps, that saved president crockett's life,--the second greatest and best"!!!!! good, says i, my noble fellow! you take the post office; or the navy; or the war office; or may-be the treasury. but if i give him the treasury, there's no devil if i don't make him agree first to fetch back them deposites. and if it's even the post office, i'll make him promise to keep his money 'counts without any figuring, as that throws the whole concern heels over head in debt, in little or no time. but when i got so i could travel a little, i got a waggoner who was passing along to hawl me to where he lived, which was about twenty miles from my house. i still mended as we went along, and when we got to his stopping place, i hired one of his horses, and went on home. i was so pale, and so much reduced, that my face looked like it had been half soled with brown paper. when i got there, it was to the utter astonishment of my wife; for she supposed i was dead. my neighbours who had started with me had returned and took my horse home, which they had found with their's; and they reported that they had seen men who had helped to bury me; and who saw me draw my last breath. i know'd this was a whapper of a lie, as soon as i heard it. my wife had hired a man, and sent him out to see what had become of my money and other things; but i had missed the man as i went in, and he didn't return until some time after i got home, as he went all the way to where i lay sick, before he heard that i was still in the land of the living and a-kicking. the place on which i lived was sickly, and i was determined to leave it. i therefore set out the next fall to look at the country which had been purchased of the chickasaw tribe of indians. i went on to a place called shoal creek, about eighty miles from where i lived, and here again i got sick. i took the ague and fever, which i supposed was brought on me by camping out. i remained here for some time, as i was unable to go farther; and in that time, i became so well pleased with the country about there, that i resolved to settle in it. it was just only a little distance in the purchase, and no order had been established there; but i thought i could get along without order as well as any body else. and so i moved and settled myself down on the head of shoal creek. we remained here some two or three years, without any law at all; and so many bad characters began to flock in upon us, that we found it necessary to set up a sort of temporary government of our own. i don't mean that we made any president, and called him the "government," but we met and made what we called a corporation; and i reckon we called _it_ wrong, for it wa'n't a bank, and hadn't any deposites; and now they call the bank a corporation. but be this as it may, we lived in the back-woods, and didn't profess to know much, and no doubt used many wrong words. but we met, and appointed magistrates and constables to keep order. we didn't fix any laws for them, tho'; for we supposed they would know law enough, whoever they might be; and so we left it to themselves to fix the laws. i was appointed one of the magistrates; and when a man owed a debt, and wouldn't pay it, i and my constable ordered our warrant, and then he would take the man, and bring him before me for trial. i would give judgment against him, and then an order of an execution would easily scare the debt out of him. if any one was charged with marking his neighbour's hogs, or with stealing any thing, which happened pretty often in those days,--i would have him taken, and if there was tolerable grounds for the charge, i would have him well whip'd and cleared. we kept this up till our legislature added us to the white settlements in giles county; and appointed magistrates by law, to organize matters in the parts where i lived. they appointed nearly every man a magistrate who had belonged to our corporation. i was then, of course, made a squire according to law; though now the honour rested more heavily on me than before. for, at first, whenever i told my constable, says i--"catch that fellow, and bring him up for trial"--away he went, and the fellow must come, dead or alive; for we considered this a good warrant, though it was only in verbal writings. but after i was appointed by the assembly, they told me, my warrants must be in real writing, and signed; and that i must keep a book, and write my proceedings in it. this was a hard business on me, for i could just barely write my own name; but to do this, and write the warrants too, was at least a huckleberry over my persimmon. i had a pretty well informed constable, however; and he aided me very much in this business. indeed i had so much confidence in him, that i told him, when we should happen to be out anywhere, and see that a warrant was necessary, and would have a good effect, he need'nt take the trouble to come all the way to me to get one, but he could just fill out one; and then on the trial i could correct the whole business if he had committed any error. in this way i got on pretty well, till by care and attention i improved my handwriting in such manner as to be able to prepare my warrants, and keep my record book, without much difficulty. my judgments were never appealed from, and if they had been they would have stuck like wax, as i gave my decisions on the principles of common justice and honesty between man and man, and relied on natural born sense, and not on law, learning to guide me; for i had never read a page in a law book in all my life. chapter x. about the time we were getting under good headway in our new government, a capt. matthews came to me and told me he was a candidate for the office of colonel of a regiment, and that i must run for first major in the same regiment. i objected to this, telling him that i thought i had done my share of fighting, and that i wanted nothing to do with military appointments. he still insisted, until at last i agreed, and of course had every reason to calculate on his support in my election. he was an early settler in that country, and made rather more corn than the rest of us; and knowing it would afford him a good opportunity to electioneer a little, he made a great corn husking, and a great frolic, and gave a general treat, asking every body over the whole country. myself and my family were, of course, invited. when i got there, i found a very large collection of people, and some friend of mine soon informed me that the captain's son was going to offer against me for the office of major, which he had seemed so anxious for me to get. i cared nothing about the office, but it put my dander up high enough to see, that after he had pressed me so hard to offer, he was countenancing, if not encouraging, a secret plan to beat me. i took the old gentleman out, and asked him about it. he told me it was true his son was going to run as a candidate, and that he hated worse to run against me than any man in the county. i told him his son need give himself no uneasiness about that; that i shouldn't run against him for major, but against his daddy for colonel. he took me by the hand, and we went into the company. he then made a speech, and informed the people that i was his opponent. i mounted up for a speech too. i told the people the cause of my opposing him, remarking that as i had the whole family to run against any way, i was determined to levy on the head of the mess. when the time for the election came, his son was opposed by another man for major; and he and his daddy were both badly beaten. i just now began to take a rise, as in a little time i was asked to offer for the legislature in the counties of lawrence and heckman. i offered my name in the month of february, and started about the first of march with a drove of horses to the lower part of the state of north carolina. this was in the year 1821, and i was gone upwards of three months. i returned, and set out electioneering, which was a bran-fire new business to me. it now became necessary that i should tell the people something about the government, and an eternal sight of other things that i knowed nothing more about than i did about latin, and law, and such things as that. i have said before that in those days none of us called gen'l. jackson the government, nor did he seem in as fair a way to become so as i do now; but i knowed so little about it, that if any one had told me he was "the government," i should have believed it, for i had never read even a newspaper in my life, or any thing else, on the subject. but over all my difficulties, it seems to me i was born for luck, though it would be hard for any one to guess what sort. i will, however, explain that hereafter. i went first into heckman county, to see what i could do among the people as a candidate. here they told me that they wanted to move their town nearer to the centre of the county, and i must come out in favour of it. there's no devil if i knowed what this meant, or how the town was to be moved; and so i kept dark, going on the identical same plan that i now find is called "_non-committal_." about this time there was a great squirrel hunt on duck river, which was among my people. they were to hunt two days: then to meet and count the scalps, and have a big barbecue, and what might be called a tip-top country frolic. the dinner, and a general treat, was all to be paid for by the party having taken the fewest scalps. i joined one side, taking the place of one of the hunters, and got a gun ready for the hunt. i killed a great many squirrels, and when we counted scalps, my party was victorious. the company had every thing to eat and drink that could be furnished in so new a country, and much fun and good humour prevailed. but before the regular frolic commenced, i mean the dancing, i was called on to make a speech as a candidate; which was a business i was as ignorant of as an outlandish negro. a public document i had never seen, nor did i know there were such things; and how to begin i couldn't tell. i made many apologies, and tried to get off, for i know'd i had a man to run against who could speak prime, and i know'd, too, that i wa'n't able to shuffle and cut with him. he was there, and knowing my ignorance as well as i did myself, he also urged me to make a speech. the truth is, he thought my being a candidate was a mere matter of sport; and didn't think, for a moment, that he was in any danger from an ignorant back-woods bear hunter. but i found i couldn't get off, and so i determined just to go ahead, and leave it to chance what i should say. i got up and told the people, i reckoned they know'd what i come for, but if not, i could tell them. i had come for their votes, and if they didn't watch mighty close, i'd get them too. but the worst of all was, that i couldn't tell them any thing about government. i tried to speak about something, and i cared very little what, until i choaked up as bad as if my mouth had been jam'd and cram'd chock full of dry mush. there the people stood, listening all the while, with their eyes, mouths and ear all open, to catch every word i would speak. at last i told them i was like a fellow i had heard of not long before. he was beating on the head of an empty barrel near the road-side, when a traveler, who was passing along, asked him what he was doing that for? the fellow replied, that there was some cider in that barrel a few days before, and he was trying to see if there was any then, but if there was he couldn't get at it. i told them that there had been a little bit of a speech in me a while ago, but i believed i couldn't get it out. they all roared out in a mighty laugh, and i told some other anecdotes, equally amusing to them, and believing i had them in a first-rate way, i quit and got down, thanking the people for their attention. but i took care to remark that i was as dry as a powder horn, and that i thought it was time for us all to wet our whistles a little; and so i put off to the liquor stand, and was followed by the greater part of the crowd. i felt certain this was necessary, for i knowed my competitor could open government matters to them as easy as he pleased. he had, however, mighty few left to hear him, as i continued with the crowd, now and then taking a horn, and telling good humoured stories, till he was done speaking. i found i was good for the votes at the hunt, and when we broke up, i went on to the town of vernon, which was the same they wanted me to move. here they pressed me again on the subject, and i found i could get either party by agreeing with them. but i told them i didn't know whether it would be right or not, and so couldn't promise either way. their court commenced on the next monday, as the barbacue was on a saturday, and the candidates for governor and for congress, as well as my competitor and myself, all attended. the thought of having to make a speech made my knees feel mighty weak, and set my heart to fluttering almost as bad as my first love scrape with the quaker's niece. but as good luck would have it, these big candidates spoke nearly all day, and when they quit, the people were worn out with fatigue, which afforded me a good apology for not discussing the government. but i listened mighty close to them, and was learning pretty fast about political matters. when they were all done, i got up and told some laughable story, and quit. i found i was safe in those parts, and so i went home, and didn't go back again till after the election was over. but to cut this matter short, i was elected, doubling my competitor, and nine votes over. a short time after this, i was in pulaski, where i met with colonel polk, now a member of congress from tennessee. he was at that time a member elected to the legislature, as well as myself; and in a large company he said to me, "well, colonel, i suppose we shall have a radical change of the judiciary at the next session of the legislature." "very likely, sir," says i, and i put out quicker, for i was afraid some one would ask me what the judiciary was; and if i knowed i wish i may be shot. i don't indeed believe i had ever before heard that there was any such thing in all nature; but still i was not willing that the people there should know how ignorant i was about it. when the time for meeting of the legislature arrived, i went on, and before i had been there long, i could have told what the judiciary was, and what the government was too; and many other things that i had known nothing about before. about this time i met with a very severe misfortune, which i may be pardoned for naming, as it made a great change in my circumstances, and kept me back very much in the world. i had built an extensive grist mill, and powder mill, all connected together, and also a large distillery. they had cost me upwards of three thousand dollars, more than i was worth in the world. the first news that i heard after i got to the legislature, was, that my mills were--not blown up sky high, as you would guess, by my powder establishment,--but swept away all to smash by a large fresh, that came soon after i left home. i had, of course, to stop my distillery, as my grinding was broken up; and, indeed, i may say, that the misfortune just made a complete mash of me. i had some likely negroes, and a good stock of almost every thing about me, and, best of all, i had an honest wife. she didn't advise me, as is too fashionable, to smuggle up this, and that, and t'other, to go on at home; but she told me, says she, "just pay up, as long as you have a bit's worth in the world; and then every body will be satisfied, and we will scuffle for more." this was just such talk as i wanted to hear, for a man's wife can hold him devlish uneasy, if she begins to scold, and fret, and perplex him, at a time when he has a full load for a rail-road car on his mind already. and so, you see, i determined not to break full handed, but thought it better to keep a good conscience with an empty purse, than to get a bad opinion of myself, with a full one. i therefore gave up all i had, and took a bran-fire new start. chapter xi. having returned from the legislature, i determined to make another move, and so i took my eldest son with me, and a young man by the name of abram henry, and cut out for the obion. i selected a spot when i got there, where i determined to settle; and the nearest house to it was seven miles, the next nearest was fifteen, and so on to twenty. it was a complete wilderness, and full of indians who were hunting. game was plenty of almost every kind, which suited me exactly, as i was always fond of hunting. the house which was nearest me, and which, as i have already stated, was seven miles off, and on the different side of the obion river, belonged to a man by the name of owens; and i started to go there. i had taken one horse along, to pack our provision, and when i got to the water i hobbled him out to graze, until i got back; as there was no boat to cross the river in, and it was so high that it had overflowed all the bottoms and low country near it. we now took water like so many beavers, notwithstanding it was mighty cold, and waded on. the water would sometimes be up to our necks, and at others not so deep; but i went, of course, before, and carried a pole, with which i would feel along before me, to see how deep it was, and to guard against falling into a slough, as there was many in our way. when i would come to one, i would take out my tomahawk and cut a small tree across it, and then go ahead again. frequently my little son would have to swim, even where myself and the young man could wade; but we worked on till at last we got to the channel of the river, which made it about half a mile we had waded from where we took water. i saw a large tree that had fallen into the river from the other side, but it didn't reach across. one stood on the same bank where we were, that i thought i could fall, so as to reach the other; and so at it we went with my tomahawk, cutting away till we got it down; and, as good luck would have it, it fell right, and made us a way that we could pass. when we got over this, it was still a sea of water as far as our eyes could reach. we took into it again, and went ahead, for about a mile, hardly ever seeing a single spot of land, and sometimes very deep. at last we come in sight of land, which was a very pleasing thing; and when we got out, we went but a little way, before we came in sight of the house, which was more pleasing than ever; for we were wet all over, and mighty cold. i felt mighty sorry when i would look at my little boy, and see him shaking like he had the worst sort of an ague, for there was no time for fever then. as we got near to the house, we saw mr. owens and several men that were with him, just starting away. they saw us, and stop'd, but looked much astonished until we got up to them, and i made myself known. the men who were with him were the owners of a boat which was the first that ever went that far up the obion river; and some hands he had hired to carry it about a hundred miles still further up, by water, tho' it was only about thirty by land, as the river is very crooked. they all turned back to the house with me, where i found mrs. owens, a fine, friendly old woman; and her kindness to my little boy did me ten times as much good as any thing she could have done for me, if she had tried her best. the old gentleman set out his bottle to us, and i concluded that if a horn wasn't good then, there was no use for its invention. so i swig'd off about a half pint, and the young man was by no means bashful in such a case; he took a strong pull at it too. i then gave my boy some, and in a little time we felt pretty well. we dried ourselves by the fire, and were asked to go on board of the boat that evening. i agreed to do so, but left my son with the old lady, and myself and my young man went to the boat with mr. owens and the others. the boat was loaded with whiskey, flour, sugar, coffee, salt, castings, and other articles suitable for the country; and they were to receive five hundred dollars to land the load at m'lemore's bluff, beside the profit they could make on their load. this was merely to show that boats could get up to that point. we staid all night with them, and had a high night of it, as i took steam enough to drive out all the cold that was in me, and about three times as much more. in the morning we concluded to go on with the boat to where a great _harricane_ had crossed the river, and blowed all the timber down into it. when we got there, we found the river was falling fast, and concluded we couldn't get through the timber without more rise; so we drop'd down opposite mr. owens' again, where they determined to wait for more water. the next day it rained rip-roriously, and the river rose pretty considerable, but not enough yet. and so i got the boatsmen all to go out with me to where i was going to settle, and we slap'd up a cabin in little or no time. i got from the boat four barrels of meal, and one of salt, and about ten gallons of whiskey. to pay for these, i agreed to go with the boat up the river to their landing place. i got also a large middling of bacon, and killed a fine deer, and left them for my young man and my little boy, who were to stay at my cabin till i got back; which i expected would be in six or seven days. we cut out, and moved up to the harricane, where we stop'd for the night. in the morning i started about daylight, intending to kill a deer, as i had no thought they would get the boat through the timber that day. i had gone but a little way before i killed a fine buck, and started to go back to the boat; but on the way i came on the tracks of a large gang of elks, and so i took after them. i had followed them only a little distance when i saw them, and directly after i saw two large bucks. i shot one down, and the other wouldn't leave him; so i loaded my gun, and shot him down too. i hung them up, and went ahead again after my elks. i pursued on till after the middle of the day before i saw them again; but they took the hint before i got in shooting distance, and run off. i still pushed on till late in the evening, when i found i was about four miles from where i had left the boat, and as hungry as a wolf, for i hadn't eaten a bite that day. i started down the edge of the river low grounds, giving out the pursuit of my elks, and hadn't gone hardly any distance at all, before i saw two more bucks, very large fellows too. i took a blizzard at one of them, and up he tumbled. the other ran off a few jumps and stop'd; and stood there till i loaded again, and fired at him. i knock'd his trotters from under him, and then i hung them both up. i pushed on again; and about sunset i saw three other bucks. i down'd with one of them, and the other two ran off. i hung this one up also, having now killed six that day. i then pushed on till i got to the harricane, and at the lower edge of it, about where i expected the boat was. here i hollered as hard as i could roar, but could get no answer. i fired off my gun, and the men on the boat fired one too; but quite contrary to my expectation, they had got through the timber, and were about two miles above me. it was now dark, and i had to crawl through the fallen timber the best way i could; and if the reader don't know it was bad enough, i am sure i do. for the vines and briers had grown all through it, and so thick, that a good fat coon couldn't much more than get along. i got through at last, and went on near to where i had killed my last deer, and once more fired off my gun, which was again answered from the boat, which was still a little above me. i moved on as fast as i could, but soon came to water, and not knowing how deep it was, i halted and hollered till they came to me with a skiff. i now got to the boat, without further difficulty; but the briers had worked on me at such a rate, that i felt like i wanted sewing up, all over. i took a pretty stiff horn, which soon made me feel much better; but i was so tired that i could hardly work my jaws to eat. in the morning, myself and a young man started and brought in the first buck i had killed; and after breakfast we went and brought in the last one. the boat then started, but we again went and got the two i had killed just as i turned down the river in the evening; and we then pushed on and o'ertook the boat, leaving the other two hanging in the woods, as we had now as much as we wanted. we got up the river very well, but quite slowly; and we landed, on the eleventh day, at the place the load was to be delivered at. they here gave me their skiff, and myself and a young man by the name of flavius harris, who had determined to go and live with me, cut out down the river for my cabin, which we reached safely enough. we turned in and cleared a field, and planted our corn; but it was so late in the spring, we had no time to make rails, and therefore we put no fence around our field. there was no stock, however, nor any thing else to disturb our corn, except the wild _varments_, and the old serpent himself, with a fence to help him, couldn't keep them out. i made corn enough to do me, and during that spring i killed ten bears, and a great abundance of deer. but in all this time, we saw the face of no white person in that country, except mr. owens' family, and a very few passengers, who went out there, looking at the country. indians, though, were still plenty enough. having laid by my crap, i went home, which was a distance of about a hundred and fifty miles; and when i got there, i was met by an order to attend a call-session of our legislature. i attended it, and served out my time, and then returned, and took my family and what little plunder i had, and moved to where i had built my cabin, and made my crap. i gathered my corn, and then set out for my fall's hunt. this was in the last of october, 1822. i found bear very plenty, and, indeed, all sorts of game and wild varments, except buffalo. there was none of them. i hunted on till christmass, having supplied my family very well all along with wild meat, at which time my powder gave out; and i had none either to fire christmass guns, which is very common in that country, or to hunt with. i had a brother-in-law who had now moved out and settled about six miles west of me, on the opposite side of rutherford's fork of the obion river, and he had brought me a keg of powder, but i had never gotten it home. there had just been another of noah's freshes, and the low grounds were flooded all over with water. i know'd the stream was at least a mile wide which i would have to cross, as the water was from hill to hill, and yet i determined to go on over in some way or other, so as to get my powder. i told this to my wife, and she immediately opposed it with all her might. i still insisted, telling her we had no powder for christmass, and, worse than all, we were out of meat. she said, we had as well starve as for me to freeze to death or to get drowned, and one or the other was certain if i attempted to go. but i didn't believe the half of this; and so i took my woolen wrappers, and a pair of mockasins, and put them on, and tied up some dry clothes and a pair of shoes and stockings, and started. but i didn't before know how much any body could suffer and not die. this, and some of my other experiments in water, learned me something about it, and i therefore relate them. the snow was about four inches deep when i started; and when i got to the water, which was only about a quarter of a mile off, it look'd like an ocean. i put in, and waded on till i come to the channel, where i crossed that on a high log. i then took water again, having my gun and all my hunting tools along, and waded till i came to a deep slough, that was wider than the river itself. i had crossed it often on a log; but, behold, when i got there, no log was to be seen. i knowed of an island in the slough, and a sapling stood on it close to the side of that log, which was now entirely under water. i knowed further, that the water was about eight or ten feet deep under the log, and i judged it to be about three feet deep over it. after studying a little what i should do, i determined to cut a forked sapling, which stood near me, so as to lodge it against the one that stood on the island, in which i succeeded very well. i then cut me a pole, and crawled along on my sapling till i got to the one it was lodged against, which was about six feet above the water. i then felt about with my pole till i found the log, which was just about as deep under the water as i had judged. i then crawled back and got my gun, which i had left at the stump of the sapling i had cut, and again made my way to the place of lodgement, and then climb'd down the other sapling so as to get on the log. i then felt my way along with my feet, in the water, about waist deep, but it was a mighty ticklish business. however, i got over, and by this time i had very little feeling in my feet and legs, as i had been all the time in the water, except what time i was crossing the high log over the river, and climbing my lodged sapling. i went but a short distance before i came to another slough, over which there was a log, but it was floating on the water. i thought i could walk it, and so i mounted on it; but when i had got about the middle of the deep water, somehow or somehow else, it turned over, and in i went up to my head i waded out of this deep water, and went ahead till i came to the high-land, where i stop'd to pull off my wet clothes, and put on the others, which i had held up with my gun, above the water, when i fell in. i got them on, but my flesh had no feeling in it, i was so cold. i tied up the wet ones, and hung them up in a bush. i now thought i would run, so as to warm myself a little, but i couldn't raise a trot for some time; indeed, i couldn't step more than half the length of my foot. after a while i got better, and went on five miles to the house of my brother-in-law, having not even smelt fire from the time i started. i got there late in the evening, and he was much astonished at seeing me at such a time. i staid all night, and the next morning was most piercing cold, and so they persuaded me not to go home that day. i agreed, and turned out and killed him two deer; but the weather still got worse and colder, instead of better. i staid that night, and in the morning they still insisted i couldn't get home. i knowed the water would be frozen over, but not hard enough to bear me, and so i agreed to stay that day. i went out hunting again, and pursued a big _he-bear_ all day, but didn't kill him. the next morning was bitter cold, but i knowed my family was without meat, and i determined to get home to them, or die a-trying. i took my keg of powder, and all my hunting tools, and cut out. when i got to the water, it was a sheet of ice as far as i could see. i put on to it, but hadn't got far before it broke through with me; and so i took out my tomahawk, and broke my way along before me for a considerable distance. at last i got to where the ice would bear me for a short distance, and i mounted on it, and went ahead; but it soon broke in again, and i had to wade on till i came to my floating log. i found it so tight this time, that i know'd it couldn't give me another fall, as it was frozen in with the ice. i crossed over it without much difficulty, and worked along till i got to my lodged sapling, and my log under the water. the swiftness of the current prevented the water from freezing over it, and so i had to wade, just as i did when i crossed it before. when i got to my sapling, i left my gun and climbed out with my powder keg first, and then went back and got my gun. by this time i was nearly frozen to death, but i saw all along before me, where the ice had been fresh broke, and i thought it must be a bear straggling about in the water. i, therefore, fresh primed my gun, and, cold as i was, i was determined to make war on him, if we met. but i followed the trail till it led me home, and i then found it had been made by my young man that lived with me, who had been sent by my distressed wife to see, if he could, what had become of me, for they all believed that i was dead. when i got home i was'nt quite dead, but mighty nigh it; but i had my powder, and that was what i went for. chapter xii. that night there fell a heavy rain, and it turned to a sleet. in the morning all hands turned out hunting. my young man, and a brother-in-law who had lately settled close by me, went down the river to hunt for turkeys; but i was for larger game. i told them, i had dreamed the night before of having a hard fight with a big black nigger, and i knowed it was a sign that i was to have a battle with a bear; for in a bear country, i never know'd such a dream to fail. so i started to go up above the harricane, determined to have a bear. i had two pretty good dogs, and an old hound, all of which i took along. i had gone about six miles up the river, and it was then about four miles across to the main obion; so i determined to strike across to that, as i had found nothing yet to kill. i got on to the river, and turned down it; but the sleet was still getting worse and worse. the bushes were all bent down, and locked together with ice, so that it was almost impossible to get along. in a little time my dogs started a large gang of old turkey goblers, and i killed two of them, of the biggest sort. i shouldered them up, and moved on, until i got through the harricane, when i was so tired that i laid my goblers down to rest, as they were confounded heavy, and i was mighty tired. while i was resting, my old hound went to a log, and smelt it awhile, and then raised his eyes toward the sky, and cried out. away he went, and my other dogs with him, and i shouldered up my turkeys again, and followed on as hard as i could drive. they were soon out of sight, and in a very little time i heard them begin to bark. when i got to them, they were barking up a tree, but there was no game there. i concluded it had been a turkey, and that it had flew away. when they saw me coming, away they went again; and, after a little time, began to bark as before. when i got near them, i found they were barking up the wrong tree again, as there was no game there. they served me in this way three or four times, until i was so infernal mad, that i determined, if i could get near enough, to shoot the old hound at least. with this intention i pushed on the harder, till i came to the edge of an open parara, and looking on before my dogs, i saw in and about the biggest bear that ever was seen in america. he looked, at the distance he was from me, like a large black bull. my dogs were afraid to attack him, and that was the reason they had stop'd so often, that i might overtake them. they were now almost up with him, and i took my goblers from my back and hung them up in a sapling, and broke like a quarter horse after my bear, for the sight of him had put new springs in me. i soon got near to them, but they were just getting into a roaring thicket, and so i couldn't run through it, but had to pick my way along, and had close work even at that. in a little time i saw the bear climbing up a large black oak-tree, and i crawled on till i got within about eighty yards of him. he was setting with his breast to me; and so i put fresh priming in my gun, and fired at him. at this he raised one of his paws and snorted loudly. i loaded again as quick as i could, and fired as near the same place in his breast as possible. at the crack of my gun here he came tumbling down; and the moment he touched the ground, i heard one of my best dogs cry out. i took my tomahawk in one hand, and my big butcher-knife in the other, and run up within four or five paces of him, at which he let my dog go, and fixed his eyes on me. i got back in all sorts of a hurry, for i know'd if he got hold of me, he would hug me altogether too close for comfort. i went to my gun and hastily loaded her again, and shot him the third time, which killed him good. i now began to think about getting him home, but i didn't know how far it was. so i left him and started; and in order to find him again, i would blaze a sapling every little distance, which would show me the way back. i continued this till i got within about a mile of home, for there i know'd very well where i was, and that i could easily find the way back to my blazes. when i got home, i took my brother-in-law, and my young man, and four horses, and went back. we got there just before dark, and struck up a fire, and commenced butchering my bear. it was some time in the night before we finished it; and i can assert, on my honour, that i believe he would have weighed six hundred pounds. it was the second largest i ever saw. i killed one, a few years after, that weighed six hundred and seventeen pounds. i now felt fully compensated for my sufferings in going after my powder; and well satisfied that a dog might sometimes be doing a good business, even when he seemed to be _barking up the wrong tree_. we got our meat home, and i had the pleasure to know that we now had plenty, and that of the best; and i continued through the winter to supply my family abundantly with bear-meat and venison from the woods. chapter xiii. i had on hand a great many skins, and so, in the month of february, i packed a horse with them, and taking my eldest son along with me, cut out for a little town called jackson, situated about forty miles off. we got there well enough, and i sold my skins, and bought me some coffee, and sugar, powder, lead, and salt. i packed them all up in readiness for a start, which i intended to make early the next morning. morning came, but i concluded, before i started, i would go and take a horn with some of my old fellow-soldiers that i had met with at jackson. i did so; and while we were engaged in this, i met with three candidates for the legislature; a doctor butler, who was, by marriage, a nephew to general jackson, a major lynn, and a mr. mcever, all first-rate men. we all took a horn together, and some person present said to me, "crockett, you must offer for the legislature." i told him i lived at least forty miles from any white settlement, and had no thought of becoming a candidate at that time. so we all parted, and i and my little boy went on home. it was about a week or two after this, that a man came to my house, and told me i was a candidate. i told him not so. but he took out a newspaper from his pocket, and show'd me where i was announced. i said to my wife that this was all a burlesque on me, but i was determined to make it cost the man who had put it there at least the value of the printing, and of the fun he wanted at my expense. so i hired a young man to work in my place on my farm, and turned out myself electioneering. i hadn't been out long, before i found the people began to talk very much about the bear hunter, the man from the cane; and the three gentlemen, who i have already named, soon found it necessary to enter into an agreement to have a sort of caucus at their march court, to determine which of them was the strongest, and the other two was to withdraw and support him. as the court came on, each one of them spread himself, to secure the nomination; but it fell on dr. butler, and the rest backed out. the doctor was a clever fellow, and i have often said he was the most talented man i ever run against for any office. his being related to gen'l. jackson also helped him on very much; but i was in for it, and i was determined to push ahead and go through, or stick. their meeting was held in madison county, which was the strongest in the representative district, which was composed of eleven counties, and they seemed bent on having the member from there. at this time col. alexander was a candidate for congress, and attending one of his public meetings one day, i walked to where he was treating the people, and he gave me an introduction to several of his acquaintances, and informed them that i was out electioneering. in a little time my competitor, doctor butler, came along; he passed by without noticing me, and i suppose, indeed, he did not recognise me. but i hailed him, as i was for all sorts of fun; and when he turned to me, i said to him, "well, doctor, i suppose they have weighed you out to me; but i should like to know why they fixed your election for _march_ instead of _august_? this is," said i, "a branfire new way of doing business, if a caucus is to make a representative for the people!" he now discovered who i was, and cried out, "d--n it, crockett, is that you?"--"be sure it is," said i, "but i don't want it understood that i have come electioneering. i have just crept out of the cane, to see what discoveries i could make among the white folks." i told him that when i set out electioneering, i would go prepared to put every man on as good footing when i left him as i found him on. i would therefore have me a large buckskin hunting-shirt made, with a couple of pockets holding about a peck each; and that in one i would carry a great big twist of tobacco, and in the other my bottle of liquor; for i knowed when i met a man and offered him a dram, he would throw out his quid of tobacco to take one, and after he had taken his horn, i would out with my twist and give him another chaw. and in this way he would not be worse off than when i found him; and i would be sure to leave him in a first-rate good humour. he said i could beat him electioneering all hollow. i told him i would give him better evidence of that before august, notwithstanding he had many advantages over me, and particularly in the way of money; but i told him that i would go on the products of the country; that i had industrious children, and the best of coon dogs, and they would hunt every night till midnight to support my election; and when the coon fur wa'n't good, i would myself go a wolfing, and shoot down a wolf, and skin his head, and his scalp would be good to me for three dollars, in our state treasury money; and in this way i would get along on the big string. he stood like he was both amused and astonished, and the whole crowd was in a roar of laughter. from this place i returned home, leaving the people in a first-rate way; and i was sure i would do a good business among them. at any rate, i was determined to stand up to my lick-log, salt or no salt. in a short time there came out two other candidates, a mr. shaw and a mr. brown. we all ran the race through; and when the election was over, it turned out that i beat them all by a majority of two hundred and forty-seven votes, and was again returned as a member of the legislature from a new region of the country, without losing a session. this reminded me of the old saying--"a fool for luck, and a poor man for children." i now served two years in that body from my new district, which was the years 1823 and '24. at the session of 1823, i had a small trial of my independence, and whether i would forsake principle for party, or for the purpose of following after big men. the term of col. john williams had expired, who was a senator in congress from the state of tennessee. he was a candidate for another election, and was opposed by pleasant m. miller, esq., who, it was believed, would not be able to beat the colonel. some two or three others were spoken of, but it was at last concluded that the only man who could beat him was the present "government," general jackson. so, a few days before the election was to come on, he was sent for to come and run for the senate. he was then in nomination for the presidency; but sure enough he came, and did run as the opponent of colonel williams, and beat him too, but not by my vote. the vote was, for jackson, _thirty-five_; for williams, _twenty-five_. i thought the colonel had honestly discharged his duty, and even the mighty name of jackson couldn't make me vote against him. but voting against the old chief was found a mighty up-hill business to all of them except myself. i never would, nor never did, acknowledge i had voted wrong; and i am more certain now that i was right than ever. i told the people it was the best vote i ever gave; that i had supported the public interest, and cleared my conscience in giving it, instead of gratifying the private ambition of a man. i let the people know as early as then, that i wouldn't take a collar around my neck with the letters engraved on it, my dog. andrew jackson. during these two sessions of the legislature, nothing else turned up which i think it worth while to mention; and, indeed, i am fearful that i am too particular about many small matters; but if so, my apology is, that i want the world to understand my true history, and how i worked along to rise from a cane-brake to my present station in life. col. alexander was the representative in congress of the district i lived in, and his vote on the tariff law of 1824 gave a mighty heap of dissatisfaction to his people. they therefore began to talk pretty strong of running me for congress against him. at last i was called on by a good many to be a candidate. i told the people that i couldn't stand that; it was a step above my knowledge, and i know'd nothing about congress matters. however, i was obliged to agree to run, and myself and two other gentlemen came out. but providence was a little against two of us this hunt, for it was the year that cotton brought twenty-five dollars a hundred; and so colonel alexander would get up and tell the people, it was all the good effect of this tariff law; that it had raised the price of their cotton, and that it would raise the price of every thing else they made to sell. i might as well have sung _salms_ over a dead horse, as to try to make the people believe otherwise; for they knowed their cotton had raised, sure enough, and if the colonel hadn't done it, they didn't know what had. so he rather made a mash of me this time, as he beat me exactly _two_ votes, as they counted the polls, though i have always believed that many other things had been as fairly done as that same count. he went on, and served out his term, and at the end of it cotton was down to _six_ or _eight_ dollars a hundred again; and i concluded i would try him once more, and see how it would go with cotton at the common price, and so i became a candidate. chapter xiv. but the reader, i expect, would have no objection to know a little about my employment during the two years while my competitor was in congress. in this space i had some pretty tuff times, and will relate some few things that happened to me. so here goes, as the boy said when he run by himself. in the fall of 1825, i concluded i would build two large boats, and load them with pipe staves for market. so i went down to the lake, which was about twenty-five miles from where i lived, and hired some hands to assist me, and went to work; some at boat building, and others to getting staves. i worked on with my hands till the bears got fat, and then i turned out to hunting, to lay in a supply of meat. i soon killed and salted down as many as were necessary for my family; but about this time one of my old neighbours, who had settled down on the lake about twenty-five miles from me, came to my house and told me he wanted me to go down and kill some bears about in his parts. he said they were extremely fat, and very plenty. i know'd that when they were fat, they were easily taken, for a fat bear can't run fast or long. but i asked a bear no favours, no way, further than civility, for i now had _eight_ large dogs, and as fierce as painters; so that a bear stood no chance at all to get away from them. so i went home with him, and then went on down towards the mississippi, and commenced hunting. we were out two weeks, and in that time killed fifteen bears. having now supplied my friend with plenty of meat, i engaged occasionally again with my hands in our boat building, and getting staves. but i at length couldn't stand it any longer without another hunt. so i concluded to take my little son, and cross over the lake, and take a hunt there. we got over, and that evening turned out and killed three bears, in little or no time. the next morning we drove up four forks, and made a sort of scaffold, on which we salted up our meat, so as to have it out of the reach of the wolves, for as soon as we would leave our camp, they would take possession. we had just eat our breakfast, when a company of hunters came to our camp, who had fourteen dogs, but all so poor, that when they would bark they would almost have to lean up against a tree and take a rest. i told them their dogs couldn't run in smell of a bear, and they had better stay at my camp, and feed them on the bones i had cut out of my meat. i left them there, and cut out; but i hadn't gone far, when my dogs took a first-rate start after a very large fat old _he-bear_, which run right plump towards my camp. i pursued on, but my other hunters had heard my dogs coming, and met them, and killed the bear before i got up with him. i gave him to them, and cut out again for a creek called big clover, which wa'n't very far off. just as i got there, and was entering a cane brake, my dogs all broke and went ahead, and, in a little time, they raised a fuss in the cane, and seemed to be going every way. i listened a while, and found my dogs was in two companies, and that both was in a snorting fight. i sent my little son to one, and i broke for t'other. i got to mine first, and found my dogs had a two-year-old bear down, a-wooling away on him; so i just took out my big butcher, and went up and slap'd it into him, and killed him without shooting. there was five of the dogs in my company. in a short time, i heard my little son fire at his bear; when i went to him he had killed it too. he had two dogs in his team. just at this moment we heard my other dog barking a short distance off, and all the rest immediately broke to him. we pushed on too, and when we got there, we found he had still a larger bear than either of them we had killed, treed by himself. we killed that one also, which made three we had killed in less than half an hour. we turned in and butchered them, and then started to hunt for water, and a good place to camp. but we had no sooner started, than our dogs took a start after another one, and away they went like a thunder-gust, and was out of hearing in a minute. we followed the way they had gone for some time, but at length we gave up the hope of finding them, and turned back. as we were going back, i came to where a poor fellow was grubbing, and he looked like the very picture of hard times. i asked him what he was doing away there in the woods by himself? he said he was grubbing for a man who intended to settle there; and the reason why he did it was, that he had no meat for his family, and he was working for a little. i was mighty sorry for the poor fellow, for it was not only a hard, but a very slow way to get meat for a hungry family; so i told him if he would go with me, i would give him more meat than he could get by grubbing in a month. i intended to supply him with meat, and also to get him to assist my little boy in packing in and salting up my bears. he had never seen a bear killed in his life. i told him i had six killed then, and my dogs were hard after another. he went off to his little cabin, which was a short distance in the brush, and his wife was very anxious he should go with me. so we started and went to where i had left my three bears, and made a camp. we then gathered my meat and salted, and scaffled it, as i had done the other. night now came on, but no word from my dogs yet. i afterwards found they had treed the bear about five miles off, near to a man's house, and had barked at it the whole enduring night. poor fellows! many a time they looked for me, and wondered why i didn't come, for they knowed there was no mistake in me, and i know'd they were as good as ever fluttered. in the morning, as soon as it was light enough to see, the man took his gun and went to them, and shot the bear, and killed it. my dogs, however, wouldn't have any thing to say to this stranger; so they left him, and came early in the morning back to me. we got our breakfast, and cut out again; and we killed four large and very fat bears that day. we hunted out the week, and in that time we killed seventeen, all of them first-rate. when we closed our hunt, i gave the man over a thousand weight of fine fat bear-meat, which pleased him mightily, and made him feel as rich as a jew. i saw him the next fall, and he told me he had plenty of meat to do him the whole year from his week's hunt. my son and me now went home. this was the week between christmass and new-year that we made this hunt. when i got home, one of my neighbours was out of meat, and wanted me to go back, and let him go with me, to take another hunt. i couldn't refuse; but i told him i was afraid the bear had taken to house by that time, for after they get very fat in the fall and early part of the winter, they go into their holes, in large hollow trees, or into hollow logs, or their cane-houses, or the harricanes; and lie there till spring, like frozen snakes. and one thing about this will seem mighty strange to many people. from about the first of january to about the last of april, these varments lie in their holes altogether. in all that time they have no food to eat; and yet when they come out, they are not an ounce lighter than when they went to house. i don't know the cause of this, and still i know it is a fact; and i leave it for others who have more learning than myself to account for it. they have not a particle of food with them, but they just lie and suck the bottom of their paw all the time. i have killed many of them in their trees, which enables me to speak positively on this subject. however, my neighbour, whose name was mcdaniel, and my little son and me, went on down to the lake to my second camp, where i had killed my seventeen bears the week before, and turned out to hunting. but we hunted hard all day without getting a single start. we had carried but little provisions with us, and the next morning was entirely out of meat. i sent my son about three miles off, to the house of an old friend, to get some. the old gentleman was much pleased to hear i was hunting in those parts, for the year before the bears had killed a great many of his hogs. he was that day killing his bacon hogs, and so he gave my son some meat, and sent word to me that i must come in to his house that evening, that he would have plenty of feed for my dogs, and some accommodations for ourselves; but before my son got back, we had gone out hunting, and in a large cane brake my dogs found a big bear in a cane-house, which he had fixed for his winter-quarters, as they sometimes do. when my lead dog found him, and raised the yell, all the rest broke to him, but none of them entered his house until we got up. i encouraged my dogs, and they knowed me so well, that i could have made them seize the old serpent himself, with all his horns and heads, and cloven foot and ugliness into the bargain, if he would only have come to light, so that they could have seen him. they bulged in, and in an instant the bear followed them out, and i told my friend to shoot him, as he was mighty wrathy to kill a bear. he did so, and killed him prime. we carried him to our camp, by which time my son had returned; and after we got our dinners we packed up, and cut for the house of my old friend, whose name was davidson. we got there, and staid with him that night; and the next morning, having salted up our meat, we left it with him, and started to take a hunt between the obion lake and the red-foot lake; as there had been a dreadful harricane, which passed between them, and i was sure there must be a heap of bears in the fallen timber. we had gone about five miles without seeing any sign at all; but at length we got on some high cany ridges, and, as we rode along, i saw a hole in a large black oak, and on examining more closely, i discovered that a bear had clomb the tree. i could see his tracks going up, but none coming down, and so i was sure he was in there. a person who is acquainted with bear-hunting, can tell easy enough when the varment is in the hollow; for as they go up they don't slip a bit, but as they come down they make long scratches with their nails. my friend was a little ahead of me, but i called him back, and told him there was a bear in that tree, and i must have him out. so we lit from our horses, and i found a small tree which i thought i could fall so as to lodge against my bear tree, and we fell to work chopping it with our tomahawks. i intended, when we lodged the tree against the other, to let my little son go up, and look into the hole, for he could climb like a squirrel. we had chop'd on a little time and stop'd to rest, when i heard my dogs barking mighty severe at some distance from us, and i told my friend i knowed they had a bear; for it is the nature of a dog, when he finds you are hunting bears, to hunt for nothing else; he becomes fond of the meat, and considers other game as "not worth a notice," as old johnson said of the devil. we concluded to leave our tree a bit, and went to my dogs, and when we got there, sure enough they had an eternal great big fat bear up a tree, just ready for shooting. my friend again petitioned me for liberty to shoot this one also. i had a little rather not, as the bear was so big, but i couldn't refuse; and so he blazed away, and down came the old fellow like some great log had fell. i now missed one of my dogs, the same that i before spoke of as having treed the bear by himself sometime before, when i had started the three in the cane break. i told my friend that my missing dog had a bear somewhere, just as sure as fate; so i left them to butcher the one we had just killed, and i went up on a piece of high ground to listen for my dog. i heard him barking with all his might some distance off, and i pushed ahead for him. my other dogs hearing him broke to him, and when i got there, sure enough again he had another bear ready treed; if he hadn't, i wish i may be shot. i fired on him, and brought him down; and then went back, and help'd finish butchering the one at which i had left my friend. we then packed both to our tree where we had left my boy. by this time, the little fellow had cut the tree down that we intended to lodge, but it fell the wrong way; he had then feather'd in on the big tree, to cut that, and had found that it was nothing but a shell on the outside, and all doted in the middle, as too many of our big men are in these days, having only an outside appearance. my friend and my son cut away on it, and i went off about a hundred yards with my dogs to keep them from running under the tree when it should fall. on looking back at the hole, i saw the bear's head out of it, looking down at them as they were cutting. i hollered to them to look up, and they did so; and mcdaniel catched up his gun, but by this time the bear was out, and coming down the tree. he fired at it, and as soon as it touch'd ground the dogs were all round it, and they had a roll-and-tumble fight to the foot of the hill, where they stop'd him. i ran up, and putting my gun against the bear, fired and killed him. we now had three, and so we made our scaffold and salted them up. chapter xv. in the morning i left my son at the camp, and we started on towards the harricane; and when we had went about a mile, we started a very large bear, but we got along mighty slow on account of the cracks in the earth occasioned by the earthquakes. we, however, made out to keep in hearing of the dogs for about three miles, and then we come to the harricane. here we had to quit our horses, as old nick himself couldn't have got through it without sneaking it along in the form that he put on, to make a fool of our old grandmother eve. by this time several of my dogs had got tired and come back; but we went ahead on foot for some little time in the harricane, when we met a bear coming straight to us, and not more than twenty or thirty yards off. i started my tired dogs after him, and mcdaniel pursued them, and i went on to where my other dogs were. i had seen the track of the bear they were after, and i knowed he was a screamer. i followed on to about the middle of the harricane; but my dogs pursued him so close, that they made him climb an old stump about twenty feet high. i got in shooting distance of him and fired, but i was all over in such a flutter from fatigue and running, that i couldn't hold steady; but, however, i broke his shoulder, and he fell. i run up and loaded my gun as quick as possible, and shot him again and killed him. when i went to take out my knife to butcher him, i found i had lost it in coming through the harricane. the vines and briers was so thick that i would sometimes have to get down and crawl like a varment to get through at all; and a vine had, as i supposed, caught in the handle and pulled it out. while i was standing and studying what to do, my friend came to me. he had followed my trail through the harricane, and had found my knife, which was mighty good news to me; as a hunter hates the worst in the world to lose a good dog, or any part of his hunting-tools. i now left mcdaniel to butcher the bear, and i went after our horses, and brought them as near as the nature of case would allow. i then took our bags, and went back to where he was; and when we had skin'd the bear, we fleeced off the fat and carried it to our horses at several loads. we then packed it up on our horses, and had a heavy pack of it on each one. we now started and went on till about sunset, when i concluded we must be near our camp; so i hollered and my son answered me, and we moved on in the direction to the camp. we had gone but a little way when i heard my dogs make a warm start again; and i jumped down from my horse and gave him up to my friend, and told him i would follow them. he went on to the camp, and i went ahead after my dogs with all my might for a considerable distance, till at last night came on. the woods were very rough and hilly, and all covered over with cane. i now was compel'd to move on more slowly; and was frequently falling over logs, and into the cracks made by the earthquakes, so that i was very much afraid i would break my gun. however i went on about three miles, when i came to a good big creek, which i waded. it was very cold, and the creek was about knee-deep; but i felt no great inconvenience from it just then, as i was all over wet with sweat from running, and i felt hot enough. after i got over this creek and out of the cane, which was very thick on all our creeks, i listened for my dogs. i found they had either treed or brought the bear to a stop, as they continued barking in the same place. i pushed on as near in the direction to the noise as i could, till i found the hill was too steep for me to climb, and so i backed and went down the creek some distance till i came to a hollow, and then took up that, till i come to a place where i could climb up the hill. it was mighty dark, and was difficult to see my way or any thing else. when i got up the hill, i found i had passed the dogs; and so i turned and went to them. i found, when i got there, they had treed the bear in a large forked poplar, and it was setting in the fork. i could see the lump, but not plain enough to shoot with any certainty, as there was no moonlight; and so i set in to hunting for some dry brush to make me a light; but i could find none, though i could find that the ground was torn mightily to pieces by the cracks. at last i thought i could shoot by guess, and kill him; so i pointed as near the lump as i could, and fired away. but the bear didn't come he only clomb up higher, and got out on a limb, which helped me to see him better. i now loaded up again and fired, but this time he didn't move at all. i commenced loading for a third fire, but the first thing i knowed, the bear was down among my dogs, and they were fighting all around me. i had my big butcher in my belt, and i had a pair of dressed buckskin breeches on. so i took out my knife, and stood, determined, if he should get hold of me, to defend myself in the best way i could. i stood there for some time, and could now and then see a white dog i had, but the rest of them, and the bear, which were dark coloured, i couldn't see at all, it was so miserable dark. they still fought around me, and sometimes within three feet of me; but, at last, the bear got down into one of the cracks, that the earthquakes had made in the ground, about four feet deep, and i could tell the biting end of him by the hollering of my dogs. so i took my gun and pushed the muzzle of it about, till i thought i had it against the main part of his body, and fired; but it happened to be only the fleshy part of his foreleg. with this, he jumped out of the crack, and he and the dogs had another hard fight around me, as before. at last, however, they forced him back into the crack again, as he was when i had shot. i had laid down my gun in the dark, and i now began to hunt for it; and, while hunting, i got hold of a pole, and i concluded i would punch him awhile with that. i did so, and when i would punch him, the dogs would jump in on him, when he would bite them badly, and they would jump out again. i concluded, as he would take punching so patiently, it might be that he would lie still enough for me to get down in the crack, and feel slowly along till i could find the right place to give him a dig with my butcher. so i got down, and my dogs got in before him and kept his head towards them, till i got along easily up to him; and placing my hand on his rump, felt for his shoulder, just behind which i intended to stick him. i made a lounge with my long knife, and fortunately stuck him right through the heart; at which he just sank down, and i crawled out in a hurry. in a little time my dogs all come out too, and seemed satisfied, which was the way they always had of telling me that they had finished him. i suffered very much that night with cold, as my leather breeches, and every thing else i had on, was wet and frozen. but i managed to get my bear out of this crack after several hard trials, and so i butchered him, and laid down to try to sleep. but my fire was very bad, and i couldn't find any thing that would burn well to make it any better; and i concluded i should freeze, if i didn't warm myself in some way by exercise. so i got up, and hollered a while, and then i would just jump up and down with all my might, and throw myself into all sorts of motions. but all this wouldn't do; for my blood was now getting cold, and the chills coming all over me. i was so tired, too, that i could hardly walk; but i thought i would do the best i could to save my life, and then, if i died, nobody would be to blame. so i went to a tree about two feet through, and not a limb on it for thirty feet, and i would climb up it to the limbs, and then lock my arms together around it, and slide down to the bottom again. this would make the insides of my legs and arms feel mighty warm and good. i continued this till daylight in the morning, and how often i clomb up my tree and slid down i don't know, but i reckon at least a hundred times. in the morning i got my bear hung up so as to be safe, and then set out to hunt for my camp. i found it after a while, and mcdaniel and my son were very much rejoiced to see me get back, for they were about to give me up for lost. we got our breakfasts, and then secured our meat by building a high scaffold, and covering it over. we had no fear of its spoiling, for the weather was so cold that it couldn't. we now started after my other bear, which had caused me so much trouble and suffering; and before we got him, we got a start after another, and took him also. we went on to the creek i had crossed the night before and camped, and then went to where my bear was, that i had killed in the crack. when we examined the place, mcdaniel said he wouldn't have gone into it, as i did, for all the bears in the woods. we took the meat down to our camp and salted it, and also the last one we had killed; intending, in the morning, to make a hunt in the harricane again. we prepared for resting that night, and i can assure the reader i was in need of it. we had laid down by our fire, and about ten o'clock there came a most terrible earthquake, which shook the earth so, that we were rocked about like we had been in a cradle. we were very much alarmed; for though we were accustomed to feel earthquakes, we were now right in the region which had been torn to pieces by them in 1812, and we thought it might take a notion and swallow us up, like the big fish did jonah. in the morning we packed up and moved to the harricane, where we made another camp, and turned out that evening and killed a very large bear, which made _eight_ we had now killed in this hunt. the next morning we entered the harricane again, and in little or no time my dogs were in full cry. we pursued them, and soon came to a thick cane-brake, in which they had stop'd their bear. we got up close to him, as the cane was so thick that we couldn't see more than a few feet. here i made my friend hold the cane a little open with his gun till i shot the bear, which was a mighty large one. i killed him dead in his tracks. we got him out and butchered him, and in a little time started another and killed him, which now made _ten_ we had killed; and we know'd we couldn't pack any more home, as we had only five horses along; therefore we returned to the camp and salted up all our meat, to be ready for a start homeward next morning. the morning came, and we packed our horses with the meat, and had as much as they could possibly carry, and sure enough cut out for home. it was about thirty miles, and we reached home the second day. i had now accommodated my neighbour with meat enough to do him, and had killed in all, up to that time, fifty-eight bears, during the fall and winter. as soon as the time come for them to quit their houses and come out again in the spring, i took a notion to hunt a little more, and in about one month i killed forty-seven more, which made one hundred and five bears i had killed in less than one year from that time. chapter xvi. having now closed my hunting for that winter, i returned to my hands, who were engaged about my boats and staves, and made ready for a trip down the river. i had two boats and about thirty thousand staves, and so i loaded with them, and set out for new orleans. i got out of the obion river, in which i had loaded my boats, very well; but when i got into the mississippi, i found all my hands were bad scared, and in fact i believe i was scared a little the worst of any; for i had never been down the river, and i soon discovered that my pilot was as ignorant of the business as myself. i hadn't gone far before i determined to lash the two boats together; we did so, but it made them so heavy and obstinate, that it was next akin to impossible to do any thing at all with them, or to guide them right in the river. that evening we fell in company with some ohio boats; and about night we tried to land, but we could not. the ohio men hollered to us to go on and run all night. we took their advice, though we had a good deal rather not; but we couldn't do any other way. in a short distance we got into what is called the "_devil's elbow_;" and if any place in the wide creation has its own proper name, i thought it was this. here we had about the hardest work that i ever was engaged in, in my life, to keep out of danger; and even then we were in it all the while. we twice attempted to land at wood-yards, which we could see, but couldn't reach. the people would run out with lights, and try to instruct us how to get to shore; but all in vain. our boats were so heavy that we couldn't take them much any way, except the way they wanted to go, and just the way the current would carry them. at last we quit trying to land, and concluded just to go ahead as well as we could, for we found we couldn't do any better. some time in the night i was down in the cabin of one of the boats, sitting by the fire, thinking on what a hobble we had got into; and how much better bear-hunting was on hard land, than floating along on the water, when a fellow had to go ahead whether he was exactly willing or not. the hatchway into the cabin came slap down, right through the top of the boat; and it was the only way out except a small hole in the side, which we had used for putting our arms through to dip up water before we lashed the boats together. we were now floating sideways, and the boat i was in was the hindmost as we went. all at once i heard the hands begin to run over the top of the boat in great confusion, and pull with all their might; and the first thing i know'd after this we went broadside full tilt against the head of an island where a large raft of drift timber had lodged. the nature of such a place would be, as every body knows, to suck the boats down, and turn them right under this raft; and the uppermost boat would, of course, be suck'd down and go under first. as soon as we struck, i bulged for my hatchway, as the boat was turning under sure enough. but when i got to it, the water was pouring thro' in a current as large as the hole would let it, and as strong as the weight of the river could force it. i found i couldn't get out here, for the boat was now turned down in such a way, that it was steeper than a house-top. i now thought of the hole in the side, and made my way in a hurry for that. with difficulty i got to it, and when i got there, i found it was too small for me to get out by my own dower, and i began to think that i was in a worse box than ever. but i put my arms through and hollered as loud as i could roar, as the boat i was in hadn't yet quite filled with water up to my head, and the hands who were next to the raft, seeing my arms out, and hearing me holler, seized them, and began to pull. i told them i was sinking, and to pull my arms off, or force me through, for now i know'd well enough it was neck or nothing, come out or sink. by a violent effort they jerked me through; but i was in a pretty pickle when i got through. i had been sitting without any clothing over my shirt: this was torn off, and i was literally skin'd like a rabbit. i was, however, well pleased to get out in any way, even without shirt or hide; as before i could straighten myself on the boat next to the raft, the one they pull'd me out of went entirely under, and i have never seen it any more to this day. we all escaped on to the raft, where we were compelled to sit all night, about a mile from land on either side. four of my company were bareheaded, and three bare-footed; and of that number i was one. i reckon i looked like a pretty cracklin ever to get to congress!!! we had now lost all our loading; and every particle of our clothing, except what little we had on; but over all this, while i was setting there, in the night, floating about on the drift, i felt happier and better off than i ever had in my life before, for i had just made such a marvellous escape, that i had forgot almost every thing else in that; and so i felt prime. in the morning about sunrise, we saw a boat coming down, and we hailed her. they sent a large skiff, and took us all on board, and carried us down as far as memphis. here i met with a friend, that i never can forget as long as i am able to go ahead at any thing; it was a major winchester, a merchant of that place: he let us all have hats, and shoes, and some little money to go upon, and so we all parted. a young man and myself concluded to go on down to natchez, to see if we could hear any thing of our boats; for we supposed they would float out from the raft, and keep on down the river. we got on a boat at memphis, that was going down, and so cut out. our largest boat, we were informed, had been seen about fifty miles below where we stove, and an attempt had been made to land her, but without success, as she was as hard-headed as ever. this was the last of my boats, and of my boating; for it went so badly with me, along at the first, that i hadn't much mind to try it any more. i now returned home again, and as the next august was the congressional election, i began to turn my attention a little to that matter, as it was beginning to be talked of a good deal among the people. chapter xvii. i have, heretofore, informed the reader that i had determined to run this race to see what effect _the price of cotton_ could have again on it. i now had col. alexander to run against once more, and also general william arnold. i had difficulties enough to fight against this time, as every one will suppose; for i had no money, and a very bad prospect, so far as i know'd, of getting any to help me along. i had, however, a good friend, who sent for me to come and see him. i went, and he was good enough to offer me some money to help me out. i borrowed as much as i thought i needed at the start, and went ahead. my friend also had a good deal of business about over the district at the different courts; and if he now and then slip'd in a good word for me, it is nobody's business. we frequently met at different places, and, as he thought i needed, he would occasionally hand me a little more cash; so i was able to buy a little of "the _creature_," to put my friends in a good humour, as well as the other gentlemen, for they all treat in that country; not to get elected, of course--for that would be against the law; but just, as i before said, to make themselves and their friends feel their keeping a little. nobody ever did know how i got money to get along on, till after the election was over, and i had beat my competitors twenty-seven hundred and forty-eight votes. even the price of cotton couldn't save my friend aleck this time. my rich friend, who had been so good to me in the way of money, now sent for me, and loaned me a hundred dollars, and told me to go ahead; that that amount would bear my expenses to congress, and i must then shift for myself. i came on to washington, and draw'd two hundred and fifty dollars, and purchased with it a check on the bank at nashville, and enclosed it to my friend; and i may say, in truth, i sent this money with a mighty good will, for i reckon nobody in this world loves a friend better than me, or remembers a kindness longer. i have now given the close of the election, but i have skip'd entirely over the canvass, of which i will say a very few things in this place; as i know very well how to tell the truth, but not much about placing them in book order, so as to please critics. col. alexander was a very clever fellow, and principal surveyor at that time; so much for one of the men i had to run against. my other competitor was a major-general in the militia, and an attorney-general at the law, and quite a smart, clever man also; and so it will be seen i had war work as well as law trick, to stand up under. taking both together, they make a pretty considerable of a load for any one man to carry. but for war claims, i consider myself behind no man except "the government," and mighty little, if any, behind him; but this the people will have to determine hereafter, as i reckon it won't do to quit the work of "reform and retrenchment" yet for a spell. but my two competitors seemed some little afraid of the influence of each other, but not to think me in their way at all. they, therefore, were generally working against each other, while i was going ahead for myself, and mixing among the people in the best way i could. i was as cunning as a little red fox, and wouldn't risk my tail in a "committal" trap. i found the sign was good, almost everywhere i went. on one occasion, while we were in the eastern counties of the district, it happened that we all had to make a speech, and it fell on me to make the first one. i did so after my manner, and it turned pretty much on the old saying, "a short horse is soon curried," as i spoke not very long. colonel alexander followed me, and then general arnold come on. the general took much pains to reply to alexander, but didn't so much as let on that there was any such candidate as myself at all. he had been speaking for a considerable time, when a large flock of guinea-fowls came very near to where he was, and set up the most unmerciful chattering that ever was heard, for they are a noisy little brute any way. they so confused the general, that he made a stop, and requested that they might be driven away. i let him finish his speech, and then walking up to him, said aloud, "well, colonel, you are the first man i ever saw that understood the language of fowls." i told him that he had not had the politeness to name me in his speech, and that when my little friends, the guinea-fowls, had come up and began to holler "crockett, crockett, crockett," he had been ungenerous enough to stop, and drive _them_ all away. this raised a universal shout among the people for me, and the general seemed mighty bad plagued. but he got more plagued than this at the polls in august, as i have stated before. this election was in 1827, and i can say, on my conscience, that i was, without disguise, the friend and supporter of general jackson, upon his principles as he laid them down, and as "_i understood them_," before his election as president. during my two first sessions in congress, mr. adams was president, and i worked along with what was called the jackson party pretty well. i was re-elected to congress, in 1829, by an overwhelming majority; and soon after the commencement of this second term, i saw, or thought i did, that it was expected of me that i was to bow to the name of andrew jackson, and follow him in all his motions, and mindings, and turnings, even at the expense of my conscience and judgment. such a thing was new to me, and a total stranger to my principles. i know'd well enough, though, that if i didn't "hurra" for his name, the hue and cry was to be raised against me, and i was to be sacrificed, if possible. his famous, or rather i should say his in-_famous_, indian bill was brought forward, and i opposed it from the purest motives in the world. several of my colleagues got around me, and told me how well they loved me, and that i was ruining myself. they said this was a favourite measure of the president, and i ought to go for it. i told them i believed it was a wicked, unjust measure, and that i should go against it, let the cost to myself be what it might; that i was willing to go with general jackson in every thing that i believed was honest and right; but, further than this, i wouldn't go for him, or any other man in the whole creation; that i would sooner be honestly and politically d--nd, than hypocritically immortalized. i had been elected by a majority of three thousand five hundred and eighty-five votes, and i believed they were honest men, and wouldn't want me to vote for any unjust notion, to please jackson or any one else; at any rate, i was of age, and was determined to trust them. i voted against this indian bill, and my conscience yet tells me that i gave a good honest vote, and one that i believe will not make me ashamed in the day of judgment. i served out my term, and though many amusing things happened, i am not disposed to swell my narrative by inserting them. when it closed, and i returned home, i found the storm had raised against me sure enough; and it was echoed from side to side, and from end to end of my district, that i had turned against jackson. this was considered the unpardonable sin. i was hunted down like a wild varment, and in this hunt every little newspaper in the district, and every little pin-hook lawyer was engaged. indeed, they were ready to print any and every thing that the ingenuity of man could invent against me. each editor was furnished with the journals of congress from head-quarters; and hunted out every vote i had missed in four sessions, whether from sickness or not, no matter, and each one was charged against me at _eight_ dollars. in all i had missed about _seventy_ votes, which they made amount to five hundred and sixty dollars; and they contended i had swindled the government out of this sum, as i had received my pay, as other members do. i was now again a candidate in 1830, while all the attempts were making against me; and every one of these little papers kept up a constant war on me, fighting with every scurrilous report they could catch. over all i should have been elected, if it hadn't been, that but a few weeks before the election, the little four-pence-ha'penny limbs of the law fell on a plan to defeat me, which had the desired effect. they agreed to spread out over the district, and make appointments for me to speak, almost everywhere, to clear up the jackson question. they would give me no notice of these appointments, and the people would meet in great crowds to hear what excuse crockett had to make for quitting jackson. but instead of crockett's being there, this small-fry of lawyers would be there, with their saddle-bags full of the little newspapers and their journals of congress; and would get up and speak, and read their scurrilous attacks on me, and would then tell the people that i was afraid to attend; and in this way would turn many against me. all this intrigue was kept a profound secret from me, till it was too late to counteract it; and when the election came, i had a majority in seventeen counties, putting all their votes together, but the eighteenth beat me; and so i was left out of congress during those two years. the people of my district were induced, by these tricks, to take a stay on me for that time; but they have since found out that they were imposed on, and on re-considering my case, have reversed that decision; which, as the dutchman said, "is as fair a ding as eber was." when i last declared myself a candidate, i knew that the district would be divided by the legislature before the election would come on; and i moreover knew, that from the geographical situation of the country, the county of madison, which was very strong, and which was the county that had given the majority that had beat me in the former race, should be left off from my district. but when the legislature met, as i have been informed, and i have no doubt of the fact, mr. fitzgerald, my competitor, went up, and informed his friends in that body, that if madison county was left off, he wouldn't run; for "that crockett could beat jackson himself in those parts, in any way they could fix it." the liberal legislature you know, of course, gave him that county; and it is too clear to admit of dispute, that it was done to make a mash of me. in order to make my district in this way, they had to form the southern district of a string of counties around three sides of mine, or very nearly so. had my old district been properly divided, it would have made two nice ones, in convenient nice form. but as it is, they are certainly the most unreasonably laid off of any in the state, or perhaps in the nation, or even in the te-total creation. however, when the election came on, the people of the district, and of madison county among the rest, seemed disposed to prove to mr. fitzgerald and the jackson legislature, that they were not to be transferred like hogs, and horses, and cattle in the market; and they determined that i shouldn't be broke down, though i had to carry jackson, and the enemies of the bank, and the legislative works all at once. i had mr. fitzgerald, it is true, for my open competitor, but he was helped along by all his little lawyers again, headed by old black hawk, as he is sometimes called, (alias) adam huntsman, with all his talents for writing "_chronicles_," and such like foolish stuff. but one good thing was, and i must record it, the papers in the district were now beginning to say "fair play a little," and they would publish on both sides of the question. the contest was a warm one, and the battle well-fought; but i gained the day, and the jackson horse was left a little behind. when the polls were compared, it turned out i had beat fitz just two hundred and two votes, having made a mash of all their intrigues. after all this, the reader will perceive that i am now here in congress, this 28th day of january, in the year of our lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-four; and that, what is more agreeable to my feelings as a freeman, i am at liberty to vote as my conscience and judgment dictates to be right, without the yoke of any party on me, or the driver at my heels, with his whip in hand, commanding me to ge-wo-haw, just at his pleasure. look at my arms, you will find no party hand-cuff on them! look at my neck, you will not find there any collar, with the engraving my dog. andrew jackson. but you will find me standing up to my rack, as the people's faithful representative, and the public's most obedient, very humble servant, david crockett. the end. chesnut street, march, 1834. new works lately published, and preparing for publication, by e. l. carey & a. hart, philad. and carey, hart & co. baltimore, and for sale by all booksellers. in two volumes, 12mo. constance; by mrs. a. t. thomson, author of the life of henry viii. "one of the most touching and exquisitely natural tales that many seasons have produced. it developes an intimate knowledge of the human heart, and a remarkable power in the delineation of character."--_atlas._ "this novel, in its sketches of english country society, is most successful; its portraits are very happy, its scenes very amusing."--_spectator._ "a picture of real life, drawn with equal truth, gaiety and feeling--the three graces of fiction."--_literary gazette._ "the dramatic ability displayed in the management of this story is of the very highest order."--_atlas._ in one volume, 12mo. carwell; by mrs. sheridan, author of "aims and ends." "a story which for minute fidelity to truth, for high tragic conception, both of plot and character, has few equals in modern fiction." "but everywhere you see that rarest of all literary beauties, a beautiful mind--an intimate persuasion of the fine and great truths of the human heart--a delicate and quick perception of the lovely and the honest--an intellect that profits by experience, and a disposition which that experience cannot corrupt."--_the author of pelham._ in one volume, 12mo. the gentleman in black. "it is very clever and very entertaining--replete with pleasantry and humour: quite as imaginative as any german diablerie, and far more amusing than most productions of its class. it is a very whimsical and well devised jeu d'esprit."--_literary gazette._ new works published by in two volumes, 12mo. traits and stories of the irish peasantry. third series. "this work has been most extravagantly praised by the english critics: and several extracts from it have been extensively published in our newspapers. it is altogether a better work than any of the kind which has yet appeared--replete with humour, both broad and delicate--and with occasional touches of pathos, which have not been excelled by any writer of the present day. an edinburgh critic says that 'neither miss edgeworth, nor the author of the o'hara tales, could have written any thing more powerful than this.'"--_baltimore american._ "there seems to be a strong unanimity of opinion in favour of the new british work entitled 'traits and stories of the irish peasantry.' the work is proclaimed in the british journals, and pronounced by readers in our country, to be equal in racy humour and graphic delineation, to the very best sketches that have appeared of irish character, life, and manners."--_national gazette._ in two volumes, 12mo. the affianced one; by the author of "gertrude." "evidently the production of a woman of taste and refinement. it abounds with lively sketches of society, and sparkling anecdote."--_belle assemblee._ in one volume, 8vo. memoirs of vidocq, the celebrated agent of the french police. this is a most entertaining work. vidocq stood long and deservedly at the head of the french police. it is well written, and is full of anecdote. in three volumes, 12mo. peter simple; or, adventures of a midshipman. complete. by the author of the "king's own," "naval officer," &c. "the quiet humour which pervades the work is irresistibly amusing, and the fund of anecdote and description which it contains, entertaining. the humour sometimes approaches to downright burlesque, and the incident to extravagance, if not improbability; but, altogether, as a book of amusement, it is excellent."--_baltimore gazette._ in two volumes, 12mo. the fair of may fair. by the author of "pin money," &c. "mrs. gore certainly stands at the head of the female novelists of the day. but we subjoin the opinion of mr. bulwer."--_u. s. gazette._ "she is the consummator of that undefinable species of wit, which we should call (if we did not know the word might be deemed offensive, in which sense we do not mean it) the _slang_ of good society. "but few people ever painted, with so felicitous a hand, the scenery of worldly life, without any apparent satire. she brings before you the hollowness, the manoeuvres, and the intrigues of the world, with the brilliancy of sarcasm, but with the quiet of simple narrative. her men and women, in her graver tales, are of a noble and costly clay; their objects are great; their minds are large, their passions intense and pure. the walks upon the stage of the world of fashion, and her characters, have grown dwarfed as if by enchantment. the air of frivolity has blighted their stature; their colours are pale and languid; they have no generous ambition; they are _little people!_ they are fine people! this it is that makes her novel of our social life so natural, and so clear a transcript of the original."--_the author of pelham._ in two volumes, 12mo. the invisible gentleman. by the author of "chartley," "the fatalist," etc. etc. "it is a novel which may be termed the whimsically supernatural."--_athenã¦um._ "the present narrative is one of the most entertaining fictions we have met with for a long time; the idea is very original, and brought into play with a lively air of truth, which gives a dramatic reality even to the supernatural."--_literary gazette._ "the adventures follow each other with delightful rapidity and variety; occasionally there is a deep and thrilling touch of pathos, which we feel not a bit the less acutely, because the trouble and wo of the parties have originated in the familiar and somewhat laughable act of pulling an ear."--_court magazine._ in two volumes, 12mo. mothers and daughters. "the best novel of the season--a faithful, exact, and withal spirited picture of the aristocracy of this country--an admirable description of what is called high life, and full of a more enlarged knowledge of human nature."--_spectator._ "a very lively and amusing panorama of actual life."--_lit. gazette._ "a very interesting work, full of well-described scenes and characters, and altogether deserving of being classed with the first-rate novels of the day."--_courier._ "it would be difficult to lay down such a book until every chapter has been perused. elegance and force of style--highly but faithfully drawn pictures of society--are merits scarcely secondary to those we have enumerated: and they are equally displayed throughout. 'mothers and daughters' must find its way rapidly into every circle."--_bulwer's new monthly magazine._ in one volume, 12mo. a subaltern in america; comprising his narrative of the campaigns of the british army at baltimore, washington, etc. during the late war. "the subaltern is a man of sense, acuteness, and good feeling, who writes with spirit and good taste.--considering that he is an englishman and an english officer writing about america, his book is tolerably fair--and makes fewer insulting comments upon things which he did not understand, than has been customary with that kind of authors. "the 'subaltern' is nevertheless a very agreeable, well written book, and we are glad to see it republished here. no doubt an american would have written some portions of it differently, but we can profit, we trust, by observing how opposite accounts can be fairly given of the same transactions, and learn something of the trouble in which history is written." _baltimore american._ "the subaltern in america.--under this title, messrs. carey, hart & co. have recently published a work in one volume, comprising a full narrative of the campaigns of the british army, at baltimore, washington, new orleans, &c. during the late war. the incidents of the war, as related in the american papers, are probably familiar to most persons, through that channel. yet the ends of truth, and the means of forming a just judgment, may require that one should hear the statement of the adverse party, as well as that most favourable to our side of the question. there is, moreover, two ways of telling even the truth. they who feel an interest in the details of this important struggle between kindred nations, have, in the book before us, an opportunity of hearing them, as shaped out by one of the adverse party. the 'subaltern' bore an active share in the several campaigns, of which he professes to give an account; and if his narrations are somewhat partial to his own side of the question, it is but the indulgence of a very common foible, which may be the more readily excused, as the means of correction are at hand."--_baltimore patriot._ in two volumes, 12mo. pin money; by mrs. charles gore, authoress of "hungarian tales," "polish tales," etc. "her writings have that originality which wit gives to reality, and wit is the great characteristic of her pages."--_bulwer's new monthly magazine._ "light spirited and clever, the characters are drawn with truth and vigour. keen in observation, lively in detail, and with a peculiar and piquant style, mrs. charles gore gives to the novel that charm which makes the fascination of the best french memoir writers."--_london literary gazette._ in one volume, 12mo. legends and tales of ireland by samuel lover. e. l. carey and a. hart in two volumes, 12mo. the man-of-war's-man; by the author of "tom cringle's log." "no stories of adventures are more exciting than those of seamen. the author of tom cringle's log is the most popular writer of that class, and those sketches collected not long since into a volume by the same publishers, in this city, were universally read. a large edition was soon exhausted. the present is, we believe, an earlier production, and has many of the same merits."--_baltimore gazette._ "messrs. carey & hart have published, in two volumes, 'the man-of-war's-man.' the success which attended the publication of 'tom cringle's log,' might well induce its ingenious author to undertake a continuous narrative, having for the subject of illustration the manners and customs of seamen. the work now before us is of the kind, well imagined, and executed with all the tact and clearness that distinguished the 'log book' of master cringle, with the advantages of a more regular plot and interesting denouement."--_u. s. gazette._ "nobody needs be told what sort of a book tom cringle can write--that humorous and most admirable of sailors! we may just remark that the reader will find in the present volume the same power of description and knowledge of the world--the same stirring adventures, phrases, dialects, and incidents which rendered his last work so extravagantly popular. the printing is uncommonly good for a novel." in one volume, 8vo. the american flower garden directory, containing practical directions for the culture of plants in the hot-house, garden-house, flower-garden, and rooms or parlours, for every month in the year; with a description of the plants most desirable in each, the nature of the soil and situation best adapted to their growth, the proper season for transplanting, &c.; instructions for erecting a hot-house, green-house, and laying out a flower-garden. also, table of soils most congenial to the plants contained in the work. the whole adapted to either large or small gardens, with lists of annuals, bienniels, and ornamental shrubs, contents, a general index, and a frontispiece of camellia fimbriata. by hibbert and buist, exotic nurserymen and florists. in two volumes, 12mo. jacob faithful; by the author of peter simple, &c. &c. in two vols. 12mo. first love, a novel. "its style is elegant, and its information that of a lady of amiable feelings and motives, who well understands her sex."--_spectator._ "the whole of the story, but particularly the dawning of that early dawning of life's morning, first love, and the subsequent progress of that passion, are indeed delightfully sketched."--_morning post._ in two volumes, 12mo. traits and stories of the irish peasantry first series. "admirable--truly, intensely irish: never were the outrageous whimsicalities of that strange, wild, imaginative people so characteristically described; nor amidst all the fun, frolic, and folly, is there any dearth of poetry, pathos, and passion. the author's a jewel."--_glasgow journal._ "to those who have a relish for a few tit-bits of rale irish story-telling,--whether partaking of the tender or the facetious, or the grotesque,--let them purchase these characteristic sketches."--_sheffield iris._ "the sister country has never furnished such sterling genius, such irresistibly humorous, yet faithful sketches of character among the lower ranks of patlanders, as are to be met with in the pages of these delightful volumes."--_bristol journal._ "this is a capital book, full of fun and humour, and most characteristically irish."--_new monthly magazine._ "neither miss edgeworth, nor the author of the o'hara tales, could have written any thing more powerful than this."--_edinburgh literary gazette._ "we do not hesitate to say, that for a minute and accurate sketching of the character, manners, and language of the lower orders of the irish, no book was ever published at all equal to this."--_spectator._ in two volumes, 12mo. traits and stories of the irish peasantry. second series. "traits and stories of irish peasantry.--the whole story is one of that mirth-inspiring nature, that those who read it without hearty laughter must be either miserable or very imperturbable."--_metropolitan, edited by t. campbell._ "there is strength, vigour--and above all--truth, in every story, in every sentence, every line he writes. the statesman ought to read such books as these; they would tell him more of the true state of the country than he has ever heard from the lips of her orators, or the despatches of the 'castle hacks.' we wish mr. carlton would send forth a cheap edition, that 'traits and stories' of irish peasants might be in the hands of people as well as peers."--_bulwer's new monthly magazine._ in two volumes, 12mo. the staff-officer. or, the soldier of fortune. a tale of real life. "the web of life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together; our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not, and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues." by oliver moore. "we are prepared to admit that our extracts do not do justice to the work: the writer's power is in discriminating _female_ character; but as he judiciously makes it develope itself by incident, to illustrate this would require scenes and pages to be transferred to our columns. as a whole, this novel will be read with interest: it is light and pleasant; with many very natural scenes, many excellent and well-drawn characters, and without one line or word of affectation or pretence."--_athenã¦um._ "this is a most entertaining work: it is written with great spirit, elegance, and candour. the delineation of character (particularly that of many distinguished individuals officially connected with ireland during the pitt administration) is skilfully and vividly drawn; and the multifarious incidents--several of which are of a highly _piquant_ description--are given with a tact and delicacy creditable to the judgment and talent of the author. we can say with truth, that we have fairly gone through this tale of real life without being cloyed or wearied for a single moment; but that it excited, and kept up, an interest in our minds which few volumes designed for mere amusement have been able to inspire."--_brighton herald._ in two volumes, 12mo. the naval officer; or, scenes and adventures in the life of frank mildmay. by the author of "peter simple," "the king's own," etc. "this is the most seaman-like composition that has yet issued from the press. we recommend it to all who 'live at home at ease,' and need scarcely say, that no man-of-wars man should remain an hour without it."--_atlas._ the following beautiful and judicious compliment to the genius of captain marryatt, author of the naval officer, is from the pen of mr. bulwer, who, it will be acknowledged, is no inexperienced or unobserving critic: "far remote from the eastern and the voluptuous--from the visionary and refining--from the pale colouring of drawing-room life, and the subtle delicacies of female sentiment and wit, the genius of captain marryatt embodies itself in the humour, the energy, the robust and masculine vigour of bustling and actual existence; it has been braced by the sea breezes; it walks abroad in the mart of busy men, with a firm step and a cheerful and healthy air. not, indeed, that he is void of a certain sentiment, and an intuition into the more hidden sources of mental interest; but these are not his forte, or his appropriate element. he is best in a rich and various humour--rich, for there is nothing poor or threadbare in his materials. his characters are not, as scott's, after all, mere delineations of one oddity, uttering the same eternal phraseology, from the 'prodigious' of dominie sampson, to 'provant' of major dalgetty--a laughable, but somewhat poor invention: they are formed of compound and complex characteristics, and evince no trifling knowledge of the metaphysics of social life." in two volumes, 12mo. the contrast a novel. by earl mulgrave, author of "matilda," "yes and no," etc. "'yes and no' contained the best _tableaux_ of actual--human--english society in the nineteenth century, of any novel we know of. the same characteristics that distinguished the most agreeable novel are equally remarkable in its successors."--_bulwer's new monthly magazine._ "'contrast' cannot fail to prove interesting."--_court journal._ "these volumes possess the rather uncommon merit of a very interesting story. the design is to paint a man whose strong feelings are curbed by an over-fastidiousness--what the french so happily term un-homme difficile."--_london literary gazette._ "messrs. carey and hart have republished, in two neat volumes, earl mulgrave's novel of the 'contrast,' which has been so favourably received in england. it is said to be one of the best novels of the kind, that has issued from the press for years."--_philadelphia inquirer._ "'pelham,' and 'yes and no,' are perhaps the only paintings of the present time which are drawn with the accuracy of knowledge, and the vivacity of talent. were we to be asked by a foreigner to recommend those novels which, founded on truth, gave the most just delineation of the higher classes in england, it is to the above mentioned works we should refer. _the present volumes, however, are an infinite improvement on their predecessor._"--_london literary gazette._ in one volume, 8vo. memoirs of marshal ney, compiled from papers in the possession of his family. the work has been put together under the direction and management of the duke of elchingen, marshal ney's second son, who has affixed his signature to every sheet sent to press. "they may be regarded as the ney papers, connected together by an interesting biography; the anecdotes with which they are interspersed have plainly been collected with great pains from all the early friends of that illustrious warrior."--_blackwood's magazine._ "the memoirs before us are founded upon the papers and documents which he left behind him at his death, consisting of anecdotic and biographical fragments, accounts of his divers missions and campaigns, and the substance of many extraordinary secrets intrusted to him as a general and a statesman. all these materials throw great light upon the history of the french empire, as the details given in the memoirs possess the strongest interest."--_pennsylvania inquirer._ in one volume, 12mo. conversations on vegetable physiology; comprehending the elements of botany, with their application to agriculture. by the author of "conversations on chemistry," &c. &c. adapted to the use of schools by j. l. blake, a. m. third american edition, with coloured plates. in preparation, the gift; a christmas and new year's present, for 1835. edited by miss leslie, author of "pencil sketches," &c. the publishers have the promise of articles from many of the most popular authors of the day. the illustrations are in the hands of some of the most eminent engravers, and no expense will be spared to render the work in every respect equal to the foreign productions of the same class. mathematics for practical men; being a common-place book of principles, theorems, rules and tables, in various departments of pure and mixed mathematics, with their applications; especially to the pursuits of surveyors, architects, mechanics, and civil engineers. with numerous engravings. by olinthus gregory, ll.d., f.r.a.s. second edition, corrected and improved. "only let men awake, and fix their eyes, one while on the nature of things, another while on the application of them to the use and service of mankind."--_lord bacon._ in one volume, 18mo. colman's broad grins. a new edition, with additions. "'this is a little volume of the comic,' which we recollect to have laughed over many a time, in our boyish days, and since. it is old standard fun,--a comic classic."--_baltimore gazette._ english editions. price 37-1/2 cents each number. cuvier's animal kingdom; now in course of publication in london. the animal kingdom, arranged according to its organization, serving as a foundation for the natural history of animals, and an introduction to comparative anatomy, with figures designed and coloured after nature. the crustacea, arachnides insecta, by latreille, translated from the latest french edition, with additional notes and illustrations, by nearly five hundred additional plates, to be completed in thirty-six monthly numbers, at 37-1/2 cents each. six numbers have already been received. the attention of the public is particularly requested to this work, as it is, without question, by far the cheapest and most beautiful edition of the "animal kingdom" of cuvier that has yet appeared. landscape and portrait illustrations of the waverley novels. new edition; containing one hundred and twenty superb engravings. the above work is complete in _twenty-four_ numbers, and supplied at the moderate price of _seventy-five cents per number_. the former edition sold at _double the price_. illustrations of the poetical works of sir walter scott; now in course of publication in england; to be complete in _twelve_ monthly numbers, four of which have already appeared. price 75 cents each. finden's landscape illustrations of the life and works of lord byron. price 75 cents per number. to be completed in 24 numbers, 18 of which have already appeared. each number contains five highly-finished engravings. a whisper to a newly-married pair. "hail, wedded love! by gracious heaven design'd, at once the source and glory of mankind." "we solicit the attention of our readers to this publication, as one, though small, of infinite value."--_baltimore minerva._ "'the whisper' is fully deserving the compliments bestowed upon it, and we join heartily in recommending it to our friends, whether married or single--for much useful instruction may be gathered from its pages."--_lady's book._ "the work contains some original suggestions that are just, and many excellent quotations; some of her hints to the ladies should have been _whispered_ in a tone too low to be overheard by the men."--_daily chronicle._ in one volume, 18mo. principles of the art of modern horsemanship for ladies and gentlemen, in which all the late improvements are applied to practice. translated from the french, by daniel j. desmond. the art of horsemanship.--this is the title of a neat little work translated from the french of mr. lebeaud, by daniel j. desmond, esq. of this city, and just published by carey & hart. it gives full and explicit directions for breaking and managing a horse, and goes into detail on the proper mode of mounting, the posture in the saddle, the treatment of the animal under exercise, &c. an appendix is added, containing instructions for the _ladies_, in mounting and dismounting. the philadelphia public are under obligations to mr. desmond for this translation. we have long needed a manual of horsemanship, to correct the inelegant habits in which many of our riders indulge, and to produce uniformity in the art of equitation. we see daily in our streets, mounted men, who totter in their seats as if suffering under an ague-fit; others who whip, spur, and rant, as if charging an enemy in battle; and again others, of slovenly habits, with cramped knees, and toes projecting outwards, who occupy a position utterly devoid of every thing like ease, grace, or beauty. these things are discreditable to our community, and earnestly do we hope, that this book will have many attentive readers.--_philadelphia gazette._ in one volume, 12mo two hundred receipts in domestic french cookery. by miss leslie, author of the "seventy-five receipts." price 50 cents. "'the 200 receipts by miss leslie,' published by carey and hart of philadelphia, has been much praised, and we think deservedly. the selection of subjects made by the accomplished writer is of a most tempting and tasteful description, and we must do her the justice to say, that she has treated them in such an eloquent and forcible manner, as to raise in the minds of all dispassionate readers the most tender and pleasurable associations. we commend her to the careful perusal and respect of all thrifty housewives."--_new york mirror._ in one volume, 12mo. the painter's and colourman's complete guide; being a practical treatise on the preparation of colours, and their application to the different kinds of painting; in which is particularly described the whole art of house painting. by p. f. tingry, professor of chymistry, natural history, and mineralogy, in the academy of geneva. first american, from the third london edition, corrected and considerably improved by a practical chymist. in one volume, 18mo. the family dyer and scourer; being a complete treatise on the arts of dying and cleaning every article of dress, whether made of wool, cotton, silk, flax, or hair; also bed and window furniture, carpets, hearth-rugs, counterpanes, bonnets, feathers, &c. by william tucker, dyer and scourer in the metropolis. elements of morality for the instruction of youth. with scriptural references. translated by a. bolmar, and e. k. price half bound. price 19 cents. in one volume, 12mo. picture of philadelphia; or a brief account of the various institutions and public objects in this metropolis, forming a guide for strangers, accompanied by a new plan of the city. in a neat pocket volume. in one volume, 12mo. the horse in all his varieties and uses; his breeding, rearing, and management, whether in labour or rest; with rules occasionally interspersed, for his preservation from disease. by john lawrence, author of "the history of the horse," etc. "independently of the practical value of the book, and it is really and extensively valuable, it is one of the most amusing the reader will meet with in a thousand, complete and unique, embracing every possible subject that can be connected with the horse."--_monthly magazine._ chesnut street, october, 1833. new works published and preparing for publication, by e. l. carey & a. hart, philad. in two volumes, 12mo. the rouã� by the author of the "oxonians." in one volume, 8vo. a treatise on lesser surgery; or the minor surgical operations. by bourgery, d. m. p. author of "a complete treatise on human anatomy, comprising operative medicine," translated from the french, with notes, and an appendix; by william c. roberts and jas. b. kissam. in two volumes, 12mo. manners of the day. a novel. in one volume, 12mo. magendie's formulary. a new edition, revised and corrected. in two volumes, 12mo. tales of the munster festivals. by the author of the "collegians." in two volumes, 12mo. travels in various parts of peru; including a year's residence in potosi. by edmund temple, kt. of the royal and distinguished order of charles iii. "these travels in peru will long maintain their reputation for the accuracy of detail, the spirit of the style, and the utility of the information they contain. the professional matter is very valuable."--_bulwer's new monthly magazine._ "there is much to instruct, and a great deal to amuse. amid the details of personal adventures, there is a great deal of shrewd and strong observation."--_london monthly magazine._ "we have met with no volumes of travels in that country with which, upon the whole, we have been so much pleased as the one before us."--_baltimore gazette._ "this is an instructive and entertaining work."--_national gazette._ "this book is one of the most entertaining that has been issued from the press for some time."--_pennsylvania inquirer._ in two volumes, 12mo. sydenham; or, memoirs of a man of the world. "a new novel of fashionable life, under the title of 'sydenham, or memoirs of a man of the world,' will shortly be given to the public. it exhibits the history of a young man of rank and fortune, who, being of a decidedly satirical turn, resolves to gratify his favourite penchant to ascertain the internal state of fashionable society, and minutely to observe human nature under every variety of shade and circumstance. among other characters with whom he comes in contact, is the celebrated brummel, who figures under the name of beaumont: this gentleman arrests his peculiar attention, and serves him for a complete study. the work is, moreover, illustrative of those sets or circles in the world of ton which have never been depicted in the pages of fiction, and respecting which so much curiosity has long been felt."--_new monthly magazine._ "each of these volumes is in fact a separate work--each in a different style and spirit--each aspiring to a different fame in composition. 'sydenham' is a capital work, which, without the trouble of puffing, must make a great stir in the upper and political circles."--_london lit. gaz._ "sydenham is well written, and contains much pleasant and some severe satire. the present whig ministers in england are handled without gloves, and a number of distinguished personages occupy more conspicuous places than they would have been likely to choose, had the matter been referred to themselves."--_courier._ "the work before us is one of the most powerful of its class; it bears intrinsic evidence of a new writer. the portrait of brummel, the 'arch dandy,' is excellent; and all the scenes in which he is engaged are managed with skill and tact. there is, in fact, sufficient material in this book for three or four novels."--_new monthly magazine._ "all the personages are of course real, though under fictitious names; these pages are, in reality, memoirs of the intrigues of the times, full of keen observation, graphic sketches of character, biting sarcasm, one page of which would make the fortune of a pamphlet."--_london gazette._ in two volumes, 12mo. records of travels in turkey, greece, &c. in the years 1829, 1830, and 1831; and of a cruise in the black sea, with the captain pasha. by adolphus slade, esq. "one of the most valuable and interesting works which has yet been placed in our hands, on the domestic state of turkey."--_monthly review._ "we do not know when we have met with two volumes more amusing--they are full of highly entertaining and curious matter."--_court jour._ "the work before us supplies the best description of this remarkable nation."--_courier._ "one of the most amusing and interesting of oriental travellers, none having ever equalled him in a thorough knowledge of the true state of society, and the true character of the turks."--_spectator._ "we can warmly recommend this book for perusal, it is not only very amusing but very valuable."--_metropolitan._ "we can assure our readers that no records of travels in modern times, with which we are acquainted, presents so many features of general attraction as the volumes before us."--_london monthly review._ "mr. slade has produced, without any trace of pretension, one of the most sensible and agreeable books of travel we have ever had the pleasure to peruse."--_united service journal._ in two volumes, 12mo. legends of the rhine. by t. c. grattan, esq. author of "high-ways and by-ways." "we are well content to pass an hour once more with the lively and entertaining author of 'high-ways and by-ways." the hour has not yet gone by, and we have not completed the perusal of the two volumes; but the tales we have observed are worthy the repute in which the writer is held, and are even of a higher order--more chaste in language and perfect in style."--_boston traveller._ "messrs. carey and hart have just issued 'legends of the rhine,' by the author of 'high-ways and by-ways.' to those who recollect mr. grattan's former writings, (and who among novel readers does not?) it is only necessary to say, that the present 'legends' are, in no respect, inferior to their predecessors. the traditions which he has here wrought into shape are all said to have an existence among the dwellers near the mighty river; and it is certain they are full of romantic interest. the 'legends' are twelve in number, and, though not equal in all respects, there is no one of them that does not possess a strong claim to admiration."--_saturday courier._ "few sets of stories, published within the last ten years, have been more popular than those called 'high-ways and by-ways.' the author of these, after having produced two or three successful works of a different sort, has given us two volumes of tales, with the title 'legends of the rhine,' which are to be published to-morrow, we understand, by carey and hart. the author professes, seriously, to have founded his narratives on traditions yet extant among those who live near the banks of the great german river; and many of them end so tragically that we can hardly suspect the writer of having invented them for his own amusement or that of his readers. they are all interesting, though not all skilfully framed; and each of them contains pages that may be placed in a competition with the most shining passages of any other living novel writer." in two volumes, 12mo. stanley buxton; or, the schoolfellows. by john galt, esq., author of "annals of the parish," "lawrie todd," "eben erskine," etc. "while guile is guiltless, and life's business play, friendships are formed that never know decay." "oh, that all novels were like this piece of admirable fiction."--_spectator._ "we must say this work is in mr. galt's best style, the volume before us contains samples of his tastes and of his powers."--_bulwer's new monthly magazine._ "mr. galt's new novel is on our table, and we regret we have not space to go further into the arcana of 'stanley buxton,' in which the author has aimed at painting natural feelings in situations not common, and with much success. some of his descriptions are also deserving of special praise. two episodes in the second volume add to the general interest, and further recommend the work to public favour."--_london literary gazette._ "we find in this work the force of conception, and the full execution which distinguish the 'annals of the parish,' and 'lawrie todd.'"--_sun._ "the new novel, 'stanley buxton,' just published by carey and hart, may be called one of the very best of mr. galt's productions."--_daily chronicle._ "in 'stanley buxton' there is the same delightful freshness, the same striking originality of purpose, the same easy and flowing, yet racy and spirited manner which characterized the 'annals of the parish.'"--_saturday courier._ "for touching the heart, for keen knowledge of nature, and for quiet and beautiful descriptions, like the still life in a painter's sketch, galt possesses a vision and a power, that are not often surpassed, except by bulwer. the author of 'stanley buxton' is infinitely superior to d'israeli, whose imagination is as excursive and capricious as the wing of a sea-fowl."--_chronicle._ "mr. galt is a writer so well known and so deservedly admired, that the announcement of a new novel from his pen is sufficient to awaken general curiosity."--_gazette._ in two volumes, 12mo. fitz george. a novel. "smiles without mirth, and pastimes without pleasure, youth without honour, age without respect."--_byron._ "there are scenes in it which must awaken attention and interest; it is evidently written by a powerful and accustomed hand."--_athenã¦um._ "fitz george is a production of great talent."--_weekly despatch._ "if all novels were like this, they would soon be in the hands of philosophers as well as fashionables."--_true sun._ "should a library be formed in buckingham palace, these volumes should have a shelf in it to themselves."--_bell's new weekly messenger._ "the whole book abounds with the most stirring interest."--_national omnibus._ in two volumes, 12mo. our island. comprising _forgery, a tale_; _and_, _the lunatic, a tale_. "there is a great share of talent in these pages, which have also the merit of being laid chiefly among scenes new to a large portion of our readers."--_literary gazette._ "_the lunatic._--this is indeed an excellent tale--well told--with variety of incidents and character, and with much humour. not to speak in disparagement of the first tale, we must confess that we have been highly pleased with the second, and we think our readers' time will be amply repaid by a perusal of both."--_london monthly magazine._ "this work is of a generally interesting character, and we feel it our duty to encourage the publication of such productions as these tales, since they point attention to errors of legislation."--_weekly despatch._ in two volumes, 12mo. peter simple; or, adventures of a midshipman. by the author of "the king's own." in two volumes, 12mo. tom cringle's log. "the scenes are chiefly nautical, and we can safely say, that no author of the present day, not even excepting our own cooper, has surpassed him in his element."--_u. s. gazette._ "the sketches are not only replete with entertainment, but useful, as affording an accurate and vivid description of scenery, and of life and manners in the west indies."--_boston traveller._ "we think none who have read this work will deny that the author is the best nautical writer who has yet appeared. he is not smollett, he is not cooper; but he is far superior to them both."--_boston transcript._ "the scenes are chiefly nautical, and are described in a style of beauty and interest never surpassed by any writer."--_baltimore gazette._ "the author has been justly compared with cooper, and many of his sketches are in fact equal to any from the pen of our celebrated countryman."--_saturday evening post._ in two volumes, 12mo. tom cringle's log. second series. in three volumes, 12mo. tom cringle's log. first and second series. a new edition complete. in one volume, 8vo. _hall on the loss of blood._ researches principally relative to the morbid and curative effects of loss of blood. by marshall hall, m.d., f.r.s.e., &c. &c. "it will be seen that we have been much pleased with dr. hall's work generally; we think it is calculated to do much good in placing the subject of the due institution of blood-letting on a practical basis. dr. hall has subjoined a plan of a register of cases of blood-letting, which would be a most useful record, if properly kept; and we cannot recommend such a detail of facts, to practitioners, in too high terms."--_american journal of medical sciences, no. xi._ "it is not for us to say how large may have been the number of sufferers, but we know some have perished from direct exhaustion complicated with reaction, who might have been saved, if the principles and practice of our author had been known and understood."--_n. a. med. and surg. journal, no. xx. for october, 1830._ in one volume, 8vo. _teale on neuralgic diseases._ a treatise on neuralgic diseases, dependent upon irritation of the spinal marrow and ganglia of the sympathetic nerve. by thomas pridgin teale. member of the royal college of surgeons in london, of the royal medical society of edinburgh, senior surgeon to the leeds public dispensary. price 31 cents. "it is a source of genuine gratification to meet with a work of this character, when it is so often our lot to be obliged to labour hard to winnow a few grains of information from the great mass of dullness, ignorance, and misstatement with which we are beset, and cannot too highly recommend it to the attention of the profession."--_american journal of the medical sciences, no. x._ in one volume, 8vo. select speeches of john sergeant of pennsylvania. select medico-chirurgical transactions. a collection of the most valuable memoirs read to the medico-chirurgical societies of london and edinburgh; the association of fellows and licentiates of the king and queen's college of physicians in ireland; the royal academy of medicine of paris; the royal societies of london and edinburgh; the royal academy of turin; the medical and anatomical societies of paris, &c. &c. &c. edited by isaac hays, m.d. in one volume, 8vo. a practical compendium of midwifery: being the course of lectures on midwifery, and on the diseases of women and infants, delivered at st. bartholemew's hospital. by the late robert gooch, m.d. "as it abounds, however, in valuable and original suggestions, it will be found a useful book of reference."--_drake's western journal._ in one volume, 8vo. an account of some of the most important diseases peculiar to women; by robert gooch, m.d. "in this volume dr. gooch has made a valuable contribution to practical medicine. it is the result of the observation and experience of a strong, sagacious, and disciplined mind."--_transylvania journal of medicine._ "this work, which is now for the first time presented to the profession in the united states, comes to them with high claims to their notice."--_drake's western journal._ in two volumes, 12mo frescatis; or, scenes in paris. in one volume, 18mo. colman's broad grins. a new edition, with additions. in one volume, 12mo. the groom's oracle, and pocket stable directory. in which the management of horses generally, as to health, dieting, and exercise, is considered, in a series of familiar dialogues between two grooms engaged in training horses to their work, as well for the road as the chase and turf. by john hinds, v.s., author of the "veterinary surgeon." embellished with an elegant frontispiece, by s. alken. first american, from the second london edition. with considerable additions, and an appendix, including the receipt book of john hinds, v.s. "this enlarged edition of the 'groom's oracle' contains a good number of new points connected with training prime horses; and the owners of working cattle, also, will find their profit in consulting the practical remarks that are applicable to their teams; on the principle that _health preserved_ is better than _disease removed_." "the groom's oracle, by j. hinds, is among the most valuable of our recent publications; it ought to be in the possession of every gentleman, who either has in possession, or has a chance of possessing, the noble animal to whose proper treatment the author has directed his enlightened researches."--_taunton courier, 1830._ reflections on every day in the week, with occasional thoughts. by catharine talbot. neatly done up in paper with gilt edges. price 20 cents. "catherine talbot's _reflections on every day of the week_ have been published, in a neat and popular form, by messrs. carey and hart. they are simple, and applicable to every reader, and distinguished not less by eloquent thought, than by sound and correct judgment. the little work will be read by no one without profit."--_saturday evening post._ in one volume, 8vo. _tate on hysteria._ a treatise on "hysteria." by george tate, m.d. "as public journalists, we take this occasion to return him our hearty thanks for the pains he has taken to shed a new light on an obscure and much-neglected topic."--_north amer. med. and surg. journ. no. xix._ in one volume, 12mo. a subaltern in america; comprising his narrative of the campaigns of the british army at baltimore, washington, etc. during the late war. in two volumes, 12mo. nights-at-mess. in two volumes, 8vo. nature displayed in her mode of teaching language to man; being a new and infallible method of acquiring languages with unparalleled rapidity; deduced from the analysis of the human mind, and consequently suited to every capacity; adapted to the french, by n. g. dufief. to which is prefixed a development of the author's plan of tuition: differing entirely from every other; so powerful in its operation and so very economical, that a liberal education can be afforded even to the poorest of mankind. eighth edition, enlarged and improved. in two volumes, 8vo. dufief's spanish nature displayed. in two volumes, 8vo. a new universal and pronouncing dictionary of the french and english languages. containing above _fifty thousand_ terms and names not to be found in the dictionaries of boyer, perry, nugent, &c. &c.; to which is added a vast fund of other information equally beneficial and instructive. by n. g. dufief. a new edition, revised and corrected by the author. in one volume, 18mo. _the surgeon-dentist's manual._ the surgeon-dentist's anatomical and physiological manual. by g. wait. member of the royal college of surgeons in london, &c. &c. "the work cannot fail, we think, to answer well the purpose for which it was designed, of a manual for the practical dentist; and in the notes will be found many useful hints respecting the diseases of these structures."--_boston med. and surg. journ. 1830._ manual of surgical operations. containing the new method of operating devised by lisfranc. followed by two synoptic tables of natural and instrumental labours. by j. coster, m.d. and p. of the university of turin. "dr. john d. godman, lecturer on anatomy, in this city, a gentleman of distinguished professional and literary talents, having translated this small, but valuable volume, for the benefit of the students who may honour our university by their attendance, i shall merely refer to that work. i have more pleasure in recommending, inasmuch as a short system of operative surgery has been a desideratum."--_gibson's surgery, vol. ii. page 541._ in one volume, 8vo. _saissy on the ear._ diseases of the internal ear. by j. a. saissy. member of the royal academy of sciences, literature, and arts in lyons, fellow of the medical society of the same city, and of the medical societies of bordeaux, orleans, marseilles, &c. honoured with a premium by the medical society of bordeaux, and since enlarged by the author. translated from the french by nathan r. smith, professor of surgery in the university of maryland, with a supplement on diseases of the external ear, by the translator. froissart and his times. by the late barry st. leger. * * * * * transcriber notes obvious punctuation and spelling errors have been corrected. the following are as in the original: major russell and major russel are used interchangeably in the book. page4 original: and the trick he has played off on the publick. page 10 its versus it's original: use, its just nobody's business. big men page 86 (scroundrell's) original: old scroundrell's two big sons with us, and made page 119 flower is old english for flour original: man a cupfull of flower. with this, we thickened page 168 bran-fire and branfire original: this is," said i, "a branfire new way of doing clearly not hypenated in this line. the following changes have been made: page 17 original: bioagraphers, i should not only inform the public replacement: biographers, i should not only inform the public page 141 original: and years all open, to catch every word i would replacement: and ears all open, to catch every word i would page 158 original: where i stop'd to pull of my wet clothes, and put replacement: where i stop'd to pull off my wet clothes, and put page 230 original: and mistatement with which we are beset, replacement: and misstatement with which we are beset, the road to providence by maria thompson daviess contents i the doctors mayberry, mother and son ii the singer lady and the bread-bowl iii the peony girl and the bumpkin iv love, the cure-all v the little raven and her covered dish vi the providence tag-gang vii pretty bettie's wedding day viii the nest on providence nob ix the little harpeth woman of many sorrows x the song of the master's grail chapter i the doctors mayberry, mother and son "now, child, be sure and don't mix 'em with a heavy hand! lightness is expected of riz biscuits and had oughter be dealt out to 'em by the mixer from the start. just this way--" "mother, oh, mother," came a perturbed hail in doctor mayberry's voice from the barn door, "spangles is off the nest again--better come quick!" "can't you persuade her some, tom?" mother called back from the kitchen door as she peered anxiously across the garden fence and over to the gray barn where the doctor stood holding the door half open, but ready for a quick close-up in case of an unexpected sally. "my hands is in the biscuits and i don't want to come now. just try, tom!" "i have tried and i can't do it! she's getting the whole convention agitated. you'd better come on, mother!" "dearie me," said mrs. mayberry, as she rinsed her hands in the wash-pan on the shelf under tin cedar bucket, "tom is just as helpless with the chickens at setting time as a presiding elder is at a sewing circle; can't use a needle, too stiff to jine the talk and only good when it comes to the eating, from broilers to frying size. just go on and mix the biscuits with faith, honey-bird, for i mistrust i won't be back for quite a spell." "now let me see what all these conniptions is about," she said in a commanding voice, as she walked boldly in through her son's cautiously widened door gap. and a scene of confusion that was truly feminine met her capable glance. fuss-and-feathers, a stylish young spangled wyandotte, was waltzing up and down the floor and shrieking an appeal in the direction of a whole row of half-barrel nests that stretched along the dark and sequestered side of the feed-room floor, upon which was established what had a few minutes before been a placid row of setting hens. now over the rim of each nest was stretched a black, white, yellow or gray head, pop-eyed with alarm and reproach. they were emitting a chorus of indignant squawks, all save a large, motherly old dominick in the middle barrel who was craning her scaly old neck far over toward the perturbed young sister and giving forth a series of reassuring and commanding clucks. "i didn't do a thing in the world to them, mother," said doctor tom in a deprecatory tone of voice, as if he were in a way to be blamed for the whole excitement. "i was across the barn at the corn-crib when she hopped off her nest and went on the rampage. just a case of the modern feminine rebellion, i wager." "no such thing, sir! they ain't nothing in the world the matter with her 'cept as bad a case of young-mother skeer as i have ever had before amongst all my hens. don't you see, tom, two of her setting have pipped they shells and the cheepings of the little things have skeered the poor young thing 'most to death. old dominick have took in the case and is trying her chicken-sister best to comfort her. these here pullet spasms over the hatching of the first brood ain't in no way unusual. the way you have forgot chicken habits since you have growed up is most astonishing to me, after all the helping with them i taught you." as she spoke, mother mayberry had been rearranging the deserted nest with practised hand and had tenderly lifted two feeble, moist little new-borns on her broad palm to show to the doctor. "what are you going to do with them, mother?" he asked, for though his education in chicken lore seemed to have been in vain he was none the less sympathetically interested in his mothers practice of the hen-craft. "i'm just going to give 'em to old dominick to dry out and warm up for her while i persuade her back on the nest. as she gets used to hearing the cheepings from under another hen she'll take the next ones that come with less mistrust." and suiting her actions to her words mother mayberry slipped the two forlorn little mites under a warm old wing that stretched itself out with gentleness to receive and comfort them. some budding instinct had sent the foolish fluff of stylish feathers clucking at her skirts, so she bent down and with a gentle and sympathetic hand lifted the young inadequate back on the nest. "i really oughter put on a cover and make her set on the next," she said doubtfully, "but it do seem kinder to teach her hovering a little at a time. course all women things has got mothering borned into 'em, but it comes easier to some than to others. i always feel like giving 'em a helping hand at the start off." "you have a great deal of faith if you feel sure of that universally maternal instinct in these days, mother," said the doctor with a teasing smile as he handed her a quart cup of oats from the bin. "oh, i know what you're talking about," answered mother, as she scattered a little grain in front of each nest and prepared to leave in peace and quiet the brooding mothers. "it's this woman's rights and wrongs question. i've been so busy doctoring providence road pains and trying to make a good, proper husband outen you for some nice girl, what some other woman have been putting licks on to get ready for you, that i've been too pushed to think about the wrongs being did to me. but not knowing any more about it than i do, i think this woman's rumpus all sounds kinder like a hen scratching around in unlikely and contrary corners for the bread of life, when she knows they is plenty of crumbs at the kitchen door to be et up. but if you're going to ride over to flat rock this evening you'd better go on and get back in time for some riz biscuits as elinory is a-making for you this blessed minute." "she's not making them for me," answered the young doctor with the color rising under his clear, tanned skin up to his very forelock. as he spoke he busied himself with bridling his restless young mare. "of course she is," answered his mother serenely. "women don't take no interest in cooking unless they's a man to eat the fixings. left to herself she'd eat store bread and cheese with her head outen the window for the birds to clean up the crumbs. stop by and ask after mis' bostick and the deacon. and if you bring me a little candy from the store with the letters, maybe i'll eat it to please you. now be a-going so as to be a-coming the sooner." with which admonition mother took her departure down the garden path. she was tall and broad, was mother mayberry, and in her walk was left much of the lissome strength of her girlhood to lighten the matronly dignity of her carriage. her stiffly starched, gray-print skirts swept against a budding border of jonquils and the spring breezes floated an end of her white lawn tie as a sort of challenge to a young cherry tree, that was trying to snow out under the influence of the warm sun. her son smiled as he saw her stoop to lift a feeble, over-early hop toad back under the safety of the jonquil leaves, out of sight of a possible savage rooster. he knew what expression lay in her soft gray eyes that brooded under her wide, placid brow, upon which fell abundant and often riotous silver water-waves. his own eyes were very like them and softened as he looked at her, a masculine version of one of her quick dimples quirked at the corner of his clean-cut mouth. "the bread of life--she's found it," he said to himself musingly as he slipped the last buckle in his bridle tight. "elinory," called mother mayberry from the kitchen steps, "come out here and sense the spring. everywhere you look they is some young thing a-peeping up or a-reaching out or a-running over or wobbling or bleating or calling. looks like the whole world have done broke out in blooms and babies." "i can't--i wish i could," came an answer in a low, beautiful voice with a queer, husky note. "it's all sticking to my hands, flour and everything, and i don't know what to do!" "dearie me, you've put in the milk a little too liberal! wait until i sift on a mite more flour. now rub it in light! see, it's all right, and most beautiful dough. don't be discouraged, for riz biscuits is most the top test of cooking. keep remembering back to those cup custards you made yesterday, what tom mayberry ate three of for supper and then tried to sneak one outen the milk-house to eat before he went to bed." "oh, did he?" asked miss wingate with delight shining in her dark eyes and a beautiful pink rising up in her pale cheeks. "i wish i could do something to please him and make him feel how--how--grateful i am--for the hope he's given me. i was so hopeless and unhappy--and desperate when i came. but i believe my voice is coming back! every day it's stronger and you are so good to me and make me so happy that i'm not afraid any more. you give me faith to hope--as well as to mix biscuits." and a pearly tear splashed on the rolling-pin. "yes, put your trust in the heavenly father, child, and some in tom mayberry. before you know it you'll be singing like the birds out in the trees; but i can't let myself think about the time's a-coming for you to fly away to the other people's trees to sing. when tom told me about doctor stein's wanting to send a great big singer lady, what had lost her voice, down here to see if he couldn't cure her like he did that preacher man and the politics speaker, i was skeered for both him and me, for i knew things was kinder simple with us here and i was afraid i couldn't make you happy and comfortable. but then i remembered doctor stein had stayed 'most two weeks when he came south with tom for a visit and said he had tacked ten years on to the end of his life by just them few days of providence junketings and company feedings, so i made up my mind not to be proud none and to say for you to come on. i've got faith in my boy's doctoring same as them new york folks has, and i wanted him to try to cure you. then i knew you didn't have no mother to pet up the sick throat none. a little consoling comfort is a good dose to start healing any kind of trouble with. i knew i had plenty of that in my heart to prescribe out to help along with your case; so here you are not three weeks with us, a-mixing riz biscuits for tom's supper and like to coax the heart outen both of us. i told him--dearie me, somebody's calling at the front gate!" "mis' mayberry! oh, mis' mayberry!" came a high, quavering old voice from around the corner of the house, and squire tutt hove in sight. he was panting for breath and trembling with rage as he ascended the steps and stood in the kitchen door. mother hastened to bring him a chair into which he wheezingly subsided. "why, squire," she questioned anxiously, "have anything happened? is mis' tutt tooken with lumbago again?" "no!" exploded the squire, "she's well--always is! i'm the only really sick folks in providence, though i don't git no respect for it. in pain all the time and no respect--no respect!" "now, squire, everybody in providence have got sympathy for your tisic, and just yesterday mis' pike was a-asking me--" "tisic! i ain't talking about tisic now! it's this pain in my stomick that that young limb of satan of your'n insulted me about not a hour ago. me a-writhing in tormint with nothing less'n a cancer--insulted me!" as the squire projected his remark toward mother mayberry he bent double and peered expectantly up into her sympathetic face. "why, what did he do, squire?" demanded mother, with a glance at miss wingate, who still stood at the biscuit block cutting out her dough. she regarded the old man with alarmed wonder. "told me to drink two cups of hot water and lie down a hour--me in tormint!" the squire fairly spit his complaint into the air. "dearie me, tom had oughter known better than that about one of your spells," said mother. "why, i've been a-curing them for years for you myself with nothing more'n a little drop of spirits, red pepper and mint. he had oughter told you to take that instead of hot water. i'm sorry--" "oughter told me to take spirits--told me to take spirits! don't you know, mis' mayberry, a man with a sanctified wife can't take no spirits; they must be gave to him by somebody not a member of the family. me a-suffering tormints--two cups of hot water--tormints, tormints!" the old man's voice rose to a perfect wail, but came down a note or two as mother hastily reached in the press and drew out a tall, old demijohn and poured a liberal dose of the desired medicine into a glass. she added a dash of red pepper and a few drops of peppermint. this treatment of the squire's dram in mother's estimation turned a sinful beverage into a useful medicine and served to soothe her conscience while it disturbed the squire's appreciation of her treatment not at all. he swallowed the fiery dose without as much as the blink of an eyelid and on the instant subsided into comfortable complacency. "please forgive tom for not having more gumption, squire, and next time you're took come right over to me same as usual. course i know all the neighbors feel as how tom is young and have just hung out his shingle here, and i ain't expectin' of 'em to have no confidence in him. i think it my duty to just go on with my usual doctoring of my friends. i hope you won't hold this mistake against tom." "well," said the squire in a mollified tone of voice, "i won't say no more, but you must tell him to stop fooling with these here providence people. stopped ezra pike's wife feeding her baby on pot-liquor and give it biled milk watered with lime juice. it'll die--it'll die!" "oh no, squire, it's a-getting well--jest as peart as can be," mother said in a mollifying tone of voice. "it'll die--it'll die! cut one er the lights outen sam mosbey's side--called it a new fangled impendix name--but he'll die--he'll die!" "sam's a-working out there on the barn roof right this minute, squire, good and alive," said mother mayberry with a good-humored smile, while miss wingate cast a restrained though indignant glance at the doubting old magistrate. "and old deacon bostick drinking cow-hot milk and sucking raw eggs! he looks like a mixed calf and shanghai rooster! so old he'd oughter die--and he'll do it! hot water and me in tormint! hot water on his middle in a rubber bag and nothing inside er him! he'll die-he'll die!" "oh no, squire, the good lord have gave deacon bostick back to us from the edge of the grave; tom a-working day and night but under his guidance. he have gained ten pounds and walks everywhere. it were low typhus, six weeks running, too! i'm glad it were gave to me to see my son bring back a saint to earth from the gates themselves. have you been by to see him?" "yes," answered the squire as he rose much more briskly than he had seated himself, and prepared to take his departure. "yes, and it was you a-nussing of him that did it--muster slipped him calimile--but i ain't a-disputing! play actor, ain't you, girl?" he demanded as he paused on his way out of the door and peered over at miss wingate with his beetling, suspicious eyes. "yes," answered the singer lady as she went on putting her biscuit into the pan. if her culinary manoeuvers were slow they were at least sure and the "riz" biscuits looked promising. "dearie me," said mother as she returned from guiding her guest down the front walk and into the shaded road, "it do seem that squire tutt gets more rantankerous every day. poor mis' tutt is just wore out with contriving with him. it's a wonder she feels like she have got any ease at all, much less a second blessing. now i must turn to and make a dish of baked chicken hash for supper to be et with them feather biscuits of your'n. i want to compliment them by the company of a extra nice dish. if they come out the oven in time i want to ask sam mosbey to stop in and get some, with a little quince preserves. he brought his dinner in a bucket, which troubled me, for who's got foot on my land, two or four, i likes to feed myself. i expected he was some mortified at your being here. he's kinder shy like in the noticing of girls." "that seems to be a failing with the providence young--with providence people," ventured miss wingate with ambiguity. "oh, country boys is all alike," answered mother comfortingly, only in a measure taking in the tentative observation. "they're all kinder co'ting tongue-tied. they have to be eased along attentive, all 'cept buck peavey, who'd like to eat pattie up same as a cannibal, i'm thinking, and don't mind who knows it. now the supper is all on the simmer and can be got ready in no time. let's me and you walk down to the front gate and watch for tom to come around the nob from flat rock and then we can run in the biscuits. maybe we'll hear some news; i haven't hardly seen any folks to-day and i mistrust some mischief are a-brewing somewhere." and mother mayberry's well trained intuitions must have been in unusually good working order, for she met her expected complications at the very front gate. she was just turning to point out a promise of an unusually large crop of snowballs on the old shrub by the gate-post when a subdued sniffling made itself heard and caused her to concentrate her attention on the house opposite across the road. and a sympathy stirring scene met her eyes. perched along the fence were all five of the little pikes clinging to the top board in forlorn despondency. on the edge of the porch sat mr. pike in his shirt sleeves with his pipe in one hand and the teether pike balanced on his knee. his expression matched that of the children in the matter of gloom, and like them he glanced apprehensively toward the door as if expecting calamity to issue from his very hearthstone. "why, what's the matter?" demanded mother as she hurried to the edge of the sidewalk followed by the singer lady, whose acquaintance with the young pikes had long before ripened to the stage of intimate friendship. at the sight of her sympathetic face, eliza, the first pike, slipped to the ground and buried her head in her new but valued friend's dainty muslin skirt. bud, the next rung of the stair steps licked out his tongue to dispose of a mortifying tear and little susie sobbed outright. at this juncture, just as mother was about to demand again an explanation of such united woe, mrs. pike came to the door, and a large spoon and a bottle full of amber, liquid grease made further inquiry unnecessary. "sakes, mis' mayberry, i certainly am glad you have came over to back me up in getting down these doses of oil. ez," with an indignant and contemptuous glance at her sullen husband, "don't want me to give it to 'em. he'd rather they'd up and die than to stand the ruckus, but i ain't a-going to let my own children perish for a few cherry seeds with a bottle of oil in the house and doctor tom mayberry's prescription to give 'em a spoonful all around." mrs. pike was short and stout, but with a martial and determined eye, and as she spoke she began to measure out a first dose with her glance fixed on young bud, who turned white around his little mouth and clung to the fence. susie's sobs rose to a wail and eliza shuddered in miss wingate's skirt. "wait a minute, mis' pike," said mother hurriedly, "are you sure they have et cherry seeds? cherries ain't ripe yet, and--" "we didn't--we didn't!" came in a perfect chorus of wails from the little fence birds. "of course they did, mis' mayberry!" exclaimed their mother relentlessly. "it was two jars of cherry preserves that prissy put up and clean forgot to seed 'fore she biled 'em, and the children done took and et 'em on the sly. now they're going to suffer for it." "we all spitted the seeds out, and we was so hungry, too!" eliza took courage to sob from miss wingate's skirt. bud managed to echo her statement, while susie and the two little boys gave confirmation from their wide-open, terror-stricken eyes. "well, now, maybe they did, mis' pike," said mother, coming near to argue the question. her hand rested sustainingly on one of the brave young bud's knees which jutted out from the fence. "can't trust 'em, mis' mayberry, fer if they'll steal they'll lie," said mrs. pike in a voice tinged with the deepest melancholy for the fallen estate of her family. "they'll have to suffer for both sins whether they did or didn't," and again the bottle was poised. "now hold on, mis' pike," again exclaimed mother mayberry as her face illumined with a bright smile. "if they throwed away the cherry pits they must be where they throwed 'em and they can go find 'em to prove they character. they ain't nothing fairer than that. where did you eat the preserves, children?" she asked, but there was a wild rush around the corner of the house before her question was answered. "now," exclaimed the astonished mother, "i never thought of that and if they thought to spit out one stone they did the balance. but doctor tom was so kind to tell me about the oil and i paid fifteen cents down at the store for it, that i'm a mind to give it to 'em anyway." "i'll be blamed if you do," ejaculated her indignant husband as he shouldered teether and strode into the house, unable longer to restrain his rage. "ain't that just like him!" said his wife in a resigned voice. "and i was just going to try to make him take this spoonful i've poured out. it won't hurt him none and it's a pity to pour it back, it wastes so. do either of you all need it?" she asked hospitably. miss wingate was dissenting with an echo of eliza's shudder and mother mayberry with a laugh, when the reprieved criminals raced back around the house, each dirty little fist inclosing a reasonable number of grubby cherry stones. "well," assented their mother reluctantly, "i'll let you off this time, but don't any of you never take nothing to eat again without asking, and i'm a-going to punish you by making you every one wash your feet in cold water and go to bed. now mind me and all stand to once in the tub by the pump and tell your paw i say not to touch that kettle of hot water. i don't want you to have a drop. go right on and do as i say." the threatened punishment had been too great for the youngsters to mind this lesser and accustomed penalty, so they retired with cheerfulness and spirits and in a few seconds a chorus of squeals and splashes came from the back yard. after an exchange of friendly good-bys mrs. pike entered her front door and mother and the singer lady returned to their own front gate. "dearie me," said mother in a tone of positive discouragement, "i don't know what i will do if i have to undo another one of tom mayberry's prescriptions to-day. but you couldn't expect a man to untangle a children quirk like that; and oil woulder been the thing for the cherry stones in children's stomachs, but not for ones throwed on the back walk. i hope the squire won't hear about it," she added with a laugh. "i think," said miss wingate with her dark eyes fixed on mother's face with positive awe, "i think you are wonderful with everybody. you know just what to do for them, and what to say to them and--" "well," interrupted mother with a laugh, "it are gave to some women to be called on the lord's ease mission, and i reckon i'm of that band. don't you know i'm the daughter of a doctor, and the wife of a doctor and the mother of one as good as either of the other two? i can't remember the time when i didn't project with the healing of ailments. when i married doctor mayberry and come down over the ridge from warren county with him, he had his joke with me about my herb-basket and a-setting up opposition to him. it's in our blood. my own cousin seliny lue lovell down at the bluff follows the calling just the same as i do. i say the lord were good to me to give me the love of it and a father and a husband and now a son to practise with." "the doctors mayberry, mother and son, how interesting that sounds, mrs. mayberry," exclaimed miss wingate with a delightful laugh, "and no wonder doctor mayberry is so gifted that he gets national commissions to study pellagra and--and has a troublesome singer lady sent all the way from new york to patch up." "yes, it do look like that tom mayberry gets in a good chanct everywhere he goes. some folks picks a friend offen every bush they passes and tom's one. he was honored considerable in new york and then sent over to berlin, europe, and beyont to study up about people's skins. and then here he comes back, sent by the government right down to flat rock, on the other side of providence nob, to study out about that curious corn disease they calls pellagra, what i don't think is a thing in the world but itch and can be cured by a little sulphur and hog lard. but i'm blessing the chanct that brought him back to me, even if i know it are just for a spell. and, too, he oughter be happy to have brung his mother such a song bird as you. i'm so used to you and your helping me with cindy away to springfield, that i don't see how i ever got along without you or ever will." as she spoke, mother mayberry smiled delightedly at the singer girl and drew her closer. mother's voice at most times was a delicious mixture of banter and caress. "perhaps i'll stay always," said the singer lady as she drew close against the gray print shoulder. "when i look around me i feel as if i had awakened in a beautiful world with no more dirty, smoky cities that hurt my throat, no more hot, lighted theaters, no noises, and everything is just a great big bouquet of soft smells and colors." as she spoke, elinor wingate, who was just a tired girl in the circle of mother mayberry's strong arm, let her great dark eyes wander off across the meadow to where a dim rim of harpeth hills seemed to close in the valley. her glance returned to the low, wing-spreading, brick farm-house, which, vine-covered, lilac-hedged and maple-shaded, seemed to nestle against the breast of providence nob, at whose foot clustered the little settlement of providence and around whose side ran the old wilderness trail called providence road. and her face was soft with a light of utter contentment, for under that low-gabled roof she was finding strength to hope for the recovery of her lost treasure, without which life would seem a void. then for a moment she looked down the village road, across which the trees were casting long afternoon shadows and along which was flowing the tide of late afternoon social life. women hung over the front gates to greet men in from the fields or from down the road, girls laughed and chaffed one another or the blushing country boys, and the children played tag and hop-scotch back and forth along the way. "it's all lovely," she said again with a contented little sigh. when she spoke softly there was not a trace of the burr in her voice and it was as sweet as a dove note. "days like these we had oughter take the world as a new gift from god," said mother musingly. "it were a day like this i come with doctor mayberry along the road to providence to live, and stopped right at this gate under this very maple tree, thirty-five years ago; and thirty of 'em have i lived lonesome without him. i had a baby at my breast and tom by my knee when he went away from us, and i know now it was the call laid on me to take up his work that saved me. when i got back from the funeral and had laid the baby on the bed mis' jim petway come a-running up the road crying that ellen, her youngest child, were a-choking to death with croup. i never had a thought but to take his saddle-bags and follow her, and somehow the good lord guided my hand amongst his medicines, and with what i had learned from him and pa i fought a good fight and saved the little thing's life, though it took the night to do it. and in one of them dark hours a sister-to-woman sense was born in me what i ain't never lost. a neighbor took tom and they brought my baby to me and i stayed by mis' petway until they weren't no more danger. next day it were squire tutt's first wife tooken down with the fever and not the week passed before that very sam mosbey were borned. we was too poor to have a doctor come and live here and they was a doctor over to springfield took up my husband's county practice, so i jest naturally had to do the healing myself, only a-sending for him in the worst cases. they was a heap of teethers that summer and it kept me busy looking after 'em. i expect i made mistakes but i kept up me and the patients' courage by sympathizing and heartening. it didn't cost nobody nothing and we wasn't so prosperous then that it wasn't a help for me to do the doctoring when i could, and i mostly were able. i were glad of the work and did it with a thankful mind; not as they wasn't times when i felt sick at heart, and in danger of questioning why, but i tried to steady myself with prayer until i could find the everlasting arm to lean on that is always held out to the widow and the fatherless. and so a-leaning i have got me and tom mayberry along until now." "and the whole rest of the world leaning on you," said the lovely lady as she drew nearer and caught mother mayberry's strong hand in her own slender fingers. "well," answered mother, as she shaded her eyes with her other hand to look far up the road toward the ridge over which they were waiting for the doctor's horse to appear, "looks like often hands a-reaching out for help gives strength before they takes any, and a little hope planted in another body's garden is apt to fly a seed and sprout in your own patch. there he is--let's hurry in the biscuits!" chapter ii the singer lady and the bread-bowl "well, i don't know as i'd like to have her messing around my kitchen and house, a stranger and a curious one at that. but you always was kinder soft, mis' mayberry," said mrs. peavey as she glanced with provoked remonstrance at mother mayberry, who went calmly on attending to the needs of a fresh hatching of young chickens. mrs. peavey lived next door to the doctor's house and the stone wall that separated the two families was not in any way a barrier to her frequent neighborly and critical visitations. she was meager of stature and soul, and the victim of a devouring fire of curiosity which literally licked up the fagots of human events that came in her way. she was the fly that kicked perpetually in mother mayberry's cruse of placid ointment, but received as full a mead of that balm of friendship as any woman on the road. "why, she ain't a mite of trouble, but just a pleasure, hettie ann," answered mother with mild remonstrance in her tone. "i expected to have a good bit of worry with her, having no cook in my kitchen, 'count of waiting for cindy to get well and come back to me and nobody easy to pick up to do the work, but she hadn't been here a week before she was reaching out and learning house jobs. i think it takes her mind offen her troubles and i can't say her no if it do help her, not that i want to, for she's a real comfort." "well, if it was me i couldn't take no comfort in a play-acting girl. i'd feel like locking up what teaspoons i had and a-counting over everything in my house every day. it's just like you, mis' mayberry, to take her in. and i can't sense the why of you're being so close-mouthed about her. near neighbors oughter know all about one another's doings and not have to ask, i say." mrs. peavey sniffed and assumed an air of injured patience. "why, hettie ann," mother hastened to answer, "you know as i always did hold that the give and take of advice from friends is the greatest comfort in the world, though at times most confusing, and i thought i told you all about elinory." "well, you didn't. muster been bettie pratt or mis' pike you was a-talking to when you thought it was me," answered her friend with the injured note in her voice becoming with every word more noticeable. "are she rich or poor? do you know that much?" "well now, come to think of it, i don't," answered mother promptly. "connecting up folks and they money always looks like sticking a price tag on you to them and them to you. i'd rather charge my friends to a heaven-account and settle the bill with friendly feelings as we go along. this poor child ain't got no mother or father, that i know. all her young life when most girls ain't got a thought above a beau or a bonnet, she have been a-training of her voice to sing great 'cause it were in her to do it. and she done it, too. then all to onct when she had got done singing in a great big town hall they call convent garden or something up in new york, she made the mistake to drink a glass of ice water and it friz up her throat chords. she haven't been able to sing one single tune since. she have been a-roaming over the earth a-hunting for some sort of help and ain't found none. now she have lit at my door and i've got her in trying to warm and comfort her to enough strength for tom to put her voice back into her." "well, you don't expect no such thing of tom mayberry as that, do you?" asked mrs. peavey with uncompromising and combative frankness. "that i do," answered the doctor's mother, and this time there was a note of dignity in her voice, as she looked her friend straight in the face. "you know, because i told you about it, hettie ann, how tom mayberry cured that big preacher of a lost voice who was a friend to this doctor stein, while the boy wasn't nothing but serving his term in the hospital. he wrote a paper about it that made all the doctors take notice of him and he have done it twice since, though throats are just a side issue from skins with him. yes, i'm expecting of him to cure this child and give her back more'n just her voice, her work in life. i'm one that believes that the lord borns all folks with a work to do and you've got to march on to it, whether it's singing in public places, carrying saddle-bags to suffering or jest playing your tune on the wash-board at home. it's a part of his hallelujah chorus in which we've all got to join." "well, i shorely drawed the wash-board fer my instrumint," answered mrs. peavey with a vindictive look across the wall at a line of clothes fluttering in the breeze. "and they ain't nobody in providence that turns out as white a shirt-song as you do, hettie ann. buck and mr. peavey are just looked at in church sundays fer the color of they collars," mother hastened to say with pride in the glance that followed mrs. peavey's across the wall. "ain't tom always a-contriving with you to sneak one of his shirts into your wash, so as not to hurt me and cindy's feelings? i don't see how you get 'em so white." "elbow grease and nothing else," answered mrs. peavey in a tone of voice that refused to be mollified. "i've got to be a-going." "just wait and look at these chickens; ain't they pretty? tom sent all the way to indiany fer the settin' of eggs fer me and i've just been a-watching the day for 'em to hatch. i feel they are a-going to be a credit to me and i'm glad i gave 'em to ruffle neck to set on. she's such a good hoverer and can be depended on to run from the rain. now ain't they pretty?" and mother even looked at mrs. peavey with hope for a word of sympathy in her pleasure--after a thirty years' experience with her neighbor. "no," answered her friend, "i don't hold with no fancy chickens. just good dominicks is all i've got any faith in and not much in them. with strange chickens and girls around your house something misfortunate is a-going to happen to you, mis' mayberry, and i see it a-coming. don't say i didn't tell you." "no, i'll give you credit for your warning," answered mother propitiatingly. "how's that pain in your side?" she hastened to ask, to change the subject from a disagreeable one to what she knew by experience would prove at least interesting. "it's a heap better," answered mrs. peavey promptly. "oh, i'm so glad," exclaimed mother, immediately beginning to beam with pride. "i told you tom could help it with that new kind of dry plaster he made for you. ain't it wonderful?" "shoo! i never put that on! it didn't have smell enough to do any good. i knew that as soon as i unrolled it. i just rubbed myself heavy with that mixture of kerosine, vinegar and gum camfire you've been making me for twenty years, and i slept uncommon well." "oh," answered mother mayberry, "i wish you had tried tom's plaster. i feel sure--" "well, i don't--of anything that a boy like tom mayberry knows. if he lives here a spell and learns from you maybe he'll get some doctoring sense, but i wouldn't trust him for ten years at the shortest. but have you heard the news?" a flame of positive joy flared up in mrs. peavey's eyes and flushed her sallow cheeks. "why, what is it?" asked mother with a guarded interest and no small amount of anxiety, for she was accustomed to the kind of news that mrs. peavey usually took the trouble to spread. "well, i knowed what was a-going to happen when i seen bettie pratt setting the chairs straight and marshaling in the orphants at poor mis' hoover's funeral, not but eleven months ago. it'll be a scandal to this town and had oughter be took notice of by deacon bostick and the elder. she's got four turner children and six pratts and he have got seven of his own, so turner, pratt and hoover they'll be seventeen children in the house, all about the same size. then maybe more--i call it a disgrace, i do!" "i don't know," answered mother, though her eyes did twinkle at the thought of this allied force of seventeen, "there never was a better child-raiser than bettie pratt and i'll be mighty glad to see them poor, forlorn little hoovers turned over to her. they've been on my mind night and day since they mother died and they ain't a single one of 'em as peart as it had oughter be. who told you about it?" "they didn't nobody tell me--i've got eyes of my own! just yesterday i seen her hand a pan of biscuits over the fence to pattie hoover and he had a turner and two pratts in the wagon with him coming in from the field last night. but you can't do nothing about it--she have got the marrying habit. they are other widows in this town that have mourned respectable to say nothing of miss prissy pike, that have never had no husband at all and had oughter be gave a chanct. mr. hoover are a nice man and i don't want to see him made noticeable in no such third-husband way." "course it do look a little sudden," said mother, "and seventeen is a good lot of children for one family, but if they love each other--" "love! shoo! i declare, mis' mayberry, looks to me like you swallow what folks give you in this world whole, pit and all, and never bat a eye. i've got to go home and put on buck's and mr. peavey's supper and sprinkle down some of my wash." and without further parley mrs. peavey marched home through a little swinging gate in the wall that had been for years a gap through which a turbid stream had flowed to trouble mother's peaceful waters. "it do seem mis' peavey are a victim of a most pitiful unrest," said mother to herself as she watched with satisfaction ruffle neck tuck the last despised little hoosier under her soft gray breast. "some folks act like they had dyspepsy of the mind. dearie me, i must go and take a glass of cream to my honey-bird, for that between-meal snack that tom mayberry are so perticular about." and she started down toward the spring-house under the hill. and returning a half hour later with the cool glass in her hand, she was guided by the sound of happy voices to the front porch, where, under the purple wistaria vine, she found the singer lady absorbed in the construction of a most worldly garment for the doll daughter of eliza pike, who was watching its evolution with absorbed interest. "pleas'm, miss elinory, make it a little bit longer, 'cause i want her to have a beau," besought the small mother, as she anxiously watched the measuring of the skirt. "want her to have a beau?" asked miss wingate with the scissors suspended over the bit of pink muslin which matched exactly her own ruffled skirts. "yes'm! pattie hoover wored shoe-tops all winter and now she's got foot-dresses and buck peavey for a beau." "oh, i see," said the singer lady as she smiled down into the eager little face. "do you think--er, beaux are--are desirable, eliza?" "yes'm, i do," answered the bud of a woman, as she drew nearer and said with an expression of one bestowing a confidence, "when i'm let down to my feet i'm going to have doctor tom for my beau, if you don't get him first." "i'm sure you needn't worry about that, eliza," miss wingate hastened to exclaim with a rising color. "i wouldn't interfere with your plans for the world--if i could." "well, you take him if you can get him," answered eliza generously; "somebody'll grow up by that time for me. but he couldn't make you take oil, could he?" she asked doubtfully, the memory of yesterday's escape lurking in her mind and explaining her most unfeminine generosity. miss wingate eyed her for a moment with mirth fairly dancing over her face, "yes," she said with a laugh, "i believe he could!" "elinory, child," said mother as she came out from the front hall, "here we are a half hour late with this cream, and both of us under promise solemn to tom to have it down by four o'clock. 'liza, honey, how's the baby?" "he have got a new top-tooth and throwed up onct this morning," answered eliza in a practical tone of voice. "dearie me," said mother anxiously, for the pike teether had up to this time been the doctor's prize patient. "i wonder if your maw remembered the lime water faithful?" "i expect she forgot it, for she was whipping susie for sassing aunt prissy, and bud for saying fool," answered eliza, not at all hesitating to lay bare the iniquities of her family circle. "i'm sorry they did like that," said mother with real concern at the news of such delinquencies. "yes'm, susie told aunt prissy mis' peavey said she were a-setting her cap fer mr. hoover and it made bud mad 'cause he fights 'lias hoover and he called her a fool. he hadn't oughter done it, but he's touchy 'bout aunt prissy and so's paw. there comes deacon and a little boy with him." as she spoke, mother rose to greet deacon bostick who had turned in the front gate and got as far up the front walk as the second snowball bush. the deacon was tall, lean, bent and snow-crowned, with bright old eyes that rested in a benediction on the group on the porch that his fine old smile confirmed. by the hand he led a tiny boy who was clad in a long nondescript garment and topped off by a queer red fez, pulled down over a crop of yellow curls, a strange little exotic against the homely background of mother mayberry's lilac bushes. "sister mayberry," said the deacon as he paused at the foot of the steps, "this is martin luther hathaway who was left at my house this morning by the circuit rider, as he came through from springfield on his way to flat rock, to be delivered to you, along with his letter. i trust his arrival is not unexpected to you." "no, indeed, deacon, i was hoping for him though not exactly expecting him. a month ago while you was sick, our missionary society had news of a missionary and his wife down at springfield who wanted to go up to chicagy to study some more about some heathen matter, and couldn't quite make it with two children. my cousin seliny lue down to the bluff have took the little girl and we sent five dollars and a letter saying to send the boy to me for the summer. come to mother mayberry, sonny," and mother sat down on the lowest step and stretched out her arms to the little ward of the church militant. martin luther's big blue eyes, which were set in his head like those of a raphael cherub, looked out from under a huge yellow curl that fell over his forehead, straight into mother's gray ones for a moment, and sticking his pink thumb into his mouth, he sidled into her embrace with a little sigh of evident relief. "eat some, thank ma'am, please," he whispered into her ear by way of a return of the introduction. his little mother tongue had evidently suffered a slight twist by his birth and sojourn in a foreign country, but it served to express the normal condition of all inhabitants of boy-land. "of course he's hungry, bless his little heart," answered mother as she removed the fez and ruffled up the damp curls. "run fetch the tea-cake bucket from the kitchen safe, 'liza, and won't you come sit down, deacon?" "no, thank you, sister," answered the deacon with a glance of real regret at the comfortable rocker miss wingate had hastened to draw forward into a sunny but sheltered corner of the porch, "i'm on my way to take tea with sister pratt. i'm to meet mrs. bostick there. how's the throat, child?" and his smile up at the singer lady was one of the most sympathetic interest. "better, thank you, i think," said miss wingate, answering both question and smile. "how well you are looking to-day, deacon!" "why, i'm made over new by that boy of a doctor," said the deacon, fairly beaming with enthusiasm. "your cure will be only a matter of time, a matter of time, my dear--squire tutt to the contrary," he added with a chuckle. "there, bless my heart, if my ears ain't heard two testimonies to tom mayberry all in one minute!" exclaimed mother with a delighted laugh. "have a cake, won't you, deacon?" she asked, offering the bucket. she then established eliza and the small stranger on the edge of the steps, with an admonition as to the disposal of the crumbs over on to the grass, and filled both pairs of hands with the crisp discs. eliza spread the end of her short blue calico skirt over martin luther's chubby knees, and they both proceeded to eat into the improvised napkin with the utmost comradeship. miss wingate had strolled down to the gate with the deacon and had paused on the way to decorate the buttonhole of his shiny old coat with a bit of the white lilac nodding over the wall. "'liza, child," said mother as she glanced at martin luther with a contemplative eye, "when you're done eating run over and ask your maw to send me a pair of billy's britches and a shirt. no, maybe young ez's 'll be better, and bring 'em and martin luther on back to the kitchen to me." with which she disappeared into the house, leaving the munchers to finish their feast alone. and in an incredibly short time the last crumb, even those rescued from the skirt, had disappeared and eliza had led martin luther down the walk, across the road and around the corner of the pike cottage, while the deacon still lingered talking to miss wingate at the gate. eliza had taken upon herself, with her usual generalship, the development of mother mayberry's plan for the arraying of the young stranger in what providence would consider a civilized garb. and for some minutes miss wingate stood leaning over the top rail of the low gate idly watching a group of pratts, turners, mosbeys, hoovers and pikes playing a mysterious game, which necessitated wild dashes across a line drawn down the middle of the road in the white dust, shrill cries of capture and frequent change of base. the day had been a long sunshiny one, full of absorbing interests, and as she stood drinking in the perfume from a spray of lilac she had broken to choose the bit for the deacon, she suddenly realized that not one minute had she found in which to let the horrible dread creep close and clutch at her throat. helping along in the construction of a bucket of tea-cakes, the printing of four cakes of butter, the simmering of a large pan of horehound syrup and the excitement of pouring it into the family bottles that mother was filling against a sudden night call from some crouper down or across the road, to say nothing of a most exciting pie, that had been concocted entirely by herself from a jar of peaches and frilled around with the utmost regard for its artistic appearance, to which could be added the triumph of the long-tailed pink gown for the daughter of young eliza, had kept her busy and--with a quick smile she had to admit to herself, happy. indeed the remembrance of the rapid disappearance of the pie and doctor mayberry's blush when, after he had eaten two-thirds of it, his mother had informed him of the authorship, brought a positive glow of pleasure to her cheeks. such a serious, gentle, skilful young doctor as he was--and "a perfect dear" she went as far as admitting to herself, this time with a low laugh. and as if her pondering on his virtues had had power to bring a materialization, suddenly doctor tom stood in front of her on the other side of the gate. he had come from up the road while she had been looking down in the other direction, and in his hand he held a spray of purple lilacs which he had broken from a large bush that hung over the fence from the pratt yard into the road and also spread itself a yard or two into hoover territory. "aren't they lovely and plumy?" she asked, as she took the bunch he offered and laid the purple flowers against the white ones she held in her hand. "these are so much darker than mrs. mayberry's purple ones. i wonder why." "some years they bloom lighter than mother's and other years still darker--just another one of the mysteries," he answered as he leaned against the gate-post and looked down at her with a smile. he was tall, and strong, and forceful, with a clean-cut young face which was lit by mother mayberry's very own black-lashed, serene gray eyes, and his very evident air of a man of affairs had much of the charm of mother mayberry's rustic dignity. his serge coat, blue shirt and soft gray tie had a decided cut of sophistication and were worn with a most worldly grace that was yet strangely harmonious with his surroundings. for with all of his distinctions in appearance and attainments, as a man he struck no discord when contrasted with mr. pike's shirt-sleeved, butternut-trousers personality and he seemed but the flowering of buck peavey's store-clothes ambitions. the accord of it all struck miss wingate so forcibly that unconsciously she gave voice to the feeling. "how at home you are in all this--this?" she paused and raised her eyes to his with a hint of helplessness to express herself within them. "simple life," he supplied with a smile that held a bit of banter. "it's not so simple as one would think to balance a pie plate on one hand and cut around it with a knife so the edges aren't jagged--to be all consumed within the hour," she answered with spirit, rising to the slight challenge in his voice and smile. "and there are other most complicated things i have discovered that--" but just here she was interrupted by a sally from around the corner of the pike house which streamed out across the road, headed precisely in their direction. eliza was in the lead and held little teether swung perilously across one slender hip, while she clasped martin luther's chubby fingers in her other hand. and behold, the transformation of the young stranger was complete beyond belief! his yellow thatch was crowned by a straw hat, which was circled by a brand new shoestring, though it gaped across the crown to let out a peeping curl. young ez's garments even had proved a size too large and the faded blue jeans "britches" were rolled up over his round little knees and hitched up high under his arms by an improvised pair of calico "galluses" which were stretched tight over a clean but much patched gingham shirt. his feet and legs had been stripped in accordance with the time-ordered custom in providence that bare feet could greet may day, and his little, bare, pink toes curled up with protest against the roughness of even the dust-softened pike. susie may, billy and young ez beamed with pride at their share in the rehabiting of the recent acquisition and waited breathlessly for words of praise from miss wingate and the doctor. "why, who is this?" asked the doctor quickly with a most gratifying interest in his big voice, while miss wingate came out of the gate on to the pavement. "it's the little missionary boy that the deacon brought mother mayberry. i guess the lord sent him, for he's too big to come outen a cabbage," answered eliza, and as she spoke she settled the hat an inch farther down over the curls with a motherly gesture. she had failed to grasp with exactness the situation concerning the advent of martin luther, but was supplying a version of her own that seemed entirely satisfactory to the youngster's newly acquired friends. "spit through teeth," ventured the young stranger, anxious to display an accomplishment that had been bestowed upon him by billy while the "galluses" were in process of construction a few minutes ago. "thank ma'am, please," he hastened to add with pathetic loyalty to some injunction that had been impressed upon his young mind before his embarkation upon strange seas. "let me see you do it," demanded the doctor, in instant sympathy with his pride in this newly acquired national accomplishment. "he hasn't got time to do it now," answered eliza importantly, as she hitched teether a notch higher up on her arm. "i've got to take him and the baby in to mother mayberry to see if his other top-tooth have come up enough for maw to rub it through with her thimble." though she did not designate teether as the subject of the operation the audience understood that it was he and not martin luther so fated. "oh, no, no!" exclaimed miss wingate in horror, and she reached out and took teether into protective arms. the day had been a long and weary one for teether pike and he dropped his tired little head over on the cool pink muslin shoulder and nestled his aching jaw against the smooth white neck. "hold him still just a second as he is," said doctor tom quickly, and in an instant he had whipped a case from his pocket, selected an instrument and, inserting his finger between the pink lips, he rendered unnecessary the agony of the maternal thimble. it had been done so quickly that teether himself only nestled a bit closer with a faint moan, and miss wingate looked up at the operator with grateful eyes. she hugged the limp baby closer and started to speak, but was interrupted by an anxious question from eliza. "did you cut it?" she demanded. "yes," answered the doctor non-committally. "well, maw'll be mighty mad at you, for mother mayberry asked her last night to let you cut it and she said she'd thimbled the rest of us and she reckoned he could stand it too. if it was me, i'd let you cut me wide open and sew me up again if you wanted to," and eliza beamed upon the doctor with an affection that was the acme of idealization. she had forgotten that only a few hours ago she had renounced her loyalty at the memory of the oil, but miss wingate smiled in appreciation of this display of further feminine inconsistency. "shucks," said billy, "you'd holler 'fore he could cut onct. i'm a-going to let him fix my next stump toe and 'lias hoover have got two warts he can cut off, if he gives him a piece of catgut string to tie on fish hooks." and billy looked as if he expected to see the doctor entirely overwhelmed at the prospect of so much practice so easily obtained. "go take martin luther to show mrs. mayberry, eliza," said miss wingate with a laughing smile over the baby's head at the doctor and his practice. "i'll come on with the baby." and with teether still embraced she strolled up the walk with doctor mayberry at her side. when they reached the front steps she seated herself on the top one and slowly lowered the drowsy little chap, until his head rested on her breast and her arms held him cradlewise. she began a low husky humming as she rocked herself to and fro, watching breathlessly the fringed lashes sink over his wearied eyes, until they lay like shadows on the purple circles beneath. she was utterly absorbed in getting teether into a comatose condition, and had neither eyes nor ears for the doctor; not that he claimed either. he sat for some moments watching her and listening breathlessly to the low music that came out through the wonderful throat, as if from some master instrument with strings uncouthly muted. and as he looked, the horrible thought clutched at his own heart. suppose he should not be able to free her voice for her! many others had tried--the greatest--and they had all been baffled by the strange stiffness of the chords. he knew himself to be, in a way, her last resort. a world of music lovers awaited the result. he had been obliged to send out two press bulletins as to her condition within the week--and she sat on the steps in the twilight humming teether pike to sleep, shut in by the harpeth hills with only him to fight her fight for her. he almost groaned aloud with the pain of it, when into his consciousness came mother mayberry's placid voice shooing the pike children home with promises and admonitions. a line from doctor stein's letter flashed into his mind: "and first and above all i want your mother to put heart and hope into the girl." the fight was not his alone, thank god, and he knew just how much he could trust to his mother's heart-building. why not? over the land men were learning to strengthen the man within before attempting to cure the man without. hadn't that always been his mother's unconscious policy out on harpeth hills? a deep calm fell into his troubled spirit and, as the singer lady and mother escorted the escort down the walk, he slipped away into his office for an hour before supper with his reports and microscope. a half hour later mother mayberry came into his office for the little chat she often took the time for just before the summons to supper. she seated herself by the open window, through which the twilight was creeping, and he threw down his pen and came and stood leaning against the casement. "well," she said with a long breath of contentment, "well, i do feel about ready to get ready to rest. the pikeses is all in, i heard bettie pratt calling in the turners and pratts and hoovers, buck have come home to supper on time, as i know will relieve hettie ann's mind, squire tutt just went in the front gate as i come up the walk and i seen mis' bostick light the lamp in the deacon's study from my kitchen window a minute ago. they ain't nothing in the world that makes me so contented as to know that all providence is a-setting down to meals at the same time and a-feeding together as one family, though in different houses. the good lord will get all the rendered thanks at the same time and i feel it will please him--ours is late on account of elinory deciding at the last minute to beat up some clabber cheese with fresh cream for your supper, like she says they fix it up over in europe somewhere she lived while she was a-studying to sing. i come on out so she could have a swing to herself and not think anybody was a-hurrying of her. it's a riled woman as generally answers the call of hurry and i never gives it, lessen it's life or death or a chicken-hawk." "but, mother," remonstrated the doctor with a very real distress in his voice, "ought you to let her--miss wingate--do such things--so many things? are you sure she enjoys it and is not just doing it to help or because she thinks she ought? or do you--?" "well," interrupted mother decidedly, "it's my opinion they ain't nothing in the world so heavy as empty hands. she have had to lay down a music book and i don't know nothing better to offer than a butter-paddle and a bread-bowl. it's the feeding of folks that counts in a woman's life, whether it be songs or just bread and butter. if elinory's tunes was as much of a success as her riz biscuits have come to be, i wisht i could have heard her just onct." "i did, mother, the first night she sang in america--and it was very wonderful. when i think of the great opera house, the lights and the flowers, the audience mad with joy and the applause and--i--i--wonder how she stands it!" "yes," answered mother, "i reckon wondering how eve stood things muster took adam's mind offen hisself to a very comforting degree. courage was the ingredient the good lord took to start making a woman with and it's been a-witnessing his spirit in her ever since. i oughtn't to have to tell you that." "you don't," doctor tom hastened to answer as he smiled down on mother. "i only spoke as i did about miss wingate because you see she is--well, what we would call a very great lady and i wouldn't have her think that i did not realize that-?" "well, you can do as you choose," answered mother placidly as she prepared to take her departure to see to the finishing up of the supper, "but i ain't a-letting no foolish pride hold my heart back from my honey-bird. love's my bread of life and i offers it free, high or low. come on and see how you like that cheese fixing she's done made for you." chapter iii the peony-girl and the bumpkin "there's just no doubt about it, if tom mayberry weren't my own son and i had occasion to know better i'd think he had teeth in his heels, from the looks of his socks. every week cindy darns them a spell and then i take a hand at it. just look, elinory, did you ever see a worser hole than this?" as mother mayberry spoke she held up for miss wingate's interested inspection a fine, dark blue sock. they were sitting on the porch in the late afternoon and the singer lady was again at work on a bit of wardrobe for the doll daughter of her friend eliza. "how does he manage such--such awful ones?" asked miss wingate with a laugh. "that you can't never prove by me," answered his mother as she slipped a small gourd into the top of the sock and drew a thread through her needle. "sometimes i wish the time when i could turn him barefooted from may to november had never gone by. but a-wishing they children back in years is a habit most mothers have got in common, i reckon. when he's away from me i dream him often at all ages, but it's mostly from six to eleven i seem to want him. when he were six, with doctor mayberry gone, i took to steadying myself by tom and at eleven i made up my mind to give him up." "give him up?" asked miss wingate as she raised her eyes from her work. "i don't think you seem to have given him up to any serious extent." and she smiled as she turned her head in the direction of the office wing, from which came a low whistled tune, jerkily and absorbedly rendered. "oh, he don't belong to me no more," answered his mother in a placid tone of voice as she rocked to and fro with her work. "i fought out all that fight when i took my resolve. i just figured something like this, pa lovell had been a-doctoring on harpeth hills for a lifetime and doctor mayberry had gave all his young-man life to answering the call, a-carrying the grace of god as his main remedy, so now i felt like the time had come for a lovell and a mayberry to go out and be something to the rest of the world, and tom were the one to carry the flag. i seen that the call were on him since he helped me through a spell of may pips with over two hundred little chickens before he were five years old, and he cut a knot out of the deacon's roan horse by the direction of a book when he weren't but eleven, as saved its life. that kinder settled it with me and the deacon both, though we talked it back and forth for two more years. then deacon took to teaching of him regular and i set in to save all i could from the thin peeling of potatoes to worser darnings and patches than this. would you think they could be any worser?" and she smiled up over her glasses at the girl opposite her. "tell me about it," demanded the singer lady interestedly. "where did you send him to school first?" "right down here to the city. you see doctor mayberry left me this home, fifty acres and a small life insurance, so they was a little something to inch and pinch on. you can't save by trying to peel nothing, but the smallest potatoes have got a skin, and i peeled close them days. tom did his part too and he run the plow deep and straight when he wasn't much taller than the handles. i had done talked it over with him and asked him would he, and he looked right in my eyes in his dependable way and said yes he would. that finished it and he wasn't but eleven; but i don't want to brag on him to you. if you listen to mothers' talk the world are full of heroes and none-suches." again miss wingate received the smile from over mother mayberry's glasses and this time it was tinged with a whimsical pride. "please, mrs. mayberry, tell me about it; you know i want to hear," begged the girl, and she moved her chair nearer to mother's and picked up the mate of the blue sock off her knee. "how old was he when he went to college?" "just sixteen, big and hearty and with enough in his head to get through the examinations. i packed him up, and him and the deacon started down providence road at sun-up in the deacon's old buggy. he looked both man and baby to me as he turned around to smile back; but i stood it out at the gate until they turned the bend, then i come on back to the house quick like some kind of hurted animal. but, dearie me, i never got a single tear shed, for there were mis' peavey with buck in her arms, shaking him upside down to get out a brass button he hadn't swallowed. by the time we poured him full of hot mustard water and the button fell outen his little apron pocket, i had done got my grip on myself." "i just can't stand it that you had to let him go," miss wingate both laughed and sobbed. "yes, but i ain't told you about the commencement, honey-bird. there's that tear _i_ didn't get to drop a-splashing outen your eyes on the doll's hat! that day was the most grandest thing that ever happened to anybody's mother, anywhere in this world. i didn't think i could go to see him get the diplomy, for with all his saving ways and working hard in the summer, it had been a pull to make buckle and tongue meet and there just wasn't nothing left for me to buy no stylish clothes to wear. i set here a-worrying over it, not that i minded, but it was hard on the boy to have to make his step-off in life and his mother not be there to see. and somehow i felt as if it would hurt pa lovell and doctor mayberry for me not to be with him. then with thinking of pa lovell a sudden idea popped into my head. there was seliny lue lovell right down to the bluff, on the road to town, and with aunt lovell's fine black silk dress packed away in the trunk, as good as new, and me and seliny lue of almost the same figger as her mother. that just settled the question and i got up and washed out my water-waves in a little bluing water to make 'em extra white, dabbed buttermilk on my face to get off some of the tan and called over mis' peavey and mis' pike to let 'em know. the next morning i started off gay with everybody there to see and sending messages to tom." "wasn't it fortunate you thought of the dress and lovely for you to be able to go right by and get it!" exclaimed miss wingate, her eyes as bright as mother mayberry's and her cheeks pink with excitement as the tale began to unfold its dramatic length. "yes, and seliny lue was glad enough to see me! we laughed and talked half the night, was up early, and she took a time to rig me out. it is a stiff black silk, as anybody would be proud of, cut liberal with real lace collar and cuffs. seliny lue said i looked fine in it. i wisht she could have gone with me, but they wasn't room for both of us inside the dress." and mother laughed merrily at the memory of her borrowing escapade. "did doctor mayberry know you were coming?" asked the singer lady, hurrying on the climax of the recital. "not a word! he'd gone off the week before taking it sensible, but i could see hurt mightily about it. i got to the university hall late, and 'most everybody in the world looked like they was there. i stood at the back and didn't hope to see or hear, just thankful to be near him, but i seen one of them young usher men a-looking hard at me and he came up and asked me if i wasn't mr. thomas mayberry's mother. he had knew me by the favor. i told him yes and he took me up to the very front just as the singing begun. i soon got me and the silk dress settled, with the bokay all providence had sent tom on my knee, and looked around me. there next to me was the sweetest young-lady girl i have 'most ever saw, and she smiled at me real friendly. i was just about to speak when the music stopped and the addressing began by a tall thin kinder man. elinory, child, did you ever hear one of them young men's life-commencement speeches made?" this time mother mayberry peered over the top of her glasses seriously and her needle paused suspended over the fast narrowing hole in the sock. "yes, but i don't think i ever listened very carefully," admitted miss wingate with a smile. "well, i felt that if the lord had gave it to me to stand up there and say a word of start-off to all them boys setting solemn and listening, it wouldn't have been about no combination of things done by men dead and gone, that didn't seem to prove nothing in particular on nobody. i woulder read 'em a line of scripture and then talked honest dealing by one another, the measuring out of work according to the pay and always a little over, the putting of a shoulder under another man's pressing burden, the respect of women folks, the respect of theyselves and the looking to the lord to see 'em through it all. that speech made me so mad i 'most forgot it was time for tom's valediction. honey-bird, i wisht you coulder seen him and heard him." "i wish i could," answered miss wingate with a flush. "dearie me, but he was handsome and he spoke words of sense that the other gray-haired man seemed to have forgot! and they was a farewell sadness in it too, what got some of them boys' faces to working, and i felt a big tear roll down and splash right on the lace collar. then he sat down and they was a to-do of hollering and clapping, but i just sat there too happy to take in the rest of what was did. sometimes they is a kinder pride swell in a mother's heart that rises right up and talks to her soul in psalm words, and i heard mine that day." mother's eyes softened and looked far away across to the blue hills. "what did he do when he saw you?" asked miss wingate gently. "oh, i didn't pay much attention to him when he come up to me, or let on how i felt. that sweet child next to me had done found out i was his mother, i couldn't help telling her. and then she had sent for her father, who was the head dean man, and about the time tom came up, he was there shaking hands with me and telling me how proud the whole university was of tom and about the great scholarship for him to go to new york to study he had got, and that he must go. it didn't take me hardly two seconds to think a mortgage on the house and fifty acres, the cows and all, so i answered right up on time that go he should. while i was a-talking tom had gave the bokay from providence to the girl, what he had been knowing all the time at her father's house. and she had her nose buried in one of mis' peavey's pink peonys, a-blushing as pretty as you please over it at that country bumpkin of mine with all his fine manners. that miss alford is one of the most sweet girls you ever have saw. she and me have been friends ever since. she comes out to see me in her ottermobile sometimes. she ain't down to the city now, for i had a picture card from some place out west from her, but when she comes back i'm a-going to ask her to come up and have a stay-a-week-in-the-house party for you; and she can bring her brother. you might like him. the four of you can have some nice junketings together. won't that be fine?" "y-e-s," answered the singer lady slowly, "but i'm afraid i'm not able now to interest anybody, and my voice, when i speak--i--i--will it be soon?" her question had a trace of positive anxiety in it and her joy was most evidently forced. "oh, not till june rose time! and your voice now sounds like a angel's with a bad cold. i'll tell tom about it, he'll be so pleased. her father was such a friend to him and as proud of him now as can be." "did doctor mayberry stay in the city--after his graduation?" asked miss wingate, a trace of anxiety in her voice. "that he didn't! he come on home with me that night, got into his overalls and begun to plow for winter wheat by sun-up the next morning. we made a good crop that year and the mortgage wasn't but a few hundred dollars, what we soon paid. we've been going up ever since. tom reminds me of a kite, and i must make out to play tail for him until i can pick him out a wife." "have you thought of anybody in particular?" asked the lovely lady without raising her eyes from her work. she had commenced operations on the blue sock unnoticed by mother, who was taken up in the unfolding of her tale. "not yet," answered she cheerfully. "i mustn't hurry. marrying ain't no one-day summer junket, but a year round march and the woman to raise the hymn tune. i take it that after a mother have builded up a man, she oughter see to it that he's capped off fine with a wife, and then she can forget all about him. i've got my eyes open about tom and i'm going to begin to hunt around soon." "i wonder just what kind of a wife you--you will select for him," murmured miss wingate with her eyes still on the sock, which she was industriously sewing up into a tight knot on the left side of the heel. "well, a man oughter marry mostly for good looks and gumption; the looks to keep him from knowing when the gumption is being used on him. tom's so say-nothing and shy with women folks that he won't be no hard proposition for nobody. but with that way of his'n i'm afraid of his being spoiled some. i have to be real stern with myself to keep from being foolish over him." "but you want his wife to--to love him, don't you?" asked miss wingate, as she raised very large and frankly questioning eyes to mother mayberry, who was snipping loose threads from her completed task. "oh she'll do that and no trouble! but a man oughter be allowed to sense his wife have got plenty of love and affection preserved, only he don't know where she keeps the jar at. as i say, i don't want tom mayberry spoiled. what did i do with that other sock?" and mother began to hunt in her darning bag, in her lap and on the floor. "here it is," answered miss wingate as she blushed guiltily. "i--darned it." and she handed her handiwork over to mother mayberry with trepidation in voice and expression. "well, now," said mother, as she inspected the tight little wad on the blue heel. "it was right down kind of you to turn to and help me like this, but, honey-bird, tom mayberry would walk like a hop toad after he'd done got it on. you have drawn it bad. i don't know no better time to learn you how to darn your husband's socks than right now on this one of tom's. you see you must begin with long cross stitches in the--now what's all this a-coming!" and mother mayberry rose, looked down the road and hurried to the sidewalk with the darning bag under her arm and her thimble still on her finger. up the middle of the road came, in a body, the entire juvenile population of providence at a break-neck speed and farther down the street they were followed by deacon bostick, coming as fast as his feeble old legs would bring him. eliza pike headed the party with teether hitched high up en her arm and martin luther clinging to her short blue calico skirt. they all drew up in a semicircle in front of mother mayberry and miss wingate and looked at eliza expectantly. on all occasions of excitement eliza was both self-constituted and unanimously appointed spokesman. on this occasion she began in the dramatic part of the news without any sort of preamble. "it's a circus," she said breathlessly, "a-moving over from bolivar to springfield and nelephants and camels and roar-lions and tigers and mis' pratt and deacon and mr. hoover and everybody is a-going over to watch it pass--and we can't--we can't!" her voice broke into a wail, which was echoed by a sob and a howl from across the street just inside the pike gate, where bud and susie pressed their forlorn little bodies against the palings and looked out on the world with the despair of the incarcerated in their eyes. "why can't you?" demanded mother. "oh, maw have gone across the nob to aunt elviry's and left susie may and bud being punished. they can't go outen the gate and i ain't a-going to no circus with my little brother and sister being punished, and i won't let billy and ez go either." by this time the whole group was in different stages of grief, for the viewing of a circus without the company of eliza pike had the flavor of dead sea fruit in all their small mouths. from the heart in eliza's small bosom radiated the force that vivified the lives of the whole small-fry congregation, and a circus not seen through her eyes would be but a dreary vision. "now ain't that too bad!" said mother mayberry with compassion and irritation striving in her voice. "what did they do and just what did she say?" "susie hurted aunt prissy's feelings, by taking the last biscuit when they wasn't one left for her, and maw said she would have to stay in the yard until she learned to be kind and respectful to paw's sister, she didn't mean to be bad." and eliza presented the case of her small sister with hopelessness in every tone. "well, susie," said mother mayberry, "don't you feel kind to her yet?" there was a note of hope in mother's voice that silenced all the wails, and they all fixed large and expectant eyes upon this friend who never failed them. by this time the deacon had joined the group and his gentle old eyes were also fixed on mother mayberry's face, with the same confident hope that the children's expressed. "i've done been kind to her," sniffed the culprit. "i let her cut all my finger-nails and wash my ears and never said a word. she have been working on me all afternoon and it hurt." "susie," said mother mayberry, "you can go over to the cross-roads and see that circus with the deacon. they can't no little girl do better than that, and your maw just told you to stay until you learned that lesson. you are let out! now, what did you do, bud?" "i slid on the lean-to and tored all the back of my britches out. she couldn't stop to mend 'em and she said i could just stay front ways to folks until she come home, and they shouldn't nobody mend 'em for me." bud choked with grief and mortification and edged back as little bettie pratt started in his direction on an investigating tour. "well course, bud," said mother with judicial eye, "you can't take them britches off." she paused and looked at him thoughtfully. "i ain't a-going a step without him," reiterated the loyal eliza, and the rest of the children's faces fell. "too bad," murmured the deacon, and miss wingate could see that his distress at the plight of young bud was as genuine as that of any of the rest. "but," began mother mayberry slowly, having in the last second weighed the matter and made a decision, "your mother ain't said you couldn't go outen the yard and she ain't said i couldn't wrap you up in one of my kitchen aprons. that wouldn't be the same as changing the britches. she didn't know about this circus and if she was here you all know she woulder done as i asked her to do about bud, so he ain't a-disobeying her and i ain't neither, run get the apron hanging behind the door, susie, and i'll fix him." "sister mayberry," said the deacon with a delighted smile in his kind eyes, but a twinkle in their corners, "your decision involves the interpretation of both the letter and the spirit of the law. i am glad it, in this case, rested with you." "well," answered mother mayberry, as she took the apron from susie and started across the road on her rescue mission, "a woman have got to cut her conscience kinder bias in the dealing with children. if they're stuffed full of food and kindness they will mostly forget to be bad, and oughtent to be made to remember they can be by being punished too long. now, sonny, i'll get you fixed up so stylish with these pins and this apron that the circus will want to carry you off. start on, deacon, he's a-coming." "i've got to get the baby's bonnet," said eliza as the whole party started away in a trail after the deacon, who led martin luther by one hand and little bettie by the other. over by the store they could see mrs. pratt waiting to marshal the forces on down the road and mr. hoover stood ready as outstanding escort. he had brought the news of the passing of the circus train and she had promptly consented to taking the children and the deacon over for a view. "please, eliza, please don't take the baby! leave him with me," said miss wingate and as she spoke she stretched out her arms to teether. teether was looking worn with the excitement of the day and his sympathetic friend felt the journey would be too much for him. he smiled and fell over on her shoulder with a sigh of contentment. "don't you think he oughter see them nelephants and things?" asked eliza doubtfully, her loyalty to teether warring with the relief of having him out of her thin little arms for the journey. "he won't mind. let me keep him here on the front porch until you come back. now run along and have a good time," and miss wingate started up the front walk, as eliza darted away to join the others. "i do declare," said mother mayberry, as she watched the expedition wend its way down the white road in the direction of the bolivar pike, "the way the deacon do love the children is plumb beautiful, and sad some too. i don't know what he would do without jem or they without him. seeing 'em together reminds me of that scraggy, old snowball bush in full bloom, leaning down to the little stars of bethlehem reaching up to it. what that good man have been to me only my heavenly father can know and tom mayberry suspicion. i tell you what i think i'll do; i'll take one of them little pans of rolls what cindy have baked for supper, with a jar of peach preserves, and go down and set with mis' bostick while the deacon are gone. we can run the pan of rolls in to get hot for him when he comes home and i know he likes the preserves. i want to stop in to see mis' tutt too and give her a little advice about that taking so much blue-mass. i don't see how anybody with a bad liver can have any religion at all, much less a second blessing. i know the squire have his faults, but others has failings too. and, too, i'll have to stop in and pacify miss prissy about turning the children loose, before i go down the road." "miss prissy always seems to be getting the children into trouble. i wonder why," said the singer lady with a shade of resentment in her voice. the little pikes had established themselves firmly in the heart of this new friend, and she found herself in an attitude of critical partisanship. "i reckon miss prissy is what you call a kinder crank," answered mother mayberry as she paused at the foot of the steps. "a married woman have got to be the hub of a family-wheel, but a old maid can be the outside crank that turns the whole contraption backwards if she has a mind to. i wish miss prissy had a little more understanding of the children, 'cause the rub all comes on mis' pike, and she's fair wore out with it. but i must be a-going so as to be the sooner a-coming. i wisht you would tell tom mayberry to go and let you help him put the hens and little chickens to bed. feed 'em two quarts of millet seed, and you both know how to do it right if you have a mind to. i'm going to compliment you by a-trusting you this once, and don't let me wish i hadn't! i'll be back in the course of time." and so it happened that as doctor mayberry was in the act of swinging his microscope over a particularly absorbing new plate, a very lovely vision framed itself in his office door against the background of harpeth hill, which was composed of the slim singer girl with the baby nodding over her shoulder. the unexpectedness of the visit sent the color up under his tan and brought him to his feet with a delighted smile. "i don't know how you are going to feel about it, but i bring the news of an honor which we are to share. do you suppose, do you, that we can put the chickens to bed for mrs. mayberry? she says we are to try, and if we don't do it the right way she is never going to compliment us with her confidence again. help, please! i'm weighted down by the responsibility." and as she spoke miss wingate's eyes shone across teether's bobbing head with delighted merriment. "well, let's try," answered the doctor with the air of being ready to do or dare, an attitude which a vision such as his eyes rested upon is apt to incite in any man thus challenged. "will you take command? i'm many times proved incompetent on such occasions, and i feel sure mother trusted to your generalship." and together they went through the garden and over into the chicken yard. "now," said miss wingate, "i think the thing to do is not to let them know we are afraid of them. let's just take their going under the coops as a matter of course, and then, perhaps, they will go without any remonstrance." "sort of a mental influence dodge," answered the doctor enthusiastically. "let's try it on spangles first. i somehow feel that she will be more impressionable than old dominick. you influence while i spread the millet seed in front of her coop." and he bent down in front of the half barrel and carefully laid a tempting evening meal, with his eye on fuss-and-feathers. spangles hesitated, stood on one foot, clucked in an affected tone of voice to her huddling babies and coquettishly turned her head from one side to the other as if enthusing over his artistic service before accepting his hospitality. then, just as she was poising one dainty foot ready for the first step in advance, and had sounded a forward note to the cheepers around her, old dominick calmly stalked forward, stepped right across the doctor's coaxing hand held out to spangles, and, settling herself in the coop, began, with her voracious band of little plebeians, to devour the grain with stolid appreciation. miss wingate laughed merrily, teether pike gurgled and the doctor looked up with baffled astonishment. "that was your fault," he accused; "you influenced dominick while i was expending my force in beguiling spangles. now, you try to get her in the next coop yourself. i shan't help you further than to spread the grain in front of all the coops." and in accordance with his threat the doctor disposed of the rest of the food and stood with the empty pan in his hand. and, like the well-trained flock of biddies that they were, all the rest of the hen mothers clucked and cajoled their fluffy little families into their accustomed shelters and began to dispose of their suppers with contented clucks and cheeps. only mrs. spangles stood afar and eyed the only vacant coop with evident disdain. "i don't know what to do," murmured miss wingate pleadingly. but the doctor stood firm, and regarded her with maliciously delighted eyes. teether bobbed his head over her shoulder and giggled with ungrateful delight the poor little chicks peeped sleepily, but still spangles held her ground. the truth of the matter was that dominick had really taken the coop usually occupied by her ladyship, and with worldly determination, the scion of all the wyandottes was holding out against the exchange. with a glance out of the side of her eyes from under her lowered lashes in the direction of doctor mayberry in his stern attitude, the singer lady cautiously veered around to the rear of the insulted grandee, and, grasping her fluffy skirts in her free hand, she shook them out with a pleading "shoo!" instantly a perfect whirlwind of spangled feathers veered around and faced the cascade of frills, and a volume of defiant hisses fairly filled the air. teether squealed and miss wingate retreated to the bounds of the fence. the doctor laughed in the most heartless manner, and still spangles held her ground. to make matters worse, mother mayberry's jovial voice, mingled with the shrill treble of the combined circus party, who were trying all at once to tell her the wonders of the adventure, could be distinctly heard in an increasing volume that told of their rapid approach. the situation was desperate, and the loss of mother mayberry's faith in her seemed inevitable to the nonplussed singer lady as she leaned against the fence with teether over her shoulder. then the instinct that is centuries old presented to her the wile that is of equal antiquity and, raising her purple eyes to the defenseless doctor, she murmured in a voice of utter helplessness, into which was judiciously mingled a tone of perfect confidence: "please, sir, get her in for me." the response to which, being foreordained from the beginning of time, took doctor mayberry just one exciting half-minute grab and shove to accomplish, at the end of which a ruffled but chastened spangles was forced to assemble her family and content herself behind the bars of the despised coop. "well," said mother mayberry as she hurried around the corner of the house with the depleted and milk-hungry martin luther trailing at her skirts, "did you make out to manage 'em? why, ain't that fine; every one in and settled and fuss-and-feathers in that end coop where i have been wanting her to be for a week, seeing dominick have got so many more chickens and needs that larger barrel. i didn't depend on tom mayberry, but i did on you, elinory. this just goes to show that if you put a little trust in people they are mighty apt to rise in the pan to a occasion. you all look like you've been having a real good time!" chapter iv love, the cure-all "eat milk, thank ma'am, please, mother lady," demanded martin luther as he stood on the top step in front of mother mayberry, who, with miss wingate beside her, sat sewing away the early hours of the morning. a tiny blue-check shirt was taking shape under mother's skilful fingers, and the singer lady was deep in the mysteries of the fore and aft of a minute pair of jeans trousers. the limitations of young ez's wardrobe had necessitated the speedy construction of one for the little adopt, and miss wingate's education along the lines of needle control was progressing at what she considered a remarkable rate. "why, martin luther!" she looked down at him over a carefully poised needle. "how can you be hungry when you ate your breakfast not two hours ago?" she added with the intent to beguile him from his demand. "all gone, thank ma'am, please," he answered, looking out from under his curl with a pathetic cast of his blue eyes, and at the same time spreading both hands over his entire vital region. "i reckon maybe we'd better fill him up again," said mother. "them legs still look 'most too much like knitting-needles to suit me, and i kinder want to feel him to be sure his stomick haven't growed to his backbone. anyway, you can't never measure a boy's food by his size. please run and get him a glass of buttermilk and a biscuit, child, while i finish setting in this sleeve. let me see them britches legs 'fore you put 'em down. dearie me, if you ain't gone and made 'em both for the same leg! too bad, with all them pretty baste-stitches!" "oh!" gasped miss wingate in dismay; "have i ruined them?" "no, indeed, just turn the left leg inside out and hem it up again--or you might make two more right legs to sew on to these. it would be a good thing to double one failing mistake up into two successes, wouldn't it? often bad luck turned inside out makes a cap that fits plumb easy. while you fill the boy up, i'll cut out his other legs for you to baste right this time. take a peep around the garden before you come back to see if spangles have got her chickens in the wet weeds. i hadn't oughter let her pretty feathers make me distrust her, but it do." and mother went placidly on with her sewing as she watched the girl and the tot go hand-in-hand down the path to the spring-house under the hill. she had just placed in her sleeve and was regarding it with entire satisfaction, when the front gate clicked and she looked up with interest. "well, good morning, mis' mayberry," came in bettie pratt's hearty voice as she swung up the walk at a brisk pace. on one arm she held a bobbing baby in a white sunbonnet, a toddler clung to her skirts and a small boy trailed behind her with a puppy in his arms. she was buxom and rosy, was the widow pratt, with a dangerous dimple over the corner of her mouth, a decided come-hither in her blue eyes, and a smile that compelled a response. "why, bettie child, how glad i am to see you!" exclaimed mother, rendering the smile from out over her glasses. "i didn't see you all day yesterday and not the day before, neither. but i put it down to a work-hold on us both, and didn't worry none. and now here you are, with some of the little folks! here's a empty spool for little bettie," and she held out the treasure to the toddler, who sidled up to her knee with confidence to grasp the gift. "i told pattie hoover if she would stay at home this morning and clean up some like her pa wants her to that i'd let my clara may help her and would bring the baby on up here to get him outen the way. 'lias come along to get you to look at his puppy's foot, and i want you to see if you don't think the baby have fatted some since i've took holt and helped pattie with the feeding of him." "he have that," answered mother heartily. "i can tell it without even feeling of his legs. you've got the growing hand with babies, bettie, and i'm glad you don't hold it back from this little half-orphant. i don't know what the poor little hoovers would do without you!" "that's what poor mr. hoover says," answered bettie with the utmost unconsciousness. "show mis' mayberry the puppy's foot, 'lias." "why, the pitiful little thing!" exclaimed mother when a small, brown, crushed paw was presented to her inspection. "what happened to it?" "mr. petway's horse stepped on it--he didn't care. he just got in the buggy and went on. i'm a-going to kill him with a gun when i get one." tears of rage and grief welled up in 'lias' eyes, but he choked them back with a resolution that boded ill for mr. petway when the time of reckoning came. "you mustn't talk that way, 'lias, though it are a shame," said mother as she looked closely at the injured paw. "the bone's all crushed. i'll tell you what to do; just take him around to doctor tom's office and he'll fix it in no time for you, in a way i couldn't never do. he won't even limp, maybe." and mother mayberry made the offer of a piece of skilled surgery with the utmost generosity. 'lias clasped the puppy closer, looked down and drew one of his bare toes along a crack in the floor. "i'd rather you'd do it," he said. "now, don't that just beat all!" exclaimed mother with both amusement and exasperation in her face. "looks like i can't even get tom a puppy practice." "why, 'lias hoover, i'm ashamed of you not to want doctor tom to fix his foot, and thank you, too! didn't bud pike tell you last night how he cut his little brother's mouth and didn't hurt him a bit, neither? bud is going to get him to fix his next stubbed toe hisself. bud ain't no bigger boy than you, but he knows a good doctor same as mis' mayberry and me does when he sees one." there are ways and ways of controverting masculine obstinancy, and evidently life had taught mrs. pratt the efficacy of beguilement. without more reluctance 'lias disappeared around the house in the direction of the office wing. "i'm mighty glad you come along this morning, bettie," said mother mayberry, as she threaded a new needle with a long thread. little bettie had seated herself on the floor and begun operations with the spool and a piece of string that vastly amused little hoover, whom mrs. pratt deposited opposite her within reach of her own balancing foot, for the baby's age and backbone were both at a tender period. "i've got a kinder worry on my mind that i'd like to get a little help from you as to know what to do about. have you noticed that both the deacon and mis' bostick look mighty peaky? course deacon have been sick, and she have had a spell of nursing, but they don't neither of them pick up like they oughter. mis' bostick puts me in mind of a little, withered-up, gray seed pod when all the down have blowed away, and the deacon's britches fair flap around his poor thin shanks. something or other just makes me sense what is the matter." "and me, too, mis' mayberry. i've been a-feeling of it for some time, since we all quit out with the nursing and taking 'em complimentary dishes of truck. they is--is hungry." mrs. pratt brought out the statement of the fact in a positively awestruck voice. "that's what i'm afraid it is, bettie," answered mother, "and it hurts me hard to think how he have served the lord and helped us all in our duty to him and each other, she a-giving us of her bounty of sister-love, and now, when they's old and feeble, a-feeling the pinch of need. the young can reach out and help theyselves to they share of life, but it oughter be handed old folks with thoughtful respect. we've got to do something about it." "course we have," assented the widow heartily. "but how are we a-going to just give 'em things offen a cold collar? they're both so proud. with owning the house, the bit the church gives 'em would do the rest, but the deacon have tooken that debt no-'count will bostick run off and left down in the city to pay, and it have left 'em at starvation's door. but that's neither here nor there; we've got to do something. they don't need much but food, and mis' bostick is most too weak now to cook it if they has the ingredients gave 'em to hand. they must be did for some way." "and we've got to do it without a-giving them a single hurt feeling, either," said mother. "enough good-will jelly will hide any kind of charity pill, i say. not as what we do for her and the deacon can ever be anything but thanks rendered for the blessing of them. but you get to thinking, bettie. the knees to my wits are getting old and stiff." "well, there's a donation party," suggested the widow thoughtfully. "everybody could help, and it could be made real pleasant with the men asked to come in after supper. everything could be gave from stovewood to the deacon some new sunday pants. we did that once before, five years ago to his birthday, and they was mighty pleased. let's do it again." "but that was before this disgrace of will happened, and they didn't downright need the things then--it were all sort of complimentary. when needs are gave it's charity, but what you don't want is just a present. we've got to find a way to do up needs in a present package for 'em. i declare, i feel right put to know what to do." mother mayberry's voice was actually worried, and she paused with her scissors ready to snip a bit of the gingham into narrow bands. "well, we oughter be thankful we've got the things to give, and we'll find some sort of way to slip up on the blind side of them about the taking of them. the deacon's britches is one pressing thing. can't we take some of the church carpet money and get mr. hoover to buy him a pair when he hauls corn to town monday?" "yes, indeed, we can," answered mother mayberry, radiant at the very thought of this relief proposition. "it's a heap more important to carpet the deacon with britches than the church floor right now. between them and her old bombersine, mis' bostick have spent the year with her patch-thimble on her finger." "i declare, it hurts me so in church to look at her elbows and back seams that i can't hardly listen to the deacon pray. patching is the most worrisome job a woman has to do, according to my mind," said the widow, with an expression of distaste on her beaming face. "i've done patched two men, and i know what i'm talking about." "it is a trial," answered mother mayberry, "and mis' bostick's life have been a patched one at the best, a-moving in the methodist wagon from one station to another and a-trying every time to cut herself out by a new style to suit each congregation, anyway, i reckon all women's lives have wored thin and had to be darned in some places, but patches on her garment of life ain't going to make no difference to a woman when she puts it on to meet her lord, just so it's cut on the charity mantle pattern. and mis' bostick's was hung to cover the multitude. but a-talking here have made me sprout a idea: 'liza pike have blazed the trail for us, bless her little heart! her mother don't never cook a single thing that 'liza haven't got a dish handy to beg some for the deacon and mis' bostick. and she don't stop at her own cook stove, but she's always here looking into what cindy cooks with an eye to the old folk's sweet-tooths or chicken-hankers. i know, too, she gets what she wants from you for them, so there is our leading. the deacon loves 'liza, and she is such a entertainment to him that he'd eat ten meals a day at her dictation and no questions asked. and she do beat all with her mothering ways with them old folks. last wednesday night she had deacon a-leading prayer meeting with a red flannel band around his throat for his croaks, and just yesterday she made mis' bostick stay in bed half the day, covered up head and ears, to sweat off a little nose-dripping cold. she's always a-consulting tom and leaving me out. i think she's got her eye on my practice. they never was such a master-hand of a child in providence before." "there you are right," laughed the widow. "it's getting so that they ain't a child on the road as will let its own mother look at a cut finger or a black bruise 'fore 'liza have done had her say about what is to be did. i believe it is as you say, mis' mayberry, and 'liza can play raven for us in fine style. i know mis' pike will push it on and more'n do her part in the filling of the child's covered dish." "that she will," answered mother mayberry heartily. "judy pike spends a heap of time turning over life to find for certain which is the right and wrong of it, but once found, she sticks close to the top weave. we'll plan it all out at the sewing circle, and then get it down to days who's to send what regular. i'm thankful for this leading of how to take care of our old folks, and i know you are, too." "couldn't nobody be thankfuller," answered the rosy widow, "and the filling of that dish is a-going to give me a lot of good pride. but i'd better be going and seeing after them girls and the house cleaning. they are both master hands, but if buck peavey was to happen to tie hisself up to the front gate, it would be good-by dust-pan and mop for pattie. not that i don't feel for her in the liking of that rampaging boy of mis' peavey's, and it's mighty hard not to kinder saunter into a little chat when the men folks call you. how are miss elinory to-day? ain't she the prettiest and most stylishest girl you have ever saw? i wonder if she would lend me that long-tailed waist she wears to get the pattern off to make me and clara may and pattie one?" as she spoke, mrs. pratt rose, picked up little hoover and set bettie on her little bare feet. "i know she will be glad to, and such a head sewer as you are can copy it most exact. here she are now! child, mis' pratt have been so complimenting of your looks and clothes that i'm sorter set up with pride over you." "good morning, mrs. pratt," exclaimed the singer lady, as she appeared in the doorway with the resuscitated martin luther at her side. "the darling babies! you are not going, are you?" the widow and miss wingate had developed a decided attraction for each other, and their blossoming friendship delighted mother mayberry most obviously. "i wish i didn't have to," answered mrs. pratt, beaming with smiles, which little bettie echoed as she coquetted around her mother's skirts with miss wingate, "but it's most dinner-pot time, and i've got mouths to feed when the horn blows." "elinory, child, run get that pink, long-tailed waist of your'n to let bettie make one by, please," said mother mayberry, with total unconsciousness of that very strong feminine predilection for exclusiveness of design in wearing apparel. the garment in question was a very lovely, simply-cut linen affair that bore a distinguished foreign trade-mark. "i know you feel complimented by her wanting to make one for herself by it, and maybe clara may and pattie, too. they ain't no worldly feeling as good as having your clothes admired, is they?" "indeed there isn't," answered miss wingate cordially, and if there was chagrin in her heart at the thought of seeing providence in uniform with the precious pink blouse, her smile belied it. she immediately ascended to her room, and returned quickly with the treasure in her hand. "let me come and see you fit them," she entreated. "i don't know how to sew one, but i can tell how it ought to look." "come spend the day next monday. we'll all have a good time together and i'll make you some more of them fritters you liked for supper the other night." the widow fairly beamed like a headlight at the thought of the successful impromptu supper party a few nights before, when doctor mayberry had brought miss wingate down upon her unexpectedly with a demand to be invited to stay to supper for that especial dainty. as she spoke she was half-way down the walk, and looked back, smiling at them over the baby's bonnet. "yes, i heard tom mayberry disgraced himself over your maple syrup jug, bettie pratt," called mother mayberry after her. "that hoover baby surely have growed. good-by!" "they ain't nothing in this world so comforting to a woman as good feeling with her sisters, one and all," mother mayberry said as she watched the last switch of the widow's skirt. "mother, wife and daughter love is a institution, but real sistering is a downright covenant. me and bettie have held one betwixt us these many a year. but you and me have both put a slight on the kitchen since cindy got back. let's go see if dinner ain't most on the table." and they found that from their neglect the dinner had suffered not at all. cindy, a gaunt, black woman with a fire of service and devotion to mother mayberry in her eyes, and apparently nothing else to excuse existence, had accomplished the meal as a triumph. she had set the table out on the side porch under the budding honeysuckle, and as mother mayberry and miss wingate, followed by martin luther, ever ready to do trencher duty, came out of the back hall doctor tom emerged from his office door. "why, i didn't see you come in, tom," said mother. "you muster used wings and lit." "no, i came from across the fields and in the back way. i've had a patient and i'm puffed up with pride." as he spoke he smiled at miss wingate and his mother delightedly. "'lias hoover's puppy," said mother, stating the fact to miss wingate. "was you able to fix him up, tom?" "oh, yes; his puppyship will navigate normally in ten days, i think; but this was a real patient." "why, who, son? don't keep me waiting to know, for i'm worried at the very thought of a providence pain. who's down now and what did you do for 'em?" and mother bestowed upon the young doctor a glance of inter-professional inquiry. "squire tutt," answered her son promptly. "i met him up by the store and he asked me what i would do if a man had a snake bite out in the woods, ten miles from any hot-water kettle. i diagnosed the situation and prescribed with the help of mr. petway, and i think--i think, mother, i've proselyted your patient." "now, tom, don't make fun of the squire. them are real pains he has, and i don't think it is right for a doctor to have a doubting mind towards a patient. sympathy will help worry any kinder bad dose down. you know i want you to do your doctoring in this life with love to be gave to help smooth all pain." mother regarded him seriously over her glasses as she admonished. "i will--i do, mother," answered the doctor, and his gray eyes danced before he veiled them with his black lashes as he looked down at his plate. miss wingate flushed ever so slightly and busied herself with spreading butter on a large piece of bread for martin luther, an unnecessary attention, as she had performed that same office for him just the moment before, and even he had not been able to make an inroad thereon. "i think you are right, mrs. mayberry," she said slowly after a second's rally of her forces. "the sympathy and--and regard of one's physician is very necessary at times and--and--" she paused, but not so much as a glance out of the corner of her purple black eyes did she throw in the direction of the doctor. "course they ain't nothing so encouraging in the world as love, and i think the sick oughter have it gave to 'em in large and frequent doses! i'm thankful i've got so much in my heart that i can just prescribe it liberal when needed. dearie me, could that shadow be a chicken-hawk? just excuse me, children; finish your dinner while i go out and look after my feather babies." and mother hurried away through the kitchen, leaving the singer lady and the doctor sitting at the table under the fragrant vine, with the replete martin luther nodding his sleepy head down into his plate between them. and thus deserted, the flush rose up under miss wingate's eyes and a dimple teased at the corner of her red lips, but she busied herself with removing the plate from under martin luther's yellow mop and making a pillow of her own bare arm, against which he nestled his chubby little cheek with a sigh of content, as he drifted off into his usual after-dinner nap. the doctor watched her from under his half-closed eyes, then he lit a cigarette, leaned his elbow on the table and sat silent for a few moments, while under her breath she hummed a little sleep song to the drifting baby. "on the whole," he asked at last, the usual delightful courtesy with which he always addressed her striving with an unusual trace of gentle banter in his deep voice, "what do you think of mother's philosophies?" "i think," she answered as she ruffled the baby's curls with one white hand, "they are so true that no wonder they are--are more healing than--than your medicines." she raised her eyes to his suddenly and they were filled to the brim with frank merriment. "don't tell me i'm going to lose my one and only star patient, teether pike and the puppy excepted!" he exclaimed with a laugh. "yes," she answered slowly, "i'm going to let you operate when the time comes--but it's your mother that's healing me. oh, can't you, can't you see what she's doing for me?" she turned to him and asked suddenly, the burr thrown across her voice heavily because of the passion in her tones. "i came to you a broken instrument--useless for ever, perhaps--unfit for all i knew of life unless you healed me, and now--now i can make things and do things--a pie and a good one, bread to feed and the butter thereto, and to-day two halves of a pair of trousers, no the halves of two pairs of trousers. what matter if i never sing again?" she stretched her white arm across the table and looked over the head of the sleeping baby straight into his eyes. hers were soft with tears, and a divine shyness that seemed to question him. he lifted the white hand, with its pink palm upward, gently into his own brown one, and placed the tip of one of his fingers on a tiny red scar on her forefinger. "do you know the story the drop of blood i took from this prick this morning told?" he asked with his eyes shining into hers. "a gain of over thirty percent in red corpuscles in less than a month. yes, i admit it; mother is building, but when she has you ready--i'm going to give it back to you, the wonderful voice. i don't know why i know, but i do." "and i don't know why i know that you will--but i do," she answered with lowered voice and eyes. "when all the others tried i knew they would fail. the horrible thought clutched at my throat always, and there seemed no help. i don't feel it now at all. i'm too busy," she added with a catch in her laugh and a sudden mist in her eyes. "mother's treatment again," he laughed as he laid her hand gently back on the table. "and yours--when directed by her--her philosophies," she ventured daringly, as she lifted martin luther into her arms, with a view to depositing him upon the haven of mother's bed to finish his nap. the doctor looked at her a second, started to answer, thought better of it, took the heavy youngster out of her arms into his own and strode across the hall with him into mother's room. the singer lady walked to the edge of the porch, pulled down a spray of the fragrant vine and looked out through it to the blue hills beyond the meadows. she hummed a waltz-song this time, and her eyes were dancing as if she were meditating some further assault on the doctor's imperturbability. he came back and stood beside her, and was just about to make a tentative remark when mother mayberry hurried around the side of the house. "children!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining, her cheeks pink with excitement, and the white curls flying in every direction; "i never did have such a time in my life! it were a chicken-hawk and he were right down amongst the hens and little chickens. old dominick was spread out like a featherbed over all hers and most of spangles', and there spangles was just a-contending with him over one of her little black babies. he had it in his claw, but she had him by a beak full of feathers and was a-swinging on for fare-you-well. old dominick was a-directing of her with squawks, and ruffle neck was just squatting over hers, batting her eyes with skeer, for all the world like she was a fine lady a-going into a faint. and there stood all four of the roosters, not a one of 'em a-turning of a feather to help her! they looked like they was petrified to stone, and i'm a great mind to make 'em every one up into pies and salad and such. they's a heap of men, come trouble, don't make no show, and the women folks have to lead the fight. but they might er helped her after she's took holt!" "the brutes!" exclaimed doctor tom with real indignation. "when are you going to have the pie, mother?" he added teasingly. "well, i've got no intentions of feeding no such coward truck to you, sir," answered his mother, still flurried with belligerency. "but the little baby chicken--what did become of it?" demanded miss wingate, and she, too, cast a glance of scorn at the doctor. "why, he dropped it and flew away as soon as he caught sight of me. it ain't hurt a mite, and spangles have hovered it and all the rest she could coax out from under dominick. now this do settle it! good looks don't disqualify a woman from nothing; it's the men that can't stand extra long tail feathers and fluted combs. i'm a-going to put 'em all four in the pot before wednesday." "i apologize; i apologize, with emotion, for all my doubts, both expressed and unexpressed, of mrs. spangles!" the doctor hastened to exclaim. "neck under heel for the whole masculine fraternity and suffrage triumphant!" "well, it's not as bad as that," answered mother in a jovially mollified tone of voice. "meek, plain-favored men like you may be let live, with no attention paid 'em. now go on over to flat rock and stop a-wasting me and my honey-bird's time with your chavering. come back early for supper or you won't get none, for all three of us are a-going to prayer meeting." "i'll be here, and thank you for-crumbs of attention," answered the doctor, and, with a laughing glance at both his mother and miss wingate he took himself off in the direction of the barn, for the purpose of saddling his horse for his afternoon visit to his patients beyond the nob. "ain't he good to look at?" asked mother mayberry as she watched his tall figure swing down the garden path. "good looks in a man can be a heap of pleasure to a woman, but she mustn't let on to him." "i believe," said miss wingate in an impersonally judicial tone of voice, "that doctor mayberry is the very handsomest man i ever saw. one would almost call him beautiful. it isn't entirely that he is so tall and grand and has such eyes, but--do you know i think it is because he is so like you that he is so lovely." and the singer lady tucked her hand into mother mayberry's with a shy blush. "liking folks kinder shines 'em up, same as furniture polish, honey-bird," laughed mother mayberry with delight at the compliment. "you're a-rubbing some on me and tom mayberry. but he were the best favored baby i 'most ever saw, if i do say it, as shouldn't." "oh!" said miss wingate delightedly, "i know he must have been lovely! what was he like?" "well," answered mother reminiscently, "he were about like he are now. he come so ugly i cried when i seen him first, and doctor mayberry teased me about it to the day of his death. he called tom 'ugly' for short. but he mighty soon begun to sprout little pleasing ways, a-looking up under them black lashes and a-laughing acrost my breast. his cheeks was rosy, his back broad and his legs straight, same as now. he teethed easy, walked soon, have never learned to talk much yet, and had his measles and whooping-cough when his time come. i just thought he were something 'cause he were mine. all babies is astonishing miracles to they mothers." "but i'm sure doctor mayberry was really wonderful," said miss wingate, instantly sympathetic. "had he always such black hair?" "borned with it. now, my little girl had beautiful yellow curls and i can show you one, by the lord's mercy i've got it." mother paused and an ineffable gentleness came into her lovely old face. "i want to tell you about it, honey-heart, 'cause it have got a strange sweetness to it. she wasn't but five years old when she died, tooken sudden with pneumony cruel bad. nobody thought to cut me one of her curls before they laid her away, and when i come to myself i grieved over it more than i had oughter. but one day when the fall come on and the days was short and dark; and it looked like nothing couldn't light up the old house with that sunshine head gone, me almost a-feeling bitter and questioning why, tom went out and picked up a robin's nest that had blowed down from a tree in the yard. and there, wound around inside it, was the little curl i had cut off in the spring, out on the porch, what had tagged into her eyes and worried her! the mother bird had used it to make the nest soft for her babies and now didn't need it no more. when i looked at it i took it as a message and a sign that my lord hadn't forgot me, and i ain't never mistrusted him again. come, let me show it to you." chapter v the little raven and her covered dish wednesday morning dawned clear and bright. from over providence nob the round red old sun looked jovially and encouragingly down upon providence, up and stirring at an unusually early hour, for in the mid-week came sewing circle day and the usual routine of work must be laid by before the noon meal, and every housewife in condition to forgather at the appointed place on the stroke of one. mrs. peavey had aroused the protesting buck at the peep of dawn, the pikes were all up and breakfasting by the first rays of light that fell over the ridge, and the hoover biscuits had been baked in the pratt oven and handed across the fence fifteen minutes agone. down the road mr. petway was energetically taking down the store shutters and mr. mosbey was building the blacksmith shop fire. cindy had milked and started breakfast and mother mayberry had begun the difficult task of getting the doctor up and ready for the morning meal. martin luther had had a glass of warm milk and was ready for an energetic attack upon his first repast. above, in her room under the gables, the singer lady had been awakened by the brushing of a white-capped old locust bough against her casement as it attempted to climb with all its bloom into her dormer window. as she looked through the mist, a long golden shaft of light shot across the white flowers and turned the tender green leaves into a bright yellow. suddenly a desire to get up and look across at the nob possessed her, for the arrival of the sun upon the scene of action was a sight that held the decided charm of novelty. and on this particular morning she found it more than worth while. providence lay at her feet like a great bouquet of lilacs, locust and fruit blossoms. the early mist was shot through with long spears of gold and the pale smoke curled up from the brick chimneys and mingled its pungent wood-odor with the perfume laden air. she drank in great drafts of exhilaration and delighted her eyes with the picture for a number of minutes, until an intoxicating breakfast aroma began to steal up from cindy's domain. then, spurred by a positive agony of hunger, it took the singer lady the fewest possible number of minutes to complete a dainty and most ravishing breakfast toilet. "why, honey-bird," exclaimed mother mayberry as she descended the steps and found them all at breakfast in the wide-open dining-room, "what did you get up so soon for? it's wednesday and the sewing circle meets with me, so cindy and us must be a-stirring, but i had a breakfast in my mind for you two hours from now. you hadn't oughter done it. them ain't orders in your prescription." "i'm so hungry," she pleaded with a most wickedly humble glance at the doctor, who was busy consuming muffins and chicken gravy. "can't i have a breakfast now, doctor--and the other one two hours later? please!" "yes," answered the doctor, "but don't forget the two glasses of cream and dinner and some of the sewing party refreshments, to say nothing of supper-and are you going to make custards for us to eat before seeking our downy couches?" "the cup custards are going to be part of the sewing circle refreshments," his mother answered him. "i want to show off my teaching to the providence folks. give the child some chicken, tom mayberry, and then you can go to your work. we don't want you underfoot." "don't you need my help?" asked the doctor, as, in a disobedient frame of mind, he lingered at the table to watch the singer lady begin operations on her dainty breakfast. "well, you can set here and see that elinory gets all she wants and more too, but i must be a-doing around. there cames the deacon! i wonder what the matter is!" and mother mayberry hurried out of the house and down to the front gate to meet the deacon who was coming slowly up the road. "good morning, sister mayberry," he said cheerily enough, though there was an expression of anxiety on his gentle old face. "i thought i would find you up, even at this unusually early hour. your lamp is always burning to meet emergencies. mrs. bostick is not well this morning and i came up to see if you could find a moment to step down to see her soon. i also wanted to ask thomas to stop in for a moment on his way over to flat rock. i am sure that she is not at all ill, but i am just overly anxious." "why, of course, we will both come right away, deacon! what did she eat last night for supper? she oughter be careful about her night eating." "let me see," answered the deacon thoughtfully, "i think we both had a portion of milk and toast administered by our young sister, eliza pike. i recall i pleaded for some of the peaches, still in the jar you gave mrs. bostick, but was sternly denied." as he spoke the deacon beamed with affectionate pride over having been vanquished by the stern eliza. just at this moment from around the corner of the pike home came the young woman in question, with a pitcher in one hand and a covered dish in the other. ez followed her with a plate wrapped in a napkin, and billy brought up the rear with a bucket of cool water which he sloshed over his bare feet with every step. "why, deacon," demanded eliza sternly, "you ain't gone and et breakfast with mother mayberry, when i told you about maw making light rolls before she went to bed 'cause to-day is wednesday?" "no, eliza," answered the deacon meekly, with a delighted glance at mother mayberry out of the corner of his eye. "neither mrs. bostick nor i would think of breakfasting without your superintendence. i was just starting over to tell you that she felt indisposed and would like to see you and sister mayberry, along with the doctor, later in the day." "well," answered eliza confidently, "i think i can tend to her if mother mayberry is too busy to come. i was a-going to watch for doctor tom and ask him in anyway. please come on home, deacon, 'fore the rolls get cold and the scrambled eggs set. ez, hold the plate straight or the butter will run outen the rolls! please come on, deacon!" "yes, deacon, go along with her right away," answered mother mayberry, as her eyes rested on the serious face of the ministering child with a peculiar tenderness tinged with respect. "and, 'liza, honey, stop by and tell me how mis' bostick does when you come back, and let me know if you need me to help you any." "yes'm, mother mayberry," answered eliza with a flash of pure joy shining in her devoted little face when she found that she was not to be supplanted in her attendance on her charges. "i was a-coming to see you this morning anyway about the place mr. mosbey burned his finger and i tied up last night. please come on, deacon!" "and a little child shall lead them," said mother mayberry to herself, as she watched the breakfast party down the road. martin luther had come out from the table by this time and now trotted along at the deacon's heels like a replete and contented puppy. ez held the plate carefully and billy seemed about sure of arriving at his destination with at least half the bucket of cool water. "yes, a little child--but some children are borned with a full-growed heart." and true to her promise eliza appeared an hour or two later to hold serious consultation over the blacksmithing finger down the road. "'liza," said mother mayberry as she prepared a stall for the finger and poured a cooling lotion in a small bottle for which the child waited eagerly, "you are a-doing the right thing to take nice things to mis' bostick and the deacon and i'm proud of your being so kind and thoughtful. do they ever ask you where you bring 'em from?" "i always tell 'em, mother mayberry. deacon said i oughtn't to get things from other folks to bring to 'em, but i told him that you and mis' pratt and mis' mosbey and mis' peavey would be mad at me if i just took things from maw to 'em and slighted they cooking. i pick out the best things everybody makes. maw's light rolls, mis' pratt's sunshine cake and cream potatoes, cindy's chicken and mis' peavey for baked hash. i took the custards from miss elinory to please her; but mis' mosbey's is better. i wanted 'em to have the best they is on the road, 'cause they is old and they is our'n." "bless your dear little heart, the best they shall have always!" exclaimed mother mayberry, as she hugged her small confrere close against her side and wiped away a tear with a quick gesture. "now you can go fix up nath mosbey's finger to suit your mind, sister pike," she added with a laugh as she, bestowed the bottle. the rest of the morning was filled to the minute for the mayberry household, which seemed possessed with a frenzy of polishing and garnishing. after cindy had done her worst with broom and mop, mother mayberry with feather duster and cloth, miss wingate threw her energies with abandon into the accomplishing of a most artistic scheme of decoration. she set tall jars of white locust blossoms in the hall which shone out mystically in the cool dusk. she mingled lilac and red bud, cherry blossoms and narcissus and trailed long vines of honeysuckle over every possible place. "dearie me," said mother mayberry, as she paused in her busy manoeuvers to take in what miss wingate proudly declared to be the completed effect, "everybody will think they have walked into a flower show. i'm sorry i never thought of inviting in the outdoors to any of my parties before. i wonder if some of the meek folks, that our dear lord told about being invited in from the byways and hedges, mightn't a-brought some of the hedge blooms along into the feast with 'em. thank you, child, the prettiness will feed everybody's eye, i know, but you'd better run along and get to whipping on that custard for they stomicks. this here is a mission circle, but it have got a good knife and fork by-law to it. make a plenty and if we feel well disposed toward tom mayberry, come bedtime, we may feed him a half dozen." and in accordance with time-honored custom the stroke of one found the providence matrons grouped along the road and up mother mayberry's front walk, in the act of assembling for the good work in hand. "come in, everybody," exclaimed mother mayberry, as she welcomed them from the front steps. "i'm mighty glad all are on time, for i have got the best of things to tell, as i have been saving by the hardest for three days. a woman holding back news is mighty like root-beer, liable to pop the cork and foam over in spite of all." "i'm mighty glad to hear something good," said mrs. peavey in a doleful tone. "looks like the world have got into astonishing misery. did you all read in the bolivar herald last week about that explode in a mine in delyware; a terrible flood in louisianny and the man that killed his wife and six children in kansas? i don't know what we're a-coming to. i told mr. peavey and buck this morning, but they ain't either of 'em got any sympathy. they just went on talking about the good trade mr. hoover made in hogs over to springfield and the fine clover stand they have got in the north field." by this time the assembly had removed their hats, laid them on mother mayberry's snowy bed and settled themselves in rocking-chairs that had been collected from all over the house for the occasion. gay sewing bags had been produced and the armor of thimbles and scissors had been buckled on. mother mayberry still stood in the center of the room watching to see that all of her guests were comfortably seated. "them were mighty bad happenings, mis' peavey, and i know we all feel for such trouble being sent on the lord's people," said mother mayberry seriously, though a smile quirked at the corners of the widow pratt's pretty mouth and young mrs. nath mosbey bent over to hunt in her bag for an unnecessary spool of thread. mrs. peavey's nature was of the genus kill-joy, and it was hard to steer her into the peaceful waters of social enjoyment. "i don't think any of that is as bad as three divorce cases i read about in a town paper that mr. petway wrapped up some calico for me in," answered mrs. peavey, continuing her lamentations over conditions in general, which they all knew would get to be over conditions in particular if something did not intervene to stop the tide of her dissatisfaction. "divorces oughtn't to be allowed by the united states," answered mrs. pike decidedly. "they are too many people in the world that don't seem to be able to hitch up together, without letting folks already geared roam loose again. but what's the news, sister mayberry?" there came times when only judy pike's uncompromising veto could lay mrs. peavey on the table. "well, what do you think! tom mayberry have got this providence meeting-house sewing circle a good big sewing order from the united states government. night drawers and aprons and chimeses and all sorts of things and--" "lands alive, sister mayberry, you must be outen your head!" exclaimed mrs. peavey with her usual fear-the-worst manner. "what earthly use can the united states government have for night drawers and chimeses?" "now, hettie ann, you didn't let me have my say out," remonstrated mother mayberry as they all laughed merrily at mrs. peavey's scandalized remonstrance. "they are for them poor misfortunates over at flat rock what the government have sent tom down here to study about, so he can find the bug that makes the disease and stop it from spreading everywhere. while he's a-working with 'em he has to see that they are provided for; and they condition are shameful. he wants outfits for the women and children and mr. petway have the order to buy the men's things down in the city for him. he's a-going to pay us good prices for the work and it will mean a lot of money for the carpet and the repair fund. a quarter apiece for the little night drawers without feet to 'em is good money. he wanted to give us fifty cents but i told him no, i wasn't a-going to cheat my own country for no little child's night rigging. a quarter is fair to liberal, i say." "that it is, mis' mayberry, and thank doctor tom, too, for giving us the order," answered widow pratt heartily. "when can we begin? i'll cut 'em all out at home, so as to save time, if you'll give me the goods. i can cut children's clothes out with my eyes shut and sew 'em with my left hand if needs be." "well, if all we hear be true, bettie pratt, it's a good thing it comes easy to you. the sewing for seventeen might be a set-back to any kind of co'ting, but seeing as you likes it so, why, maybe--" mrs. peavey paused and peered at the blushing widow with goading curiosity in her keen eyes. "well, it hasn't been a bit to me and mr. hoover, mis' peavey," she answered with dancing eyes and a lovely rose color mounting her cheeks. "looks like all the love we have got for each other's orphant children have mixed itself up into a wedding cake for the family. i had laid off to tell you all about it this afternoon, and here's a box of peppermints mr. hoover sent everybody. he said to make you say sweet things about him to me. have one, mis' peavey, and pass the box!" with which a general laugh and buzz of inquiry went around with the box of sweets provided by the wily widower. "well, we think we'll just build a long, covered porch acrost the fronts of the two houses to connect 'em up," answered mrs. pratt to a friendly inquiry about her future domestic arrangements. "i know it will look sorter like a broke-in-two steamboat but i can put the boys all over into one house and take the girls with me. we can rent a room in the boys' house to mr. petway and he'll look after them if need be, though 'lias hoover and my henny turner are getting big, dependable boys already. i'm so glad the children match out in pairs. i always did want twins and now i'm going to have eight pairs and the baby over. i don't think i ever was so happy before." and pretty bettie fairly radiated lovingness from her big, motherly heart. "bettie pratt, you are a regular proverbs, last chapter and tenth to thirtieth verse woman and your husband's heart is a-going to 'safely rejoice' in you," said mother mayberry as she beamed across the little sleeve she was basting in an apron. "and this brings me to the mention of another little bible character we have a-running about amongst us. it's 'liza pike, as should be called one of god's own little ravens arid you all know why." "yes, we do, sister mayberry," spoke up mrs. mosbey quickly. "and i've just caught on to her doings, and thankful i am to her for letting in the light to us before it were too late maybe." "why, what have my child been a-doing to be spoke of this way?" asked her mother with both pride and uneasiness in her tone, for eliza, as is the way of all geniuses, especially those of a philanthropic turn of mind, was apt often to confront those responsible for her with the unexpected. "just seeing what we was failing to notice, that mis' bostick and the deacon was in need of being tooken care of and, without a word to anybody, starting out with a covered dish and a napkin to do the providing for 'em. and in the right spirit, too, walking into each kitchen and taking the best offen the stove--no left-over scraps in her offering to the lord, and she have gave a lesson to grown-ups. we all love the old folks and was ready to do, but 'liza have proved that love must be mixed with a little gumption to make wheels go round. and ain't she cute about it? she told the deacon that she had to bring something from everybody's kitchen or hurt all our feelings. they is a way of putting what-oughter-be into words that makes it a truth, and she did it that time." as she delivered her little homily on the subject of the absent small sister pike, mother mayberry's face shone with emotion and there was a mist in her eyes that also dimmed the vision of some of the others. "and the way of her," laughed the widow softly. "told me yesterday i didn't brown my hoe-cake enough on both sides for the deacon's greens--that mis' peavey's was better." "why, mis' pratt, 'liza oughtn't to speak that way to you; it ain't manners," her mother hastened to say as they all laughed, even the misanthrope, who was much pleased over this public acknowledgment of the superiority of her handiwork. "now, judy honey, don't you say one word to 'liza about that! she have got the whole thing fixed up for us now, and it won't do to get her conscious like in her management of the old folks. the thing for us to do is to make our engagements for truck with her regular and take her dictation always about what is sent. keep it in her mind how complimented we are to be let give to the deacon and she'll manage him, pride and all, in a sorter game. we'll make it a race with her which pleases him most. and now," mother paused and looked from the face of one hearty country woman to another with a wealth of affection for each and every one, "let's don't none of us forget to take the child up to the throne with us each night in the arms of prayer, as one of his ministers!--well it's time for us to walk out to the dining-room and see what kind of a set-out cindy and elinory have got for us. yes, mis' nath, did you ever see such a show of decorations? she must a-kinder sensed the wedding in the air in compliment to you, bettie. come in, one and all!" and the cheerful company assembled around the hospitable mayberry board put into practice the knife and fork by-law of the circle with hearty good will. cindy's austerity relaxed noticeably at the compliments handed her in return for her offer of the various viands she had prepared for their delectation, and miss wingate blushed and beamed upon them all with the most rapturous delight when her efforts met with like commendation. she had insisted on helping cindy wait on them and was such a very lovely young hebe that they could scarcely eat for looking at her. "sakes, mis' mayberry," said mrs. pike, who had unbent from her reserve over her second cup of tea to a most remarkable degree, "it were hard enough to ask doctor tom in to pot-luck with my chicken dumplins, that he carries on over, a-knowing about what you and cindy could shake up in the kitchen, but with miss elinory's cooking added i'm a-going to turn him away hungry next time." "oh, please don't!" exclaimed miss wingate. "yours is the next place he has promised to take me to supper. and bud and eliza have both invited me." "i'll set a day with him this very night," responded mrs. judy, all undone with pride. nothing in the world could have pleased the hospitable country women more than the parties that doctor tom had been improvising for the amusement of the singer girl. before each visit he openly and boldly made demands of each friend for her chef-d'oeuvre and consumed the same heartily and with delight in the stranger's growing appetite. "if you folks don't stop spoiling tom mayberry i won't never be able to get him a wife. i'll have to take little bettie to raise and teach her how to bit and bridle him," laughed mother mayberry, as they all rose and flocked to the front porch. in the road in front of the house had congregated the entire school of small-fry, drawn by the mother lode, but too well trained to think of making any kind of interruption to the gathering. they were busily engaged in a tag and tally riot which was led on one side by eliza and the other by henny turner, whose generalship could hardly be said to equal that of his younger and feminine opponent. teether and little hoover sat in the pike wheelbarrow which was drawn up beside the pike gate, and attached thereto by long gingham strings were martin luther and little bettie. they champed the gingham bits drawn through their mouths and pranced with their little bare feet in the dust, as eliza found time every minute or two to call out "whoa" or cut at them with a switch as she flashed past them. they were distinctly of the game and were blissfully unconscious of the fact that they were not in it. this arrangement for keeping them happy, though out of the way, had been of eliza's contriving and did credit to her wit in many senses of the word. at the appearance of their be-hatted parents on mother mayberry's front walk they all swooped over and stood in a circle around the gate. a mother who has many calls in the life-complicated to take her out of reach of the children is different from a mother who is always in the house, kitchen, garden or at a convenient neighbor's, and this weekly three-hour separation occasionally had disastrous results. "have anything happened, 'liza?" asked her mother, as she ran a practised eye over her group and detected not a loose end. eliza and bud had rolled over the wheelbarrow, led by the prancing team. "no'm," answered eliza, "everybody's been good and the deacon have told us three bible tales, and my side have beat henny's five catches and one loose. but henny played his'n good," she added, with a worthy victor's generosity to the fallen foe. "here's a whole bucket of cakes cindy and miss elinory made in case we found a good passel of children when the meeting was over," said mother mayberry as she tendered the crisp reward of merit to bud pike, who stood nearest her. "thank you, ma'am," answered bud, mindful of his manners. "say, 'liza, let's all go down and set on the pump and eat 'em, and we can drink water, too, so they will last longer." "all right," answered eliza, and she set about unharnessing the young team, who immediately scampered after the rest. she handed little hoover to mrs. pratt and was preparing to set off with teether in the wake of the cake bucket, when the widow called to her. "'liza, honey," she said, "here's some peppermints for you. they wasn't enough to give some to all the children, but i want you to get a bite, anyway." "thanky, ma'am, but i don't like the fresh air taste of 'em in my mouth," answered eliza. "but can you give me five of 'em? i want one for deacon and mis' bostick and i want one for squire tutt, 'cause he do love peppermint so. he wouldn't take the medicine mother mayberry fixes for him if she didn't put peppermint in it. he says so. he's porely and have got his head all tied up in a shawl, 'cause prayer meeting day mis' tutt sings hymns all the time and music gives him misery in his ears. i want to give her one, too, and i want one for cindy." "i'll save all in the box for you, sweetie," assented mrs. pratt heartily. "now run along, for you might get left out of that cake eating." "no, ma'am, i won't," answered eliza with confidence; "they won't begin till i get there. it wouldn't be fair." and she hurried down the road to where the group waited impatiently but loyally around the town pump. "ain't they all the lord's blessings?" asked mother mayberry, as she looked down the road at the little swarm with tender pride in her eyes. "that they are," answered the widow, with an echo of the pride in her own rich voice, "and to think that pretty soon seventeen of 'em will be mine!" and it was an hour or two later that the old red sun had reluctantly departed across the west meadows, just as a soft lady moon rose languidly over providence nob. providence suppers had all been served, the day's news discussed with the men folk, jocularly eager to get the drippings of excitement from the afternoon infair, and the road toddlers put to bed, when the soft-toned meeting-house bell droned out its call for the weekly prayer meeting. very soon the road was in a gentle hum of conversation as the congregation issued from their house doors and wended their way slowly toward the little church, which, back from the road in an old cedar glade, brooded over its peaceful yard of graves. the men had all donned their coats and exchanged field hats for stiff, uncomfortable, straight-brimmed straw, and their wives still wore the sewing circle gala attire. the older children walked decorously along, each group in wake of the heads of their own family, though buck peavey had managed to annex himself to the hoover household. "well, i don't know just what to do with you all," said mother mayberry, as she came out on the front porch, sedately bonneted, with her bible and hymn-book under her arm and fortified with a huge palm-leaf fan. "it's my duty to make you both come with cindy and me to prayer meeting, but i don't hold with a body using they own duty as a stick to fray out other folks with. i reckon i'll have to let you two just set here on the steps and see if you can outshine the moon in your talk, which you can't, but think you can." "oh, we'll come with you! i was just going to get my hat," exclaimed the singer lady as she rose from the steps upon which doctor tom kept his seat and puffed a ring of his cigar smoke at his mother daringly. "no, honey-bird, you've had a long day since your sun-up breakfast and i'll excuse you. i'd let tom mayberry go only i have to make him stay to keep care of you. put that lace fascination around your throat if a breeze blows up! tom, try to make out, with elinory's help, to bring a fresh bucket of water from the spring for the night. good-by, both of you; i'm a-going to bring you a blessing!" "yourself, mother," called the doctor after her. "honey-fuzzle," called mother back from the gate. "better keep it, son, you'll need it some day." "was there ever, ever anybody just like her?" asked miss wingate, as she sank back on the step beside the doctor. "i think not," he answered with a hint of tenderness in his voice; "but then, really, mother is one of a type. a type one has to get across a continent from harpeth hills to appreciate. she's the result of the men and women who blazed the wilderness trail into tennessee, and she has huguenot puritanism contending with cavalier graces of spirit in her nature." "well, she's perfectly darling and the little town is just an exquisite setting for her. do you know what this soft moonlight aspect of providence reminds me of, with those tall poplars down the road and the wide-roofed houses and barns? the little village in lombardy where--where i met--my fate." "met your fate?" asked the doctor quickly after a moment. his face was in the shadow and not a note in his voice betrayed his anxiety. "yes," answered the singer lady in a dreamy, reminiscent voice. the moon shone full down into her very lovely face, fell across her white throat and shimmered into the faint rose folds of her dainty gown. her close, dark braids showed black against the fragrant wistaria vines and her eyes were deep and velvety in the soft light. "yes, it was the summer i was eighteen and i had gone over with my father for a month or two of recuperation for him after a long extra session of congress. monsieur latour was staying in the little village, also recuperating. he heard me singing to father, and that night my fate was sealed. it was a wonderful thing to come to me--and i was so young." "tell me about it," said the doctor quietly, and his voice was perfectly steady, though his heart pounded like mad and his cigar shook in his fingers. "my father died at the end of the summer, after only a few day's illness, and he had grown to believe what latour said of my voice, and to have great confidence in my future. i had no near relatives and in his will he left me to monsieur latour and madame, his wife. she is an american and her father had been in the senate with father for years. monsieur is a very great teacher, perhaps the greatest living. madame wanted to come to providence with me, but doctor stein insisted that i come alone. i--i'm very glad she didn't, though they both love me and await--" she paused and leaned her flower head back against the wistaria vine. and the great breath that doctor thomas mayberry of providence drew might have cracked the breast of a giant. in this world no record is kept of the great moments when a private individual's universe collides with his far star and of the crash that ensues. "i rather thought you meant another--another kind of fate. i was preparing for confidences," he managed to say in a very small voice for so large a man. "mais, non, monsieur, jamais--never!" she exclaimed quickly. "i--i--have been tempted to think sometimes i might like that sort--of a--fate, but i haven't had the time. it was work, work, sleep, eat, live for the voice! and--and once or twice it has seemed worth while. my debut night in paris when i sang the juliette waltz-song-just the moment when i realized i could use it as i would and always more volume--and the people! and again the night in new york when i had made it incarnate elizabeth as she sings to tannhauser--the night it went away." and as she spoke she dropped her head on her arms folded across her knees. "have you picked out the song you are going to sing first when it comes back?" demanded the very young doctor with a quick note of tenderness in his voice, still under a marvelous control. "yes," she answered as she turned her head and peeped up at him with shining eyes, a delicious little burr of a laugh in her throat, "rings on my fingers, bells on my toes, for teether pike. he is wild about my humming it, and dances with his absurd, chubby little legs at the first note. what will he do if i can really sing it? and i'll sing beulah land for cindy, and i'm sitting on the stile, mary, for your mother, perhaps, oh, the kingdom of my heart for buck, and drink to me only, for squire tutt, hymns for the deacon--and a paean for you, if i have to order one from new york." "do you know," said the doctor after a long pause in which he lit his cigar and again began to puff rings out into the moonlight, "i'd like to say that you are--are a--perfect wonder." "you may," she answered with a laugh. then suddenly she stretched out her hand to him and, as he took it into his, she asked very quietly with just the one word, "when?" "in a few weeks, i hope," he answered her just as quietly, comprehending her instantly. "i'll be good--and wait," she answered him in a hone of voice that would have done credit to little bettie pratt. "let's hurry and get that bucket of water; don't you hear them singing the doxology?" chapter vi the providence tag-gang "miss elinory, do you think getting married and such is ketching, like the mumps and chickenpox?" asked eliza pike as she sat on the steps at the daintily shod feet of the singer lady, who sat in mother mayberry's large arm-chair, swinging herself and teether slowly to and fro, humming happily little vagrant airs that floated into her brain on the wings of their own melody. teether's large blue eyes looked into hers with earnest rapture and his little head swayed on his slender neck in harmony with her singing. "why, eliza, i'm sure i don't know. do you think so?" answered miss wingate, as she smiled down into the large eyes raised to hers. the heart-to-heart communions, which she and eliza found opportunities to hold, were a constant source of pleasure to miss wingate, and the child's quaint little personality unfolded itself delightedly in the sunshine of appreciation from this lady of her adoration. "yes'm, i believe i do. mis' pratt and mr. hoover started it, and last night mr. petway walked home with aunt prissy and maw set two racking-chairs out on the front porch for 'em. paw said he was more'n glad to set in the back yard and smoke his pipe. maw wouldn't put teether to bed, but rocked him in her lap 'cause he might wake up and disturb 'em. she let me set up with her and paw and he told tales on the time he co'ted her. she said hush up, that co'ting was like mumps and chickenpox and he was about to get a second spell. does it make you want a beau too, miss elinory?" "well," answered miss wingate slowly with a candor that would have been vouched no other soul save the sympathetic eliza, "it might be nice." "i thought you would like one," answered eliza enthusiastically, "and you know i had done picked out doctor tom for you, but since i saw him dress up so good this morning and go to bolivar to take the train to the city and he got the letter from miss alford day before yesterday--that is, aunt prissy says mr. petway thinks it was from her--i reckon it won't be fair to get him for you, when she had him first last summer. oughtn't you to be fair about taking folk's beaux just like taking they piece of cake or skipping rope?" eliza was fast developing a code of morals that bade fair to be both original and sound. "yes," answered miss wingate with the utmost gravity and not a little perturbation in her voice, "yes, of course. when did doctor mayberry go?" "this morning before you came down-stairs. he give mother mayberry some drops for mis' bostick and told me, too, how to give 'em to her. mother mayberry is down there now and i'm a-going to stay with her this afternoon. but i tell you what we can do, miss elinory, there is sam mosbey--i believe you can get him easy. he picked up a rose you dropped when you went in the store to get your letters the other day, and when mr. petway laughed he got red even in his ears. and just this week he have bought a pair of pink suspenders, some sweet grease for his hair and green striped socks. he'll look lovely when he gets fixed up and i hope you will notice him some." eliza spoke in the most encouraging of tones of the improvement in appearance of the suitor she was advocating, and was just about to continue her machinations by further enthusiasm when, from down the road at the bosticks, came mother mayberry's voice calling her, and like a little killdee she darted away to the aid of her confrere. and for several long minutes miss wingate sat perfectly still and looked across the meadow to the sky-line with intent eyes. teether was busily engaged in drawing by degrees his own pink toes up to his rosy lips in an effort to get his foot into his mouth, an ambition that sways most mortals from their seventh to tenth month. a thin wraith of miss alford's personality had been drifting through the singer lady's consciousness for some days, but she was positively stunned at this sudden materialization. there come moments in the lives of most women when they get glimpses into the undiscovered land of their own hearts and are appalled thereby. suddenly she hugged the chuckling baby very close and began a rapid rocking to the humming accompaniment of a rollicking street tune, a seemingly inexplicable but perfectly natural proceeding. "well, i'd like to know which is the oldest, you or the baby, honey-bird!" exclaimed mother mayberry as she came up the steps in the midst of the frolic. "you and him a-giggling make music like a nest full of young cat-birds. did you ever notice how 'most any down-heart will get up and go a-marching to a laugh tune? i needed just them chuckles to set me up again." as she finished speaking mother mayberry seated herself on the top step and miss wingate slipped down beside her with the baby in her arms. "what is the trouble this morning, mrs. mayberry?" she asked, as she moved a little closer, so teether could reach out and nozzle against mother mayberry's shoulder. "anybody sick?" "no, not to say sick much," answered mother, with a touch of wistfulness in her gentle eyes, "but it looks like, day by day, i can see mis' bostick slipping away from us, same as one of the white garden lilies what on the third day just closes up its leaves when you ain't looking and when you go back is gone." "she isn't so old she can't--can't recuperate when the lovely warm days come to stay this summer, is she?" asked the singer lady with a quick sympathy in her voice and eyes. "no, she ain't so old as to die by old age, but what hurts me, child, is that it is just her broke heart giving out. she have always been quiet and gentle-smiling, but since the news of will's running off with that money came to providence she have just been fading away. a mother's heart don't break clean over a child, but gets a jagged wound that won't often heal. when i think of her suffering it puts a hitch in my enjoying of that tom mayberry." and mother blinked away the suspicion of a tear. "but mrs. bostick and the deacon both are so fond of doctor mayberry that it must be a joy to have him such a comfort to them," said miss wingate softly, as she carried one of teether's pink hands to her lips. "yes, child, i know he is all that. somehow, here in providence, we women have all tried to put some of our own sister love for one another in our young folks. i hold that when the whole world have learned to cut sister and brother deep enough into they children's hearts, then his kingdom is a-going to come in about one generation from them. now there's a picture that goes on the page with my remarks! bettie sure do look pretty with that white sunbonnet on her head, and count how many turners, pratts, hoovers and pikes she have got trailing peacefully behind her, all like full-blood brothers and sisters. i'm so glad she's a-bringing her sewing to set a spell. come in, bettie, here's a rocker a-holding out arms to you!" little hoover was as usual bobbing in bettie's arms and he gurgled at the sight of teether pike as if in joy at this encounter with his side partner and when deposited upon the floor beside him made a brotherly grab at one of young pike's pink feet in the most manifest interest. "well, if this just ain't filling at the price," said the widow as she settled herself in the rocker, and mother mayberry established herself in one opposite, while miss wingate elected to remain on the step by the babies. "i left pattie over to my house helping clara may get a little weed-pulling outen 'lias and henny in my garden. buck peavey have just passed by looking like the last of pea-time and the first of frost. i do declare it were right down funny to see pattie toss her head at him, and them boys both giggled out loud. he ain't spoke to pattie for a week 'cause she sang outen sam mosbey's hymn-book last wednesday night at prayer meeting. he've got a long-meter doxology face for sure." "and he's a-suffering, too," answered mother mayberry with the utmost sympathy in her placid face at the troubles of her favorite, buck, the lover. "to some folks love is a kinder inflammatory rheumatism of the soul and a-deserving of pity." a vision of a girl at a college commencement with her nose buried in a pink peony, looking up and smiling, flashed across the consciousness of the singer lady and she pressed her head between little hoover's chubby shoulders, and acknowledged herself a fit subject for sympathy. to go and not even think of telling her good-by was cruel, and a forlorn little sob stifled itself in the mite's pink apron. "well, folks," broke in the widow's cheerful voice that somehow reminded one of peaches and cream, "i come over to-day to get a little help and encouragement about planning the wedding. i knowed miss elinory would think it up stylish for me and mis' mayberry would lend her head to help fitting notions to what can be did. mr. hoover's clover hay will be laid by next week and he says they ain't nothing more to keep us back. i've sewed up four bolts of light caliker, two of domestic, one of blue jeans, and three of gingham into a trousseau for us all to wear on the wedding trip, and mr. petway are a-going to take measures and bring out new shoes and tasty hats all 'round, next wagon, trip to town. i think we will make a nice genteel show." "are you-going to take everybody on the trip?" asked miss wingate, roused out of her woe by the very idea of the tour in the company of the seventeen. "that we are," responded the widow heartily, "but not all to onct. we'll have to make two bites of the cherry. the day after the wedding we are a-going to take the two-horse team, a trunk and the ten youngest and go a-visiting over the ridge at mr. hoover's brother's, mr. biggers. we won't stay more'n a week and stop a day or two coming back to see andy and carrie louise. then we'll drop the little ones here on you neighbors and pick up the seven big ones, add buck for a compliment and go on down to the city for two days' high jinks. we're going to take 'em up to the capitol and over the new bridge and we hope to strike some kind of band music going on somewhere for 'em to hear. we want a photygraft group of us all, too. we are going to put up at the teamsters' hotel up on the square and mr. hoover have got party rates. he says he are a-going to get that seven town-broke anyway, if it costs two acres of corn. now won't we have a good time?" the bright face of the prospective bride fairly radiated with joy at the prospect--miss wingate could but be sympathetically involved, and mother mayberry beamed with delight at the plan. "that'll be a junket that they won't never a one of 'em forget, bettie!" she exclaimed with approval. "they ain't nothing in the world so educating as travel. and you can trust a country child to see further and hear more than any other animal on earth. i wouldn't trust tom to go to town now without coming back pop-eyed over the ottermobiles," and mother mayberry laughed at her own fling at the sophisticated young doctor. another dart of agony entered the soul of the singer lady and this time the vision of the girl and the peony was placed in a big, red motor-car--why red she didn't know, except the intensity of her feelings seemed to call for that color. she was his patient and courtesy at least demanded that he should tell her of his intended absence. what could-"well, to come out with the truth," mrs. pratt was going on to say by the time miss wingate brought herself to the point of listening again, "it's just the wedding itself that have gave me all these squeems. why, mis' mayberry, how on earth are we a-going to parade all the seventeen into the meeting-house without getting the whole congregation into a regular giggle? i don't care, 'cause i know the neighbors wouldn't give us a mean laugh, but i can see mr. hoover have got the whole seventeen sticking in his craw at the thought, and i'm downright sorry for him." "yes, bettie, men have got sensitive gullets when it comes to swollering a joke on theyselves," said mother mayberry, as she joined in the widow's merry laugh at the plight of the embarrassed widower. "looks like when we all can trust mr. hoover to be so good and kind to you and your children, after he have done waded into the marrying of you, we oughter find some way to save his feelings from being mortified. can't you hatch out a idea, elinory?" "oh, yes, i know, i know just what to do--it came to me in a flash!" exclaimed the singer lady with pink-cheeked enthusiasm over the inspiration that had risen from the depths at the call of mrs. pratt and brought her up to the surface of life with it for a moment anyway. "i saw a wedding once in rural england. all the children in the village in a double line along the path to the church, each with baskets of flowers from which they threw posies in front of the bride as she came by them! let's get all the children together and mix them up and let them stand along the walk to the church door. it will just make a beautiful picture with no--no thought of--of who belongs to anybody. everybody from pattie and buck down to little bettie and martin luther! won't it be lovely? i can show them just how to march, down the road with their baskets in their arms, and mrs. pratt, you can come from your house with the deacon and mr. hoover can come out of the back of the store--with--with, who is going to be his groomsman?" "lawsy me, i hadn't thought of that," answered the widow. "i'll tell you, mr. pratt's brother is coming over from bolivar to the wedding, and as he is a-going to be a kinder relation in law by two marriages with mr. hoover, i think it would be nice to ask him." "er--yes," assented the singer lady, controlling a desire to smile at this mix-up of the bride's present and past relations to life. "the little girls ought to have white dresses and the boys--well, what could the little boys wear?" miss wingate felt reasonably sure that white dresses for all the feminine youth of providence would be forthcoming, but she hesitated at suggesting a costume for the small boys. "yes, all the little girls have got white dresses and ribbons and fixings, but dressing up a herd of boys is another thing," answered mother mayberry. "if just blue jeans britches could be made to do we might make out to get the top of them rigged out in a white shirt apiece; couldn't we, bettie?" "that we can," answered the bride heartily. "give me a good day at the sewing-machine, with somebody to cut and somebody to baste, and i will get 'em all turned out by sundown. but they feet! mis' mayberry, could we get jem into shoes, do you reckon? about how many bad stumped toes is they in providence now?" "well," answered mother mayberry reflectively, "i don't know about but two, but we can ask 'liza pike. thank you for your plan, honey-bird, and we're a-going to put it through so as to be a credit to you. children are sorter going out of style these days and i'm proud to make a show of our'n. women's leaving babies outen they calculations is kinder like cutting buds offen the tree of life, and i'm glad no sech fashion have struck harpeth hills yet." "now, ain't that the truth?" exclaimed the widow pratt. "sometimes when i read some of the truck about what women have took a notion to turn out and do in the world, i get right skeered about what are a-going to happen to the babies and men in the time to come." "don't worry about 'em, bettie," laughed mother mayberry, with a quizzical sparkle in her eyes. "even when women have got that right to march in the front rank with the men and carry some of the flags, that they are a-contending for, they'll always be some foolish enough to lag behind with babies on they breasts, a string of children following and with always a snack in her pocket to feed the broke down front-rankers, men or women. you'll find most providence women in that tag-gang, i'm thinking; but let's do our part in whooping on the other sisters that have got wrongs to right." "i suppose the world really has done women injustice in lots of ways," said the singer lady plaintively, for she had very lately, for the first time in her life, felt the sit-still-and-hold-your-hands-while-he-rides-away grind, and it had struck in deep. "yes, i suppose so," answered mother mayberry, as she picked up little hoover, who was nodding like a top-heavy petunia in a breeze, and stretched him across her lap for a nap. "but as long as she have got the spanking of man sprouts from they one to ten years she oughter make out to get in a vote to suit herself, as time comes along, especially if she have picked her husband right." "she--she can't--can't pick her husband," hazarded the singer lady desperately. "yes, she can, honey-child," answered mother mayberry comfortably. "the smile in her eye and the switch of her skirts is a woman's borned-vote, and she can elect herself wife to any man she cares to use 'em on. but what about the collation, bettie? everybody is going to help you with the cooking and fixings, and let's have a never-forget supper this onct." "that we are," answered mrs. pratt emphatically. "mr. hoover says no hand-around, stand-around for him; he wants a regular laid table with a knife and fork set-down to it. he says we are a-going to feed our friends liberal, if it takes three acres of timothy hay to do it, and he's about right. we'll begin thinking about that and deciding what the first of the week. but i must be a-going to see that the dinner horn blows in time. i want to get my sparagrasses extra tender, for 'liza have notified me that she is going to stop by to-day with the covered dish, and i want to fill it tasty for her. come visiting soon, miss elinory, for i've got something to show you that are too foolish to speak about to mis' mayberry." and the widow gave a delicious little giggle as she lifted the sleeping baby from mother mayberry's lap and started down the steps. "dearie me, bettie," answered mother with a laugh, "don't you know that poking up a woman's curiosity is mighty apt to start a yaller jacket to buzzing? i'll be by your house sometime before sundown myself." "some women's ship of life is a steamboat that stops to take on passengers at every landing. bettie's are one of them kind, and she'll tie up with 'em all in glory when the time comes," remarked mother mayberry as she watched the sturdy widow swing away down the road with the baby asleep over her shoulder. just at this moment, cindy found occasion to summon mother mayberry to the chicken yard on account of a dispute that had arisen between old dominick and one of the ungallant roosters that had resulted in an injury to one of the small fry, which lay pitifully cheeping on the back steps. dominick, with every feather awry, was holding command of the bowl of corn-meal while her family feasted, and the plymouth rooster stood at a respectful distance with a weather eye on both the determined mother and cindy's broom. retribution in the form of mother mayberry descended upon him swiftly and certainly, and he lost no time in seeking seclusion under the barn. and by the time order and peace were restored to the barn-yard, mother came in to dinner and spent an hour in interested hen-lore with the singer lady, who was really fond of hearing about the feathered families when she saw how her interest in them pleased mrs. mayberry. the subject of the doctor, his absence and the probable time of his return was not mentioned by his mother, and for the life of her miss wingate could not muster the courage for a single question. she felt utterly unable to stand even the most mild eulogy on the peony-girl and was glad that nothing occurred to turn the conversation in that direction. she was silent for the most part, and most assiduous in her attentions to martin luther, whose rapidly filling outlines were making him into a chubby edition of the raphaelite angel. martin had landed in the garden of the gods and was making the most of the golden days. he bore his order of american boyhood with jaunty grace, and the curl had assumed a rampant air in place of the pathetic. "martin, do you want me to wash your face and hands and come go visiting with me?" asked the singer lady, as she stood on the front steps and watched mother mayberry depart in her old buggy on the way to visit a patient over the nob. a long, lonely afternoon was more than she could face just now, and she felt certain that distraction, if not amusement, could be found in a number of places along the road. "thank, ma'am, please," answered martin luther, who still clung to the formula that he had found to be a perfectly good open sesame to most of the pleasant things of life, when used as he knew how to use it. so, taking her rose-garden hat in one hand and martin luther's chubby fist in the other, miss wingate started down providence road for a series of afternoon calls, at the fashionable hour of one-thirty. she was just passing by mrs. peavey's gate with no earthly thought of going in when she beheld the disconsolate buck stretched full length on the grass under a tree, which was screened by a large syringa bush from the front windows of the maternal residence. a hoe rested languidly beside him, and it was a plain case of farm hookey. "oh, miss elinory," called his mother from the side steps, "did mis' mayberry hear about that fire down in town that burned up two firemen, a police and a woman?" at the sound of his mother's strident voice, buck curled up in a tight knot and with a despairing glance rolled under the bush. "i don't know, mrs. peavey, but i'll tell her," miss wingate called back as she prepared to hasten on for fear mrs. peavey would come to the gate for further parley, and thus discover the exhausted culprit. "and a man tooken pisen on account of a bank's failing in louisville," she added in a still shriller tone, which just did carry across the distance to mrs. pike's front door, through which miss wingate was disappearing. her prompt flight had saved the day for the disconsolate lover, who cautiously rolled from under the bush again and went on with his interrupted nap. she found mrs. pike and miss prissy at home, and spent a really delightful hour in speculating and unfolding possible plans for the pratt-hoover nuptials. miss prissy blushed and giggled at an elephantine attempt at badinage that her sister-in-law directed at her on the subject of mr. petway, and after a while miss wingate went on her way, in a manner comforted by their wholesome merriment. she hesitated at the front gate of the tutt residence, but the sight of the squire pottering around in a diminutive garden at the side of the house decided her to enter, for squire tutt held the charm for her that a still-fused fire-cracker holds for a small boy. "i ain't well at all," he exploded, in answer to her polite question, asked in the meekest of voices. "don't you set up to marry tom mayberry, girl, if you don't wanter get a numbskull. told me to eat a passel of raw green stuff for my liver, like i was a head of cattle. i'll die if i follow him. everybody he doctors'll die. snake bite is the only thing he knows how to cure, and snakes don't crawl until the last of the month. don't marry him, i say, don't marry him!" and it took miss wingate several minutes after her hurried adieus to get over the effect of the squire's inhibitory caution. but the haven for which she had been instinctively aiming was just across the road, and she found a peace and quiet which sank into her perturbed soul like a benediction. the deacon sat by mrs. bostick's bed with his bible across his thin old knees, and eliza was crouched on the floor just in front of him, with her knees in her embrace and her eyes fixed on his gentle face. little bettie pratt lay across mrs. bostick's bed, deep in her afternoon nap, and henny turner was stretched out full length on the floor in front of the window, while 'lias sat with his back against the wall with the puppy in his arms. the pale face of the sweet invalid was lit by a gentle smile, and she held one of the sleeping child's warm little hands in her frail, knotted, old fingers. unnoticed, miss wingate and martin luther paused a moment at the door. "golly, deacon, but didn't he do him up at one shot, and nothing but a little piece of rock in the gum-sling!" exclaimed 'lias in excitement over the climax of the tale the deacon had just completed. "i wisht i was that strong!" "it was the strength the lord gived to him, 'lias hoover, to special kill the giant with," said eliza in an argumentative tone of voice. "do you reckon he tooken the strength away from david the next morning, deacon, or let him keep it to use all the time?" eliza's extreme practicality showed at all times, even in those of deepest excitement. the deacon was saved the strain of intellect involved in making reply to this demand by his wife's low exclamation of pleasure as she caught sight of the girl and the tot in the doorway. she smiled softly as the singer lady seated herself on the side of the bed and took both her hand and that of the sleeping baby in a firm, young one. a peculiar bond of sympathy had arisen between the girl and the gentle old invalid, both fighting pain and anxiety. mrs. bostick would lie for hours drinking in tales of miss wingate's travels in the world, which she had timidly but eagerly asked for from the beginning of their friendship. the girl knew that the anxious mother-heart vas using her descriptions to fare forth on quests for the wanderer into the wide world beyond the harpeth hills, that had all her life bounded her horizon, and she sat by her long hours, leading the way into the uttermost parts. after a fatherly greeting, the deacon departed with the children to his bench under the trees and left the two alone for their talk, and the long shadows were stretched across the road and the sun sinking beyond the ridge before the singer lady wended her way dejectedly home with the play-wearied martin luther trailing beside her. she found mother mayberry, much to her relieved astonishment, placidly rocking in her accustomed place, with her palm-leaf ruffling the water-waves and a fresh lawn tie blowing in the breeze. "come in, honey-hearts," she said eagerly, with bright tenderness shining in her face for the girl and the barefoot young pilgrim; "i have been setting here a-missing you both for a hour. with you and my young mission boy both gone i'm like an old hawk-robbed hen. i knew you was with mis' bostick, and i didn't come for you 'cause somehow them rocking-chair-bed travels you and her take seems to comfort her. i wouldn't interrupt one of 'em for the world, though i was getting plumb lonesome. i was even a-hankering after that tom mayberry what i left not over two hours ago." "has the doctor come back from the city this soon?" demanded the singer lady, with a queer thump in her cardiac region that almost smothered her voice. "well now, to tell the truth, tom mayberry haven't been to no city," answered his mother with a chuckle as she looked at miss wingate over martin luther's head on her shoulder where he had buried it with a demand for "milk, milk, thank ma'am, please." "i don't think he wants you to know what he have been having happen to him, but i can't keep from telling you 'cause i'm tickled clean to my funny bone. dave hanks come over here at daylight wanting a doctor quick, and i had a cramp in my leg what i forgot to tie a yarn string around before i went to bed, so i had to let tom hurry on over there 'count of the push they was in. then i got to studying it over and while i knewed how tom had had a lot of practice in such things in a hospital, i thought it was just as well to let him get a little harpeth experience along that line and sorter prove his character to squire tutt and the rest. about dinner time, though, i got sorry for him and hitched up and went over there to see how they was a-getting along, without telling you or cindy anything about it. and what did i find? that tom mayberry and dave hanks out on the back porch, dave taking a drink outen a bottle and tom with two babies wrapped up in a shawl showing 'em to a neighbor woman, proud as a peacock over 'em. he most dropped 'em when he seen me and i promised not to tell you about it at all, but if you coulder seen him!" and the tried and proven young aesculapius' mother fairly rolled in her chair with mirth at the recollection. "oh," gasped the singer girl, as she sank weakly down upon the top step and leaned her head against the convenient post. "it was awful--i--i--" she caught herself quickly in the expression of the intensity of her relief. "no, it wasn't awful," answered mother mayberry, fortunately losing the trend of the exclamation. "they are mighty sweet little babies, both girls. the joke is mostly on me getting uneasy and following tom up. when i pick out his wife, i must be sure and see she are a girl what don't worry none about what he is up to. a trouble-hunting wife is a rock sinker to any man, but around a doctor's neck she'll finish him quick. don't let on to the shame-faced thing when he comes! he asked me what you'd been a-doing all day, and i told him i thought maybe you had a few custards in your mind for him to-night when he gets back from flat rock. don't you want to beat up some with cindy's help? and they is a bunch of pink peonies he sent you from mis' hank's bushes, sticking in a bucket on the back porch. pin one in your hair to sorter compliment him after all the trouble he have had this day, poor tom!" chapter vii pretty bettie's wedding day and even old dame nature of harpeth hills aroused herself for the occasion and took in hand the wedding day of pretty bettie pratt on providence road. in the dark hours before dawn she spread a light film of clouds over the stars, from which she first puffed a stiff dust-cleansing breeze and then proceeded to sprinkle a good washing shower which took away the last trace of wear and tear of the past hot days, so by the time she brought the sun out for a final shine up, the village looked like it had been having a most professional laundering. and after an hour or two of his warm encouragement, the roses lifted their buds and began to blow out with joyous exuberance. mother mayberry's red-musks tumbled over the wall almost on to the head of mrs. peavey's yellow-cluster, and judy pike's pink-cabbage fairly flung blossoms and buds over into the road. the widow's own moss-damask nodded and beckoned hospitably to mrs. tutt's maryland tea, and pattie hoover's maiden's blush mingled its sweetness with that of the dainty white-cluster that climbed around mrs. bostick's window. a haunting perfume from the new-mown clover fields drifted over it all and the glistening silver poplar leaves danced in the breezes. "was they ever such a day before!" exclaimed mother mayberry as she stood on the front steps with the singer lady, who was as blooming herself as any rose on the road. "and everything is well along towards ready when it's turned twelve. the children have all been washed from skin out and just need a last polish-off. i've put 'em all on honor not to get dirty again and i think every shoe will be on by marching time." "the baskets and the tubs of roses are in the milk house, and i will arrange them at the last minute so they won't wilt," answered miss wingate with enthusiasm that matched mother mayberry's. "do you suppose there is anything i can do to help anybody anywhere? i never was so excited before." "i don't believe they is a loose end to tie up on the road, child. even bettie herself have finished for the day and have gone over to set a quiet hour with mis' bostack. clothes is all laid out on beds, and cold lunch snacks put on kitchen tables. they ain't to be a dinner cooked on the road this day 'cept what 'liza and cindy are a-stewing up for the deacon and mis' bostick. looks like everything is on greased wheels, and--but there comes the child running now! i do hope they haven't nothing flew the track." "mother mayberry, please ma'am, tell me what to do about mis' tutt!" eliza exclaimed with anxiety spread all over her little face, which was given a comic cast by a row of red flannel rags around her head over which were rolled prospective curls, due to float out for the festivities. "she says she won't go to the wedding 'cause it's prayer meeting night, and it were a sin to put off the lord's meeting 'till to-morrow night. i didn't know she were a-going to do this way! i got out her dress for her yesterday. the squire is so mad he says tell doctor tom to come do something for him quick and not to bring no hot water kettle neither." "dearie me," said mother mayberry with mild exasperation in her voice. "you run along, 'liza, and don't you worry with mis' tutt. i'll come down there tereckly and see if i can't kinder persuade her some. go around there and give that message to doctor tom yourself. i don't take no stock in such doctoring as he does to the squire these days." "isn't it too bad for mrs. tutt to feel that way and miss the wedding?" asked miss wingate with a trace of the same exasperation in her voice that had sounded in mother mayberry's tones. "it are that," answered mother regretfully. "looks like religion oughter be tooken as a cooling draft to the soul and not stuck on life like a fly blister. but i think we can kinder fix mis' tutt some. and that reminds me, i want you to undertake a job of using a little persuading on tom mayberry for me. he have got the most lovely long tail coat, gray britches, gray vest and high silk hat up in his press, and he says he are a-going to wear his blue sunday clothes same as usual, when i asked him careless like about it this morning. i'm fair dying to behold him just onct in them good clothes he wears out in the big world and thinks providence people will make fun of him to see, but i wouldn't ask him outright to put 'em on for me, not for nothing." "do you know, mrs. mayberry, you really--really flirt with the doctor?" laughed miss wingate as she rubbed her delicate little nose against mother mayberry's shoulder with teether pike's exact nozzling gesture. "well, it's a affair that have been a-going on since the first time i laid eyes on ugly, and they ain't nothing ever a-going to stop it 'lessen his wife objects," answered mother mayberry as she glanced down quizzically at the face against her shoulder. "she's sure to--to adore it," answered the singer lady as she buried her head in mother's tie so only the rosy back of her neck showed. "yes, i think she will understand," answered the doctor's mother with a sweet note in her rich voice as she bestowed a little hug on the slender body pressed close to hers. "you see, child, the tie twixt a woman and her own man-child ain't like anything on earth, and i feel it must hold between mary and her son in heaven. i felt it pull close like steel when mine weren't fifteen minutes old, and it won't die when i do neither. and that tom mayberry are so serious that a-flirting with him gets him sorter on his blind side and works to a finish. can't you try to help me out about that coat and the silk hat?" "yes," answered miss wingate with a dimpling smile, "i'll try. i'll ask him what i shall wear and then maybe--maybe--" "that's the very idea, honey-bird!" exclaimed mother mayberry delightedly. "tell him you are a-going to put on your best bib and tucker and it'll start the notion in him to keep you company. if a woman can just make a man believe his vanity are proper pride, he will prance along like the trick horse in a circus. now s'pose you kinder saunter round careless like to--" "mis' mayberry," came in a doleful voice over the wall near the porch, and mrs. peavey's mournful face appeared, framed in the lilac bushes. "i've just been reading the tuesday bolivar herald, and bettie pratt's own first husband's sister-in-law's child died last week out in californy, where she moved when she married the second time. i hate to tell bettie and have the wedding stopped, but i feel it are my duty not to let her pay no disrespect to her turner children by having a wedding with some of they law-kin in trouble." "well, hettie ann, i don't believe i'd tell her, for as bad as that would be on the turner children, think how much the pratts and hoovers would lose in pleasure, so as they are the majority, it's only fair they should rule." mother mayberry had for a moment stood aghast at the idea of the misanthrope's descent upon happy bettie with even this long distance shadow to cast across her joy, but dealing with her neighbor for years had sharpened her wits and she knew that a sense of fair play was one of mrs. peavey's redeeming traits that could always be counted upon. "yes, i reckon that are so," she answered grudgingly. "then we'll have to keep the bad news to tell her when she gets back from the trip. did you know that spangled wyandotte hen have deserted all them little chickens and is a-laying again out in the weeds behind the barn? told you them foreign poultry wasn't no good," with which she disappeared behind the top stone of the wall. "poor spangles! she carried them chickens a week longer than could be expected and now don't get no credit for it," said mother mayberry, as the singer lady gave vent to the giggle she had been suppressing for a good many minutes. "now run on, sweet child, and use them beguilements on tom for me, while i go try to rub some liniment on mis' tutt's conscience. fill up martin luther sometime soon, will you?" and in accordance with directions, after a few minutes spent before mother mayberry's old-fashioned mirror in tucking three very perfect red-musk buds in the belt of her white linen gown, the singer lady descended upon the unwitting victim, in the north wing and began the machinations according to promise. doctor mayberry, unfortunately for him, showed extravagant signs of delight at the very sight of the enemy, for it was almost the first voluntary visit she had ever paid him, and thus he gave her the advantage to start with. "you aren't busy, are you?" she asked as she glanced around the book-lined room and into the laboratory beyond. "this is only a semi-professional consultation. could i stay just a few minutes?" and the lift of her dark lashes from her eyes was most effectively unfair. as she spoke she settled herself in his chair, while he leaned against the table looking down upon her with a very shy delight in his gray eyes and a very decided color in his tan cheeks. "as long as you will," he answered. "i never can prescribe from a hurried consultation. it always takes several hours for me to locate anything. i'm very slow, you know." "why, i rather thought you treated your patients with--with very little time spent in consultation," a remark which she, herself, knew to be a dastardly manoeuver. "you attended to squire tutt's trouble in a very few minutes, it seems," she hastened to add, as she glanced at a flask that lay on the corner of the table. "the squire's trouble is chronic, and simply calls for refilled prescriptions," he laughed, his generosity giving over the retort that was his due. "i somehow think this matter of yours will prove obscure and will call for time." "it's a wedding dress i want you to prescribe for me," she hazarded a bit too hurriedly, for before she could catch up with her own words he had flashed her an answer. "that depends!" was the victim's most skilful parry. "would you wear a white embroidery and lace or a rose batiste? a rose hat and parasol go with the batiste, but the white is perfectly delicious. you haven't seen either one, so i want you to choose by guess." only the slightest rose signal in her cheeks showed that she had been pricked by his quick thrust. she had taken one of the damask buds from her belt and was daintily nibbling at the folded leaves. over it, her eyes dared him to follow up his advantage. "i don't know--i'll have to think about it," he answered her, weakly capitulating, but still on guard. "if i choose one for to-day, when will you wear the other? soon?" he bargained for his forbearance. "whenever you want me to if you'd like to see it," she answered with what he ought to have known was dangerous meekness. "what are you going to wear?" she asked, putting the direct question with disarming boldness. "blue serge sunday-go-to-meetings," he answered carelessly, as if it were a matter to be dismissed with the statement. "let's see--say them over again--white dress, pink parasol, rose hat, how did they go?" "once, not long ago, i was in your room with mrs. mayberry hunting for the kittens the yellow cat had hidden in the house, and i caught a glimpse of a most beautiful frock coat--it made me feel partyfied then, and i thought of the rose gown i have never worn and--and--" she paused to let that much sink in well. "i thought i would ask you," she ended in a pensive tone, as she kept her eyes fixed on the rose determinedly. "you don't have to ask me things--just tell me!" he answered with an exquisite hint of something in his voice which he quickly controlled. "the frock coat let it be--and shall we say the rose gown? then the high gods protect providence when it beholds!" he added with a laugh. "oh, will you really?" she asked, overwhelmed with the ease with which the battle had been won. "i will," he answered, "only don't let mother tease me, please!" at which pathetically ingenuous demand the conquering singer lady tossed him the rose and laughed long and merrily. "you and your mother are perfect--" she was observing with delighted dimples, when mother mayberry herself stood in the doorway with well-concealed eagerness as to the outcome of the mission, in her face. "well," she observed with a laugh, "i'm glad to see somebody that has time to stand-around, set-around, passing the news of the day. did you all know that bettie pratt were a-going to get married in about two hours and a half?" "we did," answered her son as he drew her a chair close to that of miss wingate. "we were just discussing in what garb we could best grace the occasion. did you succeed in getting mrs. tutt to change her mind about honoring the festivities?" "oh, yes, she just wanted to be persuaded some. it's a mighty dried-up mind that can't leaf out in a change onct in a while, and it's mostly men folks that take a notion, then petrify to stone in it. but you all oughter see what is a-going on down the road." "what?" they both demanded of her at the same second. "it's that 'liza pike again. just as soon as that child hatches a idea, the whole town takes to helping her feather it out. she got mis' bostick's bed moved to the front window, and then found that nath mosbey's fence kept her from seeing the road where the procession are a-going into the meeting-house yard. but that didn't down her none at all, for when i left she had nath and buck and mr. petway a-knocking down the two panels of fence, and leaving mis' bostick a clean sweep of view, did you ever?" and mother mayberry chuckled over the small sister's triumph over what to the rest of providence would have seemed an insurmountable obstacle. "it's just like her, the darling!" exclaimed the singer lady appreciatively. "and she have got the deacon all tucked out until he is a sight to behold. she have made mis' peavey starch his white tie until it sets out on both sides like cat whiskers, and have pinned a bokay on his coat 'most as big as the bride's. then she have reached his forelock up on his head so he looks like martin luther, and she have got him a-settin' down, so as not to get out of gear none. mis' bostick is a-wearing a little white rose pinned on her night-gown, and they is honeysuckle trailed all over the bed. but here am i a-chavering with you all, with time a-flying and no chance of putting salt on her tail this day. please, tom mayberry, go down to the store and buy a nickel's worth of starch, and it's none of your business how i want to use it. i'm going to look a surprise for you myself, before sundown." "well, how did you get along with him, honeybird?" she asked eagerly, as they ascended the front steps together, while the doctor strode down the road on his errand. "beautifully!" exclaimed the singer lady with enthusiasm and the very faintest of blushes. "i thought so from his looks," answered the beguiled young doctor's wily mother. "a man always do have that satisfied martyr-smile when he thinks he are doing something just to please a woman. now, honey-child, you ain't got nothing to do but frill out your own sweet self; and make a job of it while you are about it." with which command mother mayberry dismissed miss wingate up the stairs to her dormer-window room. and it is safe to say that no two such teeming hours ever fleeted their seconds away on providence road as did those ensuing. the whole village buzzed and bumbled and swarmed in and out from house to house like a colony of clover-drunken bees on an august afternoon. laughter floated on the air and mingled with banter and song, while the aroma of flesh pots and fine spices drifted from huge waiters being hurriedly carried from down and up the road and into the pratt gate. the wedding supper was being laid on improvised tables in bettie's side yard, with judy pike in command, seconded by mrs. peavey with her skirts tucked up out of possible harm and her mind on the outlook for any possible disaster, from the wilting of the jelly mold to a sad streak in the bride's cake, baked by the bride herself with perfectly happy confidence. then on the heels of the excitement came a quiet half-hour devoted to the completing of all toilets behind closed family doors. a shrill squeal issuing now and then from an open window told its tale of tortures being undergone, and a smothered masculine ejaculation added a like testimony. at exactly a quarter to five, miss wingate issued from her room after a completely satisfactory seance with her mirror, and from the front steps looked down in dismay upon a scene of rebellion, that threatened at any moment to become one of riot. on the grass beside the porch stood a group of little girls all starched, frilled, curled and beribboned until they resembled a large bouquet of cabbage roses themselves. each one clasped carefully a gaily decorated basket filled with roses, and from each and every pair of eyes there danced sparks of rage, aimed at a huddled company of small boys who were returning their indignation by sullen scorn mixed with determination in their polished, freckled faces. half way between each group stood eliza pike, a glorified eliza, from a halo of curls to brand new small shoes. she had evidently been carrying on a losing series of negotiations, for her usually sanguine face had an expression of utter hopelessness, tinged with some of the others' feminine indignation. "miss elinory," she exclaimed as the singer lady came to the edge of the porch, "i don't know what to make of the boys, they never did this way before!" "why, what is the matter?" asked miss wingate, something of eliza's panic communicating itself to her own face and voice. the boys all suddenly found interest in their own feet or the cracks in the pavement, so eliza as usual became the spokesman for the occasion. "they say they just won't carry baskets of flowers, because it makes them look silly like girls. they will march with us if you make 'em do it, but they won't carry no baskets for nobody. i don't want mis' pratt to find out how they is a-acting, for three of 'em are hers and five hoovers, and it is they own wedding." eliza's voice almost became a wail in which miss wingate felt inclined to join. at this juncture, martin luther took it upon himself to create a further diversion and to add fuel to the flame. by a mistake, and through a determination to follow instructions, he had clung to little bettie's hand, and when she picked up one of the tiny baskets provided for the two tots, so had he, and thus he found himself humiliatingly equipped and on the wrong side of the yard and question. disengaging himself from the wide-eyed bettie, he marched to the center of the middle ground and cast the despised basket upon the grass. "no girl--boy, thank ma'am, please!" he announced with a defiant glance at the singer lady up from under the rampant curl, and that he did not fail in his usual shibboleth of courtesy was due to his habitual use of it, rather than a desire to soften the effect of his announcement. miss wingate sank down upon the steps in helpless dismay, and tears began to drop from eliza's eyes, when mother mayberry appeared upon the scene of action, stiff and rustling as to black silk gown, capped with a cobweb of lace over the water-waves and most imposing as to mien. "now what's all these conniptions about?" she demanded, and eyed the boys with an expression of reserving judgment that did her credit, for a forlorn and surly sight they presented. and again eliza stated the case of the culprits in brief and not uncertain terms. "well, well," said mother mayberry, and a most delicious laugh fell on the overcharged air and in itself began to clear the atmosphere, "so you empty-handed, cross-faced boys think you look more stylisher for the wedding than the girls look, do you?" "no'm, we never said that," answered young bud with a grin coaxing at his wide mouth. "we just don't want to carry no baskets. buck said he wouldn't, and sam mosbey said they had oughter tie a sash around the middle of all of us for a show. we think the girls look fine," and he cast an uneasy glance at his sister. "well, seeing as you came down as far as to pass a compliment on 'em, i reckon the girls will have to forgive you for talking about them that way. i am willing to ask miss elinory here to give you each a little bunch of roses to carry in your hand instead of a basket, and to let you walk along beside the girls, though nobody will look at you anyway or know you are there. is that a bargain and is everybody ready to step into line?" and almost instantly there was a relieved and amicable settling of the difficulties, a sorting of bunches from the despised baskets, and a quick line-up. "now start on down! don't you hear miss prissy playing the organ for you?" exclaimed mother mayberry from the steps. "billy, lift up your feet, and henny, you throw the first rose just where miss elinory told you to. everybody watch henny and throw a flower whenever he does. aim them at the ground and not at each other or the company. we'll be just behind you. now, martin luther, take bettie by the hand and don't go too fast!" "a little fun poked at the right time will settle most man conniptions," she added, in an aside to the relieved and admiring singer lady, as they prepared to follow in the wake of the bridal train. and among all the weddings over all the land, that fill to a joyous overflowing almost every hour of the month of june, none could have been more lovely or happier than that of pretty bettie pratt, and the embarrassed but adoring mr. hoover on providence road. the train of solemn, wide-eyed little flower bearers was received by the wedding guests, who were assembled around the meeting-house door, with a positive wave of rapture and no hint of the previous hurricane of rebellion showed in their rosy, cherubic countenances. they separated at the designated point and according to instructions took their stand along the side of the walk from the gate to the steps. billy stepped high, roly-poly little bettie steered martin luther into place and eliza had the joy of catching a glimpse of the pale face across the store-yard, peering out of the window with the greatest interest. then from the pratt home, directly across the road, came the deacon and bettie, and the enthusiasm at this point boiled up and ran over in a perfect foam of joy. and, indeed, the pair made a picture deserving of every thrill, bettie in her dove gray muslin and the deacon bedight according to eliza's expert opinion of good form. he beamed like a gentle old cherub himself, while she giggled and blushed and nodded to the children as she stepped over the rain of roses, on up to the very door itself. immediately following the children, the congregation filed in and settled itself for the long prayer, that the deacon always used to open such solemn occasions. the singer lady found herself seated between mother mayberry and the doctor on the end of the pew, and out of the corner of her eye she essayed a view of his magnificence, but caught him in the act of making the same pass in her direction. they both blushed, and her smile was wickedly tantalizing, though she kept her eyes fixed on the deacon's face as he began to read the words of the service in his sweet old voice, with its note of tender affection for the pair of friends for whom he read them. and she never knew why she didn't realize it or why she thought of permitting it, but as the impressive words enfolded the pair at the altar, one of her own small hands was gently possessed in a warm, strong one, and tightly clasped. for moments the pair of hands rested on the bench between them, hid by a filmy fold of the rose gown. there was just nothing to be done about it that the singer lady could see, so she let matters rest as they were and gave her attention to trying to keep the riot in her own heart in reasonable bounds. however, it might have been a comfort to her to know that across the church, buck had captured five of pattie's sunburned fingers, and mr. petway was sitting so close to miss prissy that mr. pike came very near being irreverent enough to nudge the devout judy. then what a glorious time followed the solemn minutes in the church! the very twilight fell upon the entire wedding party still feasting and rejoicing, and it was under the light of the early stars that the guests had to wend their way home. mother mayberry was surrounded by a court of small boys, each one eager for her words of commendation on their more than exemplary conduct and she smiled and joked them as they escorted her to her door-step. cindy had gone on ahead and a light shone from the kitchen window, which was answered by flashes all along and across the road as the various households settled down to the business of recovering sufficient equilibrium to begin the conduct of the ordinary affairs of daily life at the morrow sun-up. "sit down here on the steps just a minute," pleaded the doctor with trepidation in his voice, for the rose lady had found the strength of mind to reprove him for their conduct in church by ignoring him utterly at the wedding feast, even going to the point of partaking of her supper in the overwhelmed company of sam mosbey, who not for the life of him could have told from whence came the courage to ask for such a compliment, and the result of which had been to send him back later to the table in a half-famished condition; he not having been able to feast the eyes and the inner man at the same time. "can i trust you?" she demanded of the doctor in a very small and reproving voice. "if that is a condition--yes," he reluctantly consented, as he looked up at her in the starlight. "thank you--you were very grand," she said after she had settled herself in what she decided to be an uncompromising distance from him. "you really graced the occasion." "miss wingate," he said slowly, and he turned his head so that only his profile showed against the dusk of the wistaria vine, "you wouldn't really be cruel to a country boy with his heart on his sleeve and only his pride to protect it, would you?" "i suppose it was unkind, for he was so hungry and couldn't seem to eat at all; but i saw mrs. pike giving him a glorious supper later, so please don't worry over him." which answer was delivered in a meek tone of voice that it was difficult to hold to its ingenuous note. the doctor ignored this feint and went on with the most exquisite gentleness in his lovely voice that somehow brought her heart into her throat, and without knowing it she edged an inch or two closer to him and her hand made an involuntary movement toward his that rested on the step near her, but which she managed to stop in time. "you realize, do you not, dear lady, that your friendliness to--to us all, commands my intensest loyalty? you'll just promise to remember always that i do understand and go on being happy with us, won't you--us country folks of providence road?" the note of pride in his voice was struck with no uncertain sound. "oh, but it's you that don't--don't--" the singer lady was about to commit herself most dreadfully by her exclamation in the low dove notes that alone had no trace of the disastrous burr, when mother mayberry stepped out of the hall door and came and seated herself beside them. "well, of course, i know the bible do say that they won't be no marriage or giving in marriage in the hereafter, but i do declare we all might miss such infairs as these, even in heaven," she observed jovially. "didn't everybody look nice and act nice? course it was just country doings to you, honey-bird, but i know you enjoyed it some even if it were." like all sympathetic natures mother mayberry fell with ease into the current of any thought, and the young doctor reached out and took her hand into his with quick appreciation of the fact. "it was so very lovely that it made me--made me want--" the daring with which the singer lady had begun her defiant remark gave out in the middle and she had to let it trail weakly. "well, i hope it made mr. petway want prissy bad enough to ask her, along about moon-up," said mother mayberry in a practical tone of voice. "seems like i hear they voices; and if he is over there i don't see how he can get out of co'ting some. it's just in the air to-night--and we'd better all be a-going to bed so as to get up early to start off. tom mayberry, seems to me as i remember it, you looked much less plain favored to-day than common. did you have on some new clothes? and ain't you a-going to pass a compliment on elinory and me, both with new frocks wored to please you?" the doctor laughed and as they all rose together he still held his mother's hand in his and instead of an answer he bent and kissed it with a most distinctly foreign-acquired grace. "that's honey-fuzzle again, tom mayberry, if not in words, in acts," she exclaimed with a delighted laugh. "but pass it along to elinory if only to keep her from feeling lonesome. let him kiss your hand, child, he ain't nothing but a country bumpkin that can't talk complimentary to save his life. now, go get your bucket of water, sonny, and don't let in the cat!" chapter viii the nest on providence nob "why, honey-bird; troubles ain't nothing but tight, ugly little buds the lord are a-going to flower out for us all, in his good time; maybe not until in his kingdom. i hold that fact in my heart always," said mother mayberry as she looked down over her glasses at the singer lady sitting on the top step at her feet. "i know you do," answered miss wingate with a new huskiness rather than the burr in her voice, which made mother look at her quickly before she drew another thread through her needle. "but i was just thinking about mrs. bostick and wishing--oh! i wish we could in some way bring her son back to her before it is too late. yesterday afternoon when i started home she drew me down and asked me if when--when i went out into the world again i would look for him and help him. is there nothing that can be done about it?" "i reckon not, child," answered mother mayberry gently. "if will was to come back now it would be just to tear up her heart some more. last night, when i was a-settling of her for bed, i began to talk about the other five children she have buried under god's green grass, each in a different county, as they moved from place to place. i just collected them little graves together and tried to fill her heart with 'em, and when i left she was asleep with a smile on her face i ain't seen for a year. it's as i say--a buried baby are a trouble bud that's a-going to flower out in eternity for a woman. i'll find a lone blossom and she a little bunch. i'm praying in my heart that will's a stunted plant that'll bloom late, but in time to be sheathed in with the rest. but bless your sweet feeling-heart, child, and let's keep the smile on our faces for her comfort! woman must bend and not break under a sorrow load. take some of them calcanthuses to her when you go down for one of them foreign junkets and ask her to tell you about them little folks of her'n. start her on the little girl that favored the deacon and cut off all his forelock with the scissors while he were asleep, so he 'most made the congregation over at twin creeks disgrace theyselves with laughing at his shorn plight the next sunday. i've got to turn around 'fore sundown for i've got 'most a day's work to straighten out the hen house and settle the ruckus about nests. the whole sisterhood of 'em have tooken a notion to lay in the same barrel and have to be persuaded some. now run on so as to be back as early as you can before tom comes." and as mother mayberry spoke, she began to gather together her sewing, preparatory to a sally into the world of her feathered folk. but before she had watched the singer lady out of sight down the road, with her spray of brown blossoms in her one hand and her garden hat in the other, she espied young eliza rapidly approaching from up the road and there was excitement in every movement of her slim, little body and in every swish of her short calico skirts, as well as in the way her long pigtail swung out behind. "mother mayberry," she exclaimed, as she sank breathless on the top step, "they is a awful thing happened! aunt prissy was 'most disgraced 'bout a box of soap and bud and 'lias and henny might have got killed and buck too, because he sent one to pattie and wrote what was on the card. i've been so scared i am in the trembles now, but you said always pray to the lord and i did it while i was a-running down to the store to beg mr. petway not to make her jump off from bee rock on the nob like the lady mis' peavey read about in the paper did because the man wouldn't marry her that she was in love with. fast as i were a-running i reckon the lord made out what i said and beat me to him and told him--" "'liza, 'liza, honey, stop this minute and tell me what you are a-talking about," demanded mother mayberry, with almost as much excitement in her voice as was trembling in that of the small talking machine at her feet. "now begin at the beginning and tell me just what is the matter with your aunt prissy?" "nothing now," answered eliza, taking a fresh breath, "she's a-going to marry mr. petway, only she won't know it until to-night and i've promised him not to tell her." "what?" was all that mother mayberry managed to demand from the depths of her astonishment as she sank back in her rocking-chair and regarded eliza with positive awe. "yes'um, and it were all about them two beautiful boxes of sweet-smelling soap that he bought in town and have had in the store window for a week. buck bought one to send to pattie for a birthday present and he wrote, 'when this you see, remember me,' on a card and put it in the box. i carried it over to her for him and mr. hoover jest laughed, and said buck meant pattie didn't keep her face clean. but mis' hoover hugged pattie and whispered something to her and told mr. hoover to shut up and go see how many children he could get to come in and be washed up for dinner. buck was a-waiting for me around the corner of the store and when i told him how pleased mis' hoover and pattie were, he--" "but wait a minute, 'liza," interrupted mother mayberry with a laugh, "them love jinks twixt buck and pattie is most interesting, but i'm waiting to hear about your aunt prissy and mr. petway. it's liable to be serious when two folks as old as they is--but go on with your tale, honey." "well, buck wrote two of them beautiful 'remember me' verses on nice pieces of white paper, in them curlycues the deacon taught him, before he got one to suit him and he left one on the counter, right by the cheese box. while we was gone, along come 'lias and bud and henny and disgraced aunt prissy." "why, what did them scamps do?" demanded mother mayberry, looking over her glasses in some perturbation as the end of the involved narration began to dawn upon her. "they tooken the other box of soap outen the window and put the verse in it and carried it down to aunt prissy and told her mr. petway sent it to her. it was a joke they said, but they was good and skeered. i got home then and i seen her and maw laughing about it and aunt prissy was just as pink and pleased and loving looking as pattie were and maw was a-joking of her like mis' pratt--no, hoover--did pattie and all of a sudden i knewed it were them bad boys, 'cause i seen 'em laughing in a way i knows is badness. oh, then i was so skeered i couldn't swoller something in my throat 'cause i thought maybe aunt prissy would jump offen bee rock when she found she were so disgraced with mr. petway. i woulder done it myself, for i got right red in my own face thinking about it." and the blush that was a dawn of the eternal feminine again rose to the little bud-woman's face. "it were awful, eliza child, and i don't blame you for being mortified over it," said mother mayberry with a quick appreciation of the wound inflicted on the delicacy of the child, and the tale began to assume serious proportions in her mind as she thought of the probable result to the incipient affair between the elderly lovers that had been a subject of prayful hope to her for some time past. "what did you do?" "i prayed," answered eliza in a perfectly practical tone of voice, "and as i prayed i ran to mr. petway as fast as i could. he was filling molasses cans at the barrel when i got there and they wasn't nobody in the store, only i seen bud and henny peeping from behind the blacksmith shop and they was right white, they was so skeered by that time. then i told him all about it and begged him to let aunt prissy have the box of soap and think he sent it, so her feelings wouldn't get hurted. i told him i would give him my seventy-five cents from picking peas to pay for it and that aunt prissy cried so when her feelings was hurted, and she thought so much of him that she kept her frizzes rolled up all day when she hoped he might be coming that night to see her and got maw to bake tea-cakes to pass him out on the front porch and he might let her have just that one little box of soap." "what did he say, child?" asked mother mayberry in a voice that was positively weak from anxiety and suppressed mirth at eliza's own account of her management of the outraged lover. "he didn't say a thing, but he sat down on a cracker box and just hugged me and laughed until he cried all over my dress and i hugged back and laughed too, but i didn't know what at. then he told me that he didn't ever want aunt prissy to know about them bad boys' foolish joke 'cause he wanted to marry aunt prissy and didn't want her to find out that three young scallawags had to begin his co'ting for him." "did he say all that to you, 'liza honey, are you sure?" asked mother mayberry, beginning to beam with delight at the outcome of the horrible situation. "yes'm, he did, and i went out and brought bud and 'lias and henny in and he talked to 'em serious until 'lias cried and bud got choked trying not to. then he give them all a bottle of soda pop and they ain't never anybody a-going to tell anybody else about it. he made them boys cross they hearts and bodies not to. i didn't cross mine 'cause i knew i had to tell you, but i do it now." and eliza stood up and solemnly made the mystic sign, thus locking the barn door of her secret chambers after having quartered the troublesome steed of confidence on the ranges of mother mayberry's conscience. "well, 'liza, a secret oughter always be wrapped up tight and dropped down the well inside a person, and suppose you and me do it to this one. and, child, i want to tell you that you did the right thing all along this line, and it were the heavenly father you asked to help you out that put the right notion in your heart of what to do." "yes'm, i believe he did, and he got hold of mr. petway some too, to make him kind about wanting to marry aunt prissy. he are a-going to ask her to-night and i promised to keep paw outen the way for him, 'cause paw will get away from maw and come talk crops with him sometimes on the front porch. may i go out to the kitchen and get cindy to make a little chicken soup for mis' bostick now? i can't get her to eat much to-day." "yes, and welcome, sister pike," answered mother mayberry heartily, and she shook with laughter as the end of the blue calico skirt disappeared in the hall. "the little raven have actually begun to sprout cupid wings," she said to herself as she went around the corner of the house toward the doctor's office. "co'ting are a bombshell that explodes in the big road of life and look out who it hits," she further observed to herself as she paused to train up a shoot of the rambler over the office door. the doctor had just come from over the ridge, put up his horse and made his way through the kitchen and hall into his office where he found his mother sitting in his chair by the table. he smiled in a dejected way and seated himself opposite her, leaned his elbows on the table and dropped his chin into his hands. "now, what's your trouble, tom mayberry?" demanded his mother, as she gazed across at him with anxiety and tenderness striving in glance and tone. "you've been a-going around like a dropped-wing young rooster with a touch of malaria for a week. if it's just moon-gaps you can keep 'em and welcome, but if it's trouble, i claim my share, son." "i meant to tell you to-day, mother," he answered slowly. after a moment's silence he looked up and said steadily, "i've failed with miss wingate--and i'm too much of a coward to tell her. i feel sure now that she'll never be able to use her voice any more than she can in the speaking tones and she--she will never sing again." as he spoke he buried his face in his hands and his arms shook the table they rested upon. for a moment mother mayberry sat perfectly still and from the whispered words on her lips her son knew she was praying. "the lord's will be done," she said at last in her deep, quiet voice, and she laid one of her strong hands on her son's arm. "tell me about it, tom. you ain't done no operation yet." "yes, mother, i have," he answered quietly. "all the different laryngeal treatments she had tried under the greatest specialists. her one hope was to be built up to the point of standing a bloodless operation with the galvanic shock. i have tried three times in the last week to release the muscles and start life in the nerves that control the vocal chords. in the two other cases with which i have succeeded the response was immediate after the first operation. now i dare not risk another tear of the muscles. one reason i didn't tell her is that i had to count on her losing the fear that she wouldn't gain the control. you know she thinks they have been only preliminary treatments and you have heard her laugh as i held her white throat in my hands. she believes completely in the outcome. god, to think i have failed her--her!" "yes, tom, he knows--and mother understands," his mother answered gently. "and she must be told right away," said the doctor as he rose and walked to the window. "it is only fair. shall i or you tell her? choose, mother, what will be best for her! but can she stand it?" "son," said his mother, as she also rose and stood facing him with the late afternoon sun falling straight into her face which, lit by the light without and a fire within, shone with a wonderful radiance. "son, don't you know these old harpeth hills have looked down in they day on many a woman open her arms, take a burden to her heart and start on a long journey up to the master's everlasting hills? sometimes it have been disgrace, or a lifelong loneliness, or her man hunted out into the night by the law. i have laid still-born children into my sisters' arms, and i've washed the blood from the wounds in women's murdered sons, but i ain't never seen no woman deny her lord yet and i don't look to see this little sister of my heart refuse her cup. i'll tell her, for it's my part--but tom mayberry, see that you stand to her when your time comes, as it surely will." "don't you know, mother, that i would lay down my life to do the least thing for her?" he asked, with the suffering drawing his young face into stern, hard lines. "but to do the one thing for her i might have done has been denied me," he added bitterly. "no, tom, there's one thing left to you to give her. sympathy is god's box of precious ointment and see that you break yours over her heart this day. now, i'm a-going down providence road to meet her and i know the lord will help me to the right words when the time comes. i leave his blessing with you, boy!" and she turned and left him with his softened eyes looking up into her calm face. then for a long hour mother mayberry worked quietly among her dependent feather folk and as she worked, her gentle face had its brooding mother-look and her lips moved as she comforted and fortified herself with snatches of prayer for the journey through the deep waters, on which she was to lead this child of her affection. after the last tangle had been straightened out, each brood settled in comfortable quarters and the cause of all quarrels arbitrated, she walked to the front gate and stood looking down the road. and up from the deacon's house came a little procession that made her smile with a sob clutching at her heart. the singer lady had taken teether from the arms of his mother, who stood happily exchanging the topics of the times with the hoover bride, who had not had thus far sufficient opportunity to expatiate on quite all the adventures of the wedding journey and kept on hand still a small store of happenings to recount to her sympathetic neighbors as they found time and opportunity. the rosy rollicking youngster she had perched on her shoulder and held him steadily thus exalted by his pair of sturdy, milk-fed legs. martin luther, as usual, clung to her skirts, susie pike danced on before her and the deacon was walking slowly along at her side, carefully carrying the rose-garden of a hat in both his hands. he was looking up at her with his gentle face abeam with pleasure and mother mayberry could hear, as they came near, that she was humming to him as he lined out some quaint, early-church words to her. it was a never failing source of delight to the old patriarch to have her thus fit motives from the world's great music to the old, pioneer hymns. "sister mayberry," he exclaimed with exultation in his old face, "i never thought to hear in this world these words of my brother, charles wesley, sung to such heavenly strains as my young sister has put them this day. never before, i feel, have they had fit rendition. while i line the verse, sing them again to sister mayberry, child, that her ears may be rejoiced with mine." and mother mayberry caught at the top of the gate as the girl slipped the nodding baby down into her arms and in her wonderful muted voice hummed the grail motif while the deacon raised his thin old hands and lined out the "hail, holy, holy, holy lord, whom one in three we know--" on through its verses to its final invocation of the "supreme, essential one, adored in co-eternal three." "the lord bless you, child, and make his sun to shine upon you," he said as the last note died away, while teether chuckled and nozzled at mother mayberry's shoulder. "i must go on back to sit with mrs. bostick and will deposit this treasure with sister mayberry," he added with a smile as he handed the bouquet-hat over the gate. "susie, can't you take teether over to your aunt prissy and tell her that mother says please give him his milk right away, for it's past time, and she will come in a few minutes?" asked the singer lady, as she handed the reluctant baby to the small girl at her side. "milk, thank ma'am, please," demanded martin luther quickly, having no intention of being left out of any lactic deal. "run ask cindy," answered mother mayberry, as she started him up the front walk, and came on more slowly with miss wingate at her side. in her soul she was realizing fully the influence the lovely woman had thrown over the hearts of the simple providence folk and the greatness of her own nature was making her understand something of the loss to those of the outer world whom the great singer would be no longer able to call within the spell of her wonderful voice. "honey-bird," she said gently, as she drew the girl to the end of the porch where the wistaria vine, a whispering maple and the crimson rambler shut them in from the eyes of all the world save the spirit of providence nob, which brooded down over them in a wisp of cloud across its sun-reddened top, "here's the place and time and heart strength to tell you that your lord have laid the hand of affliction on you heavy and have tooken back from you the beautiful voice he gave you to use for a time. i'm a-praying for you to be able to say his will be done." for one instant the singer woman went white to the eyes and swayed back against the vine, then she asked huskily, "did he say so?" "yes," answered the doctor's mother gently with her deep eyes looking into the girl's very soul. "them treatments was operations and they is all he dares to make for fear of your losing the speaking voice what you have got so beautiful. if they is any love and pity in my heart after i have stopped giving it to you i'm going to pour some out on tom mayberry, for when a man's got to look sorrow in the eyes he goes blind and don't know what way to turn, lessen a woman leads him. but he ain't neither here or there and--" "where is he?" demanded miss wingate in her soft dove notes as she looked the tragedy-stricken young doctor's mother straight in the face, with her dark eyes completely unveiling her heart, woman to woman. "i--i want him!" "what's left of him is in the office, and you are welcome to the pieces," answered his mother, a comprehensive joy rising above the sorrow in her eyes. "i reckon i can trust him with you, but if you need any help, call me," she added, as the singer girl fled down the steps and around to the office wing. and they neither one of them ever knew how it really happened, though she insisted on accusing herself and he claimed always the entire blame, but he had been sitting where his mother had left him for an hour or more with his face in his hands when he suddenly found himself clasped in soft arms and his eyes pressed close against a bare white throat and a most wonderful dove voice was murmuring happy, comforting little words that fell down like jewels into his very heart of hearts. and his own strong arms held very close a palpitating, cajoling, flower of a woman, who was wooing for smiles and dimpling with raptures. "i don't care, i don't, and please don't you!" she pleaded with her lips against his black forelock. "i can't help caring! the one thing i asked of all my years of hard work was to give the music back to you--" and again he buried his face in the soft lace at her throat. "you say, do you, that i'll never sing again?" she asked quickly, and as she spoke she lifted his head in her hands and waited an instant for the smothered groan with which he answered her. "now, listen," she answered him in a voice fairly a-tremble with joyous passion and as she spoke she laid his ear close over her heart and held him so an instant. "does it matter that only you will ever hear the song, dear?" she whispered, then slipped out of his arms and across to the other side of the table before he could detain her. "no, tom mayberry," she said as he reached for her, and her tone was so positive that he stopped with his arms in the air and let them sink slowly to his side. "we'll have this question out right here and if i have trouble with you i'll--call your mother," and she laughed as she shook away a tear. "please!" he pleaded and his face was both so radiant and so worn that she had to harden her heart against him to be able to hold herself in hand for what she wanted to say to him. "no," she answered determinedly, "and you must listen to every word i say, for i am getting frightened already and may have to stop." "i want to talk some myself," he said with the very first smile coming into his grave young eyes. "i want to tell you that i can't help loving you, and have ever since i first saw you, but that it won't do at all for you to marry--marry a providence country bumpkin with nothing but a doctoring head on his shoulders. i want you to understand that--" "please don't refuse me this way before i've ever asked you," she said with a trace of the grand dame hauteur in her manner and voice that he had never seen before. "i think--i think very suddenly i have come to realize, doctor mayberry, that--that--oh, i'm very frightened, but i must say it! i wouldn't blame you or your mother for not wanting me at all. i--i somehow, i don't seem very great--or real to myself here in providence. my training has been all to one end--useless now--and i'm all unlessoned and unlearned in the real things of life. i seem to feel that the hot theaters and the crowds that have looked at me and--am i what she has a right to demand in your wife?" and, with a proud little gesture, she laid her case in his hands. and though she had not expected anything dramatic from him in the way of refutation of her speech, she was totally unprepared for the wonderful, absolute silence that met her heroics. he stood and looked her full in the eyes with a calm radiance in his face that reminded her of the dawn-light she had seen that morning come over providence nob and his deep smile gave a young prophet look to his austere mouth. and as she gazed at him she drew timidly nearer, even around the corner of the table. "your work is so wonderful--and real--and you ought to have a wife who--" by this time she had got much nearer and her voice trailed off into uncertainty. and still he stood perfectly still and looked at her. "she loves me and i love her, so that, do you think, i might--i might learn? cindy says i'm a wonder--and remember the custards," she finished from somewhere in the region of his collar. "now that we've both refused each other do you suppose we can go on and be happy?" she laughed softly from under his chin. and the young doctor held her very close and never answered a word she said. the strain on him had been very great and he was more shaken than he wanted her to see. but from the depths of her heart she understood and pressed closer to him as she gave him a long silence in which to recover himself. twilight was coming in the windows and a fragrant night breeze was ruffling her hair against his cheek before she stirred in his arms. "we've got to ask--to ask mother before--before," she was venturing to suggest in the smallest of voices in which was both mirth and tenderness, when a low laugh answered her from the doorway. "oh, no you don't," said mother mayberry, as she beamed upon them with the most manifest joy. "i had done picked you out before you had been here more'n a week, honey-bird. you can have him and welcome if you can put up with him. he's like mis' peavey always says of her own jam; 'plenty of it such as it is and good enough what they is of it.' a real slow-horse love can be rid far and long at a steady gate. he ain't pretty, but middling smart." and the handsome young doctor's mother eyed him with a well-assumed tolerance covering her positive rapture. "are you sure, sure you're not disappointed about--about that peony-girl?" demanded the singer lady, as she came into the circle of mother mayberry's arm and nozzled her little nose under the white lawn tie. "le'me see," answered mother mayberry in a puzzled tone of voice. "i seem to understand you, but not to know what you are talking about." "the girl to whom he gave the graduating bouquet with mrs. peavey's peony in it," she whispered, but not so low that the doctor, who had come over and put a long arm around them both, couldn't hear. "well," answered mother mayberry in a judicial tone of voice as she bestowed a quizzical glance on the doctor, who blushed to the roots of his hair at this revelation of the fact of his mother's indulgence in personal reminiscence, "i reckon miss alford'll be mighty disappointed to lose him, but i don't know nothing about her riz biscuits. happiness and good cooking lie like peas in a pod in a man's life and i reckon i'll have to give tom mayberry, prize, to you." "mother!" exclaimed the doctor. "thank you," murmured miss wingate with a wicked glance at him from his mother's shoulder that brought a hurried embrace down upon them both. "children," said mother mayberry, as she suddenly reached put her strong arms and took them both close to her breast, "looks like the lord sometimes hatches out two birds in far apart nests just to give 'em wing-strength to fly acrost river and hill to find each other. you both kinder wandered foreign some 'fore you sighted one another, but now you can begin to build your own nest right away, and i offers my heart as a bush on providence nob to put it in." chapter ix the little harpeth woman of many sorrows "this here are a curious spell of weather," remarked mother mayberry, as she paused beside the singer lady who was holding martin luther up on the broad window-sill, and with him was looking disconsolately down the road. "june's gone to acting like a woman with nerves that cries just because she can. i'm glad all the chicken babies are feathered out and can shed rain. them little hoosier pullets have already sprouted tail feathers. they ain't a one of 'em a-going into the skillet no matter how hungry tom mayberry looks after 'em. if i don't hold you and cindy back from spoiling him with chicken-fixings three times a day he'll begin to show pin feathers hisself in no time." "he likes chicken better than anything else," murmured miss wingate as she buried a blush in martin luther's topknot. "well, wanting ain't always a reason for being gave to," said the doctor's mother with a chuckle as she admired the side view of the blush. "but, seeing that he about half feeds hisself by looking at me and you at the table, i reckon i'll have to let him have two chickens a day to keep up his strength. honey-fuzzle are a mighty satisfying diet, though light, for a growed man. reckon we can persuade him to try a couple of slices of old ham onct in a while so as to give a few broilers time to get legs long enough to fry?" "we can try," answered the singer lady in a doubtful tone of voice, for the doctor's penchant for young chicken was very decided. "dearie me, it do beat all how some plans of life fall down in the oven," said the doctor's mother, as she eyed miss wingate with her most quizzical smile quirking up the corners of her humorous mouth. "here i put myself to all manner of troubles to go out into the big world to get a real managing wife for tom mayberry and i might just as well have set cross-handed and waited for susie pike or little bettie to grow up to the spoiling of him. i thought seeing that you'd been raised with a silver spoon in your mouth and handed life on a fringed napkin, so to speak, you would make him stand around some, but for all i can see you're going to make another providence wife. ain't you got none of the suffering-women new notions at all?" "i can't help it," answered the singer lady, ducking her head behind martin luther again, but smiling up out of the corners of her eyes. "are you just going to drop over into being a poor, down-trodden, miserable, man-bossed harpeth hill's wife, without trying a single new-fashioned husband remedy on him, with so many receipts for managing 'em being written down by ladies all over the world, mostly single ones?" demanded mother mayberry, fairly bubbling over with glee at the singer lady's abashment. "yes, i am," answered miss wingate sturdily. "i want him to have just what he wants." "this are worse and more of it," exclaimed the doctor's delighted mother. "you are got a wrong notion, child! marriage ain't no slow, plow-team business these days; it's hitched at opposite ends and pulling both ways for dear life. don't you even hope you will be; able to think up no kind of tantrums to keep tom mayberry from being happy?" "i don't want to," laughed the infatuated bride prospective. "then i reckon i'll have to give up and let you settle down into being one of these here regular old-fashioned, primping-for-a-man, dinner-on-the-table-at-the-horn-blow, hanging-over-the-front-gate-waiting kind of wives. i thought i'd caught a high-faluting bird of paradise for him and you ain't a thing in the world but a meadow dove. but there comes bettie scooting through the rain with little hoover under her shawl. providence folks have got duck blood, all of 'em, and the more it pours out they paddles. come in and shake your feathers, bettie." "howdy all," exclaimed the rosy mrs. hoover. "this here rain on the corn is money in everybody's pocket. i just stopped in to show you this pink flowered shirt-waist i have done finished for miss prissy pike. ain't it stylish?" "it surely are, bettie!" exclaimed mother mayberry. "i'm so glad you got it pink." "and it don't run neither. i tried it," said the proud designer of the admired garment. "that's a good sign for the wedding. you can rub happiness that's fast dyed through any kinder worry suds and it'll come out with the color left. any news along the road?" asked mother mayberry, as she handled the rosy blouse with careful hands. "well, henny turner says that squire tutt are in bed covered up head and ears with the quilts, but 'lias says that it are just 'cause mis' tutt have got a happy spell on her and have been exorting of him. she called all three of them boys in, bud and henny and 'lias, and made 'em learn a bible verse a-piece, and i was grateful to her for her interest, but the squire cussed so to 'em while she went to get 'em a cake that i'm afraid the lesson were spoiled for the chaps." "i don't reckon it were, bettie. good salts down any day, while evil don't ever keep long. but i do wish we could get the squire and mis' tutt to be a little more peaceably with one another. it downright grieves me to have 'em so spited here in they old age." and mother mayberry's eyes took on a regretful look and she peered over her glasses at the happy bride. on her buoyant heart she ever carried the welfare of every soul in providence and the crabbed old couple down the road was a constant source of trouble to her. "you shan't worry over 'em, mis' mayberry," answered pretty bettie quickly, "you get every providence trouble landed right on your shoulders as soon as one comes. you don't get a chance to do nothing but deal out ease to other people's bodies and souls, too." "well, a cup of cold water held to other folks' mouths is a mighty good way to quench your own thirst, bettie child, and i'm glad if it are gave to me to label out the blessing of ease. but have you been in to the deacon's this morning?" "no'm, i'm a-going to stop as i go along home," answered bettie. "i have seed the little raven paddling back and forth, so i guess they is all right. i must hurry on now, for i see miss prissy at the window looking for me. ain't my baby a-growing?" she asked, as she picked little hoover off of the floor and again enveloped the bobbing head under her own shawl. "yes, it are, and mr. hoover's a-smiling hisself fat by the day, child," answered mother mayberry with a smile. "do you pass on the word to elinory here that providence husbands wear good, both warp and woof?" "that they do, miss elinory, and i never seed nothing like 'em in my travels," called back the bride from the door, as she reefed in her skirts and sailed out in the downpour. "well, your mind oughter be satisfied, child, for bettie muster seen a good deal of the world in that three weeks' bridal trip in the farm wagon," laughed mother mayberry at the singer lady by the window. "now i'm a-going to swim out to gather eggs and i'll be back if i don't drown." with which she left the girl and the tot to resume their watch down the road for a horse and rider due in not over two hours' time. and indeed the last of old june's days seemed in danger of dripping away from her in tears of farewell. rain clouds hung low over harpeth hills and drifted down to the very top of providence nob. a steady downpour had begun in the night and held on into the day and seemed to increase in volume as the hours wore away. the tall maples were standing depressed-boughed and dripping and the poplar leaves hung sodden and wet, refusing a glimpse of their silver lining. a row of bleeding-hearts down the walk were turning faint pink and drooping to the ground, while every rose in the yard was shattered and wasted away. "rain, rain!" wailed martin luther under his breath, as he pressed his cheek to the window-pane and looked without interest at a forlorn rooster huddled with a couple of hens under the snowball bush. "don't you want a cake and some milk?" asked the singer lady, as she gave him a comforting hug and essayed consolation by the offer of a material distraction. "no milk, no cake; l-i-z-a, thank ma'am, please," he sobbed a disconsolate demand for what he considered a good substitute sunbeam. "there she comes now, darling," exclaimed the singer lady, with as much pleasure coming into her face as lit the doleful cherub's at her side. and from the pike front door there had issued a small figure, also enveloped in an old shawl, which made its way across the puddles with splashing, bare feet. she had her covered dish under her arm and a bucket dangled from one hand. she answered martin luther's hail with a flash of her white teeth and sped across the front porch. and in the course of just ten minutes the experienced young pacifier had established the small boy as driver to mother mayberry's large rocking-chair, mounted him on the foot of the bed with snapping switch to crack and thus secured a two-hour reign of peace for his elders. "miss elinory," she said, as she came and stood close to the singer lady seated in the deep window, "i'm mighty glad you got doctor tom; and it were fair to the other lady, too. he couldn't help loving you best, 'cause you are got a sick throat and she ain't. do you reckon she'll be satisfied to take sam mosbey when she comes again? i'm sorry for her." "so am i, eliza," laughed miss wingate softly, as the rose blush stole up over her cheeks, "but i don't believe she'll need mr. mosbey. don't you suppose she--that--is--there must be some one down in the city whom she likes a lot." "yes'm, i reckon they is. then i'll just take sam myself when i grow up if nobody else wants him," answered eliza comfortably. "i'm sorry to be glad that your throat didn't get well, but mis' peavey says that you never in the world woulder tooken doctor tom if you coulder gone away and made money singing to people. i don't know what me or him or mother mayberry woulder done without you, but we couldn'ter paid you much to stay. you won't never go now, will you?" "never," answered the singer lady, as she drew the little ingenue close to her side. "and let me whisper something to you, eliza--i never--would--have--gone--any--way. i love you too much, you and mother mayberry--and doctor tom." "and mis' bostick and deacon," exclaimed the loyal young raven. "miss elinory, i get so scared about mis' bostick right here," she added, laying her hand on her little throat. "she won't eat nothing and she can't talk to me to-day. maw and mis' nath mosbey are there now and waiting for doctor tom to come back. they said not to tell mother mayberry until the rain held up some, but they want her, too. can't loving people do nothing for 'em, miss elinory?" and with big, wistful eyes the tiny woman put the question, which has agonized hearts down the ages. "oh, darling, the--loving itself helps," answered the singer lady quickly with the mist over her eyes. "i believe it do," answered eliza thoughtfully. "i hold the deacon's other hand when he sets by mis' bostick! he wants me, and she smiles at us both. i don't like to leave 'em for one single minute. i have to wait now for cindy to get the dinner done, but then i'm a-going to run. why, there goes mother mayberry outen the gate under a umbrella! and aunt prissy asked me to get a spool of number fifty thread from her to sew some lace on a petticoat mis' hoover have done finished for her. if i was to go to get married i'd make some things for my husband, too, and not so much for myself. i wouldn't want so many skirts unless i knewed he had enough shirts." "but, eliza," remonstrated miss wingate, slightly shocked at this rather original idea of providing a groom with a trousseau, "perhaps he would rather get things for himself." "no'm, he wouldn't," answered eliza positively. "i ain't a-going to say anything to aunt prissy about it 'cause you never can tell what will hurt her feelings, but i want you to get mis' hoover to show you how and make three nice shirts for doctor tom, so you can wash one while he wears the other and keep one put away for sunday. that is the way maw does for paw and all the other folks on the road does the same for they men. mis' peavey can show you how to iron them nice, for she does the deacon's for me and mother mayberry is too busy to bother with such things 'count of always having to go to sick folks even over to the other side of the nob. cindy don't starch good. you'll do for doctor tom nice, now you've got him, won't you?" "yes, eliza, i will," answered the singer lady meekly, as this prevision of the life domestic rose up and menaced her. she even had a queer little thrill of pleasure at the thought of performing such superhuman tasks for what was to be her individual responsibility among providence men along the road. the certainty that she would never be allowed to perform such offices at machine and tub actually depressed her, for the thought had brought a primitive sense of possession that she was loath to dismiss; the passion for service to love being an instinct that sways the great lady and her country sister alike. "do you think he--will let me?" she asked of her admonisher. "just go on and do it and don't ask him," was the practical answer. "there he comes now leading his horse and he have been to see mis' bostick. i can get the dinner and run on to meet him and hear how he thinks she are," she exclaimed as she seized her dish and bucket and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. and a few minutes later, as doctor mayberry was unsaddling his horse in the barn a lithe figure enveloped as to head and shoulders in one of cindy's kitchen aprons darted under the dripping eaves and stood breathless and laughing in the wide door. "i saw you come up the road," said the singer lady, as she divested herself of the gingham garment, "and i was dying to get out in the rain, much to cindy's horror. you are late." "not much," answered the young doctor, slipping out of his rain coat and coming over to stand beside her in the door. "what have you been doing all morning?" "i've been being--being lectured," she answered, as she looked up in his face with dancing dark eyes. "who did it to you?" he asked, taking her fingers into his and drawing her farther back from the splash of the rain drops. "your mother and then eliza pike," she answered with a low laugh. "eliza is afraid i won't 'do for you' in proper providence style and i'm very humble and--i--i want to learn. she thinks i ought to begin on some--some shirts for you right now and i'm going to. what color do you prefer?" "horrors!" exclaimed the doctor, positively blushing at the thought of the very lovely lady engaged in such a clothing mission. "i knew you wouldn't have any confidence in them," answered miss wingate mournfully, "and i haven't myself, but still i was willing to try." "oh, yes, i have!" the young doctor hastened to exclaim. "better make them suitable for traveling, for i've got marching orders in the noon mail. are you ready to start to italy on short notice and then on to india?" "what?" demanded the singer lady with alarmed astonishment. "yes," answered the young doctor coolly. "the commission writes that my reports on pellagra down here are complete enough now for them to send some chap down to continue them, while i go on to southern italy for a study of similar conditions there and then on to india for a still more exhaustive examination. the government is determined to stamp this scourge out before it gets a hold, and it's work to put out the fire before it spreads. better hurry the shirts and pack up your own fluff." "but i'm not going a step or a wave," answered the singer girl defiantly. "i'm too busy here now. i don't ever intend to leave mother as long as i live. i don't see how you can even suggest such a thing to me." "do you know what leaving mother is like?" asked the young doctor, as he looked down on her with tenderness in his gray eyes and mother mayberry's own quizzical smile on his lips. "it's like going to sleep at night with a last look at providence nob,--you wake up in the morning and find it more there than ever. she was there on sunny mornings over in berlin and there on gray days in london and i had her on long hard hospital nights in new york. just come with me on this trip and i promise she and old harpeth will be here when we get back. please!" "i don't know," answered miss wingate in a small voice as she rubbed her cheek against the arm of his coat. "i'm in love with tom mayberry of providence road. i don't know that i want to go traveling with a distinguished physician on an important government mission and attend legation dinners and banquets and--i don't want to leave my mother," and there was a real catch in the laugh she smothered in his coat sleeve. "dearie girl," he exclaimed, looking down with delight at a small section of blush left visible against the rough blue serge of his coat, "you and mother are--" "sakes, you folks, i wish you'd try to listen when you are called at!" came in a sharp voice as mrs. peavey looked down upon them from over the wall near the barn. "one of them foolish indiany chickens are stretched out kicking most drowned in a puddle right by the barn door, and there you both stand doing nothing for it. tom mayberry, pick it up this minute and give it to me! i'm a-going to put it behind my stove until mis' mayberry comes home. i've got some feeling for her love of chickens, _i_ have." "oh, i didn't see it!" exclaimed miss wingate, in an agony of regret. "the dear little thing! give it to me and i'll take care of it." "fiddlesticks! chickens ain't 'dear little things,' and i wouldn't trust neither one of you to take care of a flea of mine, with your philandering. hand it here to me, tom mayberry, like i tell you!" and the doctor hastened to pick up the little gasping bunch of drenched feathers, which mrs. peavey tucked in the corner of her shawl "did you all hear that a car busted into another one down in the city day before yesterday and throwed the driver and broke a lady's arm and cut a baby's leg shameful? it was in the morning paper i saw down to the store; and a wind storm blew off a man's roof too." "i haven't read the paper yet," answered the singer lady in the subdued voice she always used in addressing mother mayberry's pessimistic neighbor. "well, you oughter take interest in accidents if you are a-going to be a doctor's wife. it'll be all in the family then and you can hear it all straight and maybe see some folks mended," answered mrs. peavey, and she failed to notice miss wingate's horrified expression at such a prospect. "how's mis' bostick, tom? that is, how do your mother say she are, for i couldn't trust your notion in such a case as her'n." "i think mother feels worried over her to-day," answered the doctor gently, with not a trace of offense at his neighbor's outspoken question. "her heart is very weak and it is impossible to stimulate her further. mother is up there now and i'll come tell you what she says when she comes home to dinner." "well, i'm always thankful for news, bad as it mostly are," answered mrs. peavey in gloomy gratitude for his offer of a report from mother mayberry. "you all had better go on in the house now and put miss elinory's wet feet in the stove, for they won't be no use in her dying on mis' mayberry's hands with pneumony at this busy time of the year. them slippers is too foolish to look at." with which the shawled head disappeared from the top of the wall. "do you know, i had a strange dream last night," said the singer lady, as the doctor hung up his bridle and shut the feed-room door preparatory to following out mrs. peavey's injunction as to carrying miss wingate away to be dry shod. "i dreamed that i was singing to mrs. bostick and the deacon, really singing, and just as it rose clear and strong mrs. peavey called to me to 'shut up' and it stopped so suddenly that i waked up--and the strange part of it is that i heard, really heard, i thought, my own voice die away in an echo up in the eaves. for a second i seemed awake and listening--and it was lovely--lovely!" "dear," said the doctor, as he took her hand in his and held it against his breast, "i would give all life has to offer me to get it back for you. i will hope against hope! i haven't written doctor stein yet. i can't make myself write. perhaps we will find some one on this trip who has some theory or treatment or something to offer. i've been praying that help will come!" "would you--like me any better if i had it back?" she asked with a happy little laugh as she laid her cheek against their clasped hands. "would you want l'eleonore more than you do just plain elinor wingate, care mother mayberry, providence, tennessee?" "i'm going to carry you in the house so you can put on dry stockings," answered the doctor with a spark in his gray eyes that scorned her question, and without any discussion he picked her up, strode through the rain with her and deposited her in the kitchen door. and over by the long window they found mother mayberry standing with her hand on cindy's shoulder, who sat with her head bowed in her apron sobbing quietly, while martin luther stood wide-eyed and questioning, with his little hand clutching mother's skirts. "children," said mother quietly as she came and stood beside them in the doorway, while martin luther nestled up to doctor tom, "i've come down the road to tell you that it are all over up at the deacon's. it were very beautiful, for mis' bostick just give us a smile and went to meet her lord with the love of us all a-shining on her face. we didn't hardly sense it at first, for she had just spoke to 'liza, and the deacon were over by the window. i ain't got no tears to shed for her and deacon are so stunned he don't need 'em yet." "mother," exclaimed the doctor, as he took her hand in his, while the singer lady crept close and rested against her strong shoulder. "yes, son," answered his mother gently, "it come so sudden i couldn't even send for you, but go on up there now and see what you can do for deacon. he'll want you for the comfort of your presence, you and 'liza." "and eliza!" exclaimed miss wingate with a sob, "it'll break her little heart." "they never was such a child as 'liza pike in the world," said mother mayberry softly and for the first time a film of tears spread over her eyes. "she have never said a word, but just stands pressed up close with her arm 'round the deacon's shoulders as he sits with his good book acrost his knees. she give one little moan when she understood, but she ain't made a mite of child-fuss, just shed her baby tears like a woman growed to sorrow. her little bucket and dish of dinner is a-setting cold on the table and a little draggled rose she had brung in not a hour back is still in mis' bostick's fingers, and the other one pinned on the deacon's coat. when judy and betty wanted to begin to fix things she understood without a word, led the deacon out into the hall and are just a-standing there a-keeping him up in his daze by the courage in her own loving little heart. the good lord bless and keep the child! now, go on, tom, and see what you can do! yes, cindy will run right over and tell mis' peavey. and stop in and see squire tutt, for henny turner says he are down to-day and a-asking for you. come into my room, honey-bird, i've got to look for something." "somehow, i don't feel about dying as lot of folks do," she remarked to the singer lady, as she stood in front of the tall old chest of drawers in her own room a few minutes later. "death ain't nothing but laying down one job of work and going to answer the master when he calls you to come take up another. mis' bostick have worked in his vineyard early and late, through summer sun and winter wind, and now he have summoned her in for some other purpose. he'll find her well-tried and seasoned to go on with whatever plans he have for her in his kingdom." "it's wonderful to believe that," answered the singer girl through her tears. "it seems to supply a reason for what happens to us here--if we can go on with it later." "course we can," answered mother mayberry, as she began to search in her top drawer for something. "i hope he have got some good big job cut out for tom mayberry and me; but course it will have to be something different, for they won't be no more sickness or death or sorrowing for us doctors to tend on. but pa lovell and doctor mayberry have found something by this time and maybe it will be for me and tom to work at it alongside of 'em. it might be you will have the beautiful voice back and come sing for us all, as have never heard you in this world. then, too, i believe he'll give it to little sister pike to tend on the prophets and maybe i'll be there to see!" "this is the first time i ever could take--take any interest in heaven at all," confessed miss wingate, lifting large, comforted eyes to mother mayberry's face. "when i was so desperate and didn't know what to do, before i came and found out that there was a place for me in this world even if i couldn't sing any more, i used to dread the thought of heaven, even if i might some day be good enough to go there." "well, a stand-around, set-around kind of heaven may be for some people as wants it, but a come-over-and-help-us kind is what i'm hoping for. i want to have a good lot of honest acts to pack up and take into the judgment seat to prove my character by and then be honored with some kind of telling labor to do. i'm looking for something white to put at mis' bostick's neck, for we are a-going to lay her in her grave in the old dress with its honorable patches, but with a little piece of fine white to match her sweet soul. here it is." "will you let me know if i can do anything for anybody or the deacon later?" asked the singer lady gently. "i know you will be a comfort to him, child, after a while. you can look after my chickens and things for me, for cindy's a-going with me and that leaves you to feed the two boys, tom and martin luther, for dinner. and don't you never forget that you are the apple-core of your mother mayberry's heart and she's a-going to hold you to her tender, even unto them glory days we've been a-planning for, with death here in the midst of life." chapter x the song of the master's grail "in all my long life it have never been gave to me to see anything like deacon bostick and his providence children," said mother mayberry, as she stood on the end of the porch with the singer girl's hand in hers. "he are a-setting on his bench under the tree right by her window, like he always did to listen for her, and every child in the road is a-huddled up against him like a forlorn lot of little motherless chickens. he have got little bettie and martin luther on his knees and the rest are just crowded up all around him. he don't seem to notice any of the rest of us, but looks to 'liza for everything. she got him to go to bed at nine o'clock and when buck and mr. petway went to set up for the night they found she'd done made 'lias and henny and bud all lie down by him, one on each side and bud acrost the foot. he wanted 'em to stay and the men let 'em do it. judy says she were up by daylight and gone down the road to see about his breakfast and things. and now she are just a-standing by him waiting for the bell to toll for the funeral. the deacon have surely followed his master in the suffering of little children to draw close to him in this life and now he are becoming as one of 'em before entering the kingdom." "this soft, misty, sun-veiled day seems just made for mrs. bostick," said miss wingate with unshed tears in her voice. "it may be just a notion of mine, honey-bird, but it looks like up here in harpeth hills the weather have got a sympathy with us folks. look how providence nob have drawed a mist of tears 'twixt it and the faint sun. when troubles are with us i've seen clouds boil up over the ridge and on the other hand we ain't scarcely ever had rain on a wedding or church soshul day. i like to feel that maybe the good lord looks special after us of his children living out in the open fields and we have got his word that he tempers the winds. people in the big cities can crowd up and keep care of one another, but out here we are all just in the hollow of his hand. here comes mis' peavey. i asked her to go along to the funeral with me and you. it are most time now." "howdy, all," said mrs. peavey in an utterly gray tone of voice. "mis' mayberry, that circuit rider have never come from bolivar yet. do you reckon his horse have throwed him or is it just he don't care for us providence folks and don't think it worth his while to come say the words over sister bostick?" "oh, he come 'most a half-hour ago, hettie ann," answered mother mayberry quickly. "bettie had a little snack laid out for him 'count of his having to make such a early start to get here. he was most kind to the deacon and professed much sorrow for us all. how are your side this morning?" "i got out that foolish dry plaster tom made me more'n a month ago and put it on last night, 'cause i didn't want to disturb you, and to my surprise they ain't a mite of pain hit me since. but i guess it are mostly the clearing weather that have stopped it." "maybe a little of both," answered the doctor's mother with a smile, "but anyway, it's good that you ain't a-suffering none. we must all take good care of each other's pains from now on, 'cause we are most valuable one to another. friends is one kind of treasure you don't want to lay up in heaven." "i spend most of my time thinking about folks' accidents and hurts and pains," answered mrs. peavey in all truth. "miss elinory, did you gargle your throat with that slippery-ellum tea i thought about to make for you last week?" "yes, mrs. peavey, i did," answered miss wingate quickly, for she had performed that nauseous operation actuated by positive fear of mrs. peavey if she should discover a failure to follow her directions. "it'll cure you, maybe," answered the gratified neighbor. "there's the bell and let's all go on slow and respectful." and the sweet-toned old providence meeting-house bell was tolling its notes for the passing of the soul of the gentle little harpeth woman of many sorrows as her friends and neighbors walked quietly down the road, along the dim aisle and took their places in the old pews with a fitting solemnity on their serious faces. the young circuit rider spoke to them from a full heart in sympathetically simple words and pattie hoover led the congregation from behind the little cabinet organ in a few of the deacon's favorite hymns. then the little procession wound its way among the graves over to a corner under an old cedar tree, where the stout young farmers laid their frail burden down for its long sleep. the deacon stood close by and the children clung around his thin old legs, to his hands, and reached to grasp at a corner of his coat. eliza laid her head against his shoulder and henny and 'lias crowded close on the other side, while bud held the old black hat he had taken from off his white hair, in careful, shaking little hands. the singer lady, with the doctor at her side and her hand in mother mayberry's, stood just opposite and the others came near. the simple service that the church has instituted for the committing of its dead to the grave had been read by the circuit rider, the last prayer offered, and as a long ray of sunlight came through the mist and fell across the little assembly, he turned expectantly to pattie hoover, who stood between her father and buck at the other end of the grave. he had read the first lines of the hymn and he expected her to raise the tune for the others to follow. but when a woman's heart is very young and tender, and attuned to that of another which is throbbing emotionally close by, her own feelings are apt to rise in a tidal wave of tears, regardless of consequences; and as buck peavey choked off a sob, pattie turned and buried her head on her father's arm. there was a long pause and nobody attempted to start the singing. they were accustomed to depend on pattie or her organ and their own throats were tight with tears. the unmusical young preacher was helpless and looked from one to another, then was about to raise his hands for the benediction, when a little voice came across the grave. "ain't nobody going to sing for mis' bostick?" wailed eliza, as her head went down on the deacon's arm in a shudder of sobs. then suddenly a very wonderful and beautiful thing happened in that old churchyard of providence meeting-house under harpeth hills, for the great singer lady stepped toward the deacon a little way, paused, looked across at the old nob in the sunlight, and high and clear and free-winged like that of an archangel, rose her glorious voice in the "hail, holy, holy, holy lord," which she had set for him and the gentle invalid to the wonderful motif of the song of the master's grail. love and sorrow and a flood of tears had relieved a pressure somewhere, the balance had been recovered and her muted voice freed. and on through the verses to the very end she sang it, while the little group of field people held their breath in awe and amazement. then, while they all stood with bowed heads for the benediction, she turned and walked away through the graves, out of the churchyard and on up providence road, with an instinct to hide from them all for a moment of realization. "and here i have to come and hunt the little skeered miracle out of my own feather pillows," exclaimed mother mayberry a little later with laughter, tears, pride and joy in her voice, as she bent over the broad expanse of her own bed and drew the singer girl up in her strong arms. "daughter," she said, with her cheek pressed to the flushed one against her shoulder, "what the lord hath given and taketh away we bless him for and none the less what he giveth back, blessed be his name. that's a jumble, but he understands me. you don't feel in no ways peculiar, do you?" and as she asked the question the doctor's mother clasped the slender throat in one of her strong hands. "not a bit anywhere," answered miss wingate, with the burr all gone from her soft voice. "is it true?" "dearie me, i can't hardly stand it to hear you speak, it are so sweet!" exclaimed mother mayberry in positive rapture and again the tears filled her eyes, while her face crinkled up into a dimpled smile. "don't say nothing where the mocking-birds will hear you, please, 'cause they'll begin to hatch out a dumb race from plumb discouragement. come out on the porch where it ain't so hot, but i'm a-holding on to you to keep you from flying up into one of the trees. i'm a-going to set about building a cage for you right--" "now, didn't i tell you about that slippery-ellum!" came in a positively triumphant voile to greet them as they stepped out of the front door. mrs. peavey was ascending the steps all out of breath, her decorous hat awry, and her eyes snapping with excitement. "course i don't think this can be no positive cure and like as not you'll wake up to-morrow with your voice all gone dry again, but it were the slippery-ellum that done it!" "i think it must have helped some," answered the singer lady in the clear voice that still held its wonted note of meekness to her neighbor. "course it did! tom mayberry's experimenting couldn'ter done it no real good. his mother have been giving that biled bark for sore throat for thirty years and it was me that remembered it. but it were a pity you done it at the grave; that were mis' bostick's funeral and not your'n. now look at everybody a-coming up the road with no grieving left at all." "oh, hettie ann," exclaimed mother mayberry in quick distress, "it are a mean kind of sorrow that can't open its arms to hold joy tender. think what it do mean to the child and--look at bettie!" and indeed it was a sight to behold the pretty mother of the seventeen sailing up the front walk like a great full-rigged ship. miss wingate flew down the steps to meet her and in a few seconds was enveloped and involved with little hoover in an embrace that threatened to be disastrous to all concerned. judy pike was close behind and, making a grab on her own part, stood holding the end of the singer lady's sash in her one hand while teether, from her other arm, caught at the bright ribbons and squealed with delight. the abashed pattie hung over the front gate and buck grinned in the rear. "lawsy me, child," mrs. hoover laughed and sobbed as she patted the singer lady on the back, little hoover anywhere he came upmost and included teether and judy also in the demonstration, "i feel like it would take two to hold me down! you sure sing with as much style as you dress! and to think such a thing have happened to all of us here in providence. we won't never need that phonygraph we all are a-hankering after now. speak up to the child, judy pike!" "i don't need to," answered the more self-contained sister pike, "she knows how i'm a-rejoicing for her. just look at mr. hoover and ez pike a-grinning acrost the street at her and here do come the squire and mis' tutt walking along together for the first time i almost ever seed 'em." "wheeuh," wheezed the squire, "i done come up here to give up on the subject of that tom mayberry! he don't look or talk like he have got any sense, girl, but he are the greatest doctor anywhere from harpeth hills to californy or alasky. he have got good remedies for all. i reckon you are one of the hot water kind, but he can give bitters too. you'd better keep him to the bitters though for safety." "there now! you all have done heard the top testimony for tom mayberry," exclaimed mother, fairly running over with joy. "glory!" was the one word that rose to the surface of mrs. tutt's emotions, but it expressed her state of beatitude and caused the squire to peer at her with uneasiness as if expecting an outburst of exhortation on the next breath. mrs. peavey's experienced eye also caught the threatened downpour and she hastened to admonish the group of women. "sakes, you all!" she exclaimed, untying the strings of her bonnet energetically, "they won't be a supper cooked on the road if we don't go get about it. a snack dinner were give the men and such always calls for the putting on of the big pot and the little kettle for supper. miss elinory will be here for you all to eat up to-morrow morning, 'lessen something happens to her in the night, like a wind storm. go on everybody!" "oh," exclaimed mother mayberry, as she stood on the top step looking down at them all, "look how the sun have come out on us all, with its happiness after the sorrow we have known this day. i thank you, one and all, for your feeling with me and my daughter elinory. the rejoicing of friends are a soft wind to folks' spirit wings and we're all flying high this night. get the children bedded down early, for they have had a long day and need good sleep. bettie, let mis' tutt walk along with you and the squire can come on slow. don't nobody forget that it are sewing circle with mis' mosbey to-morrow." and, with more congratulations to the singer lady, laughs with mother mayberry, and the return of a shot or two with mrs. peavey, the happy country women dispersed to their own roof trees. the sorrow that had come they had endured for the night and now they were ready to rise up and meet joy for the morning. in the children of nature the emotions maintain their elemental balance and their sense of the proportions of life is instinctively true. "look, honey-bird, who's coming!" said mother mayberry, just as she was turning to seat herself in her rocking-chair, tired out as she was with the strain of the long day. "run, meet 'em at the gate!" and up providence road came the old deacon and eliza hand in hand, with martin luther trailing wearily behind them. when she saw miss wingate at the gate, eliza, for the first time during the day, loosed her hold on her old charge and darted forward to hide her head on the singer lady's breast as her thin little arms clasped around her convulsively. "now," she wailed, "mis' bostick are dead and you'll be goned away too. can't you stay a little while, till we can stand to let you go? poor doctor tom! please, oh, please!" "darling, darling, i'm never going to leave you!" exclaimed miss wingate, as she hugged the small implorer as closely as possible and held out one hand to the deacon as he came up beside them. "i'm going to stay and sing for you and the deacon whenever you want me--if it will help!" "child," said the old patriarch, with an ineffable sweetness shining from his sad old face, "out of my affliction i come to add my blessing to what the lord has given to you this day. and i take this mercy as a special dispensation to me and to her, as it came when you were performing one of his offices for us. no sweeter strain could come from the choir invisible that she hears this night, and if she knows she rejoices that it will be given at other times to me, to feed my lonely soul." "the songs are yours when you want them, deacon," said the singer girl in her sweet low voice as she held his hand in hers gently. "and it are true what the deacon says, they ain't no help like music," said mother mayberry who had come down the walk and stood leaning against the gate near them. "a song can tote comfort from heart to heart when words wouldn't have no meaning. it's a high calling, child, and have to be answered with a high life." "i know pattie and buck and aunt prissy will let you always sing in the choir if deacon asks 'em," said eliza in a practical voice as she again took hold of the deacon's hand, "and mr. petway are a-going to buy a piano for aunt prissy when they get married and sometimes you can sing by it if doctor tom can't save up enough to get you one. but i want deacon to come home now, 'cause he are tired." and without more ado she departed with her docile charge, leaving the tired martin luther with his hands clasped in mother mayberry's. "mother," faltered miss wingate as she and mother mayberry were slowly ascending the steps, assisting the almost paralyzed young missionary to mount between them, "where do you suppose--he is?" for some minutes back the singer lady had been growing pale at the realization that the doctor had not come to her since she had left his side in the churchyard and her eyes were beginning to show a deep hurt within. "i don't know, elinory, and i've been a-wondering," answered mother mayberry as she sank down on the top step and took the tired child in her arms. "oh," said miss wingate as she stood before her on the lower step and clasped her white hands against her breast, "do you suppose he is going to--to hurt me now?" "child," answered the doctor's mother quietly, with a quick sadness spreading over her usually bright face, "they ain't nothing in the world that can be as cruel as true love when it goes blind. tom mayberry is a good man and i borned, nursed and raised him, but i won't answer for him about no co'ting conniptions. a man lover are a shy bird and they can't nothing but a true mate keep him steady on any limb. you ain't showed a single symptom of managing tom yet, but somehow i've got confidence in you if you just keep your head now." "but what can the matter be?" demanded miss wingate in a voice that shook with positive terror. "well," answered mother mayberry slowly, "i sorter sense the trouble and i'll tell you right out and out for your good. loving a woman are a kinder regeneration process for any man, and a good one like as not comes outen it humbler than a bad most times. tom have wrapped you around with some sorter pink cloud of sentiments, tagged you with all them bokays the world have give you for singing so grand, turned all them lights on you he first seen you acrost and now he's afraid to come nigh you. i suspect him of a bad case of chicken-heart and i'm a-pitying of him most deep. he's just lying down at your feet waiting to be picked up." "i wonder where he is!" exclaimed miss wingate as a light flashed into her eyes and a trace of color came back to her cheeks. "you'll find him," answered the doctor's mother comfortably, "and when you do i want you to promise me to put him through a good course of sprouts. a wife oughtn't to stand on no pedestal for a man, but she have got no call to make squaw tracks behind him neither. go on and find him! a woman have got to come out of the pink cloud to her husband some time, but she'd better keep a bit to flirt behind the rest of her life. look in the office!" "well; martin luther," remarked mother a few minutes later, as she lifted the absolutely dead youngster in her arms and rose to take him into the house, "life are all alike from harpeth hills to galilee. a woman can shape up her dough any fancy way she wants and it's likely to come outen the oven a husband. all elinory's fine songs are about to end in little chorus cheeps with tom under mother mayberry's wings, the lord be praised!" and over in the office wing the situation was about as mother mayberry's experienced intuitions had predicted. miss wingate found the young doctor sitting in the deep window and looking out at providence nob, which the last rays of the sun were dying blood red, with his strong young face set and white. the battle was still on and his soul was up in arms. "where have you been?" she asked quietly as she came and stood against the other side of the casement. the pain in his gray eyes set her heart to throbbing, but she had herself well in hand. "when i came up the road the others were all here and i waited to see you until they were gone," he answered her, just as quietly and in just as controlled a voice and with possibly just as wild a throb in his heart "i have been writing to doctor stein and there are the press bulletins, subject to your approval," he pointed to some letters on the table which she never deigned to notice. she had drawn herself to her slim young height and looked him full in the face with a beautiful stateliness in her manner and glance. her dark eyes never left his and she seemed waiting for him to say something further to her. "you know without my telling you how very glad i am for you," he said gently and his hand trembled on the window ledge. "are you?" she asked in a low tone, still with her eyes fixed on his face, but her lips pressed close with a sharp intake of breath. "yes," he answered quickly, and this time the note of pain would sound clearly in his voice. "yes, no matter what it means to me!" the pain of it, the haggard gray eyes, the firm young mouth and the droop of the broad shoulders were too much for the singer girl and she smiled shakily as she held out her arms. "tom mayberry," she pleaded with a little laugh, "please, please don't treat me this way. i promised your mother to be stern with you but--i can't! don't you see that it can only mean to me what it means to your happiness--if--do you, could you possibly think it would make any difference to me? do you suppose for all the wide world i would throw away what i have found here in providence under harpeth hills--my mother and you? ah, tom, i'll be good, i'll go to italy and india with you! i'll--i'll 'do for' you just the best i can!" "but, dear, it isn't right at all," whispered the young doctor to the back of the singer lady's head, as he laid his cheek against the dark braids. "your voice belongs to the world--there must be no giving it up. i can't let you--i--" "listen," said the singer girl as she raised her head and looked up into his face. "for all your life you will have to go where pain and grief call you, won't you? can't you take my voice with you and use it--as one of your--remedies? your mother says songs can comfort where words fail; let me go with you! your father brought her and her herb basket to providence, won't you take me and my songs out into the world with you? don't send me back to sing in the dreadful crowded theaters to people who pay to hear me. let me give it all my lifelong, as she has given herself here in providence. please, tom, please!" and again she buried her head against his coat. and as was his wont, the silent young doctor failed to answer a single word but just held her close and comforted. and how long he would have held her, there is no way to know, because the strain had been too great on mother mayberry and in a few minutes she stood calmly in the door and looked at the pair of children with happy but quizzical eyes. "it's just as well you got tom mayberry straightened out quick, elinory," she remarked in her most jovial tone. "i've been getting madder and madder as i put martin luther to bed and though i ain't never had to whip him yet, i'd just about made up my mind to ask him out in the barn and dress him down for onct. now are you well over your tantrum, sir?" she demanded as she eyed the shamefaced young doctor delightedly. "mother!" he exclaimed as he turned his head away and the color rose under his tan. "have you done made up your mind to travel from town to town with elinory and take in the tickets at the door and make yourself useful to her the rest of your life? are you a-going to follow her peaceable all over europe, asia and africa?" and her eyes fairly over-danced themselves with delight. "mother!" and this time the exclamation came from miss wingate as she came over to rest her cheek against mother mayberry's arm. she also blushed, but her eyes danced with an echo of the young doctor's mother's laugh as she beheld his embarrassment. "yes," answered the doctor, rallying at last, "yes, i'm ready to go with her. will you go too, mother, as retained physician?" "well, i don't know about that," answered his mother with a laugh; "not till 'liza pike have growed up to take my place here. but i'm mighty glad to see you take your dose of humble pie so nice, tom, and i reckon i'll have to tell you how happy i am about my child here. it was kinder smart of you to cure her and then claim her sweet self as a fee, wasn't it?" "i do feel that way, mother, and i don't see how i can let her make the sacrifice. her future is so brilliant and i--i--" "son," said mother mayberry with the banter all gone from her rich voice and the love fairly radiating from her face as she laid a tender hand on the singer lady's dark head on her shoulder, "i don't have to ask my honey-bird the choice she have made. a woman don't want to wear her life-work like no jewelry harness nor yet no sacrificial garment, but she loves to clothe herself in it like it were a soft-colored, homespun dress to cover the pillow of her breast and the cradle of her arms to hold the tired folks against. take her to india's coral strand if you must, for it's gave a wife to follow the husband-star. long ago i vowed you to the master's high call and now with these words i dedicates my daughter the same. she have waded through much pain and sorrow, but do it matter along how hard a road folks travels if at last they come to they providence?" akman, doris ringbloom, david widger, and robert j. homa pioneers of the old southwest by constance lindsay skinner a chronicle of the dark and bloody ground volume 18 of the chronicles of america series allen johnson, editor assistant editors gerhard r. lomer charles w. jefferys _textbook edition_ new haven: yale university press toronto: glasgow, brook & co. london: humphrey milford oxford university press copyright, 1919 by yale university press printed in the u.s.a. vii acknowledgment this narrative is founded largely on original sources--on the writings and journals of pioneers and contemporary observers, such as doddridge and adair, and on the public documents of the period as printed in the colonial records and in the american archives. but the author is, nevertheless, greatly indebted to the researches of other writers, whose works are cited in the bibliographical note. the author's thanks are due, also, to dr. archibald henderson, of the university of north carolina, for his kindness in reading the proofs of this book for comparison with his own extended collection of unpublished manuscripts relating to the period. c. l. s. april, 1919. ix contents chapter i. the tread of pioneers 1 chapter ii. folkways 31 chapter iii. the trader 52 chapter iv. the passing of the french peril 75 chapter v. boone, the wanderer 90 chapter vi. the fight for kentucky 104 chapter vii. the dark and bloody ground 129 chapter viii. tennessee 157 chapter ix. king's mountain 195 chapter x. sevier, the statemaker 266 chapter xi. boone's last days 272 bibliographical note 287 1 pioneers of the old southwest chapter i the tread of pioneers the ulster presbyterians, or scotch-irish, to whom history has ascribed the dominant rôle among the pioneer folk of the old southwest, began their migrations to america in the latter years of the seventeenth century. it is not known with certainty precisely when or where the first immigrants of their race arrived in this country, but soon after 1680 they were to be found in several of the colonies. it was not long, indeed, before they were entering in numbers at the port of philadelphia and were making pennsylvania the chief center of their activities in the new world. by 1726 they had established settlements in several counties behind philadelphia. ten years later they had begun their great trek southward through 2 the shenandoah valley of virginia and on to the yadkin valley of north carolina. there they met others of their own race--bold men like themselves, hungry after land--who were coming in through charleston and pushing their way up the rivers from the seacoast to the back country, in search of homes. these ulstermen did not come to the new world as novices in the shaping of society; they had already made history. their ostensible object in america was to obtain land, but, like most external aims, it was secondary to a deeper purpose. what had sent the ulstermen to america was a passion for a whole freedom. they were lusty men, shrewd and courageous, zealous to the death for an ideal and withal so practical to the moment in business that it soon came to be commonly reported of them that they kept the sabbath and everything else they could lay their hands on, though it is but fair to them to add that this phrase is current wherever scots dwell. they had contested in parliament and with arms for their own form of worship and for their civil rights. they were already frontiersmen, trained in the hardihood and craft of border warfare through years of guerrilla fighting with the irish celts. they had pitted and proved 3 their strength against a wilderness; they had reclaimed the north of ireland from desolation. for the time, many of them were educated men; under the regulations of the presbyterian church every child was taught to read at an early age, since no person could be admitted to the privileges of the church who did not both understand and approve the presbyterian constitution and discipline. they were brought up on the bible and on the writings of their famous pastors, one of whom, as early as 1650, had given utterance to the democratic doctrine that "men are called to the magistracy by the suffrage of the people whom they govern, and for men to assume unto themselves power is mere tyranny and unjust usurpation." in subscribing to this doctrine and in resisting to the hilt all efforts of successive english kings to interfere in the election of their pastors, the scots of ulster had already declared for democracy. it was shortly after james vi of scotland became james i of england and while the english were founding jamestown that the scots had first occupied ulster; but the true origin of the ulster plantation lies further back, in the reign of henry viii, in the days of the english reformation. in henry's irish realm the reformation, though 4 proclaimed by royal authority, had never been accomplished; and henry's more famous daughter, elizabeth, had conceived the plan, later to be carried out by james, of planting colonies of protestants in ireland to promote loyalty in that rebellious land. six counties, comprising half a million acres, formed the ulster plantation. the great majority of the colonists sent thither by james were scotch lowlanders, but among them were many english and a smaller number of highlanders. these three peoples from the island of britain brought forth, through intermarriage, the ulster scots. the reign of charles i had inaugurated for the ulstermen an era of persecution. charles practically suppressed the presbyterian religion in ireland. his son, charles ii, struck at ireland in 1666 through its cattle trade, by prohibiting the exportation of beef to england and scotland. the navigation acts, excluding ireland from direct trade with the colonies, ruined irish commerce, while corporation acts and test acts requiring conformity with the practices of the church of england bore heavily on the ulster presbyterians. it was largely by refugees from religious persecution that america in the beginning was colonized. but religious persecution was only one of the 5 influences which shaped the course and formed the character of the ulster scots. in ulster, whither they had originally been transplanted by james to found a loyal province in the midst of the king's enemies, they had done their work too well and had waxed too powerful for the comfort of later monarchs. the first attacks upon them struck at their religion; but the subsequent legislative acts which successively ruined the woolen trade, barred nonconformists from public office, stifled irish commerce, pronounced non-episcopal marriages irregular, and instituted heavy taxation and high rentals for the land their fathers had made productive--these were blows dealt chiefly for the political and commercial ends of favored classes in england. these attacks, aimed through his religious conscience at the sources of his livelihood, made the ulster scot perforce what he was--a zealot as a citizen and a zealot as a merchant no less than as a presbyterian. thanks to his persecutors, he made a religion of everything he undertook and regarded his civil rights as divine rights. thus out of persecution emerged a type of man who was high-principled and narrow, strong and violent, as tenacious of his own rights as he was blind often to the rights of others, acquisitive yet self-sacrificing, 6 but most of all fearless, confident of his own power, determined to have and to hold. twenty thousand ulstermen, it is estimated, left ireland for america in the first three decades of the eighteenth century. more than six thousand of them are known to have entered pennsylvania in 1729 alone, and twenty years later they numbered one-quarter of that colony's population. during the five years preceding the revolutionary war more than thirty thousand ulstermen crossed the ocean and arrived in america just in time and in just the right frame of mind to return king george's compliment in kind, by helping to deprive him of his american estates, a domain very much larger than the acres of ulster. they fully justified the fears of the good bishop who wrote lord dartmouth, secretary for the colonies, that he trembled for the peace of the king's overseas realm, since these thousands of phanatical and hungry republicans had sailed for america. the ulstermen who entered by charleston were known to the inhabitants of the tidewater regions as the scotch-irish. those who came from the north, lured southward by the offer of cheap lands, were called the pennsylvania irish. both were, however, of the same race--a race twice 7 expatriated, first from scotland and then from ireland, and stripped of all that it had won throughout more than a century of persecution. to these exiles the back country of north carolina, with its cheap and even free tracts lying far from the seat of government, must have seemed not only the land of promise but the land of last chance. here they must strike their roots into the sod with such interlocking strength that no cataclysm of tyranny should ever dislodge them--or they must accept the fate dealt out to them by their former persecutors and become a tribe of nomads and serfs. but to these ulster immigrants such a choice was no choice at all. they knew themselves strong men, who had made the most of opportunity despite almost superhuman obstacles. the drumming of their feet along the banks of the shenandoah, or up the rivers from charleston, and on through the broad sweep of the yadkin valley, was a conquering people's challenge to the wilderness which lay sleeping like an unready sentinel at the gates of their future. it is maintained still by many, however often disputed, that the ulstermen were the first to declare for american independence, as in the old country they were the first to demand the separation of 8 church and state. a declaration of independence is said to have been drawn up and signed in mecklenburg county, north carolina, on may 20, 1775.¹ however that may be, it is certain that these mecklenburg protestants had received special schooling in the doctrine of independence. they had in their midst for eight years (1758-66) the reverend alexander craighead, a presbyterian minister who, for his republican doctrines expressed in a pamphlet, had been disowned by the pennsylvania synod acting on the governor's protest, and so persecuted in virginia that he had at last fled to the north carolina back country. there, during the remaining years of his life, as the sole preacher and teacher in the settlements between the yadkin and the catawba rivers he found willing soil in which to sow the seeds of liberty. ¹ see hoyt, _the mecklenburg declaration of independence_; and _american archives,_ fourth series. vol. ii, p. 855. there was another branch of the scottish race which helped to people the back country. the highlanders, whose loyalty to their oath made them fight on the king's side in the revolutionary war, have been somewhat overlooked in history. tradition, handed down among the transplanted 9 clans--who, for the most part, spoke only gaelic for a generation and wrote nothing--and latterly recorded by one or two of their descendants, supplies us with all we are now able to learn of the early coming of the gaels to carolina. it would seem that their first immigration to america in small bands took place after the suppression of the jacobite rising in 1715--when highlanders fled in numbers also to france--for by 1729 there was a settlement of them on the cape fear river. we know, too, that in 1748 it was charged against gabriel johnston, governor of north carolina from 1734 to 1752, that he had shown no joy over the king's glorious victory of culloden and that he had appointed one william mcgregor, who had been in the rebellion in the year 1715 a justice of the peace during the last rebellion [1745] and was not himself without suspicion of disaffection to his majesty's government. it is indeed possible that gabriel johnston, formerly a professor at st. andrew's university, had himself not always been a stranger to the kilt. he induced large numbers of highlanders to come to america and probably influenced the second george to moderate his treatment of the vanquished gaels in the old country and permit their emigration to the new world. 10 in contrast with the ulstermen, whose secular ideals were dictated by the forms of their church, these scots adhered still to the tribal or clan system, although they, too, in the majority, were presbyterians, with a minority of roman catholics and episcopalians. in the scotch highlands they had occupied small holdings on the land under the sway of their chief, or head of the clan, to whom they were bound by blood and fealty but to whom they paid no rentals. the position of the head of the clan was hereditary, but no heir was bold enough to step forward into that position until he had performed some deed of worth. they were principally herders, their chief stock being the famous small black cattle of the highlands. their wars with each other were cattle raids. only in war, however, did the gael lay hands on his neighbor's goods. there were no highwaymen and housebreakers in the highlands. no highland mansion, cot, or barn was ever locked. theft and the breaking of an oath, sins against man's honor, were held in such abhorrence that no one guilty of them could remain among his clansmen in the beloved glens. these highlanders were a race of tall, robust men, who lived simply and frugally and slept on the heath among their flocks in all weathers, with no 11 other covering from rain and snow than their plaidies. it is reported of the laird of keppoch, who was leading his clan to war in winter time, that his men were divided as to the propriety of following him further because he rolled a snowball to rest his head upon when he lay down. now we despair of victory, they said, since our leader has become so effeminate he cannot sleep without a pillow!¹ ¹ maclean, _an historical account of the settlement of scotch highlanders in america._ the king's glorious victory of culloden was followed by a policy of extermination carried on by the orders and under the personal direction of the duke of cumberland. when king george at last restrained his son from his orgy of blood, he offered the gaels their lives and exile to america on condition of their taking the full oath of allegiance. the majority accepted his terms, for not only were their lives forfeit but their crops and cattle had been destroyed and the holdings on which their ancestors had lived for many centuries taken from them. the descriptions of the scenes attending their leave-taking of the hills and glens they loved with such passionate fervor are among the most pathetic in history. strong men who had met the ravage of a brutal sword without weakening 12 abandoned themselves to the agony of sorrow. they kissed the walls of their houses. they flung themselves on the ground and embraced the sod upon which they had walked in freedom. they called their broken farewells to the peaks and lochs of the land they were never again to see; and, as they turned their backs and filed down through the passes, their pipers played the dirge for the dead. such was the character, such the deep feeling, of the race which entered north carolina from the coast and pushed up into the wilderness about the headwaters of cape fear river. tradition indicates that these hillsmen sought the interior because the grass and pea vine which overgrew the inner country stretching towards the mountains provided excellent fodder for the cattle which some of the chiefs are said to have brought with them. these gaelic herders, perhaps in negligible numbers, were in the yadkin valley before 1730, possibly even ten years earlier. in 1739 neil macneill of kintyre brought over a shipload of gaels to rejoin his kinsman, hector macneill, called bluff hector from his residence near the bluffs at cross creek, now fayetteville. some of these immigrants went on to the yadkin, we are told, to unite with others of their clan who had been for some time in 13 that district. the exact time of the first highlander on the yadkin cannot be ascertained, as there were no court records and the offices of the land companies were not then open for the sale of these remote regions. but by 1753 there were not less than four thousand gaels in cumberland county, where they occupied the chief magisterial posts; and they were already spreading over the lands now comprised within moore, anson, richmond, robeson, bladen, and sampson counties. in these counties gaelic was as commonly heard as english. in the years immediately preceding the revolution and even in 1776 itself they came in increasing numbers. they knew nothing of the smoldering fire just about to break into flames in the country of their choice, but the royal governor, josiah martin, knew that highland arms would soon be needed by his majesty. he knew something of highland honor, too; for he would not let the gaels proceed after their landing until they had bound themselves by oath to support the government of king george. so it was that the unfortunate highlanders found themselves, according to their strict code of honor, forced to wield arms against the very americans who had received and 14 befriended them--and for the crowned brother of a prince whose name is execrated to this day in highland song and story! they were led by allan macdonald of kingsborough; and tradition gives us a stirring picture of allan's wife--the famous flora macdonald, who in scotland had protected the young pretender in his flight--making an impassioned address in gaelic to the highland soldiers and urging them on to die for honor's sake. when this highland force was conquered by the americans, the large majority willingly bound themselves not to fight further against the american cause and were set at liberty. many of them felt that, by offering their lives to the swords of the americans, they had canceled their obligation to king george and were now free to draw their swords again and, this time, in accordance with their sympathies; so they went over to the american side and fought gallantly for independence. although the brave glory of this pioneer age shines so brightly on the lion rampant of caledonia, not to scots alone does that whole glory belong. the second largest racial stream which flowed into the back country of virginia and 15 north carolina was german. most of these germans went down from pennsylvania and were generally called pennsylvania dutch, an incorrect rendering of _pennsylvänische deutsche_. the upper shenandoah valley was settled almost entirely by germans. they were members of the lutheran, german reformed, and moravian churches. the cause which sent vast numbers of this sturdy people across the ocean, during the first years of the eighteenth century, was religious persecution. by statute and by sword the roman catholic powers of austria sought to wipe out the salzburg lutherans and the moravian followers of john huss. in that region of the rhine country known in those days as the german palatinate, now a part of bavaria, protestants were being massacred by the troops of louis of france, then engaged in the war of the spanish succession (1701-13) and in the zealous effort to extirpate heretics from the soil of europe. in 1708, by proclamation, good queen anne offered protection to the persecuted palatines and invited them to her dominions. twelve thousand of them went to england, where they were warmly received by the english. but it was no slight task to settle twelve thousand immigrants of an alien speech in 16 england and enable them to become independent and self-supporting. a better solution of their problem lay in the western world. the germans needed homes and the queen's overseas dominions needed colonists. they were settled at first along the hudson, and eventually many of them took up lands in the fertile valley of the mohawk. for fifty years or more german and austrian protestants poured into america. in pennsylvania their influx averaged about fifteen hundred a year, and that colony became the distributing center for the german race in america. by 1727, adam müller and his little company had established the first white settlement in the valley of virginia. in 1732 joist heydt went south from york, pennsylvania, and settled on the opequan creek at or near the site of the present city of winchester. the life of count zinzendorf, called the apostle, one of the leaders of the moravian immigrants, glows like a star out of those dark and troublous times. of high birth and gentle nurture, he forsook whatever of ease his station promised him and fitted himself for evangelical work. in 1741 he visited the wyoming valley to bring his religion to the delawares and shawanoes. he was not of those picturesque captains of the lord who 17 bore their muskets on their shoulders when they went forth to preach. armored only with the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the spirit, his feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace, he went out into the country of these bloodthirsty tribes and told them that he had come to them in their darkness to teach the love of the christ which lighteth the world. the indians received him suspiciously. one day while he sat in his tent writing, some delawares drew near to slay him and were about to strike when they saw two deadly snakes crawl in from the opposite side of the tent, move directly towards the apostle, and pass harmlessly over his body. thereafter they regarded him as under spiritual protection. indeed so widespread was his good fame among the tribes that for some years all moravian settlements along the borders were unmolested. painted savages passed through on their way to war with enemy bands or to raid the border, but for the sake of one consecrated spirit, whom they had seen death avoid, they spared the lives and goods of his fellow believers. when zinzendorf departed a year later, his mantle fell on david zeisberger, who lived the love he taught for over fifty years and converted many savages. 18 zeisberger was taken before the governor and army heads at philadelphia, who had only too good reason to be suspicious of priestly counsels in the tents of shem: but he was able to impress white men no less than simple savages with the nobility of the doctrine he had learned from the apostle. in 1751 the moravian brotherhood purchased one hundred thousand acres in north carolina from lord granville. bishop spangenburg was commissioned to survey this large acreage, which was situated in the present county of forsyth east of the yadkin, and which is historically listed as the wachovia tract. in 1753, twelve brethren left the moravian settlements of bethlehem and nazareth, in pennsylvania, and journeyed southward to begin the founding of a colony on their new land. brother adam grube, one of the twelve, kept a diary of the events of this expedition.¹ ¹ this diary is printed in full in _travels in the american colonies_ edited by n. d. mereness. honor to whom honor is due. we have paid it, in some measure, to the primitive gaels of the highlands for their warrior strength and their fealty, and to the enlightened scots of ulster for their enterprise and for their sacrifice unto blood that free conscience and just laws might promote the 19 progress and safeguard the intercourse of their kind. now let us take up for a moment brother grube's _journal_ even as we welcome, perhaps the more gratefully, the mild light of evening after the flooding sun, or as our hearts, when too strongly stirred by the deeds of men, turn for rest to the serene faith and the naïve speech of little children. the twelve, we learn, were under the leadership of one of their number, brother gottlob. their earliest alarms on the march were not caused, as we might expect, by anticipations of the painted cherokee, but by encounters with the strenuous irish. one of these came and laid himself to sleep beside the brethren's camp fire on their first night out, after they had sung their evening hymn and eleven had stretched themselves on the earth for slumber, while brother gottlob, their leader, hanging his hammock between two trees, ascended--not only in spirit--a little higher than his charges, and rested well in it. though the alarming irishman did not disturb them, the brethren's doubts of that race continued, for brother grube wrote on the 14th of october: about four in the morning we set up our tent, going four miles beyond carl isles [carlisle, seventeen miles southwest of harrisburg] so as not to be too near the 20 irish presbyterians. after breakfast the brethren shaved and then we rested under our tent.… people who were staying at the tavern came to see what kind of folk we were.… br gottlob held the evening service and then we lay down around our cheerful fire, and br gottlob in his hammock. two other jottings give us a racial kaleidoscope of the settlers and wayfarers of that time. on one day the brethren bought some hay from a swiss, later some kraut from a german which tasted very good to us; and presently an englishman came by and drank a cup of tea with us and was very grateful for it. frequently the little band paused while some of the brethren went off to the farms along the route to help cut hay. these kindly acts were usually repaid with gifts of food or produce. one day while on the march they halted at a tavern and farm in shenandoah valley kept by a man whose name brother grube wrote down as severe. since we know that brother grube's spelling of names other than german requires editing, we venture to hazard a guess that the name he attempted to set down as it sounded to him was sevier. and we wonder if, in his brief sojourn, he saw a lad of eight years, slim, tall, and 21 blond, with daring and mischievous blue eyes, and a certain curve of the lips that threatened havoc in the hearts of both sexes when he should be a man and reach out with swift hands and reckless will for his desires. if he saw this lad, he beheld john sevier, later to become one of the most picturesque and beloved heroes of the old southwest. hardships abounded on the brethren's journey, but faith and the christian's joy, which no man taketh from him, met and surmounted them. three and a half miles beyond, the road forked.… we took the right hand road but found no water for ten miles. it grew late and we had to drive five miles into the night to find a stoppingplace. two of the brethren went ahead to seek out the road through the darkened wilderness. there were rough hills in the way; and, the horses being exhausted, brethren had to help push. but, in due season, br nathanael held evening prayer and then we slept in the care of jesus, with brother gottlob as usual in his hammock. three days later the record runs: toward evening we saw jeams river, the road to it ran down so very steep a hill that we fastened a small tree to the back of our wagon, locked the wheels, and the brethren held back by the tree with all their 22 might. even then the wagon went down so fast that most of the brethren lost their footing and rolled and tumbled pell-mell. but faith makes little of such mishaps: no harm was done and we thanked the lord that he had so graciously protected us, for it looked dangerous and we thought at times that it could not possibly be done without accident but we got down safely… we were all very tired and sleepy and let the angels be our guard during the night. rains fell in torrents, making streams almost impassable and drenching the little band to the skin. the hammock was empty one night, for they had to spend the dark hours trench-digging about their tent to keep it from being washed away. two days later (the 10th of november) the weather cleared and we spent most of the day drying our blankets and mending and darning our stockings. they also bought supplies from settlers who, as brother grube observed without irony, are glad we have to remain here so long and that it means money for them. in the afternoon we held a little lovefeast and rested our souls in the loving sacrifice of jesus, wishing for beloved brethren in bethlehem and that they and we might live ever close to him.… nov. 16. we rose early to ford the river. the bank was so steep that we hung a tree behind the wagon, 23 fastening it in such a way that we could quickly release it when the wagon reached the water. the current was very swift and the lead horses were carried down a bit with it. the water just missed running into the wagon but we came safely to the other bank, which however we could not climb but had to take half the things out of the wagon, tie ropes to the axle on which we could pull, help our horses which were quite stiff, and so we brought our ark again to dry land. on the evening of the 17th of november the twelve arrived safely on their land on the etkin (yadkin), having been six weeks on the march. they found with joy that, as ever, the lord had provided for them. this time the gift was a deserted cabin, large enough that we could all lie down around the walls. we at once made preparation for a little lovefeast and rejoiced heartily with one another. in the deserted log cabin, which, to their faith, seemed as one of those mansions not built with hands and descended miraculously from the heavens, they held their lovefeast, while wolves padded and howled about the walls; and in that pentacostal hour the tongue of fire descended upon brother gottlob, so that he made a new song unto the lord. who shall venture to say it is not better worth preserving than many a classic? 24 we hold arrival lovefeast here in carolina land, a company of brethren true, a little pilgrim-band, called by the lord to be of those who through the whole world go, to bear him witness everywhere and nought but jesus know. then, we are told, the brethren lay down to rest and br gottlob hung his hammock above our heads--as was most fitting on this of all nights; for is not the poet's place always just a little nearer to the stars? the pioneers did not always travel in groups. there were families who set off alone. one of these now claims our attention, for there was a lad in this family whose name and deeds were to sound like a ballad of romance from out the dusty pages of history. this family's name was boone. neither scots nor germans can claim daniel boone; he was in blood a blend of english and welsh; in character wholly english. his grandfather george boone was born in 1666 in the hamlet of stoak, near exeter in devonshire. george boone was a weaver by trade and a quaker by religion. in england in his time the quakers were 25 oppressed, and george boone therefore sought information of william penn, his coreligionist, regarding the colony which penn had established in america. in 1712 he sent his three elder children, george, sarah, and squire, to spy out the land. sarah and squire remained in pennsylvania, while their brother returned to england with glowing reports. on august 17, 1717, george boone, his wife, and the rest of his children journeyed to bristol and sailed for philadelphia, arriving there on the 10th of october. the boones went first to abingdon, the quaker farmers' community. later they moved to the northwestern frontier hamlet of north wales, a welsh community which, a few years previously, had turned quaker. sarah boone married a german named jacob stover, who had settled in oley township, berks county. in 1718 george boone took up four hundred acres in oley, or, to be exact, in the subdivision later called exeter, and there he lived in his log cabin until 1744, when he died at the age of seventy-eight. he left eight children, fifty-two grandchildren, and ten great-grandchildren, seventy descendants in all--english, german, welsh, and scotch-irish blended into one family of americans.¹ ¹ r. g. thwaites, _daniel boone_, p. 5. 26 among the welsh quakers was a family of morgans. in 1720 squire boone married sarah morgan. ten years later he obtained 250 acres in oley on owatin creek, eight miles southeast of the present city of reading; and here, in 1734, daniel boone was born, the fourth son and sixth child of squire and sarah morgan boone. daniel boone therefore was a son of the frontier. in his childhood he became familiar with hunters and with indians, for even the red men came often in friendly fashion to his grandfather's house. squire boone enlarged his farm by thrift. he continued at his trade of weaving and kept five or six looms going, making homespun cloth for the market and his neighbors. daniel's father owned grazing grounds several miles north of the homestead and each season he sent his stock to the range. sarah boone and her little daniel drove the cows. from early spring till late autumn, mother and son lived in a rustic cabin alone on the frontier. a rude dairy house stood over a cool spring, and here sarah boone made her butter and cheese. daniel, aged ten at this time, watched the herds; at sunset he drove them to the cabin for milking, and locked them in the cowpens at night. 27 he was not allowed firearms at that age, so he shaped for himself a weapon that served him well. this was a slender smoothly shaved sapling with a small bunch of gnarled roots at one end. so expert was he in the launching of this primitive spear that he easily brought down birds and small game. when he reached his twelfth year, his father bought him a rifle; and he soon became a crack shot. a year later we find him setting off on the autumn hunt--after driving the cattle in for the winter--with all the keenness and courage of a man twice his thirteen years. his rifle enabled him to return with meat for the family and skins to be traded in philadelphia. when he was fourteen his brother sam married sarah day, an intelligent young quakeress who took a special interest in her young brother-in-law and taught him the rudiments of three r's. the boones were prosperous and happy in oley and it may be wondered why they left their farms and their looms, both of which were profitable, and set their faces towards the unknown. it is recorded that, though the boones were quakers, they were of a high mettle and were not infrequently dealt with by the meeting. two of squire boone's children married worldlings--non-quakers--and 28 were in consequence disowned by the society. in defiance of his sect, which strove to make him sever all connection with his unruly offspring, squire boone refused to shut his doors on the son and the daughter who had scandalized local quakerdom. the society of friends thereupon expelled him. this occurred apparently during the winter of 1748-49. in the spring of 1750 we see the whole boone family (save two sons) with their wives and children, their household goods and their stock, on the great highway, bound for a land where the hot heart and the belligerent spirit shall not be held amiss. southward through the shenandoah goes the boone caravan. the women and children usually sit in the wagons. the men march ahead or alongside, keeping a keen eye open for indian or other enemy in the wild, their rifles under arm or over the shoulder. squire boone, who has done with quakerdom and is leading all that he holds dear out to larger horizons, is ahead of the line, as we picture him, ready to meet first whatever danger may assail his tribe. he is a strong wiry man of rather small stature, with ruddy complexion, red hair, and gray eyes. somewhere in the line, together, we think, are the mother and son who have 29 herded cattle and companioned each other through long months in the cabin on the frontier. we do not think of this woman as riding in the wagon, though she may have done so, but prefer to picture her, with her tall robust body, her black hair, and her black eyes--with the sudden welsh snap in them--walking as sturdily as any of her sons. if daniel be beside her, what does she see when she looks at him? a lad well set up but not overtall for his sixteen years, perhaps--for eye-witnesses differ in their estimates of daniel boone's height--or possibly taller than he looks, because his figure has the forest hunter's natural slant forward and the droop of the neck of one who must watch his path sometimes in order to tread silently. it is squire boone's blood which shows in his ruddy face--which would be fair but for its tan--and in the english cut of feature, the straw-colored eyebrows, and the blue eyes. but his welsh mother's legacy is seen in the black hair that hangs long and loose in the hunter's fashion to his shoulders. we can think of daniel boone only as exhilarated by this plunge into the wild. he sees ahead--the days of his great explorations and warfare, the discovery of kentucky? not at all. this is a boy of sixteen in love with his rifle. he looks ahead to 30 vistas of forest filled with deer and to skies clouded with flocks of wild turkeys. in that dream there is happiness enough for daniel boone. indeed, for himself, even in later life, he asked little, if any more. he trudges on blithely, whistling. 31 chapter ii folkways these migrations into the inland valleys of the old south mark the first great westward thrust of the american frontier. thus the beginnings of the westward movement disclose to us a feature characteristic also of the later migrations which flung the frontier over the appalachians, across the mississippi, and finally to the shores of the pacific. the pioneers, instead of moving westward by slow degrees, subduing the wilderness as they went, overleaped great spaces and planted themselves beyond, out of contact with the life they had left behind. thus separated by hundreds of miles of intervening wilderness from the more civilized communities, the conquerors of the first american west, prototypes of the conquerors of succeeding wests, inevitably struck out their own ways of life and developed their own customs. it would be difficult, indeed, to find anywhere a more 32 remarkable contrast in contemporary folkways than that presented by the two great community groups of the south--the inland or piedmont settlements, called the back country, and the lowland towns and plantations along the seaboard. the older society of the seaboard towns, as events were soon to prove, was not less independent in its ideals than the frontier society of the back country; but it was aristocratic in tone and feeling. its leaders were the landed gentry--men of elegance, and not far behind their european contemporaries in the culture of the day. they were rich, without effort, both from their plantations, where black slaves and indentured servants labored, and from their coastwise and overseas trade. their battles with forest and red man were long past. they had leisure for diversions such as the chase, the breeding and racing of thoroughbred horses, the dance, high play with dice and card, cockfighting, the gallantry of love, and the skill of the rapier. law and politics drew their soberer minds. very different were the conditions which confronted the pioneers in the first american west. there every jewel of promise was ringed round with hostility. the cheap land the pioneer had purchased at a nominal price, or the free land 33 he had taken by tomahawk claim--that is by cutting his name into the bark of a deadened tree, usually beside a spring--supported a forest of tall trunks and interlacing leafage. the long grass and weeds which covered the ground in a wealth of natural pasturage harbored the poisonous copperhead and the rattlesnake and, being shaded by the overhead foliage, they held the heavy dews and bred swarms of mosquitoes, gnats, and big flies which tortured both men and cattle. to protect the cattle and horses from the attacks of these pests the settlers were obliged to build large "smudges"--fires of green timber--against the wind. the animals soon learned to back up into the dense smoke and to move from one grazing spot to another as the wind changed. but useful as were the green timber fires that rolled their smoke on the wind to save the stock, they were at the same time a menace to the pioneer, for they proclaimed to roving bands of cherokees that a further encroachment on their territory had been made by their most hated enemies--the men who felled the hunter's forest. many an outpost pioneer who had made the long hard journey by sea and land from the old world of persecution to this new country of freedom, dropped from the 34 red man's shot ere he had hewn the threshold of his home, leaving his wife and children to the unrecorded mercy of his slayer. those more fortunate pioneers who settled in groups won the first heat in the battle with the wilderness through massed effort under wariness. they made their clearings in the forest, built their cabins and stockades, and planted their cornfields, while lookouts kept watch and rifles were stacked within easy reach. every special task, such as a raising, as cabin building was called, was undertaken by the community chiefly because the indian danger necessitated swift building and made group action imperative. but the stanch heart is ever the glad heart. nothing in this frontier history impresses us more than the joy of the pioneer at his labors. his determined optimism turned danger's dictation into an occasion for jollity. on the appointed day for the raising, the neighbors would come, riding or afoot, to the newcomer's holding--the men with their rifles and axes, the women with their pots and kettles. every child toddled along, too, helping to carry the wooden dishes and spoons. these free givers of labor had something of the oriental's notion of the sacred ratification of friendship by a feast. 35 the usual dimensions of a cabin were sixteen by twenty feet. the timber for the building, having been already cut, lay at hand--logs of hickory, oak, young pine, walnut, or persimmon. to make the foundations, the men seized four of the thickest logs, laid them in place, and notched and grooved and hammered them into as close a clinch as if they had grown so. the wood must grip by its own substance alone to hold up the pioneer's dwelling, for there was not an iron nail to be had in the whole of the back country. logs laid upon the foundation logs and notched into each other at the four corners formed the walls; and, when these stood at seven feet, the builders laid parallel timbers and puncheons to make both flooring and ceiling. the ridgepole of the roof was supported by two crotched trees and the roofing was made of logs and wooden slabs. the crevices of the walls were packed close with red clay and moss. lastly, spaces for a door and windows were cut out. the door was made thick and heavy to withstand the indian's rush. and the windowpanes? they were of paper treated with hog's fat or bear's grease. when the sun stood overhead, the women would give the welcome call of dinner! their morning had not been less busy than the men's. they 36 had baked corn cakes on hot stones, roasted bear or pork, or broiled venison steaks; and--above all and first of all--they had concocted the great stew pie without which a raising could hardly take place. this was a disputatious mixture of deer, hog, and bear--animals which, in life, would surely have companioned each other as ill! it was made in sufficient quantity to last over for supper when the day's labor was done. at supper the men took their ease on the ground, but with their rifles always in reach. if the cabin just raised by their efforts stood in the yadkin, within sight of the great mountains the pioneers were one day to cross, perhaps a sudden bird note warning from the lookout, hidden in the brush, would bring the builders with a leap to their feet. it might be only a hunting band of friendly catawbas that passed, or a lone cherokee who knew that this was not his hour. if the latter, we can, in imagination, see him look once at the new house on his hunting pasture, slacken rein for a moment in front of the group of families, lift his hand in sign of peace, and silently go his way hillward. as he vanishes into the shadows, the crimson sun, sinking into the unknown wilderness beyond the mountains, pours its last glow on the roof of the cabin and on the 37 group near its walls. with unfelt fingers, subtly, it puts the red touch of the west in the faces of the men--who have just declared, through the building of a cabin, that here is journey's end and their abiding place. there were community holidays among these pioneers as well as labor days, especially in the fruit season; and there were flower-picking excursions in the warm spring days. early in april the service berry bush gleamed starrily along the watercourses, its hardy white blooms defying winter's lingering look. this bush--or tree, indeed, since it is not afraid to rear its slender trunk as high as cherry or crab apple--might well be considered emblematic of the frontier spirit in those regions where the white silence covers the earth for several months and shuts the lonely homesteader in upon himself. from the pioneer time of the old southwest to the last frontier of the far north today, the service berry is cherished alike by white men and indians; and the red men have woven about it some of their prettiest legends. when june had ripened the tree's blue-black berries, the back country folk went out in parties to gather them. though the service berry was a 38 food staple on the frontier and its gathering a matter of household economy, the folk made their berry-picking jaunt a gala occasion. the women and children with pots and baskets--the young girls vying with each other, under the eyes of the youths, as to who could strip boughs the fastest--plucked gayly while the men, rifles in hand, kept guard. for these happy summer days were also the red man's scalping days and, at any moment, the chatter of the picnickers might be interrupted by the chilling war whoop. when that sound was heard, the berry pickers raced for the fort. the wild fruits--strawberries, service berries, cherries, plums, crab apples--were, however, too necessary a part of the pioneer's meager diet to be left unplucked out of fear of an indian attack. another day would see the same group out again. the children would keep closer to their mothers, no doubt; and the laughter of the young girls would be more subdued, even if their coquetry lacked nothing of its former effectiveness. early marriages were the rule in the back country and betrothals were frequently plighted at these berry pickings. as we consider the descriptions of the frontiersman left for us by travelers of his own day, we are not more interested in his battles with wilderness 39 and indian than in the visible effects of both wilderness and indian upon him. his countenance and bearing still show the european, but the european greatly altered by savage contact. the red peril, indeed, influenced every side of frontier life. the bands of women and children at the harvestings, the log rollings, and the house raisings, were not there merely to lighten the men's work by their laughter and love-making. it was not safe for them to remain in the cabins, for, to the indian, the cabin thus boldly thrust upon his immemorial hunting grounds was only a secondary evil; the greater evil was the white man's family, bespeaking the increase of the dreaded palefaces. the indian peril trained the pioneers to alertness, shaped them as warriors and hunters, suggested the fashion of their dress, knit their families into clans and the clans into a tribe wherein all were of one spirit in the protection of each and all and a unit of hate against their common enemy. too often the fields which the pioneer planted with corn were harvested by the indian with fire. the hardest privations suffered by farmers and stock were due to the settlers having to flee to the forts, leaving to indian devastation the crops on which their sustenance mainly depended. sometimes, 40 fortunately, the warning came in time for the frontiersman to collect his goods and chattels in his wagon and to round up his live stock and drive them safely into the common fortified enclosure. at others, the tap of the express--as the herald of indian danger was called--at night on the windowpane and the low word whispered hastily, ere the express ran on to the next abode, meant that the indians had surprised the outlying cabins of the settlement. the forts were built as centrally as possible in the scattered settlements. they consisted of cabins, blockhouses, and stockades. a range of cabins often formed one side of a fort. the walls on the outside were ten or twelve feet high with roofs sloping inward. the blockhouses built at the angles of the fort projected two feet or so beyond the outer walls of the cabins and stockades, and were fitted with portholes for the watchers and the marksmen. the entrance to the fort was a large folding gate of thick slabs. it was always on the side nearest the spring. the whole structure of the fort was bullet-proof and was erected without an iron nail or spike. in the border wars these forts withstood all attacks. the savages, having proved that they could not storm them, generally 41 laid siege and waited for thirst to compel a sortie. but the crafty besieger was as often outwitted by the equally cunning defender. some daring soul, with silent feet and perhaps with naked body painted in indian fashion, would drop from the wall under cover of the night, pass among the foemen to the spring, and return to the fort with water. into the pioneer's phrase-making the indian influence penetrated so that he named seasons for his foe. so thoroughly has the term indian summer, now to us redolent of charm, become disassociated from its origins that it gives us a shock to be reminded that to these back country folk the balmy days following on the cold snap meant the season when the red men would come back for a last murderous raid on the settlements before winter should seal up the land. the powwowing days were the mellow days in the latter part of february, when the red men in council made their medicine and learned of their redder gods whether or no they should take the warpath when the sap pulsed the trees into leaf. even the children at their play acknowledged the red-skinned schoolmaster, for their chief games were a training in his woodcraft and in the use of 42 his weapons. tomahawk-throwing was a favorite sport because of its gruesome practical purposes. the boys must learn to gauge the tomahawk's revolutions by the distance of the throw so as to bury the blade in its objective. swift running and high jumping through the brush and fallen timber were sports that taught agility in escape. the boys learned to shoot accurately the long rifles of their time, with a log or a forked stick for a rest, and a moss pad under the barrel to keep it from jerking and spoiling the aim. they wrestled with each other, mastered the tricks of throwing an opponent, and learned the scalp hold instead of the toe hold. it was part of their education to imitate the noises of every bird and beast of the forest. so they learned to lure the turkey within range, or by the bleat of a fawn to bring her dam to the rifle. a well-simulated wolf's howl would call forth a response and so inform the lone hunter of the vicinity of the pack. this forest speech was not only the language of diplomacy in the hunting season; it was the borderer's secret code in war. stray indians put themselves in touch again with the band by turkey calls in the daytime and by owl or wolf notes at night. the frontiersmen used the same means to trick the indian band into 43 betraying the place of its ambuscade, or to lure the strays, unwitting, within reach of the knife. in that age, before the forests had given place to farms and cities and when the sun had but slight acquaintance with the sod, the summers were cool and the winters long and cold in the back country. sometimes in september severe frosts destroyed the corn. the first light powdering called hunting snows fell in october, and then the men of the back country set out on the chase. their object was meat--buffalo, deer, elk, bear--for the winter larder, and skins to send out in the spring by pack-horses to the coast in trade for iron, steel, and salt. the rainfall in north carolina was much heavier than in virginia and, from autumn into early winter, the yadkin forests were sheeted with rain; but wet weather, so far from deterring the hunter, aided him to the kill. in blowing rain, he knew he would find the deer herding in the sheltered places on the hillsides. in windless rain, he knew that his quarry ranged the open woods and the high places. the fair play of the pioneer held it a great disgrace to kill a deer in winter when the heavy frost had crusted the deep snow. on the crust men and wolves could travel with ease, but the deer's sharp hoofs pierced through and 44 made him defenseless. wolves and dogs destroyed great quantities of deer caught in this way; and men who shot deer under these conditions were considered no huntsmen. there was, indeed, a practical side to this chivalry of the chase, for meat and pelt were both poor at this season; but the true hunter also obeyed the finer tenet of his code, for he would go to the rescue of deer caught in the crusts--and he killed many a wolf sliding over the ice to an easy meal. the community moral code of the frontier was brief and rigorous. what it lacked of the whereas and inasmuch of legal ink it made up in sound hickory. in fact, when we review the activities of this solid yet elastic wood in the moral, social, and economic phases of back country life, we are moved to wonder if the pioneers would have been the same race of men had they been nurtured beneath a less strenuous and adaptable vegetation! the hickory gave the frontiersman wood for all implements and furnishings where the demand was equally for lightness, strength, and elasticity. it provided his straight logs for building, his block mortars--hollowed by fire and stone--for corn-grinding, his solid plain furniture, his axles, rifle butts, ax handles, and so forth. it supplied 45 his magic wand for the searching out of iniquity in the junior members of his household, and his most cogent argument, as a citizen, in convincing the slothful, the blasphemous, or the dishonest adult whose errors disturbed communal harmony. its nuts fed his hogs. before he raised stock, the unripe hickory nuts, crushed for their white liquid, supplied him with butter for his corn bread and helped out his store of bear's fat. both the name and the knowledge of the uses of this tree came to the earliest pioneers through contact with the red man, whose hunting bow and fishing spear and the hobbles for his horses were fashioned of the pohickory tree. the indian women first made pohickory butter, and the wise old men of the cherokee towns, so we are told, first applied the pohickory rod to the vanity of youth! a glance at the interior of a log cabin in the back country of virginia or north carolina would show, in primitive design, what is, perhaps, after all the perfect home--a place where the personal life and the work life are united and where nothing futile finds space. every object in the cabin was practical and had been made by hand on the spot to answer a need. besides the chairs hewn from hickory blocks, there were others made of slabs 46 set on three legs. a large slab or two with four legs served as a movable table; the permanent table was built against the wall, its outer edge held up by two sticks. the low bed was built into the wall in the same way and softened for slumber by a mattress of pine needles, chaff, or dried moss. in the best light from the greased paper windowpanes stood the spinning wheel and loom, on which the housewife made cloth for the family's garments. over the fireplace or beside the doorway, and suspended usually on stags' antlers, hung the firearms and the yellow powderhorns, the latter often carved in indian fashion with scenes of the hunt or war. on a shelf or on pegs were the wooden spoons, plates, bowls, and noggins. also near the fireplace, which was made of large flat stones with a mud-plastered log chimney, stood the grinding block for making hominy. if it were an evening in early spring, the men of the household would be tanning and dressing deerskins to be sent out with the trade caravan, while the women sewed, made moccasins or mended them, in the light of pine knots or candles of bear's grease. the larger children might be weaving cradles for the babies, indian fashion, out of hickory twigs; and there would surely be a sound of whetting steel, for scalping 47 knives and tomahawks must be kept keen-tempered now that the days have come when the red gods whisper their chant of war through the young leafage. the back country folk, as they came from several countries, generally settled in national groups, each preserving its own speech and its own religion, each approaching frontier life through its own native temperament. and the frontier met each and all alike, with the same need and the same menace, and molded them after one general pattern. if the cabin stood in a typical virginian settlement where the folk were of english stock, it may be that the dulcimer and some old love song of the homeland enlivened the work--or perhaps chairs were pushed back and young people danced the country dances of the homeland and the virginia reel, for these virginian english were merry folk, and their religion did not frown upon the dance. in a cabin on the shenandoah or the upper yadkin the german tongue clicked away over the evening dish of kraut or sounded more sedately in a lutheran hymn; while from some herder's hut on the lower yadkin the wild note of the bagpipes or of the ancient four-stringed harp mingled with the gaelic speech. 48 among the homes in the shenandoah where old england's ways prevailed, none was gayer than the tavern kept by the man whom the good moravian brother called severe. there perhaps the feasting celebrated the nuptials of john sevier, who was barely past his seventeenth birthday when he took to himself a wife. or perhaps the dancing, in moccasined feet on the puncheon flooring, was a ceremonial to usher into back country life the new municipality john had just organized, for john at nineteen had taken his earliest step towards his larger career, which we shall follow later on, as the architect of the first little governments beyond the mountains. in the boone home on the yadkin, we may guess that the talk was solely of the hunt, unless young daniel had already become possessed of his first compass and was studying its ways. on such an evening, while the red afterglow lingered, he might be mending a passing trader's firearms by the fires of the primitive forge his father had set up near the trading path running from hillsborough to the catawba towns. it was said by the local nimrods that none could doctor a sick rifle better than young daniel boone, already the master huntsman of them all. and perhaps some trader's tale, told 49 when the caravan halted for the night, kindled the youth's first desire to penetrate the mountain-guarded wilderness, for the tales of these romanies of commerce were as the very badge of their free-masonry, and entry money at the doors of strangers. out on the border's edge, heedless of the shadow of the mountains looming between the newly built cabin and that western land where they and their kind were to write the fame of the ulster scot in a shining script that time cannot dull, there might sit a group of stern-faced men, all deep in discussion of some point of spiritual doctrine or of the temporal rights of men. yet, in every cabin, whatever the national differences, the setting was the same. the spirit of the frontier was modeling out of old clay a new adam to answer the needs of a new earth. it would be far less than just to leave the back country folk without further reference to the devoted labors of their clergy. in the earliest days the settlers were cut off from their church systems; the pious had to maintain their piety unaided, except in the rare cases where a pastor accompanied a group of settlers of his denomination into the wilds. one of the first ministers who fared into 50 the back country to remind the ulster presbyterians of their spiritual duties was the reverend hugh mcaden of philadelphia. he made long itineraries under the greatest hardships, in constant danger from indians and wild beasts, carrying the counsel of godliness to the far scattered flock. among the highland settlements the reverend james campbell for thirty years traveled about, preaching each sunday at some gathering point a sermon in both english and gaelic. a little later, in the yadkin valley, after craighead's day there arose a small school of presbyterian ministers whose zeal and fearlessness in the cause of religion and of just government had an influence on the frontiersmen that can hardly be overestimated. but, in the beginning, the pioneer encountered the savagery of border life, grappled with it, and reacted to it without guidance from other mentor than his own instincts. his need was still the primal threefold need--family, sustenance, and safe sleep when the day's work was done. we who look back with thoughtful eyes upon the frontiersman--all links of contact with his racial past severed, at grips with destruction in the contenting of his needs--see something more, something 51 larger, than he saw in the log cabin raised by his hands, its structure held together solely by his close grooving and fitting of its own strength. though the walls he built for himself have gone with his own dust back to the earth, the symbol he erected for us stands. 52 chapter iii the trader the trader was the first pathfinder. his caravans began the change of purpose that was to come to the indian warrior's route, turning it slowly into the beaten track of communication and commerce. the settlers, the rangers, the surveyors, went westward over the trails which he had blazed for them years before. their enduring works are commemorated in the cities and farms which today lie along every ancient border line; but of their forerunner's hazardous indian trade nothing remains. let us therefore pay a moment's homage here to the trader, who first--to borrow a phrase from indian speech--made white for peace the red trails of war. he was the first cattleman of the old southwest. fifty years before john findlay¹, one of this class of pioneers, led daniel boone through cumberland 53 gap, the trader's bands of horses roamed the western slopes of the appalachian mountains and his cattle grazed among the deer on the green banks of the old cherokee (tennessee) river. he was the pioneer settler beyond the high hills; for he built, in the center of the indian towns, the first white man's cabin--with its larger annex, the trading house--and dwelt there during the greater part of the year. he was america's first magnate of international commerce. his furs--for which he paid in guns, knives, ammunition, vermilion paint, mirrors, and cloth--lined kings' mantles, and hatted the lords of trade as they strode to their council chamber in london to discuss his business and to pass those regulations which might have seriously hampered him but for his resourcefulness in circumventing them! ¹ the name is spelled in various ways: findlay, finlay, findley. he was the first frontier warrior, for he either fought off or fell before small parties of hostile indians who, in the interest of the spanish or french, raided his pack-horse caravans on the march. often, too, side by side with the red brothers of his adoption, he fought in the intertribal wars. his was the first educative and civilizing influence in the indian towns. he endeavored to cure the indians of their favorite midsummer madness, war, by inducing 54 them to raise stock and poultry and improve their corn, squash, and pea gardens. it is not necessary to impute to him philanthropic motives. he was a practical man and he saw that war hurt his trade: it endangered his summer caravans and hampered the autumn hunt for deerskins. in the earliest days of the eighteenth century, when the colonists of virginia and the carolinas were only a handful, it was the trader who defeated each successive attempt of french and spanish agents to weld the tribes into a confederacy for the annihilation of the english settlements. the english trader did his share to prevent what is now the united states from becoming a part of a latin empire and to save it for a race having the anglo-saxon ideal and speaking the english tongue. the colonial records of the period contain items which, taken singly, make small impression on the casual reader but which, listed together, throw a strong light on the past and bring that mercenary figure, the trader, into so bold a relief that the design verges on the heroic. if we wonder, for instance, why the scotch highlanders who settled in the wilds at the headwaters of the cape fear river, about 1729, and were later followed by welsh and huguenots, met with no opposition 55 from the indians, the mystery is solved when we discover, almost by accident, a few printed lines which record that, in 1700, the hostile natives on the cape fear were subdued to the english and brought into friendly alliance with them by colonel william bull, a trader. we read further and learn that the spaniards in florida had long endeavored to unite the tribes in spanish and french territory against the english and that the influence of traders prevented the consummation. the spaniards, in 1702, had prepared to invade english territory with nine hundred indians. the plot was discovered by creek indians and disclosed to their friends, the traders, who immediately gathered together five hundred warriors, marched swiftly to meet the invaders, and utterly routed them. again, when the indians, incited by the spanish at st. augustine, rose against the english in 1715, and the yamasi massacre occurred in south carolina, it was due to the traders that some of the settlements at least were not wholly unprepared to defend themselves. the early english trader was generally an intelligent man; sometimes educated, nearly always fearless and resourceful. he knew the one sure basis on which men of alien blood and far separated 56 stages of moral and intellectual development can meet in understanding--namely, the truth of the spoken word. he recognized honor as the bond of trade and the warp and woof of human intercourse. the uncorrupted savage also had his plain interpretation of the true word in the mouths of men, and a name for it. he called it the old beloved speech; and he gave his confidence to the man who spoke this speech even in the close barter for furs. we shall find it worth while to refer to the map of america as it was in the early days of the colonial fur trade, about the beginning of the eighteenth century. a narrow strip of loosely strung english settlements stretched from the north border of new england to the florida line. north florida was spanish territory. on the far distant southwestern borders of the english colonies were the southern possessions of france. the french sphere of influence extended up the mississippi, and thence by way of rivers and the great lakes to its base in canada on the borders of new england and new york. in south carolina dwelt the yamasi tribe of about three thousand warriors, their chief towns only sixty or eighty miles distant from the spanish town of st. augustine. on the 57 west, about the same distance northeast of new orleans, in what is now alabama and georgia, lay the creek nation. there french garrisons held mobile and fort alabama. the creeks at this time numbered over four thousand warriors. the lands of the choctaws, a tribe of even larger fighting strength, began two hundred miles north of new orleans and extended along the mississippi. a hundred and sixty miles northeast of the choctaw towns were the chickasaws, the bravest and most successful warriors of all the tribes south of the iroquois. the cherokees, in part seated within the carolinas, on the upper courses of the savannah river, mustered over six thousand men at arms. east of them were the catawba towns. north of them were the shawanoes and delawares, in easy communication with the tribes of canada. still farther north, along the mohawk and other rivers joining with the hudson and lake ontario stood the long houses of the fiercest and most warlike of all the savages, the iroquois or six nations. the indians along the english borders outnumbered the colonists perhaps ten to one. if the spanish and the french had succeeded in the conspiracy to unite on their side all the tribes, a red billow of tomahawk wielders would have engulfed 58 and extinguished the english settlements. the french, it is true, made allies of the shawanoes, the delawares, the choctaws, and a strong faction of the creeks; and they finally won over the cherokees after courting them for more than twenty years. but the creeks in part, the powerful chickasaws, and the iroquois confederacy, or six nations, remained loyal to the english. in both north and south it was the influence of the traders that kept these red tribes on the english side. the iroquois were held loyal by sir william johnson and his deputy, george croghan, the king of traders. the chickasaws followed their best-beloved trader, james adair; and among the creeks another trader, lachlan mcgillivray, wielded a potent influence. lachlan mcgillivray was a highlander. he landed in charleston in 1735 at the age of sixteen and presently joined a trader's caravan as pack-horse boy. a few years later he married a woman of the creeks. on many occasions he defeated french and spanish plots with the creeks for the extermination of the colonists in georgia and south carolina. his action in the final war with the french (1760), when the indian terror was raging, is typical. news came that four thousand 59 creek warriors, reinforced by french choctaws, were about to fall on the southern settlements. at the risk of their lives, mcgillivray and another trader named galphin hurried from charleston to their trading house on the georgia frontier. thither they invited several hundred creek warriors, feasted and housed them for several days, and finally won them from their purpose. mcgillivray had a brilliant son, alexander, who about this time became a chief in his mother's nation--perhaps on this very occasion, as it was an indian custom, in making a brotherhood pact, to send a son to dwell in the brother's house. we shall meet that son again as the chief of the creeks and the terrible scourge of georgia and tennessee in the dark days of the revolutionary war. the bold deeds of the early traders, if all were to be told, would require a book as long as the huge volume written by james adair, the english chickasaw. adair was an englishman who entered the indian trade in 1785 and launched upon the long and dangerous trail from charleston to the upper towns of the cherokees, situated in the present monroe county, tennessee. thus he was one of the earliest pioneers of the old southwest; and he was tennessee's first author. i 60 am well acquainted, he says, with near two thousand miles of the american continent--a statement which gives one some idea of an early trader's enterprise, hardihood, and peril. adair's two thousand miles were twisting indian trails and paths he slashed out for himself through uninhabited wilds, for when not engaged in trade, hunting, literature, or war, it pleased him to make solitary trips of exploration. these seem to have led him chiefly northward through the appalachians, of which he must have been one of the first white explorers. a many-sided man was james adair--cultured, for his style suffers not by comparison with other writers of his day, no stranger to latin and greek, and not ignorant of hebrew, which he studied to assist him in setting forth his ethnological theory that the american indians were the descendants of the ten lost tribes of israel. before we dismiss his theory with a smile, let us remember that he had not at his disposal the data now available which reveal points of likeness in custom, language formation, and symbolism among almost all primitive peoples. the formidable title-page of his book in itself suggests an author keenly observant, accurate as to detail, and possessed of a 61 versatile and substantial mind. most of the pages were written in the towns of the chickasaws, with whom he lived as a friend and brother, but from whose natural jealousy and prying disposition he was obliged to conceal his papers. never, he assures us, was a literary work begun and carried on with more disadvantages! despite these disabilities the author wrote a book of absorbing interest. his intimate sympathetic pictures of indian life as it was before the tribes had been conquered are richly valuable to the lover of native lore and to the student of the history of white settlement. the author believes, as he must, in the supremacy of his own race, but he nevertheless presents the indians' side of the argument as no man could who had not made himself one of them. he thereby adds interest to those fierce struggles which took place along the border; for he shows us the red warrior not as a mere brute with a tomahawk but as a human creature with an ideal of his own, albeit an ideal that must give place to a better. even in view of the red man's hideous methods of battle and inhuman treatment of captives, we cannot ponder unmoved adair's description of his preparations for war--the fasting, the abstention from all family 62 intercourse, and the purification rites and prayers for three days in the house set apart, while the women, who might not come close to their men in this fateful hour, stood throughout the night till dawn chanting before the door. another poetic touch the author gives us, from the cherokee--or cheerake as he spells it--explaining that the root, chee-ra, means fire. a cherokee never extinguished fire save on the occasion of a death, when he thrust a burning torch into the water and said, _neetah intahah_--the days appointed him were finished. the warrior slain in battle was held to have been balanced by death and it was said of him that he was weighed on the path and made light. adair writes that the cherokees, until corrupted by french agents and by the later class of traders who poured rum among them like water, were honest, industrious, and friendly. they were ready to meet the white man with their customary phrase of good will: i shall firmly shake hands with your speech. he was intimately associated with this tribe from 1735 to 1744, when he diverted his activities to the chickasaws. it was from the cherokees' chief town, great telliko, in the appalachians, that adair explored the mountains. he describes the pass through the 63 chain which was used by the indians and which, from his outline of it, was probably the cumberland gap. he relates many incidents of the struggle with the french--manifestations even in this remote wilderness of the vast conflict that was being waged for the new world by two imperial nations of the old. adair undertook, at the solicitation of governor glen of south carolina, the dangerous task of opening up trade with the choctaws, a tribe mustering upwards of five thousand warriors who were wholly in the french interest. their country lay in what is now the state of mississippi along the great river, some seven hundred miles west and southwest of charleston. after passing the friendly creek towns the trail led on for 150 miles through what was practically the enemy's country. adair, owing to what he likes to term his usual good fortune, reached the choctaw country safely and by his adroitness and substantial presents won the friendship of the influential chief, red shoe, whom he found in a receptive mood, owing to a french agent's breach of hospitality involving red shoe's favorite wife. adair thus created a large pro-english faction among the choctaws, and his success seriously impaired french prestige with all 64 the southwestern tribes. several times french choctaws bribed to murder him, waylaid adair on the trail--twice when he was alone--only to be baffled by the imperturbable self-possession and alert wit which never failed him in emergencies. winning a choctaw trade cost adair, besides attacks on his life, £2200, for which he was never reimbursed, notwithstanding governor glen's agreement with him. and, on his return to charleston, while the governor was detaining him on one pretext or another, he found that a new expedition, which the governor was favoring for reasons of his own, had set out to capture his chickasaw trade and gather in the expected great crop of deerskins and beaver… before i could possibly return to the chikkasah country. nothing daunted, however, the hardy trader set out alone. in the severity of winter, frost, snow, hail and heavy rains succeed each other in these climes, so that i partly rode and partly swam to the chikkasah country; for not expecting to stay long below [in charleston] i took no leathern canoe. many of the broad, deep creeks… had now overflowed their banks, ran at a rapid rate and were unpassable to any but desperate people:… the rivers and swamps were dreadful by rafts of timber driving down the former and the great fallen trees floating in the latter.… being forced to wade deep through cane swamps or woody thickets, it proved very 65 troublesome to keep my firearms dry on which, as a second means, my life depended. nevertheless adair defeated the governor's attempt to steal his trade, and later on published the whole story in the charleston press and sent in a statement of his claims to the assembly, with frank observations on his excellency himself. we gather that his bold disregard of high personages set all charleston in an uproar! adair is tantalizingly modest about his own deeds. he devotes pages to prove that an indian rite agrees with the book of leviticus but only a paragraph to an exploit of courage and endurance such as that ride and swim for the indian trade. we have to read between the lines to find the man; but he well repays the search. briefly, incidentally, he mentions that on one trip he was captured by the french, who were so, well acquainted with the great damages i had done to them and feared others i might occasion, as to confine me a close prisoner… in the alebahma garrison. they were fully resolved to have sent me down to mobile or new orleans as a capital criminal to be hanged… but i doubted not of being able to extricate myself some way or other. they appointed double centries over me for some days before i was to be sent down in the french king's large boat. they were strongly charged against 66 laying down their weapons or suffering any hostile thing to be in the place where i was kept, as they deemed me capable of any mischief.… about an hour before we were to set off by water i escaped from them by land.… i took through the middle of the low land covered with briers at full speed. i heard the french clattering on horseback along the path… and the howling savages pursuing…, but my usual good fortune enabled me to leave them far enough behind.… one feels that a few of the pages given up to leviticus might well have been devoted to a detailed account of this escape from double centries and a fortified garrison, and the plunge through the tangled wilds, by a man without gun or knife or supplies, and who for days dared not show himself upon the trail. there is too much of my usual good fortune in adair's narrative; such luck as his argues for extraordinary resources in the man. sometimes we discover only through one phrase on a page that he must himself have been the hero of an event he relates in the third person. this seems to be the case in the affair of priber, which was the worst of those damages adair did to the french. priber was a gentleman of curious and speculative temper sent by the french in 1736 to great telliko to win the cherokees to their interest. 67 at this time adair was trading with the cherokees. he relates that priber, more effectually to answer the design of his commission… ate, drank, slept, danced, dressed, and painted himself with the indians, so that it was not easy to distinguish him from the natives,--he married also with them, and being endued with a strong understanding and retentive memory he soon learned their dialect, and by gradual advances impressed them with a very ill opinion of the english, representing them as fraudulent, avaritious and encroaching people; he at the same time inflated the artless savages with a prodigious high opinion of their own importance in the american scale of power.… having thus infected them… he easily formed them into a nominal republican government--crowned their old archi-magus emperor after a pleasing new savage form, and invented a variety of high-sounding titles for all the members of his imperial majesty's red court. priber cemented the cherokee empire by slow but sure degrees to the very great danger of our southern colonies. his position was that of secretary of state and as such, with a studiedly provocative arrogance, he carried on correspondence with the british authorities. the colonial government seems, on this occasion, to have listened to the traders and to have realized that priber was a danger, for soldiers were sent to take him prisoner. the cherokees, however, 68 had so firmly shaked hands with their secretary's admired discourse that they threatened to take the warpath if their beloved man were annoyed, and the soldiers went home without him--to the great hurt of english prestige. the cherokee empire had now endured for five years and was about to rise into a far greater state of puissance by the acquisition of the muskohge, chocktaw and the western mississippi indians, when fortunately for the history of british colonization in america, an accident befell the secretary. it is in connection with this accident that the reader suspects the modest but resourceful adair of conniving with fate. since the military had failed and the government dared not again employ force, other means must be found; the trader provided them. the secretary with his cherokee bodyguard journeyed south on his mission to the creeks. secure, as he supposed, he lodged overnight in an indian town. but there a company of english traders took him into custody, along with his bundle of manuscripts presumably intended for the french commandant at fort alabama, and handed him over to the governor of georgia, who imprisoned him and kept him out of mischief till he died. as a briton, adair contributed to priber's fate; 69 and as such he approves it. as a scholar with philosophical and ethnological leanings, however, he deplores it, and hopes that priber's valuable manuscripts may escape the despoiling hands of military power. priber had spent his leisure in compiling a cherokee dictionary; adair's occupation, while domiciled in his winter house in great telliko, was the writing of his indian appendix to the pentateuch. as became brothers in science, they had exchanged notes, so we gather from adair's references to conversations and correspondence. adair's difficulties as an author, however, had been increased by a treacherous lapse from professional etiquette on the part of the secretary: he told them [the indians] that in the very same manner as he was their great secretary, i was the devil's clerk, or an accursed one who marked on paper the bad speech of the evil ones of darkness. on his own part adair admits that his object in this correspondence was to trap the secretary into something more serious than literary errata. that is, he admits it by implication; he says the secretary feared it. during the years of their duel, adair apparently knew that the scholarly compiler of the cherokee dictionary was secretly inciting members of this particular lost tribe to tomahawk the discoverer of 70 their biblical origin; and priber, it would seem, knew that he knew! adair shows, inferentially, that land encroachment was not the sole cause of those indian wars with which we shall deal in a later chapter. the earliest causes were the instigations of the french and the rewards which they offered for english scalps. but equally provocative of indian rancor were the acts of sometimes merely stupid, sometimes dishonest, officials; the worst of these, adair considered, was the cheapening of the trade through the granting of general licenses. formerly each trader had a license for two [indian] towns.… at my first setting out among them, a number of traders… journeyed through our various nations in different companies and were generally men of worth; of course they would have a living price for their goods, which they carried on horseback to the remote indian countries at very great expences.… [the indians] were kept under proper restraint, were easy in their minds and peaceable on account of the plain, honest lessons daily inculcated on them… but according to the present unwise plan, two and even three arablike peddlars sculk about in one of those villages… who are generally the dregs and offs-courings of our climes… by inebriating the indians with their nominally prohibited and poisoning spirits, they purchase the necessaries of life at four and five hundred per cent 71 cheaper than the orderly traders.… instead of showing good examples of moral conduct, beside the other part of life, they instruct the unknowing and imitating savages in many diabolical lessons of obscenity and blasphemy. in these statements, contemporary records bear him out. there is no sadder reading than the many pleas addressed by the indian chiefs to various officials to stop the importation of liquor into their country, alleging the debauchment of their young men and warning the white man, with whom they desired to be friends, that in an indian drink and blood lust quickly combined. adair's book was published in london in 1775. he wrote it to be read by englishmen as well as americans; and some of his reflections on liberty, justice, and anglo-saxon unity would not sound unworthily today. his sympathies were with the principles of our magna charta americana; but he thought the threatened division of the english-speaking peoples the greatest evil that could befall civilization. his voluminous work discloses a man not only of wide mental outlook but a practical man with a sense of commercial values. yet, instead of making a career for himself among his own caste, he made his home for over thirty years 72 in the chickasaw towns; and it is plain that, with the exception of some of his older brother traders, he preferred the chickasaw to any other society. the complete explanation of such men as adair we need not expect to find stated anywhere--not even in and between the lines of his book. the conventionalist would seek it in moral obliquity; the radical, in a temperament that is irked by the superficialities that comprise so large a part of conventional standards. the reason for his being what he was is almost the only thing adair did not analyze in his book. perhaps, to him, it was self evident. we may let it be so to us, and see it most clearly presented in a picture composed from some of his brief sketches: a land of grass and green shade inset with bright waters, where deer and domestic cattle herded together along the banks; a circling group of houses, their white-clayed walls sparkling under the sun's rays, and, within and without, the movement of a friendly and sagacious people, who kindly treated and watchfully guarded their white brother in peace and war, and who conversed daily with him in the old beloved speech learned first of nature. like towers in cities beyond the common size of those of the indians rose the winter and summer houses 73 and the huge trading house which the tribe had built for their best beloved friend in the town's center, because there he would be safest from attack. on the rafters hung the smoked and barbecued delicacies taken in the hunt and prepared for him by his red servants, who were also his comrades at home and on the dangerous trail. beloved old women kept an eye on his small sons, put to drowse on panther skins so that they might grow up brave warriors. nothing was there of artifice or pretense, only the needful things to make a reasonable life happy. all was as primitive, naive, and contented as the woman whose outline is given once in a few strokes, proudly and gayly penciled: i have the pleasure of writing this by the side of a chikkasah female, as great a princess as ever lived among the ancient peruvians or mexicans, and she bids me be sure not to mark the paper wrong after the manner of most of the traders; otherwise it will spoil the making good bread or homony! his final chapter is the last news of james adair, type of the earliest trader. did his bold attacks on corrupt officials and rum peddlers--made publicly before assemblies and in print--raise for him a dense cloud of enmity that dropped oblivion 74 on his memory? perhaps. but, in truth, his own book is all the history of him we need. it is the record of a man. he lived a full life and served his day; and it matters not that a mist envelops the place where unafraid he met the last enemy, was weighed on the path and made light. 75 chapter iv the passing of the french peril the great pile of the appalachian peaks was not the only barrier which held back the settler with his plough and his rifle from following the trader's tinkling caravans into the valleys beyond. over the hills the french were lords of the land. the frontiersman had already felt their enmity through the torch and tomahawk of their savage allies. by his own strength alone he could not cope with the power entrenched beyond the hills; so he halted. but that power, by its unachievable desire to be overlord of two hemispheres, was itself to precipitate events which would open the westward road. the recurring hour in the cycle of history, when the issue of autocracy against democracy cleaves the world, struck for the men of the eighteenth century as the second half of that century dawned. in our own day, happily, that issue has been perceived by the rank and file of the people. in 76 those darker days, as france and england grappled in that conflict of systems which culminated in the seven years' war, the fundamental principles at stake were clear to only a handful of thinking men. but abstractions, whether clear or obscure, do not cause ambassadors to demand their passports. the declaration of war awaits the overt act. behold, then, how great a matter is kindled by a little fire! the _casus belli_ between france and england in the seven years' war--the war which humbled france in europe and lost her india and canada--had to do with a small log fort built by a few virginians in 1754 at the forks of the ohio river and wrested from them in the same year by a company of frenchmen from canada. the french claimed the valley of the ohio as their territory; the english claimed it as theirs. the dispute was of long standing. the french claim was based on discovery; the english claim, on the sea-to-sea charters of virginia and other colonies and on treaties with the six nations. the french refused to admit the right of the six nations to dispose of the territory. the english were inclined to maintain the validity of their treaties with the indians. especially was virginia so 77 inclined, for a large share of the ohio lay within her chartered domain. the quarrel had entered its acute phase in 1749, when both the rival claimants took action to assert their sovereignty. the governor of canada sent an envoy, céloron de blainville, with soldiers, to take formal possession of the ohio for the king of france. in the same year the english organized in virginia the ohio company for the colonization of the same country; and summoned christopher gist, explorer, trader, and guide, from his home on the yadkin and dispatched him to survey the land. then appeared on the scene that extraordinary man, robert dinwiddie, lieutenant governor of virginia, erstwhile citizen of glasgow. his correspondence from virginia during his seven years' tenure of office (1751-58) depicts the man with a vividness surpassing paint. he was as honest as the day--as honest as he was fearless and fussy. but he had no patience; he wanted things done and done at once, and his way was the way to do them. people who did not think as he thought didn't think at all. on this drastic premise he went to work. there was of course continuous friction between him and the house of burgesses. 78 dinwiddie had all a scot's native talent for sarcasm. his letters, his addresses, perhaps in particular his addresses to the house, bristled with satirical thrusts at his opponents. if he had spelled out in full all the words he was so eager to write, he would have been obliged to lessen his output; so he used a shorthand system of his own, peculiar enough to be remarkable even though abbreviations were the rule in that day. even the dignity of kings he sacrificed to speed, and we find his majesty abbreviated to h m'y; yet a smaller luminary known as his honor fares better, losing only the last letter--his hono. ho. stands for house and yt for that, what, it, and anything else, as convenient. many of his letters wind up with i am ve'y much fatig'd. we know that he must have been! it was a formidable task that confronted dinwiddie--to possess and defend the ohio. christopher gist returned in 1751, having surveyed the valley for the ohio company as far as the scioto and miami rivers, and in the following year the survey was ratified by the indians. the company's men were busy blazing trails through the territory and building fortified posts. but the french dominated the territory. they had built 79 and occupied with troops fort le bœuf on french creek, a stream flowing into the allegheny. we may imagine dinwiddie's rage at this violation of british soil by french soldiers and how he must have sputtered to the young george washington, when he summoned that officer and made him the bearer of a letter to the french commander at fort le bœuf, to demand that french troops be at once withdrawn from the ohio. washington made the journey to fort le bœuf in december, 1753, but the mission of course proved fruitless. dinwiddie then wrote to london urging that a force be sent over to help the colonies maintain their rights and, under orders from the crown, suggested by himself, he wrote to the governors of all the other colonies to join with virginia in raising troops to settle the ownership of the disputed territory. from governor dobbs of north carolina he received an immediate response. by means of logic, sarcasm, and the entire force of his prerogatives, dinwiddie secured from his own balking assembly £10,000 with which to raise troops. from maryland he obtained nothing. there were three prominent marylanders in the ohio company, but--or because of this--the maryland assembly voted down the measure for 80 a military appropriation. on june 18, 1754, dinwiddie wrote, with unusually full spelling for him: i am perswaded had his majesty's com'ds to the other colonies been duely obey'd, and the necessary assistance given by them, the fr. wou'd have long ago have been oblig'd entirely to have evacuated their usurp'd possession of the king's lands, instead of w'ch they are daily becoming more formidable, whilst every gov't except no. caro. has amus'd me with expectations that have proved fruitless, and at length refuse to give any supply, unless in such a manner as must render it ineffectual. this saddened mood with its deliberate penmanship did not last long. presently dinwiddie was making a round robin of himself in another series of letters to governors, councilors, and assemblymen, frantically beseeching them for h. m'y's hono. and their own, and, if not, for post'r'ty, to rise against the cruel french whose indians were harrying the borders again and basely, like virmin, stealing and carrying off the helpless infant--as nice a simile, by the way, as any sheridan ever put into the mouth of mrs. malaprop. dinwiddie saw his desires thwarted on every hand by the selfish spirit of localism and jealousy which was more rife in america in those days than it is today. though the phrase capitalistic war 81 had not yet been coined, the great issues of english civilization on this continent were befogged, for the majority in the colonies, by the trivial fact that the shareholders in the ohio company stood to win by a vigorous prosecution of the war and to lose if it were not prosecuted at all. the irascible governor, however, proceeded with such men and means as he could obtain. and now in the summer of 1754 came the overt act which precipitated the inevitable war. the key to the valley of the ohio was the tongue of land at the forks, where the allegheny and the monongahela join their waters in the beautiful river. this site--today pittsburgh--if occupied and held by either nation would give that nation the command of the ohio. occupied it was for a brief hour by a small party of virginians, under captain william trent; but no sooner had they erected on the spot a crude fort than the french descended upon them. what happened then all the world knows: how the french built on the captured site their great fort duquesne; how george washington with an armed force, sent by dinwiddie to recapture the place, encountered french and indians at great meadows and built fort necessity, which he was compelled to surrender; 82 how in the next year (1755) general braddock arrived from across the sea and set out to take fort duquesne, only to meet on the way the disaster called braddock's defeat; and how, before another year had passed, the seven years' war was raging in europe, and england was allied with the enemies of france. from the midst of the debacle of braddock's defeat rises the figure of the young washington. twenty-three he was then, tall and spare and hardbodied from a life spent largely in the open. when braddock fell, this washington appeared. reckless of the enemy's bullets, which spanged about him and pierced his clothes, he dashed up and down the lines in an effort to rally the panic-stricken redcoats. he was too late to save the day, but not to save a remnant of the army and bring out his own virginians in good order. whether among the stay-at-homes and voters of credits there were some who would have ascribed washington's conduct on that day to the fact that his brothers were large shareholders in the ohio company and that fort duquesne was their personal property or "private interest," history does not say. we may suppose so. north carolina, the one colony which had not 83 amus'd the governor of virginia with expectations that proved fruitless, had voted £12,000 for the war and had raised two companies of troops. one of these, under edward brice dobbs, son of governor dobbs, marched with braddock; and in that company as wagoner went daniel boone, then in his twenty-second year. of boone's part in braddock's campaign nothing more is recorded save that on the march he made friends with john findlay, the trader, his future guide into kentucky; and that, on the day of the defeat, when his wagons were surrounded, he escaped by slashing the harness, leaping on the back of one of his horses, and dashing into the forest. meanwhile the southern tribes along the border were comparatively quiet. that they well knew a colossal struggle between the two white races was pending and were predisposed to ally themselves with the stronger is not to be doubted. french influence had long been sifting through the formidable cherokee nation, which still, however, held true in the main to its treaties with the english. it was the policy of the governors of virginia and north carolina to induce the cherokees to enter strongly into the war as allies of the 84 english. their efforts came to nothing chiefly because of the purely local and suicidal indian policy of governor glen of south carolina. there had been some dispute between glen and dinwiddie as to the right of virginia to trade with the cherokees; and glen had sent to the tribes letters calculated to sow distrust of all other aspirants for indian favor, even promising that certain settlers in the back country of north carolina should be removed and their holdings restored to the indians. these letters caused great indignation in north carolina, when they came to light, and had the worst possible effect upon indian relations. the indians now inclined their ear to the french who, though fewer than the english, were at least united in purpose. governor glen took this inauspicious moment to hold high festival with the cherokees. it was the last year of his administration and apparently he hoped to win promotion to some higher post by showing his achievements for the fur trade and in the matter of new land acquired. he plied the cherokees with drink and induced them to make formal submission and to cede all their lands to the crown. when the chiefs recovered their sobriety, they were filled with rage at what had been done, 85 and they remembered how the french had told them that the english intended to make slaves of all the indians and to steal their lands. the situation was complicated by another incident. several cherokee warriors returning from the ohio, whither they had gone to fight for the british, were slain by frontiersmen. the tribe, in accordance with existing agreements, applied to virginia for redress--but received none. there was thus plenty of powder for an explosion. governor lyttleton, glen's successor, at last flung the torch into the magazine. he seized, as hostages, a number of friendly chiefs who were coming to charleston to offer tokens of good will and forced them to march under guard on a military tour which the governor was making (1759) with intent to overawe the savages. when this expedition reached prince george, on the upper waters of the savannah, the indian hostages were confined within the fort; and the governor, satisfied with the result of his maneuver departed south for charleston. then followed a tragedy. some indian friends of the imprisoned chiefs attacked the fort, and the commander, a popular young officer, was treacherously killed during a parley. the infuriated frontiersmen within the fort fell upon the 86 hostages and slew them all--twenty-six chiefs--and the indian war was on. if all were to be told of the struggle which followed in the back country, the story could not be contained in this book. many brave and resourceful men went out against the savages. we can afford only a passing glance at one of them. hugh waddell of north carolina was the most brilliant of all the frontier fighters in that war. he was a young ulsterman from county down, a born soldier, with a special genius for fighting indians, although he did not grow up on the border, for he arrived in north carolina in 1753, at the age of nineteen. he was appointed by governor dobbs to command the second company which north carolina had raised for the war, a force of 450 rangers to protect the border counties; and he presently became the most conspicuous military figure in the colony. as to his personality, we have only a few meager details, with a portrait that suggests plainly enough those qualities of boldness and craft which characterized his tactics. governor dobbs appears to have had a special love towards hugh, whose family he had known in ireland, for an undercurrent of almost fatherly pride is to be found in the old governor's reports to the assembly concerning waddell's exploits. 87 the terror raged for nearly three years. cabins and fields were burned, and women and children were slaughtered or dragged away captives. not only did immigration cease but many hardy settlers fled from the country. at length, after horrors indescribable and great toll of life, the cherokees gave up the struggle. their towns were invaded and laid waste by imperial and colonial troops, and they could do nothing but make peace. in 1761 they signed a treaty with the english to hold while rivers flow and grasses grow and sun and moon endure. in the previous year (1760) the imperial war had run its course in america. new france lay prostrate, and the english were supreme not only on the ohio but on the st. lawrence and the great lakes. louisbourg, quebec, montreal, oswego, niagara, duquesne, detroit--all were in english hands. hugh waddell and his rangers, besides serving with distinction in the indian war, had taken part in the capture of fort duquesne. this feat had been accomplished in 1758 by an expedition under general forbes. the troops made a terrible march over a new route, cutting a road as they 88 went. it was november when they approached their objective. the wastes of snow and their diminished supplies caused such depression among the men that the officers called a halt to discuss whether or not to proceed toward fort duquesne, where they believed the french to be concentrated in force. extravagant sums in guineas were named as suitable reward for any man who would stalk and catch a french indian and learn from him the real conditions inside the fort. the honor, if not the guineas, fell to john rogers, one of waddell's rangers. from the indian it was learned that the french had already gone, leaving behind only a few of their number. as the english drew near, they found that the garrison had blown up the magazine, set fire to the fort, and made off. thus, while new france was already tottering, but nearly two years before the final capitulation at montreal, the english again became masters of the ohio company's land--masters of the forks of the ohio. this time they were there to stay. where the walls of fort duquesne had crumbled in the fire fort pitt was to rise, proudly bearing the name of england's great commoner who had directed english arms to victory on three continents. with france expelled and the indians deprived 89 of their white allies, the westward path lay open to the pioneers, even though the red man himself would rise again and again in vain endeavor to bar the way. so a new era begins, the era of exploration for definite purpose, the era of commonwealth building. in entering on it, we part with the earliest pioneer--the trader, who first opened the road for both the lone home seeker and the great land company. he dwindles now to the mere barterer and so--save for a few chance glimpses--slips out of sight, for his brave days as imperial scout are done. 90 chapter v boone, the wanderer what thoughts filled daniel boone's mind as he was returning from braddock's disastrous campaign in 1755 we may only conjecture. perhaps he was planning a career of soldiering, for in later years he was to distinguish himself as a frontier commander in both defense and attack. or it may be that his heart was full of the wondrous tales told him by the trader, john findlay, of that hunter's canaan, kentucky, where buffalo and deer roamed in thousands. perhaps he meant to set out ere long in search of the great adventure of his dreams, despite the terrible dangers of trail making across the zones of war into the unknown. however that may be, boone straightway followed neither of these possible plans on his return to the yadkin but halted for a different adventure. there, a rifle shot's distance from his threshold, was offered him the oldest and sweetest of all 91 hazards to the daring. he was twenty-two, strong and comely and a whole man; and therefore he was in no mind to refuse what life held out to him in the person of rebecca bryan. rebecca was the daughter of joseph bryan, who had come to the yadkin from pennsylvania some time before the boones; and she was in her seventeenth year. writers of an earlier and more sentimental period than ours have endeavored to supply, from the saccharine stores of their fancy, the romantic episodes connected with boone's wooing which history has omitted to record. hence the tale that the young hunter, walking abroad in the spring gloaming, saw mistress rebecca's large dark eyes shining in the dusk of the forest, mistook them for a deer's eyes and shot--his aim on this occasion fortunately being bad! but if boone's rifle was missing its mark at ten paces, cupid's dart was speeding home. so runs the story concocted a hundred years later by some gentle scribe ignorant alike of game seasons, the habits of hunters, and the way of a man with a maid in a primitive world. daniel and rebecca were married in the spring of 1756. squire boone, in his capacity as justice of the peace, tied the knot; and in a small cabin built upon his spacious lands the young couple 92 set up housekeeping. here daniel's first two sons were born. in the third year of his marriage, when the second child was a babe in arms, daniel removed with his wife and their young and precious family to culpeper county in eastern virginia, for the border was going through its darkest days of the french and indian war. during the next two or three years we find him in virginia engaged as a wagoner, hauling tobacco in season; but back on the border with his rifle, after the harvest, aiding in defense against the indians. in 1759 he purchased from his father a lot on sugar tree creek, a tributary of dutchman's creek (davie county, north carolina) and built thereon a cabin for himself. the date when he brought his wife and children to live in their new abode on the border is not recorded. it was probably some time after the close of the indian war. of boone himself during these years we have but scant information. we hear of him again in virginia and also as a member of the pack-horse caravan which brought into the back country the various necessaries for the settlers. we know, too, that in the fall of 1760 he was on a lone hunting trip in the mountains west of the yadkin; for until a few years ago there might be seen, still standing on the banks 93 of boone's creek (a small tributary of the watauga) in eastern tennessee, a tree bearing the legend, d boon cilled a bar on this tree 1760. boone was always fond of carving his exploits on trees, and his wanderings have been traced largely by his arboreal publications. in the next year (1761) he went with waddell's rangers when they marched with the army to the final subjugation of the cherokee. that boone and his family were back on the border in the new cabin shortly after the end of the war, we gather from the fact that in 1764 he took his little son james, aged seven, on one of his long hunting excursions. from this time dates the intimate comradeship of father and son through all the perils of the wilderness, a comradeship to come to its tragic end ten years later when, as we shall see, the seventeen-year-old lad fell under the red man's tomahawk as his father was leading the first settlers towards kentucky. in the cold nights of the open camp, as daniel and james lay under the frosty stars, the father kept the boy warm snuggled to his breast under the broad flap of his hunting shirt. sometimes the two were away from home for months together, and daniel declared little james to be as good a woodsman as his father. 94 meanwhile fascinating accounts of the new land of florida, ceded to britain by the treaty of paris in 1763, had leaked into the back country; and in the winter of 1765 boone set off southward on horseback with seven companions. colonel james grant, with whose army boone had fought in 1761, had been appointed governor of the new colony and was offering generous inducements to settlers. the party traveled along the borders of south carolina and georgia. no doubt they made the greater part of their way over the old traders' trace, the whitened warpath; and they suffered severe hardships. game became scarcer as they proceeded. once they were nigh to perishing of starvation and were saved from that fate only through chance meeting with a band of indians who, seeing their plight, made camp and shared their food with them--according to the indian code in time of peace. boone's party explored florida from st. augustine to pensacola, and daniel became sufficiently enamored of the tropical south to purchase there land and a house. his wife, however, was unwilling to go to florida, and she was not long in convincing the hunter that he would soon tire of a gameless country. a gameless country! perhaps 95 this was the very thought which turned the wanderer's desires again towards the land of kentucky.¹ the silencing of the enemy's whisper in the cherokee camps had opened the border forests once more to the nomadic rifleman. boone was not alone in the desire to seek out what lay beyond. his brother-in-law, john stewart, and a nephew by marriage, benjamin cutbirth, or cutbird, with two other young men, john baker and james ward, in 1766 crossed the appalachian mountains, probably by stumbling upon the indian trail winding from base to summit and from peak to base again over this part of the great hill barrier. they eventually reached the mississippi river and, having taken a good quantity of peltry on the way, they launched upon the stream and came in time to new orleans, where they made a satisfactory trade of their furs. ¹ kentucky, from ken-ta-ke, an iroquois word meaning the place of old fields. adair calls the territory the old fields. the indians apparently used the word old, as we do, in a sense of endearment and possession as well as relative to age. boone was fired anew by descriptions of this successful feat, in which two of his kinsmen had participated. he could no longer be held back. he must find the magic door that led through the vast mountain wall into kentucky--kentucky, with its green prairies where the buffalo and deer 96 were as ten thousand thousand cattle feeding in the wilds, and where the balmy air vibrated with the music of innumerable wings. accordingly, in the autumn of 1767, boone began his quest of the delectable country in the company of his friend, william hill, who had been with him in florida. autumn was the season of departure on all forest excursions, because by that time the summer crops had been gathered in and the day of the deer had come. by hunting, the explorers must feed themselves on their travels and with deerskins and furs they must on their return recompense those who had supplied their outfit. boone, the incessant but not always lucky wanderer, was in these years ever in debt for an outfit. boone and hill made their way over the blue ridge and the alleghanies and crossed the holston and clinch rivers. then they came upon the west fork of the big sandy and, believing that it would lead them to the ohio, they continued for at least a hundred miles to the westward. here they found a buffalo trace, one of the many beaten out by the herds in their passage to the salt springs, and they followed it into what is now floyd county in eastern kentucky. but this was not the prairie land described by findlay; it was rough and hilly 97 and so overgrown with laurel as to be almost impenetrable. they therefore wended their way back towards the river, doubtless erected the usual hunter's camp of skins or blankets and branches, and spent the winter in hunting and trapping. spring found them returning to their homes on the yadkin with a fair winter's haul. such urgent desire as boone's, however, was not to be defeated. the next year brought him his great opportunity. john findlay came to the yadkin with a horse pack of needles and linen and peddler's wares to tempt the slim purses of the back country folk. the two erstwhile comrades in arms were overjoyed to encounter each other again, and findlay spent the winter of 1768-69 in boone's cabin. while the snow lay deep outside and good-smelling logs crackled on the hearth, they planned an expedition into kentucky through the gap where virginia, tennessee, and kentucky touch one another, which findlay felt confident he could find. findlay had learned of this route from cross-mountain traders in 1753, when he had descended the ohio to the site of louisville, whence he had gone with some shawanoes as a prisoner to their town of es-kip-pa-ki-thi-ki or blue licks.¹ ¹ hanna, _the wilderness trail,_ vol. ii, pp. 215-16. 98 on the first day of may, 1769, boone and findlay, accompanied by john stewart and three other venturesome spirits, joseph holden, james mooney, and william cooley, took horse for the fabled land. passing through the cumberland gap, they built their first camp in kentucky on the red lick fork of station camp creek. this camp was their base of operations. from it, usually in couples, we infer, the explorers branched out to hunt and to take their observations of the country. here also they prepared the deer and buffalo meat for the winter, dried or smoked the geese they shot in superabundance, made the tallow and oil needed to keep their weapons in trim, their leather soft, and their kits waterproof. their first ill luck befell them in december when boone and stewart were captured by a band of shawanoes who were returning from their autumn hunt on green river. the indians compelled the two white men to show them the location of their camp, took possession of all it contained in skins and furs and also helped themselves to the horses. they left the explorers with just enough meat and ammunition to provide for their journey homeward, and told them to depart and not to intrude again on the red men's hunting 99 grounds. having given this pointed warning, the shawanoes rode on northward towards their towns beyond the ohio. on foot, swiftly and craftily, boone and his brother-in-law trailed the band for two days. they came upon the camp in dead of night, recaptured their horses, and fled. but this was a game in which the indians themselves excelled, and at this date the shawanoes had an advantage over boone in their thorough knowledge of the territory; so that within forty-eight hours the white men were once more prisoners. after they had amused themselves by making boone caper about with a horse bell on his neck, while they jeered at him in broken english, steal horse, eh? the shawanoes turned north again, this time taking the two unfortunate hunters with them. boone and stewart escaped, one day on the march, by a plunge into the thick tall canebrake. though the indians did not attempt to follow them through the mazes of the cane, the situation of the two hunters, without weapons or food, was serious enough. when they found station camp deserted and realized that their four companions had given them up for dead or lost and had set off on the trail for home, even such intrepid souls as theirs may have felt fear. they raced on in pursuit and 100 fortunately fell in not only with their party but with squire boone, daniel's brother, and alexander neely, who had brought in fresh supplies of rifles, ammunition, flour, and horses. after this lucky encounter the group separated. findlay was ill, and holden, mooney, and cooley had had their fill of kentucky; but squire, neely, stewart, and daniel were ready for more adventures. daniel, too, felt under the positive necessity of putting in another year at hunting and trapping in order to discharge his debts and provide for his family. near the mouth of red river the new party built their station camp. here, in idle hours, neely read aloud from a copy of _gulliver's travels_ to entertain the hunters while they dressed their deerskins or tinkered their weapons. in honor of the lorbrulgrud of the book, though with a pronunciation all their own, they christened the nearest creek; and as lulbegrud creek it is still known. before the end of the winter the two boones were alone in the wilderness. their brother-in-law, stewart, had disappeared; and neely, discouraged by this tragic event, had returned to the yadkin. in may, squire boone fared forth, taking with him the season's catch of beaver, otter, and 101 deerskins to exchange in the north carolinian trading houses for more supplies; and daniel was left solitary in kentucky. now followed those lonely explorations which gave daniel boone his special fame above all kentucky's pioneers. he was by no means the first white man to enter kentucky; and when he did enter, it was as one of a party, under another man's guidance--if we except his former disappointing journey into the laurel thickets of floyd county. but these others, barring stewart, who fell there, turned back when they met with loss and hardship and measured the certain risks against the possible gains. boone, the man of imagination, turned to wild earth as to his kin. his genius lay in the sense of oneness he felt with his wilderness environment. an instinct he had which these other men, as courageous perhaps as he, did not possess. never in all the times when he was alone in the woods and had no other man's safety or counsel to consider, did he suffer ill fortune. the nearest approach to trouble that befell him when alone occurred one day during this summer when some indians emerged from their green shelter and found him, off guard for the moment, standing on a cliff gazing with rapture over the vast rolling 102 stretches of kentucky. he was apparently cut off from escape, for the savages were on three sides, advancing without haste to take him, meanwhile greeting him with mock amity. over the cliff leaped boone and into the outspread arms of a friendly maple, whose top bloomed green about sixty feet below the cliff's rim, and left his would-be captors on the height above, grunting their amazement. during this summer boone journeyed through the valleys of the kentucky and the licking. he followed the buffalo traces to the two blue licks and saw the enormous herds licking up the salt earth, a darkly ruddy moving mass of beasts whose numbers could not be counted. for many miles he wound along the ohio, as far as the falls. he also found the big bone lick with its mammoth fossils. in july, 1770, daniel returned to the red river camp and there met squire boone with another pack of supplies. the two brothers continued their hunting and exploration together for some months, chiefly in jessamine county, where two caves still bear boone's name. in that winter they even braved the green river ground, whence had come the hunting shawanoes who had taken daniel's 103 first fruits a year before. in the same year (1770) there had come into kentucky from the yadkin another party of hunters, called, from their lengthy sojourn in the twilight zone, the long hunters. one of these, gasper mansker, afterwards related how the long hunters were startled one day by hearing sounds such as no buffalo or turkey ever made, and how mansker himself stole silently under cover of the trees towards the place whence the strange noises came, and descried daniel boone prone on his back with a deerskin under him, his famous tall black hat beside him and his mouth opened wide in joyous but apparently none too tuneful song. this incident gives a true character touch. it is not recorded of any of the men who turned back that they sang alone in the wilderness. in march, 1771, the two boones started homeward, their horses bearing the rich harvest of furs and deerskins which was to clear daniel of debt and to insure the comfort of the family he had not seen for two years. but again evil fortune met them, this time in the very gates--for in the cumberland gap they were suddenly surrounded by indians who took everything from them, leaving them neither guns nor horses. 104 chapter vi the fight for kentucky when boone returned home he found the back country of north carolina in the throes of the regulation movement. this movement, which had arisen first from the colonists' need to police their settlements, had more recently assumed a political character. the regulators were now in conflict with the authorities, because the frontier folk were suffering through excessive taxes, extortionate fees, dishonest land titles, and the corruption of the courts. in may, 1771, the conflict lost its quasi-civil nature. the regulators resorted to arms and were defeated by the forces under governor tryon in the battle of the alamance. the regulation movement, which we shall follow in more detail further on, was a culmination of those causes of unrest which turned men westward. to escape from oppression and to acquire land 105 beyond the bounds of tyranny became the earnest desire of independent spirits throughout the back country. but there was another and more potent reason why the country east of the mountains no longer contented boone. hunting and trapping were boone's chief means of livelihood. in those days, deerskins sold for a dollar a skin to the traders at the forks or in hillsborough; beaver at about two dollars and a half, and otter at from three to five dollars. a pack-horse could carry a load of one hundred dressed deerskins, and, as currency was scarce, a hundred dollars was wealth. game was fast disappearing from the yadkin. to boone above all men, then, kentucky beckoned. when he returned in the spring of 1771 from his explorations, it was with the resolve to take his family at once into the great game country and to persuade some of his friends to join in this hazard of new fortunes. the perils of such a venture, only conjectural to us at this distance, he knew well; but in him there was nothing that shrank from danger, though he did not court it after the rash manner of many of his compeers. neither reckless nor riotous, boone was never found among those who opposed violence to authority, even unjust authority; nor was 106 he ever guilty of the savagery which characterized much of the retaliatory warfare of that period when frenzied white men bettered the red man's instruction. in him, courage was illumined with tenderness and made equable by self-control. yet, though he was no fiery zealot like the ulstermen who were to follow him along the path he had made and who loved and revered him perhaps because he was so different from themselves, boone nevertheless had his own religion. it was a simple faith best summed up perhaps by himself in his old age when he said that he had been only an instrument in the hand of god to open the wilderness to settlement. two years passed before boone could muster a company of colonists for the dangerous and delectable land. the dishonesty practiced by lord granville's agents in the matter of deeds had made it difficult for daniel and his friends to dispose of their acreage. when at last in the spring of 1773 the wanderer was prepared to depart, he was again delayed; this time by the arrival of a little son to whom was given the name of john. by september, however, even this latest addition to the party was ready for travel; and that month saw the boones with a small caravan of families journeying towards powell's valley, whence the 107 warrior's path took its way through cumberland gap. at this point on the march they were to be joined by william russell, a famous pioneer, from the clinch river, with his family and a few neighbors, and by some of rebecca boone's kinsmen, the bryans, from the lower yadkin, with a company of forty men. of rebecca boone history tells us too little--only that she was born a bryan, was of low stature and dark eyed, that she bore her husband ten children, and lived beside him to old age. except on his hunts and explorations, she went with him from one cabined home to another, always deeper into the wilds. there are no portraits of her. we can see her only as a shadowy figure moving along the wilderness trails beside the man who accepted his destiny of god to be a way-shower for those of lesser faith. he tires not forever on his leagues of march because her feet are set to his footprints, and the gleam of her bare hand slants across his shoulder. boone halted his company on walden mountain over powell's valley to await the bryan contingent and dispatched two young men under the leadership of his son james, then in his seventeenth year, 108 to notify russell of the party's arrival. as the boys were returning with russell's son, also a stripling, two of his slaves, and some white laborers, they missed the path and went into camp for the night. when dawn broke, disclosing the sleepers, a small war band of shawanoes, who had been spying on boone and his party, fell upon them and slaughtered them. only one of russell's slaves and a laborer escaped. the tragedy seems augmented by the fact that the point where the boys lost the trail and made their night quarters was hardly three miles from the main camp--to which an hour later came the two survivors with their gloomy tidings. terror now took hold of the little band of emigrants, and there were loud outcries for turning back. the bryans, who had arrived meanwhile, also advised retreat, saying that the signs about the scene of blood indicated an indian uprising. daniel carried the scalped body of his son, the boy-comrade of his happy hunts, to the camp and buried it there at the beginning of the trail. his voice alone urged that they go on. fortunately indeed, as events turned out, boone was overruled, and the expedition was abandoned. the bryan party and the others from north carolina went back to the yadkin. boone himself with 109 his family accompanied russell to the clinch settlement, where he erected a temporary cabin on the farm of one of the settlers, and then set out alone on the chase to earn provision for his wife and children through the winter. those who prophesied an indian war were not mistaken. when the snowy hunting season had passed and the powwowing days were come, the indian war drum rattled in the medicine house from the borders of pennsylvania to those of carolina. the causes of the strife for which the red men were making ready must be briefly noted to help us form a just opinion of the deeds that followed. early writers have usually represented the frontiersmen as saints in buckskin and the indians as fiends without the shadow of a claim on either the land or humanity. many later writers have merely reversed the shield. the truth is that the indians and the borderers reacted upon each other to the hurt of both. paradoxically, they grew like enough to hate one another with a savage hatred--and both wanted the land. land! land! was the slogan of all sorts and conditions of men. tidewater officials held solemn powwows with the chiefs, gave wampum strings, 110 and forthwith incorporated.¹ chiefs blessed their white brothers who had forever brightened the chain of friendship, departed home, and proceeded to brighten the blades of their tomahawks and to await, not long, the opportunity to use them on casual hunters who carried in their kits the compass, the land-stealer. usually the surveying hunter was a borderer; and on him the tomahawk descended with an accelerated gusto. private citizens also formed land companies and sent out surveyors, regardless of treaties. bold frontiersmen went into no man's land and staked out their claims. in the very year when disaster turned the boone party back, james harrod had entered kentucky from pennsylvania and had marked the site of a settlement. ¹ the activities of the great land companies are described in alvord's exhaustive work, _the mississippi valley in british politics._ ten years earlier (1763), the king had issued the famous and much misunderstood proclamation restricting his loving subjects from the lands west of the mountains. the colonists interpreted this document as a tyrannous curtailment of their liberties for the benefit of the fur trade. we know now that the portion of this proclamation relating to western settlement was a wise provision 111 designed to protect the settlers on the frontier by allaying the suspicions of the indians, who viewed with apprehension the triumphal occupation of that vast territory from canada to the gulf of mexico by the colonizing english. by seeking to compel all land purchase to be made through the crown, it was designed likewise to protect the indians from whisky purchase, and to make impossible the transfer of their lands except with consent of the indian council, or full quota of headmen, whose joint action alone conveyed what the tribes considered to be legal title. sales made according to this form, sir william johnson declared to the lords of trade, he had never known to be repudiated by the indians. this paragraph of the proclamation was in substance an embodiment of johnson's suggestions to the lords of trade. its purpose was square dealing and pacification; and shrewd men such as washington recognized that it was not intended as a final check to expansion. a temporary expedient to quiet the minds of the indians, washington called it, and then himself went out along the great kanawha and into kentucky, surveying land. it will be asked what had become of the ohio company of virginia and that fort at the forks of 112 the ohio, once a bone of contention between france and england. fort pitt, as it was now called, had fallen foul of another dispute, this time between virginia and pennsylvania. virginia claimed that the far western corner of her boundary ascended just far enough north to take in fort pitt. pennsylvania asserted that it did nothing of the sort. the ohio company had meanwhile been merged into the walpole company. george croghan, at fort pitt, was the company's agent and as such was accused by pennsylvania of favoring from ulterior motives the claims of virginia. hotheads in both colonies asseverated that the indians were secretly being stirred up in connection with the boundary disputes. if it does not very clearly appear how an indian rising would have settled the ownership of fort pitt, it is evident enough where the interests of virginia and pennsylvania clashed. virginia wanted land for settlement and speculation; pennsylvania wanted the indians left in possession for the benefit of the fur trade. so far from stirring up the indians, as his enemies declared, croghan was as usual giving away all his substance to keep them quiet.¹ indeed, 113 during this summer of 1774, eleven hundred indians were encamped about fort pitt visiting him. ¹ the suspicion that croghan and lord dunmore, the governor of virginia, were instigating the war appears to have arisen out of the conduct of dr. john connolly, dunmore's agent and croghan's nephew. croghan had induced the shawanoes to bring under escort to fort pitt certain english traders resident in the indian towns. the escort was fired on by militiamen under command of connolly, who also issued a proclamation declaring a state of war to exist. connolly, however, probably acted on his own initiative. he was interested in land on his own behalf and was by no means the only man at that time who was ready to commit outrages on indians in order to obtain it. as croghan lamented, there was too great a spirit in the frontier people for killing indians. two hundred thousand acres in the west--kentucky and west virginia--had been promised to the colonial officers and soldiers who fought in the seven years' war. but after making the proclamation the british government had delayed issuing the patents. washington interested himself in trying to secure them; and lord dunmore, who also had caught the land-fever,² prodded the british authorities but won only rebuke for his inconvenient activities. insistent, however, dunmore sent out parties of surveyors to fix the bounds of the soldiers' claims. james harrod, captain thomas bullitt, hancock taylor, and three mcafee brothers entered kentucky, by the ohio, under dunmore's orders. john floyd went in by 114 the kanawha as washington's agent. a bird's-eye view of that period would disclose to us very few indeed of his majesty's loving subjects who were paying any attention to his proclamation. early in 1774, harrod began the building of cabins and a fort, and planted corn on the site of harrodsburg. thus to him and not to boone fell the honor of founding the first permanent white settlement in kentucky. ² see alvord, _the mississippi valley in british politics,_ vol. ii, pp. 191-94. when summer came, its thick verdure proffering ambuscade, the air hung tense along the border. traders had sent in word that shawanoes, delawares, mingos, wyandots, and cherokees were refusing all other exchange than rifles, ammunition, knives, and hatchets. white men were shot down in their fields from ambush. dead indians lay among their own young corn, their scalp locks taken. there were men of both races who wanted war and meant to have it--and with it the land. lord dunmore, the governor, resolved that, if war were inevitable, it should be fought out in the indian country. with this intent, he wrote to colonel andrew lewis of botetourt county, commander of the southwest militia, instructing him 115 to raise a respectable body of troops and join me either at the mouth of the great kanawha or wheeling, or such other part of the ohio as may be most convenient for you to meet me. the governor himself with a force of twelve hundred proceeded to fort pitt, where croghan, as we have seen, was extending his hospitality to eleven hundred warriors from the disaffected tribes. on receipt of the governor's letter, andrew lewis sent out expresses to his brother colonel charles lewis, county lieutenant of augusta, and to colonel william preston, county lieutenant of fincastle, to raise men and bring them with all speed to the rendezvous at camp union (lewisburg) on the big levels of the greenbrier (west virginia). andrew lewis summoned these officers to an expedition for reducing our inveterate enemies to reason. preston called for volunteers to take advantage of the opportunity we have so long wished for… this useless people may now at last be oblidged to abandon their country. these men were among not only the bravest but the best of their time; but this was their view of the indian and his alleged rights. to eliminate this useless people, inveterate enemies of the white race, was, as they saw it, a political necessity 116 and a religious duty. and we today who profit by their deeds dare not condemn them. fervor less solemn was aroused in other quarters by dunmore's call to arms. at wheeling, some eighty or ninety young adventurers, in charge of captain michael cresap of maryland, were waiting for the freshets to sweep them down the ohio into kentucky. when the news reached them, they greeted it with the wild monotone chant and the ceremonies preliminary to indian warfare. they planted the war pole, stripped and painted themselves, and starting the war dance called on cresap to be their white leader. the captain, however, declined; but in that wild circling line was one who was a white leader indeed. he was a sandy-haired boy of twenty--one of the bold race of english virginians, rugged and of fiery countenance, with blue eyes intense of glance and deep set under a high brow that, while modeled for power, seemed threatened in its promise by the too sensitive chiseling of his lips. with every nerve straining for the fray, with thudding of feet and crooning of the blood song, he wheeled with those other mad spirits round the war pole till the set of sun closed the rites. that evening two scalps were brought into camp, so a letter of his reads. 117 does the bold savage color of this picture affright us? would we veil it? then we should lose something of the true lineaments of george rogers clark, who, within four short years, was to lead a tiny army of tattered and starving backwoodsmen, ashamed to quail where he never flinched, through barrens and icy floods to the conquest of illinois for the united states. though cresap had rejected the rôle of white leader, he did not escape the touch of infamy. cresap's war was the name the indians gave to the bloody encounters between small parties of whites and indians, which followed on that war dance and scalping, during the summer months. one of these encounters must be detailed here because history has assigned it as the immediate cause of dunmore's war. greathouse, sapperton, and king, three traders who had a post on yellow creek, a tributary of the ohio fifty miles below pittsburgh, invited several indians from across the stream to come and drink with them and their friends. among the indians were two or three men of importance in the mingo tribe. there were also some women, one of whom was the indian wife of colonel john gibson, an educated man who had distinguished himself as 118 a soldier with forbes in 1758. that the indians came in amity and apprehended no treachery was proved by the presence of the women. gibson's wife carried her half-caste baby in her shawl. the disreputable traders plied their guests with drink to the point of intoxication and then murdered them. king shot the first man and, when he fell, cut his throat, saying that he had served many a deer in that fashion. gibson's indian wife fled and was shot down in the clearing. a man followed to dispatch her and her baby. she held the child up to him pleading, with her last breath, that he would spare it because it was not indian but one of yours. the mother dead, the child was later sent to gibson. twelve indians in all were killed. meanwhile croghan had persuaded the iroquois to peace. with the help of david zeisberger, the moravian missionary, and white eyes, a delaware chief, he and dunmore had won over the delaware warriors. in the cherokee councils, oconostota demanded that the treaty of peace signed in 1761 be kept. the shawanoes, however, led by cornstalk, were implacable; and they had as allies the ottawas and mingos, who had entered the council with them. 119 a famous chief of the day and one of great influence over the indians, and also among the white officials who dealt with indian affairs, was tach-nech-dor-us, or branching oak of the forest, a mingo who had taken the name of logan out of compliment to james logan of pennsylvania. chief logan had recently met with so much reproach from his red brothers for his loyalty to the whites that he had departed from the mingo town at yellow creek. but, learning that his tribe had determined to assist the shawanoes and had already taken some white scalps, he repaired to the place where the mingos were holding their war council to exert his powers for peace. there, in presence of the warriors, after swaying them from their purpose by those oratorical gifts which gave him his influence and his renown, he took the war hatchet that had already killed, and buried it in proof that vengeance was appeased. upon this scene there entered a mingo from yellow creek with the news of the murders committed there by the three traders. the indian whose throat had been slit as king had served deer was logan's brother. another man slain was his kinsman. the woman with the baby was his sister. logan tore up from the earth the bloody tomahawk and, 120 raising it above his head, swore that he would not rest till he had taken ten white lives to pay for each one of his kin. again the mingo warriors declared for war and this time were not dissuaded. but logan did not join this red army. he went out alone to wreak his vengeance, slaying and scalping. meanwhile dunmore prepared to push the war with the utmost vigor. his first concern was to recall the surveying parties from kentucky, and for so hazardous an errand he needed the services of a man whose endurance, speed, and woodcraft were equal to those of any indian scout afoot. through colonel preston, his orders were conveyed to daniel boone, for boone's fame had now spread from the border to the tidewater regions. it was stated that boone would lose no time, and if they are alive, it is indisputable but boone must find them. so boone set out in company with michael stoner, another expert woodsman. his general instructions were to go down the kentucky river to preston's salt lick and across country to the falls of the ohio, and thence home by gaspar's lick on the cumberland river. indian war parties were moving under cover across the dark 121 and bloody ground to surround the various groups of surveyors still at large and to exterminate them. boone made his journey successfully. he found john floyd, who was surveying for washington; he sped up to where harrod and his band were building cabins and sent them out, just in time as it happened; he reached all the outposts of thomas bullitt's party, only one of whom fell a victim to the foe¹; and, undetected by the indians, he brought himself and stoner home in safety, after covering eight hundred miles in sixty-one days. ¹ hancock taylor, who delayed in getting out of the country and was cut off. harrod and his homesteaders immediately enlisted in the army. how eager boone was to go with the forces under lewis is seen in the official correspondence relative to dunmore's war. floyd wanted boone's help in raising a company: captain bledsoe says that boone has more [influence] than any man now disengaged; and you know what boone has done for me… for which reason i love the man. even the border, it would seem, had its species of pacifists who were willing to let others take risks for them, for men hung back from recruiting, and desertions were the order of the day. major arthur campbell hit upon a solution 122 of the difficulties in west fincastle. he was convinced that boone could raise a company and hold the men loyal. and boone did. for some reason, however, daniel's desire to march with the army was denied. perhaps it was because just such a man as he--and, indeed, there was no other--was needed to guard the settlement. presently he was put in command of moore's fort in clinch valley, and his diligence received official approbation. a little later the inhabitants of the valley sent out a petition to have boone made a captain and given supreme command of the lower forts. the settlers demanded boone's promotion for their own security. the land it is good, it is just to our mind, each will have his part if his lordship be kind, the ohio once ours, we'll live at our ease, with a bottle and glass to drink when we please. so sang the army poet, thus giving voice, as bards should ever do, to the theme nearest the hearts of his hearers--in this case, land! presumably his ditty was composed on the eve of the march from lewisburg, for it is found in a soldier's diary. on the evening of october 9, 1774, andrew lewis with his force of eleven hundred frontiersmen 123 was encamped on point pleasant at the junction of the great kanawha with the ohio. dunmore in the meantime had led his forces into ohio and had erected fort gower at the mouth of the hockhocking river, where he waited for word from andrew lewis.¹ ¹ it has been customary to ascribe to lord dunmore motives of treachery in failing to make connections with lewis; but no real evidence has been advanced to support any of the charges made against him by local historians. the charges were, as theodore roosevelt says, an afterthought. dunmore was a king's man in the revolution; and yet in march, 1775, the convention of the colony of virginia, assembled in opposition to the royal party, resolved: the most cordial thanks of the people of this colony are a tribute justly due to our worthy governor, lord dunmore, for his truly noble, wise, and spirited conduct which at once evinces his excellency's attention to the true interests of this colony, and a zeal in the executive department which no dangers can divert, or difficulties hinder, from achieving the most important services to the people who have the happiness to live under his administration. (see _american archives,_ fourth series, vol. ii, p. 170.) similar resolutions were passed by his officers on the march home from ohio; at the same time, the officers passed resolutions in sympathy with the american cause. yet it was andrew lewis who later drove dunmore from virginia. well might dunmore exclaim, that it should ever come to this! the movements of the two armies were being observed by scouts from the force of red warriors gathered in ohio under the great leader of the shawanoes. cornstalk purposed to isolate the two armies of his enemy and to crush them in turn before they could come together. his first move was to launch an attack on lewis at point 124 pleasant. in the dark of night, cornstalk's indians crossed the ohio on rafts, intending to surprise the white man's camp at dawn. they would have succeeded but for the chance that three or four of the frontiersmen, who had risen before daybreak to hunt, came upon the indians creeping towards the camp. shots were exchanged. an indian and a white man dropped. the firing roused the camp. three hundred men in two lines under charles lewis and william fleming sallied forth expecting to engage the vanguard of the enemy but encountered almost the whole force of from eight hundred to a thousand indians before the rest of the army could come into action. both officers were wounded, charles lewis fatally. the battle, which continued from dawn until an hour before sunset, was the bloodiest in virginia's long series of indian wars. the frontiersmen fought as such men ever fought--with the daring, bravery, swiftness of attack, and skill in taking cover which were the tactics of their day, even as at a later time many of these same men fought at king's mountain and in illinois the battles that did so much to turn the tide in the revolution.² ² with andrew lewis on this day were isaac shelby and william campbell, the victorious leaders at king's mountain, james robertson, the father of tennessee, valentine sevier, daniel morgan, hero of the cowpens, major arthur campbell, benjamin logan, anthony bledsoe, and simon kenton. with dunmore's force were adam stephen, who distinguished himself at the brandywine, george rogers clark, john stuart, already noted through the cherokee wars, and john montgomery, later one of clark's four captains in illinois. the two last mentioned were highlanders. clark's illinois force was largely recruited from the troops who fought at point pleasant. 125 colonel preston wrote to patrick henry that the enemy behaved with inconceivable bravery, the head men walking about in the time of action exhorting their men to lie close, shoot well, be strong, and fight. the shawanoes ran up to the muzzles of the english guns, disputing every foot of ground. both sides knew well what they were fighting for--the rich land held in a semicircle by the beautiful river. shortly before sundown the indians, mistaking a flank movement by shelby's contingent for the arrival of reinforcements, retreated across the ohio. many of their most noted warriors had fallen and among them the shawano chief, puck-e-shin-wa, father of a famous son, tecumseh.¹ yet they were unwilling to accept defeat. when they heard that dunmore was now marching overland to cut them off from their towns, their fury blazed anew. shall we first kill all our women and children and then 126 fight till we ourselves are slain? cornstalk, in irony, demanded of them; no? then i will go and make peace. ¹ thwaites, _documentary history of dunmore's war._ by the treaty compacted between the chiefs and lord dunmore, the indians gave up all claim to the lands south of the ohio, even for hunting, and agreed to allow boats to pass unmolested. in this treaty the mingos refused to join, and a detachment of dunmore's troops made a punitive expedition to their towns. some discord arose between dunmore and lewis's frontier forces because, since the shawanoes had made peace, the governor would not allow the frontiersmen to destroy the shawano towns. of all the chiefs, logan alone still held aloof. major gibson undertook to fetch him, but logan refused to come to the treaty grounds. he sent by gibson the short speech which has lived as an example of the best indian oratory: i appeal to any white man to say if ever he entered logan's cabin hungry and he gave him not meat: if ever he came cold and naked and he clothed him not. during the course of the last long and bloody war, logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate for peace. such was my love for the whites that my countrymen pointed as they passed and said, logan is the friend of the white men. i had even thought to have lived 127 with you but for the injuries of one man. colonel cresap, the last spring, in cold blood and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of logan, not even sparing my women and children. there remains not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. this called on me for revenge. i have sought it; i have killed many; i have fully glutted my vengeance: for my country i rejoice at the beams of peace. but do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear. logan never felt fear. he will not turn on his heel to save his life. who is there to mourn for logan? not one.¹ ¹ some writers have questioned the authenticity of logan's speech, inclining to think that gibson himself composed it, partly because of the biblical suggestion in the first few lines. that gibson gave biblical phraseology to these lines is apparent, though, as adair points out there are many examples of similitude in indian and biblical expression. but the thought is indian and relates to the first article of the indian's creed, namely, to share his food with the needy. there remains not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature is a truly indian lament. evidently the final four lines of the speech are the most literally translated, for they have the form and the primitive rhythmic beat which a student of indian poetry quickly recognizes. the authenticity of the speech, as well as the innocence of cresap, whom logan mistakenly accused, was vouched for by george rogers clark in a letter to dr. samuel brown dated june 17, 1798. see jefferson papers, series 5, quoted by english, _conquest of the country northwest of the river ohio,_ vol. ii. p. 1029. by rivers and trails, in large and small companies, started home the army that had won the land. the west fincastle troops, from the lower settlements of the clinch and holston valleys, were to return by the kentucky river, while those from 128 the upper valley would take the shorter way up sandy creek. to keep them in provisions during the journey it was ordered that hunters be sent out along these routes to kill and barbecue meat and place it on scaffolds at appropriate spots. the way home by the kentucky was a long road for weary and wounded men with hunger gnawing under their belts. we know who swung out along the trail to provide for that little band, dressed in deerskins colored black, and his hair plaited and bobbed up. it was daniel boone--now, by popular demand, captain boone--just discharged from service, since the valley forts needed him no longer. once more only a hunter, he went his way over walden mountain--past his son's grave marking the place where he had been turned back--to serve the men who had opened the gates. 129 chapter vii the dark and bloody ground with the coming of spring daniel boone's desire, so long cherished and deferred, to make a way for his neighbors through the wilderness was to be fulfilled at last. but ere his ax could slash the thickets from the homeseekers' path, more than two hundred settlers had entered kentucky by the northern waterways. eighty or more of these settled at harrodsburg, where harrod was laying out his town on a generous plan, with in-lots of half an acre and out-lots of larger size. among those associated with harrod was george rogers clark, who had surveyed claims for himself during the year before the war. while over two hundred colonists were picking out home sites wherever their pleasure or prudence dictated, a gigantic land promotion scheme--involving the very tracts where they were sowing their first corn--was being set afoot in north 130 carolina by a body of men who figure in the early history of kentucky as the transylvania company. the leader of this organization was judge richard henderson.¹ judge henderson dreamed a big dream. his castle in the air had imperial proportions. he resolved, in short, to purchase from the cherokee indians the larger part of kentucky and to establish there a colony after the manner and the economic form of the english lords proprietors, whose day in america was so nearly done. though in the light of history the plan loses none of its dramatic features, it shows the practical defects that must surely have prevented its realization. like many another cæsar hungering for empire and staking all to win it, the prospective lord of kentucky, as we shall see, had left the human equation out of his calculations. ¹ richard henderson (1734-1785) was the son of the high sheriff of granville county. at first an assistant to his father, he studied law and soon achieved a reputation by the brilliance of his mind and the magnetism of his personality. as presiding judge at hillsborough he had come into conflict with the violent element among the regulators, who had driven him from the court and burned his house and barns. for some time prior to his elevation to the bench, he had been engaged in land speculations. one of boone's biographers suggests that boone may have been secretly acting as henderson's agent during his first lonely explorations of kentucky. however this may be, it does not appear that boone and his yadkin neighbors were acting with henderson when in september, 1773, they made their first attempt to enter kentucky as settlers. 131 richard henderson had known daniel boone on the yadkin; and it was boone's detailed reports of the marvelous richness and beauty of kentucky which had inspired him to formulate his gigantic scheme and had enabled him also to win to his support several men of prominence in the back country. to sound the cherokees regarding the purchase and to arrange, if possible, for a conference, henderson dispatched boone to the indian towns in the early days of 1775. since we have just learned that dunmore's war compelled the shawanoes and their allies to relinquish their right to kentucky, that, both before and after that event, government surveyors were in the territory surveying for the soldiers' claims, and that private individuals had already laid out town sites and staked holdings, it may be asked what right of ownership the cherokees possessed in kentucky, that henderson desired to purchase it of them. the indian title to kentucky seems to have been hardly less vague to the red men than it was to the whites. several of the nations had laid claim to the territory. as late as 1753, it will be remembered, the shawanoes had occupied a town at blue licks, for john findlay had been taken there by some of them. but, before findlay 132 guided boone through the gap in 1769, the shawanoes had been driven out by the iroquois, who claimed suzerainty over them as well as over the cherokees. in 1768, the iroquois had ceded kentucky to the british crown by the treaty of fort stanwix; whereupon the cherokees had protested so vociferously that the crown's indian agent, to quiet them, had signed a collateral agreement with them. though claimed by many, kentucky was by common consent not inhabited by any of the tribes. it was the great middle ground where the indians hunted. it was the warriors' path over which they rode from north and south to slaughter and where many of their fiercest encounters took place. however shadowy the title which henderson purposed to buy, there was one all-sufficing reason why he must come to terms with the cherokees: their northernmost towns in tennessee lay only fifty or sixty miles below cumberland gap and hence commanded the route over which he must lead colonists into his empire beyond the hills. the conference took place early in march, 1775, at the sycamore shoals of the watauga river. twelve hundred indians, led by their town chiefs--among whom were the old warrior and the old statesman of their nation, oconostota and 133 attakullakulla--came to the treaty grounds and were received by henderson and his associates and several hundred white men who were eager for a chance to settle on new lands. though boone was now on his way into kentucky for the transylvania company, other border leaders of renown or with their fame still to win were present, and among them james robertson, of serious mien, and that blond gay knight in buckskin, john sevier. it is a dramatic picture we evolve for ourselves from the meager narratives of this event--a mass of painted indians moving through the sycamores by the bright water, to come presently into a tense, immobile semicircle before the large group of armed frontiersmen seated or standing about richard henderson, the man with the imperial dream, the ready speaker whose flashing eyes and glowing oratory won the hearts of all who came under their sway. what though the cherokee title be a flimsy one at best and the price offered for it a bagatelle! the spirit of forward march! is there in that great canvas framed by forest and sky. the somber note that tones its lustrous color, as by a sweep of the brush, is the figure of the chickamaugan chief, dragging canoe, warrior and seer and hater of white men, who urges his tribesmen against the sale and, 134 when they will not hearken, springs from their midst into the clear space before henderson and his band of pioneers and, pointing with uplifted arm, warns them that a dark cloud hangs over the land the white man covets which to the red man has long been a bloody ground.¹ ¹ this utterance of dragging canoe's is generally supposed to be the origin of the descriptive phrase applied to kentucky--the dark and bloody ground. see roosevelt, _the winning of the west,_ vol. i, p.229. the purchase, finally consummated, included the country lying between the kentucky and cumberland rivers--almost all the present state of kentucky, with the adjacent land watered by the cumberland river and its tributaries, except certain lands previously leased by the indians to the watauga colony. the tract comprised about twenty million acres and extended into tennessee. daniel boone's work was to cut out a road for the wagons of the transylvania company's colonists to pass over. this was to be done by slashing away the briers and underbrush hedging the narrow warriors' path that made a direct northward line from cumberland gap to the ohio bank, opposite the mouth of the scioto river. just prior to the conference boone and thirty guns had set forth from the holston to prepare the road and to build a fort on whatever site he should select. 135 by april, henderson and his first group of tenants were on the trail. in powell's valley they came up with a party of virginians kentucky bound, led by benjamin logan; and the two bands joined together for the march. they had not gone far when they heard disquieting news. after leaving martin's station, at the gates of his new domain, henderson received a letter from boone telling of an attack by indians, in which two of his men had been killed, but we stood on the ground and guarded our baggage till the day and lost nothing.¹ these tidings, indicating that despite treaties and sales, the savages were again on the warpath, might well alarm henderson's colonists. while they halted, some indecisive, others frankly for retreat, there appeared a company of men making all haste out of kentucky because of indian unrest. six of these henderson persuaded to turn again and go in with him; but this addition hardly offset the loss of those members of his party who thought it too perilous to proceed. henderson's own courage did not falter. he had staked his all on this stupendous venture and for him it was forward to wealth and glory or retreat into poverty and eclipse. boone, in the heart of the danger, 136 was making the same stand. if we give way to them [the indians] now, he wrote, it will ever be the case. ¹ bogart, _daniel boone and the hunters of kentucky, p. 121._ signs of discord other than indian opposition met henderson as he resolutely pushed on. his conversations with some of the fugitives from kentucky disclosed the first indications of the storm that was to blow away the empire he was going in to found. he told them that the claims they had staked in kentucky would not hold good with the transylvania company. whereupon james mcafee, who was leading a group of returning men, stated his opinion that the transylvania company's claim would not hold good with virginia. after the parley, three of mcafee's brothers turned back and went with henderson's party, but whether with intent to join his colony or to make good their own claims is not apparent. benjamin logan continued amicably with henderson on the march but did not recognize him as lord proprietor of kentucky. he left the transylvania caravan shortly after entering the territory, branched off in the direction of harrodsburg, and founded st. asaph's station, in the present lincoln county, independently of henderson though the site lay within henderson's purchase. 137 notwithstanding delays and apprehensions, henderson and his colonists finally reached boone's fort, which daniel and his thirty guns--lacking two since the indian encounter--had erected at the mouth of otter creek. an attractive buoyancy of temperament is revealed in henderson's description in his journal of a giant elm with tall straight trunk and even foliage that shaded a space of one hundred feet. instantly he chose this "divine elm" as the council chamber of transylvania. under its leafage he read the constitution of the new colony. it would be too great a stretch of fancy to call it a democratic document, for it was not that, except in deft phrases. power was certainly declared to be vested in the people; but the substance of power remained in the hands of the proprietors. terms for land grants were generous enough in the beginning, although henderson made the fatal mistake of demanding quitrents--one of the causes of dissatisfaction which had led to the regulators' rising in north carolina. in september he augmented this error by more than doubling the price of land, adding a fee of eight shillings for surveying, and reserving to the proprietors one-half of all gold, silver, lead, and sulphur found on 138 the land. no land near sulphur springs or showing evidences of metals was to be granted to settlers. moreover, at the company's store the prices charged for lead were said to be too high--lead being necessary for hunting, and hunting being the only means of procuring food--while the wages of labor, as fixed by the company, were too low. these terms bore too heavily on poor men who were risking their lives in the colony. hence newcomers passed by boonesborough, as the transylvania settlement was presently called, and went elsewhere. they settled on henderson's land but refused his terms. they joined in their sympathies with james harrod, who, having established harrodsburg in the previous year at the invitation of virginia, was not in the humor to acknowledge henderson's claim or to pay him tribute. all were willing to combine with the transylvania company for defense, and to enforce law they would unite in bonds of brotherhood in kentucky, even as they had been one with each other on the earlier frontier now left behind them. but they would call no man master; they had done with feudalism. that henderson should not have foreseen this, especially after the upheaval in north carolina, proves him, in spite of all his brilliant 139 gifts, to have been a man out of touch with the spirit of the time. the war of the revolution broke forth and the indians descended upon the kentucky stations. defense was the one problem in all minds, and defense required powder and lead in plenty. the transylvania company was not able to provide the means of defense against the hordes of savages whom henry hamilton, the british governor at detroit, was sending to make war on the frontiers. practical men like harrod and george rogers clark--who, if not a practical man in his own interests, was a most practical soldier--saw that unification of interests within the territory with the backing of either virginia or congress was necessary. clark personally would have preferred to see the settlers combine as a freemen's state. it was plain that they would not combine and stake their lives as a unit to hold kentucky for the benefit of the transylvania company, whose authority some of the most prominent men in the territory had refused to recognize. the proprietary of transylvania could continue to exist only to the danger of every life in kentucky. while the proprietors sent a delegate to the continental congress to win official recognition for 140 transylvania, eighty-four men at harrodsburg drew up a petition addressed to virginia stating their doubts of the legality of henderson's title and requesting virginia to assert her authority according to the stipulations of her charter. that defense was the primary and essential motive of the harrodsburg remonstrance seems plain, for when george rogers clark set off on foot with one companion to lay the document before the virginian authorities, he also went to plead for a load of powder. in his account of that hazardous journey, as a matter of fact, he makes scant reference to transylvania, except to say that the greed of the proprietors would soon bring the colony to its end, but shows that his mind was seldom off the powder. it is a detail of history that the continental congress refused to seat the delegate from transylvania. henderson himself went to virginia to make the fight for his land before the assembly.¹ ¹ in 1778 virginia disallowed henderson's title but granted him two hundred thousand acres between the green and kentucky rivers for his trouble and expense in opening up the country. the magnetic center of boonesborough's life was the lovable and unassuming daniel boone. soon after the building of the fort daniel had brought in his wife and family. he used often to 141 state with a mild pride that his wife and daughters were the first white women to stand on the banks of the kentucky river. that pride had not been unmixed with anxiety; his daughter jemima and two daughters of his friend, richard galloway, while boating on the river had been captured by shawanoes and carried off. boone, accompanied by the girls' lovers and by john floyd (eager to repay his debt of life-saving to boone) had pursued them, tracing the way the captors had taken by broken twigs and scraps of dress goods which one of the girls had contrived to leave in their path, had come on the indians unawares, killed them, and recovered the three girls unhurt. in the summer of 1776, virginia took official note of captain boone of boonesborough, for she sent him a small supply of powder. the men of the little colony, which had begun so pretentiously with its constitution and assembly, were now obliged to put all other plans aside and to concentrate on the question of food and defense. there was a dangerous scarcity of powder and lead. the nearest points at which these necessaries could be procured were the watauga and holston river settlements, which were themselves none too well stocked. harrod and logan, some time in 1777, 142 reached the watauga fort with three or four pack-horses and filled their packs from sevier's store; but, as they neared home, they were detected by red scouts and logan was badly wounded before he and harrod were able to drive their precious load safely through the gates at harrodsburg. in the autumn of 1777, clark, with a boatload of ammunition, reached maysville on the ohio, having successfully run the gauntlet between banks in possession of the foe. he had wrested the powder and lead from the virginia council by threats to the effect that if virginia was so willing to lose kentucky--for of course a country not worth defending is not worth claiming--he and his fellows were quite ready to take kentucky for themselves and to hold it with their swords against all comers, virginia included. by even such cogent reasoning had he convinced the council--which had tried to hedge by expressing doubts that virginia would receive the kentucky settlers as citizens of the state--that it would be cheaper to give him the powder. because so many settlers had fled and the others had come closer together for their common good, harrodsburg and boonesborough were now the only occupied posts in kentucky. other settlements, 143 once thriving, were abandoned; and, under the terror, the wild reclaimed them. in april, 1777, boonesborough underwent its first siege. boone, leading a sortie, was shot and he fell with a shattered ankle. an indian rushed upon him and was swinging the tomahawk over him when simon kenton, giant frontiersman and hero of many daring deeds, rushed forward, shot the indian, threw boone across his back, and fought his way desperately to safety. it was some months ere boone was his nimble self again. but though he could not stand up to the guns, he directed all operations from his cabin. the next year boone was ready for new ventures growing from the settlers' needs. salt was necessary to preserve meat through the summer. accordingly boone and twenty-seven men went up to the blue licks in february, 1778, to replenish their supply by the simple process of boiling the salt water of the licks till the saline particles adhered to the kettles. boone was returning alone, with a pack-horse load of salt and game, when a blinding snowstorm overtook him and hid from view four stealthy shawanoes on his trail. he was seized and carried to a camp of 120 warriors led by the french canadian, dequindre, and james and george girty, two white renegades. among the 144 indians were some of those who had captured him on his first exploring trip through kentucky and whom he had twice given the slip. their hilarity was unbounded. boone quickly learned that this band was on its way to surprise boonesborough. it was a season when indian attacks were not expected; nearly threescore of the men were at the salt spring and, to make matters worse, the walls of the new fort where the settlers and their families had gathered were as yet completed on only three sides. boonesborough was, in short, well-nigh defenseless. to turn the indians from their purpose, boone conceived the desperate scheme of offering to lead them to the salt makers' camp with the assurance that he and his companions were willing to join the tribe. he understood indians well enough to feel sure that once possessed of nearly thirty prisoners, the shawanoes would not trouble further about boonesborough but would hasten to make a triumphal entry into their own towns. that some, perhaps all, of the white men would assuredly die, he knew well; but it was the only way to save the women and children in boonesborough. in spite of dequindre and the girtys, who were leading a military expedition for the reduction of a fort, the shawanoes fell in with the suggestion. when they 145 had taken their prisoners, the more bloodthirsty warriors in the band wanted to tomahawk them all on the spot. by his diplomatic discourse, however, boone dissuaded them, for the time being at least, and the whole company set off for the towns on the little miami. the weather became severe, very little game crossed their route, and for days they subsisted on slippery elm bark. the lovers of blood did not hold back their scalping knives and several of the prisoners perished; but black fish, the chief then of most power in shawanoe councils, adopted boone as his son, and gave him the name of sheltowee, or big turtle. though watched zealously to prevent escape, big turtle was treated with every consideration and honor; and, as we would say today, he played the game. he entered into the indian life with apparent zest, took part in hunts and sports and the races and shooting matches in which the indians delighted, but he was always careful not to outrun or outshoot his opponents. black fish took him to detroit when some of the tribe escorted the remainder of the prisoners to the british post. there he met governor hamilton and, in the hope of obtaining his liberty, he led that dignitary to believe that he 146 and the other people of boonesborough were eager to move to detroit and take refuge under the british flag.¹ it is said that boone always carried in a wallet round his neck the king's commission given him in dunmore's war; and that he exhibited it to hamilton to bear out his story. hamilton sought to ransom him from the indians, but black fish would not surrender his new son. the governor gave boone a pony, with saddle and trappings, and other presents, including trinkets to be used in procuring his needs and possibly his liberty from the shawanoes. ¹ so well did boone play his part that he aroused suspicion even in those who knew him best. after his return to boonesborough his old friend, calloway, formally accused him of treachery on two counts: that boone had betrayed the salt makers to the indians and had planned to betray boonesborough to the british. boone was tried and acquitted. his simple explanation of his acts satisfied the court-martial and made him a greater hero than ever among the frontier folk. black fish then took his son home to chillicothe. here boone found delawares and mingos assembling with the main body of the shawanoe warriors. the war belt was being carried through the ohio country. again boonesborough and harrodsburg were to be the first settlements attacked. to escape and give warning was now the one purpose that obsessed boone. he redoubled his efforts to 147 throw the indians off their guard. he sang and whistled blithely about the camp at the mouth of the scioto river, whither he had accompanied his indian father to help in the salt boiling. in short, he seemed so very happy that one day black fish took his eye off him for a few moments to watch the passing of a flock of turkeys. big turtle passed with the flock, leaving no trace. to his lamenting parent it must have seemed as though he had vanished into the air. daniel crossed the ohio and ran the 160 miles to boonesborough in four days, during which time he had only one meal, from a buffalo he shot at the blue licks. when he reached the fort after an absence of nearly five months, he found that his wife had given him up for dead and had returned to the yadkin. boone now began with all speed to direct preparations to withstand a siege. owing to the indian's leisurely system of councils and ceremonies before taking the warpath, it was not until the first week in september that black fish's painted warriors, with some frenchmen under dequindre, appeared before boonesborough. nine days the siege lasted and was the longest in border history. dequindre, seeing that the fort might not be taken, resorted to trickery. he requested boone 148 and a few of his men to come out for a parley, saying that his orders from hamilton were to protect the lives of the americans as far as possible. boone's friend, calloway, urged against acceptance of the apparently benign proposal which was made, so dequindre averred, for bienfaisance et humanité. but the words were the words of a white man, and boone hearkened to them. with eight of the garrison he went out to the parley. after a long talk in which good will was expressed on both sides, it was suggested by black fish that they all shake hands and, as there were so many more indians than white men, two indians should, of course, shake hands with one white man, each grasping one of his hands. the moment that their hands gripped, the trick was clear, for the indians exerted their strength to drag off the white men. desperate scuffling ensued in which the whites with difficulty freed themselves and ran for the fort. calloway had prepared for emergencies. the pursuing indians were met with a deadly fire. after a defeated attempt to mine the fort the enemy withdrew. the successful defense of boonesborough was an achievement of national importance, for had boonesborough fallen, harrodsburg alone could 149 not have stood. the indians under the british would have overrun kentucky; and george rogers clark--whose base for his illinois operations was the kentucky forts--could not have made the campaigns which wrested the northwest from the control of great britain. again virginia took official note of captain boone when in 1779 the legislature established boonesborough a town for the reception of traders and appointed boone himself one of the trustees to attend to the sale and registration of lots. an odd office that was for daniel, who never learned to attend to the registration of his own; he declined it. his name appears again, however, a little later when virginia made the whole of kentucky one of her counties with the following officers: colonel david robinson, county lieutenant; george rogers clark, anthony bledsoe, and john bowman, majors; daniel boone, james harrod, benjamin logan, and john todd, captains. boonesborough's successful resistance caused land speculators as well as prospective settlers to take heart of grace. parties made their way to boonesborough, harrodsburg, and even to the falls of the ohio, where clark's fort and blockhouses now 150 stood. in the summer of 1779 clark had erected on the kentucky side of the river a large fort which became the nucleus of the town of louisville. here, while he was eating his heart out with impatience for money and men to enable him to march to the attack of detroit, as he had planned, he amused himself by drawing up plans for a city. he laid out private sections and public parks and contemplated the bringing in of families only to inhabit his city, for, oddly enough, he who never married was going to make short shift of mere bachelors in his city beautiful. between pen scratches, no doubt, he looked out frequently upon the river to descry if possible a boatload of ammunition or the banners of the troops he had been promised. when neither appeared, he gave up the idea of detroit and set about erecting defenses on the southern border, for the choctaws and cherokees, united under a white leader named colbert, were threatening kentucky by way of the mississippi. he built in 1780 fort jefferson in what is now ballard county, and had barely completed the new post and garrisoned it with about thirty men when it was besieged by colbert and his savages. the indians, assaulting by night, were lured into 151 a +position directly before a cannon which poured lead into a mass of them. the remainder fled in terror from the vicinity of the fort; but colbert succeeded in rallying them and was returning to the attack when he suddenly encountered clark with a company of men and was forced to abandon his enterprise. clark knew that the ohio indians would come down on the settlements again during the summer and that to meet their onslaughts every man in kentucky would be required. he learned that there was a new influx of land seekers over the wilderness road and that speculators were doing a thriving business in harrodsburg; so, leaving his company to protect fort jefferson, he took two men with him and started across the wilds on foot for harrodsburg. to evade the notice of the indian bands which were moving about the country the three stripped and painted themselves as warriors and donned the feathered headdress. so successful was their disguise that they were fired on by a party of surveyors near the outskirts of harrodsburg. the records do not state what were the sensations of certain speculators in a land office in harrodsburg when a blue-eyed savage in a war 152 bonnet sprang through the doorway and, with uplifted weapon, declared the office closed; but we get a hint of the power of clark's personality and of his genius for dominating men from the terse report that he enrolled the speculators. he was informed that another party of men, more nervous than these, was now on its way out of kentucky. in haste he dispatched a dozen frontiersmen to cut the party off at crab orchard and take away the gun of every man who refused to turn back and do his bit for kentucky. to clark a man was a gun, and he meant that every gun should do its duty. the leaders and pioneers of the dark and bloody ground were now warriors, all under clark's command, while for two years longer the red terror ranged kentucky, falling with savage force now here, now there. in the first battle of 1780, at the blue licks, daniel's brother, edward boone, was killed and scalped. later on in the war his second son, israel, suffered a like fate. the toll of life among the settlers was heavy. many of the best-known border leaders were slain. food and powder often ran short. corn might be planted, but whether it would be harvested or not the planters never knew; and the hunter's rifle shot, necessary 153 though it was, proved only too often an invitation to the lurking foe. but sometimes, through all the dangers of forest and trail, daniel boone slipped away silently to harrodsburg to confer with clark; or clark himself, in the indian guise that suited the wild man in him not ill, made his way to and from the garrisons which looked to him for everything. twice clark gathered together the guns of kentucky and, marching north into the enemy's country, swept down upon the indian towns of piqua and chillicothe and razed them. in 1782, in the second of these enterprises, his cousin, joseph rogers, who had been taken prisoner and adopted by the indians and then wore indian garb, was shot down by one of clark's men. on this expedition boone and harrod are said to have accompanied clark. the ever present terror and horror of those days, especially of the two years preceding this expedition, are vividly suggested by the quaint remark of an old woman who had lived through them, as recorded for us by a traveler. the most beautiful sight she had seen in kentucky, she said, was a young man dying a natural death in his bed. dead but unmarred by hatchet or scalping knife, he was 154 so rare and comely a picture that the women of the post sat up all night looking at him. but, we ask, what golden emoluments were showered by a grateful country on the men who thus held the land through those years of want and war, and saved an empire for the union? what practical recognition was there of these brave and unselfish men who daily risked their lives and faced the stealth and cruelty lurking in the wilderness ways? there is meager eloquence in the records. here, for instance, is a letter from george rogers clark to the governor of virginia, dated may 27, 1783: sir. nothing but necessity could induce me to make the following request to your excellency, which is to grant me a small sum of money on account; as i can assure you, sir, that i am exceedingly distressed for the want of necessary clothing etc and don't know any channel through which i could procure any except of the executive. the state i believe will fall considerably in my debt. any supplies which your excellency favors me with might be deducted out of my accounts.¹ ¹ _calendar of virginia state papers,_ vol. iii, p. 487. clark had spent all his own substance and all else he could beg, borrow--or appropriate--in the conquest of illinois and the defense of kentucky. 155 his only reward from virginia was a grant of land from which he realized nothing, and dismissal from her service when she needed him no longer. all that clark had asked for himself was a commission in the continental army. this was denied him, as it appears now, not through his own errors, which had not at that time taken hold on him, but through the influence of powerful enemies. it is said that both spain and england, seeing a great soldier without service for his sword, made him offers, which he refused. as long as any acreage remained to him on which to raise money, he continued to pay the debts he had contracted to finance his expeditions, and in this course he had the assistance of his youngest brother, william, to whom he assigned his indiana grant. his health impaired by hardship and exposure and his heart broken by his country's indifference, clark sank into alcoholic excesses. in his sixtieth year, just six years before his death, and when he was a helpless paralytic, he was granted a pension of four hundred dollars. there is a ring of bitter irony in the words with which he accepted the sword sent him by virginia in his crippled old age: when virginia needed a sword i gave her one. he died near louisville on february 13, 1818. 156 kentucky was admitted to the union in 1792. but even before kentucky became a state her affairs, particularly as to land, were arranged, let us say, on a practical business basis. then it was discovered that daniel boone had no legal claim to any foot of ground in kentucky. daniel owned nothing but the clothes he wore; and for those--as well as for much powder, lead, food, and such trifles--he was heavily in debt. so, in 1788, daniel boone put the list of his debts in his wallet, gathered his wife and his younger sons about him, and, shouldering his hunter's rifle, once more turned towards the wilds. the country of the great kanawha in west virginia was still a wilderness, and a hunter and trapper might, in some years, earn enough to pay his debts. for others, now, the paths he had hewn and made safe; for boone once more the wilderness road. 157 chapter viii tennessee indian law, tradition, and even superstition had shaped the conditions which the pioneers faced when they crossed the mountains. this savage inheritance had decreed that kentucky should be a dark and bloody ground, fostering no life but that of four-footed beasts, its fertile sod never to stir with the green push of the corn. and so the white men who went into kentucky to build and to plant went as warriors go, and for every cabin they erected they battled as warriors to hold a fort. in the first years they planted little corn and reaped less, for it may be said that their rifles were never out of their hands. we have seen how stations were built and abandoned until but two stood. untiring vigilance and ceaseless warfare were the price paid by the first kentuckians ere they turned the indian's place of desolation and death into a land productive and a living habitation. 158 herein lies the difference, slight apparently, yet significant, between the first kentucky and the first tennessee¹ colonies. within the memory of the indians only one tribe had ever attempted to make their home in kentucky--a tribe of the fighting shawanoes--and they had been terribly chastised for their temerity. but tennessee was the home of the cherokees, and at chickasaw bluffs (memphis) began the southward trail to the principal towns of the chickasaws. by the red man's fiat, then, human life might abide in tennessee, though not in kentucky, and it followed that in seasons of peace the frontiersmen might settle in tennessee. so it was that as early as 1757, before the great cherokee war, a company of virginians under andrew lewis had, on an invitation from the indians, erected fort loudon near great telliko, the cherokees' principal town, and that, after the treaty of peace in 1761, waddell and his rangers of north carolina had erected a fort on the holston. ¹ tennessee. the name, ten-as-se, appears on adair's map as one of the old cherokee towns. apparently neither the meaning nor the reason why the colonists called both state and river by this name has been handed down to us. though fort loudon had fallen tragically during the war, and though waddell's fort had been 159 abandoned, neither was without influence in the colonization of tennessee, for some of the men who built these forts drifted back a year or two later and set up the first cabins on the holston. these earliest settlements, thin and scattered, did not survive; but in 1768 the same settlers or others of their kind--discharged militiamen from back country regiments--once more made homes on the holston. they were joined by a few families from near the present raleigh, north carolina, who had despaired of seeing justice done to the tenants on the mismanaged estates of lord granville. about the same time there was erected the first cabin on the watauga river, as is generally believed, by a man of the name of william bean (or been), hunter and frontier soldier from pittsylvania county, virginia. this man, who had hunted on the watauga with daniel boone in 1760, chose as the site of his dwelling the place of the old hunting camp near the mouth of boone's creek. he soon began to have neighbors. meanwhile the regulation movement stirred the back country of both the carolinas. in 1768, the year in which william bean built his cabin on the bank of the watauga, 160 five hundred armed regulators in north carolina, aroused by irregularities in the conduct of public office, gathered to assert their displeasure, but dispersed peaceably on receipt of word from governor tryon that he had ordered the prosecution of any officer found guilty of extortion. edmund fanning, the most hated of lord granville's agents, though convicted, escaped punishment. enraged at this miscarriage of justice, the regulators began a system of terrorization by taking possession of the court, presided over by richard henderson. the judge himself was obliged to slip out by a back way to avoid personal injury. the regulators burned his house and stable. they meted out mob treatment likewise to william hooper, later one of the signers of the declaration of independence. two elements, with antithetical aims, had been at work in the regulation; and the unfortunate failure of justice in the case of fanning had given the corrupt element its opportunity to seize control. in the petitions addressed to governor tryon by the leaders of the movement in its earlier stages the aims of liberty-loving thinkers are traceable. it is worthy of note that they included in their demands articles which are now constitutional. they desired that "suffrage be given by ticket and 161 ballot"; that the mode of taxation be altered, and each person be taxed in proportion to the profits arising from his estate; that judges and clerks be given salaries instead of perquisites and fees. they likewise petitioned for repeal of the act prohibiting dissenting ministers from celebrating the rites of matrimony. the establishment of these reforms, the petitioners of the regulation concluded, would conciliate their minds to every just measure of government, and would make the laws what the constitution ever designed they should be, their protection and not their bane. herein clearly enough we can discern the thought and the phraseology of the ulster presbyterians. but a change took place in both leaders and methods. during the regulators' career of violence they were under the sway of an agitator named hermon husband. this demagogue was reported to have been expelled from the quaker society for cause; it is on record that he was expelled from the north carolina assembly because a vicious anonymous letter was traced to him. he deserted his dupes just before the shots cracked at alamance creek and fled from the colony. he was afterwards apprehended in pennsylvania for complicity in the whisky insurrection. 162 four of the leading presbyterian ministers of the back country issued a letter in condemnation of the regulators. one of these ministers was the famous david caldwell, son-in-law of the reverend alexander craighead, and a man who knew the difference between liberty and license and who proved himself the bravest of patriots in the war of independence. the records of the time contain sworn testimony against the regulators by waightstill avery, a signer of the mecklenburg resolves, who later presided honorably over courts in the western circuit of tennessee; and there is evidence indicating jacobite and french intrigue. that governor tryon recognized a hidden hand at work seems clearly revealed in his proclamation addressed to those whose understandings have been run away with and whose passions have been led in captivity by some evil designing men who, actuated by cowardice and a sense of that publick justice which is due to their crimes, have obscured themselves from publick view. what the assembly thought of the regulators was expressed in 1770 in a drastic bill which so shocked the authorities in england that instructions were sent forbidding any governor to approve such a bill in future, declaring it a disgrace to the british statute books. 163 on may 16, 1771, some two thousand regulators were precipitated by husband into the battle of alamance, which took place in a district settled largely by a rough and ignorant type of germans, many of whom husband had lured to swell his mob. opposed to him were eleven hundred of governor tryon's troops, officered by such patriots as griffith rutherford, hugh waddell, and francis nash. during an hour's engagement about twenty regulators were killed, while the governor's troops had nine killed and sixty-one wounded. six of the leaders were hanged. the rest took the oath of allegiance which tryon administered. it has been said about the regulators that they were not cast down by their defeat at alamance but like the mammoth, they shook the bolt from their brow and crossed the mountains, but such flowery phrases do not seem to have been inspired by facts. nor do the records show that fifteen hundred regulators arrived at watauga in 1771, as has also been stated. nor are the names of the leaders of the regulation to be found in the list of signatures affixed to the one state paper of watauga which was preserved and written into historic annals. nor yet do those names appear on the roster of the watauga and holston men who, 164 in 1774, fought with shelby under andrew lewis in the battle of point pleasant. the boones and the bryans, the robertsons, the seviers, the shelbys, the men who opened up the west and shaped the destiny of its inhabitants, were genuine freemen, with a sense of law and order as inseparable from liberty. they would follow a washington but not a hermon husband. james hunter, whose signature leads on all regulation manifestoes just prior to the battle of alamance, was a sycophant of husband, to whom he addressed fulsome letters; and in the real battle for democracy--the war of independence--he was a tory. the colonial records show that those who, like the mammoth, shook from them the ethical restraints which make man superior to the giant beast, and who later bolted into the mountains, contributed chiefly the lawlessness that harassed the new settlements. they were the banditti and, in 1776, the tories of the western hills; they pillaged the homes of the men who were fighting for the democratic ideal. it was not the regulation movement which turned westward the makers of the old southwest, but the free and enterprising spirit of the age. 165 it was emphatically an age of doers; and if men who felt the constructive urge in them might not lay hold on conditions where they were and reshape them, then they must go forward seeking that environment which would give their genius its opportunity. of such adventurous spirits was james robertson, a virginian born of ulster scot parentage, and a resident of (the present) wake county, north carolina, since his boyhood. robertson was twenty-eight years old when, in 1770, he rode over the hills to watauga. we can imagine him as he was then, for the portrait taken much later in life shows the type of face that does not change. it is a high type combining the best qualities of his race. intelligence, strength of purpose, fortitude, and moral power are there; they impress us at the first glance. at twenty-eight he must have been a serious young man, little given to laughter; indeed, spontaneity is perhaps the only good trait we miss in studying his face. he was a thinker who had not yet found his purpose--a thinker in leash, for at this time james robertson could neither read nor write. at watauga, robertson lived for a while in the cabin of a man named honeycut. he chose land 166 for himself and, in accordance with the custom of the time, sealed his right to it by planting corn. he remained to harvest his first crop and then set off to gather his family and some of his friends together and escort them to the new country. but on the way he missed the trail and wandered for a fortnight in the mountains. the heavy rains ruined his powder so that he could not hunt; for food he had only berries and nuts. at one place, where steep bluffs opposed him, he was obliged to abandon his horse and scale the mountain side on foot. he was in extremity when he chanced upon two huntsmen who gave him food and set him on the trail. if this experience proves his lack of the hunter's instinct and the woodsman's resourcefulness which boone possessed, it proves also his special qualities of perseverance and endurance which were to reach their zenith in his successful struggle to colonize and hold western tennessee. he returned to watauga in the following spring (1771) with his family and a small group of colonists. robertson's wife was an educated woman and under her instruction he now began to study. next year a young virginian from the shenandoah valley rode on down holston valley on a hunting and exploring trip and loitered at watauga. 167 here he found not only a new settlement but an independent government in the making; and forthwith he determined to have a part in both. this young virginian had already shown the inclination of a political colonist, for in the shenandoah valley he had, at the age of nineteen, laid out the town of new market (which exists to this day) and had directed its municipal affairs and invited and fostered its clergy. this young virginian--born on september 23, 1745, and so in 1772 twenty-seven years of age--was john sevier, that john sevier whose monument now towers from its site in knoxville to testify of both the wild and the great deeds of old tennessee's beloved knight. like robertson, sevier hastened home and removed his whole family, including his wife and children, his parents and his brothers and sisters, to this new haven of freedom at watauga. the friendship formed between robertson and sevier in these first years of their work together was never broken, yet two more opposite types could hardly have been brought together. robertson was a man of humble origin, unlettered, not a dour scot but a solemn one. sevier was cavalier as well as frontiersman. on his father's side he was of the patrician family of xavier in france. his 168 progenitors, having become huguenots, had taken refuge in england, where the name xavier was finally changed to sevier. john sevier's mother was an englishwoman. some years before his birth his parents had emigrated to the shenandoah valley. thus it happened that john sevier, who mingled good english blood with the blue blood of old france, was born an american and grew up a frontier hunter and soldier. he stood about five feet nine from his moccasins to his crown of light brown hair. he was well-proportioned and as graceful of body as he was hard-muscled and swift. his chin was firm, his nose of a roman cast, his mouth well-shaped, its slightly full lips slanting in a smile that would not be repressed. under the high, finely modeled brow, small keen dark blue eyes sparkled with health, with intelligence, and with the man's joy in life. john sevier indeed cannot be listed as a type; he was individual. there is no other character like him in border annals. he was cavalier and prince in his leadership of men; he had their homage. yet he knew how to be comrade and brother to the lowliest. he won and held the confidence and friendship of the serious-minded robertson no less than the idolatry of the wildest spirits on the 169 frontier throughout the forty-three years of the spectacular career which began for him on the day he brought his tribe to watauga. in his time he wore the governor's purple; and a portrait painted of him shows how well this descendant of the noble xaviers could fit himself to the dignity and formal habiliments of state; yet in the fringed deerskin of frontier garb, he was fleeter on the warpath than the indians who fled before him; and he could outride and outshoot--and, it is said, outswear--the best and the worst of the men who followed him. perhaps the lurking smile on john sevier's face was a flicker of mirth that there should be found any man, red or white, with temerity enough to try conclusions with him. none ever did, successfully. the historians of tennessee state that the wataugans formed their government in 1772 and that sevier was one of its five commissioners. yet, as sevier did not settle in tennessee before 1773, it is possible that the watauga association was not formed until then. unhappily the written constitution of the little commonwealth was not preserved; but it is known that, following the ulsterman's ideal, manhood suffrage and religious independence were two of its provisions. the commissioners enlisted a militia and they recorded 170 deeds for land, issued marriage licenses, and tried offenders against the law. they believed themselves to be within the boundaries of virginia and therefore adopted the laws of that state for their guidance. they had numerous offenders to deal with, for men fleeing from debt or from the consequence of crime sought the new settlements just across the mountains as a safe and adjacent harbor. the attempt of these men to pursue their lawlessness in watauga was one reason why the wataugans organized a government. when the line was run between virginia and north carolina beyond the mountains, watauga was discovered to be south of virginia's limits and hence on indian lands. this was in conflict with the king's proclamation, and alexander cameron, british agent to the cherokees, accordingly ordered the encroaching settlers to depart. the indians, however, desired them to remain. but since it was illegal to purchase indian lands, robertson negotiated a lease for ten years. in 1775, when henderson made his purchase from the cherokees, at sycamore shoals on the watauga, robertson and sevier, who were present at the sale with other watauga commissioners, followed henderson's example and bought outright the lands they desired 171 to include in watauga's domain. in 1776 they petitioned north carolina for annexation. as they were already within north carolina's bounds, it was recognition rather than annexation which they sought. this petition, which is the only wataugan document to survive, is undated but marked as received in august, 1776. it is in sevier's handwriting and its style suggests that it was composed by him, for in its manner of expression it has much in common with many later papers from his pen. that wataugans were a law-loving community and had formed their government for the purpose of making law respected is reiterated throughout the document. as showing the quality of these first western statemakers, two paragraphs are quoted: finding ourselves on the frontiers, and being apprehensive that for want of proper legislature we might become a shelter for such as endeavored to defraud their creditors; considering also the necessity of recording deeds, wills, and doing other public business; we, by consent of the people, formed a court for the purposes above mentioned, taking, by desire of our constituents, the virginia laws for our guide, so near as the situation of affairs would permit. this was intended for ourselves, and was done by consent of every individual. the petition goes on to state that, among their measures for upholding law, the wataugans had 172 enlisted a company of fine riflemen and put them under command of captain james robertson. we… thought proper to station them on our frontiers in defense of the common cause, at the expense and risque of our own private fortunes, till farther public orders, which we flatter ourselves will give no offense.… we pray your mature and deliberate consideration in our behalf, that you may annex us to your province (whether as county, district, or other division) in such manner as may enable us to share in the glorious cause of liberty: enforce our laws under authority and in every respect become the best members of society; and for ourselves and our constituents we hope we may venture to assure you that we shall adhere strictly to your determinations, and that nothing will be lacking or anything neglected that may add weight (in the civil or military establishments) to the glorious cause in which we are now struggling, or contribute to the welfare of our own or ages yet to come. one hundred and thirteen names are signed to the document. in the following year (1777) north carolina erected her overhill territory into washington county. the governor appointed justices of the peace and militia officers who in the following year organized the new county and its courts. and so watauga's independent government, begun in the spirit of true liberty, came as lawfully to its end. 173 but for nearly three years before their political status was thus determined, the wataugans were sharing in the glorious cause of liberty by defending their settlements against indian attacks. while the majority of the young cherokee warriors were among their enemies, their chief battles were fought with those from the chickamaugan towns on the tennessee river, under the leadership of dragging canoe. the chickamaugans embraced the more vicious and bloodthirsty cherokees, with a mixture of creeks and bad whites, who, driven from every law-abiding community, had cast in their lot with this tribe. the exact number of white thieves and murderers who had found harbor in the indian towns during a score or more of years is not known; but the letters of the indian agents, preserved in the records, would indicate that there were a good many of them. they were fit allies for dragging canoe; their hatred of those from whom their own degeneracy had separated them was not less than his. in july, 1776, john sevier wrote to the virginia committee as follows: dear gentlemen: isaac thomas, william falling, jaret williams and one more have this moment come in by making their escape from the indians and say six 174 hundred indians and whites were to start for this fort and intend to drive the country up to new river before they return. thus was heralded the beginning of a savage warfare which kept the borderers engaged for years. it has been a tradition of the chroniclers that isaac thomas received a timely warning from nancy ward, a half-caste cherokee prophetess who often showed her good will towards the whites; and that the indians were roused to battle by alexander cameron and john stuart, the british agents or superintendents among the overhill tribes. there was a letter bearing cameron's name stating that fifteen hundred savages from the cherokee and creek nations were to join with british troops landed at pensacola in an expedition against the southern frontier colonies. this letter was brought to watauga at dead of night by a masked man who slipped it through a window and rode away. apparently john sevier did not believe the military information contained in the mysterious missive, for he communicated nothing of it to the virginia committee. in recent years the facts have come to light. this mysterious letter and others of a similar tenor bearing forged signatures are cited in a report by the british agent, john stuart, to 175 his government. it appears that such inflammatory missives had been industriously scattered through the back settlements of both carolinas. there are also letters from stuart to lord dartmouth, dated a year earlier, urging that something be done immediately to counteract rumors set afloat that the british were endeavoring to instigate both the indians and the negroes to attack the americans. now it is, of course, an established fact that both the british and the american armies used indians in the war of independence, even as both together had used them against the french and the spanish and their allied indians. it was inevitable that the indians should participate in any severe conflict between the whites. they were a numerous and a warlike people and, from their point of view, they had more at stake than the alien whites who were contesting for control of the red man's continent. both british and americans have been blamed for half-hearted attempts to keep the indians neutral. the truth is that each side strove to enlist the indians--to be used, if needed later, as warriors. massacre was no part of this policy, though it may have been countenanced by individual officers in both camps. but it is obvious 176 that, once the indians took the warpath, they were to be restrained by no power and, no matter under whose nominal command, they would carry on warfare by their own methods.¹ ¹ there is little doubt that either side, british or americans, stood ready to enlist the indians. already before boston the americans had had the help of the stockbridge tribe. washington found the service committed to the practise when he arrived at cambridge early in july. dunmore had taken the initiative in securing such allies, at least is purpose; but the insurgent virginians had had of late more direct contact with the tribes and were now striving to secure them but with little success. _the westward movement,_ by justin winsor, p. 87. general ethan allen of vermont, as his letters show, sent emissaries into canada in an endeavor to enlist the french canadians and the canadian indians against the british in canada. see _american archives,_ fourth series, vol. ii, p. 714. the british general gage wrote to lord dartmouth from boston, june 12, 1775: we need not be tender of calling on the savages as the rebels have shown us the example, by bringing as many indians down against us as they could collect. _american archives,_ fourth series, vol. ii, p. 967. in a letter to lord germain, dated august 23, 1776, john stuart wrote: although mr. cameron was in constant danger of assassination and the indians were threatened with invasion should they dare to protect him, yet he still found means to prevent their falling on the settlement. see north carolina _colonial records,_ vol. x, pp. 608 and 763. proof that the british agents had succeeded in keeping the cherokee neutral till the summer of 1776 is found in the instructions, dated the 7th of july, to major winston from president rutledge of south carolina, regarding the cherokees, that they must be forced to give up the british agents and instead of remaining in a state of neutrality with respect to british forces they must take part with us against them. see north carolina _colonial records,_ vol. x, p. 658. whatever may have been the case elsewhere, the attacks on the watauga and holston settlements 177 were not instigated by british agents. it was not nancy ward but henry stuart, john stuart's deputy, who sent isaac thomas to warn the settlers. in their efforts to keep the friendship of the red men, the british and the americans were providing them with powder and lead. the indians had run short of ammunition and, since hunting was their only means of livelihood, they must shoot or starve. south carolina sent the cherokees a large supply of powder and lead which was captured en route by tories. about the same time henry stuart set out from pensacola with another consignment from the british. his report to lord germain of his arrival in the chickamaugan towns and of what took place there just prior to the raids on the tennessee settlements is one of the most illuminating as well as one of the most dramatic papers in the collected records of that time.¹ ¹ north carolina _colonial records,_ vol. x, pp. 763-785. stuart's first act was secretly to send out thomas, the trader, to warn the settlers of their peril, for a small war party of braves was even then concluding the preliminary war ceremonies. the reason for this indian alarm and projected excursion was the fact that the settlers had built one fort at least on the indian lands. stuart finally persuaded the 178 indians to remain at peace until he could write to the settlers stating the grievances and asking for negotiations. the letters were to be carried by thomas on his return. but no sooner was thomas on his way again with the letters than there arrived a deputation of warriors from the northern tribes--from the confederate nations, the mohawks, ottawas, nantucas, shawanoes and delawares--fourteen men in all, who entered the council hall of the old beloved town of chota with their faces painted black and the war belt carried before them. they said that they had been seventy days on their journey. everywhere along their way they had seen houses and forts springing up like weeds across the green sod of their hunting lands. where once were great herds of deer and buffalo, they had watched thousands of men at arms preparing for war. so many now were the white warriors and their women and children that the red men had been obliged to travel a great way on the other side of the ohio and to make a detour of nearly three hundred miles to avoid being seen. even on this outlying route they had crossed the fresh tracks of a great body of people with horses and cattle going still further towards the setting sun. but their 179 cries were not to be in vain; for their fathers, the french had heard them and had promised to aid them if they would now strike as one for their lands. after this preamble the deputy of the mohawks rose. he said that some american people had made war on one of their towns and had seized the son of their great beloved man, sir william johnson, imprisoned him, and put him to a cruel death; this crime demanded a great vengeance and they would not cease until they had taken it. one after another the fourteen delegates rose and made their talks and presented their wampum strings to dragging canoe. the last to speak was a chief of the shawanoes. he also declared that their fathers, the french, who had been so long dead, were alive again, that they had supplied them plentifully with arms and ammunition and had promised to assist them in driving out the americans and in reclaiming their country. now all the northern tribes were joined in one for this great purpose; and they themselves were on their way to all the southern tribes and had resolved that, if any tribe refused to join, they would fall upon and extirpate that tribe, after having overcome the whites. at the conclusion of his oration the shawanoe presented the war belt--nine feet of six-inch wide 180 purple wampum spattered with vermilion--to dragging canoe, who held it extended between his two hands, in silence, and waited. presently rose a headman whose wife had been a member of sir william johnson's household. he laid his hand on the belt and sang the war song. one by one, then, chiefs and warriors rose, laid hold of the great belt and chanted the war song. only the older men, made wise by many defeats, sat still in their places, mute and dejected. after that day every young fellow's face in the overhills towns appeared blackened and nothing was now talked of but war. stuart reports that all the white men in the tribe also laid hands on the belt. dragging canoe then demanded that cameron and stuart come forward and take hold of the war belt--which we refused. despite the offense their refusal gave--and it would seem a dangerous time to give such offense--cameron delivered a strong talk for peace, warning the cherokees of what must surely be the end of the rashness they contemplated. stuart informed the chief that if the indians persisted in attacking the settlements with out waiting for answers to his letters, he would not remain with them any longer or bring them any more ammunition. he went to his house and 181 made ready to leave on the following day. early the next morning dragging canoe appeared at his door and told him that the indians were now very angry about the letters he had written, which could only have put the settlers on their guard; and that if any white man attempted to leave the nation they had determined to follow him but not to bring him back. dragging canoe had painted his face black to carry this message. thomas now returned with an answer from the west fincastle men, which was so unsatisfactory to the tribe that war ceremonies were immediately begun. stuart and cameron could no longer influence the indians. all that could now be done was to give them strict charge not to pass the boundary line, not to injure any of the king's faithful subjects, not to kill any women and children; and to threaten to stop all ammunition if they did not obey these orders. the major part of the watauga militia went out to meet the indians and defeated a large advance force at long island flats on the holston. the watauga fort, where many of the settlers had taken refuge, contained forty fighting men under robertson and sevier. as indians usually retreated and 182 waited for a while after a defeat, those within the fort took it for granted that no immediate attack was to be expected; and the women went out at daybreak into the fields to milk the cows. suddenly the war whoop shrilled from the edge of the clearing. red warriors leaped from the green skirting of the forest. the women ran for the fort. quickly the heavy gates swung to and the dropped bar secured them. only then did the watchmen discover that one woman had been shut out. she was a young woman nearing her twenties and, if legend has reported her truly, bonnie kate sherrill was a beauty. through a porthole sevier saw her running towards the shut gates, dodging and darting, her brown hair blowing from the wind of her race for life--and offering far too rich a prize to the yelling fiends who dashed after her. sevier coolly shot the foremost of her pursuers, then sprang upon the wall, caught up bonnie kate, and tossed her inside to safety. and legend says further that when, after sevier's brief widowerhood, she became his wife, four years later, bonnie kate was wont to say that she would be willing to run another such race any day to have another such introduction! there were no casualties within the fort and, 183 after three hours, the foe withdrew, leaving several of their warriors slain. in the excursions against the indians which followed this opening of hostilities sevier won his first fame as an indian fighter--the fame later crystallized in the phrase thirty-five battles, thirty-five victories. his method was to take a very small company of the hardiest and swiftest horsemen--men who could keep their seat and endurance, and horses that could keep their feet and their speed, on any steep of the mountains no matter how tangled and rough the going might be--swoop down upon war camp, or town, and go through it with rifle and hatchet and fire, then dash homeward at the same pace before the enemy had begun to consider whether to follow him or not. in all his thirty-five battles it is said he lost not more than fifty men. the cherokees made peace in 1777, after about a year of almost continuous warfare, the treaty being concluded on their side by the old chiefs who had never countenanced the war. dragging canoe refused to take part, but he was rendered innocuous for the time being by the destruction of several of the chickamaugan villages. james robertson now went to chota as indian agent for north carolina. 184 so fast was population growing, owing to the opening of a wagon road into burke county, north carolina, that washington county was divided. john sevier became colonel of washington and isaac shelby colonel of the newly erected sullivan county. jonesborough, the oldest town in tennessee, was laid out as the county seat of washington; and in the same year (1778) sevier moved to the bank of the nolichucky river, so-called after the indian name of this dashing sparkling stream, meaning rapid or precipitous. thus the nickname given john sevier by his devotees had a dual application. he was well called nolichucky jack. when virginia annulled richard henderson's immense purchase but allowed him a large tract on the cumberland, she by no means discouraged that intrepid pioneer. henderson's tenure of kentucky had been brief, but not unprofitable in experience. he had learned that colonies must be treated with less commercial pressure and with more regard to individual liberty, if they were to be held loyal either to a king beyond the water or to an uncrowned leader nearer at hand. he had been making his plans for colonization of that portion of the transylvania purchase which lay within the 185 bounds of north carolina along the cumberland and choosing his men to lay the foundations of his projected settlement in what was then a wholly uninhabited country; and he had decided on generous terms, such as ten dollars a thousand acres for land, the certificate of purchase to entitle the holder to further proceedings in the land office without extra fees. to head an enterprise of such danger and hardship henderson required a man of more than mere courage; a man of resource, of stability, of proven powers, one whom other men would follow and obey with confidence. so it was that james robertson was chosen to lead the first white settlers into middle tennessee. he set out in february, 1779, accompanied by his brother, mark robertson, several other white men, and a negro, to select a site for settlement and to plant corn. meanwhile another small party led by gaspar mansker had arrived. as the boundary line between virginia and north carolina had not been run to this point, robertson believed that the site he had chosen lay within virginia and was in the disposal of general clark. to protect the settlers, therefore, he journeyed into the illinois country to purchase cabin rights from clark, but there he was evidently 186 convinced that the site on the cumberland would be found to lie within north carolina. he returned to watauga to lead a party of settlers into the new territory, towards which they set out in october. after crossing the mountain chain through cumberland gap, the party followed boone's road--the warriors' path--for some distance and then made their own trail southwestward through the wilderness to the bluffs on the cumberland, where they built cabins to house them against one of the coldest winters ever experienced in that county. so were laid the first foundations of the present city of nashville, at first named nashborough by robertson.¹ on the way, robertson had fallen in with a party of men and families bound for kentucky and had persuaded them to accompany his little band to the cumberland. robertson's own wife and children, as well as the families of his party, had been left to follow in the second expedition, which was to be made by water under the command of captain john donelson. ¹ in honor of general francis nash, of north carolina, who was mortally wounded at germantown, 1777. the little fleet of boats containing the settlers, their families, and all their household goods, was to start from fort patrick henry, near long island 187 in the holston river, to float down into the tennessee and along the 652 miles of that widely wandering stream to the ohio, and then to proceed up the ohio to the mouth of the cumberland and up the cumberland until robertson's station should appear--a journey, as it turned out, of some nine hundred miles through unknown country and on waters at any rate for the greater part never before navigated by white men. _journal of a voyage, intended by god's permission, in the good boat adventure_ is the title of the log book in which captain donelson entered the events of the four months' journey. only a few pages endured to be put into print: but those few tell a tale of hazard and courage that seems complete. could a lengthier narrative, even if enriched with literary art and fancy, bring before us more vividly than do the simple entries of donelson's log the spirit of the men and the women who won the west? if so little personal detail is recorded of the pioneer men of that day that we must deduce what they were from what they did, what do we know of their unfailing comrades, the pioneer women? only that they were there and that they shared in every test of courage and endurance, save the march of troops and the hunt. 188 donelson's _journal_ therefore has a special value, because in its terse account of mrs. jennings and mrs. peyton it depicts unforgettably the quality of pioneer womanhood.¹ ¹ this journal is printed in ramsey's _annals of tennessee._ _december 22nd, 1779._ took our departure from the fort and fell down the river to the mouth of reedy creek where we were stopped by the fall of water and most excessive hard frost. perhaps part of the _journal_ was lost, or perhaps the excessive hard frost of that severe winter, when it is said even droves of wild game perished, prevented the boats from going on, for the next entry is dated the 27th of february. on this date the _adventure_ and two other boats grounded and lay on the shoals all that afternoon and the succeeding night in much distress. _march 2nd._ rain about half the day.… mr. henry's boat being driven on the point of an island by the force of the current was sunk, the whole cargo much damaged and the crew's lives much endangered, which occasioned the whole fleet to put on shore and go to their assistance.… _monday 6th._ got under way before sunrise; the morning proving very foggy, many of the fleet were much bogged--about 10 o'clock lay by for them; when 189 collected, proceeded down. camped on the north shore, where captain hutching's negro man died, being much frosted in his feet and legs, of which he died. _tuesday, 7th._ got under way very early; the day proving very windy, a s.s.w., and the river being wide occasioned a high sea, insomuch that some of the smaller crafts were in danger; therefore came to at the uppermost chiccamauga town, which was then evacuated, where we lay by that afternoon and camped that night. the wife of ephraim peyton was here delivered of a child. mr. peyton has gone through by land with captain robertson. _wednesday 8th_… proceed down to an indian village which was inhabited… they insisted on us to come ashore, called us brothers, and showed other signs of friendship.… and here we must regret the unfortunate death of young mr. payne, on board captain blakemore's boat, who was mortally wounded by reason of the boat running too near the northern shore opposite the town, where some of the enemy lay concealed; and the more tragical misfortune of poor stuart, his family and friends, to the number of twenty-eight persons. this man had embarked with us for the western country, but his family being diseased with the small pox, it was agreed upon between him and the company that he should keep at some distance in the rear, for fear of the infection spreading, and he was warned each night when the encampment should take place by the sound of a horn.… the indians having now collected to a considerable number, observing his helpless situation singled off from the rest of the fleet, intercepted him and killed and took prisoners the whole crew…; their cries were distinctly heard.… 190 after describing a running fight with indians stationed on the bluffs on both shores where the river narrowed to half its width and boiled through a canyon, the entry for the day concludes: jennings's boat is missing. _friday 10th._ this morning about 4 o'clock we were surprised by the cries of help poor jennings at some distance in the rear. he had discovered us by our fires and came up in the most wretched condition. he states that as soon as the indians discovered his situation [his boat had run on a rock] they turned their whole attention to him and kept up a most galling fire at his boat. he ordered his wife, a son nearly grown, a young man who accompanies them and his negro man and woman, to throw all his goods into the river to lighten their boat for the purpose of getting her off; himself returning their fire as well as he could, being a good soldier and an excellent marksman. but before they had accomplished their object, his son, the young man and the negro, jumped out of the boat and left.… mrs. jennings, however, and the negro woman, succeeded in unloading the boat, but chiefly by the exertions of mrs. jennings who got out of the boat and shoved her off, but was near falling a victim to her own intrepidity on account of the boat starting so suddenly as soon as loosened from the rock. upon examination he appears to have made a wonderful escape for his boat is pierced in numberless places with bullets. it is to be remarked that mrs. peyton, who was the night before delivered of an infant, which was unfortunately killed upon the hurry and confusion consequent upon such a disaster, assisted them, 191 being frequently exposed to wet and cold.… their clothes were very much cut with bullets, especially mrs. jennings's. of the three men who deserted, while the women stood by under fire, the negro was drowned and jennings's son and the other young man were captured by the chickamaugans. the latter was burned at the stake. young jennings was to have shared the same fate; but a trader in the village, learning that the boy was known to john sevier, ransomed him by a large payment of goods, as a return for an act of kindness sevier had once done to him. _sunday 12th_.… after running until about 10 o'clock came in sight of the muscle shoals. halted on the northern shore at the appearance of the shoals, in order to search for the signs captain james robertson was to make for us at that place… that it was practicable for us to go across by land… we can find none--from which we conclude that it would not be prudent to make the attempt and are determined, knowing ourselves in such imminent danger, to pursue our journey down the river.… when we approached them [the shoals] they had a dreadful appearance.… the water being high made a terrible roaring, which could be heard at some distance, among the driftwood heaped frightfully upon the points of the islands, the current running in every possible direction. here we did not know how soon we should be dashed to pieces and all our troubles 192 ended at once. our boats frequently dragged on the bottom and appeared constantly in danger of striking. they warped as much as in a rough sea. but by the hand of providence we are now preserved from this danger also. i know not the length of this wonderful shoal; it had been represented to me to be twenty-five or thirty miles. if so, we must have descended very rapidly, as indeed we did, for we passed it in about three hours. on the twentieth the little fleet arrived at the mouth of the tennessee and the voyagers landed on the bank of the ohio. our situation here is truly disagreeable. the river is very high and the current rapid, our boats not constructed for the purpose of stemming a rapid stream, our provisions exhausted, the crews almost worn down with hunger and fatigue, and know not what distance we have to go or what time it will take us to our place of destination. the scene is rendered still more melancholy as several boats will not attempt to ascend the rapid current. some intend to descend the mississippi to natchez; others are bound for the illinois--among the rest my son-in-law and daughter. we now part, perhaps to meet no more, for i am determined to pursue my course, happen what will. _tuesday 21st._ set out and on this day labored very hard and got but little way.… passed the two following days as the former, suffering much from hunger and fatigue. _friday 24th._ about three o'clock came to the mouth of a river which i thought was the cumberland. some of 193 the company declared it could not be--it was so much smaller than was expected.… we determined however to make the trial, pushed up some distance and encamped for the night. _saturday 25th._ today we are much encouraged; the river grows wider;… we are now convinced it is the cumberland.… _sunday 26th_… procured some buffalo meat; though poor it was palatable. _friday 31st_… met with colonel richard henderson, who is running the line between virginia and north carolina. at this meeting we were much rejoiced. he gave us every information we wished, and further informed us that he had purchased a quantity of corn in kentucky, to be shipped at the falls of ohio for the use of the cumberland settlement. we are now without bread and are compelled to hunt the buffalo to preserve life.… _monday, april 24th_. this day we arrived at our journey's end at the big salt lick, where we have the pleasure of finding captain robertson and his company. it is a source of satisfaction to us to be enabled to restore to him and others their families and friends, who were entrusted to our care, and who, sometime since, perhaps, despaired of ever meeting again.… past the camps of the chickamaugans--who were retreating farther and farther down the twisting flood, seeking a last standing ground in the giant caves by the tennessee--these white voyagers had steered their pirogues. near robertson's station, where they landed after having traversed 194 the triangle of the three great rivers which enclose the larger part of western tennessee, stood a crumbling trading house marking the defeat of a frenchman who had, one time, sailed in from the ohio to establish an outpost of his nation there. at a little distance were the ruins of a rude fort cast up by the cherokees in the days when the redoubtable chickasaws had driven them from the pleasant shores of the western waters. under the towering forest growth lay vast burial mounds and the sunken foundations of walled towns, telling of a departed race which had once flashed its rude paddles and had its dream of permanence along the courses of these great waterways. now another tribe had come to dream that dream anew. already its primitive keels had traced the opening lines of its history on the face of the immemorial rivers. 195 chapter ix king's mountain about the time when james robertson went from watauga to fling out the frontier line three hundred miles farther westward, the british took savannah. in 1780 they took charleston and augusta, and overran georgia. augusta was the point where the old trading path forked north and west, and it was the key to the back country and the overhill domain. in georgia and the back country of south carolina there were many tories ready to rally to the king's standard whenever a king's officer should carry it through their midst. a large number of these tories were scotch, chiefly from the highlands. in fact, as we have seen, scotch blood predominated among the racial streams in the back country from georgia to pennsylvania. now, to insure a triumphant march northward for cornwallis and his royal troops, these sons of scotland must be gathered together, 196 the loyal encouraged and those of rebellious tendencies converted, and they must be drilled and turned to account. this task, if it were to be accomplished successfully, must be entrusted to an officer with positive qualifications, one who would command respect, whose personal address would attract men and disarm opposition, and especially one who could go as a scot among his own clan. cornwallis found his man in major patrick ferguson. ferguson was a highlander, a son of lord pitfour of aberdeen, and thirty-six years of age. he was of short stature for a highlander--about five feet eight--lean and dark, with straight black hair. he had a serious unhandsome countenance which, at casual glance, might not arrest attention; but when he spoke he became magnetic, by reason of the intelligence and innate force that gleamed in his eyes and the convincing sincerity of his manner. he was admired and respected by his brother officers and by the commanders under whom he had served, and he was loved by his men. he had seen his first service in the seven years' war, having joined the british army in flanders at the age of fifteen; and he had early distinguished himself for courage and coolness. in 1768, as a captain of infantry, he quelled an insurrection of 197 the natives on the island of st. vincent in the west indies. later, at woolwich, he took up the scientific study of his profession of arms. he not only became a crack shot, but he invented a new type of rifle which he could load at the breach without ramrod and so quickly as to fire seven times in a minute. generals and statesmen attended his exhibitions of shooting; and even the king rode over at the head of his guards to watch ferguson rapidly loading and firing. in america under cornwallis, ferguson had the reputation of being the best shot in the army; and it was soon said that, in his quickness at loading and firing, he excelled the most expert american frontiersman. eyewitnesses have left their testimony that, seeing a bird alight on a bough or rail, he would drop his bridle rein, draw his pistol, toss it in the air, catch and aim it as it fell, and shoot the bird's head off. he was given command of a corps of picked riflemen; and in the battle of the brandywine in 1777 he rendered services which won acclaim from the whole army. for the honor of that day's service to his king, ferguson paid what from him, with his passion for the rifle, must have been the dearest price that could have been demanded. his right arm was shattered, and 198 for the remaining three years of his short life it hung useless at his side. yet he took up swordplay and attained a remarkable degree of skill as a left-handed swordsman. such was ferguson, the soldier. what of the man? for he has been pictured as a wolf and a fiend and a coward by early chroniclers, who evidently felt that they were adding to the virtue of those who fought in defense of liberty by representing all their foes as personally odious. we can read his quality of manhood in a few lines of the letter he sent to his kinsman, the noted dr. adam ferguson, about an incident that occurred at chads ford. as he was lying with his men in the woods, in front of knyphausen's army, so he relates, he saw two american officers ride out. he describes their dress minutely. one was in hussar uniform. the other was in a dark green and blue uniform with a high cocked hat and was mounted on a bay horse: i ordered three good shots to steal near to and fire at them; but the idea disgusting me, i recalled the order. the hussar in retiring made a circuit, but the other passed within a hundred yards of us, upon which i advanced from the wood towards him. upon my calling he stopped; but after looking at me he proceeded. i again drew his attention and made signs to him to stop, 199 levelling my piece at him; but he slowly cantered away. as i was within that distance, at which, in the quickest firing, i could have lodged half a dozen balls in or about him before he was out of my reach, i had only to determine. but it was not pleasant to fire at the back of an unoffending individual who was acquitting himself very coolly of his duty--so i let him alone. the day after, i had been telling this story to some wounded officers, who lay in the same room with me, when one of the surgeons who had been dressing the wounded rebel officers came in and told us that they had been informing him that general washington was all the morning with the light troops, and only attended by a french officer in hussar dress, he himself dressed and mounted in every point as above described. i am not sorry that i did not know at the time who it was.¹ ¹ doubt that the officer in question was washington was expressed by james fenimore cooper. cooper stated that major de lancey his father-in-law, was binding ferguson's arm at the time when the two officers were seen and ferguson recalled the order to fire, and that de lancey said he believed the officer was count pulaski. but, as ferguson, according to his own account, leveled his piece at the officer, his arm evidently was not wounded until later in the day. the probability is that ferguson's version, written in a private letter to his relative, is correct as to the facts, whatever may be conjectured as to the identity of the officer. see draper's _king's mountain and its heroes,_ pp. 52-54. ferguson had his code towards the foe's women also. on one occasion when he was assisting in an action carried out by hessians and dragoons, he learned that some american women had been shamefully maltreated. he went in a white fury 200 to the colonel in command, and demanded that the men who had so disgraced their uniforms instantly be put to death. in rallying the loyalists of the back country of georgia and the carolinas, ferguson was very successful. he was presently in command of a thousand or more men, including small detachments of loyalists from new york and new jersey, under american-born officers such as de peyster and allaire. there were good honest men among the loyalists and there were also rough and vicious men out for spoils--which was true as well of the whigs or patriots from the same counties. among the rough element were tory banditti from the overmountain region. it is to be gathered from ferguson's records that he did not think any too highly of some of his new recruits, but he set to work with all energy to make them useful. the american patriots hastily prepared to oppose him. colonel charles mcdowell of burke county, north carolina, with a small force of militia was just south of the line at a point on the broad river when he heard that ferguson was sweeping on northward. in haste he sent a call for help across the mountains to sevier and shelby. sevier had his hands full at watauga, but he 201 dispatched two hundred of his troops; and isaac shelby, with a similar force from sullivan county crossed the mountains to mcdowell's assistance. these overmountain men or backwater men, as they were called east of the hills, were trained in sevier's method of indian warfare--the secret approach through the dark, the swift dash, and the swifter flight. fight strong and run away fast was the indian motto, as their women had often been heard to call it after the red men as they ran yelling to fall on the whites. the frontiersmen had adapted the motto to fit their case, as they had also made their own the indian tactics of ambuscade and surprise attacks at dawn. to sleep, or ride if needs must, by night, and to fight by day and make off, was to them a reasonable soldier's life. but ferguson was a night marauder. the terror of his name, which grew among the whigs of the back country until the wildest legends about his ferocity were current, was due chiefly to a habit he had of pouncing on his foes in the middle of the night and pulling them out of bed to give fight or die. it was generally both fight and die, for these dark adventures of his were particularly successful. ferguson knew no neutrals or conscientious 202 objectors; any man who would not carry arms for the king was a traitor, and his life and goods were forfeit. a report of his reads: the attack being made at night, no quarter could be given. hence his wolfish fame. werewolf would have been a fit name for him for, though he was a wolf at night, in the daylight he was a man and, as we have seen, a chivalrous one. in the guerrilla fighting that went on for a brief time between the overmountain men and various detachments of ferguson's forces, sometimes one side, sometimes the other, won the heat. but the field remained open. neither side could claim the mastery. in a minor engagement fought at musgrove's mill on the enoree, shelby's command came off victor and was about to pursue the enemy towards ninety-six when a messenger from mcdowell galloped madly into camp with word of general gates's crushing defeat at camden. this was a warning for shelby's guerrillas to flee as birds to their mountains, or ferguson would cut them off from the north and wedge them in between his own force and the victorious cornwallis. mcdowell's men, also on the run for safety, joined them. for forty-eight hours without food or rest they rode a race with ferguson, who kept hard on 203 their trail until they disappeared into the mystery of the winding mountain paths they alone knew. ferguson reached the gap where they had swerved into the towering hills only half an hour after their horses' hoofs had pounded across it. here he turned back. his troops were exhausted from the all-night ride and, in any case, there were not enough of them to enable him to cross the mountains and give the watauga men battle on their own ground with a fair promise of victory. so keeping east of the hills but still close to them, ferguson turned into burke county, north carolina. he sat him down in gilbert town (present lincolnton, lincoln county) at the foot of the blue ridge and indited a letter to the back water men, telling them that if they did not lay down their arms and return to their rightful allegiance, he would come over their hills and raze their settlements and hang their leaders. he paroled a kinsman of shelby's, whom he had taken prisoner in the chase, and sent him home with the letter. then he set about his usual business of gathering up tories and making soldiers of them, and of hunting down rebels. one of the rebels was a certain captain lytle. when ferguson drew up at lytle's door, lytle had 204 already made his escape; but mrs. lytle was there. she was a very handsome woman and she had dressed herself in her best to receive ferguson, who was reported a gallant as well as a wolf. after a few spirited passages between the lady in the doorway and the officer on the white horse before it, the latter advised mrs. lytle to use her influence to bring her husband back to his duty. she became grave then and answered that her husband would never turn traitor to his country. ferguson frowned at the word traitor, but presently he said: madam, i admire you as the handsomest woman i have seen in north carolina. i even half way admire your zeal in a bad cause. but take my word for it, the rebellion has had its day and is now virtually put down. give my regards to captain lytle and tell him to come in. he will not be asked to compromise his honor. his verbal pledge not again to take up arms against the king is all that will be asked of him.¹ ¹ draper, _king's mountain and its heroes,_ pp. 151-53. this was another phase of the character of the one-armed highlander whose final challenge to the back water men was now being considered in every log cabin beyond the hills. a man who would not shoot an enemy in the back, who was ready to put 205 the same faith in another soldier's honor which he knew was due to his own, yet in battle a wolfish fighter who leaped through the dark to give no quarter and to take none--he was fit challenger to those other mountaineers who also had a chivalry of their own, albeit they too were wolves of war. when shelby on the holston received ferguson's pungent letter, he flung himself on his horse and rode posthaste to watauga to consult with sevier. he found the bank of the nolichucky teeming with merrymakers. nolichucky jack was giving an immense barbecue and a horse race. without letting the festival crowd have an inkling of the serious nature of shelby's errand, the two men drew apart to confer. it is said to have been sevier's idea that they should muster the forces of the western country and go in search of ferguson ere the latter should be able to get sufficient reinforcements to cross the mountains. sevier, like ferguson, always preferred to seek his foe, knowing well the advantage of the offensive. messengers were sent to colonel william campbell of the virginia settlements on the clinch, asking his aid. campbell at first refused, thinking it better to fortify the positions they held and let ferguson 206 come and put the mountains between himself and cornwallis. on receipt of a second message, however, he concurred. the call to arms was heard up and down the valleys, and the frontiersmen poured into watauga. the overhill men were augmented by mcdowell's troops from burke county, who had dashed over the mountains a few weeks before in their escape from ferguson. at daybreak on the 26th of september they mustered at the sycamore shoals on the watauga, over a thousand strong. it was a different picture they made from that other great gathering at the same spot when henderson had made his purchase in money of the dark and bloody ground, and sevier and robertson had bought for the wataugans this strip of tennessee. there were no indians in this picture. dragging canoe, who had uttered his bloody prophecy, had by these very men been driven far south into the caves of the tennessee river. but the indian prophecy still hung over them, and in this day with a heavier menace. not with money, now, were they to seal their purchase of the free land by the western waters. there had been no women in that other picture, only the white men who were going forward to open the way and the red men who were 207 retreating. but in this picture there were women--wives and children, mothers, sisters, and sweethearts. all the women of the settlement were there at this daybreak muster to cheer on their way the men who were going out to battle that they might keep the way of liberty open not for men only but for women and children also. and the battle to which the men were now going forth must be fought against back country men of their own stripe under a leader who, in other circumstances, might well have been one of themselves--a primitive spirit of hardy mountain stock, who, having once taken his stand, would not barter and would not retreat. with the sword of the lord and of gideon! cried their pastor, the reverend samuel doak, with upraised hands, as the mountaineers swung into their saddles. and it is said that all the women took up his words and cried again and again, with the sword of the lord and of our gideons! to the shouts of their women, as bugles on the wind of dawn, the buckskin-shirted army dashed out upon the mountain trail. the warriors' equipment included rifles and ammunition, tomahawks, knives, shot pouches, a knapsack, and a blanket for each man. their uniforms 208 were leggings, breeches, and long loose shirts of gayly fringed deerskin, or of the linsey-woolsey spun by their women. their hunting shirts were bound in at the waist by bright-colored linsey sashes tied behind in a bow. they wore moccasins for footgear, and on their heads high fur or deerskin caps trimmed with colored bands of raveled cloth. around their necks hung their powder-horns ornamented with their own rude carvings. on the first day they drove along with them a number of beeves but, finding that the cattle impeded the march, they left them behind on the mountain side. their provisions thereafter were wild game and the small supply each man carried of mixed corn meal and maple sugar. for drink, they had the hill streams. they passed upward between roan and yellow mountains to the top of the range. here, on the bald summit, where the loose snow lay to their ankles, they halted for drill and rifle practice. when sevier called up his men, he discovered that two were missing. he suspected at once that they had slipped away to carry warning to ferguson, for watauga was known to be infested with tories. two problems now confronted the mountaineers. they must increase the speed of their march, so 209 that ferguson should not have time to get reinforcements from cornwallis; and they must make that extra speed by another trail than they had intended taking so that they themselves could not be intercepted before they had picked up the back country militia under colonels cleveland, hampbright, chronicle, and williams, who were moving to join them. we are not told who took the lead when they left the known trail, but we may suppose it was sevier and his wataugans, for the making of new warpaths and wild riding were two of the things which distinguished nolichucky jack's leadership. down the steep side of the mountain, finding their way as they plunged, went the overhill men. they crossed the blue ridge at gillespie's gap and pushed on to quaker meadows, where colonel cleveland with 350 men swung into their column. along their route, the back country patriots with their rifles came out from the little hamlets and the farms and joined them. they now had an army of perhaps fifteen hundred men but no commanding officer. thus far, on the march, the four colonels had conferred together and agreed as to procedure; or, in reality, the influence of sevier and shelby, who had planned the enterprise and who seem always to 210 have acted in unison, had swayed the others. it would be, however, manifestly improper to go into battle without a real general. something must be done. mcdowell volunteered to carry a letter explaining their need to general gates, who had escaped with some of his staff into north carolina and was not far off. it then occurred to sevier and shelby, evidently for the first time, that gates, on receiving such a request, might well ask why the governor of north carolina, as the military head of the state, had not provided a commander. the truth is that sevier and shelby had been so busy drumming up the militia and planning their campaign that they had found no time to consult the governor. moreover, the means whereby the expedition had been financed might not have appealed to the chief executive. after finding it impossible to raise sufficient funds on his personal credit, sevier had appropriated the entry money in the government land office to the business in hand--with the good will of the entry taker, who was a patriotic man, although, as he had pointed out, he could not, officially, hand over the money. things being as they were, no doubt nolichucky jack felt that an interview with the governor had better be deferred until after 211 the capture of ferguson. hence the tenor of this communication to general gates: as we have at this time called out our militia without any orders from the executive of our different states and with the view of expelling the enemy out of this part of the country, we think such a body of men worthy of your attention and would request you to send a general officer immediately to take the command.… all our troops being militia and but little acquainted with discipline, we could wish him to be a gentleman of address, and able to keep up a proper discipline without disgusting the soldiery. for some unknown reason--unless it might be the wording of this letter!--no officer was sent in reply. shelby then suggested that, since all the officers but campbell were north carolinians and, therefore, no one of them could be promoted without arousing the jealousy of the others, campbell, as the only virginian, was the appropriate choice. the sweet reasonableness of selecting a commander from such a motive appealed to all, and campbell became a general in fact if not in name! shelby's principal aim, however, had been to get rid of mcdowell, who, as their senior, would naturally expect to command and whom he considered too far advanced in life and too inactive for such an enterprise. at this time mcdowell must have 212 been nearly thirty-nine; and shelby, who was just thirty, wisely refused to risk the campaign under a general who was in his dotage! news of the frontiersmen's approach, with their augmented force, now numbering between sixteen and eighteen hundred, had reached ferguson by the two tories who had deserted from sevier's troops. ferguson thereupon had made all haste out of gilbert town and was marching southward to get in touch with cornwallis. his force was much reduced, as some of his men were in pursuit of elijah clarke towards augusta and a number of his other tories were on furlough. as he passed through the back country he posted a notice calling on the loyalists to join him. if the overmountain men felt that they were out on a wolf hunt, ferguson's proclamation shows what the wolf thought of his hunters. to the inhabitants of north carolina. gentlemen: unless you wish to be eat up by an innundation of barbarians, who have begun by murdering an unarmed son before the aged father, and afterwards lopped off his arms, and who by their shocking cruelties and irregularities give the best proof of their cowardice and want of discipline: i say if you wish to be pinioned, robbed and murdered, and see your wives and daughters in four days, abused by the dregs of mankind--in 213 short if you wish to deserve to live and bear the name of men, grasp your arms in a moment and run to camp. the back water men have crossed the mountains: mcdowell, hampton, shelby, and cleveland are at their head, so that you know what you have to depend upon. if you choose to be degraded forever and ever by a set of mongrels, say so at once, and let your women turn their backs upon you, and look out for real men to protect them. pat. ferguson, major 71st regiment.¹ ¹ draper, _king's mountain and its heroes,_ p. 204. ferguson's force has been estimated at about eleven hundred men, but it is likely that this estimate does not take the absentees into consideration. in the diary of lieutenant allaire, one of his officers, the number is given as only eight hundred. because of the state of his army, chroniclers have found ferguson's movements, after leaving gilbert town, difficult to explain. it has been pointed out that he could easily have escaped, for he had plenty of time, and charlotte, cornwallis's headquarters, was only sixty miles distant. we have seen something of ferguson's quality, however, and we may simply take it that he did not want to escape. he had been planning to cross the high hills--to him, the highlander, no barrier but a challenge--to fight these men. now that they 214 had taken the initiative he would not show them his back. he craved the battle. so he sent out runners to the main army and rode on along the eastern base of the mountains, seeking a favorable site to go into camp and wait for cornwallis's aid. on the 6th of october he reached the southern end of the king's mountain ridge, in south carolina, about half a mile south of the northern boundary. here a rocky, semi-isolated spur juts out from the ridge, its summit--a table-land about six hundred yards long and one hundred and twenty wide at its northern end--rising not more than sixty feet above the surrounding country. on the summit ferguson pitched his camp. the hill was a natural fortress, its sides forested, its bald top protected by rocks and bowlders. all the approaches led through dense forest. an enemy force, passing through the immediate, wooded territory, might easily fail to discover a small army nesting sixty feet above the shrouding leafage. word was evidently brought to ferguson here, telling him the now augmented number of his foe, for he dispatched another emissary to cornwallis with a letter stating the number of his own troops and urging full and immediate assistance. meanwhile the frontiersmen had halted at the 215 cowpens. there they feasted royally off roasted cattle and corn belonging to the loyalist who owned the cowpens. it is said that they mowed his fifty acres of corn in an hour. and here one of their spies, in the assumed rôle of a tory, learned ferguson's plans, his approximate force, his route, and his system of communication with cornwallis. the officers now held council and determined to take a detachment of the hardiest and fleetest horsemen and sweep down on the enemy before aid could reach him. about nine o'clock that evening, according to shelby's report, 910 mounted men set off at full speed, leaving the main body of horse and foot to follow after at their best pace. rain poured down on them all that night as they rode. at daybreak they crossed the broad at cherokee ford and dashed on in the drenching rain all the forenoon. they kept their firearms and powder dry by wrapping them in their knapsacks, blankets, and hunting shirts. the downpour had so churned up the soil that many of the horses mired, but they were pulled out and whipped forward again. the wild horsemen made no halt for food or rest. within two miles of king's mountain they captured ferguson's messenger with the letter that told of his desperate situation. they asked 216 this man how they should know ferguson. he told them that ferguson was in full uniform but wore a checkered shirt or dust cloak over it. this was not the only messenger of ferguson's who failed to carry through. the men he had sent out previously had been followed and, to escape capture or death, they had been obliged to lie in hiding, so that they did not reach cornwallis until the day of the battle. at three o'clock on the afternoon of the 7th of october, the overmountain men were in the forest at the base of the hill. the rain had ceased and the sun was shining. they dismounted and tethered their steaming horses. orders were given that every man was to throw the priming out of his pan, pick his touchhole, prime anew, examine bullets and see that everything was in readiness for battle. the plan of battle agreed on was to surround the hill, hold the enemy on the top and, themselves screened by the trees, keep pouring in their fire. there was a good chance that most of the answering fire would go over their heads. as shelby's men crossed a gap in the woods, the outposts on the hill discovered their presence and sounded the alarm. ferguson sprang to horse, blowing his silver whistle to call his men to attack. 217 his riflemen poured fire into shelby's contingent, but meanwhile the frontiersmen on the other sides were creeping up, and presently a circle of fire burst upon the hill. with fixed bayonets, some of ferguson's men charged down the face of the slope, against the advancing foe, only to be shot in the back as they charged. still time and time again they charged; the overhill men reeled and retreated; but always their comrades took toll with their rifles; ferguson's men, preparing for a mounted charge, were shot even as they swung to their saddles. ferguson, with his customary indifference to danger, rode up and down in front of his line blowing his whistle to encourage his men. huzza, brave boys! the day is our own! thus he was heard to shout above the triumphant war whoops of the circling foe, surging higher and higher about the hill. but there were others in his band who knew the fight was lost. the overmountain men saw two white handkerchiefs, affixed to bayonets, raised above the rocks; and then they saw ferguson dash by and slash them down with his sword. two horses were shot under ferguson in the latter part of the action; but he mounted a third and rode again into the thick of the fray. 218 suddenly the cry spread among the attacking troops that the british officer, tarleton, had come to ferguson's rescue; and the mountaineers began to give way. but it was only the galloping horses of their own comrades; tarleton had not come. nolichucky jack spurred out in front of his men and rode along the line. fired by his courage they sounded the war whoop again and renewed the attack with fury. these are the same yelling devils that were at musgrove's mill, said captain de peyster to ferguson. now shelby and sevier, leading his wataugans, had reached the summit. the firing circle pressed in. the buckskin-shirted warriors leaped the rocky barriers, swinging their tomahawks and long knives. again the white handkerchiefs fluttered. ferguson saw that the morale of his troops was shattered. surrender, de peyster, his second in command, begged of him. surrender to those damned banditti? never! ferguson turned his horse's head downhill and charged into the wataugans, hacking right and left with his sword till it was broken at the hilt. a dozen rifles were leveled at him. an iron muzzle pushed at his breast, but the powder flashed in the 219 pan. he swerved and struck at the rifleman with his broken hilt. but the other guns aimed at him spoke; and ferguson's body jerked from the saddle pierced by eight bullets. men seized the bridle of the frenzied horse, plunging on with his dead master dragging from the stirrup. the battle had lasted less than an hour. after ferguson fell, de peyster advanced with a white flag and surrendered his sword to campbell. other white flags waved along the hilltop. but the killing did not yet cease. it is said that many of the mountaineers did not know the significance of the white flag. sevier's sixteen-year-old son, having heard that his father had fallen, kept on furiously loading and firing until presently he saw sevier ride in among the troops and command them to stop shooting men who had surrendered and thrown down their arms. the victors made a bonfire of the enemy's baggage wagons and supplies. then they killed some of his beeves and cooked them; they had had neither food nor sleep for eighteen hours. they dug shallow trenches for the dead and scattered the loose earth over them. ferguson's body, stripped of its uniform and boots and wrapped in a beef hide, was thrown into one of these ditches by 220 the men detailed to the burial work, while the officers divided his personal effects among themselves. the triumphant army turned homeward as the dusk descended. the uninjured prisoners and the wounded who were able to walk were marched off carrying their empty firearms. the badly wounded were left lying where they had fallen. at bickerstaff's old fields in rutherford county the frontiersmen halted; and here they selected thirty of their prisoners to be hanged. they swung them aloft, by torchlight, three at a time, until nine had gone to their last account. then sevier interposed; and, with shelby's added authority, saved the other twenty-one. among those who thus weighted the gallows tree were some of the tory brigands from watauga; but not all the victims were of this character. some of the troops would have wreaked vengeance on the two tories from sevier's command who had betrayed their army plans to ferguson; but sevier claimed them as under his jurisdiction and refused consent. nolichucky jack dealt humanely by his foes. to the coarse and brutish cleveland, now astride of ferguson's horse and wearing his sash, and to the three hundred who followed him, may no doubt be laid the worst excesses of the battle's afterpiece. 221 victors and vanquished drove on in the dark, close to the great flank of hills. from where king's mountain, strewn with dead and dying, reared its black shape like some rudely hewn tomb of a primordial age when titans strove together, perhaps to the ears of the marching men came faintly through the night's stillness the howl of a wolf and the answering chorus of the pack. for the wolves came down to king's mountain from all the surrounding hills, following the scent of blood, and made their lair where the werewolf had fallen. the scene of the mountaineers' victory, which marked the turn of the tide for the revolution, became for years the chief resort of wolf hunters from both the carolinas. the importance of the overmountain men's victory lay in what it achieved for the cause of independence. king's mountain was the prelude to cornwallis's defeat. it heartened the southern patriots, until then cast down by gates's disaster. to the british the death of ferguson was an irreparable loss because of its depressing effect on the back country tories. king's mountain, indeed, broke the tory spirit. seven days after the battle general nathanael greene succeeded to the command of the southern patriot army which gates had led to defeat. greene's genius met the rising tide of the patriots' courage and hope and took it at the flood. his strategy, in dividing his army and thereby compelling the division of cornwallis's force, led to daniel morgan's victory at the cowpens, in the back country of south carolina, on january 17, 1781--another frontiersmen's triumph. though the british won the next engagement between greene and cornwallis--the battle of guilford court house in the north carolina back country, on the 15th of march--greene made them pay so dearly for their victory that tarleton called it the pledge of ultimate defeat; and, three days later, cornwallis was retreating towards wilmington. in a sense, then, king's mountain was the pivot of the war's revolving stage, which swung the british from their succession of victories towards the surrender at yorktown. shelby, campbell, and cleveland escorted the prisoners to virginia. sevier, with his men, rode home to watauga. when the prisoners had been delivered to the authorities in virginia, the holston men also turned homeward through the hills. their route lay down through the clinch and holston valleys to the settlement at the base of the mountains. sevier and his wataugans had gone by gillespie's gap, over the pathway that hung like a narrow ribbon about the breast of roan mountain, lifting its crest in dignified isolation sixty-three hundred feet above the levels. the unakas was the name the cherokees had given to those white men who first invaded their hills; and the unakas is the name that white men at last gave to the mountain. great companies of men were to come over the mountain paths on their way to the mississippi country and beyond; and with them, as we know, were to go many of these mountain men, to pass away with their customs in the transformations that come with progress. but there were others who clung to these hills. they were of several stocks--english, scotch, highlanders, ulstermen, who mingled by marriage and sometimes took their mates from among the handsome maids of the cherokees. they spread from the unakas of tennessee into the cumberland mountains of kentucky; and they have remained to this day what they were then, a primitive folk of strong and fiery men and brave women living as their forefathers of watauga and holston lived. in the log cabins in those mountains today are heard the same ballads, sung still to the dulcimer, that entertained the earliest settlers. the women still turn the old-fashioned spinning wheels. the code of the men is still the code learned perhaps from the gaels--the code of the oath and the feud and the open door to the stranger. or were these, the ethical tenets of almost all uncorrupted primitive tribes, transmitted from the indian strain and association? their young people marry at boy and girl ages, as the pioneers did, and their wedding festivities are the same as those which made rejoicing at the first marriage in watauga. their common speech today contains words that have been obsolete in england for a hundred years. thrice have the mountain men come down again from their fastnesses to war for america since the day of king's mountain and thrice they have acquitted themselves so that their deeds are noted in history. a souvenir of their part in the war of 1812 at the battle of the thames is kept in one of the favorite names for mountain girls--lake erie. in the civil war many volunteers from the free, non-slaveholding mountain regions of kentucky and tennessee joined the union army, and it is said that they exceeded all others in stature and physical development. and in our own day their sons again came down from the mountains to carry the torch of liberty overseas, and to show the white stars in their flag side by side with the ancient cross in the flag of england against which their forefathers fought. 226 chapter x sevier, the statemaker after king's mountain, sevier reached home just in time to fend off a cherokee attack on watauga. again warning had come to the settlements that the indians were about to descend upon them. sevier set out at once to meet the red invaders. learning from his scouts that the indians were near he went into ambush with his troops disposed in the figure of a half-moon, the favorite indian formation. he then sent out a small body of men to fire on the indians and make a scampering retreat, to lure the enemy on. the maneuver was so well planned and the ground so well chosen that the indian war party would probably have been annihilated but for the delay of an officer at one horn of the half-moon in bringing his troops into play. through the gap thus made the indians escaped, with a loss of seventeen of their number. the delinquent officer was jonathan tipton, younger brother 227 of colonel john tipton, of whom we shall hear later. it is possible that from this event dates the tiptons' feud with sevier, which supplies one of the breeziest pages in the story of early tennessee. not content with putting the marauders to flight, sevier pressed on after them, burned several of the upper towns, and took prisoner a number of women and children, thus putting the red warriors to the depth of shame, for the indians never deserted their women in battle. the chiefs at once sued for peace. but they had made peace often before. sevier drove down upon the hiwassee towns, meanwhile proclaiming that those among the tribe who were friendly might send their families to the white settlement, where they would be fed and cared for until a sound peace should be assured. he also threatened to continue to make war until his enemies were wiped out, their town sites a heap of blackened ruins, and their whole country in possession of the whites, unless they bound themselves to an enduring peace. having compelled the submission of the otari and hiwassee towns, yet finding that depredations still continued, sevier determined to invade the group of towns hidden in the mountain fastnesses near the headwaters of the little tennessee where, 228 deeming themselves inaccessible except by their own trail, the cherokees freely plotted mischief and sent out raiding parties. these hill towns lay in the high gorges of the great smoky mountains, 150 miles distant. no one in watauga had ever been in them except thomas, the trader, who, however, had reached them from the eastern side of the mountains. with no knowledge of the indians' path and without a guide, yet nothing daunted, sevier, late in the summer of 1781 headed his force into the mountains. so steep were some of the slopes they scaled that the men were obliged to dismount and help their horses up. unexpectedly to themselves perhaps, as well as to the indians, they descended one morning on a group of villages and destroyed them. before the fleeing savages could rally, the mountaineers had plunged up the steeps again. sevier then turned southward into georgia and inflicted a severe castigation on the tribes along the coosa river. when, after thirty days of warfare and mad riding, sevier arrived at his bonnie kate's door on the nolichucky, he found a messenger from general greene calling on him for immediate assistance to cut off cornwallis from his expected retreat through north carolina. again he set out, 229 and with two hundred men crossed the mountains and made all speed to charlotte, in mecklenburg county, where he learned that cornwallis had surrendered at yorktown on october 19, 1781. under greene's orders he turned south to the santee to assist a fellow scion of the huguenots, general francis marion, in the pursuit of stuart's britishers. having driven stuart into charleston, sevier and his active wataugans returned home, now perhaps looking forward to a rest, which they had surely earned. once more, however, they were hailed with alarming news. dragging canoe had come to life again and was emerging from the caves of the tennessee with a substantial force of chickamaugan warriors. again the wataugans, augmented by a detachment from sullivan county, galloped forth, met the red warriors, chastised them heavily, put them to rout, burned their dwellings and provender, and drove them back into their hiding places. for some time after this, the indians dipped not into the black paint pots of war but were content to streak their humbled countenances with the vermilion of beauty and innocence. it should be chronicled that sevier, assisted possibly by other wataugans, eventually returned 226 to the state of north carolina the money which he had forcibly borrowed to finance the king's mountain expedition; and that neither he nor shelby received any pay for their services, nor asked it. before shelby left the holston in 1782 and moved to kentucky, of which state he was to become the first governor, the assembly of north carolina passed a resolution of gratitude to the overmountain men in general, and to sevier and shelby in particular, for their very generous and patriotic services with which the general assembly of this state are feelingly impressed. the resolution concluded by urging the recipients of the assembly's acknowledgments to continue in their noble course. in view of what followed, this resolution is interesting! for some time the overhill pioneers had been growing dissatisfied with the treatment they were receiving from the state, which on the plea of poverty had refused to establish a superior court for them and to appoint a prosecutor. as a result, crime was on the increase, and the law-abiding were deprived of the proper legal means to check the lawless. in 1784 when the western soldiers' claims began to reach the assembly, there to be scrutinized by unkindly eyes, the dissatisfaction increased. 231 the breasts of the mountain men--the men who had made that spectacular ride to bring ferguson to his end--were kindled with hot indignation when they heard that they had been publicly assailed as grasping persons who seized on every pretense to fabricate demands against the government. nor were those fiery breasts cooled by further plaints to the effect that the "industry and property" of those east of the hills were becoming the funds appropriated to discharge the debts of the westerners. they might with justice have asked what the industry and property of the easterners were worth on that day when the overhill men drilled in the snows on the high peak of yellow mountain and looked down on burke county overrun by ferguson's tories, and beyond, to charlotte, where lay cornwallis. the north carolina assembly did not confine itself to impolite remarks. it proceeded to get rid of what it deemed western rapacity by ceding the whole overmountain territory to the united states, with the proviso that congress must accept the gift within twelve months. and after passing the cession act, north carolina closed the land office in the undesired domain and nullified all entries made after may 25, 1784. the cession act also enabled 232 the state to evade its obligations to the cherokees in the matter of an expensive consignment of goods to pay for new lands. this clever stroke of the assembly's brought about immediate consequences in the region beyond the hills. the cherokees, who knew nothing about the assembly's system of political economy but who found their own provokingly upset by the non-arrival of the promised goods, began again to darken the mixture in their paint pots; and they dug up the war hatchet, never indeed so deeply patted down under the dust that it could not be unearthed by a stub of the toe. needless to say, it was not the thrifty and distant easterners who felt their anger, but the nearby settlements. as for the white overhill dwellers, the last straw had been laid on their backs; and it felt like a hickory log. no sooner had the assembly adjourned than the men of washington, sullivan, and greene counties, which comprised the settled portion of what is now east tennessee, elected delegates to convene for the purpose of discussing the formation of a new state. they could assert that they were not acting illegally, for in her first constitution north carolina had made provision for a state beyond the mountains. and necessity 233 compelled them to take steps for their protection. some of them, and sevier was of the number, doubted if congress would accept the costly gift; and the majority realized that during the twelve months which were allowed for the decision they would have no protection from either north carolina or congress and would not be able to command their own resources. in august, 1784, the delegates met at jonesborough and passed preliminary resolutions, and then adjourned to meet later in the year. the news was soon disseminated through north carolina and the assembly convened in october and hastily repealed the cession act, voted to establish the district of washington out of the four counties, and sent word of the altered policy to sevier, with a commission for himself as brigadier general. from the steps of the improvised convention hall, before which the delegates had gathered, sevier read the assembly's message and advised his neighbors to proceed no further, since north carolina had of her own accord redressed all their grievances. but for once nolichucky jack's followers refused to follow. the adventure too greatly appealed. obliged to choose between north carolina and his own people, sevier's hesitation 234 was short. the state of frankland, or land of the free, was formed; and nolichucky jack was elevated to the office of governor--with a yearly salary of two hundred mink skins. perhaps john tipton had hoped to head the new state, for he had been one of its prime movers and was a delegate to this convention. but when the man whom he hated--apparently for no reason except that other men loved him--assented to the people's will and was appointed to the highest post within their gift, tipton withdrew, disavowing all connection with frankland and affirming his loyalty to north carolina. from this time on, the feud was an open one. that brief and now forgotten state, frankland, the land of the free, which bequeathed its name as an appellation for america, was founded as watauga had been founded--to meet the practical needs and aspirations of its people. it will be remembered that one of the things written by sevier into the only watauga document extant was that they desired to become in every way the best members of society. frankland's aims, as recorded, included the intent to improve agriculture, perfect manufacturing, encourage literature and every thing truly laudable. 235 the constitution of frankland, agreed to on the 14th of november, 1785, appeals to us today rather by its spirit than by its practical provisions. this state shall be called the commonwealth of frankland and shall be governed by a general assembly of the representatives of the freemen of the same, a governor and council, and proper courts of justice.… the supreme legislative power shall be vested in a single house of representatives of the freemen of the commonwealth of frankland. the house of representatives of the freemen of the state shall consist of persons most noted for wisdom and virtue. in these exalted desires of the primitive men who held by their rifles and hatchets the land by the western waters, we see the influence of the reverend samuel doak, their pastor, who founded the first church and the first school beyond the great hills. early in the life of watauga he had come thither from princeton, a zealous and broadminded young man, and a sturdy one, too, for he came on foot driving before him a mule laden with books. legend credits another minister, the reverend samuel houston, with suggesting the name of frankland, after he had opened the convention with prayer. it is not surprising to learn that this glorified 236 constitution was presently put aside in favor of one modeled on that of north carolina. sevier persuaded the more radical members of the community to abandon their extreme views and to adopt the laws of north carolina. however lawless his acts as governor of a bolting colony may appear, sevier was essentially a constructive force. his purposes were right, and small motives are not discernible in his record. he might reasonably urge that the franklanders had only followed the example of north carolina and the other american states in seceding from the parent body, and for similar causes, for the state's system of taxation had long borne heavily on the overhill men. the whole transmontane populace welcomed frankland with enthusiasm. major arthur campbell, of the virginian settlements, on the holston, was eager to join. sevier and his assembly took the necessary steps to receive the overhill virginians, provided that the transfer of allegiance could be made with virginia's consent. meanwhile he replied in a dignified manner to the pained and menacing expostulations of north carolina's governor. north carolina was bidden to remember the epithets her assemblymen had hurled at the westerners, which they themselves had by 237 no means forgotten. and was it any wonder that they now doubted the love the parent state professed to feel for them? as for the puerile threat of blood, had their quality really so soon become obliterated from the memory of north carolina? at this sort of writing, sevier, who always pulsed hot with emotion and who had a pretty knack in turning a phrase, was more than a match for the governor of north carolina, whose prerogatives he had usurped. the overmountain men no longer needed to complain bitterly of the lack of legal machinery to keep them the best members of society. they now had courts to spare. frankland had its courts, its judges, its legislative body, its land office--in fact, a full governmental equipment. north carolina also performed all the natural functions of political organism, within the western territory. sevier appointed one david campbell a judge. campbell held court in jonesborough. ten miles away, in buffalo, colonel john tipton presided for north carolina. it happened frequently that officers and attendants of the rival law courts met, as they pursued their duties, and whenever they met they fought. the post of sheriff--or sheriffs, for of course there were two--was filled by the 238 biggest and heaviest man and the hardest hitter in the ranks of the warring factions. a favorite game was raiding each other's courts and carrying off the records. frankland sent william cocke, later the first senator from tennessee, to congress with a memorial, asking congress to accept the territory north carolina had offered and to receive it into the union as a separate state. congress ignored the plea. it began to appear that north carolina would be victor in the end; and so there were defections among the franklanders. sevier wrote to benjamin franklin asking his aid in establishing the status of frankland; and, with a graceful flourish of his ready pen, changed the new state's name to franklin by way of reinforcing his arguments. but the old philosopher, more expert than sevier in diplomatic calligraphy, only acknowledged the compliment and advised the state of franklin to make peace with north carolina. sevier then appealed for aid and recognition to the governor of georgia, who had previously appointed him brigadier general of militia. but the governor of georgia also avoided giving the recognition requested, though he earnestly besought sevier to come down and settle the creeks for him. there were others who sent pleas to sevier, the 239 warrior, to save them from the savages. one of the writers who addressed him did not fear to say your excellency, nor to accord nolichucky jack the whole dignity of the purple in appealing to him as the only man possessing the will and the power to prevent the isolated settlements on the cumberland from being wiped out. that writer was his old friend, james robertson. in 1787, while sevier was on the frontier of greene county, defending it from indians, the legal forces of north carolina swooped down on his estate and took possession of his negroes. it was tipton who represented the law; and tipton carried off the governor's slaves to his own estate. when nolichucky jack came home and found that his enemy had stripped him, he was in a towering rage. with a body of his troops and one small cannon, he marched to tipton's house and besieged it, threatening a bombardment. he did not, however, fire into the dwelling, though he placed some shots about it and in the extreme corners. this _opéra bouffe_ siege endured for several days, until tipton was reinforced by some of his own clique. then tipton sallied forth and attacked the besiegers, who hastily scattered rather than engage in a sanguinary fight with their neighbors. tipton 240 captured sevier's two elder sons and was only strained from hanging them on being informed that two of his own sons were at that moment in sevier's hands. in march, 1788, the state of franklin went into eclipse. sevier was overthrown by the authorities of north carolina. most of the officials who had served under him were soothed by being reappointed to their old positions. tipton's star was now in the ascendant, for his enemy was to be made the vicarious sacrifice for the sins of all whom he had led astray. presently david campbell, still graciously permitted to preside over the superior court, received from the governor of north carolina the following letter: sir: it has been represented to the executive that john sevier, who style's himself captain-general of the state of franklin, has been guilty of high treason in levying troops to oppose the laws and government of the state.… you will issue your warrant to apprehend the said john sevier, and in case he cannot be sufficiently secured for trial in the district of washington, order him to be committed to the public gaol. the judge's authority was to be exercised after he had examined the affidavits of credible persons. campbell's judicial opinion seems to have been that any affidavit against the said john 241 sevier could not be made by a credible person. he refused to issue the warrant. tipton's friend, spencer, who had been north carolina's judge of the superior court in the west and who was sharing that honor now with campbell, issued the warrant and sent tipton to make the arrest. sevier was at the widow brown's inn with some of his men when tipton at last came up with him. it was early morning. tipton and his posse were about to enter when the portly and dauntless widow, surmising their errand, drew her chair into the doorway, plumped herself down in it, and refused to budge for all the writs in north carolina. tipton blustered and the widow rocked. the altercation awakened sevier. he dressed hurriedly and came down. as soon as he presented himself on the porch, tipton thrust his pistol against his body, evidently with intent to fire if sevier made signs of resistance. sevier's furious followers were not disposed to let him be taken without a fight, but he admonished them to respect the law, and requested that they would inform bonnie kate of his predicament. then, debonair as ever, with perhaps a tinge of contempt at the corners of his mouth, he held out his wrists for the manacles which tipton insisted on fastening upon them. 242 it was not likely that any jail in the western country could hold nolichucky jack overnight. tipton feared a riot; and it was decided to send the prisoner for incarceration and trial to morgantown in north carolina, just over the hills. tipton did not accompany the guards he sent with sevier. it was stated and commonly believed that he had given instructions of which the honorable men among his friends were ignorant. when the party entered the mountains, two of the guards were to lag behind with the prisoner, till the others were out of sight on the twisting trail. then one of the two was to kill sevier and assert that he had done it because sevier had attempted to escape. it fell out almost as planned, except that the other guard warned sevier of the fate in store for him and gave him a chance to flee. in plunging down the mountain, sevier's horse was entangled in a thicket. the would-be murderer overtook him and fired; but here again fate had interposed for her favorite. the ball had dropped out of the assassin's pistol. so sevier reached morgantown in safety and was deposited in care of the sheriff, who was doubtless cautioned to take a good look at the prisoner and know him for a dangerous and a daring man. 243 there is a story to the effect that, when sevier was arraigned in the courthouse at morgantown and presently dashed through the door and away on a racer that had been brought up by some of his friends, among those who witnessed the proceedings was a young ulster scot named andrew jackson; and that on this occasion these two men, later to become foes, first saw each other. jackson may have been in morgantown at the time, though this is disputed; but the rest of the tale is pure legend invented by some one whose love of the spectacular led him far from the facts. the facts are less theatrical but much more dramatic. sevier was not arraigned at all, for no court was sitting in morgantown at the time.¹ the sheriff to whom he was delivered did not need to look twice at him to know him for a daring man. he had served with him at king's mountain. he struck off his handcuffs and set him at liberty at once. perhaps he also notified general charles mcdowell at his home in quaker meadows of the presence of a distinguished guest in burke county, for mcdowell and his brother joseph, another officer of militia, quickly appeared and went on sevier's bond. nolichucky jack was 244 presently holding a court of his own in the tavern, with north carolina's men at arms--as many as were within call--drinking his health. so his sons and a company of his wataugans found him, when they rode into morgantown to give evidence in his behalf--with their rifles. since none now disputed the way with him, sevier turned homeward with his cavalcade, mcdowell and his men accompanying him as far as the pass in the hills. ¹ statement by john sevier, junior, in the draper mss., quoted by turner, _life of general john sevier,_ p. 182. no further attempt was made to try john sevier for treason, either west or east of the mountains. in november, however, the assembly passed the pardon act, and thereby granted absolution to every one who had been associated with the state of franklin, except john sevier. in a clause said to have been introduced by tipton, now a senator, or suggested by him, john sevier was debarred forever from the enjoyment of any office of profit or honor or trust in the state of north carolina. the overhill men in greene county took due note of the assembly's fiat and at the next election sent sevier to the north carolina senate. nolichucky jack, whose demeanor was never so decorous as when the ill-considered actions of those in authority had made him appear to have circumvented the law, considerately waited outside until 245 the house had lifted the ban--which it did perforce and by a large majority, despite tipton's opposition--and then took his seat on the senatorial bench beside his enemy. the records show that he was reinstated as brigadier general of the western counties and also appointed at the head of the committee on indian affairs. not only in the region about watauga did the pioneers of tennessee endure the throes of danger and strife during these years. the little settlements on the cumberland, which were scattered over a short distance of about twenty-five or thirty miles and had a frontier line of two hundred miles, were terribly afflicted. their nearest white neighbors among the kentucky settlers were one hundred and fifty miles away; and through the cruelest years these could render no aid--could not, indeed, hold their own stations. the kentuckians, as we have seen, were bottled up in harrodsburg and boonesborough; and, while the northern indians led by girty and dequindre darkened the bloody ground anew, the cumberlanders were making a desperate stand against the chickasaws and the creeks. so terrible was their situation that panic took hold on them, and they would have 246 fled but for the influence of robertson. he may have put the question to them in the biblical words, whither shall i flee? for they were surrounded, and those who did attempt to escape were weighed on the path and made light. robertson knew that their only chance of survival was to stand their ground. the greater risks he was willing to take in person, for it was he who made trips to boonesborough and harrodsburg for a share of the powder and lead which john sevier was sending into kentucky from time to time. in the stress of conflict robertson bore his full share of grief, for his two elder sons and his brother fell. he himself was often near to death. one day he was cut off in the fields and was shot in the foot as he ran, yet he managed to reach shelter. there is a story that, in an attack during one of his absences, the indians forced the outer gate of the fort and mrs. robertson went out of her cabin, firing, and let loose a band of the savage dogs which the settlers kept for their protection, and so drove out the invaders. the chickasaws were loyal to the treaty they had made with the british in the early days of james adair's association with them. they were friends to england's friends and foes to her foes. 247 while they resented the new settlements made on land they considered theirs, they signed a peace with robertson at the conclusion of the war of independence. they kept their word with him as they had kept it with the british. furthermore, their chief, opimingo or the mountain leader, gave robertson his assistance against the creeks and the choctaws and, in so far as he understood its workings, informed him of the new spanish and french conspiracy, which we now come to consider. so once again the chickasaws were servants of destiny to the english-speaking race, for again they drove the wedge of their honor into an indian solidarity welded with european gold. since it was generally believed at that date that the tribes were instigated to war by the british and supplied by them with their ammunition, savage inroads were expected to cease with the signing of peace. but indian warfare not only continued; it increased. in the last two years of the revolution, when the british were driven from the back country of the carolinas and could no longer reach the tribes with consignments of firearms and powder, it should have been evident that the indians had other sources of supply and other allies, for they lacked nothing which could aid 248 them in their efforts to exterminate the settlers of tennessee. neither france nor spain wished to see an english-speaking republic based on ideals of democracy successfully established in america. though in the revolutionary war, france was a close ally of the americans and spain something more than a nominal one, the secret diplomacy of the courts of the bourbon cousins ill matched with their open professions. both cousins hated england. the american colonies, smarting under injustice, had offered a field for their revenge. but hatred of england was not the only reason why activities had been set afoot to increase the discord which should finally separate the colonies from great britain and leave the destiny of the colonies to be decided by the house of bourbon. spain saw in the americans, with their english modes of thought, a menace to her authority in her own colonies on both the northern and southern continents. this menace would not be stilled but augmented if the colonies should be established as a republic. such an example might be too readily followed. though france had, by a secret treaty in 1762, made over to spain the province of louisiana, she was not unmindful of the bourbon motto, he who attacks 249 the crown of one attacks the other. and she saw her chance to deal a crippling blow at england's prestige and commerce. in 1764, the french minister, choiseul, had sent a secret agent, named pontleroy, to america to assist in making trouble and to watch for any signs that might be turned to the advantage of _les duex couronnes_. evidently pontleroy's reports were encouraging for, in 1768, johann kalb--the same kalb who fell at camden in 1780--arrived in philadelphia to enlarge the good work. he was not only, like several of the foreign officers in the war of independence, a spy for his government, but he was also the special emissary of one comte de broglie who, after the colonies had broken with the mother country, was to put himself at the head of american affairs. this broglie had been for years one of louis xv's chief agents in subterranean diplomacy, and it is not to be supposed that he was going to attempt the stupendous task of controlling america's destiny without substantial backing. spain had been advised meanwhile to rule her new louisiana territory with great liberality--in fact, to let it shine as a republic before the yearning eyes of the oppressed americans, so that the english colonists would arise and cast off 250 their fetters. once the colonies had freed themselves from england's protecting arm, it would be a simple matter for the bourbons to gather them in like so many little lost chicks from a rainy yard. the intrigants of autocratic systems have never been able to understand that the urge of the spirit of independence in men is not primarily to break shackles but to stand alone and that the breaking of bonds is incidental to the true demonstration of freedom. the bourbons and their agents were no more nor less blind to the great principle stirring the hearts of men in their day than were the prussianized hosts over a hundred years later who, having themselves no acquaintance with the law of liberty, could not foresee that half a world would rise in arms to maintain that law. when the war of independence had ended, the french minister, vergennes, and the spanish minister, floridablanca, secretly worked in unison to prevent england's recognition of the new republic; and floridablanca in 1782 even offered to assist england if she would make further efforts to subdue her rebel subjects. both latin powers had their own axes to grind, and america was to tend the grindstone. france looked for recovery of her old prestige in europe and expected to supersede 251 england in commerce. she would do this, in the beginning, chiefly through control of america and of america's commerce. vergennes therefore sought not only to dictate the final terms of peace but also to say what the american commissioners should and should not demand. of the latter gentlemen he said that they possessed _caractères peu maniables!_ in writing to luzerne, the french ambassador in philadelphia, on october 14, 1782, vergennes said: it behooves us to leave them [the american commissioners] to their illusions, to do everything that can make them fancy that we share them, and undertake only to defeat any attempts to which those illusions might carry them if our coöperation is required. among these illusions were america's desires in regard to the fisheries and to the western territory. concerning the west, vergennes had written to luzerne, as early as july 18, 1780: at the moment when the revolution broke out, the limits of the thirteen states did not reach the river [mississippi] and it would be absurd for them to claim the rights of england, a power whose rule they had abjured. by the secret treaty with spain, furthermore, france had agreed to continue the war until gibraltar should be taken, and--if the british 252 should be driven from newfoundland--to share the fisheries only with spain, and to support spain in demanding that the thirteen states renounce all territory west of the alleghanies. the american states must by no means achieve a genuine independence but must feel the need of sureties, allies, and protection.¹ ¹ see john jay, _on the peace negotiations of 1782-1783 as illustrated by the secret correspondence of france and england,_ new york, 1888. so intent was vergennes on these aims that he sent a secret emissary to england to further them there. this act of his perhaps gave the first inkling to the english statesmen² that american and french desires were not identical and hastened england's recognition of american independence and her agreement to american demands in regard to the western territory. when, to his amazement, vergennes learned that england had acceded to all america's demands, he said that england had bought the peace rather than made it. the policy of vergennes in regard to america was not unjustly pronounced by a later french statesman a vile speculation ² your lordship was well founded in your suspicion that the granting of independence to america as a previous measure is a point which the french have by no means at heart and perhaps are entirely averse from. letter from fitzherbert to grantham, september 3, 1782. 253 through england's unexpected action, then, the bourbon cousins had forever lost their opportunity to dominate the young but spent and war-weakened republic, or to use america as a catspaw to snatch english commerce for france. it was plain, too, that any frank move of the sort would range the english alongside of their american kinsmen. since american independence was an accomplished fact and therefore could no longer be prevented, the present object of the bourbon cousins was to restrict it. the appalachian mountains should be the western limits of the new nation. therefore the settlements in kentucky and tennessee must be broken up, or the settlers must be induced to secede from the union and raise the spanish banner. the latter alternative was held to be preferable. to bring it about the same methods were to be continued which had been used prior to and during the war--namely, the use of _agents provocateurs_ to corrupt the ignorant and incite the lawless, the instigation of indian massacres to daunt the brave, and the distribution of gold to buy the avaricious. as her final and supreme means of coercion, spain refused to america the right of navigation on the mississippi and so deprived the westerners 254 of a market for their produce. the northern states, having no immediate use for the mississippi, were willing to placate spain by acknowledging her monopoly of the great waterway. but virginia and north carolina were determined that america should not, by congressional enactment, surrender her natural right; and they cited the proposed legislation as their reason for refusing to ratify the constitution. the act which abandons it [the right of navigation] is an act of separation between the eastern and western country, jefferson realized at last. an act of separation--that point had long been very clear to the latin sachems of the mississippi valley! bounded as they were on one side by the precipitous mountains and on the other by the southward flow of the mississippi and its tributary, the ohio, the trappers and growers of corn in kentucky and western tennessee regarded new orleans as their logical market, as the wide waters were their natural route. if market and route were to be closed to them, their commercial advancement was something less than a dream. in 1785, don estevan miró, a gentleman of artful and winning address, became governor of louisiana and fountainhead of the propaganda. 255 he wrote benign and brotherly epistles to james robertson of the cumberland and to his excellency of franklin, suggesting that to be of service to them was his dearest aim in life; and at the same time he kept the southern indians continually on the warpath. when robertson wrote to him of the creek and cherokee depredations, with a hint that the spanish might have some responsibility in the matter, miró replied by offering the cumberlander a safe home on spanish territory with freedom of religion and no taxes. he disclaimed stirring up the indians. he had, in fact, advised mr. mcgillivray, chief of the creeks, to make peace. he would try again what he could do with mr. mcgillivray. as to the cherokees, they resided in a very distant territory and he was not acquainted with them; he might have added that he did not need to be: his friend mcgillivray was the potent personality among the southern tribes. in alexander mcgillivray, miró found a weapon fashioned to his hand. if the creek chieftain's figure might stand as the symbol of treachery, it is none the less one of the most picturesque and pathetic in our early annals. mcgillivray, it will be remembered, was the son of adair's friend lachlan mcgillivray, the trader, and a creek woman whose 256 sire had been a french officer. a brilliant and beautiful youth, he had given his father a pride in him which is generally denied to the fathers of sons with indian blood in them. the highland trader had spared nothing in his son's education and had placed him, after his school days, in the business office of the large trading establishment of which he himself was a member. at about the age of seventeen alexander had become a chieftain in his mother's nation; and doubtless it is he who appears shortly afterwards in the colonial records as the white leader whose influence is seen to have been at work for friendship between the colonists and the tribes. when the revolutionary war broke out, lachlan mcgillivray, like many of the old traders who had served british interests so long and so faithfully, held to the british cause. georgia confiscated all his property and lachlan fled to scotland. for this, his son hated the people of georgia with a perfect hatred. he remembered how often his father's courage alone had stood between those same people and the warlike creeks. he could recall the few days in 1760 when lachlan and his fellow trader, galphin, at the risk of their lives had braved the creek warriors--already painted for war and on the march--and so had 257 saved the settlements of the back country from extermination. he looked upon the men of georgia as an indian regards those who forget either a blood gift or a blood vengeance. and he embraced the whole american nation in his hatred for their sakes. in 1776 alexander mcgillivray was in his early thirties--the exact date of his birth is uncertain.¹ he had, we are told, the tall, sturdy, but spare physique of the gael, with a countenance of indian color though not of indian cast. his overhanging brows made more striking his very large and luminous dark eyes. he bore himself with great dignity; his voice was soft, his manner gentle. he might have been supposed to be some latin courtier but for the barbaric display of his dress and his ornaments. he possessed extraordinary personal magnetism, and his power extended beyond the creek nation to the choctaws and chickasaws and the southern cherokees. he had long been wooed by the louisiana authorities, but there is no evidence that he had made alliance with them prior to the revolution. ¹ probably about 1741 or 1742. some writers give 1739 and others 1746. his father landed in charleston, pickett (_history of alabama_) says, in 1735, and was then only sixteen. 258 early in the war he joined the british, received a colonel's commission, and led his formidable creeks against the people of georgia. when the british were driven from the back countries, mcgillivray, in his british uniform, went on with the war. when the british made peace, mcgillivray exchanged his british uniform for a spanish one and went on with the war. in later days, when he had forced congress to pay him for his father's confiscated property and had made peace, he wore the uniform of an american brigadier general; but he did not keep the peace, never having intended to keep it. it was not until he had seen the spanish plots collapse and had realized that the americans were to dominate the land, that the white leader ceased from war and urged the youths of his tribe to adopt american civilization. spent from hate and wasted with dissipation, he retired at last to the spot where lachlan had set up his first creek home. here he lived his few remaining days in a house which he built on the site of the old ruined cabin about which still stood the little grove of apple trees his father had planted. he died at the age of fifty of a fever contracted while he was on a business errand in pensacola. among those who visited him in his last years, one 259 has left this description of him: dissipation has sapped a constitution originally delicate and feeble. he possesses an atticism of diction aided by a liberal education, a great fund of wit and humor meliorated by a perfect good nature and politeness. set beside that kindly picture this rough etching by james robertson: the biggest devil among them [the spaniards] is the half spaniard, half frenchman, half scotchman and altogether creek scoundrel, mcgillivray. how indefatigably mcgillivray did his work we know from the bloody annals of the years which followed the british-american peace, when the men of the cumberland and of franklin were on the defensive continually. how cleverly miró played his personal rôle we discover in the letters addressed to him by sevier and robertson. these letters show that, as far as words go at any rate, the founders of tennessee were willing to negotiate with spain. in a letter dated september 12, 1788, sevier offered himself and his tottering state of franklin to the spanish king. this offer may have been made to gain a respite, or it may have been genuine. the situation in the tennessee settlements was truly desperate, for neither north carolina nor congress apparently cared in the least 260 what befell them or how soon. north carolina indeed was in an anomalous position, as she had not yet ratified the federal constitution. if franklin went out of existence and the territory which it included became again part of north carolina, sevier knew that a large part of the newly settled country would, under north carolina's treaties, revert to the indians. that meant ruin to large numbers of those who had put their faith in his star, or else it meant renewed conflict either with the indians or with the parent state. the probabilities aria that sevier hoped to play the spaniards against the easterners who, even while denying the westerners' contention that the mountains were a natural barrier between them, were making of them a barrier of indifference. it would seem so, because, although this was the very aim of all miró's activities so that, had he been assured of the sincerity of the offer, he must have grasped at it, yet nothing definite was done. and sevier was presently informing shelby, now in kentucky, that there was a spanish plot afoot to seize the western country. miró had other agents besides mcgillivray--who, by the way, was costing spain, for his own services and those of four tribes aggregating over 261 six thousand warriors, a sum of fifty-five thousand dollars a year. mcgillivray did very well as superintendent of massacres; but the spaniard required a different type of man, an american who enjoyed his country's trust, to bring the larger plan to fruition. miró found that man in general james wilkinson, lately of the continental army and now a resident of kentucky, which territory wilkinson undertook to deliver to spain, for a price. in 1787 wilkinson secretly took the oath of allegiance to spain and is listed in the files of the spanish secret service, appropriately, as number thirteen. he was indeed the thirteenth at table, the judas at the feast. somewhat under middle height, wilkinson was handsome, graceful, and remarkably magnetic. of a good, if rather impoverished, maryland family, he was well educated and widely read for the times. with a brilliant and versatile intellectuality and ready gifts as a speaker, he swayed men easily. he was a bold soldier and was endowed with physical courage, though when engaged in personal contests he seldom exerted it--preferring the red tongue of slander or the hired assassin's shot from behind cover. his record fails to disclose one commendable trait. he was inordinately avaricious, but 262 love of money was not his whole motive force: he had a spirit so jealous and malignant that he hated to the death another man's good. he seemed to divine instantly wherein other men were weak and to understand the speediest and best means of suborning them to his own interests--or of destroying them. wilkinson was able to lure a number of kentuckians into the separatist movement. george rogers clark seriously disturbed the arch plotter by seizing a spanish trader's store wherewith to pay his soldiers, whom virginia had omitted to recompense. this act aroused the suspicions of the spanish, either as to number thirteen's perfect loyalty or as to his ability to deliver the western country. in 1786, when clark led two thousand men against the ohio indians in his last and his only unsuccessful campaign, wilkinson had already settled himself near the falls (louisville) and had looked about for mischief which he might do for profit. whether his influence had anything to do with what amounted virtually to a mutiny among clark's forces is not ascertainable; but, for a disinterested onlooker, he was overswift to spread the news of clark's debacle and to declare gleefully that clark's sun of military glory had now forever 263 set. it is also known that he later served other generals treacherously in indian expeditions and that he intrigued with mad anthony wayne's kentucky troops against their commander. spain did not wish to see the indians crushed; and wilkinson himself both hated and feared any other officer's prestige. how long he had been in foreign pay we can only conjecture, for, several years before he transplanted his activities to kentucky, he had been one of a cabal against washington. not only his ambitions but his nature must inevitably have brought him to the death-battle with george rogers clark. as a military leader, clark had genius, and soldiering was his passion. in nature, he was open, frank, and bold to make foes if he scorned a man's way as ignoble or dishonest. wilkinson suavely set about scheming for clark's ruin. his communication or memorial to the virginia assembly--signed by himself and a number of his friends--villifying clark, ended clark's chances for the commission in the continental army which he craved. it was wilkinson who made public an incriminating letter which had clark's signature attached and which clark said he had never seen. it is to be supposed that number thirteen was responsible also for 264 the malevolent anonymous letter accusing clark of drunkenness and scheming which, so strangely, found its way into the calendar of state papers of virginia.¹ as a result, clark was censured by virginia. thereupon he petitioned for a court of inquiry, but this was not granted. wilkinson had to get rid of clark; for if clark, with his military gifts and his power over men, had been elevated to a position of command under the smile of the government, there would have been small opportunity for james wilkinson to lead the kentuckians and to gather in spanish gold. so the machinations of one of the vilest traitors who ever sold his country were employed to bring about the stultification and hence the downfall of a great servant. ¹ see thomas m. greene's _the spanish conspiracy,_ p. 72, footnote. it is possible that wilkinson's intrigues provide data for a new biography of clark which may recast in some measure the accepted view of clark at this period. wilkinson's chief aids were the irishmen, o'fallon, nolan, and powers. through nolan, he also vended spanish secrets. he sold, indeed, whatever and whomever he could get his price for. so clever was he that he escaped detection, though he was obliged to remove some suspicions. he succeeded wayne as commander of the regular army in 1796. he was one of the commissioners 265 to receive louisiana when the purchase was arranged in 1803. he was still on the spanish pay roll at that time. wilkinson's true record came to light only when the spanish archives were opened to investigators. there were british agents also in the old southwest, for the dissatisfaction of the western men inspired in englishmen the hope of recovering the mississippi basin. lord dorchester, governor of canada, wrote to the british government that he had been approached by important westerners; but he received advice from england to move slowly. for complicity in the british schemes, william blount, who was first territorial governor of tennessee and later a senator from that state, was expelled from the senate. surely there was never a more elaborate network of plots that came to nothing! the concession to americans in 1796 of the right of navigation on the mississippi brought an end to the scheming. in the same year tennessee was admitted to the union, and john sevier was elected governor. sevier's popularity was undiminished, though there were at this time some sixty thousand souls in tennessee, many of whom were late comers who 266 had not known him in his heyday. his old power to win men to him must have been as strong as ever, for it is recorded that he had only to enter a political meeting--no matter whose--for the crowd to cheer him and shout for him to give them a talk. this adulation of sevier still annoyed a few men who had ambitions of their own. among these was andrew jackson, who had come to jonesborough in 1788, just after the collapse of the state of franklin. he was twenty-one at that time, and he is said to have entered jonesborough riding a fine racer and leading another, with a pack of hunting dogs baying or nosing along after him. a court record dated may 12, 1788, avers that andrew jackson, esq. came into court and produced a licence as an attorney with a certificate sufficiently attested of his taking the oath necessary to said office and was admitted to practiss as an attorney in the county courts. jackson made no history in old watauga during that year. next year he moved to nashville, and one year later, when the superior court was established (1790), he became prosecuting attorney. the feud between jackson and sevier began about the time that tennessee entered the union. 267 jackson, then twenty-nine, was defeated for the post of major general of the militia through the influence which sevier exercised against him, and it seems that jackson never forgave this opposition to his ambitions. by the close of sevier's third term, however, in 1802, when archibald roane became governor, the post of major general was again vacant. both sevier and jackson offered themselves for it, and jackson was elected by the deciding vote of the governor, the military vote having resulted in a tie. a strong current of influence had now set in against sevier and involved charges against his honor. his old enemy tipton was still active. the basis of the charges was a file of papers from the entry-taker's office which a friend of tipton's had laid before the governor, with an affidavit to the effect that the papers were fraudulent. both the governor and jackson believed the charges. when we consider what system or lack of system of land laws and land entries obtained in watauga and such primitive communities--when a patch of corn sealed a right and claims were made by notching trees with tomahawks--we may imagine that a file from the land office might appear easily enough to smirch a landholder's integrity. the scandal was, of course, 268 used in an attempt to ruin sevier's candidacy for a fourth term as governor and to make certain roane's reëlection. to this end jackson bent all his energies but without success. nolichucky jack was elected, for the fourth time, as governor of tennessee. not long after his inauguration, sevier met jackson in knoxville, where jackson was holding court. the charges against sevier were then being made the subject of legislative investigation instituted by tipton, and jackson had published a letter in the knoxville _gazette_ supporting them. at the sight of jackson, sevier flew into a rage, and a fiery altercation ensued. the two men were only restrained from leaping on each other by the intervention of friends. the next day jackson sent sevier a challenge which sevier accepted, but with the stipulation that the duel take place outside the state. jackson insisted on fighting in knoxville, where the insult had been offered. sevier refused. i have some respect, he wrote, for the laws of the state over which i have the honor to preside, although you, a judge, appear to have none. no duel followed; but, after some further _billets-doux_, jackson published sevier as a base coward and poltroon. he will basely insult but has not 269 the courage to repair the wound. again they met, by accident, and jackson rushed upon sevier with his cane. sevier dismounted and drew his pistol but made no move to fire. jackson, thereupon, also drew his weapon. once more friends interfered. it is presumable that neither really desired the duel. by killing nolichucky jack, jackson would have ended his own career in tennessee--if sevier's tribe of sons had not, by a swifter means, ended it for him. at this date jackson was thirty-six. sevier was fifty-eight; and he had seventeen children. the charges against sevier, though pressed with all the force that his enemies could bring to bear, came to nothing. he remained the governor of tennessee for another six years--the three terms in eight years allowed by the constitution. in 1811 he was sent to congress for the second time, as he had represented the territory there twenty years earlier. he was returned again in 1813. at the conclusion of his term in 1815 he went into the creek country as commissioner to determine the creek boundaries, and here, far from his bonnie kate and his tribe, he died of fever at the age of seventy. his body was buried with full military honors at tuckabatchee, one of the creek towns. in 1889, sevier's 270 remains were removed to knoxville and a high marble spire was raised above them. his indian enemies forgave the chastisement he had inflicted on them and honored him. in times of peace they would come to him frequently for advice. and in his latter days, the chiefs would make state visits to his home on the nolichucky river. john sevier is a good man--so declared the cherokee, old tassel, making himself the spokesman of history. sevier had survived his old friend, co-founder with him of watauga, by one year. james robertson had died in 1814 at the age of seventy-two, among the chickasaws, and his body, like that of his fellow pioneer, was buried in an indian town and lay there until 1825, when it was removed to nashville. what of the red tribes who had fought these great pioneers for the wide land of the old southwest and who in the end had received their dust and treasured it with honor in the little soil remaining to them? always the new boundary lines drew closer in, and the red men's foothold narrowed before the pushing tread of the whites. the day came soon when there was no longer room for 271 them in the land of their fathers. but far off across the great river there was a land the white men did not covet yet. thither at last the tribes--cherokee, choctaw, chickasaw, and creek--took their way. with wives and children, maids and youths, the old and the young, with all their goods, their cattle and horses, in the company of a regiment of american troops, they--like the white men who had superseded them--turned westward. in their faces also was the red color of the west, but not newly there. from the beginning of their race, destiny had painted them with the hue of the brief hour of the dying sun. 272 chapter xi boone's last days one spring day in 1799, there might have been observed a great stir through the valley of the kanawha. with the dawn, men were ahorse, and women, too. wagons crowded with human freight wheeled over the rough country, and boats, large and small, were afloat on the streams which pour into the great kanawha and at length mingle with the ohio at point pleasant, where the battle was fought which opened the gates of kentucky. some of the travelers poured into the little settlement at the junction of the elk and the kanawha, where charleston now lies. others, who had been later in starting or had come from a greater distance, gathered along the banks of the kanawha. at last shouts from those stationed farthest up the stream echoed down the valley and told the rest that what they had come out to see was at hand. several pirogues drifted into view on the river, 273 now brightening in the sunshine. in the vessels were men and their families; bales and bundles and pieces of household furnishings, heaped to the gunwale; a few cattle and horses standing patiently. but it was for one man above all that the eager eyes of the settlers were watching, and him they saw clearly as his boat swung by--a tall figure, erect and powerful, his keen friendly blue eyes undimmed and his ruddy face unlined by time, though sixty-five winters had frosted his black hair. for a decade these settlers had known daniel boone, as storekeeper, as surveyor, as guide and soldier. they had eaten of the game he killed and lavishly distributed. and they too--like the folk of clinch valley in the year of dunmore's war--had petitioned virginia to bestow military rank upon their protector. lieutenant colonel had been his title among them, by their demand. once indeed he had represented them in the virginia assembly and, for that purpose, trudged to richmond with rifle and hunting dog. not interested in the legislature's proceedings, he left early in the session and tramped home again. but not even the esteem of friends and neighbors could hold the great hunter when the deer had fled. so daniel boone was now on his way westward to 274 missouri, to a new land of fabled herds and wide spaces, where the hunter's gun might speak its one word with authority and where the soul of a silent and fearless man might find its true abode in nature's solitude. waving his last farewells, he floated past the little groups--till their shouts of good will were long silenced, and his fleet swung out upon the ohio. as boone sailed on down the beautiful river which forms the northern boundary of kentucky, old friends and newcomers who had only heard his fame rode from far and near to greet and godspeed him on his way. sometimes he paused for a day with them. once at least--this was in cincinnati where he was taking on supplies--some one asked him why, at his age, he was leaving the settled country to dare the frontier once more. too crowded, he answered; i want more elbow-room! boone settled at the femme osage creek on the missouri river, twenty-five miles above st. charles, where the missouri flows into the mississippi. there were four other kentucky families at la charette, as the french inhabitants called the post, but these were the only americans. the spanish authorities granted boone 840 acres of land, and here daniel 275 built the last cabin home he was to erect for himself and his rebecca. the region pleased him immensely. the governmental system, for instance, was wholly to his mind. taxes were infinitesimal. there were no elections, assemblies, or the like. a single magistrate, or syndic, decided all disputes and made the few regulations and enforced them. there were no land speculators, no dry-mouthed sons of the commercial tantalus, athirst for profits. boone used to say that his first years in missouri were the happiest of his life, with the exception of his first long hunt in kentucky. in 1800 he was appointed syndic of the district of femme osage, which office he filled for four years, until louisiana became american territory. he was held in high esteem as a magistrate because of his just and wise treatment of his flock, who brought him all their small bickerings to settle. he had no use for legal procedure, would not listen to any nice subtleties, saying that he did not care anything at all about the evidence, what he wanted was the truth. his favorite penalty for offenders was the hickory rod well laid on. often he decided that both parties in a suit were equally to blame and chastised them both alike. when in 276 march, 1804, the american commissioner received louisiana for the united states, delassus, lieutenant governor of upper louisiana, reporting on the various officials in the territory, wrote of the femme osage syndic: mr. boone, a respectable old man, just and impartial, he has already, since i appointed him, offered his resignation owing to his infirmities. believing i know his probity, i have induced him to remain, in view of my confidence in him, for the public good.¹ * thwaites, _daniel boone._ to this and other biographies of boone, cited in the bibliographical note at the end of this volume, the author is indebted for the material contained in this chapter. daniel, no doubt supposing that a syndic's rights were inviolable, had neglected to apply to the governor at new orleans for a ratification of his grant. he was therefore dispossessed. not until 1810, and after he had enlisted the kentucky legislature in his behalf, did he succeed in inducing congress to restore his land. the kentucky legislature's resolution was adopted because of the many eminent services rendered by colonel boone in exploring and settling the western country, from which great advantages have resulted not only to the state but to the country in general, and that from circumstances over which he had no 277 control he is now reduced to poverty; not having so far as appears an acre of land out of the vast territory he has been a great instrument in peopling. daniel was seventy-six then; so it was late in the day for him to have his first experience of justice in the matter of land. perhaps it pleased him, however, to hear that, in confirming his grant, congress had designated him as the man who has opened the way for millions of his fellow-men. the infirmities which had caused the good syndic to seek relief from political cares must have been purely magisterial. the hunter could have been very little affected by them, for as soon as he was freed from his duties boone took up again the silent challenge of the forest. usually one or two of his sons or his son-in-law, flanders calloway, accompanied him, but sometimes his only companions were an old indian and his hunting dog. on one of his hunting trips he explored a part of kansas; and in 1814, when he was eighty, he hunted big game in the yellowstone where again his heart rejoiced over great herds as in the days of his first lone wanderings in the blue grass country. at last, with the proceeds of these expeditions he was able to pay the debts he had left behind in kentucky thirty years before. the story runs that 278 daniel had only fifty cents remaining when all the claims had been settled, but so contented was he to be able to look an honest man in the face that he was in no disposition to murmur over his poverty. when after a long and happy life his wife died in 1813, boone lived with one or other of his sons¹ and sometimes with flanders calloway. nathan boone, with whom daniel chiefly made his home, built what is said to have been the first stone house in missouri. evidently the old pioneer disapproved of stone houses and of the luxuries in furnishings which were then becoming possible to the new generation, for one of his biographers speaks of visiting him in a log addition to his son's house; and when chester harding, the painter, visited him in 1819 for the purpose of doing his portrait, he found boone dwelling in a small log cabin in nathan's yard. when harding entered, boone was broiling a venison steak on the end of his ramrod. during the sitting, one day, harding 279 asked boone if he had ever been lost in the woods when on his long hunts in the wilderness. ¹ boone's son nathan won distinction in the war of 1812 and entered the regular army, rising to the rank of lieutenant colonel. daniel morgan boone is said to have been the first settler in kansas (1827). one of daniel's grandsons, bearing the name of albert gallatin boone, was a pioneer of colorado and was to the forefront in rocky mountain exploration. another grandson was the scout, kit carson, who led frémont to california. no, i never got lost, boone replied reflectively, but i was bewildered once for three days. though now having reached the age of eighty-five, daniel was intensely interested in california and was enthusiastic to make the journey thither next spring and so to flee once more from the civilization which had crept westward along his path. the resolute opposition of his sons, however, prevented the attempt. a few men who sought out boone in his old age have left us brief accounts of their impressions. among these was audubon. the stature and general appearance of this wanderer of the western forests, the naturalist wrote, approached the gigantic. his chest was broad, and prominent; his muscular powers displayed themselves in every limb; his countenance gave indication of his great courage, enterprise and perseverance; and, when he spoke, the very motion of his lips brought the impression that whatever he uttered could not be otherwise than strictly true. audubon spent a night under boone's roof. he related afterwards that the old hunter, having removed his hunting shirt, spread his blankets on the 280 floor and lay down there to sleep, saying that he found it more comfortable than a bed. a striking sketch of boone is contained in a few lines penned by one of his earliest biographers: he had what phrenologists would have considered a model head--with a forehead peculiarly high, noble and bold, thin compressed lips, a mild clear blue eye, a large and prominent chin and a general expression of countenance in which fearlessness and courage sat enthroned and which told the beholder at a glance what he had been and was formed to be. in criticizing the various portraits of daniel, the same writer says: they want the high port and noble daring of his countenance.… never was old age more green, or gray hairs more graceful. his high, calm, bold forehead seemed converted by years into iron. although we are indebted to these and other early chroniclers for many details of boone's life, there was one event which none of his biographers has related; yet we know that it must have taken place. even the bare indication of it is found only in the narrative of the adventures of two other explorers. it was in the winter of 1803 that these two men came to boone's settlement, as la charette was 281 now generally called. they had planned to make their winter camp there, for in the spring, when the missouri rose to the flood, they and their company of frontiersmen were to take their way up that uncharted stream and over plains and mountains in quest of the pacific ocean. they were refused permission by the spanish authorities to camp at boone's settlement; so they lay through the winter some forty miles distant on the illinois side of the mississippi, across from the mouth of the missouri. since the records are silent, we are free to picture as we choose their coming to the settlement during the winter and again in the spring, for we know that they came. we can imagine, for instance, the stir they made in la charette on some sparkling day when the frost bit and the crusty snow sent up a dancing haze of diamond points. we can see the friendly french _habitants_ staring after the two young leaders and their men--all mere boys, though they were also husky, seasoned frontiersmen--with their bronzed faces of english cast, as in their gayly fringed deerskins they swaggered through the hamlet to pay their respects to the syndic. we may think of that dignitary as smoking his pipe before his fireplace, perhaps; or making out, in his 282 fantastic spelling, a record of his primitive court--for instance, that he had on that day given pierre a dozen hickory thwacks, well laid on, for starting a brawl with antoine, and had bestowed the same upon antoine for continuing the brawl with pierre. a knock at the door would bring the amiable invitation to enter, and the two young men would step across his threshold, while their followers crowded about the open door and hailed the old pathfinder. one of the two leaders--the dark slender man with a subtle touch of the dreamer in his resolute face--was a stranger; but the other, with the more practical mien and the shock of hair that gave him the name of red head among the tribes, boone had known as a lad in kentucky. to daniel and this young visitor the encounter would be a simple meeting of friends, heightened in pleasure and interest somewhat, naturally, by the adventure in prospect. but to us there is something vast in the thought of daniel boone, on his last frontier, grasping the hands of william clark and meriwether lewis. as for the rough and hearty mob at the door, daniel must have known not a few of them well; though they had been children in the days when 283 he and william clark's brother strove for kentucky. it seems fitting that the soldiers with this expedition should have come from the garrison at kaskaskia; since the taking of that fort in 1778 by george rogers clark had opened the western way from the boundaries of kentucky to the mississippi. and among the young kentuckians enlisted by william clark were sons of the sturdy fighters of still an earlier border line, clinch and holston valley men who had adventured under another lewis at point pleasant. daniel would recognize in these--such as charles floyd--the young kinsmen of his old-time comrades whom he had preserved from starvation in the kentucky wilderness by the kill from his rifle as they made their long march home after dunmore's war. in may, lewis and clark's pirogues ascended the missouri and the leaders and men of the expedition spent another day in la charette. once again, at least, daniel was to watch the westward departure of pioneers. in 1811, when the astorians passed, one of their number pointed to the immobile figure of an old man on the bank, who, he said, was daniel boone. sometimes the aged pioneer's mind cast forward 284 to his last journey, for which his advancing years were preparing him. he wrote on the subject to a sister, in 1816, revealing in a few simple lines that the faith whereby he had crossed, if not more literally removed, mountains was a fixed star, and that he looked ahead fearlessly to the dark trail he must tread by its single gleam. autumn was tinting the forest and the tang he loved was in the air when the great hunter passed. the date of boone's death is given as september 26, 1820. he was in his eighty-sixth year. unburdened by the pangs of disease he went out serenely, by the gentle marches of sleep, into the new country. the convention for drafting the constitution of missouri, in session at st. louis, adjourned for the day, and for twenty days thereafter the members wore crape on their arms as a further mark of respect for the great pioneer. daniel was laid by rebecca's side, on the bank of teugue creek, about a mile from the missouri river. in 1845, the missouri legislators hearkened to oft-repeated pleas from kentucky and surrendered the remains of the pioneer couple. their bones lie now in frankfort, the capital of the once dark and bloody ground, and in 1880 a monument was raised over them. to us it seems rather that kentucky itself is 285 boone's monument; even as those other great corn states, illinois and indiana, are clark's. there, these two servants unafraid, who sacrificed without measure in the wintry winds of man's ingratitude, are each year memorialized anew; when the earth in summer--the season when the red man slaughtered--lifts up the full grain in the ear, the life-giving corn; and when autumn smiles in golden peace over the stubble fields, where the reaping and binding machines have hummed a nation's harvest song. 287 bibliographical note the races and their migration c. a. hanna, _the scotch-irish,_ 2 vols. new york, 1902. a very full if somewhat over-enthusiastic study. h. j. ford, _the scotch-irish in america._ princeton, 1915. excellent. a. g. spangenberg, extracts from his journal of travels in north carolina, 1752. publication of the southern history association. vol. i, 1897. a. b. faust, _the german element in the united states,_ 2 vols. (1909). j. p. maclean, _an historical account of the settlements of scotch highlanders in america_ (1900). s. h. cobb, _the story of the palatines_ (1897). n. d. mereness (editor), _travels in the american colonies._ new york, 1916. this collection contains the diary of the moravian brethren cited in the first chapter of the present volume. life in the back country joseph doddridge, _notes on the settlements and indian wars of the western parts of virginia and pennsylvania,_ from 1763 to 1783. albany, 1876. an intimate description of the daily life of the early settlers in the back country by one of themselves. 288 j. f. d. smyth, _tour in the united states of america,_ 2 vols. london, 1784. minute descriptions of the back country and interesting pictures of the life of the settlers; biased as to political views by royalist sympathies. william h. foote, _sketches of north carolina,_ new york, 1846. see foote also for history of the first presbyterian ministers in the back country. as to political history, inaccurate. early history and exploration j. s. bassett (editor), _the writings of colonel william byrd of westover._ new york, 1901. a contemporary record of early virginia. thomas walker, _journal of an exploration in the spring of the year 1750._ boston, 1888. the record of his travels by the discoverer of cumberland gap. william m. darlington (editor), _christopher gist's journals._ pittsburgh, 1893. contains gist's account of his surveys for the ohio company, 1750. c. a. hanna, _the wilderness trail,_ 2 vols. new york, 1911. an exhaustive work of research, with full accounts of croghan and findlay. see also croghan's and johnson's correspondence in vol. vii, new york colonial records. james adair, _the history of the american indians,_ etc. london, 1775. the personal record of a trader who was one of the earliest explorers of the alleghanies and of the mississippi region east of the river; a many-sided work, intensely interesting. c. w. alvord, _the genesis of the proclamation of 1763._ reprinted from canadian archives report, 1906. a new and authoritative interpretation. in this connection see also the correspondence between sir william 289 johnson and the lords of trade in vol. vii of new york colonial records. justin winsor, _the mississippi basin. the struggle in america between england and france._ cambridge, 1895. presents the results of exhaustive research and the coördination of facts by an historian of broad intellect and vision. _colonial and state records of north carolina._ 30 vols. the chief fountain source of the early history of north carolina and tennessee. w. h. hoyt, _the mecklenburg declaration of independence._ new york, 1907. this book presents the view generally adopted by historians, that the alleged declaration of may 20, 1775, is spurious. justin winsor (editor), _narrative and critical history of america._ 8 vols. (1884-1889). also _the westward movement._ cambridge, 1897. both works of incalculable value to the student. c. w. alvord, _the mississippi valley in british politics._ 2 vols. cleveland, 1917. a profound work of great value to students. kentucky r. g. thwaites and l. p. kellogg (editors), _documentary history of dunmore's war, 1774._ compiled from the draper manuscripts in the library of the wisconsin historical society. madison, 1905. a collection of interesting and valuable documents with a suggestive introduction. r. g. thwaites, _daniel boone._ new york, 1902. a short and accurate narrative of boone's life and adventures compiled from the draper manuscripts and from earlier printed biographies. 290 john p. hale, _daniel boone, some facts and incidents not hitherto published._ a pamphlet giving an account of boone in west virginia. printed at wheeling, west virginia. undated. timothy flint, _the first white man of the west or the life and exploits of colonel dan'l boone._ cincinnati, 1854. valuable only as regards boone's later years. john s. c. abbott, _daniel boone, the pioneer of kentucky._ new york, 1872. fairly accurate throughout. j. m. peck, _daniel boone_ (in sparks, _library of american biography._ boston, 1847). william henry bogart. _daniel boone and the hunters of kentucky._ new york, 1856. william hayden english, _conquest of the country northwest of the river ohio, 1778-1783, and life of general george rogers clark,_ 2 vols. indianapolis, 1896. an accurate and valuable work for which the author has made painstaking research among printed and unprinted documents. contains clark's own account of his campaigns, letters he wrote on public and personal matters, and also letters from contemporaries in defense of his reputation. theodore roosevelt, _the winning of the west,_ 4 vols. new york, 1889-1896. a vigorous and spirited narrative. tennessee j. g. m. ramsey, _the annals of tennessee._ charleston, 1853. john haywood, _the civil and political history of the state of tennessee._ nashville, 1891. (reprint from 1828.) these works, with the north carolina _colonial records,_ are the source books of early tennessee. in statistics, such as numbers of indians and other foes defeated by tennessee heroes, not 291 reliable. incorrect as to causes of indian wars during the revolution. on this subject see letters and reports by john and henry stuart in north carolina _colonial records,_ vol. x; and letters by general gage and letters and proclamation by general ethan allen in american archives, fourth series, vol. ii, and by president rutledge of south carolina in north carolina _colonial records,_ vol. x. see also justin winsor, _the westward movement._ j. allison, _dropped stitches in tennessee history._ nashville, 1897. contains interesting matter relative to andrew jackson in his younger days as well as about other striking figures of the time. f. m. turner, _the life of general john sevier._ new york, 1910. a fairly accurate narrative of events in which sevier participated, compiled from the _draper manuscripts._ a. w. putnam, _history of middle tennessee, or life and times of general james robertson._ nashville, 1859. a rambling lengthy narrative containing some interesting material and much that is unreliable. its worst fault is distortion through sentimentality, and indulgence in the habit of putting the author's rodomontades into the mouths of robertson and other characters. j. s. bassett, _regulators of north carolina,_ in report of the american historical association, 1894. l. c. draper, _king's mountain and its heroes._ cincinnati, 1881. the source book on this event. contains interesting biographical material about the men engaged in the battle. french and spanish intrigues henry doniol, _histoire de la participation de la france á l'établissement des états-unis d'amérique,_ 5 vols. 292 paris, 1886-1892. a complete exposition of the french and spanish policy towards america during the revolutionary period. manuel serrano y sanz, _el brigadier jaime wilkinson y sus tratos con españa para la independencia del kentucky, años 1787 á 1797._ madrid, 1915. a spanish view of wilkinson's intrigues with spain, based on letters and reports in the spanish archives. thomas marshall green, _the spanish conspiracy._ cincinnati, 1891. a good local account, from american sources. the best material on this subject is found in justin winsor's _the westward movement and narrative and critical history_ because there viewed against a broad historical background. see winsor also for the latin intrigues in tennessee. for material on alexander mcgillivray see the american archives and the colonial records of georgia. edward s. corwin, _french policy and the american alliance of 1778._ princeton, 1916. deals chiefly with the commercial aspects of french policy and should be read in conjunction with winsor, jay, and fitzmaurice's _life of william, earl of shelburne._ 3 vols. london, 1875. john jay, _on the peace negotiations of 1782-83 as illustrated by the secret correspondence of france and england._ new york, 1888. a paper read before the american historical association, may 23, 1887. the chronicles of america series 1. the red man's continent by ellsworth huntington 2. the spanish conquerors by irving berdine richman 3. elizabethan sea-dogs by william charles henry wood 4. the crusaders of new france by william bennett munro 5. pioneers of the old south by mary johnson 6. the fathers of new england by charles mclean andrews 7. dutch and english on the hudson by maud wilder goodwin 8. the quaker colonies by sydney george fisher 9. colonial folkways by by charles mclean andrews 10. the conquest of new france by george mckinnon wrong 11. the eve of the revolution by carl lotus becker 12. washington and his comrades in arms by george mckinnon wrong 13. the fathers of the constitution by max farrand 14. washington and his colleagues by henry jones ford 15. jefferson and his colleagues by allen johnson 16. john marshall and the constitution by edward samuel corwin 17. the fight for a free sea by ralph delahaye paine 18. pioneers of the old southwest by constance lindsay skinner 19. the old northwest by frederic austin ogg 20. the reign of andrew jackson by frederic austin ogg 21. the paths of inland commerce by archer butler hulbert 22. adventurers of oregon by constance lindsay skinner 23. the spanish borderlands by herbert e. bolton 24. texas and the mexican war by nathaniel wright stephenson 25. the forty-niners by stewart edward white 26. the passing of the frontier by emerson hough 27. the cotton kingdom by william e. dodd 28. the anti-slavery crusade by jesse macy 29. abraham lincoln and the union by nathaniel wright stephenson 30. the day of the confederacy by nathaniel wright stephenson 31. captains of the civil war by william charles henry wood 32. the sequel of appomattox by walter lynwood fleming 33. the american spirit in education by edwin e. slosson 34. the american spirit in literature by bliss perry 35. our foreigners by samuel peter orth 36. the old merchant marine by ralph delahaye paine 37. the age of invention by holland thompson 38. the railroad builders by john moody 39. the age of big business by burton jesse hendrick 40. the armies of labor by samuel peter orth 41. the masters of capital by john moody 42. the new south by holland thompson 43. the boss and the machine by samuel peter orth 44. the cleveland era by henry jones ford 45. the agrarian crusade by solon justus buck 46. the path of empire by carl russell fish 47. theodore roosevelt and his times by harold howland 48. woodrow wilson and the world war by charles seymour 49. the canadian dominion by oscar d. skelton 50. the hispanic nations of the new world by william r. shepherd transcriber notes the author spelled powderhorns on p46, but used a hyphen for powder-horns on p208. the inconsistencies were retained, and were entirely a function of the author. on p58 and p142 the word pack-horse was hyphenated between two lines. since the author wrote pack-horse five times in the middle of a sentence, with the hyphen, and did not write packhorse, both words were transcribed pack-horse. p119 tach-nech-dor-us was hyphenated between two lines, so the name could have been transcribed tachnech-dor-us. wikipedia has an entry on chief logan from the yellow creek massacre. the name was spelled without hyphens, tachnechdorus. the proper transcription was to place hyphens after each syllable, tach-nech-dor-us. the author referred to the back water men on p204. on p201, the _backwater men_ were quoted. my interpretation is that the author borrowed that spelling from another source, without necessarily approving of it. major patrick ferguson capitalized back water, separated the syllables by a space, but alternately capitalized men on p203, while not doing so in his proclamation presented on p213. the back water men and back water men of ferguson make it four different spellings for the same word in the same chapter. the raid of the guerilla and other stories by charles egbert craddock author of "the fair mississippian," "the prophet of the great smoky mountains," etc. _with illustrations by_ w. herbert dunton and remington schuyler philadelphia & london j. b. lippincott company 1912 copyright, 1911, by j. b. lippincott company copyright, 1912, by j. b. lippincott company published may, 1912 printed by j. b. lippincott company at the washington square press philadelphia, u.s.a. [illustration: he insisted that they should shake hands as on a solemn compact] contents the raid of the guerilla who crosses storm mountain? the crucial moment una of the hill country the lost guidon wolf's head his unquiet ghost a chilhowee lily the phantom of bogue holauba the christmas miracle illustrations he insisted that they should shake hands as on a solemn compact he came up like a whirlwind the united weight and impetus of the onset burst the flimsy doors into fragments with one hand holding back her dense yellow hair ... she looked up at him the raid of the guerilla judgment day was coming to tanglefoot cove--somewhat in advance of the expectation of the rest of the world. immediate doom impended. a certain noted guerilla, commanding a reckless troop, had declared a stern intention of raiding this secluded nook among the great smoky mountains, and its denizens could but tremble at the menace. few and feeble folk were they. the volunteering spirit rife in the early days of the civil war had wrought the first depletion in the number. then came, as time wore on, the rigors of the conscription, with an extension of the limits of age from the very young to the verge of the venerable, thus robbing, as was said, both the cradle and the grave. now only the ancient weaklings and the frail callow remained of the male population among the women and girls, who seemed mere supernumeraries in the scheme of creation, rated by the fitness to bear arms. so feeble a community of non-combatants might hardly compass a warlike affront calculated to warrant reprisal, but the predominant union spirit of east tennessee was all a-pulse in the cove, and the deed was no trifle. "'t war ethelindy's deed," her grandfather mumbled, his quivering lips close to the knob of his stick, on which his palsied, veinous hands trembled as he sat in his arm-chair on the broad hearth of the main room in his little log cabin. ethelinda brusie glanced quickly, furtively, at his pondering, wrinkled old face under the broad brim of his white wool hat, which he still wore, though indoors and with the night well advanced. then she fixed her anxious, excited blue eyes once more on the flare of the fire. "lawd! ye jes' now f'und that out, dad?" exclaimed her widowed mother, busied in her evening task of carding wool on one side of the deep chimney, built of clay and sticks, and seeming always the imminent prey of destruction. but there it had stood for a hundred years, dispensing light and warmth and cheer, itself more inflammable than the great hickory logs that had summer still among their fibres and dripped sap odorously as they sluggishly burned. ethelinda cast a like agitated glance on the speaker, then her gaze reverted to the fire. she had the air of being perched up, as if to escape the clutching waves of calamity, as she sat on a high, inverted splint basket, her feet not touching the puncheons of the rude floor, one hand drawing close about her the red woollen skirt of her dress. she seemed shrunken even from her normal small size, and she listened to the reproachful recital of her political activity with a shrinking dismay on her soft, roseate face. "nuthin' would do ethelindy," her granny lifted an accusatory voice, still knitting briskly, though she looked rebukingly over her spectacles at the cowering girl, "when that thar union _dee_-tachmint rid into tanglefoot cove like a rat into a trap----" "yes," interposed mrs. brusie, "through mistakin' it fur greenbrier cove." "nuthin' would do ethelindy but she mus' up an' offer to show the officer the way out by that thar cave what tunnels through the spur of the mounting down todes the bluffs, what sca'cely one o' the boys left in the cove would know now." "else he'd hev been capshured," ethelinda humbly submitted. "yes"--the ruffles of her grandmother's cap were terrible to view as they wagged at her with the nodding vehemence of her prelection--"an' _you_ will be capshured now." the girl visibly winced, and one of the three small boys lying about the hearth, sharing the warm flags with half a dozen dogs, whimpered aloud in sympathetic fright. the others preserved a breathless, anxious silence. "you-uns mus' be powerful keerful ter say nuthin' 'bout ethelindy's hand in that escape of the fed'ral cavalry"--the old grandfather roused himself to a politic monition. "mebbe the raiders won't find it out--an' the folks in the cove dun'no' who done it, nuther." "yes, bes' be keerful, sure," the gran-dame rejoined. "fur they puts wimmin folks in jail out yander in the flat woods;" still glibly knitting, she jerked her head toward the western world outside the limits of the great ranges. "whenst i war a gal i war acquainted with a woman what pizened her husband, an' they kep' her in jail a consider'ble time--a senseless thing ter do, ter jail her, ter my mind, fur he war a shif'less no-'count fool, an' nobody but her would hev put up with him ez long ez she did. the jedge an' jury thunk the same, fur they 'lowed ez she war crazy--an' so she war, ter hev ever married him! they turned her loose, but she never got another husband--i never knowed a man-person but what was skittish 'bout any onhealthy meddlin' with his vittles." she paused to count the stitches on her needles, the big shadow of her cap-ruffles bobbing on the daubed and chinked log walls in antic mimicry, while down ethelinda's pink cheeks the slow tears coursed at the prospect of such immurement. "jes' kase i showed a stranger his path----" "an' two hundred an' fifty mo'--spry, good-lookin' youngsters, able to do the rebs a power o' damage." "i war 'feared they'd git capshured. that man, the leader, he stopped me down on the bank o' the creek whar i war a-huntin' of the cow, an' he axed 'bout the roads out'n the cove. an' i tole him thar war no way out 'ceptin' by the road he had jes' come, an' a path through a sorter cave or tunnel what the creek had washed out in the spur o' the mounting, ez could be travelled whenst the channel war dry or toler'ble low. an' he axed me ter show him that underground way." "an' ye war full willin'," said mrs. brusie, in irritation, "though ye knowed that thar guerilla, ackert, hed been movin' heaven an' earth ter overhaul tolhurst's command before they could reach the main body. an' hyar they war cotched like a rat in a trap." "i was sure that the cornfeds, ez hed seen them lope down inter the cove, would be waitin' ter capshur them when they kem up the road agin--i jes' showed him how ter crope out through the cave," ethelinda sobbed. "how in perdition did they find thar way through that thar dark hole?--i can't sense that!" the old man suddenly mumbled. "they had lanterns an' some pine-knots, grandad, what they lighted, an' the leader sent a squad ter 'reconnoitre,' ez he called it. an' whilst he waited he stood an' talked ter me about the roads in greenbrier an' the lay o' the land over thar. he war full perlite an' genteel." "i'll be bound ye looked like a 'crazy jane,'" cried the grandmother, with sudden exasperation. "yer white sun-bonnet plumb off an' a-hangin' down on yer shoulders, an' yer yaller hair all a-blowsin' at loose eends, stiddier bein' plaited up stiff an' tight an' personable, an' yer face burned pink in the sun, stiddier like yer skin ginerally looks, fine an' white ez a pan o' fraish milk, an' the flabby, slinksy skirt o' that yaller calico dress 'thout no starch in it, a-flappin' an' whirlin' in the wind--shucks! i dun'no' _whut_ the man could hev thought o' you-uns, dressed out that-a-way." "he war toler'ble well pleased with me now, sure!" retorted ethelinda, stung to a blunt self-assertion. "he keered mo' about a good-lookin' road than a good-lookin' gal then. whenst the squad kem back an' reported the passage full safe for man an' beastis the leader tuk a purse o' money out'n his pocket an' held it out to me--though he said it 'couldn't express his thanks.' but i held my hands behind me an' wouldn't take it. then he called up another man an' made him open a bag, an' he snatched up my empty milk-piggin' an' poured it nigh full o' green coffee in the bean--it be skeerce ez gold an' nigh ez precious." "an' _what_ did you do with it, ethelindy?" her mother asked, significantly--not for information, but for the renewal of discussion and to justify the repetition of rebukes. these had not been few. "you know," the girl returned, sullenly. "_i_ do," the glib grandmother interposed. "ye jes' gin we-uns a sniff an' a sup, an' then ye tuk the kittle that leaks an' shook the rest of the coffee beans from out yer milk-piggin inter it, an' sot out an' marched yerself through the laurel--i wonder nuthin' didn't ketch ye! howsomever naught is never in danger--an' went ter that horspital camp o' the rebels on big injun mounting--smallpox horspital it is--an' gin that precious coffee away to the enemies o' yer kentry." "nobody comes nor goes ter that place--hell itself ain't so avoided," said mrs. brusie, her forehead corrugated with sudden recurrence of anxiety. "nobody else in this world would have resked it, 'ceptin' that headin' contrairy gal, ethelindy brusie." "i never resked nuthin'," protested ethelinda. "i stopped at the head of a bluff far off, an' hollered down ter 'em in the clearin' an' held up the kittle. an' two or three rebs war out of thar tents in the clearin'--thar be a good sight o' new graves up thar!--an' them men war hollerin' an' wavin' me away, till they seen what i war doin'; jes' settin' down the kittle an' startin' off." she gazed meditatively into the fire, of set purpose avoiding the eyes fixed upon her, and sought to justify her course. "i knowed ez we-uns hed got used ter doin' 'thout coffee, an' don't feel the need of it now. we-uns air well an' stout, an' live in our good home an' beside our own h'a'th-stone; an' they air sick, an' pore, an' cast out, an' i reckon they ain't ever been remembered before in gifts. an' i 'lowed the coffee, bein' onexpected an' a sorter extry, mought put some fraish heart an' hope in 'em--leastwise show 'em ez god don't 'low 'em ter be plumb furgot." she still gazed meditatively at the fire as if it held a scroll of her recollections, which she gradually interpreted anew. "i looked back wunst, an one o' them rebs had sot down on a log an war sobbin' ez ef his heart would bust. an' another of 'em war signin' at me agin an' agin, like he was drawin' a cross in the air--one pass down an' then one across--an' the other reb war jes' laffin' fur joy, and wunst in a while he yelled out: 'blessin's on ye! blessin's! blessin's!' i dun'no' how fur i hearn that sayin'. the rocks round the creek war repeatin' it, whenst i crossed the foot-bredge. i dun'no what the feller meant--mought hev been crazy." a tricksy gust stirred at the door as if a mischievous hand twitched the latch-string, but it hung within. there was a pause. the listening children on the hearth sighed and shifted their posture; one of the hounds snored sonorously in the silence. "nuthin' crazy thar 'ceptin' you-uns!--one fool gal--that's all!" said her grandmother, with her knitting-needles and her spectacles glittering in the fire-light. "that is a pest camp. ye mought hev cotch the smallpox. i be lookin' fur ye ter break out with it any day. when the war is over an' the men come back to the cove, none of 'em will so much as look at ye, with yer skin all pock-marked--fair an' fine as it is now, like a pan of fraish milk." "but, granny, it won't be sp'ilt! the camp war too fur off--an' thar warn't a breath o' wind. i never went a-nigh 'em." "i dun'no' how fur smallpox kin travel--an' it jes' mulls and mulls in ye afore it breaks out--don't it, s'briny?" "don't ax me," said mrs. brusie, with a worried air. "i ain't no yerb doctor, nor nurse tender, nuther. ethelindy is beyond my understandin'." she was beyond her own understanding, as she sat weeping slowly, silently. the aspect of those forlorn graves, that recorded the final ebbing of hope and life at the pest camp, had struck her recollection with a most poignant appeal. strangers, wretches, dying alone, desolate outcasts, the terror of their kind, the epitome of repulsion--they were naught to her! yet they represented humanity in its helplessness, its suffering, its isolated woe, and its great and final mystery; she felt vaguely grieved for their sake, and she gave the clay that covered them, still crude red clods with not yet a blade of grass, the fellowship of her tears. a thrill of masculine logic stirred uneasily in the old man's disused brain. "tell me _one_ thing, ethelindy," he said, lifting his bleared eyes as he clasped his tremulous hands more firmly on the head of his stick--"tell me this--which side air you-uns on, ennyhow, ethelindy?" "i'm fur the union," said ethelinda, still weeping, and now and then wiping her sapphire eyes with the back of her hand, hard and tanned, but small in proportion to her size. "i'm fur the union--fust an' last an' all the time." the old man wagged his head solemnly with a blight of forecast on his wrinkled, aged face. "that thar sayin' is goin' ter be mighty hard ter live up to whilst jerome ackert's critter company is a-raidin' of tanglefoot cove." the presence of the "critter company" was indeed calculated to inspire a most obsequious awe. it was an expression of arbitrary power which one might ardently wish directed elsewhere. from the moment that the echoes of the cove caught the first elusive strain of the trumpet, infinitely sweet and clear and compelling, yet somehow ethereal, unreal, as if blown down from the daylight moon, a filmy lunar semblance in the bland blue sky, the denizens of tanglefoot began to tremulously confer together, and to skitter like frightened rabbits from house to house. tanglefoot cove is some four miles long, and its average breadth is little more than a mile. on all sides the great smoky mountains rise about the cuplike hollow, and their dense gigantic growths of hickory and poplar, maple and gum, were aglow, red and golden, with the largesse of the generous october. the underbrush or the jungles of laurel that covered the steeps rendered outlet through the forests impracticable, and indeed the only road was invisible save for a vague line among the dense pines of a precipitous slope, where on approach it would materialize under one's feet as a wheel track on either side of a line of frosted weeds, which the infrequent passing of wagon-beds had bent and stunted, yet had not sufficed to break. the blacksmith's shop, the centre of the primitive civilization, had soon an expectant group in its widely flaring doors, for the smith had had enough of the war, and had come back to wistfully, hopelessly haunt his anvil like some uneasy ghost visiting familiar scenes in which he no more bears a part;--a minié-ball had shattered his stanch hammer-arm, and his duties were now merely advisory to a clumsy apprentice. this was a half-witted fellow, a giant in strength, but not to be trusted with firearms. in these days of makeweights his utility had been discovered, and now with the smith's hammer in his hand he joined the group, his bulging eyes all a-stare and his loose lips hanging apart. the old justice of the peace, whose office was a sinecure, since the war had run the law out of the cove, came with a punctilious step, though with a sense of futility and abated dignity, and at every successive note of the distant trumpet these wights experienced a tense bracing of the nerves to await helplessly the inevitable and, alas! the inexorable. "they say that he is a turrible, turrible man," the blacksmith averred, ever and anon rubbing the stump of his amputated hammer-arm, in which, though bundled in its jeans sleeve, he had the illusion of the sensation of its hand and fingers. he suddenly shaded his brow with his broad palm to eye that significant line which marked the road among the pines on the eastern slope, beyond the indian corn that stood tall and rank of growth in the rich bottom-lands. ethelinda's heart sank. all unprescient of the day's impending event, she had come to the forge with the sley of her loom to be mended, and she now stood holding the long shaft in her mechanical clasp, while she listened spell-bound to the agitated talk of the group. the boughs of a great yellow hickory waved above her head; near by was the trough, and here a horse, brought to be shod, was utilizing the interval by a draught; he had ceased to draw in the clear, cold spring water, but still stood with his muzzle close to the surface, his lips dripping, gazing with unimagined thoughts at the reflection of his big equine eyes, the blue sky inverted, the dappling yellow leaves, more golden even than the sunshine, and the glimmering flight of birds, with a stellular light upon their wings. "a turrible man?--w-w-well," stuttered the idiot, who had of late assumed all the port of coherence; he snatched and held a part in the colloquy, so did the dignity of labor annul the realization of his infirmity, "then i'd be obleeged ter him ef--ef--ef he'd stay out'n tanglefoot cove." "so would i." the miller laughed uneasily. but for the corrugations of time, one might not have known if it were flour or age that had so whitened his long beard, which hung quivering down over the breast of his jeans coat, of an indeterminate hue under its frosting from the hopper. "he hev tuk up a turrible spite at tanglefoot cove." the blacksmith nodded. "they say that he 'lowed ez traitors orter be treated like traitors. but _i_ be a-goin' ter tell him that the confederacy hev got one arm off'n me more'n its entitled to, an' i'm willin' ter call it quits at that." "'tain't goin' ter do him no good ter raid the cove," an ancient farmer averred; "an' it's agin' the rebel rule, ennyhows, ter devastate the kentry they live off'n--it's like sawin' off the bough ye air sittin' on." his eyes dwelt with a fearful affection on the laden fields; his old stoop-shouldered back had bent yet more under the toil that had brought his crop to this perfection, with the aid of the children whose labor was scarcely worth the strenuosity requisite to control their callow wiles. "shucks! he's a guerilla--he is!" retorted the blacksmith. "accountable ter nobody! hyar ter-day an' thar ter-morrer. rides light. two leetle parrott guns is the most weight he carries." the idiot's eyes began to widen with slow and baffled speculation. "whut--w-whut ails him ter take arter tanglefoot? w-w--" his great loose lips trembled with unformed words as he gazed his eager inquiry from one to another. under normal circumstances it would have remained contemptuously unanswered, but in these days in tanglefoot cove a man, though a simpleton, was yet a man, and inherently commanded respect. "a bird o' the air mus' hev carried the matter that tolhurst's troops hed rid inter tanglefoot cove by mistake fur greenbrier, whar they war ter cross ter jine the fed'rals nigh the cohuttas. an' that guerilla, ackert, hed been ridin' a hundred mile at a hand-gallop ter overhaul him, an' knowin' thar warn't but one outlet to tanglefoot cove, he expected ter capshur the feds as they kem out agin. so he sot himself ter ambush tolhurst, an' waited fur him up thar amongst the pines an' the laurel--an' he _waited_--an' _waited_! but tolhurst never came! so whenst the guerilla war sure he hed escaped by ways unknownst he set out ter race him down ter the cohutty mountings. but tolhurst had j'ined the main body o' the federal army, an' now ackert is showing a clean pair o' heels comin' back. but he be goin' ter take time ter raid the cove--his hurry will wait fur that! somebody in tanglefoot--the lord only knows who--showed tolhurst that underground way out ter greenbrier cove, through a sorter cave or tunnel in the mountings." "now--now--neighbor--_that's_ guesswork," remonstrated the miller, in behalf of tanglefoot cove repudiating the responsibility. perhaps the semi-mercantile occupation of measuring toll sharpens the faculties beyond natural endowments, and he began to perceive a certain connection between cause and effect inimical to personal interest. "waal, that is the way they went, sartain sure," protested the blacksmith. "i tracked 'em, the ground bein' moist, kase i wanted ter view the marks o' their horses' hoofs. they hev got some powerful triflin' blacksmiths in the army--farriers, they call 'em. i los' the trail amongst the rocks an' ledges down todes the cave--though it's more like one o' them tunnels we-uns used ter go through in the railroads in the army, but this one was never made with hands; jes' hollowed out by sinking creek. so i got jube thar ter crope through, an' view ef thar war any hoofmarks on t'other side whar the cave opens out in greenbrier cove." "an' a body would think fur sure ez the armies o' hell had been spewed out'n that black hole," said a lean man whom the glance of the blacksmith had indicated as jube, and who spoke in the intervals of a racking cough that seemed as if it might dislocate his bones in its violence. "hoofmarks hyar--hoofmarks thar--as if they didn't rightly know which way ter go in the marshy ground 'bout sinking creek. but at last they 'peared ter git tergether, an' off they tracked ter the west----" a paroxysm of coughs intervened, and the attention of the group failed to follow the words that they interspersed. "they tuk a short cut through the cove--they warn't in it a haffen hour," stipulated the prudent miller. "they came an' went like a flash. nobody seen 'em 'cept the brusies, kase they went by thar house--an' ef they hed hed a guide, old randal brusie would hev named it." "ackert 'lows he'll hang the guide ef he ketches him," said the blacksmith, in a tone of awe. "leastwise that's the word that's 'goin'." poor ethelinda! the clutch of cold horror about her heart seemed to stop its pulsations for a moment. she saw the still mountains whirl about the horizon as if in some weird bewitchment. her nerveless hands loosened their clasp upon the sley and it fell to the ground, clattering on the protruding roots of the trees. the sound attracted the miller's attention. he fixed his eyes warily upon her, a sudden thought looking out from their network of wrinkles. "you didn't see no guide whenst they slipped past you-uns' house, did ye?" poor, unwilling casuist! she had an instinct for the truth in its purest sense, the innate impulse toward the verities unspoiled by the taint of sophistication. perhaps in the restricted conditions of her life she had never before had adequate temptation to a subterfuge. even now, consciously reddening, her eyes drooping before the combined gaze of her little world, she had an inward protest of the literal exactness of her phrase. "naw sir--i never seen thar guide." "thar now, what did i tell you!" the miller exclaimed, triumphantly. the blacksmith seemed convinced. "mought hev hed a map," he speculated. "them fellers in the army _do_ hev maps. i f'und that out whenst i war in the service." the group listened respectfully. the blacksmith's practical knowledge of the art of war had given him the prestige of a military authority. doubtless some of the acquiescent wights entertained a vague wonder how the army contrived to fare onward bereft of his advice. and, indeed, despite his maimed estate, his heart was the stoutest that thrilled to the iteration of the trumpet. nearer now it was, and once more echoing down the sunset glen. "right wheel, trot--_march_," he muttered, interpreting the sound of the horses' hoofs. "it's a critter company, fur sure!" there was no splendor of pageant in the raid of the guerilla into the cove. the pines closing above the cleft in the woods masked the entrance of the "critter company." once a gleam of scarlet from the guidon flashed on the sight. and again a detached horseman was visible in a barren interval, reining in his steed on the almost vertical slant, looking the centaur in literal presentation. the dull thud of hoofs made itself felt as a continuous undertone to the clatter of stirrup and sabre, and now and again rose the stirring mandate of the trumpet, with that majestic, sweet sweep of sound which so thrills the senses. they were coming indubitably, the troop of the dreaded guerilla--indeed, they were already here. for while the sun still glinted on carbine and sabre among the scarlet and golden tints of the deciduous growths and the sombre green of the pines on the loftier slopes, the vanguard in column of fours were among the gray shadows at the mountains' base and speeding into the cove at a hand-gallop, for the roads were fairly good when once the level was reached. though so military a presentment, for they were all veterans in the service, despite the youth of many, they were not in uniform. some wore the brown jeans of the region, girt with sword-belt and canteen, with great spurs and cavalry boots, and broad-brimmed hats, which now and again flaunted cords or feathers. others had attained the confederate gray, occasionally accented with a glimmer of gold where a shoulder-strap or a chevron graced the garb. and yet there was a certain homogeneity in their aspect. all rode after the manner of the section, with the "long stirrup" at the extreme length of the limb, and the immovable pose in the saddle, the man being absolutely stationary, while the horse bounded at agile speed. there was the similarity of facial expression, in infinite dissimilarity of feature, which marks a common sentiment, origin, and habitat. then, too, they shared something recklessly haphazard, gay, defiantly dangerous, that, elusive as it might be to describe, was as definitely perceived as the guidon, riding apart at the left, the long lance of his pennant planted on his stirrup, bearing himself with a certain stately pride of port, distinctly official. the whole effect was concentrated in the face of the leader, obviously the inspiration of the organization, the vital spark by which it lived; a fierce face, intent, commanding. it was burned to a brick-red, and had an aquiline nose and a keen gray-green eagle-like eye; on either side auburn hair, thick and slightly curling, hung, after the fashion of the time, to his coat collar. and this collar and his shoulders were decorated with gold lace and the insignia of rank; the uniform was of fine confederate gray, which seemed to contradict the general impression that he was but a free-lance or a bushwhacker and operated on his own responsibility. the impression increased the terror his name excited throughout the country-side with his high-handed and eccentric methods of warfare, and perhaps he would not have resented it if he were cognizant of its general acceptance. [illustration: he came up like a whirlwind] it was a look calculated to inspire awe which he flung upon the cowering figures before the door of the forge as he suddenly perceived them; and detaching himself from the advancing troop, he spurred his horse toward them. he came up like a whirlwind. that impetuous gallop could scarcely have carried his charger over the building itself, yet there is nothing so overwhelming to the nerves as the approaching rush of a speedy horse, and the group flattened themselves against the wall; but he drew rein before he reached the door, and whirling in the saddle, with one hand on the horse's back, he demanded: "where is he? bring him out!" as if all the world knew the object of his search and the righteous reason of his enmity. "bring him out! i'll have a drumhead court martial--and he'll swing before sunset!" "good evenin', cap'n," the old miller sought what influence might appertain to polite address and the social graces. "evenin' be damned!" cried ackert, angrily. "if you folks in the coves want the immunity of non-combatants, by gawd! you gotter preserve the neutrality of non-combatants!" "yessir--that's reason--that's jestice," said the old squire, hastily, whose capacities of ratiocination had been cultivated by the exercise of the judicial functions of his modest _piepoudre_ court. ackert unwillingly cast his eagle eye down upon the cringing old man, as if he would rather welcome contradiction than assent. "it's accordin' to the articles o' war and the law of nations," he averred. "people take advantage of age and disability"--he glanced at the blacksmith, whose left hand mechanically grasped the stump of his right arm--"as if that could protect 'em in acts o' treason an' treachery;" then with a blast of impatience, "where's the man?" to remonstrate with a whirlwind, to explain to a flash of lightning, to soothe and propitiate the fury of a conflagration--the task before the primitive and inexpert cove-dwellers seemed to partake of this nature. "cap'n--ef ye'd listen ter what i gotter say," began the miller. "i'll listen arterward!" exclaimed ackert, in his clarion voice. he had never heard of jedburgh justice, but he had all the sentiment of that famous tribunal who hanged the prisoners first and tried them afterward. "cap'n," remonstrated the blacksmith, breaking in with hot haste, hurried by the commander's gusts of impatience, forgetful that he had no need to be precipitate, since he could not produce the recusant if he would. "cap'n--cap'n--bear with us--we-uns don't know!" ackert stared in snorting amaze, a flush of anger dyeing his red cheeks a yet deeper red. of all the subterfuges that he had expected, he had never divined this. he shifted front face in his saddle, placed his gauntleted right hand on his right side, and held his head erect, looking over the wide, rich expanse of the cove, the corn in the field, and the fodder in the shock set amid the barbaric splendors of the wooded autumn mountains glowing in the sunset above. he seemed scenting his vengeance with some keen sense as he looked, his thin nostrils dilating as sensitively as the nostrils of his high-couraged charger now throwing up his head to sniff the air, now bending it down as he pawed the ground. "well, gentlemen, you have got a mighty pretty piece o' country here, and good crops, too--which is a credit to you, seeing that the conscription has in and about drafted all the able-bodied mountaineers that wouldn't volunteer--damn 'em! but i swear by the right hand of jehovah, i'll burn every cabin in the cove an' every blade o' forage in the fields if you don't produce the man who guided tolhurst's cavalry out'n the trap i'd chased 'em into, or give me a true and satisfactory account of him." he raised his gauntleted right hand and shook it in the air. "so help me god!" there was all the solemnity of intention vibrating in this fierce asseveration, and it brought the aged non-combatants forward in eager protestation. the old justice made as if to catch at the bridle rein, then desisted. a certain _noli me tangere_ influence about the fierce guerilla affected even supplication, and the "squair" resorted to logic as the more potent weapon of the two. "cap'n, cap'n," he urged, with a tremulous, aged jaw, "be pleased to consider my words. i'm a magistrate sir, or i was before the war run the law clean out o' the kentry. we dun'no' the guide--we never seen the troops." then, in reply to an impatient snort of negation: "if ye'll cast yer eye on the lay of the land, ye'll view how it happened. thar's the road"--he waved his hand toward that vague indentation in the foliage that marked the descent into the vale--"an' down this e-end o' the cove thar's nex' ter nobody livin'." the spirited equestrian figure was standing as still as a statue; only the movement of the full pupils of his eyes, the dilation of the nostrils, showed how nearly the matter touched his tense nerves. "some folks in the upper e-end of the cove 'lowed afterward they hearn a hawn; some folks spoke of a shakin' of the ground like the trompin' of horses--but them troops mus' hev passed from the foot o' the mounting acrost the aidge of the cove." "scant haffen mile," put in the blacksmith, "down to a sort of cave, or tunnel, that runs under the mounting--yander--that lets 'em out into greenbrier cove." "gawd!" exclaimed the guerilla, striking his breast with his clenched, gauntleted hand as his eyes followed with the vivacity of actual sight the course of the march of the squadron of horse to the point of their triumphant vanishment. despite the vehemence of the phrase the intonation was a very bleat of desperation. for it was a rich and rare opportunity thus wrested from him by an untoward fate. in all the chaotic chances of the civil war he could hardly hope for its repetition. it was part of a crack body of regulars--tolhurst's squadron--that he had contrived to drive into this trap, this _cul-de-sac_, surrounded by the infinite fastnesses of the great smoky mountains. it had been a running fight, for tolhurst had orders, as ackert had found means of knowing, to join the main body without delay, and his chief aim was to shake off this persistent pursuit with which a far inferior force had harassed his march. but for his fortuitous discovery of the underground exit from the basin of tanglefoot cove, ackert, ambushed without, would have encountered and defeated the regulars in detail as they clambered in detachments up the unaccustomed steeps of the mountain road, the woods elsewhere being almost impassable jungles of laurel. success would have meant more to ackert than the value of the service to the cause, than the tumultuous afflatus of victory, than the spirit of strife to the born soldier. there had been kindled in his heart a great and fiery ambition; he was one of the examples of an untaught military genius of which the civil war elicited a few notable and amazing instances. there had been naught in his career heretofore to suggest this unaccountable gift, to foster its development. he was the son of a small farmer, only moderately well-to-do; he had the very limited education which a restricted and remote rural region afforded its youth; he had entered the confederate army as a private soldier, with no sense of special fitness, no expectation of personal advancement, only carried on the wave of popular enthusiasm. but from the beginning his quality had been felt; he had risen from grade to grade, and now with a detached body of horse and flying artillery his exploits were beginning to attract the attention of corps commanders on both sides, to the gratulation of friends and the growing respect of foes. he seemed endowed with the wings of the wind; to-day he was tearing up railroad tracks in the low-lands to impede the reinforcements of an army; to-morrow the force sent with the express intention of placing a period to those mischievous activities heard of his feats in burning bridges and cutting trestles in remote sections of the mountains. the probabilities could keep no terms with him, and he baffled prophecy. he had a quick invention--a talent for expedients. he appeared suddenly when least expected and where his presence seemed impossible. he had a gift of military intuition. he seemed to know the enemy's plans before they were matured; and ere a move was made to put them into execution he was on the ground with troublous obstacles to forestall the event in its very inception. he maintained a discipline to many commanders impossible. his troops had a unity of spirit that might well animate an individual. they endured long fasts, made wonderful forced marches on occasion--all day in the saddle and nodding to the pommel all night; it was even said they fought to such exhaustion that when dismounted the front rank, lying in line of battle prone upon the ground, would fall asleep between volleys, and that the second rank, kneeling to fire above them, had orders to stir them with their carbines to insure regularity of the musketry. he had the humbler yet even more necessary equipment for military success. he could forage his troops in barren opportunities; they somehow kept clothed and armed at the minimum of expense. did he lack ammunition--he made shift to capture a supply for his little parrott guns that barked like fierce dogs at the rear-guard of an enemy or protected his own retreat when it jumped with his plans to compass a speedy withdrawal himself. his horses were well groomed, well fed, fine travellers, and many showed the brand u.s., for he could mount his troop when need required from the corrals of an unsuspecting encampment. he was the ideal guerilla, of infinite service to his faction in small, significant operations of disproportioned importance. what wonder that his name was rife in rumors which flew about the country; that soon it was not only "the grapevine telegraph" that vibrated with the sound, but he was mentioned in official despatches; nay, on one signal occasion the importance of his dashing exploit was recognized by the commander of the army corps in a general order published to specially commend it. naturally his spirit rose to meet these expanding liberties of achievement. he looked for further promotion--for eminence. in a vague glimmer, growing ever stronger and clearer, he could see himself in the astral splendor of the official stars of a major-general--for in the far day of the anticipated success of the confederacy he looked to be an officer of the line. and now suddenly this light was dimmed; his laurels were wilting. what prestige would the capture of tolhurst have conferred! never had a golden opportunity like this been lost--by what uncovenanted chance had tolhurst escaped? "he must have had a guide! right here in the cove!" ackert exclaimed. "nobody outside would know a hole in the ground, a cave, a water-gap, a tunnel like that! where's the man?" "naw, sir--naw, cap'n! nobody viewed the troop but one gal person an' she 'lowed she never seen no guide." the charger whirled under the touch of the hand on the rein, and ackert's eyes scanned with a searching intentness the group. "where's this girl--you?" as the old squire with most unwelcome officiousness seized ethelinda's arm and hurried her forward, her heart sank within her. for one moment the guerilla's fiery, piercing eyes dwelt upon her as she stood looking on, her delicately white face grown deathly pallid, her golden hair frivolously blowsed in the wind, which tossed the full skirts of her lilac-hued calico gown till she seemed poised on the very wings of flight. her sapphire eyes, bluer than ever azure skies could seem, sought to gaze upward, but ever and anon their long-lashed lids fluttered and fell. he was quick of perception. "_you_ have no call to be afraid," he remarked--a sort of gruff upbraiding, as if her evident trepidation impugned his justice in reprisal. "come, you can guide me. show me just where they came in, and just where they got out--damn 'em!" she could scarcely control her terror when she saw that he intended her to ride with him to the spot, yet she feared even more to draw back, to refuse. he held out one great spurred boot. her little low-cut shoe looked tiny upon it as she stepped up. he swung her to the saddle behind him, and the great warhorse sprang forward so suddenly, with such long, swift strides, that she swayed precariously for a moment and was glad to catch the guerilla's belt--to seize, too, with an agitated clutch, his right gauntlet that he held backward against his side. his fingers promptly closed with a reassuring grasp on hers, and thus skimming the red sunset-tide they left behind them the staring group about the blacksmith shop, which the cavalrymen had now approached, watering their horses at the trough and lifting the saddles to rest the animals from the constriction of the pressure of the girths. soon the guerilla and the girl disappeared in the distance; the fences flew by; the shocks of corn seemed all a-trooping down the fields; the evening star in the red haze above the purple western mountains had spread its invisible pinions, and was a-wing above their heads. presently the heavy shadows of the looming wooded range, darkening now, showing only blurred effects of red and brown and orange, fell upon them, and the guerilla checked the pace, for the horse was among boulders and rough ledges that betokened the dry bed of a stream. great crags had begun to line the way, first only on one marge of the channel; then the clifty banks appeared on the other side, and at length a deep, black-arched opening yawned beneath the mountains, glooming with sepulchral shadows; in the silence one might hear drops trickling vaguely and the sudden hooting of an owl from within. he drew up his horse abruptly, and contemplated the grim aperture. "so they came into tanglefoot down the road, and went out of the cove by this tunnel?" "yessir!" she piped. what had befallen her voice? what appalled eerie squeak was this! she cleared her throat timorously. "they couldn't hev done it later in the fall season. tanglefoot creek gits ter runnin' with the fust rains." "an' tolhurst knew that too! he must have had a guide--a guide that knows the cove like i know the palm of my hand! well, i'll catch him yet, sometime. i'll hang him! i'll hang him--if i have to grow a tree a-purpose." what strange influence had betided the landscape? around and around circled the great stationary mountains anchored in the foundations of the earth. it was a long moment before they were still again--perhaps, indeed, it was the necessity of guarding her balance on the fiery steed, a new cause of apprehension, that paradoxically steadied ethelinda's nerves. ackert had dismounted, throwing the reins over his arm. he had caught sight of the hoofmarks along the moist sandy spaces of the channel, mute witness in point of number, and a guaranty of the truth of her story. a sudden glitter arrested his eyes. he stooped and picked up a broken belt-buckle with the significant initials u.s. yet showing upon it. "i'll hang that guide yet," he muttered, his eyes dark with angry conviction, his face lowering with fury. "i'll hang him--i won't expect to prove it p'int blank. jes' let me git a mite o' suspicion, an' i'll guarantee the slipknot!" she could never understand her motive, her choice of the moment. "cap'n ackert," she trembled forth. there was so much significance in her tone that, standing at her side, he looked up in sudden expectation. "i tole ye the truth whenst i say i _seen_ no guide"--he made a gesture of impatience; he had no time for twice-told tales--"kase--kase the guide war--war--myself." the clear twilight fell full on his amazed, upturned face and the storm of fury it concentrated. "what did you do it fur?" he thundered, "you limb o' perdition!" "jes' ter help him some. he--he--he--would hev been capshured." he would indeed! the guerilla was very terrible to look upon as his brow corrugated, and his upturned eyes, with the light of the sky within them, flashed ominously. "you little she-devil!" he cried, and then speech seemed to fail him. she had begun to shiver and shed tears and emit little gusts of quaking sobs. "oh, i be so feared----" she whimpered. "but--but--you mustn't hang--_nobody else_ on s'picion!" there was a vague change in the expression of his face. he still stood beside the saddle, with the reins over his arm, while the horse threw his head almost to the ground and again tossed it aloft in his impatient weariness of the delay. "an' now you are captured yourself," he said, sternly. "you are accountable fur your actions." she burst into a paroxysm of sobs. "i never went ter tell! i meant ter keep the secret! the folks in the cove dun'no' nuthin'. but--oh, ye _mustn't_ s'picion nobody else--ye _mustn't_ hang nobody else!" once more that indescribable change upon his face. "you showed him the way to this pass yourself? tell the truth!" "he war ridin' his horse-critter--'tain't ez fast, nor fine, nor fat ez yourn." he stroked the glossy mane with a sort of mechanical pride. "and so he went plumb through the cave?" "an' all the troop--they kindled pine-knots fur torches." he glanced about him at the convenient growths. "and they came out all safe in greenbrier?" he winced. how the lost opportunity hurt him! "yessir. in greenbrier cove." "did he pay you in gold?" sneered ackert. "or in greenbacks? or mebbe in cornfed money?" "i wouldn't hev his gold." she drew herself up proudly, though the tears were still coursing down her cheeks. "so he gin me a present--a whole passel o' coffee in my milk-piggin." then to complete a candid confession she detailed the disposition she had made of this rare and precious luxury at the rebel smallpox camp. his eyes seemed to dilate as they gazed up at her. "jesus gawd!" he exclaimed, with uncouth profanity. but the phrase was unfamiliar to her, and she caught at it with a meaning all her own. "that's jes' it! folks in gineral don't think o' _them_,'cept ter git out o' thar way; an' nobody keers fur _them_, but kase jesus _is_ gawd he makes _somebody_ remember them wunst in a while! an' they did seem passable glad." a vague sweet fragrance was on the vesperal air; some subtle distillation of asters or jewel-weed or "mountain-snow," and the leafage of crimson sumac and purple sweet-gum and yellow hickory and the late ripening frost-grapes--all in the culmination of autumnal perfection; more than one star gleamed whitely palpitant in a sky that was yet blue and roseate with a reminiscence of sunset; a restful sentiment, a brief truce stilled the guerilla's tempestuous pulse as he continued to stand beside his horse's head while the girl waited, seated on the saddle blanket. suddenly he spoke to an unexpected intent. "ye took a power o' risk in goin' nigh that confederate pest-camp--an' yit ye're fur the union an' saved a squadron from capture!" he upbraided the inconsistency in a soft incidental drawl. "yes, i be fur the union," she trembled forth the dread avowal. "but somehows i can't keep from holpin' any i kin. they war rebs--an' it war yankee coffee--an' i dun'no'--i jes' dun'no'----" as she hesitated he looked long at her with that untranslated gaze. then he fell ponderingly silent. perhaps the revelation of the sanctities of a sweet humanity for a holy sake, blessing and blessed, had illumined his path, had lifted his eyes, had wrought a change in his moral atmosphere spiritually suffusive, potent, revivifying, complete. "she is as good as the saints in the bible--an' plumb beautiful besides," he muttered beneath his fierce mustachios. once more he gazed wonderingly at her. "i expect to do some courtin' in this kentry when the war is over," the guerilla said, soberly, reaching down to readjust the reins. "i haven't got time now. will _you_ be waiting fur me here in tanglefoot cove--if i promise not to hang you fur your misdeeds right off now?" he glanced up with a sudden arch jocularity. she burst out laughing gleefuly in the tumult of her joyous reassurance, as she laid her tremulous fingers in his big gauntlet when he insisted that they should shake hands as on a solemn compact. forthwith he mounted again, and the great charger galloped back, carrying double, in the red after-glow of the sunset, to the waiting group before the flaring doors of the forge. the fine flower of romance had blossomed incongruously in that eager heart in those fierce moments of the bitterness of defeat. life suddenly had a new meaning, a fair and fragrant promise, and often and again he looked over his shoulder at the receding scene when the trumpets sang "to horse," and in the light of the moon the guerilla rode out of tanglefoot cove. but ethelinda saw him never again. all the storms of fate overwhelmed the confederacy with many a rootless hope and many a plan and pride. in lieu of the materialization of the stalwart ambition of distinction that had come to dominate his life, responsive to the discovery of his peculiar and inherent gifts, his destiny was chronicled in scarce a line of the printed details of a day freighted with the monstrous disaster of a great battle; in common with others of the "missing" his bones were picked by the vultures till shoved into a trench, where a monument rises to-day to commemorate an event and not a commander. nevertheless, for many years the flare of the first red leaves in the cleft among the pines on the eastern slope of tanglefoot cove brought to ethelinda's mind the gay flutter of the guidon, and in certain sonorous blasts of the mountain wind she could hear martial echoes of the trumpets of the guerilla. who crosses storm mountain? the wind stirred in the weighted pines; the snow lay on the ground. here and there on its smooth, white expanse footprints betokened the woodland gentry abroad. in the pallid glister of the moon, even amid the sparse, bluish shadows of the leafless trees, one might discriminate the impression of the pronged claw of the wild turkey, the short, swift paces of the mink, the padded, doglike paw of the wolf. a progress of a yet more ravening suggestion was intimated in great hoofmarks leading to the door of a little log cabin all a-crouch in the grim grip of winter and loneliness and poverty on the slope of the mountain, among heavy, outcropping ledges of rock and beetling, overhanging crags. with icy ranges all around as far as the eye could reach, with the vast, instarred, dark sky above, it might seem as if sorrow, the world, the law could hardly take account of so slight a thing, so remote. but smoke was slowly stealing up from its stick-and-clay chimney, and its clapboarded roof sheltered a group with scarcely the heart to mend the fire. two women shivered on the broad hearth before the dispirited embers. one had wept so profusely that she had much ado to find a dry spot in her blue-checked apron, thrown over her head, wherewith to mop her tears. the other, much younger, her fair face reddened, her blue eyes swollen, her auburn curling hair all tangled on her shoulders, her voice half-choked with sobs, addressed herself to the narration of their woes, her cold, listless hands clasped about her knees as she sat on an inverted bushel-basket, for there was not a whole chair in the room. "an' then he jes' tuk an' leveled!" she faltered. a young hunter standing on the threshold, leaning on his rifle, a brace of wild turkeys hanging over his shoulders, half a dozen rabbits dangling from his belt, stared at her through the dull, red glow of the fading fire in amazed agitation. "what did he level, medory--a gun?" "wuss'n that!" replied the younger woman. "he leveled the weepon o' the law!" the man turned to look again at the curious disarray of the room. "the law don't allow him to do sech ez this!" he blurted out in rising anger. "why, everything hyar is bodaciously broke an' busted! war it the sheriff himself ez levied?" "'twar jes' the dep'ty critter, clem tweed," explained medora, "mighty jokified, an' he 'peared ter be middlin' drunk, an' though he said su'thin' 'bout exemptions he 'lowed ez we-uns lived at the eend o' the world." her mother-in-law suddenly lowered the apron from her face. "'the jumpin'-off place,' war what clem tweed called it!" she interpolated with a fiery eye of indignant reminiscence. "he did! he did!" medora bitterly resented this fling at the remoteness of their poor home. "an' he said whilst hyar he'd level on everything in sight, ez he hoped never ter travel sech roads agin--everything in sight, even the baby an' the cat!" "shucks, medory, ye know the dep'ty man war funnin' whenst he said that about the baby an' the cat! ye know ez clem admitted he hed christmas in his bones!" the elder objected. "waal, war clem tweed funnin' whenst he done sech ez that, in levyin' an execution?" bruce gilhooley pointed with his ramrod at the wreck of the furniture. the two women burst into lugubrious sobs and rocked themselves back and forth in unison. "'twar _dad_!" medora moaned, in smothered accents. a pause of bewilderment ensued. then the young man's face took on an expression of dismay so ominous that medora's tears were checked in the ghastly fear of disasters yet to come to her father-in-law. now and again she glanced anxiously over her shoulder at an oblong black aperture in the dusk which betokened the open door of the shed-room. some one lurked there, evidently cherishing all aloof a grief, an anger, a despair too poignant to share. "dad warn't hyar whenst the dep'ty leveled," she said. "an' mighty glad we war--kase somebody mought hev got hurt. but whenst dad kem home an' larnt the news he jes'--he jes'--he jes' lept about like a painter." "he did! he did!" asseverated a voice from the veiled head, all muffled in the checked apron. "dad 'lowed," continued medora, "ez peter petrie hev persecuted and druv him ter the wall. fust he tricked dad out'n some unoccupied lan' what dad hed begun ter clear, an' petrie got it entered fust an' tuk out a grant an' holds the title! an' whenst dad lay claim ter it peter petrie declared ef enny gilhooley dared ter cross storm mounting he'd break every bone in his body!" "a true word--the insurance of the critter!" came from the blue-checked veil. a stir in the shed-room--a half-suppressed cough and a clearing of the throat. "an' then dad fell on pete petrie at the crossroads' store, whar the critter hed stopped with his mail-pouch, an' dad trounced him well afore all the crowd o' loafers thar!" "bless the lord, he did!" the checked apron voiced a melancholy triumph. "an' then, ye remember whenst dad set out fire in the woods las' fall ter burn off the trash on his own lan', the flames run jes' a leetle over his line an' on ter them woods on storm mounting, doin' no harm ter nobody, nor nuthin'!" "not a mite--not a mite," asseverated the apron. "an' ez sech appears ter be agin the law petrie gin information an' dad war fined five dollars!" "an' paid it!" cried jane gilhooley. "ye know that!" "an' then, ez it 'pears ter be the law ez one hundred dollars fur sech an offense is ter be forfeited ter ennybody ez will sue fur it," medora resumed, "petrie seen his chance ter git even fur bein' beat in a reg'lar knock-down-an'-drag-out fight, an'," with the rising inflection of a climax, "he hev sued and got jedgmint!" "an' so what that half-drunk dep'ty, clem tweed, calls an execution war leveled!" exclaimed jane gilhooley, her veiled head swaying forlornly as she sobbed invisibly. "but dad 'lowed ez peter petrie shouldn't hev none o' his gear," medora's eyes flashed with a responsive sentiment. "his gran'mam's warpin' bars!" suggested the elder woman. "the spinnin'-wheels she brung from no'th carliny," enumerated medora, "the loom an' the candle-moulds." "the cheers his dad made fur his mam whenst they begun housekeepin'," said jane gilhooley's muffled voice. "the press an' the safe," medora continued. "the pot an' the oven," chokingly responded the apron. "the churn an' the piggins!" "the skillet an' the trivet!" medora, fairly flinching from the inventory of all the household goods, so desecrated and "leveled on," returned to the salient incident of the day. "dad jes' tuk an axe an' bust up every yearthly thing in the house!" "an' now we-uns ain't got nuthin'." the elder woman looked about in stunned dismay, her little black eyes a mere gleam of a pupil in the midst of their swollen lids and network of wrinkles. one of the miseries of the very ignorant is, paradoxically, the partial character of their privation. if the unknown were to them practically non-existent they might find solace in sluggish and secure content. but even the smallest circle of being touches continually the periphery of wider spheres. the air is freighted with echoes of undistinguished sounds. powers, illimitable, absolute, uncomprehended, seem to hold an inimical sway over their lives and of these the most dreaded is the benign law, framed for their protection, spreading above them an unperceived, unimagined aegis. thus there was hardly an article in the house which was not exempt by statute from execution, and the house itself and land worth only a hundred or two dollars were protected by the homestead law. the facetious deputy, clem tweed, with "christmas in his bones," would have committed a misdemeanor in seriously levying upon them. he had held the affair as a capital farce--even affecting with wild, appropriating gambols to seize the baby and the cat--and fully realized that malice only had prompted the whole proceeding, to humiliate ross gilhooley and illustrate the completeness of the victory which peter petrie had won over his enemy. the younger gilhooley, however, quaked as his limited intelligence laid hold on the fact that if the law had permitted a levy on the household goods to satisfy the judgment of peter petrie their destruction was in itself a balking of the process, resistance to the law, and with an unimagined penalty. "we-uns hev got ter git away from hyar somehows!" he said with decision. the idea of bluff ross gilhooley in the clutches of the law because of one fierce moment of goaded and petulant despair, with the ignominy of a criminal accusation, with all the sordid concomitants of arrest and the jail, was infinitely terrible to his unaccustomed imagination. he revolted from its contemplation with a personal application. for an honest man, however poor, feels all the high prerogatives of honor. there was a step in the shed-room where ross gilhooley had lurked and listened. his wrath now spent, his mind had traveled the obvious course to his son's conclusion. he stood a gigantic, bearded shadow in the doorway, half ashamed, wholly repentant, dimly, vaguely fearful, and all responsive and quivering to the idea of flight. "i been studyin' some 'bout goin' ter minervy sue's in georgy," he said creakingly, as if his voice had suffered from its unwonted disuse. "an' none too soon," said bruce doggedly. "the oxen is medory's, bein' lef' ter her whenst her dad died, an' the wagin is mine! quit foolin' along o' that thar fire, medory!" for with her bright hair hanging curling over her cheeks his young wife had leaned forward to start it anew. "never ter kindle it agin on this ha'th-stone!" she cried with a poignant realization of the significance of the uprooting of the roof-tree and the wide, vague world without. and still once more the two women fell to bemoaning their fate of exile beside the expiring embers, while the elder gilhooley's voice sounded bluffly outside calling the oxen, and his son was rattling their heavy yoke in the corner. they were well advanced on their journey ere yet the snowy christmas dawn was in the sky. so slow a progress was ill-associated with the idea of flight. it was almost noiseless--the great hoofs of the oxen fell all muffled on the deep snow still whitely a-glitter with the moon, hanging dense and opaque in the western sky, and flecked with the dendroidal images of the overshadowing trees. the immense bovine heads swayed to and fro, cadenced to the deliberate pace, and more than once a muttered low of distaste and protest rose with the vapor curling upward from lip and nostril into the icy air. on the front seat of the cumbrous, white, canvas-covered vehicle was medora, her bright hair blowing out from the folds of a red shawl worn hood-wise; she held a cord attached to the horns of one of the oxen by which she sought to guide the yoke in those intervals when her husband, who walked by their side with a goad, must needs fall to the rear to drive up a cow and calf. inside the wagon ross gilhooley did naught but bow his head between his hands as if he could not face the coming day charged with he knew not what destiny for him. his wife was adjusting and readjusting the limited gear they had dared to bring off with them--their forlorn rags of clothing and bedding, all in shapeless bundles; sundry gourds full of soft soap, salt, tobacco, and a scanty store of provisions, which she feared would not last them all the way to georgia to the home of minervy sue, their daughter. no one touched a space deeply filled with straw, but now and again medora glanced back at it with the dawning of a smile in her grief-stricken face that cold, nor fear, nor despair could wholly overcast. three small heads, all golden and curly, all pink-cheeked and fair, all blissfully slumbering, rested there as if they had been so many dolls packed away thus for fear of breaking. but they had no other couch than the straw, for ross gilhooley had not spared the feather-beds, and the little cabin at the notch was now half full of the fluff ripped out by his sharp knife from the split ticks. down the mountain the fugitives went, as silent as their shadows; and at last, when one might hardly know if it were the sheen of the moon that still illuminated the wan and wintry scene, or the reflection from the snow, or the dawning of the dark-gray day, the river came in sight, all a rippling, steely expanse under the chill wind between its ice-girt crags and snowy banks. the oxen went down to the ford in a lumbering run. bruce sprang upon the tailboard to ride, the dogs chased the cow and calf to the crossing. the wheels grated ominously against great submerged boulders; the surging waves rose almost to the wagon-bed; the wind struck aslant the immense, cumbrous cover, threatening to capsize it; and, suddenly, in the midst of the transit, a sound, as clear as a bugle in the rare icy air, as searchingly sweet! all were motionless for an instant, doubtful, anxious, listening--only the wintry wind with its keen sibilance; only the dash of the swift current; only the grating of the wheels on the sand as the oxen reached the opposite margin! but hark, again! a clear tenor voice in the fag end of an old song: "an' my bigges' bottle war my bes' friend, an' my week's work was all at an end!" it issued from beyond the right fork of the road in advance, and an instant panic ensued. discovery was hard upon them. their laborious device was brought to naught should any eye espy them in their hasty flight to the state line. it had not seemed impossible that ere the day should dawn they might be far away in those impenetrable forests where one may journey many a league, meeting naught more inimical or speculative than bear or deer. it still was worth the effort. with a sudden spring from the tailboard of the wagon bruce gilhooley reached the yoke, fiercely goading the oxen onward. with an abrupt lurch, in which the vehicle swayed precariously and ponderously from side to side, they started up the steep, snowy bank, and breaking into their ungainly run were guided into the left fork of the road. it was a level stretch and fringed about with pines, and soon all sight of the pilgrims was lost amidst the heavy snow-laden boughs. the river bank was silent and solitary; and after a considerable interval a man rode down from the right fork to the ford. more than once his horse refused the passage. a sort of parrot-faced man he was, known as tank dysart, young, red-haired, with a long, bent nose and a preposterous air of knowingness and turbulent inquiry. he cocked his head on one side with a snort of surprised indignation, and beat with both heels, but again the horse, sidling about the drifts, declined the direct passage and essayed to cross elsewhere. all at once a bundle of red flannel, lying in the drift close to the water's edge, caught his attention, and suddenly there issued forth a lusty bawl. the horseman would have turned pale but for the whisky which had permanently incarnadined the bend of his nose. as it was, however, he looked far more dismayed than the facts might seem to warrant. "it's the booze--i got 'em again fur sartain!" he quavered in plaintive helplessness, his terrified eyes fixed on the squirming bundle. then, drunk as he was, he perceived the rift in his logic. "gol-darn ye!" he exclaimed, violently kicking the horse, "you-uns ain't got no call ter view visions an' see sights--ye old water-bibber!" as the horse continued to snort and back away from the object tank dysart became convinced of its reality. still mounted, he passed close enough alongside for a grasp at it. the old red-flannel cape and hood disclosed a plump infant about ten months of age, whimpering and cruelly rubbing his eyes with his fists, and now bawling outright with rage; as he chanced to meet the gaze of his rescuer he paused to laugh in a one-sided way, displaying two pearly teeth and a very beguiling red tongue, but again stiffening himself he yelled as behooves a self-respecting baby so obviously misplaced. tank dysart held him out at arm's length in his strong grasp, surveying him in mingled astonishment and delight. "why, bless my soul, christmas gift!" he addressed him. "i'm powerful obligated fur yer company!" for the genial infant giggled and sputtered and gurgled inconsistently in the midst of his bawling, and banteringly kicked out one soft foot in a snug, red sock, taking tank full in the chest; then he stiffened, swayed backward and screamed again as if in agonies of grief. "sufferin' moses!" grinned the drunkard. "i wouldn't take nuthin' fur ye! ye air a find, an' no mistake!" the word suggested illusion. "ye ain't no snake, now--nary toad--nary green rabbit--no sort'n jim-jam?" he stipulated apprehensively. the baby babbled gleefully, and, as if attesting its reality, delivered half a dozen strong kicks with those active plump feet, encased in the smart red socks. it suddenly occurred to the drunkard that here was a duty owing--to seek out the child's parents. even to his befuddled brain that fact was plain enough. the little creature had been lost evidently from some family of travelers who would presently retrace their way seeking him. when bruce gilhooley had sprung from the tailboard of the wagon in that moment of tumultuous panic he had not noticed the bundle of straw dislodged. falling with it softly into the deep snowdrift the child had continued to slumber quietly till awakened by the cold to silence and loneliness, and then this strange rencontre. with a half-discriminated idea of overtaking the supposed travelers, tank dysart briskly forded the river, and, pressing his horse to a canter, made off in the opposite direction. gayly they fared along for a time, tank frequently refreshing himself from a "tickler," facetiously so-called, which he carried in his pocket. occasionally he generously offered the baby the stopper to suck, and as the child smacked his lips with evident relish tank roared out again in his fine and flexible tenor: "for my bigges' bottle war my bes' friend, an' my week's work war all at an end!" the horse, by far the nobler animal of the two, stood still ever and anon when the drunken creature swayed back and forth in his saddle, imperiling his equilibrium. even to his besotted mind, as he grew more intoxicated, the danger to the child in his erratic grasp became apparent. "i got ter put him in a safe place--a christmas gift," he now and then stuttered. when he came at last within reach of a human habitation he had been for some time consciously on the point of falling from the saddle with the infant, who was now quietly asleep. he noted, as in a dream, the crossroads' store, which was also the post-office; standing in front of the log cabin was a horse already saddled hanging down a dull, dispirited head as he awaited the mail-rider through a long, cold interval, and bearing a united states mail-pouch, mouldy, flabby, nearly empty. the door of the store was closed against the cold; the blacksmith's shop was far down the road; the two or three scattered dwellings showed no sign of life but the wreaths of blue smoke curling up from the clay-and-stick chimneys. perhaps it was the impunity of the moment that suggested the idea to dysart's whimsical drunken fancy. he never knew. he suddenly tried the mouth of the pouch. it was locked. nothing daunted, a stroke of a keen knife slit the upper part of the side seam, the sleeping baby was slipped into the aperture, and tank dysart rode off chuckling with glee to think of the dismay of the mail-rider when the mail-pouch should break forth with squeals and quiver with kicks, which embarrassment would probably not befall him until far away in the wilderness with his perplexity, for there had been something stronger on that stopper than milk or cambric tea. as tank went he muttered something about the security of the united states mail, wherein he had had the forethought to deposit his christmas gift, and forthwith he flung himself into the shuck-pen, where he fell asleep, and was not found till half-frozen, his whereabouts being at last disclosed to the storekeeper by the persistent presence of his faithful steed standing hard by. tank was humanely cared for by this functionary, but several days elapsed before he altogether recovered consciousness; it was naturally a confused, disconnected train of impressions which his mind retained. at first, in a maudlin state, he demanded of the storekeeper, in his capacity as postmaster also, a package, a christmas gift, which he averred he should receive by mail. albeit this was esteemed merely an inebriated fancy, such is the sensitiveness of the united states postal service on the subject of missing mail matter that the postmaster, half-irritated, half-nervous, detailed it to the mail-rider. "tank 'lows ez he put it into the mail hyar himself!" peter petrie, a lowering-eyed, severe-visaged, square-jawed man, gave tank dysart only a glance of ire from under his hat-brim, as if the matter were not worth the waste of a word. dysart, wreck though he was, had not yet lost all conscience. he was in an agony of remorse and doubt. it kept him sober longer than he had been for five years, for he was a professed drunkard and idler, scarcely considered responsible. he could not be sure that he had experienced aught which he seemed to remember--he hoped it was all only his drunken fancy, for what could have been the fate of the child subject to the freaks of his imbecile folly? he was reassured to hear no rumors of a lost child, and yet so definite were the images of his recollection that they must needs constrain his credulity. he felt it in the nature of a rescue one day when, as he chanced to join a group of gossips loitering around the fire of the forge, he heard the smith ask casually: "who is that thar baby visitin' at peter petrie's over yander acrost storm mounting?" "gran'child, i reckon," suggested his big-boned, bare-armed, soot-grimed striker. "peter petrie hain't got nare gran'-child," said one of the loungers. tank, sober for once, held his breath to listen. "behaves powerful like a gran'dad," observed the smith, holding a horseshoe with the tongs in the fire while the striker laid hold on the bellows and the sighing sound surged to and fro and the white blaze flared forth, showing the interested faces of the group in the dusky smithy, and among them the horse whose shoe was making, while another stood at the open door defined against the snow. "behaves like he ain't got a mite o' sense. i war goin' by thar one day las' week an' i stepped up on the porch ter pass the time o' day with pete an' his wife, an' the door war open. an' what d'ye s'pose i seen? old peter petrie a-goin' round the floor on all fours, an' a-settin' on his back war a baby--powerful peart youngster--jes' a-grinnin' an' a-whoopin' an' a-poundin' old peter with a whip! an' pete galloped, he did! didn't seem beset with them rheumatics he used ter talk about--peartest leetle 'possum of a baby!" tank dysart lost no time in his investigations and he had the courage of his convictions. he did not scruple to call peter petrie to his face a mail-robber. "ye tuk a package deposited in the united states' mail and converted it to your own use," he vociferated. "'twar neither stamped nor addressed," old petrie gruffly contended, albeit obviously disconcerted. dysart even sought to induce the postmaster to send a complaint of the rider to the postal authorities. "i got too much respec' fur my job," replied that worthy, jocosely eying tank across the counter of the store. "i ain't goin' ter let on ter the folks in washington that we send babies about in the mail-bags hyar in the mountings." the social acquaintance of the little man had necessarily been rather limited, but one day a neighbor, attracted to the petrie cabin by idle curiosity concerning the waif robbed from the mails, gazed upon him for one astonished instant and then proclaimed his identity. "nare gilhooley should ever cross storm mounting, 'cordin' ter yer sayin', petey, an' hyar ye hev been totin' ross gilhooley's gran'son back an' forth across old stormy, an' all yer spare time ye spend on yer hands an' knees barkin' like a dog jes' ter pleasure him." peter petrie changed countenance suddenly. his square, bristly, grim jaw hardened and stiffened, so dear to him were all his stubborn convictions and grizzly, ancient feuds. but he bestirred himself to cause information to be conveyed to bruce gilhooley of his son's whereabouts for he readily suspected that the family had fled to minervy sue's in georgia. peter petrie sustained in this act of conscience a grievous wrench, for it foreshadowed parting with the choice missive filched from the mail-bag, but he was not unmindful of the anguish and bereavement of the mother, and somehow the thought was peculiarly coercive at this season. "i don't want ter even up with king herod, now, sure!" he averred to himself one night as he sat late over the embers, reviewing his plans all made. he thought much in these lone hours as he heard the wind speed past, the trees crack under their weight of snow, and noted through the tiny window the glister of a great star of a supernal lustre, high above the pines, what a freight of joy the tidings of this child would bear to the bleeding hearts of his kindred. albeit so humble, the parallel must needs arise suggesting the everlasting joy the existence of another child had brought to the souls of all kindreds, all peoples. "peace, peace," he reiterated, as the red coals crumbled and the gray ash spread; "peace an' good-will!" the words seemed to epitomize all religion, all value, all hope, and somehow they so dwelt in his mind that the next day he was moved to add a personal message to old ross gilhooley in sending the more important information to bruce. "let on ter ross," he charged the envoy, "ez--ez--that thar jedgmint an' execution issued war jes' formal--ye mought say--jes' ter hev all the papers reg'lar." by virtue of more attrition with the world the mail-rider was more sophisticated than his enemy, and sooth to say, more sophistical. "ross is writ-proof, the old fool, though he war minded ter cut me out'n my levy if he could! but waal, jes' tell him from me ez we-uns hev hed a heap o' pleasure in the baby's company in the chris'mus, an' we-uns expec' ter borry him some whenst they all gits home!" * * * * * to the child's kindred the news was as if he had risen from the dead, and the gratitude of the gilhooleys to petrie knew no bounds. they had accounted the baby drowned when, missing him, they had retraced their way, finding naught but a bit of old blanket on which he had lain, close to the verge of the cruel river. ross gilhooley, softened and rendered tractable by exile and sorrow, upon his return lent himself to an affected warmth toward peter petrie which gradually assumed all the fervors of sincerity. the neighbors indeed were moved to say that the two friends and ancient enemies, when both on all fours and barking for the delight of the baby, were never so little like dogs in all their lives. thus a child shall lead them. the crucial moment a mere moment seems an inconsiderable factor in life--only its multiplication attaining importance and signifying time. it could never have occurred to walter hoxer that all his years of labor, the aggregation of the material values of industry, experience, skill, integrity, could be nullified by this minimum unit of space--as sudden, as potent, as destructive, as a stroke of lightning. but after the fact it did not remind him of any agency of the angry skies; to him it was like one of the obstructions of the river engineers to divert the course of the great mississippi, a mattress-spur, a thing insignificant in itself, a mere trifle of woven willow wands, set up at a crafty angle, against the tumultuous current. yet he had seen the swirling waves, in their oncoming like innumerable herds of wild horses, hesitate at the impact, turn aside, and go racing by, scouring out a new channel, leaving the old bank bereft, thrown inland, no longer the margin of the stream. the river was much in his mind that afternoon as he trudged along the county road at the base of the levee, on his way, all unprescient, to meet this signal, potential moment. outside, he knew that the water was standing higher than his head, rippling against the thick turf of bermuda grass with which the great earthwork was covered. for the river was bank-full and still rising--indeed, it was feared that an overflow impended. however, there was as yet no break; advices from up the river and down the river told only of extra precautions and constant work to keep the barriers intact against the increasing volume of the stream. the favorable chances were reinforced by the fact of a singularly dry winter, that had so far eliminated the danger from back-water, which, if aggregated from rain-fall in low-lying swamps, would move up slowly to inundate the arable lands. these were already ploughed to bed up for cotton, and an overflow now would mean the loss of many thousands of dollars to the submerged communities. the february rains had begun in the upper country, with a persistency and volume that bade fair to compensate for the long-continued drought, and thus the river was already booming; the bayous that drew off a vast surplusage of its waters were over-charged, and gradually would spread out in murky shallows, heavily laden with river detritus, over the low grounds bordering their course. "this jeffrey levee will hold," hoxer said to himself, as once he paused, his hands in his pockets, his cap on the back of his red head, his freckled, commonplace, square face lifted into a sort of dignity by the light of expert capacity and intelligence in his bluff blue eyes. he had been muttering to himself the details of its construction: so many feet across the base in proportion to its height, the width of the summit, the angle of the incline of its interior slope--the exterior being invisible, having the mississippi river standing against it. "a fairly good levee, though an old one," he muttered. "i'll bet, though, major jeffrey feels mightily like noah when he looks at all that water out there tearing through the country." his face clouded at the mention of the name, and as he took the short pipe from his mouth and stuck it into the pocket of his loose sack-coat his tread lost a certain free elasticity that had characterized it hitherto, and he trudged on doggedly. he had passed many acres of ploughed lands, the road running between the fields and the levee. the scene was all solitary; the sun had set, and night would presently be coming on. as he turned in at the big white gate that opened on a long avenue of oaks leading to the mansion house, he began to fear that his visit might be ill-timed, and that a man of his station could not hope for an audience so near the major's dinner-hour. it was with definite relief that he heard the gentle impact of ivory balls in the absolute quiet, and he remembered that a certain little octagonal structure with a conical red roof, in the grounds, was a billiard-room, for the sound betokened that he might find the owner of the place here. he expected to see a group of the major's "quality friends" in the building but as he ascended the steps leading directly to the door, he perceived that the man he sought was alone. major jeffrey was engaged in idly knocking the balls about in some skilful fancy shots, his cigar in his mouth, and a black velvet smoking-jacket setting off to special advantage his dense, snowy hair, prematurely white, his long mustache, and his pointed imperial. his heavy white eyebrows drew frowningly together over arrogant dark eyes as he noted the man at the entrance. despite hoxer's oft-reiterated sentiment that he was "as good as anybody and would take nothing off nobody, and cared for no old duck just because he was rich," he could not speak for a moment as he felt major jeffrey's inimical eyes upon him. he lost the advantage in losing the salutation. "did you get my check?" major jeffrey asked curtly. "yes," hoxer admitted; "but----" "the amount was according to contract." hoxer felt indignant with himself that he should have allowed this interpretation to be placed on his presence here; then he still more resented the conjecture. "i have not come for extra money," he said. "that point of the transaction is closed." "all the points of the transaction are closed," said major jeffrey, ungraciously. there was more than the flush of the waning western sky on his face. he had already dined, and he was one of those wine-bibbers whom drink does not render genial. "i want to hear no more about it." he turned to the table, and with a skilful cue sent one ball caroming against two others. "but you must hear what i have got to say, major jeffrey," protested hoxer. "i built that cross-levee for you to join your main levee, and done it well." "and have been well paid." "but you go and say at the store that i deviated from the line of survey and saved one furlong, seven poles, and five feet of levee." "and so you did." "but you know, major, that burbeck lake had shrunk in the drought at the time of the survey, and if i'd followed the calls for the south of the lake, i'd had to build in four feet of water, so i drew back a mite--you bein' in orleans, where i couldn't consult you, an' no time to be lost nohow, the river bein' then on the rise, an'----" "look here, fellow," exclaimed major jeffrey, bringing the cue down on the table with a force that must have cut the cloth, "do you suppose that i have nothing better to do than to stand here to listen to your fool harangue?" the anger and the drink and perhaps the consciousness of being in the wrong were all ablaze in the major's eyes. the two were alone; only the darkling shadows stood at tiptoe at the open windows, and still the flushed sky sent down a pervasive glow from above. hoxer swallowed hard, gulping down his own wrath and sense of injury. "major," he said blandly, trying a new deal, "i don't think you quite understand me." "such a complicated proposition you are, to be sure!" hoxer disregarded the sarcasm, the contempt in the tone. "i am not trying to rip up an old score, but you said at winfield's store--at the store--that i did not build the cross levee on the surveyor's line; that i shortened it----" "so you did." "but as if i had shortened the levee for my own profit, when, as you know, it was paid for by the pole----" "you tax me with making a false impression?" an extreme revulsion of expectation harassed hoxer. he had always known that jeffrey was an exception to the general rule of the few large land-owners in the community, who were wont to conserve and, in fact, to deserve the pose of kindly patron as well as wealthy magnate. but even jeffrey, he thought, would not grudge a word to set a matter straight that could cost him nothing and would mean much to the levee-contractor. though of large experience in levee-building, hoxer was new to the position of contractor, having been graduated into it, so to speak, from the station of foreman of a construction-gang of irishmen. he had hoped for further employ in this neighborhood, in building private levees that, in addition to the main levees along the banks of the mississippi, would aid riparian protection by turning off overflow from surcharged bayous and encroaching lakes in the interior. but, unluckily, the employer of the first enterprise he had essayed on his own responsibility had declared that he had deviated from the line of survey, usually essential to the validity of the construction, thereby much shortening the work; and had made this statement at winfield's store--at the store! whatever was said at the store was as if proclaimed through the resounding trump of fame. the store in a mississippi neighborhood, frequented by the surrounding planters, great and small, was the focus of civilization, the dispenser of all the wares of the world, from a spool of thread to a two-horse wagon, the post-office, in a manner the club. here, sooner or later, everybody came, and hence was the news of the bend noised abroad. hoxer's business could scarcely recover from this disparagement, and he had not doubted that jeffrey would declare that he had said nothing to justify this impression, and that he would forthwith take occasion to clear it up. for were not mr. tompkins and judge claris, both with a severe case of "high-water scare," ready to contract for a joint cross levee for mutual protection from an unruly bayou! therefore, with a sedulous effort, hoxer maintained his composure when the major thundered again, "you tax me with making a false impression?" "not intentionally, major, but----" "and who are you to judge of my motives? told a lie by accident, did i? begone, sir, or i'll break your head with this billiard cue!" he had reached the limit as he brandished the cue. he was still agile, vigorous, and it was scarcely possible that hoxer could escape the blow. he dreaded the indignity indeed more than the hurt. "if you strike me," he declared in a single breath, between his set teeth, "before god, i'll shoot you with your own pistol!" it seemed a fatality that a pair in their open case should have been lying on the sill of the window, where their owner had just been cleaning and oiling them. hoxer, of course, had no certainty that they were loaded, but the change in jeffrey's expression proclaimed it. he was sober enough now--the shock was all sufficient--as he sprang to the case. the younger man was the quicker. he had one of the pistols in his hand before jeffrey could level the other that he had snatched. quicker to fire, too, for the weapon in jeffrey's hand was discharged in his latest impulse of action after he fell to the floor, the blood gushing from a wound that crimsoned all the delicate whiteness of his shirt-front and bedabbled his snowy hair and beard. this was the moment, the signal, fatal, final moment, that the levee contractor had come to meet, that placed the period to his own existence. he lived no longer, hoxer felt. he did not recognize as his own a single action hereafter, a single mental impulse. it was something else, standing here in the red gloaming--some foreign entity, cogently reasoning, swiftly acting. self-defense--was it? and who would believe that? had he found justice so alert to redress his wrongs, even in a little matter, that he must needs risk his neck upon it? this thing that was not himself--no, never more!--had the theory of alibi in his mind as he stripped off his low-cut shoes and socks, thrusting them into his pockets, leaping from the door, and flying among the dusky shadows down the glooming grove, and through the gate. dusk here, too, on the lonely county road, the vague open expanse of the ploughed fields glimmering to the instarred sky of a still, chill night of early february. he did not even wonder that there should be no hue and cry on his tracks--the thing was logical! jeffrey had doubtless had his pistols carried down from the mansion to him in his den in the billiard-room, for the avowed purpose of putting the weapons in order. if the shots were heard at all at the dwelling, the sound was reasonably ascribed to the supposed testing of the weapons. hoxer was conscious that a sentiment of gratulation, of sly triumph, pervaded his mental processes as he sped along barefoot, like some tramp or outcast, or other creature of a low station. he had laid his plans well in this curious, involuntary cerebration. those big, bare footprints were ample disguise for a well-clad, well-groomed, well-shod middle-class man of a skilful and lucrative employ. the next moment his heart sank like lead. he was followed! he heard the pursuit in the dark! swift, unerring, leaping along the dusty road, leaving its own footprints as a testimony against him. for he had recognized its nature at last! it was his own dog--a little, worthless cur, that had a hide like a doormat and a heart as big as the united states--a waif, a stray, that had attached himself to the contractor at the shanties of the construction gang, and slept by his bed, and followed at his heel, and lived on the glance of his eye. he was off again, the dog fairly winging his way to match his master's speed. hoxer could not kill him here, for the carcass would tell the story. but was it not told already in those tracks in the dusty road? what vengeance was there not written in the eccentric script of those queer little padded imprints of the creature's paws. fie, fool! was this the only cur-dog in the bend? he asked himself, impatient of his fears. was not the whole neighborhood swarming with canine dependents? despite his reasoning, this endowment that was once himself had been affrighted by the shock. the presence of the little cur-dog had destroyed the complacence of his boasted ratiocination. he had only the instincts of flight as he struck off through the woods when the great expanse of cultivated lands had given way to lower ground and the wide liberties of the "open swamp," as it was called. this dense wilderness stretched out on every side; the gigantic growth of gum trees was leafless at this season, and without a suggestion of underbrush. the ground was as level as a floor. generally during the winter the open swamp is covered with shallow water, but in this singularly droughty season it had remained "with dry feet," according to the phrase of that country. the southern moon, rising far along its levels, began to cast burnished golden shafts of light adown its unobstructed vistas. it might seem some magnificent park, with its innumerable splendid trees, its great expanse, and ever and anon in the distance the silver sheen of the waters of a lake, shining responsive to the lunar lustre as with an inherent lustre of its own. on and on he went, his noiseless tread falling as regularly as machinery, leaving miles behind him, the distance only to be conjectured by the lapse of time, and, after so long, his flagging strength. he began to notice that the open swamp was giving way in the vicinity of one of the lakes to the characteristics of the swamp proper, although the ground was still dry and the going good. he had traversed now and then a higher ridge on which switch-cane grew somewhat sparsely, but near the lake on a bluff bank a dense brake of the heavier cane filled the umbrageous shadows, so tall and rank and impenetrable a growth that once the fugitive paused to contemplate it with the theory that a secret intrusted to its sombre seclusions might be held intact forever. as he stood thus motionless in the absolute stillness, a sudden thought came to his mind--a sudden and terrible thought. he could not be sure whether he had heard aught, or whether the sight of the water suggested the idea. he knew that he could little longer sustain his flight, despite his vigor and strength. quivering in every fibre from his long exertions, he set his course straight for that glimmering sheen of water. encircling it were heavy shadows. tall trees pressed close to the verge, where lay here a fallen branch, and there a rotten log, half sunken in mud and ooze, and again a great tangle of vines that had grown smiling to the summer sun, but now, with the slow expansion of the lake which was fed by a surcharged bayou, quite submerged in a fretwork of miry strands. the margin was fringed with saw-grass, thick and prickly, and his practised eye could discern where the original banks lay by the spears thrust up above the surface a score of feet away. thus he was sure of his depth as he waded out staunchly, despite the cruel pricks to his sensitive naked feet. the little dog had scant philosophy; he squeaked and wheezed and wailed with the pain until the man, who had no time to kill him now--for had he heard aught or naught?--picked him up and carried him in his arms, the creature licking hoxer's hands in an ecstasy of gratitude, and even standing on his hind-legs on his master's arm to snatch a lick upon his cheek. in the darksome shadows, further and further from the spot where he had entered the lake, hoxer toiled along the margin, sometimes pausing to listen--for had he heard aught or naught?--as long as his strength would suffice. then amidst the miry débris of last summer's growths beneath the recent inundation he sank down in the darkness, the dog exhausted in his arms. this was one of those frequent crescent-shaped lakes peculiar to the region; sometimes, miles in extent, the lacustrine contour is not discernible to the glance; here the broad expanse seemed as if the body of water were circular and perhaps three miles in diameter. suddenly hoxer heard the sound that had baffled him hitherto--heard it again and--oh, horrible!--recognized it at last! the baying of bloodhounds it was, the triumphant cry that showed that the brutes had caught the trail and were keeping it. on and on came the iteration, ever louder, ever nearer, waking the echoes till wood and brake and midnight waters seemed to rock and sway with the sound, and the stars in the sky to quake in unison with the vibrations. never at fault, never a moment's cessation, and presently the shouts of men and the tramp of horses blended with that deep, tumultuous note of blood crying to heaven for vengeance. far, far, down the lake it was. hoxer could see nothing of the frantic rout when the hounds paused baffled at the water-side. he was quick to note the changed tone of the brutes' pursuit, plaintive, anxious, consciously thwarted. they ran hither and thither, patrolling the banks, and with all their boasted instinct they could only protest that the fugitive took to water at this spot. but how? they could not say, and the men argued in vain. the lake was too broad to swim--there was no island, no point of vantage. a boat might have taken him off, and, if so, the craft would now be lying on the opposite bank. a party set off to skirt the edge of the lake and explore the further shores by order of the sheriff, for this officer, summoned by telephone, had come swiftly from the county town in an automobile, to the verge of the swamp, there accommodated with a horse by a neighboring planter. and then, hoxer, lying on the elastic submerged brush, with only a portion of his face above the surface of the water, watched in a speechless ecstasy of terror the hue and cry progress on the hither side, his dog, half dead from exhaustion, unconscious in his arms. the moon, unmoved as ever, looked calmly down on the turmoil in the midst of the dense woods. the soft brilliance illumined the long, open vistas and gave to the sylvan intricacies an effect as of silver arabesques, a glittering tracery amidst the shadows. but the lunar light did not suffice. great torches of pine knots, with a red and yellow flare and streaming pennants of smoke, darted hither and thither as the officer's posse searched the bosky recesses without avail. presently a new sound!--a crashing iteration--assailed the air. a frantic crowd was beating the bushes about the margin of the lake and the verges of the almost impenetrable cane-brake. here, however, there could be no hope of discovery, and suddenly a cry arose, unanimously iterated the next instant, "fire the cane-brake! fire the cane-brake!" for so late had come the rise of the river, so persistent had been the winter's drought, so delayed the usual inundation of the swamp, that the vegetation, dry as tinder, caught the sparks instantly, and the fierce expedient to force the fugitive to leave his supposed shelter in the brake, a vast woodland conflagration, was added to the terror of the scene. the flames flared frantically upward from the cane, itself twenty feet in height, and along its dense columns issued forth jets like the volleyings of musketry from serried ranks of troops, the illusion enhanced by continuous sharp, rifle-like reports, the joints of the growth exploding as the air within was liberated by the heat of the fire. all around this blazing gehenna were swiftly running figures of men applying with demoniac suggestion torches here and there, that a new area might be involved. others were mounted, carrying flaming torches aloft, the restive horses plunging in frantic terror of the fiery furnace in the depths of the brake, the leaping sheets of flame, the tumultuous clouds of smoke. oh, a terrible fate, had the forlorn fugitive sought refuge here! let us hope that no poor denizen of the brake, bear or panther or fox, dazed by the tumult and the terror, forgot which way to flee! but human energies must needs fail as time wears on. nerves of steel collapse at last. the relinquishment of the quest came gradually; the crowd thinned; now and again the sound of rapid hoof-beats told of homeward-bound horsemen; languid groups stood and talked dully here and there, dispersing to follow a new suggestion for a space, then ultimately disappearing; even the fire began to die out, and the site of the cane-break had become a dense, charred mass, as far as eye could reach, with here and there a vague blue flicker where some bed of coals could yet send up a jet, when at length the pale day, slow and aghast, came peering along the levels to view the relics of the strange events that had betided in the watches of the night. hoxer had not waited for the light. deriving a certain strength, a certain triumph, from the obvious fact that the end was not yet, he contrived in that darkest hour before the dawn to pull himself into a sitting posture, then to creep out to the shore. the little dog had seemed to be dying, but he too experienced a sort of resuscitation, and while he followed at first but feebly, it was not long before he was at heel again, although hoxer was swift of foot, making all the speed he might toward his temporary home, the shacks that had been occupied by the construction gang. as he came within view of the poor little tenements, so recently vacated by the irish ditchers, all awry and askew, stretching in a wavering row along the river-bank near the junction of the levee that he had built with the main line, his eyes filled. oh, why had he not gone with the rest of the camp? he demanded of an untoward fate; why must he have stayed a day longer to bespeak the correction of an injurious error from that proud, hard man, who, however, had wrought his last injury on earth? hoxer was sorry, but chiefly for his own plight. he felt that his deed was in self-defense, and but that he had no proof he would not fear to offer the plea at the bar of justice. as it was, however, he was sanguine of escaping without this jeopardy. no one had cause to suspect him. no one had seen him enter the jeffrey grounds that fatal evening. there had been noised abroad no intimation of his grievance against the man. he had all the calm assurance of invisibility as he came to his abode, for a fog lay thick on the surface of the river and hung over all the land. he did not issue forth again freshly dressed till the sun was out once more, dispelling the vapors and conjuring the world back to sight and life. nevertheless, he made no secret of having been abroad when an acquaintance came up the road and paused for an exchange of the news of the day. "but what makes ye look so durned peaked?" he broke off, gazing at hoxer in surprise. hoxer was astonished at his own composure as he replied: "out all night. i was in the swamp with the posse." "see the fire? they tell me 't wuz more'n dangerous to fire the brake when the woods is so uncommon dry. i dunno what we would do here in the bottom with a forest fire." "pretty big blaze now, sure's ye're born," hoxer replied casually, and so the matter passed. later in the day another gossip, whose acquaintance he had made during his levee-building venture, loitered up to talk over the absorbing sensation, and, sitting down on the door-step of the shack, grew suddenly attentive to the little dog. "what makes him limp?" he demanded abruptly. but hoxer had not observed that he did limp. the acquaintance had taken the little animal up on his knee and was examining into his condition. "gee! how did he get so footsore?" "following me around, i reckon," hoxer hazarded. but he saw, or thought he saw, a change on the stolid face of the visitor, who was unpleasantly impressed with the fact that the officers investigating the case had made inquiries concerning a small dog that, to judge by the prints in the road, had evidently followed the big, barefooted man who had fled from the jeffrey precincts after the shooting. a rumor, too, was going the rounds that a detective, reputed preternaturally sharp, who had accompanied the sheriff to the scene of action, had examined these tracks in the road, and declared that the foot-print was neither that of a negro nor a tramp, but of a white man used to wearing shoes something too tightly fitting. the visitor glanced down at the substantial foot-gear of the contractor, fitting somewhat snugly, and thereafter he became more out of countenance than before and manifested some haste to get away. hoxer said to himself that his anxiety whetted his apprehension. he had given his visitor no cause for suspicion, and doubtless the man had evolved none. hoxer was glad that he was due and overdue to be gone from the locality. he felt that he could scarcely breathe freely again till he had joined the gang of irish ditchers now establishing themselves in a new camp in the adjoining county, where the high stage of the river gave him employment in fighting water. he made up his mind, however, that he would not take the train thither. he dreaded to be among men, to encounter question and speculation, till he had time to regain control of his nerves, his facial expression, the tones of his voice. he resolved that he would quietly drift down the river in a rowboat that had been at his disposal during his employment here, and join his force already settled at their destination, without running the gauntlet of inspection by the neighborhood in a more formal departure. he had already bidden farewell to those few denizens of the bend with whom his associations had been most genial. "and i'll clear out now, as i would have done if nothing had happened." he said no more of his intention of departure, but when night had come he fastened the door of the little shanty, in which were still some of the rude belongings of his camping outfit, with the grim determination that it should not soon be opened again. how long the padlock should beat the summons of the wind on the resounding battens he did not dream! it was close on midnight when he climbed the steep interior slope of the levee and stood for a moment gazing cautiously about him. the rowboat lay close by, for one might embark from the summit of the levee. it was a cloudy night, without a star. a mist clung to the face of the waters on the arkansas side, but on the hither shore the atmosphere was clear, for he could see at a considerable distance up the river the fire of a "levee-watch," the stage of the water being so menacing that a guard must needs be on duty throughout the night. the leaping flames of the fire cast long lines of red and yellow and a sort of luminous brown far into the river, where the reflection seemed to palpitate in the pulsations of the current. no other sign of life was in the night scene, save in the opposite direction, amidst the white vapors, the gem-like gleam of a steamer's chimney-lights, all ruby and emerald, as a packet was slowly rounding the neighboring point. hoxer could hear the impact of her paddles on the water, the night being so still. he had seated himself in the middle of the rowboat and laid hold on the oars when his foot struck against something soft on the bottom of the craft, partly under the seat in the stern. it was his bundle, he thought, containing the spoiled clothing that he had worn in the swamp, and which he intended to sink in mid-stream. his nerve was shaken, however; he could not restrain a sudden exclamation--this must have seemed discovery rather than agitation. it was as a signal for premature action. he was suddenly seized from behind, his arms held down against his sides, his hands close together. the bundle in the stern rose all at once to the stature of a man. the touch of cold metal, a sharp, quick click,--and he was captured and handcuffed within the space of ten seconds. a terrible struggle ensued, which his great strength but sufficed to prolong. his wild, hoarse cries of rage and desperation seemed to beat against the sky; back and forth the dark riparian forests repeated them with the effect of varying distance in the echoes, till all the sombre woods seemed full of mad, frantic creatures, shrieking out their helpless frenzy. more than once his superior muscle sufficed to throw off both the officers for a moment, but to what avail? thus manacled, he could not escape. suddenly a wild, new clamor resounded from the shore. in the dusky uncertainty, a group of men were running down the bank, shouting out to the barely descried boatmen imperative warnings that they would break the levee in their commotion, coupled with violent threats if they did not desist. for the force with which the rowboat dashed against the summit of the levee, rebounding again and again, laden with the weight of three ponderous men, and endowed with all the impetus of their struggle, so eroded the earth that the waves had gained an entrance, the initial step to a crevasse that would flood the country with a disastrous overflow. as there was no abatement of the blows of the boat against the embankment, no reply nor explanation, a shot from the gun of one of the levee-watch came skipping lightsomely over the water as hoxer was borne exhausted to the bottom of the skiff. then, indeed, the sheriff of the county bethought himself to shout out his name and official station to the astonished group on shore, and thus, bullet-proof under the aegis of the law, the boat pulled out toward the steamer, lying in mid-stream, silently awaiting the coming of the officer and his prisoner, a great, towering, castellated object, half seen in the night, her broadside of cabin lights, and their reflection in the ripples, sparkling through the darkness like a chain of golden stars. they left no stress of curiosity behind them; naught in the delta can compete in interest with the threatened collapse of a levee in times of high water. before the rowboat had reached the steamer's side, its occupants could hear the great plantation-bell ringing like mad to summon forth into the midnight all available hands to save the levee, and, looking back presently, a hundred lanterns were seen flickering hither and thither, far down in the dusk--no illusion this, for all deltaic rivers are higher in the centre than their banks--where the busy laborers, with thousands of gunny-sacks filled with sand, were fighting the mississippi, building a barricade to fence it from the rich spoils it coveted. the packet, which, as it happened, was already overdue, had been telephoned by the officers at her last landing, and a number of men stood on the guards expectant. hoxer had ceased to struggle. he looked up at the steamer, his pallid face and wide, distended eyes showing in the cabin lights, as the rowboat pulled alongside. then as the sheriff directed him to rise, he stood up at his full height, stretched his manacled hands high above his head, and suddenly dived into deep water, leaving the boat rocking violently, and in danger of capsizing with the officers. a desperate effort was made to recover the prisoner, alive or dead--all in vain. a roustabout on the deck declared that in the glare of the steamer's search-light, thrown over the murky waters, he was seen to come to the surface once, but if he rose a second time it must have been beneath the great bulk of the packet, to go down again to the death awaiting him in the deeps. on the bank a little dog sat through sunshine and shadow in front of the door of the shack of the contractor of the levee-construction gang, and awaited his return with the patient devotion of his kind. sometimes, as the padlock wavered in the wind, he would cock his head briskly askew, forecasting from the sound a step within. sometimes the grief of absence and hope deferred would wring his humble heart, and he would whimper in an access of misery and limp about a bit. but presently he would be seated again, alertly upright, his eyes on the door, for the earliest glimpse of the face that he loved. when the overflow came at last the shacks of the construction gang were swept away, and the little dog was seen no more. una of the hill country the old sawmill on headlong creek at the water-gap of chilhowee mountain was silent and still one day, its habit of industry suggested only in the ample expanse of sawdust spread thickly over a level open space in the woods hard by, to serve as footing for the "bran dance" that had been so long heralded and that was destined to end so strangely. a barbecue had added its attractions, unrivalled in the estimation of the rustic epicure, but even while the shoats, with the delectable flavor imparted by underground roasting and browned to a turn, were under discussion by the elder men and the sun-bonneted matrons on a shady slope near the mill, where tablecloths had been spread beside a crystal spring, the dance went ceaselessly on, as if the flying figures were insensible of fatigue, impervious to hunger, immune from heat. indeed the youths and maidens of the contiguous coves and ridges had rarely so eligible an opportunity, for it is one of the accepted tenets of the rural religionist that dancing in itself is a deadly sin, and all the pulpits of the country-side had joined in fulminations against it. nothing less than a political necessity had compassed this joyous occasion. it was said to have been devised by the "machine" to draw together the largest possible crowd, that certain candidates might present their views on burning questions of more than local importance, in order to secure vigorous and concerted action at the polls in the luke-warm rural districts when these measures should go before the people, in the person of their advocates, at the approaching primary elections. however, even the wisdom of a political boss is not infallible, and despite the succulent graces of the barbecue numbers of the ascetic and jeans-clad elder worthies, though fed to repletion, collogued unhappily together among the ox-teams and canvas-hooded wagons on the slope, commenting sourly on the frivolity of the dance. these might be relied on to cast no ballots in the interest of its promoters, with whose views they were to be favored between the close of the feast and the final dance before sunset. the trees waved full-foliaged branches above the circle of sawdust and dappled the sunny expanse with flickering shade, and as they swayed apart in the wind they gave evanescent glimpses of tiers on tiers of the faint blue mountains of the great smoky range in the distance, seeming ethereal, luminous, seen from between the dark, steep, wooded slopes of the narrow water-gap hard by, through which headlong creek plunged and roared. the principal musician, perched with his fellows on a hastily erected stand, was burly, red-faced, and of a jovial aspect. he had a brace of fiddlers, one on each side, but with his own violin under his double-chin he alone "called the figures" of the old-fashioned contradances. now and again, with a wide, melodious, sonorous voice, he burst into a snatch of song: "shanghai chicken he grew so tall, in a few days--few days, cannot hear him crow at all----" sometimes he would intersperse jocund personal remarks in his terpsichorean commands: "gents, forward to the centre--back--swing the lady ye love the best." then in alternation, "ladies, forward to the centre--back----" and as the mountain damsels teetered in expectation of the usual supplement of this mandate he called out in apparent expostulation, "_don't_ swing him, miss--he don't wuth a turn." suddenly the tune changed and with great gusto he chanted forth: "when fust i did a-courtin' go, says she 'now, _don't_ be foolish, joe,'" the _tempo rubato_ giving fresh impetus to the kaleidoscopic whirl of the dancers. the young men were of indomitable endurance and manifested a crude agility as they sprang about clumsily in time to the scraping of the fiddles, while their partners shuffled bouncingly or sidled mincingly according to their individual persuasion of the most apt expression of elegance. considered from a critical point of view the dance was singularly devoid of grace--only one couple illustrating the exception to the rule. the youth it was who was obviously beautiful, of a type as old as the fabled endymion. his long brown hair hung in heavy curls to the collar of his butternut jeans coat; his eyes were blue and large and finely set; his face was fair and bespoke none of the mid-day toil at the plow-handles that had tanned the complexion of his compeers, for brent kayle had little affinity for labor of any sort. he danced with a light firm step, every muscle supplely responsive to the strongly marked pulse of the music, and he had a lithe, erect carriage which imparted a certain picturesque effect to his presence, despite his much creased boots, drawn over his trousers to the knee, and his big black hat which he wore on the back of his head. the face of his partner had a more subtle appeal, and so light and willowy was her figure as she danced that it suggested a degree of slenderness that bordered on attenuation. her unbonneted hair of a rich blonde hue had a golden lustre in the sun; her complexion was of an exquisite whiteness and with a delicate flush; the chiseling of her features was peculiarly fine, in clear, sharp lines--she was called "hatchet-faced" by her undiscriminating friends. she wore a coarse, flimsy, pink muslin dress which showed a repetitious pattern of vague green leaves, and as she flitted, lissome and swaying, through the throng, with the wind a-flutter in her full draperies, she might have suggested to a spectator the semblance of a pink flower--of the humbler varieties, perhaps, but still a wild rose is a rose. even the longest dance must have an end; even the stanchest mountain fiddler will reach at last his limit of endurance and must needs be refreshed and fed. there was a sudden significant flourish of frisky bowing, now up and again down, enlisting every resonant capacity of horsehair and catgut; the violins quavered to a final long-drawn scrape and silence descended. dullness ensued; the flavor of the day seemed to pall; the dancers scattered and were presently following the crowd that began to slowly gather about the vacated stand of the musicians, from which elevation the speakers of the occasion were about to address their fellow-citizens. one of the disaffected old farmers, gruff and averse, could not refrain from administering a rebuke to brent kayle as crossing the expanse of sawdust on his way to join the audience he encountered the youth in company with valeria clee, his recent partner. "ai-yi, brent," the old man said, "the last time i seen you uns i remember well ez ye war a-settin' on the mourner's bench." for there had been a great religious revival the previous year and many had been pricked in conscience. "ye ain't so tuk up now in contemplatin' the goodness o' god an' yer sins agin same," he pursued caustically. brent retorted with obvious acrimony. "i don't see no 'casion ter doubt the goodness o' god--i never war so ongrateful nohow as that comes to." he resented being thus publicly reproached, as if he were individually responsible for the iniquity of the bran dance--the scape-goat for the sins of all this merry company. many of the whilom dancers had pressed forward, crowding up behind the old mountaineer and facing the flushed brent and the flower-like valeria, the faint green leaves of her muslin dress fluttering about her as her skirts swayed in the wind. "ye ain't so powerful afeard of the devil _now_ ez ye uster was on the mourner's bench," the old man argued. "i never war so mighty afeard of the devil," the goaded brent broke forth angrily, for the crowd was laughing in great relish of his predicament--they, who had shared all the enormity of "shaking a foot" on this festive day. brent flinched from the obvious injustice of their ridicule. he felt an eager impulse for reprisal. "i know ez sech dancin' ez i hev done ain't no sin," he blustered. "i ain't afeared o' the devil fur sech ez that. i wouldn't be skeered a mite ef he war ter--ter--ter speak right out now agin it, an' i'll be bound ez all o' you uns would. i--i--look yander--_look_!" he had thrown himself into a posture of amazed intentness and was pointing upward at the overhanging boughs of a tree above their heads. a squirrel was poised thereon, gazing down motionless. then, suddenly--a frightful thing happened. the creature seemed to speak. a strange falsetto voice, such as might befit so eerie a chance, sounded on the air--loud, distinct, heard far up the slope, and electrifying the assemblage near at hand that was gathering about the stand and awaiting the political candidates. "quit yer foolin'--quit yer foolin'," the strange voice iterated. "i'll larn ye ter be afeared o' the devil. long legs now is special grace." so wild a cry broke from the startled group below the tree that the squirrel, with a sudden, alert, about-face movement, turned and swiftly ran along the bough and up the bole. it paused once and looked back to cry out again in distinct iteration, "quit yer foolin'! quit yer foolin'!" but none had stayed to listen. a general frantic rout ensued. the possibility of ventriloquism was unknown to their limited experience. all had heard the voice and those who had distinguished the words and their seeming source needed no argument. in either case the result was the same. within ten minutes the grounds of the famous barbecue and bran dance were deserted. the cumbrous wagons, all too slow, were wending with such speed as their drivers could coerce the ox-teams to make along the woodland road homeward, while happier wights on horseback galloped past, leaving clouds of dust in the rear and a grewsome premonition of being hindmost in a flight that to the simple minds of the mountaineers had a pursuer of direful reality. the state of a candidate is rarely enviable until the event is cast and the postulant is merged into the elect, but on the day signalized by the barbecue, the bran dance, and the rout the unfortunate aspirants for public favor felt that they had experienced the extremest spite of fate; for although they realized in their superior education and sophistication that the panic-stricken rural crowd had been tricked by some clever ventriloquist, the political orators were left with only the winds and waters and wilderness on which to waste their eloquence, and the wisdom of their exclusive method of saving the country. * * * * * brent kayle's talent for eluding the common doom of man to eat his bread in the sweat of his face was peculiarly marked. he was the eldest of seven sons, ranging in age from eleven to twenty years, including one pair of twins. the parents had been greatly pitied for the exorbitant exactions of rearing this large family during its immaturity, but now, the labor of farm, barnyard and woodpile, distributed among so many stalwart fellows of the same home and interest was light and the result ample. perhaps none of them realized how little of this abundance was compassed by brent's exertions--how many days he spent dawdling on the river bank idly experimenting with the echoes--how often, even when he affected to work, he left the plow in the furrow while he followed till sunset the flight of successive birds through the adjacent pastures, imitating as he went the fresh mid-air cry, whistling in so vibrant a bird-voice, so signally clear and dulcet, yet so keen despite its sweetness, that his brothers at the plow-handles sought in vain to distinguish between the calls of the earthling and the winged voyager of the empyreal air. none of them had ever heard of ventriloquism, so limited had been their education and experience, so sequestered was their home amidst the wilderness of the mountains. only very gradually to brent himself came the consciousness of his unique gift, as from imitation he progressed to causing a silent bird to seem to sing. the strangeness of the experience frightened him at first, but with each experiment he had grown more confident, more skilled, until at length he found that he could throw a singularly articulate voice into the jaws of the old plow-horse, while his brothers, accustomed to his queer vocal tricks, were convulsed with laughter at the bizarre quadrupedal views of life thus elicited. this development of proficiency, however, was recent, and until the incident at the bran dance it had not been exercised beyond the limits of their secluded home. it had revealed new possibilities to the young ventriloquist and he looked at once agitated, excited, and triumphant when late that afternoon he appeared suddenly at the rail fence about the door-yard of valeria clee's home on one of the spurs of chilhowee mountain. it was no such home as his--lacking all the evidence of rude comfort and coarse plenty that reigned there--and in its tumble-down disrepair it had an aspect of dispirited helplessness. here valeria, an orphan from her infancy, dwelt with her father's parents, who always of small means had become yearly a more precarious support. the ancient grandmother was sunken in many infirmities, and the household tasks had all fallen to the lot of valeria. latterly a stroke of paralysis had given old man clee an awful annotation on the chapter of age and poverty upon which he was entering, and his little farm was fast growing up in brambles. "but 't ain't no differ, gran'dad," valeria often sought to reassure him. "_i'll_ work some way out." and when he would irritably flout the possibility that she could do aught to materially avert disaster she was wont to protest: "you jes' watch _me_. _i'll_ find out some way. i be ez knowin' ez any old _owel_." despite her slender physique and her recurrent heavy tasks the drear doom of poverty with its multiform menace had cast no shadow on her ethereal face, and her pensive dark gray eyes were full of serene light as she met the visitor at the bars. a glimmer of mirth began to scintillate beneath her long brown lashes, and she spoke first. "the folks in the mountings air mighty nigh skeered out'n thar boots by yer foolishness, brent"--she sought to conserve a mien of reproof. "they 'low ez it war a manifestation of the evil one." brent laughed delightedly. "warn't it prime?" he said. "but i never expected ter work sech a scatteration of the crowd. thar skeer plumb tarrified _me_. i jes' set out with the nimblest, an' run from the devil myself." "won't them candidates fur office be mighty mad if they find out what it war sure enough?" she queried anxiously. "they gin the crowd a barbecue an' bran dance, an' arter all, the folks got quit of hevin' ter hear them speak an' jaw about thar old politics an' sech." "them candidates air hoppin' mad fur true," he admitted. "i been down yander at gilfillan's store in the cove an' i hearn the loafers thar talkin' powerful 'bout the strange happening. an' them candidates war thar gittin' ready ter start out fur town in thar buggy. an' that thar gay one--though now he seems ez sober ez that sour one--he said 't warn't no devil. 'twar jes' a ventriloquisk from somewhar--that's jes' what that town man called it. but _i_ never said nuthin'. i kep' powerful quiet." brent kayle was as vain a man as ever stood in shoe leather--even in the midst of his absorption in his disclosure he could not refrain from a pause to reflect on the signal success of his prank and laugh and plume himself. "but old gilfillan he loves ter believe ez the devil air hotfoot arter other folks with a pitchfork, an' he axed how then did sech a man happen ter be in the mountings 'thout none knowin' of it. an' that candidate, the gay one, he say he reckon the feller kem from that circus what is goin' ter show in shaftesville ter-morrer--mebbe he hearn 'bout the bran dance an' wanted ter hev some fun out'n the country folks. that candidate say he hed hearn dozens o' ventriloquisks in shows in the big towns--though this war about the bes' one he could remember. he said he hed no doubt this feller is paid good money in the show, fur jes' sech fool tricks with his voice--_good money_!" valeria had listened in motionless amazement. but he had now paused, almost choking with his rush of emotion, his excitement, his sense of triumph, and straight ensued a certain reluctance, a dull negation, a prophetic recoil from responsibility that clogged his resolve. his eyes roved uncertainly about the familiar domestic scene, darkening now, duskily purple beneath the luminous pearly and roseate tints of the twilight sky. the old woman was a-drowse on the porch of the rickety little log-cabin beneath the gourd vines, the paralytic grandfather came hirpling unsteadily through the doorway on his supporting crutch, his pipe shaking in his shaking hand, while he muttered and mumbled to himself--who knows what?--whether of terror of the future, or regret for the past, or doubt and despair of to-day. the place was obviously so meagre, so poverty-bitten, so eloquent of the hard struggle for mere existence. if it had been necessary for brent kayle to put his hand to the plow in its behalf the words would never have been spoken--but "good money" for this idle trade, these facile pranks! "vallie," he said impulsively, "i'm going ter try it--ef ye'll go with me. ef ye war along i'd feel heartened ter stand up an' face the crowd in a strange place. i always loved ye better than any of the other gals--shucks!--whenst _ye_ war about i never knowed ez they war alive." perhaps it was the after-glow of the sunset in the sky, but a crimson flush sprang into her delicate cheek; her eyes were evasive, quickly glancing here and there with an affectation of indifference, and she had no mind to talk of love, she declared. but she should think of her gran'dad and gran'mam, he persisted. how had she the heart to deprive them of his willing aid? he declared he had intended to ask her to marry him anyhow, for she had always seemed to like him--she could not deny this--but now was the auspicious time--to-morrow--while the circus was in shaftesville, and "good money" was to be had to provide for the wants of her old grandparents. though valeria had flouted the talk of love she seemed his partisan when she confided the matter to the two old people and their consent was accorded rather for her sake than their own. they felt a revivifying impetus in the thought that after their death valeria would have a good husband to care for her, for to them the chief grief of their loosening hold on life was her inheritance of their helplessness and poverty. the courthouse in shaftesville seemed a very imposing edifice to people unaccustomed to the giddy heights of a second story. when the two staring young rustics left the desk of the county court clerk and repaired to the dwelling of the minister of the methodist church near by, with the marriage license just procured safely stowed away in brent's capacious hat, their anxieties were roused for a moment lest some delay ensue, as they discovered that the minister was on the point of sitting down to his dinner. he courteously deferred the meal, however, and as the bride apologetically remarked after the ceremony that they might have awaited his convenience were it not for the circus, he imagined that the youthful couple had designed to utilize a round of the menagerie as a wedding tour. the same thought was in the minds of the metropolitan managers of the organization when presently the two young wildings from the mountain fastness were ushered into their presence, having secured an audience by dint of extreme persistence, aided by a mien of mysterious importance. they found two men standing just within the great empty tent, for the crowd had not as yet begun to gather. the most authoritative, who was tall and portly, had the manner of swiftly disposing of the incident by asking in a peremptory voice what he could do for them. the other, lean and languid, looked up from a newspaper, in which he had been scanning a flaming circus advertisement, as he stood smoking a cigar. he said nothing, but concentrated an intent speculative gaze on the face of valeria, who had pulled off her faint green sun-bonnet and in a flush of eager hopefulness fanned with the slats. "ventriloquist?" the portly man repeated with a note of surprise, as brent made known his gifts and his desire for an engagement. "oh, well--ventriloquism is a chestnut." then with a qualm of pity, perhaps, for the blank despair that settled down on the two young faces he explained: "nothing goes in the circus business but novelty. the public is tired out with ventriloquism. no mystery about it now--kind of thing, too, that a clever amateur can compass." brent, hurled from the giddy heights of imminent achievement to the depths of nullity, could not at once relinquish the glowing prospects that had allured him. he offered to give a sample of his powers. he would like to bark a few, he said; you couldn't tell him from a sure enough dog; he could imitate the different breeds--hound-dog, bull-pup, terrier--but the manager was definitely shaking his head. suddenly his partner spoke. "the girl might take a turn!" "in the show?" the portly man said in surprise. "the company's una weighs two hundred pounds and has a face as broad as a barn-door. she shows she is afraid of the lion when she stands beside him in the street parade, and--curse him--he is so clever that he knows it, no matter how he is doped. it incites him to growl at her all through the pageant, and that simply queers the sweet peace of the idea." "and you think this untrained girl could take her place?" "why not? she couldn't do worse--and she _could_ look the part. see," he continued, in as business-like way as if valeria were merely a bale of goods or deaf, "ethereal figure, poetic type of beauty, fine expression of candor and serene courage. she has a look of open-eyed innocence--i don't mean _ignorance_." he made a subtle distinction in the untutored aspect of the two countenances before him. "would you be afraid of the lion, child?" the stout man asked valeria. "he is chained--and drugged, too--in the pageant." it was difficult for the astonished valeria to find her voice. "a lion?" she murmured. "i never seen a lion." "no? honest?" they both cried in amazement that such a thing could be. the portly man's rollicking laughter rang out through the thin walls of canvas to such effect that some savage caged beast within reach of the elastic buoyant sound was roused to anger and supplemented it with a rancorous snarl. valeria listened apprehensively, with dilated eyes. she thought of the lion, the ferocious creature that she had never seen. she thought of the massive strong woman who knew and feared him. then she remembered the desolate old grandparents and their hopeless, helpless poverty. "i'll resk the lion," she said with a tremulous bated voice. "that's a brave girl," cried the manager. "i hev read 'bout daniel's lions an' him in the den," she explained. "an' daniel hed consid'ble trust an' warn't afeard--an' mebbe i won't be afeard nuther." "daniel's lions? daniel's lions?" the portly manager repeated attentively. "i don't know the show--perhaps in some combination now." for if he had ever heard of that signal leonine incident recorded in scripture he had forgotten it. "yes, yes," as valeria eagerly appealed to him in behalf of brent, "we must try to give hubby some little stunt to do in the performance--but _you_ are the ticket--a sure winner." of course the public knew, if it chose to reflect, that though apparently free the lion was muzzled with a strong steel ring, and every ponderous paw was chained down securely to the exhibition car; it may even have suspected that the savage proclivities of the great beast were dulled by drugs. but there is always the imminent chance of some failure of precaution, and the multitude must needs thrill to the spectacle of intrepidity and danger. naught could exceed the enthusiasm that greeted this slim, graceful una a few days later in the streets of a distant city, as clad in long draperies of fleecy white she reclined against a splendid leonine specimen, her shining golden hair hanging on her shoulders, or mingling with his tawny mane as now and again she let her soft cheek rest on his head, her luminous dark gray eyes smiling down at the cheering crowds. this speedily became the favorite feature of the pageant, and the billboards flamed with her portrait, leaning against the lion, hundreds of miles in advance of her triumphal progress. all this unexpected success presently awoke brent's emulation--so far he had not even "barked a few." a liberal advance on his wife's salary had quieted him for a time, but when the wonders of this new life began to grow stale--the steam-cars, the great cities, the vast country the company traversed--he became importunate for the opportunity of display. he "barked a few" so cleverly at a concert after the performance one evening that the manager gave him a chance to throw the very considerable volume of sound he could command into the jaws of one of the lions. "let emperor speak to the people," he said. forthwith he wrote a bit of rodomontade which he bade brent memorize and had the satisfaction soon to hear from the lion-trainer, to whom was intrusted all that pertained to the exhibition of these kings of beasts, that the rehearsal was altogether satisfactory. an immense audience was assembled in the great tent. the soaring dome of white canvas reflected the electric light with a moony lustre. the display of the three rings was in full swing. that magic atmosphere of the circus, the sense of simple festivity, the crises of thrilling expectancy, the revelation of successive wonders, the diffusive delight of a multitude not difficult to entertain--all were in evidence. suddenly a ponderous cage was rolled in; the band was playing liltingly; the largest of the lions within the bars, a tawny monster, roused up and with head depressed and switching tail paced back and forth within the restricted limits of the cage, while the others looked out with motionless curiosity at the tiers of people. presently with a long supple stride the gigantic, blond norwegian trainer came lightly across the arena--a hercules, with broad bare chest and arms, arrayed in spangled blue satin and white tights that forbade all suspicion of protective armor. at a single bound he sprang into the cage, while brent, garbed in carnation and white, stood unheralded and unremarked close by outside among the armed attendants. there seemed no need of precaution, however, so lightly the trainer frolicked with the savage creatures. he performed wonderful acrobatic feats with them in which one hardly knew which most to admire, the agility and intrepidity of the man or the supple strength and curious intelligence of the beasts. he wrestled with them; he leaped and rolled among them; he put his head into their terrible full-fanged jaws--but before springing forth he fired his pistols loaded with blank cartridges full in their faces; for the instant the coercion of his eye was pretermitted every one treacherously bounded toward him, seeking to seize him before he could reach the door. then emperor, as was his wont, flung himself in baffled fury against the bars and stood erect and shook them in his wrath. all at once, to the astonishment of the people, he spoke, voicing a plaintive panegyric on liberty and protesting his willingness to barter all the luxury of his captivity for one free hour on the desert sands. surprise, absolute, unqualified, reigned for one moment. but a circus-going crowd is uncannily quick. the audience perceived a certain involuntary element of the entertainment. a storm of cat-calls ensued, hisses, roars of laughter. for the place was the city of glaston, the company being once more in east tennessee, and the lion spoke the old familiar mountain dialect so easily recognizable in this locality. even a _lapsus linguae_, "you uns," was unmistakable amidst the high-flown periods. although the ventriloquism was appreciated, the incongruity of this countrified jargon, held in great contempt by the townfolks, discounted emperor's majesty and he was in ludicrous eclipse. behind the screening canvas the portly manager raged; "how dare you make that fine lion talk like a 'hill-billy' such as yourself--as if he were fresh caught in the great smoky mountains!" he stormed at the indignant ventriloquist. the other partners in the management interfered in brent's behalf; they feared that the proud mountaineer, resenting the contemptuous designation "hill-billy" might withdraw from the company, taking his wife with him, and the loss of valeria from the pageant would be well nigh irreparable, for her ethereal and fragile beauty as una with her lion had a perennial charm for the public. the management therefore assumed the responsibility for the linguistic disaster, having confided the rehearsal to a foreigner, for the norwegian lion-trainer naively explained that to him it seemed that all americans talked alike. a course in elocution was recommended to brent by the managers, and he fell in with this plan delightedly, but after two or three elementary bouts with the vowel sounds, long and short, consonants, sonant and surd, he concluded that mere articulation could be made as laborious as sawing wood, and he discovered that it was incompatible with his dignity to be a pupil in an art in which he had professed proficiency. thereafter his accomplishment rusted--to the relief of the management--although he required that valeria should be described in the advertisements as the wife of "the _celebrated ventriloquist_, mr. brent kayle," thus seeking by faked notoriety to secure the sweets of fame, without the labor of achievement. valeria had welcomed the pacific settlement of the difficulty, because her "good money" earned in the show so brightened and beautified the evening of life for the venerable grandparents at home. for their sake she had conquered her dread of the lion in the pageant. indeed she had found other lions in her path that she feared more--the glitter and gauds of her tinsel world, the enervating love of ease, the influence of sordid surroundings and ignoble ideals. but not one could withstand the simple goodness of the unsophisticated girl. they retreated before the power of her fireside traditions of right thinking and true living which she had learned in her humble mountain home. it had come to be a dwelling of comfortable aspect, cared for in the absence of the young couple by a thrifty hired housekeeper, a widowed cousin, and here they spent the off-seasons when the circus company went into winter quarters. repairs had been instituted, several rooms were added, and a wide veranda replaced the rickety little porch and gave upon a noble prospect of mountain and valley and river. here on sunshiny noons in the good saint martin's summer the old gran'dad loved to sit, blithe and hearty, chirping away the soft unseasonable december days. sometimes in the plenitude of content he would give valeria a meaning glance and mutter "oh, leetle _owel_! oh, leetle _owel_!" and then break into laughter that must needs pause to let him wipe his eyes. "yes, vallie 'pears ter hev right good sense an' makes out toler'ble well, considerin'," her husband would affably remark, "though of course it war _me_ ez interduced her ter the managers, an' she gits her main chance in the show through my bein' a celebrated ventriloquisk." the lost guidon night came early. it might well seem that day had fled affrighted. the heavy masses of clouds, glooming low, which had gathered thicker and thicker, as if crowding to witness the catastrophe, had finally shaken asunder in the concussions of the air at the discharges of artillery, and now the direful rain, always sequence of the shock of battle, was steadily falling, falling, on the stricken field. many a soldier who might have survived his wounds would succumb to exposure to the elements during the night, debarred the tardy succor that must needs await his turn. one of the surgeons at their hasty work at the field hospital, under the shelter of the cliffs on the slope, paused to note the presage of doom and death, and to draw a long breath before he adjusted himself anew to the grim duties of the scalpel in his hand. his face was set and haggard, less with a realization of the significance of the scene--for he was used to its recurrence--than simply with a physical reflection of horror, as if it were glassed in a mirror. a phenomenon that had earlier caught his attention in the landscape appealed again to his notice, perhaps because the symptom was not in his line. "looks like a case of dementia," he observed to the senior surgeon, standing near at hand. the superior officer adjusted his field-glass. "looks like 'death on the white horse'!" he responded. down the highway, at a slow pace, rode a cavalryman wearing a gray uniform, with a sergeant's chevrons, and mounted on a steed good in his day, but whose day was gone. a great clot of blood had gathered on his broad white chest, where a bayonet had thrust him deep. despite his exhaustion, he moved forward at the urgency of his rider's heel and hand. the soldier held a long, heavy staff planted on one stirrup, from the top of which drooped in the dull air the once gay guidon, battle-rent and sodden with rain, and as he went he shouted at intervals, "dovinger's rangers! rally on the guidon!" now and again his strident boyish voice varied the appeal, "hyar's yer dovinger's rangers! rally, boys! rally on the reserve!" indeed, despite his stalwart, tall, broad-shouldered frame, he was scarcely more than a boy. his bare head had flaxen curls like a child's; his pallid, though sunburned face was broad and soft and beardless; his large blue eyes were languid and spiritless, though now and then as he turned an intent gaze over the field they flared anew with hope, as if he expected to see rise up from that desolate expanse, from among the stiffening carcasses of horses and the stark corpses of the troopers, that gallant squadron wont to follow, so dashing and debonair, wherever the guidons might mark the way. but there was naught astir save the darkness slipping down by slow degrees--and perchance under its cloak, already stealthily afoot, the ghoulish robbers of the dead that haunt the track of battle. they were the human forerunners of the vulture breed, with even a keener scent for prey, for as yet the feathered carrion-seekers held aloof; two or three only were descried from the field hospital, perched on the boughs of a dead tree near the river, presently joined by another, its splendid sustained flight impeded somewhat by the rain, battling with its big, strong wings against the downpour of the torrents and the heavy air. and still through all echoed the cry, "rally on the guidon! dovinger's rangers! rally on the reserve!" the bridge that crossed the river, which was running full and foaming, had been burnt; but a span, charred and broken, still swung from the central pier. over toward the dun-tinted west a house was blazing, fired by some stray bomb, perhaps, or by official design, to hinder the enemy from utilizing the shelter, and its red rage of destruction bepainted the clouds that hung so low above the chimneys and dormer-windows. to the east, the woods on the steeps had been shelled, and a myriad boughs and boles riven and rent, lay in fantastic confusion. through the mournful chaos the wind had begun to sweep; it sounded in unison with the battle clamors, and shrieked and wailed and roared as it surged adown the defiles. now and then there came on the blast the fusillade of dropping shots from the south, where the skirmish line of one faction engaged the rear-guard of the other, or the pickets fell within rifle-range. once the sullen, melancholy boom of distant cannon shook the clouds, and then was still, and ever and again sounded that tireless cry, "dovinger's rangers. hyar's yer guidon! rally, boys! rally on the guidon! rally on the reserve!" the senior surgeon, as the road wound near, stepped down toward it when the horseman, still holding himself proudly erect, passed by. "sergeant," he hailed the guidon, "where is captain dovinger?" the hand mechanically went to the boy's forehead in the usual military salute. "killed, sir." "where are the other officers of the squadron--the junior captain, the lieutenants?" "killed, sir." "what has become of the troopers?" "killed, sir, in the last charge." there was a pause. then dr. trent broke forth: "are you a fool, boy? if your command is annihilated, why do you keep up this commotion?" the young fellow looked blank for a moment. then, as if he had not reasoned on the catastrophe: "i thought at first they mought be scattered--some of 'em. but ef--ef--they _war_ dead, but could once _see_ the guidon, sure 't would call 'em to life. they _couldn't_ be so dead but they would rally to the guidon! guide right!" he shouted suddenly. "dovinger's rangers! rally on the guidon, boys! rally on the reserve!" it was a time that hardened men's hearts. the young soldier had no physical hurt that might appeal to the professional sympathies of the senior surgeon, and he turned away with a half laugh. "let him go along! he can't rally dovinger's rangers this side of the river styx, it seems." but an old chaplain who had been hovering about the field hospital, whispering a word here and there to stimulate the fortitude of the wounded and solace the fears of the dying, recognized moral symptoms alien to any diagnosis of which the senior surgeon was capable. the latter did not deplore the diversion of interest, for the old man's presence was not highly esteemed by the hospital corps at this scene of hasty and terrible work, although, having taken a course in medicine in early life, he was permitted to aid in certain ways. but the surgeons were wont to declare that the men began to bleat at the very sight of the chaplain. so gentle, so sympathetic, so paternal, was he that they made the more of their wretched woes, seeing them so deeply deplored. the senior surgeon, moreover, was not an ardent religionist. "this is no time for a revival, mr. whitmel," he would insist. "jack, there, never spoke the name of god in his life, except to swear by it. he is too late for prayers, and if _i_ can't pull him through, he is a goner!" but the chaplain was fond of quoting: "between the stirrup and the ground he mercy sought and mercy found----" and sometimes the scene was irreverently called a "love feast" when some hard-riding, hard-swearing, hard-fighting, unthinking sinner went joyfully out of this world from the fatherly arms of the chaplain into the paternal embrace of an eternal and merciful father, as the man of god firmly believed. he stood now, staring after the guidon borne through the rain and the mist, flaunting red as the last leaves of autumn against the dun-tinted dusk, that the dead might view the gallant and honored pennant and rise again to its leading! no one followed but the tall, thin figure of the gaunt old chaplain, unless indeed the trooping shadows that kept him company had mysteriously roused at the stirring summons. lanterns were now visible, dimly flickering in one quarter where the fighting had been furious and the slain lay six deep on the ground. their aspirations, their valor, their patriotism, had all exhaled--volatile essences, these incomparable values!--and now their bodies, weighted with death, cumbered the earth. they must be hurried out of sight, out of remembrance soon, and the burial parties were urged to diligence at the trenches where these cast-off semblances were to lie undistinguished together. and still the reflection of the burning house reddened the gloomy west, and still the cry, "rally on the guidon! dovinger's rangers!" smote the thick air. suddenly it was silent. the white horse that had been visible in the flare from the flaming house, now and again flung athwart the landscape, no longer loomed in the vista of the shadowy road. he had given way at last, sinking down with that martial figure still in the saddle, and, with no struggle save a mere galvanic shiver, passing away from the scene of his faithful devoirs. fatigue, agitation, anguish, his agonized obsession of the possibility of rallying the squadron, had served to prostrate the soldier's physical powers of resistance. he could not constrain his muscles to rise from the recumbent position against the carcass. he started up, then sank back, and in another moment triumphant nature conquered, and he was asleep--a dull, dreamless sleep of absolute exhaustion, that perchance rescued his reason as well as saved his life. the old chaplain was a man of infinite prejudice, steeped in all the infirmities and fantasies of dogma; a lover of harmony, and essentially an apostle of peace. nevertheless, it would not have been physically safe to call him a jesuit. but indeed he scarcely hesitated; he stepped over the great inert bulk of the dead horse, unclenched the muscular grasp of the soldier, as if it had been a baby's clasp, slipped the staff, technically the lance, of the guidon from its socket, and stood with it in his own hand, looking suspiciously to and fro to descry if perchance he were observed. the coast clear, he turned to the wall of rock beside the road, for this was near the mountain sandstone formation, fissured, splintered, with the erosions of water and weather; and into one of the cellular, tunnel-like apertures he ran the guidon, lance and all,--lost forever from human sight. in those days one might speak indeed of the march of events. each seemed hard on the heels of its precursor. change ran riot in the ordering of the world, and its aspect was utterly transformed when casper girard, no longer bearing the guidon of dovinger's rangers, came out of the war with a captain's shoulder-straps, won by personal fitness often proved, the habit of command, and a great and growing opinion of himself. he was a changeling, so to speak. no longer he felt a native of the mountain cove where he had been born and reared. he had had a glimpse of the world from a different standpoint, and it lured him. a dreary, disaffected life he led for a time. "'minds me of a wild tur-r-key in a trap," his mother was wont to comment. "always stretchin' his neck an' lookin' up an' away--when he mought git out by lookin' down." and the simile was so apt that it stayed in his mind--looking up and away! of all dull inventions, in his estimation the art of printing exceeded. he had made but indifferent progress in education during his early youth; he was a slow and inexpert reader, and a writer whose chirography shrank from exhibition. now, however, a book in the hand gave him a cherished sentiment of touch with the larger world beyond those blue ranges that limited his sphere, and he spent much time in sedulously reading certain volumes which he had brought home with him. "spent _money_ fur 'em!" his mother would ejaculate, contemplating this extreme audacity of extravagance. as she often observed, "the plough-handles seemed red-hot," and as soon as political conditions favored he ran for office. on the strength of his war record, a potent lever in those days, he was elected register of the county. true, there was only a population of about fifty souls in the county town, and the houses were log-cabins, except the temple of justice itself, which was a two-story frame building. but his success was a step on the road to political preferment, and his ambitious eyes were on the future. into the midst of his quiet incumbency as register came fate, all intrusive, and found him through the infrequent medium of a weekly mail. it was at the beginning of the retrospective enthusiasm that has served to revive the memories of the war, and he received a letter from an old comrade-in-arms, giving the details of a brigade reunion shortly to be held at no great distance, and, being of the committee, inviting him to be present. girard had participated in great military crises; he had marshalled his troop in line of battle; as a mere boy, he had ridden with the guidon lance planted on his stirrup, with the pennant flying above his head, as the marker to lead the fierce and famous dovinger rangers into the thickest of the fight; yet he had never felt such palpitant tremors of excitement as when he stood on the hotel piazza of the new helvetia springs, where the banqueters had gathered, and suffered the ordeal of introduction to sundry groups of fashionable ladies. he had earlier seen specimens of the species in the course of military transitions through the cities of the low-lands, and he watched them narrowly to detect if they discerned perchance a difference between him and the men of education and social station with whom his advancement in the army had associated him. he did not reflect that they were too well-bred to reveal any appreciation of such incongruity, but he had never experienced a more ardent glow of gratification than upon overhearing a friend's remark: "girard is great! anybody would imagine he was used to all this!" no strategist was ever more wary. he would not undertake to dance, for he readily perceived that the gyrations in the ball-room were utterly dissimilar to the clumsy capering to which he had been accustomed on the puncheon floor of a mountain cabin. he had the less reason for regret since he was privileged instead to stroll up and down the veranda,--"promenade" was the technical term,--a slender hand, delicately gloved, on the sleeve of his gray uniform, the old regimentals being _de rigueur_ at these reunions. a white ball-gown, such as he had never before seen, fashioned of tissue over lustrous white silk, swayed in diaphanous folds against him, for these were the days of voluminous draperies; a head of auburn hair elaborately dressed gleamed in the moonlight near his shoulder. miss alicia duval thought him tremendously handsome; she adored his record, as she would have said--unaware how little of it she knew--and she did not so much intend to flirt as to draw him out, for there was something about him different from the men of her set, and it stimulated her interest. "isn't the moon heavenly?" she observed, gazing at the brilliant orb, now near the full, swinging in the sky, which became a definite blue in its light above the massive dark mountains and the misty valley below; for the building was as near the brink as safety permitted--nearer, the cautious opined. "heavenly? not more'n it's got a right to be. it's a heavenly body, ain't it?" he rejoined. "oh, how sarcastic!" she exclaimed. "in what school did you acquire your trenchant style?" he thought of the tiny district school where he had acquired the very little he knew of aught, and said nothing, laughing constrainedly in lieu of response. the music of the orchestra came to them from the ball-room, and the rhythmic beat of dancing feet; the wind lifted her hair gently and brought to them the fragrance of flowering plants and the pungent aroma of mint down in the depths of the ravine hard by, where lurked a chalybeate spring; but for the noisy rout of the dance, and now and again the flimsy chatter of a passing couple on the piazza, promenading like themselves, they might have heard the waters of the fountain rise and bubble and break and sigh as the pulsating impulse beat like heart-throbs, and perchance on its rocky marge an oread a-singing. "but you don't answer me," she pouted with an affectation of pettishness. "do you know that you trouble yourself to talk very little, captain girard?" "i think the more," he declared. "think? oh, dear me! i didn't know that anybody does anything so unfashionable nowadays as to _think_! and what do you think about, pray?" "about you!" and that began it: he was a gallant man, and he had been a brave one. he was not aware how far he was going on so short an acquaintance, but his temerity was not displeasing to the lady. she liked his manner of storming the citadel, and she did not realize that he merely spoke at random, as best he might. he was in his uniform a splendid and martial presentment of military youth, and indeed he was much the junior of his compeers. "who are captain girard's people, papa?" she asked colonel duval next morning, as the family party sat at breakfast in quasi seclusion at one of the small round tables in the crowded dining-room, full of the chatter of people and the clatter of dishes. "girard?" colonel duval repeated thoughtfully. "i really don't know. i have an impression they live somewhere in east tennessee. i never met him till just about the end of the war." "oh, papa! how unsatisfactory you are! you never know anything about anybody." "i should think his people must be very plain," said mrs. duval. her social discrimination was extremely acute and in constant practice. "i don't know why. he is very much of a gentleman," the colonel contended. his heart was warm to-day with much fraternizing, and it was not kind to brush the bloom off his peach. "oh, trifles suggest the fact. he is not at all _au fait_." he was, however, experienced in ways of the world unimagined in her philosophy. the reunion had drawn to a close, ending in a flare of jollity and tender reminiscence and good-fellowship. the old soldiers were all gone save a few regular patrons of the hotel, who with their families were completing their summer sojourn. captain girard lingered, too, fascinated by this glimpse of the frivolous world, hitherto unimagined, rather than by the incense to his vanity offered by his facile acceptance as a squire of dames. for the first time in his life he felt the grinding lack of money. being a man of resource, he set about swiftly supplying this need. in the dull days of inaction, when the armies lay supine and only occasionally the monotony was broken by the engagement of distant skirmishers or a picket line was driven in on the main body, he had learned to play a game at cards much in vogue at that period, though for no greater hazards than grains of corn or confederate money, almost as worthless. in the realization now that the same principles held good with stakes of value, he seemed to enter upon the possession of a veritable gold mine. the peculiar traits that his one unique experience of the world had developed--his coolness, his courage, his discernment of strategic resources--stood him in good stead, and long after the microcosm of the hotel lay fast asleep the cards were dealt and play ran high in the little building called the casino, ostensibly devoted to the milder delights of billiards and cigars. either luck favored him or he had rare discrimination of relative chances in the run of the cards, or the phenomenally bold hand he played disconcerted his adversaries, but his almost invariable winning began to affect injuriously his character. indeed, he was said to be a rook of unrivalled rapacity. colonel duval was in the frame of mind that his wife called "bearish" one morning as his family gathered for breakfast in the limited privacy of their circle about the round table in the dining-room. "i want you to avoid that fellow, alicia," he growled _sotto voce_, as he intercepted a bright matutinal smile that the fair alicia sent as a morning greeting to girard, who had just entered and taken his seat at a distance. "we know nothing under heaven about his people, and he himself has the repute of being a desperate gambler." his wife raised significant eyebrows. "if that is true, why should he stay in this quiet place?" colonel duval experienced a momentary embarrassment. "oh, the place is right enough. he stays, no doubt, because he likes it. you might as well ask why old mr. whitmel stays here." "the idea of mentioning a clergyman in this connection!" "mr. whitmel is professionally busy," cried alicia. "he told me that he is studying 'the disintegration of a soul.' i hope it is not _my_ soul." the phrase probably interested alicia in her idleness, for she was certainly actuated by no view of a moral uplift in the character of girard, the handsome gambler. she did not recognize a subtle cruelty in her system of universal fascination, but her vanity demanded constant tribute, and she was peculiarly absorbed in the effort to bring to her feet this man of iron, her knight in armor, as she was wont to call him, to control him with her influence, to bend this unmalleable material like the proverbial wax in her hands. she had great faith in the coercive power of her hazel eyes, and she brought their batteries to bear on girard on the first occasion when she had him at her mercy. "i have heard something about you which is very painful," she said one day as they sat together beside the chalybeate spring. the crag, all discolored in rust-red streaks by the dripping of the mineral water through its interstices, towered above their heads; the ferns, exquisite and of subtle fragrance, tufted the niches; the trees were close about them, and below, on the precipitous slope; sometimes the lush green boughs parted, revealing a distant landscape of azure ranges, far stretching against a sky as blue, and in the valley of the foreground long bars of golden hue, where fields, denuded of the harvested wheat, took the sun. girard lounged, languid, taciturn, and quiescent as ever, on the opposite side of the circular rock basin wherein the clear water fell. "i will tell you what it is," alicia went on, after a pause, for, though he looked attentive, he gave not even a glance of question. "i hear that you gamble." his gaze concentrated as he knitted his brows, but he said nothing. she pulled her broad straw hat forward on her auburn hair and readjusted the flounces of her white morning dress, saying while thus engaged, "yes, indeed; that you gamble--like--like fury!" "why, don't you know that's against the law?" he demanded unexpectedly. "i know that it is very wrong and sinful," she said solemnly. "thanky. i'll put that in my pipe an' smoke it! i'm very wrong and sinful, i am given to understand." "why, i didn't mean _you_ so much," she faltered, perturbed by this sudden charge of the enemy. "i meant the practice." "oh, i know that i'm a sinner in more ways 'n one; but i _didn't_ know that you were a lady-preacher." "you mean that it is none of my business----" "you ought to be so glad of that," he retorted. she maintained a silence that might have suggested a degree of offended pride, and she was truly humiliated that her vaunted hazel eyes had so signally failed to work their wonted charm. as they strolled back together up the steep path to the hotel he seemed either unobservant or uncaring, so impassive were his manners, and she was aware that her demonstration had resulted in giving him information which he could not otherwise have gained. later, she was nettled to notice that he had utilized it in prosaic fashion, for that night no lights flared late from the casino. the gamesters, informed that rumors were a-wing, had betaken themselves elsewhere. a small smoking-room in the hotel proper seemed less obnoxious to suspicion in the depleted condition of the guest-list, since autumn was now approaching. after eleven o'clock the coterie would scarcely be subject to interruption, and there they gathered as the hour waxed late. the cards were duly dealt, the draw was on, when suddenly the door opened and old mr. whitmel, his favorite meerschaum in his hand and a sheaf of newly arrived journals, entered with the evident intention of a prolonged stay. a "standpatter" seemed hardly so assured as before he encountered the dim, surprised gaze, but the old clergyman was esteemed a good sort, and he ventured on a reminder: "you have been here before, haven't you, mr. whitmel? saw a deal of this sort of thing in the army!" and he rattled the chips significantly. "used to see that sort of thing in the army? yes, yes, indeed--more than i wanted to see--very much more!" colonel duval took schooling much amiss. he turned up his florid face with its auburn mustachios and burnside whiskers from its bending over the cards and showed a broad arch of glittering white teeth in an ungenial laugh. "remember, mr. whitmel, at that fight we had in the hills not far from the ocoee, how you rebuked two artillerymen for swearing? something was wrong with the vent-hole of the piece, and one of the gunners asked what business you had with their language; and you said, 'i am a minister of the lord,' and the fellow gave it back very patly, 'i ain't carin' ef you was a minister of state!' then you said, 'no, you would doubtless swear in the presence of an angel.' and the fellow with the sponge-staff declared, 'say, mister, ef you are _that_, you are an angel off your feed certain'--you were worn to skin and bone then--'an' the rations of manna must be ez skimpy in heaven ez the rations o' bacon down here in dixie.' ha, ha, ha!" mr. whitmel had taken a seat in an easy-chair; he had struck a match and was composedly kindling his pipe. "i felt nearer a higher communion that day than often since," he said. the coterie of gentlemen looked at one another in disconsolate uncertainty, and one turned his cards face downward and laid them resignedly on the table. the party was evidently in for one of the old chaplain's long stories, with a few words by way of application, and there was no decent opportunity to demur. they were the intruders in the smoking-room--not he! here with his pipe and his paper, he was within the accommodation assigned him. they must hie them back to the casino to be at ease, and this would they do when he should reach the end of his story--if indeed it had an end. for with the prolixity of the eye-witness he was detailing the points of the battle; what troops were engaged; how the flank was turned; how the reserve was delayed; how the guns were planted; how the cavalry was ordered to charge over impracticable ground, and how in consequence he saw a squadron literally annihilated; how for hours after the fight was over a sergeant of the dovinger rangers pervaded the field with the guidon, calling on them by name to rally. "and, gentlemen," he continued, turning in his chair, the fire kindling in his eyes as it died in the bowl of his pipe, "not one man responded, for none could rise from that horrid slaughter." there was a moment of tense silence. then, "back and forth the guidon flaunted, and the rain began to fall, and the night came on, and still the dusk echoed the cry, 'guide right! dovinger's rangers! rally on the guidon! rally on the reserve!'" the old chaplain stuck his pipe into his mouth and brought it aflare again with two or three strong indrawing respirations. "the surgeons said it would end in a case of dementia. i was sorry, for i had seen much that day that hurt me, and more than all was this. for i could picture that valiant young spirit going through life, spared by god's mercy; and it seemed to me that when the enemy, in whatever guise, should press him hard and defeat should bear him down he would have the courage and the ardor and the moral strength to rally on the reserve. he would rally on the guidon." the old chaplain pulled strongly at his pipe, setting the blue wreaths of smoke circling about his head. "i should know that young fellow again wherever i might chance to see him." "did he collapse at last and verify the surgeon's prophecy?" asked the dealer. "well," drawled the chaplain, with a little flattered laugh, "i myself took care of that. many years ago i studied medicine, before i was favored with a higher call. neurology was my line. when the boy's horse sank exhausted beneath him, and he fell into a sleep or stupor on the carcass, i removed the object of the obsession. i slipped the flag-staff, guidon and all, into a crevice of the rocks, where it will remain till the end of our time, be sure." he laughed in relish of his arbitrary intervention. "there was a fine healthy clamor in camp the next morning about the lost guidon. but i did the soldier no damage, for he had been promoted to a lieutenancy for special gallantry on the field, and he therefore could no longer have carried the guidon if he had had both the flag and the troop." the stories of camp and field, thus begun, swiftly multiplied; they wore the fire to embers, and the oil sank low in the lamps. there was a chill sense of dawn in the blue-gray mist when the group, separating at last, issued upon the veranda; the moon, so long hovering over the sombre massive mountains, was slowly sinking in the west. among the shadows of the pillars a tall, martial figure lurked in ambush for the old chaplain, as he rounded the corner of the veranda on his way to his own quarters. "pa'son," a husky voice spoke from out the dim comminglement of the mist and the moon, "'twas me that carried that guidon in dovinger's rangers." "i know it," declared the triumphant tactician. "i recognized you as soon as i saw you again." "i'm through with this," the young mountaineer exclaimed abruptly, with an eloquent gesture of renunciation toward the deserted card-table visible through the vista of open doors. "i'm going home--to work! i'll never forget that i was marker in dovinger's rangers. i carried the guidon! and that last day i marked their way to glory! there's nothing left of them except honor and duty, but i'll rally on that, chaplain. never fear for me, again. i'll rally on the reserve!" wolf's head it might well be called the country of the outlaw, this vast tract of dense mountain forests and craggy ravines, this congeries of swirling torrents and cataracts and rapids. here wild beasts lurked out their savage lives, subsisting by fang and prey,--the panther, the bear, the catamount, the wolf,--and like unto them, ferocious and fugitive, both fearsome and afraid, the man with a "wolf's head," on which was set a price, even as the state's bounty for the scalps of the ravening brutes. one gloomy october afternoon, the zest of a group of sportsmen, who had pitched their camp in this sequestered wilderness, suffered an abatement on the discovery of the repute of the region and the possibility of being summoned to serve on a sheriff's posse in the discharge of the grimmest of duties. "but he is no outlaw in the proper sense of the term. the phrase has survived, but the fact is obsolete," said seymour, who was both a prig and a purist, a man of leisure, and bookish, but a good shot, and vain of his sylvan accomplishments. "our law places no man beyond the pale of its protection. he has a constitutional right to plead his case in court." "what is the reward offered to hale him forth and force him to enjoy that privilege--five hundred dollars?" asked bygrave, who was a newspaper man and had a habit of easy satire. "of course he would never suffer himself to be taken alive." purcell's vocation was that of a broker, and he was given to the discrimination of chances and relative values. "therefore he is as definitely _caput lupinum_ as any outlaw of old. nobody would be held accountable for cracking his 'wolf's head' off, in the effort to arrest him for the sake of the five hundred dollars. but, meantime, how does the fellow contrive to live?" "jes by his rifle, i reckon," replied the rural gossip whom intrusive curiosity occasionally lured to their camp-fire. "though sence that thar big reward hev been n'ised abroad, i'd think he'd be plumb afraid ter fire a shot. the echoes be mighty peart these dumb, damp fall days." the old jeans-clad mountaineer had a certain keen spryness of aspect, despite his bent knees and stooped shoulders. his deeply grooved, narrow, thin face was yet more elongated by the extension of a high forehead into a bald crown, for he wore his broad wool hat on the back of his head. there was something in his countenance not dissimilar to the facial contour of a grasshopper, and the suggestion was heightened by his persistent, rasping chirp. "that's what frets meddy; she can't abide the idee of huntin' a human with sech special coursers ez money reward. she 'lows it mought tempt a' evil man or a' ignorunt one ter swear a miser'ble wretch's life away. let the law strengthen its own hands--that's what meddy say. don't kindle the sperit of cain in every brother's breast. oh, meddy is plumb comical whenst she fairly gits ter goin', though it's all on account of that thar man what war growed up in a tree." the dryadic suggestions of a dendroidal captivity flashed into seymour's mind with the phrase, and stimulated his curiosity as to some quaint rural perversion of the legend. but it was grim fact that the old mountaineer detailed in answer to the question, as he sat on a log by the fire, while the sportsmen lay on the ground about it and idly listened. "one day--'t war 'bout two year' ago--thar war a valley-man up hyar a-huntin' in the mountings with some other fellers, an' toward sunset he war a-waitin' at a stand on a deer-path up thar nigh headlong creek, hopin' ter git a shot whenst the deer went down to drink. waal, i reckon luck war ag'in' him, fer he got nuthin' but durned tired. so, ez he waited, he grounded his rifle, an' leaned himself ag'in' a great big tree ter rest his bones. and presently he jes happened ter turn his head, an', folks! he seen a sight! fer thar, right close ter his cheek, he looked into a skellington's eye-sockets. thar war a skellington's grisly face peerin' at him through a crack in the bark." the raconteur suddenly stopped short, while the group remained silent in expectancy. the camp-fire, with its elastic, leaping flames, had bepainted the darkening avenues of the russet woods with long, fibrous strokes of red and yellow, as with a brush scant of color. the autumnal air was dank, with subtle shivers. a precipice was not far distant on the western side, and there the darksome forest fell away, showing above the massive, purple mountains a section of sky in a heightened clarity of tint, a suave, saffron hue, with one horizontal bar of vivid vermilion that lured the eye. the old mountaineer gazed retrospectively at it as he resumed: "waal, sirs, that town-man had never consorted with sech ez skellingtons. he lit out straight! he made tracks! he never stopped till he reached colbury, an' thar he told his tale. then the sheriff he tuk a hand in the game. skellingtons, he said, didn't grow on trees spontaneous, an' he hed an official interes' in human relics out o' place. so he kem,--the tree is 'twixt hyar an' my house thar on the rise,--an', folks! the tale war plain. some man chased off'n the face of the yearth, hid out from the law,--that's the way meddy takes it,--he hed clomb the tree, an' it bein' holler, he drapped down inside it, thinkin' o' course he could git out the way he went in. but, no! it mought hev been deeper 'n he calculated, or mo' narrow, but he couldn't make the rise. he died still strugglin', fer his long, bony fingers war gripped in the wood--it's rotted a deal sence then." "who was the man?" asked seymour. "nobody knows,--nobody keers 'cept' meddy. she hev wep' a bushel o' tears about him. the cor'ner 'lowed from the old-fashioned flint-lock rifle he bed with him that it mus' hev happened nigh a hunderd years ago. meddy she will git ter studyin' on that of a winter night, an' how the woman that keered fer him mus' hev watched an' waited fer him, an' 'lowed he war deceitful an' desertin', an' mebbe held a gredge agin him, whilst he war dyin' so pitiful an' helpless, walled up in that tree. then meddy will tune up agin, an' mighty nigh cry her eyes out. he warn't even graced with a death-bed ter breathe his last; meddy air partic'lar afflicted that he hed ter die afoot." old kettison glanced about the circle, consciously facetious, his heavily grooved face distended in a mocking grin. "a horrible fate!" exclaimed seymour, with a half-shudder. "edzac'ly," the old mountaineer assented easily. "what's her name--meggy?" asked the journalist, with a mechanical aptitude for detail, no definite curiosity. "naw; meddy--short fer meddlesome. her right name is clementina haddox; but i reckon every livin' soul hev forgot' it but me. she is jes meddlesome by name, an' meddlesome by natur'." he suddenly turned, gazing up the steep, wooded slope with an expectant mien, for the gentle rustling amidst the dense, red leaves of the sumac-bushes heralded an approach. "that mus' be meddy now," he commented, "with her salt-risin' bread. she 'lowed she war goin' ter fetch you-uns some whenst i tol' her you-uns war lackin'." for the camp-hunt had already been signalized by divers disasters: the store of loaves in the wagon had been soaked by an inopportune shower; the young mountaineer who had combined the offices of guide and cook was the victim of an accidental discharge of a fowling-piece, receiving a load of bird-shot full in his face. though his injury was slight, he had returned home, promising to supply his place by sending his brother, who had not yet arrived. purcell's boast that he could bake ash-cake proved a bluff, and although the party could and did broil bacon and even birds on the coals, they were reduced to the extremity of need for the staff of life. hence they were predisposed in the ministrant's favor as she appeared, and were surprised to find that meddlesome, instead of masterful and middle-aged, was a girl of eighteen, looking very shy and appealing as she paused on the verge of the flaring sumac copse, one hand lifted to a swaying bough, the other arm sustaining a basket. even her coarse gown lent itself to pleasing effect, since its dull-brown hue composed well with the red and russet glow of the leaves about her, and its short waist, close sleeves, and scant skirt, reaching to the instep, the immemorial fashion of the hills, were less of a grotesque rusticity since there was prevalent elsewhere a vogue of quasi-empire modes, of which the cut of her garb was reminiscent. a saffron kerchief about her throat had in its folds a necklace of over-cup acorns in three strands, and her hair, meekly parted on her forehead, was of a lustrous brown, and fell in heavy undulations on her shoulders. there was a delicate but distinct tracery of blue veins in her milky-white complexion, and she might have seemed eminently calculated for meddling disastrously with the peace of mind of the mountain youth were it not for the preoccupied expression of her eyes. though large, brown and long-lashed, they were full of care and perplexity, and a frowning, disconcerted line between her eyebrows was so marked as almost to throw her face out of drawing. troubled about many things, evidently, was meddlesome. she could not even delegate the opening of a basket that her little brother had brought and placed beside the camp-fire. "don't, gran'dad," she exclaimed suddenly, stepping alertly forward--"_don't_ put that loaf in that thar bread-box; the box 'pears ter be damp. leave the loaf in the big basket till ter-morrer. it'll eat shorter then, bein' fraish-baked. they kin hev these biscuits fer supper,"--dropping on one knee and setting forth on the cloth, from the basket on her arm, some thick soggy-looking lumps of dough,--"i baked some dodgers, too--four, six, eight, ten,"--she was counting a dozen golden-brown cates of delectable aspect--"knowin' they would hone fer cornmeal arter huntin' an' nuthin' else nohow air fitten ter eat with feesh or aigs. hev you-uns got any aigs?" she sprang up, and, standing on agile tiptoe, peered without ceremony into their wagon. instantly she recoiled with a cry of horrified reproach. "thar's ants in yer short-sweetenin'! how _could_ you-uns let sech ez that happen?" "oh, surely not," exclaimed purcell, hastening to her side. but the fact could not be gain-said; the neglected sugar was spoiled. meddlesome's unwarranted intrusion into the arcana of their domestic concerns disclosed other shortcomings. "why n't ye keep the top on yer coffee-can? don't ye know the coffee will lose heart, settin' open?" she repaired this oversight with a deft touch, and then proceeded: "we-uns ain't got no short-sweetenin' at our house, but i'll send my leetle brother ter fetch some long-sweetenin' fer yer coffee ter night. hyar, sol,"--addressing the small, limber, tow-headed, barefooted boy, a ludicrous miniature of a man in long, loose, brown-jeans trousers supported by a single suspender over an unbleached cotton shirt,--"run ter the house an' fetch the sorghum-jug." as sol started off with the alertness of a scurrying rabbit, she shrilly called out in a frenzy of warning: "go the other way, sol--up through the pawpaws! them cherty rocks will cut yer feet like a knife." sol had nerves of his own. her sharp cry had caused him to spring precipitately backward, frightened, but uncomprehending his danger. being unhurt, he was resentful. "they ain't none o' _yer_ feet, nohow," he grumbled, making a fresh start at less speed. "oh, yes, sol," said the old grandfather, enjoying the contretemps and the sentiment of revolt against meddlesome's iron rule. "everything belongs ter meddlesome one way or another, 'ca'se she jes makes it hern. so take keer of _yer_ feet for _her_ sake." he turned toward her jocosely as the small emissary disappeared among the undergrowth. "i jes been tellin' these hunter-men, meddy, 'bout how ye sets yerself even ter meddle with other folkses' mournin',--what they got through with a hunderd year' ago--tormentatin' 'bout that thar man what war starved in the tree." she heard him, doubtless, for a rising flush betokened her deprecation of this ridicule in the presence of these strangers. but it was rather that she remembered his words afterward than heeded them now. it would seem that certain incidents, insignificant in themselves, are the pivots on which turns the scheme of fate. she could not imagine that upon her action in the next few seconds depended grave potentialities in more lives than one. on the contrary, her deliberations were of a trivial subject, even ludicrous in any other estimation than her own. sol was small, she argued within herself, the jug was large and sticky. he might be tempted to lighten it, for sol had saccharine predilections, and the helpless jug was at his mercy. sol had scant judgment and one suit of clothes available; the other, sopping wet from the wash, now swayed in the process of drying on an elder-bush in the door-yard. should his integrity succumb, and the jug tilt too far, the stream of sorghum might inundate his raiment, and the catastrophe would place him beyond the pale of polite society. the seclusion of bed would be the only place for sol till such time as the elder-bush should bear the fruit of dry clothes. "poor sol!" she exclaimed, her prophetic sympathy bridging the chasm between possibility and accomplished fact. "i'll fetch the jug myself. i'll take the short cut an' head him." thus she set her feet in the path of her future. it led her into dense, tangled woods, clambering over outcropping ledges and boulders. by the flare of the west she guided her progress straight to the east till she reached the banks of headlong creek on its tumultuous course down the mountain-side. in her hasty enterprise she had not counted on crossing it, but meddlesome rarely turned back. she was strong and active, and after a moment's hesitation, she was springing from one to another of the great, half-submerged boulders amidst the whirl of the transparent crystal-brown water, with its fleck and fringe of white foam. more than once, to evade the dizzying effect of the sinuous motion and the continuous roar, she stood still in mid-stream and gazed upward or at the opposite bank. the woods were dense on the slope. all in red and yellow and variant russet and brown tints, the canopy of the forest foliage was impenetrable. the great, dark boles of oak and gum and spruce contrasted sharply with the white and greenish-gray trunks of beeches and sycamore and poplar, and, thus breaking the monotony, gave long, almost illimitable avenues of sylvan vistas. she noted amidst a growth of willows on the opposite bank, at the water's-edge, a spring, a circular, rock-bound reservoir; in the marshy margin she could see the imprints of the cleft hoofs of deer, and thence ran the indefinite trail known as a deer-path. the dense covert along the steep slope was a famous "deer-stand," and there many a fine buck had been killed. all at once she was reminded of the storied tree hard by, the tragedy of which she had often bewept. there it stood, dead itself, weird, phantasmal, as befitted the housing of so drear a fate. its branches now bore no leaves. the lightnings of a last-year's storm had scorched out its vital force and riven the fibre of the wood. here and there, too, the tooth of decay had gnawed fissures that the bark had not earlier known; and from one of these--she thought herself in a dream--a ghastly, white face looked out suddenly, and as suddenly vanished! her heart gave one wild plunge, then it seemed to cease to beat. she wondered afterward that she did not collapse, and sink into the plunging rapids to drown, beaten and bruised against the rocks. it was a muscular instinct that sustained her rather than a conscious impulse of self-preservation. motionless, horrified, amazed, she could only gaze at the empty fissure of the tree on the slope. she could not then discriminate the wild, spectral imaginations that assailed her untutored mind. she could not remember these fantasies later. it was a relief so great that the anguish of the physical reaction was scarcely less poignant than the original shock when she realized that this face was not the grisly skeleton lineaments that had looked out thence heretofore, but was clothed with flesh, though gaunt, pallid, furtive. once more, as she gazed, it appeared in a mere glimpse at the fissure, and in that instant a glance was interchanged. the next moment a hand appeared,--beckoning her to approach. it was a gruesome mandate. she had scant choice. she did not doubt that this was the fugitive, the "wolf's head," and should she turn to flee, he could stop her progress with a pistol-ball, for doubtless he would fancy her alert to disclose the discovery and share in the reward. perhaps feminine curiosity aided fear; perhaps only her proclivity to find an employ in the management of others influenced her decision; though trembling in every fibre, she crossed the interval of water, and made her way up the slope. but when she reached the fateful tree it was she who spoke first. he cast so ravenous a glance at the basket on her arm that all his story of want and woe was revealed. starvation had induced his disclosure of his identity. "it's empty," she said, inverting the basket. she watched him flinch, and asked wonderingly, "is game skeerce?" his eyes were at once forlorn and fierce. "oh, yes, powerful skeerce," he replied with a bitter laugh. there was an enigma in the rejoinder; she did not stay to read the riddle, but went on to possess the situation, according to her wont. "ye hev tuk a powerful pore place ter hide," she admonished him. "this tree is a plumb cur'osity. gran'dad kettison war tellin' some camp-hunters 'bout'n it jes this evenin'. like ez not they'll kem ter view it." his eyes dilated with a sudden accession of terror that seemed always a-smoulder. "lawd, lawd, lawd!" he moaned wretchedly. meddlesome was true to her name and tradition. "ye oughter hev remembered the lawd 'fore ye done it," she said, with a repellent impulse; then she would have given much to recall the reproach. the man was desperate; his safety lay in her silence. a pistol-shot would secure it, and anger would limber the trigger. but he did not seem indignant. his eyes, intelligent and feverishly bright, gazed down at her only in obvious dismay and surprise. "done what?" he asked, and as, prudence prevailing for once, she did not reply, he spoke for her. "the murder, ye mean? why, gal, i warn't even thar. i knowed nuthin' 'bout it till later. ez god is my helper and my hope, i warn't even thar." she stood astounded. "then why n't ye leave it ter men?" "i can't _prove_ it ag'in' the murderers' oaths. i had been consarned in the moon-shinin' that ended in murder, but _i_ hed not been nigh the still fer a month,--i war out a-huntin'--when the revenuers made the raid. there war a scrimmage 'twixt the raiders an' the distillers, an' an outsider that hed nuthin' ter do with the federal law--he war the constable o' the deestrick, an' jes rid with the gang ter see the fun or ter show them the way--he war killed. an' account o' _him_, the state law kem into the game. them other moonshiners war captured, an' they swore ag'in' me 'bout the shootin' ter save tharselves, but i hearn thar false oaths hev done them no good, they being held as accessory. an' i be so ez i can't prove an alibi--i can't _prove_ it, though it's god's truth. but before high heaven"--he lifted his gaunt right hand--"i am innercent, i am innercent." she could not have said why,--perhaps she realized afterward,--but she believed him absolutely, implicitly. a fervor of sympathy for his plight, of commiseration, surged up in her heart. "i wisht it war so i could gin ye some pervisions," she sighed, "though ye do 'pear toler'ble triflin' ter lack game." then the dread secret was told. "gal,"--he used the word as a polite form of address, the equivalent of the more sophisticated "lady,"--"ef ye will believe me, all my ammunition is spent. not a ca'tridge lef', not a dust of powder." meddy caught both her hands to her lips to intercept and smother a cry of dismay. "i snared a rabbit two days ago in a dead-fall. my knife-blade is bruk, but i reckon thar is enough lef' ter split my jugular whenst the eend is kem at last." the girl suddenly caught her faculties together. "what sorter fool talk is that?" she demanded sternly. "ye do my bid, ef ye knows what's good fer ye. git out'n this trap of a tree an' hide 'mongst the crevices of the rocks till seben o'clock ter-night. then kem up ter gran'dad kettison's whenst it is cleverly dark an' tap on the glass winder--not on the batten shutter. an' i'll hev ca'tridges an' powder an' ball for ye, an' some victuals ready, too." but the fugitive, despite his straits, demurred. "i don't want ter git old man kettison into trouble for lendin' ter me." "'t ain't his'n. 't is my dad's old buck-shot ca'tridges an' powder an' ball. they belong ter _me_. the other childern is my half-brothers, bein' my mother war married twice. ye kin _steal_ this gear from me, ef that will make ye feel easier." "but what will yer gran'dad say ter me?" "he won't know who ye be; he will jes 'low ye air one o' the boys who air always foolin' away thar time visitin' me an' makin' tallow-dips skeerce." the sudden gleam of mirth on her face was like an illuminating burst of sunshine, and somehow it cast an irradiation into the heart of the fugitive, for, after she was gone out of sight, he pondered upon it. but the early dusk fell from a lowering sky, and the night came on beclouded and dark. some turbulent spirit was loosed in the air, and the wind was wild. great, surging masses of purple vapor came in a mad rout from the dank west and gathered above the massive and looming mountains. the woods bent and tossed and clashed their boughs in the riot of gusts, the sere leaves were flying in clouds, and presently rain began to fall. the steady downpour increased in volume to torrents; then the broad, pervasive flashes of lightning showed, in lieu of myriad lines, an unbroken veil of steely gray swinging from the zenith, the white foam rebounding as the masses of water struck the earth. the camp equipage, tents and wagons succumbed beneath the fury of the tempest, and, indeed, the hunters had much ado to saddle their horses and grope their way along the bridle-path that led to old kettison's house. the rude comfort of the interior had a heightened emphasis by reason of the elemental turmoils without. true, the rain beat in a deafening fusillade upon the roof, and the ostentation of the one glass window, a source of special pride to its owner, was at a temporary disadvantage in admitting the fierce and ghastly electric glare, so recurrent as to seem unintermittent. but the more genial illumination of hickory flames, red and yellow, was streaming from the great chimney-place, and before the broad hearth the guests were ensconced, their out-stretched boots steaming in the heat. strings of scarlet peppers, bunches of dried herbs, gourds of varied quaint shapes, hung swaying from the rafters. the old man's gay, senile chirp of welcome was echoed by his wife, a type of comely rustic age, who made much of the fact that, though house-bound from "rheumatics," she had reared her dead daughter's "two orphin famblies," the said daughter having married twice, neither man "bein' of a lastin' quality," as she seriously phrased it. meddy, "the eldest fambly," had been guide, philosopher, and friend to the swarm of youngsters, and even now, in the interests of peace and space and hearing, was seeking to herd them into an adjoining room, when a sudden stentorian hail from without rang through the splashing of the rain from the eaves, the crash of thunder among the "balds" of the mountains, with its lofty echoes, and the sonorous surging of the wind. "light a tallow-dip, meddy," cried old kettison, excitedly. "an' fetch the candle on the porch so ez we-uns kin view who rides so late in sech a night 'fore we bid 'em ter light an' hitch." but these were travelers not to be gain-said--the sheriff of the county and four stout fellows from the town of colbury, summoned to his aid as a posse, all trooping in as if they owned the little premises. however, the officer permitted himself to unbend a trifle under the influence of a hospitable tender of home-made cherry-bounce, "strong enough to walk from here to colbury," according to the sheriff's appreciative phrase. he was a portly man, with a rolling, explanatory cant of his burly head and figure toward his interlocutor as he talked. his hair stood up in two tufts above his forehead, one on each side, and he had large, round, grayish eyes and a solemn, pondering expression. to meddy, staring horror-stricken, he seemed as owlishly wise as he looked while he explained the object of his expedition. "this district have got a poor reputation with the law, mr. kettison. here is this fellow, royston mcgurny, been about here two years, and a reward for five hundred dollars out for his arrest." "that's roy's fault, sher'ff, not our'n," leered the glib old man. he, too, had had a sip of the stalwart cherry-bounce. "roy's in no wise sociable." "it's plumb flying in the face of the law," declared the officer. "if i had a guide, i'd not wait a minute, or if i could recognize the man whenst i viewed him. the constable promised to send a fellow to meet me here,--what's his name?--yes, smith, barton smith,--who will guide us to where he was last glimpsed. i hope to take him alive," he added with an inflection of doubt. certainly this was a dreary camp-hunt, with all its distasteful sequelae. purcell, who had no more imagination than a promissory note, silently sulked under the officer's intimation that, being able-bodied men, he would expect the hunters also to ride with him. they were not of his county, and doubted their obligation, but they would not refuse to aid the law. bygrave, however, realized a "story" in the air, and seymour was interested in the impending developments; for being a close observer, he had perceived that the girl was in the clutch of some tumultuous though covert agitation. her blood blazed at fever-heat in her cheeks; her eyes were on fire; every muscle was tense; and her brain whirled. to her the crisis was tremendous. this was the result of her unwarranted interference. who was she, indeed, that she should seek to command the march of events and deploy sequences? her foolish manoeuvering had lured this innocent man to ruin, capture, anguish, and death. no warning could he have; the window was opaque with the corrugations of the rain-fall on the streaming panes, and set too high to afford him a glimpse from without. and, oh, how he would despise the traitor that she must needs seem to be! she had not a moment for reflection, for counsel, for action. already the signal,--he was prompt at the tryst,--the sharp, crystalline vibration of the tap on the glass! the sheriff rose instantly with that cumbrous agility sometimes characterizing portly men. "there he is now!" he exclaimed. but meddy, with a little hysterical cry, had sprung first to the opening door. "barton smith!" she exclaimed, with shrill significance. "hyar is yer guide, sher'ff, wet ez a drownded rat." the pale face in the dark aperture of the doorway, as the fire-light flashed on it, grew ghastly white with terror and lean with amazement. for a moment the man seemed petrified. seymour, vaguely fumbling with his suspicions, began to disintegrate the plot of the play, and to discriminate the powers of the dramatis personae. "now, my man, step lively," said the officer in his big, husky voice. "do you know this royston mcgurny?" to be sure, seymour had no cause for suspicion but his own intuition and the intangible evidence of tone and look all as obvious to the others as to him. but he was at once doubtful and relieved when the haggard wretch at the door, mustering his courage, replied: "know royston mcgurny? none better. knowed him all my life." "got pretty good horse?" "got none at all; expect ter borry mr. kettison's." "i'll go show ye whar the saddle be," exclaimed meddy, with her wonted officiousness, and glibly picking up the bits of her shattered scheme. seymour fully expected they would not return from the gloom without, whither they had disappeared, but embrace the immediate chance of escape before the inopportune arrival of the real barton smith should balk the possibility. but, no,--and he doubted anew all his suspicions,--in a trice here they both were again, a new courage, a new hope in that pallid, furtive face, and another horse stood saddled among the equine group at the door. meddlesome was pinning up the brown skirt of her gown, showing a red petticoat that had harmonies with a coarse, red plaid shawl adjusted over her head and shoulders. "gran'dad," she observed, never looking up, and speaking with her mouth full of pins, "barton smith say he kin set me down at aunt drusina's house. ye know she be ailin', an' sent for me this evenin'; but i hed no way ter go." the sheriff looked sour enough at this intrusion; but he doubtless imagined that this relative was no distant neighbor, and as he had need of hearty aid and popular support, he offered no protest. there was a clearing sky without, and the wind was laid. the frenzy of the storm was over, although rain was still falling. the little cavalcade got to horse deliberately enough amid the transparent dun shadows and dim yellow flare of light from open door and window. one of the mounts had burst a girth, and a strap must be procured from the plow-gear in the shed. another, a steed of some spirit, reared and plunged at the lights, and could not be induced to cross the illuminated bar thrown athwart the yard from the open door. the official impatience of the delay was expressed in irritable comments and muttered oaths; but throughout the interval the guide, with his pallid, strained face, sat motionless in his saddle, his rifle across its pommel, an apt presentment of indifference, while, perched behind him, meddy was continually busy in readjusting her skirts or shawl or a small bundle that presumably contained her rustic finery, but which, to a close approach, would have disclosed the sulphurous odor of gunpowder. when the cluster of horsemen was fairly on the march, however, she sat quite still, and more than once seymour noted that, with her face close to the shoulder of the guide, she was whispering in his ear. what was their game? he marvelled, having once projected the idea that this late comer was, himself, the "wolf's head" whom they were to chase down for a rich reward, incongruously hunting amidst his own hue and cry. or, seymour again doubted, had he merely constructed a figment of a scheme from his own imaginings and these attenuations of suggestion? for there seemed, after all, scant communication between the two, and this was even less when the moon was unveiled, the shifting shimmer of the clouds falling away from the great sphere of pearl, gemming the night with an incomparable splendor. it had grown almost as light as day, and the sheriff ordered the pace quickened. along a definite cattle-trail they went at first, but presently they were following through bosky recesses a deer-path, winding sinuously at will on the way to water. the thinning foliage let in the fair, ethereal light, and all the sylvan aisles stood in sheeny silver illumination. the drops of moisture glittered jewel-wise on the dark boughs of fir and pine, and one could even discriminate the red glow of sour-wood and the golden flare of hickory, so well were the chromatic harmonies asserted in this refined and refulgent glamour. "barton smith!" called the sheriff, suddenly from the rear of the party. there was no answer, and seymour felt his prophetic blood run cold. his conscience began to stir. had he, indeed, no foundation for his suspicion? "smith! _smith_" cried the irascible officer. "hey, there! is the man deaf?" "not deef, edzac'ly," meddlesome's voice sounded reproachfully; "jes a leetle hard o' hearin'." she had administered a warning nudge. "hey? what ye want?" said the "wolf's head," suddenly checking his horse. "have you any idea of where you are going, or how far?" demanded the officer, sternly. "just acrost the gorge," the guide answered easily. "i heard he had been glimpsed in a hollow tree. that word was telephoned from the cross-roads to town. it was the tree the skeleton was in." "that tree? it's away back yander," observed one of the posse, reluctant and disaffected. "oh, he has quit that tree; he is bound for up the gorge now," said the guide. "well, i suppose you know, from what i was told," said the sheriff, discontentedly; "but this is a long ja'nt. ride up! ride up!" onward they fared through the perfumed woods. the wild asters were blooming, and sweet and subtile distillations of the autumnal growths were diffused on the air. the deer are but ill at road-making,--such tangled coverts, such clifty ledges, such wild leaps; for now the path threaded the jagged verge of precipices. the valley, a black abyss above which massive, purplish mountains loomed against a sky of pearly tints, was visibly narrowing. they all knew that presently it would become a mere gorge, a vast indentation in the mountain-side. the weird vistas across the gorge were visible now, craggy steeps, and deep woods filled with moonlight, with that peculiar untranslated intendment which differentiates its luminosity in the wilderness from the lunar glamour of cultivated scenes--something weird, melancholy, eloquent of a meaning addressed to the soul, but which the senses cannot entertain or words express. with a sudden halt, the guide dismounted. the girl still sat on the saddle-blanket, and the horse bowed his head and pawed. the posse were gazing dubiously, reluctantly, at a foot-bridge across a deep abyss. it was only a log, the upper side hewn, with a shaking hand-rail held by slight standards. "have we got to cross this?" asked the officer, still in the saddle and gazing downward. "ef ye foller me," said the guide, indifferently. but he was ahead of his orders. he visibly braced his nerves for the effort, and holding his rifle as a balancing-pole, he sped along the light span with a tread as deft as a fox or a wolf. in a moment he had gained the farther side. they scarcely knew how it happened. so unexpected was the event that, though it occurred before their eyes, they did not seem to see it. they remembered, rather than perceived, that he stooped suddenly; with one single great effort of muscular force he dislodged the end of the log, heaved it up in the air, strongly flung it aside, whence it went crashing down into the black depths below, its own weight, as it fell, sufficing to wrench out the other end, carrying with it a mass of earth and rock from the verge of the precipice. the horses sprang back snorting and frightened; the officer's, being a fine animal in prime condition, tried to bolt. before he had him well in hand again, the man on the opposite brink had vanished. the sheriff's suspicions were barely astir when a hallooing voice in the rear made itself heard, and a horseman, breathless with haste, his steed flecked with foam, rode up, indignant, flushed, and eager. "whyn't ye wait for me, sher'ff? ye air all on the wrong track," he cried. "royston mcgurny be hid in the skellington's tree. i glimpsed him thar myself, an' gin information." the sheriff gazed down with averse and suspicious eyes. "what's all this?" he said sternly. "give an account of yourself." "me?" exclaimed the man in amazement. "why, i'm barton smith, yer guide, that's who. an' i'm good for five hundred dollars' reward." but the sheriff called off the pursuit for the time, as he had no means of replacing the bridge or of crossing the chasm. meddlesome's share in the escape was not detected, and for a while she had no incentive to the foolhardiness of boasting. but her prudence diminished when the reward for the apprehension of royston mcgurny was suddenly withdrawn. the confession of one of the distillers, dying of tuberculosis contracted in prison, who had himself fired the fatal shot, had established the alibi that mcgurny claimed, and served to relieve him of all suspicion. he eventually became a "herder" of cattle on the bald of the mountain and a farmer in a small way, and in these placid pursuits he found a contented existence. but, occasionally, a crony of his olden time would contrast the profits of this tame industry at a disadvantage with the quick and large returns of the "wild cat," when he would "confess and avoid." "that's true, that's all true; but a man can't holp it no ways in the world whenst he hev got a wife that is so out-an'-out meddlesome that she won't let him run ag'in' the law, nohow he kin fix it." his unquiet ghost the moon was high in the sky. the wind was laid. so silent was the vast stretch of mountain wilderness, aglint with the dew, that the tinkle of a rill far below in the black abyss seemed less a sound than an evidence of the pervasive quietude, since so slight a thing, so distant, could compass so keen a vibration. for an hour or more the three men who lurked in the shadow of a crag in the narrow mountain-pass, heard nothing else. when at last they caught the dull reverberation of a slow wheel and the occasional metallic clank of a tire against a stone, the vehicle was fully three miles distant by the winding road in the valley. time lagged. only by imperceptible degrees the sound of deliberate approach grew louder on the air as the interval of space lessened. at length, above their ambush at the summit of the mountain's brow the heads of horses came into view, distinct in the moonlight between the fibrous pines and the vast expanse of the sky above the valley. even then there was renewed delay. the driver of the wagon paused to rest the team. the three lurking men did not move; they scarcely ventured to breathe. only when there was no retrograde possible, no chance of escape, when the vehicle was fairly on the steep declivity of the road, the precipice sheer on one side, the wall of the ridge rising perpendicularly on the other, did two of them, both revenue-raiders disguised as mountaineers, step forth from the shadow. the other, the informer, a genuine mountaineer, still skulked motionless in the darkness. the "revenuers," ascending the road, maintained a slow, lunging gait, as if they had toiled from far. their abrupt appearance had the effect of a galvanic shock to the man handling the reins, a stalwart, rubicund fellow, who visibly paled. he drew up so suddenly as almost to throw the horses from their feet. "g'evenin'," ventured browdie, the elder of the raiders, in a husky voice affecting an untutored accent. he had some special ability as a mimic, and, being familiar with the dialect and manners of the people, this gift greatly facilitated the rustic impersonation he had essayed. "ye're haulin' late," he added, for the hour was close to midnight. "yes, stranger; haulin' late, from eskaqua--a needcessity." "what's yer cargo?" asked browdie, seeming only ordinarily inquisitive. a sepulchral cadence was in the driver's voice, and the disguised raiders noted that the three other men on the wagon had preserved, throughout, a solemn silence. "what we-uns mus' all be one day, stranger--a corpus." browdie was stultified for a moment. then, sustaining his assumed character, he said: "i hope it be nobody i know. i be fairly well acquainted in eskaqua, though i hail from down in lonesome cove. who be dead?" there was palpably a moment's hesitation before the spokesman replied: "watt wyatt; died day 'fore yestiddy." at the words, one of the silent men in the wagon turned his face suddenly, with such obvious amazement depicted upon it that it arrested the attention of the "revenuers." this face was so individual that it was not likely to be easily mistaken or forgotten. a wild, breezy look it had, and a tricksy, incorporeal expression that might well befit some fantastic, fabled thing of the woods. it was full of fine script of elusive meanings, not registered in the lineaments of the prosaic man of the day, though perchance of scant utility, not worth interpretation. his full gray eyes were touched to glancing brilliancy by a moonbeam; his long, fibrously floating brown hair was thrown backward; his receding chin was peculiarly delicate; and though his well-knit frame bespoke a hardy vigor, his pale cheek was soft and thin. all the rustic grotesquery of garb and posture was cancelled by the deep shadow of a bough, and his delicate face showed isolated in the moonlight. browdie silently pondered his vague suspicions for a moment. "whar did he die at?" he then demanded at a venture. "at his daddy's house, fur sure. whar else?" responded the driver. "i hev got what's lef' of him hyar in the coffin-box. we expected ter make it ter shiloh buryin'-ground 'fore dark; but the road is middlin' heavy, an' 'bout five mile' back ben cast a shoe. the funeral warn't over much 'fore noon." "whyn't they bury him in eskaqua, whar he died?" persisted browdie. "waal, they planned ter bury him alongside his mother an' gran'dad, what used ter live in tanglefoot cove. but we air wastin' time hyar, an' we hev got none ter spare. gee, ben! git up, john!" the wagon gave a lurch; the horses, holding back in bracing attitudes far from the pole, went teetering down the steep slant, the locked wheel dragging heavily; the four men sat silent, two in slouching postures at the head of the coffin; the third, with the driver, was at its foot. it seemed drearily suggestive, the last journey of this humble mortality, in all the splendid environment of the mountains, under the vast expansions of the aloof skies, in the mystic light of the unnoting moon. "is this bona-fide?" asked browdie, with a questioning glance at the informer, who had at length crept forth. "i dunno," sullenly responded the mountaineer. he had acquainted the two officers, who were of a posse of revenue-raiders hovering in the vicinity, with the mysterious circumstance that a freighted wagon now and then made a midnight transit across these lonely ranges. he himself had heard only occasionally in a wakeful hour the roll of heavy wheels, but he interpreted this as the secret transportation of brush whisky from the still to its market. he had thought to fix the transgression on an old enemy of his own, long suspected of moonshining; but he was acquainted with none of the youngsters on the wagon, at whom he had peered cautiously from behind the rocks. his actuating motive in giving information to the emissaries of the government had been the rancor of an old feud, and his detection meant certain death. he had not expected the revenue-raiders to be outnumbered by the supposed moonshiners, and he would not fight in the open. he had no sentiment of fealty to the law, and the officers glanced at each other in uncertainty. "this evidently is not the wagon in question," said browdie, disappointed. "i'll follow them a bit," volunteered ronan, the younger and the more active of the two officers. "seems to me they'll bear watching." indeed, as the melancholy cortège fared down and down the steep road, dwindling in the sheeny distance, the covert and half-suppressed laughter of the sepulchral escort was of so keen a relish that it was well that the scraping of the locked wheel aided the distance to mask the incongruous sound. "what ailed you-uns ter name _me_ as the corpus, 'gene barker?" demanded walter wyatt, when he had regained the capacity of coherent speech. "oh, i hed ter do suddint murder on somebody," declared the driver, all bluff and reassured and red-faced again, "an' i couldn't think quick of nobody else. besides, i belt a grudge ag'in' you fer not stuffin' mo' straw 'twixt them jimmyjohns in the coffin-box." "that's a fac'. ye air too triflin' ter be let ter live, watt," cried one of their comrades. "i hearn them jugs clash tergether in the coffin-box when 'gene checked the team up suddint, i tell you. an' them men sure 'peared ter me powerful suspectin'." "_i_ hearn the clash of them jimmyjohns," chimed in the driver. "i really thunk my hour war come. some informer must hev set them men ter spyin' round fer moonshine." "oh, surely nobody wouldn't dare," urged one of the group, uneasily; for the identity of an informer was masked in secrecy, and his fate, when discovered, was often gruesome. "they couldn't hev noticed the clash of them jimmyjohns, nohow," declared the negligent watt, nonchalantly. "but namin' _me_ fur the dead one! supposin' they air revenuers fur true, an' hed somebody along, hid out in the bresh, ez war acquainted with me by sight----" "then they'd hev been skeered out'n thar boots, that's all," interrupted the self-sufficient 'gene. "they would hev 'lowed they hed viewed yer brazen ghost, bold ez brass, standin' at the head of yer own coffin-box." "or mebbe they mought hev recognized the wyatt favor, ef they warn't acquainted with _me_," persisted watt, with his unique sense of injury. eugene barker defended the temerity of his inspiration. "they would hev jes thought ye war kin ter the deceased, an' attendin' him ter his long home." "'gene don't keer much fur ye ter be alive nohow, watt wyatt," one of the others suggested tactlessly, "'count o' minta elladine riggs." eugene barker's off-hand phrase was incongruous with his sudden gravity and his evident rancor as he declared: "_i_ ain't carin' fur sech ez watt wyatt. an' they _do_ say in the cove that minta elladine riggs hev gin him the mitten, anyhow, on account of his gamesome ways, playin' kyerds, a-bettin' his money, drinkin' apple-jack, an' sech." the newly constituted ghost roused himself with great vitality as if to retort floutingly; but as he turned, his jaw suddenly fell; his eyes widened with a ghastly distension. with an unsteady arm extended he pointed silently. distinctly outlined on the lid of the coffin was the simulacrum of the figure of a man. one of his comrades, seated on the tailboard of the wagon, had discerned a significance in the abrupt silence. as he turned, he, too, caught a fleeting glimpse of that weird image on the coffin-lid. but he was of a more mundane pulse. the apparition roused in him only a wonder whence could come this shadow in the midst of the moon-flooded road. he lifted his eyes to the verge of the bluff above, and there he descried an indistinct human form, which suddenly disappeared as he looked, and at that moment the simulacrum vanished from the lid of the box. the mystery was of instant elucidation. they were suspected, followed. the number of their pursuers of course they could not divine, but at least one of the revenue-officers had trailed the wagon between the precipice and the great wall of the ascent on the right, which had gradually dwindled to a diminished height. deep gullies were here and there washed out by recent rains, and one of these indentations might have afforded an active man access to the summit. thus the pursuer had evidently kept abreast of them, speeding along in great leaps through the lush growth of huckleberry bushes, wild grasses, pawpaw thickets, silvered by the moon, all fringing the great forests that had given way on the shelving verge of the steeps where the road ran. had he overheard their unguarded, significant words? who could divine, so silent were the windless mountains, so deep a-dream the darksome woods, so spell-bound the mute and mystic moonlight? the group maintained a cautious reticence now, each revolving the problematic disclosure of their secret, each canvassing the question whether the pursuer himself was aware of his betrayal of his stealthy proximity. not till they had reached the ford of the river did they venture on a low-toned colloquy. the driver paused in mid-stream and stepped out on the pole between the horses to let down the check-reins, as the team manifested an inclination to drink in transit; and thence, as he stood thus perched, he gazed to and fro, the stretch of dark and lustrous ripples baffling all approach within ear-shot, the watering of the horses justifying the pause and cloaking its significance to any distant observer. but the interval was indeed limited; the mental processes of such men are devoid of complexity, and their decisions prompt. they advanced few alternatives; their prime object was to be swiftly rid of the coffin and its inculpating contents, and with the "revenuer" so hard on their heels this might seem a troublous problem enough. "put it whar a coffin b'longs--in the churchyard," said wyatt; for at a considerable distance beyond the rise of the opposite bank could be seen a barren clearing in which stood a gaunt, bare, little white frame building that served all the country-side for its infrequent religious services. "we couldn't dig a grave before that spy--ef he be a revenuer sure enough--could overhaul us," eugene barker objected. "we could turn the yearth right smart, though," persisted wyatt, for pickax and shovel had been brought in the wagon for the sake of an aspect of verisimilitude and to mask their true intent. eugene barker acceded to this view. "that's the dinctum--dig a few jes fer a blind. we kin slip the coffin-box under the church-house 'fore he gits in sight,--he'll be feared ter follow too close,--an' leave it thar till the other boys kin wagon it ter the cross-roads' store ter-morrer night." the horses, hitherto held to the sober gait of funeral travel, were now put to a speedy trot, unmindful of whatever impression of flight the pace might give to the revenue-raider in pursuit. the men were soon engrossed in their deceptive enterprise in the churchyard, plying pickax and shovel for dear life; now and again they paused to listen vainly for the sound of stealthy approach. they knew that there was the most precarious and primitive of foot-bridges across the deep stream, to traverse which would cost an unaccustomed wayfarer both time and pains; thus the interval was considerable before the resonance of rapid foot-falls gave token that their pursuer had found himself obliged to sprint smartly along the country road to keep any hope of ever again viewing the wagon which the intervening water-course had withdrawn from his sight. that this hope had grown tenuous was evident in his relinquishment of his former caution, for when they again caught a glimpse of him he was forging along in the middle of the road without any effort at concealment. but as the wagon appeared in the perspective, stationary, hitched to the hedge of the graveyard, he recurred to his previous methods. the four men still within the inclosure, now busied in shovelling the earth back again into the excavation they had so swiftly made, covertly watched him as he skulked into the shadow of the wayside. the little "church-house," with all its windows whitely aglare in the moonlight, reflected the pervasive sheen, and silent, spectral, remote, it seemed as if it might well harbor at times its ghastly neighbors from the quiet cemetery without, dimly ranging themselves once more in the shadowy ranks of its pews or grimly stalking down the drear and deserted aisles. the fact that the rising ground toward the rear of the building necessitated a series of steps at the entrance, enabled the officer to mask behind this tall flight his crouching approach, and thus he ensconced himself in the angle between the wall and the steps, and looked forth in fancied security. the shadows multiplied the tale of the dead that the head-boards kept, each similitude askew in the moonlight on the turf below the slanting monument. to judge by the motions of the men engaged in the burial and the mocking antics of their silhouettes on the ground, it must have been obvious to the spectator that they were already filling in the earth. the interment may have seemed to him suspiciously swift, but the possibility was obvious that the grave might have been previously dug in anticipation of their arrival. it was plain that he was altogether unprepared for the event when they came slouching forth to the wagon, and the stalwart and red-faced driver, with no manifestation of surprise, hailed him as he still crouched in his lurking-place. "hello, stranger! warn't that you-uns runnin' arter the wagon a piece back yonder jes a while ago?" the officer rose to his feet, with an intent look both dismayed and embarrassed. he did not venture on speech; he merely acceded with a nod. "ye want a lift, i reckon." the stranger was hampered by the incongruity between his rustic garb, common to the coves, and his cultivated intonation; for, unlike his comrade browdie, he had no mimetic faculties whatever. nevertheless, he was now constrained to "face the music." "i didn't want to interrupt you," he said, seeking such excuse as due consideration for the circumstances might afford; "but i'd like to ask where i could get lodging for the night." "what's yer name?" demanded barker, unceremoniously. "francis ronan," the raider replied, with more assurance. then he added, by way of explaining his necessity, "i'm a stranger hereabouts." "ye air so," assented the sarcastic 'gene. "ye ain't even acquainted with yer own clothes. ye be a town man." "well, i'm not the first man who has had to hide out," ronan parried, seeking to justify his obvious disguise. "shot somebody?" asked 'gene, with an apparent accession of interest. "it's best for me not to tell." "so be." 'gene acquiesced easily. "waal, ef ye kin put up with sech accommodations ez our'n, i'll take ye home with me." ronan stood aghast. but there was no door of retreat open. he was alone and helpless. he could not conceal the fact that the turn affairs had taken was equally unexpected and terrifying to him, and the moonshiners, keenly watchful, were correspondingly elated to discern that he had surely no reinforcements within reach to nerve him to resistance or to menace their liberty. he had evidently followed them too far, too recklessly; perhaps without the consent and against the counsel of his comrades, perhaps even without their knowledge of his movements and intention. now and again as the wagon jogged on and on toward their distant haven, the moonlight gradually dulling to dawn, wyatt gave the stranger a wondering, covert glance, vaguely, shrinkingly curious as to the sentiments of a man vacillating between the suspicion of capture and the recognition of a simple hospitality without significance or danger. the man's face appealed to him, young, alert, intelligent, earnest, and the anguish of doubt and anxiety it expressed went to his heart. in the experience of his sylvan life as a hunter wyatt's peculiar and subtle temperament evolved certain fine-spun distinctions which were unique; a trapped thing had a special appeal to his commiseration that a creature ruthlessly slaughtered in the open was not privileged to claim. he did not accurately and in words discriminate the differences, but he felt that the captive had sounded all the gamut of hope and despair, shared the gradations of an appreciated sorrow that makes all souls akin and that even lifts the beast to the plane of brotherhood, the bond of emotional woe. he had often with no other or better reason liberated the trophy of his snare, calling after the amazed and franticly fleeing creature, "bye-bye, buddy!" with peals of his whimsical, joyous laughter. he was experiencing now a similar sequence of sentiments in noting the wild-eyed eagerness with which the captured raider took obvious heed of every minor point of worthiness that might mask the true character of his entertainers. but, indeed, these deceptive hopes might have been easily maintained by one not so desirous of reassurance when, in the darkest hour before the dawn, they reached a large log-cabin sequestered in dense woods, and he found himself an inmate of a simple, typical mountain household. it held an exceedingly venerable grandfather, wielding his infirmities as a rod of iron; a father and mother, hearty, hospitable, subservient to the aged tyrant, but keeping in filial check a family of sons and daughters-in-law, with an underfoot delegation of grandchildren, who seemed to spend their time in a bewildering manoeuver of dashing out at one door to dash in at another. a tumultuous rain had set in shortly after dawn, with lightning and wind,--"the tail of a harricane," as the host called it,--and a terrible bird the actual storm must have been to have a tail of such dimensions. there was no getting forth, no living creature of free will "took water" in this elemental crisis. the numerous dogs crowded the children away from the hearth, and the hens strolled about the large living-room, clucking to scurrying broods. even one of the horses tramped up on the porch and looked in ever and anon, solicitous of human company. "i brung ben up by hand, like a bottle-fed baby," the hostess apologized, "an' he ain't never f'und out fur sure that he ain't folks." there seemed no possible intimation of moonshine in this entourage, and the coffin filled with jugs, a-wagoning from some distillers' den in the range to the cross-roads' store, might well have been accounted only the vain phantasm of an overtired brain surcharged with the vexed problems of the revenue service. the disguised revenue-raider was literally overcome with drowsiness, the result of his exertions and his vigils, and observing this, his host gave him one of the big feather beds under the low slant of the eaves in the roof-room, where the other men, who had been out all night, also slept the greater portion of the day. in fact, it was dark when wyatt wakened, and, leaving the rest still torpid with slumber and fatigue, descended to the large main room of the cabin. the callow members of the household had retired to rest, but the elders of the band of moonshiners were up and still actively astir, and wyatt experienced a prescient vicarious qualm to note their lack of heed or secrecy--the noisy shifting of heavy weights (barrels, kegs, bags of apples, and peaches for pomace), the loud voices and unguarded words. when a door in the floor was lifted, the whiff of chill, subterranean air that pervaded the whole house was heavily freighted with spirituous odors, and gave token to the meanest intelligence, to the most unobservant inmate, that the still was operated in a cellar, peculiarly immune to suspicion, for a cellar is never an adjunct to the ordinary mountain cabin. thus the infraction of the revenue law went on securely and continuously beneath the placid, simple, domestic life, with its reverent care for the very aged and its tender nurture of the very young. it was significant, indeed, that the industry should not be pretermitted, however, when a stranger was within the gates. the reason to wyatt, familiar with the moonshiners' methods and habits of thought, was only too plain. they intended that the "revenuer" should never go forth to tell the tale. his comrades had evidently failed to follow his trail, either losing it in the wilderness or from ignorance of his intention. he had put himself hopelessly into the power of these desperate men, whom his escape or liberation would menace with incarceration for a long term as federal prisoners in distant penitentiaries, if, indeed, they were not already answerable to the law for some worse crime than illicit distilling. his murder would be the extreme of brutal craft, so devised as to seem an accident, against the possibility of future investigation. the reflection turned wyatt deathly cold, he who could not bear unmoved the plea of a wild thing's eye. he sturdily sought to pull himself together. it was none of his decree; it was none of his deed, he argued. the older moonshiners, who managed all the details of the enterprise, would direct the event with absolute authority and the immutability of fate. but whatever should be done, he revolted from any knowledge of it, as from any share in the act. he had risen to leave the place, all strange of aspect now, metamorphosed,--various disorderly details of the prohibited industry ever and anon surging up from the still-room below,--when a hoarse voice took cognizance of his intention with a remonstrance. "why, watt wyatt, _ye_ can't go out in the cove. ye air dead! ye will let that t'other revenue-raider ye seen into the secret o' the bresh whisky in our wagon ef ye air viewed about whenst 'gene hev spread the report that ye air dead. wait till them raiders hev cleared out of the kentry." the effort at detention, to interfere with his liberty, added redoubled impetus to wyatt's desire to be gone. he suddenly devised a cogent necessity. "i be feared my dad mought hear that fool tale. i ain't much loss, but dad would feel it." "oh, i sent jack thar ter tell him better whenst he drove ter mill ter-day ter git the meal fer the mash. jack made yer dad onderstand 'bout yer sudden demise." "oh, yeh," interposed the glib jack; "an' he said ez _he_ couldn't abide sech jokes." "shucks!" cried the filial wyatt. "dad war full fresky himself in his young days; i hev hearn his old frien's say so." "i tried ter slick things over," said the diplomatic jack. "i 'lowed young folks war giddy by nature. i 'lowed 't war jes a flash o' fun. an' he say: 'flash o' fun be consarned! my son is more like a flash o' lightning; ez suddint an' mischeevious an' totally ondesirable.'" the reproach obviously struck home, for wyatt maintained a disconsolate silence for a time. at length, apparently goaded by his thoughts to attempt a defense, he remonstrated: "nobody ever war dead less of his own free will. i never elected ter be a harnt. 'gene barker hed no right ter nominate _me_ fer the dear departed, nohow." one of the uncouth younger fellows, his shoulders laden with a sack of meal, paused on his way from the porch to the trap-door to look up from beneath his burden with a sly grin as he said, "'gene war wishin' it war true, that's why." "'count o' minta elladine riggs," gaily chimed in another. "but 'gene needn't gredge watt foot-hold on this yearth fer sech; _she_ ain't keerin' whether watt lives or dies," another contributed to the rough, rallying fun. but wyatt was of sensitive fibre. he had flushed angrily; his eyes were alight; a bitter retort was trembling on his lips when one of the elder barkers, discriminating the elements of an uncontrollable fracas, seized on the alternative. "could you-uns _sure_ be back hyar by day-break, watt?" he asked, fixing the young fellow with a stern eye. "no 'spectable ghost roams around arter sun-up," cried wyatt, fairly jovial at the prospect of liberation. "ye mus' be heedful not ter be viewed," the senior admonished him. "i be goin' ter slip about keerful like a reg'lar, stiddy-goin' harnt, an' eavesdrop a bit. it's worth livin' a hard life ter view how a feller's friends will take his demise." "i reckon ye kin make out ter meet the wagin kemin' back from the cross-roads' store. it went out this evenin' with that coffin full of jugs that ye lef' las' night under the church-house, whenst 'gene seen you-uns war suspicioned. they will hev time ter git ter the cross-roads with the whisky on' back little arter midnight, special' ez we-uns hev got the raider that spied out the job hyar fast by the leg." the mere mention of the young prisoner rendered wyatt the more eager to be gone, to be out of sight and sound. but he had no agency in the disaster, he urged against some inward clamor of protest; the catastrophe was the logical result of the foolhardiness of the officer in following these desperate men with no backing, with no power to apprehend or hold, relying on his flimsy disguise, and risking delivering himself into their hands, fettered as he was with the knowledge of his discovery of their secret. "it's nothin' ter _me_, nohow," wyatt was continually repeating to himself, though when he sprang through the door he could scarcely draw his breath because of some mysterious, invisible clutch at his throat. he sought to ascribe this symptom to the density of the pervasive fog without, that impenetrably cloaked all the world; one might wonder how a man could find his way through the opaque white vapor. it was, however, an accustomed medium to the young mountaineer, and his feet, too, had something of that unclassified muscular instinct, apart from reason, which guides in an oft-trodden path. once he came to a halt, from no uncertainty of locality, but to gaze apprehensively through the blank, white mists over a shuddering shoulder. "i wonder ef thar be any other harnts aloose ter-night, a-boguing through the fog an' the moon," he speculated. presently he went on again, shaking his head sagely. "i ain't wantin' ter collogue with sech," he averred cautiously. occasionally the moonlight fell in expansive splendor through a rift in the white vapor; amidst the silver glintings a vague, illusory panorama of promontory and island, bay and inlet, far ripplings of gleaming deeps, was presented like some magic reminiscence, some ethereal replica of the past, the simulacrum of the seas of these ancient coves, long since ebbed away and vanished. the sailing moon visibly rocked, as the pulsing tides of the cloud-ocean rose and fell, and ever and anon this supernal craft was whelmed in its surgings, and once more came majestically into view, freighted with fancies and heading for the haven of the purple western shores. in one of these clearances of the mists a light of an alien type caught the eye of the wandering spectre--a light, red, mundane, of prosaic suggestion. it filtered through the crevice of a small batten shutter. the ghost paused, his head speculatively askew. "who sits so late at the forge?" he marvelled, for he was now near the base of the mountain, and he recognized the low, dark building looming through the mists, its roof aslant, its chimney cold, the big doors closed, the shutter fast. as he neared the place a sudden shrill guffaw smote the air, followed by a deep, gruff tone of disconcerted remonstrance. certain cabalistic words made the matter plain. "high, low, jack, _and_ game! fork! fork!" once more there arose a high falsetto shriek of jubilant laughter. walter wyatt crept noiselessly down the steep slant toward the shutter. he had no sense of intrusion, for he was often one of the merry blades wont to congregate at the forge at night and take a hand at cards, despite the adverse sentiment of the cove and the vigilance of the constable of the district, bent on enforcing the laws prohibiting gaming. as wyatt stood at the crevice of the shutter the whole interior was distinct before him--the disabled wagon-wheels against the walls, the horse-shoes on a rod across the window, the great hood of the forge, the silent bellows, with its long, motionless handle. a kerosene lamp, perched on the elevated hearth of the forge, illumined the group of wild young mountaineers clustered about a barrel on the head of which the cards were dealt. there were no chairs; one of the gamesters sat on a keg of nails; another on an inverted splint basket; two on a rude bench that was wont to be placed outside the door for the accommodation of customers waiting for a horse to be shod or a plow to be laid. an onlooker, not yet so proficient as to attain his ambition of admission to the play, had mounted the anvil, and from this coign of vantage beheld all the outspread landscape of the "hands." more than once his indiscreet, inadvertent betrayal of some incident of his survey of the cards menaced him with a broken head. more innocuous to the interests of the play was a wight humbly ensconced on the shoeing-stool, which barely brought his head to the level of the board; but as he was densely ignorant of the game, he took no disadvantage from his lowly posture. his head was red, and as it moved erratically about in the gloom, watt wyatt thought for a moment that it was the smith's red setter. he grinned as he resolved that some day he would tell the fellow this as a pleasing gibe; but the thought was arrested by the sound of his own name. "waal, sir," said the dealer, pausing in shuffling the cards, "i s'pose ye hev all hearn 'bout walter wyatt's takin' off." "an' none too soon, sartain." a sour visage was glimpsed beneath the wide brim of the speaker's hat. "waal," drawled the semblance of the setter from deep in the clare-obscure, "watt war jes a fool from lack o' sense." "that kind o' fool can't be cured," said another of the players. then he sharply adjured the dealer. "look out what ye be doin'! ye hev gimme _two_ kyerds." "'gene barker will git ter marry minta elladine riggs now, i reckon," suggested the man on the anvil. "an' i'll dance at the weddin' with right good will an' a nimble toe," declared the dealer, vivaciously. "i'll be glad ter see that couple settled. that gal couldn't make up her mind ter let walter wyatt go, an' yit no woman in her senses would hev been willin' ter marry him. he war ez onresponsible ez--ez--fox-fire." "an' ez onstiddy ez a harricane," commented another. "an' no more account than a mole in the yearth," said a third. the ghost at the window listened in aghast dismay and became pale in sober truth, for these boon companions he had accounted the best friends he had in the world. they had no word of regret, no simple human pity; even that facile meed of casual praise that he was "powerful pleasant company" was withheld. and for these and such as these he had bartered the esteem of the community at large and his filial duty and obedience; had spurned the claims of good citizenship and placed himself in jeopardy of the law; had forfeited the hand of the woman he loved. "minta elladine riggs ain't keerin' nohow fer sech ez watt," said the semblance of the setter, with a knowing nod of his red head. "i war up thar at the mill whenst the news kem ter-day, an' she war thar ter git some seconds. i hev hearn women go off in high-strikes fer a lovyer's death--even mis' simton, though hern was jes her husband, an 'a mighty pore one at that. but minta elladine jes listened quiet an' composed, an' never said one word." the batten shutter was trembling in the ghost's hand. in fact, so convulsive was his grasp that it shook the hook from the staple, and the shutter slowly opened as he stood at gaze. perhaps it was the motion that attracted the attention of the dealer, perhaps the influx of a current of fresh air. he lifted his casual glance and beheld, distinct in the light from the kerosene lamp and imposed on the white background of the mist, that familiar and individual face, pallid, fixed, strange, with an expression that he had never seen it wear hitherto. one moment of suspended faculties, and he sprang up with a wild cry that filled the little shanty with its shrill terror. the others gazed astounded upon him, then followed the direction of his starting eyes, and echoed his frantic fright. there was a wild scurry toward the door. the overturning of the lamp was imminent, but it still burned calmly on the elevated hearth, while the shoeing-stool capsized in the rush, and the red head of its lowly occupant was lowlier still, rolling on the dirt floor. even with this disadvantage, however, he was not the hindmost, and reached the exit unhurt. the only specific damage wrought by the panic was to the big barn-like doors of the place. they had been stanchly barred against the possible intrusion of the constable of the district, and the fastenings in so critical an emergency could not be readily loosed. the united weight and impetus of the onset burst the flimsy doors into fragments, and as the party fled in devious directions in the misty moonlight, the calm radiance entered at the wide-spread portal and illuminated the vacant place where late had been so merry a crew. [illustration: the united weight and impetus of the onset burst the flimsy doors into fragments] walter wyatt had known the time when the incident would have held an incomparable relish for him. but now he gazed all forlorn into the empty building with a single thought in his mind. "not one of 'em keered a mite! nare good word, nare sigh, not even, 'fare ye well, old mate!'" his breast heaved, his eyes flashed. "an' i hev loant money ter jim, whenst i hed need myself; an' holped george in the mill, when his wrist war sprained, without a cent o' pay; an' took the blame when 'dolphus war faulted by his dad fur lamin' the horse-critter; an' stood back an' let pete git the meat whenst we-uns shot fur beef, bein' he hev got a wife an' chil'ren ter feed. all _leetle_ favors, but nare _leetle_ word." he had turned from the window and was tramping absently down the road, all unmindful of the skulking methods of the spectral gentry. if he had chanced to be observed, his little farce, that had yet an element of tragedy in its presentation, must soon have reached its close. but the fog hung about him like a cloak, and when the moon cast aside the vapors, it was in a distant silver sheen illumining the far reaches of the valley. only when its light summoned forth a brilliant and glancing reflection on a lower level, as if a thousand sabers were unsheathed at a word, he recognized the proximity of the river and came to a sudden halt. "whar is this fool goin'?" he demanded angrily of space. "to the graveyard, i declar', ez ef i war a harnt fur true, an' buried sure enough. an' i wish i war. i wish i war." he realized, after a moment's consideration, that he had been unconsciously actuated by the chance of meeting the wagon, returning by this route from the cross-roads' store. he was tired, disheartened; his spirit was spent; he would be glad of the lift. he reflected, however, that he must needs wait some time, for this was the date of a revival-meeting at the little church, and the distillers' wagon would lag, that its belated night journey might not be subjected to the scrutiny and comment of the church-goers. indeed, even now walter wyatt saw in the distance the glimmer of a lantern, intimating homeward-bound worshipers not yet out of sight. "the saints kep' it up late ter-night," he commented. he resolved to wait till the roll of wheels should tell of the return of the moonshiners' empty wagon. he crossed the river on the little foot-bridge and took his way languidly along the road toward the deserted church. he was close to the hedge that grew thick and rank about the little inclosure when he suddenly heard the sound of lamentation from within. he drew back precipitately, with a sense of sacrilege, but the branches of the unpruned growth had caught in his sleeve, and he sought to disengage the cloth without such rustling stir as might disturb or alarm the mourner, who had evidently lingered here, after the dispersal of the congregation, for a moment's indulgence of grief and despair. he had a glimpse through the shaking boughs and the flickering mist of a woman's figure kneeling on the crude red clods of a new-made grave. a vague, anxious wonder as to the deceased visited him, for in the sparsely settled districts a strong community sense prevails. suddenly in a choking gust of sobs and burst of tears he recognized his own name in a voice of which every inflection was familiar. for a moment his heart seemed to stand still. his brain whirled with a realization of this unforeseen result of the fantastic story of his death in eskaqua cove, which the moonshiners, on the verge of detection and arrest, had circulated in tanglefoot as a measure of safety. they had fancied that when the truth was developed it would be easy enough to declare the men drunk or mistaken. the "revenuers" by that time would be far away, and the pervasive security, always the sequence of a raid, successful or otherwise, would once more promote the manufacture of the brush whisky. the managers of the moonshining interest had taken measures to guard wyatt's aged father from this fantasy of woe, but they had not dreamed that the mountain coquette might care. he himself stood appalled that this ghastly fable should delude his heart's beloved, amazed that it should cost her one sigh, one sob. her racking paroxysms of grief over this gruesome figment of a grave he was humiliated to hear, he was woeful to see. he felt that he was not worth one tear of the floods with which she bewept his name, uttered in every cadence of tender regret that her melancholy voice could compass. it must cease, she must know the truth at whatever cost. he broke through the hedge and stood in the flicker of the moonlight before her, pale, agitated, all unlike his wonted self. she did not hear, amid the tumult of her weeping, the rustling of the boughs, but some subtle sense took cognizance of his presence. she half rose, and with one hand holding back her dense yellow hair, which had fallen forward on her forehead, she looked up at him fearfully, tremulously, with all the revolt of the corporeal creature for the essence of the mysterious incorporeal. for a moment he could not speak. so much he must needs explain. the next instant he was whelmed in the avalanche of her words. [illustration: with one hand holding back her dense yellow hair ... she looked up at him] "ye hev kem!" she exclaimed in a sort of shrill ecstasy. "ye hev kem so far ter hear the word that i would give my life ter hev said before. ye knowed it in heaven! an' how like ye ter kem ter gin me the chanst ter say it at last! how like the good heart of ye, worth all the hearts on yearth--an' _buried hyar_!" with her open palm she smote the insensate clods with a gesture of despair. then she went on in a rising tide of tumultuous emotion. "i love ye! oh, i _always_ loved ye! i never keered fur nobody else! an' i war tongue-tied, an' full of fool pride, an' faultin' ye fur yer ways; an' i wouldn't gin ye the word i knowed ye war wantin' ter hear. but now i kin tell the pore ghost of ye--i kin tell the pore, pore ghost!" she buried her swollen, tear-stained face in her hands, and shook her head to and fro with the realization of the futility of late repentance. as she once more lifted her eyes, she was obviously surprised to see him still standing there, and the crisis seemed to restore to him the faculty of speech. "minta elladine," he said huskily and prosaically, "i ain't dead!" she sprang to her feet and stood gazing at him, intent and quivering. "i be truly alive an' kickin', an' ez worthless ez ever," he went on. she said not a word, but bent and pallid, and, quaking in every muscle, stood peering beneath her hand, which still held back her hair. "it's all a mistake," he urged. "this ain't no grave. the top war dug a leetle ter turn off a revenuer's suspicions o' the moonshiners. they put that tale out." still, evidently on the verge of collapse, she did not speak. "ye needn't be afeared ez i be goin' ter take fur true all i hearn ye say; folks air gin ter vauntin' the dead," he paused for a moment, remembering the caustic comments over the deal of the cards, then added, "though i reckon _i_ hev hed some cur'ous 'speriences ez a harnt." she suddenly threw up both arms with a shrill scream, half nervous exhaustion, half inexpressible delight. she swayed to and fro, almost fainting, her balance failing. he caught her in his arms, and she leaned sobbing against his breast. "i stand ter every word of it," she cried, her voice broken and lapsed from control. "i love ye, an' i despise all the rest!" "i be powerful wild," he suggested contritely. "_i_ ain't keerin' ef ye be ez wild ez a deer." "but i'm goin' to quit gamesome company an' playin' kyerds an' sech. i expec' ter mend my ways now," he promised eagerly. "ye kin mend 'em or let 'em stay tore, jes ez ye please," she declared recklessly. "i ain't snatched my lovyer from the jaws o' death ter want him otherwise; ye be plumb true-hearted, _i know_." "i mought ez well hev been buried in this grave fer the last ten year' fer all the use i hev been," he protested solemnly; "but i hev learnt a lesson through bein' a harnt fer a while--i hev jes kem ter life. i'm goin' ter _live_ now. i'll make myself some use in the world, an' fust off i be goin' ter hinder the murder of a man what they hev got trapped up yander at the still." this initial devoir of his reformation, however, wyatt found no easy matter. the event had been craftily planned to seem an accident, a fall from a cliff in pursuing the wagon, and only the most ardent and cogent urgency on wyatt's part prevailed at length. he argued that this interpretation of the disaster would not satisfy the authorities. to take the raider's life insured discovery, retribution. but as he had been brought to the still in the night, it was obvious that if he were conveyed under cover of darkness and by roundabout trails within striking distance of the settlements, he could never again find his way to the locality in the dense wilderness. in his detention he had necessarily learned nothing fresh, for the only names he could have overheard had long been obnoxious to suspicion of moonshining, and afforded no proof. thus humanity, masquerading as caution, finally triumphed, and the officer, blindfolded, was conducted through devious and winding ways many miles distant, and released within a day's travel of the county town. walter wyatt was scarcely welcomed back to life by the denizens of the cove generally with the enthusiasm attendant on the first moments of his resuscitation, so to speak. he never forgot the solemn ecstasy of that experience, and in later years he was wont to annul any menace of discord with his wife by the warning, half jocose, half tender: "ye hed better mind; ye'll be sorry some day fur treatin' me so mean. remember, i hev viewed ye a-weepin' over my grave before now." a reformation, however complete and salutary, works no change of identity, and although he developed into an orderly, industrious, law-abiding citizen, his prankish temperament remained recognizable in the fantastic fables which he delighted to recount at some genial fireside of what he had seen and heard as a ghost. "'pears like, watt, ye hed more experiences whenst dead than living'," said an auditor, as these stories multiplied. "i did, fur a fack," watt protested. "i war a powerful onchancy, onquiet ghost. i even did my courtin' whilst in my reg'lar line o' business a-harntin' a graveyard." a chilhowee lily tall, delicate, and stately, with all the finished symmetry and distinction that might appertain to a cultivated plant, yet sharing that fragility of texture and peculiar suggestion of evanescence characteristic of the unheeded weed as it flowers, the chilhowee lily caught his eye. albeit long familiar, the bloom was now invested with a special significance and the sight of it brought him to a sudden pause. the cluster grew in a niche on the rocky verge of a precipice beetling over the windings of the rugged primitive road on the slope of the ridge. the great pure white bloom, trumpet-shaped and crowned with its flaring and many-cleft paracorolla, distinct against the densely blue sky, seemed the more ethereal because of the delicacy of its stalk, so erect, so inflexibly upright. about it the rocks were at intervals green with moss, and showed here and there heavy ocherous water stain. the luxuriant ferns and pendant vines in the densely umbrageous tangle of verdure served to heighten by contrast the keen whiteness of the flower and the isolation of its situation. ozias crann sighed with perplexity as he looked, and then his eye wandered down the great bosky slope of the wooded mountain where in marshy spots, here and there, a sudden white flare in the shadows betokened the chilhowee lily, flowering in myraids, holding out lures bewildering in their multitude. "they air bloomin' bodaciously all over the mounting," he remarked rancorously, as he leaned heavily on a pickaxe; "but we uns hed better try it ter-night ennyhows." it was late in august; a moon of exceeding lustre was in the sky, while still the sun was going down. all the western clouds were aflare with gorgeous reflections; the long reaches of the great smoky range had grown densely purple; and those dim cumberland heights that, viewed from this precipice of chilhowee, were wont to show so softly blue in the distance, had now a variant amethystine hue, hard and translucent of effect as the jewel itself. the face of one of his companions expressed an adverse doubt, as he, too, gazed at the illuminated wilderness, all solitary, silent, remote. "'pears like ter me it mought be powerful public," pete swofford objected. he had a tall, heavy, lumpish, frame, a lackluster eye, a broad, dimpled, babyish face incongruously decorated with a tuft of dark beard at the chin. the suit of brown jeans which he wore bore token variously of the storms it had weathered, and his coarse cow-hide boots were drawn over the trousers to the knee. his attention was now and again diverted from the conversation by the necessity of aiding a young bear, which he led by a chain, to repel the unwelcome demonstrations of two hounds belonging to one of his interlocutors. snuffling and nosing about in an affectation of curiosity the dogs could not forbear growling outright, as their muzzles approached their shrinking hereditary enemy, while the cub nestled close to his master and whimpered like a child. "jes' so, jes' so, honey. i'll make 'em cl'ar out!" swofford replied to the animal's appeal with ready sympathy. then, "i wish ter gawd, rufe, ye'd call yer dogs off," he added in a sort of aside to the youngest of the three mountaineers, who stood among the already reddening sumac fringing the road, beside his horse, athwart which lay a buck all gray and antlered, his recently cut throat still dripping blood. the party had been here long enough for it to collect in a tiny pool in a crevice in the rocky road, and the hounds constrained to cease their harassments of the bear now began to eagerly lap it up. the rifle with which rufe kinnicutt had killed the deer was still in his hands and he leaned upon it; he was a tall, finely formed, athletic young fellow with dark hair, keen, darkly greenish eyes, full of quickly glancing lights, and as he, too, scanned the sky, his attitude of mind also seemed dissuasive. "'pears like thar won't be no night, ez ye mought call night, till this moon goes down," he suggested. "'pears nigh ez bright ez day!" ozias crann's lank, angular frame; his narrow, bony face; his nose, long yet not large, sharp, pinched; his light grey eyes, set very closely together; his straggling reddish beard, all were fitting concomitants to accent the degree of caustic contempt he expressed. "oh, to be sure!" he drawled. "it'll be powerful public up hyar in the mounting in the midnight,--that's a fac'!--an' moonlight is mighty illconvenient to them ez wants ter git spied on through totin' a lantern in cur'ous places." this sarcasm left the two remonstrants out of countenance. pete swofford found a certain resource in the agitations of his bear, once more shrinking and protesting because of the dogs. "call off yer hound-dogs, rufe," he cried irritably, "or i'll gin 'em a bullet ter swallow." "ye air a plumb fool about that thar bar, pete," kinnicutt said sourly, calling off the hounds nevertheless. "that thar bar?" exclaimed swofford. "why, thar never war sech a bar! that thar bar goes ter mill, an' kin fetch home grist,--ef i starts him out in the woods whar he won't meet no dogs nor contrairy cattle o' men he kin go ter mill all by his lone!--same ez folks an' the bes' kind o' folks, too!" in fact the bear was even now begirt with a meal-bag, well filled, which although adding to his uncouth appearance and perhaps unduly afflicting the sensibilities of the horse, who snorted and reared at the sight of him, saved his master the labor of "packing" the heavy weight. swofford had his genial instincts and in return was willing to put up with the cubbishness of the transport,--would wait in the illimitable patience of the utterly idle for the bear to climb a tree if he liked and pleasantly share with him the persimmons of his quest;--would never interfere when the bear flung himself down and wallowed with the bag on his back, and would reply to the censorious at home, objecting to the dust and sand thus sifting in with the meal, with the time honored reminder that we are all destined "to eat a peck of dirt" in this world. "whenst ye fust spoke o' diggin'," said kinnicutt, interrupting a lengthening account of the bear's mental and moral graces, "i 'lowed ez ye mought be sayin' ez they air layin' off ter work agin in the tanglefoot mine." ozias crann lifted a scornful chin. "i reckon the last disasters thar hev interrupted the company so ez they hain't got much heart todes diggin' fur silver agin over in tanglefoot cove. fust," he checked off these misfortunes, by laying the fingers of one hand successively in the palm of the other, "the timbers o' one o' the cross cuts fell an' the roof caved in an' them two men war kilt, an' thar famblies sued the company an' got mo' damages 'n the men war bodaciously wuth. then the nex' thing the pay agent, ez war sent from glaston, war held up in tanglefoot an' robbed--some say by the miners. he got hyar whenst they war out on a strike, an' they robbed him 'cause they warn't paid cordin' ter thar lights, an' they did shoot him up cornsider'ble. that happened jes' about a year ago. then sence, thar hev been a awful cavin' in that deep shaft they hed sunk in the tunnel, an' the mine war flooded an' the machinery ruint--i reckon the company in glaston ain't a-layin' off ter fly in the face o' providence and begin agin, arter all them leadin's ter quit." "some believe he warn't robbed at all," kinnicutt said slowly. he had turned listlessly away, evidently meditating departure, his hand on his horse's mane, one foot in the stirrup. "ye know that gal named loralindy byars?" crann said craftily. kinnicutt paused abruptly. then as the schemer remained silent he demanded, frowning darkly, "what's loralindy byars got ter do with it?" "mighty nigh all!" crann exclaimed, triumphantly. it was a moment of tense suspense. but it was not crann's policy to tantalize him further, however much the process might address itself to his peculiar interpretation of pleasure. "that thar pay agent o' the mining company," he explained, "he hed some sort'n comical name--oh, i remember now, renfrow--paul renfrow--waal--ye know he war shot in the knee when the miners way-laid him." "i disremember now ef it war in the knee or the thigh," swofford interposed, heavily pondering. kinnicutt's brow contracted angrily, and crann broke into open wrath: "an' i ain't carin', ye fool--what d' ye interrupt fur like that?" "wall," protested swofford, indignantly, "ye said 'ye know' an' i didn't _know_." "an' i aint carin'--the main p'int war that he could neither ride nor walk. so the critter crawled! nobody knows how he gin the strikers the slip, but he got through ter old man byars's house. an' thar he staid till loralindy an' the old 'oman byars nussed him up so ez he could bear the pain o' bein' moved. an' he got old man byars ter wagin him down ter colb'ry, a-layin' on two feather beds 'count o' the rocky roads, an' thar he got on the steam kyars an' he rid on them back ter whar he kem from." kinnicutt seemed unable to longer restrain his impatience. he advanced a pace. "ye appear ter 'low ez ye air tellin' news--i knowed all that whenst it happened a full year ago!" "i reckon ye know, too, ez loralindy hed no eyes nor ears fur ennybody else whilst he war hyar--but then _he war_ good-lookin' an' saaft-spoken fur true! an' now he hev writ a letter ter her!" crann grinned as kinnicutt inadvertently gasped. "how do you uns know that?" the young man hoarsely demanded, with a challenging accent of doubt, yet prescient despair. "'kase, bubby, that's the way the story 'bout the lily got out. i was at the mill this actial day. the miller hed got the letter--hevin' been ter the post-office at the crossroads--an' he read it ter her, bein' ez loralindy can't read writin'. she warn't expectin' it. he writ of his own accord." a sense of shadows impended vaguely over all the illuminated world, and now and again a flicker of wings through the upper atmosphere betokened the flight of homing birds. crann gazed about him absently while he permitted the statement he had made to sink deep into the jealous, shrinking heart of the young mountaineer, and he repeated it as he resumed. "she warnt' expectin' of the letter. she jes' stood thar by the mill-door straight an' slim an' white an' still, like she always be--ter my mind like she war some sort'n sperit, stiddier a sure enough gal--with her yaller hair slick an' plain, an' that old, faded, green cotton dress she mos' always wears, an' lookin' quiet out at the water o' the mill-dam ter one side, with the trees a-wavin' behind her at the open door--jes' like she always be! an' arter awhile she speaks slow an' saaft an axes the miller ter read it aloud ter her. an' lo! old man bates war rej'iced an' glorified ter the bone ter be able ter git a peek inter that letter! he jes' shet down the gates and stopped the mill from runnin' in a jiffy, an' tole all them loafers, ez hangs round thar mos'ly, ter quit thar noise. an' then he propped hisself up on a pile o' grist, an' thar he read all the sayin's ez war writ in that letter. an' a power o' time it tuk, an' a power o' spellin' an' bodaciously wrastlin' with the alphabit." he laughed lazily, as he turned his quid of tobacco in his mouth, recollecting the turbulence of these linguistic turmoils. "this hyar feller--this renfrow--he called her in the letter 'my dear friend'--he did--an' 'lowed he hed a right ter the word, fur ef ever a man war befriended he hed been. he 'lowed ez he could never furget her. an' lord! how it tickled old man bates ter read them sentiments--the prideful old peacock! he would jes' stop an' push his spectacles back on his slick bald head an' say, 'ye hear me, loralindy! he 'lows he'll never furget the keer ye tuk o' him whenst he war shot an' ailin' an' nigh ter death. an' no mo' he ought, nuther. but some do furget sech ez that, loralindy--some do!' an' them fellers at the mill, listenin' ter the letter, could sca'cely git thar consent ter wait fur old man bates ter git through his talk ter loralindy, that he kin talk ter every day in the year! but arter awhile he settled his spectacles agin, an' tuk another tussle with the spellin,' an' then he rips out the main p'int o' the letter. this stranger-man he 'lowed he war bold enough ter ax another favior. the cuss tried ter be funny. 'one good turn desarves another,' he said. 'an' ez ye hev done me one good turn, i want ye ter do me another.' an' old man bates hed the insurance ter waste the time a-laffin' an' a-laffin' at sech a good joke. them fellers at the mill could hev fund it in thar hearts ter grind him up in his own hopper, ef it wouldn't hev ground up with him thar chance o' ever hearin' the e-end o' that thar interestin' letter. so thar comes the favior. would she dig up that box he treasured from whar he told her he hed buried it, arter he escaped from the attack o' the miners? an' would she take the box ter colb'ry in her grandad's wagin, an' send it ter him by express. he hed tole her once whar he hed placed it--an' ter mark the spot mo' percisely he hed noticed one chilhowee lily bulb right beside it. an' then says the letter, "good bye, chilhowee lily!' an' all them fellers stood staring." a light wind was under way from the west. delicate flakes of red and glistening white were detached from the clouds. sails--sails were unfurling in the vast floods of the skies. with flaunting banners and swelling canvas a splendid fleet reached half way to the zenith. but a more multitudinous shipping still swung at anchor low in the west, though the promise of a fair night as yet held fast. "an' now," said ozias crann in conclusion, "all them fellers is a-diggin'." "whut's in the box?" demanded swofford, his big baby-face all in a pucker of doubt. "the gold an' silver he ought ter hev paid the miners, of course. they always 'lowed they never tuk a dollar off him; they jes' got a long range shot at him! how i wish," ozias crann broke off fervently, "how i wish i could jes' git my hands on that money once!" he held out his hands, long and sinewy, and opened and shut them very fast. "why, that would be stealin'!" exclaimed kinnicutt with repulsion. "how so? 't ain't his'n now, sure--he war jes' the agent ter pay it out," argued crann, volubly. "it belongs ter the mine owners, then--the company." there was a suggestion of inquiry in the younger man's tone. "'pears not--they sent it hyar fur the percise purpose ter be paid out!" the specious crann replied. "then it belongs ter the miners." "they hedn't yearned it--an' ef some o' them hed they warn't thar ter receive it, bein' out on a strike. they hed burnt down the company's office over yander at the mine in tanglefoot cove, with all the books an' accounts, an' now nobody knows what's owin' ter who." kinnicutt's moral protests were silenced, not satisfied. he looked up moodily at the moon now alone in the sky, for only a vanishing segment of the great vermilion sphere of the sun was visible above the western mountains, when suddenly he felt one of those long grasping claws on his arm. "now, rufe, bubby," a most insinuating tone, crann had summoned, "all them fool fellers air diggin' up the face of the yearth, wharever they kin find a chilhowee lily--like sarchin' fur a needle in a haystack. but we uns will do a better thing than that. i drawed the idee ez soon ez i seen you an' pete hyar this evenin' so onexpected. 'them's my pardners,' i sez ter myself. 'pete ter holp dig an' tote ef the box be heavy. an' you ter find out edzac'ly whar it be hid.' you uns an' loralindy hev been keepin' company right smart, an' ye kin toll loralindy along till she lets slip jes' whar that lily air growin'. i'll be bound ez she likes ye a sight better 'n that renfrow--leastwise ef 't warn't fur his letter, honeyin' her up with complimints, an' she hevin' the chance o' tollin' him on through doin' him sech faviors, savin' his life, an' now his money--shucks it's mo' _our_ money 'n his'n; 't ain't his'n! gol-darn the insurance o' this renfrow! his idee is ter keep the money his own self, an' make her sen' it ter him. then 'good-bye, chilhowee lily!'" the night had come at last, albeit almost as bright as day, but with so ethereal, so chastened a splendor that naught of day seemed real. a world of dreams it was, of gracious illusions, of far vague distances that lured with fair promises that the eye might not seek to measure. the gorgeous tints were gone, and in their stead were soft grays and indefinite blurring browns, and every suggestion of silver that metal can show flashed in variant glitter in the moon. the mountains were majestically sombre, with a mysterious sense of awe in their great height. there were few stars; only here and there the intense lustre of a still planet might withstand the annihilating magnificence of the moon. its glamour did not disdain the embellishment of humbler objects. as rufe kinnicutt approached a little log cabin nestling in a sheltered cove he realized that a year had gone by since renfrow had seen it first, and that thus it must have appeared when he beheld it. the dew was bright on the slanting roof, and the shadow of oak trees wavered over it. the mountain loomed above. the zigzag lines of the rail fence, the bee-gums all awry ranged against it, the rickety barn and fowl-house, the gourd vines draping the porch of the dwelling, all had a glimmer of dew and a picturesque symmetry, while the spinning wheel as loralinda sat in the white effulgent glow seemed to revolve with flashes of light in lieu of spokes, and the thread she drew forth was as silver. its murmuring rune was hardly distinguishable from the chant of the cicada or the long droning in strophe and antistrophe of the water-side frogs far away, but such was the whir or her absorption that she did not perceive his approach till his shadow fell athwart the threshold, and she looked up with a start. "ye 'pear powerful busy a-workin' hyar so late in the night," he exclaimed with a jocose intonation. she smiled, a trifle abashed; then evidently conscious of the bizarre suggestions of so much ill-timed industry, she explained, softly drawling: "waal, ye know, granny, she be so harried with her rheumatics ez she gits along powerful poor with her wheel, an' by night she be plumb out'n heart an' mad fur true. so arter she goes ter bed i jes' spins a passel fur her, an' nex' mornin' she 'lows she done a toler'ble stint o' work an' air consider'ble s'prised ez she war so easy put out." she laughed a little, but he did not respond. with his sensibilities all jarred by the perfidious insinuation of ozias crann, and his jealousy all on the alert, he noted and resented the fact that at first her attention had come back reluctantly to him, and that he, standing before her, had been for a moment a less definitely realized presence than the thought in her mind--this thought had naught to do with him, and of that he was sure. "loralindy," he said with a turbulent impulse of rage and grief; "whenst ye promised to marry me ye an' me war agreed that we would never hev one thought hid from one another--ain't that a true word?" the wheel had stopped suddenly--the silver thread was broken; she was looking up at him, the moonlight full on the straight delicate lineaments of her pale face, and the smooth glister of her golden hair. "not o' my own," she stipulated. and he remembered, and wondered that it should come to him so late, that she had stood upon this reservation and that he--poor fool--had conceded it, thinking it concerned the distilling of whisky in defiance of the revenue law, in which some of her relatives were suspected to be engaged, and of which he wished to know as little as possible. the discovery of his fatuity was not of soothing effect. "'t war that man renfrow's secret--i hearn about his letter what war read down ter the mill." she nodded acquiescently, her expression once more abstracted, her thoughts far afield. he had one moment of triumph as he brought himself tensely erect, shouldering his gun--his shadow behind him in the moonlight duplicated the gesture with a sharp promptness as at a word of command. "all the mounting's a-diggin' by this time!" he laughed with ready scorn, then experienced a sudden revulsion of feeling. her face had changed. her expression was unfamiliar. she had caught together the two ends of the broken thread, and was knotting them with a steady hand, and a look of composed security on her face, that was itself a flout to the inopportune search of the mountaineers and boded ill to his hope to discover from her the secret of the _cache_. he recovered himself suddenly. "ye 'lowed ter me ez ye never keered nuthin' fur that man, renfrow," he said with a plaintive appeal, far more powerful with her than scorn. she looked up at him with candid reassuring eyes. "i never keered none fur him," she protested. "he kem hyar all shot up, with the miners an' mounting boys hot foot arter him--an' we done what we could fur him. gran'daddy 'lowed ez _he_ warn't 'sponsible fur whut the owners done, or hedn't done at the mine, an' he seen no sense in shootin' one man ter git even with another." "but ye kep' his secret!" kinnicutt persisted. "what fur should i tell it--'t ain't mine?" "that thar money in that box he buried ain't _his'n_, nuther!" he argued. there was an inscrutable look in her clear eyes. she had risen, and was standing in the moonlight opposite him. the shadows of the vines falling over her straight skirt left her face and hair the fairer in the silver glister. "'pears like ter me," he broke the silence with his plaintive cadence, "ez ye ought ter hev tole me. i ain't keerin' ter know 'ceptin' ye hev shet me out. it hev hurt my feelin's powerful ter be treated that-a-way. tell me now--or lemme go forever!" she was suddenly trembling from head to foot. pale she was always. now she was ghastly. "rufe kinnicutt," she said with the solemnity of an adjuration, "ye don't keer fur sech ez this, fur _nuthin'_. an' i promised!" he noted her agitation. he felt the clue in his grasp. he sought to wield his power, "choose a-twixt us! choose a-twixt the promise ye made ter that man--or the word ye deny ter me! an' when i'm gone--i'm gone!" she stood seemingly irresolute. "it's nuthin' ter me," he protested once more. "i kin keep it an' gyard it ez well ez you uns. but i won't be shet out, an' doubted, an' denied, like ez ef _i_ wan't fitten ter be trested with nuthin'!" he stood a moment longer, watching her trembling agitation, and feeling that tingling exasperation that might have preceded a blow. "i'm goin'," he threatened. as she still stood motionless he turned away as if to make good his threat. he heard a vague stir among the leaves, and turning back he saw that the porch was vacant. he had overshot the mark. in swift repentance he retraced his steps. he called her name. no response save the echoes. the house dogs, roused to a fresh excitement, were gathering about the door, barking in affected alarm, save one, to whom kinnicutt was a stranger, that came, silent and ominous, dragging a block and chain from under the house. kinnicutt heard the sudden drowsy plaints of the old rheumatic grandmother, as she was rudely awakened by the clamors, and presently a heavy footfall smote upon the puncheons that floored the porch. old byars himself, with his cracked voice and long gray hair, had left his pipe on the mantel-piece to investigate the disorder without. "hy're rufe!" he swung uneasily posed on his crutch stick in the doorway, and mechanically shaded his eyes with one hand, as from the sun, as he gazed dubiously at the young man, "hain't ye in an' about finished yer visit?--or yer visitation, ez the pa'son calls it. he, he, he! wall, loralindy hev gone up steers ter the roof-room, an it's about time ter bar up the doors. waal, joy go with ye, he, he, he! come off, tige, _ye_ bose, hyar! cur'ous i can't l'arn them dogs no manners." a dreary morrow ensued on the splendid night. the world was full of mists; the clouds were resolved into drizzling rain; every perspective of expectation was restricted by the limited purlieus of the present. the treasure-seekers digging here and there throughout the forest in every nook in low ground, wherever a drift of the snowy blossoms might glimmer, began to lose hope and faith. now and again some iconoclastic soul sought to stigmatize the whole rumor as a fable. more than one visited the byars cabin in the desperate hope that some chance word might fall from the girl, giving a clue to the mystery. by daylight the dreary little hut had no longer poetic or picturesque suggestion. bereft of the sheen and shimmer of the moonlight its aspect had collapsed like a dream into the dullest realities. the door-yard was muddy and littered; here the razor-back hogs rooted unrebuked; the rail fence had fallen on one side, and it would seem that only their attachment to home prevented them from wandering forth to be lost in the wilderness; the clap-boards of the shiny roof were oozing and steaming with dampness, and showed all awry and uneven; the clay and stick chimney, hopelessly out of plumb, leaned far from the wall. within it was not more cheerful; the fire smoked gustily into the dim little room, illumined only by the flicker of the blaze and the discouraged daylight from the open door, for the batten shutters of the unglazed window were closed. the puncheon floor was grimy--the feet that curiosity had led hither brought much red clay mire upon them. the poultry, all wet and dispirited, ventured within and stood about the door, now scuttling in sudden panic and with peevish squawks upon the unexpected approach of a heavy foot. loralinda, sitting at her spinning wheel, was paler than ever, all her dearest illusions dashed into hopeless fragments, and a promise which she did not value to one whom she did not love quite perfect and intact. the venerable grandmother sat propped with pillows in her arm-chair, and now and again adjured the girl to "show some manners an' tell the neighbors what they so honed to know." with the vehemence of her insistence her small wizened face would suddenly contract; the tortures of the rheumatism, particularly rife in such weather, would seize upon her, and she would cry aloud with anguish, and clutch her stick and smite her granddaughter to expedite the search for the primitive remedies of dried "yarbs" on which her comfort depended. "oh, lord!" she would wail as she fell back among the pillows. "i'm a-losin' all my religion amongst these hyar rheumatics. i wish i war a man jes' ter say 'damn 'em' once! an' come good weather i'll sca'cely be able ter look loralindy in the face, considerin' how i hector her whilst i be in the grip o' this misery." "jes' pound away, granny, ef it makes ye feel ennywise better," cried loralinda, furtively rubbing the weales on her arm. "it don't hurt me wuth talkin' 'bout. ye jes' pound away, an' welcome!" perhaps it was her slender, elastic strength and erect grace, with her shining hair and ethereal calm pallor in the midst of the storm that evoked the comparison, for ozias crann was suddenly reminded of the happy similitude suggested by the letter that he had heard read and had repeated yesterday to his cronies as he stood in the road. the place was before him for one illumined moment--the niche in the cliff, with its ferns and vines, the delicate stately dignity of the lilies outlined against the intense blue of the sky. the reminiscence struck him like a discovery. where else could the flower have been so naturally noticed by this man, a stranger, and remembered as a mark in the expectation of finding it once more when the bulb should flower again--as beside the county road? he would have been hopelessly lost a furlong from the path. crann stood for a moment irresolute, then silently grasped his pickaxe and slunk out among the mists on the porch. he berated his slow mind as he hurried invisible through the vast clouds in which the world seemed lost. why should the laggard inspiration come so late if it had come at all? why should he, with the clue lying half developed in his own mental impressions, have lost all the vacant hours of the long, bright night, have given the rumor time to pervade the mountains, and set all the idlers astir before he should strike the decisive blow? there, at last, was the cliff, beetling far over the mist-filled valley below. a slant of sunshine fell on the surging vapor, and it gleamed opalescent. there was the niche, with the lilies all a-bloom. he came panting up the slope under the dripping trees, with a dash of wind in his face and the odor of damp leafage and mold on the freshening air. he struck the decisive blow with a will. the lilies shivered and fell apart. the echoes multiplied the stroke with a ringing metallic iteration. the loiterers were indeed abroad. the sound lured them from their own devious points of search, and a half dozen of the treasure-seekers burst from the invisibilities of the mists as ozias crann's pickaxe cleaving the mold struck upon the edge of a small japanned box hidden securely between the rocks, a scant foot below the surface. a dangerous spot for a struggle, the verge of a precipice, but the greed for gain is a passion that blunts the sense of peril. the wrestling figures, heedless of the abyss, swayed hither and thither, the precious box among them; now it was captured by a stronger grasp, now secured anew by sheer sleight-of-hand. more than once it dropped to the ground, and at last in falling the lock gave way, and scattered to the wind were numberless orderly vouchers for money already paid, inventories of fixtures, bills for repairs, reports of departments--various details of value in settling the accounts of the mine, and therefore to be transmitted to the main office of the mining company at glaston. "ef i hed tole ye ez the money warn't thar, ye wouldn't hev believed me," loralinda byars said drearily, when certain disappointed wights, who had sought elsewhere and far afield, repaired to the cabin laughing at their own plight and upbraiding her with the paucity of the _cache_. "i knowed all the time what war in that box. the man lef' it thar in the niche arter he war shot, it bein' heavy ter tote an' not wuth much. but he brung the money with him, an' tuk it off, bein', he said, without orders from the owners, the miners hevin' burnt down the offices, an' bruk open the safe an' destroyed all the papers, ceptin' that leetle box. i sewed up the man's money myself in them feather beds what he lay on whenst he war wagined down 'ter colb'ry ter take the kyars. he 'lowed the compn'y mought want them papers whenst they went into liquidation, ez he called it, an' tole me how he hed hid 'em." rufe kinnicutt wondered that she should have been so unyielding. she did not speculate on the significance of her promise. she did not appraise its relative value with other interests, and seek to qualify it. once given she simply kept it. she held herself no free agent. it was not hers. the discovery that the lure was gold revealed the incentive of her lover's jealous demand to share the custody of the secret. his intention was substituted for the deed in her rigid interpretation of integrity. it cost her many tears. but she seemed thereafter to him still more unyielding, as erect, fragile, ethereally pure and pale she noted his passing no more than the lily might. he often thought of the cheap lure of the sophisms that had so deluded him, the simple obvious significance of the letter, and the phrase, "good-bye, chilhowee lily," had also an echo of finality for him. the phantom of bogue holauba gordon never forgot the sensation he experienced on first beholding it. there was no mist in the midnight. the moon was large and low. the darkness of the dense, towering forests on either hand impinged in no wise on the melancholy realm of wan light in which the mississippi lay, unshadowed, solitary, silent as always, its channel here a mile or more in breadth. he had been observing how the mighty water-course was sending out its currents into a bayou, called bogue holauba, as if the larger stream were a tributary of the lesser. this peculiarity of the river in the deltaic region, to throw off volume instead of continually receiving affluents, was unaccustomed to him, being a stranger to the locality, and for a moment it focussed his interest. the next, his every faculty was concentrated on a singular phenomenon on the bank of the bogue. he caught his breath with a gasp; then, without conscious volition, he sought to explain it to his own shocked senses, to realize it as some illusion, some combination of natural causes, the hour, the pallor pervading the air, the distance, for his boat was near the middle of the stream,--but the definiteness of the vision annulled his efforts. there on the broad, low margin, distinct, yet with a coercive conviction of unreality, the figure of a man drawn in lines of vague light paced slowly to and fro; an old man, he would have said, bent and wizened, swaying back and forth, in expressive contortions, a very pantomime of woe, wringing gaunt hands and arms above his head, and now and again bowing low in recurrent paroxysms of despair. the wind held its breath, and the river, mute as ever, made no sign, and the encompassing alluvial wilderness stood for a type of solitude. only the splashing of the paddle of the "dug-out" gave token of the presence of life in all the land. gordon could not restrain his wonder. "what--what--is--that thing--over there on the bank of the bogue?" he called out to the negro servant who was paddling the canoe. he was all unprepared for the effect of his words. indeed, he was fain to hold hard to the gunwales. for the negro, with a sudden galvanic start, let slip the paddle from his hand, recovering it only by a mighty lunge in a mechanical impulse of self-preservation. the dug-out, the most tricksy craft afloat, rocked violently in the commotion and threatened to capsize. then, as it finally righted, its course was hastily changed, and under the impetus of panic terror it went shooting down the river at a tremendous speed. "why, what does all this mean?" demanded gordon. "don't ye talk ter me, boss!" the boatman, with chattering teeth, adjured his passenger. "don't ye talk ter me, boss! don't tell me ye seed somepin over dar on bogue holauba--'kase ef ye _do_ i'se gwine ter turn dis dug-out upside down an' swim out ter de arkansas side. i ain't gwine ter paddle dis boat fur no ghost-seer, sure's ye are born. i ain't gwine ter have no traffickin' wid ghosts nur ghost-seers nuther. i'd die 'fore de year's out, sure!" the sincerity of the servant's fright was attested by the change in his manner. he had been hitherto all cheerful, though respectful, affability, evidently bidding high for a tip. now he crouched disconsolate and sullen in his place, wielding the paddle with all his might, and sedulously holding down his head, avoiding the stranger's eye. gordon felt the whole situation in some sort an affront to his dignity, and the apparition being withdrawn from view by the changed direction, he was in better case to take account of this,--to revolt at the uncouth character of the craft and guide sent for him; the absence of any member of his entertainer's family to welcome the visitor, here at their instance and invitation; the hour of the night; the uncanny incident of the inexplicable apparition,--but when that thought recurred to him he sheered off precipitately from the recollection. it had the salutary effect of predisposing him to make the best of the situation. being to a degree a man of the world and of a somewhat large experience, he began to argue within himself that he could scarcely have expected a different reception in these conditions. the great river being at the stage known as "dead low water," steamboat travel was practically suspended for the season, or he could have reached his destination more directly than by rail. an accident had delayed the train some seven hours, and although the gasoline launch sent to meet him at the nearest way-station had been withdrawn at nightfall, since he did not arrive, as his sable attendant informed him, the dug-out had been substituted, with instructions to wait all night, on the remote chance that he might come, after all. nevertheless, it was with an averse, disaffected gaze that he silently watched the summit-line of foliage on either bank of the river glide slowly along the sky, responsive to the motion of the boat. it seemed a long monotony of this experience, as he sat listless in the canoe, before a dim whiteness began to appear in a great, unbroken expanse in the gradually enlarging riparian view--the glister of the moon on the open cotton-bolls in the fields. the forests were giving way, the region of swamp and bayou. the habitations of man were at hand, and when at last the dug-out was run into a plantation landing, and kenneth gordon was released from his cramped posture in that plebeian craft, he felt so averse to his mission, such a frivolous, reluctant distaste that he marvelled how he was to go through with it at all, as he took his way along the serpentine curves of the "dirt road," preceded by his guide, still with eyes averted and sullen mien, silently bearing his suit-case. a few turns, and suddenly a large house came into view, rearing its white facade to the moonlight in the midst of a grove of magnolia trees, immense of growth, the glossy leaves seeming a-drip with lustre as with dew. the flight of steps and the wide veranda were here cumbered with potted ferns and foliage plants as elsewhere, and gave the first suggestion of conformity to the ways of the world that the adventure had yet borne. the long, broad, silent hall into which he was ushered, lighted only by a kerosene hand-lamp which the servant carried as he led the way, the stairs which the guest ascended in a mansion of unconscious strangers, all had eerie intimations, and the comfort and seclusion of the room assigned to gordon was welcome indeed to him; for, argue as he might, he was conscious of a continuous and acute nervous strain. he had had a shock, he was irritably aware, and he would be glad of rest and quiet. it was a large, square, comfortable room in one of the wings, overlooking a garden, which sent up a delectable blend of fragrance and dew through the white muslin curtains at the long, broad windows, standing open to the night. on a table, draped with the inevitable "drawn-work" of civilization, stood a lamp of finer fashion, but no better illuminating facilities, than the one carried off by the darky, who had made great haste to leave the room, and who had not lifted his eyes toward the ill-omened "ghost-seer" nor spoken a word since gordon had blurted out his vision on bogue holauba. this table also bore a tray with crackers and sandwiches and a decanter of sherry, which genially intimated hospitable forethought. the bed was a big four-poster, which no bedizenment could bring within the fashion of the day. gordon had a moment's poignant recoil from the darkness, the strangeness, the recollection of the inexplicable apparition he had witnessed, as his head sank on the pillow, embroidered after the latest fads. he could see through the open window that the moon was down at last and the world abandoned to gloom. he heard from out some neighboring swamp the wild lamenting cry of the crane; and then, listen as he might, the night had lapsed to silence, and the human hearts in this house, all unknown to him, were as unimagined, as unrelated, as unresponsive, as if instead of a living, breathing home he lay in some mute city of the dead. the next moment, as it seemed, a sky as richly azure as the boasted heavens of italy filled his vision as he lifted himself on his elbow. a splendid, creamy, magnolia bloom was swaying in the breeze, almost touching the window-sill. there was a subdued, respectful knocking at the door, which gordon had a vague idea that he had heard before this morning, preceding the announcement that breakfast was waiting. tardily mindful of his obligations as guest, he made all the speed possible in his toilet, and soon issued into the hall, following the sound of voices through the open doors, which led him presently to the threshold of the breakfast-room. there were two ladies at the table, one of venerable aspect, with short, white curls, held from her face by side-combs, a modish breakfast-cap, and a morning-gown of thin gray silk. the other was young enough to be her daughter, as indeed she was, dressed in deep mourning. rising instantly from her place as hostess behind the silver service, she extended her hand to the stranger. "mr. gordon, is it not? i was afraid you would arrive during the night. mercy! so uncomfortable! how good of you to come--yes, indeed." she sank into her chair again, pressing her black-bordered handkerchief to her dark eyes, which seemed to gordon singularly dry, round, and glossy--suggestive of chestnuts, in fact. "so good of you to come," she repeated, "to the house of mourning! very few people have any talent for woe, mr. gordon. these rooms have housed many guests, but not to weep with us. the stricken deer must weep alone." she fell to hysterical sobbing, which her mother interrupted by a remonstrant "my dear, my dear!" a blond young man with a florid cheek and a laughing blue eye, who sat in an easy posture at the foot of the table, aided the diversion of interest. "won't you introduce me, mrs. keene?--or must i take the opportunity to tell mr. gordon that i am dr. rigdon, very much at his service." "mercy! yes, yes, indeed!" mrs. keene acceded as the two young men shook hands; then, evidently perturbed by her lack of ceremony, she exclaimed pettishly, "where is geraldine? she always sees to it that everybody knows everybody, and that everybody is served at a reception or a tea. i never have to think of such things if _she_ is in the house." the allusions seemed to gordon a bit incongruous with the recent heavy affliction of the household. the accuracy with which the waves of red hair, of a rich tint that suggested chemicals, undulated about the brow of the widow, the art with which the mourning-gown brought out all the best points and subdued the defects of a somewhat clumsy figure, the suspicion of a cosmetic's aid in a dark line, scarcely perceptible yet amply effective, under the prominent eyes, all contributed to the determination of a lady of forty-five years of age to look thirty. "geraldine is always late for breakfast, but surely she ought to be down by this time," mrs. brinn said, with as much acrimony as a mild old lady could well compass. "oh, geraldine reads half the night," explained mrs. keene. "such an injurious habit! don't you think so, mr. gordon?" "oh, _she_ is all right," expostulated the young physician. "geraldine has a constitution of iron, i know," mrs. keene admitted. "but, mercy!--to live in books, mr. gordon. now, _i_ always wanted to live in life,--in the world! i used to tell mr. keene"--even she stumbled a trifle in naming the so recent dead. "i used to tell him that he had buried the best years of my life down here in the swamp on the plantation." "pleasant for mr. keene," gordon thought. "i wanted to live in life," reiterated mrs. keene. "what is a glimpse of new orleans or the white sulphur springs once in a great while!" "'this world is but a fleeting show,'" quoted rigdon, with a palpable effort to laugh off the inappropriate subject. "oh, that is what people always tell the restricted, especially when they are themselves drinking the wine-cup to the bottom." "and finding the lees bitter," said rigdon. the widow gave an off-hand gesture. "you learned that argument from geraldine--he is nothing but an echo of geraldine, mr. gordon--now, isn't he, mamma?" she appealed directly to mrs. brinn. "he seems to have a great respect for geraldine's opinion," said mrs. brinn primly. "if i may ask, who is this lady who seems to give the law to the community?" inquired gordon, thinking it appropriate to show, and really beginning to feel, an interest in the personnel of the entourage. "am i related to her, as well as to mr. keene?" "no; geraldine is one of the norris family--intimate friends of ours, but not relatives. she often visits here, and in my affliction and loneliness i begged her to come and stay for several weeks." not to be related to the all-powerful geraldine was something of a disappointment, for although gordon had little sentiment or ideality in his mental and moral system, one of his few emotional susceptibilities lay in his family pride and clannish spirit. he felt for his own, and he was touched in his chief altruistic possibility in the appeal that had brought him hither. to his amazement, mr. keene, a second cousin whom he had seldom even seen, had named him executor of his will, without bond, and in a letter written in the last illness, reaching its destination indeed after the writer's death, had besought that gordon would be gracious enough to act, striking a crafty note in urging the ties of consanguinity. but for this plea gordon would have doubtless declined on the score of pressure of business of his own. there were no nearer relatives, however, and with a sense of obligation at war with a restive indisposition, gordon had come in person to this remote region to offer the will for probate, and to take charge of the important papers and personal property of the deceased. a simple matter it would prove, he fancied. there was no great estate, and probably but few business complications. "going home, dr. george?" his hostess asked as the young physician made his excuses for quitting the table before the conclusion of the meal. "dr. rigdon is not staying in the house, then?" gordon queried as the door closed upon him, addressing the remark to the old lady by way of politely including her in the conversation. "no, he is a neighbor of ours--a close and constant friend to us." mrs. brinn spoke as with grateful appreciation. mrs. keene took a different view. "he just hangs about here on geraldine's account," she said. "he happens to be here to-day because last night she took a notion that he must go all the way to bogue holauba to meet you, if the train should stop at the station above; but he was called off to attend a severe case of ptomaine poisoning." "and did the man die?" mrs. brinn asked, with a sort of soft awe. "mercy! i declare i forgot to ask him if the man died or not," exclaimed mrs. keene. "but that was the reason that only a servant was sent to meet you, mr. gordon. the doctor looked in this morning to learn if you had arrived safely, and we made him stay to breakfast with us." gordon was regretting that he had let him depart so suddenly. "i thought perhaps, as he seems so familiar with the place he might show me where mr. keene kept his papers. i ought to have them in hand at once." mrs. keene remembered to press her handkerchief to her eyes, and gordon hastily added, "since dr. rigdon is gone, perhaps this lady--what is her name?--geraldine--could save you the trouble." "mercy, yes!" she declared emphatically. "for i really do not know where to begin to look. geraldine will know or guess. i'll go straight and rouse geraldine out of bed." she preceded gordon into the hall, and, flinging over her shoulder the admonition, "make yourself at home, i beg," ran lightly up the stairs. meantime gordon strolled to the broad front door that stood open from morning to night, winter and summer, and paused there to light his cigar. all his characteristics were accented in the lustre of the vivid day, albeit for the most part they were of a null, negative tendency, for he had an inexpressive, impersonal manner and a sort of aloof, reserved dignity. his outward aspect seemed rather the affair of his up-to-date metropolitan tailor and barber than any exponent of his character and mind. he was not much beyond thirty years of age, and his straight, fine, dark hair was worn at the temples more by the fluctuations of stocks than the ravages of time. he was pale, of medium height, and slight of build; he listened with a grave, deliberate attention and an inscrutable gray eye, very steady, coolly observant, an appreciable asset in the brokerage business. he was all unaccustomed to the waste of time, and it was with no slight degree of impatience that he looked about him. the magnolia grove filled the space to the half-seen gate in front of the house, but away on either side were long vistas. to the right the river was visible, and, being one of the great bends of the stream, it seemed to run directly to the west, the prospect only limited by the horizon line. on the other side, a glare, dazzlingly white in the sun, proclaimed the cotton-fields. afar the gin-house showed, with its smoke-stack, like an obeliscal column, from which issued heavy coils of vapor, and occasionally came the raucous grating of a screw, telling that the baler was at work. interspersed throughout the fields were the busy cotton-pickers, and now and again rose snatches of song as they heaped the great baskets in the turn-rows. within the purlieus of the inclosure about the mansion there was no stir of industry, no sign of life, save indeed an old hound lying on the veranda steps, looking up with great, liquid, sherry-tinted eyes at the stranger, and, though wheezing a wish to lick his hand, unable to muster the energy to rise. after an interval of a few moments gordon turned within. he felt that he must forthwith get at the papers and set this little matter in order. he paused baffled at the door of the parlor, where satin damask and rosewood furniture, lace curtains and drawn shades, held out no promise of repositories of business papers. on the opposite side of the hall was a sitting-room that bore evidence of constant use. here was a desk of the old-fashioned kind, with a bookcase as a superstructure, and a writing-table stood in the centre of the floor, equipped with a number of drawers which were all locked, as a tentative touch soon told. he had not concluded its examination when a step and rustle behind him betokened a sudden entrance. "miss geraldine norris!" a voice broke upon the air,--a voice that he had not before heard, and he turned abruptly to greet the lady as she formally introduced herself. a veritable titania she seemed as she swayed in the doorway. she was a little thing, delicately built, slender yet not thin, with lustrous golden hair, large, well-opened, dark blue eyes, a complexion daintily white and roseate,--a fairy-like presence indeed, but with a prosaic, matter-of-fact manner and a dogmatic pose of laying down the law. gordon could never have imagined himself so disconcerted as when she advanced upon him with the caustic query, "why did you not ask mrs. keene for her husband's keys? surely that is simple enough!" she flung a bunch of keys on a steel ring down upon the table. "heavens! to be roused from my well-earned slumbers at day-break to solve this problem! 'hurry! hurry! hurry!'" she mimicked mrs. keene's urgency, then broke out laughing. "now," she demanded, all unaffected by his mien of surprised and offended dignity, "do you think yourself equal to the task of fitting these keys,--or shall i lend you my strong right arm?" it is to be doubted if gordon had ever experienced such open ridicule as when she came smiling up to the table, drawing back the sleeve of her gown from her delicate dimpled wrist. she wore a white dress, such as one never sees save in that southern country, so softly sheer, falling in such graceful, floating lines, with a deep, plain hem and no touch of garniture save, perhaps, an edge of old lace on the surplice neck. the cut of the dress showed a triangular section of her soft white chest and all the firm modelling of her throat and chin. it was evidently not a new gown, for a rent in one of the sleeves had been sewed up somewhat too obviously, and there was a darn on the shoulder where a rose-bush had snagged the fabric. a belt of black velvet, with long, floating sash-ends, was about her waist, and a band of black velvet held in place her shining hair. "i am sorry to have been the occasion of disturbing you," he said with stiff formality, "and i am very much obliged, certainly," he added, as he took up the keys. "i may consider myself dismissed from the presence?" she asked saucily. "then, i will permit myself a cup of chocolate and a roll, and be ready for any further commands." she frisked out of the door, and, frowning heavily, he sat down to the table and opened the top-drawer, which yielded instantly to the first key that he selected. the first paper, too, on which he laid his hand was the will, signed and witnessed, regularly executed, all its provisions seeming, as he glanced through it, reasonable and feasible. as he laid it aside, he experienced the business man's satisfaction with a document duly capable of the ends desired. then he opened with a sudden flicker of curiosity a bulky envelope placed with the will and addressed to himself. he read it through, the natural interest on his face succeeded by amazement, increasing gradually to fear, the chill drops starting from every pore. he had grown ghastly white before he had concluded the perusal, and for a long time he sat as motionless as if turned to stone. the september day glowed outside in sumptuous splendor. a glad wind sprang up and sped afield. geraldine, her breakfast finished, a broad hat canted down over her eyes, rushed through the hall as noisily as a boy, prodded up the old hound, and ran him a race around the semicircle of the drive. a trained hound he had been in his youth, and he was wont to conceal and deny certain ancient accomplishments. but even he realized that it was waste of breath to say nay to the persistent geraldine. he resigned himself to go through all his repertoire,--was a dead dog, begged, leaped a stick back and forth, went lame, and in his newly awakened interest performed several tricks of which she had been unaware. her joyful cries of commendation--"played an encore! _an encore!_ he did, he did! cutest old dog in the united states!" caught mrs. keene's attention. "geraldine," she screamed from an upper window, "come in out of the sun! you will have a sun-stroke--and ruin your complexion besides! you know you ought to be helping that man with those papers,--he won't be able to do anything without you!" her voice quavered on the last words, as if she suddenly realized "that man" might overhear her,--as indeed he did. but he made no sign. he sat still, stultified and stony, silently gazing at the paper in his hands. when luncheon was announced, gordon asked to have something light sent in to him, as he wished not to be disturbed in his investigation of the documents. he had scant need to apprehend interruption, however, while the long afternoon wore gradually away. the universal southern siesta was on, and the somnolent mansion was like the castle of sleeping beauty. the ladies had sought their apartments and the downy couches; the cook, on a shady bench under the trellis, nodded as she seeded the raisins for the frozen pudding of the six-o'clock dinner; the waiter had succumbed in clearing the lunch-table and made mesmeric passes with the dish-rag in a fantasy of washing the plates; the stable-boy slumbered in the hay, high in the loft, while the fat old coachman, with a chamois-skin in his hand, dozed as he sat on the step of the surrey, between the fenders; the old dog snored on the veranda floor, and mrs. keene's special attendant, who was really more a seamstress than a ladies' maid, dreamed that for some mysterious reason she could not thread a needle to fashion in a vast hurry the second mourning of her employer, who she imagined would call for it within a week! outside the charmed precincts of this castle indolence, the busy cotton-pickers knew no pause nor stay. the steam-engine at the gin panted throughout all the long hot hours, the baler squealed and rasped and groaned, as it bound up the product into marketable compass, but there was no one waking near enough to note how the guest of the mansion was pacing the floor in a stress of nervous excitement, and to comment on the fact. toward sunset, a sudden commotion roused the slumbrous place. there had been an accident at the gin,--a boy had been caught in the machinery and variously mangled. dr. george rigdon had been called and had promptly sewed up the wounds. a runner had been sent to the mansion for bandages, brandy, fresh clothing, and sundry other collateral necessities of the surgery, and the news had thrown the house into unwonted excitement. "the boy won't die, then?" geraldine asked of a second messenger, as he stood by the steps of the veranda, waiting for the desired commodities. "lawdy,--_no_, ma'am! he is as good as new! doc' george, _he_ fix him up." gordon, whom the tumult had summoned forth from his absorptions, noted geraldine's triumphant laugh as she received this report, the toss of her spirited little head, the light in her dark blue eyes, deepening to sapphire richness, her obvious pride in the skill, the humanitarian achievement, of her lover. dr. george must be due here this evening, he fancied. for she was all freshly bedight; her gown was embellished with delicate laces, and its faint green hue gave her the aspect of some water-sprite, posed against that broad expanse of the mississippi river, that was itself of a jade tint reflected from a green and amber sky; at the low horizon line the vermilion sun was sinking into its swirling depths. gordon perceived a personal opportunity in the prospect of this guest for the evening. he must have counsel, he was thinking. he could not act on his own responsibility in this emergency that had suddenly confronted him. he was still too overwhelmed by the strange experience he had encountered, too shaken. this physician was a man of intelligence, of skill in his chosen profession, necessarily a man worth while in many ways. he was an intimate friend of the keene family, and might the more heartily lend a helping hand. the thought, the hope, cleared gordon's brow, but still the impress of the stress of the afternoon was so marked that the girl was moved to comment in her brusque way as they stood together on the cool, fern-embowered veranda. "why, mr. gordon," she exclaimed in surprise, "you have no idea how strange you look! you must have overworked awfully this afternoon. why, you look as if you had seen a ghost!" to her amazement, he recoiled abruptly. involuntarily, he passed his hand over his face, as if seeking to obliterate the traces she had deciphered. then, with an obvious effort, he recovered a show of equanimity; he declared that it was only because he was so tousled in contrast with her fresh finery that she thought he looked supernaturally horrible! he would go upstairs forthwith and array himself anew. gordon proved himself a true prophet, for rigdon came to dine. with the postprandial cigars, the two gentlemen, at gordon's suggestion, repaired to the sitting-room to smoke, instead of joining their hostess on the veranda, where tobacco was never interdicted. indeed, they did not come forth thence for nearly two hours, and were palpably embarrassed when geraldine declared in bewilderment, gazing at them in the lamplight that fell from within, through one of the great windows, that now _both_ looked as if they had seen a ghost! despite their efforts to sustain the interest of the conversation, they were obviously distrait, and had a proclivity to fall into sudden silences, and mrs. keene found them amazingly unresponsive and dull. thus it was that she rose as if to retire for the night while the hour was still early. in fact, she intended to utilize the opportunity to have some dresses of the first mourning outfit tried on, for which the patient maid was now awaiting her. "i leave you a charming substitute," she said in making her excuses. "geraldine need not come in yet--it is not late." her withdrawal seemed to give a fresh impetus to some impulse with which rigdon had been temporizing. he recurred to it at once. "you contemplate giving it to the public," he said to gordon; "why not try its effect on a disinterested listener first, and judge from that?" gordon assented with an extreme gravity that surprised geraldine; then rigdon hesitated, evidently scarcely knowing how to begin. he looked vaguely at the moon riding high in the heavens above the long, broad expanse of the mississippi and the darkling forests on either hand. sometimes a shaft of light, a sudden luminous glister, betokened the motion of the currents gliding in the sheen. "last night," he said in a tense, bated voice--"last night mr. gordon saw the phantom of bogue holauba. stop! hush!"--for the girl had sprung half screaming from her chair. "this is important." he laid his hand on her arm to detain her. "we want you to help us!" "help you! why, you scare me to death!" she had paused, but stood trembling from head to foot. "there is something explained in one of mr. keene's papers,--addressed to mr. gordon; and we have been much startled by the coincidence of his--his vision." "did he see--really----?" geraldine had sunk back in her chair, her face ghastly pale. "of course it must be some illusion," said rigdon. "the effect of the mist, perhaps----" "only, there was no mist," said gordon. "perhaps a snag waving in the wind." "only, there was no wind." "perhaps a snag tossing in the motion of the water,--at all events, you can't say there was no water." dr. rigdon glanced at gordon with a genial smile. "mighty little water for the mississippi," gordon sought to respond in the same key. "you know the record of these apparitions." leaning forward, one arm on his knee, the document in question in his hand, rigdon looked up into geraldine's pale face. "in the old days there used to be a sort of water-gypsy, with a queer little trading-boat that plied the region of the bends-a queer little old man, too--polish, i think, foreign certainly--and the butt of all the wags alongshore, at the stores and the wood-yards, the cotton-sheds and the wharf-boats. by some accident, it was thought, the boat got away when he was befuddled with drink in a wood-chopper's cabin--a stout, trig little craft it was! when he found it was gone, he was wild, for although he saw it afloat at a considerable distance down the mississippi, it suddenly disappeared near bogue holauba, cargo and all. no trace of its fate was ever discovered. he haunted these banks then--whatever he may have done since--screaming out his woes for his losses, and his rage and curses on the miscreants who had set the craft adrift--for he fully believed it was done in malice--beating his breast and tearing his hair. the civil war came on presently, and the man was lost sight of in the national commotions. no one thought of him again till suddenly something--an apparition, an illusion, the semblance of a man--began to patrol the banks of bogue holauba, and beat its breast and tear its hair and bewail its woes in pantomime, and set the whole country-side aghast, for always disasters follow its return." "and how do you account for that phase?" asked gordon, obviously steadying his voice by an effort of the will. "the apparition always shows up at low water,--the disasters are usually typhoid," replied the physician. "mr. keene died from malaria," geraldine murmured musingly. the two men glanced significantly at each other. then rigdon resumed: "i mustered the hardihood on one occasion to row up to the bank of bogue holauba for a closer survey. the thing vanished on my approach. there was a snag hard by, fast anchored in the bottom of the bogue. it played slackly to and fro with the current, but i could not see any way by which it or its shadow could have produced the illusion." "is this what you had to tell me?" demanded geraldine pertinently. "i knew all that already." "no, no," replied the doctor reluctantly. "will you tell it, mr. gordon, or shall i?" "you, by all means, if you will," said gordon gloomily. "god knows i should be glad never to speak of it." "well," rigdon began slowly, "mr. gordon was made by his cousin jasper keene not only the executor of his will, but the repository of a certain confession, which he may destroy or make public as he sees proper. it seems that in mr. keene's gay young days, running wild in his vacation from college on a secluded plantation, he often lacked congenial companionship, and he fell in with an uncouth fellow of a lower social grade, who led him into much detrimental adventure. among other incidents of very poor fun, the two were notable in hectoring and guying the old polish trader, who, when drunk on mean whisky as he often was, grew violent and antagonistic. he went very far in his denunciations one fatal night, and by way of playing him a trick in return, they set his boat adrift by cutting the rope that tied the craft to a tree on the bank. the confession states that they supposed the owner was then aboard and would suffer no greater hardship than having to use the sweeps with considerable energy to row her in to a landing again. they were genuinely horrified when he came running down the bank, both arms out-stretched, crying out that his all, _his all_ was floating away on that tumultuous, merciless tide. before any skiff could be launched, before any effort could be made to reach the trading-boat, she suddenly disappeared. the mississippi was at flood height, and it was thought that the boat struck some drifting obstruction, swamped, and went down in deep water. the agents in this disaster were never suspected, but as soon as jasper keene had come of age, and had command of any means of his own, his first act was to have an exhaustive search made for the old fellow, with a view of financial restitution. but the owner of the trading-boat had died, spending his last years in the futile effort to obtain the insurance money. as the little he had left was never claimed, no representative could profit by the restitution that jasper keene had planned, and he found what satisfaction he could in giving it secretly to an old man's charity. then the phantom began to take his revenge. he appeared on the banks of bogue holauba, and straightway the only child of the mansion sickened and died. mr. keene's first wife died after the second apparition. either it was the fancy of an ailing man, or perhaps the general report, but he notes that the spectre was bewailing its woes along the banks of bogue holauba when jasper keene himself was stricken by an illness which from the first he felt was fatal." "i remember--i remember it was said at the time," geraldine barely whispered. "and now to the question: he leaves it to mr. gordon as his kinsman, solicitous of the family repute, to judge whether this confession should be made public or destroyed." "does he state any reasons for making it public?" demanded geraldine, taking the document and glancing through its pages. "yes; as an expiation of his early misdeeds toward this man and, if any such thing there be, to placate the spirit of his old enemy; and lastly better to secure his peace with his maker." "and which do you say?" geraldine turned an eager, spirited face toward gordon, his dejected attitude and countenance distinctly seen in the light from the lamp within the parlor, on a table close to the window. "i frankly admit that the publication of that confession would humiliate me to the ground, but i fear that it _ought_ to be given to the public, as he obviously desires!" "and which do _you_ say?" geraldine was standing now, and swiftly whirled around toward dr. rigdon. "i agree with mr. gordon--much against my will--but an honest confession is good for the soul!" he replied ruefully. "you infidels!" she exclaimed tumultuously. "you have not one atom of christian faith between you! to imagine that _you_ can strike a bargain with the good god by letting a sick theory of expiation of a dying, fever-distraught creature besmirch his repute as a man and a gentleman, make his whole life seem like a whited sepulchre, and bring his name into odium,--as kind a man as ever lived,--and you know it!--as honest, and generous, and whole-souled, to be held up to scorn and humiliation because of a boyish prank forty years ago, that precipitated a disaster never intended,--bad enough, silly enough, even wicked enough, but not half so bad and silly and wicked as _you_, with your morbid shrinking from moral responsibility, and your ready contributive defamation of character. tell me, you men, is this a testamentary paper, and you think it against the law to destroy it?" "no, no, not that," said rigdon. "no, it is wholly optional," declared gordon. "then, i will settle the question for you once for all, you wobblers!" she suddenly thrust the paper into the chimney of the lamp on the table just within the open window, and as it flared up she flung the document forth, blazing in every fibre, on the bare driveway below the veranda. "and now you may find, as best you can, some other means of exorcising the phantom of bogue holauba!" his christmas miracle he yearned for a sign from the heavens. could one intimation be vouchsafed him, how it would confirm his faltering faith! jubal kennedy was of the temperament impervious to spiritual subtleties, fain to reach conclusions with the line and rule of mathematical demonstration. thus, all unreceptive, he looked through the mountain gap, as through some stupendous gateway, on the splendors of autumn; the vast landscape glamorous in a transparent amethystine haze; the foliage of the dense primeval wilderness in the october richness of red and russet; the "hunter's moon," a full sphere of illuminated pearl, high in the blue east while yet the dull vermilion sun swung westering above the massive purple heights. he knew how the sap was sinking; that the growths of the year had now failed; presently all would be shrouded in snow, but only to rise again in the reassurance of vernal quickening, to glow anew in the fullness of bloom, to attain eventually the perfection of fruition. and still he was deaf to the reiterated analogy of death, and blind to the immanent obvious prophecy of resurrection and the life to come. his thoughts, as he stood on this jutting crag in sunrise gap, were with a recent "experience meeting" at which he had sought to canvass his spiritual needs. his demand of a sign from the heavens as evidence of the existence of the god of revelation, as assurance of the awakening of divine grace in the human heart, as actual proof that wistful mortality is inherently endowed with immortality, had electrified this symposium. though it was fashionable, so to speak, in this remote cove among the great smoky mountains, to be repentant in rhetorical involutions and a self-accuser in fine-spun interpretations of sin, doubt, or more properly an eager questioning, a desire to possess the sacred mysteries of religion, was unprecedented. kennedy was a proud man, reticent, reserved. although the old parson, visibly surprised and startled, had gently invited his full confidence, kennedy had hastily swallowed his words, as best he might, perceiving that the congregation had wholly misinterpreted their true intent and that certain gossips had an unholy relish of the sensation they had caused. thereafter he indulged his poignant longings for the elucidation of the veiled truths only when, as now, he wandered deep in the woods with his rifle on his shoulder. he could not have said to-day that he was nearer an inspiration, a hope, a "leading," than heretofore, but as he stood on the crag it was with the effect of a dislocation that he was torn from the solemn theme by an interruption at a vital crisis. the faint vibrations of a violin stirred the reverent hush of the landscape in the blended light of the setting sun and the "hunter's moon." presently the musician came into view, advancing slowly through the aisles of the red autumn forest. a rapt figure it was, swaying in responsive ecstasy with the rhythmic cadence. the head, with its long, blowsy yellow hair, was bowed over the dark polished wood of the instrument; the eyes were half closed; the right arm, despite the eccentric patches on the sleeve of the old brown-jeans coat, moved with free, elastic gestures in all the liberties of a practiced bowing. if he saw the hunter motionless on the brink of the crag, the fiddler gave no intimation. his every faculty was as if enthralled by the swinging iteration of the sweet melancholy melody, rendered with a breadth of effect, an inspiration, it might almost have seemed, incongruous with the infirmities of the crazy old fiddle. he was like a creature under the sway of a spell, and apparently drawn by this dulcet lure of the enchantment of sound was the odd procession that trailed silently after him through these deep mountain fastnesses. a woman came first, arrayed in a ragged purple skirt and a yellow blouse open at the throat, displaying a slender white neck which upheld a face of pensive, inert beauty. she clasped in her arms a delicate infant, ethereal of aspect with its flaxen hair, transparently pallid complexion, and wide blue eyes. it was absolutely quiescent, save that now and then it turned feebly in its waxen hands a little striped red-and-yellow pomegranate. a sturdy blond toddler trudged behind, in a checked blue cotton frock, short enough to disclose cherubic pink feet and legs bare to the knee; he carried that treasure of rural juveniles, a cornstalk violin. an old hound, his tail suavely wagging, padded along the narrow path; and last of all came, with frequent pause to crop the wayside herbage, a large cow, brindled red and white. "the whole fambly!" muttered kennedy. then, aloud, "why don't you uns kerry the baby, basil bedell, an' give yer wife a rest?" at the prosaic suggestion the crystal realm of dreams was shattered. the bow, with a quavering discordant scrape upon the strings, paused. then bedell slowly mastered the meaning of the interruption. "kerry the baby? why, aurely won't let none but herself tech that baby." he laughed as he tossed the tousled yellow hair from his face, and looked over his shoulder to speak to the infant. "it air sech a plumb special delightsome peach, it air,--it air!" the pale face of the child lighted up with a smile of recognition and a faint gleam of mirth. "i jes' kem out ennyhows ter drive up the cow," basil added. "big job," sneered kennedy. "'pears-like it takes the whole fambly to do it." such slothful mismanagement was calculated to affront an energetic spirit. obviously, at this hour the woman should be at home cooking the supper. "i follered along ter listen ter the fiddle,--ef ye hev enny call ter know." mrs. bedell replied to his unspoken thought, as if by divination. but indeed such strictures were not heard for the first time. they were in some sort the penalty of the disinterested friendship which kennedy had harbored for basil since their childhood. he wished that his compeer might prosper in such simple wise as his own experience had proved to be amply possible. kennedy's earlier incentive to industry had been his intention to marry, but the object of his affections had found him "too mortal solemn," and without a word of warning had married another man in a distant cove. the element of treachery in this event had gone far to reconcile the jilted lover to his future, bereft of her companionship, but the habit of industry thus formed had continued of its own momentum. it had resulted in forehanded thrift; he now possessed a comfortable holding,--cattle, house, ample land; and he had all the intolerance of the ant for the cricket. as bedell lifted the bow once more, every wincing nerve was enlisted in arresting it in mid-air. "mighty long tramp fur bobbie, thar,--whyn't ye kerry him?" the imperturbable calm still held fast on the musician's face. "bob," he addressed the toddler, "will you uns let daddy kerry ye like a baby?" he swooped down as if to lift, the child, the violin and bow in his left hand. the hardy youngster backed off precipitately. "don't ye _dare_ ter do it!" he virulently admonished his parent, a resentful light in his blue eyes. then, as bedell sang a stave in a full rich voice, "bye-oh, baby!" bob vociferated anew, "don't you _begin_ ter dare do it!" every inch a man though a little one. "that's the kind of a fambly i hev got," basil commented easily. "wife an' boy an' baby all walk over me,--plumb stomp on me! jes' enough lef of me ter play the fiddle a leetle once in a while." "mighty nigh all the while, i be afeared," kennedy corrected the phrase. "how did yer corn crap turn out?" he asked, as he too fell into line and the procession moved on once more along the narrow path. "well enough," said basil; "we uns hev got a sufficiency." then, as if afraid of seeming boastful he qualified, "ye know i hain't got but one muel ter feed, an' the cow thar. my sheep gits thar pastur' on the volunteer grass 'mongst the rocks, an' i hev jes' got a few head ennyhows." "but _why_ hain't ye got more, basil? whyn't ye work more and quit wastin' yer time on that old fool fiddle?" the limits of patience were reached. the musician fired up. "'kase," he retorted, "i make enough. i hev got grace enough ter be thankful fur sech ez be vouchsafed ter me. _i_ ain't wantin' no meracle." kennedy flushed, following in silence while the musician annotated his triumph by a series of gay little harmonics, and young hopeful, trudging in the rear, executed a soundless fantasia on the cornstalk fiddle with great brilliancy of technique. "you uns air talkin' 'bout whut i said at the meetin' las' month," kennedy observed at length. "an' so be all the mounting," aurelia interpolated with a sudden fierce joy of reproof. kennedy winced visibly. "the folks all 'low ez ye be no better than an onbeliever." aurelia was bent on driving the blade home. "the idee of axin' fur a meracle at this late day,--so ez _ye_ kin be satisfied in yer mind ez ye hev got grace! providence, though merciful, air _obleeged_, ter know ez sech air plumb scandalous an' redic'lous." "why, aurely, hesh up," exclaimed her husband, startled from his wonted leniency. "i hev never hearn ye talk in sech a key,--yer voice sounds plumb out o' tune. i be plumb sorry, jube, ez i spoke ter you uns 'bout a meracle at all. but i war consider'ble nettled by yer words, ye see,--'kase i know i be a powerful, lazy, shif'less cuss----" "ye know a lie, then," his helpmate interrupted promptly. "why, aurely, hesh up,--ye--ye--_woman_, ye!" he concluded injuriously. then resuming his remarks to kennedy, "i know i _do_ fool away a deal of my time with the fiddle----" "the sound of it is like bread ter me,--i couldn't live without it," interposed the unconquered aurelia. "sometimes it minds me o' the singin' o' runnin' water in a lonesome place. then agin it minds me o' seein' sunshine in a dream. an' sometimes it be sweet an' high an' fur off, like a voice from the sky, tellin' what no mortial ever knowed before,--an' _then_ it minds me o' the tune them angels sung ter the shepherds abidin' in the fields. i _couldn't_ live without it." "woman, hold yer jaw!" basil proclaimed comprehensively. then, renewing his explanation to kennedy, "i kin see that i don't purvide fur my fambly ez i ought ter do, through hatin' work and lovin' to play the fiddle." "i ain't goin' ter hear my home an' hearth reviled." aurelia laid an imperative hand on her husband's arm. "ye know ye couldn't make more out'n sech ground,--though i ain't faultin' our land, neither. we uns hev enough an' ter spare, all we need an' more than we deserve. we don't need ter ax a meracle from the skies ter stay our souls on faith, nor a sign ter prove our grace." "now, now, _stop_, aurely!--i declar', jube i dunno what made me lay my tongue ter sech a word ez that thar miser'ble benighted meracle! i be powerful sorry i hurt yer feelin's, jube; folks seekin' salvation git mightily mis-put sometimes, an'----" "i don't want ter hear none o' yer views on religion," kennedy interrupted gruffly. an apology often augments the sense of injury. in this instance it also annulled the provocation, for his own admission put bedell hopelessly in the wrong. "ez a friend i war argufyin' with ye agin' yer waste o' time with that old fool fiddle. ye hev got wife an' children, an' yit not so well off in this world's gear ez me, a single man. i misdoubts ef ye hev hunted a day since the craps war laid by, or hev got a pound o' jerked venison stored up fer winter. but this air yer home,"--he pointed upward at a little clearing beginning, as they approached, to be visible amidst the forest,--"an' ef ye air satisfied with sech ez it be, that comes from laziness stiddier a contented sperit." with this caustic saying he suddenly left them, the procession standing silently staring after him as he took his way through the woods in the dusky red shadows of the autumnal gloaming. aurelia's vaunted home was indeed a poor place,--not even the rude though substantial log-cabin common to the region. it was a flimsy shanty of boards, and except for its rickety porch was more like a box than a house. it had its perch on a jutting eminence, where it seemed the familiar of the skies, so did the clouds and winds circle about it. through the great gateway of sunrise gap it commanded a landscape of a scope that might typify a world, in its multitude of mountain ranges, in the intricacies of its intervening valleys, in the glittering coils of its water-courses. basil would sometimes sink into deep silences, overpowered by the majesty of nature in this place. after a long hiatus the bow would tremble and falter on the strings as if overawed for a time; presently the theme would strengthen, expand, resound with large meaning, and then he would send forth melodies that he had never before played or heard, his own dream, the reflection of that mighty mood of nature in the limpid pool of his receptive mind. around were rocks, crags, chasms,--the fields which nourished the family lay well from the verge, within the purlieus of the limited mountain plateau. he had sought to persuade himself that it was to save all the arable land for tillage that he had placed his house and door-yard here, but both he and aurelia were secretly aware of the subterfuge; he would fain be always within the glamour of the prospect through sunrise gap! their interlocutor had truly deemed that the woman should have been earlier at home cooking the supper. dusk had deepened to darkness long before the meal smoked upon the board. the spinning-wheel had begun to whir for her evening stint when other hill-folks had betaken themselves to bed. basil puffed his pipe before the fire; the flicker and flare pervaded every nook of the bright little house. strings of red-pepper-pods flaunted in festoons from the beams; the baby slumbered under a gay quilt in his rude cradle, never far from his mother's hand, but the bluff little boy was still up and about, although his aspect, round and burly, in a scanty nightgown, gave token of recognition of the fact that bed was his appropriate place. his shrill plaintive voice rose ever and anon wakefully. "i wanter hear a bear tale,--i wanter hear a bear tale." thus basil must needs knock the ashes from his pipe the better to devote himself to the narration,--a prince of raconteurs, to judge by the spell-bound interest of the youngster who stood at his knee and hung on his words. even aurelia checked the whir of her wheel to listen smilingly. she broke out laughing in appreciative pleasure when basil took up the violin to show how a jovial old bear, who intruded into this very house one day when all the family were away at the church in the cove, and who mistook the instrument for a banjo, addressed himself to picking out this tune, singing the while a quaint and ursine lay. basil embellished the imitation with a masterly effect of realistic growls. "ef ye keep goin' at that gait, basil," aurelia admonished him, "daylight will ketch us all wide awake around the fire,--no wonder the child won't go to bed." she seemed suddenly impressed with the pervasive cheer. "what a fool that man, jube kennedy, must be! how _could_ ennybody hev a sweeter, darlinger home than we uns hev got hyar in sunrise gap!" on the languorous autumn a fierce winter ensued. the cold came early. the deciduous growths of the forests were leafless ere november waned, rifled by the riotous marauding winds. december set in with the gusty snow flying fast. drear were the gray skies; ghastly the sheeted ranges. drifts piled high in bleak ravines, and the grim gneissoid crags were begirt with gigantic icicles. but about the little house in sunrise gap that kept so warm a heart, the holly trees showed their glad green leaves and the red berries glowed with a mystic significance. as the weeks wore on, the place was often in kennedy's mind, although he had not seen it since that autumn afternoon when he had bestirred himself to rebuke its owner concerning the inadequacies of the domestic provision. his admonition had been kindly meant and had not deserved the retort, the flippant ridicule of his spiritual yearnings. though he still winced from the recollection, he was sorry that he had resisted the importunacy of basil's apology. he realized that aurelia had persisted to the limit of her power in the embitterment of the controversy, but even aurelia he was disposed to forgive as time passed on. when christmas day dawned, the vague sentiment began to assume the definiteness of a purpose, and noontide found him on his way to sunrise gap. there was now no path through the woods; the snow lay deep over all, unbroken save at long intervals when queer footprints gave token of the stirring abroad of the sylvan denizens, and he felt an idle interest in distinguishing the steps of wolf and fox, of opossum and weasel. in the intricacies of the forest aisles, amid laden boughs of pine and fir, there was a suggestion of darkness, but all the sky held not enough light to cast the shadow of a bole on the white blank spaces of the snow-covered ground. a vague blue haze clothed the air; yet as he drew near the mountain brink, all was distinct in the vast landscape, the massive ranges and alternating valleys in infinite repetition. he wondered when near the house that he had not heard the familiar barking of the old hound; then he remembered that the sound of his horse's hoofs was muffled by the snow. he was glad to be unheralded. he would like to surprise aurelia into geniality before her vicarious rancor for basil's sake should be roused anew. as he emerged from the thick growths of the holly, with the icy scintillations of its clustering green leaves and red berries, he drew rein so suddenly that the horse was thrown back on his haunches. the rider sat as if petrified in the presence of an awful disaster. the house was gone! even the site had vanished! kennedy stared bewildered. slowly the realization of what had chanced here began to creep through his brain. evidently there had been a gigantic landslide. the cliff-like projection was broken sheer off,--hurled into the depths of the valley. some action of subterranean waters, throughout ages, doubtless, had been undermining the great crags till the rocky crust of the earth had collapsed. he could see even now how the freeze had fractured outcropping ledges where the ice had gathered in the fissures. a deep abyss that he remembered as being at a considerable distance from the mountain's brink, once spanned by a foot-bridge, now showed the remnant of its jagged, shattered walls at the extreme verge of the precipice. a cold chill of horror benumbed his senses. basil, the wife, the children,--where were they? a terrible death, surely, to be torn from the warm securities of the hearth-stone, without a moment's warning, and hurled into the midst of this frantic turmoil of nature, down to the depths of the gap,--a thousand feet below! and at what time had this dread fate befallen his friend? he remembered that at the cross-roads' store, when he had paused on his way to warm himself that morning, some gossip was detailing the phenomenon of unseasonable thunder during the previous night, while others protested that it must have been only the clamors of "christmas guns" firing all along the country-side. "a turrible clap, it was," the raconteur had persisted. "sounded ez ef all creation hed split apart." perhaps, therefore, the catastrophe might be recent. kennedy could scarcely command his muscles as he dismounted and made his way slowly and cautiously to the verge. any deviation from the accustomed routine of nature has an unnerving effect, unparalleled by disaster in other sort; no individual danger or doom, the aspect of death by drowning, or gunshot, or disease, can so abash the reason and stultify normal expectation. kennedy was scarcely conscious that he saw the vast disorder of the landslide, scattered from the precipice on the mountain's brink to the depths of the gap--inverted roots of great pines thrust out in mid-air, foundations of crags riven asunder and hurled in monstrous fragments along the steep slant, unknown streams newly liberated from the caverns of the range and cascading from the crevices of the rocks. in effect he could not believe his own eyes. his mind realized the perception of his senses only when his heart suddenly plunged with a wild hope,--he had discerned amongst the turmoil a shape of line and rule, the little box-like hut! caught as it was in the boughs of a cluster of pines and firs, uprooted and thrust out at an incline a little less than vertical, the inmates might have been spared such shock of the fall as would otherwise have proved fatal. had the house been one of the substantial log-cabins of the region its timbers must have been torn one from another, the daubing and chinking scattered as mere atoms. but the more flimsy character of the little dwelling had thus far served to save it,--the interdependent "framing" of its structure held fast; the upright studding and boards, nailed stoutly on, rendered it indeed the box that it looked. it was, so to speak, built in one piece, and no part was subjected to greater strain than another. but should the earth cave anew, should the tough fibres of one of those gigantic roots tear out from the loosened friable soil, should the elastic supporting branches barely sway in some errant gust of wind, the little box would fall hundreds of feet, cracked like a nut, shattering against the rocks of the levels below. he wondered if the inmates yet lived,--he pitied them still more if they only existed to realize their peril, to await in an anguish of fear their ultimate doom. perhaps--he felt he was but trifling with despair--some rescue might be devised. such a weird cry he set up on the brink of the mountain!--full of horror, grief, and that poignant hope. the echoes of the gap seemed reluctant to repeat the tones, dull, slow, muffled in snow. but a sturdy halloo responded from the window, uppermost now, for the house lay on its side amongst the boughs. kennedy thought he saw the pallid simulacrum of a face. "this be jube kennedy," he cried, reassuringly. "i be goin' ter fetch help,--men, ropes, and a windlass." "make haste then,--we uns be nigh friz." "ye air in no danger of fire, then?" asked the practical man. "we hev hed none,--before we war flunged off'n the bluff we hed squinched the fire ter pledjure bob, ez he war afeard santy claus would scorch his feet comin' down the chimbley,--powerful lucky fur we uns; the fire would hev burnt the house bodaciously." kennedy hardly stayed to hear. he was off in a moment, galloping at frantic speed along the snowy trail scarcely traceable in the sad light of the gray day; taking short cuts through the densities of the laurel; torn by jagged rocks and tangles of thorny growths and broken branches of great trees; plunging now and again into deep drifts above concealed icy chasms, and rescuing with inexpressible difficulty the floundering, struggling horse; reaching again the open sheeted roadway, bruised, bleeding, exhausted, yet furiously plunging forward, rousing the sparsely settled country-side with imperative insistence for help in this matter of life or death! death, indeed, only,--for the enterprise was pronounced impossible by those more experienced than kennedy. among the men now on the bluff were several who had been employed in the silver mines of this region, and they demonstrated conclusively that a rope could not be worked clear of the obstructions of the face of the rugged and shattered cliffs; that a human being, drawn from the cabin, strapped in a chair, must needs be torn from it and flung into the abyss below, or beaten to a frightful death against the jagged rocks in the transit. "but not ef the chair war ter be steadied by a guy-rope from--say--from that thar old pine tree over thar," kennedy insisted, indicating the long bole of a partially uprooted and inverted tree on the steeps. "the chair would swing cl'ar of the bluff then." "but, jube, it is onpossible ter git a guy-rope over ter that tree,--more than a man's life is wuth ter try it." a moment ensued of absolute silence,--space, however, for a hard-fought battle. the aspect of that mad world below, with every condition of creation reversed; a mistake in the adjustment of the winch and gear by the excited, reluctant, disapproving men; an overstrain on the fibres of the long-used rope; a slip on the treacherous ice; the dizzy whirl of the senses that even a glance downward at those drear depths set astir in the brain,--all were canvassed within his mental processes, all were duly realized in their entirety ere he said with a spare dull voice and dry lips,-"fix ter let me down ter that thar leanin' pine, boys,--i'll kerry a guy-rope over thar." at one side the crag beetled, and although it was impossible thence to reach the cabin with a rope it would swing clear of obstructions here, and might bring the rescuer within touch of the pine, where could be fastened the guy-rope; the other end would be affixed to the chair which could be lowered to the cabin only from the rugged face of the cliff. kennedy harbored no self-deception; he more than doubted the outcome of the enterprise. he quaked and turned pale with dread as with the great rope knotted about his arm-pits and around his waist he was swung over the brink at the point where the crag jutted forth,--lower and lower still; now nearing the slanting inverted pine, caught amidst the débris of earth and rock; now failing to reach its boughs; once more swinging back to a great distance, so did the length of the rope increase the scope of the pendulum; now nearing the pine again, and at last fairly lodged on the icy bole, knotting and coiling about it the end of the guy-rope, on which he had come and on which he must needs return. it seemed, through the inexpert handling of the little group, a long time before the stout arm-chair was secured to the cables, slowly lowered, and landed at last on the outside of the hut. many an anxious glance was cast at the slate-gray sky. an inopportune flurry of snow, a flaw of wind,--and even now all would be lost. dusk too impended, and as the rope began to coil on the windlass at the signal to hoist every eye was strained to discern the identity of the first voyagers in this aërial journey,--the two children, securely lashed to the chair. this was well,--all felt that both parents might best wait, might risk the added delay. the chair came swinging easily, swiftly, along the gradations of the rise, the guy-rope holding it well from the chances of contact with the jagged projections of the face of the cliff, and the first shout of triumph rang sonorously from the summit. when next the chair rested on the cabin beside the window, a thrill of anxiety and anger went through kennedy's heart to note, from his perch on the leaning pine, a struggle between husband and wife as to who should go first. each was eager to take the many risks incident to the long wait in this precarious lodgment. the man was the stronger. aurelia was forced into the chair, tied fast, pushed off, waving her hand to her husband, shedding floods of tears, looking at him for the last time, as she fancied, and calling out dismally, "far'well, basil, far'well." even this lugubrious demonstration could not damp the spirits of the men working like mad at the windlass. they were jovial enough for bursts of laughter when it became apparent that basil had utilized the ensuing interval to tie together, in preparation for the ascent with himself, the two objects which he next most treasured, his violin and his old hound. the trusty chair bore all aloft, and basil was received with welcoming acclamations. before the rope was wound anew and for the last time, the aspect of the group on the cliff had changed. it had grown eerie, indistinct. the pines and firs showed no longer their sempervirent green, but were black amid the white tufted lines on their branches, that still served to accentuate their symmetry. the vale had disappeared in a sinister abyss of gloom, though kennedy would not look down at its menace, but upward, always upward. thus he saw, like some radiant and splendid star, the first torch whitely aglow on the brink of the precipice. it opened long avenues of light adown the snowy landscape,--soft blue shadows trailed after it, like half-descried draperies of elusive hovering beings. soon the torch was duplicated; another and then another began to glow. now several drew together, and like a constellation glimmered crown-like on the brow of the night, as he felt the rope stir with the signal to hoist. upward, always upward, his eyes on that radiant stellular coronal, as it shone white and splendid in the snowy night. and now it had lost its mystic glamour,--disintegrated by gradual approach he could see the long handles of the pine-knots; the red verges of the flame; the blue and yellow tones of the focus; the trailing wreaths of dun-tinted smoke that rose from them. then became visible the faces of the men who held them, all crowding eagerly to the verge. but it was in a solemn silence that he was received; a drear cold darkness, every torch being struck downward into the snow; a frantic haste in unharnessing him from the ropes, for he was almost frozen. he was hardly apt enough to interpret this as an emotion too deep for words, but now and again, as he was disentangled, he felt about his shoulders a furtive hug, and more than one pair of the ministering hands must needs pause to wring his own hands hard. they practically carried him to a fire that had been built in a sheltered place in one of those grottoes of the region, locally called "rock-houses." its cavernous portal gave upon a dark interior, and not until they had turned a corner in a tunnel-like passage was revealed an arched space in a rayonnant suffusion of light, the fire itself obscured by the figures about it. his eyes were caught first by the aspect of a youthful mother with a golden-haired babe on her breast; close by showed the head and horns of a cow; the mule was mercifully sheltered too, and stood near, munching his fodder; a cluster of sheep pressed after the steps of half a dozen men, that somehow in the clare-obscure reminded him of the shepherds of old summoned by good tidings of great joy. a sudden figure started up with streaming white hair and patriarchal beard. "will ye deny ez ye hev hed a sign from the heavens, jubal kennedy?" the old circuit-rider straitly demanded. "how could ye hev strengthened yer heart fur sech a deed onless the grace o' god prevailed mightily within ye? inasmuch as ye hev done it unto one o' the least o' these my brethern, ye hev done it unto me." "that ain't the _kind_ o' sign, parson," kennedy faltered. "i be lookin' fur a meracle in the yearth or in the air, that i kin view or hear." "the kingdom o' christ is a spiritual kingdom," said the parson solemnly. "the kingdom o' christ is a _spiritual_ kingdom, an' great are the wonders that are wrought therein." by caroline lockhart _a novel of the real west_ "me--smith" miss lockhart is a true daughter of the west, her father being a large ranch-owner and she has had much experience in the saddle and among the people who figure in her novel. "smith" is one type of western "bad man," an unusually powerful and appealing character who grips and holds the reader through all his deeds, whether good or bad. it is a story with red blood in it. there is the cry of the coyote, the deadly thirst for revenge as it exists in the wronged indian toward the white man, the thrill of the gaming table, and the gentlenesss of pure, true love. to the very end the tense dramatism of the tale is maintained without relaxation. "gripping, vigorous story."--_chicago record-herald._ "this is a real novel, a big novel."--_indianapolis news._ "not since the publication of 'the virginian' has so powerful a cowboy story been told."--_philadelphia public ledger._ "a remarkable book in its strength of portrayal and its directness of development. it cannot be read without being remembered."--_the world to-day._ the mystery of witch-face mountain charles egbert craddock the mystery of witch-face mountain and other stories by charles egbert craddock boston and new york houghton, mifflin and company the riverside press, cambridge 1895 copyright, 1895, by mary n. murfree. _all rights reserved._ _the riverside press, cambridge, mass., u. s. a._ electrotyped and printed by h. o. houghton & co. contents. page the mystery of witch-face mountain 1 taking the blue ribbon at the county fair 165 the casting vote 200 the mystery of witch-face mountain. i. the beetling crags that hang here and there above the gorge hold in their rugged rock sculpture no facial similitudes, no suggestions. the jagged outlines of shelving bluffs delineate no gigantic profile against the sky beyond. one might seek far and near, and scan the vast slope with alert and expectant gaze, and view naught of the semblance that from time immemorial has given the mountain its name. yet the imagination needs but scant aid when suddenly the elusive simulacrum is revealed to the eye. in a certain slant of the diurnal light, even on bright nights at the full of the moon, sometimes in the uncanny electric flicker smitten from a storm-cloud, a gigantic peaked sinister face is limned on the bare, sandy slope, so definite, with such fixity of lineament, that one is amazed that the perception of it came no earlier, and is startled when it disappears. disappearing as completely as a fancy, few there are who have ever seen it who have not climbed from the herder's trail across the narrow wayside stream and up the rugged mountain slopes to the spot where it became visible. there disappointment awaits the explorer. one finds a bare and sterile space, from which the hardy chickweed can scarcely gain the sustenance for timorous sproutings; a few outcropping rocks; a series of transverse gullies here and there, washed down to deep indentations; above the whole a stretch of burnt, broken timber that goes by the name of "fire-scald," and is a relic of the fury of the fire which was "set out" in the woods with the mission to burn only the leaves and undergrowth, and which, in its undisciplined strength, transcended its instructions, as it were, and destroyed great trees. and this is all. but once more, at a coigne of vantage on the opposite side of the gorge, and the experience can be utilized in differentiating the elements that go to make up the weird presentment of a human countenance. it is the fire-scald that suggests the great peaked brown hood; the oblong sandy stretch forms the pallid face; the ledges outline the nose and chin and brow; the eyes look out from the deep indentations where the slope is washed by the currents of the winter rains; and here and there the gullies draw heavy lines and wrinkles. and when the wind is fresh and the clouds scud before it, in the motion of their shadows the face will seem to mow at the observer, until the belief comes very readily that it is the exact counterpart of a witch's face. always the likeness is pointed out and insisted on by the denizens of witch-face mountain, as if they had had long and intimate acquaintance with that sort of unhallowed gentry, and were especially qualified to pronounce upon the resemblance. "ain't it jes' like 'em, now? ain't it the very moral of a witch?" constant hite demanded, one gusty day, when the shadows were a-flicker in the sun, and the face seemed animated by the malice of mockery or mirth, as he pointed it out to his companion with a sort of triumph in its splenetic contortions. he was a big, bluff fellow, to whose pride all that befell him seemed to minister. he was proud of his length of limb, and his hundred and eighty pounds of weight, and yet his slim appearance. "ye wouldn't believe it now, would ye?" he was wont to say when he stepped off the scales at the store of the hamlet down in the cove. "it's solid meat an' bone an' muscle, my boy. keep on the friendly side of one hunderd an' eighty," with a challenging wink. he was proud of his bright brown eyes, and his dark hair and mustache, and smiling, handsome face, and his popularity among the class that he was pleased to denominate "gal critters." he piqued himself upon his several endowments as a hardy woodsman, his endurance, his sylvan craft, his pluck, and his luck and his accurate aim. the buck--all gray and antlered, for it was august--that hung across the horse, behind the saddle, gave token of this keen exactitude in the tiny wound at the base of the ear, where the rifle-ball had entered to pierce the brain; it might seem to the inexpert that death had come rather from the gaping knife-stroke across the throat, which was, however, a mere matter of butcher-craft. he was proud of the good strong bay horse that he rode, which so easily carried double, and proud of his big boots and long spurs; and he scorned flimsy town clothes, and thought that good home-woven blue jeans was the gear in which a man who was a man should clothe himself withal. he glanced more than once at the different toggery of his companion, evidently a man of cities, whom he had chanced to meet by the wayside, and with whom he had journeyed more than a mile. he had paused again and again to point out the "witch-face" to the stranger, who at first could not discern it at all, and then when it suddenly broke upon him could not be wiled away from it. he dismounted, hitching his horse to a sapling, and up and down he patrolled the rocky mountain path to study the face at various angles; constant hite looking on the while with an important placid satisfaction, as if he had invented the illusion. "some folks, though, can't abide sech ez witches," he said, with a tolerant smile, as if he were able to defy their malevolence and make light of it. "ye see that cabin on the spur over yander around the bend?" it looked very small and solitary from this height, and the rail fences about its scanty inclosures hardly reached the dignity of suggesting jackstraws. "waal, the hanways over thar hev a full view of the old witch enny time she will show up at all. folks in the mountings 'low the day be onlucky when she appears on the slope thar. the old folks at hanway's will talk 'bout it cornsider'ble ef ye set 'em goin'; they hev seen thar time, an' it rests 'em some ter tell 'bout'n the spites they hev hed that they lay ter the witch-face." the ugly fascination of the witch-face had laid hold, too, on the stranger. twice he had sought to photograph it, and constant hite had watched him with an air of lenient indulgence to folly as he pottered about, now adjusting his camera, now changing his place anew. "and i believe i have got the whole amount of nothing at all," he said at last, looking up breathlessly at the mountaineer. albeit the wind was fresh and the altitude great, the sun was hot on the unshaded red clay path, and the nimble gyrations of the would-be artist brought plentiful drops to his brow. he took off his straw hat, and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief, while he stared wistfully at the siren of his fancy, grimacing maliciously at him from the slope above. "if the confounded old woman would hold still, and not disappear so suddenly at the wrong minute, i'd have had her charming physiognomy all correct. i believe i've spoiled my plates,--that's all." and once more he mopped his bedewed forehead. he was a man of thirty-five, perhaps, of the type that will never look old or grow perceptibly gray. his hair was red and straight, and cut close to his head. he had a long mustache of the same sanguine tint. the sun had brought the blood near the surface of his thin skin, and he looked hot and red, and thoroughly exasperated. his brown eyes were disproportionately angry, considering the slight importance of his enterprise. he was evidently a man of keen, quick temper, easily aroused and nervous. his handsome, well-groomed horse was fractious, and difficult for so impatient a rider to control. his equestrian outfit once more attracted the covert glance of con hite, whose experience and observation could duplicate no such attire. he was tall, somewhat heavily built, and altogether a sufficiently stalwart specimen of the genus "town man." "i'll tell you what i'll do!" he exclaimed suddenly. "i'll sketch the whole scene!" "now you're shoutin'," said con hite capably, as if he had always advocated this method of solving the difficulty. his interlocutor could not for a moment have dreamed that he had never before seen a camera, had never heard of a photograph, had not the least idea of what the process of sketching might be which he so boldly approved; nay, the very phrase embodying his encouragement of the project was foreign to his vocabulary,--a bit of sophisticated slang which he had adopted from his companion's conversation, and readily assimilated. "you stay just where you are!" cried the stranger, his enthusiasm rising to the occasion; "just that pose,--that pose precisely." he ran swiftly across the path to remove the inefficient camera from the foreground, and in a moment was seated on a log by the wayside, his quick eye scanning the scene: the close file of the ranges about the horizon, one showing above another, and one more faintly blue than another, for thus the distance was defined; then the amphitheatre of the cove, the heavy bronze-green slopes of the mountains, all with ripple marks of clear chrome-green ruffling in the wake of the wind; in the middle distance the still depths of the valley below, with shadows all a-slumber and silent, and on the projecting spur the quiet, lonely little house, so slight a suggestion of the presence of man amidst the majestic dominance of nature; here, to the right, across the savage gorge, with its cliffs and with its currents in the deep trough, the nearest slope of the mountain, with the great gaunt bare space showing that face of ill omen, sibylline, sinister, definite indeed,--he wondered how his eyes were holden that he should not have discerned it at once; and in the immediate foreground the equestrian figure of the mountaineer, booted and spurred, the very "moral," as hite would have called it, of an athlete, with his fine erect pose distinct against the hazy perspective, his expression of confident force, the details of his handsome features revealed by the brim of his wide black hat turned up in front. "it's a big subject, i know; i can't get it all in. i shall only suggest it. just keep that pose, will you? hold the horse still. 'stand the storm, it won't be long!'" the artist said, smiling with renewed satisfaction as his pencil, not all inapt, went briskly to work on the horizontal lines of the background. but it was longer than he had thought, so still sat the contemplative mountaineer, so alluring were the details of the landscape. the enthusiasm of the amateur is always a more urgent motive power than the restrained and utilitarian industry of the professional. few sworn knights of the crayon would have sat sketching so long in that temperature as he did, with the sun blazing through his straw hat and his blood mustering under his thin skin; but he stopped at a point short of sunstroke, and it was with a tumultuous sense of success that he at last arose, and, with the sketch-book still open, walked across the road and laid it on the pommel of the mountaineer's saddle. constant hite took it up suspiciously and looked at it askance. it is to be doubted if ever before he had seen a picture, unless perchance in the primary reading-book of his callow days at the public school, spasmodically opened at intervals at the "church house" in the cove. he continued to gravely gaze at the sketch, held sideways and almost reversed, for some moments. "bless gawd! hyar's whitefoot's muzzle jes' ez nat'ral--an' _me_--waal, sir! don't _i_ look proud!" he cried suddenly, with a note of such succulent vanity, so finely flavored a pride, that the stranger could but laugh at the zest of his triumph. "do you see the witch-face?" he demanded. "hesh! hesh!" cried the mountaineer hilariously. "don't 'sturb me 'bout yer witch-face. ef thar ain't the buck,--yes, toler'ble fat,--an' with all his horns! an' look at my boot,--actially the spur on it! an' my hat turned up;" he raised his flattered hand to the brim as if to verify its position. "you didn't know you were so good looking, hey?" suggested the amused town man. "my lord, naw!" declared hite, laughing at himself, yet laughing delightedly. "i dunno _how_ the gals make out to do without me at all!" the pleased artist laughed, too. "well, hand it over," he said, as he reached out for the book. "we must be getting out of this sun. i'm not used to it, you see." he put his foot in the stirrup as he spoke, and as he swung himself into the saddle the mountaineer reluctantly closed and relinquished the book. "i'd like ter see it agin, some time or other," he observed. he remembered this wish afterward, and how little he then imagined where and in what manner he was destined to see it again. they rode on together into the dense woods, leaving the wind and the sunshine and the flying clouds fluctuating over the broad expanse of the mountains, and the witch-face silently mowing and grimacing at the world below, albeit seen by no human being except perchance some dweller at the little house on the spur, struck aghast by this unwelcome apparition evoked by the necromancy of the breeze and the sheen and the shadow, marking this as an unlucky day. "that's right smart o' a cur'osity, ain't it?" said constant hite complacently, as they jogged along. "when the last gover'mint survey fellers went through hyar, they war plumb smitten by the ole 'oman, an' spent cornsider'ble time a-stare-gazin' at her. they 'lowed they hed never seen the beat." "what was the survey for?" asked the town man, with keen mundane interest. constant hite was rarely at a loss. when other men were fain to come to a pause for the lack of information, the resources of his agile substitutions and speculations were made manifest. "they war jes' runnin' a few lines hyar an' thar," he said negligently. "they lef' some tall striped poles planted in the ground, red an' sich colors, ter mark the way; an' them mounting folks over yander in the furderest coves,--they air powerful ahint the times,--they hed never hearn o' sech ez a survey, noway, an' the poles jes' 'peared ter them sprung up thar like jonah's gourd in a single night, ez ef they kem from seed; an' the folks, they 'lowed 't war the sign o' a new war." he laughed lazily at the uninstructed terrors of the unsophisticated denizens of the "furderest coves." "they'd gather around an' stare-gaze at the poles, an' wonder if they'd hev ter fight the rebs agin; them folks is mos'ly union." then his interest in the subject quickening, "them survey fellers, they ondertook, too, ter medjure the tallness o' some o' the mountings fur the gover'mint. now what good is that goin' ter do the nunited states?" he resumed grudgingly. "the mountings kin be medjured by the eye,--look a-yander." he pointed with the end of his whip at a section of the horizon, visible between the fringed and low-swaying boughs of hemlock and fir as the trail swept closer to the verge of the range, on which was softly painted, as on ivory and with an enameled lustre, two or three great azure domes, with here and there the high white clouds of a clear day nestling flakelike on the summits. "they air jes' all-fired high, an' that's all. do it make 'em seem enny taller ter say they air six thousand or seben thousand feet? man ain't used ter medjurin' by the thousand feet. when he gits ter the ground he goes by the pole. i dunno how high nor how long a thousand feet air. the gover'mint jes' want ter spend a leetle money, i reckon. it 'pears toler'ble weak-kneed in its mind, wunst in a while. but ef it wants ter fool money away, it's mighty well able ter afford sech. it hev got a power o' ways a-comin' at money,--we all know that, we all know that." he said this with a gloomy inflection and a downward look that might have implied a liability for taxes beyond his willingness to pay. but, barring the assessment on a small holding of mountain land, constant hite seemed in case to contribute naught to his country's exchequer. "it needs all it can get, now," replied the stranger casually, but doubtless from a sophisticated knowledge, as behooved a reader of the journals of the day, of the condition of the treasury. he could not account for the quick glance of alarm and enmity which the mountaineer cast upon him. it roused in him a certain constraint which he had not experienced earlier in their chance association. it caused him to remember that this was a lonely way and a wild country. he was an alien to the temper and sentiment of the people. he felt suddenly that sense of distance in mind and spirit which is the true isolation of the foreigner, and which even an identity of tongue and kindred cannot annul. looking keenly into the mountaineer's half-averted, angry, excited face, he could not for his life discern how its expression might comport with the tenor of the casual conversation which had elicited it. he did not even dimly surmise that his allusion to the finances of the government could be construed as a justification of the whiskey tax, generally esteemed in the mountains a measure of tyrannous oppression; that from his supposititious advocacy of it he had laid himself liable to the suspicion of being himself of the revenue force,--his mission here to spy out moonshiners; that his companion's mind was even now dwelling anew, and with a rueful difference, on that masterly drawing of himself in the stranger's sketch-book. "but what do that prove, though?" hite thought, a certain hope springing up with the joy of the very recollection of the simulacrum of the brilliant rural coxcomb adorning the page. "jes' that me is _me_. all he kin say 'bout me air that hyar i be goin' home from huntin' ter kerry my game. _that_ ain't agin the law, surely." the "revenuers," he argued, too, never rode alone, as did this man, and spies and informers were generally of the vicinage. the stranger was specially well mounted, and as his puzzled cogitation over the significant silence that had supervened between them became so marked as to strike hite's attention, the mountaineer sought to nullify it by an allusion to the horse. "that feller puts down his feet like a kitten," he said admiringly. "i never seen nuthin' ez wears shoes so supple. shows speed, i s'pose? built fur it." "makes pretty fair time," responded the stranger without enthusiasm. the doubt, perplexity, and even suspicion which his companion's manner had evoked were not yet dissipated, and the allusion to the horse, and the glow of covetous admiration in hite's face as his eyes dwelt upon the finely fashioned creature so deftly moving along, brought suddenly to his mind sundry exploits of a gang of horse-thieves about these coves and mountains, detailed in recent newspapers. these rumors had been esteemed by urban communities in general as merely sensational, and had attracted scant attention. now, with their recurrence to his recollection, their verisimilitude was urged upon him. the horse he rode was a valuable animal, and moreover, here, ten or twenty miles from a habitation, would prove a shrewd loss indeed. nevertheless, it was impossible to shake off or evade his companion; the wilderness, with its jungle of dense rhododendron undergrowth on either side of the path, was impenetrable. there was no alternative practicable. he could only go on and hope for the best. a second glance at the mountaineer's honest face served in some sort as reassurance as to the probity of his character. gradually a vivid interest in the environment, which had earlier amazed and amused constant hite, began to be renewed. the stranger looked about to identify the growths of the forest with a keen, fresh enthusiasm, as if he were meeting old friends. once, with a sudden flush and an intent eye, he flung the reins to the man whom he had half suspected of being a horse-thief ten minutes before, to hastily dismount and uproot a tiny wayside weed, which he breathlessly and triumphantly explained to the wondering mountaineer was a rare plant which he had never seen; he carefully bestowed it between the leaves of his sketch-book before he resumed the saddle, and hite was moved to ask, "how d' ye know its durned comical name, ef ye never seen it afore? by gosh! it's got a name longer 'n its tap-root!" the town man only laughed a trifle at this commentary upon the botanical latin nomenclature, and once more he was leaning from his saddle, peering down the aisles of the forest with a smiling, expectant interest, as if they held for him some enchantment of which duller mortals have no ken. a brown geode, picked up in the channel of a summer-dried stream, showed an interior of sparkling quartz crystal, when a blow had shattered it, which hite had never suspected, often as he had seen the rugged spherical stones lying along the banks. all the rocks had a thought for the stranger, close to his heart and quick on his tongue, and as hite, half skeptical, half beguiled, listened, his suspicion of the man as a "revenuer" began to fade. "the revenuers ain't up ter no sech l'arnin' ez this," he said to himself, with a vicarious pride. "the man, though he never war in the mountings afore, knows ez much about 'em ez ef he hed bodaciously built 'em. fairly smelt that thar cave over t' other side the ridge jes' now, i reckon; else how'd he know 't war thar?" a certain hollow reverberation beneath the horse's hoofs had caught his companion's quick ear. "have you ever been in this cave hereabout?" he had asked, to hite's delighted amazement at this brilliant feat of mental jugglery, as it seemed to him. even the ground, when the repetitious woods held no new revelation of tree or flower, or hazy, flickering insect dandering through the yellow sunshine and the olive-tinted shadow and the vivid green foliage, the very ground had a word for him. "this formation here," he said, leaning from his saddle to watch the path slipping along beneath his horse's hoofs, like the unwinding of coils of brown ribbon, "is like that witch-face slope that we saw awhile ago. it seems to occur at long intervals in patches. you see down that declivity how little grows, how barren." the break in the density of the woods served to show the mountains, blue and purple and bronze, against the horizon; an argosy of white clouds under full sail; the cove, shadowy, slumberous, so deep down below; and the oak leaves above their heads, all dark and sharply dentated against the blue. hite had suddenly drawn in his horse. an eager light was in his eye, a new idea in his mind. he felt himself on the verge of imminent discovery. "now," said he, lowering his voice mysteriously, and laying his hand on the bridle of the other's horse,--and so far had the allurements of science outstripped merely mundane considerations that the stranger's recent doubts and anxieties touching his animal were altogether forgotten, and he was conscious only of a responsive expectant interest,--"air thar ennything in that thar 'formation,' ez ye calls it ez could gin out fire?" "no, certainly not," said the man of science, surprised, and marking the eager, insistent look in hite's eyes. both horses were at a standstill now. a jay-bird clanged out its wild woodsy cry from the dense shadows of a fern-brake far in the woods on the right, and they heard the muffled trickling of water, falling on mossy stones hard by, from a spring so slight as to be only a silver thread. the trees far below waved in the wind, and a faint dryadic sibilant singing sounded a measure or so, and grew fainter in the lulling of the breeze, and sunk to silence. "ennyhow," persisted hite, "won't sech yearth gin out light somehows,--in some conditions sech ez ye talk 'bout?" he added vaguely. "spontaneously? certainly not," the stranger replied, preserving his erect pose of inquiring and expectant attention. "why, then the mounting's 'witched sure enough,--that's all," said hite desperately. he cast off his hold on the stranger's horse, caught up his reins anew, and made ready to fare onward forthwith. "does fire ever show there?" demanded his companion wonderingly. "it's a plumb meracle, it's a plumb mystery," declared constant hite, as they went abreast into the dense shadow of the closing woods. "i asked ye this 'kase ez ye 'peared ter sense so much in rocks, an' weeds, an' birds, an' sile, what ain't revealed ter the mortal eye in gineral, ye mought be able ter gin some nateral reason fur that thar sile up thar round the old witch-face ter show fire or sech. but it's beyond yer knowin' or the knowin' o' enny mortal, i reckon." "how does the fire show?" persisted the man of science, with keen and attentive interest. "and who has seen it?" "stranger," said hite, lowering his voice, "i hev viewed it, myself. but fust it war viewed by the hanways,--them ez lives in that house on the spur what prongs out o' the range nigh opposite the slope o' the witch-face. one dark night,--thar war no moon, but thar warn't no storm, jes' a dull clouded black sky, ez late august weather will show whenst it be heavy an' sultry,--all of a suddenty, ez the hanway fambly war settin' on the porch toler'ble late in the night, the air bein' close in the house, the darter, narcissa by name, she calls out, 'look! look! i see the witch-face!' an' they all start up an' stare over acrost the deep black gorge. an' thar, ez true ez life, war the witch-face glimmerin' in the midst o' the black night, and agrinnin' at 'em an' a-mockin' at 'em, an' lighted up ez ef by fire." "and did no one discover the origin of the fire?" asked the stranger. "thar war no fire!" constant hite paused impressively. then he went on impulsively, full of his subject: "ben hanway kem over ter the still-house arter me, an' tergether we went ter examinate. but the bresh is powerful thick, an' the way is long, an' though we seen a flicker wunst or twict ez we-uns pushed through the deep woods, 't war daybreak 'fore we got thar, an' nare sign nor smell o' fire in all the woods could we find; nare scorch nor singe on the ground, not even a burnt stick or chunk ter tell the tale; everythin' ez airish an' cool an' jewy an' sweet ter the scent ez a summer mornin' is apt ter be." "how often has this phenomenon occurred?" said the stranger coolly, but with a downcast, thoughtful eye and a pursed-up lip, as if he were less surprised than cogitating. "twict only, fur we hev kep' an eye on the old witch, ben an' me. ben wants a road opened out up hyar, stiddier jes' this herder's trail through the woods. ben dunno how it mought strike folks ef they war ter know ez the witch-face hed been gin over ter sech cur'ous ways all of a suddenty. they mought take it fur a sign agin the road, sech ez b'lieves in the witch-face givin' bad luck." after a pause, "then _i_ viewed it wunst,--wunst in the dead o' the night. i war goin' home from the still, an' i happened ter look up, an' i seen the witch-face,--the light jes' dyin' out, jes' fadin' out. she didn't hev time ter make more 'n two or three faces at me, an' then she war gone in the night. it's a turr'ble-lookin' thing at night, stranger. so ye can't tell what makes it,--the sile, or what?" he turned himself quite sideways as he spoke, one hand on the carcass of the deer behind the saddle, the other on his horse's neck, the better to face his interlocutor and absorb his scientific speculations. and in that moment an odd idea occurred to him,--nay, a conviction. he perceived that his companion knew and understood the origin of the illumination; and more,--that he would not divulge it. "the soil? assuredly not the soil," the stranger said mechanically. he was looking down, absorbed in thought, secret, mysterious, yet not devoid of a certain inexplicable suggestion of triumph; for a subtle cloaked elation, not unlike a half-smile, was on his face, although its intent, persistent expression intimated the following out of a careful train of ideas. "then what is it?" demanded hite arrogantly, as if he claimed the right to know. "i really couldn't undertake to say," the stranger responded, his definite manner so conclusive an embargo on further inquiries that hite felt rising anew all his former doubts of the man, and his fears and suspicions as to the errand that had brought him hither. could it be possible, he argued within himself, that to the agency of "revenuers" was due that mysterious glow, more brilliant than any ordinary fire, steady, suffusive, continuous, rising in the dark wilderness, in the deep midnight, to reveal that ominous face overlooking all the countryside, with subtle flickers of laughter running athwart its wonted contortions, more weird and sinister in this ghastly glare than by day? and what significance might attend these strange machinations? revolving the idea, he presently shook his head in conclusive negation as he rode along. the approach of raiders was silent and noiseless and secret. whatever the mystery might portend it was not thus that they would advertise their presence, promoting the escape of the objects of their search. hite's open and candid mind could compass no adequate motive for concealment in all the ways of the world but the desire to evade the revenue law, or to practice the shifts and quirks necessary to the capture of the wary and elusive moonshiner. nevertheless, it was impossible, on either of these obvious bases, to account for the fact of something withheld in the stranger's manner, some secret exultant knowledge of the phenomenon which baffled the mountaineer's speculation. hite, all unaware that in his impulsive speech he had disclosed the fact of his hazardous occupation, began to feel that, considering his liability to the federal law for making brush whiskey, he had somewhat transcended the limit of his wonted hardihood in so long bearing this stranger company along the tangled ways of the herder's trail through the wilderness. "he _mought_ be a revenuer arter all, an' know all about me. the rest o' the raiders mought be a-waitin' an' a-layin' fur me at enny turn," he reflected. "leastwise he knows a deal more'n he's a-goin' ter tell." he drew up his horse as they neared an open bluff where the beetling rocks jutted out like a promontory above the sea of foliage below. they might judge of the long curvature of the conformation of the range just here, for on the opposite height was visible at intervals the road they had traveled, winding in and out among the trees, ascending the mountain in serpentine coils; they beheld the cove beneath from a new angle, and further yet the barren cherty slope on which, despite the distance, the witch-face could still be discerned by eyes practiced in marking its lineaments, trained to trace the popular fantasy. the stranger caught sight of it at the same moment that hite lifted his hand toward it. "thar it is!" hite exclaimed, "fur all the cove's a shadder, an' fur all the wind's a breath." for clouds had thickened over the sky, and much of the world was gray beneath, and the scene had dulled in tint and spirit since last they had had some large outlook upon it. only on the slopes toward the east did the sunshine rest, and in the midst of a sterile, barren slant it flickered on that semblance of ill omen. "an onlucky day, stranger," hite said slowly. the man of science had drawn in his restive horse, and had turned with a keen, freshened interest toward the witch-face. it was with a look of smiling expectancy that he encountered the aspect of snarling mockery, half visible or half imaginary, of that grim human similitude. the mountaineer's brilliant dark eyes dwelt upon him curiously. however, if he had forborne from prudential motives from earlier asking the stranger's name and vocation, lest more than a casual inquisitiveness be thereby implied, exciting suspicion, such queries were surely not in order at the moment of departure. for hite had resolved on parting company. "an onlucky day," he reiterated, "an onlucky day. an' this be ez far ez we spen' it tergether. i turn off hyar." so ever present with him was his spirituous conscience--it could hardly be called a bad conscience--that he half expected his companion to demur, and the posse of a deputy marshal to spring up from their ambush in the laurel about them. but the stranger, still with a flavor of preoccupation in his manner, only expressed a polite regret to say farewell so early, and genially offered to shake hands. as with difficulty he forced his horse close to the mountaineer's saddle, hite looked at the animal with a touch of disparagement. "that thar beastis hev got cornsider'ble o' the devil in him; he'll trick ye some day; ye better look out. waal, far'well stranger, far'well." the words had a regretful cadence. whether because of the unwonted interest which the stranger had excited, or the reluctance to relinquish his curiosity, still ungratified, or the pain of parting to an impressionable nature, whose every emotion is acute, hite hesitated when he had gone some twenty yards straight up the slope above, pushing his horse along a narrow path through the jungle of the laurel, and turned in his saddle to call out again, "far'well!" the stranger, still at the point where hite had quitted him, waved his hand and smiled. the jungle closed about the mountaineer, once more pushing on, and still the smiling eyes dwelt on the spot where he had disappeared. "farewell, my transparent friend," the stranger said, with a half-laugh. "i hope the day is not unlucky enough to put a deputy marshal on your track." and with one more glance at the witch-face, he gathered the reins in his hand and rode on alone along the narrow tangled ways of the herder's trail. now and again, as the day wore on, constant hite was seized with a sense of something wanting, and he presently recognized the deficit as the expectation of the ill fortune which should befall the time, and which still failed to materialize. so strong upon him was the persuasion of evil chances rife in the air to-day that he set himself as definitely to thwart and baffle them as if rationally cognizant of their pursuit. he would not return to his wonted vocation at the distillery, but carried his venison home, where his father, a very old man, with still the fervors of an ã¦sthetic pride, pointed out with approbation the evidence of a fair shot in the wound at the base of the buck's ear, and his mother, active, wiry, practical-minded, noted the abundance of fat. "he fed hisself well whilst he war about it," she commented, "an' now he'll feed us well. what diff'unce do it make whether con's rifle-ball hit whar he aimed ter do or no, so he fetched him down somewhar?" the afternoon passed peacefully away. it seemed strangely long. the sun, barring a veiled white glister in a clouded gray sky, betokening the solar focus, disappeared; the wind fell; the very cicadã¦, so loud in the latter days of august, were dulled to long intervals of silence; in the distance, a tree-toad called and called, with plaintive iteration, for rain. "ye'll git it, bubby," con addressed the creature, as he stood in the cornfield--a great yellow stretch--pulling fodder, and binding the long pliant blades into bundles. the clouds still thickened; the heat grew oppressive; the long rows of the corn were motionless, save the rustling of the blades as hite tore them from the stalk. even his mother's spinning-wheel, wont to briskly whir through the long afternoons, from the window of the little cabin on the rise, grew silent, and his father dozed beneath the gourd vines on the porch. the sun went down at last, and the gray day imperceptibly merged into the gray dusk. then came the lingering darkness, with a flicker of fireflies and broad wan flares of heat lightning. con woke once in the night to hear the rain on the roof. the wind was blaring near at hand. in its large, free measures, like some deliberate adagio, there was naught of menace; but when he slept again, and awoke to hear its voice anew, his heart was plunging with sudden fright. a human utterance was in its midst,--a human voice calling his name through the gusty night and the sibilant rush of the rain from the eaves. he listened for a moment at the roof-room window. he recognized with a certain relief the tones of the constable of the district. he opened the shutter. a new day was near to breaking. he saw the wan sky above the periphery of dense dark woods about the clearing. a brown dusk obscured the familiar landmarks, but beneath a gnarled old apple-tree by the gate several men were dimly suggested, and another, more distinct, by the wood-pile, was in the act of gathering a handful of chips to throw at the shutter again. he desisted as he marked the face at the window. "kem down," he said gruffly, clearing his throat in embarrassment. "kem down, constant. no use roustin' out the old folks." "what do you want?" asked hite in a low voice, his heart seeming to stand still in suspense. the constable hesitated. the cold rain dashed into hite's face. the rail fences, in zigzag lines, were coming into view. a mist was floating white against the dark densities of the woods. he heard the water splashing from the eaves heavily into the gullies below, and then the constable once more raucously cleared his throat. "thar's a man," he drawled, "a stranger hyarabouts, killed yestiddy in the bridle-path. the cor'ner hev kem, an' he 'lows ye know suthin' 'bout'n it, constant,--'bout'n the killin' of him. i be sent ter fetch ye." ii. a chimney, half of stone, half of clay and stick, stood starkly up in the gray rain and the swooping, shifting gray fog. it marked the site of a cabin burned long ago, and in such melancholy wise as it might it told of the home that had been. now and again far-away lightning flashed on its fireless hearth; a vacant bird's-nest in a cranny duplicated the suggestions of desertion; the cold mist crept in and curled up out of the smokeless flue with a mockery of semblance. the fire that had wrought its devastating will in the black midnight in the deep wilderness, so far from rescue or succor, had swiftly burned out its quick fury, and was sated with the humble household belongings. the barn, rickety, weather-beaten, deserted, and vacant, still remained,--of the fashion common to the region, with a loft above, and an open wagonway between the two compartments below,--and it was here that the inquest was held. it was near the scene of the tragedy, and occasionally a man would detach himself from the slow, dawdling, depressed-looking group of mountaineers who loitered in the open space beneath the loft, and traverse the scant distance down the bridle-path to gaze at the spot where the stranger's body had lain, whence it had been conveyed to the nearest shelter at hand, the old barn, where the coroner's jury were even now engaged in their deliberations. sometimes, another, versed in all the current rumors, would follow to point out to the new-comer the details, show how the rain had washed the blood away, and fearfully mark the tokens of frantic clutches at the trees as the man had been torn from his horse. the animal had vanished utterly; even the prints of his hoofs were soon obliterated by the torrents and the ever-widening puddles. and thus had arisen the suspicion of ambush and foul play, and the implication of the mysterious gang of horse-thieves, whose rumored exploits seemed hardly so fabulous with the disappearance of the animal and the violent death of the rider in evidence. the locality offered no other suggestion, and it was but a brief interval before the way would be retraced by the awe-stricken observer, noting with a deep interest impossible hitherto all the environment: the stark chimney of the vanished house, monumental in the weed-grown waste; the dripping forest; the roof of the barn, sleek and shining, and with rain pouring down the slant of its clapboards and splashing from its eaves; the groups of horses hitched to the scraggy apple-trees of the deserted homestead; and here and there the white canvas cover of an ox-wagon, with its yoke of steers standing with low-hung heads in the downpour. the pallid circling mists enveloped the world, and limited the outlook to a periphery of scant fifty paces; occasionally becoming tenuous, as if to suggest the dark looming of the mountain across the narrow valley, and the precipice close at hand behind the building, then once more intervening, white and dense of texture, forming a background which imparted a singular distinctness to the figures grouped in the open space of the barn beneath the shadowy loft. the greater number of the gathering had been summoned hither by a sheer curiosity as coercive as a subpoena, but sundry of the group were witnesses, reluctant, anxious, with a vague terror of the law, and an ignorant sense of an impending implication that set both craft and veracity at defiance. they held their heads down ponderingly, as they stood; perhaps rehearsing mentally the details of their meagre knowledge of the event, or perhaps canvassing the aspect of certain points which might impute to them blame or arouse suspicion, and endeavoring to compass shifty evasions, to transform or suppress them in their forthcoming testimony. at random, one might have differentiated the witnesses from the mass of the ordinary mountaineer type by the absorbed eye, or the meditative moving lip unconsciously forming unspoken words, or the fallen dismayed jaw as of the victim of circumstantial evidence. it was a strange chance, the death that had met this casual wayfarer at their very doors, and one might not know how the coroner would interpret it. his power to commit a suspect added to his terrors, and gave to the capable, astute official a mundane formidableness that overtopped the charnel-house flavor of his more habitual duties. he was visible through the unchinked logs of the little room where the inquest was in progress, barely spacious enough to contain the bier, the jury, and the witness under examination; and yet so great was the sound of the rain outside and the stir of the assemblage that little or naught was overheard without. now and again the waiting witnesses looked with doubt and curiosity and suspicion at a new-comer, with an obvious disposition to hope and believe that others knew more of the matter than they, and thus were more liable to accusation. occasionally, a low-toned, husky query would be met by a curt rejoinder suggesting a cautious reticence and a rising enmity, blockading all investigation save the obligatory inquisition of a coroner's jury. an object of ever-recurrent scrutiny was a stranger in the vicinity, who had been subpoenaed also. the facial effect of culture and sophistication was illustrated in his inexpressive, controlled, masklike countenance. he was generally known as the "valley man with the lung complaint," who had built a cabin on the mountain during the summer, banished hither by the advice of his physician for the value to the lungs of the soft, healing air. he wore a brown derby hat, a fawn-colored suit, and a brown overcoat, with the collar upturned. he was blond and young, and so impassive was his sober, decorous aspect that the aptest detective could have discerned naught of significance as he stood, quite silent and composed, in the centre of the place where it was dry, exempt from the gusts of rain that the wind now and again flung in spray upon the outermost members of the group, one hand in the pocket of his trousers, the other toying with a cigar which so far he held unlighted. of the two women present, one, seated upon the beam of a broken plough, refuse of the agricultural industry long ago collapsed here, was calmly smoking her pipe,--a wrinkled, unimpressed personality, who had seen many years, and whose manner might imply that all these chances of life and death came in the gross, and that existence was a medley at best. the other, a witness, was young. more than once the "valley man" cast a covert glance at her as, clad in a brown homespun dress, she leaned against the log wall, her face, which was very pale, half turned toward it, as if to hide the features already much obscured by the white sunbonnet drawn far over it. one arm was lifted, and her hand was passed between the unchinked logs in a convulsive grasp upon them. her figure was tall and slender, and expressive in its rigid constraint; it was an attitude of despair, of repulsion, of fear. it might have implied grief, or remorse, or anxiety. often the eyes of the prescient victims of circumstantial evidence rested dubiously upon her. to the great majority of men, the presence of women in affairs of business is an intrusive evil of times out of joint. now, since matters of life and liberty were in the balance, the primitive denizens of witch-face mountain felt that the admission of narcissa hanway's testimony to consideration and credibility evinced an essential defect in the law of the land, and the fallibility of all human reasoning. what distorted impression might not so appalling an event make upon one so young, so feminine, so inexperienced! what exaggerated wild thing might she not say, unintentionally inculpating half witch-face mountain in robbery and murder! constant hite, as he bluffly entered the passageway, his head up, his eyes wide and bright, his vigorous step elastic and light, gave no token of the spiritual war he had waged as he came. already he felt in great jeopardy. on account of his illicit vocation he could ill abide the scrutiny of the law. with scant proof, he argued, a moonshiner might be suspected of highway robbery and murder. as he had journeyed hither with the constable and his fellows, who conserved the air of disinterested spectators, but who he knew had been summoned to aid the officer in case he should evade or delay, when he would have been forthwith arrested, he had been sorely tempted to deny having ever seen the stranger, in whose company he had spent an hour or so of the previous day. he had been able to put the lie from him with a normal moral impulse. he did not appreciate the turpitude of perjury. he esteemed it only a natural lie invested with pomp and circumstance; and the new testament on which he should be sworn meant no more to his unlettered conscience than the horn-book, since he knew as little of its contents. but a lie is a skulking thing, and he had scant affinity with it. he thought, with a sort of numb wonderment, that it was strange he should feel no more compassion for the object stretched out here, dumb, dead, bruised, and bloody, which so short a space since he had seen full of life and interest, animated by a genial courtesy and graced with learning and subtle insight; now so unknowing, so unlettered, so blind! whither went this ethereal investiture of life?--for it was not mere being; one might exist hardily enough without it. did the darkness close over it, too, or was it not the germ of the soul, the budding of that wider knowledge and finer aspiration to flower hereafter in rarer air? he did not know; he only vaguely cared, and he reproached himself dully that he cared no more. for he--his life was threatened! with the renewal of the thought he experienced a certain animosity toward the man that he should not have known enough to take better care of himself. why must he needs die here, in this horrible unexplained way, and leave other men, chance associates, to risk stretching hemp for murder? he felt his strong life beating in his throat almost to suffocation at the mere suggestion. again the lie tempted him, to be again withstood; and as he strode into the room upon the calling of his name, he saw how futile, how flimsy, was every device, for, fluttering in the coroner's hand, he recognized the sketch of the "witch-face" which the dead man had made, and the masterly drawing of his own imposing figure in the foreground. he had forgotten it utterly for the time being. in the surprise and confusion that had beset him, it had not occurred to him to speculate how he had chanced to be subpoenaed, how the idea could have occurred to the coroner that he knew aught of the stranger. as he stood against the batten door, the pale light from the interstices of the unchinked logs, all the grayer because it alternated with the sombre timbers, falling upon his face and figure, his hat upturned in front, revealing his brow with a forelock of straight black hair, his brilliant dark eyes, and his distinctly cut definite features, the sketch-book was swiftly passed from one to another of the jury, reluctantly relinquished here and there, and more than once eliciting half-smothered exclamations of delighted wonder from the unsophisticated mountaineers, as they glanced back and forth from the man leaning against the door to the counterfeit presentment on the paper. constant hite experienced a glow of vicarious pride as he remembered the satisfaction that the artist had taken in the sketch, and he wished that that still thing on the bier could know how his work, most wonderful it seemed, was appreciated. and then, with a swift revulsion of feeling, he realized that it was this which had entrapped him; this bit of paper had brought him into fear and trouble and risk of his life. the man might be of the revenue force. he might have encountered other moonshiners, and thus have come to his violent death. if this were his vocation, it brought hite into dark suspicion by virtue of the fact, known to a few of the neighborhood, that he himself was a distiller of brush whiskey. no one else had seen the stranger till the finding of the body. he gathered this from the trend of the inquiry after the formal preliminary queries. the seven men, as they sat together on a bench made by passing a plank between the logs of the wall diagonally across the corner of the room, chewed meditatively their quids of tobacco, and now and then spat profusely on the ground, their faces growing more perplexed and graver as the examination progressed. when hite disclosed the circumstance that on the previous day he had encountered a "stranger man" near the "witch-face," there was a palpable sensation among them. they glanced at one another meaningly, and a sudden irritation was perceptible in the coroner's manner as he sat in a rickety chair near the improvised bier. he was a citizen of the valley region, a trifle more sophisticated than the jury, and disposed to seriously deprecate the introduction of any morbid or superstitious element into so grave a matter. he had a bald head, a lean face, the bones very clearly defined about the temple and cheek and jaw, a scanty grizzled beard; and he was dressed somewhat farmer fashion, in blue jeans, with his boots drawn high over his trousers, but with a stiffly starched white shirt,--the collar and cravat in evidence, the cuffs, however, vanished up the big sleeves of his coat. "the exact place of the meeting is not material," he said frowningly. but hite's mercurial interest in the drawing had revived anew. "thar she be," he exclaimed, so suddenly that the jury started with a common impulse, "the ole witch-face,"--he pointed at the sketch in the coroner's hand,--"a mite ter the east an' a leetle south in the pictur', ez nat'ral ez life!" one of the jurymen asked to see the sketch again. evidently, in the hasty delineation of the contours of the slope they had not noticed the gigantic grimacing countenance which they all knew so well; the picturesque figure of the mountaineer in the foreground had so impressed the stranger that it was much more nearly complete than the landscape, being definite in every detail, and fully shaded. the book was handed along the row of men, each recognizing the semblance, once pointed out, with a touch of dismayed surprise that alarmed the coroner for the sanity of the verdict; his rational estimate rated spells and bewitchments and omens as far less plausible agencies in disaster than horse-thieves, highwaymen, and moonshiners. "look at the face of the deceased," he said, with a sort of spare enunciation, coercive somehow in its inexpressiveness. "ye are sure ye never viewed that man afore yestiddy?" "i hev said so an' swore it," said hite, a trifle nettled. "ye rode in comp'ny a hour or mo' an' never asked his name?" "i never axed him no questions, nor he me," replied hite, "'ceptin' 'bout'n the witch-face. he was powerful streck by that. an' i tole him 't war a onlucky day." the jury, a dreary row of unkempt heads, and bearded anxious faces, and crouching shoulders askew, cleared their throats, and two uncrossed and recrossed their legs, the plank seat creaking ominously with the motion under their combined weight. a shade of disappointment was settling on the coroner's face. this was slight information indeed from the only person who had seen the man alive. there was silence for a moment. the splashing of the rain on the roof became drearily audible in the interval. the stir of the group in the space outside was asserted anew, with their low-toned fitful converse; a black-and-white ox in the weed-grown garden emitted a deep, depressed low of remonstrance against the rain, and the irking of the yoke, and the herbage just beyond his reach. the jurymen might see him through the logs, and now and again one of them mechanically ducked his head to look out upon the dismal aspect of the chimney and orchard, round which so many horses and wagons had not gathered since the daughter of the house was long ago married here. there was a sprinkle of gray in his hair, and he remembered the jollities of the wedding,--incongruous recollection,--and once more he looked at the stark figure, its face covered with a white cloth, which had been done in a sentiment of atonement for the unseemly publicity of its fate. in sparsely settled communities, death, being rare, retains much of the terror which custom lessens in the dense crowds of cities. there death is met at every corner. it goes on 'change. it sits upon the bench. it is chronicled in the columns of every newspaper. daily its bells toll. its melancholy pageantry traverses the streets of wealthy quarters, and it stalks abroad hourly in the slums, and few there are who gaze after it. but here it comes so seldom that its dread features are not made smug by familiarity. when hite was told to look again at the face and see if memory might not have played him false, to make sure he had never seen the man before yesterday, he hesitated, and advanced with such reluctance, and started back, dropping the cloth, with such swift repulsion, that the coroner, habituated to such matters, gazed at him with a doubtful scrutiny. "oh, he looked nowise like that," he exclaimed in a raised, nervous voice that caught the attention of the crowd outside, and resulted in a sudden cessation of stir and colloquy, "though it's him, sure enough! and," with a burst of regret, "he war a mighty pleasant man!" the coroner, intentionally taking him at a disadvantage, asked abruptly, "what do you work at mostly?" hite turned shortly from the bier. "i farms some," he hesitated; "dad bein' mos'ly out o' the field, nowadays, agin' so constant." "what do you work at mostly?" reiterated the official. hite divined his suspicion. some flying rumor had doubtless come to his ears, how credible, how unimpugnable, the moonshiner could not tell. nevertheless, his loyalty to that secret vocation of his had become a part of his nature, so continuous were its demands upon his courage, his strategy, his foresight, his industry. it was tantamount to his instinct of self-defense. he held his head down, with his excited dark eyes looking up from under his brows at the coroner. but he would not speak. he would admit naught of what was evidently known. "warn't ye afeard he might be a revenuer?" suggested the officer. "i never war afeard, so ter say, o' one man at a time," hite ventured. "didn't ye think he might take a notion that you were a moonshiner?" "he never showed no suspicion o' me, noways," replied hite warily. "we rid tergether free an' favored. he 'peared a powerful book-l'arned man,--like no revenuer ever i see." "where did you part company?" hite sought to identify the spot by description; and then he was allowed to pass out, his spirits flagging with the ordeal, and with the knowledge that his connection with the manufacture of brush whiskey was suspected by the coroner's jury, suggesting an adequate motive on his part for waylaying a stranger supposed to be of the revenue force. he felt the dash of the rain in his face as he stood aside to make way for the "valley man with the lung complaint," who was passing into the restricted apartment; and despite his whirl of anxiety and excitement and regret and resentment, he noted with a touch of surprise the cool unconcern of the man's face and manner, albeit duly grave and adjusted to the decorums of the melancholy occasion. he was sworn, and gave his name as alan selwyn. the jury listened with interest to his fluent account of his occupation in the valley, which had been mercantile, of his temporary residence here for a bronchial affection; and when he was asked to identify the man who had so mysteriously come to his death, they marked his quick, easy stride as he crossed the room, with his hat in his hand, and his unmoved countenance as he looked fixedly down into the face of the dead. he remained a longer interval than was usual with the witnesses, as if to make sure. then, still quite businesslike and brisk, he stated that he could not identify him, having certainly never seen him before. "the only papers which he had on him," said the coroner, watching the effect of his words, "were two letters addressed to you." the young man started in palpable surprise. as he looked at the exterior of the letters, which were stamped and postmarked, he observed that they must have been taken out of the post-office at sandford cross-roads, to expedite their delivery; the postmaster doubtless consenting to this request on the part of so reputable-looking a person or a possible acquaintance. "were you expecting a visitor?" asked the coroner. "not at all," responded the puzzled witness. he was requested to open the letters, read and show them. but he waived this courtesy, asking the coroner to open and read them to the jury. they were of no moment, both on matters of casual business, and mr. alan selwyn was dismissed; the coroner blandly regretting that, in view of his malady, he had been required to come out in so chilly a rain. notwithstanding his composure he was in some haste to be gone. he went quickly through the crowd, drawing down his hat over his brow, and deftly buttoning his overcoat across his chest and throat. he had reached his horse, and had placed one foot in the stirrup, when, chancing to glance back over his shoulder, he saw narcissa hanway's white, flowerlike face, her bonnet pushed far back on her tawny yellow hair, both arms outstretched in a gesture of negation and repulsion toward the apartment where the jury sat, while a dark-haired, slow man urged her forward, one hand on her shoulder, and the old mountain woman followed with insistence and encouragement. he hesitated for a moment; then putting spurs to his horse, he rode off swiftly through the slanting lines of rain. iii. a sense of helplessness in the hands of fate is in some sort conducive to courage. doubtless many an act of valor which has won the world's applause was precipitated in a degree by desperation and the lack of an alternative. the appearance of stolidity with which the cluster of witnesses--those whose testimony was yet to be given as well as those who had told the little they knew--noted the uncontrolled agitation, the wild eyes, the hysteric sobs, with which narcissa hanway was ushered into the contracted apartment where the inquest was in progress, had no correlative calmness of mind or heart. what haphazard accusation might not result from her fear, or her desire to shield another, or the mere undisciplined horror of the place and the fact! when one dreads the sheer possibilities, the extremes of terror are reached. more than one of the bearded, unkempt, hardy mountaineers, trudging back and forth in the sheltered space beneath the loft, steadily chewing their quids of tobacco and eying the rain, would have fled incontinently, had there been any place to run to out of reach of the constable, who was particularly brisk to-day, participating in exercises of so unusual an interest. the girl's brother, standing beside the door after she had passed within, was unconscious of a certain keen covert scrutiny of which he was the subject. he had a square determined face, dark hair, slow gray eyes, and a tall powerful frame; he held his head downward, his hand on the door, his even teeth set in the intensity of his effort to distinguish the voices within. there had been some secret speculation as to whether the man were altogether unknown to the brother and sister, such deep feeling she had evinced, such coercion he had exerted to induce her to give her testimony. still, the girl was a mere slip of a thing, unused to horrors; and as to recalcitrant witnesses, they all knew the jail had a welcome for the silent until such time as they might find a voice. nevertheless, though his urgency had been in the stead of the constable's stronger measures, they eyed him askance as he stood and sought to listen, with his hand on the door. the old woman turned around, her arms falling to her sides with a sort of flounce of triumph, her eyes twinkling beneath the shining spectacles set upon her brow among the limp ruffles of her thrust-back sunbonnet, a laugh of satisfaction widening her wrinkled face. "thar now!" she chuckled, "nar'sa jes' set it down she _wouldn't_ testify, an' crossed her heart an' hoped she'd fall dead fust. but, ben, we beat her that time!" and she chuckled anew. the man answered not a word, and listened to the tumult within. it is seldom, doubtless, that the patience of a coroner's jury is subjected to so strong a strain. but the information which had so far been elicited was hardly more than the bare circumstance which the body presented,--a man had ridden here, a stranger, and he was dead. if the girl knew more than this, it would necessitate some care in the examination to secure the facts. she was young, singularly willful and irresponsible, and evidently overcome by grief, or fear, or simply horror. when she was asked to look at the face of the stranger, she only caught a glimpse of it, as if by accident, and turned away, pulling her white bonnet down over her face, and declaring that she would not. "i hev viewed him wunst, an' i won't look at him again," she protested, with a burst of sobs. "now set down in this cheer, daughter, an' tell us what ye know about it all,--easy an' quiet," said the coroner in a soothing, paternal strain. "oh, nuthin', nuthin'!" exclaimed the girl, throwing herself into the chair in the attitude of an abandonment of grief. "air ye cryin' 'kase ye war 'quainted with him ennywise?" demanded one of the jurymen, with a quickening interest. he was a neighbor; that is, counting as propinquity a distance of ten miles. the girl lifted her head suddenly. "i never seen him till yestiddy," she protested steadily. "i be a heap apter ter weep 'kase my 'quaintances _ain't_ dead!" she gave him a composed, sarcastic smile, then fell to laughing and crying together. to the others the discomfiture of their _confrã¨re_ was the first touch of comedy relief in the tragic situation. they cast at one another a glance of appreciation trenching on a smile, and the abashed questioner drew out a plug of tobacco, and with a manner of preoccupation gnawed a bit from it; then replaced it in his pocket, with a physical contortion which caused the plank on which the jury were seated to creak ominously, to the manifest anxiety of the worthies ranged thereon. "how did you happen to see the man?" he asked, as if he had perceived no significance in her previous answer. "'kase i didn't happen ter be blind," her half-muffled voice replied. her arm was thrown over the back of the chair, and her face was hidden on her elbow. the coroner interposed quickly: "where were you goin', an' what did you see?" she sobbed aloud for a moment. then ensued an interval of silence. suddenly the interest of the subject seemed to lay hold upon her, and she began to speak very rapidly, lifting her white tear-stained face, and pushing her bonnet back on her rough curling auburn hair:-"i war a-blackberryin', thar bein' only a few lef' yit, an' i went fur an' furder yit from home; an' ez i kem out'n the woods over yon," half rising, and pointing with a free gesture, "i viewed--or yit i _'lowed_ i viewed--the witch-face through a bunch o' honey locust, the leaves bein' drapped a'ready, they bein' always the fust o' the year ter git bare. an' stiddier leavin' it be, i sot my bucket o' berries at the foot o' a tree', an started down the slope todes the bluff, ter make sure an' view it clar o' the trees." the girl paused, her eyes widening, her voice faltering, her breath coming fast. "an' goin' swift, some hawgs, stray, half grown, 'bout twenty shoats feedin' in the woods--my rustlin' in the bushes skeered 'em i reckon--they sot out to run, possessed by the devil, like them the scriptur' tells about." she paused again, panting, her hand to her heart. the disaffected juryman turned to one side, recrossing his legs, and spitting disparagingly on the ground. "she can't swear them hawgs war possessed by the devil," he said in a low tone to his next neighbor. "oh, why not," exclaimed the girl, "when we know so many men air possessed by the devil,--why not them shoats, bein' jes' without clothes, an' without the gift o' speech to mark the diff'unce!" she paused again, and the coroner, standing a trifle back of her chair, shook his head at the obstructive juryman, and asked her in a commonplace voice what the hogs had to do with it. "that's what i wanter know!" she cried, half turning in her chair to look up at him. "i started 'em, an' i be at the bottom o' it all, ef it's like i think,--_me_, yearnin' ter look at the old witch-face! the hawgs run through the woods like fire on dry grass, an' i be 'feared they skeered the stranger man's horse--he had none whenst i seen him, though. i hearn loud talkin', or hollerin', a cornsiderable piece off, an' then gallopin' hoofs"-"more horses than one, do you think?" demanded the coroner. "oh, how kin i swear to that? i seen none. fur when i got thar, this man war lyin' in the herder's trail, bruised and bloody--oh, like ye see--an' his eyes opened; an' he gin a sort o' gasp whenst i tuk his han'--an' he war dead. an' i skeered the hawgs, an' they skeered his horse, an' he killed him; an' i be 'sponsible fur it all, an' i wisht ye'd hang me fur it quick, an' be done with it!" she burst into sobs once more, and hid her face on her arm on the back of the chair. then, suddenly lifting her head, she resumed: "i jes' called and called ben, an' bein' he hain't never fur off, he hearn me, an' kem. an' then he rid fur the neighbors, an' kem down the valley arter you-uns," with a side glance at the coroner. "an' he lef' me a shootin'-iron, in case of a fox, or a wolf, or suthin' kem along. 'bout sunset the neighbors kem. an' till then i sot thar keepin' watch, an' a-viewin' the witch-face 'crost the cove, plumb till the sun went down." she bowed her head again on her arm, and a momentary silence ensued. then the coroner, clearing his throat, said reassuringly, "thar ain't nuthin' in the witch-face, nohow. it's jes' a notion. man and boy, i have knowed that hillside fur forty year, an' i never could see no witch-face; it's been p'inted out ter me a thousand times." she looked at him in dumb amazement for a moment; then broke out, "waal, what would ye think ef ye hed seen, like me, the witch-face shining in the darkest night, nigh on ter midnight, like the ole 'oman had lighted her a candle somewhars,--jes' shinin', an' grinnin', an' mockin', plain ez daybreak? that's what _i_ hev viewed--an' i 'low ter view it agin--oh, i do, i do!" he looked at her hard, but he did not say what he thought, and the faces of the jurymen, which had implied a strong exception to his declaration of skepticism touching the existence of the ominous facial outline on the hillside, underwent a sudden change of expression. she was hardly responsible, they considered, and her last incredible assertion had gone far to nullify the effect of her previous testimony. she was overcome by the nervous shock, or had told less than she knew and was still concealing somewhat, or was so credulous and plastic and fanciful as to be hardly worthy of belief. she was dismissed earlier than she had dared to hope: and with this deterioration of the testimony of the witness who was nearest the time and place of the disaster, the jury presently went to work to evolve out of so slender a thread of fact and so knotty a tangle of possibility their verdict. for a long time, it seemed to the curious without, and to the agitated, nervous witnesses peering through the unchinked logs of the wall, they sat on their comfortless perch, half crouching forward, and chewed, and discussed the testimony. there were frequent intervals of silence, and in one of these con hite was disturbed to see the sketch of the "witch-face" once more passed from hand to hand. they grew to have a harried, baited look; and after a time, the rain having slackened, they came out in a body, and walked to and fro quite silently in the clearing, chewing their quids and their knotty problem, with apparently as much chance of getting to the completion of the one as of the other. they were evidently refreshed, however, by the change of posture and scene, for they soon resumed the subject and were arguing anew as they paused upon the bluff, their gestures wonderfully distinct, drawn upon the sea of mist that filled the valley below and the air above. it revealed naught of the earth, save here and there a headland, as it were, thrusting out its dark, narrow, attenuated demesne into the impalpable main. further and further one might mark this semblance of a coast-line as the vapor grew more tenuous, till far away the series of shadowy gray promontories alternating with the colorless inlets was as vague of essence as the land of a dream. near at hand, a cucumber-tree, with its great broad green leaves and its deep red cones, leaning over the rocks, and spanning this illusive gray landscape from the zenith to the immediate foreground, gave the only touch of color to the scenic simulacrum in many a gradation of neutral tone. the jurymen hovered about under the boughs for a time, and then came back, still harassed and anxious, to their den, with perhaps some new question of doubt. for those without could perceive that once more they were crowding about the bier and talking together in knots. again they called in the country physician who had testified earlier, an elderly personage, singularly long and thin and angular, but who had a keen, intent, clever face and the accent of an educated man. he seemed to reiterate some information in a clear, concise manner, and when he came out it was evident that he considered his utility here at an end, for he made straight for his horse and saddle. a sudden sensation supervened among the outsiders,--a flutter, and then a breathless suspense; for within the inclosure, barred with the heavy shadows of the logs of the walls alternating with the misty intervals, could be seen the figures of the seven, successively stooping at the foot of the bier to sign each his name to the inquisition at last drawn up. one by one they came slowly out, looking quite exhausted from their long restraint, the unwonted mental exercitations, and the nervous strain. then it was developed, to the astonishment and disappointment of the little crowd, tingling with excitement and anxiety, that this document simply set forth the fact that at an inquisition holden on witch-face mountain, kildeer county, before jeremiah flaxman, coroner, upon the body of an unknown man, there lying dead, the jurors whose names were subscribed thereto, upon their oaths, did say that he came to his death from concussion of the brain consequent upon being thrown or dragged from his horse by means or by persons to the jury unknown. there was a palpable dismay on constant hite's expressive face. he had hoped that the verdict might be death by accident. others had expected the implication of horse-thieves, of whose existence the jury being of the neighborhood were well advised, and the disappearance of the man's horse might well suggest this explanation. the coroner would return this inquisition to the criminal court together with a list of the material witnesses. thus the matter was left as undecided as before the inquest, the jeopardy, the terrors of circumstantial evidence, all still impending, dark with doom, like the black cloud which visibly overshadowed the landscape. iv. since the knight-errantry of wolf and bear and catamount and fox has scant need of milestones, or signposts, or ferries, or the tender iteration of road-taxes, the casual glance might hardly perceive the necessity of opening a thoroughfare through this wilderness, for these freebooters seemed likely to be its chief beneficiaries. a more rugged district could not be found in all that massive upheaval of rocks and tangled wooded fastnesses stretching from the northeast to the southwest some twenty miles, and known as witch-face mountain; a more scantily populated region than its slopes and adjacent coves scarcely exists in the length and breadth of the state of tennessee. the physical possibilities were arrayed against the project, so steep was the comblike summit on either side, so heavy and tortuous the outcropping rock that served as the bony structure of the great mountain mass. true, the river pierced it, the denudation of solid sandstone cliffs, a thousand feet in height, betokening the untiring energy of the eroding currents of centuries agone. this agency, however, man might not summon to his aid, being "the act of god," to use the pious language of the express companies to describe certain contingencies for which they very properly decline the responsibility. against the preã«mptions of the gigantic forests and the gaunt impassable crags and the abysmal river might be enlisted only such enterprise as was latent in the male inhabitants of the vicinity over eighteen years of age and under fifty, thus subject to the duty of working on the public roads. nevertheless, the county court had, in a moment of sanguine exuberance, entertained and granted an application from the adjacent landowners to order a jury of view to lay out a public road and to report at the next quarterly session. precursors of the jury of view in some sort two young people might have seemed, one afternoon, a fortnight, perhaps, after the inquest, as they pushed through the woody tangles to the cliffs high above the river, the opposite bank of which was much nearer than the swirling currents, crystal brown in the romantic shadows below. they walked in single file, the jury of view in their minds, and now and then referred to in their sparse speech. "mought make it along hyar, ben." the girl, in advance, paused, bareheaded, each uplifted hand holding out a string of her white sunbonnet, which, thus distended, was poised, winglike, behind the rough tangle of auburn hair and against the amber sky. she turned as she spoke, to face her companion, taking a step or two backward as she awaited his answer. "look out how ye air a-walkin', narcissa! ye'll go over the bluff back'ards, fust thing ye know," the man called out eagerly, and with a break of anxiety in his voice. she stretched the sunbonnet still wider with her upreaching arms, and with a smile of tantalizing glee, showing her white teeth and narrowing her brown eyes, she continued to walk backward toward the precipice,--with short steps, however; cautious enough, doubtless, but calculated to alarm one whose affection had given much acuteness to fear. still at too great a distance for interference, ben affected indifference. "we-uns'll hev the coroner's jury hyar agin, afore the jury o' view, ef ye keep on; an' ye ain't got on yer bes' caliker coat, noways." he climbed swiftly up the ascent and joined her, out of breath and with an angry gleam in his eyes. but she had turned her face and steps in the opposite direction, the mirth of the situation extinguished for the present. "quit talkin' that-a-way 'bout sech turr'ble, turr'ble things!" she cried petulantly, making a motion as if to strike him, futile at the distance, and with her frowning face averted. "sech ez yer new coat? i 'lowed 't war the apple o' yer eye," he rejoined with a feint of banter. she held her face down, with her features drawn and her eyes half closed, rejecting the vision of recollection as if it were the sight itself. "i can't abide the name o' cor'ner's jury,--i never wants ter hear it nor see it agin! i never shall furgit how them men all looked a-viewin' the traveler's body what i fund dead in the road; they looked like jes' so many solemn, peekin', heejus black buzzards crowdin' aroun' the corpse; then a-noddin' an' a-whisperin' tergether, an' a-findin' of a verdic' ez they called it. they fund nuthin' at all. 't war _me_ ez done the findin'. i fund the man dead in the road. an' _i_ ain't a-goin' ter be a witness no mo'. nex' time the law wants me fur a witness i'll go ter jail; it's cheerfuller, a heap, i'll bet!" as she still held her head down, her bonnet well on it now, her face with its _riant_ cast of features incongruously woebegone, overshadowed by the tragedy she recounted even more definitely than by the brim of her headgear or the first gray advance of the dusk, he made a clumsy effort to divert her attention. "i 'lowed ye war mightily in favor of juries; ye talk mighty nigh all day 'bout the jury of view." "i want a road up hyar," she exclaimed vivaciously, raising her eyes and her joyous transfigured face, "a reg'lar county road! in the fall o' the year the folks would kem wagonin' thar chestnuts over ter sell in town, an' camp out. an' all the mounting would go up an' down it past our big gate ter the church house in the cove. i'd never want ter hear no mo' preachin'. i'd jes' set on our front porch, an' look, an' look, an' look!" she cast up her great bright eyes with as vivid and immediate an irradiation as if the brilliant procession which she pictured deployed even now, chiefly in ox-wagons, before them. she caught off her bonnet from her head,--it seemed a sort of moral barometer; she never wore it when the indications of the inner atmosphere set fair. she swung it gayly by one string as she walked and talked; now and again she held the string to her lips and bit it with her strong, even teeth, reckless of the havoc in the clumsy hem. "then county court days,--goin' to county court, an' comin' from county court,--sech passels an' passels o' folks! i wisht we-uns hed it afore the jury o' view kem, so we-uns mought view the jury o' view." "it's along o' the jury o' view ez we-uns will git the road,--ef we do git it," the young man said cautiously. it was one of his self-imposed duties to moderate, as far as he might, his sister's views, to temper her enthusiasms and abate her various and easily excited anger. he had other duties toward her which might be said to have come to him as an inheritance. "ben's the boy!" his consumptive mother had been wont to say; "he's sorter slow, but mighty sure. 'brag is a good dog, but hold-fast is a better.' ef he don't sense nare 'nother idee in this life, he hev got ter l'arn ez it's his business ter take keer o' nar'sa. folks say nar'sa be spoiled a'ready. so be, fur whilst ben be nuthin' but a boy he'll l'arn ter do her bid, an' watch over her, an' wait on her, an' keer for her, an' think she be the top o' creation. it'll make her proud an' headin', i know,--she'll gin her stepmammy a sight o' trouble, an' i ain't edzactly lamentin' 'bout'n that,--but ben'll take keer o' her all her life, an' good keer, havin' been trained ter it from the fust." but his mother had slept many a year in the little mountain graveyard, and her place was still empty. the worldly wise craft of the simple mountain woman, making what provision she might for the guardianship of her daughter, was rendered of scant effect, since her husband did not marry again. the household went on as if she still sat in her accustomed place, with not one deficiency or disaster that might have served in its simple sort as a memorial,--so little important are we in our several spheres, so promptly do the ranks of life close up as we drop dead from their alignment. the panoply against adversity with which narcissa had been accoutred by a too anxious mother, instead of being means of defense, had become opportunities of oppression. her brother's affectionate solicitude and submissiveness were accepted as her bounden due, as the two grew older; her father naturally adapted himself to the predominant sentiment of the household; and few homes can show a tyrant more arrogant and absolute than the mountain girl whose mother had so predicted for her much hardship and harshness, and a troubled and subordinate existence. it was with that instinct to guard her from all the ills of life, great and small, that ben sought to prepare her for a possible disappointment now. "mought n't git the road through, nohow, when all's said," he suggested. "what fur not?" she exclaimed, bringing her dark brows together above eyes that held a glitter of anger. "waal, some o' the owners won't sign the application, an' air goin' ter fight it in the court." she put her bonnet on, and looked from under its brim up at the amber sky. it was growing faintly green near the zenith, toward which the lofty topmost plumes of the dark green pines swayed. the great growths of the forest rose on every side. there was no view, no vista, save the infinitely repeated umbrageous tangle beneath the trees, where their boles stood more or less distinct or dusky till merged indefinitely into shadow and distance. looking down into the river, one lost the sense of monotony. the ever-swirling lines of the current drew mystic scrolls on that wonderfully pellucid brown surface,--so pellucid that from the height above she could see a swiftly darting shadow which she knew was the reflection of a homeward-bound hawk in the skies higher yet. leaves floated in a still, deep pool, were caught in a maddening eddy, and hurried frantically away, unwilling, frenzied, helpless, unknowing whither, never to return,--allegory of many a life outside those darkling solemn mountain woods, and of some, perhaps, in the midst of them. the reflection of the cliffs in the never still current, of the pines on their summits, of the changing sky growing deeper and deeper, till its amber tint, erstwhile so crystalline, became of a dull tawny opaqueness, she marked absently for a while as she cogitated on his answer. "what makes 'em so contrairy, ben?" she asked at last. "waal, old man sneed 'lows thar'll be a power o' cattle-thievin', with the road so open an' convenient. an' jeremiah sayres don't want ter pay no road-taxes. an' silas boyd 'lows he don't want ter be obligated ter work on no sech rough road ez this hyar one air obleeged ter be; an' i reckon, fust an' last, it _will_ take a power o' elbow grease." he paused, and looked about him at the great shelving masses of rock and the steep slants, repeated through leagues and leagues of mountain wilderness. then seating himself on one of the ledges of the cliff, his feet dangling unconcernedly over the abysses below, he continued: "an' con hite,--he's agin it, too." she lifted her head, with a scornful rising flush. "con hite dunno _what_ he wants; _he_ ain't got a ounce o' jedgmint." "waal, one thing he _don't_ want is a road. he be 'feared it'll go too close ter the still, an' the raiders will nose him out somehows. now he be all snug in the bresh, an' the revenuers none the wiser." "an' con none the wiser, nuther," she flouted. "the raiders hev smoked out 'sperienced old mountain foxes a heap slyer'n con be. he ain't got the gift. he can't hide nuthin'. i kin find out everythin' he knows by jes' lookin' in his eye." "that's just 'kase he's fool enough ter set a heap o' store by ye, nar'sa. he ain't so easy trapped." "fool enough fur ennythin'," she retorted. "an' then thar 's old dent kirby. he 'lows the road will be obligated ter pass by the witch-face arter it gits over yander nigh ter the valley, whar the ruver squeezes through the mounting agin. he be always talkin' 'bout signs an' spells an' sech, an' he 'lows the very look o' the witch-face kerries bad luck, an' it'll taint all ez goes for'ard an' back'ard a-nigh it." "ben," said the girl in a low voice, "do you-uns b'lieve ef thar war passin' continual on a sure enough county road that thar cur'ous white light would kem on the old witch's face in the night-time? ain't that a sort'n spell fur the dark an' the lonesomeness ter tarrify a few quaking dwellers round about? surely many folks comin' an' goin' wouldn't see sech. ghostful things ain't common in a crowd." she moved a little nearer her brother, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "some folks can't see the witch-face at all, noways," he replied stolidly. "i hearn the coroner 'low he couldn't." narcissa spoke with sudden asperity: "i reckon he hev got sense enough ter view a light whenst it shines inter his eyes. he 'pears ter be feeble-minded ginerally, and mought n't be able ter pick out the favor o' the features on the hillside, but surely he'd blink ef a light war flickered inter his eyeballs." the road was her precious scheme, and she steadfastly believed that with the order of the worshipful quarterly county court declaring it open, with a duly appointed overseer and a gang of assigned work-hands and the presidial fostering care of a road commissioner, the haggard old semblance must needs desist from supernatural emblazonment in the awe-stricken nights, and that logic and law would soon serve to exorcise its baleful influence. her mien grew graver as she reflected on the rã©sumã© of objections to the project. her white bonnet threw a certain white reflection on her flushed face. her eyes were downcast as she looked at the river below, the long lashes seeming almost to touch her cheek. she scarcely moved them as she turned her gaze upon her brother, who was still seated on the verge of the cliff. "waal, sir, i wonder that the pore old road petition hed life enough in it ter crawl ter the court-house door. with all them agin it, thar ain't nobody ter be fur it, sca'cely." "oh, yes," he admitted. "them air fur it ez b'lieves highways improves proputty, an' hev got land lyin' right alongside whar the road is axed ter be run; them ez ain't got proputty alongside ain't nigh so anxious. but that thar strange valley man ez they say hev got a lung complaint, he won't sign nuther. he owns the house he built up thar on the flat o' the mounting an' cornsider'ble land, though he don't keep no stock nor nuthin'. 'lows the air be soft an' good for the lung complaint. he 'lows he hev been tryin' ter git shet o' the railroads an' dirt roads an' human folks, an' he s'posed he _hed_ run ter the jumpin'-off place, the e-ends o' the yearth; but hyar kems the road o' civilization a-pursuin' him like the sarpient o' the pit, with the knowledge o' good an' evil,--a grain o' wheat an' a bushel o' chaff,--an' he reckons he'll hev ter cut an' run again." narcissa's lips parted slightly. she listened in amazement to this strange account of an aversion to that gay world in processional, chiefly in white-covered wagons, which she longed to see come down the county road. "he be a powerful queer man," said ben slowly, "this hyar alan selwyn." and she felt that this was true. she sat down beside her brother on the rock, and together they looked down meditatively on the river. it was reddening now with the reflection of the reddening clouds. the water, nevertheless, asserted itself. lengths of steely brilliancy showed now and again amidst the roseate suffusion, and anon spaces glimmered vacant of all but a dusky brown suggestion of depth and a liquid lustre. "nar'sa," he said at last in a low voice, "ye know they 'lowed that the traveler what war killed, some say by his runaway horse, war a-comin' ter see _him_,--this alan selwyn." the white bonnet seemed to focus and retain the lingering light in the landscape. without its aid he might hardly have made shift to see her face. "they 'lowed they knowed so by the papers the traveler had on him, though this selwyn 'lowed _he_ couldn't identify the dead man," he continued after a pause. she gazed wonderingly at him, then absently down at the sudden scintillating white glitter of the reflection of the evening star in the dusky red water. it burned with a yet purer, calmer radiance in the roseate skies. she felt the weight of the darkening gloom, gathering beneath the trees around her, as if it hung palpably on her shoulders. "waal," he resumed, "i b'lieve ef that thar traveler had been able ter speak ter ye when ye fund him, like ye said he tried ter do, i b'lieve he would hev tole ye suthin' 'bout that thar valley man. _he_'s enough likelier ter hev bed suthin' ter do with the suddint takin' off o' the feller than con hite." her face was suddenly aghast. "who says con hite-why?" she paused, her voice failing. "waal, ye know con be a-moonshinin' again, an' some 'lows ez this hyar traveler warn't a traveler at all, but a revenuer,--strayed off somehows from the rest o' 'em." "oh, how i wish he'd stop moonshinin' an' sech!" she moved so suddenly on the edge of the precipice, as she lifted her hands and drew down her sunbonnet over her face, that ben's glance was full of terror. "move back a mite, nar'sa; ye'll go over the bluff, fust thing ye know! yes, con's mighty wrong ter be moonshinin'. the law is the right thing. it purtects us. it holps us all. we-uns owe it obejiunce, like i hearn a man say in a speech down yander in"-"the law!" cried narcissa, with scorn. "con hite kin tromp on the revenue law from hyar ter the witch-face, fur all i keer. purtects! i pity a man ez waits fur the law ter purtect him; it's a heap apter ter grind him ter pomace. _i_ mind moonshinin' 'kase it's dangersome fur the moonshiners. the law--i don't count the fibble old law!" she sat brooding for a time, her face downcast. then she spoke in a low voice:-"whyn't ye find out, ben? what ails ye ter be so good-fur-nuthin'? thar be other folks beside con ez air law-breakers." she edged nearer to him, laying her hand on his arm. "ye've got to find out, ben," she said insistently. "keep an eye on that thar valley man, an' find out all 'bout'n him. else the killin' 'll be laid ter con, who never done nuthin' hurtful ter nobody in all his life." "the idee jes' streck me ter-day whenst i viewed him along about that road. whenst that thar dead man tuk yer han' an' tried ter find a word of speech-why, hullo, narcissa!" with a short cry she had struggled to her feet. the gathering gloom, the recollection of the tragedy, the association of ideas, bore too heavily on her nerves. she struck petulantly at his astounded face. "why air ye always remindin' me?" she exclaimed, with a sharp upbraiding note. and then she began to cry out that she could see again the coroner's jury pressing close about the corpse, with a keen ravenous interest like the vile mountain vultures, and then colloguing together aside, and nodding their heads and saying they had found their verdict, when they had found nothing, not even the poor dead man; and she saw them here, and she saw them there, and everywhere in the darkling mountain woods, and she would see them everywhere as long as she should live, and she wished with all her heart that they were every one at the bottom of the black mountain river. and the slow ben wondered, as he sought to soothe her and take her home, that a woman should be so sensitive to the mention of one dead man, and yet given to such wishes of the wholesale destruction of the harmless coroner's jury, because their appearance struck her amiss, and they collogued together, and nodded their heads unacceptably, and found their verdict. v. except in so far as his sedulously cultivated fraternal sentiments were concerned, the peculiar domestic training to which ben hanway had been subjected had had slight effect in softening a somewhat hard and stern character. to continue the canine simile by which his mother had described him, his gentleness and watchful care toward his sister were not more reassuring to the public at large than is the tender loyalty of a guard-dog toward the infant of a house which claims his fealty; that the dog does not bite the baby is no fair augury that he will not bite the peddler or the prowler. the fact that the traveler had borne letters addressed to alan selwyn, and no other papers, and yet alan selwyn could not or would not identify him, had already furnished hanway with an ever-recurrent subject of cogitation. it had been the presumption of the coroner's jury, since confirmed by inquiry of the postmaster, that, going for some purpose to alan selwyn's lodge in the wilderness, the unknown traveler had, in passing, called for his prospective host's mail at the cross-roads, some fifteen miles distant and the nearest post-office, such being the courtesy of the region. a visitor often insured a welcome by thus voluntarily expediting the delivery of the mail some days, or perhaps some weeks, before its recipient could have hoped to receive it otherwise. hanway had long been cognizant of this habit of the cross-roads postmaster to accede to such requests on the part of reputable people, but he was reminded forcibly of it the next morning. a neighbor, homeward bound from a visit to the valley, had paused at hanway's house to leave a letter, with which he had charged himself, addressed to selwyn. "i 'lowed ye mought be ridin' over thar some day, bein' ez ye air toler'ble nigh neighbors," he said. and hanway the more willingly undertook the delivery of the missive since it afforded him a pretext for the reconnoissance which he had already contemplated. rain-clouds had succeeded those fine aerial flauntings of the sunset splendors, and he set out in the pervasive drizzle of a gray day. torn and ragged with the rain and the gusts, the white mist seemed to come to meet him along the vistas of the dreary dripping woods. the tall trees that shut off the sky loomed loftily through it. sometimes, as the wind quickened, it deployed in great luminously white columns, following the invisible curves of the atmospheric current; and anon, in flaky detached fragments, it fled dispersed down the avenues like the scattered stragglers of a routed army. the wind was having the best of the contest; and though it still rained when he reached the vicinity of alan selwyn's lonely dwelling, the mist was gone, the clouds were all resolved into the steady fall of the torrents, and the little house on the slope of the mountain and all its surroundings were visible. a log cabin it was, containing two rooms and the unaccustomed luxury of glass windows; so new that the hewn cedar logs had not yet weathered to the habitual dull gray tone, but glowed jauntily red as the timbers alternated with the white and yellow daubing. a stanch stone chimney seemed an unnecessary note of ostentation, since the more usual structure of clay and sticks might serve as well. it reminded ben hanway that its occupant was not native to the place, and whetted anew his curiosity as he looked about, the reins on his horse's neck in his slow approach. it was a sheltered spot; the great mountain's curving summit rose high toward the north and west above the depression where the cabin stood; across the narrow valley a still more elevated range intercepted the east wind. only to the south was the limited plateau open, sloping down to great cliffs, giving upon a vast expanse of mountain and valley and plain and far reaches of undulating country, promising in fair weather high, pure, soft air, a tempered gentle breeze, and the best that the sun can do. he noted the advantages of the situation in reference to the "lung complaint," feeling a loser in some sort; for he had begun to suspect that the consumptive tendencies of the stranger were a vain pretense, assumed merely to delude the unwary. he could not have doubted long, for when he dismounted and hitched his horse to the rail fence he heard the door of the house open, and as its owner, standing on the threshold in the wind and the gusty rain, called out to him a welcoming "hello," the word was followed by a series of hacking coughs which told their story as definitely as a medical certificate. ben hanway was not a humane man in any special sense, but he was conscious of haste in concluding the tethering of the animal and in striding across the vacant weed-grown yard striped with the ever-descending rain. "ye'd better git in out'n all this wind an' rain," he said in his rough voice. "a power o' dampness in the air." "no matter. there's no discount on me. don't take cold nowadays. i've got right well here already." the passage-way was dark, but the room into which ben was ushered, illumined by two opposite windows, was as bright as the day would allow. a roaring wood fire in the great chimney-place reinforced the pallid gray light with glancing red and yellow fluctuations. the apartment was comfortable enough, although its uses were evidently multifarious,--partly kitchen, and dining-room, and sitting-room. its furniture consisted of several plain wooden chairs, a table and crockery, a few books on a shelf, a lounge in the corner, and a rifle, after the manner of the mountaineers, over the mantelpiece. upon the shelf a cheap clock ticked away the weary minutes of the lonely hours of the long empty days while the valley man abode here, exiled from home and friends and his accustomed sphere, and fought out that hopeless fight for his life. ben hanway gave him a keen, covert stare, as he slowly and clumsily accepted the tendered chair and his host threw another log on the fire. hanway had seen him previously, when selwyn testified before the coroner's jury, but to-day he impressed his visitor differently. he was tall and slight, twenty-five years of age, perhaps, with light brown hair, sleek and shining and short, a quick blue eye, a fair complexion with a brilliant flush, and a long mustache. but the bizarre effect produced by this smiling apparition in the jaws of death seemed to hanway's limited experience curiously enhanced by his attire. its special peculiarity was an old smoking-jacket, out at the elbows, ragged at the cuffs, and frayed at the silk collar; hanway had never before seen a man wear a red coat, or such foot-gear as the slipshod embroidered velvet slippers in which he shuffled to a chair and sat down, tilted back, with his hands in the pockets of his gray trousers. to be sure, he could but be grave when testifying before a coroner's jury, but hanway was hardly prepared for such exuberant cheerfulness as his manner, his attire, and his face seemed to indicate. "ain't ye sorter lonesome over hyar?" he ventured. "you bet your sweet life i am," his host replied unequivocally. a shade crossed his face, and vanished in an instant. "but then," he argued, "i didn't have such a soft thing where i was. i was a clerk--that is, a bookkeeper--on a salary, and i had to work all day, and sometimes nearly all night!" he belittled his former vocation with airy contempt, as if he did not yearn for it with every fibre of his being,--its utility, its competence, its future. the recollection of the very feel of the fair smooth paper under his hand, the delicate hair-line chirography trailing off so fast from the swift pen, could wring a pang from him. he might even have esteemed an oath more binding sworn on a ledger than on the new testament. "and we were a small house, anyway, and the salary was no great shakes," he continued jauntily, to show how little he had to regret. "an' now ye ain't got nuthin' ter do but ter read yer book," said the mountaineer acquiescently, realizing, in spite of his clumsy mental processes, how the thorn pierced the bosom pressed against it. selwyn followed his guest's glance to the shelf of volumes with an unaffected indifference. "yes, but i don't care for it. i wish i did, since i have the time. but the liking for books has to be cultivated, like a taste for beer; they are both a deal too sedative for me!" the laugh that ensued was choked with a cough, and the tactless hanway was moved to expostulate. "i wonder ye ain't 'feared ter be hyar all by yerse'f hevin' the lung complaint." "why, man alive, i'm well, or so near it there's no use talking. i could go home to-morrow, except, as i have had the house built, i think i'd better stay the winter in it. but before the cold weather comes on they are going to send up a darky to look after me. i only hope _i_ won't have to wait on _him_,--awful lazy nigger! he used to be a porter of ours. loafing around these woods with a gun on his shoulder, pretending to hunt, will be just about his size. he's out of a job now, and comes cheap. i couldn't afford to pay him wages all the time, but winter is winter." he was silent a moment, gazing into the fire; then hanway, gloomily brooding and disturbed, for the conversation had impressed him much as if it had been post-mortem, so immediate seemed his companion's doom, felt selwyn's eye upon him, as if his sentiment were so obvious that the sense of sight had detected it. "you think i'm going to die up here all by myself. now i tell you, my good fellow, dying is the very last thing that i expect to do." he broke out laughing anew, and this time he did not cough. hanway could not at once cover his confusion. he looked frowningly down at the steam rising from his great cowhide boots, outstretched as they dried in the heat of the fire, and slowly shifted them one above the other. the flush on his sunburned cheek rose to the roots of his dark hair, and overspread his clumsy features. his appearance did not give token of any very great delicacy of feeling, but he regretted his transparency, and sought to nullify it. "not that," he said disingenuously; "but bein' all by yerse'f, i wonder ye ain't willin' fur the county road ter be put through. 't would run right by yer gate, an' ye could h'ist the winder an' talk to the folks passin'. ye wouldn't be lonely never." for the first time selwyn looked like a man of business. his eyes grew steady. his face was firm and serious and non-committal. he said nothing. hanway cleared his throat and crossed his legs anew. the thought of his true intention in coming hither, not his ostensible errand, had recurred more than once to his mind,--to lay bare the secret touching the visitor to selwyn's remote dwelling, whom he could not or would not identify; and if there were aught amiss, as the mountaineer suspected, to take such action thereupon as in the fullness of his own good judgment seemed fit. but since the man was evidently so sharp, hanway had hitherto feared even indirectly to trench upon it; here, however, the opening was so natural, so propitious, that he was fain to take advantage of it. "an' see," he resumed, "what dangers kem o' hevin' no road. that thar man what war killed las' month, ef we hed hed a reg'lar county road, worked on an' kep' open, stiddier this hyar herder's trail, this-a-way an' that, he could hev rid along ez free an' favored, an'"-"why," selwyn broke in, "the testimony was to the effect that he was riding a young, skittish horse, which was startled by stray hogs breaking at a dead run through the bushes, and that the horse bolted and ran away. and the man died from concussion of the brain. that would have happened if we had had a road of the first class, twenty feet wide, instead of this little seven-foot freak you all are so mashed on." his face had not lost a tinge of its brilliant color. his animated eyes were still fired by that inward flame that was consuming his years, his days, even his minutes, it might seem. his hands, fine, white, and delicate, were thrust jauntily into the pockets of his red jacket, and hanway felt himself no nearer the heart of the mystery than before. the subject, evidently, was not avoided, held naught of menace. he went at it directly. "seems strange he war a-comin' ter visit you-uns, an' hed yer mail in his pocket, an' ye never seen him afore," he hazarded, "nor knowed who he war." "but i have found out since," selwyn said, his clear eyes resting on his visitor without the vestige of an affrighted thought. "he was mr. keith, a chemist from glaston; he was quite a notable authority on matters of physical science generally. i had written to him about--about some points of interest in the mountains, and as he was at leisure he concluded to come and investigate--and--take a holiday. he didn't let me know, and as i had never seen him i didn't at first even imagine it was he." there was a silence. selwyn's blue eyes dwelt on the fast-descending lines of rain that now blurred all view of the mountains; the globular drops here and there adhering to the pane, ever dissolving and ever renewed, obscured even the small privilege of a glimpse of the dooryard. the continual beat on the roof had the regularity and the tireless suggestion of machinery. "how did ye find out?" demanded hanway, his theory evaporating into thin air. "why, as he didn't reply to my letter about a matter of such importance"--he checked himself suddenly, then went on more slowly--"it occurred to me that he might have decided to come, and might have been the man who was killed. so i wrote to his brother. he had not been expected at home earlier. his brother doesn't incline to the foul-play theory. the horse he rode is a wild young animal that has run away two or three times. he had been warned repeatedly against riding that horse, but he thought him safe enough. the horse has returned home,--got there the day my letter was received. so the brother and an officer came and exhumed the body: he was buried, you know, after the inquest, over in the little graveyard yonder on the slope of the mountain." selwyn shivered slightly, and the fine white hands came out of the gaudy red pockets, and fastened the frogs beneath the lapels across his chest, to draw the smoking-jacket closer. "great scott! what a fate,--to be left in that desolate burying-ground! death is death, there." "death is death anywhar," said the mountaineer gloomily. "no. get you a mile or two of iron fence, and stone gates, and lots of sculptured marble angels around, and death is peace, or rest, or heaven, or paradise, according to your creed and the taste of the subject; but here you are done for and dead." hanway, in the limited experience of the mountaineer, could not follow the theory, and he forbore to press it further. "well," selwyn resumed, "they took him home, and i was glad to see him go. i was glad to see them filling that hole up. i took a pious interest in that. i should have felt it was waiting for me. i shoveled some of the earth back myself." the wind surged around the house, and shook the outer doors. the rain trampled on the roof like a squadron of cavalry. with his fate standing ever behind him, almost visibly looking over his shoulder, although he saw it not, the valley man was a pathetic object to the mountaineer. hanway's eyes were hot and burned as he looked at him; if he had been but a little younger, they might have held tears. but hanway had passed by several years his majority, and esteemed himself exempt from boyish softness. selwyn shook off the impression with a shiver, and bent forward to mend the fire. "where were you yesterday?" he asked, seeking a change of subject. "at home sowin' turnip seed, mos'ly. i never hearn nuthin' 'bout'n it all." selwyn threw himself back in his chair, his brow corrugated impatiently at this renewal of the theme, and in the emergency he even resorted to the much-mooted point of the thoroughfare. "i suppose all the family there are dead gone on that road?" he sought to make talk. "dad an' aunt m'nervy don't keer one way nor another, but my sister air plumb beset fur the jury of view to put it through." "why?" selwyn had a mental vision of some elderly, thrifty mountain dame with a long head turned toward the enhancement of the values of a league or so of mountain land. hanway, slow and tenacious of impressions, could not so readily rouse a vital interest in another subject. he still gazed with melancholy eyes at the fire, and his heart felt heavy and sore. "waal," he answered mechanically, "she 'lows she wants ter see the folks go up an' down, an' up an' down." selwyn's blue eyes opened. "folks?" he asked wonderingly. the rarest of apparitions on witch-face mountain were "folks." hanway roused himself slightly, and raucously cleared his throat to explain. "she 'lows thar'll be cornsider'ble passin'. folks, in the fall o' the year, mought be a-wagonin' of chestnuts over the mounting an' down ter colb'ry; an' thar's the quarterly court days; some attends, leastwise the jestices; an' whenst they hev preachin' in the cove; an' wunst in a while thar _mought_ be a camp-meetin'. she sets cornsider'ble store on lookin' at the folks ez will go up an' down." there was a swift movement in the pupils of the valley man's eyes. it was an expression closely correlated to laughter, but the muscles of his face were still, and he remained decorously grave. there was some thought in his mind that held him doubtful for a moment. his craft was cautious of its kind, and his manner was quite incidental as he said, "and the others of the family?" "thar ain't no others," returned hanway, stolidly unmarking. "oh, so you are the eldest?" "by five year. narcissa ain't more 'n jes' turned eighteen." the valley man's face was flushed more deeply still; his brilliant eyes were elated. "_narcissa!_" he cried, with the joy of delighted identification. "she is the girl, then, that testified at the inquest. _narcissa!_" hanway lifted his head, with a strong look of surly objection on his heavy features. selwyn noted it with a glow of growing anger. he felt that he had said naught amiss. people could not expect their sisters to escape attracting notice, especially a sister with a remarkable name and endowed with a face like this one's. "narcissa,--that's an odd name," he said, partly in bravado, and partly in justification of the propriety of his previous mention of her. "i knew a man once named narcissus. must be the feminine of narcissus. good name for her, though." the recollection of the white flower-like face, the corolla of red-gold hair, came over him. "looks just like 'em." hanway, albeit all alert now, descried in this naught more poetical than the fact that selwyn considered that his sister resembled a man of his acquaintance. as for that fairest of all spring flowers, it had never gladdened the backwoods range of his vision. the exclusive tendency of the human mind is tested by this discovery of a casual resemblance to a stranger. one invariably sustains an affront at its mention. whatever one's exterior may be, it possesses the unique merit of being one's own, and the aversion to share its traits with another, and that other a stranger, is universal. in this instance the objection was enhanced by the fact that the stranger was a man; _ergo_, in hanway's opinion, more or less clumsy and burly and ugly; the masculine type of his acquaintance presenting to his mind few of the superior elements of beauty. he resented the liberty the stranger took in resembling narcissa, and he resented still more selwyn's effrontery in discovering the likeness. "not ez much alike ez two black-eyed peas, now. i reckon not,--i reckon not," he sneered, as he rose to bring his visit to an end. his host's words of incipient surprise were checked as hanway slowly drew forth from his pocket a letter. "old man binney war at the cross-roads sad'day, an' he fotched up some mail fur the neighbors. he lef' this letter fur you-uns at our house, 'lowin' ez i would fetch it over." selwyn sat silent for a moment. he felt that severe reprehension and distrust which a man of business always manifests upon even the most trifling interference with his vested rights in his own mail matter. the rural method of aiding in distributing the mail was peculiarly unpalatable to him. he much preferred that his letters should lie in the post-office at the cross-roads until such time as it suited his convenience to saddle his horse and ride thither for them. the postmaster, on the contrary, seized the opportunity whenever responsible parties were "ridin' up inter the mounting" to entrust to them the neighborhood mail, thus expediting its delivery perhaps by three weeks, or even more, and receiving in every instance the benediction of his distant beneficiaries of the backwoods. "i'll write to the postmaster this very day!" selwyn thought, as he tore the envelope open and mastered its contents at a swift glance. a half-suppressed but delighted excitement shone suddenly in his eyes, and smoothed every line of agitation and anxiety from his brow. "i'm a thousand times obliged to you for bringing it," he exclaimed, "and for staying awhile and talking! i wish you would come again. but i'm coming to see you, to return your call." he laughed gayly at the sophisticated phrase. "coming soon." hanway's growl of pretended pleasure in the prospect was rendered nearly inarticulate by the thought of narcissa. he had not anticipated a return of the courtesy. he had no welcome for this stranger, and somehow he felt that he did not altogether understand narcissa at times; that she had flights of fancy which were beyond him, and took a mischievous pleasure in tantalizing him, and was freakish and hard to control. moreover, under the influence of this reaction of feeling, a modicum of his doubts of selwyn had revived. not that he suspected him, as heretofore, but a phrase that had earlier struck his attention came back to him. selwyn had written, he said, to the traveler to come and "investigate," and he had hesitated and chosen his phrases, and half discarded them, and slurred over his statement. what was there to "investigate" in the mountains? what prospect of profit worth a long, lonely journey and a risk that ended in death? the capture of moonshiners was said to be a paying business, and an informer also reaped a reward. hanway wondered if con hite could be the point of "investigation," if the dead man were indeed of the revenue force. "oh, you needn't shut the door on me," selwyn said, as they stood together in the passage, and hanway, with his instinct to cut him off, had made a motion to draw the door after him; "this mountain air is so bland, even when it is damp." he paused on the dripping threshold, with his hands in the pockets of his red jacket, and surveyed with smiling complacence the forlorn, weeping day, and the mountains cowering under their misty veil, and the sodden dooryard, and the wild rocks and chasms of the gorge, adown the trough of which a stream unknown to the dry weather was tumbling with a suggestion of flight and trouble and fear in its precipitancy. "i'm well, well as a bear; and i'm getting fat as a bear, doing nothing. feel my arm. i'm just following the example of the bears about this time of the year,--hibernating, going into winter quarters. i'm going to get this place into good shape to sell some day. i have bought that land over there all down the gorge from squire helm; and last july i bought all that slope at the tax sale, but that is subject to redemption; and then i am trying to buy in the rear of my wigwam, too,--a thousand acres." "ye kin sell it higher ef the road goes through," said hanway doubtfully. it seemed very odd that the man who protested that his stay in the mountains was so temporary, and whose stay in the world was evidently so short, should spend his obviously scanty substance in purchase after purchase of the worthless mountain wilderness. to be sure, the land was cheap, but it cost something. and hanway looked again at the frayed cuffs and elbows of the red smoking-jacket. in his infrequent visits to colbury, he had noted the variance of the men's costumes with the mountain standard of dress. he saw naught like this, but he knew that if ever the sober burghers lent themselves to this sort of fantastic toggery, it was certainly whole. "say, my friend, what day does the jury of view hold forth?" selwyn called out after the slouching figure, striped with the diagonal lines of rain and flouted by the wind, tramping across the weeds of the yard to his horse. "nex' chewsday week," hanway responded hoarsely. "well, if this weather holds out, it is to be hoped that the gentlemen of the jury are web-footed!" selwyn exclaimed. he shut the door, and as he went back to his lonely hearth his eyes fell upon the letter lying on the table. "now," he said as he took it again in his hand, "if fate should truly cut such a caper as to make my fortune in this forlorn exile, i could find it in my heart to laugh the longest and the loudest at the joke." vi. if it had been within the power of the worshipful quarterly county court to issue a mandamus to compel fair weather on that notable tuesday when the jury of view were to set forth, the god of day could scarcely have obeyed with more alacrity that peremptory writ once poetically ranked as "one of the flowers of the crown." the burnished yellow sunshine had a suggestion of joyous exuberance in its wide suffusions. even the recurrent fluctuations of shadow but gave its pervasive sheen the effect of motion and added embellishment. the wind, hilarious, loud, piping gayly a tuneful stave, shepherded the clouds in the fair fields of the high sky, driving the flocculent white masses here and there as listed a changing will. the trees were red and yellow, the leaves firm, full-fleshed, as if the ebbing sap of summer still ran high in every fibre; their tint seemed no hectic dying taint, but some inherent chromatic richness. fine avenues the eye might open amongst the rough brown boles that stood in dense ranks, preternaturally dark and distinct, washed by the recent rains, and thrown into prominence by the masses of yellow and red leaves carpeting the ground, and the red and yellow boughs hanging low above. they dispensed to the light, clarified air an aromatic richness that the lungs rejoiced to breathe, and all their flare of color might have seemed adequate illumination of their demesne without serving writs of mandamus on the sun; and indeed, the quarterly county court was fain to concern itself with far lesser matters, and wield slighter weapons. the jury of view, in a close squad, ambling along at an easy gait, mounted on nags as diverse in appearance, age, and manner as the riders, sufficiently expressed its authority and their own diligence in its behests, and their spirits had risen to the propitious aspect of the weather and the occasion. their advent into this secluded region of the district--for to secure a strict impartiality they were not of the immediate neighborhood, and had no interest which could be affected by their report--was not hailed with universal satisfaction. "jes' look at 'em, now," said old man binney, as he stood in his door, leaning on his stick, to watch them pass,--"a jury o' view. an' who ever viewed a jury a-horseback afore? an' thar ain't but seben on 'em!"--laboriously counting, "five, six, seben. thar's _twelve_ men on a sure enough jury! i counted the panel ez hung ezekiel tilbuts fur a-murderin' of his wife. i war thar in town whenst they fetched in thar verdic'. i dunno what the kentry be a-comin' ter! shucks! i ain't a-goin' ter abide by the say-so o' no sech skimpy jury ez this hyar. i'll go ter town an' see old lawyer gryce 'bout it, fust." and with this extremest threat of vengeance he brought his stick down on the floor with so vigorous a thump that it had a certain profane effect; then having from under his bushy gray eyebrows gazed at the diminishing group till it was but a dim speck in the distance, he went in muttering, banging the door as if to shut out and reject the sight. his objection might have been intensified had he known that the days were at hand when legislative wisdom would still further reduce this engine of the law, making it consist of one road commissioner and two freeholders, the trio still pridefully denominated a "jury of view." others, however, favoring the enterprise, cheerfully fell into the line of march; and as the way lengthened the cavalcade grew, mustering recruits as it went. disputatious voices suddenly sounded loud on the clear air in front of them, mingled with the thud of horses' hoofs, the jingle of spurs, and now and again the whinny of a colt; and at the intersection of the trail with a narrow winding path there rode into view old "persimmon" sneed,--as he was sometimes disrespectfully nicknamed, owing to a juvenile and voracious fondness for the most toothsome delicacy of autumn woods,--arguing loudly, and with a lordly intolerance of contradiction, with two men who accompanied him, while his sleek claybank mare also argued loudly with her colt. she had much ado to pace soberly forward, even under the coercion of whip and spur, while her madcap scion galloped wildly ahead or lagged far in the rear, and made now and then excursions into the woods, out of sight, to gratify some adolescent curiosity, or perhaps, after the fashion of other and human adolescents, to relish the spectacle of the maternal anxiety. ever and anon the sound of the mare's troubled call rang on the air. then the colt would come with a burst of speed, a turbulent rush, out of the underbrush, and, with its keen head-tones of a whinny, all funnily treble and out of tune, dash on in advance. the rider of this preoccupied steed was a grizzled, lank, thin-visaged mountaineer, with a tuft of beard on his chin, but a shaven jowl, where, however, the black-and-gray stubble of several days' avoidance of the razor put forth unabashed. he shook his finger impressively at the jury of view as he approached them. "ef ye put this hyar road through my land," he said solemnly, "i'll be teetotally ruinationed. the cattle-thievin' that'll go on, with the woods so open an' the road so convenient, an' yit no travel sca'cely, will be a scandal ter the jay-bird. i won't hev so much lef' ez the horn of a muley cow!" and with this extreme statement he whirled his horse and rode on at the head of the cavalcade in dignified silence. he was not a dweller in the immediate vicinity, but hailed from the cove,--a man of substance and a large cattle-owner, pasturing his herds, duly branded, on a tract of unfenced wilderness, his mountain lands, where they roamed in the safe solitudes of those deep seclusions during the summer, and were rounded up, well fattened, and driven home at the approach of winter. he was the typical man of convictions, one who entertains a serious belief that he possesses a governing conscience instead of an abiding delight in his own way. he had a keen eye, with an upward glance from under the brim of his big wool hat, and he looked alert to descry any encroachment on his vested rights to prescribe opinion. the jury of view were destined to find it a doubtful boon that the road law interposed no insurmountable obstacle to prevent their hearing thus informally the views of those interested. persimmon sneed's deep feeling on the subject had been evinced by his dispensing with the customary salutations, and one of the jury of view, with a mollifying intention, observed that they would use their best judgment to promote the interests of all parties. "ai-yi!" said persimmon sneed, ruefully shaking his head. "but s'pose ye hev got mighty pore jedgmint? ye'll be like mos' folks i know, ef ye hev. i'd ruther use my own best jedgmint, a sight." at which another of the jury suavely remarked that they would seek to be impartial. "that's jes' what i kem along fur," exclaimed persimmon sneed triumphantly,--"ter show ye edzac'ly whar the bull's eye be. thar ain't no use fur this road, an' ye air bound ter see it ef ye ain't nowise one-sided and partial." the jury relapsed into silence and rode steadily on. the true raw material of contradiction lay in three younger men among the spectators, contumacious, vehement, and, albeit opposed to the road, much inclined to spoke the wheel of old persimmon sneed, however that wheel might revolve. "i got caught on a jury in a criminal case with him wunst," silas boyd, a heavy, thick-set, tall young fellow with a belligerent eye and a portentously square jaw, said _sotto voce_ to his next comrade. "i hev sarved on a jury with him,--locked up fur a week 'thout no verdic'. he ain't got no respec' fur no other man's say-so. an' he talks 'bout _his_ oath ez ef he war the only man in tennessee ez ever war swore on the 'holy evangelists o' almighty gawd' in the court-house. he fairly stamped on my feelin's, in that jenkins case, ter make me agree with him; but i couldn't agree, an' it hung the jury, ez they say. i wisht they hed hung the foreman! by hokey, i despise a hard-headed, 'pinionated man." "look at his back," rejoined jeremiah sayres, a man of theory, who had a light undecided tint of hair and beard and scraggy mustache, and a blond complexion burned a permanent solid red by the summer sun. "i'd know his dispositions by his back." he waved his hand at the brown jeans coat that draped a spare and angular but singularly erect back, which scarcely seemed to move in response to the motions of the mare pacing briskly along. "what sorter back is that fur a man risin' fifty year old?--straight ez a ramrod, an' ez stiff. but, silas, ef ever ye git the better o' him, ye hev got ter break it." "i hearn his third wife married him ter git rid o' him," put in peter sims, given to gossip. "she 'lowed he warn't nigh so tarrifyin' 'roun' his own house, a-feedin' the peegs, an' ploughin' an' cuttin' wood, an' sech, _occupied somehows_, ez he war a-settin' up in his sunday best at her house, with nuthin' ter do, allowin' she _hed_ ter marry him, whether or not, 'kase he wouldn't hev 'no' fur a answer." "an' look at it now!" exclaimed silas boyd, unexpectedly reinforced by the matrimonial phase of the question. "that thar man hev bodaciously argued an' contradicted two wimmin out'n this vale o' tears. an' everybody knows it takes a power o' contradiction to out-do a woman. he oughter be indicted for cold-blooded murder! that's what!" he nodded vindictively at the straight jeans-clad back in advance of him. over and again the party called a halt, to push about in search of a practicable seven-foot passage amongst crags and chasms, and to contend with the various insistence touching devious ways preferred by the honorary attendants, who often seemed to forget that they themselves were not in the exercise of a delegated jury duty. tangles impeded, doubts beset them, although the axe by which the desired route had been blazed out aforetime by the petitioners had been zealous and active; but the part of a pioneer in a primeval wilderness is indeed the threading of a clueless labyrinth, and both sun and compass were consulted often before the continued direction of the road could be determined and located. in such cases, to the lovers of the consistent in character, the respective traits of old persimmon sneed and silas boyd were displayed in all their pristine value; for although their interests were identical, both being opposed to the opening of the road, the dictatorial arrogations of the elder man and the pugnacious persistence of the younger served to antagonize them on many a minor point in question, subsidiary to the main issue, as definitely as if they were each arrayed against the other, instead of both being in arms under the "no road" banner. "mighty nigh ez interestin' ez a dog-fight," said jeremiah sayres in an aside to one of the jury. midday found them considerably advanced on their way, but brought to a halt by an insistence on the part of silas boyd that the road should be diverted from a certain depression showing marshy tendencies to a rugged slope where the footing was dry but difficult. "that's under water more 'n haffen the winter, i'll take my everlastin' oath. ef the road runs thar, that piece will take enough mendin' in a season ter keep up ten mile o' dry road," he argued vehemently. "water ain't dangersome, nowise," retorted the elderly persimmon, with a snarling smile. "healthier 'n whiskey, my frien',--_heap_ healthier 'n whiskey." boyd's serious countenance colored darkly red with wrath. among the aggressive virtues of old persimmon sneed were certain whiskey-proof temperance principles, the recollection of which was peculiarly irritating to silas boyd, known to be more than ordinarily susceptible to proof whiskey. "i be a perfessin' baptis', mr. sneed," he retorted quickly. "i got no objection ter water, 'ceptin' fur the onregenerate an' spurners o' salvation." now persimmon sneed had argued the plan of atonement on every possible basis known to his extremely limited polemical outlook, and could agree with none. if any sect of eclectics had been within his reach, he would most joyfully have cast his spiritual fortunes with them, for he felt himself better than very many conspicuous christians; and as he would have joyed in a pose of sanctity, the reproach of being a member of no church touched him deeply. "i ain't no ransomed saint, i know," he vociferated,--"i ain't no ransomed saint! but ef the truth war known, ye ain't got no religion nuther! that leetle duckin' ez ye call 'immersion' jes' diluted the 'riginal sin in ye mighty leetle. ye air a toler'ble strong toddy o' iniquity yit. that thar water tempered the whiskey ye drink mighty leetle,--mighty leetle!" the christian grace of silas boyd was put to a stronger test than it might have been deemed capable of sustaining. but sneed was a far older man, and as nothing short of breaking his stiff neck might suffice to tame him, silas boyd summoned his self-control, and held his tingling hands, and gave himself only to retort. "i wouldn't take that off'n ye, mr. sneed, 'ceptin' i be a perfessin' member, an' pity them ez is still in the wiles an' delusions o' satan." what might have ensued in the nature of counterthrust, as persimmon sneed heard himself called by inference an object of pity, the subsidiary group were spared from learning, for at that moment the sound of steps heralded an approach, and ben hanway came into the circle, and sought to claim the attention of the party, inviting them to dine and pass the nooning hour at his house. his countenance was adjusted to the smile of hospitality, but it wore the expression like a mask, and he seemed ill at ease. he had been contending all the morning with narcissa's freakishness, which he thought intensified by the presence of the valley man, who was returning the civility of that ill-omened visit, and who, by reason of the abnormal excitements of the day, had been received with scant formality, and was already upon the footing of a familiar friend. selwyn stood smilingly in the way hard by, speaking to those of the men as they passed who gave his presence the meed of a start and a stare of blank surprise, or a curt nod. narcissa lingered in the background, beneath a great oak; her chin was a little lifted with a touch of displeasure; the eyelids drooped over her brown eyes; her hands, with her wonted careless gesture and with a certain mechanical effort to dispel embarrassment, were raised to the curtain of her white sunbonnet, and spread its folds wingwise behind her auburn hair. sundry acquaintances among the honorary attendants paused to greet her pleasantly as they passed, but old sneed's disapprobation of a woman's appearance on so public an occasion was plainly expressed on his features. for all the turks are not in turkey. she followed with frowning, disaffected eyes the procession of men and horses and dogs and colts wending up to the invisible house hidden amongst the full-leaved autumn woods. "well, that's the jury of view; and what do you think of them?" asked selwyn, watching too, but smilingly, the cavalcade. "some similar ter the cor'ner's jury. but _they_ hed suthin' ter look tormented an' tribulated 'bout," said the girl, evidently disappointed to find the jury of view not more cheerful of aspect. "but mebbe conversin' a passel by the way with old persimmon sneed is powerful depressin' ter the sperits." selwyn's face grew grave at the mention of the coroner's jury. "i'm afraid that poor fellow missed something good," he said. still holding out her sunbonnet in wide distention, she slowly set forth along the path, not even turning back, for sheer perversity, as she saw ben look anxiously over his shoulder to descry if she followed in the distance. "thar ain't much good in life nohow. things seem set contrariwise." then, after a moment, and turning her eyes upon him, for she had an almost personal interest in the man whose tragic fate she had first of all discovered, "what sorter good thing did he miss?" she asked, as she settled her sunbonnet soberly on her head. "well"--selwyn began; then he hesitated. he had spoken rather than thought, for he thought little, and he was not used to keeping secrets. moreover, despite his courageous disbelief in his coming fate, he must have had some yearnings for sympathy; the iron of his exile surely entered his soul at times. the girl, so delicately framed, so flower-like of face, seemed alien to her rude surroundings and the burly, heavy, matter-of-fact folk about her. her spirituelle presence did away in a measure with the realization of her limitations, her ignorance, and the uncouth surroundings. even her dress seemed to him hardly amiss, for there then reigned a fleeting metropolitan fashion of straight full flowing skirts and short waists and closely fitting sleeves,--a straining after picture-like effects which narcissa's attire accomplished without conscious effort, the costume of the mountain women for a hundred years or more. the sunbonnet itself was but the defensive appurtenance of many a southern city girl, when a-summering in the country, who esteems herself the possessor of a remarkably beautiful complexion, and heroically proposes to conserve it. unlike the men, narcissa's personality did not suggest the distance between them in sophistication, in culture, in refinement, in the small matters of external polish. she seemed not so far from his world, and it was long since he had walked fraternally by the side of some fair girl, and talked freely of himself, his views, his plans, his vagaries, as men, when very young, are wont to do, and as they rarely talk to one another. he had so sedulously sought to content himself with the conditions of his closing existence that the process of reconciling the habit of better things was lost in simple acceptance. he was still young, and the sun shone, and the air was clear and pure and soft, and he walked by the side of a girl, fair and good and not altogether unwise, and he was happy in the blessings vouchsafed. after a moment he replied: "well, i thought he might have made a lot of money. i thought i might go partners with him. i had written to him." her face did not change; it was still grave and solicitous within the white frame of her sunbonnet, but its expression did not deepen. she did not pity the dead man because he died without the money he had had a chance to make. she evidently had not even scant knowledge of that most absorbing passion, the love of gain, and she did not value money. "somehow whenst folks dies by accident, it 'pears ter me a mistake--somehows--ez ef they war choused out'n time what war laid off fur them an' their'n by right." evidently she did not lack sensibility. "yes," he rejoined, "and you know money makes a lot of difference in people's lives there in the valley towns. lord knows, 't would in mine." he swung his riding-whip dejectedly to and fro in his hand as he spoke, and she pushed back her sunbonnet to look seriously at him. he was a miracle of elegance in her estimation, but the fawn-colored suit which he wore owed its nattiness rather to his own symmetry than the cut or the cloth, and he had worn it a year ago. his immaculate linen, somewhat flabby,--for the mountain laundress is averse to starch,--had been delicately trimmed by a deft pair of scissors around the raveling edges of the cuffs and collar, and showed rather what it had been than what it was. his straw hat was pushed a trifle back from his face, in which the sunburn and the inward fire competed to lay on the tints. she did not see how nor what he lacked. still, if he wanted it, she pitied him that he did not have it. "waal, can't you-uns make it, the same way?" she asked this sympathetically. she was beginning to experience a certain self-reproach in regard to him, and it gave her unwonted gentleness. she felt that she had been too quick to suspect. since ben's report of the reconnoitring interview on which she had sent him in con hite's interest, she had dismissed the idea that selwyn was in aught concerned with the traveler's sudden and violent death; and she did not incline easily to the substituted suspicion that the dead man was a "revenuer," and that selwyn had written to him to recommend the investigation of con hite, whose implication in moonshining he had some cause to divine. narcissa had marked with displeasure ben's surly manner to the valley man, connecting it with these considerations, and never dreaming that it was her acquaintance which her brother grudged the stranger. "i ought never ter hev set ben after him," she thought ruefully. "he'll hang on ter him like a bulldog." but aloud she only said, "you kin make the money all the same." "oh, i'll try, like a little man!" he exclaimed, rousing himself to renewed hope. "i have written to another scientific fellow, and he has promised to come and investigate. i hope to heaven he won't break his neck, too." she also marked the word "investigate," which had so smitten ben's attention, and marveled what matter it might be in the mountains worth investigating, and promissory of gain, if not the still-hunt, as it were, of the wily moonshiners. but yet her faith in selwyn's motives and good will, so suddenly adopted, held fast. "con hite mus' l'arn ter look out fur hisse'f," she thought fretfully, for she could not discern into what disastrous swirl she might be guiding events as she took the helm. "he's big enough, the lord knows." the little log cabin on the slope of the ascent had come into sight. they had followed but slowly; the horses were already tethered to the rails of the fence, and the jury of view and its escort had disappeared within. a very spirited fracas was in progress between the visiting dogs and the inhospitable home canines, and once ben appeared in the passageway and hoarsely called his hounds off. "i ain't a-goin' ter hurry," narcissa remarked cavalierly. "let ben an' aunt minervy dish up an' wait on 'em. they won't miss me. thar's nuthin' in this worl' a gormandizin' man kin miss at meal-times,--'ceptin' teeth." selwyn made no comment on this touch of reprisal in narcissa's manner. if old persimmon sneed had deemed her coming forth to meet them superfluous, she in her own good judgment could deem her presence at table an empty show. "i ain't a-goin' in," she continued. "ye kin go," she added, with a hasty afterthought. "thar's a cheer sot ter the table fur you-uns. i'm goin' ter bide hyar. they 'll git done arter a while." she sat languidly down on a step of a stile that went over the fence at a considerable distance from the house, and selwyn, protesting that he wanted no dinner, established himself on the protruding roots of a great beech-tree that, like gigantic, knuckled, gnarled fingers, visibly took a great grasp of the earth before sinking their tips far out of sight beneath. the shade was dense; the sound of water trickling into the rude horse-trough on the opposite side of the path that was to be a road was delicious in its cool suggestion, for the landscape, far, far to see, blazed as with the refulgence of a summer sun. the odor of the apple orchard, heavily fruited, was mellow on the air, and the red-freighted boughs of an old winesap bent above the girl's head as she sat with her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand. she gazed dreamily away at those vividly blue ranges, whither one might fancy summer had fled, so little affinity had their aspect with the network of intermediate brown valleys, and nearer garnet slopes, and the red and yellow oak boughs close at hand, hanging above the precipice and limiting the outlook. "yes," he said, after a moment's cogitation, while he absently turned a cluster of beech-nuts in his hands, "i'll try it, for keeps, you may bet,--if you were a betting character. there's lots of good things going in these mountains; that is, if a fellow had the money to get 'em out." he looked up a trifle drearily from under the brim of his straw hat at the smiling summertide of those blue mountains yonder. oh, fair and feigning prospect, what wide and alluring perspectives! he drew a long sigh. is it better to know so surely that winter is a-coming? "an' the sense, too," remarked narcissa, her eyes still dreamily dwelling on the distance. he roused himself. the unconsciously flattering inference was too slight not to be lawfully appropriated. "yes, the sense and the enterprise. now, these mountaineers,"--he spoke as if she had no part among them, forgetting it, indeed, for the moment,--"they let marble and silver and iron, and gold too, all sorts of natural wealth, millions and millions of the finest hard-wood timber, lie here undeveloped, without making the least effort to realize on it, without lifting a finger. they have got no enterprise in the world, and they are the most dilatory, slowest gang i ever ran across in my life." a dimple deepened in the soft fairness of her cheek under the white sunbonnet. "they got enterprise enough ter want a road," she drawled, fixing her eyes upon him for a moment, then reverting to her former outlook. he was a trifle embarrassed, and lost his balance. "oh, _i_'ll want a road, too, after a while," he returned. "all in good time." he laughed as if to himself, a touch of mystery in his tone, and he took off his hat and jauntily fanned himself. "sorter dil'tory yerse'f now; 'pears ter be a ketchin' complaint, like the measles." perhaps she secretly resented the reflection on the mountaineers, for there was a certain bellicose intention in her eye, a disposition to push him to his last defenses. "no; but a body would think a fellow might get enough intelligent coã¶peration in any promising matter from right around here without corresponding all over the country. and the mountaineers don't know anything, and they don't want to learn anything. now," convincingly, "what would any of those fellows in there say if i should tell them that i could take a match "--he pulled a handful of lucifers from, his pocket--"and set a spring afire?" she gazed at him in dumb surprise. "they'd say i was lying, i reckon," he hazarded. with an ebullition of laughter, he hastily scrambled to his feet and unhitched his horse; then, as he put his foot in the stirrup, he paused and added, "or else, 'better leave it be, sonny,'" with the effrontery of mimicry. "'mought set the mounting afire.'" he forthwith swung himself into the saddle, and, with a jaunty wave of the hand in adieu, fared forth homeward, leaving her staring after him in wide-eyed amazement. vii. the love of contention served, in the case of old persimmon sneed, in the stead of industry, of rectitude, of perseverance, of judgment, of every quality that should adorn a man. so eager was he to be off and at the road again that he could scarcely wait to swallow his refection. all the charms of the profusely spread board had not availed to decoy him from the subject, and the repast of the devoted jury of view was seasoned with his sage advice and vehement argument against the project, which its advocates, fully occupied, failed for the nonce to combat. now and again mrs. minerva slade sought to interpose in their behalf, and many a tempting trencher was thrust to his elbow to divert the tenor of his discourse. but despite his youthful vulnerability to the dainty which had won him his sobriquet, persimmon sneed's palate was not more susceptible to the allurements of flattery than his hard head or his obdurate heart. there was, however, at intervals, a lively clatter of his knife and fork, and some redoubtable activity on the part of his store teeth, frankly false, and without doubt the only false thing about him. then he hustled up the jury of view and their _confrã¨res_ to the resumption of their duties, and was the first man to put foot in stirrup. certain other mountaineers would fain have lingered, as was manifest by the triangular slices of "apple custard pie" in their hands, as they stood, still munching, on the porch, watching the departing jury of view with their active and aged precursor, and by their loitering farewells and thanks to aunt minerva slade. a beaming countenance did she wear this day. she had cooked to some cheerful purpose. not one failure had marred the _menu_, in testimony of which, as she afterward remarked, "i never seen scraps so skimpy." her spectacles reflected the bland light of the day as smilingly as the eyes above which they were poised, as she stood in the doorway, and with fluttering graciousness received the homage of her beneficiaries. "that youngest one, con hite, was sorter mild-mannered an' meek," she afterward said, often recounting the culinary triumphs of the great day, "an' i misdoubts but he hed the deespepsy, fur he war the only one ez didn't pitch in an' eat like he war tryin' to pervide fur a week's fastin'. i reckon they all knowed what sort'n pitiful table they sets out at mis' cornely hood's, t'other side the mounting, whar they expected ter stop fur supper, an' war a-goin' ter lay up suthin' agin destitution." for an hour, perhaps, before reaching hanway's, con hite had ridden with the jury of view. he had not much expectation of influencing the fate of the road in any respect by his presence, but he felt it was a matter of consistency to appear with the others of the opposition. he desired, too, to publicly urge, as his reason for objecting to the project, the insufficiency of hands in so sparsely populated a region to make a road and keep it in repair; lest another reason, the wish to preserve the seclusion so dear to the moonshiner, be attributed to him. this matter of policy had been made very palatable by the probability that he would see narcissa, and it was with a deep disappointment that he beheld selwyn beside her, and received only a slight movement of her drooping eyelids as a token of recognition and welcome. he had been minded to dismount and walk with her, but his heart burned with resentment. of what worth now were all his buoyant anticipations, while she was listening to the sugared flatteries of the "town cuss"? he had this subject for cogitation, while, in a stifling room, he was regaled with hard cider and apple-jack by no more fascinating hebe than old mrs. slade, with her withered sallow skin, her excited, anxious eye, her fluttered, tremulous, skinny fingers, her hysteric cap with its maddeningly flying strings, and her wonderfully swift venerable scamper in and out of the kitchen. con hite was the last to go. he led his horse down to the watering-trough, oblivious of the stream, with its ample supply, a hundred yards or so further on and in full view; and as he stood there, with his hand on the animal's shoulder, he turned his eyes, somewhat wistful, though wont to be so bold and bright, upon narcissa, still seated on the stile. her own brown long-lashed eyes had a far-away look in them. they evidently passed him over absently, and followed the squad of men swiftly trotting adown the road, all in good heart and good temper again, to take up their duty where they had laid it down. no faint vestige of a dimple was now in her daintily white cheek. "ye be powerful sparin' o' speech ter-day," he remarked. her eyes did not move from the distant landscape. "folks ez hev got nuthin' ter say would do well ter say it." he flushed. "ye hed mo' ter say ter the stranger-man." "don't see him so powerful frequent. when a thing is sca'ce, it's apt ter be ch'ice," she retorted. she experienced a certain satisfaction in her acridity. for his sake, lest suspicion befall him, she had sought to inaugurate an investigation--nay, a persecution--of this man, and he a stranger; and but that circumstance was kind to him, her effort might have resulted cruelly. and now that she had done so much for con hite, it was her pleasure to take it out on him, as the phrase goes. all unaware of this curious mental attitude, he winced under her satire. "waal, i kin make myself sca'ce, too," he said, an impulse of pride surging in his heart. "it mought be better fur ye," she replied indifferently. his momentary independence left him suddenly. "narcissa," he said reproachfully, "ye didn't always talk this way ter me." "that ain't news ter me. ben 'lows ez i talk six ways fur sunday." "ye dunno how i feel, not knowin' how ye be set towards me, an' hevin' ter see ye so seldom, a-workin' all the time down yander, a-moonshinin'"-"i wouldn't talk 'bout it so turr'ble loud." she glanced apprehensively over her shoulder. "an' ye'd better quit it, ennyhows." "ye 'lows it be wrong," he said, his bold bright eyes all softened as he looked at her, "bein' agin the law?" "i ain't keerin' fur the law. ef the truth war knowed, the law is aimin' ter git all the benefit o' whiskey bein' drunk itself. that's whar the law kems in. i only keer fur"--she stopped abruptly. she had nearly revealed to him that she cared only lest some disaster come to him in his risky occupation; that she would like him to be ploughing in a safe level field at the side of a cabin, where she might sit by the window and sew, and look out and see that no harm befell this big bold man, six feet two inches high. "con hite!" she exclaimed, her face scarlet, "i never see a body ez hard-hearted an' onmerciful ez ye air. whyn't ye water that sufferin' beast, ez air fairly honing ter drink? waal," she continued, after a pause in which he demonstrated the axiom that one may lead a horse to water, but cannot make him drink, "then whyn't ye go? i ain't got time ter waste, ef ye hev." she rose as if for departure, and he put his foot in the stirrup. "i wish ye wouldn't be so harsh ter me, narcissa," he said meekly. "waal, thar be a heap o' saaft-spoken gals ter be hed fur the askin'. ye kin take yer ch'ice." and with this he was fain to be content, as he mounted and rode reluctantly away. she sat down again, and was still for a long time after the last echo of his horse's hoofs had died on the air. her thoughts did not follow him, however. they turned again with renewed interest to the fair-haired young stranger. somehow she was ill at ease and vaguely disillusioned. she watched mechanically, and with some unaccustomed touch of melancholy, the burnished shimmering golden haze gradually invest far blue domes and their purple slopes, and the brown valleys, and the rugged rocky mountains nearer, with a certain idealized slumberous effect like the landscape of a dream. in these still spaces naught moved now save the imperceptible lengthening of the shadows. it had never occurred to her to deem the scene beautiful; it was the familiar furniture of her home. upon this her eyes had first opened. she had never thought to compare it to aught else,--to the suffocating experience of one visit to the metropolitan glories of the little town in the flat woods known as colbury. it had seemed, indeed, magnificent to her ignorance, and the temerity of the architecture of a two-story house had struck her aghast. she had done naught but wonder and stare. the trip had been a great delight, but she had never desired to linger or to dwell there. certain sordid effects came over her; reminiscences of the muddy streets, the tawdry shops, the jostling, busy-eyed people. "ain't this ez good?" she said to herself, as the vast scene suddenly fluctuated beneath a flare of wind amidst the sunshine, and light, detached white flakes of cloud went winging athwart the blue sky; their shadows followed them fast across the sunlit valley,--only their dark and lifeless semblances, like the verbal forms of some white illumined thought that can find no fit expression in words. the breath of the pines came to her, the sound of the water, the sudden fanfare of the unseen wind in the sky heralding the clouds. "ain't this ez good?" she said again, with that first deadly, subtle distrust of the things of home, that insidious discontent so fatal to peace. he evidently did not deem it as good, and the obvious fact rankled in her. the mountain men, and their lack of enterprise, and their drawling speech which he had mimicked,--they too shared his disparagement; and she was conscious that she herself did not now think so well of them,--so conscious that she made a loyal struggle against this sentiment. "so shif'less, so thrif'less," she echoed his words. "an' i dunno ez _i_ ever viewed a waste-fuller critter'n this hyar very mister man." she stooped down, gathering together the handful of matches that selwyn had inadvertently pulled from his pocket with the one which he had used in illustrating his suggestion of setting the waters of a spring afire. "ef he keeps on ez wasteful ez this, he'll get out o' matches whar he lives over yander; an' i misdoubts ef, smart ez he 'lows he be, he could kindle the wood ter cook his breakfus' by a flint rock,--ef he air so boastful ez ter 'low ez he kin set spring water afire." she made the matches into a compact little budget and slipped them into her pocket, and as she rose and looked about uncertainly, she heard her aunt minerva calling to her from the house that it was high time to go and drive up the cows. aunt minerva had not bethought herself to summon the girl to dinner. the whole world seemed surfeited to her, so had dinner occupied her day. narcissa herself, under the stress of the abnormal excitements, felt no lack as she slowly trod the familiar paths in search of the bovine vagrants. her thoughts bore her company, and she was far from home when the aspect of the reddening sun smote her senses. she stood and watched the last segment of the vermilion sphere sink down out of sight, and, as she turned, the october dusk greeted her on every side. the shadows, how dense in the woods; the valleys, darkling already! only on the higher eastern slopes a certain red reflection spoke of the vanishing day. she looked vainly as yet for some faint silvery suffusion which might herald the rising of the moon; for it was to be a bright night. she was glad of the recollection. she had not hitherto realized it, but she was tired. she would rest for a little while, and thus refreshed she would be the sooner home. she sat down on a ledge of the outcropping rock and looked about her. the spot was unfamiliar, but in the far stretch of the darkening scene she identified many a well-known landmark. there was the gleaming bend of the river in the valley, lost presently amidst the foliage of its banks; and here was an isolated conical peak on a far lower level than the summit of the range, and known as thimble mountain; and nearer still, across a narrow bight of the cove, was a bare slope. as she glanced at it she half rose from her place, for there was the witch-face, twilight on the grim features, yet with the aid of memory so definitely discerned that they could hardly have been more distinct by noonday,--a face of inexplicably sinister omen. "oh, why did i see it to-day!" she exclaimed, the presage of ill fortune strong upon her, with that grisly mask leering at her from across the valley. but the day was well-nigh gone; only a scant space remained in which to work the evil intent of fate. she seated herself anew, for in the shadowy labyrinth of the woods her path could scarcely be found. she must needs wait for the moon. she wondered, as she sat and gazed about, how far she might be from that new dwelling where he lived who so scorned the mountain, and who owed to it his every breath. there was no sound, no suggestion of human habitation. the shadowy woods stood dense about the little open ledgy space on three sides; toward the very verge of the mountain the rocks grew shelving and precipitous, and beyond the furthest which she could see, the gray edge of which cut sharply against the base of a distant dun-tinted range, she knew the descent was abrupt to the depths of the valley. looking up, she beheld the trembling lucid whiteness of a star; now and again the great rustling boughs of an oak-tree swayed beneath it, and then its glister was broken and deflected amidst the crisp autumnal leaves, but still she saw it shine. it told, too, that there was water near; she caught its radiant multiplied reflection, like a cluster of scintillating white gems, on the lustrous dark surface of a tiny pool, circular and rock-bound, close beneath the ledge on which she sat. she leaned over, and saw in its depths the limpid fading red sky, and the jagged brown border of the rocks, and a grotesque moving head, which she recognized, after a plunge of the heart, as her own sunbonnet. she drew back in dismay; she would have no more of this weird mirror of the rocks and woods, and looked up again at the shining of the star amidst the darkening shadows of the scarlet oak. how tall that tree was, how broad of girth! and how curiously this stranger talked! what was there to do with all these trees! would he cut down all the trees on the mountain? a sudden doubt of his sanity crossed her mind. it was the first, and her heart stood still for a moment. but as she slowly canvassed the idea, it accounted for much otherwise impossible to comprehend: his evident poverty and his efforts toward the purchase of lands; his illness and his bluff insistence on his strength; his wild talk of enterprise and his mysterious intimations of phenomenal opportunities. confirmations of the suspicion crowded upon her; above all, the mad boast that with a match he could set the waters of a spring afire. with a sad smile at the fatuity of the thing, in her idle waiting she drew one of his matches from her pocket; then she struck it briskly on the rugged rock, and cast it, blazing lightly, into the bubbling waters of the spring. the woods, the rocks, the black night, the fleering, flouting witch-face, all with an abrupt bound sprang into sudden visibility. a pyramid of yellow flame was surging up from the bubbling surface of the water. long, dark, slim shadows were speeding through the woods, with strange slants of yellow light; the very skies were a-flicker. she cowered back for a moment, covering her face with her hands. then, affrighted at her own sorceries, she fled like a deer through the wilderness. viii. one by one, as the afternoon wore on, the spectators began to desert the jury of view, their progress over the mountain being slower than had been anticipated. so often, indeed, did insoluble difficulties arise touching the location of the road and questions of dispute that it might be wondered that the whole body did not perish by faction. after the party had passed the boundary line of persimmon sneed's tract, where he seemed to consider the right of eminent domain merged in nothingness in comparison to his lordly prerogatives as owner in fee simple, he ceased to urge as heretofore. he dictated boldly to the jury. he rode briskly on in advance, as if doing the honors of his estate to flattered guests, now and again waving his hand to illustrate his proposition, his keen, high-pitched voice overcoming in its distinct utterance the sound of hoofs and spurs, and the monotonous bass contradictions proffered by silas boyd. and the jury of view, silent and circumspect, rode discreetly on. persimmon sneed's mare seemed as fresh as himself, and when he would turn, as he often did, to face the fatigued, wilted, overwhelmed jury jogging along on their jaded steeds, tired out with the long day's jaunt and the rough footing, the mare would move swiftly backward in a manner that would have done credit to the manege of a circus. and at this extreme advantage persimmon sneed and his raised adjuring forefinger seemed impossible to be gainsaid. his arguments partook of the same unanswerable character. "ye don't see none o' my cattle, do ye?" he waved his hand toward the woods flecked with the long slantings of the sun. "i hev got more 'n a hunderd head grazin' right hyar in the bresh. cattle-thieves could call an' salt 'em easy enough, but they couldn't drive 'em off through the laur'l thar; it's thick ez hell!" pointing to the dense jungle. "but ef we-uns hed this hyar road what ye air aimin' ter lay off, why, a leetle salt an' a leetle drivin' an' a moonlight night would gather 'em, an' the whole herd would be in georgy by daybreak. i wouldn't hev the hawn of a muley cow lef'. now, ez it be, them cattle air ez safe from sight ez ef i hed swallowed 'em!" and he whirled again, and led the column. the jury of view rode disconsolately on. they experienced a temporary relief when they had passed the confines of his tract,--for it was across but a protruding tongue of the main body of his land that the road was expected to run,--and entered upon the domain of the "valley man with the lung complaint;" for this diverted persimmon sneed to the more amiable task of narrating how the stranger had sought to buy land of him, and the high prices he had scornfully refused, the adaptability of his land to his own especial needs being so phenomenally apt. a sudden query from silas boyd rendered their respite short: "what's that man selwyn want so much land fur, ennyhows? he hev been tryin' ter buy all that 'crost the gorge, too." he waved his hand toward the gloomy woods darkening on the opposite slope. "ter graze cattle, o' course," promptly surmised persimmon sneed. "jes' look at my fine chance o' yearlin's, a-layin' on fat an' bone an' muscle every day, with no expense nor attendance, an' safe an' sound an' sure. an' now," he cried suddenly, and the shuddering jury saw the collocation of ideas as it bore down upon them, and persimmon sneed swiftly turned, facing them, while the mare nimbly essayed a _passado_ backward, "ye air talkin' 'bout changin' all this, ruinationin' the vally o' my land ter me. ye 'low ye want ter permote the interus' o' the public! waal," raising an impressive forefinger, "ain't _i_ the public?" no one ventured a reply. the jury of view rode desperately on. they had presently more cause for depression of spirit. it began to be evident that with the dusk some doubt had arisen in the minds of the mountaineers of the party as to the exact trend of the herder's trail. the doubt intensified, until further progress proved definitively that the indistinct trail was completely lost. darkness came on apace; the tangled ways of the forest seemed momently more tortuous; wolves were not rare in the vicinity; rumors of a gang of horse-thieves were rife. after much discussion, the jury of view agreed that they would go no further at present, but wait for the rising of the moon, on the theory that it would then be practicable to make their way to the hood cabin, on the other side of the mountain, which was their immediate goal, and which they had expected to reach by sunset; unaware that in their devious turnings they had retraced several miles of their course, and were now much nearer selwyn's dwelling in the woods than the terminus of their route. despite their uncertainty and anxiety, the rest was grateful. the shades of night were cool and refreshing after the glare of the day, as they sat smoking on the rocks about the verge of the mountain. the horses had been unsaddled, and were picketed in an open glade at a little distance: in recurrent pauses in the talk, the sound of their grazing on the scanty grass came to the ear; all else was silence save the tinkling of a mountain rill,--a keen detached appoggiatura rising occasionally above the monody of its murmurous flow,--and the melancholy chiming of some lingering cicada, the latest spared of the frost. the night was as yet very dark; the stars were dull in a haze, the valley was a vague blur; even the faces of the men could not be dimly distinguished. strange, then, that an added visibility suddenly invested the woods and the sky-line beyond a dense belt of timber. "'pears ter me toler'ble early fur the moon," observed one of the men. "she's on the wane now, too." "'tain't early, though," replied the sullen bass voice of silas boyd from the darkness; it was lowered, that the others might not hear. "that thar old perverted philistine of a persimmon sneed kep' us danderin' roun' hyar till mighty nigh eight o'clock, i'll bet, a-persistin' an' a-persistin' he knowed the road, when he war plumb lost time we got on that cowpath. an' the jury o' view, they hed ter take persimmon sneed's advice, he bein' the oldest, an' wait _hyar_ fur the risin' moon. persimmon sneed will repent he picked out this spot,--he'll repent it sure!" this dictum was only the redundancy of discontent; but when, in the light of subsequent events, it was remembered, and special gifts of discernment were attributed to silas boyd, he did not disclaim them, for he felt that his words were surely inspired by some presentiment, so apt were they, and so swiftly did the fulfillment follow the prophecy. there was a sudden stir among the group. the men were getting quickly to their feet, alert, tense, with broken whispers and bated breath. for there, on a bare slope, viewed diagonally across the gorge and illumined with a wavering pallor, the witch-face glared down at them from the dense darkness of the woods. the quick chilly repulsion of the strangers as they gazed spellbound at the apparition was outmatched by the horror of those who had known the fantasy from childhood;--never thus had they beheld the gaunt old face! what strange unhallowed mystery was this, that it should smile and grimace and mock at them from out the shadowy night, with flickers of light as of laughter running athwart its grisly lineaments? what evil might it portend? they all stood aghast, watching this pallid emblazonment of the deep night. "boys," said old dent kirby tremulously, "thar's suthin' powerful cur'ous 'bout this 'speriunce. that thar light war never kindled in heaven or yearth." "let's go!" cried jeremiah sayres. "we hev got ter git out'n this somehows." "go whar?" croaked silas boyd, his deep bass voice lowered to a whisper. "i be 'feard ter quit the trail furder. 'pinnock's mis'ry' be hyar-abouts somewhar, a plumb quicksand, what a man got into an' floundered an' sank, an' floundered agin, an' whenst they fund him his hair war white an' his mind deranged. or else we-uns mought run off'n a bluff somewhar, an' git our necks bruk." now persimmon sneed was possessed of a most intrusive curiosity, and he was further endowed with a sturdy courage. "i'll jes' step off a leetle way to'des that light, an' view whar it kems from," he observed coolly. "the woods air too wet to burn." he would not listen to protest. "the witch-face ain't never blighted me none," he rejoined stoutly as he set forth. ix. the thick tangled mass of the undergrowth presently intervened, so that, as he broke his way through it, he wondered that its bosky dimness should be so visible beneath the heavy shadows of the great trees looming high overhead. once he stopped dubiously; the glow evidently came rather from below than above. it is too much to say that a thrill of fear tried the fibres of persimmon sneed's obdurate old heart. but he listened for a moment to hear, perchance, the sound of voices from the group he had left, or the champing of the picketed steeds. he was an active man, and had come fast and far since quitting his companions. not even a vague murmur rose from the silent autumnal woods. the stillness was absolute. as he moved forward once more, the impact of his foot upon the rain-soaked leaves, the rustle of the boughs as he pressed among them, the rise and fall of his own breathing, somewhat quicker than its wont, served to render appreciable to persimmon sneed the fact that he possessed nerves which were more susceptible to a quaver of doubt than that redoubtable endowment called his hard head. "somebody hev jes' sot out fire in the woods,--though powerful wet," he muttered, his intellectual entity seeking to quiet that inward flutter of his mere bodily being. "but i'm a-goin' on," he protested obstinately, "ef it be bodaciously kindled by the devil!" and as he spoke, his heart failed, his limbs seemed sinking beneath him, his pulses beat tumultuously for a moment, and then were abruptly still; he had emerged from the woods in a great flickering glare which pervaded an open, rocky space shelving to a precipice, and beheld a tall, glowing yellow flame rising unquenched from the illuminated surface of a bubbling mountain spring. his senses reeled; a myriad of tawny red and yellow flashes swayed before his dazzled eyes. he had heard all his life of the wild freaks of the witches in the woods. had he chanced on their unhallowed pastimes in the solitudes of these untrodden mountain wildernesses? was this miraculous fire, blazing from the depths of the clear water, necromancy, the work of the devil? the next moment his heart gave a great throb. he found his voice in a wild halloo. among the fluttering shadows of the trees he had caught sight of the figure of a man, and, a thousand times better, of a face that he knew. the man was approaching the fire, with a stare of blank amazement and fear as his distended eyes beheld the phenomenon of the blazing spring. their expression changed instantly upon the sound. his face was all at once alert, grave, suspicious, a prosaic anxiety obliterating every trace of superstitious terror. his right hand was laid upon his hip in close proximity to a pistol-pocket, and persimmon sneed remembered suddenly that his own pistol was in its holster on his saddle, he could not say how far distant in these wild, trackless woods, and that this man was a notorious offender against the law, sundry warrants for his arrest for horse-stealing having been issued at divers times and places. there had been much talk of an organized band who had assisted in these and similar exploits in secluded districts of the county, but persimmon sneed had given it scant credence until he beheld several armed men lagging in the rear, their amazed, uncouth faces, under their broad-brimmed hats, all weird and unnatural in the pervasive yellow glow. they had, evidently, been led to the spot by the strange flare in the heart of the woods; but nick peters could well enough pretermit his surprise and whatever spiritual terrors might assail him till a more convenient season for their indulgence. a more immediate danger menaced him than the bodily appearance of the devil, which he had momently expected as he gazed at the flaming water. he had seen the others of his own party approaching, and he walked quickly across the clear space to persimmon sneed. he was a little, slim, wiry man, with light, sleek hair, pink cheeks, high cheek-bones, and a bony but blunt nose. he had a light eye, gray, shallow, but inscrutable, and there was something feline in his aspect and glance, at once smooth and caressing and of latent fierceness. "why, mr. persimmon sneed," he exclaimed in a voice as bland as a summer's day, "how did you-uns an' yer frien's do sech ez that?" and he pointed at the flaring pyramid on the surface of the water. persimmon sneed, in his proclivity to argument, forgot his lack of a pistol and his difficult position, unarmed and alone. "i'll hev ye ter remember i hev no dealin's with the devil. i dunno how that water war set afire, nor my friends nuther," he said stiffly. "whar air they?" nick peters's keen, discerning eye had been covertly scanning the flickering shadows and the fluctuating slants of yellow light about them. now he boldly threw his glance over his shoulder. persimmon sneed caught himself sharply. "they ain't hyar-abouts," he said gruffly, on his guard once more. a look of apprehension crossed the horse-thief's face. the denial was in the nature of an affirmation to his alert suspicion; for it is one of the woes of the wicked that, knowing no truth themselves, they cannot recognize it in others, even in a transient way, as a chance acquaintance. he must needs have heed. a number of men, doubtless, well armed, were in the immediate vicinity. as he whirled himself lightly half around on his spurred heel, his manner did not conform to his look. "did you-uns an' them kem all the way from the valley ter view the blazin' spring?" he asked. "looks some like hell-fire," he added incidentally, and with the tone of one familiar with the resemblance he descried. "naw; we-uns never hearn on it afore; i jes' run on it accidental," sneed replied succinctly, hardly daring to trust himself to an unnecessary word; for the staring men that had gathered at a respectful distance about the blazing spring numbered nine or ten, and an ill-advised tongue might precipitate an immediate attack on the dismounted, unarmed group awaiting his return at the verge of the bluff. a genuine thrill of terror shook him as he realized that at any moment he might be followed by men as ill prepared as he to cope with the horse-thief's gang. "i see ye rid," said nick peters, observing his acquaintance's spurs. "yer frien's rid, too, i s'pose?" persimmon sneed, desirous of seeming unsuspicious, merely nodded. he seemed as suspicious, in fact, as watchful, as stanch, as ready to spring, as a leopard in a cage. his thin lips were set, his alert eyes keen, his unshaven, stubbly jaws rigid, his whole body at a high tension. the man of quicker perceptions was first to drop the transparent feint, but only to assume another. "now, mr. sneed," he said, with an air of reproach and upbraiding, "do ye mean ter tell me ez ye hev kem up hyar with the sheriff or dep'ty ter nose me out; me, who hev got no home,--folks burned my house ter the yearth, namin' _me_ 'horse-thief' an' sech,--nor frien's, nor means, nor havin's, plumb run ter groun' like a fox or sech?" "ef ye did"--said a gigantic ruffian who had come up, backed by a shadow twice his size, and stood assisting at the colloquy, looking over the shoulder of his wiry little chief. he left the sentence unfinished, a significant gesture toward the handle of the pistol in his belt rendering the omission of slight moment. "some o' them boys war wondering ef that fire out'n the water would burn," observed a fat, greasy, broad-faced lout, with a foolish, brutal grin. "it mought make out ter singe this stranger's hair an' hide, ef we war ter gin him a duckin' thar." "air ye a-huntin' of me, too, mr. sneed,--ye that war 'quainted with me in the old times on tomahawk creek?" peters reiterated his demand in a plaintive, melodramatic tone, which titillated his fancy, somehow, and, like virtue, was its own exceeding great reward; for both he and persimmon sneed knew right well that their acquaintance amounted only to a mere facial recognition when they had chanced to pass on the country road or the village street, years before. nevertheless, under the pressure of the inherent persuasiveness of the suggested retribution, persimmon sneed made haste to aver that his errand in the mountains was in no sense at the sheriff's instance. and so radical and indubitable were his protestations that nick peters was constrained to discard this fear, and demand, "what brung ye ter witch-face mounting then, mr. sneed?" "waal, some fellows war app'inted by the county court ter view the road an' report on it," said persimmon, "an' i kem along ter see how it mought affect my interust." how far away, how long ago, how infinitely unimportant, seemed all those convolutions of trail and argument in which he had expended the finest flowers of his contradictory faculties, the stanch immobility of his obstinacy, his unswerving singleness of purpose in seeing only one side of a question, this afternoon, a few short hours since! the mutability of the affairs of the most immutable of human beings! this reflection was cut short by observing the stare of blank amazement on nick peters's face. "road!" he said. "thar ain't no road." "they air app'inted ter lay out an' report on openin' one," explained persimmon sneed. evidently nick peters's experience of the law was in its criminal rather than in its civil phases, but the surprise died out of his face, and he presently said, with a beguiling air of frankness, "now, mr. sneed, ye see this happens right in my way of trade. jes' tell me whar them loafers air, an' how many horses they hev got along, an' i'll gin ye the bes' beastis i hev got ter ride, an' a pair o' shootin'-irons and set ye in the valley road on the way home. ye kin say ye war lost from them." it is true that in this moment persimmon sneed remembered each of his contumacious comrades, and saw that they outnumbered by one the horse-thief's gang; he realized that they were out of leading-strings, and amply capable of taking care of themselves. he had that wincing terror which an unarmed man experiences at the sight of "shootin'-irons" in the grasp of other and antagonistic men. more than all, he looked at those hell-lighted flames, as he esteemed them, rising out of the lustrous water, and believed the jocose barbarity of the threat of the brutal henchman might be serious earnest in its execution. but the jury of view and their companions were all unprepared for molestation in such wise as menaced them. he reflected anew upon their dismounted condition, the horses hitched at a distance, the saddles scattered on the ground in the darkness, with the holsters buckled to them and the pistols within. a sudden attack meant a successful robbery and perchance bloodshed. "i'll die fust!" he said loudly, and he had never looked more painfully obstinate. "i'll die fust!" he lifted his quivering hand and shook it passionately in the air. "i ain't no ransomed saint, an' i know it, but afore i'll betray that thar jury o' view what's been app'inted by the county court ter lay off the damned road, i'll die fust! i ain't no ransomed saint, i ain't, but i'll _die_ fust! i ain't no ransomed"-"stop, boys, stop!" cried the wiry little horse-thief, as the others gathered about sneed with threatening eyes and gestures, while he vociferated amongst them, as lordly as if he were in his oft-time preã«minence as the foreman of a jury. nick peters's face had changed. there was a sudden fear upon it, uncomprehended by persimmon sneed. it did not occur to him until long afterward that he had for the first time used the expression "a jury of view," and that the horse-thief's familiarity with the idea of a jury was only in the sense of twelve men. peters spoke aside to the others, only a word or so, but there was amongst them an obvious haste to get away, of which persimmon sneed was cognizant, albeit his head was swimming, his breath short, his eyes dazzled by the fire which he feared. his understanding, however, was blunted in some sort, it seemed to him, for he could make no sense of nick peters's observation as he took him by the arm, although afterward it became plain enough. "ye'll hev ter go an' 'bide along o' we-uns fur awhile, mr. sneed," he said, choking with the laughter of some occult happy thought. "ye ain't a ransomed saint yit, but ye will be arter awhile, i reckon, ef ye live long enough." their shadows skulked away as swiftly as they themselves, even more furtively, running on ahead, in great haste to be gone. the fire-light slanted through the woods in quick, elusive fluctuations, ever dimmer, ever recurrently flaring, and when the jury of view and their companions, alarmed by the long absence of persimmon sneed, followed the strange light through the woods to the brink of the burning spring, they found naught astir save the vagrant shadows of the great boles of the trees, no longer held to their accustomed orbit, but wandering through the woods with a large freedom. that this fire, blazing brilliantly on the surface of the clear spring water, was kindled by supernatural power was not for a moment doubted by the mountaineers who had never before heard of such a phenomenon, and the spiriting away of persimmon sneed they promptly ascribed to the same agency. with these thoughts upon them, they did not linger long at the spot where he had met so mysterious a fate. their ringing halloos, with which the woods were enlivened, took on vaguely appalled cadences; the echoes came back to them like mocking shouts; and they were glad enough to ride away at last through the quiet moonlit glades, their faltering voices silent, leaving that mystic fire slowly dying where it had blazed so long on the face of the water. * * * * * a more extended search, later, resulting as fruitlessly, the idea that persimmon sneed had been in some way lured bodily within the grasp of the devil prevailed among the more ignorant people of the community; they dolorously sought to point the moral how ill the headstrong fare, and speculated gloomily as to the topic on which he had ventured to argue with satan, who in rage and retaliation had whisked him away. but there was a class of citizens in colbury who hearkened with elated sentiments to this story of the burning spring. a company of capitalists was promptly organized, every inch of attainable land on the mountain was quietly bought, and machinery for boring for oil was already at the spring when the news was brought to selwyn by hanway, who, not having seen the young stranger for the past week or so, feared he was ill. the flakes of the first snow of the season were whirling past the windows--no more on autumn leaves they looked, no more on far-off bare but azure mountains, feigning summer. the distant ranges were ghostly white. the skeleton woods near at hand were stark and black, and trembled with sudden starts, and strove wildly with the winds, and were held in an inexorable fate, and cried and groaned aloud. hanway was right in his surmise, for selwyn was ill, and lay on the lounge wheeled up to the fire. his cheeks seemed still touched with color, the reflection from the ragged red smoking-jacket which he wore, but a sort of smitten pallid doom was on his brow and in his eyes. his gaze dwelt insistently on the doctor, the tall, thin practitioner of the surrounding country, who had just finished an examination and was slowly returning his spectacles to their case as he stood before the fire. it seemed as if the patient expected him to speak, but he said nothing, and looked down gravely into the red coals. then it was that hanway narrated the sensation of the neighborhood. it roused selwyn to a frenzy of excitement; his disjointed, despairing exclamations, in annotation, as it were, of the story, disclosed his own discovery of the oil, his endeavors to secure the opinion of an expert as to its value, his efforts to buy up the land, his reasons for opposing the premature opening of a road which might reveal the presence of the oil springs, when the law discriminating in favor of oil works and similar interests would later make the way thither a public thoroughfare at all events. he cried out upon his hard fate, when money might mean life to him; upon the bitter dispensation of the mysterious kindling of those hidden secluded waters to blazon his secret to the world, to enrich others through his discovery which should have made him so rich. the dry, spare tone of the physician interrupted,--a trite phrase interdicting agitation. "why, doctor," said selwyn, suddenly comprehending, "you think my present wealth will last out my time!" once more the physician looked silently into the fire. he had seen a great deal of dying, but he had lived a quiet ascetic life, which made his sensibilities tender, and he did not get used to death. "i wish you would stay with him, if you can," he said to hanway at the outer door. "it will be a very short time now." it was even shorter than they thought. the snow, falling then, had not disappeared from the earth when the picks of the grave-diggers cleft through the clods in the secluded little mountain burying-ground. it was easier work than they had anticipated, although the earth was frozen; and the grave was almost prepared when they realized that the ground had been broken before, and that here was the deserted resting-place of the stranger who had come so far to see him. hanway remembered selwyn's words, his aversion to the idea that the spot was awaiting him, but the dark november day was closing in, the storm clouds were gathering anew, so they left him there, and this time the grave held its tenant fast. x. one day a letter was mailed in colbury by an unknown hand, addressed to mrs. persimmon sneed and it fared deliberately by way of sandford cross-roads to its destination. it awoke there the wildest excitement and delight, for although it brazenly asserted that mr. persimmon sneed was in the custody of the writer, and that he would be returned safely to his home only upon the payment of one hundred dollars in a mysterious manner described,--otherwise the writer would not answer for consequences,--it gave assurance that he was alive and well, and might even hope to see friends and home and freedom once more. in vain the sheriff of the county expostulated with mrs. sneed, representing that the law was the proper liberator of persimmon sneed, and that the payment of money would encourage crime. the contradictory man's wife was ready to commit crime, if necessary, in this cause, and would have cheerfully cracked the bank in colbury. and certainly this seemed almost unavoidable at one time, for to possess herself of this sum of her husband's hoard his signature was essential. the poor woman, in her limp sunbonnet and best calico dress, clung to the grating of the teller's window, and presented in futile succession her husband's bank-book, his returned checks, and even his brand-new check-book, each with a gush of tears, while the perplexed official remonstrated, and explained, and rejected each persuasion in turn, passing them all back beneath the grating, and alas! keeping the money on his side of those inexorable bars. it seemed to poor mrs. sneed that the bank was of opinion that persimmon corporally was of slight consequence, the institution having the true value of the man on deposit. to accommodate matters, however, and that the poor woman should not be weeping daily and indefinitely on the maddened teller's window, an intermediary money-lender was found, who, having vainly sought to induce the bank to render itself responsible, then mrs. sneed, who had naught of her own, then a number of friends, who deemed the whole enterprise an effort at robbery and seemed to consider persimmon a good riddance, took heart of grace and made the plunge at a rate of interest which was calculated to cloy his palate forever after. the money forthwith went a roundabout way according to the directions of the letter. it came to its destination in this wise. con hite's distilling enterprise was on so small a scale that one might have imagined it to be altogether outside the purview of the law, which, it is said, does not take note _de minimis_. one of those grottoes under a beetling cliff, hardly caves, called in the region "rock houses," sufficed to contain the small copper and its appurtenances, himself and his partner and the occasional jolly guest. it was approached from above rather than from below, by a winding way, beside the cliff between great boulders, which was so steep and brambly and impracticable that it was hardly likely to be espied by "revenuers." the rock house opened on space. beyond the narrow path at its entrance the descent was sheer to the bottom of the gorge below. in this stronghold, one night, con hite sat gloomy and depressed beside the little copper still for the sake of which he risked so much. it held all it could of singlings, and it seemed to him a cheery sight in the shadowy recesses of the rock house. he regarded it with mingled pride and affection, often declaring it "the smartest still of its capacity in the world." to him it was at once admirable as an object of art and a superior industrial agent. "an' i dunno why narcissa be so set agin it," he muttered. "but for it i wouldn't hev money enough ter git a start in this world. my mother an' she couldn't live in the same house whenst we git married." he meditated for a moment, and shook his head in solemn negation, for his mother was constructed much after the pattern of narcissa herself. "an' _i_ wouldn't live a minit alongside o' ben hanway ef i war nar'sa's husband. ben wouldn't let me say my soul's my own. i be 'bleeged ter mak the money fur a start o' cattle an' sech myse'f, an' hev a house an' home o' my own." and then he took the pipe from his mouth and sighed. for even his care seemed futile. it was true that the fair-haired young stranger was dead, and he had a pang of self-reproach whenever he thought of his jealousy, as if he had wished him ill. but she had worn a cold white unresponsive face when he had seen her last; she did not listen to what he said, her mind evidently elsewhere. she looked at him as if she did not see him. she did not think of him. he was sure that this was not caprice. it was some deep absorbing feeling in which he had no share. the moon, like some fair presence, looked in at the broad portal. outside, the white tissues of her misty diaphanous draperies trailed along the dark mountain slopes beneath the dim stars as she wended westward. afar down the gorge one might catch glimpses of a glossy lustre where the evergreen laurel, white with frost, moved in the autumn wind. he lifted his head to mark its melancholy cadence, and while he listened, the moonlight was suddenly crowded from the door as three men rushed in, half helping and half constraining a fourth man forward. "durn my boots ef i didn't furgit the password!" cried nick peters with his little falsetto laugh, that seemed keyed for a fleer, although it was most graciously modulated now. "ye mought hev shot us fur revenuers." "i mought hev shot ye fur wuss," con hite growled, rising slowly from his chair, his big dark eyes betokening his displeasure. "i dunno how _ye_ ever kem ter know this place." "it'll go no furder, con, i'll swear," said the horse-thief, lifting his hand to hite's shoulder, and affecting to see in his words an appeal for secrecy. "this," he added blandly, "is mr. persimmon sneed, ez hev been a-visitin' me. lemme make ye acquainted." he seemed to perceive nothing incongruous in the fact that mr. persimmon sneed should be blindfolded. but as con hite looked at the elder man, standing helpless, his head held slightly forward, the sight apparently struck his risibilities, and his wonted geniality rose to the occasion. "an' do mr. persimmon sneed always wear blinders?" he asked, with a guffaw. peters seemed immeasurably relieved by the change of tone. "whilst visitin' me, he do," he remarked. "mr. persimmon hev got sech a fine mem'ry fur localities, ye see." hite with a single gesture pulled off the bandage. "waal, let him look about him hyar. i s'pose ye hev ter be more partic'lar 'n me 'count o' that stranger man's horse." peters changed countenance, his attention riveted. "what horse?" he demanded. "the horse of the man ez war kilt,--ye know folks hev laid that job ter you-uns. jerry," turning aside to his colleague, who had done naught but stare, "whar's yer manners? why n't ye gin the comp'ny a drink?" hite shoved the chair in which he had been seated to persimmon sneed, who was lugubriously rubbing his eyes, and flung himself down on a boulder lying almost outside of the recess in the moonlight, his long booted and spurred legs stretching far across the entrance. his hat on the back of his head, its brim upturned, revealed his bluff open face--it held no craft surely; he hardly seemed to notice how insistently peters pressed after him, unmindful of his henchmen and jerry imbibing appreciatively the product of the cheerful little copper still. "but i never done sech ez that," protested peters. "i always stop short o' bloodshed. i never viewed the man's beastis, ye'll bear me witness, con." "me?" said con, with a laugh. "i dunno nuthin' 'bout yer doin's. whar's mr. sneed's horse?" "never seen him,--never laid eyes on him! how folks kin hev the heart ter 'cuse me of sech doin's ez i never done!" he lifted his eyes as if appealing to heaven. "the killin' 's the wust; an' mr. sneed's critter bein' gone too mought make folks lay it ter ye fur sure," persisted hite. "i ain't seen mr. sneed's horse. mr. sneed--ye wouldn't b'lieve it ter look at him, but he's a ransomed saint! ha! ha! the money fur him will be fotched hyar ter yer still. i sent fur it ter kem by jake glenn; he knows ye, an' ye know him." con hite's open brow did not cloud. if there were any significance perceptible in the fact that mr. persimmon sneed, with so fine a head for locality, should be able to identify only the still among his various shelters during his "visit" to nick peters, con hite made no sign. "lord, how glad i'll be ter git rid o' him!" peters said in an undertone to hite. "he hev mighty nigh argufied me ter death,--'bout sperits, an' witches, an' salvation, an' law, an' craps, an' horse-flesh, an' weather signs. i be sorter 'feard his wife won't pay nuthin' ter git him again. he 'pears sorter under the weather now, or eavesdroppin' or suthin'. the money 'll pay me mighty pore fur my trouble. thar--what's that?" he paused to listen; there was a sound other than the tinkling of the little rill near at hand or the blare of the autumn wind. a stone came rolling down the path, dislodged by a cautious step,--then another. hite drew a revolver from his pocket, and, holding it in his right hand, stepped out on the rugged little parapet and stood there, with the depths of the gorge below him, looking up the ascent with the moonlight in his face. he spoke in a low voice to some one approaching, and was answered in the same tone. he stepped back to give the new-comer space to enter, and as jake glenn came in held out his hand for the package the messenger bore. "let's see it, nick," he said, tearing it open; "it's the money sure enough." old persimmon sneed turned his head with a certain alert interest. perhaps he himself had doubted whether his wife would think him worth the money. there was a general flutter of good-natured gratulation, and it seemed at the moment only some preposterous mistake that con hite should put it into persimmon sneed's lean paw and close his trembling fingers over it. "now, scoot!" he bawled out at the top of his voice, the little den ringing with the echoes of his excitement, a second revolver drawn in his left hand. "i'll gin ye a day's start o' these fellers." he presented the muzzle of one pistol to peters's head, and with the other he covered one of the two henchmen in the recess of the little rock house. the other sprang up from a barrel where he sat wiping his mouth with the back of his hand; but jerry, suddenly realizing the situation, put out a dexterous foot, and the horse-thief fell full length upon the floor, his pistol discharging as he went down. in the clamor of the echoes, and the smoke and the flare, persimmon sneed disappeared, hearing as he went a wild protest, and a nimbleness of argument second hardly to his own, as nick peters cried out that he was robbed, his hard earnings were wrested from him, the money was his, paid him as a price, and con hite had let mr. persimmon sneed run off with it, allowing him nothing for his trouble. "it war his money," con hite averred, when they had grown calmer, and jake glenn had returned from a reconnoissance with the news that hite's father had lent the fleeing persimmon a horse, and he was by this time five miles away in the cove. "_he_ could have paid you for yer trouble in ketchin' him ef he had wanted ter." "it war _not_ his money," protested peters, with tears in his eyes. "it war sent ter me willingly, fur a valid consideration, an' ye let him hev the money, an' his wife hev got the valid consideration--an' hyar i be lef' with the bag ter hold!" it may be that peters had absorbed some of the craft of argument by mere propinquity to persimmon sneed, or that con hite's conscience was unduly tender, for he long entertained a moral doubt touching his course in this transaction,--whether he had a right to pay the ransom money which nick peters had extorted from persimmon sneed's wife to persimmon sneed himself, thereby defrauding nick peters of the fruit of his labor. perhaps this untoward state of dubitation came about from narcissa's scornful comment. "ye mought hev known that old man persimmon sneed would have made off with the money," she said, remembering his reproving glare at her. "i wouldn't hev trested him with a handful o' cornfield peas." "but i expected him ter make off with it," protested the amazed con; "that's why i gin it ter him." "then ye air jes' ez bad ez he is," she retorted coldly. and thus it was he examined his conscience. persimmon sneed had no doubts whatever as to the ownership of the money in his pocket, when one fine morning he walked into his own door, as dictatorial, as set in his own opinion as ever; the only change to be detected in his manners and conversation thereafter was the enigmatical assertion at times that he was a "ransomed saint," followed by a low chuckle of enjoyment. those who heard this often made bold to say to one another that he "didn't act like it," and this opinion was shared by the sheriff who futilely sought some information from him touching the lair of the horse-thieves, looking to brilliant exploits of capture. such details as he could secure were so uncertain and contradictory as to render him suspicious that the truth was purposely withheld. "ye oughter remember these men air crim'nal offenders agin the law, mr. sneed," he said. "mebbe so," assented persimmon sneed, "mebbe so;" but the situation of con hite's still was the only locality which he had visited of which he was sure, and in gratitude to his rescuer he held his peace. that he was not so softened to the world at large was manifested in the fact that he threatened to plead usury against the money-lender, and forthwith brought him down with a run to the beggaries of the legal rate. he was wont, moreover, to go to the teller of the bank at colbury and demand of that distracted man such of his papers as were from time to time lost or mislaid, having learned from his wife that she had made the official the custodian of his valuables, these being his bank-book, the ancient returned checks, and the unused check-book. the points which he had so laboriously made plain to the jury of view proved a total loss of perspicacious reasoning, for the land was forthwith condemned and the road opened, any oil-boring company being allowed by law a right of way thirty feet wide. the heavy hauling of the oil company had already made a tolerable wagon track, and the passing back and forth of the men and teams and machinery added an element of interest and excitement to the thoroughfare such as narcissa's wildest dreams had never prefigured. she had no heart for it now. when the creak of wheels on the frozen ground, and the cries of the drivers, and the thud of the hoofs of the straining four-horse teams heralded an approach, she was wont to draw close the batten shutter of the window and sit brooding over the fire, staring with moody eyes into the red coals, where she saw much invisible to the simple ben. he knew vaguely that her grief was for the fair-haired stranger, but he could not dream in what remorseful wise. she had not failed to perceive her own agency in the betrayal of his secret, when the story of the discovery of the oil was blazoned to all the world by those mystically flaring waters in the deeps of the mountain night. it was she who had idly kindled them; she who had robbed him of his rights, of the wealth that these interlopers were garnering. she had sent him to his grave baffled, beaten, forlorn, wondering at the mystery of the hand that out of the dark had smitten him. she kept her own counsel. her white face grew set and stern. her words were few. she had no tears. and ben, who found his tyrant only the harder and the colder, scarcely remonstrated, and could only marvel when one keen, chill afternoon she sprang up, throwing her brown shawl over her head, and declared that she was going to the oil wells to see for herself what progress was making there. all sylvan grace had departed from the spot. as the two stood on the verge of the clear space, now gashed deep in every direction in the woods and larger by a hundred acres, grim derricks rose sharply outlined against the wintry sky. it was barred with strata of gray clouds in such sombre neutrality of tint that one, in that it was less gloomy than the others, gave a suggestion of blue. patches of snow lay about the ground. cinders and smoke had blackened them here and there. the steam-engine, with its cylindrical boiler, seemed in the dusk some uncanny monster that had taken up its abode here, and rejoiced in the desolation it had wrought, and lived by ill deeds. it was letting off steam, and now and then it gave a puffing sigh as if it were tired after its day's work. the laborers were of a different type from the homely neighbors, and returned the contempt with which the mountaineers gazed upon them. great piles of wood showed how the forests were being rifled for fuel. many trees had been felled in provident foresight, and lay along the ground in vast lengths, awaiting the axe; so many that adown the avenues thus opened toward the valley a wan glimmering caught the girl's eye, and she recognized the palings of the little mountain graveyard. she clutched her brother's arm and pointed to it. her eyes grew dilated and wild, her face was pale and drawn; her hand trembled as she held it out. "ye see, ben, he's close enough ter view it all--an' mebbe he does--an' he knows now who he hev got ter thank fur it all--an' i wisht he war hyar, whar i am, an' i war thar, whar he is." her brother thought for the moment that she was raving. the next she caught her shawl over her head, hoodwise, the wind tossing her bright hair, and declared that she was cold, and upbraided him for bringing her on this long, chilling tramp, and protested that she would come never again. he came often afterward. the spot seemed to have a fascination for him. and within sound of the cheerful hubbub and busy whir of the industry he would lean over the palings and look at the grave, covered sometimes with a drift of leaves, and sometimes with a drift of snow, and think of the two men that it had successively housed, and nurse his grudge against the company. with an unreasoning hatred of it, hanway felt that both were victims of the great strong corporation that was to reap the value of the discovery which was not its own save by accident. he could not appraise the justice of the dispensation by which the keen observation of the one man, and the science and experience that the other had brought to the enterprise, should fall so far short of achievement, while an idle story, the gossip of the day, should fill the hands of those who were strangers to the very thought. he grudged every augury of success; he welcomed every detail of difficulty. as time went on, the well was said to be of intermittent flow, and new borings resulted in naught but vast floods of sulphur water. finally, when the admitted truth pervaded the community,--that the oil was practically exhausted, that it had long since ceased to pay expenses, that the company was a heavy loser by the enterprise,--he was as a man appeased. the result was succeeded by a change in narcissa so radical and immediate that constant hite could but perceive the fact that it was induced by the failure and abandonment of the work. she grew placid as of yore, and was softened, and now and again the gentle melancholy into which she fell suggested sad and reminiscent pleasure rather than the remorseful and desperate sorrow that she had known. he began to realize that it was no sentimental and love-stricken grief she had felt for selwyn, but a sympathy akin to his own and to her brother's; and since the disappointment of the hope of fortune must needs have come to selwyn at last, they made shift to resign themselves, and were wont to talk freely of the dead with that affectionate and immediate interest which seems to prolong the span of a mortal's day on earth, like the tender suffusive radiance of the afterglow of a sunken sun. the road fell quickly into disuse after the abandonment of the work. in the storms of winter, trees were uprooted and thrown athwart the way; overhanging rocks, splitting in the freeze, precipitated obstructive avalanches upon the dim serpentine convolutions; the wind piled drifts of dead leaves above the turns; and in the spring grass began to grow in the tracks of the wheels. it held no woeful memories now for narcissa. she loved to sit on the step of the stile and watch through the leafless sunlit trees the silver haze shimmering in the valley, where the winter wheat was all of an emerald richness, and the blue mountains afar off so near akin to the aspect of heaven that one might hardly mark where the horizon line merged the sweet solitudes of earth into the solitary sky. many a day, the spring, loitering along the shadow-flecked vistas, with the red maple-blooms overhead and violets underfoot, was the only traveler to be seen on the deserted road. and the pensive dusk was wont to deepen into the serene vernal night, sweet with the scent of the budding wild cherry, and astir with timorous tentative rustlings as of half-fledged breezes, and illumined only with the gentle lustre of the white stars; for never again was the darkness emblazoned with that haggard incandescence so long the mystery of witch-face mountain. taking the blue ribbon at the county fair. jenks hollis sat on the fence. he slowly turned the quid of tobacco in his cheek, and lifting up his voice spoke with an oracular drawl:-"ef he kin take the certif'cate it's the mos' ez he kin do. he ain't never a-goin' ter git no premi-_um_ in this life, sure 's ye air a born sinner." and he relapsed into silence. his long legs dangled dejectedly among the roadside weeds; his brown jeans trousers, that had despaired of ever reaching his ankles, were ornamented here and there with ill-adjusted patches, and his loose-fitting coat was out at the elbows. an old white wool hat drooped over his eyes, which were fixed absently on certain distant blue mountain ranges, that melted tenderly into the blue of the noonday sky, and framed an exquisite mosaic of poly-tinted fields in the valley, far, far below the grim gray crag on which his little home was perched. despite his long legs he was a light weight, or he would not have chosen as his favorite seat so rickety a fence. his interlocutor, a heavier man, apparently had some doubts, for he leaned only slightly against one of the projecting rails as he whittled a pine stick, and with his every movement the frail structure trembled. the log cabin seemed as rickety as the fence. the little front porch had lost a puncheon here and there in the flooring--perhaps on some cold winter night when hollis's energy was not sufficiently exuberant to convey him to the wood-pile; the slender posts that upheld its roof seemed hardly strong enough to withstand the weight of the luxuriant vines with their wealth of golden gourds which had clambered far over the moss-grown clapboards; the windows had fewer panes of glass than rags; and the chimney, built of clay and sticks, leaned portentously away from the house. the open door displayed a rough, uncovered floor; a few old rush-bottomed chairs; a bedstead with a patch-work calico quilt, the mattress swagging in the centre and showing the badly arranged cords below; strings of bright red pepper hanging from the dark rafters; a group of tow-headed, grave-faced, barefooted children; and, occupying almost one side of the room, a broad, deep, old-fashioned fireplace, where winter and summer a lazy fire burned under a lazy pot. notwithstanding the poverty of the aspect of the place and the evident sloth of its master, it was characterized by a scrupulous cleanliness strangely at variance with its forlorn deficiencies. the rough floor was not only swept but scoured; the dark rafters, whence depended the flaming banners of the red pepper, harbored no cobwebs; the grave faces of the white-haired children bore no more dirt than was consistent with their recent occupation of making mudpies; and the sedate, bald-headed baby, lying silent but wide-awake in an uncouth wooden cradle, was as clean as clear spring water and yellow soap could make it. mrs. hollis herself, seen through the vista of opposite open doors, energetically rubbing the coarse wet clothes upon the resonant washboard, seemed neat enough in her blue-and-white checked homespun dress, and with her scanty hair drawn smoothly back from her brow into a tidy little knot on the top of her head. spare and gaunt she was, and with many lines in her prematurely old face. perhaps they told of the hard fight her brave spirit waged against the stern ordering of her life; of the struggles with squalor,--inevitable concomitant of poverty,--and to keep together the souls and bodies of those numerous children, with no more efficient assistance than could be wrung from her reluctant husband in the short intervals when he did not sit on the fence. she managed as well as she could; there was an abundance of fine fruit in that low line of foliage behind the house--but everybody on old bear mountain had fine fruit. something rarer, she had good vegetables--the planting and hoeing being her own work and her eldest daughter's; an occasional shallow furrow representing the contribution of her husband's plough. the althea-bushes and the branches of the laurel sheltered a goodly number of roosting hens in these september nights; and to the pond, which had been formed by damming the waters of the spring branch in the hollow across the road, was moving even now a stately procession of geese in single file. these simple belongings were the trophies of a gallant battle against unalterable conditions and the dragging, dispiriting clog of her husband's inertia. his inner life--does it seem hard to realize that in that uncouth personality concentred the complex, incomprehensible, ever-shifting emotions of that inner life which, after all, is so much stronger, and deeper, and broader than the material? here, too, beat the hot heart of humanity--beat with no measured throb. he had his hopes, his pleasure, his pain, like those of a higher culture, differing only in object, and something perhaps in degree. his disappointments were bitter and lasting; his triumphs, few and sordid; his single aspiration--to take the premium offered by the directors of the kildeer county fair for the best equestrian. this incongruous and unpromising ambition had sprung up in this wise: between the country people of kildeer county and the citizens of the village of colbury, the county-seat, existed a bitter and deeply rooted animosity manifesting itself at conventions, elections for the legislature, etc., the rural population voting as a unit against the town's candidate. on all occasions of public meetings there was a struggle to crush any invidious distinction against the "country boys," especially at the annual fair. here to the rustics of kildeer county came the tug of war. the population of the outlying districts was more numerous, and, when it could be used as a suffrage-engine, all-powerful; but the region immediately adjacent to the town was far more fertile. on those fine meadows grazed the graceful jersey; there gamboled sundry long-tailed colts with long-tailed pedigrees; there greedy berkshires fattened themselves to abnormal proportions; and the merinos could hardly walk, for the weight of their own rich wardrobes. the well-to-do farmers of this section were hand-in-glove with the town's people; they drove their trotters in every day or so to get their mail, to chat with their cronies, to attend to their affairs in court, to sell or to buy--their pleasures centred in the town, and they turned the cold shoulder upon the country, which supported them, and gave their influence to colbury, accounting themselves an integrant part of it. thus, at the fairs the town claimed the honor and glory. the blue ribbon decorated cattle and horses bred within ten miles of the flaunting flag on the judges' stand, and the foaming mountain-torrents and the placid stream in the valley beheld no cerulean hues save those of the sky which they reflected. the premium offered this year for the best rider was, as it happened, a new feature, and excited especial interest. the country's blood was up. here was something for which it could fairly compete, with none of the disadvantages of the false position in which it was placed. hence a prosperous landed proprietor, the leader of the rural faction, dwelling midway between the town and the range of mountains that bounded the county on the north and east, bethought himself one day of jenkins hollis, whose famous riding had been the feature of a certain dashing cavalry charge--once famous, too--forgotten now by all but the men who, for the first and only time in their existence, penetrated in those war days the blue mountains fencing in their county from the outer world, and looked upon the alien life beyond that wooded barrier. the experience of those four years, submerged in the whirling rush of events elsewhere, survives in these eventless regions in a dreamy, dispassionate sort of longevity. and jenkins hollis's feat of riding stolidly--one could hardly say bravely--up an almost sheer precipice to a flame-belching battery came suddenly into the landed magnate's recollection with the gentle vapors and soothing aroma of a meditative after-dinner pipe. quivering with party spirit, squire goodlet sent for hollis and offered to lend him the best horse on the place, and a saddle and bridle, if he would go down to colbury and beat those town fellows out on their own ground. no misgivings had hollis. the inordinate personal pride characteristic of the mountaineer precluded his feeling a shrinking pain at the prospect of being presented, a sorry contrast, among the well-clad, well-to-do town's people, to compete in a public contest. he did not appreciate the difference--he thought himself as good as the best. and to-day, complacent enough, he sat upon the rickety fence at home, oracularly disparaging the equestrian accomplishments of the town's noted champion. "i dunno--i dunno," said his young companion doubtfully. "hackett sets mighty firm onto his saddle. he's ez straight ez any shingle, an' ez tough ez a pine-knot. he come up hyar las' summer--war it las' summer, now? no, 't war summer afore las'--with some o' them other colbury folks, a-fox-huntin', an' a-deer-huntin, an' one thing an' 'nother. i seen 'em a time or two in the woods. an' he kin ride jes' ez good 'mongst the gullies and boulders like ez ef he had been born in the hills. he ain't a-goin' ter be beat easy." "it don't make no differ," retorted jenks hollis. "he'll never git no premi-_um_. the certif'cate's good a-plenty fur what ridin' he kin do." doubt was still expressed in the face of the young man, but he said no more, and, after a short silence, mr. hollis, perhaps not relishing his visitor's want of appreciation, dismounted, so to speak, from the fence, and slouched off slowly up the road. jacob brice still stood leaning against the rails and whittling his pine stick, in no wise angered or dismayed by his host's unceremonious departure, for social etiquette is not very rigid on old bear mountain. he was a tall athletic fellow, clad in a suit of brown jeans, which displayed, besides the ornaments of patches, sundry deep grass stains about the knees. not that piety induced brice to spend much time in the lowly attitude of prayer, unless, indeed, diana might be accounted the goddess of his worship. the green juice was pressed out when kneeling, hidden in some leafy, grassy nook, he heard the infrequent cry of the wild turkey, or his large, intent blue eyes caught a glimpse of the stately head of an antlered buck, moving majestically in the alternate sheen of the sunlight and shadow of the overhanging crags; or while with his deft hunter's hands he dragged himself by slow, noiseless degrees through the ferns and tufts of rank weeds to the water's edge, that he might catch a shot at the feeding wild duck. a leather belt around his waist supported his powder-horn and shot-pouch,--for his accoutrements were exactly such as might have been borne a hundred years ago by a hunter of old bear mountain,--and his gun leaned against the trunk of a chestnut-oak. although he still stood outside the fence, aimlessly lounging, there was a look on his face of a half-suppressed expectancy, which rendered the features less statuesque than was their wont--an expectancy that showed itself in the furtive lifting of his eyelids now and then, enabling him to survey the doorway without turning his head. suddenly his face reassumed its habitual, inexpressive mask of immobility, and the furtive eyes were persistently downcast. a flare of color, and cynthia hollis was standing in the doorway, leaning against its frame. she was robed, like september, in brilliant yellow. the material and make were of the meanest, but there was a certain appropriateness in the color with her slumberous dark eyes and the curling tendrils of brown hair which fell upon her forehead and were clustered together at the back of her neck. no cuffs and no collar could this costume boast, but she had shown the inclination to finery characteristic of her age and sex by wearing around her throat, where the yellow hue of her dress met the creamy tint of her skin, a row of large black beads, threaded upon a shoe-string in default of an elastic, the brass ends flaunting brazenly enough among them. she held in her hand a string of red pepper, to which she was adding some newly gathered pods. a slow job cynthia seemed to make of it. she took no more notice of the man under the tree than he accorded to her. there they stood, within twelve feet of each other, in utter silence, and, to all appearance, each entirely unconscious of the other's existence: he whittling his pine stick; she, slowly, slowly stringing the pods of red pepper. there was something almost portentous in the gravity and sobriety of demeanor of this girl of seventeen; she manifested less interest in the young man than her own grandmother might have shown. he was constrained to speak first. "cynthy"--he said at length, without raising his eyes or turning his head. she did not answer; but he knew without looking that she had fixed those slumberous brown eyes upon him, waiting for him to go on. "cynthy"--he said again, with a hesitating, uneasy manner. then, with an awkward attempt at raillery, "ain't ye never a-thinkin' 'bout a-gittin' married?" he cast a laughing glance toward her, and looked down quickly at his clasp-knife and the stick he was whittling. it was growing very slender now. cynthia's serious face relaxed its gravity. "ye air foolish, jacob," she said, laughing. after stringing on another pepper-pod with great deliberation, she continued: "ef i war a-studyin' 'bout a-gittin' married, thar ain't nobody round 'bout hyar ez i'd hev." and she added another pod to the flaming red string, so bright against the yellow of her dress. that stick could not long escape annihilation. the clasp-knife moved vigorously through its fibres, and accented certain arbitrary clauses in its owner's retort. "ye talk like," he said, his face as monotonous in its expression as if every line were cut in marble--"ye talk like--ye thought ez how i--war a-goin' ter ax ye--ter marry me. i ain't though, nuther." the stick was a shaving. it fell among the weeds. the young hunter shut his clasp-knife with a snap, shouldered his gun, and without a word of adieu on either side the conference terminated, and he walked off down the sandy road. cynthia stood watching him until the laurel-bushes hid him from sight; then sliding from the door-frame to the step, she sat motionless, a bright-hued mass of yellow draperies and red peppers, her slumberous deep eyes resting on the leaves that had closed upon him. she was the central figure of a still landscape. the mid-day sunshine fell in broad effulgence upon it; the homely, dun-colored shadows had been running away all the morning, as if shirking the contrast with the splendors of the golden light, until nothing was left of them except a dark circle beneath the wide-spreading trees. no breath of wind stirred the leaves, or rippled the surface of the little pond. the lethargy of the hour had descended even upon the towering pine-trees, growing on the precipitous slope of the mountain, and showing their topmost plumes just above the frowning, gray crag--their melancholy song was hushed. the silent masses of dazzling white clouds were poised motionless in the ambient air, high above the valley and the misty expanse of the distant, wooded ranges. a lazy, lazy day, and very, very warm. the birds had much ado to find sheltering shady nooks where they might escape the glare and the heat; their gay carols were out of season, and they blinked and nodded under their leafy umbrellas, and fanned themselves with their wings, and twittered disapproval of the weather. "hot, hot, red-hot!" said the birds--"broiling hot!" now and then an acorn fell from among the serrated chestnut leaves, striking upon the fence with a sounding thwack, and rebounding in the weeds. those chestnut-oaks always seem to unaccustomed eyes the creation of nature in a fit of mental aberration--useful freak! the mountain swine fatten on the plenteous mast, and the bark is highly esteemed at the tan-yard. a large cat was lying at full length on the floor of the little porch, watching with drowsy, half-closed eyes the assembled birds in the tree. but she seemed to have relinquished the pleasures of the chase until the mercury should fall. close in to the muddiest side of the pond over there, which was all silver and blue with the reflection of the great masses of white clouds, and the deep azure sky, a fleet of shining, snowy geese was moored, perfectly motionless too. no circumnavigation for them this hot day. and cynthia's dark brown eyes, fixed upon the leafy vista of the road, were as slumberous as the noontide sunshine. "cynthy! whar _is_ the gal?" said poor mrs. hollis, as she came around the house to hang out the ragged clothes on the althea-bushes and the rickety fence. "cynthy, air ye a-goin' ter sit thar in the door all day, an' that thar pot a-bilin' all the stren'th out 'n that thar cabbige an' roas'in'-ears? dish up dinner, child, an' don't be so slow an' slack-twisted like yer dad." * * * * * great merriment there was, to be sure, at the kildeer fair grounds, situated on the outskirts of colbury, when it became known to the convulsed town faction that the gawky jenks hollis intended to compete for the premium to be awarded to the best and most graceful rider. the contests of the week had as usual resulted in colbury's favor; this was the last day of the fair, and the defeated country population anxiously but still hopefully awaited its notable event. a warm sun shone; a brisk autumnal breeze waved the flag flying from the judges' stand; a brass band in the upper story of that structure thrilled the air with the vibrations of popular waltzes and marches, somewhat marred now and then by mysteriously discordant bass tones; the judges, portly, red-faced, middle-aged gentlemen, sat below in cane-bottom chairs critically a-tilt on the hind legs. the rough wooden amphitheatre, a bold satire on the stately roman edifice, was filled with the denizens of colbury and the rosy rural faces of the country people of kildeer county; and within the charmed arena the competitors for the blue ribbon and the saddle and bridle to be awarded to the best rider were just now entering, ready mounted, from a door beneath the tiers of seats, and were slowly making the tour of the circle around the judges' stand. one by one they came, with a certain nonchalant pride of demeanor, conscious of an effort to display themselves and their horses to the greatest advantage, and yet a little ashamed of the consciousness. for the most part they were young men, prosperous looking, and clad according to the requirements of fashion which prevailed in this little town. shut in though it was from the pomps and vanities of the world by the encircling chains of blue ranges and the bending sky which rested upon their summits, the frivolity of the mode, though somewhat belated, found its way and ruled with imperative rigor. good riders they were undoubtedly, accustomed to the saddle almost from infancy, and well mounted. a certain air of gallantry, always characteristic of an athletic horseman, commended these equestrian figures to the eye as they slowly circled about. still they came--eight--nine--ten--the eleventh, the long, lank frame of jenkins hollis mounted on squire goodlet's "john barleycorn." the horsemen received this ungainly addition to their party with polite composure, and the genteel element of the spectators remained silent too from the force of good breeding and good feeling; but the "roughs," always critically a-loose in a crowd, shouted and screamed with derisive hilarity. what they were laughing at jenks hollis never knew. grave and stolid, but as complacent as the best, he too made the usual circuit with his ill-fitting jeans suit, his slouching old wool hat, and his long, gaunt figure. but he sat the spirited "john barleycorn" as if he were a part of the steed, and held up his head with unwonted dignity, inspired perhaps by the stately attitudes of the horse, which were the result of no training nor compelling reins, but the instinct transmitted through a long line of high-headed ancestry. of a fine old family was "john barleycorn." a deeper sensation was in store for the spectators. before jenkins hollis's appearance most of them had heard of his intention to compete, but the feeling was one of unmixed astonishment when entry no. 12 rode into the arena, and, on the part of the country people, this surprise was supplemented by an intense indignation. the twelfth man was jacob brice. as he was a "mounting boy," one would imagine that, if victory should crown his efforts, the rural faction ought to feel the elation of success, but the prevailing sentiment toward him was that which every well-conducted mind must entertain concerning the individual who runs against the nominee. notwithstanding the fact that brice was a notable rider, too, and well calculated to try the mettle of the town's champion, there arose from the excited countrymen a keen, bitter, and outraged cry of "take him out!" so strongly does the partisan heart pulsate to the interests of the nominee! this frantic petition had no effect on the interloper. a man who has inherited half a dozen violent quarrels, any one of which may at any moment burst into a vendetta,--inheriting little else,--is not easily dismayed by the disapprobation of either friend or foe. his statuesque features, shaded by the drooping brim of his old black hat were as calm as ever, and his slow blue eyes did not, for one moment, rest upon the excited scene about him, so unspeakably new to his scanty experience. his fine figure showed to great advantage on horseback, despite his uncouth, coarse garb; he was mounted upon a sturdy, brown mare of obscure origin, but good-looking, clean-built, sure-footed, and with the blended charm of spirit and docility; she represented his whole estate, except his gun and his lean, old hound, that had accompanied him to the fair, and was even now improving the shining hour by quarreling over a bone outside the grounds with other people's handsomer dogs. the judges were exacting. the riders were ordered to gallop to the right--and around they went. to the left--and there was again the spectacle of the swiftly circling equestrian figures. they were required to draw up in a line, and to dismount; then to mount, and again to alight. those whom these manoeuvres proved inferior were dismissed at once, and the circle was reduced to eight. an exchange of horses was commanded; and once more the riding, fast and slow, left and right, the mounting and dismounting were repeated. the proficiency of the remaining candidates rendered them worthy of more difficult ordeals. they were required to snatch a hat from the ground while riding at full gallop. pistols loaded with blank cartridges were fired behind the horses, and subsequently close to their quivering and snorting nostrils, in order that the relative capacity of the riders to manage a frightened and unruly steed might be compared, and the criticism of the judges mowed the number down to four. free speech is conceded by all right-thinking people to be a blessing. it is often a balm. outside of the building and of earshot the defeated aspirants took what comfort they could in consigning, with great fervor and volubility, all the judicial magnates to that torrid region unknown to polite geographical works. of the four horsemen remaining in the ring, two were jenkins hollis and jacob brice. short turns at full gallop were prescribed. the horses were required to go backward at various gaits. bars were brought in and the crowd enjoyed the exhibition of the standing-leap, at an ever-increasing height and then the flying-leap--a tumultuous confused impression of thundering hoofs and tossing mane and grim defiant faces of horse and rider, in the lightning-like moment of passing. obstructions were piled on the track for the "long jumps," and in one of the wildest leaps a good rider was unhorsed and rolled on the ground while his recreant steed that had balked at the last moment scampered around and around the arena in a wild effort to find the door beneath the tiers of seats to escape so fierce a competition. this accident reduced the number of candidates to the two mountaineers and tip hackett, the man whom jacob had pronounced a formidable rival. the circling about, the mounting and dismounting, the exchange of horses were several times repeated without any apparent result, and excitement rose to fever heat. the premium and certificate lay between the three men. the town faction trembled at the thought that the substantial award of the saddle and bridle, with the decoration of the blue ribbon, and the intangible but still precious secondary glory of the certificate and the red ribbon might be given to the two mountaineers, leaving the crack rider of colbury in an ignominious lurch; while the country party feared hollis's defeat by hackett rather less than that jenks would be required to relinquish the premium to the interloper brice, for the young hunter's riding had stricken a pang of prophetic terror to more than one partisan rustic's heart. in the midst of the perplexing doubt, which tried the judges' minds, came the hour for dinner, and the decision was postponed until after that meal. the competitors left the arena, and the spectators transferred their attention to unburdening hampers, or to jostling one another in the dining-hall. everybody was feasting but cynthia hollis. the intense excitement of the day, the novel sights and sounds utterly undreamed of in her former life, the abruptly struck chords of new emotions suddenly set vibrating within her, had dulled her relish for the midday meal; and while the other members of the family repaired to the shade of a tree outside the grounds to enjoy that refection, she wandered about the "floral hall," gazing at the splendors of bloom thronging there, all so different from the shy grace, the fragility of poise, the delicacy of texture of the flowers of her ken,--the rhododendron, the azalea, the chilhowee lily,--yet vastly imposing in their massed exuberance and scarlet pride, for somehow they all seemed high colored. she went more than once to note with a kind of aghast dismay those trophies of feminine industry, the quilts; some were of the "log cabin" and "rising sun" variety, but others were of geometric intricacy of form and were kaleidoscopic of color with an amazing labyrinth of stitchings and embroideries--it seemed a species of effrontery to dub one gorgeous poly-tinted silken banner a quilt. but already it bore a blue ribbon, and its owner was the richer by the prize of a glass bowl and the envy of a score of deft-handed competitors. she gazed upon the glittering jellies and preserves, upon the biscuits and cheeses, the hair-work and wax flowers, and paintings. these latter treated for the most part of castles and seas rather than of the surrounding altitudes, but cynthia came to a pause of blank surprise in front of a shadow rather than a picture which represented a spring of still brown water in a mossy cleft of a rock where the fronds of a fern seemed to stir in the foreground. "i hev viewed the like o' that a many a time," she said disparagingly. to her it hardly seemed rare enough for the blue ribbon on the frame. in the next room she dawdled through great piles of prize fruits and vegetables--water-melons unduly vast of bulk, peaches and pears and pumpkins of proportions never seen before out of a nightmare, stalks of indian corn eighteen feet high with seven ears each,--all apparently attesting what they could do when they would, and that all the enterprise of kildeer county was not exclusively of the feminine persuasion. finally cynthia came out from the midst of them and stood leaning against one of the large pillars which supported the roof of the amphitheatre, still gazing about the half-deserted building, with the smouldering fires of her slumberous eyes newly kindled. to other eyes and ears it might not have seemed a scene of tumultuous metropolitan life, with the murmuring trees close at hand dappling the floor with sycamore shadows, the fields of indian corn across the road, the exuberant rush of the stream down the slope just beyond, the few hundred spectators who had intently watched the events of the day; but to cynthia hollis the excitement of the crowd and movement and noise could no further go. by the natural force of gravitation jacob brice presently was walking slowly and apparently aimlessly around to where she was standing. he said nothing, however, when he was beside her, and she seemed entirely unconscious of his presence. her yellow dress was as stiff as a board, and as clean as her strong, young arms could make it; at her throat were the shining black beads; on her head she wore a limp, yellow calico sunbonnet, which hung down over her eyes, and almost obscured her countenance. to this article she perhaps owed the singular purity and transparency of her complexion, as much as to the mountain air, and the chiefly vegetable fare of her father's table. she wore it constantly, although it operated almost as a mask, rendering her more easily recognizable to their few neighbors by her flaring attire than by her features, and obstructing from her own view all surrounding scenery, so that she could hardly see the cow, which so much of her time she was slowly poking after. she spoke unexpectedly, and without any other symptom that she knew of the young hunter's proximity. "i never thought, jacob, ez how ye would hev come down hyar, all the way from the mountings, to ride agin my dad, an' beat him out'n that thar saddle an' bridle." "ye won't hev nothin' ter say ter me," retorted jacob sourly. a long silence ensued. then he resumed didactically, but with some irrelevancy, "i tole ye t'other day ez how ye war old enough ter be a-studyin' 'bout gittin' married." "they don't think nothin' of ye ter our house, jacob. dad 's always a-jowin' at ye." cynthia's candor certainly could not be called in question. the young hunter replied with some natural irritation: "he hed better not let me hear him, ef he wants to keep whole bones inside his skin. he better not tell me, nuther." "he don't keer enough 'bout ye, jacob, ter tell ye. he don't think nothin' of ye." love is popularly supposed to dull the mental faculties. it developed in jacob brice sudden strategic abilities. "thar is them ez does," he said diplomatically. cynthia spoke promptly with more vivacity than usual, but in her customary drawl and apparently utterly irrelevantly:-"i never in all my days see no sech red-headed gal ez that thar becky stiles. she's the red-headedest gal ever i see." and cynthia once more was silent. jacob resumed, also irrelevantly:-"when i goes a-huntin' up yander ter pine lick, they is mighty perlite ter me. they ain't never done nothin' agin me, ez i knows on." then, after a pause of deep cogitation, he added, "nor hev they said nothin' agin me, nuther." cynthia took up her side of the dialogue, if dialogue it could be called, with wonted irrelevancy: "that thar becky stiles, she's got the freckledest face--ez freckled ez any turkey-aig" (with an indescribable drawl on the last word). "they ain't done nothin' agin me," reiterated jacob astutely, "nor said nothin' nuther--none of 'em." cynthia looked hard across the amphitheatre at the distant great smoky mountains shimmering in the hazy september sunlight--so ineffably beautiful, so delicately blue, that they might have seemed the ideal scenery of some impossibly lovely ideal world. perhaps she was wondering what the unconscious becky stiles, far away in those dark woods about pine lick, had secured in this life besides her freckled face. was this the sylvan deity of the young hunter's adoration? cynthia took off her sunbonnet to use it for a fan. perhaps it was well for her that she did so at this moment; it had so entirely concealed her head that her hair might have been the color of becky stiles's, and no one the wiser. the dark brown tendrils curled delicately on her creamy forehead; the excitement of the day had flushed her pale cheeks with an unwonted glow; her eyes were alight with their newly kindled fires; the clinging curtain of her bonnet had concealed the sloping curves of her shoulders--altogether she was attractive enough, despite the flare of her yellow dress, and especially attractive to the untutored eyes of jacob brice. he relented suddenly, and lost all the advantages of his tact and diplomacy. "i likes ye better nor i does becky stiles," he said moderately. then with more fervor, "i likes ye better nor any gal i ever see." the usual long pause ensued. "ye hev got a mighty cur'ous way o' showin' it," cynthia replied. "i dunno what ye 're talkin' 'bout, cynthy." "ye hev got a mighty cur'ous way o' showin' it," she reiterated, with renewed animation--"a-comin' all the way down hyar from the mountings ter beat my dad out'n that thar saddle an' bridle, what he's done sot his heart onto. mighty cur'ous way." "look hyar, cynthy." the young hunter broke off suddenly, and did not speak again for several minutes. a great perplexity was surging this way and that in his slow brains--a great struggle was waging in his heart. he was to choose between love and ambition--nay, avarice too was ranged beside his aspiration. he felt himself an assured victor in the competition, and he had seen that saddle and bridle. they were on exhibition to-day, and to him their material and workmanship seemed beyond expression wonderful, and elegant, and substantial. he could never hope otherwise to own such accoutrements. his eyes would never again even rest upon such resplendent objects, unless indeed in hollis's possession. any one who has ever loved a horse can appreciate a horseman's dear desire that beauty should go beautifully caparisoned. and then, there was his pride in his own riding, and his anxiety to have his preeminence in that accomplishment acknowledged and recognized by his friends, and, dearer triumph still, by his enemies. a terrible pang before he spoke again. "look hyar, cynthy," he said at last; "ef ye will marry me, i won't go back in yander no more. i'll leave the premi-_um_ ter them ez kin git it." "ye're foolish, jacob," she replied, still fanning with the yellow calico sunbonnet. "ain't i done tole ye, ez how they don't think nothin' of ye ter our house? i don't want all of 'em a-jowin' at me, too." "ye talk like ye ain't got good sense, cynthy," said jacob irritably. "what's ter hender me from hitchin' up my mare ter my uncle's wagon an' ye an' me a-drivin' up hyar to the cross-roads, fifteen mile, and git pa'son jones ter marry us? we'll get the license down hyar ter the court house afore we start. an' while they'll all be a-foolin' away thar time a-ridin' round that thar ring, ye an' me will be a-gittin' married." ten minutes ago jacob brice did not think riding around that ring was such a reprehensible waste of time. "what's ter hender? it don't make no differ how they jow then." "i done tole ye, jacob," said the sedate cynthia, still fanning with the sunbonnet. with a sudden return of his inspiration, jacob retorted, affecting an air of stolid indifference: "jes' ez _ye_ choose. i won't hev ter ax becky stiles twict." and he turned to go. "i never said no, jacob," said cynthia precipitately. "i never said ez how i wouldn't hev ye." "waal, then, jes' come along with me right now while i hitch up the mare. i ain't a-goin' ter leave yer a-standin' hyar. ye're too skittish. time i come back ye'd hev done run away i dunno whar." a moment's pause and he added: "is ye a-goin' ter stand thar all day, cynthy hollis, a-lookin' up an' around, and a-turnin' yer neck fust this way and then t'other, an' a-lookin' fur all the worl' like a wild turkey in a trap, or one o' them thar skeery young deer, or sech senseless critters? what ails the gal?" "thar'll be nobody ter help along the work ter our house," said cynthia, the weight of the home difficulties bearing heavily on her conscience. "what's ter hender ye from a-goin' down thar an' lendin' a hand every wunst in a while? but ef ye're a-goin' ter stand thar like ye hedn't no more action than a--a-dunno-what,--jes' like yer dad, i ain't. i'll jes' leave ye a-growed ter that thar post, an' i'll jes' light out stiddier, an' afore the cows git ter pine lick, i'll be thar too. jes' ez ye choose. come along ef ye wants ter come. i ain't a-goin' ter ax ye no more." "i'm a-comin'," said cynthia. there was great though illogical rejoicing on the part of the country faction when the crowds were again seated, tier above tier, in the amphitheatre, and the riders were once more summoned into the arena, to discover from jacob brice's unaccounted-for absence that he had withdrawn and left the nominee to his chances. in the ensuing competition it became very evident to the not altogether impartially disposed judges that they could not, without incurring the suspicions alike of friend and foe, award the premium to their fellow-townsman. straight as a shingle though he might be, more prepossessing to the eye, the ex-cavalryman of fifty battles was far better trained in all the arts of horsemanship. a wild shout of joy burst from the rural party when the most portly and rubicund of the portly and red-faced judges advanced into the ring and decorated jenkins hollis with the blue ribbon. a frantic antistrophe rent the air. "take it off!" vociferated the bitter town faction--"take it off!" a diversion was produced by the refusal of the colbury champion to receive the empty honor of the red ribbon and the certificate. thus did he except to the ruling of the judges. in high dudgeon he faced about and left the arena, followed shortly by the decorated jenks, bearing the precious saddle and bridle, and going with a wooden face to receive the congratulations of his friends. the entries for the slow mule race had been withdrawn at the last moment; and the spectators, balked of that unique sport, and the fair being virtually over, were rising from their seats and making their noisy preparations for departure. before jenks had cleared the fair-building, being somewhat impeded by the moving mass of humanity, he encountered one of his neighbors, a listless mountaineer, who spoke on this wise:-"does ye know that thar gal o' yourn--that thar cynthy?" mr. hollis nodded his expressionless head--presumably he did know cynthia. "waal," continued his leisurely interlocutor, still interrogative, "does ye know jacob brice?" ill-starred association of ideas! there was a look of apprehension on jenkins hollis's wooden face. "they hev done got a license down hyar ter the court house an' gone a-kitin' out on the old b'ar road." this was explicit. "whar's my horse?" exclaimed jenks, appropriating "john barleycorn" in his haste. great as was his hurry, it was not too imperative to prevent him from strapping upon the horse the premium saddle, and inserting in his mouth the new bit and bridle. and in less than ten minutes a goodly number of recruits from the crowd assembled in colbury were also "a-kitin'" out on the road to old bear, delighted with a new excitement, and bent on running down the eloping couple with no more appreciation of the sentimental phase of the question and the tender illusions of love's young dream than if jacob and cynthia were two mountain foxes. down the red-clay slopes of the outskirts of the town "john barleycorn" thunders with a train of horsemen at his heels. splash into the clear fair stream whose translucent depths tell of its birthplace among the mountain springs--how the silver spray showers about as the pursuers surge through the ford leaving behind them a foamy wake!--and now they are pressing hard up the steep ascent of the opposite bank, and galloping furiously along a level stretch of road, with the fences and trees whirling by, and the september landscape flying on the wings of the wind. the chase leads past fields of tasseled indian corn, with yellowing thickly swathed ears, leaning heavily from the stalk; past wheat-lands, the crops harvested and the crab-grass having its day at last; past "woods-lots" and their black shadows, and out again into the september sunshine; past rickety little homes, not unlike hollis's own, with tow-headed children, exactly like his, standing with wide eyes, looking at the rush and hurry of the pursuit--sometimes in the ill-kept yards a wood-fire is burning under the boiling sorghum kettle, or beneath the branches of the orchard near at hand a cider-mill is crushing the juice out of the red and yellow, ripe and luscious apples. homeward-bound prize cattle are overtaken--a durham bull, reluctantly permitting himself to be led into a fence corner that the hunt may sweep by unobstructed, and turning his proud blue-ribboned head angrily toward the riders as if indignant that anything except him should absorb attention; a gallant horse, with another floating blue streamer, bearing himself as becometh a king's son; the chase comes near to crushing sundry grunting porkers impervious to pride and glory in any worldly distinctions of cerulean decorations, and at last is fain to draw up and wait until a flock of silly over-dressed sheep, running in frantic fear every way but the right way, can be gathered together and guided to a place of safety. and once more, forward; past white frame houses with porches, and vine-grown verandas, and well-tended gardens, and groves of oak and beech and hickory trees--"john barleycorn" makes an ineffectual but gallant struggle to get in at the large white gate of one of these comfortable places, squire goodlet's home, but he is urged back into the road, and again the pursuit sweeps on. those blue mountains, the long parallel ranges of old bear and his brothers, seem no more a misty, uncertain mirage against the delicious indefinable tints of the horizon. sharply outlined they are now, with dark, irregular shadows upon their precipitous slopes which tell of wild ravines, and rock-lined gorges, and swirling mountain torrents, and great, beetling, gray crags. a breath of balsams comes on the freshening wind--the lungs expand to meet it. there is a new aspect in the scene; a revivifying current thrills through the blood; a sudden ideal beauty descends on prosaic creation. "'pears like i can't git my breath good in them flat countries," says jenkins hollis to himself, as "john barleycorn" improves his speed under the exhilarating influence of the wind. "i'm nigh on to sifflicated every time i goes down yander ter colbury" (with a jerk of his wooden head in the direction of the village). long stretches of woods are on either side of the road now, with no sign of the changing season in the foliage save the slender, pointed, scarlet leaves and creamy plumes of the sourwood, gleaming here and there; and presently another panorama of open country unrolls to the view. two or three frame houses appear with gardens and orchards, a number of humble log cabins, and a dingy little store, and the cross-roads are reached. and here the conclusive intelligence meets the party that jacob and cynthia were married by parson jones an hour ago, and were still "a-kitin'," at last accounts, out on the road to old bear. the pursuit stayed its ardor. on the auspicious day when jenkins hollis took the blue ribbon at the county fair and won the saddle and bridle he lost his daughter. they saw cynthia no more until late in the autumn when she came, without a word of self-justification or apology for her conduct, to lend her mother a helping hand in spinning and weaving her little brothers' and sisters' clothes. and gradually the _ã©clat_ attendant upon her nuptials was forgotten, except that mrs. hollis now and then remarks that she "dunno how we could hev bore up agin cynthy's a-runnin' away like she done, ef it hedn't a-been fur that thar saddle an' bridle an' takin' the blue ribbon at the county fair." the casting vote. i. an election of civil and judicial officers was impending in kildeer county when a comet appeared in the july sky, a mysterious, aloof, uncanny presence, that invaded the night and the stereotyped routine of nature with that gruesome effect of the phenomenal which gives to the mind so definite a realization of how dear and secure is the prosaic sense of custom. all the lenses of the great observatories of the world had, in a manner, sought to entertain the strange visitant of the heavens. the learned had gone so far as to claim its acquaintance, to recognize it as the returning comet of a date long gone by. it even carried amidst its shining glories, along the far unimagined ways of its orbit, the name of a human being--of the man who had discovered it on its former visit, for thus splendidly does astronomy honor its votaries. less scientific people regarded it askance as in some sort harbinger of woe, and spoke of presage, recalling other comets, and the commotions that came in their train--from the deluge, with the traditional cometary influences rife in the breaking up of "the fountains of the great deep," to the victories of mohammed ii. and the threatened overthrow of christendom, and even down to our own war of 1812. others, again, scorned superstition, and entertained merely practical misgivings concerning the weight, density, and temperature of the comet, lest the eccentric aerial wanderer should run amuck of the earth in some confusion touching the right of way through space. meanwhile, it grew from the semblance of a vaporous tissue--an illuminated haze only discernible through the telescope, the private view of the favored few--till it gradually became visible to the unassisted eye of the _profanum vulgus_, and finally it flamed across the darkling spaces with its white crown of glory, its splendid wing-like train, and its effect of motion as of a wondrous flight among the stars--and all the world, and, for aught we know, many worlds, gazed at it. only in some great desert, the vast stretches of unsailed seas, or the depths of uninhabited forests, were its supernal splendors unnoted. it sunk as wistful, as tremulous, a reflection in a lonely pool in the dense mountain wilds as any simple star, a familiar of these haunts, that had looked down to mark its responsive image year after year, for countless ages, whenever the season brought it, in its place in the glittering mail of the archer, or among the jewels of the northern crown, once more to the spot it had known and its tryst with its fair semblance in the water. the great silver flake which the comet struck out upon the serene surface lay glinting there among the lesser stellar reflections, when a man, kneeling in a gully of the steep bank sloping to the "salt lick," leaned forward suddenly to gaze at it; then, with a gasp, turned his eyes upward to that flaming blade drawn athwart the peaceful sky. he did not utter a sound. the habit of silence essential to the deer-hunter kept its mechanical hold upon his nerves. only the hand with which he grasped the half-exposed roots of a great sycamore-tree, denuded in some partial caving of the bank long ago, relaxed and trembled slightly. he was a man of scant and narrow experience, his world the impenetrable mountain wilderness, and, though seemingly the pupil of nature, versed in the ways of beast and bird, the signs of the clouds, the seasons of bourgeoning and burr, it was but of casual external aspects. he knew naught of its wondrous history, its subtler significance, its strange record--the flood-tides registered on that cliff beyond the laurel; the reptilian trail in the ledge beneath the butt of his rifle, the imprint still fast in the solid rock, albeit the species extinct; the great bones of ancient unknown beasts sunk in the depressions of this saline quagmire, which herds of them had once frequented for the salt, as did of late the buffalo, and now the timorous deer, wont to come, like shadows wavering in the wind, to lick the briny earth. the strange, glinting blade overhead had no claim on his recognition as the "comet of aristotle," or the "evil-disposed comet" personified by the italians as sir great-lance, _il signor astone_, or halley's comet, or donati's. self is the centre of the solar system with many souls, and around this point do all its incidents revolve. for _him_ that wondrous white fire was kindled in the skies, for _him_, in special relation to his small life, to the wish nearest his hot human heart, to the clumsy scheme dear to his slow, crude brain. he thought it a warning then: and later he thought this still. some vague stir--the wind perhaps, or perhaps a light-footed dryad--flitted past and was gone. the surface of the "lick" rippled with her footprints, and was smooth again. all the encompassing masses of trees and undergrowth about the place were densely black and opaque, giving the sense of absolute solidity and weight, except upon the verges, which were somehow shaded off into a cloudy brown against the translucent dove-tinted tissues in which the night seemed enveloped and obscured save for the white gleaming of the stars. this was the clear color that the brackish water wore as it reflected the night. it reflected suddenly a face--a face with a long velvety muzzle, a pair of spreading antlers, and dark eyes, gentle, timorous, liquidly bright. the water stirred with a sibilant lapping sound as the buck's tongue licked at the margin. once he held up his head to listen, with his hoof lifted, then he bent again to the ripples. there was slight relation between him, the native of these woods, and that wayward waif of the skies; but among the unnumbered influences and incidents of its course it served to save that humble sylvan life for a space. the hunter neither saw nor heard. it was only when the deer with a sudden snort and a precipitate bound fled crashing through the laurel that walter hoxon became aware of his presence, and of the stealthy approach that had alarmed him. the approach was stealthy no longer. a quick, nervous tread, a rustling of the boughs, and as the hunter rose to his feet his elder brother emerged from the undergrowth, taller than he as they stood together on the margin of the lick, more active, sinewy, alert. "whyn't ye take a shot at him, wat?" cried justus hoxon tumultuously. "i'll be bound ye war nappin'," he added in keen rebuke. a pause, then walter hoxon pulled himself together and retorted:-"nappin'!" in scornful falsetto. "how _could_ i get a shot, with ye a-trompin' up ez n'isy ez a herd o' cattle?" the reproach evidently struck home, for the elder said nothing. with the thoroughness characteristic of the habitual liar, walter proceeded to add circumstance to his original statement. "i seen the buck whenst he fust kem sidlin' an' slippin' up ter the water, oneasy an' onsartain from the fust minute. i hed jes' sighted my rifle. an' hyar ye kem, a-bulgin' out o' the lau'l, an' sp'iled my shot." as the verisimilitude of his representations bore upon him, he unconsciously assumed the sentiments natural to the situation simulated. "who tole ye ez i war hyar, anyhows?" he demanded angrily. "'dosia," replied justus hoxon in a mild tone. then, with an effort at exculpation, "i 'lowed ye'd be keen--plumb sharp set--fur news 'bout the prospec's o' the 'lection. an' she 'lowed ez ye hed kem down hyar hopin' ter git a deer. 't war the'dosia." at the name the other had turned slightly away and looked down, a gesture that invidious daylight might have interpreted as anxiety, or faltering, or at the least replete with consciousness. but even if open to observation, it could scarcely have signified aught to justus hoxon, wrapped in his own thoughts, and in his absorbing interest in the events of the day. his mental attitude was so apparent to his brother, albeit his form was barely distinguishable as they stood together by the salt lick, that wat ventured a question--a bold one, it seemed to him, and he felt a chill because of its temerity. "glad ter see ye, i s'pose?" "plumb tickled ter death," exclaimed justus, his laughing voice full of reminiscent enthusiasm. "thar war a big crowd at the cross-roads ter hear the speakin', an' a toler'ble gatherin' at sycamore gap. everybody inquired partic'lar arter ye, an' whenst i tole 'em ye war tuk sick, an' couldn't be thar, an' i war 'lectioneerin' in yer place, they shuck han's, an' shuck han's. one ole man--ole sam coggins, up ter sims's mill--says ter me, he says, 'i dunno yer brother, justus hoxon; but blister my boots, ef i don't vote fur anybody ez air kin ter you-uns, an' ez ye hev set yer heart on 'lectin' ter office.' an' the way folks inquired arter ye, an'"-"i ain't talkin' 'bout the 'lection," wat broke in brusquely. "i war axin' 'bout 'dosia. she war"--he hesitated--"liable ter be glad ter see ye, i reckon." there was a note of surprise in his brother's voice from which wat shrank in sudden alarm. "oh, _'dosia_! course she war glad. i seen her jes' now, an' she told me ez ye hed kem down ter the lick ter git a shot at the deer, bein' ez she hed 'lowed the venison war powerful good 'bout now. i never stayed but a minute. i says, ''dosia, ye an' me hev got the rest o' our lives ter do our courtin' in, but this 'lection hev got ter be tended ter _now_, kase ef wat ain't 'lected it'll set him back all his life. some folks 'low ez 't ain't perlite an' respec'ful, nohow, fur pore folks like we-uns ter run fur office, like ez ef we war good ez anybody.' an' 'dosia she jes' hustled me out'n the house. 'g'long! g'long! do _everything_ 'bout'n the 'lection! turn every stone! time enough fur courtin' arterward! time enough!'" once more justus laughed contentedly. the man beside him stirred uneasily, then broke out irritably: "waal, _i'm_ powerful tired o' this 'lection foolishness, fur one. i wisht i hed never let ye push an' boost me inter it. i reckon them war right ez 'lowed pore folks like we-uns ain't fit ter run fur office, an' ain't goin' ter git 'lected. i'd never hev dreamt o' sech ef it hedn't been fur you-uns--never in this worl'." walter's voice sunk moodily, and he had a flouting gesture as he turned aside. a vicarious ambition is the most ungrateful of passions. there was something more than anger, than eager affection, than urgent reproach, than prescient alarm, albeit all rang sharply forth, in his brother's voice raised to reply; it was a keen note of helplessness, from which walter's nerves recoiled with a sense of pain, so insistently clamorous it was. "how kin ye say that!" cried justus. "fur ye ter stan' thar, ready ter throw away all yer good chances, jes' kase ye hev got the rheumatics an' don't feel like viewin' the people--though it 'pears like ye air well enough ter go huntin' of deer of a damp night at a salt lick! an' then, kase a mean-spirited half-liver flings dirt on ye an' yer fambly, fur ye ter sit down on a low stool, an' fill yer mouth with mud, an' 'low this air plenty good enough fur we-uns! 'pore folks ain't fit ter git 'lected ter office!'" with scornful iteration. "my lord! this hyar is a democratic kentry!" with an echo from the stump speeches of the day. "leastwise the folks yander at sycamore gap 'peared ter think so. this hyar tom markham he war speakin' on the issues o' the day, an' bein' he's a frien' o' sheriff quigley's, he tuk a turn at me an' you-uns, o' course. tole the folks how my dad an' mam died whenst i war twelve year old, an' how the only reason the fambly warn't sent ter the pore-house war kase the county folks war dil'tory, an' put it off, till they 'lowed our own house war pore enough. an' then he sot out ter be mighty funny, an' mocked the way i useter call the t'other chil'n 'fambly,' sech ez--'fambly, kem ter dinner, fambly!' 'shet up yer cryin', fambly!' an' then he tole how i cooked--gathered all sorts o' yarbs an' vegetables tergether an' sot a pot ter bile, an' whenever 'fambly' war hongry 'fambly' tuk a snack, an' gracefully eat out'n the pot with thar fingers. an' sometimes 'fambly' war moved ter wash thar clothes, an' they all repaired ter the ruver-bank, an' rubbed out thar rags, an' hung 'em on the bushes ter dry--an', duty done, 'fambly' went a-wadin'. everybody jes' laffed an' laffed!" there was a strained tone in his voice, not far foreign to a sob, as he repeated these derisive flouts at his early and forlorn estate. "an' now," resuming their rehearsal, "this enlightened constituency was asked ter bestow on a scion o' this same 'fambly'--ignorant, scrub, pauper--an office of great importance to the people, that needed to fill it a man o' eddication an' experiunce, varsed in the ways o' the world--asked to bestow the office o' sheriff o' the county on a man who war so obviously incomp'tent an' illit'rate that he darsn't face the people ter make his perposterous demand!" the wind came and went. the darkling bushes bowed and bent again. the leaves took up their testimony in elusive, sibilant mutterings. justus hoxon's eyes were cast upward for a moment, as he watched a massive bough of an oak-tree sway against the far sky, shutting off the stars, which became visible anew as the elastic branch swung back once more. only the pallor of his face and a certain lustrous liquid gleam betokening his eyes were distinguishable to his brother, who nevertheless watched him with anxiety and quickened breathing as he went on:-"that thar feller hed sca'cely stepped down off'n that thar stump afore i war on ter it. i asked fur a few minutes' attention, an' 'lowed, i did, that mr. markham's account o' the humble beginnin's of me an' 'fambly' war accurate an' exac'. (everybody hed looked fur me ter deny it, or ter git mad, or suthin', an' they war toler'ble s'prised.) 'fambly' _did_ eat out'n the pot permiscuous, an' made a mighty pore dinner thar many a day. an' 'fambly' washed thar clothes ez described, infrequent enough, an' no doubt war ez ragged an' dirty ez they war hongry. but, i said, mr. markham hedn't told the haffen o' it. cold winter nights, when the snow sifted in through the cracks, an' the wind blew in the rotten old door, 'fambly' liked ter hev friz ter death. they hed the pneumonia, an' whoopin'-cough, an' croup; an' in summer, bein' a perverse set o' brats, 'fambly' hed fever an' ager, an' similar ailments common ter the young o' the human race, _the same ez ef 'fambly' war folks_! 't war 'stonishin', kem ter think of it, how 'fambly' hed the insurance ter grow up ter _look_ like folks, let alone settin' out ter run fur office; an' ef god hedn't raised 'em up some mighty good frien's in this county, i reckon thar wouldn't be much o' 'fambly' left. some folks 'low ez providence hev got mighty leetle jedgmint in worldly affairs, an' this mus' be one o' the strikin' instances of it. these frien's gin the bigges' boy work ter do, an' that holped ter keep 'fambly's' bodies an' souls tergether. i reckon, says i, that i hev ploughed in the fields o' haffen the men in our deestric'; i hev worked in the tan-yard; i hev been striker in the blacksmith shop; an' all the time that pot, aforesaid, b'iled at home, an' 'fambly' tuk thar dinner thar constant, _with_ thar fingers, _ez aforesaid_. but 'fambly' warn't so durned ragged, nuther. good neighbors gin 'em some clothes wunst in a while, an' l'arned the gals ter sew an' cook some. an' thar kem ter be a skillet an' a fryin'-pan on the h'a'th ter holp the pot out. why, 'fambly' got so prosperous that one day, whenst a' ole, drunken, cripple, ragged man war passin', they enj'yed themselves mightily, laffin' at somebody po'rer than themselves. an' ole pa'son tyson war goin' by in his gig, an' _he_ tuk note o' the finger o' scorn, an' he stopped. he said mighty leetle, but he tuk the trouble ter cut a stout hickory sprout, an' he gin 'fambly' a good thrashin' all roun'. it lasted 'fambly' well. they ain't laffed at 'god's pore' sence! waal, 'fambly' 's takin' up too much o' this enlightened assembly's attention. enough to tell what's kem o' 'fambly.' the oldes' gal went ter free school, l'arned ter read, write, an' cipher, an' married pa'son tyson's son, ez air a minister o' the gospel a-ridin' a methodis' circuit in north georgy now. an' the second gal"--his voice faltered--"_she_ went ter free school, l'arned mo' still o' readin' an' writin' an' cipherin', an' taught school two year down on bird creek, an' war goin' ter be married ter a good man, well-ter-do, who had built her a house, not knowin' ez god hed prepared her a mansion in the skies. she is livin' _thar_ now! an' las', the benjamin o' all the tribe, kems my brother walter. _he_ went ter school; kin read, write, an' cipher; he's been taught ez much ez any man ez ever held the office he axes ter be 'lected ter, an' air thoroughly competent. fac' is, gentlemen, thar's nothin' lef' ter show fur the humble 'fambly' mr. markham's be'n tellin' 'bout, but me. i never went ter school, 'ceptin' in yer fields. i l'arned ter cure hides, an' temper steel, an' shoe horse-critters, so that pot mought be kep' a-b'ilin', an' 'fambly' mought dine accordin' to thar humble way in them very humble days that somehow, gentlemen, i ain't got an' can't git the grace ter be 'shamed of yit." he paused abruptly as he concluded the recital of his speech, and wiped his face with the back of his hand. "i wisht ye could hev hearn them men cheer. they jes' hollered tharse'fs hoarse. they shuck hands till they mighty nigh yanked my arm out'n its socket." with the recollection, he rubbed his right arm with a gesture of pain. something there was in the account of this ovation that smote upon the younger brother's sense of values, and he hastened to take possession of it. "oh, i knowed i war powerful pop'lar in the sycamore gap deestric'," he said, dropping his lowering manner, that had somehow been perceptible in the darkness, and wagging his head from side to side with a gesture of great security in the affections of sycamore gap. "sycamore gap's all right, i know; i'll poll a big majority thar, sure." "i reckon ye will; but i warn't so sure o' that at fust," replied the elder. "they 'peared ter me at fust ter be sorter set ag'in us--leastwise _me_, though arter a while i could hardly git away from 'em, they war so durned friendly." walter cast a keen look upon him; but he evidently spoke from his simple heart, and was all unaware that he was personally the source of this sudden popularity in sycamore gap--his magnetism, his unconscious eloquence, and his character as shown in the simple and forlorn annals of "fambly." and yet he was not crudely unthinking. he perceived the incongruity of his brother's successive standpoints. "i dunno how ye kin purtend ter be so all-fired sure o' sycamore gap," he said suddenly. "'t ain't five minutes sence ye war 'lowin' ez pore folks couldn't git 'lected ter office, an' ye wished ye hed hed nothin' ter do with sech, an' 't war me ez bed jes' pushed an' boosted ye inter it." the resources of subterfuge are well-nigh limitless. walter hoxon was an adept in utilizing them. he had seen a warning in the skies, and it had struck terror and discouragement to his heart; but not to his political prospects had he felt its application. other schemes, deeper, treacherous, secret, seemed menaced, and his conscience, or that endowment to quake with the fear of requital that answers for conscience in some ill-developed souls, was set astir. nevertheless, the election might suffice as scapegoat. "look a-yander, justus," he said suddenly, pointing with the muzzle of his gun at the brilliant wayfarer of the skies, as if he might in another moment essay a shot. "that thar critter means mischief, sure ez ye air born." the other stepped back a pace or two, and lifted his head to look. "the comic?" he demanded. walter's silence seemed assent. "laws-a-massy, ye tomfool," justus cried, "let it be a sign ter them ez run ag'in' ye! count the comic in like a qualified voter--it kem hyar on account o' the incumbent's incompetence in office. signs! rolf quigley is sign enough,--if ye want signs in 'lections,--with money, an' frien's, an' a term of office, an' the reg'lar nominee o' the party, an' ye jes' an independent candidate. no star a-waggin' a tale aroun' the sky air haffen ez dangerous ter yer 'lection ez him. an' he ain't lookin' at no comic! he looked this evenin' like he'd put his finger in his mouth in one more minute, plumb 'shamed ter his boot-sole o' the things markham hed said. an' markham he kem up ter me before a crowd o' fellers, an' says, says he: 'mr. hoxon, i meant no reflections on yer fambly in alludin' ter its poverty, an' i honor ye fur yer lifelong exertions in its behalf. i take pride, sir, in makin' this apology.' an' i says: 'i be a' illit'rate, humble man, mr. markham; but i will venture the liberty to tell ye ez ye mought take mo' pride in givin' no occasion fur apologies ter poverty.' them fellers standin' aroun' jes' laffed. i knowed he didn't mean a word he said then, but war jes' slickin' over the things he _hed_ said on quigley's account, kase the crowd seemed ter favor me. i say, comic! let rolf quigley take the comic fur a sign." it is easy to pluck up fears that have no root. "oh, i be goin' ter 'lectioneer all the same ez ever. whar 's the nex' place we air bound fur?" walter put his hand on his brother's shoulder as he asked the question, and in the eager unfolding of plans and possibilities the two, as justus talked, made their way along the deer-path beside the salt lick, leaving the stars coldly glittering on the ripples, with that wonderful streak of white fire reflected among them; leaving, too, the vaguely whispering woods, communing with the wind as it came and went; reaching the slope of the mountain at last, where was perched, amid sterile fields and humble garden-patch, the little cabin in which "fambly" had struggled through its forlorn youth to better days. * * * * * the door was closed after this. a padlock knocked against it when the wind blew, as if spuriously announcing a visitor. the deceit failed of effect, for there was no inmate left, and the freakish gust could only twirl the lock anew, and go swirling down the road with a rout of dust in a witches' dance behind it. the passers-by took note of the deserted aspect of things, and knew that the brothers were absent electioneering, and wondered vaguely what the chances might be. this passing was somewhat more frequent than was normal along the road; for when the mists that had hung about the mountains persistently during a warm, clammy, wet season had withdrawn suddenly, and one night revealed for the first time the comet fairly ablaze in the sky, a desire to hear what was said and known about it at the cross-roads and the settlement and the blacksmith shop took possession of the denizens of the region, and the coteries of amateur astronomers at these centres were added to daily. some remembered a comet or two in past times, and if the deponent were advanced in years his hearers were given to understand that the present luminary couldn't hold a tallow dip to the incandescent terrors he recollected. there were utilitarian souls who were disquieted about the crops, and anxiously examined growing ears of corn, expecting to find the comet's influence tucked away in the husks. some looked for the end of the world; those most obviously and determinedly pious took, it might seem, a certain unfraternal joy in the contrast of their superior forethought, in being prepared for the day of doom, with the uncovenanted estate of the non-professor. a revival broke out at new bethel; the number of mourners grew in proportion as the comet got bigger night by night. small wonder that as evening drew slowly on, and the flaring, assertive, red west gradually paled, and the ranges began to lose semblance and symmetry in the dusk, and the river gloomed benighted in the vague circuit of its course, and a lonely star slipped into the sky, darkening, too, till, rank after rank, and phalanx after phalanx, all the splendid armament of night had mustered, with that great, glamourous guidon in the midst--small wonder that the ignorant mountaineer looked up at the unaccustomed thing to mark it there, and fear smote his heart. at these times certain of the little sequestered households far among the wooded ranges got them within their doors, as if to place between them and the uncanny invader of the night, and the threatening influences rife in the very atmosphere, all the simple habitudes of home. the hearthstone seemed safest, the door a barrier, the home circle a guard. others spent the nocturnal hours in the dooryard or on the porch, marking the march of the constellations, and filling the time with vague speculations, or retailing dreadful rumors of strange happenings in the neighboring coves, and wild stories of turmoil and misfortune that comets had wrought years ago. it was at one of these makeshift observatories that justus hoxon stopped the first evening after his electioneering tour in the interest of his brother. the weather had turned hot and fair; a drought, a set-off to the surplusage of recent rain, was in progress; the dooryard on the high slope of the mountain, apart from its availability for the surveillance of any eccentric doings of the comet, was an acceptable lounging-place for the sake of the air, the dew, the hope of a vagrant breeze, and, more than all, the ample "elbow-room" which it offered the rest of the family while he talked with theodosia blakely. the rest of the family--unwelcome wights!--were not disposed to make their existence obtrusive; on the contrary, they did much to further his wishes, even to the sacrifice of personal predilection. mrs. blakely, her arms befloured, her hands in the dough, had observed him at the gate, while she stood at the biscuit-block in the shed-room, and although pining to rush forth and ask the latest news from the settlement and the comet, she only called out in a husky undertone: "'dosia, 'dosia, yander's justus a-kemin' in the gate! put on yer white apern, chile." because she had been adjured to put on her white apron, theodosia did not put it on. she advanced to the window, about which grew, with its graceful habit, a hop-vine. a little slanting roof was above the lintel, a mere board or so, with a few warped shingles; but it made a gentle shadow, and theodosia thought few men besides the one at the gate would have failed to see her there. he lingered a little, turning back to glance over the landscape, and then he deflected his course toward a rough bench that was placed in a corner of the rail fence, threw himself upon it, and fanned himself with his broad-brimmed hat. "the insurance o' the critter! i'm a mind ter leave ye a-settin' thar by yerse'f till ye be wore out waitin'," she muttered. she hesitated a moment, then took her sunbonnet and went out to meet him. the scene was like some great painting, with this corner in the foreground left unfinished, so minute was the detail of the distance, so elaborate and perfect the coloring of the curves of purple, and amethyst, and blue mountains afar off, rising in tiers about the cup-shaped valley. above it hung a tawny tissue of haze, surcharged with a deeply red, vinous splendor, as if spilled from the stirrup-cup of the departing sun. he was already out of sight, spurring along unknown ways. the sky was yellow here and amber there, and a pearly flake, its only cloud, glittered white in the midst. up the hither slope the various green of the pine and the poplar, the sycamore and the sweet-gum, was keenly differentiated, but where the rail fence drew the line of demarkation, art seemed to fail. a crude wash of ochre had apparently sufficed for the dooryard; no weed grew here, no twig. it was tramped firm and hard by the feet of cow, and horse, and the peripatetic children, and poultry. the cabin was drawn in with careless angles and lines by a mere stroke or two; and surely no painter, no builder save the utilitarian backwoodsman, would have left it with no relief of trees behind it, no vineyard, no garden, no orchard, no background, naught; in its gaunt simplicity and ugliness it stood against its own ill-tended fields flattening away in the rear. such as it was, however, it satisfied all of justus hoxon's sense of the appropriate and the picturesque when theodosia blakely stepped out from the door and came slowly to meet him. the painter's art, if she were to be esteemed part of the foreground, might have seemed redeemed in her. her dress was of light blue homespun; her sunbonnet of deep red calico, pushed back, showed her dark brown hair waving upward in heavy undulations from her brow, her large blue eyes with their thick black lashes, her rich brunette complexion, her delicate red lips cut in fine lines, and the gleam of her teeth as she smiled. she had a string of opaque white, wax-like beads around the neck of her dress, and the contrast of the pearly whiteness of the bauble with the creamy whiteness and softness of her throat was marked with much finish. her figure was hardly of medium height, and, despite the suppleness of youth, as "plump as a partridge," according to the familiar saying. the clear iris of her eyes gave an impression of quick shifting, and by them one could see her mood change as she approached. she looked at him intently, speculatively, a sort of doubtful curiosity furtively suggested in her expression; but there was naught subtle or covert in the gaze that met hers--naught but the frankest pleasure and happiness. he did not move, as she advanced, nor offer formal greeting; he only smiled, secure, content, restful, as she came up and sat down on the end of the bench. the children, playing noisily in the back yard on the wood-pile, paused for a moment to gaze with callow interest at them; but the spectacle of "the'dosia's sweetheart" was too familiar to be of more than fleeting diversion, and they resorted once more to their pastime. mrs. blakely too, who with rolling-pin in her hand had turned to gaze out of the window, went back to rolling out the dough vigorously, with only the muttered comment, "wish the'dosia didn't know how much i'd like that man fur a son-in-law, then she'd be willin' ter like him better herse'f." he was unconscious of them all, as he leaned his elbow on the projecting rails of the fence at their intersection close at hand. "hev ye hed yer health, the'dosia?" he said. "don't i look like it?" she replied laughingly. there was something both of cordiality and coquetry in her manner. her large eyes narrowed as she laughed, and albeit they glittered between their closing lids, the expression was not pleasant. levity did not become her. "yes, ye do," he said seriously. "ye 'pear ter be real thrivin' an' peart an' healthy." his look, his words, were charged with no sort of recognition or value of her beauty: clearly her challenge had fallen to the ground unnoticed. "he'd like me jes' ez well ef i war all pitted up with the smallpox, or ez freckled ez a tur-r-key-aig," she thought, flushing with irritation. beauty is jealous of preã«minence, and would fain have precedence even of love. she could take no sort of satisfaction in a captive that her bright eyes had not shackled. somehow this love seemed to flout, to diminish, her attractions. it was like an accident. she could account for his subjection on no other grounds. as she sat silent, grave enough now and very beautiful, gazing askance and troubled upon him, he went on:-"i war so oneasy an' beset lest suthin' hed happened on the mounting, whilst i war away, ter trouble you-uns or some o' yer folks. i never hed time ter study much 'bout sech in the day, but i dreamt 'bout ye in the night, an' _all night_,"--he laughed a little,--"all sort'n mixed up things. i got ter be a plumb joseph fur readin' dreams--only i could read the same one forty diff'rent ways, an' every way made me a leetle mo' oneasy than the t'other one. i s'pose ye hev been perlite enough ter miss me a leetle," he concluded. she flashed her great eyes at him with a pretended stare of surprise. "my--no!" she exclaimed. "we-uns hev hed the comet ter keep us comp'ny--we ain't missed nobody!" he laughed a little, as at a repartee, and then went on:-"waal, the comic war a-cuttin' a pretty showy figger down yander at colbury. 'ston-ishin' how much store folks do 'pear ter set on it! they hed rigged up some sort'n peepin'-glass in the court-house yard, an' thar war mighty nigh the whole town a-squinchin' up one eye ter examinate the consarn through it--all the court off'cers, 'torney-gin'ral, an' sech, an' old doctor kane an' jedge peters, besides a whole passel o' ginerality folks. they 'lowed the glass made it 'pear bigger." "did it?" she asked, with sudden interest. "bless yer soul, chile, _i_ didn't hev time ter waste on it. jedge peters he beckoned ter me, an' 'lowed he'd interjuce me ter it; but i 'lowed the comic outside war plenty big enough fur me. 'jedge,' i says, 'my mission hyar air ter make onnecessary things seem _small_, not magnified. that's why i'm continually belittlin' rolf quigley. wat kin go on lookin' cross-eyed at the stars, ef so minded, but i be bound ter tend ter the 'lection.' an' the jedge laffed and says: 'justus, nex' time i want ter git 'lected ter office, i'm goin' ter git _ye_ ter boost me in. ye hev got it a sight mo' at heart than yer brother.' fur thar war wat, all twisted up at the small e-end o' the tellingscope, purtendin' ter be on mighty close terms with the comic, though lots o' other men said it jes' dazed thar eyes, an' they couldn't see _nuthin'_ through it, an' mighty leetle arterward through sightin' so long one-eyed." "waal, how's the prospects fur the 'lection?" she asked. "fine! fine!" he answered with gusto. "folks all be so frien'ly everywhar ter we-uns." he leaned his shoulder suddenly back against the rough rails of the fence. his hat was in his hand. his hair, fine, thin, chestnut-brown, and closely clinging about his narrow head, was thrown back from his forehead. his clear blue eyes were turned upward, with the light of reminiscence slowly dawning in them. it may have been the reflection of the dazzling flake of cloud, it may have been some mental illumination, but a sort of radiance was breaking over the keen, irregular lines of his features, and a flush other than the floridity of a naturally fair complexion was upon his thin cheek and hollow temple. "o the'dosia," he cried, "i can't holp thinkin', hevin' so many frien's nowadays,--whenst it's 'hail!' hyar, an' 'howdy!' thar, an' a clap on the shoulder ter the east, an' a 'how's yer health?' ter the west, an' a handshake ter the north, an' 'take a drink?' ter the south, from one e-end o' the county ter the t'other,--how i fared whenst i hed jes' _one_ frien' in the worl', an' that war yer mother! an' how she looked the fust day she stood in the door o' my cabin up thar--kem ter nuss elmiry through that spell she hed o' the scarlet fever. an' arterward she says ter me: 'ye do manage s'prisin', justus; an' i be goin' ter save ye some gyardin seed out'n my patch this year, an' ef ye'll plough my patch i'll loan ye my horse-critter ter plough your'n. an' the gals kin kem an' l'arn ter sew an' churn, an' sech, long o' 'dosia.' an' how they loved ye, 'dosia--special elmiry!" his eyes filled with sudden tears. they did not fall; they were absorbed somehow as he resumed:-"sech a superflu'ty o' frien's nowadays! ef 't warn't they'd count fur all they're wuth in the ballot-box, i'd hev no use fur 'em. i kin sca'cely 'member thar names. but then i hed jes' _one_--jes' _one_ in all the worl'--yer mother! bless her soul!" he concluded enthusiastically. he was still and reflective for a moment. then he made a motion as though he would take one of theodosia's hands. but she clasped both of them demurely behind her. "i don't hold hands with no man ez blesses another 'oman's soul by the hour," she said, with an affectation of primness. there may have been something more serious in her playful rebuff, but in the serenity of his perfect security he did not feel it or gauge its depth. a glimpse of her mother at the window added its suggestion--a lean, sallow, lined face, full of anxious furrows, with a rim of scanty gray-streaked hair about the brow, with spectacles perched above, and beneath the flabby jaw a scraggy, wrinkled neck. "an' she's so powerful pretty!" theodosia exclaimed, with an irreverent burst of laughter, "i don't wonder ye feel obligated ter bless her soul." "she 'pears plumb beautiful to my mind," he said unequivocally,--"all of a piece with her beautiful life." theodosia was suddenly grave, angered into a secret, sullen irritation. these were words she loved for herself: it was but lately she had learned so to prize them. her eyes were as bright as a deer's! had not some one protested this, with a good round rural oath as attestation? her hair on the back of her head, and its shape to the nape of her neck, were so beautiful--she had never seen it: how could she say it wasn't? her chin and her throat--well, if people could think snow was a prettier white, he wouldn't give much for _their_ head-stuffin'. and her blush! her blush! it was her own fault. he would not have taken another kiss if she had not blushed so at the first that he must needs again see her cheek glow like the wild rose. these were echoes of a love-making that had lately taken hold of her heart, that had grown insistently sweet and dear to her, that had established its sway impetuously, tyrannically, over her life, that had caused her to seem more to herself, and as if she were infinitely more to her new lover. she wondered how she could ever have even tolerated this dullard, with his slow, measured preference, his unquestioning security of her heart, his doltish credulity in her and her promise, his humble gratitude to her mother,--who had often enough, in good sooth, got full value in return for aught she gave,--who appeared "beautiful" to his mind. she broke forth abruptly, her cheeks flushing, her eyes brave and bright, the subject nearest her heart on her lips, in the sudden influx of courage set astir by the mere contemplation of it. "waal now, tell 'bout wat--how he enj'ys bein' a candidate, an' sech." then, with a tremor because of her temerity: "i have hearn o' that thar beautisome old 'oman a time or two afore, but wat ez a candidate air sorter fraish an' new." he turned his clear, unsuspicious eyes upon her. he had replaced his wide wool hat on his head, and he leaned forward, resting his cheek on his hand and his elbow on his knee. he aimlessly flicked his long spurred boot, as he talked, with a willow wand which he carried in lieu of horsewhip. "waal, wat is some similar ter a balky horse. he don't seem ter sense a word i say, nor ter be willin' ter do a thing i advise, nor even ter take heart o' grace 'bout bein' 'lected, till we gets out 'mongst folks, an' _thar_ handshakin's and frien'liness seems ter hearten up the critter. i hev jes' hed ter baig an' baig, an' plead an' plead, with that boy 'bout this an' that an' t'other, till i wouldn't go through ag'in what i _hev_ been through ter git 'lected doorkeeper o' heaven. but," with a sudden change of tone and a flush of pride, "the'dosia, ye dunno what a' all-fired pretty speaker wat hev got ter be. jes' stan's up ez straight an' smilin' afore all the crowd, an' jes' tells off his p'ints, one, two, three, ez nip! an' the crowd always cheers an' cheers--jes' bawls itse'f hoarse. whenever thar's a chance ter speak, wat jes' leaves them t'other candidates nowhar." ah, theodosia's beauty well deserved the guerdon of sweet words. she might have been pictured as a thirsting hebe. she had a look of quaffing some cup of nectar, still craving its depths, so immediate a joy, so intense a light, were in her widely open eyes; her lips were parted; the spray of blackberry leaves that she held near her cheek did not quiver, so had her interest petrified every muscle. she was leaning slightly forward; her red sunbonnet had fallen to the ground, and the wind tossed her dark brown hair till the heavy masses, with their curling ends disheveled, showed tendrils of golden hue. her round, plump arm was like ivory. the torn sleeve fell away to the elbow, and her mother, glancing out of the window, took remorseful heed of it, and wished that she herself had set a stitch in it. "the'dosia shows herself so back'ard 'bout mendin', an' sech--she air enough ter skeer any man away. an' justus knows jes' what sech laziness means. kin mend clothes hisse'f ez good ez the nex' one, an' useter do it too, strong an' taut, with a double thread, whenst the fambly war leetle chil'n an' gin ter bustin' out'n thar gear." but justus took no note of the significance of the torn sleeve. "why, 'dosia," he went on, "everybody 'lowed ez wat's speeches seemed ter sense what the people wanted ter hear. him an' me we'd talk it over the night before, an' wat he'd write down what we said on paper an' mem'rize it; an' the nex' day, why, folks that wouldn't hev nuthin' ter say ter him afore he spoke would be jes' aidgin' up through the crowd ter git ter shake han's with him." she smiled with delight at the picture. if it were sweet to him to praise, how sweet it was to her to listen! "tell on!" she said softly. her interest flattered him; it enriched the reminiscence, dear though his memory held it. he had no doubt as to the unity of feeling with which they both regarded the incidents he chronicled. he went on with the certainty of responsive sentiment, the ease, the serenity of a man who opens his heart to the woman he loves. "why, 'dosia," he said, "often, often if it hed n't been fur the folks, i could hev run up an' dragged him off'n the rostrum an' hugged him fur pride, he looked so han'some an' spoke so peart! an' ter think 't war jes' our leetle wat--the fambly's leetle wat--growed up ter be sech a man! ye'll laff at me--other folks did--whenst i tell ye that ag'in an' ag'in i jes' cotch' myse'f cheerin' with the loudest. i could n't holp it." "he'll be 'lected, justus?" she breathlessly inquired, and yet imperatively, as if, even though she asked, she would brook no denial. "oh, they all say thar's no doubt--no doubt at all." she drew a long breath of contentment, of pleasure. she leaned back, silent and reflective, against the rail fence behind the bench, her eyes fixed, absorbed, following the outline of other scenes than the one before them, which indeed left no impression upon her senses, scenes to come, slowly shaping the future. all trace of the red glow of the sun had departed from the landscape. no heavy, light-absorbing, sad-hued tapestries could wear so deep a purple, such sombre suggestions of green, as the circling mountains had now assumed: they were not black, and yet such depths of darkness hardly comported with the idea of color. the neutral tints of the sky were graded more definitely, with purer transparency, because of the contrast. the fine grays were akin to pearl color, to lavender, even, in approaching the zenith, to the palest of blue--so pale that the white glitter of a star alternately appeared and was lost again in its tranquil inexpressiveness. the river seemed suddenly awake; its voice was lifted loud upon the evening air, a rhythmic song without words. the frogs chanted by the waterside. fireflies here and there quivered palely over the flat cornfields at the back of the house. there was a light within, dully showing through the vines at the window. "an' then, 'dosia," said justus softly, "when the 'lection is over, it's time fur ye an' me ter git married." she roused herself with an obvious effort, and looked uncomprehendingly at him for a moment, as if she hardly heard. "the las' one o' fambly will be off my han's then. fambly will hev been pervided fur--every one, wat an' all. i hev done my bes' fur fambly, an' i dunno but i hev earned the right ter think some fur myse'f now." he would not perhaps have arrogated so much, except to the woman by whom he believed himself beloved. she said nothing, and he went on slowly, lingering upon the words as if he loved the prospect they conjured up. "we-uns will hev the gyardin an' orchard, an' pastur' an' woods-lot an' fields, ter tend ter, an' the cows an' bees, an' the mare an' filly, an' peegs an' poultry, ter look arter. an' the house air all tight, the roof an' all in good repair, an' we-uns will have it all ter ourselves." she turned upon him with sudden interest. "what will kem o' wat?" "oh, he mus' live in town whilst sher'ff, bein' off'cer o' the court an' official keeper o' jail, though he kin app'int a jailer." "live in colbury!" she exclaimed in wonderment. justus laughed in triumph. "oh, i tell ye, wat's 'way up in the pictur's! he'll be a reg'lar town man 'fore long, i reckon, dandified an' sniptious ez the nex' one, marryin' one o' them finified town gals ez wear straw hats stiddier sunbonnets,--though they _do_ look ter be about ez flimsy an' no-'count cattle ez any i ever see," the sterling rural standpoint modifying his relish of walter's frivolous worldly opportunities. she tossed her head in defiance of some sudden unspoken thought. as she lifted her eyes, fired by pride, she saw the comet all a-glitter in the darkening sky. she hardly knew that he had seized her hand; but his importunity must be answered. "d'rec'ly after the 'lection--'lection day, 'dosia?" he urged. "ain't ye got no jedgmint," she temporized, laughing unmirthfully, "axin' sech a question ez that under that onlucky comet!" "i hev been waitin' so long, 'dosia!" it was the first suggestion of complaint she had ever heard from him. "then ye air used ter waitin', an' 't won't kill ye ter wait a leetle longer. i'll let ye know 'lection day." ii. it was a hot day in the little valley town, the first thursday in august, the climax of a drought, with the sun blazing down from dawn to dusk, and not a cloud, not a vagrant mist, not even the stir of the impalpable ether, to interpose. the mountains that rimmed the horizon all around colbury shimmered azure, through the heated air. no wind came down those darker indentations that marked ravines. a dazzling, stifling stillness reigned; yet now and again an eddying cloud of dust would spring up along the streets, and go whirling up-hill and down, pausing suddenly, and settling upon the overgrown shrubbery in the pretty village yards, or on white curtains hanging motionless at the windows of large, old-fashioned frame houses. even the shade was hot with a sort of closeness unknown in the open air, yet as it dwindled to noontide proportions some alleviation seemed withdrawn; and though the mercury marked no change, all the senses welcomed the post-meridian lengthening of the images of bough and bole beneath the trees, and the fantastic architecture of the shadows of chimney and gable and dormer-window, elongated out of drawing, stretching across the grassy streets and ample gardens. there among the grape trellises, and raspberry bushes, and peach and cherry trees, the locusts chirred and chirred a tireless, vibrating panegyric on hot weather. the birds were hushed; sometimes under a clump of matted leaves one of the feathered gentry might be seen with wings well held out from his panting sides. the beautiful green beetle, here called the "june-bug," hovered about the beds of thyme, its jeweled, enameled green body and its silver gauze wings flashing in the sun, although june was far down the revolving year. blue and lilac lizards basked in the garden walks, which were cracked by the heat. little stir was in the streets; the languid business of a small town was transacted if absolute need required, and postponed if a morrow would admit of contemplation. the voters slowly repaired to the polls with a sense of martyrdom in the cause of party, and the election was passing off in a most orderly fashion, there being no residuum of energy in the baking town to render it disorderly or unseemly. often not a human being was to be seen, coming or going. to theodosia it was all vastly different from the picture she had projected of colbury with an election in progress. in interest, movement, populousness, it did not compare with a county-court day, which her imagination had multiplied when she estimated the relative importance of the events. she had made no allowance for the absence of the country people, specially wont to visit the town when the quarterly court was in session, but now all dutifully in place voting in their own remote districts. the dust, the suffocating heat, the stale, vapid air, the indescribable sense of a lower level--all these affected her like a veritable burden, accustomed as she was to the light and rare mountain breeze, to the tempered sun, the mist, and the cloud. the new and untried conditions of town life trammeled and constrained her. she had a certain pride, and she feared she continually offended against the canons of metropolitan taste. in every passing face she saw surprise, and she fancied contempt. in every casual laugh she heard ridicule. her brain was a turmoil of conflicting anxieties, hopes, resolutions, and in addition these external demands upon her attention served to intensify her absorbing emotions and to irritate her nerves rather than to divert or soothe them. she had escaped from the relative at whose house she was making a visit, craftily timed to include election day, on the plea that she wished to see something of the town. "ye don't live up on the mounting, cousin anice, 'mongst the deer, an' b'ar, an' fox, like me," she had said jestingly, "or ye'd want ter view all the town ye kin." and once outside the shabby little palings, she returned no more for hours. along the scorching streets she wandered, debating within herself anxious questions which, she felt, affected all her future, and unfitting herself still further to reach that just and wise conclusion she desired to compass. she could not altogether abstract her mind, despite the interests which she had at stake. she noticed that her unaccustomed feet stumbled over the flag-stones of the pavement--"fit fur nothin' but followin' the plough!" she muttered in irritation. she hesitated at the door of a store, then sidled sheepishly in, tearing her dress on a nail in a barrel set well in the corner and out of the way. but while looking over the pile of goods which she had neither the wish nor the money to purchase, she could have sunk with shame with the sudden thought that perhaps it was not the vogue in colbury to keep a clerk actively afoot to while away the idle time of a desperately idle woman. she could not at once decide how she might best extricate herself, and for considerable time the empty show of an impending purchase went on. "i'll--i'll kem an' see 'bout'n it ter-morrer," she faltered at last. "much obleeged." "no trouble to show goods," said the martyr of the counter, politely. in truth he had in the course of his career shown them as futilely to women who were much older and far, far uglier, and contemplating purchase as remotely. she went out scarlet, slow, tremulous, and walking close into the wall like an apprehensive cat, looking now and again over her shoulder. she wondered if he laughed when he was alone. her shadow was long now as it preceded her down the street, lank, awkward, clumsy. she took note of the late hour which it intimated, and followed the extravagant, lurching caricature of herself to her cousin's house, a little unpainted, humble building set far back in the yard, against the good time coming when a more ornate structure should be prefixed. the good time seemed still a long way off. her cousin's ironing-board was on the porch, and presently a lean, elderly, active woman whisked out, her flat-iron in her hand. "cousin anice," called theodosia from the gate, "how's the 'lection turned out?" cousin anice paused to put her finger in her mouth; thus moistened, she touched it to the flat-iron, which hissed smartly, and which she applied then to the apron on the board. "laws-a-massy! chile, the polls is jes' closed, an' all the country deestric's ter be hearn from. we won't know till ter-morrer--till late ter-night, nohow." theodosia leaned against the gate. how could she wait! how could she endure the suspense! she thought of justus, and of her promise to fix the date of the wedding on election day, but only as an additional factor of trouble in her own anxiety and indecision. "wat's been hyar ez cross ez two sticks," said mrs. elmer. she paused to hold up the apron, exquisitely white, and sheer, and stiff, and to gaze with critical professional eyes upon it; she was what is known as a "beautiful washer and ironer," although otherwise not comely. "wat's beat plumb out o' sight, ef the truth war knowed, i reckon. he 'lows he's powerful 'feared. ef't war justus, now, _he'd_ hev been 'lected sure. justus is a mighty s'perior man; pity he never hed no eddication. he could hev done anything--sharp ez a brier. yes; wat's beat, i reckon." in the instant theodosia's heart sank. but she turned from the palings, and sauntered resolutely on. it well behooved her to take counsel with herself. "i mought hev made a turr'ble, turr'ble mistake," she muttered. she was sensible of a sharp pang pervading her consciousness. nevertheless, judgment clamored for recognition. "everybody gins justus a good name, better'n wat," she argued. "an' ef wat _ain't_ 'lected"-she walked down the street with a freer step, her head lifted, her self-respect more secure. with the possible collapse of her prospect of living in colbury, and her ambition to adjust herself to the exigent demands of its more ornate civilization, her natural untrained grace was returning to her. she felt that she was certainly stylish enough for the hills, where she was likely to live all her days, and with this realization she quite unconsciously seemed easy enough, unconstrained enough, graceful enough, to pass muster in a wider sphere. her heart was beating placidly now with the casting away of this new expectation that had made all its pulses tense. the still air was cooler, or at least darker. a roseate suffusion was in the sky, although a star twinkled there. more people were in the streets; doors and windows were open, and faces appeared now and again among the vines and curtains. as she hesitated on the street corner, two young girls in white dresses and with fair hair passed her. she watched them with darkening brow as they drew hastily together, and suddenly she overheard the half-smothered exclamation which had a dozen times to-day barely escaped her ears. "what a pretty, pretty girl! oh, my! how pretty, how pretty!" theodosia stood like one bewitched; a light like the illumination of jewels was in her sapphire eyes; the color surged to her cheek; she lifted up her head on its round, white throat; her lips curved. "oh, poor fool!" she thought in pity for herself, for this was what the colbury people had been saying all day in their swift, recurrent glances, their half-masked asides, their furtive turning to look after her. and she--to have given herself a day of such keen misery unconscious of their covert encomiums! "i live up thar in the wilderness till i jes' don't sense nothin'," she said. all the wilting prospects of life were refreshed as a flower in the perfumed dew-fall. she felt competent, able to cope with them all; her restored self-confidence pervaded her whole entity, spiritual and material. she walked back with an elastic step, a breezy, debonair manner, and she met justus hoxon at the gate of her cousin's yard with a jaunty assurance, and with all the charm of her rich beauty in the ascendant. he would fain have detained her in the twilight. "what's that ye promised to tell me 'lection day?" "i 'lowed the day wat war 'lected," she temporized, laying her hand on the gate, which his stronger hand kept still closed. "waal, this is the day wat is 'lected." she drew back. even in the dim light he could see her blue eyes widening with inquiry as she looked at him. "i 'lowed the returns warn't all in," she said doubtfully. "they ain't, but enough hev kem in sence the polls closed ter gin him a thumpin' majority. he's safe." the tense ring of triumph was in his voice. the scene was swimming before her; she was dazed by the sudden alternations of hope and despair, of decision and counter-decision, by the seeming instability of all this. once more she thought, in a tremble, and with a difference, of the mistake she might have made. she held to the gate to keep her feet, no longer to open it. "what did ye promise ter tell me 'lection day?" he demanded once more, clasping her hand as it lay on the palings. "'lection day?" she said with a forced laugh--"'t ain't e-ended yit. an'," with a sudden resolution of effecting a diversion--"afore it _is_ e-ended i want ter git a peep through that thar thing they call a tellingscope, ef they let women folks look through it." he was instantly intent. "laws-a-massy, yes!" he exclaimed. "i seen mis' dr. kane and mis' jedge peters, an' thar darters, an' a whole passel o' women folks over thar one night las' week. the young folks jes' amble up an' down the court-house yard, bein' moonlight, like a lot o' young colts showin' thar paces. an' even ef they ain't thar ter-night, i'll take ye over thar arter supper, with yer cousin anice ter keep ye in countenance." but after supper there was a sufficiency of fluttering white dresses astir in the court-house yard, and now and again crossing the wide, ill-paved street thither, to warrant theodosia in dispensing with her cousin's company, much to that sophisticated worthy's relief. "i hev seen all colbury's got ter show," she said with sated pride. "an' bein' ez i hev hed a hard day's ironin', i hev got a stitch in my side." "i'd onderstan' that better if ye hed hed a hard day's sewin'," said justus. he was in high feather, eager, jubilant, drinking in all the rich and subtle flavors of success with the gusto of personal triumph. "he air prouder'n wat," more than one observer opined. there was another fine exhibition of pride on display in the court-house yard that evening. one might have inferred that dr. kane had made the comet, from his satisfaction in its proportions, his accurate knowledge and exposition of its history, its previous appearances, and when its coming again might be expected. he was the principal physician of the place, and the little telescope was his property, and he had thus generously loaned it to the public with the hope of illuminating the general ignorance by a nearer view of the starry heavens, while it served his own and his neighbors' interest in the nightly progress of the great comet. total destruction had been prophesied as the imminent fate of the telescope, but it had so far justified its owner's confidence in the promiscuous politeness of kildeer county, and had been a source of infinite pleasure to the country folks from the coves and mountains, who had never before seen, nor in good sooth heard of, such an instrument. for weeks past almost all night curious groups took possession of it at intervals, and doubtless it did much to enlarge their idea of science and knowledge of celestial phenomena, for often dr. kane's idle humor induced him to stand by and explain the various theories touching comets,--their velocity, their substance or lack of substance, their recurrence, their status in the astral economy,--and cognate themes. as he was a man of very considerable reading and mental qualifications, of some means for the indulgence of his taste, and a good deal of leisure, the synopsis of astronomical science presented in the successive expositions was very well worth listening to, especially by the more ignorant of the community, who were thus enlightened as to facts hitherto foreign even to their wildest imaginings. but following hard on every benefaction is the trail of ingratitude, and certain of the irreverent in the crowd found a piquant zest in secret derision of the doctor, who sometimes did, in truth, present the air of a showman with a panorama. more especially was this the case when his enthusiasm waxed high, and his satisfaction in the glories of the comet partook of a positive personal pride. "what's he goin' ter do about it?" demanded one grinning rustic of another on the outskirts of the crowd. "put salt on its tail," responded his interlocutor. others affected to believe that the doctor was performing a great feat with the long bow, especially in the tremendous measurements of which he seemed singularly prodigal. a reference to the height of the mountains of the moon as compared with the neighboring ranges elicited a whispered hope that the roads were better there than those of the great smoky; and an inquiry concerning the probable fate of the comet provoked a speculation that when he was done with it he would sell it at public outcry to the highest bidder at the east door of the court-house. close about the stand, however, the crowd took on something of the demeanor of a literary society. discussions were in order, questions asked and answered, authorities quoted and refuted: the other physician, who practiced much in consultation with dr. kane, two or three clergymen, several of the officers of the court, and a number of lawyers, all taking part. the more youthful members of the gathering affected the role of peripatetic philosophers, and sauntered to and fro, arm in arm, in the light of the waxing moon. the big black shadows of the giant oaks were all dappled with silver as the beams pierced the foliage and fell to the ground below; only the cornice of the building threw an unbroken image, massive and sombre, on the sward. the low clustering roofs of the town had a thin bluish haze hovering about them, and were all softly and blurringly imposed on the vaguely blue sky and the dim hills beyond. among them a vertical silver line glinted, sharply metallic,--the steeple of a church. here and there a yellow light gleamed from a lamp within a window. no sound came from the streets; all the life of the place seemed congregated here. there was a continual succession of postulants to gaze through the telescope, some gravely curious, some stolidly iconoclastic and incredulous, others with covert levity, and still others, self-conscious, solicitous, secretly determined to affect to see all that other people could see, lest some subtle incapacity, some flagrant rusticity, be inferred from failure. these last were hasty observers, scarcely waiting to adjust the eye to the lens, fluttered, and prolific of inapt exclamations, which too often betrayed the superficial character of the investigation. to this class did theodosia belong. "plumb beautiful!" she murmured under her breath, after a momentary contact of her dazzled eye with the brass rim of the telescope. "try ag'in, 'dosia!" exclaimed justus, aghast at this perfunctory dismissal of the comet, as she turned to go away. she winced a little from his voice, clear, vibrant and urgent, for justus had no solicitude concerning the superior canons of colbury touching etiquette, and suffered none of her anxieties. she caught dr. kane's eyes fixed upon him as she moved hastily away, and then he came up beside justus, who stood near the telescope. "let me explain the thing to you, hoxon," he said. "try a peep yourself." justus glanced after her. walter had joined her--not so soon, however, but that she heard a half-suppressed criticism on her lover as he turned to the telescope and dr. kane's exposition. "pity he's got no education--smart fellow, but can't even read and write." "smart" enough to be an apt pupil. the others pressed close around, listening to the measured voice of the physician and the quick, pertinent questions of the star-gazer. it is as an open scroll, that magnificent, wonder-compelling cult of the skies, not the sealed book of other sciences. since the days of the chaldean, all men of receptive soul in solitary places, the sailor, the shepherd, the hunter, or the hermit, whether of the wilderness of nature or the isolation of crowds, have read there of the mystery of the infinite, of the order and symmetry of the plan of creation, of the proof of the existence of a god, who controls the sweet influences of pleiades and makes strong the bands of orion. the unspeakable thought, the unformulated prayer, the poignant sense of individual littleness, of atomic unimportance, in the midst of the vast scheme of the universe, inform every eye, throb in every breast, whether it be of the savant, with all the appliances of invention to bring to his cheated senses the illusion of a slightly nearer approach, or of the half-civilized llanero of the tropic solitudes, whose knowledge suffices only to note the hour by the bending of the great southern cross. it is the heritage of all alike. for justus hoxon, who had followed the slow march of the stars through many a year in the troubled watches of the night, when anxiety and foreboding could make no covenant with sleep, there was, in one sense, little to learn. he knew them all in their several seasons, the time of their rising, when they came to the meridian, and when they were engulfed in the west, till with another year they sparkled on the eastern rim of the sky. he listened to dr. kane's explanation of this with an air of acceptance, but he hardly heeded the detail of their distance from the earth and from one another--he knew that they were far,--and he shook his head over speculations as to their physical condition, vegetation, and inhabitation. "ye ain't got no sort o' means o' knowin' sech, doctor," he said reprehensively, gauging the depths of the ignorance of the wise man. he heard their names with alert interest, and repeated them swiftly after his mentor to set them in his memory. "by george!" he cried delightedly, "i hed no idee they hed names!" and as the amateur astronomer, pleased with so responsive a glow, began the tracing of the fantastic imagery of the constellations, detailing the story of each vague similitude, he marked the sudden dawn of a certain enchantment in his interlocutor's mind, the first subtle experience of the delights of the ideal and the resources of fable. it exerted upon dr. kane a sort of fascinated interest, the observation of this earliest exploration of the realms of fancy by so keen and receptive an intelligence. the comet, the telescope, the crowd, were forgotten, as with hoxon at his elbow he made the tour of the court-house yard, from point to point, wherever the best observation might be had of each separate sidereal etching on the deep blue. for a time the crowd casually watched them with a certain good-natured ridicule of their absorption, and the telescope maintained its interest to the successive wights who peered through at the comet still splendidly ablaze despite the light of the gibbous moon. the ranks of young people promenaded up and down the brick walks and the grassy spaces. elder gossips sat on the court-house steps, or stood in groups, and discussed the questions of the day. gradually disintegration began. the clangor of the gate rose now and then as homeward-bound parties passed through, becoming constantly more frequent. still the shifting back and forth of the thinning ranks of the peripatetic youth went on, and laughter and talk resounded from the court-house steps. at intervals the telescope was deserted; the motionless trees were bright with the moon and glossy with the dew. the voice of guard-dogs was now and again reverberated from the hills. the languid sense of a late hour had dulled the pulses, and when justus hoxon turned back to earth it was to an almost depopulated scene, the realization of the approach of midnight, and the sight of theodosia sitting alone in the moonlight on the steps of the east door of the court-house, waiting for him with a touching patience, as it seemed to him at the moment. "air you-uns waitin' fur me, 'dosia, all by yerse'f?" he demanded hastily, with a contrite intonation. "i _'pear_ to be all by myse'f," she said, with a playful feigning of uncertainty, glancing about her. she gave a forced laugh, and the constraint in her tone struck his attention. "i 'lowed ez wat war with ye," he said apologetically. "air ye ready ter go over ter yer cousin anice's now?" he was standing leaning against one of the columns of the portico, his face half in the shadow of his hat and half in the moonlight. she sat still upon the steps, looking up at him, her upturned eyes taking an appealing expression from her lowly attitude. she was silent for a moment, as if at a loss. then suddenly her eyes fell. "'pears ter me ter be right comical ter hev ter remind _ye_ o' what _i_ promised ter tell ye 'lection day," she said. "why, 'dosia," he broke in vehemently, "i hev axed ye twice ter-day, an' i didn't ax ye jes' now 'kase ye hed been hyar so long alone, an' i wanted ter take ye ter yer cousin anice's ef so be ye wanted ter go." he stopped for a moment. then, with a change of tone, "ye can't make out ez i hev been anything but hearty in lovin' ye--nearly all yer life long!" his voice rang out with a definite note of conviction, of assertion. reproach was an untenable ground. she desisted from the effort. her eyes wandered down the street that lay shadowy with gable, and dormer-window, and long chimneys, in sharp geometric figures in the moonshine, alternating with the deeper shadow of the trees. there were no lights save a twinkle here and there in an upper window. a flush rose to his pale cheeks. his heart was beating fast with heavy presage. he hesitated to demand his fate at so untoward a moment. he took off his hat, mechanically fanning with its broad brim, and gazing about him at the slowly dulling splendor of the moonlight as the disk tended further and further toward the west. the stars were brightening gradually, and within the range of his vision flared the great comet, every moment the lustre of its white fire intensifying. he only saw; he did not note. his every faculty was concentrated on the girl's drawling voice as she began again, hesitating, and evidently at a loss. "waal, i hate ter tell ye, justus, but i hev ter do it, an' i mought ez well the day that i promised ter set _the day_. it's--it's--_never_! i ain't goin' ter marry ye at all!" he recoiled as from a blow. and yet he could not accept the fact. "the'dosia," he said, "air ye mad with me 'kase ye 'low i forgot ye this evenin'?" theodosia had recovered her poise. now that she had begun she felt suddenly fluent. it did not accord with her estimate of her own attractions to dismiss a lover because he had forgotten her. she began to find a relish in the situation, and sought to adjust its details more accurately to her preferences. "justus, i know ye never furgot me fur one minute. i kin find no fault with yer likin' fur me." she had never seen a stage. she had never heard of a theatre, but she was posing and playing a part as definitely as if it graced the boards. he detected a certain spurious note in her voice. it bewildered him. he stared silently at her. "i can't marry you-uns. i never kin." "why?" he demanded in a measured tone. "how kem ye hev changed yer mind? ye hev told me often that ye would." "w-a-al," she drawled, looking away at the skies, her unthinking eyes arrested, too, by the blazing comet, "i _did_ 'low wunst i would. but a man with eddication would suit me bes', an' ye hain't got none." "no more hev ye," he argued warmly. he was clinging for dear life to his vanishing hope of happiness. he did not realize depreciation in his words--only the facts that made them suited to each other. "ye know ye _wouldn't_ take l'arnin' at school--an' i _couldn't_ git it; 'pears ter me we air 'bout ekal." "it air a differ in a 'oman," said theodosia, quickly. "a 'oman hev got no call to be l'arned like a man." this very subordinate view failed in this instance of the satisfaction it is wont to give to the masculine mind. "waal, ye didn't git enough l'arnin' ter hurt ye," he retorted. then, relenting, he added, "but i don't find no fault with ye fur that nuther." the color flared into her face. how she resented his clemency to her ignorance! she still sat in her lowly posture on the step, leaning her bare head against the column of the porch, for her bonnet lay on the floor beside her; but there was a suggestion of self-assertion in her voice. "i ain't expectin' ter live all my days in the woods, like a deer or suthin' wild. i expec' ter live in town with eddicated folks, ez be looked up ter, an' respected by all, an' kin make money, an' hev a sure-enough house." her ambitious eyes swept the shadowy gables down the street. he broke out laughing; his voice was softer; his face relaxed. "laws-a-massy! dosia," he exclaimed, "yer head's plumb turned by one day's roamin' round town. ye won't be in sech a hurry ter turn me off whenst we git back ter the mountings." "i ain't goin' back ter the mountings!" she cried; "i be a-goin' ter marry a town man ez hev got position, an' eddication, an' place." she paused, stung by the fancied incredulity in his eyes. "why not? ain't i good-lookin' enough?" she had risen to her feet; her eyes flashed upon him; her beautiful face wore a look of pride. it might have elicited from another man a protest of its beauty. he stared at her with an expression of alarm that was almost ghastly. "other men like me fur my looks, ef ye don't, justus hoxon," she said in indignation. "ef they jes' likes ye fur yer looks they won't like ye long," hoxon said severely. "i'll like ye when yer brown head is ez white ez cotton--ez much ez i like ye now--more!--_more_, i'll be bound! o 'dosia," with a sudden renewal of tenderness, "don't talk this hyar cur'ous way! i dunno what's witched ye. but let's go home ter the mountings, ter yer mother, an' see ef she can't straighten out any tangle yer feelin's hev got inter." it needed only this--the allusion to her commonplace mother, the recollection of the forlorn little mountain home, the idea of her mother's insistent championship of justus hoxon--to bring the avowal so long trembling on her lips. "i won't! i ain't likin' ye nowadays, justus hoxon, nor fur a long time past. i ain't keerin' nothin' 'bout ye." there was something in her tone that carried conviction. "air ye in earnest?" he said, appalled. "dead earnest." he gazed at her in the ever dulling light, that yet was clear enough to show every lineament--even the long black eyelashes that did not droop or quiver above her great blue eyes. "then thar's no more to be said." he spoke in a changed voice, calm and clear, and she stared at him in palpable surprise. she had expected an outburst of reproach, of beseechings, of protestation. she had braced herself to meet it, and she felt the reaction. she was hardly capable of coping with seeming indifference. it touched her pride. she missed the tribute of the withheld pleadings. she sought to rouse his jealousy. "it's another man i like," she said, "better--oh, a heap better--than you-uns." "that's all right, then." he wondered to hear the words so glibly enunciated. his lips seemed to him stiff, petrifying. he looked very white about them. she did not heed. she was angered, wounded, perplexed, by his acquiescence, his calmness, his taciturnity. a wave of anxiety that was half regret went over her. she felt lost in the turmoil of these complex emotions. with that destructive impulse to hurl down, to tear, to strike, that is an element of a sort of blind irritation, she went on tumultuously: "he is a man ez hev got eddication, an' a place, an' a fine chance an' show in life--it's--it's--yer brother walter." her aim was true that time. her shaft struck in the very core of his heart: but the satisfaction of this knowledge was denied her. he looked very white, it is true, but the pale moonlight was on his face; and he only said in an undertone: "walter!" she laughed aloud, a sort of mockery of glee. she had expected to enjoy the revelation, and her laughter was an incident of the scene as she had planned it. "we war a-courtin' consider'ble o' the time whilst ye war off electioneerin'," she said, with the side glance of her old coquetry. she saw his long shadow on the pavement bend forward and recoil suddenly. she did not look at him. "an' so ter-night," she went on briskly,--she had truly thought it a very good joke,--"whilst you-uns war a-star-gazing an' sech, wat an' me jes stepped inter the register's office thar, an' the squair married us. we 'lowed ye didn't see nothin' of it through the tellingscope, did ye? so wat said i must tell ye, ez _he_ didn't want ter tell ye." she could not see his face, the light was dulling so, and he had replaced his wide hat. there was a moment's silence. then his voice rang out quite strong and cheerful, "why, then thar's no more to be said." he stood motionless an instant longer. then suddenly he turned with a wave of his hand that was like a gesture of farewell, and she marked how swiftly his shadow seemed to slink from before him as he walked away, and passed the corner of the house, and disappeared from view. she gazed silently after him for a moment. then, leaning against the column, she burst into a tumult of tears. * * * * * daylight found justus hoxon far on the road to the mountains. in the many miles, as he fared along, his thoughts could hardly have been pleasant company. as he sought to discover fault or flaw in himself, search as he might, he could find naught that might palliate the flippant faithlessness of his beloved, or the treachery of his brother. his ambition might have been too worldly a thing, but not a pulse of that most vital emotion beat for himself. he realized it now--he realized his life in looking back upon this completed episode, as he might have done in the hour of death. he had so expended himself in the service of others that there was naught left for him. he had no gratulation in it, no sense of the virtue of unselfishness, no preception of achievement; it only seemed to him that his was the most flagrant folly that ever left a man in the world, but with no place in it. a sorry object for pride he seemed to himself, but he quivered, and scorched, and writhed in its hot flames. his one object was to take himself out of the sight and sound of colbury, till he might have counsel within himself, and perfect his scheme of revenge--not upon the woman. poor theodosia, with her limitations, could hardly have conceived how she had shattered the ideal to which her image had conformed in his mind, as she had stood on the porch and vaunted her beauty, and her belief in its power, and her pitiful ambitions. the woman was heartily welcome to the lot she had chosen. but the treacherous man,--it was not in justus hoxon's scheme of things to receive a blow and return nothing. a "hardy fighter" he was esteemed, albeit his prowess was eclipsed by his more peaceful virtues. this, however, should be returned in kind. he would make no attack to be put in the wrong, arrested, perhaps, after the colbury interpretation of assault and battery. but walter had many a weak point in his armor, glaringly apparent now to the once fond brother. only a surly, bitter word he had for greeting to the few neighbors whom he met, and who went their way in the conviction that his brother had lost his election; for none ascribed any emotion of justus hoxon's to his own sake. he reached in the evening the little cabin where the padlock hung on the door, and the heavy, untrodden dust of the drought lay without; and so it was that the old days when "fambly" had struggled through their humble experiences came back to him with that incomparable sweetness of the irrevocable past. hardships! how could there be, with fond faith in one another, and in all the world! poverty--so rich they were in love! life, after all, is more than meat, and there is no hunger like that of a famished heart. he reviewed that forlorn, anxious, struggling orphanage, transfigured in the subtle glow of regretful, loving memory, as one might gaze into the rich glamours of a promised land. alas, that our promised land should be so often the land we made haste to leave! as he sat down on the step he saw the ragged cluster of children troop down the road from twenty years agone, almost as if he actually beheld them, himself at the head. he could still feel their plump palms clinging to his hand at the first suggestion of danger. he had led them a right thorny path, each to a successful goal. and now could he turn against "fambly"? should he denounce the treachery of one of the little group that he could see huddling together for warmth on the meagre hearthstone, while outside the snows of a long-vanished winter were a-whirl? should he pull down the temple on walter's success--the pride of them all? he remembered how his sisters, with that feminine necessity of hero-worship in their untaught little hearts, had clung about walter. he remembered too that almost every thought of his own life had been given to this man, who had ruthlessly and secretly robbed him of all that was dear to him, and in such wise as to hold him up to ridicule, a scoffing jest, a very good joke! so walter considered it, and so doubtless would all colbury. it would have surprised walter, but his sometime mentor's cheek burned with shame for him. no; the claims of "fambly" were paramount. he gave it precedence, as in the old days he had denied himself when "fambly" dined at the skillet, and the bone and the broken bit he took for his share. he could not bring discredit upon it. he would not lift his hand against it. it was the object of a lifelong allegiance, and he only marveled that, since the uses of the loyalty were at an end, the empty life should go on. he gazed mechanically at the padlock as he sat there with his dreary thoughts, remembering with what different heart he had turned the key. ah, happiness--to pass out from a door, and knock there never again! he rose at last, his burden adjusted to his strength. he had never worked for thanks. it hardly mattered to him now how his efforts were requited. and though he encountered treachery at close quarters,--of his own household,--it was not in his heart to be a traitor to "fambly" and its obvious interests. so he too went out from the door in the footprints of happiness--likewise to return no more. * * * * * walter hoxon had not altogether ill-gauged the general proclivity to deem all fair in love or war. he was accounted to have performed something of a feat in the clever outwitting of his unsuspecting rival, and to the minds of the many there was an element of the romantic in this hasty wedding of the damsel of his choice almost under the eyes of the expectant bridegroom. he had added to the prestige of success in politics the lustre of valiance in the lists of love, and he encountered laughing congratulations from his friends and political supporters, which served much to reassure him and to banish a vague and subtle anxiety as to public opinion that had begun to gnaw at his heart. they all seemed to think he had done a very fine thing, and that it was a very good joke, and he was soon most jauntily of their persuasion. he could not know that here and there people were saying to one another, aside, the words he had feared to hear in reproach--that the swain whom he and his lady-love had conspired to dupe was his brother, who had done everything for him--had, as a mere child, encountered and vanquished poverty, had clothed and educated this man and his sisters, had served his every interest with a perfect self-abnegation all his life; that it was his brother who had won his election, being a man of much influence and untaught eloquence, and of great native tact and intelligence; that the secrecy, the conspiracy, and the publicity of the dramatic dã©nouement, in lieu of an open rivalry, rendered it a case of the most flagrant ingratitude, and argued much unworthiness in the people's choice. but suddenly a doubt began to prevail as to whether he were the people's choice. in the returns from the farthest districts, not heard from till quite late in the day, in which walter hoxon had felt secure, quigley developed unexpected strength. in great perturbation walter swiftly patrolled the town in search of justus; unprecedented developments were imminent, and he hardly dared face the emergency without his valiant backer at hand. justus had disappeared as utterly as if the night had swallowed him up. "consarn the tormentin' critter!" exclaimed walter, mopping his brow as he stood at the little gate of mrs. elmer's yard, returning thither, after his fruitless searching, in the hope of finding his brother among the familiar faces. "mad ez a hornet, i'll be bound, an' lef' me in the lurch. beat arter all, i'll bet!" theodosia listened, tremulous, aghast. all the fine prospects that had seemed so near, into whose charming perspectives she might in another moment have stepped as actually as upon that path to the gate, were drawing away, dissolving, as tenuous, as intangible, as those morning sunlit mists shifting and rising from before the massive blue ranges of the great smoky mountains, and dallying with the distances into invisibility. "i tole ye ag'in an' ag'in ye bes' not be _too sure_," she said, a sob in her throat, with an obvious disposition to wreak her disappointment upon him. it was crushed in the moment. he turned a frowning face full upon her. "hold yer jaw!" he cried violently. "ef 't warn't for you-uns i'd hev justus hyar, an' i'll be bound _he_ could fix it. ye miserable deceitful critter--settin' two own brothers at loggerheads! i'll take no word from _you-uns_--sure!" he shook his head indignantly at her, clapped his hat upon it, and turned desperately away as a man came running up. "have ye found justus?" wat exclaimed. "justus? no. but they say it's a tie--a tie!" for the news was already bruited throughout the town--in a ferment of excitement, because of the closeness of the contest--that the two candidates, racing gallantly neck and neck, had come under the wire together with not so much as the point of a nose to distinguish the winner. walter stood still for a moment, his dark eyes dilated with eagerness and anxiety. suddenly he leaned back against the gate-post with a deep sigh of relief and relaxation. "then it's all right," he exclaimed breathlessly. "the coroner's my frien', ef i ain't got another in the worl'. old beckett will stan' by me, _sure_!" as the coroner held the election, the sheriff himself being a candidate, it was his duty to give the casting vote. this prolongation of the jeopardy of the result heightened the popular interest, the more as the officer did not immediately decide upon his action in the matter. "i want a leetle time ter think it over--a leetle time fur the casting vote," he said, as he gnawed at a plug of tobacco, then crossed his ponderous legs while he leaned back in a splint-bottomed chair in the register's office. he was a tall, portly man, with a large, round imperious face, thatched heavily with iron-gray hair. he wore no beard, and was dressed in brown jeans, which imparted a certain sallowness to his dark complexion. he had small gray eyes, at once shrewd and good-natured, but his manner was bluff, imperative, and all the judiciary of the state could hardly have compassed an expression of a greater sense of importance. he was observed with much interest by a number of men who lounged about the room. a tense sub-current of curiosity underlay the suspense natural to the occasion, for it was well known to the gossips about the court-house that he and the sheriff had not been on the best of terms; when their official functions had happened to bring them into contact they had clashed smartly, and the county rang with their feuds. his course was obvious to all--his hesitation only an affectation, lest a too vehement animosity be imputed to him. "poor quigley's cake is dough," observed one of the incumbent's friends in an undertone, standing with his hands in his pockets, and gazing through the long dark vista of the hall out of the door into the sunlight's glow, as it fell upon the few houses and the great stretch of arable land beyond. a horizontal shadow of a cloud lay at its extremity, as definite as a material barrier, and far above it rose tiers of green and bronze hills like a moulding to the base of the lapis-lazuli-tinted mountains. "this never happened in this county before," said the register, glancing up from a big book in which he was copying the doings of "the party of the first part" and "the party of the second part"--the familiar spirits of his den. "why, no!" exclaimed the coroner, with a pleased laugh. "to me the castin' vote is ez _phee_-nomenal an' ez astonishin' ez the comet." he chuckled--the fat man's unctuous laugh. "something like the comet, too: it has its place in the legal firmament, but 't ain't often necessary to use it." "that war a toler'ble funny tale 'bout the comet they air a-tellin' roun' town," observed a young countryman pausing in front of the two, his hands in his pockets, his hat on the back of his red head, a wide grin of enjoyment on his freckled face,--"about the feller that hed his sweetheart a-courtin' out hyar in the yard last night, an' tuk ter lookin' at the comet through the spy-glass, an' whilst he war busy a-star-gazin' the comet, another feller stepped up with the squair, an' married his gal--ha! ha! ha!" beckett looked up interested. incongruously enough a vein of romance ran through the massive strata of conceit, and intolerance, and vainglory, and pertinacity, and pugnacity that made up the very definite structure of his nature. he dearly loved a lover. he was as sentimental as a girl of eighteen, and he melted instantly into suavest amenities at the first intimation of a love-story in abeyance. "i ain't heard 'bout that," he said in a mellifluous voice. "ye know i was tucked up in yonder"--he jerked his thumb over his shoulder--"tendin' to the countin' of the votes, bein' returnin'-officer. who married?" "why this hyar walter hoxon--him ez is candidate fur sher'ff," said the red-haired interlocutor, widening his grin. beckett elevated his heavy, grizzled eyebrows. a sudden, secret, important look, as if he were colloguing with some one vanquished in argument, crossed his face. he nodded once or twice, but only said acquiescently: "ah--ha! ah--ha! toler'ble enterprisin'. run fur office an git married 'lection day." he smiled broadly. any innovation on the stereotyped methods appealed to him with the grace and relish of a new metre to a neophytic rhymester. "wat's a nice boy, a mighty good boy, too," he went on, with his oily voice quite soft. "run mighty well in this 'lection, too. he's a mighty smart, good boy." he nodded his big head approvingly. "i don't wonder he cut the t'other feller out. mighty fine feller wat is." "well, now," said the register, suddenly putting his pen behind his ear, and leaving the party of the first part and the party of the second part to their own devices, "i'm blest if i don't think justus is worth a hundred of wat, lock, stock, an' barrel." once more the grizzled eyebrows went up toward the iron-gray thatch of the coroner's forehead. "_justus!_ i'm free ter say i dunno nobody equal ter justus. i hev known justus sence he war knee-high ter a pa'tridge--the way he did keer fur them chil'n, an' brung 'em up ter be equal ter anybody in the lan'! an' smart--_smart_ ain't the word fur him! ef he hed education he could do anything; but he hed ter stan' back an' let the t'other chil'n git it. whar would wat be ef 't warn't fur justus?" "that's what makes me say 't was a mighty mean trick he played on justus," the register broke in. "who? how?" demanded the coroner. "why, justus was the t'other feller. wat an' the girl never let _him_ have an inklin' of it. they just fooled him along, believin' she was goin' ter marry _him_. an' las' night when it was reported all over town that wat was elected, an' justus took time from electioneerin' fur his brother to breathe, they tolled him out to look at the comet, an' slipped off an' married." the man of sentiment, with the election in his hand, sat looking loweringly about him. his satisfaction was wilted; his fat hung flabbily on his big bones; his small eyes were hard and cold. "waal," he said, rising at last, "these extry an' occasional opportunities like comets an' castin' votes oughter be took full advantage of--full advantage of; no doubt about that." and thus it was that the casting vote tipped the scale in favor of the incumbent. "he's ez hard-headed, an' _ty_rannical, an' _per_verse, an' cantankerous a critter ez ever lived, with no feelin's, nor softness, nor perliteness in him--but he's a square man. he'll do the _fair_ thing--every time," the coroner said in explanation. and so he braced himself for another term of official wrangling. * * * * * poor theodosia! she never forgot that return home, through all the dust of the drought and the glare of the midsummer sun. even to herself her nature seemed too small for the magnitude of the various anguish which she was called upon to endure. the sharp alternations of certainty and doubt which she had undergone seemed slight, seemed naught, in comparison with the desolate finality of despair, the fang of hopeless regret, and the dread of the veiled future with which she had made no covenant of expectation or preparation, that preyed upon every plodding step as she went. her anxiety as to the wisdom of her course was not assuaged by the aghast dismay of her mother's face, when she reached the little house overlooking the encircling mountains,--as still, as meditative, as majestically unmoved, as if no more troublous world existed,--and unfolded the story of her visit to colbury. she felt for the first time in her life how justus hoxon's friend merited his confidence. her mother had no reproaches, no sarcasms, no outbursts of grief. she addressed herself to the support and the comforting of her daughter, but with so evident a hopelessness and an expectation of bitter things to come that the girl burst out sobbing afresh. "d' ye think wat air so wuthless ez all that!" the discipline of life began for her here. as the price of his political defeat, walter had scant relish for the triumph he had scored in love. he was surly, taciturn, or else loud with reproaches and criminations, which grew more vehement and contumelious if she answered, seeking to exculpate or justify herself; and if she were silent, her submission seemed to exasperate him and to develop a crafty ingenuity in finding fault. he brooded grimly on his brother's probable exultation when he should return and hear the news of the casting vote. to fortify himself for the encounter he spent much time at the still, and his drunken, reasonless wrath was even more formidable to the object of his displeasure than his sober, surly resentment against her as the cause of all his disasters. but justus did not come. walter began to doubt if the news of the untoward result of the election, in which he had spent all his energies, had reached him. he also began to desire, contradictorily enough, that his brother should know it. for although justus must needs recognize it as a mortal blow to his dearest foe, it had the capacity of doing much execution in its recoil. justus had had the election so greatly at heart; he had struggled, and planned, and managed with such preternatural activity and tact and energy from the first, that it would smite him hard to know that it was all in vain. and then his vicarious ambitions, his pride, his pleasure, in the elevation of "fambly"! walter cast about futilely for an assurance that he might have the satisfaction of reducing all this. he knew that justus, in his mistaken certainty of the result of the election, would not ask for information, and that he could not read the newspapers. a letter--even if there were any remote presumption as to his address--would lie indefinitely in the mail, and find its way at last to the dead letter office. walter realized after a time that justus intended to return no more--the woman he loved was his brother's wife. justus had probably put the breadth of the state between them, walter sneeringly concluded. he made haste to quarrel with his wife's mother, in his perverse relish of aught that might give theodosia pain, and they quitted her home and took up their residence in the house in which theodosia had once expected to live, the scene of the early struggles of "fambly." theodosia's beauty could hardly be said to fade; it disappeared in the overblowing. she grew very fat and unwieldy as the years wore on; her face broadened, her florid complexion degenerated into a mottled red and purple. she was no prettier than her mother had been when she ridiculed her lover's eulogy of her mother's spiritual beauty. she had a hard life with her drunken, idle, slothful husband, who habitually imputed to her agency every evil that had ever befallen him, holding it to excuse him from all exertion to better their very poor estate, and whose affection had been easily kindled by her beauty and as easily extinguished. * * * * * justus, self-exiled from the mountains, tramped the valley roads, hardly caring whither, and drifted finally to the outskirts of one of the large manufacturing towns of tennessee. he worked for some seasons doggedly, drudgingly, on a farm near by, but found a sort of entertainment in the sights and sounds within the city limits, as having no association with the past which his memory dreaded. he prospered in some sort, for although he was ignorant of all methods of skilled labor, fidelity is an art with so few proficients that friends and opportunities were not lacking. his progress was somewhat hampered, however, despite his evident intelligence, by a doubt which prevailed concerning his mental balance. he was often observed to stand and gaze smilingly, fondly, after any group of ragged, dirty children; he, although of the poorest, was profuse in gratuities to any callow beggar who did not know enough of the world's ways to expect nothing of such as he, as did the older ones. he could not read, but he bought newspapers from the smallest of the guild of newsboys, and meditatively turned the sheets in his hand, and then softly and slowly tore them to bits. and these things created a doubt of his sanity, for who could know how "fambly" looked at him from the pinched face of every poor, and cold, and hungry child? at last, despite this unsuspected drawback, a congenial occupation came to him. he was night watchman at a great factory, and as he paced, all solitary, back and forth in the yard, he was wont to note the stars as the infallible seasons brought them into place; and he began to remember their names, and to trace the strange configuration of the constellations, and to con again the stories woven into their shining meshes which he heard at the time that the great comet blazed among them. and this is his never failing interest--dark summer nights, when the galaxy opens a broad avenue of constellated light across the heavens, seeming a veritable road, as if it might be the way to god's throne, beaten hard and bright by the feet of saints and martyrs; or when the moon is full, and autumnal glamours reign, and only the faint sidereal outlines prevail; or when winter winds are high, and the snow lies on slanting roofs, and spires gleam with icicles, and orion draws his scintillating blade; or when, all bedight in scarlet, "arcturus and his sons" are guided into the vernal sky. books by "charles egbert craddock." (mary n. murfree.) in the tennessee mountains. short stories. 16mo, $1.25. down the ravine. for young people. illustrated. 16mo, $1.00. the prophet of the great smoky mountains. a novel. 16mo, $1.25. in the clouds. a novel. 16mo, $1.25. the story of keedon bluffs. for young people. 16mo, $1.00. the despot of broomsedge cove. a novel. 16mo, $1.25. where the battle was fought. a novel. 16mo, $1.25. his vanished star. a novel. 16mo, $1.25. the mystery of witch-face mountain. 16mo, $1.25. houghton, mifflin and company, boston and new york. team from images provided by the million book project the frontiersmen by charles egbert craddock author of _a spectre of power_, _the prophet of the great smoky mountains_, _in the tennessee mountains_, etc. 1904 contents the linguister a victor at chungke the captive of the ada-wehi the fate of the cheera-taghe the bewitched ball-sticks the visit of the turbulent grandfather notes the linguister the mental image of the world is of individual and varying compass. it may be likened to one of those curious chinese balls of quaintly carved ivory, containing other balls, one within another, the proportions ever dwindling with each successive inclosure, yet each a more minute duplicate of the external sphere. this might seem the least world of all,--the restricted limits of the quadrangle of this primitive stockade,--but peninnah penelope anne mivane had known no other than such as this. it was large enough for her, for a fairy-like face, very fair, with golden brown hair, that seemed to have entangled the sunshine, and lustrous brown eyes, looked out of an embrasure (locally called "port-hole") of the blockhouse, more formidable than the swivel gun once mounted there, commanding the entrance to the stockade gate. her aspect might have suggested that titania herself had resorted to military methods and was ensconced in primitive defenses. it was even large enough for her name, which must have been conferred upon her, as the wits of the blue lick station jocularly averred, in the hope of adding some size to her. it was large enough also for the drama of battle and the tragedy of bloody death--both had befallen within its limits. there had been a night, glooming very dark in the past, an unwary night when the row of log houses, all connected by the palisades from one to the other, presenting a blank wall without, broken only by loopholes for musketry, had been scaled by the crafty cherokees, swarming over the roofs, and attacking the english settlers through the easy access of the unglazed windows and flimsy batten doors that opened upon the quadrangle. although finally beaten off, the indians had inflicted great loss. her father had been one of the slain settlers who thus paid penalty for the false sense of security, fostered by long immunity. even more troublous times came later,--the tumult of open war was rife in all the land; the station was repeatedly attacked, and although it held out stanchly, fear and suspense and grief filled the stockade,--yet still there was space for cupid to go swaggering hither and thither within the guarded gates, and aim his arrows with his old-time dainty skill, albeit his bow and quiver might seem somewhat archaic in these days of powder and lead. for peninnah penelope anne mivane spent much of her time in the moulding of bullets. perhaps it was appropriate, since both she and her young pioneer lover dealt so largely in missiles, that it was thus the sentimental dart was sped. lead was precious in those days, but sundry bullets, that she had moulded, ralph emsden never rammed down into the long barrel of his flintlock rifle. some question as to whether the balls had cooled, or perhaps some mere meditative pause, had carried the bits of lead in her fingers to her lips, as they sat together on the hearth and talked and worked in the fire-lit dusk for their common defense. he was wont to watch, lynx-eyed, the spot where these consecrated bullets were placed, and afterward carried them in a separate buckskin bag over his heart, and mentally called them his "kisses;" for the youths of those days were even such fools as now, although in the lapse of time they have come to pose successfully in the dignified guise of the "wise patriots of the pioneer period." more than once when the station was attacked and the women loaded the guns of the men to expedite the shooting, she kept stanchly at his elbow throughout the thunderous conflict, and charged and primed the alternate rifles which he fired.[1] over the trigger, in fact, the fateful word was spoken. "oh, nan," he exclaimed, looking down at her while taking the weapon from her hand in the vague dusk where she knelt beside him,--he stood on the shelf that served as banquette to bring him within reach of the loophole, placed so high in the hope that a chance shot entering might range only among the rafters,--"how quick you are! how you help me!" the thunderous crash of the double volley of the settlers firing twice, by the aid of their feminine auxiliaries, to every volley of the indians, overwhelmed for the moment the tumult of the fiendish whoops in the wild darkness outside, and then the fusillade of the return fire, like leaden hail, rattled against the tough log walls of the station. "are you afraid, nan?" he asked, as he received again the loaded weapon from her hand. "_afraid?_--no!" exclaimed peninnah penelope anne mivane--hardly taller than the ramrod with which she was once more driving the charge home. he saw her face, delicate and blonde, in the vivid white flare from the rifle as he thrust it through the loophole and fired. "you think i can take care of you?" he demanded, while the echo died away, and a lull ensued. "i know you can," she replied, adjusting with the steady hand of an expert the patching over the muzzle of the discharged weapon in the semi-obscurity. a blood-curdling shout came from the cherokees in the woods with a deeper roar of musketry at closer quarters; and a hollow groan within the blockhouse, where there was a sudden commotion in the dim light, told that some bullet had found its billet. "they are coming to the attack again--hand me the rifle--quick--quick--oh, nan, how you help me! how brave you are--i love you! i love you!" "look out now for a flash in the pan!" peninnah penelope anne merely admonished him. being susceptible to superstition and a ponderer on omens, ralph emsden often thought fretfully afterward on the double meaning of these words, and sought to displace them in their possible evil influence on his future by some assurance more cheerful and confident. with this view he often earnestly beset her, but could secure nothing more pleasing than a reference to the will of her grandfather and a protestation to abide by his decision in the matter. now peninnah penelope anne's grandfather was deaf. his was that hopeless variety of the infirmity which heard no more than he desired. his memory, however, was unimpaired, and it may be that certain recollections of his own experiences in the past remained with him, making him a fine judge of the signs of the present. emsden, appalled by the necessity of shrieking out his love within the acute and well-applied hearing facilities of the families of some ten "stationers," to use the phrase of the day, diligently sought to decoy, on successive occasions, richard mivane out to the comparative solitudes of the hunting, the fishing, the cropping. in vain. richard mivane displayed sudden extreme prudential care against surprise and capture by indians, when this was possible, and when impossible he developed unexpected and unexampled resources of protective rheumatism. the young lover was equally precluded from setting forth the state of his affections and the prospects of his future in writing. apart from the absurdity of thus approaching a man whom he saw twenty times a day, old mivane would permit no such intimation of the extent of his affliction,--it being a point of pride with him that he was merely slightly hard of hearing, and suffered only from the indistinctness of the enunciation of people in general. and indeed, it was variously contended that he was so deaf that he could not hear a gun fired at his elbow; and yet that he heard all manner of secrets which chanced to be detailed in his presence, in inadvertent reliance on his incapacity, and had not the smallest hesitation afterward in their disclosure, being entitled to them by right of discovery, as it were. emsden, in keen anxiety, doubtful if his suit were seriously disapproved, or if these demonstrations were only prompted by old mivane's selfish aversion to give away his granddaughter, finally summoned all his courage, and in a stentorian roar proclaimed to the old gentleman his sentiments. richard mivane was a man of many punctilious habitudes, who wore cloth instead of buckskin, however hard it might be to come by, and silver knee-buckles and well-knit hose on his still shapely calves, and a peruke carefully powdered and tended. he had a keen, wrinkled, bloodless face, discerning, clever, gray eyes, heavy, overhanging, grizzled eyebrows, and a gentlemanly mouth of a diplomatic, well-bred, conservative expression. it was said at blue lick station that he had fled from his own country, the north of england, on account of an affair of honor,--a duel in early life,--and that however distasteful the hardships and comparative poverty of this new home, it was far safer for him than the land of his birth. his worldly position there gave him sundry claims of superiority, for all of which his hardy pioneer son had had scant sympathy; and ralph emsden, in the difficult crisis of the disclosure of the state of his affections, heaved many a sigh for this simple manly soul's untimely fate. the elder mivane, with his head bent forward, his hand behind his ear, sat in his arm-chair while he hearkened blandly to the sentimental statements which emsden was obliged to shout forth twice. then richard mivane cleared his throat with a sort of preliminary gentlemanly embarrassment, and went fluently on with that suave low voice so common to the very deaf. "command me, sir, command me! it will give me much pleasure to use my influence on your behalf to obtain an ensigncy. i will myself write at the first opportunity, the first express, to lieutenant-governor bull, who is acquainted with my family connections in england. it is very praiseworthy, very laudable indeed, that you should aspire to a commission in the military service,--the provincial forces. i honor you for your readiness to fight--although, to be sure, being irish, you can't help it. still, it is to your credit that you are irish. i am very partial to the irish traits of character--was once in ireland myself--visited an uncle there"--and so forth and so forth. and thus poor ralph emsden, who was only irish by descent, and could not have found ireland on the map were he to hang for his ignorance, and had been born and bred in the royal province of south carolina,--which country he considered the crown and glory of the world,--was constrained to listen to all the doings and sayings of richard mivane in ireland from the time that he embarked on the wild irish sea, which scrupled not to take unprecedented liberties with so untried a sailor, till the entrance of other pioneers cut short a beguiling account of his first meeting with potheen in its native haunts, and the bewildering pranks that he and that tricksy sprite played together in those the irresponsible days of his youth. emsden told no one, not even peninnah penelope anne, of his discomfiture; but alack, there were youngsters in the family of unaffected minds and unimpaired hearing. this was made amply manifest a day or so afterward, when he chanced to pause at the door of the log cabin and glance in, hoping that, perhaps, the queen of his dreams might materialize in this humble domicile. the old gentleman slept in his chair, with dreams of his own, perchance, for his early life might have furnished a myriad gay fancies for his later years. the glare of noonday lay on the unshaded spaces of the quadrangle without; for all trees had been felled, even far around the inclosure, lest thence they might afford vantage and ambush for musketry fire or a flight of arrows into the stockade. through rifts in the foliage at considerable distance one could see the dark mountain looming high above, and catch glimpses of the further reaches of the great smoky range, blue and shimmering far away, and even distinguish the crest of "big injun mountain" on the skyline. the several cabins, all connected by that row of protective palisades from one to another like a visible expression of the chord of sympathy and mutual helpful neighborliness, were quiet, their denizens dining within. at the blockhouse a guard was mounted--doubtless a watchful and stanch lookout, but unconforming to military methods, for he sang, to speed the time, a metrical psalm of david's; the awkward collocation of the words of this version would forever distort the royal poet's meaning if he had no other vehicle of his inspiration. there were long waits between the drowsy lines, and in the intervals certain callow voices, with the penetrating timbre of youth, came to emsden's ear. his eyes followed the sound quickly. the little sisters of peninnah penelope anne were on the floor before a playhouse, outlined by stones and sticks, and with rapt faces and competent fancies, saw whatsoever they would. in these riches of imagination a little brother also partook. a stick, accoutred in such wise with scraps of buckskin as to imitate a gallant of the place and period, was bowing respectfully before another stick, vested in the affabilities of age and the simulacrum of a dressing-gown. "i love your granddaughter, sir, and wish to make her my wife," said the bowing stick. "command me, sir; command me!" suavely replied the stick stricken in years. the scene had been an eye-opener to the tender youth of the little mivanes; the pomp and circumstance of a sentimental disclosure they would never forget. emsden, as hardy a pioneer as ever drew a bead on a panther or an indian, passed on, quaking at the thought of the wits of the station as he had never yet feared man, and his respected irish blood ran cold. and when it waxed warm with wrath once more it came to pass that to utter the simple phrase "command me" was as much as a man's life was worth at blue lick station. emsden thought ruefully of the girl's mother and wondered if her intercession would avail aught with the old autocrat. but he had not yet ventured upon this. there was nothing certain about mrs. mivane but her uncertainty. she never gave a positive opinion. her attitude of mind was only to be divined by inference. she never gave a categorical answer. and indeed he would not have been encouraged to learn that richard mivane himself had already consulted his daughter-in-law, as in this highhanded evasion of any decision he felt the need of support. for once the old gentleman was not displeased with her reply, comprehensive, although glancing aside from the point. since there were so many young men in the country, said mrs. mivane, she saw no reason for despair! with this approval of his temporizing policy richard mivane left the matter to the development of the future. emsden's depression would have been more serious had he not fortunately sundry tokens of the old man's favor to cherish in his memory, which seemed to intimate that this elusiveness was only a shrewd scheme to delay and thwart him rather than a positive and reasonable disposition to deny his suit. in short, emsden began to realize that instead of a damsel of eighteen he had to court a coquette rising sixty, of the sterner sex, and deafer than an adder when he chose. his artful quirks were destined to try the young lover's diplomacy to the utmost, and emsden appreciated this, but he reassured himself with the reflection that it was better thus than if it were the girl who vacillated and delighted to torture him with all the arts of a first-class jilt. he was constantly in and out of the house almost as familiarly as if he were already betrothed, for in the troublous period that seemed now closing, with its sudden flights, its panics, its desperate conflicts with the indians, he had been able to give an almost filial aid to richard mivane in the stead of the son whom the old man had lost. richard mivane had always felt himself an alien, a sojourner in this new land, and perchance he might not have been able even partially to reconcile himself to the ruder conditions of his later life if the bursting of a financial bubble had not swept away all hope of returning to the status of his earlier home in england when the tragedy of the duel had been sunk in oblivion. the frontier was a fine place to hide one's poverty and fading graces, he had once remarked, and thereafter had seemed to resign himself to its hardships,--indeed, sometimes he consigned his negro body-servant, cã¦sar, to other duties than his exclusive attendance. he had even been known to breakfast with his head tied up in a handkerchief when some domestic crisis had supervened, such as the escape of all the horses from the pinfold, to call away his barber. as this functionary was of an active temperament and not at all averse to the labor in the fields, he proved of more value thus utilized than in merely furnishing covert amusement to the stationers by his pompous duplication of his master's attitude of being too cultured, traveled, and polished for his surroundings. he was a trained valet, however, expert in all the details of dressing hair, powdering, curling, pomatuming, and other intricacies of the toilet of a man of fashion of that day. cã¦sar had many arts at command touching the burnishing of buckles and buttons, and even in clear-starching steinkirks and the cambric ruffles of shirts. as he ploughed he was wont to tell of his wonderful experiences while in his master's service in london (although he had never crossed the seas); and these being accepted with seeming seriousness, he carried his travels a step farther and described the life he remembered in the interior of guinea (although he had never seen the shores of africa). this life so closely resembled that of london that it was often difficult to distinguish the locality of the incidents, an incongruity that enchanted the wags of the settlement, who continually incited him to prodigies of narration. the hairbreadth escapes that he and his fellow-servants, as well as the white people, had had from the wrath of the indians, whom the negroes feared beyond measure, and their swift flights from one stockade to another in those sudden panics during the troubled period preceding the cherokee war, might have seemed more exciting material for romancing for a venturesome munchausen, but perhaps these realities were too stern to afford any interest in the present or glamour in the past. it was somewhat as a prelude to the siege of fort loudon by the cherokees in 1760 that they stormed and triumphantly carried several minor stations to the southeast. although blue lick sustained the attack, still, in view of the loss of a number of its gallant defenders, the settlers retreated at the first opportunity to the more sheltered frontier beyond fort prince george, living from hand to mouth, some at long cane and some at ninety-six, through those years when first montgomerie and then grant made their furious forays through the cherokee country. emsden, having served in the provincial regiment, eagerly coveted a commission, of which richard mivane had feigned to speak. now that the cherokees were ostensibly pacified,--that is, exhausted, decimated, their towns burned, their best and bravest slain, their hearts broken,--the fugitives from this settlement on the eupharsee river, as the hiwassee was then called, gathered their household gods and journeyed back to blue lick, to cry out in the wilderness that they were "home" once more, and clasp each other's hands in joyful gratulation to witness the roofs and stockade rise again, rebuilt as of yore. strangely enough, there were old cherokee friends to greet them anew and to be welcomed into the stockade; for even the rigid rule of war and hate must needs be proved by its exceptions. and there were one or two pensive philosophers among the english settlers vaguely sad to see all the cherokee traditions and prestige, and remnants of prehistoric pseudo-civilization, shattered in the dust, and the tremulous, foreign, unaccustomed effort--half-hearted, half-believing, half-understanding--to put on the habitude of a new civilization. "the white man's religion permits poverty, but the indian divides his store with the needy, and there are none suffered to be poor," said atta-kulla-kulla, the famous chief. "the white men wrangle and quarrel together, even brother with brother; with us the inner tribal peace is ever unbroken. the white men slay and rob and oppress the poor, and with many cunning treaties take now our lands and now our lives; then they offer us their religion;--why does it seem so like an empty bowl?" "atta-kulla-kulla, you know that i am deaf," said richard mivane, "and you ask me such hard questions that i am not able to hear them." it is more than probable that these stationers in the vanguard of the irrepressible march of western emigration had been trespassers, and thus earned their misfortunes, in some sort, by their encroachment on indian territory; although since the war the cherokee boundaries had become more vague than heretofore, it being considered that grant's operations had extended the frontier by some seventy miles. it may be, too, that the blue lick settlers held their own by right of private purchase; for the inhibition to the acquisition of land in this way from the indians was not enacted till the following year, 1763, after the events to be herein detailed, and, indeed, such purchases even further west and of an earlier date are of record, albeit of doubtful legality. now that peace in whatever maimed sort had come to this stricken land and these adventurous settlers, who held their lives, their all, by such precarious tenure, internecine strife must needs arise among them; not the hand of brother against brother,--they were spared that grief,--but one tender, struggling community against another. and it came about in this wise. one day peninnah penelope anne mivane, watching from the "port-hole" of the blockhouse, where the muzzle of that dog of war the little swivel gun had once been wont to look forth, beheld ralph emsden ride out from the stockade gate for a week's absence with a party of hunters; with bluff but tender assurance he waved his hat and hand to her in farewell. "before all the men!" she said to herself, half in prudish dismay at his effrontery, and yet pleased that he did not sheepishly seek to conceal his preference. and although the men (there were but two or three and not half the province, as her horror of this publicity would seem to imply) said with a grin "command me!" they said it _sotto voce_ and only to each other. spring was once more afoot in the land. they daily marked her advance as they went. halfway up the mountains she had climbed: for the maples were blooming in rich dark reds that made the nearer slopes even more splendid of garb than the velvet azure of the distant ranges, the elms had put forth delicate sprays of emerald tint, and the pines all bore great wax-like tapers amidst their evergreen boughs, as if ready for kindling for some great festival. it is a wonderful thing to hear a wind singing in myriads of their branches at once. the surging tones of this oratorio of nature resounded for miles along the deep indented ravines and the rocky slopes of the great smoky mountains. now and again the flow of a torrent or the dash of a cataract added fugue-like effects. the men were constantly impressed by these paeans of the forests; the tuft of violets abloom beneath a horse's hoofs might be crushed unnoticed, but the acoustic conditions of the air and the high floating of the tenuous white clouds against a dense blue sky, promising rain in due season, evoked a throb of satisfaction in the farmer's heart not less sincere because unaesthetic. the farmer's toil had hardly yet begun, the winter's hunt being just concluded, and each of the stationers with a string of led horses was bound for his camps and caches to bring in the skins that made the profit of the season. one of this group of three was the psalm-singer of the blockhouse. his name was xerxes alexander anxley, and he was unceremoniously called by the community "x," and by mivane "the unknown quantity," for he was something of an enigma, and his predilections provoked much speculation. he was a religionist of ascetic, extreme views,--a type rare in this region,--coming originally from the colony of the salzburgers established in georgia. we are less disposed to be tolerant of individual persuasions which imply a personal and unpleasant reflection. xerxes alexander anxley disapproved of dancing, and the community questioned his sanity; for these early pioneers in the region of the great smoky range carried the rifle over one shoulder and the fiddle over the other. he disapproved of secular songs and idle stories, and the settlement questioned his taste; for it was the delight of the stationers, old and young, to gather around the hearth, and, while the chestnuts roasted in the fire for the juniors, and the jovial horn, as it was called, circulated among the elders, the oft-told story was rehearsed and the old song sung anew. he even disapproved of the jovial horn--and the settlement questioned his sincerity. this man anxley looked his ascetic character. he had a hard pragmatic countenance, and one of those noses which though large and bony come suddenly short and blunted. his eyes, small, gray, and inscrutable, seemed unfriendly, so baffling, introspective, unnoting was their inattentiveness. his hair was of a sort of carrot tint, which color was reproduced in paler guise in his fringed buckskin shirt and leggings, worn on a sturdy and powerful frame. his mouth was shut hard and fast upon his convictions, as if to denote that he could not be argued out of them, and when the lips parted its lines were scarcely more mobile, and his words were usually framed to doubt one's state of grace and to contravene one's tenets as to final salvation. he rode much of the time with the reins loose on his horse's neck, and perhaps no man in the saddle had ever been so addicted to psalmody since the days of cromwell's troopers. his theological disputations grated peculiarly upon emsden's mood, and he always laid at his door the disaster that followed. "if i hadn't been so traveled that day,--dragged through hell and skirting of purgatory and knocking at the gates of heaven,--i wouldn't have lost my wits so suddenly when i came back to earth with a bounce," emsden afterward declared. for as the hunters were coming at a brisk trot in single file along the "old trading path," as it was called even then, the fleecy white clouds racing above in the dense blue of the sky, their violet shadows fleeting as swift along the slopes of the velvet-soft azure mountains, and the wind far outstripping them in the vernal budding woods, a sudden stir near at hand caused emsden to turn his head. just above him, on a rugged slope where no trees grew save a scraggy cedar here and there amidst the shelving ledges of rock outcropping through the soft verdant turf, he saw a stealthy, furtive shape; he was aware of a hasty cowed glance over the shoulder, and then a stretching of supple limbs in flight. before he himself hardly knew it the sharp crack of his rifle rang out,--the aim was almost instinctive. and it was as true as instinct,--a large black wolf, his pelt glossy and fresh with the renewal of the season, lay stretched dead in an instant upon the slope. emsden sprang from his horse, tossed the reins to "x," and, drawing his knife, ran up the steep ascent to secure the animal's skin. only vaguely, as in a dream, he heard a sudden deep roar, beheld a horned creature leaping heavily upon its fore quarters, tossing its hind legs and tail into the air. then an infuriated bull, breaking from the bushes, charged fiercely down upon him. emsden threw himself into a posture of defense as instantly as if he had been a trained bullfighter and the arena his wonted sphere, holding the knife close in front of him, presenting the blade with a quick keen calculation for the animal's jugular. the knife was emsden's only weapon, for his pistols were in the holster on the saddle, and his discharged rifle lay where he had flung it on the ground after firing. he had only time to wonder that his comrades vouchsafed him no assistance in his extremity. men of such accurate aim and constant practice could easily risk sending a rifle-ball past him to stop that furious career. he could see the pupil of the bull's wild dilated eyes, fiery as with a spark of actual flame. he could even feel the hot puffs of the creature's breath upon his cheeks, when all at once the horned head so close above his own swerved aside with a snort from the dead body of the wolf at his feet. the bull passed him like a thunderbolt, and he heard the infuriated stamping which fairly shook the ground in the thicket below, where this king of the herds paused to bellow and paw the earth, throwing clods high above the environing copse. the woods seemed full of maddened, frightened cattle, and emsden's horse was frantically galloping after the cavalcade of hunters and their pack-train, all the animals more or less beyond the control of the men. he felt it an ill chance that left him thus alone and afoot in this dense wilderness, several days' travel from the station. he was hardly sure that he would be missed by his comrades, themselves scattered, the pack-horses having broken from the path which they had traveled in single file, and now with their burdens of value all foolishly careering wildly through the woods. the first prudential care of the hunters he knew would be to recover them and re-align the train, lest some miscreant, encountering the animals, plunder the estrays of their loads of hard-won deerskins and furs. the presence of cattle suggested to emsden the proximity of human dwellings, and yet this was problematic, for beyond branding and occasional saltings the herds ranged within large bounds on lands selected for their suitability as pasturage. the dwellings of these pioneer herdsmen might be far away indeed, and in what direction he could not guess. since the cherokee war, and the obliteration of all previous marks of white settlements in this remote region, emsden was unfamiliar with the more recent location of "cow-pens," as the ranches were called, and was only approximately acquainted with the new site of the settlers' stations. nothing so alters the face of a country as the moral and physical convulsion of war. even many of the indian towns were deserted and half charred,--burned by the orders of the british commanders. one such stood in a valley through which he passed on his homeward way; the tender vernal aspect of this green cove, held in the solemn quiet of the encircling mountains, might typify peace itself. yet here the blue sky could be seen through the black skeleton rafters of the once pleasant homes; and there were other significant skeletons in the absolute solitude,--the great ribs of dead chargers, together with broken bits and bridles, and remnants of exploded hand-grenades, and a burst gun-barrel, all lying on the bank of a lovely mountain stream at the point where he crossed it, as it flowed, crystal clear, through this sequestered bosky nook. something of a job this transit was, for with the spring freshets the water was high and the current strong, and he was compelled to use only one hand for swimming, the other holding high out of the water's reach his powder horn. for, despite any treaties of peace, this was no country for a man to traverse unarmed, and an encounter with an inimical wandering indian might serve to make for his comrades' curiosity concerning his fate, when they should chance to have leisure to feel it, a perpetual conundrum. he had never, however, made so lonely a journey. not one human being did he meet--neither red man nor white--in all the long miles of the endless wilderness; naught astir save the sparse vernal shadows in the budding woods and the gentle spring zephyr swinging past and singing as it went. now and again he noted how the sun slowly dropped down the skies that were so fine, so fair, so blue that it seemed loath to go and leave the majestic peace of the zenith. the stars scintillated in the dark night as if a thousand bivouac fires were kindled in those far spaces of the heavens responsive to the fire which he kept aglow to cook the supper that his rifle fetched him and to ward off the approach of wolf or panther while he slept. he was doubtless in jeopardy often enough, but chance befriended him and he encountered naught inimical till the fourth day when he came in at the gate of the station and met the partners of the hunt, themselves not long since arrived. they waited for no reproaches for their desertion. they were quick to upbraid. as they hailed him in chorus he was bewildered for a moment, and stood in the gateway leaning on his rifle, his coonskin cap thrust back on his brown hair, his bright, steady gray eyes concentrated as he listened. his tall, lithe figure in his buckskin hunting shirt and leggings, the habitual garb of the frontiersmen, grew tense and gave an intimation of gathering all its forces for the defensive as he noted how the aspect of the station differed from its wonted guise. every house of the assemblage of little log cabins stood open; here and there in the misty air, for there had been a swift, short spring shower, fires could be seen aglow on the hearths within; the long slant of the red sunset rays fell athwart the gleaming wet roofs and barbed the pointed tops of the palisades with sharp glints of light, and a rainbow showed all the colors of the prism high against the azure mountain beyond, while a second arch below, a dim duplication, spanned the depths of a valley. the frontiersmen were all in the open spaces of the square excitedly wrangling--and suddenly he became conscious of a girlish face at the embrasure for the cannon at the blockhouse, a face with golden brown hair above it, and a red hood that had evidently been in the rain. "looking out for me, i wonder?" he asked himself, and as this glow of agitated speculation swept over him the men who plied him with questions angrily admonished his silence. "he has seen a wolf! he has seen a wolf! 'tis plain!" cried old mivane, as he stood in his metropolitan costume among the buckskin-clad pioneers. "one would know that without being told!" "you shot the wolf and stampeded the cattle, and the herders at the cow-pens on the keowee river can't round them up again!" cried one of the settlers. "the cattle have run to the congarees by this time!" declared another pessimistically. "and it was _you_ that shot the wolf!" cried "x" rancorously. "the herders are holding _us_ responsible and have sent an ambassador," explained john ronackstone, anxiously knitting his brows, "to inform us that not a horse of the pack-train from blue lick station shall pass down to charlestown till we indemnify them for the loss of the cattle." "gadso! they can't _all_ be lost!" exclaimed old mivane floutingly. "no, no! the herders go too far for damages--too far! they are putting their coulter _too_ deep!" said a farmer fresh from the field. he had still a bag of seed-grain around his neck, and now and again he thrust in his hand and fingered the kernels. "they declare they'll seize our skins," cried another ambiguously,--then, conscious of this, he sought to amend the matter,--"not the hides we wear,"--this was no better, for they were all arrayed in hides, save richard mivane. "not the hides that we were born in, but our deerhides, our peltry,--they'll seize the pack-train from blue lick, and they declare they'll call on the commandant of fort prince george to oppose its passing with the king's troops." an appalled silence fell on the quadrangle,--save for the fresh notes of a mockingbird, perching in jaunty guise on the tower of the blockhouse, above which the rainbow glowed in the radiant splendors of a misty amber sky. "the king's troops? would the commandant respond?" anxiously speculated one of the settlers. the little handful of pioneers, with their main possessions in the fate of the pack-train, looked at one another in dismay. "and tell me, friend feather-pate, why did it seem good to you to shoot a wolf in the midst of a herd of cattle?" demanded richard mivane. ralph emsden, bewildered by the results of this untoward chance, and the further catastrophe shadowed forth in the threatened seizure of the train, rallied with all his faculties at the note of scorn from this quarter. "sir, i did not shoot the wolf among the cattle. there was not a horn nor a hoof to be seen when i fired." mivane turned to "x" with both hands outstretched as much as to say, "take _that_ for your quietus!" and shouldering his stick, which had an ivory head and a sword within, strode off after his jaunty fashion as if there were no more to be said. it was now alexander anxley's turn to sustain the questioning clamor. "i will not deny"--"that is, i said"--"i meant to say,"--but these qualifications were lost in the stress of emsden's voice, once more rising stridently. "not a horn nor a hoof to be seen till after i had fired. i didn't know there were any cow-pens about--didn't use to be till after you had crossed the keowee. but if there _had_ been, is a man to see a wolf pull down a yearling, say, and not fire a rifle because madam cow will take the high-strikes or cap'n bull will go on the rampage? must i wait till i can make a leg,"--he paused to execute an exaggerated obeisance, graceful enough despite its mockery,--"'under your favor, cap'n bull,' and 'with your ladyship's permission,' before i kill the ravening brute, big enough to pull down a yearling? don't talk to me! don't talk to me!" he held out the palms of his hands toward them in interdiction, and made as if to go--yet went not! for a reactionary sentiment toward him had set in, and there were those fair-minded enough, although with their little all at stake, to admit that he had acted with reasonable prudence, and that it was only an unlucky chance which had sent the panic through the herds with such disastrous effect. "the herders should not stop the pack-train, if i had my will," declared one of the settlers with a belligerent note. "no, no," proclaimed another; "not if it takes all the men at blue lick station to escort it!" "those blistered redcoats at fort prince george are a deal too handy to be called on by such make-bates as the herders on the keowee river." "fudge! the commandant would never let a bayonet stir." "gad! i'd send an ambassador for an ambassador. tit for tat," declared emsden. "i'd ask 'em what's gone with all our horses,--last seen in those desolated cow-pens,--that the voice of mourning is now lifted about!" there was a chuckle of sheer joy, so abrupt and unexpected that it rose with a clatter and a cackle of delight, and culminated in a yell of pleasurable derision. now everybody knew that the horses bought in that wild country would, unless restrained, return every spring to "their old grass," as it was called,--to the places where they had formerly lived. when this annual hegira took place in large numbers, some permanent losses were sure to ensue. the settlers at blue lick had experienced this disaster, and had accepted it as partly the result of their own lack of precaution during the homing fancy of the horses. but since the herders manifested so little of the suavity that graces commercial intercourse, and as some of the horses had been seen in their cow-pens, it was a happy thought to feather the arrow with this taunt. "and who do you suppose will promise to carry such a message to those desperate, misguided men, riding hither an' thither, searching this wild and woeful wilderness for hundreds o' head o' cattle lost like needles in a hayrick, and eat by wolves an' painters by this time?" demanded "x" derisively. "i promise, i promise!--and with hearty good will, too!" declared emsden. "and i'll tell 'em that we are coming down soon armed to the teeth to guard our pack-train, and fight our way through any resistance to its passage through the country on the open trading-path. and i'll acquaint the commandant of fort prince george of the threats of the herders against the blue lick stationers, and warn him how he attempts to interfere with the liberties of the king's loyal subjects in their peaceful vocations." thus emsden gayly volunteered for the mission. the next morning old richard mivane, thinking of it, shook his head over the fire,--and not only once, but shook it again, which was a great deal of trouble for him to take. having thus exerted his altruistic interest to the utmost, richard mivane relapsed into his normal placidity. he leaned back in his arm-chair, the only one at the station, fingering his gold-lined silver snuffbox, with its chain and ladle, his eyes dwelling calmly on the fire, and his thoughts busy with far away and long ago. he was old enough now to enter into the past as a sort of heritage, a promised land which memory had glozed with a glamour that can never shine upon the uncertain aspects of the future. the burning sense of regret, the anguish of nostalgia, the relinquishment of an accustomed sphere, its prospects and ideals, the revolt against the uncouth and rude conditions of the new status, the gradual reluctant naturalization to a new world,--these were forgotten save as the picturesque elements of sorrow and despair that balanced the joys, the interest, the devil-may-care joviality, the adventure, the strange wild companionship,--all that made the tale worth rehearsing in the flare and the flicker of the fireside glow. the rains had come. the dark slate-tinted clouds hung low over the station, but every log house, freshly dight with whitewash of the marly clay, after the indian method, still shone in the shadow as if the sun were upon it. the turf was green, despite the passing of many feet, and where a slight depression held water, a few ducks, carolina bred, were quacking and paddling about; now and then these were counted with great interest, for they had a trick of taking to the woods with others of their kind, and relapsing to savagery,--truly distressing to the domestic poultry prospects of the station. the doors of the mivane cabin were all ajar,--the one at the rear opening into a shed-room, unfloored, which gave a vista into more sheds, merely roofed spaces, inclosed at either end. a loom was in the shed-room, and at it was seated on the bench in front, as a lady sits at an organ, the mistress of the house, fair but faded, in a cap and a short gown and red quilted petticoat, giving some instruction, touching an intricate weave, to a negro woman, neatly arrayed in homespun, with a gayly turbaned head, evidently an expert herself, from the bland and smiling manner and many self-sufficient and capable nods with which she perceived and appropriated the knotty points of the discourse. in the outer shed, cã¦sar, clad like the indians and the pioneers in buckskin, was mending the plough-gear, and talking with great loquacity to another negro, of the type known then and later as "the new nigger," the target of the plantation jokes, because of his "greenness," being of a fresh importation. he possibly remembered much of africa, but he accepted without demur and with admiring and submissive meekness stories of the great sights that cã¦sar protested he had seen there,--vauxhall gardens and temple bar (which last cã¦sar thought in his simplicity was a bar for the refreshment of the inner man) and a certain resort indisputably for that purpose called white's chocolate house,--all represented as pleasantly and salubriously situated in the interior of guinea. but after all, if a story is well told, why carp at slight anachorisms? richard mivane's attention had been diverted from the thread of his own reminiscences by the fact that the little flax-wheel of peninnah penelope anne had ceased to whirl, and the low musical monody of its whir that was wont to bear a pleasant accompaniment to the burden of his thoughts was suddenly silent. he lifted his eyes and saw that she was gazing dreamily into the flare of the great fire, the spinning-wheel still, the end of the thread motionless in her hand. the burnished waves of her golden brown hair were pushed a bit awry, and her face was so wan and thoughtful that even her dress of crimson wool did not lessen its pallor. the voices of the three children on the floor grated on the old man's mood as they were busied in defending a settler's fort, insecurely constructed of stones and sticks, and altogether roofless, garrisoned by a number of pebbles, while a poke full of wily indian kernels of corn swarmed to the attack. "why is my pretty pet so idle?" he asked, for while the wheel should whirl he could dream. she made no answer, only turned her troubled, soft hazel eyes upon him. "and have you seen a wolf, too, that you have lost your tongue?" at the word "wolf" she burst into tears. and then, discarding all caution in the breaking down of her reserve, she sprang up, overturning the wheel and rushing to his chair. now richard mivane had never encouraged his grandchildren to clamber over his chair. he protested great fear of the sticky fingers of the more youthful in contact with his preternaturally fine clothes; he declared they reminded him of squirrels, which he detested; he was not sure they did not look like rats. all this was of great effect; for his many contemptuous whimsical prejudices were earnestly respected. for instance, whenever 'possum was served at the pioneer board they who partook carried their plates for the purpose to a side table. "the look of the animal's tail is enough for me--it curls," he would say. "so does a pig's tail curl," his son used to remonstrate sensibly. "not having kept a straight course so long,--then twirling up deceitfully like a second thought. this fellow is a monstrosity,--and his wife has a pocket for a cradle,--and i don't know who they are nor where they came from,--they were left over from before the flood, perhaps,--they look somehow prehistoric to me. i am not acquainted with the family." and turning his head aside he would wave away the dainty, the delight of the pioneer epicure time out of mind. the diplomatic reason, however, that richard mivane was wont to shove off his grandchildren from the arm of that stately chair was that here they got on his blind side,--his simple, grandfatherly, affectionate predilection. the touch of them, their scrambling, floundering, little bodies, their soft pink cheeks laid against his, their golden hair in his clever eyes, their bright glances at close range,--he was then like other men and could deny them nothing! his selfishness, his vanity, his idleness, his frippery were annulled in the instant. he was resolved into the simple constituent elements of a grandfather, one part doting folly, one part loving pride, and the rest leniency, and he was as wax in their hands. none of them had so definitely realized this, accurately discriminating cause and effect, as peninnah penelope anne. she felt safe the moment that she was perched on the arm of her grandfather's chair, her soft clasp about his stiff old neck, her tears flowing over her cheeks, all pink anew, escaping upon his wrinkled, bloodless, pale visage and taking all the starch out of his old-fashioned steinkirk. he struggled futilely once or twice, but she only hugged him the closer. "oh, don't let him go! oh, don't let him go!" she cried. "the wolf that we were talking about? by no means! lovely creature that he is! we'll preserve, if you like, wolves instead of pheasants! i remember a gentleman's estate in northumberland--a little beyond the river"-"oh, grandfather, don't let him go!" she sobbingly interrupted. "it was he who shot the wolf and stampeded the herds, and the cow-drivers will quarrel with him when they would not have angry words with another ambassador. they will kill him! they will kill him!" "what for? poaching?--shooting their wolf?" "any one else would be safe, grandfather--except poor ralph!" "go yourself then. may-day!" "i would, grandfather! i would not be afraid!" she put her soft little hand on his cheek to turn his head to look into her confident eyes. "an able and worshipful ambassador!" he said banteringly. "oh, grandfather, this is no time to risk quarrels among the settlers, and bloodshed. oh, the herders would kill him! and the injuns all so unfriendly--they might take the chance to get on the war-path again when the settlers are busy killing each other--and oh, the cow-drivers will kill ralph emsden!" all this persuasion was of necessity in a distinct loud voice; unnoticed, however, for a crisis had supervened in the play of the children by the chimney-place settle, and the sanguinary struggles and scalping in the storming of the fort were blood-curdling to behold to any one with enough imagination to discern a full-armed and fierce savage in a kernel of corn, and a stanch and patriotic carolinian in a pebble. but when peninnah penelope anne, all attuned to this high key, burst out weeping with commensurate resonance, all the vocations of the household came to a standstill, and her mother appeared, surprised and reproving, in the doorway. "peninnah penelope anne," she said with her peculiar exact deliberation and gift of circumlocution, "it is better to go and sew your sampler than to tease your grandfather." "she does not tease me--i have not shed a tear! that was not the sound of my weeping!" he declared facetiously, one arm protectingly about the little sobbing figure. "he does not like his grandchildren to climb about him like squirrels and wild cattle," the lady continued. then irrelevantly, "long stitches were always avoided in our family. the work you last did in your sampler has been taken out, child, and you can sew it again and to better advantage." "and earn your name of penelope," said richard mivane. but he was putting on his hat and evidently had some effort in prospect, for how could he resist,--she looked so childish and appealing as she sat before the fire, weeping those large tears, and absently preparing to sew her sampler anew. while richard mivane, by virtue of his early culture, the scanty remains of his property, his fine-gentleman habits and traditions, and the anomaly of his situation, was the figure of most mark at the station, its ruling spirit was of far alien character. this was john ronackstone, a stanch indian fighter; a far-seeing frontier politician; a man of excellent native faculties, all sharpened by active use and frequent emergencies; skilled and experienced in devious pioneer craft; and withal infinitely stubborn, glorying in the fact of the unchangeableness of his opinions and his immutable abiding by his first statements. after one glance at his square countenance, his steady noncommittal black eyes, the upward bulldog cant of a somewhat massive nose, the firm compression of his long thin lips, one would no more expect him to depart from the conditions of a conclusion than that a signpost would enter into argument and in view of the fatigue of a traveler mitigate and recant its announcement. nevertheless richard mivane expected "some sense," as he phrased it, from this adamantine pioneer. such a man naturally arrogated and obtained great weight among his fellows, and perhaps his lack of vacillation furthered this preã«minence. he was a good man in the main as well as forceful, but an early and a very apt expression of the demagogue. and as he tolerated amongst his mental furniture no illusions and fostered no follies, his home life harbored no fripperies. his domicile was a contrast to the better ordered homes of the station, but here one might have meat and shelter, and what more should mortal ask of a house! he often boasted that not an atom of iron entered into its structure more than into an indian's wigwam. even the clapboards were fastened on to the rafters with wooden pegs in lieu of nails, although nails were not difficult to procure. he had that antagonism to the mere conventions of civilization often manifested by those who have been irked by such fetters before finally casting them off. it was a wholesome life and a free, and if the inmates of the house did not mind the scent of the drying deerskins hanging from the beams, which made the nose of richard mivane very coy, the visitor saw no reason why they should not please themselves. the stone-flagged hearth extended half across the room, and sprawling upon it in frowsy disorder was a bevy of children of all ages, as fat as pigs and as happy-go-lucky. he had hardly seated himself, having stepped about carefully among their chubby fingers and toes lest a crushing disaster supervene, than he regretted his choice of a confidant. he had his own, unsuspected sensitiveness, which was suddenly jarred when the wife in the corner, rocking the cradle with one foot while she turned a hoe-cake baking on the hearth with a dextrous flip of a knife, and feeling secure in his deafness, cast a witty fling at his fastidious apparel. with that frequent yet unexplained phenomenon of acoustics, her voice was so strung that its vibrations reached his numb perceptions as duly as if intended for his ears. he made no sign, in his pride and politeness, both indigenous. but he said to himself, "i don't laugh at her gown,--it is what she likes and what she is accustomed to wear. and why can't she let me dress in peace as i was early trained to do? god knows i feel myself better than nobody." and he was sensible of his age, his infirmity, his isolation, and his jauntiness was eclipsed. thus he entered the race with a handicap, and john ronackstone would hear none of his reasons with grace. he could not and he would not consent to the nomination of an ambassador in the stead of emsden, who had volunteered for the service, which was the more appropriate since it was he who had shot the wolf and brought the stampede and its attendant difficulties upon the herders of the keowee river, and this threat of retaliation upon the blue lick stationers. if there were danger at hand, let a volunteer encounter it! in vain mivane argued that there was danger to no one else. john ronackstone, who found an added liberty of disputation in the emphasis imposed by the necessity of roaring out his immutable opinions in an exceeding loud voice, retorted that so far as he was informed the "cow-drivers" on the keowee were not certain who it was that had committed this atrocity, unless perhaps their messenger during his sojourn at blue lick station had learned the name from "x." but this uncertainty, mivane argued, was the very point of difficulty. it was the maddest folly to dispatch to angry men, smarting under a grievous injury, messages of taunt and defiance by the one person who in their opinion, perhaps, had carelessly or willfully wrought this wrong. his life would pay the forfeit of the folly of his fellow-stationers. mivane noted suddenly that the woman rocking the cradle was laughing with an ostentatious affectation of covert slyness, and a responsive twinkle gleamed in the eyes of john ronackstone. as he caught the grave and surprised glance of his visitor he made a point of dropping the air of a comment aside, which he, as well as she, had insistently brought to notice, and mivane was aware that here was something which sought an opportunity of being revealed as if by necessity. "well, sir," ronackstone began in a tone of a quasi-apology, "we were just saying--that is, i sez to x, who was in here a while ago,--i sez, 'i'll tell you what is goin' to happen,'--i sez, 'old gentleman rick,'--excuse the freedom, sir,--'he'll be wantin' to send somebody else in ralph emsden's place.' x, he see the p'int, just as you see it. he sez, 'somebody that won't be missed--somebody not genteel enough to play loo with him after supper,' sez x. 'or too religious,' sez i. 'or can't sing a good song or tell a rousing tale,' sez x. 'or listen an' laugh in the right places at the gentleman's old cracks about the great world,' sez i. 'he'll never let ralph emsden go,' sez x. 'jus' some poor body will do,' sez i. 'jus' man enough to be scalped by the injuns if the red sticks take after him,' sez x. 'or have his throat cut if the cow-drivers feel rough yet,' sez i. 'jus' such a one ez me,' sez x. 'or me,' sez i." "sir," said old mivane, rising, and the impressive dignity of his port was such that the cradle stopped rocking as if a spell were upon it, and every child paused in its play, sprawling where it lay, "i am obliged to you for your polite expression of opinion of me, which i have never done aught to justify. i have nothing more to urge upon the question of the details which brought me hither, but of one thing be certain,--if emsden does not go upon this mission _i_ shall be the ambassador. i apprehend no danger whatever to myself, and i wish you a very good day." and he stepped forth with his wonted jaunty alacrity, leaving the man and his wife staring at each other with as much surprise as if the roof had fallen in. a greater surprise awaited mivane without. the rain was falling anew. in vast transparent tissues it swept with the gusty wind over the nearest mountains of the great smoky range, whose farther reaches were lost in fog. the slanting lines, vaguely discerned in the downpour, almost obliterated the presence of the encompassing forests about the stockade. he noted how wildly the great trees were yet swaying, and he realized, for he could not have heard the blast, that a sudden severe wind-storm had passed over the settlement while he was within doors. the blockhouse, the tallest of the buildings, loomed up darkly amidst the gathering gray vapor, and through the great gates of the stockade, which opened on the blank cloud, were coming at the moment several men bearing a rude litter, evidently hastily constructed. on this was stretched the insensible form of ralph emsden, who had been stricken down in the woods with a dislocated shoulder and a broken arm by the falling of a branch of a great tree uprooted by the violence of the gusts. he had almost miraculously escaped being crushed, and was not fatally hurt, but examination disclosed that he was absolutely and hopelessly disabled for the time being, and richard mivane realized that he himself was the duly accredited ambassador to the herders on the keowee river. he went home in a pettish fume. no sooner was he within and the door fast shut, that none might behold save only those of his own household, who were accustomed to the aberrations of his temper and who regarded them with blended awe and respect, than he reft his cocked hat from his head and flung it upon the floor. peninnah penelope anne sprang up so precipitately at the dread sight that she overturned her stool and drew a stitch awry in her sampler, longer than the women of her family were accustomed to take. the children gazed spellbound. the weavers at the loom were petrified; even the creak of the treadle and the noisy thumping of the batten--those perennial sounds of a pioneer home--sunk into silence. the two negroes at the end of the vista beyond the shed-room, with the ox-yoke and plough-gear which they were mending between them, opened wide mouths and became immovable save for the whites of astonished rolling eyes. then, and this exceeded all precedent, richard mivane clutched his valued peruke and, with an inward plaintive deprecation of the extremity of this act of desperation, he cast it upon the hat, and looked around, bald, despairing, furious, and piteous. it was, however, past the fortitude of woman to behold without protest this desecration of decoration. peninnah penelope anne sprang forward, snatched the glossy locks from the puncheons, and with a tender hand righted the structure, while the powder flew about in light puffs at her touch, readjusting a curl here and a cleverly wrought wave there. the valet's pious aspiration from the doorway, "bress de lord!" betokened the acuteness of the danger over-past. "why, grandfather!" the girl admonished mivane; "your beautiful peruke!--sure, sir, the loveliest curls in the world! and sets you like your own hair,--only that nobody _could really_ have such very genteel curls to grow--oh--oh--grandfather!" she did not offer to return it, but stood with it poised on one hand, well out of harm's way, while she surveyed mivane reproachfully yet with expectant sympathy. perhaps he himself was glad that he could wreak no further damage which he would later regret, and contented himself with furiously pounding his cane upon the puncheon floor, a sturdy structure and well calculated to bear the brunt of such expressions of pettish rage. "dolt, ass, fool, that i am!" he cried. "that i should so far forget myself as to offer to go as an ambassador to the herders on the keowee!" and once more he banged the floor after a fashion that discounted the thumping of the batten, and the room resounded with the thwacks. an old dog, a favorite of yore, lying asleep on the hearth, only opened his eyes and wrinkled his brows to make sure, it would seem, who had the stick; then closing his lids peacefully snoozed away again, presently snoring in the fullness of his sense of security. but a late acquisition, a gaunt deerhound, after an earnest observation of his comrade's attitude, as if referring the crisis to his longer experience, scrutinized severally the faces of the members of the family, and, wincing at each resounding whack, finally gathered himself together apprehensively, as doubtful whose turn might come next, and discreetly slunk out unobserved by the back door. peninnah penelope anne rushed to the rescue. "and why should you not be an ambassador, sir?" she demanded. "why--why--because, girl, i am deafer than the devil's dam! i cannot fetch and carry messages of import. i could only give occasion for ridicule and scorn in even offering to assume such an office." peninnah penelope anne had flushed with the keen sensitiveness of her pride. she instantly appreciated the irking of the dilemma into which he had thrust himself forgetting his infirmity, and she could have smitten with hearty enmity and a heavy stick any lips which had dared to smile. she responded, however, with something of her mother's indirection. "under your favor, sir, you don't know how deaf the devil's dam may be--and it is not your wont to speak in that strain. i'm sure it reminds me of that man they call 'x,'--a sort of churl person,--who talks of the devil and blue blazes and brimstone and hell as if--as if he were a native." this was a turning of the sword of the pious "x" upon himself with a vengeance, for he was prone in his spiritual disquisitions to detail much of the discomfort of the future state that awaited his careless friends. the allusion so far pleased old mivane, who resented a suspected relegation of himself to a warm station in the schemes of "x," that, although his head was still bald and shining like a billiard ball, he suffered himself to drop into his chair, his stick resting motionless on the long-suffering puncheon floor. "if i could only hear for a day i'd forgive twenty soundless years!" he declared piteously, for he so deprecated the enforced withdrawal from the enterprise that he had heedlessly undertaken, and felt so keenly the reflections upon his sentiments and sincerity surreptitiously canvassed between ronackstone and "x," and then cavalierly rehearsed in his presence. "you are only deaf to certain whanging voices in queer keys," his granddaughter declared. "and how do i know in what sort of key the herders on the keowee talk? they may 'moo' like the cow, or 'mew' like the cat! i should be in danger of losing half that was said. and that is what these varlets here in the station know right well. it must seem but a mere bit of bombast on my part. it could never be seriously countenanced--unless i had an interpreter. stop me! but if you were a grandson instead of a granddaughter, i would not mind taking you with me to interpret for me, though, gadzooks, i'd be like a heathen red injun with a linguister!" "and why am i not as good as any grandson?" demanded peninnah penelope anne, with a spirited flash of her bright hazel eyes and great temerity of speculation; for be it remembered the days of the theories of woman's equality with man had not yet dawned. "sure, sir, i can speak when i am spoken to. i understand the english language; and"--her voice rising into a liquid crescendo of delight--"i can wear my gray sergedusoy sack made over my carnation taffeta bodice and cashmere petticoat, all pranked out with bows of black velvet, most genteel, and my hat of quilled primrose sarcenet, grandfather. i'd take them in a bundle, for if we should have rain i would rather be in my old red hood and blue serge riding-coat on the way, grandfather." and thus it was settled before she had fairly readjusted the peruke on his head as he sat in his great chair and she clambered on its arm. she had not heard of the disaster that had befallen ralph emsden, and she turned rather pale and wistful when the news was communicated to her. then realizing how opportune was the accident, how slight was its ultimate danger in comparison with the jeopardy of the mission from which he was rescued, she fairly gloated upon the chance which had conferred it upon her grandfather, and made her an instrument in its execution. it was a queerly assorted embassy that rode out of the gates of the stockade, the ambassador and his linguister. richard mivane was mounted upon a strong, sprightly horse, with peninnah penelope anne behind him upon a pillion. following them at a little distance came his body-servant, cã¦sar, more fitted by temperament than either to enjoy the change, the spirit of adventure, and reveling in a sense of importance which was scarcely diminished by the fact that it was vicarious. he rode a sturdy nag and had charge of a led horse, that bore a pack-saddle with a store of changes of raiment, of edible provisions, and tents to fend off the chances of inclement weather. they were to travel under the protection of a trader's pack-train, from a reã«stablished trading-house in the overhill towns of the cherokees on the tennessee river; and so accurately did they time their departure and the stages of their journey that they met this caravan just at the hour and place designated, and risked naught from the unsettled state of the country or an encounter with some ignorant or inimical savage, prone to wreak upon inoffensive units vengeance for wrongs, real or fancied, wrought by a nation. the trader, being a man habituated by frequent sojourns in charlestown to metropolitan customs and a worldly trend of thought, instantly recognized the quality of mivane and his granddaughter, despite the old red hood and blue serge riding-coat and their residence here so far from all the graces that appertain to civilization; though, to be sure, richard mivane, in his trim "joseph," his head cowled in an appropriate "trotcozy," and his jaunty self-possession quite restored by the cutting of the gordian knot of his dilemma, demonstrating his capacity to duly perform all his undertakings, bore himself in a manner calculated to enhance even the high estimation of his fellow-traveler. after the custom of a gentleman, however, he was most augustly free from unwarrantable self-assertion, but he could not have failed to be flattered by the phrase of the trader, could he have heard it, in delivering over his charge to the herders on the keowee river. "gadzooks, neighbors, but i shouldn't be a whit surprised if that old party is a duke in disguise!" but the cow-drivers heard him not! they hardly heeded the coming and the going of the pack-train and their gossips the packmen! they cared naught for the news the caravan brought of the country-side far above, nor the commissions they were wont to give for the various settlements and the metropolis far below! for so featly came riding in to the humble prosaic precincts of the cow-pens and into their hearts the vernal beauty of spring herself, the living bloom of charm and love, all arrayed in delicate gray sergedusoy opening upon carnation taffeta, and crowned with sheer quillings of primrose sarcenet, with a cheek that repeated these roseate tints and a glint of golden brown tresses curling softly against a nape of pearl, that the ranchmen were bewitched and dazed, and knew no more of good common-sense. their equilibrium thus shaken, some busied themselves in what might be called "housewifely cares," that the dainty visitant might be acceptably lodged and fed, and afterward they cursed their industry and hospitality that thus left her conversation and charming aspect to the shirks and drones, who languished about her, and affected to seek her comfort and minister to her entertainment. for the cow-drivers, like the other pioneer settlers of that region and day, represented various states of society and degrees of refinement, and to those to whom she was not as a blissful reminiscence of long ago, she appeared as a revelation, new and straight from heaven, a fancy, a dream! it seemed meet to them that she arrived in the illusory sunset of a sweet spring day, like some lovely forecast of the visions of the night. with their artless bucolic ideals of entertainment they invited her out to show her the new calves. one of these little creatures, being exquisitely white and eminently pleasing to look upon, was straightway named, with her gracious permission, "peninnah penelope anne," and she was assured that because of this name its owner, a slim, sentimental, red-haired youth, would never part from it. and it may be presumed that he was sincere, and that at the time of this fervent asseveration he had not realized the incongruity of living his life out in the constant heed of the well-being and companionship of a large white cow of the name of "peninnah penelope anne." a more interesting denizen of the pen was a fawn, a waif found there one morning, having prudently adopted as a mother a large red cow, and a heavy brindled calf as a foster-brother. the instant peninnah admired this incongruous estray, bleating its queer alien note in resonant duet with the calf in the plea for supper, a cord was slipped about its neck and it was presented in due form. in order that she might not be harassed by its tendance, a gigantic scotch herder, six feet six inches high and twenty-five years of age, showed how far involuntary inanity can coexist with presumptive sanity as he led it about, the creature holding back heavily at every step and now and again tangling itself, its cord, and its disconcerted bleats about its conductor's long and stalwart legs. another of the herders,--all of whom were hunters and explorers as well,--whose mind was of a topographical cast, introduced her to much fine and high company in the various mountain peaks, gathered in solemn symposium dark and purple in the faintly tinted and opaline twilight. he repeated their cherokee names and gave an english translation, and called her attention to marks of difference in their configuration which rendered them distinguishable at a distance; and when she lent some heed to this and noted on the horizon contours of the mountains about her home, faint and far in an elusive amethystine apotheosis against the red and flaming west, and called out her glad recognition in a voice as sweet as a thrush, his comrades waxed jealous, and contravened his statements and argued and wrangled upon landmarks to which they had never before given a second thought in all their mountaineering experience, so keenly they competed for her favor. it was her little day of triumph, and right royally she reigned in it and was wont to tell of it for forty years thereafter! at last the dusk was slipping down; the mountains grew a shadowy gray far away and a looming black close at hand; a star palpitated in the colorless crystal-clear concave of the fading skies; the vernal stretch of the savannas, whose intense green was somehow asserted till the latest glimmer of light, ceased to resound with the voices of the herds; only here and there a keen metallic note of a bell clanked forth and was silent, and again the sound came from a farther pen like a belated echo; the fire flaring out from the open door of the nearest hut of the ranchmen's little hamlet gave a pleasant sense of hospitality and homely hearth-side cheer, for it requires only a few nights under a tent or the open canopy of heaven to make a woman, always the most artificially disposed of all creatures, exceedingly respectful to a roof. to be sure the interior of this roof was well garnished with cobwebs, and peninnah penelope anne's mother was so notable a housekeeper and had inculcated such horror of these untoward drapings and festoons that the girl was compelled to look sedulously away from them to avoid staring in amazement at their morbid development and proportions. the superintendent of the ranch--being an establishment of magnitude it had several sub-agents also--was so occupied in putting the best foot of his menage foremost, not being prepared for such company that, like many a modern housekeeper, he let the opportunity for pleasure slip. when he proffered tea--he had sent a negro servant all the way to fort prince george for the luxury, where it could be found among the hospital stores, for tea was too mild a tipple for the pioneer cow-drivers--he suffered the egregious mortification of pouring out plain hot water, having forgotten to put in the tea leaves to steep. he looked very hot and ruefully distressed as he repaired his error, and would not, could not meet the laughing eyes of his comrades, nor yet the polite glances of his guests resolutely seeing naught amiss. he was oppressed with a sense of the number and prominence of his dogs about the wide hearth of his cabin; when the animals were therefore vigorously kicked out to make more space, instead of retiring with the usual plaintive yelp of protest appropriate to such occasions they took advantage of the presence of guests of distinction and made the rafters ring and resound with their ear-splitting shrieks, and it was even necessary to chase them about the room before they could be ejected. indeed, several with super-canine strategy succeeded in countermarching their tormentors and remained in the group about the fire, wearing that curiously attentive look peculiar to an intelligent animal when animated conversation is in progress. the blazing fire in the great chimney-place, that stretched almost half across one end of the herder's cabin, illumined the walls and showed the medley of articles suspended upon them,--horns, whips, branding-irons, skins, cattle-bells, lariats, and such-like appurtenances of the ranch. the little lady was seated in the centre of the group of ranchmen ranged in a wide semicircle about the hearth of flagstones; the ethereal tints of her shimmering attire showed all their highlights; her face and golden brown hair seemed particularly soft and delicate in contrast with the rough tousled heads and bearded countenances about her; here and there the muzzle of a great animal, the flash of fangs and red glow of formidable jaws, were half discriminated amidst the alternate flare of the flames and flicker of the shadows,--all might have suggested the "mystick crew of comus" to richard mivane, being the only person present who had ever heard of that motley company, had not his thoughts been otherwise engrossed. he meditatively cleared his throat, took a sip of brandy and water, for he had long ago lost his genteel affiliations with tea, and hopefully opened the subject of his mission. a change fell upon the scene, instant, definite, complete. in the mere broaching of business it might seem that beauty and charm are but tenuous at best, and powerless to subdue the fiercer nature of man when his acquisitive and aggressive commercial instincts are aroused. one of the most devout admirers of peninnah penelope anne tossed his head with a very bellicose and bovine obduracy when he intimated an incredulity of the statement that the herd had been stampeded without an ulterior motive of malice or nefarious profit. the gentle soul who had assumed the tendance and protection of the fawn held down as he listened a shaggy intent head, like that of a bull about to charge, at the mere mention of the shooting of the wolf. in fact, the suggestion of shadowy monsters which the dusky flicker and evanescent flare of the fire fostered and which was intensified by the proximity of open jaws, sharp fangs, heavy muzzles, and standing bristles amongst them, owed much of its effect to the unanimous expression of truculent challenge and averse disfavor. there were frequent confirmatory emphatic nods of great disheveled heads, the scarlet flushing of angry faces, already florid, and now and again a violent descriptive gesture of a long brawny arm with a clenched fist at its extremity. richard mivane's well-rounded periods and gentlemanly phrasings were like the educated thrusts and feints of an expert fencer who opposes his single rapier to the bludgeons and missiles of a furious mob. he saw in less than five minutes that the scheme of extenuation and conciliation was futile, that retort and retaliation would be returned in kind, that the stoppage of the pack-train from blue lick on the way to charlestown was inevitable, and that the redcoats, invoked by both parties, would doubtless become embroiled with one or the other,--in short, bloodshed was a foregone conclusion. much as this was to be deprecated in any event, it was suicidal amongst these infant settlements by reason of the vicinage and antagonism of the fierce and only half-subdued cherokees, sullenly nourishing schemes of revenge for their recent defeat and many woes. but when he urged this upon the attention of the herders, the retort came quick and pointed: "we ain't talkin' 'bout no injuns!--the cherokees never meddled with our cattle! we'll settle about the stampede first, an' 'tend to the cherokees in good time--all in good time!" richard mivane was not possessed of much affinity with the ruder primitive qualities, the stalwart candor and uncultured forces of the natural man; and never had these inherent elements appeared to less advantage in his mind than when he was brought into disastrous conflict with them. he only held his ground for form's sake, and often his voice was overborne by the clamors of many responsive tones, all blaring and arguing together. much that was said he could not hear, and refrained from speaking when he perceived from the loud contending faces that he was denied for the nonce a rejoinder. but ever and anon the silver vibrations of the little linguister's voice rose into the big bass tumult as she rehearsed what had been said for her grandfather's benefit, and the angry rush of sound stopped with an abrupt recoil for a moment, then surged on as before. she looked very mild and petite among them, quite like a sedate child, her cheeks pinker than any of the rose tints of her apparel that were her pride, her lips red and breathlessly parted, her eyes bright and very watchful, her golden brown hair all red gold in the flicker of the fire. there was one wild taunting threat that she did not repeat, as if she thought it of no consequence,--the threat of personal violence against ralph emsden. they had found out his name patly enough from their own messenger to blue lick station. they would take out their grudge against him on his hide, they averred,--if they had to go all the way to blue lick to get it! now and again they sufficiently remembered that indeterminate quantum of courtesy which they called their "manners" to interpolate "no offense to _you_, sir," or "begging the lady's pardon." throughout she preserved a cool, almost uncomprehending, passive manner; and it was in one of the moments of a heady tumult of words, in which they sometimes involved themselves beyond all interpretation or distinguishment, that she observed with a sort of childish inconsequence that they could get ralph emsden easily enough if they would go to blue lick station,--he was there now, and his arm and shoulder were so hurt that he would not be able to make off,--they could get him easily enough, that is, if the french did not raze blue lick station before the herders could reach there. if a bomb had exploded in the midst of the hearthstone, the astonishment that ensued upon this simple statement could not have been greater. a sudden blank silence supervened. a dozen excited infuriated faces, the angry contortions of the previous moment still stark upon their features, were bent upon her while their eyes stared only limitless amazement. "the french!" the herders cried at last in chorus. "blue lick station!" "it was razed once," she said statistically, "to the ground. the cherokees did it that time!" her grandfather, always averse to admit that he did not hear, noted the influx of excitement, and was fain to lean forward. he even placed his hand behind his ear. "the french!" bellowed out one of the cow-drivers in a voice that might have graced the king of the herds. "the french! threatening blue lick station!" the elderly gentleman drew back from, the painful surcharged vibrations of sound and the unseemly aspect of this interpreter, who was in good sooth like a bull in disguise. "to be sure--the french," richard mivane said in response, repeating the only words which he had heard. "our nearest white neighbors--the dangerous alabama garrison!" a tumult of questions assailed the little linguister. "be they mightily troubled at blue lick station?" asked one sympathetically. the little flower-like head was nodded with meaning, deep and serious. "oh, sure!" she cried. "and having the cow-pens against them too--'tis sad!" "zooks!" cried the bull in disguise, with a snort. "the cow-pens ain't against 'em--when the french are coming!" "why haven't they sent word to the soldiers?" demanded another of the cow-drivers suspiciously. "the soldiers?" she exclaimed incredulously. "why--the cow-pens sent word that the soldiers were against blue lick too, and were going to stop the station's pack-train. maybe the stationers were afraid of the soldiers." to a torrent of questions as to how the news had first come, how the menace lowered, what disposition for defense the stationers could make, the little girl seemed bewildered. she only answered definitely and very indifferently that they could easily get ralph emsden if they would go now to blue lick, and take his hide,--that is, if the french and their choctaw indians had not already possessed themselves of that valuable integument,--as if this were their primal object. "why, god-a-mercy, child," cried the superintendent of the ranch, "this news settles all scores; when it comes to a foreign foe the colonists are brothers." "and besides," admitted one of the most truculent of the cow-drivers, "the cattle are all pretty well rounded in again; i doubt if more are lost than the wolves would have pulled down anyhow." "and the blue lick stationers' horses can be herded easy enough,--they are all on their old grass,--and be driven up to the settlement." a courier had been sent off full tilt to the commandant at fort prince george, and night though it was, a detail of mounted soldiers appeared presently with orders to escort the ambassador and his linguister into the presence of that officer. for this intelligence was esteemed serious indeed. although hostilities had now practically ceased in america, the seven years' war being near its end, and peace negotiations actually in progress, still the treaty had not been concluded. so far on the frontier were such isolated garrisons as this of fort prince george, so imperfect and infrequent were their means of communicating with the outside world, that they were necessarily in ignorance of much that took place elsewhere, and a renewal of the conflict might have supervened long before their regular advices from headquarters could reach them. even a chance rumor might bring them their first intimation of a matter of such great import to them. therefore the commandant attached much significance to this account of an alarm at blue lick station, because of a menace from the nearest french at fort toulouse, often called in that day, by reason of this propinquity, "the dangerous alabama garrison." for this reason, also, the hospitable hosts made no protest against the removal of the guests to fort prince george, although it might seem that the age of the one and the tender youth of the other ill fitted them to encounter this sudden transition from the cosy fireside to the raw vernal air on a misty midnight jaunt of a dozen miles through a primeval wilderness. and in truth the little lady seemed loath to leave the hearth; she visibly hesitated as she stood beside her chair with her hand on its back, and looked out at the black night, and the vague vista which the ruddy flare, from the wide door, revealed amidst the dense darkness; at the vanishing point of this perspective stood a group of mounted soldiers, "in column of twos" with two led horses, the scarlet uniforms and burnished accoutrements appearing and disappearing elusively as the flames rose and fell. the sounds of the champing of bits and the pawing of hoofs and the jingle of spurs were keenly clear on the chill rare air and seemed somehow consonant with the frosty glitter of the stars, very high in the black concave of the moonless sky. the smell of the rich mould, permeated with its vernal growths; the cool, distinct, rarefied perfume of some early flower already abloom; the antiphonal chant of frogs roused in the marsh or stream hard by, so imbued her senses with the realization of the hour and season that she never afterward thought of the spring without a vivid renewal of these impressions. her grandfather also seemed vaguely to hold back, even while he slowly mounted his horse; yet aware that naught is so imperative as military authority, it was only his inner consciousness that protested. outwardly he professed alacrity, although in great surprise declaring that he could not imagine what the commandant could want with him. the little linguister, for her part, had no doubts. she was well aware indeed of the cause of the summons, and so dismayed by the prospect was even her doughty heart that the swift ride through the black forest was less terrible to her than the thought of the ordeal of the arrival. but the march was not without its peculiar trials. she shrank in instinctive affright from the unaccustomed escort of a dragoon on either side of her, looming up in the darkness like some phantom of the midnight. even her volition seemed wrested from her by reason of the military training of the troop-horse which she rode;--he whirled about at the command "right-wheel!" ringing out in the darkness in the crisp peremptory tones of the non-commissioned officer, and plunged forward at the words "trot, march!" and adjusted his muscles instantaneously to the acceleration implied in "gallop!" and came to an abrupt and immovable pause at "halt!"--all with no more regard to her grasp on the reins than if she had been a fly on the saddle. as they went the wind beset her with cool, damp buffets on chin and cheek; the overhanging budding boughs, all unseen, drenched her with perfumed dew as she was whisked through their midst; the pace was adopted rather with reference to military custom and the expectation of the waiting commandant than her convenience; at every sudden whirl responsive to the word of command she was in momentary fear of being flung beneath the swiftly trampling hoofs of the horses on either side of her, and despite her recoil from the bigness and bluffness and presumable bloody-mindedness of the two troopers beside her she was sensible of their sympathy as they took heed of the instability with which she bounced about, perched up side-wise on a military saddle. indeed, one was moved to ask her if she would not prefer to be strapped on with a girth, and to offer his belt for the purpose; and the other took the opportunity to gird at the forgetfulness of the cow-drivers to furnish her with her own pillion. nevertheless she dreaded the journey's end; and as they came out of the forests on the banks of the keowee river, and beheld the vague glimmers of the gray day slowly dawning, albeit night was yet in the woods, and the outline of the military works of fort prince george taking symmetry and wonted proportions against the dappled eastern sky, all of blended roseate tints and thin nebulous grays, her heart so sank, she felt so tremulously guilty that had all the sixteen guns from the four bastions opened fire upon her at once she would not have been surprised. no such welcome, however, did the party encounter. the officer commanding it stopped the ambassador and the linguister and let the soldiers go on at a round trot toward the great gate, which stood open, the bayonet on the musket of the sentry shining with an errant gleam of light like the sword of fire at the entrance of paradise. for now the sun was up, the radiance suffusing the blue and misty mountains and the seas of fog in the valleys. albeit its dazzling focus was hardly visible above the eastern heights, it sent a red glow all along the parapet of the covered way and the slope beyond to the river bank, where only two years before captain coytmore, then the commandant, had been murdered at a conference by the treacherous cherokees. the senior officer, captain howard, being absent on leave, the present commandant, a jaunty lieutenant, smart enough although in an undress uniform, was standing at the sally-port now, all bland and smiling, to receive the ambassador and his linguister. he perceived at once that the old gentleman was deaf beyond any save adroit and accustomed communication. he looked puzzled for a moment, then spoke to the sergeant. "and who is this pretty little girl?" he asked. the sergeant, who had heard of her prowess in the havoc of hearts among the herders at the ranch, looked bewildered, then desperate, saluted mechanically, and was circumspectly silent. "i am not a little girl," said peninnah penelope anne mivane with adult dignity. "ah, indeed," said the embarrassed and discomfited officer. then, turning to lead the way, he added civilly, "beg pardon, i'm sure!" if the sight of the sixteen guns on the four bastions of fort prince george had caused peninnah penelope anne to shrink from her normal proportions, not too expansive at best, she dwindled visibly and continually when conducted within the palisaded parapets, across the parade, past the barracks, built for a hundred men but now somewhat lacking their complement, and into the officers' quarters, where in a large mess-hall there sat all the commissioned officers at a table, near the foot of which the two strangers were accommodated with chairs. it had so much the air of a court-martial, despite their bland and reassuring suavity, that peninnah penelope anne, albeit a free lance and serving under no banner but her own whim, had much ado to keep up her courage to face them. naturally she was disposed to lean upon her grandfather, but he utterly failed her. she had never known him so deaf! he could neither hear the officers nor her familiar voice. he would not even tell his name, although she had so often heard him voice it sonorously and in great pride, "richard mivane huntley mivane, youngest son of the late sir alexander mivane huntley mivane, of mivane hall, fenshire, northumberland." now he merely waved his hand to deputize her. in truth he shrank from rehearsing to these young men the reason of his flight from home, his duel and its fatal result, although his pride forbade him to suppress it. he had come to think the cause of quarrel a trifle, and the challenge a wicked folly. it was a bitter and remorseful recollection as his age came on, and its details were edifying in no sense. hence, as peninnah penelope anne knew naught of the story she could not tell it, and he escaped the distasteful pose of a merciless duelist. she gave his name with much pride, noting the respect with which the officers heard it. she accounted for the incongruities of his presence here as the result of a trip from england to the province, where, as she said, "he was detained by the snare of matrimony." it was his own phrase, for as a snare he regarded the holy estate; but the younger of the officers were pleased to find it funny, and ventured to laugh; whereat she grew red and silent, and they perforce became grave again that they might hear of the french. here she was vague and discursive, and prone to detail at great length the feud between the blue lick stationers and the "cow-drivers" on the keowee, evidently hoping that it might lie within the latitude of the commandant's military authority to take some order with the herder gentry,--for which they would not have thanked her in the least! but the officers of the garrison of fort prince george had thought for naught but the french, and now and again conferred dubiously together on the unsatisfactory points of her evidence. "do you suppose she really knows anything about it?" the commandant said aside to one of his advisers. suddenly, however, her grandfather's hearing improved, and they were able to elicit from him the reports which he had had at second hand from the cow-drivers themselves, in retailing which he honestly conceived that he was repeating genuine news, never dreaming that the information had blossomed forth from his own mission. while less circumstantial and satisfactory than the commandant could have wished, the details were too significant and serious of import to be ignored, and therefore he acted upon his information as far as it was developed. he ordered out a scouting party of ten men, and, that he might utilize blue lick station as an outpost in some sort where they might find refuge and aid, he dispatched to the settlement a present of gunpowder to serve in the defense of the station, in case of attack by the french, and two of the small coehorns of that day, each of which could be carried between two men, to assist the little piece already at the station. in return for the prospective courtesy and shelter to his troops, he wrote a very polite letter urging the settlers to hold out if practicable, relying on his succor with men, ammunition, and provisions; but if compelled to give way, assuring the stationers of a welcome at fort prince george. the herders at the cow-pens on the keowee had also determined to reinforce blue lick station, and with a number of the runaway horses of the settlers, rounded up and driven in strings, several of them set forth with the british soldiers from the fort. in this company richard mivane and his grand daughter also took their way to blue lick station in lieu of waiting for a pack-train with provisions from charlestown, as they had anticipated. it was a merry camping party as they fared along through the wilderness, and she had occasion to make many sage observations on the inconsistency and the unwisdom of man! that the prospect of killing some frenchman, or being themselves cruelly killed, in a national quarrel which neither faction, the cow-drivers nor the blue lick stationers, half understood, should so endear men to each other was a sentiment into which she could not enter. it was better, after all, to be a woman, she said to herself, and sit soberly at home and sew the rational sampler, and let the world wag on as it would and the cutthroats work their wild will on each other. the least suggestion that brought the thought of the french to their minds was received with eyes alight, and nerves aquiver, and blood all in a rush. the favorite of the whole camp was a young fellow who had achieved that enviable station by virtue of an inane yet inconceivably droll intonation of the phrase, "bong chure" _(bon jour_), delivered at all manner of unconformable times and in inappropriate connections, and invariably greeted with shouts of laughter. and when at last the party reached the vicinity of blue lick and the stationers swarmed out to meet them, taking the news of the french invasion at second hand, each repeating it to the other, and variously recounting it back again, never dreaming that it was supposed to have originally issued from the station, she meditated much upon this temperamental savagery in man, and the difficulty it occasioned in conforming him to those sagacious schemes for his benefit which she nourished in her inventive little pate. the antagonisms of the blue lick stationers and the cow-drivers from the keowee vanished like mist. on the one hand the stationers were assured that the stampede of the cattle was now regarded as inadvertent, and although it had occasioned an immense deal of vexatious trouble to the ranchmen, all were now well rounded up and restored to the cow-pens as of yore. and the ranchmen in turn received a thousand thanks for their neighborly kindness in the restoration of the horses of the blue lick stationers, who knew that the animals had not been decoyed off by the herders, as a malicious report sought to represent, but had merely returned to their "old grass," according to their homing propensities. and both parties loved the british soldiers, who had reinforced them, and intended to go a-scouting with the military expedition; and the soldiers earnestly reciprocated by assisting in the preparations for the defense of the station. especially active and efficient was the only artilleryman among them, and the paradisaic peace amidst all the preparations for war was so complete that his acrid scorn of that pride of the settlement, the little swivel gun, and of the stationers' methods of handling it, occasioned not even a murmur of resentment. peninnah penelope anne, although restored to private life and the maternal domicile, having retired from statecraft and the functions of linguister to the embassy, did not altogether escape public utility in these bellicose preparations. the young gunner, who had had the opportunity of observing her during the march hither, shortly applied to her for assistance in his professional devoir. he wanted a deft-handed young person to construct the cartridge-bags for the ammunition which he was fixing for the little piece and the two coehorns. and thus it chanced that she found herself in the blockhouse, cheek by jowl with the little cannon, its grisly muzzle now looking out of the embrasure where she herself had once been fond of taking observations of the stockade entrance; the men came and went and speculated upon the chances of the scouting quest, now about to set forth, while spurs clanking, ramrods rattling down into gun-barrels, voices lifted in argument or joyous resonance, made the whitewashed walls ring anew. the gunner, seated at a table carefully and accurately measuring out the powder, now and again urged strict cautions against the lighting of pipes or striking of sparks from gun-flints. when he applied himself briskly to the cutting out of more bags from flannel for his cartridges, he looked very harmless and domestic in his solicitude to follow his wooden pattern, or "pathron" as he called it, for the creature was irish. he gave minute and scrupulous directions to peninnah penelope anne to sew the cylinder with no more than twelve stitches to the inch, and to baste down the seams, "now, moind ye that!--ivery wan!--that no powther might slip through beyant!" in the pride of the expert he was chary of commendation and eyed critically the circular bottom of every bag before he filled it with powder. "see that, now," he said, snipping briskly with the scissors; "that string of woolen yarn that yez left there, a-burnin' away outside, might burst the whole gun, an' ivery sowl in the blockhouse would be kilt intirely,--moind ye that, now!--an they would n't be the frenchies, nayther!" he gave her a keen warning glance at rather close range, then once more renewed his labors. the mockingbirds were singing in the woods outside. the sun was in the trees. the leafage had progressed beyond the bourgeoning period and the branches flung broad green splendors of verdure to the breeze. the great smoky mountains were hardly less blue than the sky as the distant summits deployed against the fair horizon; only the nearest, close at hand, were sombre, and showed dark luxuriant foliage and massive craggy steeps, and their austere, silent, magnificent domes looked over the scene with solemn uplifting meanings. oh, life! life was so sweet, and love and friendship were so easy to come by and so hard to part withal, and glad, oh, glad was she that no men of the french nation or any other were on their march hitherward to be torn in cruel lacerations by those wicked cartridges, so cleverly and artfully and cheerfully constructed,--men with homes, wives, mothers, sisters, children, every soldier representing to some anxious, tender heart a whole world, a microcosm of affection, all illuminated with hope and joy or to be clouded with grief and terror and loss and despair,--oh, glad, glad was she that the french invasion was but a figment,--a tissue of misconceptions and vague innuendoes and groundless assumptions. and yet she was sad and sorry and ashamed, because of the futile bustle and bluster and cheerful courageous activity about her. not a cheek had blenched; not a hand had trembled; not a voice had been lifted to protest or counsel surrender, despite their meagre capacities for defense and their number, but a handful. what would these men say to her if they knew that their patriotism and their valor were expended in vain,--above all, their mutual cause of quarrel wasted!--as pretty a bit of neighborhood spite as ever stopped a bullet--all foolishly and needlessly reconciled without a blow! she had saved them from a bloody feud, the chances of which were terrifying to her for their own sakes. but what would they say when discovery should come! still, it might never come. and yet, should they patrol the woods in vain and at last disperse and return each to his own home, she had no placidity in prospect,--she was troubled and sad and her sorry heart was heavy. her scheme had succeeded beyond her wildest hopes. her beneficent artifice had fully worked its mission. and now, since there was no more to be done, she had time to repent her varied deceits. was it right? she asked herself in conscientious alarm, not the less sincere because belated. ought she to have interfered, with what forces it was possible for her limited capacity to wield? had they an inalienable right to cut each other's throats? should she have so presumed? and now-"howly moses!" a voice in shrill agitation broke in upon her preoccupation. "an' is it sheddin' tears ye are upon the blessed gunpowther? sure the colleen's crazed! millia murther! the beautiful ca'tridges is ruint intoirely! any man moight be proud an' plazed to be kilt by the loikes o' them! how many o' them big wathery tears have yez been after sheddin' into aich o' them lovely ca'tridges?" he had risen; one hand was laid protectingly upon the completed pile of fixed ammunition as if to ward off the damping influences of her woe, while he ruefully contemplated the suspected cartridge bags, all plump and tidy and workmanlike, save for their possible charge of tears. she made no answer, but sat quite motionless upon her low stool, a cartridge bag unfinished in her lap, her golden brown curls against the cannon, still weeping her large tears and looking very small. his clamors brought half the force to the scene of the disturbance. a keen question here, an inference heedfully taken there, and the situation was plain! in the abrupt pause in this headlong career it was difficult to sustain one's poise. now and again, indeed, sheepish conscious glances were interchanged; for since the grievance of the cow-drivers had been publicly annulled and the horses of the blue lick stationers had been restored in pure neighborly good-will, a resumption of the quarrel on the old invalid scores was impossible. perhaps some token of their displeasure might have been visited upon her who had inaugurated so bold and extensive a wild goose chase, but she looked so small as she sat by the cannon weeping her large tears that she disarmed retaliation. so small she looked, indeed, that certain of the young blades, who filed in to gaze upon her and filed out again, would not believe that she could have invented so large a french invasion, and for several days they futilely scouted the woods in search of some errant "parlez-vous," all of whom, however, were very discreetly tucked away within the strong defenses of fort toulouse. the young gunner alone was implacable. he was the first of the returning force to reach fort prince george, and he carried with him all the powder that had been sent under mistake to the blue lick station, together with the tear-shotted cartridges, whose problematic interior damage he explained to the amazed, chagrined, and nonplussed commandant. "oh, sor," the gunner said in conclusion, solemnly shaking his head, "that gurl, sor!--she is a wily one! an' i should n't be surprised, sor, if she is a dale taller than she looks!" the blue lick station in time recovered its equilibrium, and was afterward prone to protest that of all frontier communities it bore the palm for the efficiency of its "linguister." a victor at chungke at tennessee town, on the tennessee river, there used to be a great chungke-yard. it was laid off in a wide rectangular area nine hundred feet long, two feet lower than the surface of the ground, level as a floor, and covered with fine white sand. the ancient, curiously shaped chungke-stones, fashioned with much labor from the hardest rock, perfect despite immemorial use, kept with the strictest care, exempt by law from burial with the effects of the dead, were the property of this cherokee town, and no more to be removed thence than the council-house,--the great rotunda at one side of the "beloved square," built upon a mound in the centre of the village. surely no spot could seem more felicitously chosen for the favorite indian game. the ground rose about the chungke-yard like the walls of an amphitheatre, on every side save the slope toward the "beloved square" and the river, furnishing an ideal position of vantage for spectators were they even more numerous than the hundreds of cherokees of all ages that had gathered on the steep acclivities to overlook the game--some ranged on the terrace or turfy ridge around the chungke-yard, formed by the earth thrown out when the depressed area was delved down long ago, others disposed beneath the spreading trees, others still, precariously perched on clifty promontories beetling out from the sharp ascent. above all, chilhowee mountain, aflare with the scarlet glow of its autumnal woods, touched the blue sky. the river, of a kindred blue, with a transient steely change under the shadow of a cloud, showed flashes of white foam, for the winds were rushing down from the great smoky mountains, which were revealed for an instant in a clear hard azure against the pearl-tinted horizon--then again only a mirage, an illusion, a dream of stupendous ranges in the shimmering mist. in the idle, sylvan, tribal life of that date, one hundred and fifty years ago, it might seem that there was scant duty recognized, imposing serious occupation, to debar the population of tennessee town from witnessing the long-drawn game, which was continued sometimes half the day by the same hardy young warriors, indefatigable despite the hot sun and the tense exercise, straining every muscle. a few old women, their minds intent upon the preparation of dinner, a few of the very young children, relishing their own pottering devices as of a finer flavor of sport, a few old men, like other old men elsewhere, with thoughts of the past so vivid that the present could show but a pallid aspect--these were absent, and were not missed. for the most part, however, the little dwellings were vacant. the usual groups of loungers had deserted the public buildings, which consisted of a bark-and-log house of three rooms, or divisions, at each angle of the "beloved square," and in which were transacted the business affairs of the town;--one, painted red, was the "war-cabin," whence arms, ammunition, etc., were distributed, the divisions implying distinctions as to rank among the warriors; another, painted white, was devoted to the priestcraft of the "beloved men"--head men of note, conjurers, and prophets; the cabin of the aged councilors faced the setting sun, as an intimation that their wars were ended and their day done; and in the fourth cabin met the "second men," as the traders called the subordinate authorities who conducted municipal affairs, so to speak--the community labor of raising houses, and laying off and planting with maize and pompions the common fields to be tilled by the women, "who fret at the very shadow of a crow," writes an old trader. all these cabins were now still and silent in the sun. the dome-shaped town-house, of a different style of architecture, plastered within and without with red clay, placed high on the artificial mound, and reached by an ascent of stairs which were cut in regular gradations in the earth, lacked its strange religious ceremonies; its secret colloguing council of chiefs with the two princes of the town; its visitors of distinction, ambassadors from other towns or indian nations; its wreaths of tobacco sent forth from diplomatically smoked pipes; its strategic "talks;" its exchange of symbolic belts and strings of wampum and of swans' wings--white, or painted red and black, as peace hovered or war impended--and other paraphernalia of the savage government. even the trading-house showed a closed door, and the english trader, his pipe in his mouth, smoked with no latent significance, but merely to garner its nicotian solace, sat with a group of the elder braves and watched the barbaric sport with an interest as keen as if he had been born and bred an indian instead of native to the far-away dales of devonshire. nay, he bet on the chances of the game with as reckless a nerve as a cherokee,--always the perfect presentment of the gambler,--despite the thrift which characterized his transactions at the trading-house, where he was wont to drive a close bargain, and look with the discerning scrupulousness of an expert into the values of the dressing of a deerskin offered in barter. but the one pursuit was pleasure, and the other business. the deerskins which he was wearing were of phenomenal softness and beauty of finish, for the spare, dapper man was arrayed like the indians, in fringed buckskin shirt and leggings; but he was experiencing a vague sentiment of contempt for his attire. he had been recently wearing a garb of good camlet-cloth and hose and a bravely cocked hat, for he was just returned from a journey to charlestown, five hundred miles distant, where he had made a considerable stay, and his muscles and attitude were still adjusted to the pride of preferment and the consciousness of being unwontedly smart. indeed, his pack-train, laden with powder and firearms, beads and cloth, cutlery and paints, for his traffic with the indians under the license which he held from the british government, had but come in the previous day, and he had still the pulses of civilization beating in his veins. for this reason, perhaps, as he sat, one elbow on his knee, his chin in his hand, his sharp, commercially keen face softened by a thought not akin to trade, his eyes were darkened, while he gazed at one of the contestants, with a doubt that had little connection with the odds which he had offered. he was troubled by a vague regret, a speculation of restless futility, for it concerned a future so unusual that no detail could be predicted from the resources of the present. and yet this sentiment was without the poignancy of personal grief--it was only a vicarious interest that animated him. for himself, despite the flattering, smooth reminiscence of the camlet-cloth yet lingering in the nerves of his finger-tips, the recent relapse into english speech, the interval spent once more among the stir of streets and shops, splendid indeed to an unwonted gaze, the commercial validities, which he so heartily appreciated, of the warehouses, and crowded wharves, and laden merchantmen swinging at anchor in the great harbor, he was satisfied. he was possessed by that extraordinary renunciation of civilization which now and again was manifested by white men thrown among the cherokee tribe--sometimes, as in his instance, a trader, advanced in years, "his pile made," to use the phrase of to-day, the world before him where to choose a home; sometimes a deserter from the british or french military forces, according to the faction which the shifting cherokees affected at the time; more than once a captive, spared for some whim, set at liberty, free to go where he would--all deliberately and of choice cast their lot among the cherokees; lived and died with the treacherous race. whether the wild sylvan life had some peculiarly irresistible attraction; whether the world beyond held for them responsibilities and laborious vocations and irksome ties which they would fain evade; whether they fell under the bewitchment of "herbert's spring," named from an early commissioner of indian affairs, after drinking whereof one could not quit the region of the great smoky mountains, but remained in that enchanted country for seven years, fascinated, lapsed in perfect content--it is impossible to say. there is a tradition that when the attraction of the world would begin to reassert its subtle reminiscent forces, these renegades of civilization were wont to repair anew to this fountain to quaff again of the ancient delirium and to revive its potent spell. abram varney had no such necessity in his own case; he only doubted the values of his choice as fitted for another. apart from this reflection, it was natural that his eyes should follow the contestant whom he had backed for a winner to the tune of more silver bangles, and "ear-bobs," and strings of "roanoke," and gunpowder, and red and white paint, than he was minded to lightly lose. he had laid his wagers with a keen calculation of the relative endowments of the players, their dexterity, their experience, their endurance. he was not influenced by any pride of race in the fact that his champion was also a white man, who, indeed, carried a good share of the favor of the spectators. a strange object was this champion, at once pathetic and splendid. no muscular development could have been finer, no athletic grace more pronounced than his physique displayed. the wild life and training of the woods and the savage wars had brought out all the constitutional endurance and strength inherited from his stanch english father and his hardy scotch mother. both had been murdered by the cherokees in a frontier massacre, and as a boy of ten years of age, his life spared in some freak of the moment, he had been conveyed hither, exhorted to forget, adopted into the tribe, brought up with their peculiar kindness in the rearing of children, taught all the sylvan arts, and trained to the stern duties of war by the noted chief colannah gigagei, himself, the great red raven of tennessee town (sometimes called quorinnah, the name being a favorite war-title specially coveted). the youth had had his baptism of fire in the ceaseless wars which the cherokees waged against the other indian tribes. he had already won the "warrior's crown" and his "war-name," a title conferred only upon the bravest of the brave. he was now otasite, the "man-killer" of tennessee town. he was just twenty years of age, and abram varney, gazing at him, wondered what the people in charlestown would think of him could they see him. for a few days, a week, perhaps, the trader would refer all his thoughts to this civilized standard. tall, alert as an indian, supple too, but heavier and more muscular, otasite was instantly to be distinguished by his build from among the other young men, although, like the indians, he wore a garb of dressed deerskin. his face, albeit no stranger to the use of their pigments and unguents, still showed fair and freckled. his hair bore no resemblance to their lank black locks; of an auburn hue and resolutely curling, it defied the tonsure to which it had been for years subjected, coming out crisp and ringleted close to his head where he was designed to be bald, and on the top, where the "war-lock" was permitted to grow, it floated backward in two long tangled red curls that gave the lie direct to the indian similitude affected by the two surmounting tips of eagle feathers. he was arrayed in much splendor, according to aboriginal standards; the fringed seams of his hunting shirt and leggings, fashioned of fine white dressed doeskin, as pliable as "canton silk crape," were hung with fawns' trotters; his moccasins were white and streaked with parti-colored paint; he had a curious prickly belt of wolves' teeth, which intimated his moral courage as well as sylvan prowess, for the slaying of these beasts was esteemed unlucky, and shooting at them calculated to spoil the aim of a gun; many glancing, glittering strings of "roanoke" swung around his neck. nothing could have been finer, athletically considered, than his attitude at this moment of the trader's speculative observation. the discoidal quartz chungke-stone[2] had been hurled with a tremendous fling along the smooth sandy stretch of the yard, its flat edge, two inches wide, and the curiously exact equipoise of its fashioning causing it to bowl swiftly along a great distance, to fall only when the original impetus should fail; his competitor, wyejah, a sinewy, powerful young brave, his buckskin garb steeped in some red dye that gave him the look when at full speed of the first flying leaf of the falling season, his ears split and barbarically distended on wire hoops[3] and hung with silver rings, his moccasins scarlet, his black hair decorated with cardinal wings, had just sent his heavy lance, twelve feet long, skimming through the air; then otasite, running swiftly but lightly abreast with him, launched his own long lance with such force and nicety of aim that its point struck the end of wyejah's spear, still in flight in mid-air, deflecting its direction, and sending it far afield from the chungke-stone which it was designed in falling to touch. this fine cast counted one point in the game, which is of eleven points, and the indian braves among the spectators howled like civilized young men at a horse-race. the sport was very keen, the contest being exceedingly close, for wyejah had long needed only one additional point to make him a winner, and when otasite had failed to score he had also failed. the swift motion, the graceful agility, the smiling face of otasite,--for it was a matter of the extremest exaction in the indian games that however strenuous the exertion and tense the strain upon the nerves and grievous the mischances of the sport, the utmost placidity of manner and temper must be preserved throughout,--all appealed freshly to the trader, although it was a long-accustomed sight. "many a man in charlestown--a well-to-do man" (applying the commercial standard of value)--"would be proud to have such a son," he muttered, a trifle dismayed by the perverse incongruities of fate. "he would have sent the boy to school. if there was money enough he would have sent him to england to be educated--and none too good for him!" the shadows of the two players, all foreshortened by the approach of noontide, bobbed about in dwarfish caricature along the smooth sandy stretch. the great chungke-pole, an obelisk forty feet high planted on a low mound in the centre of the chungke-yard, and with a target at its summit used for trials of skill in marksmanship, cast a diminished simulacrum on the ground at its base scarcely larger than the chungke-lances. now and again these heavy projectiles flew through the air, impelled with an incredible force and a skill so accurate that it seemed impossible that both contestants should not excel. there was a moment, however, when otasite might have made the decisive point to score eleven had not the chungke-stone slipped from the hand of wyejah as he cast it, falling only a few yards distant. otasite's lance, flung instantly, shot far beyond that missile, for which, had the stone been properly thrown, he should have aimed. wyejah, disconcerted and shaken by the mischance, launching his lance at haphazard, almost mechanically, struck by obvious accident the flying lance of his adversary, deflecting its course--the decisive cast, for which he had striven so long in vain, and which was now merely fortuitous. the crowds of indian gamblers, with much money and goods at hazard upon the event, some, indeed, having staked the clothes upon their backs, the rifles and powder for their winter hunt that should furnish them with food, were at once in a clamor of discussion as to the fair adjustment of the throw in the score. the backers of wyejah claimed the accidental hit as genuine and closing the game. the backers of otasite protested that it could not be thus held, since wyejah's defective cast of the chungke-stone debarred their champion from the possibility of first scoring the eleventh point, which chance was his by right, it being his turn to play; they met the argument caviling at otasite's lack of aim by the counter-argument that one does not aim at a moving object where it is at the moment, but with an intuitive calculation of distance and speed where it will be when reached by the projectile hurled after it, illustrating cleverly by the example of shooting with bow and arrow at a bird on the wing. otasite and wyejah both, preserved an appearance of joyous indifference. with their lances poised high in the right hand they were together running swiftly up the long alley again to the starting-point, otasite commenting on the evident lack of intention in wyejah's lucky cast with a loud, jocosely satiric cry, "_hala! hala_!" (signifying, "you are too many for me!") "lord! how the boy does yell!" abram varney exclaimed, a smile pervading the wrinkles wrought about his eyes by much pondering on the problems of the indian trade, feeling incongruously a sort of elation in the youth's noisy shouts, which echoed blatantly from the rocky banks of the tennessee river, and with reduced arrogance and in softer tones from the cliffs of towering chilhowee. a sympathetic sentiment glowed in the dark eyes of an indian chief on the slope hard by, the great colannah gigagei. he was fast aging now; the difficulties of diplomacy constantly increasing in view of individual aggressions and encroachments of the carolina colonists on the east, and the ever specious wiles and suave allurements of the french on the west, to win the cherokees from their british alliance; the impossibility, in the gentle patriarchal methods of the cherokee government, to control the wild young men of the tribe, who, as the half-king, atta-kulla-kulla said, "often acted like madmen rather than people of sense" (and it is respectfully submitted that this peculiarity has been observed in other young men elsewhere); the prophetic vision, doubtless, of the eventual crushing of his people in the collisions of the great international struggle of the europeans for the possession of this country,--all fostered tokens of time in the face of colannah, and bowed his straight back, and set an unwonted quiver in the nerves of his old hand that had been firm in his heyday, and strong and crafty and cruelly bloody. but his face now was softened with pleasure, and the pride it expressed was almost tender. "when a few years ago the governor of south carolina," he said majestically, speaking in the cherokee tongue but for the english names (he pronounced the title "goweno"), "offered to take some cherokee youths to train in his schools and make _scholars_ of them, i thanked him with affection, for his thought was kind. but i told him that if he would send some south carolina youths to the cherokee nation to be trained, we would make _men_ of them!" his blanket, curiously woven of feathers and wild hemp, requiring years of labor in its intricate manufacture, fell away from one gaunt arm as he lifted it to point with a kingly gesture at the young white man as the illustration of his training. every muscle of strength was on parade in the splendid pose of hurling the great chungke-spear through the air, as otasite thus passed the interval while waiting the decision of the umpire of the game. then, with a laugh, oddly blent of affection and pride, colannah took his way down the slope and toward the council-house: the council sat there much in these days of 1753, clouded with smoke and perplexity. judging by this specimen of his athletic training to feats of prowess, colannah gigagei might boast to the "goweno" of south carolina. it was not, however, merely in muscle that the young captive excelled. as abram varney thought of certain sterling manly traits of the highest type which this poor waif had developed here in this incongruous environment, one might suppose from the sheer force of heredity, he shook his head silently, and his eyes clouded, the pulses of charlestown still beating in his veins. for he was wont to leave for months the treasures of his trading-house, not merely a matter of trinkets and beads, but powder, lead, and firearms, sufficient for accoutring an expedition for the "war-path," and great store of cloths, cutlery, paints, in the charge of this valiant gamester of chungke, stanch alike against friend and foe, as safely as if its wealth were beneath his own eye. so insecure had become the cherokee allegiance to the government that it was impossible now under its uncertain protection to retain white men from the colonies here in his employ as agents and under-traders, or, indeed, those whose interest and profits amounted to an ownership in a share of the stock. the earlier traders in neighboring towns one by one had gone, affecting a base several hundred miles nearer the white settlements. some had shifted altogether from the tribe, and secured a post among the chickasaws, who were indubitably loyal to the british. while their withdrawal added to varney's profits,--for each trader was allowed to hold at this time a license only for two indian towns, it being before the date of the issuance of general licenses, and the custom which they had relinquished, the barter with the cherokees for deerskins, now came from long distances, drawn as by a magnet to his trading-house at tennessee town,--it had resulted in his isolation, and for years he had been almost the only british subject west of the great smoky mountains. he had no fear of the cherokees, however--not even should the political sky, always somewhat overcast, become yet more lowering. he had long been accustomed to these indians, and he felt that he had fast friends among them. his sane mercantile judgment appraised and appreciated the added opportunities of his peculiar position, which he would not lightly throw away, and the development of otasite's incongruous commercial values not only removed the possibility of loss during his absence, but added to his facilities in enabling him to secure the fidelity of indians as packmen, hitherto impracticable, but now rendered to otasite as one of the tribe. he had recognized with satisfaction, mingled with amusement, national traits in the boy, who, despite his indian training, would not, like them, barter strings of wampum measuring "from elbow to wrist" without regard to the relative length of arm. yet he had none of the indian deceit and treachery. he was blunt, sincere, and bold. his alertness in computation gave varney genuine pleasure, although they wrangled much as to his method, for he used the cherokee numeration, and it set the trader's mercantile teeth on edge to hear twenty called "_tahre skoeh_"--two tens. "and why not?" otasite would demand, full of faith in his own education. "the chickasaw will say '_pokoole toogalo_'--ten twos"--and he would smile superior. this was his world, and these his standards--the cherokees and the chickasaws! he was not to be easily influenced or turned save by some spontaneous acquiescence of his own mind, and varney found himself counting "_skoeh chooke kaiere_" (the old one's hundred) before he ever induced otasite to say instead "one thousand." the boy even ventured on censorship in his turn. "you say 'cherokee_s_' and 'chickasaw_s_' when you speak of the tsullakee and the chickasaw; why don't you then say the english-_es_ and the french-_es_?" for the plural designation of these tribes was a colonial invention. his bulldog tenacity, his orderly instincts, his providence, so contrary to the methods of the wasteful indian, his cheerful industry, his indomitable energy and perseverance,--all were so national that in days gone past varney used now and again to clap him on the shoulder with a loud, careless vaunt, "british to the marrow!" a fact, doubtless--and all of a sudden it had begun to seem a very serious fact. so very serious, indeed, that the old trader did not notice the crisis in the chungke-yard, the increasing excitement in the crowds of spectators, the clamors presently when the game was declared a draw and the bets off, the stir of the departing groups. it was silence at last that smote upon his senses with the effect of interruption which the continuance of sound had not been able to compass. he drew himself up with a perplexed sigh, and looked drearily over the expanse of the river. its long glittering reaches were vacant, a rare circumstance, for the cherokees of that date were almost amphibious in habit, reveling in the many lovely streams of their mountain country; on the banks their towns were situated, and this fact doubtless contributed to the neatness of their habitations and personal cleanliness, to which the travelers of those times bear a surprised testimony. the light upon the water was aslant now from a westering sun, and glittering on the snowy breasts of a cluster of swans drifting, dreaming perhaps, on the current. the scarlet boughs on the summit of chilhowee were motionless against the azure zenith. not even the vaguest tissue of mist now lingered about the majestic domes of the great smoky mountains, painted clearly and accurately in fine and minute detail in soft dense velvet blues against the hard polished mineral blue of the horizon. the atmosphere was so exquisitely luminous and pellucid that it might have seemed a fit medium to dispel uncertainty in other than merely material subjects of contemplation. nevertheless he did not see his way clearly, and when he came within view of his trading-house he paused as abruptly as if he had found his path blocked by an obstacle. there, seated on the step of the closed door which boasted the only lock and key in tennessee town, or for the matter of that in all the stretch of the cherokee country west of the great smoky range, was otasite, the incongruity of his auburn curls and his indian headdress seeming a trifle more pronounced than usual, since it had been for a time an unfamiliar sight. he was awaiting the coming of the trader, and was singing meanwhile in a loud and cheerful voice, "drink with me a cup of wine," a ditty which he had heard in his half-forgotten childhood. the robust full tones gave no token of the draught made upon his endurance by the heavy exercise of the day, but he seemed a bit languid from the heat, and his doeskin shirt was thrown open at the throat, showing his broad white chest, and in its centre the barbarous blue discolorations of the "warrior's marks." these disfigurements, made by the puncturing of the flesh with gars' teeth and inserting in the wound paint and pitch, indelible testimonials to his deeds of courage and prowess, otasite valued as he did naught else on earth, and he would have parted with his right hand as readily. the first had been bestowed upon him after he had gone, a mighty gun-man, against the muscogees. the others he had won in the course of a long, furious, and stubborn contest of the tribe with the chickasaws, who, always impolitic, headlong, and brave, were now reduced by their own valor in their many wars from ten thousand fighting men to a few hundred. he had attained the "warrior's crown" when he had shown their kindred choctaws a mettle as fierce and a craft as keen as their own. and now he was looking at abram varney with kindly english eyes and an expression about the brow, heavily freckled, that almost smote the tears from the elder man. the trader knew from long experience what was coming, but suddenly he had begun to regard it differently. always upon the end of each journey from charlestown he had been met here within a day or two by otasite on the same mission. the long years as they passed had wrought only external changes since, as a slender wistful boy of eleven years, heart-sick, homeless, forlorn, friendless, save for his indian captors, likely, indeed, to forget all language but theirs, he had first come with his question, always in english, always with a faltering eyelash and a deprecatory lowered voice, "did you hear anything in charlestown of any people named 'queetlee'?" this was the distorted version of his father's name that colannah had preserved. as to the child himself, his memory had perhaps been shaken by the events of that terrible night of massacre, which he only realized as a frightful awakening from sleep to smoke, flames, screams, the ear-splitting crack of rifle-shots at close quarters, the shock of a sudden hurt--and then, after an interval of unconsciousness, a transition to a new world of strange habitudes that grew speedily familiar, and of unexpected kindness that became dear to a frank, affectionate heart. perhaps in the isolations of the frontier life he had never heard his father addressed by his surname by a stranger; he was called "jan" by his wife, and her name was "eelin," and this otasite knew, and this was all he knew, save that he himself also had been called "jan." "they don't want you, my buck, or they would have been after you," the trader used to reply, being harder, perhaps when he was younger. besides, he honestly thought the cadaverous brat, all legs, like a growing colt, and skinny arms, was better off here in the free woodland life which he himself considered no hardship, and affected long after necessity or interest had dictated his environment. the little lad was safe in the care of the powerful chief colannah gigagei of tennessee town, who had adopted him, and who was a man of great force and influence. why should the child seek a home among his own people, unwelcome doubtless, to eat the meagre crust of charity, or serve as an overworked drudge somewhere on the precarious frontier? the trader did not greatly deplore the lack of religious training, for in the remote settlements this was often still an unaccustomed luxury, albeit some thirty years had now gone by since sir francis nicholson, then the governor, declared that no colony could flourish without a wider diffusion of the gospel and education, and forthwith ordered spiritual drill, so to speak, in the way of preaching and schooling. although himself described as "a profane, passionate, headstrong man, bred a soldier," as if the last fact were an excuse for the former, he contributed largely to the furtherance of these pious objects, "spending liberally all his salary and perquisites of office," for which generous trait of character an early and strait-laced historian is obviously of the opinion that general nicholson should have been suffered to swear in peace and, as it were, in the odor of sanctity. more than once, when in charlestown, varney, notwithstanding his persuasions on the subject, had been minded to inquire concerning the "queetlees," who he understood from colannah had come originally from cumberland in england. with his mercantile cronies he had canvassed the question whether the queer, evidently distorted name could have been "peatley" or "patey" or "petrie,"--for the cherokees always substituted "q" for "p," as the latter letter they could not pronounce,--and after this transient consideration the matter would drop. as the child, running about the indian town with his new-found playmates, grew robust and merry-hearted, and happiness, confidence, and strength brought their embellishing influence to the expression of his large dark gray eyes and straightened the nervous droop from his thin little shoulders, the trader noticed casually once or twice how comely the brat had become, and he experienced a fleeting, half-ridiculing pity for his mother--how the woman would have resented and resisted the persistent shearing and shaving of those silken, loosely twining red curls! then he thought of her no more. but when the child had come to man's estate, when he was encased in a network of muscle like elastic steel wires, when stature and strength had made him alike formidable and splendid, when the development of his temperament illustrated virtues so stanch that they seemed the complement of his physical endowment and a part of his resolute personality, the old trader thought of the boy's father, and thought of him daily--how the sturdy cumbrian yeoman would have rejoiced in so stalwart a son! thus, with this vague bond of sympathy with a man whom he had never seen, never known, so long ago, so cruelly dead, this intuitive divination of his paternal sentiment, varney's fatherly attitude grew more definite daily and became accustomed, and he was jealous of the influence of colannah, who in turn was jealous of his influence. now as varney stood in the dusky trading-house among the kegs and bags and bales of goods, the high peak of the interior of the roof lost in the lofty shadows, he felt that he had been much in default in long-past years, and he experienced a very definite pang of conscience as otasite swung abruptly around a stack of arms, a new rifle in his hand, the flint and pan of which he had been keenly examining. he lifted his eyes suddenly with that long-lashed dreary look of his childhood. "did you hear of any queetlees in charlestown?" he asked. "it is _you_ who should seek your kindred, jan queetlee!" varney said impulsively, calling him by his unaccustomed english name. "it is _you_ who should go to charlestown to find the queetlees!" otasite's face showed suddenly the unwonted expression of fear. he recoiled abruptly, and abram varney was sensible of a deep depression. it was as he had thought. the wish for restoration to those of his name and his kindred which had animated the boy's earlier years had now dwindled to a mere abstract sentiment of loyalty as of clanship, but was devoid of expectation, of intention. all the members of his immediate family had perished in the massacre, and he had been trained to regard this as the fortunes of war, cherishing no personal antagonism, as elsewhere among civilized people reconciliations are frequent between the victors and the friends of the slain in battle. moreover, he was not brought close to it. the participators in the affray were of the distant ayrate settlements of the tribe, southeast of the mountains, and not individualized. the indians of tennessee town, which was then one of the most remote of the cherokee villages of the ottare division, and this perhaps was the reason it was selected as his home, were not concerned in the foray, nor were any others of the overhill towns. thus he had grown up without the thirst for vengeance, which showed how little the methods of his cherokee environment had influenced his heart. and truly the far-away queetlees, if any such were cognizant of his existence, had troubled themselves nothing about it, and had infinitely less claim on his gratitude and filial affection than colannah. they had left him to be as a waif, a slave. he had been reared as a son, nursed and tended, fed and fostered, bedecked in splendor, armed in costly and formidable wise, given command and station, carefully trained in all that the indian knew. "colannah would never consent!" he said at last. abram varney afterward wondered why he should then have had a vision--oh, so futile, so fleeting, so fantastic!--of the twenty, the forty, nay, the sixty years that this man, so munificently endowed by nature, might pass here among the grotesque, uncouth barbarities of the savage cherokee, while his heritage--his religion, the religion into which he was born of christian parents, his name and nation, his tongue and station, his opportunity--doubtless some fair, valid, valuable future--all lay there to the eastward but scant five hundred miles away on the carolina coast. he said as much, and the retort came succinctly, "you live here!" otasite's english speech was as simple as a child's, but he thought as diplomatically as colannah himself, whom he esteemed the greatest man in all the world, and he could argue in the strategic cherokee method. nevertheless, to give him full sway, that everything possible might be said in contravention of the proposition, the old trader lapsed into the indian speech, that was indeed from long usage like a mother tongue to them both. he stayed here, he said, from choice, it was true, but for the sake of the trade that gave him wealth, and with wealth he could return to the colonies at any time, and go whither he would in all the world. but otasite was restricted; he had no goods for trade, no adequate capital to invest; he could only return to the colonies while young, to work, to make a way, to secure betimes a place appropriate to his riper years. even this could not be done without great difficulty,--witness how many settlers came empty-handed to barely exist on the frontier and wrest a reluctant living from the wilderness,--and it could not be done at all without friends. now he, abram varney, was prepared to stand his friend; otasite could take a place in the service of the company, in the main depot of the trade at charlestown. his knowledge of the details of the business of which abram varney's long absences had given him experience; of the needs of the cherokee nation; of the ever-continued efforts of the french traders, by means of the access to the overhill towns afforded by the cherokee and tennessee rivers, despite the great distance from their settlements on the mississippi, to insinuate their supplies at lower prices, in the teeth of the cherokee treaty with the british monopolizing such traffic, and bring down profits--all would have a special and recognized value and be appreciated by his mercantile associates, who would further the young man's advancement. thence he could at his leisure make inquiries concerning his father's family, and doubtless in the course of time be restored to his kindred. otasite listened throughout with the courteous air of deliberation which his indian training required him to accord to any discourse, without interruption, however unwelcome or trivial it might be esteemed. then, smiling slowly, he shook his head. "you cannot be serious," he said. "it would break old colannah's heart, who has been like a father to me." abram varney too had the british bulldog tenacity. "what will you do, then," he asked slowly and significantly, "when colannah takes up arms against the british government? will you fight men of your own blood?" he was reinforced in this argument by the habit of thought of the indians--the absolute absence of tribal dissensions, of internecine strife, so marked among the cherokees: here no man's hand was lifted against his brother. jan queetlee palpably winced. come what might, he could never fight for the cherokees against the british--his father's people, his mother's people--no more than he could fight for the british against his adopted tribe--the cherokee--and he the "man-killer!" "they will fight each other," said varney weightily, "and the day is not far--the day is not far!" for in 1753 the cumulative discontents of the tribe were near the crisis, earnestly fostered by the french on the western boundaries, that vast domain then known as louisiana, toward whose siren voice the cherokees had ever lent a willing ear. the building by the british government, two or three years later, of those great defensive works, fort prince george and fort loudon, situated respectively at the eastern and western extremities of the cherokee territory, mounted with cannon and garrisoned by british forces, served to hold them in check and quieted them for a time, but only for a time. jan queetlee, by reason of his close association with the chiefs, knew far more than varney dreamed of the bitterness roused in the hearts of the indians by friction with the government, the aggressions of the individual colonist, the infringements of their privileges in the treaty, and in opposition the influence of the ever seductive suavity of the french. as with a sudden hurt, jan queetlee cried out with a poignant voice against the government and its patent unfaith, striking his clinched fist so heavily on the head of a keg of powder that the stout fibres of the wood burst beneath the passionate blow, and in a moment he was covered with the flying particles of the black dust. realizing the possibility of an explosion should a candle or a pipe be lighted here, varney did not wait for the return of one of the brawny packmen to remove the keg to a cave beneath the trading-house, which he utilized for storage as a cellar, but addressed himself to the job. jan queetlee silently assisted, his face darker, more lowering with the thought in his mind than with the smears of the powder. varney remembered this afterward, and that he himself, diverted by the accident from the trend of his argument, had launched out in a tirade against the government as they worked together, the young briton's energy, industry, and persistence so at variance with the aspect of his tufted topknot of feathers on his auburn curls, and the big blue warrior's marks on his broad white chest. for varney too had his grievances against the powers that were; but his woes were personal. he vehemently condemned the reconciliation which the government had effected between the muscogees and the cherokees, for although there were more deerskins to be had for export when the indian hunters were at pacific leisure, varney had considered the recent war between these tribes an admirable vent for gunpowder and its profitable sale; and since the savages must always be killing, it was manifestly best for all concerned that they should kill each other. he could not sufficiently deride the happy illustration which governor glen had given them (in his fatuity, varney thought) of the values of peace and concord. in the presence of the two delegations the mediating governor had taken an arrow and shown them with what ease it could be broken; then how impossible he found it to break a quiverful of arrows, thus demonstrating the strength in union. varney argued that the indians would readily perceive a further application of the principle and turn it to account, combining against the colonists. in the same spirit he animadverted upon a monopoly from which he was excluded in common with the traders in general, and which had been granted to a mercantile company seeking to establish posts among the choctaws. the enterprise, although favored by the government, obviously because, undertaken on a scale of phenomenal magnitude, it promised to dislodge the french and their long-established trade among the choctaws, and bring that powerful tribe to a british allegiance, had finally proved a failure; and with a bitter joy in this fact he alternately contemned and pitied the government, because it could not wrest this valuable opportunity from the iron grasp of the "mississippi louisianians." he had, too, a censorious word for the french commercially--called them "peddlers," celebrated their deceitful wiles, underrated the quality of their cloths, and inconsistently berated them for their low prices, finding a logical parity in all these matters in the tenets of their religion, which they had so vainly and so zealously sought to instill into the unreceptive hearts of the unimpressionable choctaw.[4] with the plethora of interest involved in these subjects, varney grew oblivious of the theme that had earlier occupied his mind. it recurred no more to his thoughts until several days had passed. he then chanced to be occupied with his new goods in his cavern. it was illumined only from above; there was a trap-door in the floor of the trading-house, and thence a pale tempered light drifted down, scarcely convenient, but sufficient for his purposes. once he noticed that a shadow flickered across it. he experienced a momentary surprise, for he had left no one in the building, and the outer door being locked, he imagined it could not be forced without noise enough to rouse him. again the shadow flickered across the trap-door; then ensued a complete eclipse of the scant glimmer of light. there was a step upon the ladder which served as stairway--a man was descending. varney felt a sudden constriction about his throat. he realized an impending crisis; the door above had been closed; by the sound he knew that the ladder was now removed and laid upon the ground. he had an idea--he could see naught--that the unknown invisible man had seated himself on the ladder on the ground, where he remained motionless, silent, in anger, in grief, or some strange savage whim hardly possible for a civilized creature to divine. the time that passed in this black nullity--he never could compute it--moments, doubtless, but it seemed hours, tried to the utmost the nerve of the entrapped trader, albeit inured by twenty years' experience to the capricious temper of the cherokee indians. he felt he could better endure the suspense could he only see his antagonist, identify him, and thus guess his purpose, and shape his own course from his knowledge of character. but with some acquired savage instinct he, too, remained silent, null, passive; one might have thought him absent. perhaps his quiescence, indeed, fostered some doubt of his presence here, for suddenly there sounded the rasping of flint on steel, the spunk was aglow, and then in the timorous flame of the kindling candle, taken from his own stores above, varney recognized the face and figure of the stately and imperious old chief colannah. the next moment he remembered something far more pertinent. he called out in an agitated voice to the indian to beware of the powder with which the place was largely stocked. "i came for that," said colannah in cherokee, with unaccustomed fingers snuffing the wick as he had seen varney perform the process, for the indians used torches and fires of split cane for purposes of illumination. "for god's sake, what have i done?" cried the trader in an agony of terror, desirous to bring his accusation to the point as early as might be and compass his release, thus forestalling the violent end of an explosion. "what do the english always?--you have robbed me!" said colannah, the light strong on his fierce indignant features, his garb of fringed buckskin, his many rich strings of the ivory-like roanoke about his neck, his gayly bedecked and feathered head, and in shadowy wise revealing the rough walls of the cave, the boxes and bales of goods, the reserve stock, as it were, the stands of arms, and the kegs and bags of powder. as varney, half crouching on the ground, noted the latter in the dusk, he cried out precipitately, "robbed you of what? my god! let us go upstairs. i'll give it back, whatever it is, twice over, fourfold! don't swing the candle around that way, colannah! the powder will blow us and the whole trading-house into the tennessee river." colannah nodded acquiescence, the stately feathers on his head gleaming fitfully in the clare-obscure of the cavern. "that is why i came! then the british government could demand no satisfaction for the life of the british subject--an accident--the old chief of tennessee town killed with him. and i should be avenged." "for what? my god!" varney had not before called upon the lord for twenty years. to hold a diplomatic conversation with an enraged wild indian, flourishing a lighted candle in a powder magazine, is calculated to bring even the most self-sufficient and forgetful sinner to a sense of his dependence and helplessness. the lighted candle was a more subjugating weapon than a drawn sword. he had contemplated springing upon the stanch old warrior, although, despite the difference in age, he was no match for the indian, in order to seek to extinguish it. he reflected, however, that in the struggle a flaring spark might cause the ignition of scattered particles of the powder about the floor, and thus precipitate the explosion which he shuddered to imagine. "for what, colannah?" he asked again, in a soothing smooth cadence, "for what, my comrade, my benefactor for years, my best-beloved friend--avenged on me for what? let's go upstairs!" the flicker of the wavering candle showed a smile of contempt on the face of the angry indian for a moment, and admonished varney that in view of the cherokees' relish of the torture his manifestations of anxiety but prolonged his jeopardy. it brought, too, a fuller realization of the gravity of the situation in that the indian should so valiantly risk himself. he evidently intended to take the trader's life, but in such wise that no vengeance for his death should fall upon the cherokee nation. abram varney summoned all his courage, which was not inconsiderable, and had been cultivated by the wild and uncertain conditions of his life. assured that he could do naught to hasten his release, he awaited the event in a sort of stoical patience, dreading, however, every motion, every sound, the least stir setting his expectant nerves aquiver. silence, quiescence, brought the disclosure earlier than he had feared. "when i took the boy jan queetlee--why do i call him thus, instead of by the name he has earned for himself, the noble otasite of tennessee town?"--the old chief began as deliberately, as disregardfully of the surroundings as if seated under the boughs of one of the giant oaks on the safe slopes of chilhowee yonder--"when i took him away from the braves who had overcome the south carolina stationers, i owed him no duty. he was puny and ill and white and despised! you british say the indian has no pity. a man's son or brother or father or mother has claims upon him. otasite was naught to me, a mere _eeankke_!" (a captive). "i owed the child no duty. my love was voluntary. i gave it a free gift; no duty! and he was little, and drooping, and meagre, and ill all the time! but he grew; soon no such boy in the cherokee nation, soon hardly such a warrior in all the land--not even otasite of watauga, nor yet otasite of eupharsee; perhaps at his age oconostota excelled" (oconostota always was preeminently known as the "great warrior"). he paused to shake his head and meditate on difficult comparisons and instances of prowess. after an interval which, long enough, seemed to the trembling trader illimitable, he recommenced abruptly: "says the goweno long time ago to me, 'is not there a white youth among you?' i say, 'he is content; he has no white friends, it seems.' says the goweno to me, 'ah, ah, we must look into this!' and says no more." colannah flung back his head and laughed so long and so loud that every echo of the sarcastic guttural tones, striking back from the stone walls of the cavern, smote varney with as definite a shock as a blow. "and now," the cherokee resumed, with a changed aspect and a pathetic cadence, "i am an old man, and i lean upon otasite. my sons are all dead--one in the wars with the muscogee and two slain by the chickasaw. and the last he said to me, with his lingering latest breath, loath to go and leave me desolate, 'but you have an adopted son, you have the noble otasite.' and now," his voice was firm again, "if i have him not, i go too, and you go. we go together." "i will not advise him to quit the nation--never again!" cried varney, suddenly enlightened, fervently repudiating his interference. "since you disapprove, he shall not return to carolina. he _cannot_ go without me--my help; he could not find a place--a home. bold and fine as he is here, he would be strange there; he knows naught of the ways of the colonists. he would be poor, despised, while here he has been like the first, the best. his pride could never stoop to a life like a slave's; his pride would break his heart. let me undo the mischief i have wrought; let me unsay the unthinking, foolish words i have spoken." it was perhaps with the faith that the artful trader could best turn the young fellow's mind back to its wonted content, as his crafty arguments had already so potently aroused this wild, new dissatisfaction, that colannah at last consented to liberate varney for this essay, not without a cogent reminder that he would be held responsible for its failure. and indeed in recanting his former urgency, when he sought out otasite, varney exerted himself to the utmost. "you are satisfied here. you know the life. like me, you love it. if i, who can choose, prefer it, why not you?" but otasite shook his head. "when i talk to you of the colonies i speak as a man does of a dream," varney continued. "it is something true and something false. i add here and i let slip there to make out the connection, and give the symmetry of truth to the picture. but did i ever tell you how they love money in the colonies, how they cheat and strive and slave their lives away to add to their store; how they reverence and worship the wealth of others till it seems that a rich man can do no wrong--if he is rich enough? did i ever tell you this? the poor, they are despised for being poor, and they are let to suffer. here poverty is not permitted. if a man lose his dwelling by fire, the town builds him another house. you know this. if a man fail in his winter hunt, the others give of their abundance. here one is rated by his personal worth. here the deed is held to be fine, not the mere thing. here you are valued as the great otasite, and all men give you honor for your courage. there you are jan queetlee, a penniless clod, and all men despise you and pass you by."[5] but again otasite shook his head. it was no spurious flare of ambition, ineffectual, illusory; no discontented yearning for a different, a wider life that the trader's ill-advised words had roused. that sentiment of loyalty to the british government, which had never sought to claim jan queetlee as a subject, seemed bred in his bone and born in his blood. perhaps it was the stuff of which long afterward the tories of the revolution were made. he could not lift his hand against this aloof, indifferent fetich. and yet take part against the cherokees, whom he loved as they loved him! for with his facilities for understanding the trend of the politics of the day he could no longer blind himself to the approach of the war of the tribe with the british government, which, indeed, came within the decade. the sons of colannah, slain in the cruel wars with other indians, had been to him like brothers, and in their loss he had felt his full and bitter share of the grief of a common household. even yet he and colannah were wont to sadly talk of them with that painful elimination of their names, a mark of indian reverence to the dead, substituting the euphemism "the one who is gone," and linger for hours over the fire at night or on the shady river-bank in sunlit afternoons, rehearsing their deeds and recalling their traits, and repeating their sayings with that blending of affectionate pride and sorrow that is the consolation of bereavement when time has somewhat softened its pangs and made memory so dear. and colannah had been like a father--it seemed to jan queetlee as if he had had no other father. he could not leave colannah, old, desolate, and alone. yet the war was surely coming apace, as they both knew, a war which already tore his heart in sunder, in which he could evade taking part against his own--his own of both factions--only by going at once and going far. he could decide no such weighty matter. at last he determined he would leave it to fate, to chance, showing how truly a gambler his indian training had made him. he would stake the crisis on a game at chungke; if he won, as he told varney, he would go to carolina, and take sides with neither faction; if he lost, he would cast his future with the cherokee nation. varney, thoroughly uneasy, had come to feel a personal interest involved. if otasite quitted the country, he felt his life would hardly be safe here, since the craft of colannah had drawn from the unsuspecting young fellow the details of the plan of removal to charlestown which he had proposed. and yet varney himself was averse to any change, unless it was indeed necessary. when put to the test he felt he would rather live in the cherokee nation than anywhere else in all the world, and he valued his commerce with the tribe and his license from the government, under duly approved bond and security, to conduct that traffic in tennessee town and tellico as naught else on earth. he manifested so earnest and genuine a desire to repair the damage of his ill-starred suggestion that colannah, showing his age in his haste and his tremulousness and excitement, disclosed to him in a flutter of triumphant glee that he had a spell to work which naught could withstand--a draught from herbert's spring to offer to otasite. thither some fifty miles he had dispatched a runner for a jar of the magic water, and after drinking of it otasite could not quit for seven years the cherokee nation even if he would. it was in the council-house that the mystic beverage was quaffed. there had been guests--head men from great tellico and citico--during the afternoon, received in secret conclave, and now that their deliberations were concluded and they were gone, otasite, not admitted to the council, being one of those warriors who did the fighting of the battles devised by the "beloved men," strolled into the deserted, dome-like place. its walls, plastered with red clay, were yet more ruddy for a cast of the westering sun. the building was large enough to accommodate several hundred people, and around the walls were cane seats, deftly constructed and artificially whitened, making, according to an old writer, "very genteel settees or couches." tired with the stress of mental depression and anxiety as physical effort could not tame him, and vaguely prescient of evil, otasite had flung himself down on one of these, which was spread with dressed panther-skins, his hands clasped under his head, his scalp-lock of two auburn curls dangling over them. through the tall narrow doorway the autumnal landscape was visible, blazing with all the fervors of summer; the mountains, however, were more softly blue, the sunlight of a richer glister; the river, now steel, now silver, now amber, reflected the atmosphere as a sensitive soul reflects the moods of those most dear; the forests, splendid with color, showed the lavish predominance of the rich reds characteristic of the chilhowee woods; a dreamlike haze over all added a vague ideality that made the scene like some fondest memory or a glamourous forecast. "_akoo-e-a!_" (summer yet!) said colannah, his eyes too on the scene, as he sat on a buffalo-rug in the centre of the floor drawing in the last sweet fragrant breaths from his long-stemmed pipe, curiously wrought of stone, for in the manufacture of these pipes the cherokees of that day were said to excel all other indians. the young briton experienced no mawkish pang to note that it was ornamented at one end by a dangling scalp, greatly treasured, the interior of the skin painted red for its preservation. he had, in fact, a pipe of his own with a scalp much like it. indeed, his trophy was a fine specimen, and it had been a feat to take it, for it had once covered a hot chickasaw head. "_akoo-e-a!_ the day is warm!" remarked colannah. he lifted his storied pipe, and with its long stem silently motioned to a young indian woman, indicating a great jar of water. she quickly filled one of those quaint bowls, or cups, of the cherokee manufacture, and advanced with it to otasite; but the proffer was in the nature of an interruption of his troubled thoughts, and he irritably waved her away. "i am displeased with you," said colannah sternly, lifting his dark, deeply sunken eyes to where the "man-killer" lay at full length on the cane settee. "you set me aside. you have no thoughts for me--no words. yet you can talk when you go to the trading-house. you have words and to spare for the trader. you can drink with him. you can sing, 'drink with me a cup of wine.'" he lifted his raucous old voice in ludicrous travesty of the favorite catch, for sometimes the two britons, so incongruous in point of age, education, sentiment, and occupation, cemented their bond as compatriots by carousing together in a mild way. but this ebullition of temper had naught of the ludicrous in jan queetlee's estimation. he was pierced to the heart. "_aketohta!"_ (father!) he cried reproachfully. he had sprung to his feet, and stood looking down at the old chief, who would not look at him, but kept his eyes on the landscape without, now and then drawing a long, lingering whiff from his pipe. "_aketohta_! i have no thought for _you_!--who alone have taken thought for me! i have words for the trader and silence for _you_! you say keen things, and you know they are not true! you know that i had rather drink water with you than wine with him. i am not thirsty; but since it is you who offer it"--his expression changed; he broke into sudden pleasant laughter, and with a rollicking stave of the song, "drink with me a cup of wine," he caught the bowl from the girl's hand and drained it at a draught. "_seohsta-quo_!" (good!) cried colannah, visibly refreshed, as if his own thirst were vicariously slaked. but otasite stood blankly staring, the bowl motionless in his hand. "it is well for wine to be old," he said wonderingly, "but not water." for his palate was accustomed to the exquisite sparkle and freshness of the mountain fountains, and this had come from far. the crafty colannah stolidly repressed his delight, save for the glitter in his eyes fixed on the azure and crimson and silver landscape glimmering beyond the dusky portals of the terra-cotta walls. "_nawohti! nawohti_!" (rum!) he said, with an affectation of severity. "you drink too much of the trader's strong physic! you have no love now for the sweet, clear water." and he shook his head with the uncompromising reproof of a mentor of present times as he growled disjointedly, "_nawohti! nawohti_!" otasite nothing questioned the genuineness of this demonstration, for the cherokee rulers, in common with those of other tribes, had long waged a vigorous opposition to the importation of strong drink into their country; indeed, as far back as 1704, when holding a solemn conference with governor daniel of north carolina to form a general treaty of friendship, the chiefs of several tribes petitioned the government of the lords proprietors for a law, which was afterward enacted (and disregarded), forbidding any white man to sell or give rum to an indian, and prescribing penalties for its infringement. it was not the first time that otasite had heard unfavorably of the influences of "_nawohti_," which, by the way, with the cherokees signified physic, as well as spirituous liquor, a synonymous definition which more civilized people have sought to apply. he was content that he and the old chief were once more in affectionate accord, and he did not seek to interpret the flash of triumph in colannah's face. for seven years! for seven years! the white "man-killer" could not, if he would, quit the cherokee country. well might the old chief's eyes glisten! the youth was like a son to his lonely age, and otasite's prowess the pride of his life. and like others elsewhere he had softened as age came on, and loved the domestic fireside and the companionship about the hearth, hearing without participating in the hilarious talk of the young, and looking out at the world through the eyes of the new generation, undaunted, expectant, aglow with a spirit that had long ago smouldered in his own; for the fierce indian at the last was but an old man. abram varney, too, experienced a recurrence of ease. he had unwittingly imbibed much outlandish superstition in his residence among the cherokees, and indeed other traders and settlers long believed in the enchaining fascination of herbert's spring, and drank or refrained as they would stay or go. otasite, however, was all unaware of the spell cast upon him when he came into the chungke-yard the next day, arrayed in his finest garb, the white dressed doeskin glittering in the sun, his necklaces of beads, his belt of wolf fangs, his flying feet in their white moccasins--all catching the light with a differing effect of brilliancy. varney watched him;--with the two eagle feathers stiff and erect on his proud head, his two incongruous long auburn curls, that did duty as a "war-lock," floating backward in the breeze, he ran so deftly, so swiftly, with so assured and so graceful a gait that the mere observation of such symmetrical motion was a pleasure. the trader had scarcely a pulse of anxiety. indeed, disingenuously profiting by the tip afforded by herbert's spring, he was heavily backing wyejah as a winner! a windy day it was; the clouds raced through the sky, and their shadows skimming over the valleys and slopes challenged their speed. the tennessee river was singing, singing! the mountains were as clearly and definitely blue as the heavens. that revelation of ranges on the far horizon unaccustomed to the view, only vouchsafed by some necromancy of the clarified autumnal air, never before seemed so distinct, so alluring--new lands, new hopes, new life they suggested. wyejah's scarlet attire, its fringes tasseled with the spurs of the wild turkey, rendered his lithe figure strongly marked against these illusory ethereal tints as he sped abreast with otasite along the level sandy stretch of the chungke-yard. and how well he played! varney realized this with a satisfaction as of having already won his wagers, many and large, for otasite would leave the nation should he be victorious, and having drunk unwittingly of herbert's spring, he could not quit the cherokee country, although he himself was still unaware of having quaffed of those mystic waters. therefore defeat was obviously his portion. whenever the trader thought anew of his secret knowledge of this fact he offered odds on wyejah, and glanced at him with approbation--at the young indian warrior's face fiercely, eagerly smiling, his great flattened ears distended on their wire hoops, his dark eyes full of sombre brilliance. how well he played! and how hard the skill of his opponent pressed him! how accurate was the aim of the long lance of otasite as he poised his weight on the supple tips of his white moccasins and hurled the missile through the air; how strong and firm his grasp that sent the circular, quartz chungke-stone, whirling along the sand; how tirelessly his long sinewy steps sped back and forth in the swift dashes up and down the smooth spaces of the chungke-yard; how faithfully he was doing his best, regardless of his own preference in the interests that he had adventured on the result! how like a briton born it was, abram varney thought, for he alone knew of otasite's resolution, and the significance of the game to him, that the boy could thus see fair play between the factions that warred within him for his future. he had staked the future on the event,--and suddenly it was the present! a wild clamor of excitement, of applause, rose up from the throats of the crowd in the natural amphitheatre, clanging and clattering in long guttural cries,--all intensified by a relish of the unexpected, a joy in a new sensation, for wyejah had never before been beaten, and otasite was the victor at chungke. abram varney felt his heart leap into his throat, then sink like lead; colannah, triumphant, knowing naught of the subtler significance of the contest, joyful, aglow with pride, rose up in his splendid feathered mantle, standing high on the slope, to sign to the boy his pleasure in the victory. the sunlight fell, glittering very white, on the young fellow's doeskin garb, his prickly belt of fangs, his bare chest with the blue warrior's marks, the curls of his auburn scalp-lock tossing in the wind. he had seemed hitherto stoical, unmoved by victory as he would have appeared in defeat; but varney, eager to get at him, to combat his resolution, knew that he was stunned by the complications presented by this falling out of the event. he visibly faltered as his eye met the triumph and affection expressed in colannah's quivering old face. he could not respond to its congratulation. he dropped on one knee suddenly, bending low, affecting to find something amiss with one of his moccasins. wyejah, too, could seem unmoved by victory, but indifference to defeat was more difficult to simulate. he had in the first moment of its realization felt the blood rush to his head; despite his strong nerve his hand trembled; the smile of placidity which it was a point of honor to preserve became a fixed grin. several other young braves had come into the yard, and were idly tossing the lance at the great chungke-pole--as a billiardist of the civilized life of that day might pocket the balls with a purposeless cue after a match. wyejah, too, had cast his lance aslant; then he idly hurled the chungke-stone with a muscular fling along the spaces of the white sand. his nerve was shaken, his aim amiss, his great strength deflected. the heavy discoidal quartz stone skimmed through the air above the stretch of sand, and striking with its beveled edge the kneeling figure on the temple, the future of the victor at chungke became in one moment the past. the trader could only have likened the scene that ensued to the moment of an earthquake or some other stupendous convulsion of nature. in the midst of the confusion, the wild cries, the swift running figures, the surging of the crowds into the chungke-yard that obliterated the wide glare of the sun on the white sand, he made good his escape. he knew enough of the trend of cherokee thought to be prescient of the fate of the scapegoat. colannah in the first burst of grief he knew would blame himself that he should have tempted fate by the mystic draught from herbert's spring to hold here that bright young form for seven years longer. how sadly true!--for seven years otasite would remain, and seven to that, and, alack, seven more, and forever! soon, however, the natural impulses of the indian's temper, intensified by long cultivation, would be reasserted. he would cast about for revenge, remembering the first suggestion of the departure of otasite, and from whom it had emanated. but for the english trader and his specious wiles, the old chief would argue, would otasite have thought of forsaking his foster nation, his adopted father, for the selfish, indifferent british, the "goweno" at charlestown, who cared for him nothing? the trader it was who had brought this calamity upon them, who had in effect, by the hand of another, administered the fatal draught. seek for him!--hale him forth! --wreak upon him the just, unappeasable vengeance of the forever bereaved! the old trader had evinced an instinct in flight and concealment that an animal might envy. no probable hiding-place he selected, such as might be known or divined--a cave, the attic of his trading-house, the cellar beneath--all obvious, all instantly explored. instead, he slipped into a rift in the rocks along the river-bank. myriads of such crevices there were in the tilted strata--unheeded, unremarked, too strait and restricted to suggest the idea of refuge, too infinitely numerous for search. there, unable in the narrow compass to turn, even to shift a numbing muscle of his lean old body, in all the constraint of a standing posture, he was held in the flexure of the rock like some of its fossils,--as unsuspected as a ganoid of the days of eld that had once been imprisoned thus in the sediment of seas that had long ebbed hence,--or the fern vestiges in a later formation finding a witness in the imprint in the stone of the symmetry of its fronds. he listened to the hue and cry for him; then to the sudden tramp of hoofs as a pursuing party went out to overtake him, presumably on his way to charlestown, maintaining a very high rate of speed, for the cherokees of that period had some famously fine horses. straining his senses--all unnaturally alert--he distinguished, as the afternoon wore on, the details of the preparations for the barbarous sepulture of the young briton. now and then the cracking of rifle-shots betokened the shooting of his horses and cattle and all the living things among his possessions--a practice already in its decadence among the cherokees, and later, influenced by the utilitarian methods of civilization, altogether abandoned. swift steps here and there throughout the town intimated errands to gather all his choicest effects to be buried with him, for his future use. to this custom, it is said, and the great security of the fashioning of the sepulchres of the cherokees, may be attributed the fact that little of their pottery, arms, beads, medals, the more indestructible of their personal possessions, can be found in this region where so lately they were a numerous people; for the effects of the dead, however valued, were never removed or the graves robbed, even by an indian enemy. the cherokees rarely permitted the presence of an alien at the ceremonies of the interment of one of the tribe; but varney in times past had seen and heard enough to realize, without any definite effort of the imagination, how otasite, arrayed in his most gorgeous apparel, his beautiful english face painted vermilion, would be placed in a sitting posture in front of his house, and there in the sunlit afternoon remain for a space, looking in, as it were, at the open door. presently sounded the wild lamentations and melancholy cadences of the funeral song; the tones rose successively from a deep bass to a tenor, then to a shrill treble, falling again to a full bass chorus, with the progression of the mystic syllables, "_yah! yo-he-wah! yah! yo-he-wah!"_ (said to signify "jehovah"). this announced that the funeral procession, bearing the body, was going thrice around the house of the dead, where he had lived in familiar happiness these many years, and beneath which he would rest in solemn silence in his deep, deep grave, covered with heavy timbers and many layers of bark, and the stanch red clay, maintaining a sitting posture, and facing the east, while the domestic life of homely cheer would go on over his unheeding head as he awaited the distant and universal resurrection of the body, in which the cherokee religion inculcated a full and firm faith. the sun went down, and through all the night sounded the plaints of grief. late the moon rose, striking aslant on the melancholy tennessee river, full of deep shadows and vaguely pathetic pallid glimmers. a wind sprang up for a time, then suddenly sank to silence and stillness. a frost fell with a keen icy chill. mists gathered, and the day did not break,--it seemed as if it might never dawn again; only a pallid visibility came gradually upon clouds that had enshrouded all the world. the earth and the sky were alike indistinguishable; the mountains were as valleys, the valleys as plains. one might scarcely make shift to see a hand before the face. through this white pall, this cloud of nullity, came ever the dolorous chant, "_yo-he-ta-wah! yo-he-ta-weh! yo-he-ta-hah! yo-he-ta-heh!_" as in their grief and poignant bereavement the ignorant and barbarous indians called upon the god who made them, and he who made them savages doubtless heard them. creeping out into the invisibility of the clouded day, abram varney had not great fear of detection. the mists that shielded him from view furthered still his flight, for his footsteps were hardly to be distinguished amidst the continual dripping of the moisture from the leaves of the dank autumnal woods. at night he knew the savages would be most on the alert. they would scarcely suspect his flight in the broad day. moreover, their suspicions of his presence here were lulled; craftily enough he followed after the horsemen who fancied they were pursuing him--they would scarcely look for their quarry hard on their own heels. he experienced no sentiment but one of intense satisfaction when, as invisible as a spirit, he passed his own trading-house, and divined from the sounds within that the indians were busy in sacking it, albeit a greater financial loss than seems probable at the present day; for the indian trade was a very considerable commerce, as the accounts of those times will show. the english and french governments did not disdain to compete for its monopoly with various nations of indians, for the sake of gaining control of the savages thereby, in view of supplies furnished by the white traders vending these commodities and resident in the tribes. recollections of the items and values of his invoices, afflicting to varney's commercial spirit, threaded his consciousness only when again safe in charlestown. he reached that haven at last by the exercise of great good judgment. he realized that another party would presently be sent out when no news of capture came from the earlier pursuers; he divined that the second expedition would take the chickasaw path, for being friendly to the british, that tribe would naturally be thought of as a refuge to an englishman in trouble with the cherokees; therefore varney, lest he be overtaken on the way, avoided with a great struggle the temptation, mustered all his courage, and adopting an unprecedented expedient, turned off to the country of the muscogees. these indians, always more or less inimical to the colonists, bloodthirsty, cruel, crafty, and but recently involved in a furious war against the cherokees, were glad to thwart colannah in any cherished scheme of revenge, and received the fugitive kindly. although but for this fact his temerity in venturing among them would have cost him his life, they ministered to his needs with great hospitality, and forwarded him on his way to charlestown, sending a strong guard with him as far as long cane settlement, a little above ninety-six. wyejah also made his escape. appalled by the calamity of the accidental blow, he "took sanctuary." in the supreme moment of excitement he flung himself into the tennessee river, and while eagerly sought by the emissaries of colannah in the woods, he swam to chotã©, "beloved town," the city of refuge of the whole cherokee nation, where the shedder of blood was exempt from vengeance. as years went by, however, either because of the death of colannah, or because time had so far softened the bereavement of the friends of otasite that they were prevailed upon to accept the "satisfaction," the presents required even from an in voluntary homicide, he was evidently freed from the restricted limits of the "ever-sacred soil," for his name is recorded in the list of warriors who went to charlestown in 1759 to confer with governor lyttleton on the distracted state of the frontier, and being held as one of the hostages of that unlucky embassy, he perished in the massacre of the cherokees by the garrison of fort prince george, after the treacherous murder of the commandant, captain coytmore, by a ruse of the indian king, oconostota. abram varney never ventured back among "the nation," as he called the cherokees, as if they were the only nation on the earth. now and again in their frequent conferences with the governor at charlestown, rendered necessary by their ever-recurrent friction with the british government, he sought out members of the delegation for some news of his old friends, his old haunts. not one of them would take his hand; not one would hear his voice; they looked beyond him, through him, as if he were the impalpable atmosphere, as if he did not exist. it was a little thing,--the displeasure of such men--mere savages,--but it cut him to the heart. so long they had been his friends, his associates, as the chief furniture of the world! he busied himself with the affairs of his firm at charlestown, but for a time he was much changed, much cast down, for he had a sense of responsibility, and his conscience was involved, and although he had sought to do good he had only wrought harm, and irreparable harm. he grew old very fast, racked as he was by rheumatism, a continual reminder of the stern experiences of his flight. he had other reminders in his unquiet thoughts, but he grew garrulous at a much later date. years intervened before he was wont to sit in front of the warehouse, with his stick between his knees, his hands clasped on the round knob at its top, his chin on his hands, and cheerily chirp of his days in "the nation." the softening touch of time brought inevitably its glamours and its peace; his bleared old eyes, fixed on the glittering expanse of the harbor, beheld with pleasure, instead of the sea, the billowy reaches of that mighty main of mist-crested mountains known as the great smoky range, and through all his talk, and continually through his mind, flitted the bright animated presence of the victor at chungke. the captive of the ada-wehi attusah was obviously an impostor. many, however, had full faith in his supernatural power, and often he seemed to believe in his own spectral account of himself. "_tsida-wei-yu_!" (i am a great ada-wehi![6]) the young warrior would cry with his joyous grandiloquent gesture, waving his many braceleted right arm at full length as he held himself proudly erect. "_akee-o-hoosa! akee-o-hoosa!"_ (i am dead). then triumphantly, "and behold i am still here." attusah had gone unscathed through that bloody campaign of 1761 in which the cherokees suffered such incredible rigors. after their total defeat at etchoee the indians could offer no further resistance to the troops of colonel grant, who triumphantly bore the authority of the british king from one end of the cherokee country to the other, for there was no more powder to be had in the tribe. the french, from whom they had hoped a supply, failed them at their utmost need, and now those massive crags of the great smoky mountains, overhanging the tennessee river, no longer echoed the "whoo-whoop!" of the braves, the wild cry of the highlanders, "claymore! claymore!" the nerve-thrilling report of the volleys of musketry from the royal scots, the hissing of the hand grenades flung bursting into the jungles of the laurel. instead, all the clifty defiles of the ranges were filled with the roar of flames and the crackling of burning timbers as town after town was given to the firebrand, and the homeless, helpless cherokees frantically fleeing to the densest coverts of the wilderness,--that powerful truculent tribe!--sought for shelter like those "feeble folk the conies" in the hollows of the rocks. thus it was that digatiski, the hawk, of eupharsee town, long the terror of the southern provinces, must needs sit idle, forlorn, frenzied with rage and grief, in a remote and lofty cavity of a great cliff, and looking out over range and valley and river of this wild and beautiful country, see fire and sword work their mission of destruction upon it. by day a cloud of smoke afar off bespoke the presence of the soldiery. at night a tremulous red light would spring up amidst the darkness of the valley, and expanding into a great yellow flare summon mountains and sky into an infinitely sad and weird revelation of the landscape, as the great storehouses of corn were burned to the ground, leaving the hapless owners to starvation. his pride grudged his very eyes the sight of this humiliation, for despite the oft-repeated assertion of the improvidence of the indian character, these public granaries, whence by the primitive cherokee government food was dispensed gratis to all the needy, were always full, and their destruction meant national annihilation or subjugation. after one furtive glance at the purple obscurities of the benighted world he would bow his head, and with a smothered groan ask of the ada-wehi, "where is it now, attusah?" the young warrior, half reclining at the portal of the niche, would lift himself on one elbow,--the glow of the little camp-fire within the recess on his feather-crested head, his wildly painted face, the twenty strings of roanoke passed tight like a high collar around his neck, thence hanging a cascade of beads over his chest, the devious arabesques of tattooing on his bare, muscular arms, the embroideries of his buckskin raiment and gaudy quiver,--and searching with his gay young eyes through the stricken country reply, "cowetchee," "sinica," "tamotlee," whichever town might chance to be in flames. doubtless attusah realized equally the significance of the crisis. but a certain joyous irresponsibility characterized him, and indeed he had never seemed quite the same since he died. he had been much too reckless, however, even previous to that event. impetuous, hasty, tumultuously hating the british colonists, he had participated several years earlier in a massacre of an outlying station, when the cherokees were at peace, without warrant of tribal authority, and with so little caution as to be recognized. for this breach of the treaty his execution was demanded by the royal governor of south carolina, and reluctantly conceded by the cherokees to avert a war for the chastisement of the tribe. powder must have been exceedingly scarce! attusah was allowed to choose his method of departure to the happy hunting-grounds, and thus was duly stabbed to death. he was left weltering in his blood to be buried by his kindred. the half king, atta-kulla-kulla, satisfied of his death, himself reported the execution to the carolina authorities, and as in his long and complicated diplomatic relations with the colonial government this cherokee chief had never broken faith, he was implicitly believed. whether the extraordinary vitality and vigor of the young warrior were reasserted after life had been pronounced wholly extinct, and thus his relations were induced to defer the obsequies, or that he was enabled to exert supernatural powers and in the spirit reappear in his former semblance of flesh,--both theories being freely advanced,--certain it is that after a time he returned to his old haunts as gay, as reckless, as impetuous as ever. he bore no token of his strange experience save sundry healed-over scars of deep gashes in his breast, which he seemed at times to seek to shield from observation; and this he might have accomplished but for his solicitude that a very smart shirt, much embroidered and bedizened with roanoke, should not suffer by exposure to water; wherefore he took it off when it rained, and in swimming, and on the war-path. he manifested, too, a less puerile anxiety to escape the notice of atta-kulla-kulla and other head men, who were supposed to be well affected at that time to the british government. this he was the better enabled to do as his habitat, kanootare, was the most remote of the cherokee towns, his name, attusah, signifying the "northward warrior." after the capitulation of fort loudon and the massacre of the garrison the previous year, and the organized resistance the cherokees had made in the field of battle against colonel montgomerie, then commanding the expeditionary forces, he had felt that the tribe's openly inimical relations with the british government warranted him in coming boldly forth from his retirement and competing for the honors of the present campaign of 1761. his friends sought to dissuade him. the government had had, as assurance of his death, the word of atta-kulla-kulla, who might yet insist that the pledge be made good. that chief, they urged, had a delicate conscience, which is often an engine of disastrous efficiency when exerted on the affairs of other people. attusah was advised that he had best stay dead. although he finally agreed with this, he could not stay still, and thus as he appeared in various skirmishes it became gradually bruited abroad among the cherokees that attusah, the northward warrior, was a great ada-wehi, a being of magical power, or a ghost as it might be said, of special spectral distinctions. thus he lived as gayly yet as before the dismal day of his execution, always carefully, however, avoiding the notice of atta-kulla-kulla, whose word had been solemnly accepted by the british government as the pledge of his death. it is impossible to understand how a man like digatiski of eupharsee could believe this,--so sage, despite his ignorance, so crafty, so diplomatic and acute in subterfuge, yet he was sodden in superstition. "can you see colonel grant, the barbarous?"[7] he asked suddenly, lifting his head and gazing steadily at the young indian's face, which was outlined against the pallid neutral tint of the sky. the dark topmost boughs of a balsam fir were just on a level with the clear high-featured profile; a single star glittering beyond and above his feathered crest looked as if it were an ornament of the headdress; the red glow of the smouldering fire within, which had been carefully masked in ashes as the darkness came on, that its sparkle might not betray their presence here to any wandering band of troopers, still sufficed to show the impostor's painted red cheek. he was armed with a tomahawk and a pistol, without powder as useless as a toy, and a bow borne in default of aught better lay on the floor beside him, while a gayly ornamented quiver full of poisoned arrows swung over his shoulder. "_ha-tsida-wei-yu!_" he proclaimed. "i am a great ada-wehi! i see him! of a surety i see him!" attusah gazed at the sombre night with an expression as definitely perceptive as if the figure in his thoughts were actually before his eyes. "and he is not dead?" cried digatiski, in despair. some such wild rumor, as of hope gone mad, had pervaded the groups of cherokee fugitives. "he would be if i could get close enough with a bare pinch of powder that might charge my gun!" declared attusah disconsolately. then himself again, "but i will tell you this! he is waiting for my poisoned arrow! and when he dies he will come back no more. he is not like me." he paused to throw out his hand with his splendid pompous gesture. "_akee-o-hoo-sa! tsida-wei-yu!_" (i am dead! i am a great ada-wehi!) digatiski groaned. it mattered not to him whether colonel grant came back or abode in his proper place when dead. the grievous dispensation lay in the fact that he was here now, in the midst of the wreck he was so zealously wreaking. there were three women in the niche. one with her head muffled in her mantle of fringed deerskin sat against the wall, silently weeping, bemoaning her dead slain in the recent battle, or the national calamities, or perhaps the mere personal afflictions of fatigue and fear and hunger and suspense. another crouched by the fire and gazed dolorously upon it with dreary tear-filled eyes, and swollen, reddened eyelids. the sorrowful aspect of a third was oddly incongruous with her gay attire, a garb of scarlet cloth trimmed with silver tinsel tassels, a fabric introduced among the cherokees by an english trader of the name of jeffreys, and which met with great favor. her anklets, garters, and bracelets of silver "bell-buttons" tinkled merrily as she moved, for she had postponed her tears in the effort to concoct some supper from the various scraps left from the day's scanty food. the prefatory scraping of the coals together caused a sudden babbling of pleasure to issue from the wall, where, suspended on a projection of rock, was one of the curious upright cradles of the people, from which a pappoose, stiff and perpendicular, gazed down at the culinary preparations, evidently in the habit of participating to a limited extent in the result, having attained some ten months of age. the mother glanced up, and despite the tear stains about her eyes, dimpled and laughed in response. griefs may come and pleasures go, nations rise and fall, the world wag on as it will, but this old joy of mother and child, each in the other, is ever new and yet ever the same. resuming her occupation, the woman hesitated for a moment as she was about to lay the meat on the coals, the half of a wood duck, fortunately killed by an arrow, for larger game was not attainable, the wild beasts of the country being in flight as never heretofore. the conflagration of the towns of a whole district, the turmoils of the heady victorious troops, hitherto held together, but now sent through the region in separate detachments, each within reach of support, however, had stripped the tribe of this last means of subsistence. years and years afterward the grim dismantled fragments of these buildings were still to be seen, the charred walls and rafters mere skeletons against the sky, standing, melancholy memorials of war, on the hillsides and in the valleys, along the watercourses "transparent as glass," of that lovely country where these pleasant homes had been. the indian woman doubted if the bit of fat could be spared; then poising it in her hand under the watchful eyes of all, she flung it into the fire, the essential burnt-offering according to their old religious custom. digatiski, bowing his head still lower, once more groaned aloud. he would not have stayed her hand,--but to hunger even for the offering to the fire! the woman whose head was muffled had only to repeat her sobs anew; she could not sorrow more! but the pappoose in its primitive cradle on the wall babbled out its simple pleasure, and now and again the tearful little mother must needs lift smiling eyes. the great ada-wehi looked out at the night. on the whole he was glad he was dead! he took no bite, nor did digatiski. the indian men were accustomed to long fasts in war and in hunting, and they left the trivial bits to the women. the muffled figure of grief held out her hand blindly and munched the share given her in the folds of her veil. then, for tears are of no nutritive value, she held out her hand again. feeling it still empty, she lifted the veil from a swollen tear-stained face to gaze aghast at the others. they silently returned the gaze, aghast themselves, and then all three women fell to sobbing once more. but the pappoose was crowing convivially over a bone. hunger does not dispose to slumber, nor does war with the sight of a dozen towns aflame. they slept, but in fitful starts, and the first gray siftings of light through the desolate darkness found them all gazing drearily at it, for what might a new day signify to them but new dangers, fresh sorrows, and quickened fears. a flush was presently in the east, albeit dusk lingered westward. the wonderful crystalline white lustre of the morning star palpitated in the amber sky, seeming the very essence of light, then gradually vanished in a roseate haze. the black mountains grew purple, changing to a dark rich green. the deep, cool valleys were dewy in the midst of a shadowy gray vapor. the farthest ranges showed blue under a silver film, and suddenly here were the rays of the sun shooting over all the world, aiming high and far for the western hills. and abruptly said the ada-wehi, as he still lay at length on the floor of the niche,-"_skee_!" (listen!) naught but the breeze of morning, delicately freighted with the breath of balsams, the dew, the fragrance of the awakening of the wild flowers, the indescribable matutinal freshness, the incense of a new day in june. "_skee_!" only the sound of the rippling tennessee, so silver clear, beating and beating against the vibrant rocks as its currents swirl round the bend at the base of the cliff. "_skee_!" the sudden fall of a fragment of rock from the face of the crag to the ground far below!--the interval of time between the scraping dislodgment and the impact with the clay beneath implies a proportional interval of distance. the conviction is the same in the mind of each. a living creature is climbing the ascent! a bear, it may be. a great bird, an eagle, or one of the hideous mountain vultures, very busy of late, alighting in quest of food--which it might find in plenty elsewhere, in the track of the invaders. attusah does not rely, however, on a facile hypothesis with a triumphant enemy at hand, and a dozen towns charring to ashes in sight. as noiseless as a shadow, as swift, attusah is on his feet. at the back of the great niche, so high that none could conceive that it might afford an exit, a fissure lets in a vague dreary blur of light from spaces beyond. leaping high into the air, the lithe young warrior fixes his fingers on the ledge, crumbling at first, but holding firm under a closer grasp. the elder man, understanding the ruse as if by instinct, lays hold of the knees of the other, held out stiff and straight below. then by a mighty effort attusah lifts the double weight into the fissure, the elder indian aiding the manoeuvre by walking up the wall, as it were, with his feet successively braced against it. outside, now and again bits of rock continued to fall, seeming to herald a cautious approach, for after each sound a considerable interval of silence would ensue. so long continued was this silence at last that the three women, now alone, began to deem the alarm of an intrusion vain and fantastic. the elder of them motioned to one of the others to look out and terminate the painful suspense. the young squaw, brilliant in her scarlet dress and silver tassels, the pappoose piously quiet in his perpendicular cradle on her back, slipped with gingerly caution to the verge of the precipice and looked down. nothing she saw, and in turn she was invisible from without. she wheeled around briskly to reassure the others, and at that moment a young soldier of the battalion of scotch highlanders stepped from the horizontal ledge alongside, which he had then gained, and into the niche, bringing up short against the pappoose, stiff and erect in its cradle. "hegh, sirs!" he cried in jocular surprise, happy to find naught more formidable, perhaps, although a brave man, for he had volunteered to examine the source of the smoke from this precarious perch,--which had attracted the attention of the ensign commanding a little detachment,--despite the fact that a cherokee in his den and brought to bay was likely to prove a dangerous beast. the highlander had a piece of bread in his hand, from which he had been recklessly munching as he had stood for a moment's breathing spell on the horizontal ledge beside the niche before venturing to enter, for the command had broken camp with scant allowance of time for breakfast. with a genial laugh he thrust a morsel into the pappoose's open mouth and put the rest in its little fingers. perhaps it was because of his relief to find no bigger cherokee man stowed away here in ambush; perhaps because he was himself hearty and well-fed and disposed to be gracious; perhaps because he had a whole-souled gentle nature hardly consonant with the cruel arts of war which he practiced,--at all events he was thoughtful enough of others to mark the ravenous look which the women cast upon the food in the child's hand. "gude guide us!" he exclaimed. "this is fearfu' wark! the hellicat hempies are half starved!" for if colonel grant compassionated the plight of the savages, as he has recorded, and shrank from the ruin wrought in the discharge of his duty of destroying their capacities for resistance and the maintenance of existence other than as peaceful dependents of the british colonies, the rank and file of his command, weighted with no such responsibilities, may well have indulged now and then a qualm of pity. the british soldier had been ordered to halloo for help should he encounter armed resistance, but otherwise to rest a bit at the top of the precipice before making the effort to descend, lest he become dizzy from fatigue and the long strain upon his faculties, and fall; the ensign added a pointed reminder that he had no means of transportation for "fules with brucken craigs." the opportunity was propitious. the highlander utilized the interval to open his haversack and dispense such portion of its contents as he could spare. while thus engaged he was guilty of an oversight inexcusable in a soldier: the better to handle and divide the food, he leaned his loaded gun against the wall. a vague shadow flickered across the niche. the young highlander was a fine man physically, although there was no great beauty in his long, thin, frank, freckled face, with its dare-devil expression and bantering blue eyes. but he was tall, heavily muscled, clean-limbed, of an admirable symmetry, and the smartest of smart soldiers. his kilt and plaid swung and fluttered with martial grace in his free, alert, military gait as he stepped about the restricted space of the cavity, bestowing his bounty on all three women. his "bonnet cocked fu' sprash" revealed certain intimations in his countenance of gentle nurture, no great pretensions truly, but betokening a higher grade of man than is usually found in the rank and file of an army. this fact resulted from the peculiar situation of the scotch insurgents toward government after the "forty-five," and the consequent breaking up of the resources of many well-to-do middle-class families as well as the leaders of great clans. the highlander hesitated after the first round of distribution, for there would be no means of revictualing that haversack until the next issuance of rations, and he was himself a "very valiant trencher-man." nevertheless their dire distress and necessity so urged his generosity that he began his rounds anew. once more a shadow. whence should a shadow fall? it flickered through the niche. the three women stood as mute as statues. the pappoose in its cradle on its mother's back, its face turned ignominiously toward the wall, and perhaps aware that something of interest in the commissariat department was going forward, had begun to whimper in a very civilized manner, and doubtless it was this trivial noise that deterred the young scotchman from hearing sounds of more moment, calculated to rouse his suspicions. he had already added to the portions of the elder women and was bestowing his donations upon the young mother, when suddenly the shadow materialized and whisked past him. it fell like a thunderbolt from above. bewildered, agitated, before he could turn, his gun was seized and presented at his breast by a warrior who seemed to have fallen from the sky. the soldier, nevertheless, instantly laid his hand on the great basket-hilt of his claymore. before he could draw the blade, the warrior and the three women flung themselves upon him, their arms so closely wound about him that his own arms were effectually pinioned to his sides. with a violent effort he shook himself free from their grasp for one moment; yet as the blade came glittering forth from the scabbard, a sharp blow scientifically administered upon the wrist by the ada-wehi almost broke the bone and sent the weapon flying from his hand and clattering to the floor of the niche. the women had taken advantage of the opportunity afforded by the struggle between the two men to substitute the coils of a heavy hempen rope for the clasp of their arms, and attusah had only to give a final twist to the knots of their skilled contriving, when the captive was disarmed and bound. he had instantly bethought himself of his comrades and an appeal for rescue, and sent forth a wild, hoarse yell, which, had it been heard, must have apprised them of his plight. but as he had not at once given the signal of danger agreed upon, they had naturally supposed the coast clear, and while he rested presumably at the top of the precipice they gave their attention to other details of their mission, firing several houses at a little distance down the river. therefore they would have heard naught, even if attusah had not precluded further efforts of his captive to communicate with his comrades by swiftly fashioning a gag out of the highlander's bonnet and gloves. perhaps never was a brave man more dismayed and daunted. not death alone, but fire and torture menaced him. the shining liquid delight in the eyes of the women reminded him of the strange fact that they were ever the most forward in these cruel pleasures, for the ingenuity of which the cherokees were famous among all the tribes. yet the realization of his peril did not so diminish his scope of feeling as to prevent him from inwardly upbraiding his ill-starred generosity as the folly of a hopeless fool, more especially as the elder woman--she of the many tears--held up the substantial gift of provisions, jeering at him with a look in her face that did not need to be supplemented by the scoffing of language. "the auld randy besom!" the soldier commented within himself. "but eh, i didna gie it to be thankit,--nae sic a fule as that comes to, neither!" hoping against hope, he thought that the length of his absence would inevitably alarm the ensign for his scout's safety, when it should attract attention, and induce the officer to send a party for his relief and for further investigation of the precipice, whence the smoke intimated an ambush of the enemy. this expectation had no sooner suggested its solace and the exercise of patience in the certainty of ultimate rescue, than the highlander began to mark the preparations among the indians for a swift departure. but how? the precipice was a sheer descent for eighty feet, the ruggedness of its face barely affording foothold for a bird or a mountaineer; and at its base hovered the ensign's party within striking distance. a resisting captive could not be withdrawn by this perilous path. the soldier looked in doubt and suspense about the restricted limits of the cavity in the great crag. the mystery was soon solved. the position of all had changed in the struggle, and from where kenneth macvintie now stood he noted a scant suggestion of light flickering down from a black fissure in the roof of the cavity, and instantly realized that it must give an exit upon the mountain slope beyond. the agility with which attusah of kanootare sprang up and leaped into it was admirable to behold, but macvintie did not believe that, although knotted up as he was in his own plaid passed under his arms and around his waist for the purpose, he could be lifted by the ends of the fabric through that aperture by the strength of any one man. naturally he himself would make no effort to facilitate the enterprise. on the contrary, such inertness as the sheer exercise of will could compass was added to his dead weight. nevertheless he rose slowly, slowly through the air. as he was finally dragged through the rift in the rocks, his first feeling was one of gratification to perceive that no one man could so handle him. the feat had required the utmost exertions of two athletic indians pulling strenuously at the ends of the plaid passed over a projection of rock, thus acting pulley-wise, and the good glasgow weave was shedding its frayed fragments through all the place by reason of the strain it had sustained. the next moment more serious considerations claimed his thoughts. he saw that two men, fully armed, for digatiski had secured ammunition for his own gun from the cartouch-box of the soldier, could force his withdrawal, bound as he was, farther and farther from the ensign and his party, whose attention had been temporarily diverted from the scout's delay in returning by signs of the enemy ambushed in another direction. macvintie still struggled, albeit he knew that it was vain to resist, more especially when another cherokee joined the party and dedicated himself solely to the enterprise of pushing and haling the captive over the rugged way,--often at as fair a speed as if his good will had been enlisted in the endeavor. now and again, however, the highlander contrived to throw himself prone upon the ground, thus effectually hampering their progress and requiring the utmost exertions of all three to lift his great frame. the patience of the indians seemed illimitable; again and again they performed this feat, only to renew it at the distance of a few hundred yards. at length the fact was divined by macvintie. more than the ordinary fear of capture animated attusah of kanootare. colonel grant's treatment of his prisoners was humane as the laws of war require. moreover, his authority, heavily reinforced by threats of pains and penalties, had sufficed, except in a few instances, to restrain the chickasaw allies of the british from wreaking their vengeance on the captive cherokees in the usual tribal method of fire and torture. the inference was obvious. attusah of kanootare was particularly obnoxious to the british government, the civil as well as the military authorities, and fleeing from death himself, he intended at all hazards to prevent the escape of his prisoner, who would give the alarm, and inaugurate pursuit from the party of the ensign. in this connection a new development attracted the attention of macvintie. as they advanced deeper and deeper into the cherokee country and the signs and sights of war grew remote,--no sounds of volleys nor even distant dropping shots clanging from the echoes, no wreaths of smoke floating among the hills, no flare of flames flinging crude red and yellow streaks across the luminous velvet azure of distant mountains with their silver haze, viewed through vistas of craggy chasms near at hand,--he observed a lessening of cordiality in the manner of the other two indians toward the northward warrior, and a frequency on his part to protest that he was a great ada-wehi, and was dead although he appeared alive. the truth soon dawned upon the shrewd scotchman, albeit he understood only so much cherokee as he had chanced to catch up in his previous campaign in this region with montgomerie and the present expedition. attusah was for some reason obnoxious to his own people as well as to the british, and was in effect a fugitive from both factions. indeed, the other two indians presently manifested a disposition to avoid him. after much wrangling and obvious discontent and smouldering suspicion, one lagged systematically, and, the pace being speedy, contrived to fairly quit the party. digatiski accompanied them two more days, then, openly avowing his intent, fell away from the line of march. it was instantly diverted toward the little tennessee river, on the western side of the great smoky mountains; and as attusah realized that without his connivance his captive's escape had become impossible, macvintie found himself unbound, ungagged, and the society of the ada-wehi as pleasant as that of a savage ghost can well be. there was now no effort to escape. macvintie's obvious policy was to await with what patience he might the appearance of the british vanguard, who in the sheer vaunt of victory would march from one end of the unresisting territory to the other, that all might witness and bow before the triumph of the royal authority. as yet remote from the advance of the troops, he dared not quit his captor in these sequestered regions lest he fall into the power of more inimical cherokees, maddened by disaster, overwhelmed in ruin, furious, and thirsting for revenge for the slaughter of their nearest and dearest, and the ashes of their homes. attusah made known his reason for his own uncharacteristic leniency to a soldier of this ruthless army, as they sat together by the shady river-side. he went through the dumb show of repeatedly offering to his captive guest the fish they had caught, pressing additional portions upon him, laughing significantly and joyously throughout his mimicry. then suddenly grave, he seized the highlander's left arm, giving it an earnest grasp about the wrist, the elbow, then close to the shoulder to intimate that he spared him for his gift to the needy and helpless. but kenneth macvintie, remembering his ill-starred generosity, flushed to the eyebrows, so little it became his record as a soldier, he thought, that he should be captured and stand in danger of his life by reason of the unmilitary performance of feeding a babbling pappoose. attusah, however, could but love him for it; he loved the soldier for his kind heart, he said. for great as he himself was, the northward warrior, he had known how bitter it was to lack kindness. "it is not happy to be an ada-wehi!" he confessed, "for those who believe fear those who do not!" and tearing open the throat of his bead-embroidered shirt to reveal the frightful gashes of the wounds in his breast, he told the story of his legal death, with tears in his gay eyes, and a tremor of grief in the proud intonations of his voice, that thus had been requited a feat, the just guerdon of which should have been the warrior's crown,--in the bestowal of which, but for a cowardly fear of the english, all the tribe would have concurred. "_akee-o-hoosa!_" (i am dead!) he said, pointing at the scars. and the highlander felt that death had obviously been in every stroke, and hardly wondered that they who had seen the blows dealt should now account the appearance of the man a spectral manifestation, his unquiet ghost. then, attusah's mood changing suddenly, "_tsida-wei-yu!_" (i am a great ada-wehi!) he boasted airily. that he was truly possessed of magical powers seemed to macvintie least to be questioned when he angled, catching the great catfish, after the manner of the indians, with the open palm of his hand. in these fresh june mornings he would dive down in some deep shady pool under the dark ledges of rock where the catfish are wont to lurk, his right arm wrapped to the fingers with a scarlet cloth. tempted by the seeming bait, the catfish would take the finger-tips deep in its gullet, the strong hand would instantly clinch on its head, and attusah would rise with his struggling gleaming prey, to be broiled on the coals for breakfast. but for these finny trophies they too might have suffered for food, in the scarcity of game and the lack of powder; but thus well fed, the two enemies, like comrades, would loiter beside their camp-fire on the banks, awaiting as it were the course of events. the dark green crystalline lustre of the shady reaches of the river, where the gigantic trees hung over the current, contrasted with the silver glister of the ripples far out, shimmering in the full glare of the sun. the breeze, exquisitely fragrant, would blow fresh and free from the dense forests. the mockingbird, a feathered miracle to the highlander, would sway on a twig above them and sing jubilantly the whole day through and deep into the night. the distant mountains would show-softly blue on the horizon till the sun was going down, when they would assume a translucent jewel-like lustre, amethystine and splendid. and at night all the stars were in the dark sky, for the moon was new. so idle they were they must needs talk and talk. but this was an exercise requiring some skill and patience on the part of each, for the scotchman could only by the closest attention gather the meaning of the cherokee language as it was spoken, and the magic of the ada-wehi compassed but scanty english. attusah was further hampered by the necessity of pausing now and then to spit out the words of the tongue he abhorred as if of an evil taste. nevertheless it was by means of this imperfect linguistic communication that kenneth macvintie, keenly alive to aught of significance in this strange new world, surrounded with unknown unmeasured dangers, was enabled to note how the thoughts of his companion ran upon the half king atta-kulla-kulla. yet whenever a question was asked or curiosity suggested, the wary attusah diverted the topic. this fact focused the observation of the shrewd, pertinacious scotchman. at first he deemed the special interest lay in a jealousy of artistic handicraft. atta-kulla-kulla's name implied the superlative of a skillful carver in wood, attusah told him one day. "an' isna he a skilly man?" macvintie asked. "look at that!" cried the braggart, holding aloft his own work. he was carving a pipe from the soft stone of the region, which so lends itself to the purpose, hardening when heated. "_tsida-wei-yu!_" there was a long pause while the mockingbird sang with an exuberant magic which might baffle the emulation of any ada-wehi of them all. macvintie had almost forgotten the episode when attusah said suddenly that the colonists translated the name of atta-kulla-kulla as the "little carpenter." "hegh! they hae a ship named for his honor!" exclaimed the highlander. "i hae seen the little carpenter in the harbor in charlestoun, swingin' an' bobbin' at her cables, just out frae the mither country! her captain's name wull be maitland." this evidence of the importance of the cherokee magnate in the opinion of the british colonists did not please the ada-wehi. he spat upon the ship with ostentatious contempt as it were, and then went on silently with his carving. the mockingbird paused to listen to a note from the hermit thrush in the dense rhododendron, still splendidly abloom on the mountain slope. the scotchman's eyes narrowed to distinguish if the white flake of light in the deep green water across a little bay were the reflection of the flower known as the chilhowee lily, or the ethereal blossom itself. attusah's mind seemed yet with the seagoing craft. he himself knew the name of another ship, he said presently; and the highlander fancied that he ill liked to be outdone in knowledge of the outer world. but it was immediately developed that in this ship atta-kulla-kulla had sailed to england many years before to visit king george ii. in london.[8] attusah could not at once anglicize the name "chochoola," but after so long a time macvintie was enabled to identify the fox, then a noted british man-of-war. in these leisurely beguilements the days passed, until one morning attusah's fears and presentiments were realized in their seizure by a party of cherokees, who swooped down upon their hermitage and bore them off by force to the council-house of the town of citico, where atta-kulla-kulla and a number of other head men had assembled to discuss the critical affairs of the tribe, and decide on its future policy. so critical indeed was the situation that it seemed to macvintie that they might well dispense with notice of two factors so inconsiderable in the scale of national importance as the ada-wehi and his captive. but one was a british prisoner, calculated to expiate in a degree with his life the woe and ruin his comrades had wrought. the more essential was this course since the triumph of putting him to the torture and death would gratify and reanimate many whose zeal was flagging under an accumulation of anguish and helpless defeat, and stimulate them to renewed exertions. for before the cherokees would sue for peace they waited long in the hope that the french would yet be enabled to convey to them a sufficient supply of powder to renew and prosecute the war. as to the arrest of the other, attusah of kanootare, this was necessary in the event that submission to the british government became inevitable. for since he claimed to be a ghost, surely never was spectre so reckless. he had indeed appeared to so many favored individuals that the english might fairly have cause to doubt his execution in satisfaction of his crimes against the government; and the breach of faith on the part of the cherokee rulers in this conspicuous instance might well preclude the granting of any reasonable terms of peace now, and subject the whole nation to added hardship. this was the argument advanced by atta-kulla-kulla as he stood and addressed his colleagues, who sat on buffalo-skins in a circle on the floor of the council-house of citico,--the usual dome-shaped edifice, daubed within and without with the rich red clay of the country, and situated on a high artificial mound in the centre of the town. the council-fire alone gave light, flashing upon the slender figure and animated face of this chief, who, although of slighter physique and lower stature than his compeers, wielded by reason of his more intellectual qualities so potent an influence among them. the oratorical gifts of atta-kulla-kulla had signally impressed europeans of culture and experience.[9] imagine, then, the effect on the raw young highland soldier, hearing the flow of language, watching the appropriate and forceful gestures, noting the responsive sentiment in the fire-lit countenances of the circle of feather-crested indians, yet comprehending little save that it was a masterpiece of cogent reasoning, richly eloquent, and that every word was as a fagot to the flames and a pang to the torture. attusah of kanootare, the northward warrior, rose to reply in defense of himself and his captive, and atta-kulla-kulla listened as courteously as the rest, although the speech of the ada-wehi depended, like the oratory of many young men, chiefly on a magical assurance. he had an ally, however, in the dominant superstition of the cherokees. numbers of the warriors now ascribed their recent disasters to the neglect of various omens, or the omission of certain propitiatory observances of their ancient religion, or the perpetration of deeds known to be adversely regarded by the ruling spirits of war. moreover, they were all aware that this man had been killed, left for dead, reported as dead to the british government, which accepted the satisfaction thus offered for his crimes,--the deeds themselves, however, accounted by him and the rest of the tribe praiseworthy and the achievements of war. and here he was protesting that he was dead and a ghost. "_akee-o-hoosa! akee-o-hoosa! tsida-wei-yu!_" he cried continually. indeed, this seemed to be the only reasonable method of accounting for the renewed presence in the world of a man known to be dead. this was his status, he argued. he was a dead man, and this was his captive. the cherokee nation could not pretend to follow with its control the actions of a dead man. they themselves had pronounced him dead. he had no place in the war. he had been forbidden, on account of his official death, to compete for the honors of the campaign. apart from his former status as a cherokee, merely as a supernatural being, a spirit, an ada-wehi, he had captured this british soldier, who was therefore the property of a dead man. and the cherokee law of all things and before all things forbade interference with the effects of the dead. despite the curling contempt on the lip of atta-kulla-kulla the council did not immediately acquiesce in his view, and thus for a time flattered the hope of the ada-wehi that they were resting in suspension on the details of this choice argument. there was an illogical inversion of values in the experience of the tribe, and while they could not now accept the worthless figments of long ago, it was not vouchsafed to them to enjoy the substantial merits of the new order of things. reason, powder, diplomacy, had brought the cherokee nation to a point of humiliation to which superstition, savagery, and the simplicities of the tomahawk had never descended in "the good old times." reason was never so befuddled of aspect, civilization never so undesired as now. in their own expanded outlook at life, however, they could not afford to ignore the views of atta-kulla-kulla, the advocate of all the newer methods, in so important a matter as the release of a british prisoner of war on the strange pretext that his captor was a ghost of a peculiar spectral power, an ada-wehi, although this course would have been more agreeable to the "old beloved" theories of their halcyon days of eld, when the cherokee name was a terror and a threat. therefore, averse as they were to subscribe to the modern methods which had wrought them such woe and humiliation and defeat, the dominant superstition of the race now fell far short of the fantasy of liberating a british prisoner at this crisis under the influence of any spectral manifestation whatsoever. the council was obviously steeled against this proposition, as macvintie shortly perceived, and equally determined that the ada-wehi must needs exert phenomenal and magical powers indeed to avoid yet making good the nation's pledge of his death to the british government, and becoming a ghost in serious earnest. macvintie's heart sank within him as he noted the hardening of the lines of their grave harsh faces and the affirmative nodding of the feather-crested heads, conferring together, as the decision was reached. it accorded, however, with their ancient custom to postpone over a night the execution of any sentence of special weight, and therefore the council adjourned to the next day, the two prisoners being left in the deserted building, each securely bound with a rope to a pillar of the series which upheld the roof of the strange circular edifice. this colonnade stood about four feet from the wall, and the interval between was occupied by a divan, fashioned of dexterously woven cane, extending around the room; and as the prisoners could seat themselves here, or lie at full length, they were subjected to no greater hardship than was consistent with their safe custody. a sentinel with his musket on his shoulder stood at the door, and the sun was going down. kenneth macvintie could see through the open portal the red glow in the waters of the tennessee river. now and then a flake of a glittering white density glided through it, which his eyes, accustomed to long distances, discriminated as a swan. thunder-heads, however, were gathering above the eastern slopes and the mountains were a lowering slate-toned purple, save when a sudden flash of lightning roused them to a vivid show of green. the dull red hue of the interior of the council-house darkened gradually; the embers of the council-fire faded into the gray ash, and the night came sullen and threatening before its time. the young highlander sought to bend his mind to the realization that his days on earth were well-nigh ended, and that it behooved him to think on the morrow elsewhere. he had an old-fashioned religious faith presumed to be fitted for any emergency, but in seeking to recall its dogmas and find such consolation in its theories as might sustain a martyr at the stake, he was continually distracted with the momentous present. the two prisoners could no longer see each other, and the little gestures and significant glances which had supplemented their few words, and made up for the lack of better conversational facilities were impracticable in the darkness. the silent obscurity was strangely lonely. macvintie began to doubt if the other still lived. "attusah!" he said at length. "_tsida-wei-yu!_" (i am a great ada-wehi) murmured the ghost mechanically. he was quite spent, exhausted by the effort to logically exist as a ghost in a world which had repudiated him as a live man. macvintie, who found it hard enough to reconcile himself to die once, felt a poignant sympathy for him, who must needs die again. but the highlander could not think. he could not even pray. he desisted from the fitful effort after a time. he had a depressing realization that a good soldier relies upon the proficiency acquired by the daily drill to serve in an emergency, not a special effort at smartness for an occasion. the battle or the review would show the quality of the stuff that was in him. despite the stunned despair which possessed his mental faculties, his physical senses were keenly acute. he marked unconsciously the details of the rising of the wind bringing the storm hitherward. a searching flash of lightning showed the figure of the sentinel, half crouching before the blast, at his post in the open portal. the rain was presently falling heavily, and ever and anon a great suffusion of yellow glare in its midst revealed the myriads of slanting lines as it came. he inhaled the freshened fragrance it brought from the forests. he noted the repeated crash of the thunder, the far-away rote of the echoes, the rhythmic beat of the torrents on the ground, and their tumultuous swift dash down the slope of the dome-shaped roof, and suddenly among these turmoils,--he could hardly believe his ears,--a mild little whimper of protest. the sentinel heard it too. macvintie saw his dark figure in the doorway as he turned his head to listen. a woman's voice sounded immediately, bidding a child beware how he cried, lest she call the great white owl, the oo-koo-ne-kah, to catch him! the flare of the lightning revealed a pappoose the next moment, upright in his perpendicular cradle, as it swung on his mother's back, in the drenching downpour of the rain, for the woman had advanced to the sentinel and was talking loudly and eagerly. kenneth silently recognized the small creature who had moved him to a trivial charity which had resulted in so strangely disproportionate a disaster. doubtless, however, the squaws would never have been able to return to their accustomed place but for the food which he had given them, sustaining them on the journey home. it would imply some mission of importance surely, he thought, to induce the woman to expose the child to a tempest like this; and indeed the pappoose, buffeted by the wind, the rain full in his face, lifted up his voice again in a protest so loud and vehement that his mother was enabled to see the great white owl, whose business it is to remove troublesome little cherokees from the sphere of worry of their elders, already winging his way hither. one might wonder if the oo-koo-ne-kah would do worse for him than his maternal guardian, but pelted by the pitiless rain he promptly sank his bleatings to a mere babble of a whimper. thereby kenneth was better enabled to hear what the woman was saying to the sentinel. an important mission indeed, as macvintie presently gathered, for she must needs lift her voice stridently to be heard above the din of the elements. some powder, only a little it was true, had been sent by the french to the town, and a share had been left at the house of the sentinel that night in the general distribution. but there was no one at home. all his family were across the mountains, whither, according to the custom of the cherokees, they had gone to find and bring back the body of his brother, who had been killed in the fight at etchoee. and the leak in the roof! she, his nearest neighbor, had just bethought herself of the leak in the roof! would not the powder, the precious powder, be ruined? had he not best go to see at once about it? he hesitated, letting the butt of his gun sink to the ground. she seized the weapon promptly. she would stand guard here till he returned, she promised. the prisoners were bound. they could not move. it would require but an instant's absence,--and the powder was so scarce, so precious! the next moment the sentinel was gone! the darkness descended, doubly intense, after a succession of electric flashes; the rain fell with renewed force. macvintie suddenly heard the babbling whimper quite close beside him, somewhat subdued by a fierce maternal admonition to listen to the terrible voice of the oo-koo-ne-kah, coming to catch a cherokee cry-baby! a stroke of a knife here and there, and the two prisoners were freed from their bonds. the highland soldier did not know whether attusah looked back while in flight, but his last glimpse of the cherokee town of citico showed the broad glare of lightning upon the groups of conical roofs in the slanting lines of rain; the woman on the high mound at the portal of the council-house, with the pappoose on her back and the gun in her hand; the sentinel once more climbing the ascent to his post. and the last words he heard were chronicling the adverse sentiments entertained toward bad children by the oo-koo-ne-kah, the mysterious great white owl. the escape was not discovered till the next day, and was universally attributed to the magic of the ada-wehi. even the sentinel himself doubted naught, having left a trusty deputy in his stead, for the devotion of the cherokee women to the tribal cause was proverbial, and gratitude, even for a rescue from starvation, is not usually an urgent motive power. kenneth macvintie was seen again in the cherokee country only in his place as a marker in the march of his regiment, and as he was evidently exceedingly desirous to permit no one to incur penalties for his liberation, his officers spared him questions concerning his escape, save in a general way. when the ada-wehi next reappeared in a remote town of the district and was sedulously interrogated as to how his freedom had been achieved, he threw out his right hand at arm's length in his old, boastful, airy gesture. "_cheesto kaiere!_" (an old rabbit!) he exclaimed. "a little old rabbit ran down the slope. i turned the soldier into a rabbit, and he ran away. and i turned myself into a fish, and i swam away. ha! _tsida-wei-yu!_" (i am a great ada-wehi!) the fate of the cheera-taghe along the old "trading-path" that was wont to wind from the cherokee country among the innumerable spurs and gorges of the great smoky mountains, and through the dense primeval forests full five hundred miles to the city of charlestown, was visible for many years, on the banks of the little tennessee, an "old waste town," as the abandoned place was called in the idiom of the indians. an early date it might seem, in 1744, in this new land, for the spectacle of the ruins of a race still in possession, still unsubdued. nearly twenty years later, after the repeated aggressive expeditions which the british government sent against the cherokees, such vestiges became more numerous. this "waste town," however, neither fire nor sword had desolated, and the grim deeds of british powder and lead were still of the future. the enemy came in more subtle sort. only one of the white pack-men employed to drive a score of well-laden horses semi-annually from charlestown to a trading-station farther along on the great tennessee--then called the cherokee river--and back again used to glower fearfully at the "waste town" as he passed. he had ample leisure for speculation, for the experienced animals of the pack-train required scant heed, so regularly they swung along in single file, and the wild whoops of their drivers were for the sake of personal encouragement and the simple joy which very young men find in their own clamor. it grew specially boisterous always when they neared the site of nilaque great, the deserted place, as if to give warning to any vague spiritual essences, unmeet for mortal vision, that might be lurking about the "waste town," and bid them avaunt, for the place was reputed haunted. the rest of the carolina pack-men, trooping noisily past, averted their eyes from the darkened doors of the empty houses; the weed-grown spaces of the "beloved square," where once the ceremonies of state, the religious rites, the public games and dances were held; the council-house on its high mound, whence had been wont to issue the bland vapors of the pipe of peace or the far more significant smoke emitted from the cheera, the "sacred fire," which only the cheera-taghe, the fire-prophets,[10] were permitted to kindle, and which was done with pomp and ceremony in the new year, when every spark of the last year's fire had been suffered to die out. cuthbert barnett, however, always looked to see what he might,--perhaps because he was a trifle bolder than the other stalwart pack-men, all riding armed to the teeth to guard the goods of the train from robbery as well as their own lives from treachery, for although the cherokees professed friendship it was but half-hearted, as they loved the french always better than the english; perhaps because he had a touch of imagination that coerced his furtive glance; perhaps because he doubted more, or believed less, of the traditions of the day. and he saw--silence! the sunset in vacant spaces, with long, slanting, melancholy rays among the scattered houses of the hamlet; an empty doorway, here and there; a falling rotting roof; futile traces of vanished homes. once a deer and fawn were grazing in the weed-grown fields that used to stand so thick with corn that they laughed and sung; once--it was close upon winter--he heard a bear humming and humming his content (the hunters called the sound "singing") from the den where the animal had bestowed himself among the fallen logs of a dwelling-house, half covered with great drifts of dead leaves; often an owl would cry out in alarm from some dark nook as the pack-train clattered past; and once a wolf with a stealthy and sinister tread was patrolling the "beloved square." these were but the natural incidents of the time and the ruins of the old cherokee town. little did cuddy barnett imagine, as he gazed on the deserted and desolate place, that he was yet to behold the smoke of the "sacred fire" flaring up into the blue sky from the portal of the temple, as the cheera-taghe would issue bearing the flame aloft, newly kindled in the opening year, and calling upon many assembled people to light therefrom their hearths, rekindling good resolutions and religious fervor for the future, and letting the faults of the unavailing past die out with the old year's fire; that he was to mark the clash of arms in the "beloved square," once more populous with the alert figures of warriors in martial array, making ready for the war-path; that he was to hear the joyful religious songs of greeting to the dawn, and the sonorous trumpeting of the conch-shells, as the vanished indians of the "old waste town" would troop down at daybreak into the water of that bright stream where long ago they had been wont to plunge in their mystic religious ablutions. all this, however, the pack-men might see and hear, to believe the tradition of the day, in camping but a single night near the old "waste town." and so anxious were these gay itinerant companies to see and hear nothing of such ghostly sort that whatever the stress of the weather, the mischances of the journey, the condition of the pack-animals, this vicinity was always distinguished by the longest day's travel of the whole route, and the camp was pitched at the extreme limit of the endurance of man and horse to compass distance from nilaque great. for believe what one might, the fact remained indisputable, that a decade earlier, when the place was inhabited, strange sounds were rife about the locality, the "sacred fire" was unkindled on the great "sanctified day," the two cheera-taghe of the town mysteriously disappeared, and their fate had remained a dark riddle. one of these men, oo-koo-koo, was well known in charlestown. both were of influence in the tribe, but often he had been specially chosen as one of the delegations of warriors and "beloved men" sent to wait in diplomatic conference on the governor of south carolina, to complain of injustice in the dealings of the licensed traders or the encroachments of the frontier settlers, or to crave the extension of some privilege of the treaty which the cherokee tribe had lately made with the british government. two white men, who had become conspicuous in a short stay in the town of nilaque great, disappeared simultaneously, and the suspicion of foul dealing on their part against the cheera-taghe, which the cherokee nation seemed disposed to entertain, threatened at one time the peace that was so precious to the "infant settlements," as the small, remote, stockaded stations of the carolina frontiersmen were tenderly called. therefore the governor of south carolina, now a royal province,--the event occurred during the incumbency of robert johnson, who having acted in that capacity for the lords proprietors, well understood the menace of the situation,--busied himself with extreme diligence to discover the subsequent movements of the two white men, whose names were terence o'kimmon and adrien l'ã�pine, in order to ascertain the fate of the cheera-taghe, and if evilly entreated, to bring the perpetrators of the deed to justice. with a long, unguarded, open frontier such as his province presented to the incursions of the warlike and fierce cherokees, who, despite their depopulating wars with other tribes, could still bring to the field six thousand braves from their sixty-four towns, the inhabitants of which were estimated at twenty thousand souls, he was by no means disposed to delay or to indulge doubts or to foster compatriot commiseration in meting out the penalty of the malefactors. the united militia of south carolina and georgia at this time numbered but thirty-five hundred rank and file, these colonies being so destitute of white men for the common defense that a memorial addressed to his majesty king george ii. a little earlier than this event, bearing date april 9, 1734, pathetically states that "money itself cannot here raise a sufficient body of them." the search for the suspects, however, although long, exhaustive, and of such diligence as to convince the indians of its sincerity of purpose, resulted fruitlessly. the government presently took occasion to made some valuable presents to the tribe, not as indemnity, for it could recognize no responsibility in the strange disaster, but for the sake of seeming to comply with the form of offering satisfaction for the loss, which otherwise the indians would retaliate with massacre. nilaque great with this cloud upon it grew dreary. the strange disappearance of its cheera-taghe was canvassed again and again, reaching no surmise of the truth. speculations, futile as they were continuous, began to be reinforced with reminiscences of the date of the event, and certain episodes became strangely significant now, although hardly remarked at the time; people remembered unexplained and curious noises that had sounded like muffled thunder in the deep midnight, and again, scarcely noted, in the broad daylight. the "sacred fire" remained unkindled, and sundry misfortunes were attributed to this unprecedented neglect; an expert warrior, young and notably deft-handed, awkwardly shot himself with his own gun; the crops, cut short by a late and long-continued drought, were so meagre as to be hardly worth the harvesting; the days appointed for the annual feasts and thanksgiving were like days of mourning; discontents waxed and grew strong. superstitious terrors became rife, and at length it was known at charlestown that the cherokees of nilaque great had settled a new place farther down upon the river, for at the old town the vanished cheera-taghe were abroad in the spirit, pervading the "beloved square" at night with cries of "_a-kee-o-hoo-sa! a-kee-o-hoo-sa!_" (i am dead! i am dead!) clamoring for their graves and the honors of sepulture due to them and denied. and this was a grief to the head men of the town, for of all tribes the cherokees loved and revered their dead. thus when other cheera-taghe kindled for the municipality the "sacred fire" for a new year it was distributed to hearths far away, and nilaque great, deserted and depopulated, had become a "waste town." a fair place it had been in its prime, and so it had seemed one afternoon in june, 1734, when for the first time the two white strangers had entered it. mountains more splendid than those which rose about it on every hand it would be difficult to imagine. the dense, rich woods reach in undiminished vigor along the slopes covering them at a height of six thousand feet, till the "tree line" interposes; thence the great bare domes lift their stately proportions among the clouds. along these lofty perspectives the varying distance affords the vision a vast array of gradations of color,--green in a thousand shades, and bronze, and purple, and blue,--blue growing ever fainter and more remote till it is but an illusion of azure, and one may believe that the summits seen through a gap to the northeast are sheer necromancy of the facile horizon. in the deep verdant cove below, groups of the giant trees common to the region towered above the stanchly constructed cabins that formed the homes of the indians, for the cherokees, detesting labor and experts in procrastination, builded well and wisely that they might not be forced to rebuild, and many of the distinctive features of the stout frontier architecture were borrowed by the pioneers from aboriginal example. out beyond the shadows were broad stretches of fields with the lush june in the wide and shining blade and the flaunting tassel. the voices of women and young girls came cheerily from the breezy midst as they tilled the ground, where flourished in their proper divisions the three varieties of maize known to indian culture, "the six weeks' corn, the hominy corn, and the bread corn." a shoal of canoes skimmed down the river, each with its darting shadow upon that lucent current and seeming as native, as indigenous to the place as the minnows in a crystal brown pool there by the waterside--each too with its swift javelin-like motion and a darting shadow. sundry open doors here and there showed glimpses of passing figures within, but the arrival of the strangers was unnoticed till some children playing beside the river caught sight of the unaccustomed faces. with a shrill cry of discovery, they sped across the square, agitated half by fright and half by the gusto of novelty. in another moment there were two score armed men in the square. "now hould yer tongue still, an' i'll do the talkin'," said one of the white adventurers to the other, speaking peremptorily, but with a suave and delusive smile. "if yez weren't frinch ye'd be a beautiful englishman; but i hev got the advantage of ye in that, an' faix i'll kape it." he was evidently of a breeding inferior to that of his companion, but he had so sturdy and swinging a gait, so stalwart and goodly a build, so engaging a manner, and so florid a smile, that the very sight of him was disarming, despite the patent crafty deceit in his face. it seemed as if it could not be very deep or guileful, it was so frankly expressed. it was suggestive of the roguish machinations of a child. he had twinkling brown eyes, and reddish hair, plaited in a club and tied with a thong of leather. his features were blunt, but his red, well-shaped lips parted in a ready, reassuring smile, and showed teeth as even and white as the early corn. both men were arrayed in the buckskin shirt and leggings generally worn by the frontiersmen, but the face of the other had a certain incongruity with his friend's, and was more difficult to decipher. it looked good,--not kind, but true. it had severe pragmatic lines about the mouth, and the lips were thin and somewhat fixedly set. his eyes were dark, serious, and very intent, as if he could argue and protest very earnestly on matters of no weight. he would in a question of theory go very far if set on the wrong line, and just as far on the right. the direction was the matter of great moment, and this seemed now in the hands of the haphazard but scheming irishman. "if it plaze yer honor," said o'kimmon in english, taking off his coonskin cap with a lavish flourish as a tall and stately indian hastily garbed in fine raiment of the aboriginal type, a conspicuous article of which was a long feather-wrought mantle, both brilliant and delicate of effect, detached himself from the group and came forward, "i can't spake yer illigant language,--me eddication bein' that backward,--but i kin spake me own so eloquent that it would make a gate-post prick up the ears of understanding. we've come to visit yez, sor." the smile which the hibernian bent upon the savage was of a honeyed sweetness, but the heart of his companion sank as he suddenly noted the keen, intuitive power of comprehension expressed in the face of the old indian. here was craft too, but of a different quality, masked, potent, impossible to divine, to measure, to thwart. the sage oo-koo-koo stood motionless, his eyes narrowing, his long, flat, cruel mouth compressed as with a keen scrutiny he marked all the characteristics of the strangers,--first of one, then deliberately of the other. a war captain (his flighty name was watatuga, the dragon-fly, although he looked with his high nose and eagle glance more like a bird of prey), assuming precedence of the others, pressed up beside the prophet, and the challenge of his eyes and the contempt that dilated his nostrils might have seemed more formidable of intent than the lacerating gaze of the cheera-taghe, except that to an irishman there is always a subtle joy even in the abstract idea of fight. the rest of the braves, with their alert, high-featured cast of countenance, inimical, threatening, clustered about, intent, doubtful, listening. adrien l'ã�pine had his secret doubts as to the efficacy of the bold, blunt, humorous impudence which terence o'kimmon fancied such masterful policy,--taking now special joy in the fact that its meaning was partially veiled because of the presumable limitations of the indian's comprehension of the english language. the more delicate nurture that l'ã�pine obviously had known revolted at times from this unkempt brusquerie, although he had a strong pulse of sympathy with the wild, lawless disregard of conventional standards which characterized much of the frontier life. he feared, too, that o'kimmon underrated the extent of the cherokee's comprehension of the language of which, however, the indians generally spoke only a few disconnected phrases. so practiced were the savages in all the arts of pantomime, in the interpretation of facial expression and the intonation of the voice, that l'ã�pine had known in his varied wanderings of instances of tribes in conference, each ignorant of the other's language, who nevertheless reached a definite and intricate mutual understanding without the services of an interpreter. l'ã�pine felt entrapped, regretful, and wished to recede. he winced palpably as o'kimmon's rich irish voice, full of words, struck once more upon the air. "me godson, the governor o' south carolina," terence o'kimmon resumed, lying quite recklessly, "sint his humble respects,--an' he's that swate upon yez that he licks his fingers ter even sphake yer name! (pity i furgits ut, bein' i never knew ut!)" although possessing an assurance that he could get the better of the devil, "could he but identify him," as o'kimmon frequently said, he felt for one moment as if he were now in the presence. despite his nerve the silence terrified him. he was beginning to cringe before the steady glare of those searching eyes. it was even as a refreshment of spirit to note a sudden bovine snort of rage from the lightsome dragon-fly, as if he could ill bridle his inimical excitement. the adventurers had not anticipated a reception of this sort, for the hospitality of the indians was proverbial. credentials surely were not necessary in the social circles of the cherokees, and two men to six thousand offered no foundation for fear. o'kimmon had such confidence in his own propitiating wiles and crafty policy that he did not realize how his genial deceit was emblazoned upon his face, how blatant it was in his voice. but for its challenging duplicity there would hardly have arisen a suggestion of suspicion. many men on various errands easily found their way into the indian tribes when at peace with the british, and suffered no injury. nevertheless as the wise oo-koo-koo looked at o'kimmon thus steadily, with so discerning a gaze, the irishman felt each red hair of his scalp rise obtrusively into notice, as if to suggest the instant taking of it. he instinctively put on his coonskin cap again to hold his scalp down, as he said afterward. "why come?" oo-koo-koo demanded sternly. "tell the truth, for god's sake!" l'ã�pine adjured o'kimmon in a low voice. "i'm not used to it! 't would give me me death o' cold!" quavered the irishman, in sad sincerity, at a grievous loss. "_asgaya uneka_ (white man), but no ingliss," said the astute indian, touching the breast of each with the bowl of his pipe, still in his hand and still alight as it was when the interruption of their advent had occurred. "no, by the powers,--not english!" exclaimed the irishman impulsively, seeing he was already discovered. "i'm me own glorious nation!--the pride o' the worruld,--i was born in the emerald isle, the gem o' the say! i'm an oirishman from the tip o' me scalp--in the name o' pity _why_ should i mintion the contrivance" (dropping his voice to an appalled muffled tone)--"may the saints purtect ut! but surely, mister injun, i've no part nor lot with the bloody bastes o' englishers either over the say or in the provinces. if i were the brother-in-law o' the governor o' south carolina i'd hev a divorce from the murtherin' englisher before he could cry, 'quarter!'" oo-koo-koo, the wise owl, made no direct answer. "_asgaya uneka_ (white man), but no ingliss," he only said, now indicating l'ã�pine. "frinch in the mornin', plaze yer worship, an' only a bit o' english late in the afternoon o' the day," cried o'kimmon, officiously, himself once more. "french father, english mother," explained l'ã�pine, feeling that the indian was hardly a safe subject for the pleasantries of conundrums. "but his mother was but a wee bit of a woman," urged o'kimmon; "the most of him is frinch,--look at the size of him!" for o'kimmon was now bidding as high against the english aegis as earlier he had been disposed to claim its protection, when he had protested his familiarity with the royal governor of south carolina. in an instant he was once more gay, impudent, confident of carrying everything before him. he divined that some recent friction had supervened in the ever-clashing interests subsisting between the cherokee nation and the british government, and was relying on the recurrent inclination of this tribe to fraternize with the french. their influence from their increasing western settlements was exerted antagonistically to the british colonists, by whom it was dreaded in anticipation of the war against a french and cherokee alliance which came later. oo-koo-koo, complacent in his own sagacity in having detected a difference in the speech of the new-comers from the english which he had been accustomed to hear in charlestown, and animated by a wish to believe, hearkened with the more credulity to an expansive fiction detailed by the specious irishman as to their mission here. they were awaiting the coming of certain pettiaugres from new orleans,--a long journey by way of the mississippi, the ohio, the cherokee, and the tennessee rivers,--with a cargo of french goods cheaper than the english. they designed to establish a trading-post at some convenient point, out of reach of the grasping british, and thus to compete with the monopoly of the cherokee commerce which the english government sought to foster. and then, to furnish a leaven of truth to this mass of lies, he detailed, with such a relish as only an irishman can feel in a happy incongruity, that the french, having no market in old france for deerskins, the chief commodity of barter that the indians possessed, disposed of them to ships of the british colonies, from new york and elsewhere, lured thus to new orleans, in exchange for english cloths and other british manufactures, which the french then surreptitiously furnished to the indians of the british alliance, underselling them on every hand. "the intellects of the frinch are so handsome!" cried o'kimmon, the tears of delighted laughter in his eyes. "faix, that is what makes 'em so close kin to the oirish!" albeit the cherokee treaty with the british forbade the indians to trade with white men of any other nationality than the english, these professed aliens were promised protection and concealment from the british government, and the pretext of their mission served to countenance their lingering stay. soon their presence seemed a matter of course. the indians had recurred to their methods of suave hospitality. the two strangers encountered only friendly looks and words, while affecting to gratify curiosity by peering into all the unaccustomed habitudes,--the preparation of food, the manufacture of deerskin garments, the care of the sick, the modeling of bowls and jars of clay, in which the cherokees were notably expert as well as in the weaving of feather-wrought fabrics and baskets, the athletic games, the horse-races, the continual dances and pantomimic plays,--and were presently domiciled as it were in the tribe. of so little note did they soon become that when they gradually ceased these manifestations of interest, as if familiarity had sated their curiosity, it seemed to occasion no comment. they were obviously free to rove, to stay, to live their lives as they would without interference or surveillance. nevertheless, they still maintained the utmost caution. sometimes, idleness being no phenomenon, they would lie half the day in the shade on the river-bank. the tennessee was shrunken now in the heated season, and great gravelly slopes were exposed. the two loiterers were apparently motionless at first, but as their confidence increased and the chances of being observed lessened, l'ã�pine, always dreading discovery, began to casually pass the gravel and sand through his fingers as he lay; sometimes he idly trifled with the blade of a hoe in a shallow pool left by the receding waters, while the jolly irishman, now grave and solicitous, watched him breathlessly. then l'ã�pine would shake his head, and the mercurial o'kimmon groaned his deep despondency. once the frenchman's head was not shaken. a flush sprang up among the pragmatic lines of l'ã�pine's face; his dark eyes glittered; his hand shook; for as he held out the hoe, on its blade were vaguely glimmering particles among the sand. later the two adventurers cherished a small nugget of red, red gold! this find chanced below a bluff in a sort of grotto of rock, which the water filled when the river was high, and left quite dry and exposed as it receded in the droughts of summer. whether the two strangers were too much and too long out of sight; whether attention was attracted by certain perforated dippers or pans which they now brought into assiduous use, but which they sought to conceal; whether they had been all the time furtively watched, with a suspicion never abated, one can hardly say. they had observed every precaution of secrecy that the most zealous heed could suggest. only one worked with the pan while the other lay motionless and idle, and vigilantly watched and listened for any stealthy sign of approach. they fully realized the jealousy of the indians concerning the mineral wealth of their territory, lest its discovery bring hordes of the craving white people to dispossess them. this prophetic terror was later fulfilled in the ayrate division of the tribe, but to the northward, along the tennessee river, they sedulously guarded this knowledge. traditions there are to the present day in the great smoky mountains concerning mines of silver and lead, and of localities rich in auriferous gravel which are approximately ascertained, but which the cherokees knew accurately and worked as far as they listed;--they carried their secret with them to the grave or the far west. the exploration of l'ã�pine and o'kimmon of necessity was conducted chiefly by day, but one night the prospectors could not be still, the moon on the sand was so bright! the time which they had fixed for a silent, secret departure was drawing near. their bags were almost filled, but they lingered for a little more, and covetously a little more still. and this night, this memorable night, the moon on the sand was as bright as day! the light slanted across the tennessee river and shimmered in the ripples. one could see, if one would, the stately lines of dark summits along a far horizon. a mockingbird was singing from out the boscage of the laurel near at hand, and the night wind was astir. and suddenly the two gold-washers in the depths of the grotto became conscious that they were not alone. there, sitting like stone figures one on each side of the narrow portal, were the two cheera-taghe of the town, silent, motionless, watching with eyes how long alert, listening with ears how discerningly attentive, it is impossible to divine. the gold-washers sprang to their feet, each instinctively grasping for his weapon, but alack, neither was armed! the pan had come to seem the most potent of accoutrements, with which, in good sooth, one might take the world by storm, and the rifle and knife were forgotten, in their absorption. doubtless the cherokees interpreted aright the gesture, so significant, so obvious to their methods of life. both the cheera-taghe were armed with pistol as well as tomahawk and scalping-knife. perhaps because of this they felt secure, at leisure, acquiescently allowing the event to develop as it needs must,--or perhaps realizing the significance of the discovery to the young strangers, their palpitant eagerness to gauge its result, their dread of reprisal, of forced renunciation of their booty, the indians permitted themselves a relish of the torture of an enemy on a more aesthetic scheme than their wont. the two cheera-taghe, the shadow of their feather-crested heads in the moonlight on the sand of the grotto almost as distinct as the reality, spoke suddenly to each other, and the discomfited gold-seekers, who had learned to comprehend to a certain extent the language, perceived with dismay the sarcasm that lengthened their suspense. for it was thus that the rulers among the cherokees rebuked their own young people, not upbraiding them with their misdeeds, but with gentle satire complimenting them for that in which they had notably failed. "a reward for hospitality we find in these young men," said one, whose voice was hoarse and croaking and guttural and who was called kanoona (the bull-frog). "strangers to us, yet they requite us, for we treated them as our own," said oo-koo-koo. "they treat us as _their own!_" the croaking, satiric, half-smothered laughter of this response intimated an aside. then kanoona in full voice went on, "open and frank as the day, they keep no secrets from us!" "they are honest! they rob us not of the yellow stone which the carolina people think so precious!" rejoined oo-koo-koo, while o'kimmon and l'ã�pine looked from one to the other as the cheera-taghe sustained this fugue of satiric accusation. "not they," croaked the responsive voice, "for behold, we have long time fed and lodged them and given them of our best. we have believed them and trusted them. we have befriended them and loved them." "and they have befriended and loved us!" said oo-koo-koo. then silence. the river sang, but only a murmurous rune; the mute moonlight lay still on the mountains; the wind had sunk, and the motionless leaves glistened as the dew fell; a nighthawk swept past the portal of the grotto with the noiseless wing of its kind. "had they desired to explore our land they would have asked our consent," the croaking voice of kanoona resumed the antiphonal reproach. "they would not have brought upon us the hordes of british colonists, who would fain drive us from our habitations for their greed of the yellow stone." "oh, no! never would they make so base a recompense!--to bring upon us the destruction of our men and women and children, the wresting from us of our land, the casting of us forth from our homes,--because the poor, unsuspecting indians gave them food and shelter and a haven of rest while waiting for the pettiaugres that are coming up from new orleans." "_the pettiaugres from new orleans_!" kanoona repeated with a burst of raucous laughter. "hala! hala!" but oo-koo-koo preserved his gravity. "they would not lie! surely the white men would not lie!" then turning to o'kimmon he asked point-blank, "chee-a-koh-ga?" (do you lie?) the direct address was a relief to o'kimmon. he had often wondered to see the young braves reduced almost to tears by this seemingly gentle discipline; he felt its poignancy when the keen blade of satire was turned against himself. "i did lie!" he admitted, as unreservedly as it he were at confession. "but oo-koo-koo, we will pay for what we've got. this is all of ut! an' faix, yez have thrated us well,--an' begorra, we would have axed yer consint, if we had dramed we could have got ut!" he concluded ingenuously. the two indians gazed at him with a surprise so evident that a chill ran through his every nerve. "we will never reveal the secret,--the place of the gold," declared l'ã�pine. then perceiving in his turn something uncomprehended in their expression he reinforced his promise with argument. "we will want to come back--alone--to get more of it--all for ourselves. we will not be willing to share our discovery with others." the cheera-taghe still silently gazed at the two young men; then turned toward each other with that patent astonishment yet on their faces. at last they burst forth into sarcastic laughter. l'ã�pine and o'kimmon, albeit half bewildered, exchanged appalled glances. there was no need of speech. each understood at last. return! there was no chance of departure. they were to pay the penalty of the dangerous knowledge they had acquired. already some vague report, some suspicion of the hidden gold of the locality had been bruited abroad,--thus the indians must reason,--or these white men would not have come so far to seek it. should they be permitted to depart, their sudden wealth would proclaim its source, even though as they had promised they should keep silence. this was equally true should they eventually escape. therefore--hideous realization!--the actual possession by the indians of their own country depended upon the keeping of the secret inviolate. dead men tell no tales! o'kimmon, with a swelling heart, bethought himself of his status as a british subject and the possible vengeance of the province. it would come, if at all, too late. for the cherokees believed the two to be without the pale of the english protection. one had repudiated the government, declaring himself an irishman, a nationality then unknown to the cherokees. the other was french,--no reprisal for his sake was possible to a tribe under british allegiance. death it must be!--doubtless with all the pomp and circumstance of the torture, for from the standpoint of the indians they had requited hospitality with robbery. death was inevitable,--unless they could now escape. had they but one weapon between them they might yet make good their flight. an irishman rarely stops to count the odds. with the thought o'kimmon, heavy, muscular, yet alert, threw himself upon oo-koo-koo, and in an instant he had almost wrenched the knife from the indian's belt. the other cherokee cried warningly, "_akee-rooka! akee-rooka_!" (i will shoot!) then drew his pistol and fired. the next moment, perhaps for many moments thereafter, none of them knew very definitely what had happened. there was a cloud of dust, a terrific detonation, a sudden absolute darkness, as in some revulsion of nature, a stifling sensation. they were penned within the grotto by a great fragment of the beetling cliff. doubtless it had been previously fractured by the action of continuous freezes, and the concussion of the pistol shot in the restricted space of the cave below had brought it down. the days went on. the men were missed after a time, but a considerable interval had elapsed. the two strangers had of late kept themselves much apart, owing to their absorption and their covert methods of seeking for gold. it was an ill-ordered, roaming, sylvan life they led at best. the cheera-taghe, although "beloved men" and priests of their strange and savage religion, were but wild indians, and their temporary absence created no surprise. in fact, until sought with anxiety when the drought had become excessive and threatened the later crops, and the services of the cheera-taghe were necessary to invoke and with wild barbaric ceremonials bring down the lightning and thunder to clear the atmosphere and the rain to refresh the soil, it was not ascertained that the prophets had definitely disappeared. then it was that excitement supervened, search, anxiety, grief, fear. there began to be vague rumors of untoward sounds, remembered rather than noticed at the time. faint explosions had been heard in the night as if under the ground, and again in broad daylight as if in the air. none could imagine that the doomed men had sought to attract the attention of the town by firing off their pistols, thus utilizing their scanty ammunition. the strain grew intense; superstitious fancies supplemented the real mystery; the place was finally abandoned, and thus nilaque great became a "waste town." it was ten years, perhaps, after this blight had fallen upon it, that one day as the pack-train came down the valley of the little tennessee, on its autumnal return trip to charlestown, the snow began to sift down. an unseasonable storm it was, for the winter had hardly set in. a north wind sprang up; the snow was soon heavily driving; within an hour the woods, still in the red leafage of autumn, were covered with snow and encased in ice. only by a strenuous effort would the train be able to pass the old "waste town" before the early dusk,--a mile or two at most; but it was hoped that this might suffice to keep the ghosts out of the bounds of visibility. the roaring bacchanalian glees with which the pack-men set the melancholy sheeted woods aquiver might well send the ghosts out of earshot, presuming them endowed with volition. suddenly cuddy barnett discovered that one of the pack-horses of his own especial charge was missing,--a good bay with a load of fine dressed deerskins to take to charlestown, then the great mart of all this far region. a recollection of a sharp curve in the trading-path, running dangerously near a bluff bank, came abruptly into his mind. drifts had lodged in its jagged crevices, and it might well have chanced that here the animal had lost his footing and slipped out of the steadily trotting file along the river bank unnoticed in the blinding snow. this theory seemed eminently plausible to his comrades, but when they learned that he was of the opinion that the disaster had happened at the old "waste town," as he had there first missed the animal in the file, not one would go back with him to search the locality,--not for the horse, not for the peltry, not even to avert the displeasure of their employer in charlestown. barnett besought their aid for a time, urging the project of rescue as they all sat around the roaring camp-fire under the sheltering branches of a cluster of fir trees that, acting as wind-break, served to fend off in some degree the fury of the storm. the ruddy flare illumined far shadowy aisles of the snowy wilderness, all agloom with the early dusk. despite the falling flakes, they could still see the picketed pack-horses, now freed from their burdens, huddling together and holding down their heads to the icy blast as they munched their forage. the supper of the young pack-men was broiling on the coals; their faces were florid with the keen wind, their coonskin caps all crested with snow; and the fringes of their buckskin raiment had tinkling pendants of icicles; but although they had found good cheer in a chortling jug, uncorked as the first preliminary of encamping, they had not yet imbibed sufficient fictitious courage to set at naught their fears of the old "waste town." barnett at last acquiesced in the relinquishment of his desire of rescue. some losses must needs occur in a great trade, and considering the stress of the weather, the long distances traversed, the dangers of the lonely wildernesses in the territory of savages, the incident would doubtless be leniently overlooked. and then he bethought himself of the horse,--a good horse, stout, swift, kindly disposed; a hard fate the animal had encountered,--abandoned here to starve in these bleak winter woods. perhaps he might be lying there at the foot of the cliffs with a broken leg, suffering the immeasurable agonies of a dumb beast, for the lack of a merciful pistol-ball to put him at peace. barnett could not resist the mute appeal of his fancy. presently he was trudging alone along the icy path. the flare of the red fire grew dim behind him; the last flicker faded. the woods were all unillumined, ghastly white, with a hovering gray shadow. the song of the bivouac fainted in the distance and failed; the echo grew doubtful and dull; and now in absolute silence that somehow set his nerves aquiver he was coming in with the dreary dusk and the driving snow to the old "waste town," nilaque great. more silent even than the wilderness it seemed with the muffling drifts heavy on the roofs, blocking the dark open doors of the tenantless dwellings, lying in fluffy masses on the boughs of the trees that had once made the desert spaces so pleasantly umbrageous in those sweet summers so long ago. the great circular council-house, shaped like a dome, was whitely aglimmer against the gray twilight and the wintry background of the woods and mountains,--only the vaguest suggestions of heights seen through the ceaseless whirl of the crystalline flakes. no wolf now, although remembering the casual glimpse he had had he was prepared with rifle and pistol, and held his knife in his hand; no bear; no sign of living creature until, as he skirted the jagged bluff of the river where he fancied the horse might have lost his footing, he heard a sudden whinny of welcome, the sound keen and eerie and intrusive in the strange breathless solemnity of the silent place. gazing cautiously over the verge of the precipice, he saw the animal despite the gathering shadows. the horse was quite safe, having doubtless slipped down in the soft densities of a great drift dislodged from the crevice by his own weight. his pack was still on his back, now piled twice as high with snow. he lifted his arched neck as he sprang about with undiminished activity, vainly seeking to ascend the almost sheer precipice. daylight, however, was essential for his rescue. the effort now on these icy steeps might cost either man or beast a broken limb, if no more. with an instinct of self-protection the animal had chosen the lee of a great buttress of the cliff, and could stand there safely all night though the temperature should fall still lower. the young pack-man called out a word or two of encouragement, listening fearfully as the sound struck back in the silence from the icy bank of the river, the craggy hillsides, and the resonant walls of the deserted houses in the old "waste town." himself suddenly stricken to silence, he realized as he turned that the night had at last closed in. it lay dark and desolate in the limitless woods, where a vague sense of motion gave token that the snow was still viewlessly falling in the dense obscurities. but in the "waste town" itself a pallid visibility lingered in the open spaces where the trees were few, and gloomily showed the empty cabins, the deserted council-house, the vacant "beloved square." somehow, turn as he would, this dim scene in the midst of the dense darkness of the stormy night was before his eyes. again and again he plunged into the woods seeking to follow the well-known trail of the trading-path to the camp and rejoin his companions, but invariably he would emerge from the wilderness after a toilsome tramp, entering the old "waste town" at a different angle. he perceived at length that he could not keep the direction, that he was wandering in a circle after the manner of those lost in forests. his clothing, freezing upon his body, was calculated for warmer weather; the buckskin shirt and leggings, the garb of the frontiersmen, copied from the attire of the indians, were of a thin and pliable texture, owing to the peculiar skill of the savages in dressing peltry. an early historian describes such costume in a curiously sophisticated phrase as the "summer visiting dress of the indians." the southern tribes were intensely averse to cold, for in winter they wore furs and garments made of buffalo hides, the shaggy side inward; this raiment was sewed with the sinews of deer and a kind of wild hemp for thread, and with needles dexterously fashioned of fishbone. barnett had now no thought of the ghosts of the old "waste town." his first care was to save his life this cruel night; without fire, without food, without shelter, it might be that he had indeed come to the end. he was induced by this reflection to climb the mound to the old council-house. for here the walls, plastered both within and without with the strong adhesive red clay of the region, admitted no wind, while in the cabins which had been dwellings the drifts lay deep beneath the rifts in the dilapidated roofs and the crevices in the wall, and the flying flakes sifted in as the keen gusts surged through. he had had the forethought to gather as he went bits of wood, now a loose clapboard or piece of bark from low-hanging eaves, now a fragment of half-rotten puncheon from a doorstep, and as he groped into the dense darkness of the council-house with his steel and flint he set them alight on the hearth in the centre of the floor. when he was once more warm and free of the fear of death, other fears took hold upon him. in the first glimmers of the fire he could see through the tall narrow doorless portal only the dark night outside and a flickering glimpse against its blackness of the quivering crystals of the snow,--these but vaguely, for the blue smoke eddying through the great room veiled the opposite side, there being no chimney or window, and he sat in the interior behind the fire. he gazed furtively over his shoulder ever and anon, as the flames flared up, revealing the deeply red walls of the dome-like place with here and there a buffalo skin suspended against them, the inside of the hide showing, painted in curious hieroglyphics, brilliant with color, and instinct with an untranslated meaning; a number of conch shells lay about, with jars and vases of clay, and those quaintly fashioned earthen drums, the heads of tightly stretched deerskin,--all paraphernalia of the savage worship which the cheera-taghe had conducted, now abandoned as bewitched. sitting here comfortably in the place of those men of the "divine fire," cuthbert barnett, his rifle by his side, his knife in his belt, his coonskin cap pushed back from his face, once more florid, warm, tingling from the keen wind of the day and the change to this heated air, and with perchance a drowsy eyelid, began to marvel anew as to the fate of the cheera-taghe. hardly a drowsy eyelid, he consciously had, however, for he had resolved that he would not sleep. his situation here alone was too dangerous; he feared wolves,--the fire that would otherwise affright them might untended sink too low. he feared also some wandering indian. should he be discovered here by means of the unaccustomed light he might be wantonly murdered as he slept, or in revenge for the sacrilege of his intrusion among these things that the savages had esteemed sacred. therefore, when he suddenly saw the cheera-taghe he saw them quite plainly. tall, stately, splendidly arrayed in their barbaric garb, draped with their iridescent feather-wrought mantles, their heads dressed with white plumes, a staff of cane adorned with white feathers in the right hand, a green bough in the left, preceded by those curiously sonorous earthen drums, of which the drone blended with the notes of the religious song, _yo-he-wah-yah! yo-he-wah-yah!_ they thrice led the glittering procession of the "holy dance" around and around the "beloved square." a blank interval ensued. and then again he saw them, nearer now, more distinct; they were entering the temple; they were close at hand; triumphant of mien, assured, so full of life!--he could laugh to think that he had had a dream, or had heard somehow, that they were dead or lost or vaguely gone. for here, without seeming in the least to notice his presence, they kindled anew with friction of bits of poplar or white oak the fire for the new year, the _cheera_, the "sacred flame," to bear it outside to distribute it to the assembled people of nilaque great. without was summer; the trees were full of green leaves; canoes were glancing along the shimmering river; the "beloved square" was crowded with braves,--he saw their feathered crests wave and glisten; the wind was blowing fresh and cool; the sun shone. and suddenly it was shining in his face, as it came up over the great smoky mountains, sending its first long slanting wintry beams through the narrow portal to the hearth where he had lain asleep before the ashes of the once "sacred fire," covered with the fresh ashes of last night's vigil, for they too were dead. he staggered to his feet and went out into the glistening dawn of this snowy sunlit day, hardly able to reconcile its aspect with the summer-tide scene he had just quitted. now and again he paused, half-bewildered, as if unfamiliar with the pathetic miseries of the old "waste town"--the scene in his mind savored far more of reality. the necessity of caring for the pack-horse, perhaps better than aught else, served to restore his faculties. he found it easy now to climb down the jagged face of the bluffs of the river bank, whence the snow had vanished, for in the changeable southern climate a sudden thaw had begun in the earlier hours and now the warm sun was setting all the trees and eaves adrip. as he stood below the cliff on the sandy slope whence the snow had slipped down into the river, the volume of which the storm of last night would much increase after the long drought of the summer, he carefully examined the horse to ascertain what injuries he might have sustained; a few abrasions on the right flank seemed to be all, until the animal moved, a bit stiffly with the near fore leg. this attracted barnett's attention to a gash on the knee received doubtless when the horse first fell on the ground,--a queer gash, long, jagged, unaccountable, as if it had been made by a dull blade. glancing down to search the gravel, the pack-man discerned, half-imbedded in the sand, the edge of a fragment of a knife, a scalping-knife, broken half in two; and there, lying not three yards away, was a handle attached to a belt heavily wrought with roanoke,--only a bit of the belt,--and the other half of the knife. the pack-man's hand trembled and his florid cheek went pale, for these lay just under the sharp edge of a huge fragment of rock that had evidently fallen from the cliff above, breaking the blade and holding the belt fast. how long he stood and stared he did not know. for a time he heard without realizing the significance of the sounds the whoops and shouts of his comrades, wildly racing back through the old "waste town" in search of him; but although in the strenuous duty of his rescue they would venture to pass it in broad daylight, no ardor of persuasion could induce them to linger there to investigate the locality of his find, or to aid in moving the rock and exploring the grotto that had evidently proved a sepulchre. on the contrary, they deemed the discovery might be resented by the indians as intrusive, and, keeping the secret, they made haste to get out of the country with even more speed than their wont. cuthbert barnett, however, carried his information to the authorities in charlestown, who, promptly acting upon it, solved the mystery of the fate of the cheera-taghe. since peace with the cherokees was becoming more and more precarious, some satisfaction was experienced by the royal governor of south carolina, james glen, at that time, in being able to urge upon the attention of the head-men of the tribe the fact that, although the two white strangers had obviously been captured in the act of robbing cherokee soil of its gold, they had as evidently been unarmed, and the irishman, a british subject, had been shot down by one of the cheera-taghe, for there was the bullet still imbedded firmly in the sternum of his broad chest. thus a political crisis, which the event had threatened, was averted. despite the evil chance that had befallen the gold-seekers, now widely bruited abroad, stealthy efforts were ever and anon made by the hardy frontier prospectors of those days, already busy in the richer deposits of the ayrate division of the cherokee country, to pan also the sands of the banks of the tennessee; but the yield here was never again worth the work, and the interest in the possibility of securing "pay gravel" in this region died out, until the later excitements of the discovery of the precious metal in a neighboring locality, coca creek, during the last century. the old "waste town" long remained a ruin, and at last fell away to a mere memory. the bewitched ball-sticks at no time in the history of mankind, except during that brief paradisiac courtship in the garden of eden, has the heart of a lover been altogether unvexed by the presence, or even the sheer suspicion, of that baleful being commonly denominated "another." here, however, it would seem that the field must needs be almost as clear. the aspect of the world was as if yet young; the swan, long ago driven from the rivers, still snowily drifted down the silver tennessee; the deer, the bear, the buffalo, the wolf in countless hordes roamed at will throughout the dense primeval wildernesses; the line of cherokee towns along the banks represented almost the only human habitations for many hundred miles, but to tus-ka-sah the country seemed to groan under a surplus of population, for there yet dwelt right merrily at ioco town the youthful amoyah, the gayest of all gay birds, and a painful sense of the superfluous pressed upon the brain at the very sight of him. this trait of frivolity was to tus-ka-sah the more revolting, since he himself was of a serious cast of mind and possessed of faculties, rare in an indian, which are called "fine business capacity." he was esteemed at an english trading-house down on the eupharsee river as the best "second man" in any of the towns; this phrase "second man" expressing the united functions of alderman, chief of police, chairman of boards of public improvements, and the various executive committees of civilization. his were municipal duties,--the apportionment of community labor, the supervision of the building of houses and the planting of crops, the distribution of public bounty, the transaction of any business of ioco town with visitors whom individual interest might bring thither. so well did he acquit himself when these errands involved questions of commercial policy that the english traders were wont to declare that tus-ka-sah, the terrapin, had "horse sense"--which certainly was remarkable in a terrapin! his clear-headed qualities, however, valued commercially, seemed hardly calculated to adorn the fireside. in sensible cumbrous silence and disastrous eclipse he could only contemplate with dismayed aversion the palpable effect of amoyah's gay sallies of wit, his fantastic lies, his vainglorious boastings, and his wonderful stories, which seemed always to enchant his audience, the household of the damsel to whom in civilized parlance they were both paying their addresses. these audiences were usually large, and far too lenient in the estimation of tus-ka-sah. first there was present, of course, amoyah himself, seeming a whole flock instead of one pigeon. then must be counted altsasti, who although a widow was very young, and as slight, as lissome, as graceful as the "wreath" which her name signified. she was clad now in her winter dress of otter skins, all deftly sewn together so that the fur might lie one way, the better to enable the fabric to shed the rain; the petticoat was longer than the summer attire of doeskin, for although the tinkle of the metal "bell buttons" of her many garters might be heard as she moved, only the anklets were visible above her richly beaded moccasins. she seldom moved, however; sitting beside the fire on a buffalo rug, she monotonously strung rainbow-hued beads for hours at a time. her glossy, straight black hair was threaded with a strand of opaque white beads passing through the coils, dressed high, and copiously anointed with bear's oil, and on her forehead she wore a single pendant wrought of the conch-shell, ivory-white and highly polished. she maintained a busy silence, but the others of the group--her father, sometimes her mother and grandmother and the younger sisters and brothers--preserved no such semblance of gravity, and indulged in appreciative chuckles responsive to amoyah's jests, idly watching him with twinkling eyes as long as he would talk. it would be difficult to say how long this might be, for there were no windows to the winter houses of the cherokees; in point of architecture these structures resembled the great dome-shaped council-house, plastered within and without with red clay; the floor was some three feet lower than the surface of the ground outside, and the exit fashioned with a narrow winding passage before reaching the outlet of the door. the sun might rise or set; the night might come or go; no token how the hour waxed or waned could penetrate this seclusion. the replenishing of the fire on the chimneyless hearth in the centre of the floor afforded the only comment on the passage of time. its glow gave to view the red walls; the curious designs of the painted interior of the buffalo hides stretched upon them, by way of decoration; the cane divans or couches that were contrived to run all around the circular apartment, and on which were spread skins of bear and panther and wolves, covering even the heads of the slumbering members of the household, for the cherokees slept away much of the tedious winter weather. the fire would show, too, how gayly bedight and feather-crested was amoyah, wearing a choice garb of furs;--often, so great was his vanity, his face was elaborately painted as if for some splendid festive occasion, a dance or the ball-play, instead of merely to impress with his magnificence this simple domestic circle. tus-ka-sah dated the events that followed from one night when this facial decoration of his rival was even more fantastic than usual. like a fish was one side of the young cherokee's profile; the other in glaring daubs of white and black and red craftily represented the head of a woodpecker. the effect in front was the face of a nondescript monster, that only a gleeful laughing eye, and now and then a flash of narrow white teeth, identified as the jovial amoyah, the pigeon of ioco. the snow lay on the ground without, he said as he shook a wreath of it from a fold of his fur and it fell hissing among the coals. the shadows were long, he told them, for the moon was up and the world was dimly white and duskily blue. the wind was abroad, and indeed they could hear the swirl of its invisible wings as it swooped past; the boughs of the trees clashed together and ice was in the tennessee river. the winter had come, he declared. not yet, tus-ka-sah pragmatically averred. there would be fine weather yet. for the snowfall so early in the season was phenomenal and the red leaves were still clinging to the trees. had they been together among men amoyah would not have cared enough for the subject to justify contention, but in the presence of women he would suffer no contradiction. he must needs be paramount,--the infinitely admired! he shook his head. the winter had surely come, he insisted. why, he argued, the bears knew,--they always knew! and already each had walked the round with his shadow. for in the approach of winter, in the light of the first mystic, icicled moon, the night when it reaches its full, a grotesque pageant is afoot in that remote town of the bears, immemorially fabled to be hidden in the dense coverts of the great smoky mountains,--the procession of the bears, each walking with his shadow, seven times around the illuminated spaces of the "beloved square." the bears knew undoubtedly, the "second man," the man of facts and method and management, soberly admitted. but how did amoyah know that already they had trodden those significant circles, each with his shadow? he smiled triumphant in his incontrovertible logic. and now amoyah's face was wonderful to view, whether as a fish on one side or a woodpecker on the other, with that most human expression of surprise and indignation and aversion as distinctly limned upon it as if in pigments, for he loved the "second man's" facts no more than the "second man" loved his fancies. how did he know, forsooth? because, amoyah hardily declared, he himself had witnessed the march,--he had been permitted to behold that weird and grotesque progress! he took note of the blank silence that ensued upon this startling asseveration. then emboldened to add circumstance to sheer statement he protested, "i attended the ceremony by invitation. i had a place in the line of march--i walked beside the great bear as his shadow!" for, according to tradition, each bear, burly, upright in the moonlight, follows the others in indian file, but at the side of each walks his shadow, and that shadow is not the semblance of a bear, but of a cherokee indian! now, as everybody has heard, the bears were once a band of cherokee indians, but wearying of the rigors and artificialities of tribal civilization they took to the woods, became bears, and have since dwelt in seclusion. the thoughts, however, persistently reach out for the significance of the fact that in the tradition of this immemorial progress each creature is accompanied by the shadow, not of the thing that he is, but of the higher entity that he was designed to be. whether this inference is merely the mechanical deduction of a lesson, or a subtlety of moralizing, with a definite intention, on the part of the cherokees, always past-masters in the intricacies of symbolism, it is difficult to determine, but the bears are certainly not alone in this illustration of retrogression, and memory may furnish many an image of a lost ideal to haunt the paths of beings of a higher plane. the picture was before the eyes of all the fireside group,--the looming domes of the great smoky mountains, where the clouds, white and opaline, hung in the intervals beneath the ultimate heights; the silences of the night were felt in the dense dark lonely forest that encompassed the open spaces of that mysterious city, with the conical thatched roofs of its winter houses and the sandy stretch of the "beloved square; "--and there was the line of bears, clumsy, heavy-footed, lumbering, ungainly, and beside each the feather-crested similitude of what he had been, alert, powerful, gifted with human ingenuity, the craft of weapons, mental endowment, and an immortal soul,--so they went in the wintry moonlight! there was naught in this detail of the annual procession of the bears, always taking place before the period of their hibernation, that surprised or angered tus-ka-sah; but that they should break from their ancient law, their established habit of exclusiveness, single out amoyah (of all the people in the world), summon him to attend their tribal celebration, and participate in their parade, as the shadow of eeon-a, the great bear,--this passed the bounds of the possibilities. this fantasy had not the shreds of verisimilitude! yet even while he argued within himself tus-ka-sah noted the old warrior's gaze fix spellbound upon amoyah, the hands of altsasti petrify, the bead in one, the motionless thread in the other. the eyes of the more remote of the group, who were seated on rugs around the fire, glistened wide and startled, in the shadow, as amoyah proceeded to relate how it had chanced. a frosty morning he said it was, and he was out in the mountain a-hunting. he repeated the song which he had been singing, and the wind as it swirled about the house must have caught his voice and carried it far. it was a song chronicling the deeds of the great bear, and had a meaningless refrain, "_eeon-a, ha-hoo-jah! eeon-a, ha-hoo-jah!"_ but when he reached the advent upon the scene of the secondary hero, the great bear himself, very polite, speaking excellent cherokee ("since we are alone," he said), very recognizant of the merits of amoyah,--the fame of which indeed was represented to have resounded through the remotest seclusions of the ursine realm,--fiction though it all obviously was, the man of facts could no longer endure this magnification of his rival. "the great eeon-a said all that to you?" he sneered. "the fire-water at the trading-house makes your heart very strong and your tongue crooked. this sounds to me like the language of a simple seequa, not the great bear--a mere bit of an opossum!" amoyah paused with a sudden gasp. he was not without an aggressive temper, albeit, persuaded of his own perfection, he feared no rival, and least of all tus-ka-sah. "you, tus-ka-sah," he retorted angrily, "have evidently strongly shaken hands with the discourse of the opossum, speaking its language like the animal itself, and also the wolfish english. you have too many tongues, and, more than all, the deceitful, forked tongue of the snake, which is not agreeable to the old beloved speech. for myself, the great bear made me welcome in the only language that does not make my heart weigh heavy,--the elegant cherokee language." the spellbound listeners had broken out with irritated protests against the interruption, and tus-ka-sah said no more. as the blasts went sonorously over the house and the flames swirled anew into the murky atmosphere of the interior, a weird, half-smothered voice suddenly invaded the restored quiet of the hearthstone: "_eeon-a, ha-hoo-jah! eeon-a, ha-hoo-jah!_" like an echo the barbaric chant vibrated through the room. one of the sleepers, a half-grown youth, had semi-consciously caught the familiar refrain and sang it in that strange uncanny voice of slumber. the tones gave fitting effect to the grotesque details of the supernatural adventure, and as tus-ka-sah rose and surlily took his way toward the door his departure did not attract even casual notice from the listeners, hanging enthralled upon the words of the great eeon-a, so veraciously repeated for their behoof. their eyes showed intent even in the murky gloom and glistened lustrous in the alternate fitful flare; the red walls seemed to recede and advance as the flames rose and fell; the sleeping boy on the broad bed-place stirred uneasily, flinging now and again a restless arm from out the panther skins in which he was enveloped, and ever and anon his cry, "_eeon-a, ha-hoo-jah! eeon-a, ha-hoo-jah!"_ punctuated the impressive dramatic tones of the raconteur. the next instant tus-ka-sah was in the utter darkness of the narrow tortuous little passage, but after threading this he came out of the doorway into the keen chill air of a snowy world, the scintillations of frosty stars, the languid, glamourous radiance of the yellow moon, low in the sky, and his accustomed mental atmosphere of the plainest of plain prose. his thoughts were with the group he had just left, and he marveled if no influence could be brought to reduce the prestige with which the immaterial chief of the bears, the fabled eeon-a, had contrived to invest the illusory amoyah. tus-ka-sah's expectations concerning the weather were promptly justified. a continual dripping from the roofs and trees pervaded the early hours of the morning, and soon the snow was all gone here in the valley; even the domes of the mountains so early whitened with drifts showed now a bare, dark, sketch-like outline against the horizon and above the garnet tint of the massed sere boughs of the forests of the slopes. a warm sun shone. not a summer bird was yet lingering, but here and there a crisp red leaf winged the blue sky as gallantly as any crested cardinal of them all. the town of ioco was now astir, and tus-ka-sah noted how the softening of the air had brought out the inhabitants from their winter houses. children played about the doorways; boys in canoes shot down the shimmering reaches of the river; warriors congregated in the council-house and the half-open buildings surrounding the "beloved square," and in its sunny sandy spaces sundry old men were placidly engaged in the game of "roll the bullet." it was at this group that tus-ka-sah looked with an intent gaze and a sort of indignant question in his manner, and presently an elderly cherokee, one of the cheera-taghe of the town, detached himself from it and came toward him. despite this show of alacrity cheesto distinctly winced as he contemplated the sullen and averse mien of his client or parishioner, for the relation in which tus-ka-sah stood toward him partook of the characteristics of both. the professional wiseacre, however, made shift to recover himself. "i will tell you what you have come to tell me," the prophet said quickly. "the spell on amoyah does not work." tus-ka-sah assented surlily, gazing meanwhile at the face of the conjurer. it was a face in which the eyes were set so close together as to suggest a squint, although they were not crossed. he had an uncertain and dilatory tread, the trait of one who hesitates, and decides in doubt, and forthwith repents; being in his prophetic character an appraiser of the probable, and the sport of the possible. he wore many beads in strings around his neck, and big earrings of silver, heavy and costly. his fur garments reached long and robe-like almost to his feet, the shaggy side of the pelt outward, the weather being damp, for when it was dry and cold it was customary to wear the fur turned inward. the wise man had been recently unfortunate in his sorcery. the corn crop had been cut short by reason of a lack of rain which he had promised should fall in june. he had justified the drought, in the opinion of most of the indians, by feigning illness and taking to his bed; for by these it was believed that if he had been able to be up and about his ordinary vocations the preposterous conduct of the weather must needs have been restrained. the fields about ioco had suffered especially, and tus-ka-sah, as the chief business man of that town, had manifested half veiled suspicions that the art of the conjurer was incompetent; this rendered cheesto particularly solicitous to succeed when his magic had been invoked to reduce the attractions of amoyah in the eyes of altsasti and turn her heart toward tus-ka-sah. for among the indians the lives of the weather-prophets were not safe from the aggrieved agriculturists, and there are authentic cases in which the cheera-taghe suffered death by tribal law as false conjurers. cheesto fixed an anxious gaze upon his interlocutor as tus-ka-sah rehearsed, by way of illustrating how worthless were the charms wrought, the unsubstantial fiction that had so beguiled the fancy of altsasti, and posed amoyah in the splendid guise of the representative of the great eeon-a in the shadow-march of the bears. the fate of the over-wise is ever the sorrowful dispensation. the fool may be merry and irresponsible. cheesto was at his wit's end. with that unlucky drought in june to confront him, and dealing with the sharp business man of ioco, who exacted his due in the exchange of the fates as rigorously as if in a merely mundane market, the jeopardy of the magician was great and his discredit almost assured. old cheesto set his jaw firmly. somehow, somewhere, something must be wrought that would place amoyah at a disadvantage and bring ridicule upon him. no great matter, it might be said, to compass the change of a fickle woman's mind, to disconcert a giddy young man. but how? cheesto was aweary of his own incantations and his ineffectual spells. he would fain lend fate a muscular hand. this thought was uppermost in his mind for several days, even when he went with the other cheera-taghe of ioco to share in the conjurations and incantations of the preliminary ceremonials of the ball-play, without which success would never be anticipated, for a great match between the towns of ioco and niowee was impending. this game was usually played in the mid-summer or fall, but it would seem that the unseasonable cold weather was well suited for such violent exercise and the severe physical training which preceded it, and although amoyah noticed ice in the river as he dashed in for the ceremonial plunge which accompanies the incantations, he remembered the fact for a different reason than discomfort. the eighty ball-players of ioco stood in a row near the bank, submerged to the knees. they had gone in with a tumultuous rush, and with their faces painted, their heads crested with feathers, clad fantastically and gorgeously but scantily, they were holding their ball-sticks high in the air with an eager grasp,--all except amoyah. although still in his place in the line, he was looking over his shoulder with an amazed and startled gaze. for there upon the bank, as if struck from his hand in the confusion and turmoil of first entering the water, lay his ball-sticks. he seemed about to return for them, as the implement of the game must be dipped also in the water at the appropriate moment of the incantation. but old cheesto, the rabbit, motioned him to forbear lest by this unprecedented quitting of the line during the ceremonial the efficacy of the spell be annulled; he himself stooped down and picked up the ball-sticks. then, notwithstanding his age and his fierce rheumatism, notwithstanding his long and cumbrous robe of buffalo skin, the skirt of which he seemed to clutch with difficulty, he plunged into the icy water, waded out to the young man, handed him the ball-sticks, and regained the bank just as the other cheera-taghe standing at the margin of the river began the incantations supposed to influence the success of the competition. this indian game, which has left its name on one of the watercourses of tennessee, ball-play creek, required a level space of some five or six hundred yards in length but no other preparation of the ground. at one end, in the direction of niowee, two tall poles were fixed firmly in the earth about three yards apart, and slanting outward. at the end toward ioco a similar goal was prepared. every time the ball should be thrown over either goal the play would count one for the proximate town, and the game was of twelve or twenty points according to compact, the catcher of the twentieth ball being entitled to especial honor. it was of course the object of each side to throw the ball over the goal toward their own town, and to prevent it from going in the direction of the town of the opposing faction. all the morning crowds of cherokees of all ages and both sexes had been gathering from the neighboring towns, and were congregated in the wide spaces about the course at ioco. these fields had earlier been planted in corn, but the harvest had stripped the plain, and now the trampling of hundreds of feet erased all vestiges of the growth except for the yellow-gray tint of the stubble, spreading out on every side to the brown of the dense fallen leaves on the slopes where the forests began to climb the mountain sides. here and there fires were kindled where some spectator felt the keen chill of the approaching winter, and more than one meal was in progress,--perhaps such groups had come from far. pack-horses were in evidence laden with rich garments of fur, various peltry, blankets, valuable gear of every sort to be staked on the result of the game, and soon the men were betting heavily. all the various tones of the gamut were on the air,--the deep bass guttural laugh of the braves; the shrill callow yelping of boys; the absent-minded bawl of spoiled pappooses interested in the stir, but with an ever-recurrent recollection of the business of vocally disciplining their patient mothers; the keen treble chatter of women,--all were suddenly resolved into a strong dominant chord of sound as a tremendous shout arose upon the appearance of the ball-players of ioco. fresh from the river, they made a glittering show with the tossing feathers of their crested heads, their faces painted curiously and fantastically in white, the bright tints of their gaudy though scanty raiment, their bare arms and legs suppled with unguents and shining in the sun. this note of welcome had hardly died away and the echo of the encompassing mountains grown silent, when an agitated murmur of excitement went sibilantly through the throng. a cloud of dust was approaching in the distance, heralding a band of men. a new sound invoked the echoes. the breath was held to hear it. the throb of a drum--faint--far. and here thunderously beating, hard at hand, overpowering all lesser sounds, the drums of loco responded. to the vibrations of these sonorous earthen cylinders, the sticks plied with a will on the heads of wet deerskins tightly stretched, the ball-players of niowee advanced. in a diagonal direction and at a sturdy trot they came for a space,--a sudden halt ensued, and eighty pairs of muscular feet smote tumultuously on the ground. then once more forward diagonally, at that swinging jaunty pace, and the stamping pause as before. the sound seemed to shake the ground, the impact of the feet with the earth was heard despite the turmoil of the drums; the stamping vibrations were felt in the midst of the stir of the crowds, and now in the nearer approach the individual faces could be distinguished, wildly painted; the athletic figures, gaudily clad and barbarically decorated; the ball-sticks, held aloft in a sort of rhythmic vibration as if quivering for a chance at the ball; and fourscore wild young voices howled defiance at loco town, whose youth in return howled its municipal pride, failing only with failing breath. they were all in the course at last. the judges, elderly warriors and absolutely impartial, chosen from towns which had no interest at stake in the match, were seated on a little knoll, commanding a view of the ground, but at a sufficient distance to be in no danger from a maladroit handling of the ball. this was made of deerskin, stuffed hard with hair, and sewn up with deer sinews. the ball-sticks, of which each player owned his pair, were also partly made of deerskin, the two scoops or ladles being fashioned of a network of thongs on a wooden hoop, each furnished with a handle of hickory three feet long, worked together with a thong of deerskin to catch the ball between the rackets,--it being of course prohibited to catch the ball in the hand. the drums beat furiously; the word was given; the ball was flung high in the air in the middle of the course, and the next instant one hundred and sixty young athletes rushed together with a mighty shock the force of which seemed to shake the ground. some fell and were trampled in the crush; others madly clutched one another, friend or foe, with the ill-aimed ball-sticks, inflicting a snapping hurt like a bite,--a wound by no means to be despised. one, an expert, sent the ball with an artful twirl through the air toward the ioco goal, and in the midst of a shout that rent the sky the whole rout of players went frantically flying after it, whirling with an incredible swiftness and agility when it was caught midway, and hurled back toward niowee with a force as if it had been flung from a catapult. here and there individual players in the frenzied chase made wonderful records of leaps in their efforts to catch the ball, springing into the air with a surprising strength and elasticity, and a lightness as of creatures absolutely without weight. a good match they were playing; for more than half an hour neither side was permitted by the other to score a single point. the ball seemed for a time as if it were awing forever, and would fall to the ground no more. the casualties were many; almost always after one of those sudden rushes together of both factions that had a tremendous momentum as of galloping squadrons, the ground would show as the moving masses receded half a dozen figures prone upon the course; one with a broken arm perhaps; another badly snapped by the inartistically plied ball-sticks of friend or foe and crawling off with a bloody pate; sometimes another lying quite still, evidently stunned and to be hastily dragged off the course by spectators, before another stampede of the ball-players crush the life out of the unconscious and prostrate wight. nevertheless only the normal interest, which however was very great, appertained to the match until at a crisis a strange thing happened, inexplicable then, and perhaps never fully understood. the ball was flying toward the niowee goal and the whole field was in full run after it. the blow that had impelled it had been something tremendous. a shout of triumph was already welling up from the throat of all niowee, for to prevent the scoring of a point in its favor it would seem that there must be a thing afoot whose fleetness could exceed the speed of a thing awing. amoyah, the deftest runner of all the tennessee river country, was foremost in the crown of swift athletes; presently he was detached by degrees from it; now he was definitely in advance; and soon, spurting tremendously, he had so neared the niowee goal that the ball just above must needs pass over it if a spring might not enable him to capture it at the last moment. as agile as a deer, and as light as a bird, he leaped into the air, both arms upstretched, holding the rackets aloft and ready. he was a far-famed player, and even now the ioco spectators were shouting, amoyah needs must win! a mysterious silence fell suddenly. they all saw what had happened. there could be no mistake. the rackets parted at the propitious moment to receive the ball. the netting closed about it. and then, as if it had met with no impediment whatever, the ball passed through the stanch web of thongs and over the poles, and falling to the ground counted one for niowee. the spectators from that town in their astonishment forgot to shout. the onrushing crowd of players, bearing down upon amoyah, having intended to force him to drop the ball, which he had seemed predestined to catch, or to throw it so ill as to deliver it into the power of niowee still to secure the point, could not arrest their own momentum, and went over the startled and dumfounded player in a swift dash, leaving him prone upon the ground. he was on his feet in an instant, his physical faculties rallying promptly, but so bewildered and doubtful that he had but one definite mental process, the resolve to regain for ioco the point he had so mysteriously lost. twice afterward his fine playing focused the attention of the crowd. twice their plaudits of his skill rang through the vibrating air. then the ball, hardly checked by the web of his racket, passed through the ball-sticks, and all realized their bewitchment. amoyah heard the gossip afloat concerning the matter before he had well quitted the course. the great bear had torn the net of the ball-sticks with his claw, one brave was telling another as he passed, because amoyah had unveraciously boasted that he had walked by invitation in the procession of the bears during their annual march with their shadows at their hidden mysterious town in the great smoky mountains. amoyah paused, tired, excited, panting, and critically examined the web. surely enough the interlacing thongs had parted in twain in two straight lines, invisible save on close inspection, as deftly and as evenly severed as if cut with a keen knife. it was late in the day. the sun was now on a westering slant. the parties of spectators were breaking up, some to journey homeward, others going into the town with friends. the place that the crowd had occupied had that peculiarly dreary aspect characteristic of a deserted pleasure ground. trampled heavily it was, and the charred remnant of a fire showed black here and there; broken bits of food were scattered in places where feasting had been; a great gourd that had held some gallons of water lay shattered on the ground at his feet; a group at a distance were doubtfully retracing their steps, searching for something they had lost; at the farthest limits a wolf like a dog, or a dog like a wolf, was gnawing at a bone, and snarling as he gnawed. it was all frowzy, jaded, forlorn. somehow suddenly he had a sense of freshness, an illumination, as it were a vision, of the early morning light striking through a network of bare trees upon the shimmering reaches of a river. and there on the bank lay his ball-sticks,--quite good and sound then, he would have staked his life. and now a picture was before him,--being a man of fancy, he thought in pictures,--a picture of old cheesto the rabbit holding the ball-sticks half hidden in the folds of his great fur robe and wading out into the ice-cold water to restore them. and old cheesto, he reflected, was one of the cheera-taghe of ioco, and could work a spell quite as well as the great bear, who had gone to bed for the winter two weeks ago, and had not heard of ball-sticks within the memory of man,--perhaps not since he was a cherokee himself, and playing with the rest on the course at tennessee town. in fact, old cheesto, in common with many men not cherokees, cared little for the public weal when it interfered with private interest. but he had not realized how much he had jeopardized the success of ioco town in cutting the netting of the ball-sticks. he had imagined the incompleteness of the racket would merely show amoyah as incompetent, render his play futile and ineffective, and discredit him with both friend and foe. never, however, had the play of any one man been so important and conspicuous as his to-day when the bewitched ball-sticks became the salient feature and the living tradition of the match between ioco and niowee. for despite these points, thus lost by supernatural agency to niowee, the bewitchment of the ball-sticks only served to illustrate the superior skill of the ioco team, and to embellish their victory. amoyah had nothing but his imagination to support his theory, but it seemed singularly credible to altsasti, to whom he rehearsed it, finding her seated on the ground before the door of her winter house in great dreariness of spirit, that he should in playing so well have won nothing and merely jeopardized the game. "i am afraid of that great bear," she declared, eying the ball-sticks askance as he came up. then revealing his theory of the spell that old cheesto had wrought upon him in tus-ka-sah's interest, amoyah proposed a counter-spell which would defeat tus-ka-sah. "but cheesto can still send you trouble if you have a wife," she argued. "ah, no," the specious amoyah replied. "everybody knows that a man's wife makes him all the trouble that he needs." to save him from these woes devised by others altsasti undertook to give him all the trouble he needed. but he seemed quite cheerful in the prospect, and as she cooked the supper within doors he sat at the entrance, much at home, singing, "_eeon-a, ha-hoo-jah! eeon-a, ha-hoo-jah!_" tus-ka-sah upbraided the magician with the result of this victory, by which he was defeated. and the wise man threw up eyes and hands at his ingratitude. "i set the great bear after amoyah for you! i made the eeon-a acquainted with his boastful lies, and he bewitched amoyah's ball-sticks that his fine play might come to nothing." very little to the purpose, the disaffected man of facts reflected, remembering the impression produced by his rival's display of skill. somehow amoyah seemed beyond the reach of logic. "why did you not instead bewitch the woman?" tus-ka-sah asked. but this wiliest of the cheera-taghe shook his head. "if she had been a _mere_ woman," he said. "but a widow is a witch herself." "_eeon-a, ha-hoo-jah! eeon-a, ha-hoo-jah!"_ sang amoyah at the door of the winter house. eeon-a, the great bear, made no sign and slept in peace at his town house in the mountains. and since then, as always before, under the first icy moon of the winter the company of bears with their feather-crested shadows take up their mysterious march seven times around the "beloved square" of their ancient secluded town in the great smoky mountains, which it is said may be seen to this day--by all who can find it! the visit of the turbulent grandfather it was long remembered in the cherokee nation. their grandfather came to the overhill towns on the banks of the tennessee river in a most imperious frame of mind. "give me a belt!" he cried in irrelevant response to every gracious overture of hospitality. for although presents were heaped upon him, the official belt of the cherokee nation was not among them, and he cast them all aside as mere baubles. even the clever subterfuges of that master of statecraft, the half-king, atta-kulla-kulla, might not avail. "_n'tschutti!_" (dear friend) he said once in eager propitiation; "_gooch ili lehelecheu_?" (does your father yet live?) he spoke in a gentle voice and slowly, the delaware language being unaccustomed to his lips. "tell the great sakimau i well remember him!" and he laid a string of beads on the arm of the quivering lenape, for their grandfather was of that nationality. but what flout of fate was this? not the coveted string of wampum, the official token, its significance not to be argued away, or overlooked, or mistaken--but instead a necklace of pearls, the fine freshwater gems of the region, so often mentioned by the elder writers and since held to be mythical or exaggeration of the polish of mere shell beads till the recent discoveries have placed once more the yield of the _unio margaritiferus_ of the rivers of tennessee on metropolitan markets. a personal gift--of the rarest, it is true--but a mere trifle in the estimation of tscholens, in comparison with that national recognition which he craved and which a tribe of warriors awaited. the irate grandfather flung the glossy trinket from him down among the ashes of the fire, which glowed in the centre of the floor of the great council-house of the town of citico, one of the dome-shaped buildings, plastered as usual within and without with richly tinted red clay. the flicker from the coals revealed the rows of posts that like a colonnade upheld the roof; the cane-wrought divan encircling the apartment between these columns and the windowless walls; the astonished faces and feather-crested heads of the conclave of cherokee chiefs from half a dozen towns as they clustered around the fire and stared at tscholens. the grave emotion in his face dignified its expression despite its savagery. paradoxically the grandfather was young, slender, and, rated by any other standard than that of the cherokees, an unusually tall people, would have been considered of fine height. his muscular arms were bare except for his heavy silver bracelets; a tuft of feathers quivered high on his head; his leggings were of deerskin, embroidered with parti-colored quills of the porcupine, and his shirt was of fine sable fur. his voice was sonorously insistent. "_n'petalogalgun_!" (i am sent as a messenger) he declared urgently. "give me a belt." he turned his flaming eyes directly upon atta-kulla-kulla, himself in the prime of life now, in 1745, who it seemed must act definitely under this coercion. he must either refuse to testify to the truth, which he knew, or involve his people, the cherokees, in a quarrel which did not concern them, of which a century was tired, between the lenni lenape and the mengwe. so long ago it had begun! the mengwe, hard pressed by other nations and long at war with the lenape, besought peace of this foe, and that they would use their influence with the others. usually women, prompted always by the losing side, protested against the further effusion of blood and went with intercessions from one faction to the other. this, in view of the number and devious interests of the warring forces, was then impracticable, and therefore the mengwe besought the lenape to act as mediator for the occasion. only so noted a race of warriors could afford this magnanimity, the mengwe argued. it might impair the prestige of a less high-couraged and powerful tribe. and with these specious wiles the cat was duly belled. but alas for the lenape! magnanimity is the most dangerous of all the virtues--to its possessor! presently the mengwe claimed to have conquered the lenape in battle, and cited the well-known fact that they had inaugurated peace proposals. as the mengwe confederation grew more powerful they assumed all the arrogance of a protectorate. they sold the lands of their dependents. they resented all action of the lenape on their own account. if the lenape went to war on some quarrel of their making, they had the mengwe to reckon with as well as the enemy. as the years rolled by in scores, this fiction gradually assumed all the binding force of fact, till now it was felt that only by the avowal of the truth by some powerful tribe, both ancient and contemporary, such as the cherokee,--who, although allied neither linguistically nor consanguineously, by some abstruse figment of indian etiquette affected an affiliation to the lenape and called them "grandfather,"--could their rightful independence be recognized, reã«stablished, and maintained. therefore, "give me a belt!" cried tscholens pertinaciously, offering in exchange the official belt of the delawares, or, as they were called, lenni lenape. nothing less would content him. he hardened himself as flint against all suave beguilements tending to effect a diversion of interest. he would not see the horse-race. he would not "roll the bullet." he would not witness the game of chungke, expressly played in honor of his visit. he even refused to join in the dance, although young and nimble. but it chanced that the three circles were awhirl on the sandy spaces contiguous to the "beloved square" when the first break in the cohesion of his pertinacity occurred. the red sunset was widely aflare; the dizzy rout of the shadows of the dancers, all gregarious and intricately involved in the three circles, kept the moving figures company. these successive circles, one within another, followed each a different direction in their revolutions to the music of the primitive flute, fashioned of the bone of a deer (the tibia), and the stertorous sonorities of the earthen drums; and as the fantastically attired figures whirled around and around, their dull gray shadows whisked to and fro on the golden brown sand, all in the red sunset glow. tscholens, quitting the council-house, glanced but indifferently at them and then away at the lengthening perspective of the azure mountains of the great smoky range. the harbingers of the twilight were advancing in a soft blue haze over the purple and garnet tinted slopes near at hand, their forests all leafless now, although the autumn had lingered long, and the burnished golden days of the indian summer were loath to go. lights were springing up here and there in the town as the glow of the hearths of the dwellings, where supper was cooking, flickered out to meet on the threshold the rays of the departing sun, which seemed to pause there for a farewell glance in at the open door. in the centre of the "beloved square" the fire which always burned here was slowly smouldering. it flung a red reflection on the front of the building devoted to the conferences of the aged councilors, painted a peaceful white and facing the setting sun. at this moment was emerging from it a figure which tscholens had not before seen. a man so old he was that even the indian's back was bent. his face was of weird effect, for amid its many wrinkles were streaks of parti-colored paint such as he had worn more than three quarters of a century earlier, when his fleet foot and the old war-trace were familiar. in common with all the cherokees, his head was polled and bare save for a tuft, always spared to afford a grasp for any hand bold enough and strong enough to take the scalp; but this lock, although still dense and full, was of a snowy whiteness, contrasting sharply with the red paint and belying the warlike aspect of the red-feathered crest that trembled and shivered with the infirmities of his step. a heavy robe of fur reached almost to his feet, and a mantle, curiously wrought of the iridescent feathers of the neck and breast of the wild turkey, bespoke his consequence and added to the singularity of his aspect; for indians seldom attained such age in those wild days, the warriors being usually cut off in their prime. it is to be doubted if tscholens had ever seen so old a man, for this was tsiskwa of citico, reputed then to be one hundred and ten years of age. the step of the young grandfather, sauntering along, came to an abrupt halt. he stood staring, exclaiming to the cherokee warrior savanukah, "_pennau wullih! auween won gintsch pat_?" (look yonder! who is that who has just come?) it was an eagle-like majesty which looked forth from the eyes of tsiskwa of citico, as he seated himself on the long cane-wrought divan, just within the entrance of the cabin on the eastern side of the "beloved square." time can work but little change in such a spirit. an eagle, however old, is always an eagle. the sage lifted one august claw and majestically waved it at the young delaware _illau_ (war-captain) standing before him, while savanukah turned away to join the dancers. "lenni lenape?--i remember--i remember very well when you came from the west!" tscholens was not stricken with astonishment, although that migration is held by investigators of pre-columbian myths[11] to have occurred before the ninth century! it was formerly a general trait among the indians to use the, first person singular in speaking of the tribe, and to avoid, even in its name, the plural termination. tsiskwa went on with the tone of reminiscence rather than legendary lore, and with an air of bated rancor, as of one whose corroding grievance still works at the heart, to describe how the lenni lenape crossed the mississippi and fell upon the widespread settlements of the alligewi (or tallegwi) indians--considered identical with the cherokee (tsullakee)--and warred with them many years in folly, in futility, in hopeless defeat. he lifted his eyes and gazed at the sun. a curve of pride steadied his old lips. his face was as resolute, as victorious, in looking backward as ever it had been in vaunting forecast. his was the temperament that always saw in prophecy or retrospect what he would wish to see. and that sun, now going down, had lighted him all his life along a path of conscious triumph. and then, he continued, the lenni lenape, after years of futile war, combined with the mengwe,[12] and before their united force the cherokee retired into the impregnable stronghold of their mountains, their beautiful country, the pride of the world! he waved his hand toward the landscape--lying out there in the lustre of its exquisite coloring, in the clarified air and the enhancing sunset; in the ideality of the contour of its majestic lofty mountains; in the splendor of its silver rivers, its phenomenally lush forests, its rich soil--pitying the rest of the world who must needs dwell elsewhere. "and here," he went on, "the european found me two centuries ago." he proceeded to narrate the advent of de soto and his followers into the country of the cherokees, embellishing his account with unrecorded particulars of their stay, especially in their digging for gold and silver, in which enterprise he himself seemed to have actively participated--only some two centuries previous! tscholens, listening, looked about absently at the "beloved square," which was vacant, with its open piazza-like building on each of the four sides. two or three men were talking in the "war cabin," painted a vivid red. on the western side of the square the roof of the "holy cabin" showed dark against a lustrous reach of the shimmering river; despite the shadows within the broad entrance, the "sacred white seat" and the red clay transverse wall that partitioned off the _sanctum sanctorum_ were plainly visible, but all was empty, deserted--the cheera-taghe had departed for the night. as tsiskwa paused to cough, the delaware, suddenly taking heart of grace, observed that it had always been the boast of the lenni lenape that they were the first tribe to welcome the european, the dutch, to the land that they now called new york. whereupon tsiskwa retorted in a tempest of racking coughs that, whoever welcomed the europeans here or there, it was no credit that the lenape should be so forward to appropriate it! the white people were not the friends of the red man. they wanted the whole country. finally they would have it. "_mattapewiwak nik, schwannakwak_!" (the white people are a deceiving lot!) said tscholens, seeking some common ground on which they could meet with a mutual sentiment. and at once tsiskwa was all animation and as aggressive as at twenty. well, indeed, might the lenape say that! they were forever an easy prey--not only of the astute europeans, but of the simple indian as well. for a hundred years they had been the dupe of the mengwe! as the mind of tsiskwa dwelt on the various subtleties of the diplomatic attitude of the mengwe toward the lenape, its craft so appealed to him that his lips curved with relish; a smile irradiated his blurred eyes and intensified his wrinkles; his cough, shaking the folds of his outer fur garments above his wasted chest, mingled with his gay chuckle of merriment, as young as a boy's, while he cried, "iroquois! iroquois!"--the characteristic exclamation of the mengwe confederation, whence they take their modern and popular name, and signifying, "i have spoken! i have spoken!" at the familiar and detested sound the lenape suddenly smote his breast with his braceleted arms, and a strong cry involuntarily broke from him--so poignant, so bitter, so shrill, that it sounded high above the bleating flute, the guttural drone of the drum, the vibratory throb of the dancing feet, and brought the pastime to a sudden close. in another moment the "beloved square" was filled with crowds of the cherokees and their huddling shadows, all a medley in the last red suffusions of the sinking sun. to the tumult of eager, anxious, polite questions, tscholens faltered to savanukah, who had hastily returned:-"_n'schauwihilla! n'dagotschi! lowanneunk undchen_!" (i am fainting! i am cold! the wind comes from the north!) he looked ill enough, but savanukah's sharp eyes scanned suspiciously the aged countenance of tsiskwa of citico. tsiskwa was, however, the image of venerable and respected innocence. his aged lips mumbled one upon the other silently. he hardly seemed to take note of the tumult. when the afflicted "grandfather" was being led away from the scene, savanukah loitered to ask, with well-couched phrase and the show of deep reverence, what had been the tenor of the discourse, and it was with a galvanic jerk that the old man appeared to gather his faculties together. "of what did he talk?" tsiskwa fixed august eyes upon savanukah as he repeated the query. "am _i_ to remember of what young men talk?--the mad young men?--mad, mad--all quite mad!" for not to savanukah, surely, would he confess; and although because of this reticence that discerning party believed that tsiskwa had wittingly wounded their emotional "grandfather" in his tenderest pride till he roared like a bull, savanukah afterward had cause to repudiate this opinion in a conviction which was less to the credit of the acumen of tsiskwa than a full confession of his breach of etiquette in tormenting his young "grandfather" might have been. at the time savanukah felt a certain, malicious pride in the old man's keenness and poise and capacity, and he said apart to the inquisitive bystanders that, as might have been expected, the big bird, tsiskwa-yah, had pounced upon the little bird, tscholen-tit--for the name of each signifies a bird in their respective languages, and the suffixes imply great and small. and mightily pleased was savanukah with his own wit. that night came a sudden change. a keen frost was falling soon after the sun went down, for the wind was laid, and such a chill glittering white moon came gliding out of the mists about the dark great smoky domes that it seemed the winter incarnate. all adown the desert aisles of the leafless woods the light lay with a flocculent glister like snow, so enhanced was its whiteness in the rare air and the blackness of the forest shadows--spare, clearly drawn, all filar and fine like the intricacies of a delicate line engraving. something that the daylight might have shown, blue and blurred, was about the mountains; it followed the progress of that wintry moon westward. presently, drawn up from across the ranges, it proved to be a purple cloud, and despite the broad section of the heavens still clear and the glittering whorls of the constellations, that cloud held snow. as the loitering southern winter had been long in abeyance, many of the cherokees of citico town were still in their airy summer residences, but in one of the conical "winter houses," stove-like, air-tight, windowless, plastered within and without with the impervious red clay of the region, after the fashion of the great rotunda, tscholens, in view of his sudden seizure and complaint of the gentle breeze of the south as freighted with the chill of the north, was consigned to rest. half a dozen cherokee braves were detailed to accompany him, nominally as a guard; but, there being no menace, this was in recognition of his importance and distinction, his escort of delaware indians having been billeted about in the town. there was no chimney, and although the fire which burned in the centre of the clay floor exhaled but little smoke, it hung in the air for the lack of the means of escape, and seemed to add to the warmth which the fuel sent forth. now and again the superfluity of ashes encroached on the live coals. whereupon one or another of the occupants of the restricted apartment, silent and recumbent upon the cane divan, which served now as bed and extended all ground the room between the walls and the row of posts that upheld the roof, would reach out a long stick, furnished for the purpose to each sleeper, and touch off the incumbering ash from the glow of the embers. as the night wore deeper into the dark hours these intervals of waking were rarer. tscholens, muffled in bed draperies of otter furs and feathered mantles, his cane-wrought couch softened with panther and wolf skins, heard the wind going its rounds, and he realized that the direction of the currents of the air had veered and it came straight from the north. with the mere suggestion his heart sank. how should he return whence it came?--baffled, denied, empty-handed!--from these specious cherokees, who yet called the lenape "grandfather." the young war-captain had divined since he had been among them that the cherokees were making ready for war against the british government; they would attack the south carolina colonists, and for this reason, if for no other, they would do nothing to anger the mengwe, the iroquois, whom, however, they had often fought: for they loved war--they loved war! gradually the room grew less warm. a sudden stir sounded under the divan, and a dog presently crept out to the fire, stretching lengthily and yawning widely as he went. he bestowed himself in an upright posture by the coals and looked down with drowsy gravity at the glow. his pendant ears, his long, pointed muzzle, his upright, rotund body, and his pose of solemn pondering made a queer shadow on the wall. he was no cherokee, so to speak, but was the property of a french officer, and, following his master here from fort toulouse, _aux alibamons_, had been left in the care of a cherokee friend to await his owner's return from a mission to fort chartres and other french settlements "in the illinois." the dog spoke any language, it might seem; for when one of the braves, half-awakened by his loud, unmannerly yawn, called out a reproof to him in cherokee, he wagged his tail among the cold ashes till he stirred up a cloud of gritty particles; then he made his way across the room to the speaker, wheezing and sniffing, and bantering for a romp, till he was caught by the muzzle and, squeaking and shrilling, thrust under the divan anew. once more silence, save for the patrol of the wind again on its rounds. once more the flare of the fire, dying gradually down to a smouldering red glow, akin to the smothered red tone of the terra-cotta wall. once more the hot, angry eyes of the young war-captain, staring hopelessly, sleeplessly into the red gloom and the dull mischance of the future, sequel of the past. suddenly a thought struck him. it seemed at first to take his breath away. he gasped at the mere suggestion of its temerity. then it set his blood beating furiously in his veins. after a space, in which he sought to calm himself, to still his nerves, to tame his quivering muscles, he rose slowly to a sitting posture, then stepped deftly, lightly to the floor. standing motionless, he glanced keenly about in the dull red gloom. all silence--no stir save the regular rise and fall of the breathing of the slumbering indians. nevertheless, with his keen perceptions all alert and tense, he felt an eye upon him. he looked back warily over his shoulder through the lucid red gloom, like a palpable medium, as one looks, through a veil or tinted glass. it was the eye of the dog! the animal lay under the couch, his muzzle flat on the clay floor. a serious yet doubtful vigilance was in his aspect. tscholens was already at the exit, which was a narrow winding passage serving as a wind-break, and with a sudden turn leading to the outer world. he heard the abrupt patter of the dog's feet on the clay floor, and a drowsy voice calling to the animal in cherokee, admonishing him to be still. tscholens waited without, and, as the dog issued and with half-aroused suspicions sniffed dubiously around him, he stooped down and patted the creature's head. it was well, after all, that he should follow; the noise of the dog's exit and return would serve to cover his own absence. he sought craftily to make friends with the dog. "_mon chou! mon cochon_!" he said, aping the endearments addressed to dog or horse which he had heard from the french officers at fort chartres, where he had recently been. then suddenly in agitation: "_tais toi! sois sage_!" for the animal was indeed no cherokee. at the sound of his native tongue, as it were, he demonstrated how little he cared to be in his skin, for his joyous bounces almost took him out of that integument. luckily his gambols were noiseless,--for the ground was covered with snow. tscholens stood for a moment motionless, his brain still afire with the imminent emprise, but his hot heart turning cold, and failing; for the snow--oh, treacherous cloud!--the snow would betray his steps and the trail disclose the mystery. "oh, _lowannachen_!" (oh, north wind!) he moaned, holding up both hands outstretched to the north. "oh, _wischiksil! witschemil_!" (oh, be thou vigilant! help me!) then suddenly lowering his head, he sped like the wind itself through the town, along the river bank and into the sacred precincts of the "beloved square." ah! here he had stood this evening with what different hope and heart. here in front of the eastern cabin he had sat beside the wily tsiskwa of citico, who might hardly make feeble shift to sway a reed, and yet with sharp sarcasms had stabbed him again and again to the very heart. "_pihmtonheu_! oh, _pihmtonheu_!" (he has the crooked mouth! oh, he has the crooked mouth!) tscholens muttered between his set teeth as he crossed the open space and paused before the western "holy cabin." but for his rage, perhaps, but for his smarting wounds, tscholens might have labored with some deterrent sense of sacrilege. but no! with one elastic bound he leaped upon the "holy white seat," whence he surmounted the tier of places still behind and higher; then he lightly swung himself down into the intervening space in front of the inner partition formed by a red clay wall. a momentary pause--a monition of caution. he looked back over his shoulder at the pallid world without, visible across the barrier of seats through the broad entrance of the loggia-like place. with the reflection from the drifts on the ground and the tempered radiance of the moon behind the tissues of cloud, the scene seemed more wan, more illumined with ghastly light, because of the density of the gloom wherein he stood. the conical-shaped winter tenements had each a thatch of snow; the great circular council-house, with its whitened dome, glimmered as stately as some marble rotunda, on its high mound, distinct against the blurring blue shadow of the night and the gray clouds and the bare boughs of the encompassing forest. no living creature was to be seen, save the dog that had followed him, and that had paused to investigate some real or fancied find beneath the snow,--a bone, perhaps, flung out from the feastings of overnight; perhaps some little animal, young or hurt, whelmed in the drift. now the dog thrust down a tense, inquiring muzzle, sniffing tentatively, cautiously, and again he plied alternately his forefeet and his hindfeet, digging out the snow from the quarry; then once more, with a motionless body and a straight, quivering tail, he applied his sensitive nostrils to the examination. tscholens with gratification noted his absorption. this was indeed well. the animal's persistent following further might have hampered his plans and revealed his intrusion. the next moment, as the _illau_ turned to his purpose, densest night seemed to have encompassed him. the shadows cloaked all, save only the blank wall of clay and, down close to the ground, an arched opening into the _sanctum sanctorum_,--an opening so limited that it might barely suffice to admit a man's body, creeping prone upon the earth, and so whelmed in night that it seemed to give a new and adequate interpretation of the idea of darkness. could he hope, all unaccustomed here, to turn in that restricted space to retrace the way? could a ray of guiding light be caught from without across this high, guarding barrier of tiers of seats? and what perchance might lurk within instead of the object of this search? at the mere thought of this object of search all fear, all vestige of anxiety vanished. tscholens felt his heart beat fast. his blood throbbed in his temples. he dropped upon his knees--a sinuous, supple motion, a vague rustle, and he had passed into the unimagined dark precincts beyond the aperture. absolute quietude now reigned in the "holy cabin." the darkness filled it with a solemnity and awe that made a compact with silence and accounted the slightest sound, the softest stir, as a sacrilege. when an owl--a tiny thing, the familiar little "wahuhu" of the cherokees--flitted down with its noiseless wings from out the sky and sat, a mere tuft of feathers and big round eyes, on one of the eaves, its shrill cry and convulsive chatter smote the night with a sudden affright--all the breathless listening spaces of the "beloved square" seemed to shiver at the sound, and the keen sleety lines of snow were tremulously vibrant with it as the flakes came slanting down once more from the north. for as tscholens plunged out from the sanctuary his first consciousness of the world without was the chill touch of the falling snow on his cheek, its moist, icy breath on his lips beating back his own quick, agitated respiration. the little "wahuhu," all startled by his sudden exit, rose with a sharp, cat-like mew from the eaves above his head, dislodging a drift upon his hair, and fluttered away to a branch of a tree, still gazing after him as he sped swiftly, joyously, to the winter house where he lodged,--the descending snow would soon fill the trace of his light footsteps and none be the wiser. all danger of discovery, however, was not over-past. one of the braves in the winter house experienced a vague intimation of an entrance into the building, that peculiar chill which accompanies even to the warmest fireside an intruder from the outer air. it seemed explained when he roused himself and saw standing by the fire the french officer's dog, now gazing at the glow with meditative eyes, now diverted to industriously licking his sides. as the long cane of the waking indian threw off the summit of the ashes and touched up the embers to a more cordial warmth, the dog, always relishing companionship, repaired to the side of the divan, and the young cherokee, pushing him off, noticed the dripping sides of the animal where the snow had melted on the hair. "it must be raining," he said to himself, all unaware that aught had entered except the dog, coming and going after the manner of his restless kind. the incident recurred no more to his mind save for a vague recollection of his error when he perceived in the morning that it was snow that had fallen in the night and not rain. a new sensation pervaded the town upon its awakening. the "grandfather" announced the termination of his visit. "_n'matschi_!" (i shall go home) he said. and in explanation of this sudden resolution, "_n'matunguam_." (i have had a bad dream.) now a dream among the indians was of hardly less significance than among the hebrews of old. it was sufficient justification for the undertaking of any enterprise or for any change of intention. thus the departure of the delaware delegation was shorn of all surprise or imputation of discourtesy. the head-men among the cherokees felt it very definitely a relief to be freed from the importunities of their "grandfather." "good speed to the journey of the _illau_ tscholens!" atta-kulla-kulla said that evening after the departure, as the head-men of several towns sat discussing the matter around the council-fire in the great state-house of citico. "a turbulent 'grandfather' has a stormy voice and makes the heart of a young man like me very poor for fear!" the aged tsiskwa coughed out, and they all greeted the great man's jest with a laugh of appreciation, and felt it was well that one so old could at once be so sage and so merry. but there came a time when they were of a different mind. a most important crisis had supervened in the policy of the cherokee indians toward the british government when their attention was diverted from their projected demonstration against the south carolina colonists by a sudden attack from their ancient enemy, the mengwe (the iroquois, as the colonists called them). it was an altogether unprovoked attack, it seemed. the martial cherokees, however, always eager to fight, demanded no explanations, but at once took the war-path with a great array of their brisk young braves, and because of this interruption, it was said, the war of the cherokees against the british was long delayed. when at last the _casus belli_ of the iroquois was disclosed it struck the cherokees of citico town like a thunderbolt. the cherokee nation, said the mengwe, had presumed to recognize the independence of the lenni lenape, whom they knew to have been conquered by the mengwe more than a century earlier. this, of course, elicited from the cherokees a denial of any such recognition. whereupon the lenni lenape themselves produced in counter-asseveration the official belt of the cherokees, given in exchange for their own, and brought to the hand of their chief sachem by their young _illau_ tscholens, from citico town, the residence of the chief tsiskwa. a deep amazement fell upon the cherokees of citico--the sort of superstitious consternation that a somnambulist might feel in contemplating in broad daylight the deeds he had wrought in sleep-walking. as to the rest of the nation, it was in vain that tsiskwa denied; for there were many confirmatory details in support of the incontestable fact of the official belt openly shown in the possession of the lenni lenape. the gossips recapitulated the long and solitary audience with tsiskwa to which tscholens had been admitted--that strange wild cry with which it had terminated seeming now a cry of joy, not pain; and this interpretation was borne out by the obvious affectation of illness by which he had sought to hide the true import of the interview. more than all, the matter was put beyond reasonable doubt by the discovery of the official belt of the delawares in the _sanctum sanctorum_ of the "holy cabin" in the "beloved square" among the treasures of the blended religion and statecraft which pertained to the government of the cherokees. that tscholens could have surreptitiously exchanged the belts, as tsiskwa of citico, dismayed, overwhelmed, yet blusteringly contended, was held to be preposterous; for there was not a moment, sleeping or waking, when the delawares were not in the company and close charge of the cherokees, who must needs have been cognizant of any such demonstration. only one explanation was deemed plausible: the old man, doubtless in his dotage despite his seeming mental poise, had lost sight of the political significance of the bauble; he had bestowed it after the manner of the presents that all were unofficially heaping upon the "grandfather," and had mechanically, unthinkingly, received in exchange the delaware belt. after one reeling moment of doubt the town of citico recovered its balance and loyally supported its prince, but the rest of the nation was unanimous in the acceptance of the popular interpretation. how far extended the influence of this recognition by the cherokees of the independence of the lenni lenape it is impossible to say, but it is well known that they acted independently in the american phase of the seven years' war and fought on behalf of the french, and in the revolution they took the part of the americans against the british, contrary to the policy of the mengwe. about the time of the treaty of the united states with the indians in 1795, the mengwe, who had been greatly cast down by the defeat of their allies, the british, came forward of their own accord and desired publicly to acknowledge the independence of the lenni lenape. the masterly political machinations of tscholens and the mystery in which they were enveloped did not permanently impair the cordial relations existing between his tribe and the cherokees, for so late as 1779 a delegation of fourteen cherokees is chronicled as appearing in the country of the lenni lenape at their council-fire, to condole with them on the death of their head-chief; but neither before nor since is there any record of another visit of the turbulent "grandfather" to the banks of the tennessee river. notes 1. _page_ 6. the annals of the southwestern settlements commemorate many instances of daring hearts in delicate frames, and the pioneer woman who perhaps under softer and safer circumstances would have screamed at a mouse often shouldered a rifle and bravely joined the frontiersmen in the defense of the stockade against the most cruel, most wily, most warlike savage foe that ever a civilized force encountered. courage, of all the qualities of the moral panoply, is the least to be reckoned with by logic. perhaps after all it is not inherent, even in the nobler organisms, but evolved by a conscientious sense of responsibility and the dynamic potencies of emergency. la bruyã¨re says: "_jetez-moi dans les troupes comme un simple soldat, je suis thersite: mettezmoi ã  la tãªte d'une armã©e don't j'aie ã  rã©pondre ã  toute l'europe, je suis achille_!" 2. _page_ 114. the chungke stone of this favorite game of the southern indians bears a certain resemblance to the ancient discus of the greek athlete. this, it will be remembered, fashioned of metal or stone, circular, almost flat, was clasped by the fingers of one hand and held in the bend of the forearm, extending almost to the elbow. the genuine chungke stone is solid and discoidal in shape, beautifully polished, wrought of quartz, or agate, the most distinctive being concave on both sides, beveled toward the flat outer edge, and having a depression in the centre of both surfaces for the convenience of holding it with the second finger and thumb, the first finger clasping the periphery. its usual dimensions are about six or eight inches in diameter. there are several varieties of these archaic relics, some flat, others lenticular or of a wedge-shell shape, and others, still, concave on one side and convex on the other. an absolutely spherical stone, bearing the extraordinarily high polish that distinguishes these unique objects, found in an ancient mound and supposed to have relation to the same or a similar game, calls to mind the globular quoit of the classical athletes and that "enormous round" described by homer, "aã«tion's quoit"--to hurl which bowl they vie, "who teach the disk to sound along the sky." the exquisite finish of the chungke stone was compassed without the aid of a single tool, merely by the attrition of one stone upon another, "from time immemorial rubbed smooth upon the rocks, with prodigious labor," resulting in an object of such symmetrical beauty that even in the museums of the present day, out of which it is rarely seen, it challenges admiration. antiquaries variously contend that it was hurled through the air and that it was bowled on the edge along the ground, its equilibrium being so perfect that on a level space it will roll a great distance, falling only when its impetus is expended. the chungke stone is often confounded with the indian quoit, likewise circular and fashioned of smoothly wrought stone, but with an orifice in the centre, rendering it in effect a ring to be flung over a stake at a distance, or to be caught on the point of a lance. it has been inferred that adair is mistaken in his assertion that by the indian law the chungke stones were exempt from burial with the effects of the dead, since certain of the most perfect specimens known to modern archaeological collections were found in the exploration of mounds in the valley of the tennessee river. by many these mounds are supposed to be prehistoric, and the game is doubtless of an unimaginable antiquity. as late as his day, among the cherokees; 1736, the stones were kept with the "strictest religious care," and were the property of the town where the game was played. adair, despite his roving life, had evidently scant sympathy with athletics. he may have been growing old and indolent when he speaks of the game as a "task of stupid drudgery" and opines that instead of a sport it might "with propriety of language" be described as "running hard labor." other eye-witnesses, however, vaunt the great beauty and grace of the game. captain bernard romany chronicles with relish the dexterity requisite, the great strength and skill displayed by the participants in the violent exercise, although demurely moralizing the while on its perilous fascination to both players and spectators, by reason of the inordinate temptation presented by its doubtful chances to the reckless gambler. lieutenant timberlake alone calls it "_nettecawaw_." as there are moot points concerning the stones themselves and the conduct of the sport, so the chungke spears differ in the accounts of the early adventurers in this region. the length is variously given as eight, ten, twelve feet. the shape is sometimes represented as a lance or pole heavy in the centre and tapering at both ends to a blunt point, and others describe an implement resembling a magnified golf club of the present day. 3. _page_ 114. this choice decoration, popular though it was, could not be attained without a penalty commensurate with its valuation. it is stated by early travelers among the indian tribes that thirty days were required to properly heal an ear thus distended _ã  la mode_. the patient, if one so prideful might be so called, could only have one ear in the painful process at a time, in order that he might be able to lie in sleeping on the other side until such time as his embellished ear should be again serviceable for this prosaic purpose, and permit the like decoration of the opposite member. 4. _page_ 142. an illustration of how the choctaws profited by these earnest labors may be given in the fate of a chapel erected for their benefit at chickasaha by the french and placed in charge of a jesuit missionary. the choctaws so far accepted christianity as to be able to travesty the services and mimic the priest with surprising humor and verisimilitude when the english came in, and were wont to go to the old chapel for this profane exhibition to the mingled delight and reprobation of the military new-comers. the chapel was soon afterward destroyed, but captain romans records that in 1771 he saw the cross still standing on the site, a melancholy memorial of futile missionary endeavor. all the indians, however, were temperamentally averse to the services and tenets of the christian religion, and timberlake gives an instance among the cherokees in 1760 in which a missionary was balked by a unique interruption. "mr. martin, who having preached scripture till both he and his audience were heartily tired, was told at last that they knew very well that if they were good they would go up; if bad, down; that he could tell no more; that he had long plagued them with what they no ways understood, and they desired that he would depart the country." the epitome of theology thus deduced was so far a just conclusion. but doubtless the indians labored greatly with imperfect comprehension. humboldt describes a service among a south american tribe, in which a missionary preaching in spanish was at his wits' end to make his audience differentiate between _infierno_ and _invierno_. they persisted in shivering with horror at the picture of the hell of his warnings in which the wicked were supposed to be subjected to everlasting winter. one is tempted to think that the end might have justified the means if the good padre had fallen in with the prejudice against the rainy season and adopted, in lieu of the fire-and-brimstone of scripture, as a future state of punishment, the icy ninth circle of dante's inferno, where "_eran l' ombre dolenti nella ghiaccia, mettendo i denti in nota di cicogna_." 5. _page_ 151. the cultivation of personal pride was an essential element of training among the indians. they held the lower ranks of white people in great contempt, and timberlake records that in some athletic diversions at which he and other members of the virginia regiment were present they refused to play or to hold conference with any of the troops except the officers. 6. _page_ 179. the primary and somewhat complex significance of the word _ada-wehi_ is suggested by the idea of sorcery,--a man, or animal, or even element endowed with uncontrolled superlative and supernatural powers. it has been stated that since the introduction of christianity and the printing of the new testament in the cherokee typographical character the word has been utilized with its subtleties of signification to express spirit or angel. in this story, however, the scene of which is laid in a period long previous to the conversion of the tribe, or even the accepted date of the invention of the cherokee alphabet, the word is used in its early and original sense to denote a magician of special and expansive gifts of sorcery. 7. _page_ 186. although this officer's name was regularly incorporated into the cherokee vocabulary as a synonym of disaster, he seemed to revolt at the unhappy plight of the people whom in the discharge of his duty he had succeeded in reducing to so abject a condition of despair and woe, and has left on record expressions of compassion incongruous with his deeds and his position as a professed soldier of long experience. he had served in flanders and ireland in his youth as captain in the royal scots before he first came to america as major in montgomerie's regiment of highlanders. some adequate idea of the desolation and destitution of the indians may be gleaned from the reports to the british government: "the cherokees must certainly starve or come into terms, and even in that case colonel grant thinks it is hardly in the power of the provincials to save them. he proposed in a few days to send for the great warrior (oconostota) and the little carpenter (atta-kulla-kulla) to come and treat for peace, if they choose to save their nation from destruction. till he receives their answer he will endeavor to save the small remains of the lower towns. in the mean time colonel grant intends to put fort prince george into repair, and to wait there or at ninety-six till he receives orders from sir jeffrey amherst." the idea of the pangs of hunger and the sight of starvation and deprivation may have been the more repugnant to colonel grant since he was himself famous as a _bon vivant_ and gourmet. indeed, even yet, in turning old pages we come upon records of his dinners. bartram, the philadelphia botanist, whom the muscogee indians quaintly called _puc-puggy_ (the flower hunter) details the great size of a rattlesnake, "six feet long and as thick as the leg of an ordinary man" which he chanced to kill in his bosky researches near fort picolata in florida, and not the least surprising feature of the incident was a message from the commandant inviting both combatants to dinner, "governor grant being very fond of rattlesnake flesh." this officer, at that time royal governor of east florida, was holding a congress with the creek indians hard by the fort, having come from st. augustine with a detachment of its garrison for the purpose. bartram, dining in company with grant that day, saw his enemy served up in several different styles,--and he, too, must turn softhearted!--he could not partake of the dish,--and "was sorry after killing the serpent, when coolly recollecting every circumstance of it." however, neither the rattlesnake nor the cherokees were in condition to profit by these belated graces of magnanimity. through grant's scattered correspondence there is a flavor of "vivers." frederick george mulcaster, still with the garrison of st. augustine, in a letter addressed to grant, then in boston, laughingly alludes to his constant good cheer. "captain urquhart writes to his brother officers here that '_general grant lives like a general_!'" and later, in piteous contrast, "his excellency (the new royal governor) gave a dinner yesterday to the officers of the fourteenth and some others. it is the only dinner he has given since the one he gave to john stuart (famous as the survivor of fort loudon) upon his arrival here,"--a matter of two months. he further notes as a point of interest, "your black man, alexander, was with me this instant to inquire after your health, and has loaded me with _beaucoup de complimens_. he wishes much to come to make your bread." doubtless it was well made, for grant, prospering, went on from dinner to dinner, from promotion to promotion, attaining the rank of general in the army and great corpulency, representing sutherlandshire in the british parliament many years, and dying at the age of eighty-six at his birthplace, ballindalloch, in the north of scotland. 8. _page_ 212. the "annual register" in giving among state papers the text of a treaty between governor lyttleton of south carolina, captain-general, etc., and atta-kulla-kulla, "deputy for the whole cherokee nation," dated at fort prince george, dec. 26, 1759, adds in a note: "atta-kulla-kulla, the little carpenter, who concluded this treaty in behalf of the cherokee indians, was in england and at court several times in the year 1730." 9. _page_ 215. the oratorical gifts of this indian (under the name chollochcullah, supposed to be a phonetic variant of atta-kulla-kulla) are thus described in _the gentleman's magazine_ for october, 1755, chronicling the details of an earlier diplomatic occasion: "the speaker rose up, and holding a bow in one hand and a sheaf of arrows in the other, he delivered himself in the following words, with all the distinctness imaginable, with the dignity and graceful action of a roman or grecian orator, and with all their ease and eloquence." 10. _page_ 231. their tribal name, "men of fire," and their great veneration for that element have given rise to the conjecture that the cherokees were originally fire-worshipers, as well as polytheistic. the interpolation of the intensative syllable "ta" is, according to adair, a "note of magnitude," and the title of their prophets, whose functions are blended as priests, conjurers, physicians, and councilors,--the cheera-taghe,--signifies "men of divine fire." but adair protests that the theistic ideals of the indians were wholly spiritual, and that they had no plurality of gods. they paid their devotions merely to the "great beneficent supreme holy spirit of fire, who resides as they think above the clouds," and he argues plausibly that if they worshiped fire itself they would not have willfully extinguished the sanctified element annually on the last day of the old year throughout the nation, the invariable custom, before the cheera-taghe of each town kindled the "holy fire" anew, this being one of their exclusive functions. it may be that in their ancient rhapsodies (many of which mr. james mooney has collected for the smithsonian institution) addressed to bird or flame or beast the indians adopted a poetic license no more significant of polytheism than the flights of fancy of many christian poets in odes to the moon, to fate, "to the red planet mars," to the "wild west wind." mere impersonation and invocation in apostrophe and paeans are not necessarily worship. doubtless these spells and charms often arose from a superstitious half-belief, an imaginative freak, such as possesses the civilized visionary who shows a coin to the new moon to propitiate its fancied waxing influence in behalf of a balance at the banker's, or the christianized scotch highlander of even the early nineteenth century who threw a piece of hasty pudding over the left shoulder on the anniversary of _bealdin_ (the gaelic for no other than baal) to appease the spirits of the mists, the winds, the ravens, the eagles, and thus protect the crops and flocks. there is a thin boundary line as difficult to define as "to distinguish and divide a hair 'twixt south and southwest side," between true belief and feigned credence. the veneration of the ancient cherokees for the element of fire, in addition to their name, its careful conservation throughout the year, their addresses to its spirit, _higayuli tsunega, hatu ganiga_ (o ancient white, you have drawn near to listen), is farther manifested by its traces found in the exploration of burial mounds, intimating a ceremonial introduction of the element at the remote period of interment,--if, indeed, the construction of these mounds can he ascribed to the cherokees. those on which their town houses were erected at a later date, the clay-covered rotunda forming a superstructure looking like a small mountain at a little distance, according to timberlake, wherein were held the assemblies, whether for amusement or council or religious observances, served also as a substitute for the modern bulletin-board. two stands of colors were flying, one from the top of the town house, the other at the door. these ensigns were white for peace, and exchanged for red when war impended. "the news hollow," as timberlake phrases the cry, sounded from the summit of the mound, would occasion the assembling of all the community in the rotunda to hear the details from the lips of the chief. how much more the: "death hollow," harbinger of woe! 11. _page_ 323. they are hardly to be regarded as myths perhaps, rather as dislocated relics of fact. in treating of the "origin of american nations," dr. barton says: "these traditions are entitled to much consideration, for, notwithstanding the rude condition of most of the tribes, they are often perpetuated in great purity, as i have discovered by much attention to their history." it is generally accepted that the first historical mention of the cherokees occurs under the name of _chelaque_ in the chronicles of de soto's expedition in 1540 when they already occupied the great smoky mountains and the contiguous region, but the indians themselves had a tradition, according to haywood's _natural and aboriginal history of tennessee_, which was recited annually at the green corn dance, in which they claimed that they were the earlier mound builders on the upper ohio, whence they had migrated at a remote date. they can be identified with the ancient talega or tallegwi if the records of the _walam olum_ (painted sticks) may be believed, the wooden originals of which are said to have been preserved till 1822 and considered inexplicable, till their mnemonic signs and a manuscript song in the lenni lenape language, obtained from a remnant of the delaware indians, were translated by professor c.s. rafinesque "with deep study of the delaware and the aid of zeisberger's manuscript dictionary in the library of the philosophical society." in this, a dynasty of lenni lenape chiefs and the events of their reigns are successively named, and from the first mention of their encounter with the warlike tallegwi or cherokee to the discovery of columbus there is necessarily implied the passage of many centuries. even the time that has elapsed since the tallegwi were overthrown by them is estimated as somewhat more than a thousand years, thus placing this defeat in the ninth century. professor cyrus thomas in "the cherokees of pre-columbian times" states that he thinks it would be more nearly correct to credit the event to the eleventh or twelfth century. he quotes in support of his theory from the _walam-olum_ as translated by dr. brinton, who giving the original in parallel pages, with the mnemonic signs, does not use in the english version the indian names of the chiefs. this record of the _walam-olum_ is really very curious. after passing the account of the creation, the flood, the migrations, and entering upon the chronicles, the _walam-olum_ reads much like a biblical genealogy, save that in lieu of scions of a parent tree these are military successors, war-captains. the following quotations are from the version given by squier: 47. _opekasit_ (east-looking) being next chief, was sad because of so much warfare. 48. said let us go to the sun-rising (_wapagishek_) and many went east together. 49. the great river _(messussipu)_ divided the land and being tired they tarried there. 50. _yagawanend_ (hut-maker) was next sakimau, and then the tallegwi were found possessing the east. 51. followed _chitanitis_ (strong friend), who longed for the rich east land. 52. some went to the east but the tallegwi killed a portion. 53. then all of one mind exclaimed war, war! 54. the _talamatan_ (not-of-themselves) and the nitilowan all united (to the war). 55. _kinnehepend_ (sharp-looking) was their leader, and they went over the river. 56. and they took all that was there and despoiled and slew the tallegwi. 57. _pimokhasuwi_ (stirring about) was next chief, and then the tallegwi were much too strong. 58. _tenchekensit_ (open path) followed and many towns were given up to him. 59. _paganchihilla_ was chief,--and the tallegwi all went southward. after the earliest mention of the tallegwi in verse 50 of the first chronicle there are about fifty chieftains enumerated, and characterized with their successive reigns before the entrance of the white discoverers of the continent at the end of the second chronicle. in this it is stated at verse- 56. _nenachipat_ was chief toward the sea. 57. now from north and south came the _wapagachik_ (white comers). 58. professing to be friends, in big birds (ships). who are they? and with this dramatic climax the ancient picture record closes. what is known as the modern chronicle, a fragment, begins with the answer, "alas! alas! we know now who they are, these _wapinsis_ (east people) who came out of the sea to rob us of our lands." and that the modern chronicle shall be certainly correct the successor of _lekhibit_ (the compiler of the ancient story) is assisted by critical philologists, and rafinesque takes issue with holm touching a swedish suffix in an indian name. "mattanikum was chief in 1645. he is called 'mattahorn' by holm, and 'horn' is not lenapi!" it is difficult to adjust one's credulity to accept as history this singular indian picture-record. its authenticity is supported by the great scope of the system and the reputed subtlety and close accuracy by which abstract ideas, the origin of things, the powers of nature, the elements of religion, could be expressed and read by those conversant with the mnemonic signs,--as easily, heckewelder says, as a piece of writing. the noted antiquary squier, however, who in this connection has lauded rafinesque's industry, scientific attainments, and eager researches, states that since writing in this vein he has seen fit to read this author's _american nations_ and finds it "a singular jumble of facts and fancies," and adds that it is unfortunate that the manuscript in question should fall in this category. to praise, even with qualifications, the author without reading all his work on the subject, while certainly more amiable, is hardly more conducive to an impartial estimate than to disparage on hearsay, according to that travesty of critical judgment: "'_que dites-vous du livre d'hermodore?' 'qu'il est mauvais,' rã©pond anthime ... 'mais l'aves-vous lu?' 'non.' dit anthime. quen'ajoute-t-il que fulvie et mã©lanie l'ont condamnã© sans l'avoir lu, et qu'il est ami de fulvie et de mã©lanie_?" in contrast with this method the caution and critical scrutiny with which dr. brinton, in his work on "the lenape," deliberates upon the question of the authenticity of the _walam olum_ are indeed marked. he carefully examines all the details both favorable and adverse, and finally adduces the evidence of the text itself. the manuscript submitted by him to educated indians of the lenni lenape is pronounced to be a genuine oral composition of a delaware indian in an ancient dialect, evidently dictated to one not wholly conversant with, all the terminal inflections of the words, which occasional omissions form the chief defect of the curious "red score." 12. _page_ 324. some authorities hold that the _talamatan_ (not-of-themselves) mentioned by the _walam-olum_ were the hurons who allied themselves with the delawares against the tallegwi, and that heckewelder is mistaken in stating that these confederates were the mengwe. this story, however, follows the account of the war and the subsequent subjection of the delawares as given by heckewelder. the prophet of the great smoky mountains by charles egbert craddock a new edition london chatto & windus 1901 i. always enwrapped in the illusory mists, always touching the evasive clouds, the peaks of the great smoky mountains are like some barren ideal, that has bartered for the vague isolations of a higher atmosphere the material values of the warm world below. upon those mighty and majestic domes no tree strikes root, no hearth is alight; humanity is an alien thing, and utility set at naught. below, dense forests cover the massive, precipitous slopes of the range, and in the midst of the wilderness a clearing shows, here and there, and the roof of a humble log-cabin; in the valley, far, far lower still, a red spark at dusk may suggest a home, nestling in the cove. grain grows apace in these scanty clearings, for the soil in certain favoured spots is mellow; and the weeds grow, too, and in a wet season the ploughs are fain to be active. they are of the bull-tongue variety, and are sometimes drawn by oxen. as often as otherwise they are followed by women. in the gracious june mornings, when winds are astir and wings are awhirl in the wide spaces of the sunlit air, the work seemed no hardship to dorinda cayce--least of all one day when another plough ran parallel to the furrows of her own, and a loud, drawling, intermittent conversation became practicable. she paused often, and looked idly about her: sometimes at the distant mountains, blue and misty, against the indefinite horizon; sometimes down at the cool, dense shadows of the wooded valley, so far below the precipice, to which the steep clearing shelved; sometimes at the little log-cabin on the slope above, sheltered by a beetling crag and shadowed by the pines; sometimes still higher at the great 'bald' of the mountain, and its mingled phantasmagoria of shifting clouds and flickering sheen and glimmering peak. 'he 'lowed ter me,' she said suddenly, 'ez he hev been gin ter view strange sights a many a time in them fogs, an' sech.' the eyes lifted to the shivering vapours might never have reflected aught but a tropical sunshine, so warm, so bright, so languorously calm were they. she turned them presently upon a young man, who was ploughing with a horse close by, and who also came to a meditative halt in the turn-row. he too was of intermittent conversational tendencies, and between them it might be marvelled that so many furrows were already run. he wore a wide-brimmed brown wool hat, set far back upon his head; a mass of straight yellow hair hung down to the collar of his brown jeans coat. his brown eyes were slow and contemplative. the corn was knee-high, and hid the great boots drawn over his trousers. as he moved there sounded the unexpected jingle of spurs. he looked, with the stolid, lack-lustre expression of the mountaineer, at the girl, who continued, as she leaned lightly on the plough-handles: 'i 'lowed ter him ez mebbe he hed drempt them visions. i knows i hev thunk some toler'ble cur'ous thoughts myself, ef i war tired an' sleepin' hard. but he said he reckoned i hed drempt no sech dreams ez his'n. i can't holp sorrowin' fur him some. he 'lowed ez satan hev hunted him like a pa'tridge on the mounting.' the young man's eyes dropped with sudden significance upon his plough-handles. a pair of pistols in their leather cases swung incongruously there. they gave a caustic suggestion of human adversaries as fierce as the moral pursuit of the principle of evil, and the girl's face fell. in absence of mind she recommenced her work. 'waal,' she gently drawled, as the old ox languidly started down the row, ''pears like ter me ez it ain't goin' ter be no differ, nohow: it won't hender ye none.' her face was grave, but there was a smile in her eyes, which had the lustre and depth of a sapphire, and a lambent glow like the heart of a blue flame. they were fringed by long, black lashes, and her hair was black also. her pink calico sun-bonnet, flaring toward the front, showed it lying in moist tendrils on her brow, and cast an unwonted roseate tint upon the clear, healthful pallor of her complexion. she wore a dark blue homespun dress, and, despite her coarse garb and uncouth occupation and the gaunt old ox, there was something impressive in her simple beauty, her youth, and her elastic vigour. as she drove the ploughshare into the mould she might have seemed the type of a young civilization--so fine a thing in itself, so roughly accoutred. when she came down the slope again, facing him, the pink curtain of her bonnet waving about her shoulders, her blue skirts fluttering among the blades of corn, a winged shadow sweeping along as if attendant upon her, while a dove flew high above to its nest in the pines, he raised his hand with an imperative gesture, and she paused obediently. he had flushed deeply; the smouldering fire in his eyes was kindling. he leaned across the few rows of corn that stood between them. 'i hev a word ter ax right now. who air under conviction hyar?' he demanded. she seemed a trifle startled. her grasp shifted uncertainly on the plough-handles, and the old ox, accustomed to rest only at the turn-row, mistook her intention, and started off. she stopped him with some difficulty, and then, 'convicted of sin?' she asked, in a voice that showed her appreciation of the solemnity of the subject. 'i hev said it,' the young man declared, with a half-suppressed irritation which confused her. she remained silent. 'mebbe it air yer granny,' he suggested, with a sneer. she recoiled, with palpable surprise. 'granny made her peace fifty year ago,' she declared, with pride in this anciently acquired grace--'fifty year an' better.' 'the boys air convicted, then? he asked, still leaning over the corn and still sneering. 'the boys hev got thar religion, too,' she faltered, looking at him with wide eyes, brilliant with astonishment, and yet a trifle dismayed. suddenly, she threw herself into her wonted confiding attitude, leaning upon her plough-handles, and with an appealing glance began an extenuation of her spiritual poverty: ''pears like ez i hev never hed a call ter tell you-uns afore ez i hev hed no time yit ter git my religion. granny bein' old, an' the boys at the still, i hev hed ter spin, an' weave, an' cook, an' sew, an' plough some--the boys bein' mos'ly at the still. an' then, thar be mirandy jane, my brother ab's darter, ez i hev hed ter l'arn how ter cook vittles. when i went down yander ter my aunt jerushy's house in tuckaleechee cove, ter holp her some with weavin', i war plumb cur'ous ter know how mirandy jane would make out whilst i war gone. they 'lowed ez she hed cooked the vittles toler'ble, but ef she had washed a skillet or a platter in them three days _i_ couldn't find it.' her tone was stern; all the outraged housekeeper was astir within her. he said nothing, and she presently continued discursively, still leaning on the plough-handles: 'i never stayed away but them three days. i warn't sati'fied in my mind, nohow, whilst i bided down thar in tuckaleechee cove. i hankered cornsider'ble arter the baby. he air three year old now, an' i hev keered fur him ever sence his mother died--my brother ab's wife, ye know--two year ago an' better. they hed fedded him toler'ble whilst i war away, an' i fund him fat ez common. but they hed crost him somehows, an' he war ailin' in his temper when i got home, an' hed ter hev cornsider'ble coddlin'.' she paused before the rising anger in his eyes. 'why air mirandy jane called ter l'arn how ter cook vittles?' he demanded, irrelevantly, it might have seemed. she looked at him in deprecating surprise. yet she turned at bay. 'i hev never hearn ez ye war convicted yerself, rick tyler!' she said tartly. 'ye war never so much ez seen a-scoutin' round the mourner's bench. ef i hev got no religion, ye hev got none, nuther.' 'ye air minded ter git married, d'rindy cayce,' he said severely, solving his own problem, 'an' that's why mirandy jane hev got ter be l'arned ter take yer place at home.' he produced this as if it were an accusation. she drew back, indignant and affronted, and with a rigid air of offended propriety. 'i hev no call ter spen' words 'bout sech ez that with a free-spoken man like you-uns,' she staidly asseverated; and then she was about to move on. accepting her view of the gross unseemliness of his mention of the subject, the young fellow's anger gave way to contrition. 'waal, d'rindy,' he said, in an eager, apologetic tone,' i hev seen that critter, that thar preacher, a-hangin' round you-uns's house a powerful deal lately, whilst i hev been obleeged ter hide out in the woods. an' bein' ez nobody thar owns up ter needin' religion but ye, i reckoned he war a-tryin' ter git ye ter take him an' grace tergether. that man hev got his mouth stuffed chock-full o' words--more 'n enny other man i ever see,' he added, with an expression of deep disgust. dorinda might be thought to abuse her opportunities. 'he ain't studyin' 'bout'n me, no more 'n i be 'bout'n him,' she said, with scant relish for the spectacle of rick tyler's jealousy. 'pa'son kelsey jes' stops thar ter the house ter rest his bones awhile, arter he comes down off'n the bald, whar he goes ter pray.' 'in the name o' reason,' exclaimed the young fellow petulantly, 'why can't he pray somewhar else? a man ez hev got ter h'ist hisself on the bald of a mounting ten mile high--except what's lackin'--ter git a purchase on prayer hain't got no religion wuth talkin' 'bout. sinner ez i am, i kin pray in the valley--way down yander in tuckaleechee cove--ez peart ez on enny bald in the big smoky. that critter air a powerful aggervatin' contrivance.' her eyes still shone upon him. ''pears like ter me ez it air no differ, nohow,' she said, with her consolatory cadence. as she again started down the row, she added, glancing over her shoulder and relenting even to explanation, ''twar granny's word ez mirandy jane hed ter be l'arned ter cook an' sech. she air risin' thirteen now, an' air toler'ble bouncin' an' spry, an' oughter be some use, ef ever. an' _she_ mought marry when she gits fairly grown, an',' pausing in the turn-row for argument, and looking with earnest eyes at him, as he still stood in the midst of the waving corn, idly holding his plough-handles, where the pistols swung, 'ef she did marry, 'pears like ter me ez she would be mightily faulted ef she couldn't cook tasty.' there was no reasonable doubt of this proposition, but it failed to convince, and in miserable cogitation he completed another furrow, and met her at the turn-row. 'i s'pose ez pa'son kelsey an' yer granny air powerful sociable an' frien'ly,' he hazarded, as they stood together. 'i dunno ez them two air partic'lar frien'ly. pa'son kelsey air in nowise a sociable critter,' said dorinda, with a discriminating air. 'he ain't like brother jake tobin--though it 'pears like ter me ez his gift in prayer air manifested more survigrus, ef ennything.' she submitted this diffidently. having no religion, she felt incompetent to judge of such matters. ''pears like ter me ez pa'son kelsey air more like 'lijah an' 'lisha, an' them men, what he talks about cornsider'ble, an' goes out ter meet on the bald.' 'he don't meet them men on the bald; they air dead,' said rick tyler abruptly. she looked at him in shocked surprise. 'that's jes' his addling way o' talkin',' continued the young fellow. 'he don't mean fur true more 'n haffen what he say. he 'lows ez he meets the sperits o' them men on the bald.' once more she lifted her bright eyes to the shivering vapours--vague, mysterious, veiling in solemn silence the barren, awful heights. an extreme gravity had fallen upon her face. 'did they live in thar lifetime up hyar in the big smoky, or in the valley kentry?' she asked, in a lowered voice. 'i ain't sure 'bout'n that,' he replied indifferently. ''crost the line in the old north state?' she hazarded, exhausting her knowledge of the habitable globe. 'i hearn him read 'bout'n it wunst, but i furgits now.' still her reverent, beautiful eyes, full of the dreamy sunshine, were lifted to the peak. 'it must hev been in the big smoky mountings they lived,' she said, with eager credulity, 'fur he tole me ez the word an' the prophets holped him when satan kem a-huntin' of him like a pa'tridge on the mounting.' the young fellow turned away, with a gesture of angry impatience. 'ef he hed ever hed the state o' tennessee a-huntin' of him he wouldn't be so feared o' satan. ef thar war a warrant fur _him_ in the sher'ffs pocket, an' the gran' jury's true bill fur murder lyin' agin _him_ yander at shaftesville, an' the gov'nor's reward, two hunderd dollars blood-money, on _him_, he wouldn't be a-humpin' his bones round hyar so peart, a-shakin' in his shoes fur the fear o' satan.' he laughed--a caustic, jeering laugh. 'satan's mighty active, considerin' his age, but i'd be willin' ter pit the state o' tennessee agin him when it kem ter huntin' of folks like a pa'tridge.' the sunshine in the girl's eyes was clouded. they had filled with tears. still leaning on the plough-handles, she looked at him, with suddenly crimson cheeks and quivering lips. 'i dunno how the state o' tennessee kin git its own cornsent ter be so mean an' wicked ez it air,' she said, his helpless little partizan. despite their futility, her words comforted him. 'an' i hev done nuthin', nohow!' he cried out, in shrill self-justification. 'i could no more hender 'bednego tynes from shootin' joel byers down in his own door 'n nuthin' in this worl'. i never even knowed they hed a grudge. 'bednego tynes, he tole me ez he owed joel a debt, an' war goin' ter see him 'bout'n it, an' wanted somebody along ter hear his word an' see justice done 'twixt 'em. thar air fower byers boys, an' i reckon he war feared they would all jump on him at wunst, an' he wanted me ter holp him ef they did. an' i went along like a fool sheep, thinkin' 'bout nuthin'. an' when we got way down yander in eskaqua cove, whar joel byers's house air, he gin a hello at the fence, an' joel kem ter the door. an' 'bednego whipped up his rifle suddint an' shot him through the head, ez nip an' percise! an' thar stood joel's wife, seein' it all. an' 'bednego run off, nimble, i tell ye, an' i war so flustrated i run, too. somebody cotched 'bednego in the old north state the nex' week, an' the gov'nor hed ter send a requisition arter him. but sence i fund out ez they 'lowed i war aidin' an' abettin' 'bednego, an' war goin' ter arrest me 'kase i war thar at the killin', they hev hed powerful little chance o' tryin' me in the court. an' whilst the gov'nor hed his hand in, he offered a reward fur sech a lawless man ez i be.' he broke off, visibly struggling for composure; then he recommenced in increasing indignation: 'an' these hyar frien's o' mine in the big smoky, i'll be bound they hanker powerful arter them two hunderd dollars blood-money. i know ez i'd hev been tuk afore this, ef it warn't fur them consarns thar.' he nodded frowningly at the pistols. 'them's the only frien's i hev got.' the girl's voice trembled. ''pears like ye mought count me in,' she said reproachfully. 'naw,' he retorted sternly; 'ye go round hyar sorrowin' fur a man ez hev got nuthin' ter be afeared of but the devil.' she made no reply, and her meekness mollified him. 'd'rindy,' he said, in an altered tone, and with the pathos of a keen despair, 'i hed fixed it in my mind a good while ago, when i could hev hed a house, an' lived like folks, stidd'er like a wolf in the woods, ter ax ye ter marry me; but i war hendered by gittin' skeered 'bout'n yer bein' all in favour o' amos jeemes, ez kem up ter see ye from eskaqua cove, an' i didn't want ter git turned off. mebbe ef i hed axed ye then i wouldn't hev tuk ter goin' along o' abednego tynes an' sech, an' the killin' o' joel wouldn't hev happened like it done. would ye--would ye hev married me then?' her eyes flashed. 'ye air fairly sodden with foolishness, rick!' she exclaimed angrily. 'air you-uns thinkin ez i'll 'low ez i would hev married a man four months ago ez never axed me ter marry, nohow?' then, with an appreciation of the delicacy of the position and a conservation of mutual pride, she added, 'an' i won't say nuther ez i _wouldn't_ marry a man ez hev never axed me ter marry, nohow.' somehow, the contrariety of the proprieties, as she translated them, bewildered and baffled him. even had he been looking at her he might hardly have interpreted, with his blunt perceptions, the dewy wistfulness of the eyes which she bent upon him. the word might promise nothing now. still she would have valued it. he did not speak it. his eyes were fixed on chilhowee mountain, rising up, massive and splendid, against the west. the shadows of the clouds flecked the pure and perfect blue of the sunny slopes with a dusky mottling of purple. the denser shade in the valley had shifted, and one might know by this how the day wore on. the dew had dried from the long, keen blades of the indian corn; the grasshoppers droned among them. a lizard basked on a flat white stone hard by. the old ox dozed in the turn-row. suddenly rick tyler lifted his hand, with an intent gesture and a dilated eye. there came from far below, on the mountain road, the sound of a horse's hoof striking on a stone, again, and yet again. a faint metallic jingle--the air was so still now--suggested spurs. the girl's hand trembled violently as she stepped swiftly to his horse and took off the plough-gear. he had caught up a saddle that was lying in the turn-row, and as hastily buckled the girth about the animal. 'ef that air ennybody a-hankerin' ter see me, don't you-uns be a-denyin' ez i hev been hyar, d'rindy,' he said, as he put his foot in the stirrup. 'i reckon they hev fund out by now ez i be in the kentry round about. but keep 'em hyar ez long ez ye kin, ter gin me a start.' he mounted his horse, and rode noiselessly away along the newly turned mould of the furrow. she stood leaning upon her plough-handles and silently watching him. his equestrian figure, darkly outlined against the far blue mountains and the intermediate valley, seemed of heroic size against the landscape, which was reduced by the distance to the minimum of proportion. the deep shadows of the woods encompassing the clearing fell upon him presently, and he, too, was but a shadow in the dusky monochrome of the limited vista. the dense laurel closed about him, and his mountain fastnesses, that had befriended him of yore, received him once again. then up and down the furrows dorinda mechanically followed the plough, her pulses throbbing, every nerve tense, every faculty alert. she winced when she heard the frequent striking of hoofs upon the rocky slopes of the road below. she was instantly aware when they were silent, and the party had stopped to breathe the horses. she began accurately to gauge their slow progress. ''tain't airish in nowise ter-day,' she said, glancing about at the still, noontide landscape; 'an' ef them air valley cattle they mus' git blowed mightily travellin' up sech steep mountings ez the big smoky.' she checked her self-gratulation. 'though i ain't wantin' ter gloat on the beastis' misery, nuther,' she stipulated. she paused presently at the lower end of the clearing, and looked down over the precipice, that presented a sheer sandstone cliff on one side, and on the other a wild confusion of splintered and creviced rocks, where the wild rose bloomed in the niches and the grape-vine swung. the beech-trees on the slope below conserved beneath their dense, umbrageous branches a tender green twilight. loitering along in a gleaming silver thread by the roadside was a mountain rill, hardly gurgling even when with slight and primitive shift it was led into a hollow and mossy log, that it might aggregate sufficient volume in the dry season to water the horse of the chance wayfarer. the first stranger that rode into this shadowy nook took off a large straw hat and bared his brow to the refreshing coolness. his grizzled hair stood up in front after the manner denominated 'a roach.' his temples were deeply sunken, and his strongly marked face was long and singularly lean. he held it forward, as if he were snuffing the air. he had a massive and powerful frame, with not an ounce of superfluous flesh, and he looked like a hound in the midst of the hunting season. it served to quiet dorinda's quivering nerves when he leisurely rode his big grey horse up to the trough, and dropped the rein that the animal might drink. if he were in pursuit he evidently had no idea how close he had pressed the fugitive. he was joined there by the other members of the party, six or eight in number, and presently a stentorian voice broke upon the air. 'hello! hello!' he shouted, hailing the log cabin. mirandy jane, a slim, long-legged, filly-like girl of thirteen, with a tangled black mane, the forelock hanging over her wild, prominent eyes, had at that moment appeared on the porch. she paused, and stared at the strangers with vivacious surprise. then, taking sudden fright, she fled precipitately, with as much attendant confusion of pattering footfalls, flying mane, and excited snorts and gasps as if she were a troop of wild horses. 'granny! granny!' she exclaimed to the old crone in the chimney-corner, 'thar's a man on a big grey critter down at the trough, an' i an't s'prised none ef he air a raider!' the hail of the intruders was regarded as a challenge by some fifteen or twenty hounds that suddenly materialized among the beehives and the althea bushes, and from behind the ash-hopper and the hen-house and the rain-barrel. from under the cabin two huge curs came, their activity impeded by the blocks and chains they drew. these were silent, while the others yelped vociferously, and climbed over the fence, and dashed down the road. the horses pricked up their ears, and the leader of the party awaited the onslaught with a pistol in his hand. the old woman, glancing out of the window, observed this demonstration. 'he'll kill one o' our dogs with that thar shootin'-iron o' his'n!' she exclaimed in trepidation. 'run, mirandy jane, an' tell him _our_ dogs don't bite.' the filly-like mirandy jane made great speed among the hounds as she called them off, and remembered only after she had returned to the house to be afraid of the 'shootin'-iron' herself. the old woman, who had come out on the porch, stood gazing at the party, shading her eyes with her hands, and a long-range colloquy ensued. 'good-mornin', madam,' said the man at the trough. 'good-mornin', sir,' quavered the old crone on the mountain slope. 'i'm the sher'ff o' the county, madam, an' i'd like ter know ef----' 'mirandy jane,' the old woman interrupted, in a wrathful undertone, ''pears like i hev' hed the trouble o' raisin' a idjit in you-uns! them ain't raiders, 'n nuthin' like it. run an' tell the sher'ff we air dishin' up dinner right now, an' ax him an' his gang ter' light an' hitch, an' eat it along o' we-uns.' the prospect was tempting. it was high noon, and the posse had been in the saddle since dawn. dorinda, with a beating heart, remarked how short a consultation resulted in dismounting and hitching the horses; and then, with their spurs jingling and their pistols belted about them, the men trooped up to the house. as they seated themselves around the table, more than one looked back over his shoulder at the open window, in which was framed, as motionless as a painted picture, the vast perspective of the endless blue ranges and the great vaulted sky, not more blue, all with the broad, still, brilliant noontide upon it. 'ye ain't scrimped fur a view, mis' cayce, an' that's the lord's truth!' exclaimed the officer. 'waal,' said the old woman, as if her attention were called to the fact for the first time, 'we kin see a power o' kentry from this spot o' ourn, sure enough; but i dunno ez it gins us enny more chance o' ever viewin' canaan.' 'it's a sight o' ground ter hev ter hunt a man over, ez ef he war a needle in a haystack,' and once more the officer turned and surveyed the prospect. the room was overheated by the fire which had cooked the dinner, and the old woman actively plied her fan of turkey feathers, pausing occasionally to readjust her cap, which had a flapping frill, and was surmounted by a pair of gleaming spectacles. a bandana kerchief was crossed over her breast, and she wore a blue-and-white-checked homespun dress of the same pattern and style that she had worn here fifty years ago. her hands were tremulous and gnarled, and her face was deeply wrinkled, but her interest in life was as fresh as mirandy jane's. the great frame of the warping-bars on one side of the room was swathed with a rainbow of variegated yarn, and a spinning-wheel stood near the door. a few shelves, scrupulously neat, held piggins, a cracked blue bowl, brown earthenware, and the cooking utensils. there were rude gun-racks on the walls. these indicated the fact of several men in the family. it was the universal dinner-hour, yet none of them appeared. the sheriff reflected that perhaps they had their own sufficient reason to be shy of strangers, and the horses hitched outside advertised the presence and number of unaccustomed visitors within. when the usual appetizer was offered, it took the form of whisky in such quantity that the conviction was forced upon him that it was come by very handily. however, he applied himself with great relish to the bacon and snap-beans, corn dodgers and fried chicken, not knowing that mirandy jane, who was esteemed altogether second-rate, had cooked them, and he spread honey upon the apple-pie, ate it with his knife, and washed it down with buttermilk, kept cold as ice in the spring--the mixture being calculated to surprise a more civilized stomach. not even his conscience was roused--the first intimation of a disordered digestion. he listened to old mrs. cayce with no betrayal of divination when she vaguely but anxiously explained the absence of her son and his boys in the equivocal phrase, 'not round about ter-day, bein' gone off,' and he asked how many miles distant was the settlement, as if he understood they had gone thither. he was saying to himself, the brush whisky warming his heart, that the revenue department paid him nothing to raid moonshiners, and there was no obligation of his office to sift any such suspicion which might occur to him while accepting an unguarded hospitality. he looked with somewhat appreciative eyes at dorinda, as she went back and forth from the table to the pot which hung in the deep chimney-place above the smouldering coals. she had laid aside her bonnet. her face was grave, her eyes were bright and excited; her hair was drawn back, except for the tendrils about her brow, and coiled, with the aid of a much-prized 'tuckin'-comb,' at the back of her head in a knot discriminated as grecian in civilization. he remarked to her grandmother that he was a family man himself, and had a daughter as old, he should say, as dorinda. 'd'rindy air turned seventeen, now,' said mrs. cayce disparagingly. 'it 'pears like ter me ez the young folks nowadays air awk'ard an' back'ard. i war married when i war sixteen--sixteen scant.' the girl felt that she was indeed of advanced years, and the sheriff said that his daughter was not yet sixteen, and he thought it probable that she weighed more than dorinda. he lighted his pipe presently, and tilted his chair back against the wall. 'yes 'm,' he said meditatively, gazing out of the window at the great panorama, 'it's a pretty big spot o' kentry ter hev ter hunt a man over. now ef 'twar one o' the town folks we could make out ter overhaul him somehows; but a mounting boy--why, he's ez free ter the hills ez a fox. i s'pose ye hain't seen him hyar-abouts?' 'i hain't hearn who it air yit,' the old woman replied, putting her hand behind her ear. 'it's rick tyler; he hails from this deestric'. i won't be 'stonished ef we ketch him this time. the gov'nor has offered two hunderd dollars reward fur him, an' i reckon somebody will find it wuth while ter head him fur us.' he was talking idly. he had no expectation of developments here. he had only stopped at the house in the first instance for the question which he had asked at every habitation along the road. it suddenly occurred to him as polite to include dorinda in the conversation. 'ye hain't seen nor hearn of him, i s'pose, hev ye?' inquired the sheriff, directly addressing her. as he turned toward her he marked her expression. his own face changed suddenly. he rose at once. 'don't trifle with the law, i warn ye,' he said sternly. 'ye hev seen that man.' dorinda was standing beside her spinning-wheel, one hand holding the thread, the other raised to guide the motion. she looked at him pale and breathless. 'i hev seen him. i ain't onwillin' ter own it. ye never axed me afore.' the other members of the party had crowded in from the porch, where they had been sitting since dinner, smoking their pipes. the officer, realizing his lapse of vigilance and the loss of his opportunity, was sharply conscious, too, of their appreciation of his fatuity. 'whar did ye see him?' he asked. 'i seen him hyar--this mornin'.' there was a stir of excitement in the group. 'he kem by on his beastis whilst i war a-ploughin', an' we talked a passel. an' then he tuk pete's plough, ez war idle in the turn-row, an' helped along some; he run a few furrows.' 'which way did he go?' asked the sheriff breathlessly. 'i dunno,' faltered the girl. 'look-a-hyar!' he thundered, in rising wrath. 'ye'll find yerself under lock an' key in the jail at shaftesville, if ye undertake ter fool with me. which way did he go?' a flush sprang into the girl's excited face. her eyes flashed. 'ef ye kin jail me fur tellin' all i know, i can't holp it,' she said, with spirit. 'i kin tell no more.' he saw the justice of her position. it did not make the situation easier for him. here he had sat eating and drinking and idly talking, while the fugitive, who had escaped by a hair's-breadth, was counting miles and miles between himself and his lax pursuer. this would be heard of in shaftesville--and he a candidate for re-election! he beheld already an exchange of significant glances among his posse. had he asked that simple question earlier he might now be on his way back to shaftesville, his prisoner braceleted with the idle handcuffs that jingled in his pocket as he moved. he caught at every illusive vagary that might promise to retrieve his error. he declared that she could not say which way rick tyler had taken because he was not gone. 'he's in this house right now!' he exclaimed. he ordered a search, and the guests, a little while ago so friendly, began exploring every nook and cranny. 'no, no!' cried the old woman shrilly, as they tried the door of the shed-room, which was bolted and barred. 'ye can't tech that thar door. it can't be opened--not ef the gov'nor o' tennessee war hyar himself, a-moanin' an' a-honin' ter git in.' the sheriff's eyes dilated. 'open the door--i summon ye!' he proclaimed, with his imperative official manner. 'no!--i done tole ye,' she said indignantly. 'the word o' the men folks hev been gin ter keep that thar door shet, an shet it's going ter be kep'.' the officer laid his hand upon it. 'ye mustn't bust it open!' shrilled the old woman. 'laws-a-massy! ef thar be many sech ez you-uns in shaftesville, i ain't s'prised none that the bible gits ter mournin' over the low kentry, an' calls it a vale o' tears an' the valley o' the shadder o' death!' the sheriff had placed his powerful shoulder against the frail batten door. 'hyar goes!' he said. there was a crash; the door lay in splinters on the floor; the men rushed precipitately over it. they came back laughing sheepishly. the officer's face was angry and scarlet. 'don't take the bar'l--don't take the bar'l!' the old woman besought of him, as she fairly hung upon his arm. 'i dunno _how_ the boys would cavort ef they kem back an' fund the bar'l gone.' he gave her no heed. 'whyn't ye tell me that man warn't thar?' he asked of the girl. 'ye didn't ax me that word,' said dorinda. 'no, 'cajah green, ye didn't,' said one of the men, who, since the abortive result of their leader's suspicion, were ashamed of their mission, and prone to self-exoneration. 'i'll stand up ter it ez she answered full an' true every word ez ye axed her.' 'lor'-a'mighty! ef i jes' knowed aforehand how it will tech the boys when they view the door down onto the floor!' exclaimed the old woman. 'they mought jounce round hyar ez ef they war bereft o' reason, an' all thar hope o' salvation hed hung on the hinges. an' then agin they mought 'low ez they hed ruther hev no door than be at the trouble o' shettin' it an' barrin' it up ez they come an' go. they air mighty onsartin in thar temper, an' i hev never hankered ter see 'em crost. but fur the glory's sake, don't tech the bar'l. it's been sot thar ter age some, ef the lord will spare it.' in the girl's lucent eyes the officer detected a gleam of triumph. how far away in the tangled labyrinths of the mountain wilderness, among the deer-paths and the cataracts and the cliffs, had these long hours led rick tyler? he spoke on his angry impulse: 'an' i ain't goin' ter furgit in a hurry how i hev fund out ez ye air a-consortin' with criminals, an' aidin' an' abettin' men ez air fleein' from jestice an' wanted fur murder. ye look out; ye'll find yerself in shaftesville jail 'fore long, i'm a-thinkin'.' 'he stopped an' talked ez other folks stop an' talk,' dorinda retorted. 'i couldn't hender, an' i hed no mind ter hender. he took no bite nor sup ez others hez done. 'pears like ter me ez we hev gin aid an' comfort ter the off'cer o' the law ez well ez we could.' and this was the story that went down to shaftesville. the man, his wrath rebounding upon himself, hung his head, and went down to the trough, and mounted his horse without another word. the others hardly knew what to say to dorinda. but they were more deliberate in their departure, and hung around apologizing in their rude way to the old woman, who convulsively besought each to spare the barrel, which had been set in the shed-room to 'age some, ef it could be lef alone.' dorinda stood under the jack-bean vines, blossoming purple and white, and watched the men as they silently rode away. all the pride within her was stirred. every sensitive fibre flinched from the officer's coarse threat. she followed him out of sight with vengeful eyes. 'i wish i war a man!' she cried passionately. 'a-law, d'rindy!' exclaimed her grandmother, aghast at the idea. 'that ain't manners!' the shadows were beginning to creep slowly up the slopes of the great smoky mountains, as if they came from the depths of the earth. a roseate suffusion idealised range and peak to the east. the delicate skyey background of opaline tints and lustre made distinct and definite their majestic symmetry of outline. ah! and the air was so clear! what infinite lengths of elastic distances stretched between that quivering trumpet-flower by the fence and the azure heights which its scarlet horn might almost seem to cover! the sun, its yellow blaze burned out, and now a sphere of smouldering fire, was dropping down behind chilhowee, royally purple, richly dark. wings were in the air, and every instinct was homeward. an eagle, with a shadow skurrying through the valley like some forlorn icarus that might not soar, swept high over the landscape. above all rose the great 'bald,' still splendidly illumined with the red glamour of the sunset, and holding its uncovered head so loftily against the sky that it might seem it had bared its brow before the majesty of heaven. when the 'men folks,' great, gaunt, bearded, jeans-clad fellows, stood in the shed-room and gazed at the splintered door upon the floor, it was difficult to judge what was the prevailing sentiment, so dawdling, so uncommunicative, so inexpressive of gesture were they. 'we knowed ez thar war strangers prowlin' roun',' said the master of the house, when he had heard his mother's excited account of the events of the day. 'we war a-startin' home ter dinner, an' seen thar beastises hitched thar a-nigh the trough. an' i 'lowed ez mebbe they mought be the revenue devils, so i jes' made the boys lay low. an' sol war set ter watch, an' he gin the word when they hed rid away.' he was a man of fifty-five, perhaps, tough and stalwart. his face was as lined and seamed as that of his mother, who had counted nearly fourscore years, but his frame was almost as supple as at thirty. this trait of physical vigour was manifested in each of his muscular sons, and, despite their slow and lank uncouthness, their movements suggested latent elasticity. in dorinda, his only daughter, it graced her youth and perfected her beauty. he was known far and wide as 'groundhog cayce,' but he would tell you, with a flash of the eye, that before the war he bore the christian name of john. nothing more was said on the subject until after supper, when they were all sitting, dusky shadows, on the little porch, where the fireflies sparkled and the vines fluttered, and one might look out and see the new moon, in the similitude of a silver boat, sailing down the western skies, off the headlands of chilhowee. a cricket was shrilling in the weeds. the vague sighing voice of the woods rose and fell with a melancholy monody. a creamy elder-blossom glimmered in a corner of the rail fence, hard by, its delicate, delicious odour pervading the air. 'i never knowed,' said one of the young men, 'ez this hyar sher'ff--this 'cajah green--war sech a headin' critter.' 'he never teched the bar'l,' said the old woman, not wishing that he should appear blacker than he had painted himself. 'i s'pose you-uns gin him an' his gang a bite an' sup,' remarked groundhog cayce. 'they eat a sizable dinner hyar,' put in mirandy jane, who, having cooked it, had no mind that it should be belittled. 'an' they stayed a right smart while, an' talked powerful frien'ly an' sociable-like,' said old mrs. cayce, 'till the sher'ff got addled with the notion that we hed rick tyler hid hyar. an' unless we-uns hed tied him in the cheer or shot him, nuthin' in natur' could hev held him. i 'lowed 't war the dram he tuk, though d'rindy thinks differ. they never teched the bar'l, though.' 'an' then,' said dorinda, with a sudden gush of tears, all the afflicted delicacy of a young and tender woman, all the overweening pride of the mountaineer, throbbing wildly in her veins, her heart afire, her helpless hands trembling, 'he said the word ez he would lock me up in the jail at shaftesville, sence i hed owned ter seein' a man ez he warn't peart enough ter ketch. he spoke that word ter me--_the jail_!' she hung sobbing in the doorway. there was a murmur of indignation among the group, and john cayce rose to his feet with a furious oath. 'he shell rue it!' he cried--'he shell rue it! me an' mine take no word off'n nobody. my gran'dad an' his three brothers, one hunderd an' fourteen year ago, kem hyar from the old north state an' settled in the big smoky. they an' thar sons rooted up the wilderness. they cropped. they fit the beastis; they fit the injun; they fit the british; an' this last little war o' ourn they fit each other. thar hev never been a coward 'mongst 'em. thar hev never been a key turned on one of 'em, or a door shet. they hev respected the law fur what it war wuth, an' they hev stood up fur thar rights agin it. they answer fur thar word, an others hev ter answer.' he paused for a moment. the moon, still in the similitude of a silver boat, swung at anchor in a deep indentation in the summit of chilhowee that looked like some lonely pine-girt bay; what strange, mysterious fancies did it land from its cargo of sentiments and superstitions and uncanny influences! 'd'rindy,' her father commanded, 'make a mark on this hyar rifle-bar'l fur 'cajah green's word ter be remembered by.' there was a flash in the faint moonbeams, as he held out to her a long, sharp knife. the rifle was in his hand. other marks were on it commemorating past events. this was to be a foregone conclusion. 'no, no!' cried the girl, shrinking back aghast. 'i don't want him shot. i wouldn't hev him hurted fur me, fur nothin'! i ain't keerin' now fur what he said. let him be--let him be!' she had smarted under the sense of indignity. she had wanted their sympathy, and perhaps their idle anger. she was dismayed by the revengeful passion she had roused. 'no, no!' she reiterated, as one of the younger men, her brother peter, stepped swiftly out from the shadow, seized her hand with the knife trembling in it, and, catching the moonlight on the barrel of the rifle, guided upon it, close to the muzzle, the mark of a cross. the moon had weighed anchor at last, and dropped down behind the mountain summit, leaving the bay with a melancholy waning suffusion of light, and the night very dark. ii. the summer days climbed slowly over the great smoky mountains. long the morning lingered among the crags, and chasms, and the dwindling shadows. the vertical noontide poised motionless on the great balds. the evening dawdled along the sunset slopes, and the waning crimson waited in the dusk for the golden moonrise. so little speed they made that it seemed to rick tyler that weeks multiplied while they loitered. it might have been deemed the ideal of a sylvan life--those days while he lay hid out on the big smoky. his rifle brought him food with but the glance of the eye and a touch on the trigger: 'ekal ter the prophet's raven, ef the truth war knowed,' he said sometimes, while he cooked the game over a fire of dead-wood gathered by the wayside. a handful of blackberries gave it a relish, and there were the ice-cold, never-failing springs of the range wherever he might turn. but for the unquiet thoughts that followed him from the world, the characteristic sloth of the mountaineer might have spared him all sense of tedium, as he lay on the bank of a mountain stream, while the slow days waxed and waned. often he would see a musk-rat--picturesque little body--swimming in a muddy dip. and again his listless gaze was riveted upon the quivering diaphanous wings of a snake-doctor, hovering close at hand, until the grotesque, airy thing would flit away. the arrowy sunbeams shot into the dense umbrageous tangles, and fell spent to earth as the shadows swayed. farther down the stream two huge cliffs rose on either side of the channel, giving a narrow view of far-away blue mountains as through a gate. in and out stole the mist, uncertain whither. the wind came and went, paying no toll. sometimes, when the sun was low, a shadow--an antlered shadow--slipped through like a fantasy. but when the skies would begin to darken and the night come tardily on, the scanty incidents of the day lost their ephemeral interest. his human heart would assert itself, and he would yearn for the life from which he was banished, and writhe with an intolerable anguish under his sense of injury. 'an' the law holds me the same ez 'bednego tynes, who killed joel byers, jes' ter keep his hand in--hevin' killed another man afore--an' i never so much ez lifted a finger agin him!' he pondered much on his past, and the future that he had lost. sometimes he gave himself to adjusting, from the meagre circumstances of their common lot on big smoky, the future of those with whose lives his own had heretofore seemed an integral part, and from which it should for evermore be dissevered. all the pangs of penance were in that sense of irrevocability. it was done, and here was his choice: to live the life of a skulking wolf, to prowl, to flee, to fight at bay, or to return and confront an outraged law. he experienced a frenzy of rage to realize how hardily his world would roll on without him. big smoky would not suffer! the sun would shine, and the crops ripen, and the harvest come, and the snows sift down, and the seasons revolve. the boys would shoot for beef, and there was to be a gander-pulling at the settlement when the candidates should come 'stumpin' the big smoky' for the midsummer elections. and when, periodically, 'the mountings' would wake to a sense of sin, and a revival would be instituted, all the people would meet, and clap their hands, and sing, and pray, and that busy sinner, d'rindy, might find time to think upon grace, and perhaps upon the man whom she likened to the prophets of old. then rick tyler would start up from his bed of boughs, and stride wildly about among the boulders, hardly pausing to listen if he heard a wolf howling on the lonely heights. an owl would hoot derisively from the tangled laurel. and oh, the melancholy moonlight in the melancholy pines, where the whip-poor-will moaned and moaned! 'i'd shoot that critter ef i could make out ter see him!' cried the harassed fugitive, his every nerve quivering. it all began with dorinda; it all came back to her. he drearily foresaw that she would forget him; and yet he could not know how the alienation was to commence, how it should progress, and the process of its completion. 'all whilst i'm a-roamin' off with the painters an' sech!' he exclaimed bitterly. and she--her future was plain enough. there was a little log-cabin by the grist-mill: the mountains sheltered it; the valley held it as in the palm of a hand. hardly a moment since, his jealous heart had been racked by the thought of the man she likened to the prophets of old, and now he saw her spinning in the door of amos james's house in the quiet depths of eskaqua cove. this vision stilled his heart. he was numbed by his despair. somehow, the burly young miller seemed a fitter choice than the religious enthusiast, whose leisure was spent in praying in the desert places. he wondered that he should ever have felt other jealousy, and was subacutely amazed to find this passion so elastic. with wild and haggard eyes he saw the day break upon this vision. it came in at the great gate--a pale flush, a fainting star, a burst of song, and the red and royal sun. the morning gradually exerted its revivifying influence and brought a new impulse. he easily deceived himself, and disguised it as a reason. 'this hyar powder is a-gittin' mighty low,' he said to himself, examining the contents of his powder-horn. 'an' that thar rifle eats it up toler'ble fast sence i hev hed ter hunt varmints fur my vittles. ef that war the sher'ff a-ridin' arter me the day i war at cayce's, he's done gone whar he b'longs by this time--'twar two weeks ago; an' ef he ain't gone back, he wouldn't be layin' fur me roun' the settle_mint_, nohow. an' i kin git some powder thar, an' hear 'em tell what the mounting air a-doin' of. an' mebbe i won't be so durned lonesome when i gits back hyar.' he mounted his horse, later in the day, and picked his way slowly down the banks of the stream and through the great gate. the settlement on a spur of the big smoky illustrated the sacrilege of civilization. a number of trees, girdled years ago, stretched above the fields their gigantic skeletons, suggesting their former majesty of mien and splendid proportions. their forlorn, leafless branches rattled together with a dreary sound, as the breeze stirred among the gaunt and pallid assemblage. the little log-cabins, five or six in number, were so situated among the stumps which disfigured the clearing, that if a sudden wind should bring down one of the monarchial spectres of the forest, it would make havoc only in the crops. the wheat was thin and backward. a little patch of cotton in a mellow dip served to show the plant at its minimum. there was tobacco, too, placed, like the cotton, where it was hoped it would take a notion to grow. sorghum flourished, and the tasselled indian corn, waving down a slope, had aboriginal suggestions of plumed heads and glancing quivers. a clamour of guinea fowls arose, and geese and turkeys roved about in the publicity of the clearing with the confident air of esteemed citizens. sheep were feeding among the ledges. it was hard to say what might be bought at the store except powder and coffee, and sugar perhaps, if 'long-sweetenin'' might not suffice; for each of the half-dozen small farms was a type of the region, producing within its own confines all its necessities. hand-looms could be glimpsed through open doors, and as yet the dry-goods trade is unknown to the homespun-clad denizens of the settlement. beeswax, feathers, honey, dried fruit, are bartered here, and a night's rest has never been lost for the perplexities of the currency question on the big smoky mountains. the proprietor of the store, his operations thus limited, was content to grow rich slowly, if needs were to grow rich at all. in winter he sat before the great wood fire in the store and smoked his pipe, and his crony, the blacksmith, often came, hammer in hand and girded with his leather apron, and smoked with him. in the summer he sat all day, as now, in front of the door, looking meditatively at the scene before him. the sunlight slanted upon the great dead trees; their forms were imposed with a wonderful distinctness upon the landscape that stretched so far below the precipice on which the little town was perched. they even touched, with those bereaved and denuded limbs, the far blue mountains encircling the horizon, and with their interlacing lines and curves they seemed some mysterious scripture engraven upon the world. it was just six o'clock, and the shadow of a bough that still held a mass of woven sticks, once the nest of an eagle, had reached the verge of the cliff, when the sound of hoofs fell on the still air, and a man rode into the clearing from the encompassing woods. the storekeeper glanced up to greet the new-comer, but did not risk the fatigue of rising. women looked out of the windows, and a girl on a porch, reeling yarn, found a reason to stop her work. a man came out of a house close by, and sat on the fence, within range of any colloquy in which he might wish to participate. the whole town could join at will in a municipal conversation. the forge fire showed a dull red against the dusky brown shadows in the recesses of the shop. the blacksmith stood in front of the door, his eyes shielded with his broad blackened right hand, and looked critically at the steed. horses were more in his line than men. he was a tall, powerfully built fellow of thirty, perhaps, with the sooty aspect peculiar to his calling, a swarthy complexion, and a remarkably well-knit, compact, and muscular frame. he often said in pride, 'ef i hed hed the forgin' o myself, i wouldn't hev welded on a pound more, or hammered out a leader differ.' suddenly detaching his attention from the horse, he called out, 'waal, sir! ef thar ain't rick tyler!' this was addressed to the town at large. then, 'what ails ye, rick? i hearn tell ez you-uns war on yer way ter shaftesville along o' the sher'ff.' he had a keen and twinkling eye. he cast it significantly at the man on the fence. 'ye kem back, i reckon, ter git yer handcuffs mended at my shop. gimme the bracelets.' he held out his hand in affected anxiety. 'i ain't a-wearin' no bracelets now.' rick tyler's hasty impulse had its impressiveness. he levelled his pistol. 'ef ye hanker ter do enny mendin', i'll gin ye repairs ter make in them cast-iron chit'lings o' yourn,' he said coolly. he was received at the store with a distinct accession of respect. the blacksmith stood watching him, with angry eyes, and a furtive recollection of the reward offered by the governor for his apprehension. the young fellow, with a sudden return of caution, did not at once venture to dismount; and nathan hoodendin, the storekeeper, rose for no customer. respectively seated, for these diverse reasons, they transacted the negotiation. 'hy're, rick,' drawled the storekeeper languidly. 'i hopes ye keeps yer health,' he added politely. the young man melted at the friendly tone. this was the welcome he had looked for at the settlement. loneliness had made his sensibilities tender, and 'hiding out' affected his spirits more than dodging the officers in the haunts of men, or daring the cupidity roused, he knew, by the reward for his capture. the blacksmith's jeer touched him as cruelly as an attempt upon his liberty. 'jes' toler'ble,' he admitted, with the usual rural reluctance to acknowledge full health. 'i hopes ye an' yer fambly air thrivin',' he drawled, after a moment. a whiff came from the storekeeper's pipe; the smoke wreathed before his face, and floated away. 'waal, we air makin' out--we air makin' out.' 'i kem over hyar,' said rick tyler, proceeding to business, 'ter git some powder out'n yer store. i wants one pound.' nathan hoodendin smoked silently for a moment. then, with a facial convulsion and a physical wrench, he lifted his voice. 'jer'miah!' he shouted in a wild wheeze. and again, 'jer'miah!' the invoked jer'miah did not materialize at once. when a small tow-headed boy of ten came from a house among the stumps, with that peculiar deftness of tread characteristic of the habitually barefoot, he had an alert, startled expression, as if he had just jumped out of a bush. his hair stood up in front; he had wide pop-eyes, and long ears, and a rabbit-like aspect that was not diminished as he scudded round the heels of rick tyler's horse, at which he looked apprehensively. 'jer'miah,' said his father, with a pathetic cadence, 'go into the store, bub, an' git rick tyler a pound o' powder.' as jeremiah started in, the paternal sentiment stirred in nathan hoodendin's breast. 'jer'miah,' he wheezed, bringing the fore-legs of the chair to the ground, and craning forward with unwonted alacrity to look into the dusky interior of the store, 'don't ye be foolin' round that thar powder with no lighted tallow dip nor nuthin'. i'll whale the life out'n ye ef ye do. jes' weigh it by the winder.' whether from fear of a whaling by his active parent, or of the conjunction of a lighted tallow dip and powder, jeremiah dispensed with the candle. he brought the commodity out presently, and rick stowed it away in his saddle-bags. 'can't ye 'light an' sot a while 'an talk, rick?' said the storekeeper. 'we-uns hev done hed our supper, but i reckon they could fix ye a snack yander ter the house.' rick said he wanted nothing to eat, but, although he hesitated, he could not finally resist the splint-bottomed chair tilted against the wall of the store, and a sociable pipe, and the countryside gossip. 'what's goin' on 'round the mounting?' he asked. gid fletcher, the blacksmith, came and sat in another chair, and the man on the fence got off and took up his position on a stump hard by. the great red sun dropped slowly behind the purple mountains; and the full golden moon rose above the corn-field that lay on the eastern slope, and hung there between the dark woods on either hand; and the blades caught the light, and tossed with burnished flashes into the night; and the great ghastly trees assumed a ghostly whiteness; and the mystic writing laid on the landscape below had the aspect of an uninterpreted portent. the houses were mostly silent; now and then a guard-dog growled at some occult alarm; a woman somewhere was softly and fitfully singing a child to sleep, and the baby crooned too, and joined in the vague, drowsy ditty. and for aught else that could be seen, and for aught else that could be heard, this was the world. 'waal, the tempter air fairly stalkin' abroad on the big smoky--leastwise sence the summer season hev opened,' said nathan hoodendin. his habitual expression of heavy, joyless pondering had been so graven into his face that his raised grizzled eye-brows, surmounted by a multitude of perplexed wrinkles, his long, dismayed jaw, his thin, slightly parted lips, and the deep grooves on either side of his nose, were not susceptible of many gradations of meaning. his shifting eyes, cast now at the stark trees, now at the splendid disk of the rising moon, betokened but little anxiety for the principle of evil aloose in the big smoky. 'fust--lemme see--thar war eph lowry, ez got inter a quar'l with his wife's half-brother's cousin, an' a-tusslin' 'roun' they cut one another right smart, an' some say ez eph'll never hev his eyesight right good no more. then thar war baker teal, what the folks in eskaqua cove 'low let down the bars o' the milk-sick pen, one day las' fall, an' druv jacob white's red cow in; an' his folks never knowed she hed grazed thar till they hed milked an' churned fur butter, when she lay down an' died o' the milk-sick. ef they hed drunk her milk same ez common, 'twould hev sickened 'em, sure, 'an mebbe killed 'em. an' they've been quar'lin' 'bout'n it ever sence. satan's a-stirrin'--satan's a-stirrin' 'roun' the big smoky.' 'waal, i hearn ez some o' them folks in eskaqua cove 'low ez the red cow jes' hooked down the bars, bein' a turrible hooker,' spoke up the man on the stump unexpectedly. 'waal, white an' his folks won't hear ter no sech word ez that,' said the blacksmith; 'an' arter jowin' an' jowin' back an' fo'th they went t'other day an' informed on teal 'fore the jestice, an' the squair fined him twenty-five dollars, 'cordin' ter the law o' tennessee fur them ez m'liciously lets down the bars o' the milk-sick pen. an' baker teal hed ter pay, an' the county treasury an' the informers divided the money 'twixt 'em.' 'what did i tell you-uns? satan's a-stirrin'--satan's a-stirrin' 'roun' the big smoky,' said the storekeeper, with a certain morbid pride in the enemy's activity. 'the constable o' this hyar deestric',' recommenced gid fletcher, who seemed as well informed as nathan hoodendin, 'he advised 'em ter lay it afore the jestice; he war mighty peart 'bout'n that thar job. they 'low ter me ez he hev tuk up a crazy fit ez he kin beat micajah green fur sher'ff, an' he's a-skeetin' arter law-breakers same ez a rooster arter a juny-bug. he 'lows it'll show the kentry what a peart sher'ff he'd make.' 'shucks!' said the man on the stump. 'i'll vote fur 'cajah green fur sher'ff agin the old boy; he hev got a nose fur game.' 'he hain't nosed you-uns out yit, hev he, rick?' said the blacksmith, with feigned heartiness and a covert sneer. 'ho! ho! ho!' laughed nathan hoodendin. 'what war i a-tellin' you-uns? satan's a-stirrin'--satan's surely a-stirrin' on the big smoky.' rick sat silent in the moonlight, smoking his pipe, his brown wool hat far back, the light full on his yellow head. his face had grown a trifle less square, and his features were more distinctly defined than of yore; he did not look ill, but care had drawn a sharp line here and there. 'one sher'ff's same ter you-uns ez another, ain't he, rick?' said the man on the stump. 'any of 'em 'll do ter run from.' 'they tell it ter me,' said the storekeeper, with so sudden a vivacity that it seemed it must crack his graven wrinkles, 'ez the whole cayce gang air a-goin' ter vote agin 'cajah green, 'count o' the way he jawed at old mis' cayce an' d'rindy, the day he run you-uns off from thar, rick.' 'i ain't hearn tell o' that yit,' drawled rick desolately, 'bein' hid out.' 'waal, he jawed at d'rindy, an' from what i hev hearn d'rindy jawed back; an' i dunno ez that's s'prisin'--the gal-folks ginerally do. leastwise, i know ez he sent word arterward ter d'rindy by his dep'ty--ez war a-scoutin' 'roun' hyar, arter you-uns, i reckon, rick--ez he would be up some day soon ter 'lectioneer, an' he war a-goin' ter stop ter thar house an' ax her pardin'. an' she sent him word, fur god's sake ter bide away from thar.' a long pause ensued; the stars were faint and few; the iterative note of the katydid vibrated monotonously in the dark woods; dew was falling; the wind stirred. 'what ailed d'rindy ter say that word?' asked rick, mystified. 'waal, i dunno,' said hoodendin indifferently. 'i hev never addled my brains tryin' ter make out what a woman means. though,' he qualified, 'i did ax the dep'ty an' amos jeemes from down yander in eskaqua cove--the dep'ty hed purtended ter hev summonsed him ez a posse, an' they war jes' rollickin' 'roun' the kentry like two chickens with thar heads off--i axed 'em what d'rindy meant; an' they 'lowed they didn't know, nor war they takin' it ter heart. they 'lowed ez she never axed _them_ ter bide away from thar fur god's sake. an' then they snickered an' laffed, like single men do. an' i up an' tole 'em ez the book sot it down ez the laffter o' fools is like the cracklin' o' bresh under a pot.' rick tyler was eager, his eyes kindling, his breath quick. he looked with uncharacteristic alertness at the inexpressive face of the leisurely narrator. 'they capered like a dunno-what-all on the big smoky, them two,--the off'cer o' the law an' his posse! thar goin's on war jes' scandalous: they played kyerds, an' they consorted with the moonshiners over yander,' nodding his head at the wilderness, 'an' got ez drunk ez two fraish biled ow_els_: an' they sung an' they hollered. an' they went ter the meetin'-house over yander whilst they war in liquor, an' the preacher riz up an' put 'em out. he's toler'ble tough, that thar pa'son kelsey, an' kin hold right smart show in a fight. an' the dep'ty, he straightened hisself, an' 'lowed he war a off'cer o' the law. an' pa'son kelsey, he 'lowed _he_ war a off'cer o' the law, an' he 'lowed ez his law war higher 'n the law o' tennessee. an' with that he barred up the door. they hed a cornsider'ble disturba_mint_ at the meetin'-house yander at the notch, an' the saints war tried in thar temper.' 'the dep'ty 'lows ez pa'son kelsey air crazy in his mind,' said the man on the stump. 'the dep'ty said the pa'son talked ter him like ez ef he war a onregenerate critter. an' he 'lowed he war baptized in scolacutta river two year ago an' better. the dep'ty say these hyar mounting preachers hain't got no doctrine like the valley folks. he called pa'son kelsey a ignorant cuss!' 'laws-a-massy!' exclaimed nathan hoodendin, scandalized. 'he say it fairly makes him laff ter hear pa'son kelsey performing like he hed a cut-throat mortgage on a seat 'mongst the angels. he say ez he thinks pa'son kelsey speaks with more insurance 'n enny man he ever see.' 'i reckon, ef the truth war knowed, the dep'ty ain't got no religion, an' never war in scolacutta river, 'thout it war a-fishing',' said the blacksmith, meditatively. the fugitive from justice, pining for the simple society of his world, listened like a starveling thing to these meagre details, so replete with interest to him, so full of life and spirit. the next moment he was sorry he had come. 'that thar amos jeemes air a comical critter,' said the man on the stump, after an interval of cogitation, and with a gurgling reminiscent laugh. 'he war a-cuttin' up his shines over thar ter cayce's, t'other day; he warn't drunk _then_, ye onderstan'----' 'i onderstan'. he war jes' fool, like he always air,' said the blacksmith. 'edzactly,' assented the man on the stump. 'an' he fairly made d'rindy laff ter see what the critter would say nex'. an' d'rindy always seemed ter me a powerful solemn sorter gal. waal, she laffed at amos. an' whilst him an' the dep'ty war a-goin' down the mounting--i went down ter jeemes's mill ter leave some grist over night ter be ground--the dep'ty, he run amos 'bout'n it. the dep'ty he 'lowed ez no gal hed ever made so much fun o' him, an' amos 'lowed ez d'rindy _didn't_ make game o' him. she thunk too much o' him fur that. an' that bold-faced dep'ty, he 'lowed he thought 'twar _him_ ez hed fund favior. an' amos--we war mighty nigh down in eskaqua cove then--he turned suddint an' p'inted up the mounting. "what kin you-uns view on the mounting?" he axed. the dep'ty, he stopped an' stared; an' thar mighty nigh ez high ez the lower e-end o' the bald, war a light. "that shines fur me ter see whilst i'm 'bleeged ter be in eskaqua cove," sez amos. an' the dep'ty said, "i think it air a star!" an' amos sez, sez he, "bless yer bones, i think so, too--sometimes!" but 'twarn't no star. 'twar jes' a light in the roof-room window o' cayce's house; an' ye could see it, sure enough, plumb to the mill in eskaqua cove!' rick rose to go. why should he linger, and wring his heart, and garner bitterness to feed upon in his lonely days? why should he look upon the outer darkness of his life, and dream of the star that shone so far for another man's sake into the sheltered depths of eskaqua cove? he had an impulse which he scorned, for his sight was blurred as he laid his hand on the pommel of his saddle. he did not see that one of the other men rose too. an approach, stealthy, swift, and the sinewy blacksmith flung himself upon his prisoner with the supple ferocity of a panther. 'naw--naw!' he said, showing his strong teeth, closely set. 'we can't part with ye yit, rick tyler! i'll arrest you-uns, ef the sher'ff can't. the peace o' big smoky an' the law o' the land air ez dear ter me ez ter enny other man.' the young fellow made a frantic effort to mount; then, as his horse sprang snorting away, he strove to draw one of his pistols. there was a turbulent struggle under the great silver moon and the dead trees. again and again the swaying figures and their interlocked shadows reeled to the verge of the cliff; one striving to fall and carry the other with him, the other straining every nerve to hold back his captive. even the storekeeper stood up and wheezed out a remonstrance. 'look-a-hyar, boys'--he began; then, 'jer'miah,' he broke off abruptly, as the hopeful scion peered shyly out of the store door, 'clar out'n the way, sonny; they hev got shootin'-irons, an' some o' em mought go off.' he himself stepped prudently back. the man on the stump, however, forgot danger in his excitement. he sat and watched the scene with an eager relish which might suggest that a love of bull-fights is not a cultivated taste. 'be them men a-wraistlin'?' called out a woman, appearing in the doorway of a neighbouring house. ''pears like it ter me,' he said dryly. the strength of despair had served to make the younger man the blacksmith's equal, and the contest might have terminated differently had rick tyler not stumbled on a ledge. he was forced to his knees, then full upon the ground, his antagonist's grasp upon his throat. the blacksmith roared out for help; the man on the stump slowly responded, and the storekeeper languidly came and overlooked the operation, as the young fellow was disarmed and securely bound, hand and foot. 'waal, now, gid fletcher, ye hev got him,' said nathan hoodendin. 'what d'ye want with him?' the blacksmith had risen, panting, with wild eyes, his veins standing out in thick cords, perspiring from every pore, and in a bounding fury. 'what do i want with him? i want ter put his head on my anvil thar, an' beat the foolishness out'n it with my hammer. i want ter kick him off'n this hyar bluff down ter the forge fires o' hell. that air what _i_ want. an' the state o' tennessee ain't wantin' much differ.' 'gid fletcher,' said the man who had been sitting on the stump--he spoke in an accusing voice--'ye ain't keerin' nuthin' fur the law o' the land, nor the peace o' big smoky, nuther. it air jes' that two hundred dollars blood-money ye air cottonin' ter, an' ye knows it.' the love of money, the root of evil, is so rare in the mountains that the blacksmith stood as before a deep reproof. then, with a moral hardihood that matched his physical prowess, he asked, 'an' what ef i be?' 'what war i a-tellin' you-uns? satan's a-stirrin'--satan's a-stirrin' on the big smoky!' interpolated old hoodendin. 'waal, i'd never hev been hankerin' fur sech,' drawled the moralist. a number of other men had come out from the houses, and a discussion ensued as to the best plan to keep the prisoner until morning. it was suggested that the time-honoured expedient in localities without the civilization of a jail--a wagon-body inverted, with a rock upon it--would be as secure as the state prison. 'but who wants ter go ter heftin' rocks?' asked nathan hoodendin pertinently. for the sake of convenience, therefore, they left the prisoner bound with a rope made fast around a stump, that he might not, in his desperation, roll himself from the crag, and deputing a number of the men to watch him by turns, the settlement retired to its slumbers. the night wore on; the moon journeyed toward the mountains in the west; the mists rose to meet it, and glistened like a silver sea. some lonely, undiscovered ocean, this; never a sail set, never a pennant flying; all the valley was submerged; the black summits in the distance were isolated and insular; the moonlight glanced on the sparkling ripples, on the long reaches of illusive vapour. at intervals cocks crew; a faint response, like farthest echoes, came from some neighbouring cove; and then silence, save for the drone of the nocturnal insects and the far blast of a hunter's horn. 'jer'miah,' said rick tyler suddenly, as the boy crouched by one of the stumps and watched him with dilated, moonlit eyes--when nathan hoodendin's vigil came the little factotum served in his stead--'jer'miah, git my knife out'n the store an' cut these hyar ropes. i'll gin ye my rifle ef ye will.' the boy sprang up, scudded off swiftly, then came back, and crouched by the stump again. the moon slipped lower and lower; the silver sea had turned to molten gold; the stars that had journeyed westward with the moon were dying out of a dim blue sky. over the corn-field in the east was one larger than the rest, burning in an amber haze, charged with an unspoken poetical emotion that set its heart of white fire aquiver. 'i'll gin ye my horse ef ye will.' 'i dassent,' said jer'miah. the morning star was burned out at last, and the prosaic day came over the corn-field. iii. twilight was slipping down on the big smoky. definiteness was annihilated, and distance a suggestion. mountain forms lay darkening along the horizon, still flushed with the sunset. eskaqua cove had abysmal suggestions, and the ravines were vague glooms. fire-flies were a-flicker in the woods. there might be a star, outpost of the night. dorinda, hunting for the vagrant 'crumply cow,' paused sometimes when the wandering path led to the mountain's brink, and looked down those gigantic slopes and unmeasured depths. she carried her milk-piggin, and her head was uncovered. now and then she called with long, vague vowels, 'soo--cow! soo!' there was no response save the echoes, and the vibrant iteration of the katydid. once she heard an alien sound, and she paused to listen. from the projecting spur where she stood, looking across the cove, she could see, above the forests on the slopes, the bare, uprising dome, towering in stupendous proportions against the sky. the sound came again and yet again, and she recognised the voice of the man who was wont to go and pray in the desert places on the 'bald' of the mountain, and whom she had likened to the prophets of old. there was something indescribably wild and weird in those appealing, tempestuous tones, now rising as in frenzy, and now falling as with exhaustion--beseeching, adjuring, reproaching. 'he hev fairly beset the throne o' grace!' she said, with a sort of pity for this insistent piety. a shivering, filmy mist was slipping down over the great dome. it glittered in the last rays of the sunlight, already vanished from the world below, like an illuminated silver gauze. she was reminded of the veil of the temple, and she had a sense of intrusion. 'prayer, though, air free for all,' she remarked, as self-justification, since she had paused to hear. she did not linger. his voice died in the distance, and the solemnity of the impression was gradually obliterated. as she went she presently began to sing, sometimes interpolating, without a sense of interruption, her mellow call of 'soo--cow! soo!' until it took the resemblance of a refrain, with an abrupt crescendo. the wild roses were flowering along the paths, and the pink and white azaleas--what perfumed ways, what lavish grace and beauty! the blooms of the laurel in the darkling places were like a spangling of stars. dew was falling--it dashed into her face from the boughs that interlaced across the unfrequented path--and still the light lingered, loath to leave. she heard the stir of some wild things in the hollow of a great tree, and then a faint, low growl. she fancied she saw a pair of bright eyes looking apprehensively at her. 'we-uns hev got a baby at our house, too, an' we don't want yourn, ma'am; much obleeged, all the same,' she said, with a laugh. but she looked back with a sort of pity for that alert maternal fear, and she never mentioned to the youngest brother, a persistent trapper, the little family of raccoons in the woods. she had forgotten the voice raised in importunate supplication on the 'bald,' until, pursuing the path, she was led into the road, hard by a little bridge, or more properly culvert, which had rotted long ago; the vines came up through the cavities in the timbers, and a blackberry bush, with a wren's nest, flourished in their midst. the road was fain to wade through the stream; but the channel was dry now--a narrow belt of yellow sand lying in a long curving vista in the midst of the dense woods. a yoke of oxen, drawing a rude slide, paused to rest in the middle of the channel, and beside them was a man, of medium height, slender but sinewy, dressed in brown jeans, his trousers thrust into the legs of his boots, a rifle on his shoulder, and a broad-brimmed old wool hat surmounting his dark hair, that hung down to the collar of his coat. her singing had prepared him for her advent, but he barely raised his eyes. that quick glance was incongruous with his dullard aspect; it held a spark of fire, inspiration, frenzy--who can say? he spoke suddenly, in a meek, drawling way, and with the air of submitting the proposition: 'i hev gin the beastises a toler'ble hard day's work, an' i'm a-favourin' 'em goin' home.' a long pause ensued. the oxen hung down their weary heads, with the symbol of slavery upon them. the smell of ferns and damp mould was on the air. rotting logs lay here and there, where the failing water had stranded them. the grape-vine, draping the giant oaks, swayed gently, and suggested an observation to break the silence. 'how air the moral vineyard a-thrivin'?' she asked solemnly. he looked downcast. 'toler'ble, i reckon.' 'i hearn tell ez thar war a right smart passel o' folks baptized over yander in scolacutta river,' she remarked encouragingly. 'i baptized fourteen.' she turned the warm brightness of her eyes upon him. 'they hed all fund grace!' she exclaimed. 'they 'lowed so. i hopes they'll prove it by thar works,' he said, without enthusiasm. 'ye war a-prayin' fur 'em on the bald?' she asked, apprehending that he accounted these converts peculiarly precarious. 'naw,' he replied, with moody sincerity; 'i war a-prayin' fur myself.' there was another pause, longer and more awkward than before. 'what work be you-uns a-doin' of?' asked dorinda timidly. she quailed a trifle before the uncomprehended light in his eyes. it was not of her world, she felt instinctively. 'i hev ploughed some, holpin' jonas trice, an' hev been a-hauling wood. i tuk my rifle along,' he added, 'thinkin' i mought see suthin' ez would be tasty fur the old men's supper ez i kem home, but i forgot ter look around keen.' there was a sudden sound along the road--a sound of quick hoof-beats. because of the deep sand the rider was close at hand before his approach was discovered. he drew rein abruptly, and they saw that it was gid fletcher, the blacksmith of the settlement. 'hev you-uns hearn the news?' he cried excitedly, as he threw himself from the saddle. the man, leaning on the rifle, looked up, with no question in his eyes. there was an almost monastic indifference to the world suggested in his manner. 'thar's a mighty disturbamint at the settle_mint_. las' night this hyar rick tyler--what air under indictment fur a-killin' o' joel byers--he kem a-nosin' 'roun' the settle_mint_ a-tryin' ter buy powder----' dorinda stretched out her hand; the trees were unsteady before her; the few faint stars, no longer pulsating points of light, described a circle of dazzling gleams. she caught at the yoke on the neck of the oxen; she leaned upon the impassive beast, and then it seemed that every faculty was merged in the sense of hearing. the horse had moved away from the blacksmith, holding his head down among the boulders, and snuffing about for the water he remembered here with a disappointment almost pathetic. 'war he tuk?' demanded the preacher. 'percisely so,' drawled the blacksmith, with a sub-current of elation in his tone. there was a sudden change in kelsey's manner. he turned fiery eyes upon the blacksmith. light and life were in every line of his face. he drew himself up tense and erect; he stretched forth his hand with an accusing gesture. ''twar you-uns, gid fletcher, ez tuk the boy!' 'lord, pa'son, how'd you-uns know that?' exclaimed the blacksmith. his manner combined a difference, which in civilization we recognise as respect for the cloth, with the easy familiarity, induced by the association since boyhood, of equals in age and station. 'i hedn't let on a word, hed i, d'rindy?' the idea of an abnormal foreknowledge, mysteriously possessed, had its uncanny influences. the lonely woods were darkening about them. the stars seemed very far off. a rotting log in the midst of the dã©bris of the stream, in a wild tangle of underbrush and shelving rocks, showed fox-fire and glowed in the glooms. 'i knowed,' said kelsey, contemptuously waiving the suggestion of miraculous forecast, 'bekase the sher'ff hain't been in the big smoky for two weeks, an' that thar danglin' shadder o' his'n rid off las' monday from jeemes's mill in eskaqua cove. an' the constable o' the deestric air sick abed. so i 'lowed 'twar you-uns.' 'an' why air it me more'n enny other man at the settle_mint_?' the blacksmith's blood was rising; his sensibilities descried a covert taunt which as yet his slower intelligence failed to comprehend. 'an' ye hev rid with speed fur the sher'ff--or mebbe ter overhaul the dep'ty--ter come an' jail the prisoner afore he gits away.' 'an' why me, more'n the t'others?' demanded the blacksmith. 'yer heart air ez hard ez your anvil, gid fletcher,' said the mind-reader. 'thar ain't another man on the big smoky ez would stir himself ter gin over ter the gallus or the pen'tiary the frien' ez trested him, who hev done no harm, but hev got tangled in a twist of a unjest law. ef the law tuk him, that's a differ.' ''tain't fur we-uns ter jedge o' the law!' exclaimed gid fletcher, his logic sharpened by the anxiety of his greed and his prideful self-esteem. 'let the law jedge o' his crime.' 'jes' so; let the law take him, an' let the law try him. the law is ekal ter it. ef the sheriff summons me with his posse, i'll hunt rick tyler through all the big smoky----' 'look-a-hyar, hi kelsey, the gov'nor o' tennessee hev offered a reward o' two hundred dollars----' 'blood-money,' interpolated the parson. 'ye kin call it so, ef so minded; but ef it war right fur the guv'nor ter offer it, it air right fur me ter yearn it.' he had come very close. it was his nature and his habit to brook no resistance. he subdued the hard metals upon his anvil. his hammer disciplined the iron. the fire wrought his will. his instinct was to forge this man's opinion into the likeness of his own. his conviction was the moral swage that must shape the belief of others. 'it air lawful fur me ter yearn it,' he repeated. 'lawful!' exclaimed the parson, with a tense, jeering laugh. 'judas war a law-abidin' citizen. he mos' lawfully betrayed _his_ frien' ter the law. them thirty pieces o' silver! sech currency ain't out o' circulation yit!' quick as a flash the blacksmith's heavy hand struck the prophet in the face. the next moment his sudden anger was merged in fear. he stood, unarmed, at the mercy of an assaulted and outraged man, with a loaded rifle in his hands and all the lightnings of heaven quivering in his angry eyes. gid fletcher had hardly time to draw the breath he thought his last, when the prophet slowly turned the other cheek. 'in the name of the master,' he said, with all the dignity of his calling. as the blacksmith mounted his horse and rode away, he felt that the parson's rifle-ball would be preferable to the gross slur that he had incurred. his reputation, moral and spiritual, was annihilated; and he held this dear, for piety, or its simulacrum, on the primitive big smoky, is the point of honour. what a text! what an illustration of iniquity he would furnish for the sermons, foretelling wrath and vengeance, that sometimes shook the big smoky to its foundations! he was cast down and indignant too. 'fur hi kelsey ter be a-puttin' up sech a pious mouth, an' a-turnin' the t'other cheek, an' sech, ter me, ez hev seen him hold his own ez stiff in many a free-handed fight, an' hev drawed his shootin'-irons on folks agin an' agin! an' he fairly tuk the dep'ty, at that thar disturbamint at the meet'n'-house, by the scruff o' the neck, an' shuck him ez ef he hed been a rat or suthin', an' drapped him out'n the door. an' now ter be a-turnin' the t'other cheek! an' thar's that thar d'rindy, a-seein' it all, an' a-lookin' at it ez wide-eyed ez a cat in the dark.' dorinda went home planning a rescue. against the law this probably was, she thought. 'ef it air--it oughtn't ter be,' she concluded arbitrarily. 'it don't hurt nobody.' how serious it was--a felony--she did not know, nor did she care. she went on sturdily, debating within herself how best to tell the news. with an intuitive knowledge of human nature, she reckoned on the prejudice aroused by the recital of the blacksmith's assault upon the preacher, and the forbearance of the man of god. she began to count those who would be likely to attempt the enterprise when it should be suggested. there were the five men at home, all bold, reckless, antagonistic to the law, and at odds with the sheriff. she paused, with a frightened face and a wild gesture, as if to ward off an unforeseen danger. send them to meet him! never, never would she lift her hand or raise her voice to aid in fulfilling that grimly prophesied death on the muzzle of the old rifle-barrel. she trembled at the thought of her precipitancy. his life was in her hand. with a constraining moral sense she felt that it was she who had placed it in jeopardy, and that she held it in trust. she was cold, shivering. there was a change in the temperature; perhaps hail had fallen somewhere near, for the rare air had icy suggestions. she was seldom out so late, and was glad to see, high on the slope, the light that was wont to shine like a star into the dark depths of eskaqua cove. the white mists gathered around it; a circle of pearly light encompassed it, like saturn's ring. as she came nearer, the roof of the house defined itself, with its oblique ridge-pole against the sky, and its clay and stick chimney, also built in defiance of rectangles, and its little porch, the curtaining hop-vines, dripping, dripping, with dew. in the corner of the rail fence was the 'crumply cow,' chewing her cud. the radiance of firelight streamed out through the open door, around which was grouped a number of shadows, of intent and wistful aspect. these were the hounds, and they crowded about her ecstatically as she came up on the porch. she paused at the door, and looked in with melancholy eyes. the light fell on her face, still damp with the dew, giving its gentle curves a subdued glister, like marble; the dark blue of her dress heightened its fairness. a sudden smile broke upon it as she leaned forward. there were three men, ab, pete, and ben, seated around the fire; but she was looking at none of them, and they silently followed her gaze. only one pair of eyes met hers--the eyes of a fat young person, wonderfully muscular for the tender age of three, who sat in the chimney-corner in a little wooden chair, and preserved the important and impassive air of a domestic magnate. this was hardly impaired by his ill-defined, infantile features, his large tow-head, his stolid blue eyes, his feminine garb of blue-checked cotton, short enough to disclose sturdy white calves and two feet with the usual complement of toes. he looked at her in grave recognition but made no sign. 'jacob,' she softly drawled, 'whyn't ye go ter bed?' but jacob was indisposed to conversation on this theme; he said nothing. 'whyn't you-uns git him ter bed?' she asked of the assemblage at large. 'he'll git stunted, a-settin' up so late in the night.' 'waal,' said one of the huge jeans-clad mountaineers, taking his pipe from his mouth, and scrutinizing the subject of conversation, 'i 'low it takes more'n three full-grown men ter git that thar survigrus buzzard ter bed when he don't want ter go thar, an' we warn't a-goin' ter resk it.' 'i did ax him ter go ter bed, d'rindy,' said another of the bearded giants, 'but he 'lowed he _wouldn't_. i never see a critter so pompered ez jacob; he ain't got no medjure o' respec' fur nobody.' the subject of these strictures gazed unconcernedly, first at one speaker, then at the other. dorinda still looked at him, her face transfigured by its tender smile. but she was fain to exert her authority. 'waal, jacob,' she said decisively, 'ye mus' gin yer cornsent ter go ter bed, arter a while.' jacob calmly nodded. he expected to go to bed some time that night. the hounds had taken advantage of dorinda's entrance to creep into the room and adjust themselves among the family group about the fire. one of them, near jacob, lured by the tempting plumpness, put out a long, red tongue, and gave a furtive lick to his fat white leg. the little mountaineer promptly doubled his plucky fist, and administered a sharp blow on the black nose of the offender, whose yelp of repentant pain attracted attention to the canine intruders. ab cayce rose to his feet with an oath. there was a shrill chorus of anguish as he actively kicked them out with his great cowhide boots. 'git out'n hyar, ye dad-burned beastises! i hev druv ye out fifty times sence sundown; now _stay_ druv!' he emphasized the lesson with several gratuitous kicks after the room and the porch were fairly cleared. but before he was again seated the dogs were once more clustered about the door, with intent bobbing heads and glistening eyes that peered in wistfully, with a longing for the society of their human friends, and a pathetic anxiety to be accounted of the family circle. there was more stir than usual in the interval between supper and bedtime. during the three memorable days that dorinda had sojourned in tuckaleechee cove, miranda jane's ineffective administration had resulted in domestic chaos in several departments. the lantern by which the cow was to be milked was nowhere to be found. the filly-like miranda jane, with her tousled mane and black forelock hanging over her eyes, was greatly distraught in the effort to remember where it had been put and for what it had been last used, and was 'plumb beat out and beset,' she declared, as she cantered in and cantered out, and took much exercise in the search, to little purpose. one of the men rose presently, and addressed himself to the effort. he found it at last, and handed it to dorinda without a word. he did not offer to milk the cow--as essentially a feminine task, in the mountains, as to sew or knit. when she came back she sat down among them in the chair usually occupied by her grandmother--who had in her turn gone on a visit to 'aunt jerushy' in tuckaleechee cove--and as she busied herself in putting on her needles a sizable stocking for jacob she did not join in the fragmentary conversation. ab cayce, the eldest, talked fitfully as he smoked his pipe--a lank, lantern-jawed man, with a small, gleaming eye and a ragged beard. the youngest of the brothers, solomon, was like him, except that his long chin, of the style familiarly denominated jimber-jawed, was still smooth and boyish, and, big-boned as he was, he lacked in weight and somewhat in height the proportions of the senior. peter was the contentious member of the family. he was wont to bicker in solitary disaffection, until he seemed to disprove the adage that it takes two to make a quarrel. he was afflicted with a stammer, and at every obstruction his voice broke out with startling shrillness, several keys higher than the tone with which the sentence commenced. he was loose-jointed and had a shambling gait; his hair seemed never to have outgrown the bleached, colourless tone so common among the children of the mountains, and it hung in long locks of a dreary drab about his sun-embrowned face. his teeth were irregular, and protruded slightly. 'ez hard-favored ez pete cayce,' was a proverb on the big smoky. his wrangles about the amount of seed necessary to sow to the acre, and his objurgation concerning the horse he had been ploughing with that day, filled the evening. 'thar ain't a durned fool on the big smoky ez dunno that thar sayin' 'bout'n the beastises:- "one white huff--buy him; two white huffs--try him; three white huffs--deny him; four white huffs an' a white nose- take off his hide an feed him ter the crows."' outside, the rising wind wandered fitfully through the great smoky, like a spirit of unrest. the surging trees in the wooded vastness on every side filled the air with the turbulent sound of their commotion. the fire smouldered on the hearth. the room was visible in the warm glow: the walls, rich and mellow with the alternate dark shade of the hewn logs and the dull yellow of the 'daubin''; the great frame of the warping-bars, hung about with scarlet and blue and saffron yarn; the brilliant strings of red pepper, swinging from the rafters. the spinning-wheel, near the open door, revolved slightly, with a stealthy motion, when the wind touched it, as though some invisible woodland thing had half a mind for uncanny industrial experiments. dorinda told her news at last, in few words and with what composure she could command. as the listeners broke into surprised ejaculations and comments, she sat gazing silently at the fire. should she speak the thought nearest to her heart? should she suggest a rescue? she was torn by contending terrors--fears for them, for the man in his primitive shackles at the settlement, for the enemy whose life she felt she had jeopardized. she had a wild vision--half in hope, half in anguish--of her brothers, in the saddle, armed to the teeth and riding like the wind. they had not moved of their own accord. should she urge them to go? oh, never had the long days on the big smoky, never had all the years that had visibly rolled from east to west with the changing seasons, brought her so much of life as the last few hours--such intensity of emotion, such swiftness of thought, such baffling perplexity, such woe! iv. kelsey trudged on with his slide and his oxen, elated by his moral triumph. he glorified himself for his meekness. he joyed, with all the turbulent impulses of victory, in the blacksmith's discomfiture. yet he was cognizant of his own deeper, subtler springs of action. there was that within him which forbade him to take the life of an unarmed man, but he piqued himself that he forbore. he had withheld even the return of the blow. but he knew that in refraining he had struck deeper still. he dwelt upon the scene with the satisfaction of an inventor. he, too, could foresee the consequences: the blood-curdling eloquence; the port and pose of a martyr; the far-spread distrust of the blacksmith's professions of piety, under which that doughty religionist already quaked. and as he reflected he replied, tartly, to the monitor within, 'be angry, and sin not.' and the monitor had no text. because of the night drifting down, perhaps--drifting down with a chilling change; because of the darkened solemnity of the dreary woods; because of the stars shining with a splendid aloofness from all that is human; because of the melancholy suggestions of a will-o'-the-wisp glowing in a marshy tangle, his exultant mood began to wane. 'thar it is!' he cried suddenly, pointing at the mocking illusion--'that's my religion: looks like fire, an' it's fog!' his mind had reverted to his wild supplications in the solitudes of the 'bald'--his unanswered prayers. the oxen had paused of their own accord to rest, and he stood looking at the spectral gleam. 'i'd never hev thunk o' takin' up with religion,' he said, in a shrill, upbraiding tone, 'ef i hed been let ter live along like other men be, or ef me an mine could die like other folks be let ter die! but it 'peared ter me ez religion war 'bout all ez war lef', arter i hed gin the baby the stuff the valley doctor hed lef' fur em'ly--bein' ez i couldn't read right the old critter's cur'ous scrapin's with his pencil--an' gin em'ly the stuff fur the baby. an' it died. an' then em'ly got onsettled an' crazy, an' tuk ter vagrantin' 'roun', an' fell off'n the bluff. an' some say she flunged herself off'n it. and i knows she flunged herself off'n it through bein' out'n her mind with grief.' he paused, leaning on the yoke, his dreary eyes still on the _ignis fatuus_ of the woods. 'an' then brother jake tobin 'lowed ez religion war fur sech ez me. i hed no mind ter religion. but the worl' hed in an' about petered out for me. an' i tuk up with religion. i hev sarved it five year faithful. an' now'--he cast his angry eyes upward--'ye let me believe that thar is no god!' so it was that satan hunted him like a partridge on the mountains. so it was that he went out into the desert places to upbraid the god in whom he i believed because he believed that there was no god. there was a tragedy in his faith and his unfaith. that this untrained, untutored mind should grope among the irreconcilable things--the problems of a merciful god and his afflicted people, foreordained from the beginning of the world and free agents! that to the ignorant mountaineer should come those distraught questions that vex polemics, and try the strength of theologies, and give the wise men an illimitable field for the display of their agile and ingenious solutions and substitutions! he knew naught of this: the wild alleghanies intervened between his yearning, empty despair and their plenished fame, the splendid superstructure on the ruins of their faith. he thought himself the only unbeliever in a christian world, the only inherent infidel: a mysteriously accursed creature charged with the discovery of the monstrous fallacy of that beneficent comfort, assuaging the grief of a stricken world, and called an overruling providence. again his flickering faith would flare up, and he would reproach god who had suffered its lapse. this was his secret and his shame, and he guarded it. and so when he preached his wild sermons with a certain natural eloquence; and prayed his frantic prayers, instinct with all the sincerities of despair; and sang with the people the mournful old hymns, in the little meeting-house on the notch, or on the banks of the scolacutta river, where they went down to be baptized, his keen introspection, his moral dissent, which he might not forbear, yet would not avow, were an intolerable burden, and his spiritual life was the throe of a spiritual anguish. often there was no intimation in those sermons of his of the quaint doctrines which delight the simple men of his calling in that region, who are fain to feel learned. his christ, to judge from this mood, was a paramount emotion; not the christ who confuted the wise men in the temple, and read in the synagogues, and said dark allegories; but he who stilled the storm, and healed the sick, and raised the dead, and wept, most humanly, for the friend whom he loved. kelsey's trusting heart contended with his doubting mind, and the simple humanities of these sermons comforted him. sometimes he sought consolation otherwise; he would remember that he had never been like his fellows. this was only another manifestation of the dissimilarity that dated from his earliest recollections. he had from his infancy peculiar gifts. he was learned in the signs of the weather, and predicted the mountain storms; he knew the haunts and habits of every beast and bird in the great smoky, every leaf that burgeons, every flower that blows. so deep and incisive a knowledge of human nature had he, that this faculty was deemed supernatural, and akin to the gift of prophecy. he himself understood, although perhaps he could not have accurately limited and defined it, that he exercised unconsciously a vigilant attention and an acute discrimination; his forecast was based upon observation so close and unsparing, and a power of deduction so just, that in a wider sphere it might have been called judgment, and, reinforced by education, have attained all the functions of a ripened sagacity. crude as it was, it did not fail of recognition. in many ways his 'word' was sought and heeded. his influence yielded its richest effect when his _confrã¨re_ of the pulpit would call on him to foretell the fate of the sinner and the wrath of god to the big smoky. and then brother jake tobin would accompany the glowing picture by a slow rhythmic clapping of hands and a fragmentary chant, 'that dreadful day air a-comin' along!'--bearing all the time a smiling and beatific countenance, as if he were fireproof himself, and brimstone and flame were only for his friends. rousing himself from his reverie with a sigh, hiram kelsey urged the oxen along the sandy road, which had here and there a stony interval threatening the slide with dissolution at every jolt. they began presently to quicken their pace of their own accord. the encompassing woods and the laurel were so dense that no gleam of light was visible till they brought up suddenly beside a rail fence, and the fitful glimmer of firelight from an open door close at hand revealed the presence of a double log cabin. there was an uninclosed passage between the two rooms, and in this a tall, gaunt woman was standing. 'thar be hi now, with the steers,' she said, detecting the dim bovine shadows in the flickering gleams. tell hiram ter come in right now,' cried a chirping voice, like a superannuated cricket. 'i hev a word ter ax him.' 'tell hiram ter feed them thar steers fust,' cried out another ancient voice, keyed several tones lower, and also with the ring of authority. 'tell hiram,' shrilly piped the other, 'ter hustle his bones, ef he knows what air good fur 'em.' 'tell hiram,' said the deeper voice, sustaining the antiphonal effect, 'i want them thar steers feded foreshortly.' then ensued a muttered wrangle within, and finally the shriller voice was again uplifted: 'tell hiram what my word air.' 'an' ye tell hiram what _my_ word air.' the woman, who was tall as a grenadier, and had a voice like velvet, looked meekly back into the room, upon each mandate, with a nod of mild obedience. 'ye hearn 'em,' she said softly to kelsey. evidently she could not undertake the hazard of discriminating between these co-equal authorities. 'i hearn 'em,' he replied. she sat down near the door, and resumed her occupation of monotonously peeling june apples for 'sass.' her brown calico sun-bonnet, which she habitually wore, in doors and out, obscured her visage, except her chin and absorbed mouth, that now and then moved in unconscious sympathy with her work. there was a piggin on one side of her to receive the quartered fruit, and on the other a white oak splint basket, already half full of the spiral parings. on the doorstep her husband sat, a shaggy-headed, full-bearded, unkempt fellow, in brown jeans trousers reaching almost to his collarbone in front, and supported by the single capable suspender so much affected in the mountains. his unbleached cotton shirt was open at the throat, for there was fire enough in the huge chimney-place to make the room unpleasantly warm, despite the change of temperature without. now and then he stretched out his hand for an apple already pared, which his wife gave him with an adroit back-handed movement, and which he ate in a mouthful or two. he made way for kelsey to enter, and asked him a question, almost inarticulate because of the apples, but apparently of hospitable intent, for kelsey said he had had a bite and a sup at jonas trice's, and did not want the supper which had been providently saved for him. kelsey did not betray which command he had thought best to obey. 'i hed ter put my rifle on the rack in the t'other room, gran'dad,' he observed meekly, addressing one of two very old men who sat on either side of the huge fireplace. there were cushions in their rude arm chairs, and awkward little three-legged footstools were placed in front of them. their shoes and clothing, although coarse to the last degree, were clean and carefully tended. they had each long ago lived out the allotted threescore years and ten, but they had evidently not worn out their welcome. one had suffered a paralytic attack, and every word and motion was accompanied with a convulsive gasp and jerk. the other old man was saturnine and lymphatic, and seemed a trifle younger than his venerable associate. 'what war ye a-doin' of with yer rifle?' mumbled gran'dad in wild, toothless haste. 'i tuk it along ter see, when i war a-comin' home, ef i mought shoot suthin' tasty for supper.' 'what did ye git?' demanded gran'dad, with retrospective greed; for supper was over, and he had done full justice to his share. 'i never got nuthin',' said kelsey, a trifle shame-facedly. 'waal, waal, waal! these hyar latter times gits cur'ouser ez they goes along. the stren'th an' the seasonin' hev all gone out'n the lan'. whenst i war young, folks ez kerried rifles ter git suthin' fur supper never kem home a-suckin' the bar'l. folks ez kerried rifles in them days didn't tote 'em fur--fur--a 'ornamint. folks in them days lef preachin' an' prophecy an' sech ter thar elders, an' hunted the beastis an' the injun,--though sinners is plentier than the t'other kind o' game on the big smoky these times. no man in them days, jes' turned thirty, sot hisself down ter idlin', an' preachin', an' convictin' his elders o' sin.' kelsey bore himself with the deferential humility characteristic of the mountaineers towards the aged among them. 'what war the word ez ye war a-layin' off to say ter me, gran'dad?' he asked, striving to effect a diversion. 'waal, waal, look a-hyar, hiram,' exclaimed the old man, remembering his question in eager precipitancy. 'this hyar 'cajah green, ye know, ez air a-runnin' fur sher'ff--air--air he republikin or dimmycrat?' 'thar's no man in these hyar parts smart enough ter find that out,' interpolated obediah scruggs in the door, circumspectly taking the apple seeds out of his mouth. he was the son of one of the magnates, and the son-in-law of the other; his matrimonial venture had resulted in doubling his filial obligations. his wife had brought, instead of a dowry, her aged father to the fireside. ''cajah green,' continued the speaker, 'run ez a independent las' time, an' thar war so many bolters an' sech they split the vote, an' he war 'lected. an' now he air a-runnin' agin.' the old man listened to this statement, his eye blazing, his chin in a quiver, his lean figure erect, and the pipe in his palsied hand shaking till the coal of fire on top showed brightening tendencies. 'waal, sir! waal!' exclaimed the aged politician, with intense bitterness. 'the stren'th an' the seasonin' hev _all_ gone out'n the lan'! whenst i war young,' he declared dramatically, drawing the pitiable contrast, 'folks knowed what they war, an they let other folks know, too, ef they hed ter club it inter 'em. but them was old hickory's times. waal, waal, we ain't a-goin' ter see old hickory no more--no--more!' 'i hopes not,' said the other old man, with sudden asperity. 'i hopes we'll never see no sech tormentin' old dimmycrat agin. but law! i needn't fret my soul. henry clay shook all the life out'n him five year afore he died. henry clay made a speech agin andrew jackson in 1840 what forty thousan' people kem ter hear. _thar_ war a man fur ye! he hed a tongue like a bell; 'pears like ter me i kin hear it yit, when i listens right hard. by gum!' triumphantly, 'that day he tuk the stiffenin' out'n old hickory! surely, surely, he did! ef i thought i war never a-goin' ter hear old hickory's name agin i'd tune up my ears fur the angel's quirin'. i war born a republikin, i grow'd ter be a good whig, an' i'll die a republikin. ef that ain't religion i dunno what air! that's the way i hev lived an' walked afore the lord. an' hyar in the evenin' o' my days i hev got ter set alongside o' this hyar old consarn, an' hear him jow 'bout'n old hickory from mornin' till night. ef i hed knowed how he war goin' ter turn out 'bout'n old hickory in his las' days, i wouldn't hev let my darter marry his son, thirty-five year ago. i knowed he war a dimmycrat, but i never knowed the stren'th o' the failin' till i were called on ter 'speriunce it.' 'ye 'lowed t'other day, gran'dad,' said kelsey, addressing the aged paralytic in a propitiatory manner, 'ez ye warn't a-goin' ter talk 'bout'n old hickory no more. it 'pears like ter me ez ye oughter gin yer 'tention ter the candidates ez ye hev got ter vote fur in august--'cajah green, an' sech.' but it must be admitted that micajah green was not half the man that old hickory was, and the filial remonstrance had no effect. the acrimonies of fifty years ago were renewed across the hearth with a rancour that suggests that an old grudge, like old wine, improves with time. no one ventured to interrupt, but obediah scruggs, still lounging in the door, commented in a low tone: 'the law stirs itself ter sot a time when a man air old enough ter vote an' meddle with politics ginerally. 'pears like ter me it ought ter sot a time when he hev got ter quit.' 'waal, obediah!' exclaimed the soft-voiced woman, the red parings hanging in concentric circles from her motionless knife. 'that ain't religion. ye talk like a man would hev ter be ez sensible an' solid fur politics ez fur workin' on the road. they don't summons the old men fur sech jobs ez that. they mought ez well enjye the evenin' o' thar days with this foolishness o' politics ez enny other.' 'shucks!' said obediah, who had the courage of his convictions. 'these hyar old folks hev hed ter live in the same house an' ride in the same wagin thirty-five year, jes' 'kase, when we war married, they agreed ter put what they hed tergether; an' they hev been a-fightin' over thar dead an' gone politics ev'ry minit o' the time sence. thar may be some good dimmycrats, an' thar may be some good republikins, but they make a powerful oneasy team, yoked tergether. an' when it grows on 'em so, the law oughter step in, an' count 'em over age, an' shet 'em up. 'specially ez dad hev voted fur andy jackson fur presi_dint_ outer respec' fur his mem'ry, ev'y 'lection sence the tormentin' old crittur died.' but he said all this below his breath, and presently fell silent, for his wife's face had clouded, and her soft drawling voice had an intimation of a depression of spirit. 'the kentry hev kem ter its ruin,' exclaimed the paralytic, 'when men--brazen-faced buzzards--kin go an' git 'lected ter office 'thout no party ter boost 'em! look a-hyar,'--he turned to his grandson,--'ye air always a-prophesyin'. prophesy some now. air 'cajah green a-goin' ter be 'lected?' he thumped the floor with his stick, and fixed his imperative eye upon hiram kelsey's face. 'naw, gran'dad. he won't be 'lected,' said the prophet. the old man's face was scarlet because of this contradiction of his own dismal vaticinations. ''cajah green _will_ be 'lected,' he cried. 'the kentry's ruined. folks dunno whether they air republikins or dimmycrats! lor' almighty, ter think o' that! the kentry's ruined! an' yer prophesyin' don't tech it. they hed false prophets in the old days, an' the tribe holds out yit.' he struck the floor venomously with his stick. its defective aim once or twice brought it upon a rough black bundle that lay rolled up in front of the fire like a great dog. a slow head was lifted inquiringly, with an offended mien, from the rolls of fat and far. twinkling small eyes glared out. when another blow descended, with a wild disregard of results, there was a whimper, a long, low growl, a flash of white teeth, and with claw and fang the pet cub caught at the stick. the old man dropped it in a panic. 'look a-yander at the bar!' he shrieked. but the cub had crouched on the floor since the stick had fallen, and was whimpering again, and looking about in cowardly appeal. the old man rallied. 'what d'ye bring the savage beastis home fur, hiram, out'n the woods whar they b'long?' he vociferated. 'kase he 'lowed he hed killed the dam, an' the young 'un war bound ter starve,' put in the other old man, actuated, perhaps, by some sympathy for the grandson, whose strength and youth counted for naught against this adversary. 'what air ye a-aimin' ter do with it? ter kill sech chillen ez happen ter make game o' ye? that's what the prophets of old 'cited thar bars ter do--ter kill the little laffin' chillen.' kelsey winced. the cruelties of the old chronicles bore hard upon his wavering faith. the old man saw his advantage, and with the wantonness of tyranny followed it up: 'that's it--that's it! that would suit hiram, like the prophets--ter kill the innercent chillen!' the young man recoiled suddenly. the patriarch, a wild terror on his pallid, aged face, recognised the significance of his words. he held up his shaking hands as if to recall them--to clutch them. he had remembered the domestic tragedy; the humble figure of the little mountain child, all gaiety and dimples and gurgling laughter, who had known no grief and had wrought such woe, who had left a rude, empty cradle in the corner, a mound--such a tiny mound!--in the graveyard, and an imperishable anguish of self-reproach, unquenchable as the fires of hell. 'i furgot--i furgot!' shrieked the old man. 'i furgot the baby! when war she buried?--las' week or year afore las'? the only one--the only great-gran'child i ever hed. the frien'liest baby! knowed me jes' ez well!' he burst into senile tears. 'don't ye go, hiram. what did the doctor say ye gin her? laws-a-massy! 'pears like 'twar jes' yestiddy she war a-crawlin' 'round the floor, stidd'er that heejus beastis ez i wisht war in the woods--laffin'--lord a'mighty! laffin' an' takin' notice ez peart. hiram, don't ye go--don't ye go! peartes', pretties' chile i ever see--an' i had six o' my own--an' the frien'lies'! an' i hed planned fur sech a many pleasures when she hed got some growth an' hed l'arned ter talk. i wanted ter hear what she hed ter say--the only great-gran'child i ever hed--an' now the words will never be spoke. 'pears like ter me ez the lord shows mighty little jedgmint ter take her, an' leave me a-cumberin' the groun'.' then he began once more to wring his hands and sob aloud--that piteous weeping of the aged!--and to mumble brokenly, 'the frien'lies' baby!' the woman left her work and took off her bonnet, showing her grey hair drawn into a skimpy knot at the back of her head, and leaving in high relief her strong, honest, candid features, on which the refinements of all benign impulses effaced the effects of poverty and ignorance. she crossed the room to the old man's chair; her velvety voice soothed him. he suffered himself to be lifted by his son and grandson, and carried away bodily to bed in the room across the passage. in the meantime the woman filled a tin cup with lard, placing in its midst a button tied in a bit of cloth to serve as a wick, and lighted it at the fire, while the cub presided with sniffing curiosity at the unusual proceeding, pressing up close against her as she knelt on the hearth, well knowing that she was not to be held in fear nor in any special respect by young bears. 'i'm goin' ter gin him a button-lamp ter sleep by, bein' ez he hev tuk the baby in his head agin,' she said to her father in explanation; 'he won't feel so lonesome ef he wakes up.' he had looked keenly after his venerable compeer as the paralytic was borne across the uninclosed passage between the two rooms. 'he's breaking some. he's aging,' he said critically; not without sympathy, but with a stalwart conviction that his own feebleness was as strength to the other's weakness. 'he's breaking some,' he repeated, with a physical vanity that might have graced a prize-fighter. the next moment there came sharp and shrill through the open door the old man's voice, high and glib in cheerful forgetfulness, conversing with his attendants as they got him to bed. 'whenst i war young,' he cried, 'i went down to sevierville wunst. 'twar when they war a-runnin' of old hickory.' 'thar it is again!' exclaimed the ancient republican. 'old hickory war bad enough when he war alive; but i b'lieves he's wusser now that he is dead, with this hyar old critter a-moanin' 'bout him night and day. i'd feel myself called ter fling him of'n the bluff, ef it warn't that he hev got the palsy, an' i gits sorry fur him wunst in a while. an' then i b'lieves that ennybody what is a dimmycrat air teched in the head, an' ain't 'sponsible fur thar foolishness, 'kase sensible folks ain't dimmycrats. that's been my 'speriunce fur eighty year, an' i hev hed no call ter change my mind. so i hev to try my patience an' stan' this hyar old critter's foolishness, but it air a mighty tough strain.' v. the shadows of the great dead trees in the midst of the settlement were at their minimum in the vertical vividness of the noontide. they bore scant resemblance to those memorials of gigantic growths which towered, stark and white, so high to the intensely blue sky; instead, they were like some dark and leafless underbrush clustering about the sapless trunks. the sandy stretch of the clearing reflected the sunlight with a deeply yellow glare, its poverty of soil illustrated by frequent clumps of the woolly mullein-weeds. the indian corn and the sparse grass were crudely green in the enclosures about the grey, weather-beaten log-houses, which stood distinct against the dark, restful tones of the forest filling the background. the mountains with each remove wore every changing disguise of distance: shading from sombre green to a dull purple; then overlaid with a dubious blue; next showing a true and turquoise richness; still farther, a delicate transient hue that has no name; and so away to the vantage-ground of illusions, where the ideal poises upon the horizon, and the fact and the fantasy are undistinguishably blended. the intermediate valleys appeared in fragmentary glimpses here and there; sometimes there was only the verdure of the tree-tops; one was cleft by a canary-coloured streak which betokened a harvested wheat-field; in another blazed a sapphire circle, where the vertical sun burned in the waters of a blue salt 'lick.' the landscape was still--very still; not the idle floating of a cloud, not the vague shifting of a shadow, not the flutter of a wing. but the settlement on the crags above had known within its experience no similar commotion. there were many horses hitched to the fences, some girded with blankets in lieu of saddles. clumsy waggons stood among the stumps in the clearing, with the oxen unyoked and their provender spread before them on the ground. although the log-cabins gave evidence of hospitable proceedings within, family parties were seated in some of the vehicles, munching the dinner providently brought with them. all the dogs in the great smoky, except perhaps a very few incapacitated by extreme age or extreme youth, were humble participants in the outing, having trotted under the waggons many miles from their mountain homes, and now lay with lolling tongues among the wheels. about the store lounged a number of men, mostly the stolid, impassive mountaineers. a few, however, although in the customary jeans, bore the evidence of more worldly prosperity and a higher culture; and there were two or three resplendent in the 'b'iled shirt and store clothes' of civilization, albeit the first was without collar or cravat, and the latter showed antique cut and reverend age. these were candidates--talkative, full of anecdote, quick to respond, easily flattered, and flattering to the last degree. they were especially jocose and friendly with each other, but amid the fraternal guffaws and interchanges of 'chaws o' terbacco' many quips were bandied, barbed with ridicule; many good stories recounted, charged with uncomplimentary deductions; many jokes cracked, discovering the kernel of slander or detraction in the merry shell. the mountaineers looked on, devoid of envy, and despite their stolidity with an understanding of the conversational masquerade. beneath this motley verbal garb was a grave and eager aspiration for public favour, and it was a matter of no small import when a voter would languidly glance at another with a silent laugh, slowly shake his head with a not-to-be-convinced gesture, and spit profusely on the ground. in and out of the store dawdled a ceaseless procession of free and enlightened citizens; always emerging with an aspect of increased satisfaction, wiping their mouths with big bandanna handkerchiefs, and sometimes with the more primitive expedient of a horny hand. nathan hoodendin sat in front of the door, keeping store after his usual fashion, except that the melancholy wheeze 'jer'miah' rose more frequently upon the air. jer'miah's duties consisted chiefly in serving out whisky and apple-jack, and the little drudge stuck to his work with an earnest pertinacity, for which the privilege of draining the very few drops left in the bottom of the glass after each dram seemed hardly an adequate reward. the speeches, which were made in the open air, the candidate mounted on a stump in front of the store, were all much alike--the same self-laudatory meekness, the same inflamed party spirit, the same jocose allusions to opponents,--each ending, 'gentlemen, if i am elected to office i will serve you to the best of my skill and ability. gentlemen, i thank you for your attention.' the crowd, close about, stood listening with great intentness, each wearing the impartial pondering aspect of an umpire. on the extreme outskirts of the audience, however, there was an unprecedented lapse of attention; a few of the men, seated on stumps or on the waggon-tongues, now and then whispering together, and casting excited glances towards the blacksmith's shop. sometimes one would rise, approach it stealthily, stoop down, and peer in at the low window. the glare outside made the interior seem doubly dark, and a moment or two was needed to distinguish the anvil, the fireless hearth, the sooty hood. a vague glimmer fell through a crevice in the clapboard roof upon a shock of yellow hair and gleaming eyes, two sullen points of light in the midst of the deep shadows. none of the mountaineers had ever seen a wild beast caged, but rick tyler's look of fierce and surly despair, of defiance, of all vain and vengeful impulses, as he sat bound hand and foot in the forge, was hardly more human. the faces multiplied at the window,--stolid, or morbidly curious, awe-struck, or with a grinning display of long tobacco-stained teeth. many of them were well known to rick tyler, and if ever he had liked them he hated them now. there was a stir outside, a clamour of many voices. the 'speaking' was over. footsteps sounded close to the door of the blacksmith's shop. the sheriff was about to enter, and the crowd pressed eagerly forward to catch a glimpse of the prisoner. arriving this morning, the sheriff had been glad to combine his electioneering interests with his official duty. the opportunity of canvassing among the assemblage gave him, he thought, an ample excuse for remaining a few hours longer at the settlement than was necessary; and when he heard of the impending diversion of the gander-pulling he was convinced that his horse required still more rest before starting with his prisoner for shaftesville jail. he went briskly into the forge, carrying a pair of clanking handcuffs. he busied himself in exchanging these for the cord with which the young fellow's wrists were bound. it had been drawn brutally tight, and the flesh was swollen and raw. 'it seems ter me, ez 'twas the blacksmith that nabbed ye, he might hev done better for ye than this, by a darned sight,' he said in an undertone. he had not been reluctant at first that the crowd should come in, but he appreciated unnecessary harshness as an appeal for sympathy, and he called out to his deputy, who had accompanied him on his mission, to clear the room. 'we're goin' ter keep him shet up fur an hour or so, an' start down the mounting in the cool o' the evenin',' he explained; 'so ef ye want ter view him the winder is yer chance.' the forge was cleared at last, the broad light vanishing with the closing of the great barn-like doors. rick heard the lowered voices of the sheriff and deputy gravely consulting without, as they secured the fastenings with a padlock which they had brought with them in view of emergencies. they had taken the precaution, too, to nail strips of board at close intervals across the shutterless windows; more, perhaps, to prevent the intrusion of the curious without than the escape of the manacled prisoner. the section of the landscape glimpsed through the bars--the far blue mountains and a cluster of garnet pokeberries, with a leaf or two of the bush growing close by the wall--sprang into abnormal brilliancy at the end of the dark vista of the interior. it was a duskier brown within for that fragment of vivid colour and dazzling clearness in the window. naught else could be seen, except a diagonal view of the porch of one of the log-cabins, and the corn-field beyond. curiosity was not yet sated; now and then a face peered in, as rick sat bound securely, the cords still about his limbs and feet and the clanking handcuffs on his wrists. these inquisitive apparitions at the window grew fewer as the time went by, and presently ceased altogether. the bustle outside increased: it drowned the drowsy drone of the cicada; it filled the mountain solitudes with a trivial incongruity. often sounded there the sudden tramp of a horse and a loud guffaw. rick knew that they were making ready for the gander-pulling, which unique sport had been selected by the long-headed mountain politicians as likely to insure the largest assemblage possible from the surrounding region to hear the candidates prefer their claims. electioneering topics were not suspended even while the younger men were saddling and bridling their horses for the proposed festivity. as micajah green strolled across the clearing and joined a group of elderly spectators who in their chairs sat tilted against the walls of the store, which began to afford some shade, he found that his own prospects were under discussion. 'they tell me, 'cajah,' said nathan hoodendin, who had hardly budged that day, his conversational activity, however, atoning for his physical inertia, 'ez ye air bound ter eend this 'lection with yer finger in yer mouth.' 'don't know why,' said micajah green, with a sharp, sudden effect as of an angry bark, and lapsing from the smiling mien which he was wont to conserve as a candidate. 'waal, word hev been brung hyar ter the settle_mint_ ez this prophet o' ourn in the big smoky, he say ye ain't goin' ter be re'lected.' the sheriff laughed scornfully, snapping his fingers as he stood before the group, and whirled airily on his boot-heel. nevertheless, he was visibly annoyed. he knew the strength of a fantastic superstition among ignorant people, and their disposition to verify rather than to disprove. there were voters in the big smoky liable to be controlled by a morbid impulse to make the prophet's word true. it was an unexpected and unmeasured adverse influence, and he chafed under the realization. 'an' what sets pa'son kelsey agin me?' he demanded. 'he ain't in no ways _sot agin you-uns_ ez i knows on,' discriminated nathan hoodendin, studious impartiality expressed among the graven wrinkles of his face. 'not ez it war _sot agin_ ye; but ye jes' 'lows ez that air the fac'. ye ain't goin' ter be 'lected agin.' 'the pa'son hev got a gredge agin the old man, hyar,' said the deputy. he was a stalwart fellow of about twenty-five years of age. he had sandy hair and moustache, a broad freckled face, light grey eyes, and a thin-lipped, defiant mouth. he bore himself with an air of bravado which conveyed as many degrees of insult as one felt disposed to take up. 'he lit out on me fust--i war with amos jeemes thar,--an' the pa'son put us out'n the meet'n'-house. he did! he don't want no sorter sher'ff's in the big smoky. an' he called gid fletcher, the blacksmith, "judas" fur arrestin' that lot o' bacon yander in the shop, when he kem hyar ter the settle_mint_ fur powder, ter keep him able to resis' the law! who sold rick tyler that powder, mister hoodendin?' he added, turning his eyes on the proprietor of the store. old hoodendin hesitated. 'jer'miah,' he wheezed feebly. his anxious eyes gleamed from out their perplexed wrinkles like a ray of sunlight twinkling through a spider-web. there was an interchange of glances between the sheriff and his deputy, and the admonished subordinate continued: ''twar jes' the boy, eh; an' i reckon he war afeard o' rick's shootin'-irons an' sech.' ''twar jer'miah,' repeated the storekeeper, his discreet eyes upon the bosom of his blue-checked homespun shirt. 'waal, the pa'son, ez i war sayin', he called the blacksmith "judas" fur capturing the malefactor, an' the gov'nor's reward "blood-money,"' continued the deputy, expertly electioneering, since his own tenure was on the uncertain continuance of the sheriff in office. 'an' now he's goin' round the kentry prophesyin' as 'cajah green ain't goin' ter be 'lected. waal, thar war false prophets 'fore his time, an' will be agin, i'm thinkin'.' there was a sudden clamour upon the air; a vibrant, childish voice, and then a great horse-laugh. an old crone had come out of one of the cabins and was standing by the fence, holding out to gid fletcher, who seemed master of ceremonies, a large white gander. the fowl's physiognomy was thrown into bold prominence by a thorough greasing of the head and neck. his wings flapped, he hissed fiercely, he dolorously squawked. a little girl was running frantically by the side of the old woman, clutching at her skirt and vociferously claiming the 'gaynder.' hers it was, since 'mam gin me the las' aig when the grey goose laid her ladder out, an' it war sot under the old dominicky hen ez kem off'n her nest through settin' three weeks, like a hen will do. an' then 'twar put under old top-knot, an' 'twar the fust aig hatched out'n old top-knot's settin'.' this unique pedigree, shrieked out with a shrill distinctness, mixed with the lament of the prescient bird, had a ludicrous effect. fletcher took the gander with a guffaw, the old crone chuckled, and the young men laughed as they mounted their horses. the blacksmith hardly knew which part he preferred to play. the element of domination in his character gave a peculiar relish to the rã´le of umpire; yet with his pride in his deftness and strength it cost him a pang to forego the competition in which he felt himself an assured victor. he armed himself with a whip of many thongs, and took his stand beneath a branch of one of the trees, from which the gander was suspended by his big feet, head downward. aghast at his disagreeable situation, his wild eyes stared about; his great wings flapped drearily; his long neck protruded with its peculiar motion, unaware of the clutch it invited. what a pity so funny a thing can suffer! the gaping crowd at the store, on the cabin porches, on the fences, watched the competitors with wide-eyed, wide-mouthed delight. there were gallant figures amongst them, shown to advantage on young horses whose spirit was not yet quelled by the plough. they filed slowly around the prescribed space once, twice; then each made the circuit alone at a break-neck gallop. as the first horseman rode swiftly along the crest of the precipice, his head high against the blue sky, the stride of the steed covering mountain and valley, he had the miraculous effect of prince firouz shah and the enchanted horse in their mysterious aã«rial journeys. when he passed beneath the branch whence hung the frantic, fluttering bird, the blacksmith, standing sentinel with his whip of many thongs, laid it upon the flank of the horse, and despite the wild and sudden plunge the rider rose in his stirrups and clutched the greased neck of the swaying gander. tough old fowl! the strong ligaments resisted. the first hardly hoped to pluck the head, and after his hasty, convulsive grasp his frightened horse carried him on almost over the bluff. the slippery neck refused to yield at the second pull, and the screams of the delighted spectators mingled with the shrieks of the gander. the mountain colt, a clay-bank, with a long black tail full of cockle-burrs, bearing the third man, reared violently under the surprise of the lash. as the rider changed the balance of his weight, rising in his stirrups to tug at the gander's neck, the colt pawed the air wildly with his fore feet, fell backward, and rolled upon the ground, almost over the hapless wight. the blacksmith was fain to support himself against the tree for laughter, and the hurrahing settlement could not remember when it had enjoyed anything so much. the man gathered himself up sheepishly, and limped off; the colt being probably a mile away, running through the woods at the height of his speed. the gander was in a panic by this time. if ever a fowl of that gender has hysterics, that gander exhibited the disease. he hissed; he flapped his wings; he squawked; he stared; he used every limited power of expression with which nature has gifted him. he was so funny one could hardly look at him. as amos james was about to take his turn, amid flattering cries of 'amos'll pull his head!' 'amos'll git his head!' a man who had suddenly appeared on horseback at the verge of the clearing, and had paused, contemplating the scene, rode swiftly forward to the tree. 'ye can't pull out'n turn--ye can't pull out'n turn, pa'son!' cried half a dozen voices from the younger men. the elders stared in amaze that the preacher should demean his calling by engaging in this public sport. kelsey checked his pace before he reached the blacksmith, who, seeing that he was not going to pull, forbore to lay on the lash. the next moment he thought that kelsey was going to pull; he had risen in his stirrups with uplifted arm. 'what be you-uns a-goin' ter do?' demanded gid fletcher, amazed. 'i'm a-goin' ter take this hyar critter down.' his words thrilled through the settlement like a current of electricity. the next phrase was lost in a wild chorus of exclamations. 'take the gaynder down?' 'what fur?' 'hi kelsey hev los' his mind; surely he hev!' then above the angry, undistinguishable tumult of remonstrance the preacher's voice rose clear and impressive: 'the pains o' the beastis he hev made teches the lord in heaven; fur he marks the sparrow's fall, an' minds himself o' the pitiful o' yearth!' he spoke with the authority appertaining to his calling. 'the spark o' life in this fow-_el_ air kindled ez fraish ez yourn--fur hevin' a soul, ye don't ginerally prove it; an' hevin' no soul ter save, this gaynder hain't yearned the torments o' hell, an' i'm a-goin' ter take the critter down.' ''tain't yer gaynder!' conclusively argued the blacksmith, applying the swage of his own conviction. 'he air _my_ gaynder!' shrieked out a childish voice. 'take him down--take him down!' this objection to the time-honoured sport seemed hardly less eccentric than an exhibition of insanity. to apply a dignified axiom of humanity to that fluttering, long-suffering tumult of anguish familiarly known as the 'gaynder' was regarded as ludicrously inappropriate. to refer to the lord and the typical sparrow in this connection seemed almost blasphemy. nevertheless, with the rural reverence for spiritual authority and the superior moral perception of the clergy, the crowd wore a submissively balked aspect, and even the young men who had not yet had their tug at the fowl's neck succumbed, under the impression that the preacher's fiat had put a stop to the gander-pulling for this occasion. as kelsey once more lifted his hand to liberate the creator of the day's merriment, the blacksmith, his old grudge reinforced by a new one, gave the horse a cut with his whip. the animal plunged under the unexpected blow, and carried the rider beyond the tree. reverence for the cloth had no longer a restraining influence on the young mountaineers. they burst into yells of laughter. 'cl'ar out, pa'son!' they exclaimed delightedly. 'ye hev hed yer pull. cl'ar out!' there was a guffaw among the elders about the store. a clamour of commenting voices rose from the cabin porches, where the feminine spectators stood. the gander squawked dolorously. the hubbub was increased by the sudden sharp yelping of hounds that had started game somewhere near at hand. afterward, from time to time, canine snarls and yaps rose vociferously upon the air--unheeded, since the inherent interests of a gander-pulling were so enhanced by the addition of a moral discussion and the jeopardy of its conclusion. the next man in turn, amos james, put his horse to a canter, and came in a cloud of yellow dust toward the objective point under the tree. in another moment there was almost a collision, for kelsey had wheeled and ridden back so swiftly that he reined up under the bough where the fowl hung as amos james, rising in his stirrups, dashed toward it. his horse shied, and carried him past, out of reach, while the blacksmith stepped precipitately toward the bole, exclaiming angrily: 'don't ride me down, hi kelsey!' he recovered his presence of mind and the use of his whip immediately, and laid a stinging lash upon the parson's horse, as once more the champion of the bird reached up to release it. the next instant gid fletcher recoiled suddenly; there was a significant gesture, a steely glimmer, and the blacksmith was gazing with petrified reluctance down the muzzle of a six-shooter. he dared not move a muscle as he stood, with that limited field of vision, and with more respectful acquiescence in the opinion of another man than he had ever before been brought to entertain. the horseman looked at his enemy in silence for a moment, the broad-brimmed hat shading his face, with its melancholy expression, its immobile features, and its flashing eyes. 'drap that lash,' kelsey said. gid fletcher's grasp relaxed; then the parson with his left hand reached up and contrived to unloose the fluttering gander. he handed the bird down to the little girl, who had been fairly under the horse's heels at the tree since the first suggestion of its deliverance. she clutched it in great haste, wrapped her apron about it, and carrying it baby-wise, ran fleetly off, casting apprehensive glances over her shoulder. so the gander was saved, but in its fright, its woe, and the frantic presage in whatever organ may serve it for mind, the fowl had a pretty fair case against the settlement for exemplary damages. the sport ended in great disaffection and a surly spirit. several small grievances among the younger men promised to result in a disturbance of the peace. the blacksmith, held at bay only by the pistol, flared out furiously when relieved of that strong coercion. his pride was roused in that he should be publicly balked and terrorized. 'i'll remember this,' he said, shaking his fist in the prophet's face. 'i'll save the gredge agin ye.' but he was pulled off by his brethren in the church, who thought it unwise to have a member in good standing again assault the apostle of peace. amos james--a tall, black-eyed fellow of twenty-three or four, with black hair, slightly powdered with flour, and a brown jeans suit, thus reminiscent also of the mill--sighed for the sport in which he had hoped to be victorious. 'pa'son talked like the gaynder war his blood relation--own brothers, i'm a-thinkin',' he drawled disconsolately. the sheriff was disposed to investigate prophecy. 'i've heard, pa'son,' he said, with a smile ill concealing his vexation, 'ye have foreseen i ain't goin' ter be lucky with this here 'lection; goin' ter come out o' the leetle eend o' the horn.' the prophet, too, was perturbed and out of sorts. the sustaining grace of feeling a martyr was lacking in the event of to-day, in which he himself had wielded the coercive hand. he marked the covert aggressiveness of the sheriff's manner, and revolted at being held to account and forced to contest. he fixed his gleaming eyes upon the officer's face, but said nothing. 'i'm a-hustlin' off now,' said micajah green, 'an' ez i won't be up in the big smoky agin afore the 'lection, i lowed ez i'd find out what ails yer ter set sech a durned thing down as a fac'. why ain't i goin' ter be 'lected?' he reiterated, his temper flaring in his face, his eyes fierce. but for the dragging block and chain of his jeopardized prospects he could not have restrained himself from active insult. with his peculiar qualifications for making enemies, and the opportunities afforded by the difficult office he had filled for the past two years, he illustrated at this moment the justice of the prophecy. but his evident anxiety, his eagerness, even his fierce intolerance, had a touch of the pathetic to the man for whom earth held so little and heaven nothing. it seemed useless to suggest, to admonish, to argue. 'i say the word,' declared the prophet. 'i can't ondertake ter gin the reason.' 'ye won't gin the reason?' said the sheriff, between his teeth. 'naw,' said the prophet. 'an' i won't be 'lected, hey?' 'ye won't be 'lected.' the deputy touched the sheriff on the shoulder. 'i want ter see ye.' 'in a minute,' said the elder man impatiently. 'i want ter see ye.' something in the tone constrained attention. the sheriff turned, and looked into a changed face. he suffered himself to be led aside. 'ye _ain't_ goin' ter be 'lected,' said the deputy grimly, 'an' for a damned good reason. look-a-thar!' they had walked to the blacksmith's shop. the deputy motioned to him to look into the window. 'damn ye, what is it?' demanded micajah green, mystified. the other made no reply, and the officer stooped, and looked into the dusky interior. vi. three sides of the blacksmith's shop, the door, and the window were in full view from the little hamlet; the blank wall of the rear was close to a sheer precipice. the door was locked, and the key was in the sheriff's pocket. the prisoner, bound with cords around his ankles and limbs, and with his wrists manacled, was gone! every detail was as it had been left, except that at the rear, the only point secure from observation, there were traces of burrowing in the earth. in the cavity thus made between the lowest log and the 'dirt floor' a man's body might with difficulty have been compressed--but a man so shackled! undoubtedly he had had assistance. this was a rescue. only a moment elapsed before the great barn-like doors were widely flaring, and the anxious care of the officers and the eager curiosity of the crowd had explored every nook and cranny within. the ground was dry, and there was not even a footprint to betoken the movements of the fugitive and his rescuers; only in the freshly upturned earth where he effected escape were the distinct marks of the palms of his hands, significantly close together. evidently he was still handcuffed when he had crawled through. 'he's a-wearin' my bracelets yit!' exclaimed the sheriff excitedly. 'him an' his friends warn't able ter cut them off, like they done the ropes.' a search was organized in hot haste. every cabin, the corn-fields, the woods near at hand, were ransacked. parties went beating about through the dense undergrowth. they climbed the ledges of great crags. they hovered with keen eyes above dark abysses. they pursued for hours a tortuous course down a deep gorge, strewn with gigantic boulders, washed by the wintry torrents into divers channellings, overhung by cliffs hundreds of feet high, honeycombed with fantastic niches and rifts. what futile quest! what vastness of mountain wilderness! the great sun went down in a splendid suffusion of crimson colour, and a translucent golden haze, with a purple garb for the mountains, and a glamourous dream for the sky, and bestowing far and near the gilded license of imagination. the searchers were hard at it until late into the night; never a clue to encourage them, never a hope to lure them on. more than once they flagged, these sluggish mountaineers, who had passed the day in unwonted excitement, and had earned their night's rest. but the penalties of refusing to aid the officers of the law spurred them on. even old hoodendin--not so old as to be exempt from this duty, for the sheriff had summoned every available man at the settlement to his assistance--hobbled from stone to stone, from one rotting log to another, where he sat down to recuperate from his exertions. the search degenerated into a mere form, an aimless beating about in the brush, before micajah green could be induced to relinquish the hope of capture, and blow the horn as a signal for reassembling. the bands of fagged-out men, straggling back to the settlement toward dawn, found reciprocal satisfaction in expressing the opinion that 'cajah green had 'keerlessly let rick git away, an' warn't a-goin' ter mend the matter by incitin' the mounting ter bust 'round the woods like a lot o' crazy deer all night, ter find a man ez warn't nowhar.' they wore surly enough faces as they gathered about the door of the store, or lounged on the stumps and the few chairs, waiting for a mounted party that had been ordered to extend the search down in the adjacent coves and along the spurs. the agile jer'miah scudded about, furnishing such consolation as can be contained in a jug. had the quest resulted differently, they would have laughed and joked and caroused till daybreak. as it was, their talk was fragmentary; slight and innuendo were in every word. the sheriff had supplemented his own negligence by a grievous disregard of their comfort, and the sense of defeat, so bitter to an american citizen, completed the ã¦sthetic misery of the situation. the waggons still stood about in the clearing; here and there the burly dark steers lay ruminant and half asleep among the stumps. among them, too, were the cattle of the place; the cows, milked late the evening before, had not yet roamed away. against a dark background of blackberry bushes a white bull stood in the moonlight, motionless, the lustre gilding his horns and touching his great sullen eyes with a spark of amber light. in his imperious stillness he looked like a statue of a masquerading jupiter. a sound. 'hist!' said the sheriff. the moon, low in the west, was drawing a seine of fine-spun gold across the dark depths of the valley. in that enchanted enmeshment were tangled all the fancies of the night; the vague magic of dreams; vagrant romances, dumb but for the pulses; the gleams of a poetry too delicately pellucid to be focused by a pen. the mountains maintained a majesty of silence. all the world beneath was still. the wind was laid. far, far away, once again, a sound. so indistinct, so undistinguishable--they hardly knew if they had heard aright. there was a sudden scuffle near at hand. over one of the rail fences, gleaming wet with dew, and rich with the loan of a silver beam, there climbed a long, lean old hound; with an anxious aspect he ran to the verge of the crag. once more that sound, alien alike to the mountain solitudes and the lonely sky; then the deep-mouthed baying broke forth, waking all the echoes, and rousing all the dogs in the cove as well as the canine visitors and residents at the settlement. 'dod-rot that critter!' exclaimed the sheriff angrily. 'we can't hear nuthin' now but his long jaw.' 'jes' say "silence in court!"' suggested amos james from where he lay at length in the grass. the sheriff nimbly kicked the dog instead, and the night was filled with wild shrieks of pain and anger. when his barking was renewed, it was punctuated with sharp, reminiscent yelps, as the injustice of his treatment ever and anon recurred to his mind. the sound of human voices grew very distinct when it could be heard at all, and the tramp of approaching horses shook the ground. every eye was turned toward the point at which the road came into the settlement, between the densities of the forest and the gleaming array of shining, curved blades and tossing plumes, where the corn-field spread its martial suggestions. when an equestrian shadow suddenly appeared, the sheriff saluted it in a tremor of excitement. 'hello!' he shouted. 'did ye ketch him?' the foremost of the party rode slowly forward: the horse was jaded; the rider slouched in the saddle with an aspect of surly exhaustion. 'ketch him!' thundered out gid fletcher's gruff voice. 'ketch the devil!' the bold-faced deputy was brazening it out. he rode up with as dapper a style as a man may well maintain who has been in the saddle ten hours without food, sustained only by the strength of a 'tickler' in his pocket, whose prospects are jeopardized and whose official prestige is ruined. the demeanour of the other riders expressed varying degrees of injured disaffection as they threw themselves from their horses. the blacksmith dismounted in front of the cumbersome doors of his shop, on which still hung the sheriff's padlock, and with the stiff gait of one who has ridden long and hard he strode across the clearing, and stopped before the group in front of the store. he looked infuriated. it might have been a matter of wonder that so tired a man could nourish so strong and active a passion. 'look a-hyar, 'cajah green!' he exclaimed, with an oath, 'folks 'low ter me ez i ain't got no right ter my reward fur ketchin' that thar greased peeg,--ez ye hed ter leave go of--kase he warn't landed in jail or bailed. that air the law, they tells me.' 'that's the law,' replied the sheriff. his chair was tilted back against the wall of the store, his hat drawn over his brow. he spoke with the calmness of desperation. 'then 'pears like ter me ez i hev hed all my trouble fur nuthin', an' all the resk i hev tuk,' said the blacksmith, coming close, and mechanically rolling up the sleeve of his hammer-arm. 'edzac'ly.' the blacksmith turned on him a look like that of a wounded bear. 'an' ye sit thar ez peaceful ez skim-milk, an' 'low ez ye hev let my two hundred dollars slip away?' he demanded. 'dad burn yer greasy soul!' 'i hopes it air all i hev let slip,' said the sheriff quietly. there was so much besides which he had cause to fear that it did not occur to him to be afraid of the blacksmith. perhaps it was the subacute perception that he shared the officer's attention with more engrossing subjects which had the effect of tempering gid fletcher's anger. the rim of the moon was slipping behind the purple heights of chilhowee. day was suddenly upon them, though the sun had not yet risen--when did the darkness flee?--the day, cool, with a freshness as of a new creation, and with an atmosphere so clear that one might know the ash from the oak in the deep green depths of the wooded valley. the hour had not yet done with witchery: the rose-red cloud was in the east, and the wild red rose had burst its bud; a mocking-bird sprang from its nest in a dogwood-tree, with a scintillating wing and a soaring song, and a ray of sunlight like a magic wand fell athwart the landscape. gid fletcher sat vaguely staring. presently he lifted his hand with a sudden gesture demanding attention. 'ye ain't goin' ter be 'lected, air ye, 'cajah green?' the sheriff stirred uneasily. his ambition, a little and a selfish thing, was the index to his soul. without it he himself would not be able to find the page whereon was writ all that there was of the spiritual within him. he writhed to forego it. 'naw,' he said desperately. 'i s'pose i ain't.' he pushed his hat back nervously. he heard, without marking, the sudden rattling of one of the waggons that had left some time ago: it was crossing a rickety bridge near the foot of the mountain; the hollow reverberations rose and fell, echoed and died away. one of the cabin doors opened, and a man came out upon the porch. he washed his face in a tin pan which stood on a bench for the public toilet, treated his head to a refreshing souse, and then, with the water dripping from his long locks upon the shoulders of his shirt, the bold-faced deputy, much refreshed by a snack and his ablutions, came lounging across the clearing to join them. suddenly micajah green noted that the blacksmith was looking at him with a significant gleam in his black eyes and a flush on his swarthy face. 'who said ye warn't goin' ter be 'lected?' 'why, this hyar prophet o' yourn on the big smoky.' 'why did he 'low ez that warn't comin' ter pass?' 'he wouldn't gin no reason.' 'he lef' ye ter find that out. an' ye fund it out?' the sheriff said nothing. he was breathlessly intent. 'an' he met me in the woods, an' lowed ez rick tyler oughtn't ter be tuk, an' hed done no wrong; an' he called the gov'nor's reward blood-money, an' worked hisself nigh up ter the shoutin' p'int; an' called me "judas" fur takin' the boy, sence me an' him hed been frien'ly, an' lowed ez them thar thirty pieces o' silver warn't out o' circulation yit.' 'an' then,' the bold-faced deputy struck in, 'he rode up yestiddy, a-raisin' a great wondermint over a gaynder-pullin', ez if thar'd never been one before; purtendin' 'twar wicked, like he'd never killed an' eat a fowel, an' drawin' pistols, an' raisin' a great commotion an' excitin' an' _de_stractin' the settlemint, so a man handcuffed, an' with a rope twisted round his arms an' legs, gits out of a house right under thar nose, an' runs away. rick tyler couldn't hev done it 'thout them ropes war cut, an' he war gin a chance ter sneak out. now, i ain't a prophet by natur'e but i kin say who cut them ropes, an' who raised a disturbamint outside ter gin him a chance ter mosey.' 'whar's he now?' demanded the sheriff, rising from his chair and glancing about. 'he was a-huntin' with the posse, las' night,' said the deputy. 'he never lef' till 'bout an hour ago. he never wanted nobody ter 'spicion nuthin', i reckon. mebbe that's him now.' he pointed to a road in the valley, a tawny streak elusively appearing upon a hilltop or skirting a rocky spur, soon lost in a sea of foliage. beside a harvested wheat-field it was again visible, and a tiny moving object might be discerned by eyes trained to the long stretches of mountain landscape. the sun was higher, the dew exhaled in warm and languishing perfume, the mocking-bird filled the air with ecstasy. the men stood among their elongated shadows on the crag, staring at the moving object until it reached the dense woods, and so passed out of sight. vii. down a precipitous path, hardly more civilized of aspect than if it were trodden by the deer, filled with interlacing roots, barricaded by long briery tangles, overhung by brush and overshadowed by trees--down this sylvan way dorinda, followed by jacob and one or two of the companionable old hounds, was wont to go to the spring under the crag. the spot had its fascinations. the great beetling cliff towered far above, the jagged line of its summit serrating the zenith. its rugged face was seamed with many a fissure, and here and there were clumps of ferns, a swaying vine, a huckleberry bush that fed the birds of the air. below surged the tops of the trees. there was a shelving descent from the base of the crag, and jacob must needs have heed of the rocky depths beneath in treading the narrow ledge that led to a great cavernous niche in the face of the rock. here in a deep cleft welled the never-failing spring. it always reminded dorinda of that rock which moses smote; although, of course, when she thought of it, she said she knew that mount horeb was in jefferson county, because a man who had married her brother's wife's cousin had an aunt who lived there. and when she had abandoned that unconscious effort to bring the great things near, she would sit upon the rock and look with a sigh of pleasure at that pure, outgushing limpidity, unfailing and unchanging, and say it reminded her of the well-springs of pity. one day, as she sat there, her dreaming head thrown back upon her hands clasped behind it, there sounded a sudden step close by. the old hounds, lying without the cavernous recess, could see along the upward vista of the path, and their low growl was rather in surly recognition than in active defiance. dorinda and jacob, within the great niche, beheld naught but the distant mountain landscape framed in the rugged arch above their heads. the step did not at once advance; it hesitated, and then amos james came slowly into view. dorinda looked up dubiously at him, and it occurred to him that this was the accepted moment to examine the lock of his gun. 'howdy,' he ventured, as he turned the rifle about. she had assumed a more constrained attitude, and had unclasped her hands from behind her head. the seat was a low one, and the dark blue folds of her homespun dress fell about her with simple amplitude. her pink calico sun-bonnet lay on the rock under her elbow. the figure of the pudgy jacob in the foreground had a callow grotesqueness. he, too, undertook the demeanour he had learned to discriminate as 'manners.' outside, the old dog snapped at the flies. amos james seemed to think an account of himself appropriate. 'i hev been a-huntin',' he said, his grave black eyes on the rifle and his face in the shadow of his big white hat. 'i happened ter pass by the house, an' yer granny said ez ye hed started down hyar arter a pail o' water, an' i 'lowed ez i'd kem an' fetch it fur ye.' dorinda murmured that she was 'much obleeged,' and relapsed into silent propriety. extraordinary gun! it really seemed as if amos james would be compelled to take it to pieces then and there, so persistently did it require his attention. jacob, whose hearing was unimpaired, but whose education in the specious ways of those of a larger growth was as yet incomplete, got up briskly. since amos had come to fetch the pail he saw no reason in nature why the pail should not be fetched, and he imagined that the return was in order. he paused for a moment in surprise; then seeing that no one else moved, he sat down abruptly. but for her manners dorinda could have laughed. amos james's cheek flushed darkly as he still worked at the gun. 'i s'pose ez you-uns hev hearn the news?' he remarked presently. as he asked the question he quickly lifted his eyes. ah, what laughing lights in hers--what radiant joys! she did not look at him. her gaze was turned far away to the soft horizon. her delicate lips had such dainty curves. her pale cheek flushed tumultuously. she leaned her head back against the rock, the tendrils of her dark hair spreading over the unyielding grey stone, which, weather-shielded, was almost white. in its dead, dumb finality--the memorial of seas ebbed long ago, of forms of life extinct--she bore it a buoyant contrast. she looked immortal! 'i hev hearn the news,' she said, her long lashes falling, and with quiet circumspection at variance with the triumph in her face. he looked at her gravely, breathlessly. a new idea had taken possession of him. the rescue--it was a strange thing! who in the great smoky mountains had an adequate temptation to risk the penalty of ten years in the state-prison for rescuing rick tyler from the officers of the law? his brothers?--they were step-brothers. his father was dead. affection could not be accounted a factor. venom might do more. some reckless enemy of the sheriff's might thus have craftily compassed his ruin. then there suddenly came upon amos james a recollection of the cayces' grudge against micajah green, and of the fact that they had already actively bestirred themselves to electioneer against him. once, before it all happened, rick tyler had hung persistently about dorinda, and perhaps the 'men-folks' approved him. amos remembered too that a story was current at the gander-pulling that the reason the cayces had absented themselves and were lying low was because a party of revenue raiders had been heard of on the big smoky. who had heard of them, and when did they come, and where did they go? it seemed a fabrication, a cloak. and dorinda--she was the impersonation of delighted triumph. 'agged the men-folks on, i reckon,' he thought--'agged 'em on, fur the sake o' rick tyler!' a sense of despair, quiet, numbing, was creeping over him. ''tain't no reg'lar ail, i know,' he said to himself; 'but i b'lieve it'll kill me.' conversation in the mountains is a leisurely procedure, time being of little value. the ensuing pause, however, was of abnormal duration, and at last amos was fain to break it, albeit irrelevantly. 'this hyar weather is gittin' mighty hot,' he observed, taking off his hat and fanning himself with it. 'i feel like i hed been dragged bodaciously through the hopper.' from the shaded coolness of the grotto the girl admitted that it was 'middlin' warm.' despite the slumberous sunshine here, all the world was not so quiet. over the valley a cloud was hovering, densely black, but with a grey, nebulous margin; now and then it was rent by a flash of lightning in swift zigzag lines, yet the mountains beyond were a tender blue in the golden glow of a sunshine yet more tender. ''pears like they air gittin' a shower over yander, at the furder eend o' the cove,' dorinda remarked encouragingly. 'ef it war ter storm right smart, mebbe the thunder would cool the air some.' 'mebbe so,' he assented. then he marked again the new beauty abloom in her face, and his heart sank within him. his pride was touched, too. he was a man well-to-do for the 'mountings,' with his own grist-mill, and a widowed mother whose plaint it was, night and day, that amos was 'sech a slowly boy ter git married, an' the lord knows thar oughter be somebody roun' the house spry'r 'n a pore old woman mighty nigh fifty year old--yes, sir! a-going on fifty. an' i want ter live down ter emmert's cove along o' malviny, my married darter,' she would insist, 'whar thar air chillen, an' babies ter look arter, an' not sech a everlastin' gang o' men, a-lopin' 'round the mill. but i dunno _what_ amos would do ef i lef' him.' evidently it was a field for a daughter-in-law. amos felt in his secret soul that this was not the only attraction. he was well favoured and tall and straight, and had a good name in the county, despite his pranks, which were leniently regarded. he honestly thought that dorinda might do worse. whether it was tact or whether it was delicacy, he did not allude to the worldly contrast with the fugitive from justice. 'i s'pose they won't ketch rick agin,' he hazarded. 'i reckon not,' she said demurely, her long black lashes again falling. he leaned uneasily on his gun, looked down at his great boots drawn over his brown jeans trousers to his knees, adjusted his leathern belt, and pulled his hat a trifle farther over his eyes. 'd'rindy,' he said suddenly, 'ye set a heap o' store on rick tyler?' then he was doubtful, and feared he had offended her. her sapphire eyes, with their leaping blue lights and dark clear depths, all blended and commingled in the softest brilliancy, shone upon him. the bliss of the event was supreme. 'mebbe i do,' she said. he turned and looked away at the storm, seeming ineffective as it surged in the distance. the trees in the cove were tossed by a wind that raged on a lower level, as if it issued from ã�olian caverns in the depths of the range. it was a wild, aã«rial panorama--the black clouds, and the rain, and the mist rolling through the deep gorge, veined with lightnings and vocal with thunder, and the thunderous echoes among the rocks. not a leaf stirred on the mountain's brow, and the great 'bald' lifted its majestic crest in a sunshine all unpaled, and against the upper regions of the air, splendidly blue. there was an analogy in the scene with his mood and hers. a moment ago he had been saying to himself that he did not want to be 'turned off' in favour of a man who was hunted like a wild animal through the woods; who, if his luck and his friends should hold out, and he could evade capture, might look forward to naught but uncertainty and a fearful life, like others in the big smoky, who dared not open their own doors to a summons from without, skulking in their homes like beasts in their den. the dangers, misfortunes, and indignities suffered by his preferred rival were an added slur upon him, who had all the backing of propitious circumstance. since there was nothing to gain, why humble himself in vain? this was his logic--sound, just, approved by his judgment; and as it arranged itself in his mind with all the lucidity of pure reason, he spoke from the complex foolish dictates of his unreasoning heart. 'i hev hoped ter marry ye, d'rindy, like i hev hoped fur salvation,' he said abruptly. he looked at her now, straight and earnestly, with his shaded, serious black eyes. her rebuking glance slanted beyond him from under her half-lifted lashes. 'i thought ye war a good church member,' she said unexpectedly. 'i am. but that don't make me a liar ez i knows on. i'd ruther hear ye a-singin' 'roun' the house in eskaqua cove, an' a-callin' the chickens, an' sech, 'n ter hear all the angels in heaven a-quirin' tergether.' 'that ain't religion, amos jeemes,' she said, with cool disapproval. 'waal,' he rejoined with low-spirited obstinacy, 'mebbe 'tain't.' there was a delicate odour of ferns on the air; the cool, outgushing water tinkled on the stones like a chime of silver bells; his shadow fell athwart the portal as he leaned on his rifle, and his wandering glance mechanically swept the landscape. the sudden storm had passed, the verge of the cloud hovering so near that they could hear the last heavy raindrops pattering on the tops of the trees in eskaqua cove. vapours were rising from the ravine: the sun shone upon them, throwing a golden aureola about the opposite mountains, and all the wreathing mists that the wind whirled down the valley had elusive, opalescent effects. the thunder muttered in the distance; the sharp-bladed lightnings were sheathed; a rainbow girdled the world, that had sprung into a magic beauty as if cinctured by the zone of venus. the arch spanned the blue sky, and on the dark mountains extended the polychromatic reflection. the freshened wind came rushing up the gorge, and the tree-tops bent. 'look-a-hyar, d'rindy,' said amos james sturdily; 'i want ye ter promise me one thing.' dorinda had risen in embarrassment. she looked down at jacob. 'it air about time for we-uns ter be a-goin' ter the house, i reckon,' she said. but jacob sat still. he was apt in 'takin' l'arnin',' and he had begun to perceive that his elders did not always mean what they said. he was cool and comfortable, and content to remain. 'i want ye ter promise me that ef ever ye find ez ye hev thunk too well o' rick tyler, an' hev sot him up too high in yer mind over other folks, ye'll let me know.' her cheek dimpled; her rare laughter fell on the air; a fervid faith glowed in her deep, bright eyes. 'i promise ye!' 'ye think rick tyler air mighty safe in that promise,' he rejoined, crestfallen. but dorinda would say no more. viii. the disappointment which amos james experienced found expression in much the same manner as that of many men of higher culture. he went down to his home in eskaqua cove, moody and morose. he replied to his chirping mother in discouraging monosyllables. in taciturn disaffection he sat on the step of the little porch, and watched absently a spider weaving her glittering gossamer maze about an overhanging mass of purple grapes, with great green leaves that were already edged with a rusty red and mottled with brown. a mocking-bird boldly perched among them, ever and anon, the airy grace of his pose hardly giving, in its exquisite lightness, the effect of a pause. the bird swallowed the grapes whole with a mighty gulp, and presently flew away with one in his bill for the refreshment of his family, whose vibratory clamour in an althea bush hard by mingled with the drone of the grasshoppers in the wet grass, louder than ever since the rain, and the persistent strophe and antistrophe of the frogs down on the bank of the mill-pond. 'did they git enny shower up in the mounting, amos?' demanded his mother, as she sat knitting on the porch--a thin little woman, with a nervous, uncertain eye and a drawling, high-pitched voice. 'naw'm,' said amos, 'not ez i knows on.' 'i reckon ye'd hev knowed ef ye hed got wet,' she said, with asperity. 'ye hain't got much feelin', no ways--yer manners shows it--but i 'low ye _would_ feel the rain ef it kem down right smart, or ef ye war streck by lightnin'.' there was no retort, and from the subtle disappointment in the little woman's eye it might have seemed that to inaugurate a controversy would have been more filial, so bereft of conversational opportunity was her lonely life, where only a 'gang o' men loped 'round the mill.' she knitted on with a sharp clicking of the needles for a time, carrying the thread on a gnarled fourth finger, which seemed unnaturally active for that member, and somehow officious. 'i'll be bound ye went ter cayce's house,' she said aggressively. there was another long pause. the empty dwelling behind them was so still that one could hear the footsteps of an intruding rooster, as he furtively entered at the back door. 'shoo!' she said, shaking her needles at him, as she bent forward and saw him standing in the slant of the sunshine, all his red and yellow feathers burnished. he had one foot poised motionless, and looked at her with a reproving side-glance, as if he could not believe he had caught the drift of her remarks. another gesture, more pronounced than the first, and he went scuttling out, his wings half spread and his toe-nails clattering on the puncheon floor. 'ye went ter cayce's, i'll be bound, and hyar ye be, with nuthin' ter tell. ef i war free ter jounce 'round the mounting same ez the idle, shif'less men-folks, who hev got nuthin' ter do but eye a mill ez the water works, i'd hev so much ter tell whenst i got home that ye'd hev ter tie me in a cheer ter keep me from talkin' myself away, like somebody happy with religion. an' hyar ye be, actin' like ye hed no mo' gift o' speech'n the rooster. shoo! shoo! whar did ye go, ennyhow, when ye war on the mounting?' 'a-huntin',' said amos. 'huntin' d'rindy cayce, i reckon. an' ye never got her, ter jedge from yer looks. an' i ain't got the heart ter blame the gal. sech a lonesome, say-nuthin' husband ye'd make!' the sharp click of her knitting-needles filled the pause. but her countenance had relaxed. she was in a measure enjoying the conversation, since the spice of her own share atoned for the lack of news or satisfactory response. 'air old mis' cayce's gyarden-truck suff'rin' fur rain?' there was a gleam of hopeful expectation behind her spectacles. with her reeking 'gyarden-spot' dripping with raindrops, and the smell of thyme and sage and the damp mould on the air, she could afford some pity as an added flavour for her pride. 'never looked ter see,' murmured her son, between two long whiffs from his pipe. his mother laid her knitting on her lap. 'i'll be bound, amos jeemes, ez ye never tole her how 'special our'n war a-thrivin' this season.' 'naw'm,' said amos, a trifle more promptly than usual, 'i never. 'fore i'd go a-crowin' over old mis' cayce 'bout'n our gyarden-truck i'd see it withered in a night, like jonah's gourd.' 'it's the lord's han',' said his mother quickly, in self-justification. 'i ain't been prayin' fur no drought in mis' cayce's gyarden-spot.' another long pause ensued. the sun shining through a bunch of grapes made them seem pellucid globes of gold and amber and crimson among others darkly purple in the shadow. the mocking-bird came once more a-foraging. a yellow and red butterfly flickered around in the air, as if one of the tiger-lilies there by the porch had taken wings and was wantoning about in the wind. on the towering bald of the mountain a cloud rested, obscuring the dome--a cloud of dazzling whiteness--and it seemed as if the mountain had been admitted to some close communion with the heavens. below, the colour was intense, so deeply green were the trees, so clear and sharp a grey were the crags, so blue were the shadows in the ravines. amos was looking upward. he looked upward much of the time. 'see old groundhog?' inquired his mother, suddenly. 'whar?' he demanded with a start, breaking from his reverie. 'laws-a-massy, boy!' she exclaimed, in exasperation. 'whenst ye war up ter the cayces', this mornin'.' 'naw'm,' said amos. he had never admitted, save by indirection, that he had been to the cayces'. 'war he gone ter the still?' 'i never axed.' 'i s'pose not, bein' ez ye never drinks nuthin' but buttermilk, do ye?'--this with a scathing inflection. she presently sighed deeply. 'waal, waal. the millinium an' the revenue will git thar rights one of these days, i hopes an' prays. i'm a favorin' of ennythink ez'll storp sin an' a-swillin' o' liquor. tax 'em all, i say! tax the sinners!' she had assumed a pious aspect, and spoke in a tone of drawling solemnity, with a vague idea that the whisky tax was in the interest of temperance, and the revenue department was a religious institution. the delusions of ignorance! 'thar ain't ez much drunk nohow now ez thar useter war. i 'members when i war a gal whisky war so cheap that up to the store at the settlemint they'd hev a bucket set full o' whisky an' a gourd, free fur all comers, an' another bucket alongside with water ter season it. an' the way that thar water lasted war surprisin'--that it war! nowadays ye ain't goin' to find liquor so plenty nowhar, 'cept mebbe at old groundhog's still.' amos made no reply. his eyes were fixed on the road. a man on an old white horse had emerged from the woods, and was slowly ambling toward the mill. the crazy old structure was like a caricature; it seemed that only by a lapse of all the rules of interdependent timbers did it hang together, with such oblique disregard of rectangles. its doors and windows were rhomboidal; its supports tottered in the water. the gate was shut. the whir was hushed. a sleep lay upon the pond, save where the water fell like a silver veil over the dam. even this motion was dreamy and somnambulistic. on the other side of the stream the great sandstone walls of the channel showed the water-marks of flood and fall of past years, cut in sharp levels and registered in the rock. they beetled here and there, and the verdure on the summits looked over and gave the deep waters below the grace of a dense and shady reflection. above the dark old roof on every hand the majestic encompassing mountains rose against the sky, and the cove nestled sequestered from the world in this environment. the man on the gaunt white horse suddenly paused, seeing the mill silent and lonely; his eyes turned to the little house farther down the stream. 'hello!' he yelled. 'i kem hyar ter git some gris' groun'.' 'grin' yer gris' yerse'f,' vociferated the miller, cavalierly renouncing his vocation. 'i hev no mind ter go a-medjurin' o' toll.' thus privileged, the stranger dismounted, went into the old mill, himself lifted the gate, and presently the musical whir broke forth. it summoned an echo from the mountain that was hardly like a reflection of its simple, industrial sound, so elfin, so romantically faint, so fitful and far, it seemed! the pond awoke, the water gurgled about the wheel, the tail-race was billowy with foam. presently there was silence. the gate had fallen; the farmer had measured the toll, and was riding away. as he vanished amos james rose slowly, and began to stretch his stalwart limbs. 'i'm glad ye ain't palsied with settin' so long, amos,' said his mother. 'ye seem ter hev los' interes' in everythink 'ceptin' the doorstep. lord a'mighty! i never thunk ez ye'd grow up ter be sech pore comp'ny. no wonder ez d'rindy hardens her heart! an' when ye war a baby--my sakes! i could set an' list'n ter yer jowin' all day. an' sech comp'ny ye war, when ye couldn't say a word an' hedn't a tooth in yer head!' he lived in continual rivalry with this younger self in his mother's affections. she was one of those women whose maternal love is expressed in an idolatry of infancy. she could not forgive him for outgrowing his babyhood, and regarded every added year upon his head as a sort of affront and a sorrow. he strode away, still gloomily downcast, and when the woman next looked up she saw him mounted on his bay horse, and riding toward the base of the mountain. 'waal, sir!' she exclaimed, taking off her spectacles and rubbing the glasses on her blue-checked apron, 'd'rindy cayce'll hev ter marry that thar boy ter git shet o' him. i hev never hearn o' nobody ridin' up that thar mounting twict in one day 'thout they hed suthin' 'special ter boost 'em--a-runnin' from the sher'ff, or sech.' but amos james soon turned from the road that wound in long, serpentine undulations to the mountain's brow, and pursued a narrow bridlepath, leading deep into the dense forests. it might have seemed that he was losing his way altogether when the path disappeared among the boulders of a stream, half dry. he followed the channel up the rugged, rock-girt gorge for perhaps a mile, emerging at length upon a slope of out-cropping ledges, where his horse left no hoof-print. soon he struck into the laurel, and pressed on, guided by signs distinguishable only to the initiated: some grotesque gnarling of limbs, perhaps, of the great trees that stretched above the almost impenetrable undergrowth; some projecting crag, visible at long intervals, high up and cut sharply against the sky. all at once, in the midst of the dense laurel, he came upon a cavity in the side of the mountain. the irregularly shaped fissure was more than tall enough to admit a man. he stood still for a moment, and called his own name. there was no response save the echoes, and, dismounting, he took the bridle and began to lead the horse into the cave. the animal shied dubiously, protesting against this unique translation to vague subterranean spheres. the shadow of the fissured portal fell upon them; the light began to grow dim; the dust thickened. as amos glanced over his shoulder he could see the woods without suffused with a golden radiance, and there was a freshness on the intensely green foliage as if it were newly washed with rain. the world seemed suddenly clarified, and tiny objects stood out with strange distinctness; he saw the twigs on the great trees and the white tips of the tail-feathers of a fluttering bluejay. far down the aisles of the forest the enchantment held its wonderful sway, and he felt in his own ignorant fashion how beautiful is the accustomed light. when the horse's stumbling feet had ceased to sound among the stones, the wilderness without was as lonely and as unsuggestive of human occupation or human existence as when the great smoky mountains first rose from the sea. ix. amos and his steed made their way along a narrow passage, growing wider, however, and taller, but darker, and with many short turns--an embarrassment to the resisting brute's physical conformation. suddenly there was a vague red haze in the dark, the sound of voices, and an abrupt turn brought man and horse into a great subterranean vault, where dusky distorted figures, wreathing smoke, and a flare of red fire suggested tartarus. 'hy're, amos!' cried a hospitable voice. a weird tone repeated the words with precipitate promptness. again and again the abrupt echoes spoke; far down the unseen blackness of the cave a hollow whisper announced his entrance, and he seemed mysteriously welcomed by the unseen powers of the earth. he was not an imaginative man nor observant, but the upper regions were his sphere, and he had all the acute sensitiveness incident to being out of one's element. even after he had seated himself he noted a far, faint voice crying, 'hy're, amos!' in abysmal depths explored only by the sound of his name. and here it was that old groundhog cayce evaded the law, and ran his still, and defied the revenue department, and maintained his right to do as he would with his own. 'lord a'mighty, air the corn mine, or no?' he would argue. 'air the orchard mine, or the raiders'? an' what ails me ez i can't make whisky an' apple-jack same ez in my dad's time, when him an' me run a sour mash still on the top o' the mounting in the light o' day, up'ards o' twenty year, an' never hearn o' no raider. tell me that's agin the law, nowadays! waal, now, who made that law? i never; an' i ain't a-goin' ter abide by it, nuther. ez sure ez ye air born, it air jes' a yankee trick fotched down hyar by the fed'ral army. an' if i hed knowed they war goin' ter gin tharse'fs ter sech persecutions arter the war, i dunno how i'd hev got my consent ter fit alongside of 'em like i done fower year fur the union.' a rude furnace made of fire-rock was the prominent feature of the place, and on it glimmered the pleasing rotundities of a small copper still. the neck curved away into the obscurity. there was the sound of gurgling water, with vague babbling echoes; for the never-failing rill of an underground spring, which rose among the rocks, was diverted to the unexpected purpose of flowing through the tub where the worm was coiled, and of condensing the precious vapours, which dripped monotonously into their rude receiver at the extremity of the primitive fixtures. the iron door of the furnace was open now as ab cayce replenished the fire. it sent out a red glare, revealing the dark walls; the black distances; the wreaths of smoke, that were given a start by a short chimney, and left to wander away and dissipate themselves in the wide subterranean spaces; and the uncouth, slouching figures and illuminated faces of the distillers. they lounged upon the rocks or sat on inverted baskets and tubs, and one stalwart fellow lay at length upon the ground. the shadows were all grotesquely elongated, almost divested of the semblance of humanity, as they stretched in unnatural proportions upon the rocks. amos james's horse cast on the wall an image so gigantic that it seemed as if the past and the present were mysteriously united, and he stood stabled beside the grim mastodon whom the cave had sheltered from the rigours of his day long before groundhog cayce was moved to seek a refuge. the furnace door clashed; the scene faded; only a glittering line of vivid white light, emitted between the ill-fitting door and the unhewn rock, enlivened the gloom. now and then, as one of the distillers moved, it fell upon him, and gave his face an abnormal distinctness in the surrounding blackness, like some curiously cut onyx. 'waal, amos,' said a voice from out the darkness, 'i'm middlin' glad ter see you-uns. hev a drink.' a hand came out into the gleaming line of light extending with a flourish of invitation a jug of jovial aspect. 'don't keer ef i do,' said amos politely. he lifted the jug, and drank without stint. the hand received it back again, shook it as if to judge of the quantity of its contents, and then, with a gesture of relish, raised it to an unseen mouth. 'enny news 'round the mill, amos?' demanded his invisible pot companion. 'none ez i knows on,' drawled amos. 'grind some fur we-uns ter-morrer?' asked ab. 'i'll grind yer bones, ef ye'll send 'em down,' said amos accommodatingly. 'all's grist ez goes ter the hopper. how kem you-uns ter git the nightmare 'bout'n the raiders? i waited fur sol an' the corn right sharp time wednesday mornin'; jes' hed nuthin' ter do but ter sot an' suck my paws, like a b'ar in winter, till 't war time ter put out an' go ter the gaynder-pullin'.' 'waal'--there was embarrassment in the tones of the burly shadow, and all the echoes were hesitant as groundhog cayce replied in ab's stead: 'mirandy jane 'lowed ez she hed seen a strange man 'bout'n the spring, an' thought it war a raider--though he'd hev been in a mighty ticklish place fur a raider, all by himself. mirandy jane hev fairly got the jim-jams, seein' raiders stiddier snakes; we-uns can't put no dependence in the gal. an' mam, she drempt the raiders hed camped on chilhowee mounting. an' d'rindy, she turned fool: fust she 'lowed ez we-uns would all be ruined ef we went ter the gaynder-pullin', an' then she war powerful interrupted when we 'lowed we wouldn't go, like ez ef she wanted us ter go most awful. i axed this hyer pa'son kelsey, ez rid by that mornin', ef he treed enny raiders in his mind. an' he 'lowed none, 'ceptin' the devil a-raidin' 'roun' his own soul. but 'mongst 'em we-uns jest bided away that day. i wouldn't hev done it, 'ceptin' d'rindy tuk ter talkin' six ways fur sunday, an' she got me plumb catawampus, so ez i didn't rightly know what i wanted ter do myself.' it was a lame story for old groundhog cayce to tell. even the hesitating echoes seemed ashamed of it. mirandy jane's mythical raider, and mam's dream, and d'rindy's folly--were these to baffle that stout-hearted old soldier? amos james said no more. if old cayce employed an awkward subterfuge to conceal the enterprise of the rescue, he had no occasion to intermeddle. somehow, the strengthening of his suspicions brought amos to a new realization of his despair. he sought to modify it by frequent reference to the jug, which came his way at hospitably short intervals. but he had a strong head, and had seen the jug often before; and although he thought his grief would be alleviated by getting as drunk as a 'fraish b'iled ow_el_,' that consummation of consolation was coy and tardy. he was only mournfully frisky after a while, feeling that he should presently be obliged to cut his throat, yet laughing at his own jokes when the moonshiners laughed, then pausing in sudden seriousness to listen to the elfin merriment evoked among the lurking echoes. and he sang, too, after a time, a merry catch, in a rich and resonant voice, with long, dawdling, untutored cadences and distortions of effect--sudden changes of register, many an abrupt crescendo and diminuendo, and 'spoken' interpolations and improvisations, all of humorous intent. the others listened with the universal greedy appetite for entertainment which might have been supposed to have dwindled and died of inanition in their serious and deprived lives. pete cayce first revolted from the strain on his attention, subordination, and acquiescence. it was not his habit to allow any man to so completely absorb public attention. 'look-a-hyar, amos, fur gawd's sake, shet up that thar foolishness!' he stuttered at last. 'thar's n-no tellin' how f-f-fur yer survigrus bellerin' kin be hearn. an' besides, ye'll b-b-bring the rocks down on to we-uns d-d'rectly. they tell me that it air dangerous ter f-f-f-fire pistols an' jounce 'round in a cave. bring the roof down.' 'that air jes' what i'm a-aimin' ter do, pete,' said amos, with his comical gravity. 'i went ter meetin' week 'fore las', an' the pa'son read 'bout samson; an' it streck my ambition, an' i'm jes' a-honin' ter pull the roof down on the philistine.' 'look-a-hyar, amos jeemes, ye air the b-b-banged-est critter on this hyar m-mounting! jes' kem hyar ter our s-still an' c-c-call me a ph-ph-philistine.' the jug had not been stationary, and as pete thrust his aggressive face forward the vivid, quivering line of light from the furnace showed that it was flushed with liquor, and that his eyes were bloodshot. his gaunt head, with long, colourless hair, protruding teeth, and homely, prominent features, as it hung there in the isolating effect of that sharp and slender gleam--the rest of his body cancelled by the darkness--had a singularly unnatural and sinister aspect. the light glanced back with a steely glimmer. the drunken man had a knife in his hand. 'storp it, now!' his younger brother drawlingly admonished him. 'who be ye a-goin' ter cut?' 'call m-m-me a philistine! i'll bust his brains out!' asseverated pete. 'ye're drunk, pete,' said old groundhog cayce, in an explanatory manner. there was no move to defend the threatened guest. perhaps amos james was supposed to be able to take care of himself. 'call me a ph-philistine--a philistine!' exclaimed pete, steadying himself on the keg on which he sat, and peering with wide, light eyes into the darkness, as if to mark the whereabouts of the enemy before dealing the blow. 'jes' got insurance--c-c-c-call me a philistine!' 'shet up, pete. i'll take it back,' said amos gravely. '_i'm_ the philistine myself; fur pa'son read ez samson killed a passel o' philistines with the jawbone of an ass, an' ez long ez ye be talkin' i feel in an' about dead.' amos james had bent close attention to the sermon, and had brought as much accurate information from meeting as was consistent with hearing so sensational a story as samson's for the first time. in the mountains men do not regard church privileges as the opportunity of a quiet hour to meditate on secular affairs, while a gentle voice drones on antiquated themes. to amos, samson was the latest thing out. pete did not quite catch the full meaning of this sarcasm. he was content that amos should seem to recant. he replaced his knife, but sat surly and muttering, and now and then glancing toward the guest. meantime that vivid white gleam quivered across the dusky shadows; now and then the horse pawed, raising martial echoes, as of squadrons of cavalry, among the multitudinous reverberations of the place, while his stall-companion, that the light could conjure up, was always noiseless; the continuous fresh sound of water gurgling over the rocks mingled with the monotonous drip from the worm; occasionally a gopher would skud among the heavily booted feet, and the jug's activity was marked by the shifting for an interval of the red sparks which indicated the glowing pipes of the burly shadows around the still. the stories went on, growing weird as the evening outside waned, in some unconscious sympathy with the melancholy hour--for in these sunless depths one knew nor day nor night--stories of bloody vendettas, and headless ghosts, and strange provisions, and unnamed terrors. and amos james recounted the fable of a mountain witch, interspersed with a wild vocal refrain: cu-vo! cu-vo! kil-dar! kil-dar! kil-dar! thus she called her hungry dogs that fed on human flesh, while the winds were awhirl, and the waning moon was red, and the big smoky lay in densest gloom. the white line of light had yellowed, deepened, grown dull. the furnace needed fuel. ab suddenly leaned down and threw open the door. the flare of the pulsing coals resuscitated the dim scene and the long dun-coloured shadows. here in the broad red light were the stolid, meditative faces of the distillers, each with his pipe in his mouth and his hat on his head; it revealed the dilated eye and unconsciously dramatic gesture of the story-teller, sitting upon a barrel in their midst; the horse was distinct in the background, now dreaming and now lifting an impatient fore-foot, and his gigantic stall-mate, the simulacrum of the mastodon, moved as he moved, but softly, that the echoes might not know--the immortal echoes, who were here before him, and here still. and behind all were the great walls of the vault, with its vague apertures leading to unexplored recesses; with many jagged ledges, devoted to shelf-like usage, and showing here a jug, and here a shot-pouch, and here a rat--fat and sleek, thanks to the plenteous waste of mash and grain--looking down with a glittering eye, and here a bag of meal, and here a rifle. suddenly amos james broke off. 'who's that?' he exclaimed, and all the echoes were sharply interrogative. there was a galvanic start among the moonshiners. they looked hastily about--perhaps for the witch, perhaps for the frightful dogs, perhaps expecting the materialization of mirandy jane's raider. amos had turned half-round and was staring intently beyond the still. the man lying on the ground had shifted his position; his soft brown hat was doubled under his head. the red flare showed its long, tawny, tangled hair, of a hue unusual enough to be an identification. his stalwart limbs were stretched out at length; the hands he thrust above his head were unmanacled; as he moved there was the jingle of spurs. 'why, thar be rick tyler!' exclaimed amos james. 'hev ye jes' fund that out?' drawled the man on the ground, with a jeering inflection. 'w-w-w-whyn't ye lie low, rick?' demanded pete aggressively. 'ef ever thar war a empty cymblin', it's yer head. amos an' that thar thin-lipped sneak ez called hisself a dep'ty air thick'n thieves.' there was no hesitation in amos james's character. he leaned forward suddenly and clutched pete by the throat, and the old man and solomon were fain to interfere actively to prevent that doughty member of the family from being throttled on the spot. pending the interchange of these amenities, rick tyler lay motionless on the ground; ab calmly continued his task of replenishing the fire; and ben asked, in a low monotone, the favour of leaving the furnace-door open for a 'spell, whilst i unkiver the kag in the corner, an' fill the jug, an' kiver the kag agin keerful, 'kase i don't want no rat in mine.' when pete, with a scarlet face and starting eyes and a throat full of complicated coughs and gurgles, was torn out of the young miller's strong hands, old groundhog cayce remonstrated: 'lord a'mighty, boys! can't ye set an' drink yer liquor sociable, 'thout clinchin' that-a-way? what did pete do ter ye, amos?' 'nuthin'; he dassent,' said the panting amos. 'did he hurt yer feelin's?' asked the old man with respectful sympathy. 'yes, he did,' said amos, admitting vulnerability in that tender ã¦sthetic organ. 'never none--now--koo--koo!' coughed pete. 'he hev got no f-f-f-feelin's, koo--koo! i hev hearn his own m-mam say so a-many a time.' 'he 'lowed,' said amos, his black eyes flashing indignantly, his face scarlet, the perspiration thick in his black hair, 'ez i'd tell the deputy--kase he war toler'ble lively hyar, an' i got sorter friendly with him when i hed ter sarve on the posse--ez i seen rick tyler hyar. mebbe ye think i want two hundred dollars--hey!' he made a gesture as if to seize again his late antagonist. 'a-koo, koo, koo!' coughed pete, moving cautiously out of reach. all the echoes clamoured mockingly with the convulsive sound, and thus multiplied they gave a ludicrous suggestion of the whooping cough. 'i dunno, mr. cayce,' said amos, with some dignity, addressing the old man, 'what call ye hev got ter consort with them under indictment for murder, an' offenders agin the law. but hevin' seen rick tyler hyar in a friendly way along o' you-uns, he air ez safe from me ez ef he war under my own roof.' rick tyler drew himself up on his elbow, and turned upon the speaker a face inflamed by sudden passion. 'go tell the dep'ty!' he screamed. 'i'll take no faviors from ye, amos jeemes. kem on! arrest me yerse'f!' he rose to his feet, and held out his bruised and scarred hands, smiting them together as if he were again handcuffed. the light fell full on his clothes, tattered by his briery flight, the long dishevelment of his yellow hair, his burning face, and the blazing fury in his brown eyes. 'kem on! arrest me yerse'f--ye air ekal ter it. i kin better bide the law than ter take faviors from you-uns. kem on! arrest me!' once more he held out his free hands as if for the manacles. their angry eyes met. then, as amos james still sat silent and motionless on the barrel, rick tyler turned, and with a gesture of desperation again flung himself on the ground. there was a pause. two of the moonshiners were arranging to decant some liquor into a keg, and were lighting a tallow dip for the purpose. in the dense darkness of the recess where they stood it took on a large and lunar aspect. a rayonnant circle hovered attendant upon it; the shadows about it were densely black, and in the sharp and colourless contrasts the two bending figures of the men handling the keg stood out in peculiar distinctness of pose and gesture. the glare of the fire in the foreground deepened to a dull orange, to a tawny red, even to a dusty brown, in comparison with the pearly, luminous effect of the candle. the tallow dip was extinguished when the task was complete. presently the furnace door clashed, the group of distillers disappeared as with a bound, and that long, livid line of pulsating light emitted by the ill-fitting door cleft the gloom like a glittering blade. 'i s'pose ye don't mean ter be sassy in 'special, amos, faultin' yer elders, talkin' 'bout consortin' with them under indictment,' said old groundhog cayce's voice. 'but i dunno ez ye hev enny call ter sot yerse'f up in jedgmint on my actions.' 'waal,' said amos, apologetic, 'i never went ter say nuthin' like faultin' nohow. sech ez yer actions i leaves ter you-uns.' 'ye mought ez well,' said the elder, unconsciously satiric. 'the bible 'lows ez every man air a law unto hisself. an' i hev fund i gits peace mos'ly in abidin' by the law ez kems from within. an' i kin see no jestice in my denyin' a rifle an' a lot o' lead an' powder ter a half-starvin' critter ter save his life. rick war bound ter starve, hid out, ef he hed nuthin' ter shoot deer an' wild varmints with, bein' ez his rifle war tuk by the sher'ff. i knows no law ez lays on me the starvin' o' a human. an' when that boy kem a-cropin' hyar ter the still this evenin', he got ez fair-spoke a welcome, an' ez much liquor ez he'd swaller, same ez enny comer on the mounting. i dunno ez he air a offender agin the law, an' 'tain't my say-so. i ain't a jedge, an' thar ain't enough o' me fur a jury.' this lucid discourse, its emphasis doubled by the iterative echoes, had much slow, impersonal effect as it issued from the darkness. it was to amos james, accustomed to rural logic, as if reason, pure and simple, had spoken. his heart had its own passionate protest. not that he disapproved the loan of the rifle, but he distrusted the impulse which prompted it. to find the hunted fugitive here among the distillers added the force of conviction to his suspicions of a rescue and its instigation. the personal interest which he had in all this annulled for a moment his sense of the becoming, and defied the constraints of etiquette. 'how'd rick tyler say he got away from the sher'ff, ennyhow?' he demanded bluntly. 'he warn't axed,' said old groundhog cayce quietly. a silence ensued, charged with all the rigours of reproof. 'an' i dunno ez ye hev enny call ter know, amos jeemes,' cried out rick, still prone upon the ground. 'that won't holp the sher'ff none now. ye'd better be studyin' 'bout settin' him on the trail ter ketch me agin.' the line of light from the rift in the furnace door showed a yellow gleam in the blackness where his head lay. amos james fixed a burning eye upon it. 'i'll kem thar d'rec'ly an' tromp the life out'n ye, rick tyler. i'll grind yer skull ter pieces with my boot-heel, like ez ef ye war a copper-head.' 'laws-a-massy, boys, sech a quar'lin', fightin' batch ez ye be! i fairly gits gagged with my liquor a-listenin' ter ye--furgits how ter swaller,' said groundhog cayce, suddenly fretful. 'leave rick be, amos jeemes,' he added, in an authoritative tone. and then, with a slant of his head toward rick tyler, lying on the ground, 'hold yer jaw down thar!' and the two young men lapsed into silence. the spring, rising among the barren rocks, chanted aloud its prescient sylvan song of the woodland ways, and the glancing beam, and the springing trout, and the dream of the drifting leaf, as true of tone and as delicately keyed to the dryadic chorus in the forest without as if the waters that knew but darkness and the cavernous sterilities were already in the liberated joys of the gorge yonder, reflecting the sky, wantoning with the wind, and swirling down the mountain side. the spirits dripped from the worm, the furnace roared, the men's feet grated upon the rocks as they now and then shifted their position. 'waal,' said amos at last, rising, 'i'd better be a-goin'. 'pears like ez i hev wore out my welcome hyar.' he stood looking at the line of light, remembering desolately dorinda's buoyant, triumphant mood. its embellishment of her beauty had smitten him with an afflicted sense of her withdrawal from all the prospects of his future. he had thought that he had given up hope, but he began to appreciate, when he found rick tyler in intimate refuge with her kindred, how sturdy an organism was that heart of his, and to realize that to reduce it to despair must needs cost many a throe. 'i hev wore out my welcome, i reckon,' he repeated dismally. 'i dunno what ails ye ter say that. ye hev jes' got tired o' comin' hyar, i reckon,' said old man cayce. 'wore out yer welcome--shucks!' 'mighty nigh wore me out,' said pete, remembering to cough. 'waal,' said amos, slightly salved by the protestations of his host, 'i reckon it air time i war a-puttin' out, ennyhow. jes' set that thar furnace door on the jar, pete, so i kin see ter lay a-holt o' the beastis.' the door opened, the red glow flared out, the figures of the moonshiners all reappeared in a semicircle about the still, and as amos james took the horse's bridle and led him away from the wall the mastodon vanished, with noiseless tread, into the dim distance of the unmeasured past. the horse's hoofs reverberated down the cavernous depths, echoed, re-echoed, multiplied indefinitely. even after the animal had been led through the tortuous windings of the passage his tramp resounded through the gloom. x. the displeasure of his fellows is a slight and ephemeral matter to a man whose mind is fixed on a great essential question, charged with moral gravity and imperishable consequence; whose physical courage is the instinct of his nature, conserved by its active exercise in a life of physical hardship. kelsey had forgotten the gander-pulling, the impending election, the excitement of the escape, before he had ridden five miles from the settlement. he jogged along the valley road, the reins on the horse's neck, his eyes lifted to the heights. the fulness of day was on their unpeopled summits. infinity was expressed before the eye. on and on the chain of mountains stretched, with every illusion of mist and colour, with every differing grace of distance, with inconceivable measures of vastness. the grave delight in which their presence steeped the senses stirred his heart. they breathed solemnities. they lent wings to the thoughts. they lifted the soul. could he look at them and doubt that one day he should see god? he had been near--oh, surely, he had been near. kelsey was comforted as he rode on. somehow, the mountains had for his ignorant mind some coercive internal evidence of the great truths. in their exalted suggestiveness were congruities; so far from the world were they--so high above it; so interlinked with the history of all that makes the races of men more than the beasts that perish, that conserves the value of that noble idea--an immortal soul. on a mountain the ark rested; on a mountain the cross was planted; the steeps beheld the glories of the transfiguration; the lofty solitudes heard the prayers of the christ; and from the heights issued the great sermon instinct with all the moralities of every creed. how often he went up into the mountain! the thought uplifted kelsey. the flush of strong feeling touched his cheek. his eyes were fired with that sudden gleam of enthusiasm as remote from earthly impulses as the lightnings of sinai. 'an' i will preach his name!' the parson exclaimed, in a tense and thrilling voice. he checked his horse, drew out of his pocket a thumbed old bible, clumsily turned the leaves and sought for his text. no other book had he ever read: only that sublime epic, with its deep tendernesses and its mighty portents; with its subtleties of prophecy in wide and splendid phrase, and their fulfilment in the barren record of the simplest life; with all the throbbing presentment of martyrdom and doom and death, dominated by the miracle of resurrection and the potency of divinity. every detail was as clearly pictured to his mind as if, instead of the vast, unstoried stretches of the great smoky mountains, he looked upon the sanctities of the hills of judã¦a. he read as he rode along--slowly, slowly. a bird's shadow would flit across the holy page, and then away to the mountain; the winds of heaven caressed it. sometimes the pollen of flowering weeds fell upon it; for in the midst of the unfrequented road they often stood in tall rank rows, with a narrow path on either side, trodden by the oxen of the occasional team, while the growth bent elastically under the passing bed of the waggon. he was almost happy. the clamours of his insistent heart were still. his conscience, his memory, his self-reproach, had loosed their hold. his keen and subtile native intellect stretched its unconscious powers, and discriminated the workings of character, and reviewed the deploying of events, and measured results. he was far away, walking with the disciples. suddenly, like an aã«rolite, he was whirled from high ethereal spaces by the attraction of the earth. a man was peering from between the rails of a fence by the wayside. 'kin ye read yer book, pa'son, an' ride yer beastis all ter wunst?' he cried out with the fervour of admiration. that tree of knowledge--ah, the wily serpent! galilee--it was thousands of miles away across the deep salt seas. the parson closed his book with a smile of exultation. 'the beast don't hender me none. i kin read ennywhar,' he said, proud of the attainment. 'waal, sir!' exclaimed the other, one of that class, too numerous in tennessee, who can neither read nor write. 'air it the good book?' he demanded, with a sudden thought. 'it air the holy bible,' said the parson, handing him the book. the man eyed it with reverence. then, with a gingerly gesture, he gave it back. the parson was looking down at him, all softened and humanized by this unconscious flattery. 'waal, pa'son,' said the illiterate admirer of knowledge, with a respectful and subordinate air, 'i hearn ez ye war a-goin' ter hold fo'th up yander at the meet'n-house at the notch nex' sunday. air that a true word?' 'i 'lows ter preach thar on the nex' lord's day,' replied the parson. 'then,' with the promptness of a sudden resolution, 'i'm a-goin' ter take the old woman an' the chillen an' waggon up the big smoky ter hear the sermon. i 'low ez a man what kin ride a beastis an' read a book all ter wunst mus' be a powerful exhorter; an' mebbe ye'll lead us all ter grace.' the parson said he would be glad to see the family at the meeting-house, and presently jogged off down the road. one might regard the satisfaction of this simple scene as the due meed of his labours; one might account his pride in his attainments as a harmless human weakness. there have been those of his calling, proud, too, of a finite knowledge, and fain to conserve fame, whose conscience makes no moan--who care naught for humility, and hardly hope to be genuine. the flush of pleasure passed in a moment. his face hardened. that fire of a sublimated anger or frenzy touched his eyes. he remembered peter, the impetuous, and thomas, the doubter, and the warm generosities of the heart of him whom jesus loved, and he 'reckoned' that they would not have left him standing in the road for the joy of hearing their learning praised. he rebuked himself as caring less for the holy book than that his craft could read it. his terrible insight into motives was not dulled by a personal application. introverted upon his own heart, it was keen, unsparing, insidiously subtle. he saw his pride as if it had been another man's, except that it had no lenient mediator; for he was just to other men, even gentle. he took pitiless heed of the pettiness of his vanity; he detected pleasure that the man by the wayside should come, not for salvation, but to hear the powerful exhorter speak. he saw the instability of his high mood, of the gracious re-awaking of faith; he realized the lapse from the heights of an ecstasy at the lightest touch of temptation. 'the lord lifts me up,' he said, 'ter dash me on the groun'!' no more in judã¦a, in the holy mountains; no more among the disciples. drearily along the valley road, glaring and yellow in the sun, the book closed, the inspiration fled, journeyed the ignorant man, who would fain lay hold on a true and perfected sanctity. he despatched his errand in the valley--a secular matter, relating to the exchange of a cow and a calf. the afternoon was waning when he was again upon the slopes of the big smoky; for the roads were rough, and he had travelled slowly, always prone to 'favour the beastis.' he stopped in front of cayce's house, where he saw dorinda spinning on the porch, and preferred a request for a gourd of water. the old woman heard his voice, and came hastily out with hospitable insistence that he should dismount and 'rest his bones, sence he hed rid fur, an' tell the news from the settlemint.' there was a cordial contrast between this warm esteem and his own unkind thoughts, and he suffered himself to be persuaded. he sat under the hop-vines, and replied in monosyllables to the old woman's animated questions, and gave little news of the excitements at the settlement which they had not already heard. dorinda, her wheel awhirl, one hand lifted holding the thread, the other poised in the air to control the motion, her figure thrown back in a fine, alert pose, looked at him with a freshened pity for his downcast spirit, and with intuitive sympathy. he sorrowed not because of the things of this world, she felt. it was some high and spiritual grief, such as might pierce a prophet's heart. her eyes, full of the ideality of the sentiment, dwelt upon him reverently. he marked the look. with his overwhelming sense of his sins, he was abased under it, and he scourged himself as a hypocrite. 'thar air goin' ter be preachin' at the meetin'-house sunday, i hearn,' she observed presently, thinking this topic more meet for his discussion than the 'gaynder-pullin'' and the escape, and such mundane matters. the tempered green light fell upon her fair face, adding a delicacy to its creamy tint; her black hair caught a shifting golden flake of sunshine as she moved back and forth; her red lips were slightly parted. the grasshoppers droned in the leaves an accompaniment to the whirr of her wheel. the 'prince's feathers' bloomed in great clumsy crimson tufts close by the step. mirandy jane, seated on an inverted noggin, listened tamely to the conversation, her wild, uncertain eyes fixed upon the parson's face; she dropped them, and turned her head with a shying gesture, if by chance his glance fell upon her. from this shadowed, leafy recess the world seen through the green hop-vines was all in a great yellow glare. 'be you-uns a-goin' ter hold fo'th,' demanded the old woman, 'or brother jake tobin?' 'it air me ez air a-goin' ter preach,' he said. 'then i'm a-comin',' she declared promptly. 'it do me good ter hear you-uns fairly make the sinners spin. sech a gift o' speech ye hev got! i fairly see hell when ye talk o' thar doom. i see wrath an' i smell brimstone. lord be thanked, i hev fund peace! an' i'm jes' a-waitin' fur the good day ter come when the lord'll rescue me from yearth!' she threw herself back in her chair, closing her eyes in a sort of ecstasy, and beating her hands on her knees, her feet tapping in rhythm. 'though ef ye'll b'lieve me,' she added, sitting up straight with an appalling suddenness, and opening her eyes, 'd'rindy thar ain't convicted yit. oh, child,' in an enthused tone of reproof, 'time is short--time is short!' 'waal,' said dorinda, speaking more quickly than usual, and holding up her hand to stop the wheel, 'i hev hed no chance sca'cely ter think on salvation, bein' ez the weavin' war hendered some--an'----' she paused in embarrassment. 'that air a awful word ter say--puttin' the lord ter wait! whyn't ye speak the truth ter her, pa'son? fix her sins on her.' 'sometimes,' said the parson abruptly, looking at her as if he saw more or less than was before him, 'i dunno ef i hev enny call ter say a word. i hev preached ter others, an' i'm like ter be a castaway myself.' the old woman stared at him in dumb astonishment. but he was rising to take leave--a simple ceremony. he unhitched the horse at the gate, mounted, and, with a silent nod to the group on the porch, rode slowly away. old mrs. cayce followed him with curious eyes, peering out in the gaps of the hop-vines. 'd'rindy,' she said, 'that thar pa'son kelsey--we-uns useter call him nuthin' but hi--he's got suthin' heavy on his mind. it always 'peared ter me ez he war a mighty cur'ous man ter take up with religion an' sech. a mighty suddint boy he war--ez good a fighter ez a catamount, an' always 'mongst the evil, bold men. them he consorted with till he gin his child morphine by mistake, an' its mammy quine-iron; an' she los' her senses arterward, an' flunged herse'f off'n the bluff. 'pears like to me ez them war jedgments on him--though em'ly warn't much loss; ez triflin' a ch'ice fur a wife ez a man could make. an' now he hev got suthin' on his mind.' the girl said nothing. she stayed her wheel with one hand, holding the thread with the other, and looked over her shoulder at the receding figure riding slowly along the vista of the forest-shadowed road. then she turned, and fixed her lucent, speculative eyes on her grandmother, who continued: 'calls hisself a castaway! waal, he knows bes', bein' a prophet an' sech. but it air toler'ble comical talk fur a preacher. brother jake tobin kin hardly hold hisself together, a-waitin' fur his sheer o' the joys o' the golden shore.' 'waal, 'pears like ter me,' said mirandy jane, whose mind seemed never far from the culinary achievements to which she had been dedicated, 'ez brother jake tobin sets mo' store on chicken fixin's than on grace, an' he fattens ev'y year.' 'i hopes,' proceeded the grandmother, disregarding the interruption, and peering out again at the road where the horseman had disappeared, 'ez hi kelsey won't sot hisself ter prophesyin' evil at the meetin'; 'pears ter me he ought to be hendered, ef mought be, 'kase the wrath he foresees mos'ly kems ter pass, an' i'm always lookin' ter see him prophesy the raiders--though he hev hed the grace ter hold his hand 'bout'n the still. an' i hopes he won't hev nuthin' ter say 'bout it at the meetin' sunday.' the little log meeting-house at the notch stood high on a rugged spur of the great smoky. dense forests encompassed it on every hand, obscuring that familiar picture of mountain and cloud and cove. from its rude, glassless windows one could look out on no distant vista, save, perhaps, in the visionary glories of heaven or the climatic discomforts of hell, according to the state of the conscience, or perchance the liver. the sky was aloof and limited. the laurel tangled the aisles of the woods. sometimes from the hard benches a weary tow-headed brat might rejoice to mark in the monotony the frisking of a squirrel on a bough hard by, or a woodpecker solemnly tapping. the acorns would rattle on the roof, if the wind stirred, as if in punctuation of the discourse. the pines, mustering strong among the oaks, joined their mystic threnody to the sad-voiced quiring within. the firs stretched down long, pendulous, darkling boughs, and filled the air with their balsamic fragrance. within the house the dull light fell over a few rude benches and a platform with a chair and table, which was used as pulpit. shadows of many deep, rich tones of brown lurked among the rafters. here and there a cobweb, woven to the consistence of a fabric, swung in the air. the drone of a blue-bottle, fluttering in and out of the window in a slant of sunshine, might invade the reverent silence, as brother jake tobin turned the leaves to read the chapter. sometimes there would sound, too, a commotion among the horses without, unharnessed from the waggons and hitched to the trees; then in more than one of the solemn faces might be descried an anxious perturbation--not fear because of equine perversities, but because of the idiosyncrasies of callow human nature in the urchins left in charge of the teams. no one ventured to investigate, however, and, with that worldly discomfort contending with the spiritual exaltations they sought to foster, the rows of religionists swayed backward and forward in rhythm to the reader's voice, rising and falling in long, billowy sweeps of sound, like the ground swell of ocean waves. it was strange, looking upon their faces, and with a knowledge of the limited phases of their existence, their similarity of experience here, where a century might come and go, working no change save that, like the leaves, they fluttered awhile in the outer air with the spurious animation called life, and fell in death, and made way for new bourgeonings like unto themselves--strange to mark how they differed. here was a man of a stern, darkly religious conviction, who might either have writhed at the stake or stooped to kindle the flames; and here was an accountant soul that knew only those keen mercantile motives--the hope of reward and the fear of hell; and here was an enthusiast's eye, touched by the love of god; and here was an unfinished, hardly humanized face, that it seemed as presumptuous to claim as the exponent of a soul as the faces of the stupid oxen out-of-doors. all were earnest; many wore an expression of excited interest, as the details of the chapter waxed to a climax, like the tense stillness of a metropolitan audience before an unimagined _coup de thã©ã¢tre_. the men all sat on one side, chewing their quids; the women on the other, almost masked by their limp sun-bonnets. the ubiquitous baby--several of him--was there, and more than once babbled aloud and cried out peevishly. only one, becoming uproarious, was made a public example, being quietly borne out and deposited in the ox-waggon, at the mercy of the urchins who presided over the teams, while his mother creaked in again on the tips of deprecating, anxious toes, to hear the word. brother jake tobin might be accounted in some sort a dramatic reader. he was a tall, burly man, inclining to fatness, with grizzled hair reached back from his face. he cast his light grey eyes upward at the end of every phrase, with a long, resonant 'ah!' he smote the table with his hands at emphatic passages; he rolled out denunciatory clauses with a freshened relish which intimated that he considered one of the choicest pleasures of the saved might be to gloat over the unhappy predicament of the damned. he chose for his reading paragraphs that, applied to aught but spiritual enemies and personified sins, might make a civilized man quake for his dearest foe. he paused often and interpolated his own observations, standing a little to the side of the table, and speaking in a conversational tone. 'ain't that so, my brethren an' sisters! but _we_ air saved in the covenant--ah!' then, clapping his hands with an ecstatic upward look, 'i'm so happy, i'm so happy!'--he would go on to read with the unction of immediate intention, 'let death seize them! let them go down quick into hell!' he wore a brown jeans suit, the vest much creased in the regions of his enhanced portliness, its maker's philosophy not having taken into due account his susceptibility to 'chicken fixin's.' after concluding the reading, he wiped the perspiration from his brow with his red bandanna handkerchief, and placed it around the collar of his unbleached cotton shirt, as he proceeded to the further exertion of 'lining out' the hymn. the voice broke forth in those long, lingering cadences that have a melancholy, spiritual, yearning effect, in which the more tutored church music utterly fails. the hymn rose with a solemn jubilance, filling the little house, and surging out into the woods; sounding far across unseen chasms and gorges, and rousing in the unsentient crags an echo with a testimony so sweet, charged with so devout a sentiment, that it seemed as if with this voice the very stones would have cried out, had there been dearth of human homage when christ rode into jerusalem. then the sudden pause, the failing echo, the sylvan stillness, and the chanting voice 'lined out' another couplet. it was well, perhaps, that this part of the service was so long; the soul might rise on its solemnity, might rise on its aspiration. it came to an end at last. another long pause ensued. kelsey, sitting on the opposite side of the table, his elbow on the back of his chair, his hand shading his eyes, made no movement. brother jake tobin looked hard at him, with an expression which in a worldly man we should pronounce exasperation. he hesitated for a moment in perplexity. there was a faint commotion, implying suppressed excitement in the congregation. parson kelsey's idiosyncrasies were known by more than one to be a thorn in the side of the frankly confiding brother jake tobin. 'whenst i hev got him in the pul_pit_ alongside o' me,' he would say to his cronies, 'i feel ez onlucky an' weighted ez ef i war a-lookin' over my lef' shoulder at the new moon on a november friday. i feel ez oncommon ez ef he war a deer, or suthin', ez hev got no salvation in him. an' eff he don't feel the sperit ter pray, he _won't_ pray, an' i hev got ter surroun' the throne o' grace by myself. he _kin_ pray ef he hev a mind ter, an' he _do_ seem ter hev hed a outpourin' o' the sperit o' prophecy; but he hev made me 'pear mighty comical 'fore the lord a many a time, when i hev axed him ter open his mouth an' he hev kep' it shut.' brother jake did not venture to address him now. an alternative was open to him. 'brother reuben bates, will ye lead us in prayer?' he said to one of the congregation. they all knelt down, huddled like sheep in the narrow spaces between the benches, and from among them went up the voice of supplication, that anywhere and anyhow has the commanding dignity of spiritual communion, the fervour of exaltation, and all the moving humility of the finite leaning upon the infinite. ignorance was annihilated, so far as brother reuben bates's prayer was concerned. it grasped the fact of immortality--all worth knowing!--and humble humanity was presented as possessing the intimate inherent principles of the splendid fruitions of eternity. he had few words, brother reuben, and the aspirated 'ah!' was long drawn often, while he swiftly thought of something else to say. brother jake tobin, after the manner in vogue among them, broke out from time to time with a fervour of assent. 'yes, my master!' he would exclaim in a wild, ecstatic tone. 'bless the lord!' 'that's a true word!' 'i'm so happy!' always these interpolations came opportunely when brother reuben seemed entangled in his primitive rhetoric, and gave him a moment for improvisation. it was doubtless hi kelsey's miserable misfortune that his acute intuition should detect in the reverend tones a vainglorious self-satisfaction, known to no one else, not even to the speaker; that he should accurately gauge how brother jake tobin secretly piqued himself upon his own gift in prayer, never having experienced these stuttering halts, never having needed these pious boosts; that he should be aware, ignorant as he was, of that duality of cerebration by which brother jake's mind was divided between the effect on god, bending down a gracious ear, and the impression of these ecstatic outbursts on the congregation; that the petty contemptibleness of it should depress him; that its dissimulations angered him. with the rigour of an upright man, he upbraided himself. he was on his knees: was he praying? were these the sincerities of faith? was this lukewarm inattention the guerdon of the sacrifice of the cross? his ideal and himself, himself and what he sought to be--oh, the gulf! the deep divisions! he gave his intentions no grace. he conceded naught to human nature. his conscience revolted at a sham. and he was a living, breathing sham--upon his knees. ah, let us have a little mercy on ourselves! most of us do. for there was brother jake tobin, with a conscience free of offence, happily unobservant of his own complicated mental processes and of the motives of his own human heart, becoming more and more actively assistant as brother reuben bates grew panicky, hesitant, and involved, and kept convulsively on through sheer inability to stop, suggesting epilepsy rather than piety. it was over at last; exhausted nature prevailed, and brother bates resumed his seat, wiping the perspiration from his brow and raucously clearing his rasped throat. there was a great scraping of the rough shoes and boots on the floor as the congregation rose, and one or two of the benches were moved backward with a harsh, grating sound. a small boy had gone to sleep during the petition, and remained in his prayerful attitude. brother jake tobin settled himself in his chair as comfortably as might be, tilted it back on its hind-legs against the wall, and wore the air of having fairly exploited his share of the services and cast off responsibility. the congregation composed itself to listen to the sermon. there was an expectant pause. kelsey remembered ever after the tumult of emotion with which he stepped forward to the table and opened the book. he turned to the new testament for his text--turned the leaves with a familiar hand. some ennobling phase of that wonderful story which would touch the tender, true affinity of human nature for the higher things--from this he would preach to-day. and yet, at the same moment, with a contrariety of feeling from which he shrank aghast, there was skulking into his mind all that grewsome company of doubts. in double file they came: fate and free agency, free will and fore-ordination, infinite mercy and infinite justice, god's loving-kindness and man's intolerable misery, redemption and damnation. he had evolved them all from his own unconscious logical faculty, and they pursued him as if he had, in some spiritual necromancy, conjured up a devil--nay, legions of devils. perhaps if he had known how they have assaulted the hearts of men in times gone past; how they have been combated and baffled, and yet have risen and pursued again; how, in the scrutiny of science and research, men have paused before their awful presence, analyzed them, philosophized about them, and found them interesting; how others, in the levity of the world, having heard of them, grudge the time to think upon them--if he had known all this, he might have felt some courage in numbers. as it was, there was no fight left in him. he closed the book with a sudden impulse. 'my frien's,' he said, 'i stan' not hyar ter preach ter-day, but fur confession.' there was a galvanic start among the congregation, then intense silence. 'i hev los' my faith!' he cried out, with a poignant despair. 'god ez gin it--ef thar is a god--hev tuk it away. you-uns kin go on. you-uns kin b'lieve. yer paster b'lieves, an' he'll lead ye ter grace--leastwise ter a better life. but fur me thar's the nethermost depths of hell, ef'--how his faith and his unfaith tried him!--'ef thar be enny hell. leastwise----stop, brother,'--he held up his hand in deprecation, for parson tobin had risen at last, with a white, scared face; nothing like this had ever been heard in all the length and breadth of the great smoky mountains--'bear with me a little; ye'll see me hyer no more. fur me thar is shame, ah! an' trial, ah! an' doubt, ah! an' despair, ah! the good things o' life hev not fallen ter me. the good things o' heaven air denied. my name is ter be a by-word an' a reproach 'mongst ye. ye'll grieve ez ye hev ever hearn the word from me, ah! ye'll be held in derision! an' i hev hed trials--none like them ez air comin', comin', down the wind. i hev been a man marked fur sorrow, an' now fur shame.' he stood erect; he looked bold, youthful. the weight of his secret, lifted now, had been heavier than he knew. in his eyes shone that strange light which was frenzy, or prophecy, or inspiration; in his voice rang a vibration they had never before heard. 'i will go forth from 'mongst ye--i that am not of ye. another shall gird me an' carry me where i would not. hell an' the devil hev prevailed agin me. pray fur me, brethren, ez i cannot pray fur myself. pray that god may yet speak ter me--speak from out o' the whurlwind.' there was a sound upon the air. was it the rising of the wind? a thrill ran through the congregation. the wild emotion, evoked and suspended in this abrupt pause, showed in pallid excitement on every face. several of the men rose aimlessly, then turned and sat down again. brought from the calm monotony of their inner life into this supreme crisis of his, they were struck aghast by the hardly comprehended situations of his spiritual drama enacted before them. and what was that sound on the air? in the plenitude of their ignorant faith, were they listening for the invoked voice of god? kelsey, too, was listening, in anguished suspense. it was not the voice of god, that man was wont to hear when the earth was young; not the rising of the wind. the peace of the golden sunshine was supreme. even a tiny cloudlet, anchored in the limited sky, would not sail to-day. on and on it came. it was the galloping of horse--the beat of hoofs, individualized presently to the ear--with that thunderous, swift, impetuous advance that so domineers over the imagination, quickens the pulse, shakes the courage. it might seem that all the ingenuity of malignity could not have compassed so complete a revenge. the fulfilment of his prophecy entered at the door. all its spiritual significance was annihilated; it was merged into a prosaic material degradation when the sheriff of the county strode, with jingling spurs, up the aisle, and laid his hand upon the preacher's shoulder. he wore his impassive official aspect. but his deputy, following hard at his heels, had a grin of facetious triumph upon his thin lips. he had been caught by the nape of the neck, and in a helpless, rodent-like attitude had been slung out of the door by the stalwart man of god, when he and amos james had ventured to the meeting-house in liquor; and neither he nor the congregation had forgotten the sensation. it was improbable that such high-handed proceedings could be instituted to-day, but the sheriff had taken the precaution to summon the aid of five or six burly fellows, all armed to the teeth. they, too, came tramping heavily up the aisle. several wore the reflection of the deputy's grin; they were the 'bold, bad men,' the prophet's early associates before 'he got religion, an' sot hisself ter consortin' with the saints.' the others were sheepish and doubtful, serving on the posse with a protest under the constraining penalties of the law. the congregation was still with a stunned astonishment. the preacher stood as one petrified, his eyes fixed upon the sheriff's face. the officer, with a slow, magisterial gesture, took a paper from his breast-pocket, and laid it upon the bible. 'ye kin read, pa'son,' he said. 'ye kin read the warrant fur yer arrest.' the deputy laughed, a trifle insolently. he turned, swinging his hat--he had done the sacred edifice the reverence of removing it--and surveyed the wide-eyed, wide-mouthed people, leaning forward, standing up, huddled together, as if he had some speculation as to the effect upon them of these unprecedented proceedings. kelsey could read nothing. his strong head was in a whirl; he caught at the table, or he might have fallen. the amazement of it--the shame of it! 'who does this?' he exclaimed, in sudden realization of the situation. already self-convicted of the blasphemy of infidelity, he stood in his pulpit in the infinitely ignoble guise of a culprit before the law. those fine immaterial issues of faith and unfaith--where were they? the torturing fear of futurity, and of a personal devil and a material hell--how impotent! his honest name--never a man had borne it that had suffered this shame; the precious dignity of freedom was riven from him; the calm securities of his self-respect were shaken for ever. he could never forget the degradation of the sheriff's touch, from which he shrank with so abrupt a gesture that the officer grasped his pistol and every nerve was on the alert. kelsey was animated at this moment by a pulse as essentially mundane as if he had seen no visions and dreamed no dreams. he had not known how he held himself--how he cherished those values, so familiar that he had forgotten to be thankful till their possession was a retrospection. he sought to regain his self-control. he caught up the paper; it quivered in his trembling hands; he strove to read it. 'rescue!' he cried out in a tense voice. 'rick tyler! i never rescued rick tyler!' the words broke the long constraint. they were an elucidation, a flash of light. the congregation looked at him with changed eyes, and then looked at each other. why did he deny? were not the words of his prophecy still on the air? had he not confessed himself an evil-doer, forsaken of god and bereft of grace? his prophecy was matched by the details of his experience. had he done no wrong he could have foreseen no vengeance. 'rick tyler ain't wuth it,' said one old man to another, as he spat on the floor. the widow of joel byers, the murdered man, fell into hysterical screaming at rick tyler's name, and was presently borne out by her friends and lifted into one of the wagons. 'it air jes' ez well that the sher'ff takes pa'son kelsey, arter that thar confession o' his'n,' said one of the dark-browed men, helping to yoke the oxen. 'we couldn't hev kep' him in the church arter sech words ez his'n, and church discipline ain't a-goin' ter cast out no sech devil ez he air possessed by.' brother jake tobin, too, appreciated that the arrest of the preacher in his pulpit was a solution of a difficult question. it was manifestly easier for the majesty of the state of tennessee to deal with him than for the little church on the big smoky. 'yer sins hev surely fund ye out, brother kelsey,' he began, with the air of having washed his hands of all responsibility. 'god would never hev fursook ye ef ye hedn't fursook the good cause fust. ye air ter be cast down--ye who hev stood high.' there was a momentary silence. 'will ye come?' said the sheriff, smiling fixedly, 'or had ye ruther be fetched?' the deputy had a pair of handcuffs dangling officiously. they rattled in rude contrast with the accustomed sounds of the place. kelsey hesitated. then, after a fierce internal struggle, he submitted meekly, and was led out from among them. xi. it is seldom, in this world at least, that a man who absents himself from church repents it with the fervour of regret which amos james experienced when he heard of the unexpected proceedings at the notch. 'sech a rumpus--dad-burn my luck--i mought never git the chance ter see agin!' he declared with a pious sense of deprivation. and he thought it had been a poor substitute to sit on the doorstep all the forenoon sunday, 'ez lonesome ez a b'ar in a hollow tree,' because his heart was yet so sore and sensitive that he could not see dorinda's pink sun-bonnet without a rush of painful emotion, or her face without remembering how she looked when he talked of the rescue of rick tyler. the 'gang o' men'--actively described by his mother as 'lopin' roun' the mill'--lingered long in conclave this morning. perhaps their views had a more confident and sturdy effect from being propounded at the top of the voice, since the insistent whirr of the busy old mill drowned all efforts in a lower tone; but it was very generally the opinion that micajah green had transcended all the license of his official character in making the arrest at the place and time he had selected. 'i knows,' commented one of the disaffected, 'ez it air the law o' tennessee ez a arrest kin be made of a sunday, ef so be it must. but 'pears like ter me 'twar nuthin' in this worl' but malice an' meanness ez tuk ch'ice o' the minute the man hed stood up ter preach the word ter arrest him. 'cajah green mus' hev tuk keerful heed o' time--jes' got thar spang on the minute.' 'he w-warn't p-p-preachin' the word,' stuttered pete cayce antagonistically. 'he hed 'jest 'lowed he w-w-warn't fit ter preach it. no more war he.' he had come down from the still to treat for meal for the mash. he was willing to wait--nay anxious, that he might bear his share in the conversation. he tilted his chair back against the wall, and nodded his long, drab-tinted locks convincingly. the water whirled around the wheel; the race foamed with prismatic bubbles, flashing opal-like in the sun; the vague lapsing of the calm depths in the pond was like some deep sigh, as of the fulness of happiness or reflective content--not pain. the water falling over the dam babbled in a meditative undertone. all sounds were dominated by the whirr of the mill in its busy, industrial monody, and within naught else could be heard, save the strident voices pitched on the miller's key and roaring the gossip. through the window could be seen the rocky banks opposite, their summits tufted with huckleberry and sassafras bushes and many a tangle of weeds; the dark shadow in the water below; the slope of the mountain rising above. a branch, too, of the low-spreading chestnut-oak, that hung above the roof of the mill, was visible, swaying close without; it cast a tempered shade over the long cobwebs depending from the rafters, whitened by the dust of the flour. the rough, undressed timbers within were of that mellow, rich tint, intermediate between yellow and brown, so restful to the eye. the floor was littered with bags of corn, on which some of the men lounged; others sat in the few chairs, and amos james leaned against the hopper. 'waal,' retorted the first speaker, 'ez fur ez 'cajah green could know, he'd hev been a-preachin' then, an' argyfyin' his own righteousness; an' 'cajah laid off ter kem a-steppin' in with his warrant ter prove him a liar an' convict him o' sinnin' agin the law 'fore his congregation.' ''pears like ter me ez pa'son war sorter forehanded,' said pete captiously. 'he hed proved hisself a liar 'fore the sher'ff got thar; saved 'cajah the trouble.' 'i hearn,' said another man, 'ez pa'son up-ed an' 'lowed ez he didn't b'lieve in the lord, an' prophesied his own downfall an' his trial 'fore the sher'ff got thar.' 'he d-d-did!' shouted pete. 'we never knowed much more arter 'cajah an' the dep'ty kem 'n we did afore. pa'son said they'd gird him an' t-t-take him whar he didn't want ter g-go--an' so they d-d-d-did.' 'd-d-did what?' mockingly demanded amos james, with unnecessary rancour, it might have seemed. pete's infirmity became more pronounced under this cavalier treatment. 't-t-take him w-w-w-whar he didn't w-w-w-want'--explosively--'ter go, ye fool!' 'whar?' 'd'ye reckon that he wanted ter go ter jail in shaftesville?' demanded pete, with scathing scorn. his sneering lip exposed his long, protruding teeth, and his hard-featured face was unusually repellant. 'hev they tuk him ter jail--the pa'son--pa'son kelsey?' exclaimed amos james, in a deeply serious tone. he looked fixedly at pete, as if he might thus express more than he said in words. there was indignation in his black eyes, even reproach. he still leaned on the hopper, but there was nothing between the stones, for he had forgotten to pour in more corn, and the industrious flurry of the unsentient old mill was like the bustle of many clever people--a great stir about nothing. he wore his broad-brimmed white hat far back on his head. his black hair was sprinkled with flour and meal, and along the curves of his features the snowy flakes had congregated in thin lines, bringing out the olive tint of his complexion, and intensifying the sombre depths of his eyes. pete returned the allusion to his defective speech by a comment on the intentness of the miller's gaze. 'ye look percisely like a ow-_el_, amos--percisely like a old horned ho-ho-hooter,' he declared, with a laugh. 'ya-as,' he continued,' they did take pa'son ter jail, bein' ez the jestice that the sher'ff tuk him afore--old squair prine, ye know--h-he couldn't decide ez ter his g-guilt. the squair air so onsartain in his mind, an' wavers so ez ter his knowledge, that i hev hearn ez ev'y day he counts his toes ter make sure he's got ten. so the old squair h-hummed and h-h-hawed over the evidence, an' he 'l-lowed ter pa'son k-kelsey ez he couldn't b'lieve nuthin' agin him right handy, ez he hed sot under his p-preachin' many a time an' profited by it; but thar war his cur'ous performin' 'bout'n the gaynder whilst rick got off, an' he hed hearn ez pa'son turned his back on the lord in a s'prisin' way. then the squair axed how he kem ter prophesy his own arrest ef he hed done nuthin' ter bring it on. the squair 'lowed 'twar a serious matter, a pen'tiary offence; an' he warn't cl'ar in his own mind; an he up-ed an' down-ed, an' twisted an' turned, an' he didn't know _what_ ter do: so the e-end war he jes' committed pa'son kelsey ter jail, ter await the action of the g-g-g-gran' jury.' pete gave this detail with some humour, wagging his head back and forth to imitate the magisterial treatment of the quandary, and putting up first one hand, then the other, stretching out first one rough boot, then the other, to signify the various points of the dilemma. amos james did not laugh. he still gravely gazed at the narrator. 'whyn't he git bail?' he demanded gruffly. 'waal, he didn't--'kase he couldn't. the old man, he fixed the bail without so much dilly-dallyin' an' jouncin' 'roun' in his mind ez ye mought expec'. he jes' put on his specs, an' polished his old bald noodle with his red h-h-handkercher, an' tuk a fraish chaw o' terbacco, an' put his nose in his book, an' tuk it out ter brag ez them crazy bugs in n-n-nashvul sent him a book ev'y time they made a batch o' new laws--pore, prideful old critter mus' hev been lyin'!--an' then he put his nose in his book agin like he smelt the law an' trailed it by scent. 'twarn't more'n haffen hour 'fore he tuk it out, an' say the least bail he could take war a thousand d-d-dollars fur the defendant, an' five hunderd fur each of his sureties--like it hev been in ev'y sech case 'fore a jestice s-sence the big smoky mountings war made.' pete laughed, his great fore-teeth, his flexible lip, his long, bony face and tangled mane giving him something of an equine aspect. his mood was unusually jocular; and, indeed, a man might experience some elation of spirit to be the only one of the 'lopers round' at the mill who had been present at a trial of such significance. the close attention accorded his every word demonstrated the interest in the subject, and the guffaws which greeted his sketch of the familiar character of the old 'squair' was a flattering tribute to his skill as a _raconteur_. the peculiar antagonism of his disposition was manifested only in the delay and digressions by which he thwarted amos james's eagerness to know why parson kelsey had not been admitted to bail. he could not accurately interpret the indignation in the miller's look, and he cared less for the threat it expressed. cowardice was not predicable of one of the cayce tribe. perhaps it might have been agreeable for the community if the discordant pete could have been more readily intimidated. 'whyn't pa'son gin the bail, then?' demanded amos again. 'he _did_ gin it,' returned pete perversely. 'waal, then, how'd the sher'ff take him ter jail?' 'right down the county road, ez ye an' me an' the rest of us hyar in the big smoky hev worked on till sech c-c-cattle ez 'cajah green an' his buzzardy dep'ty hain't got no sort'n c-chance o' breakin' thar necks over the rocks an' sech.' 'look-a-hyar, pete cayce, i'll fling ye bodaciously over that thar bluff!' exclaimed amos james, darkly frowning. a rat that had boldly run across the floor a number of times, its whiskers powdered white, its tail white also, and gaily frisking behind it, had ventured so close to the miller's motionless foot, that when he stepped hastily forward it sprang into the air with a wonderfully human expression of fright; then, in a sprawling fashion, it swiftly sped away to some dark corner, where it might meditate on the escaped danger and take heed of foolhardiness. 'w-w-what would i be a-doin' of, amos jeemes, whilst ye war a-flingin' m-me over the b-b-bluff?' demanded pete pertinently. 'what ails ye, ter git tuk so suddint in yer temper, amos?' asked another of the baffled listeners, who desired to promote peace and further the account of parson kelsey's examination before the magistrate. 'amos jes' axed ye, pete, why pa'son warn't admitted ter bail.' 'h-h-he never none now,' said pete. 'he axed w-w-why pa'son kelsey didn't g-_gin_ bail. he did gin it, but 't-twarn't accepted.' 'what fur?' demanded amos, relapsing into interest in the subject, and leaning back against the hopper. 'waal,' said pete, preferring, on the whole, the distinction of relating the proceedings before the magistrate to the more familiar diversion of bickering, 'pa'son he 'lowed he'd gin his gran'dad an' his uncle ter go on his bond; an' the squair, arter he hed stuck his nose into his book a couple o' times, an' didn't see nuthin' abolishin' gran'dads an' uncles, he tuk it out an' refraished it with a pinch o' snuff, an' 'lowed he'd take gran'dad an' uncle on the bond. an' then up jumped gid fletcher, the blacksmith over yander ter the settlemint--him it war ez swore out the warrant--and demanded the squair would hear his testimony agin it. that thar 'cajah green, he sick-ed him on, all the time. i seen gid fletcher storp suddint wunst, an' wall his eye 'round onsartin' at 'cajah green, ez ef ter make sure he war a-sayin' all right. an' 'cajah green, he batted his eye, ez much ez ter say, "go it, old hoss!" sure ez ye air born them two fixed it up aforehand.' 'i do _de_-spise that thar critter, 'cajah green!' exclaimed one of the men, who was sitting on a sack of corn in the middle of the floor. 'he fairly makes the trigger o' my rifle itch! i hope he won't kem out ahead at the august election. the big smoky'll hev ter git him beat somehows; we can't hev him aggervatin' 'roun' hyar another two year.' the fore-legs of pete cayce's tilted chair came down with a thump. he leaned forward, and with a marked gesture offered his big horny paw to the man who sat on the bag of corn; they solemnly shook hands as on a compact. amos james still leaned against the empty hopper, listening with a face of angry gloom as pete recommenced: 'waal, the squair, he put his nose inter his book agin, an' then he 'lowed he'd hear gid fletcher's say-so. an' gid--waal, he'll be mighty good metal fur the devil's anvil; i feel it in my bones how satan will rej'ice ter draw gid fletcher down small--he got up an' 'lowed ez pa'son an' his uncle an' his gran'dad didn't wuth two thousand dollars. they hed what they hed all tergether, an' 'twarn't enough--'twarn't wuth more'n a thousan', ef that. an' so the squair--waal, he looked toler'ble comical, a-nosin' in his book an' a-polishin' off the torp o' his head with his red handkercher, an' he war ez oneasy an' onsartain in his actions ez a man consortin' accidentally with a bumbly bee. he tried 'em all powerful in thar temper, bein' so gin over ter backin' an' fo'thin'; but ez he war the jestice they hed ter sot 'round an' look solemn an' respec'ful. an' at las' he said he couldn't accept the bail, ez 'twar insufficient. the dep'ty looked like h'd jump up and down, an' crack his heels together; 'peared like he war glad fur true. an' the squair, he 'lowed ez the rescue war a crime ez mought make a jestice keerful how he tuk insufficient bail. ennybody ez would holp a man ter escape from cust'dy would jump his bond hisself, though he war toler'ble keerful ter explain ter pa'son ez he never ondertook ter charge nuthin' on him, nuther. an' he hed ter bear in mind ez he oc'pied a m-m-mighty important place in the l-law--though i can't see ez it air so mighty important ter h-h-hev ter say, "i dunno; let the court decide."' amos james remembered the hopper at last. he turned, and, as he lifted a bag and poured in the corn, he asked, his eyes on the golden stream of grain: 'an' what did pa'son say when he fund it out?' pete cayce laughed, his big teeth making the facetious demonstration peculiarly pronounced. he was looking out of the window, through the leafy bough of the overspreading chestnut-oak, at the deep, transparent water in the pond. the dark, lustrous reflection of the sassafras and huckleberry bushes on the summit of the vertical rocky bank was like some mezzotinted landscape under glass. a frog on one of the ledges at the waterside was a picture of amphibious content; sometimes his mouth opened and shut quickly, with an expression, if not beautiful, implying satisfaction. pete lazily caught up a stick which he had been whittling. the slight missile flew through the air, catching the light as it went. its aim was accurate, and the next moment the monotony of the placid surface was broken by the elastically widening circles above the spot where the frog jumped in. 'the pa'son,' he said languidly, having satisfactorily concluded this exploit--'at fust it looked like the c-critter couldn't make it out--he 'peared toler'ble peaked an' white-faced, but the way he behaved ter the sher'ff 'minds me o' the tales the old men tell 'bout'n hangin' maw an' bloody feller, an' them t'other wild injuns that useter aggervate the white folks in the big smoky--proud an' straight, an' lookin' at 'cajah green ez ef he war jes' the dirt under his feet. waal, pa'son 'lowed, calm an' quiet, ez i'd be skinnin' a deer or suthin', ez he'd ruther be obligated ter his own f-folks fur that holp, but ez that couldn't be he'd git bail from others. 'twarn't m-much matter jes' till he could 'pear 'fore the court, fur nuthin' could be easier'n ter prove ez he hedn't rescued rick tyler, nor never gin offence agin the law. an' he turned round ez s-s-sure an' quiet ter pa'son tobin, who hed kem along ter see what mought be a-doin', an' sez he, "b-brother jake tobin, you-uns an' some o' the c-church folks, i know, will be 'sponsible fur the bail." an' ef ye'll b'lieve me, brother jake tobin, he got up slanch-wise, and in sech a hurry the cheer fell over ahint him; an' sez he, "naw, brother--i will call ye brother,"--like that war powerful 'commodatin'--"i kin not sot my p-people ter do sech, arter yer words yestiddy. we kin lose no money by ye--the church air pore an' the cause air needy. i kin only pray fur the devil ter l-loose his holt on ye, f-fur i perceive the devil in ye." waal, sir,' continued pete, drawing a plug of tobacco from his pocket, and gnawing on it with tugging persistence, 'christian perfesser ez i be, i felt sorter 'shamed o' brother j-jake tobin--he looked s-s-sech a skerry h-half-liver, 'feard o' losin' money! shucks! i could sca'cely keep my hands off 'n him. he looked so--so cur'ous, i wanted ter--ter'--he remembered the reverence due to the cloth--'ter trip him up,' he concluded temperately. 'an' then, ez he war a-whurlin' his fat sides around ter pick up the cheer, pa'son k-kelsey--he hed t-turned plumb bleached, like a corpse--he stood up, an' sez, "the lord hev fursaken me!" an' brother jake tobin humps around, with the cheer in his hand, an' sez, "naw, brother, naw, ye hev fursook the lord!"' 'waal,' said the man on the bag of corn, gazing meditatively at the dusty floor and at a great yellow cur who had ventured within, as a shelter from the mid-day heat, and lay at ungainly length asleep near the door, 'i dunno ez i kin blame brother jake tobin. 'twould hev made a mighty scandal ter keep pa'son kelsey in the church, arter what he said agin' the faith. we'll hev ter turn him out; an' ez he air ter be turned out, i dunno ez the church members hev enny call ter go on his bond. he air none o' we-uns, nowadays.' 'leastwise none o' 'em war a-goin' t-ter do it,' said pete quietly. 'they air all mindful o' brother jake tobin's longest ear, ez kin hear a call from the church yander in cade's cove ev'y time he g-gits mad at 'em. but i tell ye,' added pete, restoring his plug of tobacco to his pocket, and chewing hard on the bit which his strong teeth had wrenched off, 'it did 'pear to me ez they mought hev stretched a p'int when i see the pa'son ridin' off with them two sneakin' off'cers. he hed so nigh los' his senses with the notion he war a-goin' ter be jailed ez they had ter hold him up in the saddle, else he'd hev been under the beastis's huffs in a minute.' 'whyn't you-uns go on his bond?' asked amos james suddenly. 'who?' shouted pete, in stentorian amaze, above the clamour of the old mill. 'you-uns--the whole cayce lay-out,' reiterated amos james. his blood had risen to his face. all the instincts of justice within him revolted at the picture pete had drawn, coarsely and crudely outlined, but touched with the vivid realities of nature. it was as a scene present before him: the falsely accused man borne away, crushed with shame, while the true criminal looked on with a lax conscience and an impersonal interest, and thriftily saved his observations to recount to his cronies at the mill. amos james cared naught for the outraged majesty of the law. the rescue of the prisoner from its fierce talons seemed to him, instead, humane and beneficent. his sense of justice was touched only by the manifest cruelty when one man was forced to bear the consequences of another's act. 'you-uns mought hev done ez much,' he said significantly. 'i reckon they would hev 'lowed ez we warn't wuth it,' said pete, quietly ruminant; 'the still can't show up.' 'ye never tried it,' said amos. 'waal, d-dad, he warn't thar, an' i couldn't ondertake ter speak for the rest. an' i ain't beholden no ways to pa'son kelsey. i hev no call ter b-b-bail him ez i knows on. i hev no hand in his bein' arrested an' sech.' 'hev no hand in his bein' arrested!' retorted amos scornfully. pete was staring stolidly at him, and the other men assumed an intent, inquiring attitude. amos james felt suddenly that he had gone too far. he had no wish to fasten this stigma upon the cayces; he had every reason to avoid it. he did not know how far he had been accounted a confidant in the intimacies of the cave when rick tyler had found a refuge there. he could not disregard the trust reposed in him. and yet he could not recall his words. pete's blank gaze changed to an amazed comprehension. he spoke out bluntly the thought in the other's mind. 'ye air a-thinkin', amos jeemes, ez 'twar we-uns ez cut rick tyler a-loose o' the sher'ff!' he exclaimed. amos, confronted with his own suspicion, listened with a guilty air. 'ye air surely the b-b-b-biggest f-f-f-fool'--the words seemed very large with these additional consonants--'in the shadder o' the b-b-b-big s-s-s-sm-smoky m-m-mountings!' pete spread them out with all the magnifying facilities of his infirmity. 'waal, then,' said amos, crestfallen, 'who done it?' 'why, p-pa'son kelsey, i reckon.' xii. that memorable arrest in the big smoky was the last official act of the sheriff, except the surrender of his books and papers and taking his successor's receipt for the prisoners in the county jail. the defeat had its odious aspects. the race had been amazingly unequal. had the ground tottered beneath him, as he stood in the grass-fringed streets of shaftesville, and heard the rumours of the returns from the civil districts, he could hardly have experienced a sensation of insecurity commensurate with this, for all his moral supports were threatened. his self-confidence, his arrogant affinity for authority, his pride, and his ambition keenly barbed the prescience of this abnormal flatness of failure. he was pierced by every careless glance; every casual word wounded him. he had a strange disturbing sense of a loss of identity. this anxious, browbeaten, humiliated creature--was this micajah green? he did not recognise himself; every throb within him had an alien impulse; he repudiated every cringing mental process. it was his first experience of the rigours of adversity; it did not quell him; he felt effaced. he feebly sought to goad himself to answer the rough chaff of spurious sympathizers with his old bluff spirit; his retort was like the lisp of a child in defiance of the challenge of a bugle. he saw with faltering bewilderment how the interesting spectacle increased his audience; it resembled in some sort an experiment in vivisection, and where the writhings most suggested an appreciated anguish, each curious scientist most longed to thrust the scalpel. the coroner held the election, as the sheriff himself was a candidate, and when the result became known the details excited increased comment. in the district of the county town he had a majority, but the unanimity against him in the outlying districts, especially in the big smoky and its wide-spread spurs and coves, was unprecedented in the annals of the county. he had hoped that the election of judge and attorney-general, taking place at the same time, might divert attention from the disastrous completeness of his failure. but their race involved no peculiar phase of popular interest, and the more important results were subordinated, so far as the county was concerned, to the spectacle of 'cajah green, 'flabbergasted an' flustrated like never war seen.' new elements of gossip were added now and then, vivaciously canvassed among the knots of men perched on barrels in the stores, or congregated in the post-office, or sitting on the steps of the courthouse, and were ruthlessly detailed to the ex-sheriff, whose starts of rage, unthinking relapses into official speech, jerks of convulsive surprise, prolonged the amusement beyond its natural span. it ceased suddenly. the adjustment to a new line of thought and to a future under altered conditions was facilitated by the inception of an immediate definite intention and a sentiment co-equal with the passion of despair. the idlers of the town might not have been able to accurately define the moment when the drama of defeat, with which he had prodigally entertained them, lost its interest. but there was a moment that differed from all the others of the lazy august hours; the minimum of time charged with disproportionate importance. it might be likened to a symbol of chemistry, which, though the simplest alphabetical character, is significant of an essential element involving life--perhaps death. that moment the wind came freshly down from the mountains; the glare of the morning sun rested on the empty, sandy street of the village, the weeds and grass that obscured the curbing of the pavement were still overhung by a glittering gossamer net of dew. a yellow butterfly flitted over it, followed by another so like that it could not be distinguished from its aã«rial counterpart. the fragrance of new-mown hay somewhere in the rural metropolis was sweet on the air. a blue-bottle, inside the window of the store hard by, droned against the glass, and seemed in some sort an echo to the monotonous drawl of a man who had lately been up in the big smoky, and who had gleaned fresh points concerning the recent election. 'what did ye ever do ter the cayces, 'cajah, or what did bluff peake ever do fur 'em?' he asked, as preliminary to detailing that the cayces had turned out and pervaded the great smoky mountains, electioneering against the incumbent. 'they rid hyar an' they rid thar--up in the mountings an' down in the coves; an' some do say thar war one o' 'em in ev'y votin'-place in all the mounting deestric's the day the 'lection kem off, jes' a-stiffenin' up the peake men, an' a-beggin', an' a-prayin', an' a-wraslin' in argymint with them ez hed gin out they war a-goin' ter vote fur you-uns. bluff peake say they fairly 'lected him, though he 'lowed 'twarn't fur love o' him. i wonder ye done ez well ez ye did, 'cajah, though ye couldn't hev done much wuss, sure enough. all o' 'em war out, from old groundhog down ter sol, when they war 'lectioneerin', an' the whisky ez war drunk round the settlemint an' sech war 'sprisin'. some say old groundhog furnished it free.' the ex-sheriff made no reply. there was a look in his eye that gave his long, lean head, deeply sunken at the temples, less the aspect of that of a whipped hound than it had worn of late. one might have augured that he was a dangerous brute. and after that, the conversation with the recent election as a theme flagged, and died out gradually. it was only a few days before he had occasion to go up into the great smoky mountains, on matters, he averred, connected with closing unsettled business of the office which he held. as he jogged along, he moodily watched the distant mountains, growing ever nearer, and engirdled here and there with belts of white mists, above whose shining silver densities sometimes would tower a gigantic 'bald,' with a suspended, isolated effect, like some wonderful aã«rial regions unknown to geography, foreign to humanity. the supreme dignity of their presence was familiar to him. their awful silence, like the unspeakable impressiveness of some overpowering thought, affected him not. the vastness of the earth which they suggested, beneath the immensities of the sky, which leaned upon them, found no responsive largeness in his emotions. those barren domes of an intense blue, tinged with purple where the bold rocks jutted out, flushed where the yellow sunshine languished to a blush; those heavily wooded slopes below the balds, sombre and rich in green and bronze and all darkling shades--touched, too, here and there with a vivid crimson where the first fickle sumach flared; those coves in which shadows lurked and vague sentiments of colour were abroad in visionary guise, in unexplained softness of greys and hardly realized blues, in dun browns and sedate yellows, vanishing before the plain prose of an approach,--he had reduced all this to a scale of miles, and the splendours of the landscape were not more seemly or suggestive than the colours of a map on the wall. it was a mental scale of miles, for the law decreeing a sufficiency of mileposts seemed to weaken in the ruggedness of the advance, and when he was fairly among the coves and ravines they disappeared. he pushed his horse rather hard, as the time wore on, but sunset was on the mountains before he came upon the great silent company of dead trees towering above the settlement in the reddening light, and tracing their undeciphered hieroglyphics across the valley beneath and upon the heights beyond. the ringing vibrations of the anvil were on the air; the measured alternations of the hand-hammer and the sledge resounded in a clear, metallic fugue; the flare from the forge fire streamed through the great door of the blacksmith's shop, giving fluctuating glimpses of the interior, but fainting and fading into impotent artificiality before the gold and scarlet fires ablaze in the western sky. a waggon, broken down and upheld by a pole in lieu of one of the wheels, stood in front of the blacksmith's shop, and was evidently the reason of gid fletcher's industry at this late hour. its owner loitered aimlessly about; now looking, with a gloat of acquisition, at his purchases stowed away in the waggon, and now nervously at a little barefoot girl whom he had brought with him to behold the metropolitan glories of the settlement. he occasionally asked her anxious questions. 'ain't you-uns 'most tired out, euraliny?' he would say; or, 'don't ye feel wore in yer backbone, hevin' ter wait so long?' or, 'hedn't ye better lay down on the blanket in the waggin an' rest yer bones, bein' ez we-uns started 'fore daybreak?' but the sturdy euralina shook her sun-bonnet, with her head in it, in emphatic negation at every suggestion, and sat upright on the board laid across the rough, springless waggon, looking about her gravely, with a stalwart determination to see all there was in the famed settlement; thinking, perhaps, that her backbone would have leisure to humour its ails in the retirement of home. what an ideal traveller euralina would be under a wider propitiousness of circumstance! and so the anxious parent could only stroll about as before, and contemplate his purchases, and pause at the door of the blacksmith's shop to say, 'ain't you-uns 'most done, gid?' in a tone of harrowing insistence, for the fortieth time since the blacksmith's services were invoked. gid fletcher looked up with lowering brow as micajah green entered. the shadows of evening were dense in the ill-lighted place; the fluctuations of the forge fire, now flaring, now fading, intensified the idea of gloom. the red-hot iron that the blacksmith held on the anvil threw its lurid reflection into his swarthy face and his eyes; his throat was bare; his athletic figure, girded with his leather apron, demonstrated in its poses the picturesqueness of the simple craft; his sleeve was rolled tightly from his huge, corded hammer-arm. his hand-hammer seemed endowed with some nice discriminating sense as it tapped here and there with an imperative clink, and the great sledge in the striker's hands came crashing down to execute its sharp behests, while the flakes flew from the metal in jets of golden sparks. a man is never so plastic to virtuous impulses as when he is doing well his chosen work. labour was ordained to humanity as a curse; surely god repented him of the evil. what blessing has proved so beneficent! the suggestions entering with the new-comer were at variance with this wholesome industrial mood. they recalled to the blacksmith his baffled avarice, his revenge, and the malice that had influenced his testimony at the committing trial. more than once, of late, while the anvil sang responsive to the hammer's sonorous clangour, and the sparks flew, emblazoning the twilight of the shop with arabesques of golden flakes, and the iron yielded like wax to fire and force, he had a sudden fear that he had not done well. true, he had sworn to nothing which he did not believe, either in the affidavit for the warrant or at the committing trial; but the widely chartered credulity of an angry man! he said to himself in extenuation that he would not have gone so far but for the sheriff. he was not glad, with these recollections paramount, to see micajah green again. some concession he made, however, to the dictates of hospitality. 'hy're, 'cajah,' he said, albeit gruffly, and the monotonous clinking of the hand-hammer and the clanking of the sledge went on as before. micajah green's knowledge of life had not been wide, but there was space to evolve a cynical reflection that, being down in the world now, he must bite the dust, and he attributed this cavalier treatment to the perverse result of the election. he had acquired something of the manner of bravado, from his recent experience as a defeated candidate, and he swaggered a little as he strolled about the dirt floor of the shop; glancing at the forge fire, slumberously glowing, at the smoky hood above it, at the window opening upon the purpling mountains and the fading west. he even paused, and turned with his foot the clods of the cavity still yawning below the log, where the escaped man had crawled through. there was an altercation at this moment between the smith and his assistant; for the work was not so satisfactory as when gid fletcher's mind was exclusively bent upon it, and his striker officiated also as scapegoat, although that function was not specified as his duty in their agreement. gid fletcher had marked with furtive surprise and doubt every movement of the intruder, and this show of interest in the only trace of the escape by which was lost his rich reward roused his ire. 'even the dogs hev quit that, 'cajah,' he said enigmatically, as he caught up the iron for the new skene and thrust it into the fire, while the striker fell to at the bellows. the long sighing burst forth; the fire flared to redness, to a white heat, every vivid coal edged by a fan of yellow shimmer. the blacksmith's fine stalwart figure was thrown backward; his face was lined with sharp white lights; he was looking over his shoulder, and laughing silently, but with a sneer. 'the dogs?' said micajah green, amazed. he did not sneer. 'the dogs tuk ter cropin' in an' out'n that thar hole fur five or six days arter rick tyler got away,' gid fletcher explained. 'peared ter be nosin' round fur him, too. i dunno what notion tuk 'em, but i never would abide 'em in the shop, an' so i jes' kep' that fur 'em'--he nodded at a leather strap hanging on the rod--'an' larnt 'em ter stay out o' hyar. but even they hev gin it up now.' 'i hain't gin it up, though,' said micajah green, still turning the clods with his foot. 'i'll be held responsible by the court fur the escape, i rackon, ef the gran' jury remembers ter indict me fur it, ez negligence. an' ef i kin lay my hands on rick tyler yit i'll be mighty glad ter feel of him.' the blacksmith, without changing his attitude, looked hard at his visitor for a moment. something rang false in the speech. he could not have said what it was, but his moral sense detected it, as his practised ear might have discovered by the sound a flaw in the metal under his hammer. 'ye ain't kem up the big smoky a-huntin' fur rick tyler?' he said at length. 'naw,' admitted micajah green; 'it's jes' 'bout some onsettled business o' the county. but ef i war ter meet up with rick in the road i wouldn't pass him by.' he said this with a satirical half-laugh, still turning the clods with his foot, the vivid white light illuminating his figure and his face beneath his straw hat. the next moment the sighing bellows was silent, and gid fletcher and his striker had the red-hot metal between them on the anvil, and were once more forging that intricate metallic melody, with its singing echoes, that seemed to endow the little log cabin with a pulsing heart, that flowed from its surcharged chamber out into the grey night, to the deeply purple mountains, to the crescent golden moon, to the first few stars pulsating as if in rhythm to the clinking of the hand-hammer and the clanking of the sledge--forging this, and as its incident the durable skene which should enable euralina and her parent to leave the settlement shortly. 'i hopes ter git home 'fore daybreak, gid,' he said desperately, standing in the door, and looking wistfully at the iron in process of transformation upon the anvil. he turned out again presently, and micajah green paused, leaning against the window, and looking doubtfully from time to time at the striker. this was an ungainly, heavy young mountaineer, with a shock of red hair, a thick neck, and unfinished features which seemed not to have been accounted worthy of more careful moulding. there was a look of humble pain in his face when the blacksmith angrily upbraided him. his perceptions were inefficient to accurately distribute blame; he was only receptive, poor fellow! and we all know that in every sense those who can only take, and cannot return, have little to hope from the world. he was evidently not worth fearing; and micajah green disregarded him as completely as the presence of the anvil. 'talkin' 'bout rick tyler, did you-uns go sarchin' that night--the dep'ty's party--ter the still they say old man cayce runs?' 'naw'--gid fletcher paused, his hammer uplifted, the red glow of the iron on his meditative face and eyes; the striker, both hands upholding the poised sledge, waited in the dusky background--'naw. we met up with pete cayce, an' he 'lowed ez he hedn't seen nor hearn o' rick tyler.' 'ef i hed been along i'd have sarched the still, too.' the blacksmith stared in astonishment. 'pete cayce's say-so war all i wanted,' he declared; 'an' i hed the two hunderd dollars ez i hed yearned, an' ye hed flunged away, a-hangin' on ter it,' he added. 'i hev a mind ter go thar now, whilst i be on the big smoky, an' talk ter the old man 'bout'n it,' green said reflectively. he had drawn out his clasp-knife, and was whittling a piece of white oak which he had picked up from the ground. with the energy of his intention the slivers flew. the blacksmith glanced in furtive surprise at his downcast face, but for a moment said nothing. then: 'hain't you-uns hearn how the cayces turned out agin ye at the 'lection? ef they didn't defeat ye, they made it an all-fired sight wuss. ez fur ez i could hear, me and tobe grimes war the only men in the big smoky ez voted fur ye. i war plumb 'shamed o' it arterward. i hates ter be beat. i'm thinkin' they ain't a-hankerin' ter see ye down yander at the still.' the defeated candidate's face turned deeply scarlet pending this recital. but he said, with an off-hand air: 'i ain't a-keerin' fur that now; that's 'count o' an old grudge the cayces hold agin me. all i want now is ter kem up with rick tyler, ef so be i can, afore the gran' jury sits again; an' i hev talked with ev'ybody on the mountings, mighty nigh, 'ceptin' it be the cayces. which fork o' the road is it ye take fur the still--i furgit--the lef' or the right?' gid fletcher burst into a sudden laugh, almost as metallic, as inexpressive of any human emotion, as if it had issued from the anvil. his face flushed, not the reflection from the iron, which had cooled, but with his own angry red blood; his figure, visible in the sullen illumination of the dull forge fire, was tense and motionless. 'ye never knew, 'cajah green!' he cried. 'ye don't take nare one o' the forks o' the road. ye ain't a-goin' ter know, nuther, from me. i ain't a-hankerin' ter be fund dead in the road some mornin', with a big bullet in my skull-bone, an' nobody ter know how sech happened. ef ye hev a mind ter spy out the cayces fur the raiders, ye air on a powerful cold scent; thar ain't nobody on this mounting ez loves lead well enough ter tell whar old groundhog holds forth. them ez he wants ter know--knows 'thout bein' told. ye ain't smart enough, 'cajah green, ter match yer meanness!' it is difficult for a man, without the hope of deceiving, to maintain a deception, and it was with scant verisimilitude that micajah green denied the detection of his clumsy ruse, and swore that he only wanted to come up with rick tyler. he went through the motions, however, while the blacksmith looked at him with uncovered teeth, and a demonstration that in a man might be described as a smile, but in a wild cat would be called a snarl. the fierce, surprised glare of the eyes added the complement of expression. now and then he growled indignant interpolations: 'naw; ye 'lowed ez i'd tell ye, an' ye'd tell the raiders, an' then somehow ye'd hev shifted the blame on me, an' them cayces--five of 'em an' all thar kin--would hev riddled me with thar bullets till folks wouldn't hev knowed which war metal an' which war man.' still micajah green maintained his feint of denial, and the blacksmith presently ceased to contradict. it was fletcher's privilege to entertain this visitor at the settlement, and the behests of hospitality could hardly be served without ignoring the disagreement that had arisen between them. little, however, was said while the waggon axle and skene were in process of completion, and then adjusted to the vehicle by the light of a lantern. jer'miah came over from the store, and presided after the manner of small boys, regarding each phase of the operation with an interest for which a questioner would have found no corresponding fulness of information--a sort of spurious curiosity, satisfying the eye, but having no connection with the brain. euralina, who was small for her sun-bonnet, a grotesque and top-heavy little figure, stood in the door of the forge--also a wide-eyed and impressed spectator. the blacksmith was a very good illustration of a rural hercules, as he riveted his bolts, and lifted the body of the ponderous vehicle, and went lightly in and out of the forge. he did his work well and quickly too, for a mountaineer, and he had the artisan's satisfaction in his handicraft, as, with his hammer still in his hand, he watched the slow vehicle creak along the road between the corn-field and the woods, and disappear gradually from view. the wheels still sounded assertively on the air; the katydids' iteration rose in vibrant insistence; the long, vague, pervasive sighing of the woods added to the night its deep melancholy. the golden burnished blade of the new moon was half sheathed in invisibility behind a dark mountain's summit. the blacksmith's house was on the elevated slope beyond the forge, and as he turned on his porch and looked back, he noted the one salient change in the landscape as seen from the higher level--above the distant mountain-summit the moon showed its glittering length, as if withdrawn from the scabbard. he glanced at it and shut the door. micajah green had the best that the humble log cabin could afford, and no dearth of fair words as a relish to the primitive feast. it was only the next morning, when his foot was in the stirrup, that his host recurred to the theme of the evening before. 'look-a-hyar, 'cajah green, you-uns jes' let old groundhog cayce be. ye ain't a-goin' ter find out whar his still air a-workin', an' ef he war ter hear ez ye had been 'quirin' 'round 'bout'n it 'twould be ez much ez yer life air wuth.' micajah green renewed his hollow protestations, discredited as before, and the blacksmith, shading his eyes from the sun with his broad blackened right hand, watched him ride away. even when he was out of sight, gid fletcher stood for a time silently looking at the spot where horse and man had disappeared. then he shook his head, and went into the forge. 'zeke,' he said to his humble striker, 'ye air a fool, an' ye know it. but ye air a smart man ter that loon, fur the hell of it air he dunno he air a loon.' his warnings, nevertheless, had more effect than he realized. they served as a check on micajah green's speech with the few men that he met--all surly enough, however, to repel confidence, were there no other motive to withhold it. he saw in this another confirmation of the cayces' enmity, and their activity in weakening his hold on the people. he began to think it hard that he should be thus at their mercy; that his office should be wrested from him; that they should impose unexampled indignities of defeat; that he should not dare to raise his hand against them--nay, his voice, for even the reckless gid fletcher had cautions for so much as a word. some trifling errand which he had used as a pretext for his journey brought him several miles along the range, and when he was actually starting down the mountain, his vengeance still muzzled, his ingenuity at fault, his courage faltering, all the intention of his journey merged in its subterfuge, he found himself upon the road which led past the cayces' house, and in many serpentine windings down the long jagged slopes to the base. noontide was near. the shadows were short. he heard the bees droning. the far-away mountains were of an exquisite ethereal azure, discrediting the opaque turquoise blue of the sky. the dark wooded coves had a clear distinctness of tone and definiteness of detail, despite the distance. the harmonies of colour that filled the landscape culminated in a crimson sumach growing hard by in a corner of a rail fence. the little house was still. the muffled tread of his horse's hoofs in the deep, dry sand did not rouse the sleeping hounds under the porch. the vines clambering to its roof were full of tiny yellow gourds; he could see through the gaps dorinda's spinning-wheel against the wall. a hazy curl of smoke wreathed upward from the chimney with a deliberate grace in the sunshine. he smelled the warm fragrance of the apples in the orchard at the rear, stretching along the mountain side. the corn that dorinda had ploughed on the steep slope was high, and waved above the staked and ridered fence. there were wild blue morning glories among it, the blossom still open here and there under a sheltering canopy of blades; and there were trumpet flowers, too, boldly facing the blazing sun with a beauty as ardent. he looked up at this still picture more than once, as he paused for his horse to drink at the wayside trough, and then he rode on down the mountain, speculating on his baffled mission. he hardly knew how far he had gone when he heard voices in loud altercation. he could not give immediate attention, for he was in a rocky section of the road, so full of boulders and out-cropping ledges that it was easy to divine that the overseer had a lenient interpretation of the idea of repair. once his horse fell, and after pulling the animal up, with an oath of irritation, he came, suddenly, turning sharply around a jutting crag, upon another rider and a recalcitrant steed. this rider was a child, carried on the shoulders of a girl of twelve or so, who had a peculiarly wiry and alert appearance, with long legs, a precipitate and bounding action, a tousled mane, the forelock hanging in her wild, excited eyes. he recognised at once the filly-like miranda jane, before either caught a glimpse of him, and he heard enough of her remonstrance to acquaint him with jacob's tyranny in insisting that his unshod steed should keep straight up the rocky 'big road,' as he ambitiously called it, in lieu of turning aside in the sandy byways of a cow-path. the expedient flashed through micajah green's mind in an instant. he drew up his horse. 'i'll give ye a lift, bubby,' he said; then, with a mighty effort at recollection, 'howdy, mirandy jane!' he cried jubilantly. his success in recalling the name affected him like an inspiration. the girl had shied off, according to her custom with a visible tremour, looking at him with big eyes and a quivering nostril, instantly accounting him a raider. as he called her name she stopped and stared dubiously at him. 'how's granny?' he asked familiarly, 'and d'rindy?' 'she's well,' miranda jane returned, lumping them in the singular number. had he inquired for the men folks, she would have been alarmed. as it was, she began to be at ease. she could not at once remember him, it was true, but he was evidently a familiar of the family. 'come, bubby,' he said to jacob, who had been peering over miranda jane's head, sharing her doubts, but sturdily repudiating her fears, 'i'll gin ye a ride ter the trough.' jacob held up his arms, he was swung to the pommel, and the cortege started, miranda jane nimbly following in the rear. such simple things jacob said, elicited by questions the craft of which he could not divine. where had he been? he and mirandy jane had gone with the apples in the waggon, but the waggon had afterward been driven to the mill, and mirandy jane had been charged by d'rindy to 'tote' him on the way home if he got tired, and mirandy jane wanted to tote him in the cow-path, 'mongst the briars. and where did he say he went with the apples? to the cave. 'to the cave!' exclaimed the querist, astonished. 'over yander on the backbone,' returned the guileless jacob, reinforcing the information with a stubby forefinger, pointing toward the base of the mountain. and here was the trough. and miranda jane and jacob stood by the roadside to regretfully watch the big grey horse trot slowly away. xiii. there came a change in the weather. a vagueness fell upon the landscape. the farthest mountains receded into invisibility, and the horizon was marked by an outline of summits hitherto familiar in the middle distance. the sunshine was languid, slumberous. a haze clothed the air in a splendid garb of translucent, gold-tinted folds, and trailing across the dim blue of the ranges invested them with many a dreamy illusion. athwart the sky were long sweeps of fibrous white clouds presaging rain. since dawn they were thickening; silent in the intense stillness of the noontide, they gathered and overspread the heavens and quenched the sun, and bereaved the vapours hanging in the ravines of all the poetic glamours of reflection. a rain-crow was huskily cawing on the trough by the roadside where he had perched. dorinda heard the guttural note, and went out to gather up the fruit spread to dry on boards that were stretched from stone to stone. dark clouds were rolling up from the west. she paused to see them submerge chilhowee, its outline stark and hard beneath their turbulent whirl; toward the south their heavy folds broke into sudden commotion, and they were torn into fringes as the rain began to fall. the mist followed and isolated the great smoky from all the rest of the world. and now the little house was as lonely as the ark on ararat. the mists possessed the universe. they filled the forests and lay upon the corn and hid the 'gyarden-spot,' and came skulking about the porch, peering through the vines in a ghostly fashion. presently they sifted through, and whenever the door was opened it showed them lurking there as if wistfully waiting or with some half-humanized curiosity. night stole on, and the ruddy flare of the fire had heightened suggestions of good cheer and comfort, because of these waifs of the rain and the air shivering in chilly guise about the door. the men came to supper and all went again, except pete. he was ailing, he declared, and betook himself to bed betimes. the house grew quiet. the grandmother nodded over her knitting, with a limp falling of the lower jaw, occasional spasmodic gestures, and an absorbed, unfamiliar expression of countenance. dorinda, in her low chair, sat in the glow of the fire. as it rose and fell it cast a warm light or a dreamy shadow on her delicately rounded cheek and her shining eyes. one dishevelled tress of her dense black hair fell over the red kerchief twisted round her neck. her blue homespun dress lay in lustreless folds about her. the shadowy and rude interior of the room--the dark brown of the logs of the wall and the intervening yellow clay daubing; the great clumsy warping-bars; the pendent peltry and pop-corn and strings of red pepper swaying from the rafters; the puncheon floor gilded by the firelight; the deep yawning chimney with its heaps of ashes and its pulsating coals--all formed in the rich colours and soft blending of detail an harmonious setting for her vivid, definite face, as she settled herself to work at her evening 'stent.' her reel was before her; the spokes, worn smooth and dark and glossy by age and use, reflected with polished lustre the glimmer of the fire. she had a broche in her hand, just taken from the spindle. for the lack of the more modern broche-holder she thrust a stick through the tunnel of the shuck on which the yarn was wound, placing the end of it, to hold it steady, in her low shoe; catching the thread between her deft fingers she threw it with a fine free gesture over the periphery of the reel. and then the whirling spokes were only a rayonnant suggestion, so swiftly they sped round and round in the light of the fire, and a musical low whirr broke forth. now and then the reel ticked and told off another cut, and she would bend forward to tie the thread with a practised dextrous hand. the downpour of the rain had a dreary, melancholy persistence, beating upon the roof and splashing from the eaves into the puddles beneath. at intervals a drop fell down the wide chimney and hissed upon the coals. suddenly there was another splash, differing in its abrupt energy; a foot had slipped outside, and groping hands were laid upon the wall. dorinda sprang up with a white face and tense muscles. the old woman was suddenly bolt upright in her corner, although not recognising the sound. 'hurry 'long, d'rindy,' she said peremptorily, 'you-uns ain't goin' ter reel a hank ef ye don't mosey. what ails the gal?' she broke off, her attention attracted to her grand-daughter's changed expression. 'thar's suthin' out o' doors,' said dorinda, in a tremulous whisper. 'i hearn 'em step whenst ye war asleep.' 'i ain't batted my eye this night,' said her grandmother, with the force of conviction. 'i ain't slep' a wink. an' ye never hearn nuthin'.' there was a bolder demonstration outside; a footfall sounded on the porch, and a hand tried the latch. 'massy on us! raiders!' shrieked the old woman, rising precipitately, her knitting falling from her lap, the ball of yarn rolling away and the kitten springing after it. dorinda ran to the door--perhaps to put up the bar. but with sudden courage she lifted the latch. outside were the ghostly vapours, white and visible in the light from within. she peered out doubtfully for a moment. a sudden rush of colour surged into her face; she made a feint of closing the door and ran back to her work, looking over her shoulder with radiant eyes; she caught up the broche, sticking it deftly in her shoe, seated herself in her low chair, and with her light free gesture led the thread over the reel. 'massy on us!' shrilled the old woman aghast. 'd'rindy, shet the door! be ye a-lettin' the lawless ones in on us! raiders an' sech, scoutin' 'roun' in the fog--an' nobody hyar but pete, ez couldn't be waked up right handy with nuthin' more wholesome'n a bullet--a----' there was a man's figure in the doorway--a slow, hesitating figure, and rick tyler, his face grave and dubious, embarrassed by the complicated effort to look at dorinda and yet seem to ignore her, trod heavily in, and with a soft and circumspect manner closed the door. 'i kem over hyar, mis' cayce,' he remarked, 'ez i 'lowed mebbe the boys war at the still an' yer felt lonesome, bein' ez it air rainin' right smart, an''--he hesitated. 'howdy, rick--howdy!' she exclaimed cordially. he had the benefit of her relief in finding the visitor not a raider. 'jes' sot yer bones down hyar by the fire. airish out o' doors, ain't it? i'm powerful glad to see ye. d'rindy ain't much company when she air busy, an' the weavin' ain't done yit.' 'i 'lowed ez i mought resk comin' up hyar wunst in a while now,' he said, with a covert glance at dorinda. 'i ain't keerin' much fur the new sher'ff, 'kase he air a town man, an' don't know me; an' the new constable, he 'lowed over yander ter the store ez he war a off'cer o' the law, an' not a shootin' mark fur folks ez war minded ter hide out; an' gid fletcher hev been told ez he'd hev others ter deal with ef he ondertook ter fool along arrestin' me agin. so i hev got no call ter stay ez close in the bresh ez i hev been, though i ain't a-goin' ter furgit these hyar consarns, nuther.' he glanced down at the glimmer of steel in his belt, where dorinda recognised her father's pistols. 'bes' be on the safe side,' said the old woman approvingly, her nimble needles quivering in the light. 'but law! i useter know a man over yandar on chilhowee mounting, whar i lived afore i war married, an' he hed killed fower men--though i b'lieve one o' 'em war a injun--an' he hed no call ter aggervate hisself with sher'ffs nor shootin'-irons, nuther. he walked 'round ez favoured an' free ez my old tur-r-key gobbler. though some said he hed bad dreams. but ez he war a hearty feeder they mought hev kem from the stummick stiddier the heart.' the young man listened with a doubtful mien. he was thrown back at his ease in the splint-bottomed chair. one stalwart leg, the boot reaching over his trousers to the knee, was stretched out to the fire; from the damp sole the steam was starting in the warm air. on his other knee one of the shooting-irons in question rested; he held it lightly with one hand. the other hand was thrust into the belt that girded his brown jeans coat. his tawny yellow hair, the ends of a deeper tint, being wet, hung to his coat collar. his hat, from the broad brim of which raindrops were still trickling, was deposited beneath the chair, and the kitten was investigating it with a dainty, scornful white mitten. he bore the marks of his trials in his sharpened features; his face took on readily a lowering expression, and a touch of anger kindled the smouldering fire in his brown eyes. 'but i hev killed no man,' he said, with emphasis. 'i hev hurt nobody. ef i hed, 'twouldn't be no more'n i oughter do ter g'long with the sher'ff an' leave it ter men. but i ain't done no harm. an' i don't want ter stay in jail, an' be tried, an' kem ter jedgment, an' sech, an' mebbe hev them buzzardy lawyers fix suthin' on me ennyways.' all through this speech the old woman tried to interrupt. 'laws-a-massy, rick,' she said at length, 'ye hev got mighty tetchy sence ye hev been hid out. i ain't sayin' nuthin' agin you-uns, ez i knows on--nor agin that man that lived on chilhowee mounting, nuther. i can't sot myself ter jedge o' him. he war a perfessin' member, an' he hed a powerful gift in 'quirin'; useter raise the chune reg'lar at all the meetin's ez fur back ez i kin remember.' her interest in the visit was impaired to some degree by this collision; she would have rejoiced to express her mental estimate of rick as the 'headin'est critter in the kentry,' but the hospitable instincts constrained her, and she nobly swallowed her vexation. his presence, however, 'hectored' her, and she seized an excuse to absent herself presently, saying that she had to get her clean plaid coat to mend, 'bein' ez when it last hung on the clothes-line that thar fresky young hound named bose stood on his hind legs ter gnaw it, an' actially chawed a piece out'n it, and i hev ter put a wedge in it afore i kin wear it.' she creaked away into the next room, and as the door shut he turned his eyes for the first time on dorinda. the firelight played on the reel, whirling in a lustrous circle before her, on the broche stuck in the rough little shoe, on her arm, uplifted in a graceful curve as she held the thread. her brilliant eyes were grave and intent; her dense black hair and her dark blue dress heightened the fairness of her face, and the crimson kerchief about her throat was hardly more vivid than the flush on her cheeks. the knowledge that her embarrassment was greater than his own made him bolder. they sat, however, some time in silence. then, his heart waxing soft in the coveted domestic atmosphere and the contemplation of the picture before him, he said gently: 'they air all agin me, d'rindy.' she forgot herself instantly. she looked full at him with soft melancholy deprecation. 'they don't hender ye none,' she said. 'ye don't sot no store by me nuther, these days, d'rindy,' he went on, with a thrill of elation in his heart belying the doubt and despair in his speech. the reel ticked and told off another cut. she leaned forward to tie the thread. she could not lift her eyelids now; still he saw the vivid sapphire iris, half eclipsed by the long black lash. he patted the pistol on his knee. 'would ye be afeared, d'rindy, ter marry a man ez would hev ter keep his life, and yourn, mebbe, with this pistol? would ye be afeard ter live in his house along o' him, a hunted critter--an' set an' sing in his door, when the muzzle of a rifle or the sher'ff's revolver mought peek through the rails of the fence? would ye be afeared?' he put the weapon slowly into his belt. 'would ye be afeared?' he reiterated. the reel stopped. she turned her eyes, dilated with a splendid boldness, full upon him. how they flouted fear! such audacity of courage seemed to him gallant in a man; in a woman, expressing faith in his valiance, it was enchanting. he lost his slow decorum. he caught the hand that held the thread. she could not withdraw it from that strong, ecstatic clutch, and as she started, protesting, to her feet, he rose too, overturning the reel; and the kittens made merry confusion in the methodical cuts. 'd'rindy,' he exclaimed, catching her in his arms, 'thar ain't no need ter be afeard! word kem up the mounting--i got it from steve byers--ez when abednego tynes war tried he plead guilty, an' axed ter go on the stand an' make a statement. an' he told the truth at last--at last! an' he war sentenced, an' the case war nolle prosequied agin me! an' ye warn't afeared! ye would hev married me an' resked it. ye warn't afeard!' she was tall, and her agitated, upturned face was close to his shoulder. he knew it was simply unpardonable, according to the rigid decorums of their code of manners, but the impetuosity of his joy overbore him, and he bent down and kissed her lips. dorinda's courage!--it was gone. she looked so frightened and amazed that he relaxed his clasp. 'ye know, d'rindy,' he said apologetically, 'i'm fairly out'n my head with joy.' she stood trembling, her hand pressed to her beating heart, her head whirling. and then, he never forgot it, of her own accord she laid her other hand on his breast. 'i always believed ye war _good--good--good_!' and the wild winds whirled around the great smoky, and the world was given over to the clouds and the night, and the rain fell, and the drops splashed with a dreary sound down from the eaves of the house. they did not hear. how little they heeded. within, all the atmosphere was suffused by that wonderful irradiation of love, and happiness, and hope that was confidence. the fire might flare if it listed. the shadows might flicker if they would. it seemed to them at the moment each would never see aught, care for aught, save what was expressed in the other's eyes. the kitten had waxed riotous in the unprecedented opportunities of the reel, still lying with all its tangled yellow yarn upon the floor. as it sprang tigerishly in the air and fell, fixing its predatory claws in another cut, dorinda looked down with a startled air. 'granny'll be axin' mighty p'inted how that thar spun-truck kem ter be twisted so,' she said, crestfallen and prescient. 'it looks like a hurrah's nest.' 'tell her ez how 'twar the cat,' said rick. dorinda shook her head dubiously. 'the cat couldn't hev got it ef the reel hedn't been flunged on the floor.' 'let's wind it inter balls, then,' suggested rick, quick at expedients. 'she'll never know it war tangled. i'll hold it fur ye.' it was no great hardship for rick. she lightly slipped the skeins over the wrists that had known sterner shackles. the task required her to sit near him; her face and head were bent toward him as she absorbed herself in the effort to find the end of the thread; sometimes she lifted her eyes and looked radiantly at him. he had not known how beautiful she was--because he saw her face more closely, he thought, not averted, nor coy, as always before--or was it embellished by that ineffable joy that filled her heart? well for them both, perhaps, that those few moments were so happy--or is it well to remember a supreme felicity, for this is fleeting. yellow yarn! she was winding threads of gold. how his pulses thrilled at the lightest flying touch of her fleet hands! he looked at her--into her eyes if he might--at her round crimson cheek, at her clearly cut chin, at the long lashes, at the black hair drawn back from her brow, where a curling tendril drooped over the temple. and he held the yarn all awry. it was no first-class job, for this reason and her haste. 'what ails ye ter hustle 'long so, d'rindy?' he asked at last. 'ye ain't so mighty afeared o' yer granny.' 'naw,' dorinda admitted; 'but brother pete, he be at home ter-night, an' he air toler'ble fractious ef he sees his chance, an' i don't want him a-laffin' at we-uns; kase i hev hearn him say ez when young folks gits ter windin' yarn tergether 'tain't fur love o' the spun-truck, but jes' fur one another.' rick laughed a little, slowly. then, growing grave: 'ef ye'll b'lieve me, pete told the word yander ter the still ez amos jeemes--a mis'able addled aig he be!--'lowed ter the men at the mill ez he b'lieved ez 'twar the cayces ez rescued me, the day o' the gaynder-pullin', from the sher'ff.' she paused, the bright thread in her motionless hand, her fire-lit face bent upon him. 'amos jeemes hed better be keerful how he tries ter fix it on we-uns!' she cried, with the tense vibration of anger, 'tellin' the mill an' sech! i hev hearn the boys 'low ez 'twar ten year in the pen'tiary fur rescuing a man from the sher'ff, ef it got fund out.' 'pete say ez how he jes' laffed at him an' named him a fool.' 'pete air ekal ter that,' she returned with some sarcasm. she was deftly winding the yarn once more, the fire showing a deeper thoughtfulness upon her face. its flicker gave the room a sense of motion; the festoons of scarlet pepper-pods, the long yellow and red strings of pop-corn, the peltry hanging from the rafters, apparently swayed as the light rose and fell; and the warping-bars, with their rainbow of spun-truck stretched from peg to peg, seemed to be dancing a clumsy measure in the corner. the rocking-chair where granny was wont to sit was occupied now by a shadow, and now was visibly vacant. she looked up into his face with an absorbed un-noting eye. he was pierced by the knowledge that though she saw him, she was thinking of something else. 'won't the court let the pa'son go free now, sence they know ye done no crime?' she asked. 'naw. the pa'son air accused of a rescue, an' whether the man he rescued air convicted or no it air jes' the same ter the law ez agin him. the _rescue_ air the thing he hev got ter answer fur.' she dropped her hands in her lap and threw herself back in her chair. 'ten year in prison!' she exclaimed. her face was all the tenderest pity; her voice was full of yearning sympathy; she cast her eyes upward with a look that was reverence itself. 'how good he war! i s'pose he knowed ye never done no harm, an' he war willin' ter suffer stiddier you-uns. i never hearn o' sech a man! 'pears ter me them old prophets don't tech him! i never hearn o' _them_ showin' sech love o' god an' thar feller man. he rescued ye jes' fur that!' rick tyler looked at her for a moment with a kindling eye. he sprang to his feet, throwing the golden skein--it was only yarn after all, a coarse yellow yarn--upon the floor. he strode across the rude hearth and leaned against the mantelpiece, which was as high as his head. the light fell upon his changed face, the weapons in his belt, his long tawny hair, the flashing fire in his eye. he raised his right hand with an importunate gesture. 'd'rindy cayce, ye air in love with that man!' he said, in a low passionate voice and between his set teeth. 'i hev seen it afore--long ago; but sence ye hev promised ter marry me, ef ye say his name agin, i'll kill him--i'll shoot him through the heart--dead--dead--do ye hear me--_dead_!' she was shaken by the spectacle of his sudden anger, and she was angered in turn by his jealous rage. there was a dull aching in her heart in the voids left by the ebbing of her ecstatic happiness. this was too precious to lightly let go. she walked over to him and took hold of his right arm, although his hand was toying nervously with his pistol. 'ye don't b'lieve no sech word, rick,' she said, 'deep down in yer heart, ye don't b'lieve it. an' how kin ye grudge me from thinkin' well o' the man, an' feelin' frien'ly--oh, mighty frien'ly--when he will hev ter take ten year in the pen'tiary fur givin' ye yer freedom? he rescued ye! an' i'll thank him an' praise him fur it ev'y day i live. my love, ef ye call it love, will foller him fur that all through the prison, an' the bolts an' bars, an' gyards. an' yer pistols can't holp it.' he put her from him with a mechanical gesture and a perplexed brow. he sat down in the chair he had occupied at first; his hat was still under it, one leg was stretched out to the fire, on the other knee his hand rested; he looked exactly as when he first came into the room, but she had a vague idea, as she stood opposite on the hearth, that it was long ago, so much had happened since. 'd'rindy,' he said, 'he never done it. the pa'son never rescued me.' she stood staring at him in wide-eyed amaze. he was silent for a moment, and then he broke into a bitter laugh. 'i do declar,' he said, 'it fairy tickles me ter hear o' one man bein' arrested fur rescuin' me, an' another set bein' s'pected fur rescuin' me, an another set bein' s'pected o' the same thing, when not one of 'em in all the big smoky, not one, lifted a hand ter holp me. whether the gallus or a life sentence 'twar all the same ter them. accusing' yer dad an' the boys at the still--shucks! old groundhog loant me a rifle, an' ter hear him talk saaft sawder 'bout'n it ter amos jeemes ye'd hev thunk he war the author o' my salvation! an' arrest the pa'son! he war a likely one ter rescue a body!--too 'feared o' satan! an' ef all they say air true 'bout'n the word he spoke yander at the meetin' 'fore they tuk him off, he hev got cornsider'ble call ter be afeard o' satan. naw, sir! he never rescued nuthin' but the gaynder! nobody holped me! nobody on the big smoky held out a hand! i ain't goin' ter furgit it, nuther!' she stood looking intently at his face, with its caustic laugh upon it and his eyes full of bitterness. she knew that he secretly upbraided her as well as her people that they had made no move to save him from the clutches of the sheriff. she involuntarily turned her eyes to the gun-rack where the barrel of 'old betsy' gleamed, and she remembered the mark it bore to commemorate the foregone conclusion of micajah green's death. for this she had held her hand. she felt humble and guilty, since she had acted in the interests of peace. and yet that shrewd sense, that true conscience, which coexisted with the idealistic tendencies of her nature, demanded how could she justify herself in asking the sacrifice of ten years of other men's liberty that her lover might escape the consequences of his own act; how could she dare to precipitate a collision with the sheriff, while their grievance was still fresh in their minds? fortunately she did not lay this train of thought bare before rick tyler. natures like his foster craft in the most pellucid candour. 'how'd ye git away, rick?' she said instead. 'i won't tell ye,' he replied rudely; 'it don't consarn ye ter know.' then suddenly softening, 'i take that back, d'rindy. i ain't goin' ter furgit ez ye owned up ye war willin' ter marry me an' live all yer life along with a hunted man in a house that mought be fired over yer head enny time, or a rifle-ball whiz in at the winder. i ain't goin' ter furgit that.' alas! he could not divine how he should remember it! he fixed his eyes on the fire, as if moodily recalling the scene. she noted that desperate, hunted look in his face which it had not worn to-night. 'i war a-settin' thar,' he began abruptly, 'my feet tied with ropes, and with handcuffs on'--he held his hands together as if manacled; she shuddered a little--'an' i hearn the hurrahin' an' fuss outside whilst they was all a-rowin' over the gaynder. an' then i hearn a powerful commotion 'mongst the dogs, ez ef they hed started some sorter game or suthin'. an' the fust i knowed thar war a powerful scuttlin' 'round the back o' the blacksmith's shop, an' a rabbit squez in a hole 'twixt the lowes' log an' the groun'--'twarn't bigger 'n a gopher's hole. an' i never thunk nuthin' 'ceptin' them boys outside would be mighty mad ef they knowed thar hounds hed run a rabbit same ez a deer.' dorinda had sunk into her chair; her hands trembled, her face was pale. 'an' the cur'ous part of it,' he continued, now in the full swing of narrative, 'war that the hounds wouldn't gin it up. they jes' kep' a-nosin' an' yappin' roun' that thar little hole. thar sot the rabbit--she 'minded me o' myself, got in an' couldn't git out. thar war nowhar else fur her ter sneak through. she sot thar ez upright an' trembly ez me; jes' ez skeered, an' jes' about ez little chance. the only diff'ence 'twixt us war i hed a soul, an' that didn't do me enny good, an' the lack o' it didn't do her enny harm; both o' we-uns war more pertic'lar 'bout keepin' a skin full o' whole bones 'n ennything else. an' then them nosin' hounds began ter scratch an' claw up dirt. bless yer soul, d'rindy, they hed a hole ez big ez that thar piggin, afore i thunk ennything 'bout'n it. it makes me feel the cold shakes when i 'members ez i mought not hev thunk 'bout'n it till 'twar too late. lord! how slow them hounds seemed! though the rabbit she fund 'em fast enough, i reckon. ev'y now an' then she'd hop along this way an' that, an' the hounds would git her scent agin--an' the way they'd yap! the critter would hop along an' look up at me--i never will furgit the look in the critter's eyes ez she sot thar an' waited fur the dogs. they war in a hurry an' toler'ble lively, i reckon, but they 'peared ter me ez slow ez ef ev'y one war weighted with a block an' chain. waal, the hole got bigger an' they yapped louder, an' i got so weak waitin', an' fearin' somebody would hear 'em, an' kem ter see 'bout what they hed got up fur game, an' find that hole, i didn't know how i could bide it. the hole got big enough fur the hounds ter squeeze through, an' hyar they kem bouncin' in. they lept round the shop, an' flopped up agin the door, so that ef thar hedn't been all that fuss outside 'bout takin' the gaynder down, somebody would hev been boun' ter notice it. i hed ter wait fur the dogs ter ketch the rabbit an' shake the life out'n her 'fore i darst move a paig, they kep' up sech a commotion. an' when they hed dragged the critter's little carcass outside an' begun fightin' over it, i got up. i jes' could sheffle along a leetle bit; that eternally cussed scoundrel, gid fletcher----' he paused. it was beyond the power of language to express the deep damnation he desired for the blacksmith. his face grew scarlet, the tears started to his angry eyes. how he pitied himself, remembering his hard straits, and his cruel indignities! and how she pitied him! he caught his breath, and went on: 'that black-hearted devil hed tied my feet so close i could sca'cely hobble, an' my hands an' wrists hed all puffed an' swelled up, whar the cords had been--'twar the sher'ff ez gin me the handcuffs. waal, i tuk steps 'bout two inches long till i got 'crost the shop ter the hole. then i jes' flopped down an' croped through. i didn't stan' up outside, though 'twar at the back o' the shop an' nobody could see me. ye know the aidge o' the bluff ain't five feet from the shop; the cliff's ez sheer ez a wall, but thar's a ledge 'bout twenty feet down. it looked mighty narrer, an' thar warn't no vines ter swing by; but i jes' hed ter think o' them devils on t'other side the shop ter make me willin' ter resk it. waal, thar war a clump o' sass'fras--ye know the bark's tough--near the aidge. i jes' bruk one o' the shoots ter the root an' turned it down over the aidge o' the bluff an' swung on ter the e-end o' it. waal, it tore off in my hands, but i didn't fall more'n a few feet, an' lighted on the ledge. an' i tossed the saplin' away, an' then i walked--steps 'bout'n two inches long, ef that--ez fur ez the ledge went, cornsider'ble way from the settlemint, an' 'twar two or three hundred feet ter the bottom, whar i stopped. an' thar war a niche thar whar i could sit an' lay down, sorter. thar i bided all night. i hearn 'em huntin', an' it made me laff. i knowed they warn't a-goin' ter find me, but i didn't know how i war a-going' ter git away from thar with them handcuffs on, an' ropes 'roun' my legs; they war knotted so ez i couldn't reach 'em fur the irons. i waited all nex' day, though i never hed nuthin' ter eat but some jew-berries ez growed 'mongst the rocks thar. an' the nex' morn'n','--his eye dilated with triumph--'the swellin' o' my wrists hed gone down, an' i could draw my hands out'n the handcuffs ez easy ez lyin'.' he held up his hands; they were small for his size, and bore little token of hard work; the wrists were supple. 'an' then,' he said, with brisk conclusiveness, 'i jes' ontied the ropes 'roun' my feet an' clumb up ter the top o' the mounting by vines an' sech, an' struck inter the laurel, an' never stopped a-travellin' till i got ter cayce's still.' he drew a long sigh not unmixed with pleasure. he had a sense of achievement. it gave, perhaps, a certain value to his harsh experience to recount his triumph to so fair an audience. he was looking at her with a dawning smile in his eyes, and she was silently looking at him. suddenly she burst into sobs. 'shucks, d'rindy, it's all over an' done now,' he said, appropriating the soft sympathy of her tears. 'an' i'm so glad, rick; so glad fur that. i'd hev bartered my hope o' heaven fur it,' she sobbed. 'but i war thinkin' that minit o' the pa'son. they 'rested him in his pulpit, an' they wouldn't gin him bail, an' they kerried him 'way from the mountings, an' jailed him, an' he'll go ter the pen'tiary, ten year mebbe, fur a crime ez he never done. ye wouldn't let him do that ef ye could holp it, would ye, rick?' she looked up tearfully at him. his eyes gleamed; his nostrils were quivering; every fibre in him responded to his anger. 'ef i could, d'rindy cayce, i'd hev that man chained in the lowest pits o' hell fur all time, so ye mought never see his face agin. an' ef i could, i'd wipe his mem'ry off'n the face o' the yearth, so ye mought never speak his name.' 'law, rick tyler, don't!' protested the girl, aghast. 'i've seen ye ez jealous o' amos jeemes----' 'i don't keer _that_ fur amos jeemes!' he exclaimed, snapping his fingers. 'i hevn't seen ye sit an' cry over amos jeemes, an' sech cattle, an' say he war like a prophet. i thought ye war thinkin' 'bout _me_, an'--an'----' he paused in mortification. 'd'rindy,' he said, suddenly calm, though his eye was excited and quickly glancing, 'did ye ax him ef he would do ennything fur me when i war in cust'dy?' 'naw,' said dorinda, 'nobody could do nuthin' fur you-uns, 'kase they'd hev ter resk tharselfs an' run agin the law. but what i want ye ter do fur pa'son air fur jestice. he never done what he war accused of. an' ye _war_ along o' abednego tynes, though innercent. law, rick, ef the murderer would say the word ter set ye free, can't ye do ez much fur the pa'son, ez hev seen so much trouble a'ready?' 'in the name o' gawd, d'rindy, what air you-uns a-wantin' me ter do?' he asked, in sheer amazement. she mistook the question for relenting. she caressed his coat sleeve as she stood beside him. all her beauty was overcast; her face was stained with weeping; tears dimmed her eyes, and her pathetic gesture of insistence seemed forlorn. he looked down dubiously at her. 'what i want ye ter do, rick, fur him, air right, an' law, an' jestice. nobody could hev done that fur ye, 'cept abednego tynes. i want yer ter go ter pa'son's trial fur the rescue, an' gin yer testimony, an' tell the jedge an' jury the tale ye hev tole me--the truth--an' they'll be obleeged ter acquit.' he flung away in a tumult of rage. it was exhausting to witness how his frequent gusts of passion shook him. 'd'rindy,' he thundered, 'ye want me ter gin myself up fur the pa'son; ye don't keer nuthin' fur me, so he gits back ter the big smoky an' you-uns. i mought be arrested yit on the same indictment; the nolle prosequi don't hender--it jes' don't set no day fur me ter be tried. an' mebbe steve byers hev been foolin' me some. ye jes' want ter trade me off ter the state fur the pa'son.' 'ye shan't go!' cried the girl. 'i didn't know that about the nolle prosequi. ye shan't go!' he was mollified for a moment. he noticed again how pale she was. 'law, d'rindy,' he said, 'ye fairly wear yerself out with yer tantrums. whyn't ye do like other folks; the pa'son never holped me none, an' i ain't got no call ter holp him.' 'ef ye war ter go afore the squair an' swear 'bout'n the rescue an' sech, an' git him ter write it ter the court fur the pa'son----' 'the constable o' the deestric' ez hangs 'roun' thar at the jestice's house mought be thar an' arrest me,' he said speciously. 'the gov'nor hain't withdrawn that reward yit, ez i knows on.' 'naw,' she said quickly, 'i'll make the boys toll the constable down ter the still till ye git through. the jestice air lame, an' ain't able ter arrest ye, an' i'd be thar an' gin ye the wink, ef thar war ennything oncommon ennywhar, or enny men aroun'.' he could hardly refuse. he could not affect fear. he hesitated. 'ez long ez i thunk he hed rescued ye, i didn't hev no call ter move. but now i know how 'twar, i'd fairly die ef he war lef' ter suffer in jail, knowin' he hev done nuthin' agin the law.' her lip quivered. the tears started to her eyes. the sight of them, shed for another man's sake, excited again the vigilant jealousy in his breast. 'i'll do nuthin' fur hi kelsey,' he declared. 'ef ye ain't in love with him, ye would be ef he war ter git back ter the big smoky. he done nuthin' fur me, an' i hev no call ter do nuthin' fur him.' he looked furiously at her, holding her at arm's length. 'ye hev tole me ye love _me_, an' i expec' ye ter live up ter it. ye hev promised ter marry me, an' i claim ye fur my wife. say that man's name another time, an' i'll kill him, ef ever he gits in rifle range agin. i'll kill him! i'll kill him!' his right hand was once more mechanically toying with the pistol, while he held her arm with the other, 'an' i'll kill ye, too!' he had gone too far; he had touched the dominant impulse of her nature. her cheeks were flaring. her courage blazed in her eyes. 'an' i tell ye, rick tyler, that i am not afeard o' ye! an' if ye let a man suffer fur a word ez ye can say in safety, an' an act ez ye kin do in ease, ye ain't the rick tyler i knowed--ye air suthin' else. i 'lowed ye war good, but mebbe i hev been cheated in ye, an' ef i hev, i'll gin ye up. i ain't a-goin' ter marry no man ez i can't look up ter, an' say "he air _good_!" an' ef ye'll meet me a hour 'fore sundown, at the squair's house, ter-morrow evenin', i'll b'lieve in ye, an' i'll marry ye. an' ef ye don't, i won't.' she caught up his hat and gave it to him. then she opened the door. the white mists stood shivering in the little porch. he turned and looked in angry dismay at her resolute face. but he did not say a word, though he knew her heart yearned for it beneath her inflexible mask. he walked slowly out, and the door closed upon him, and upon the shivering white mists. he paused for a moment, hesitating. he heard nothing within--not even her retreating step. he knew as well as if he had seen her that she was leaning against the door, silently sobbing her heart out. 'd'rindy needs a lesson,' he said sternly. and so he went out into the night. xiv. the rain ceased the next day, but the clouds did not vanish. their folds, dense, opaque, impalpable, filled the vastness. the landscape was lost in their midst. the horizon had vanished. distance was annihilated. only a yard or so of the path was seen by dorinda, as she plodded along through the white vagueness that had absorbed the familiar world. and yet for all essentials she saw quite enough; in her ignorant fashion she deduced the moral, that if the few immediate steps before the eye are taken aright, the long lengths of the future will bring you at last where you would wish to be. the reflection sustained her in some sort as she went. she was reluctant to acknowledge it even to herself; but she had a terrible fear that she had imposed a test that rick would not endure. 'ef he air so powerful jealous ez that, ter not holp another man a leetle bit, when he knows it can't hurt him none, he air jes' selfish, an' nuthin' shorter.' she paused, looking about her mechanically. the few blackberry bushes, almost leafless, stretching out on either hand, were indistinct in the mist, and against the dense vapour they had the meagre effect of a hasty sketch on a white paper. the trees overhung her, she knew, in the invisible heights above; she heard the moisture dripping monotonously from their leaves. it was a dreary sound as it invaded the solemn stillness of the air. 'an' _i'm_ boun' ter try ter holp him, ef i kin. i know too much, sence rick spoke las' night, ter let me set an' fold my hands in peace. 'pears like ter me ez that thar air all the diff'ence 'twixt humans an' the beastis, ter holp one another some. an' ef a human won't, 'pears like ter me ez the lord hev wasted a soul on that critter.' despite her logic she stood still; her blue eyes were surcharged with shadows as they wistfully turned upward to the sad and sheeted day; her lips were grave and pathetic; her blue dress had gleams of moisture here and there, and a plaid woollen shawl, faded to the faintest hues, was drawn over her dense black hair. she stood and hesitated. she thought of the man she loved, and she thought of the word she denied the man in prison. poor dorinda! to hold the scales of justice unblinded. 'i dunno what ails me ter be 'feared he won't kem!' she said, striving to reassure herself; 'an' ennyhow'--she remembered the few immediate steps before her taken aright, and went along down the clouded, curtained path that was itself an allegory of the future. the justice's gate loomed up like fate--the poor little palings to be the journey's end of hope or despair! a pig, without any appreciation of its subtler significance, had in his frequent wallowings at its base impaired in a measure its stability. he grunted at the sound of a footfall, as if to warn the new-comer that she might step on him. dorinda took heed of the imperative caution, opened the gate gingerly, and it only grazed his back. he grunted again, whether in meagre, surly approval, or reproof that she had come at all, was hardly to be discriminated in his gruff, disaffected tone. she noticed that the locust leaves, first of all to show the changing season, were yellow on the ground; a half-denuded limb was visible in the haze. there were late red roses, widely a-bloom, by the doorstep of the justice's house--a large double cabin of hewn logs, with a frame-inclosed passage between the two rooms. there was glass in the windows, for the justice was a man of some means for these parts; and she saw behind one of the tiny panes his bald polished head and his silver-rimmed spectacles gleaming in animated curiosity. he came limping, with the assistance of a heavy cane, to the door. 'howdy, d'rindy,' he exclaimed cheerfully; 'come in, child. what sort o' weather is this?' in abrupt digression, he looked over her head into the blank vagueness of the world. but for the dim light, it might have suggested the empty inexpressiveness of the periods before the creation, when 'the earth was without form and void.' 'it air toler'ble airish in the fog,' said dorinda, finding her voice with difficulty. the room into which she was ushered seemed to her limited experience a handsome apartment. but somehow the passion of covetousness is an untouched spring in the nature of these mountaineers. the idea of ownership did not enter into dorinda's mind as she gazed at the green plaster parrot that perched in state on the high mantelpiece. she was sensible of its merits as a feature of the domestic landscape at the 'jestice's house,' precisely as the sight of the distant chilhowee was company in her lonely errands about the mountain. to be deprived of either would be like a revulsion of nature. she did not grudge the justice his possession, nor did she desire it for herself. she entertained a simple admiration for the image, and always looked to see it on its lofty perch when she first entered the room. there were several books piled beside it, which the justice valued more. there was, too, a little square looking-glass, in which one might behold a distortion of physiognomy. above all hung a framed picture of general washington crossing the delaware. the mantelpiece was to the girl a museum of curiosities. a rag-carpet covered the floor; there was a spinning-wheel in the corner; a bed, too, draped with a gay quilt--a mad disportment of red and yellow patchwork, which was supposed to represent the rising sun, and was considered a triumph of handicraft. the justice's seat was a splint-bottomed chair, which stood near a pine table where ink was always displayed--of a pale green variety--writing-paper, and a pile of books. the table had a drawer which it was difficult to open or shut, and now and then 'the squair' engaged in muscular wrestling with it. he sat down, with a sigh, and drew forth his red bandana handkerchief from the pocket of his brown jeans coat, and polished the top of his head, and stared at dorinda, much marvelling as to her mission. she had not, in her primitive experience, attained to the duplicity of a subterfuge; she declined the invitation to go into the opposite room, where his wife was busy cooking supper, by saying she was waiting for a man whom she expected to meet here to explain something to the justice. 'is it a weddin', d'rindy?' exclaimed the old fellow waggishly. ''tain't a weddin',' said dorinda curtly. 'ye air foolin' me!' he declared, with a jocose affectation of inspecting his attire. 'i hev got another coat i always wears ter marry a couple, an' ye don't want ter gimme a chance to spruce up, fur fear i'll take the shine off'n the groom. it's a weddin'! who is the happy man, d'rindy?' this jesting, as appropriate, according to rural etiquette, to a young and pretty woman as the compliments of the season, seemed a dreary sort of fun to dorinda, so heavy had her presaging heart become. there was a trifle of sensibility in the old squire, perhaps induced by much meditation in his inactive indoor life, and he recognised something appealing in the girl's face and attitude, as she sat in a low chair before the dull fire that served rather to annul the chilliness of the day than to diffuse a perceptible warmth. the shawl had dropped from her head and loosely encircled her throat; her hand twisted its coarse fringes; she was always turning her face toward the window where only the pallid mists might be seen--the pallid mists and a great glowing crimson rose, that, motionless, touched the pane with its velvet petals. the old justice forbore his jokes, his dignities might serve him better. he entertained dorinda by telling her how many times he had been elected to office. and he said he wouldn't count how many times he expected to be, for it was his firm persuasion that, 'when gabriel blew that thar old horn o' his'n, he'd find the squair still a-settin' in jedgment on the big smoky.' he showed her his books, and told her how the folks at nashville were constrained by the law of the state to send him one every time they made new laws. and she understood this as a special and personal compliment, and was duly impressed. outdoors the still day was dying silently, like the gradual sinking from a comatose state, that is hardly life, to the death it simulates. how did the gathering darkness express itself in that void whiteness of the mists, still visibly white as ever! night was sifting through them; the room was shadowy; yet still in the glow of the fire she beheld their pallid presence close against the window. and the red rose was shedding its petals!--down dropping, with the richness of summer spent in their fleeting beauty, their fragrance a memory, the place they had embellished, bereft. she did not reflect; she only felt. she saw the rose fade, the sad night steal on apace; the hour had passed, and she knew he would not come. she burst into sudden tears. the old man, whether it was in curiosity or sympathy, had his questions justified by her self-betrayal, and his craft easily drew the story from her simplicity. he got up suddenly with an expression of keen interest. she followed his emotions dubiously, as he took from the mantelpiece a tallow dip in an old pewter candlestick, and with slow circumspection lighted the sputtering wick. 'i want ter look up a p'int o' law, d'rindy,' he said impressively. 'ye jes' set thar an' i'll let ye know d'rec'ly how the law stands.' it seemed to dorinda a long time that he sat with his book before him on the table, his spectacles gleaming in the light of the tallow dip, close at hand, his lips moving as he slowly read beneath his breath, now and then clutching his big red handkerchief, and polishing off the top of his round head and his wrinkled brow. twice he was about to close the book. twice he renewed his search. and now at last it was small comfort to dorinda to know that the affidavit would not, in the justice's opinion, have been competent testimony. he called it an _ex parte_ statement, and said that unless rick tyler's deposition were taken in the regular way, giving due notice to the attorney-general, it could not be admitted, and that in almost all criminal cases witnesses were compelled to testify _viv㢠voce_. small comfort to dorinda to know that the effort was worthless from the beginning, and that on it she had staked and lost the dearest values of her life. as he read aloud the prosy, prolix sentences, they were annotated by her sobs. 'dell-law! d'rindy, 'twarn't no good, nohow!' he exclaimed, presently, breaking off with an effort from his reading, for he relished the rotund verbiage--the large freedom of legal diction impressed him as a privilege, accustomed as he was only to the simple phrasings of his simple neighbours. he could not understand her disappointment. surely rick tyler's defection could not matter, he argued, since the affidavit would have been worthless. she did not tell him more. all the world was changed to her. nothing--not her lover himself--could ever make her see it as once it was. she declined the invitation to stay and eat supper, and soon was once more out in the pallid mist and the contending dusk. the scene that she had left was still vivid in her mind, and she looked back once at the lucent yellow square of the lighted window gleaming through the white vapours. the rose-bush showed across the lower panes, and she remembered the melancholy fall of the flower. alas, the roses all were dead! xv. it was not so dreary in the dark depths of the cavern as in the still white world without; and the constable of the district, one ephraim todd, found the flare of the open furnace and the far-reaching lights, red among the glooms, and a perch on an empty barrel, and the warm generosities of the jug, a genial transition. nevertheless he protested. 'you-uns oughter be plumb 'shamed, pete,' he said, 'ter toll me hyar, an' me a off'cer o' the law.' 'ye hev been hyar often afore, the lord above knows,' asseverated pete, 'an' ye needed mighty little tollin'.' 'but i warn't a off'cer o' the law then,' said the constable, wrestling with his official conscience. 'an' i hev tuk a oath an' am under bonds. an' hyar i be a-consortin' with law-breakers, an' 'tain't becomin' in a off'cer o' the law.' 'ye ain't tuk no oath, nor entered into no bonds ter keep yer throat ez dry ez a limekiln,' retorted pete. 'jes' take a swig at that thar jug an' hand it over hyar, will ye, an' hold yer jaw.' thus readily the official conscience, never rampant, was pacified. the constable had formerly been, as pete said, an _habituã©_ of the place, but since his elevation to office he had made himself scarce, in deference to the promptings of that newly acquired sense of dignity and propriety. should some chemical process obliterate for a time a leopard's spots, consider the satisfaction of the creature to find himself once more restored to his natural polka-dots; and such was the complacence of the constable, with his artificial conscience evaporated and his heart mottled with its native instincts of good and evil. he was glad to be back in the enjoyment of the affluent hospitalities of the moonshiner's jug. he was a big, portly fellow, hardly more symmetrical than the barrel upon which he was seated. he had an inexhaustible fund of good humour, and was not even angry when pete, in sheer contrariety, told him the reason for his enticement to the still. he said he would be glad enough if rick tyler could swear out anything that would benefit the parson, and declared that he believed only micajah green's malice could have compassed his incarceration. ''cajah inquired o' me whar this place war, pete,' he said, 'a-purtendin' like he hed been hyar wunst. but i jes' tole him 'twar ez safe ez a unhatched deedie in a aig--an' i batted my eye, jes' so, an' he shet up purty quick.' the gleam from the furnace door showed pete's own light grey eyes intently staring at the visitor, but he said nothing and the matter passed. when the constable's heart was warmed by the brush whisky he understood the sensation as happiness, and he translated happiness as a religious excitement. he seemed maudlin as he talked about the parson, who, he declared, had led him to grace, and he recited some wonderful stories of religious experience, tending to illustrate his present righteousness and the depths of iniquity from which he had been redeemed. pete's perversity operated to curtail these. 'that's a fac'!' he would heartily assent; 'ye useter be one o' the meanes' men on these hyar mountings!' or 'grace hed a mighty wrastle with satan in yer soul. i dunno whether he air cast out _yit_!' the constable--his big owlish head askew--was embarrassed by these manoeuvres, and presently the talk drifted to the subject of the parson's spiritual defection. this he considered a mental aberration. 'hi kelsey,' he said, 'war always more or less teched in the head. i hev noticed--an' ye may sot it down ez a true word--ez ev'y man es air much smarter'n other men in some ways, in other ways air foolisher. he mought prophesy one day, an' the nex' ye wouldn't trest him ter lead a blind goose ter water. he air smarter'n enny man i ever see--pa'son kelsey air. thar's brother jake tobin ain't got haffen his sense; an' yit nobody can't say ez brother jake ain't sensible.' the philosopher upon the barrel, as he made this nice distinction, gazed meditatively into the bed of live coals that flung its red glare on his broad flushed countenance and wide blinking eyes. it revealed the others, too: the old man's hard, lined, wrinkled visage and his stalwart supple frame; pete, with his long tangled hair, his pipe between his great exposed teeth; ab, filling the furnace with wood, his ragged beard moved by the hot breath of the fire; the big-boned, callow sol, with his petulant, important face; and ben, in the dim background tossing the sticks over to ab from the gigantic wood pile. they fell with a sharp sound, and the cave was full of their multiplied echoes. the men as they talked elevated their voices so as to be heard. ab was rising from his kneeling posture. he closed the furnace door, and as it clashed he thought for an instant he was dreaming. in that instant he saw pete start up suddenly with wild, distended eyes, and with a levelled pistol in his hand. the next moment ab knew what it meant. a sharp report--and a jet of red light, projected from the muzzle of the weapon, revealed a group of skulking, unfamiliar figures stealthily advancing upon them. the return fire was almost instantaneous, and was followed by multitudinous echoes and a thunderous crash that thrilled every nerve. the darkness was filled with the clamours of pandemonium, for the concussion had dislodged from the roof a huge fragment of rock, weighing doubtless many tons. the revenue raiders lagged for a moment, confused by the overwhelming sound, the clouds of stifling dust, and the eerie aspect of the place. they distinguished a sharp voice presently, crying out some imperative command, and after that there was no more resistance from the moonshiners. they had disappeared as if the earth had swallowed them. the intruders were at a loss. they could not pursue and capture the men in the dark. if the furnace door were opened they would be targets in the glare for the lurking moonshiners in the glooms beyond. it did not occur to them that the cave had another outlet, until, as the echoes of the fallen fragment grew faint, they heard far away a voice crying out, 'don't leave me!' and the mocking rocks repeating it with their tireless mimicry. it was the constable. he never forgot that agonized retreat down those unknown black depths. he was hardly able to keep pace with his swifter fellows, falling sometimes, and being clutched to his feet rudely enough, as they pressed on in a close squad; feeling now and then the sudden wing of a bat against his face and interpreting it as the touch of a human pursuer; sometimes despairing, as they scrambled through a long, low, narrow passage, scarcely wide enough for the constable's comfortable fatness. then it was that fear descended upon him with redoubled force, and he would exclaim in pity of his plight, 'an' me a off'cer o' the law!' he impeded their flight incalculably, but to their credit be it said the lighter weights had never a thought of deserting their unfortunate guest despite the danger of capture and the distress of mind induced by the loss of their little 'all.' the poor constable fitted some of the tube-like passages like the pith in the bark, and as he was at last drawn, pallid, struggling, his garments in shreds, from an aperture of the cave in a dense untrodden jungle of the laurel, he again piteously exclaimed, 'an' me a off'cer o' the law!' there was little leisure, however, to meditate upon his degraded dignity. he followed the example of the moonshiners, and ran off through the laurel as fleetly as a fat man well could. the raiders showed excellent judgment. they offered no pursuit down those dark and devious underground corridors. acquiring a sense of security from the echoes growing ever fainter and indicative of lengthening distances, they presently opened the furnace door, and by the aid of the flare cut the tubs and still to pieces, destroyed the worm, demolished the furnace, and captured in triumph sundry kegs and jugs of the illicit whisky. there was a perfunctory search for the distillers at the log cabin on the mountain slope. but the officers made haste to be off, for the possibility of rally and recapture is not without parallel facts in the annals of moonshining. perhaps the mountain wilds had never sheltered a fiercer spirit than old groundhog cayce when he ventured back into his den and stood over the ruins of his scanty fortunes--the remnants of the still; the furnace, a pile of smoking stones and ashes and embers; the worm in spiral sections; the tubs half burnt, riven in pieces, lying about the ground. the smoke was still dense overhead and the hot stones were sending up clouds of steam. it was as well, perhaps, since the place would never again be free from inspection, that it could not be used as it once was. the great fragment of rock, fallen from the roof, lay in the course of the subterranean stream, and the water, thus dammed, was overflowing its channel and widely spreading a shallow flood all along the familiar ground. it was rising. he made haste to secure the few articles overlooked by the raiders: a rifle, a powder-horn on one of the ledges that served as shelf, a bag of corn, the jovial jug. and for the last time he crept through the narrow portal and left the cavern to the dense darkness, to the floating smoke, to the hissing embers, and the slow rising of the subterranean springs. for days he nursed his wrath as he sat upon the cabin porch beneath the yellow gourds and the purple blooms of the jack-bean, and gazed with unseeing eyes at the wide landscape before him. the sky was blue in unparalleled intensity. the great 'balds' towered against it in sharp outlines, in definite symmetry, in awful height. the forests were aflame with scarlet boughs. the balsams shed upon the air their perfumes, so pervasive, so tonic, that the lungs breathed health and all the benignities of nature. the horizon seemed to expand, and the exquisite lucidity of the atmosphere revealed vague lines of far-away mountains unknown to the limitations of less favoured days. in the woods the acorns were dropping, dropping, all the long hours. the yellow sunshine was like a genial enthusiasm, quickening the pulses and firing the blood. the hickory trees seemed dyed in its golden suffusions, and were a lustrous contrast to the sombre pine, or the dappled maple, or the vivid crimson of the black-gum. but the future of the year was a narrowing space; the prospects it had brought were dwarfed in the fulfilment, or were like an empty clutch at the empty air. and winter was afoot; ah, yes, the tenderest things were already dead--the flowers and the hopes--and the splendid season cherished in its crimson heart a woeful premonition. and thus the winds, blowing where they listed, sounded with a melancholy cadence; and the burnished yellow sheen was an evanescent light; and the purple haze, vaguely dropping down, had its conclusive intimations in despite that it loitered. dorinda, with her hands folded too, sat much of the time in dreary abstraction on the step of the porch, looking down at the yellowed corn-field which she and rick ploughed on that ecstatic june morning. how long ago it seemed! sometimes above it, among the brown tassels, there hovered in the air a cluster of quivering points of light against the blue mountain opposite, as some colony of gossamer-winged insects disported themselves in the sunshine. and the crickets were shrilling yet in the grass. she saw nothing, and it would be hard to say what she thought. in the brilliancy of her youthful beauty--a matter of linear accuracy and delicate chiselling and harmonious colouring, for nature had been generous to her--it might seem difficult to descry a likeness to the wrinkled and weather-beaten features of her father's lowering face, as he sat in his chair helplessly brooding upon his destroyed opportunities. but there was a suggestion of inflexibility in both: she had firm lines about her mouth that were hard in his; the unflinching clearness of her eyes was a reflection of the unflinching boldness of his. her expression in these days was so set, so stern, so hopeless, that one might have said she looked like him. he beheld his ruined fortunes; she, her bereft heart. amos james, one day, as he stood on the porch, saw this look on her face. she was leaning on her folded arms in the window hard by. she had spoken to him as absently and with as mechanical courtesy as the old moonshiner at the other end of the porch. he came up close to her. it was a wonderful contrast to the face she had worn when they talked, that day at the spring, of rick tyler's escape. with the quickened intuition of a lover's heart he divined the connection. 'ye hain't kep' yer promise, d'rindy,' he said in a low tone. 'what promise?' she demanded, rousing herself and knitting her brows as she looked at him. 'ye 'lowed ye'd let me know ef ever ye kem ter think less o' rick tyler.' her eyes, definitely angry, flashed upon him. 'ye shan't profit by it,' she declared. and so he left her, still leaning in the vine-framed window, the lilac blossoms of the jack-bean drooping until they touched her black hair. rick tyler was dismayed by the result of his jealousy and the strange 'lesson' that dorinda had learned. he found her inflexible. she reminded him sternly of the conditions of her promise and that he had failed. and when he protested that he was jealous because he loved her so, she said she valued no love that for her sake grudged a word, not in generosity, but in simple justice, to liberate an innocent man in the rigours of a terrible doom. and when at this man's very name he was seized with his accustomed impetuous anger, she looked at him with a cool aloof scrutiny that might have expressed a sheer curiosity. it bewildered and tamed him. he had never heard of a spartan. he only thought of her as immovable, and as infinitely remote from his plane as the great dome of the mountain. he remembered that she had always softened to his misfortunes, and he talked of how he had suffered. but she said that was all over now, and he had been 'mighty lucky.' he sought to appeal to her in her own behalf, and reminded her how she had loved him through it all, how she would have married him, despite the fierce pursuit of the law. she had loved him; he would not forget that. 'no,' she said drearily. 'i never loved ye. i loved what i thunk ye war. but ye warn't that--nuthin' like it! ye war suthin' else. i war jes' in love with my own foolishness.' poor dorinda! alas, for the fair ideals! these things are transient. he went away at last, indignant and amazed. once he thought of offering to make the affidavit, not cognizant of its fatal defect, and then the conviction took hold upon him that this melancholy was her deep disappointment because she loved the man she sought to aid. and sometimes he could not believe he had lost her heart. and yet when he would go back, her dull indifference to his presence would convince him alike that he was naught to her now and that he had been supplanted. his contradictions of feeling began to crystallize into a persistent perversity. he took pleasure in denying the story she had told of his escape, and many people hardly knew which version to believe. he congratulated brother jake tobin one evening at the cabin on having turned hi kelsey out of the church, and called him a wolf in sheep's clothing. and then for his pains he was obliged to listen to her defence of the absent man; she declared the parson was like one of the prophets--like some man in the bible. as to that confession he had made in the church, 'twar plain he war out'n his head.' meantime brother jake tobin discreetly bent his attention upon the honey and fried chicken on the supper table, and rick tyler fumed in silence. after the news of the nolle prosequi, rick went about the mountain with his former large liberty. his step-brothers were desirous of obliterating his recollection of their avoidance, and made him a present of several head of cattle and some hogs. he lived at home among them, and began to have prospects for the future. he was planning with the younger cayces to start a new still, for a region is particularly safe for that enterprise immediately after a visit from the revenue officers, their early return being improbable. and he talked about a house-raising while the weather held fine, and before snow. 'i'm a-thinkin' 'bout gittin' married, pete, ter a gal over yander ter the settlemint,' he said, looking for the effect on dorinda. she was as silent, as stern, as listless as ever. and but for the sheer futility of it, he might have fallen to upbraiding her and protesting and complaining as of yore, and repudiated the mythical 'gal at the settlemint.' all the leaves were falling. crisp and sere they carpeted the earth and fled before the wind. they seemed in some wise to illumine the slopes as they lay in long yellow vistas under the overhanging black boughs. many a nest was revealed--empty, swinging on the bare limb. the mountains near at hand were sad and sombre, the stark denuded forests showing the brown ground among the trees, and great jutting crags, and sterile stretches of out-cropping rocks, and fearful abysmal depths of chasms--and streams, too, madly plunging. all the scene was stripped of the garb of foliage, and the illusion of colour, and the poetry of the song birds and the flowers. more distant ranges were of a neutral vagueness, and farther still they seemed a nebulous grey under a grey sky. when the sun shone they were blue--a faint, unreal blue, a summer souvenir clinging to the wintry landscape like some youthful trait continued in a joyless age. for it was november, and the days were drear. about this time an excited rumour suddenly prevailed that parson kelsey had returned to the great smoky mountains. it was widely discredited at first, but proved to be authorized by gid fletcher, who was himself just back from shaftesville, where he had been to testify in the trial for the rescue of rick tyler. a story of discomfiture he retailed, and he seemed ill at ease and prone to lay much blame on rick, whose perverse circulation of diverse accounts of the escape had greatly unnerved him before his journey, and prevented the prosecution from summoning rick as a witness, if indeed he would have permitted himself to be served with the subpoena. the judge was testy during the trial, and charged the jury in favour of the prisoner; after the verdict of acquittal, he stated indignantly that there had been practically no evidence against the defendant, and that it was a marked instance of the indifference or ignorance of the committing magistrate and the grand jury that such a case of flagrant malice could get beyond them and into the jurisdiction of the court. gid fletcher solaced himself by telling how green played the fool on the stand when the judge snarled at him, and contradicted himself and cut a 'mighty pore figger.' 'though ez ter that, the pa'son riz up an' reviled both me an' 'cajah in open court,' said fletcher. ''pears like he hed read the bible so constant jes' ter l'arn ev'y creepy soundin' curse ez could be called down on the heads o' men. an' somebody said ter the jedge arterward ez he oughter fine pa'son fur contempt o' court. an' the jedge 'lowed he warn't a statute; he hed some human natur in him, an' he wanted me an' 'cajah ter hear the truth spoke one time.' the blacksmith declared, too, that he was 'fairly afeard o' pa'son' and his fierce threats of revenge, and was glad enough that they were not obliged to make the journey together, for he, having a horse, had ridden, while the parson had been constrained to walk. 'i reckon he's hyar by this time,' fletcher said to nathan hoodendin, 'but i ain't a-hankerin' ter meet up with him agin. he's more like a wild beastis 'na man; ter see him cut his blazin' eye aroun' at ye, ye'd 'low ez he'd never hearn o' grace!' the snow came with kelsey. one day, when the dull dawn broke, the white flakes were softly falling--silent, mysterious, ghostly invasion of the wild wintry air and the woods. all adown chasms and ravines, unexplored and unknown, the weird palpitating motion animated the wide and desert spaces. the ground was deeply covered; the drifts filled the hollows; they burdened the crests of the jutting crags and found a lodgment in all the fissures of their dark and rugged faces. the white lines on the bare black boughs served to discriminate their sylvan symmetry. vague solemnities pervaded the silent marshalling of these forces of nature. the wind held its breath. an austere hush lay upon the chilled world. the perspective had its close limitations and the liberties of vision were annulled. only the wild things were abroad; but the footprints of the rabbit or the deer were freshly filled, and the falling snow seemed to possess the world. when it ceased at last, it lay long on the ground, for the cold continued. and the wilderness was sheeted and still. there were presently visible occasional ruts winding in and out among the trees, marking the course of the road and the progress of some adventurous waggon and ox-team--sometimes, too, the hoof-prints of a saddle-horse. one might easily judge how few of the mountaineers had ventured out since the beginning of the 'cold snap.' these marks were most numerous in front of the log-house where hiram kelsey and his uncle and the two old men sat around the fire. there was a prevalent curiosity as to how the parson had endured the double humiliation of imprisonment and being cast out of the church. they were hardly prepared for the tempestuous fury which animated him upon the mention of the prosecution and the witnesses' names. but when hesitating inquiries were propounded by those of his visitors disposed to controversy--seeking to handle his heresies and gauge his infidelity--he would fall from the ecstasies of rage to a dull despondency. 'i dunno,' he would say, looking into the heart of the red fire. 'i can't sati'fy my mind. some things in the bible air surely set contrariwise. i can't argyfy on 'em. but thar's one thing i kin _feel_--christ the lord liveth. an' sometimes that seems doctrine enough. an' mebbe some day i'll find him.' a thaw came on, checked by a sudden freeze. he thought it as cold as ever one afternoon about sunset as he trudged along the road. he saw a tiny owl, perched in a cedar-tree hard by the rail-fence. the creature's feathers were ruffled, and it looked chill. the atmosphere was of a crystalline clearness. the mountains in the east had dropped the snow from the darkling pines, but above, the towering balds rose in unbroken whiteness, imposed in onyx-like distinctness upon the azure sky. there were vague suggestions of blue and violet and rose on the undulations of the steep, snow-covered slopes close at hand. the crags were begirt with icicles, reaching down many feet and brilliant with elusive prismatic glimmers. he heard a sudden crash: a huge scintillating pendant had fallen by its own weight. chilhowee stood massive and richly purple beyond the snowy valley; above was a long stretch of saffron sky, and in its midst the red sun was going down. he stood to watch its fiery disc slip behind the mountains, and then he turned and pursued his way through the neutral-tinted twilight of the wintry evening. old cayce's log-cabin rose up presently, dark and drear against the high and snowy slopes behind it. the drifts still lay thatch-like on the roof; the eaves were fringed with icicles. the overhanging trees were cased in glittering icy mail. the blackened corn-stalks, left standing in the field as is the habit until next spring's ploughing should begin, were writhen and bent, and bore gaunt witness to the devastation of the winter wind. the smoke was curling briskly from the chimney, and as the door opened to his knock, the great fire of hickory and ash, sending up yellow and blue flames all tipped with vivid scarlet, cast a genial flare upon the snowy landscape, slowly darkening without. he experienced a sudden surprise as his eye fell upon old man cayce, the central figure of the group, having heard stories of the moonshiner's deep depression, consequent upon the disastrous raid, and of the apathy into which he had fallen. they hardly seemed true. he sat erect in his chair, his supple frame alert, his eye intent, every fibre charged with energy, his face deeply flushed. he looked expectant, eager. his stalwart sons sat with him in a semicircle about the wide, warm hearth. all their pipes were freshly alight, for the evening meal was just concluded. they, too, wore an aspect of repressed excitement. kelsey detected it in their abstraction during the formal greetings, and when he was seated among them, ever and anon they shifted uneasily in their chairs, which grated harshly on the puncheon floor. sometimes there sounded a faint jingling of spurs when they moved their feet on the ill-adjusted stones of the hearth. they had their pistols in their belts and perchance their lives in their hands. his admission was in some sort a confidence, but although he marvelled, he said nothing. the bare and humble furnishing of the room was very distinct in the rich glow--the few chairs, the shelves with the cooking utensils, the churn, a chest, the warping-bars, the spinning-wheel; and their simple domestic significance seemed at variance with the stern and silent armed men grouped about the fire. a vibrant sound--one of the timbers had sprung in the cold. soloman rose precipitately. 'nuthin', sol, nuthin',' said the old man testily. 'tain't nigh time yit.' nevertheless sol opened the door. the chill air rushed in. the yellow flames bowed and bent fantastically before it. outside the gibbous moon hung in the sky, and the light, solemn, ghostly, pervaded with pallid mysteries the snowy vistas of the dense, still woods. the shadow of the black boughs lay in distinct tracery upon the white surface; there was a vague multiplication of effect, and the casual glance could ill distinguish the tree from its semblance. vacant of illusions was the winding road--silent, and empty, and white, its curve visible from the fireplace through the black rails of the zigzag fence. hiram kelsey caught a glimpse, too, of the frosty dilations of a splendid star; then the door closed and sol came back with jingling spurs to his seat by the fireside. 'be you-uns satisfied?' demanded pete with a sneer. sol, abashed, said nothing, and once more the ominous silence descended, all moodily watching the broad and leaping flames and the pulsating coals beneath. somehow the geniality of the fire suggested another bright and dominant presence that was wont in some sort to illumine the room. 'whar be d'rindy?' asked kelsey suddenly. 'waal--d'rindy,' said ab, the eldest of the sons, evidently withdrawing his mind with an effort, 'she hev gone ter tuckaleechee cove, ter holp nuss aunt jerushy's baby. it's ailin', an' bein' ez it air named arter d'rindy, she sets store by it, an' war powerful tormented ter hear how the critter war tuk in its stummick. she kerried jacob along, too, 'kase she 'lows she hankers arter him when she's away, an' she makes out ez we-uns cross him in his temper, 'thout she air by ter pertect him. i war willin' 'kase it air peacefuller hyar without jacob 'n with him--though he air my own son, sech ez he be. an' d'rindy hev pompered him till he air ez prideful ez a tur-r-key gobbler, an' jes' about ez cornsiderate.' 'she lef' mirandy jane an' me,' said pete, facetiously showing his great teeth. 'waal,' said the old man, speaking with his grave excited eyes still on the fire. 'i be toler'ble glad ez d'rindy tuk this time ter leave home fur a few days, 'kase she hev been toler'ble ailin' an' droopy. an' t'other day some o' the boys got ter talkin' 'bout'n how sure they be ez 'twar 'cajah green--dad-burn the critter!--ez gin the revenue hounds the word whar our still war hid. an' d'rindy, she jes' tuk a screamin' fit, an' performed an' kerried on like she war bereft o' reason. an' she got down old betsy thar'--pointing to a rifle on the rack--'ez pete hed made her draw a mark on it ter remember 'cajah green by, an' his word ez he'd jail her some day, an' she wanted me and the boys ter swear on it ez we-uns would never shoot him.' 'an' did you-uns swear sech?' asked hiram kelsey, in fierce reprobation. beneath the broad brim of his hat his eyes were blazing; their large dilated pupils cancelled the iris and the idea of colour; they were coals of fire. his shadowed face was set and hard; it bore a presage of disappointment--and yet he was doubtful. pete turned and looked keenly at him. 'waal,' said the old man, embarrassed, and in some sort mortified, 'd'rindy, ye see, war ailin', an', an'--i never hed but that one darter an' sech a pack o' sons, an' it 'pears like she _oughter_ be humoured--an'----' 'ye w-wants him shot, hey, pa'son?' pete interrupted his critical study of the unconscious subject. kelsey's eyes flashed. 'i pray that the lord may cut him off,' he said. 'waal, the lord ain't obleeged ter use a rifle,' said pete pertinently. 'even we-uns kin find more ways than that.' 'the pa'son mought ez well go along an' holp,' said groundhog cayce. kelsey turned his eyes in blank inquiry from the old man to pete by his side. 'we air a-layin' fur him now,' pete explained. 'he hain't been so delivered over by the lord ez ter kem agin, arter informin' the raiders, inter the big smoky?' kelsey asked, forgetting himself for the moment, and aghast at the doomed man's peril. pete tapped his head triumphantly. 'tain't stuffed with cotton wool,' he declared. 'we let on ter the mounting ez we never knowed who done it. an' we jes' laid low, an' held our tongues betwixt our teeth, when we hearn 'bout'n his 'quirin' round 'bout'n the still, from this'n an' that'n, d'rectly arter the 'lection. we got him beat fur that, jes' 'count o' what he said ter d'rindy, 'kase she wouldn't g-g-gin her cornsent ter shootin' him, an' got dad set so catawampus, he obeyed her like jacob wouldn't fur nuthin'. an''--with rising emphasis--'th-th-the blamed critter 'lows he lef' no tracks an' ain't been found out yit! an' hyar he be on the big smoky agin, a-finishin' up some onsettled business with his old office. i seen him yander ter the settlemint, an' talked with him frien'ly an' familiar, along o' gid fletcher, an' fund out when he war ter start down ter eskaqua cove, ter bide all night at tobe grimes's house.' 'but--but--ef they never tole him--surely none o' 'em told him'--argued kelsey breathlessly. pete showed his long teeth. 'somebody tole him,' he said, with a fierce smile. 'h-h-he couldn't git the mounting ter t-t-turn agin we-uns; they war _afeard_!' cynically discriminating the motive. 'so he kem nosin' roun' 'mongst our c-c-chillen--the little chillen, ez didn't know what they war a-tellin' an' jacob tole him whar the cave war, an' 'bout haulin' the apples fur pomace. jacob war the man, fur mirandy jane hearn him say it. she hed seen 'cajah green afore, when he war sher'ff.' it was a palpable instance of bad faith and imposition, and it tallied well with hiram kelsey's own wrongs. he sat brooding upon them, and looking at the fire with dulled meditative eyes. one of the logs, burnt in twain, broke with a crash under the burden of the others, and the fire, quickening about them, sent up myriads of sparks attendant upon the freshening flames; among the pulsating red coals there were dazzling straw-tinted gleams, and a vista of white heat that repelled the eye. outside the wind was rising--its voice hollow, keen, and shrill as it swept over the icy chasms; the trees were crashing their bare boughs together. it was a dreary sound. from far away came the piercing howl of some prowling hungry wolf, familiar enough to the ears that heard it, but its ravening intimations curdled the blood. a cock's crow presently smote the air, clear and resonant as a bugle, and with a curse on tardiness the impatient sol once more rose and opened the door to look out. a change was impending. clouds had come with the wind, from the west to meet the moon. though tipped with the glint of silver, the black portent was not disguised. rain or snow, it mattered not which. the young mountaineer held the door open to show the darkening sky and the glittering earth, and looked over his shoulder with a triumphant glance. 'that will settle the footprints,' he said. there was something so cruel in his face, so deadly in his eyes, a ferocious satisfaction in the promised security so like the savage joy of a skulking beast, that it roused a normal impulse in the breast of the man who read the thoughts of his fellow-men like an open book. kelsey was himself again. he raised his hand suddenly, with an imperative gesture. 'listen ter me!' he said, with that enthusiasm kindling in his eyes which they honoured sometimes as the light of religion, and sometimes reviled as frenzy. 'ye'll repent o' yer deeds this night! an' the jedgmint o' the lord will foller ye! yer father's grey hairs will go down in sorrow ter the grave, but his mind will die before his body. an' some of you-uns will languish in jail, an' know the despair o' the bars. an' he that is bravest 'mongst ye will mark how his shadder dogs him. an' ye will strike yer hands tergether, an' say, "that the day hed never dawned, that the night hed never kem fur we-uns!" an' ye'll wisht ye hed died afore! an' but for the coward in the blood, ye would take yer own life then! an' ye'll look at the grave before ye, an' hope ez it all ends thar!' his eyes blazed. he had risen to his feet in the intensity of his fervour. and whether it was religion or whether it was lunacy it transfigured him. they had all quailed before him, half overborne by the strength of his emotion, and half in deprecation, because of their faith in his mysterious foreknowledge. but as he turned, pushed back his chair, and hastily started toward the door, they lost the impression. pete first recovered himself. 'wh-wh-whar be you-uns a-goin'?' he demanded roughly. the parson turned fiercely. he thrust out his hand with a gesture of repudiation, and once more he lifted the latch. 'naw, ye ain't g-g-goin',' said pete, with cool decision, throwing himself against the door. 'ye hev sot 'mongst we-uns an' h-hearn our plans. ye 'peared ter gin yer cornsent w-when dad said ye could go 'long. dad thought ye'd like ter hev a s-sheer in payin' yer own grudge. we hev tole ye what we hev tole no other livin' man. an' now ye hev got ter hev our reason ter h-h-hold yer yaw. i don't like ter s-shoot a man down under our own roof ez kem hyar frien'ly, but ef ye fools with that thar latch agin, i reckon i'll be obleeged ter do it.' if pete cayce had possessed an acute discrimination in the reading of faces, he might have interpreted kelsey's look as a pondering dismay; the choice offered him was to do murder or to die! as it was, pete only noted the relinquishment of the parson's design when he sat down silent and abstracted before the fire. but for his deep grudge, it might have seemed that kelsey had intended to forewarn micajah green of the danger in the path, and to turn him back. pete did not feel entirely reassured until after he had said: 'i 'lowed ez ye s-s-swore ye fairly _de_-spise 'cajah g-g-green, an' r-raged ter git even with him.' 'i furgits it sometimes,' rejoined kelsey. and pete did not apprehend the full meaning of the words. 'an' don't do no more o' yer prophesyin' ter-night, hiram,' said the old man irritably. 'it fairly gins me the ager to hear sech talk.' the night wore on. the fire roared; the men, intently listening, sat around the hearth. now and then a furtive glance was cast at hiram kelsey. he seemed lost in thought, but his eye glittered with that uninterpreted, inscrutable light, and they were vaguely sorry that he had come among them. they took scant heed of his reproach. it has been so long the unwritten law of moonshiners that the informer shall perish as the consequence of his malice and his rashness, that whatever normal moral sense they possess is in subjection to their arbitrary code of justice and the savage custom of the region. the mysterious disappearance of a horse-thief or a revenue spy, dramatically chronicled, with a wink and a significant grin, as 'never hearn on no more,' or 'fund dead in the road one mornin',' affects the mountaineers much as the hangman's summary in the friday evening papers impresses more law-abiding communities--shocking, but necessary. the great fire was burnt to a mass of coals. the wind filled the ravines with a tumult of sound. the bare woods were in wild commotion. the gusts dashed upon the roof snow, perhaps, or sleet, or vague drizzling rain; now discontinued, now coming again with redoubled force. suddenly, a growl from the dogs under the house; then the sound of a crunching hoof in the snow. the men sallied forth, swift and silent as shadows. there was a frantic struggle in the road; a wild cry for help; a pistol fired wide of the mark, the report echoing in the silence from crag to crag, from chasm to chasm, with clamorous iteration, as if it would alarm the world. the horses were ready. the men hastily threw themselves into the saddle. it had been arranged that kelsey, who had no horse, should ride before the prisoner. he mounted, drew about his own waist the girth which bound the doomed man, buckling it securely, and the great grey horse was in the centre of the squad. micajah green begged as they went--begged as only a man can for his life. he denied, he explained, he promised. 'ye cotton ter puttin' folks in jail, 'cajah! yer turn now! we'll put ye whar the dogs won't bite ye,' said the old man savagely. and the rest said never a word. the skies were dark, the mountain wilds awful in their immensity, in their deep obscurities, in the multitudinous sounds of creaking boughs and shrilling winds. they were in the dense laurel at last. the branches, barbed with ice, and the evergreen leaves, burdened with snow, struck sharply in their faces as they forced their way through. the swift motion had chilled them; icicles clung to their hair and beard; each could hardly see the dark figures of the others in the dense umbrageous undergrowth as they recognised the spot they sought and called a halt. it was the mouth of the cave; they could hear the sound of the dark cold water as it rippled in the vaulted place where the dammed current rose now half way to the roof. their wretched prisoner, understanding this fact and the savage substitute for the rifle, made a despairing struggle. 'lemme git a holt of him, hi,' said pete, his teeth chattering, his numbed arms stretched up in the darkness to lay hold on his victim. 'hyar he be,' gasped the parson. there was another frantic struggle as they tore the doomed man from the horse; a splash, a muffled cry--he was cast headlong into the black water. a push upon a great boulder hard by--it fell upon the cavity with a crash, and all hope of egress was barred. then, terrorized themselves, the men mounted their horses; each, fleeing as if from pursuit, found his way as best he might out of the dark wilderness. one might not know what they felt that night when the rain came down on the roof. one might not dare to think what they dreamed. the morning broke, drear and clouded, and full of rain, and hardly less gloomy than the night. the snow, tarnished and honeycombed with dark cellular perforations, was melting and slipping down the ravines. the gigantic icicles encircling the crags fell now and then with a resounding crash. the drops from the eaves dripped monotonously into the puddles below. the roof leaked. sol's bridle-hand had been frozen the night before in the long swift ride. but the sun came out again; the far mountains smiled in a blue vagueness that was almost a summer garb. the relics of the snow exhaled a silvery haze that hung airily about the landscape. only the immaculate whiteness of those lofty regions of the balds withstood the thaw, and coldly glittered in wintry guise. a strange sensation thrilled through the fireside group one of these mornings when amos james came up from the mill, and as he smoked with them asked suddenly, all unaware of the tragedy, 'what ailed 'cajah green ter leave the big smoky in sech a hurry?' 'wh-wh-at d'ye mean?' growled pete in startled amaze. and then amos james, still unconscious of the significance of the recital, proceeded to tell that shortly after daybreak on last wednesday morning he heard a 'powerful jouncin' of huffs,' and looking out of the window he saw micajah green on his big grey horse, flying along the valley road at a tremendous rate of speed. before he could open the window to hail him, man and horse were out of sight. it was a silent group that amos left, all meditating upon that swift equestrian figure, pictured against the dreariness of the rainy dawn, and the grey mist, and the shadowing mountains. 'amos seen a ghost,' said pete presently. he looked dubiously over his shoulder, though the morning sunshine came flickering through the door, widely ajar. 'that ain't nuthin' oncommon,' said the old man sturdily. then he told a ghastly story of a legal execution--that the criminal was seen afterward sitting in the moonlight under the gallows on his coffin-lid; and other fearful fantasies of the rural mind, which, morbidly excited, will not accept the end of the rope as a finality. it was only when obediah scruggs came to their house searching for his nephew, saying that hiram had not been seen nor heard of since he had set out one evening to visit them, that a terrible premonition fell upon groundhog cayce. his iron will guarded it for a time, till some one journeying from shaftesville reported having seen there micajah green, who was full of a terrible story of a midnight attack upon him by the cayce tribe, from whom he had miraculously escaped in the midst of the struggle and darkness, he declared, and more dead than alive. then mysteriously and with heavy presage pete and his father made a pilgrimage to the cave. they pried up the boulder over the cavity. they heard the deep water held in the subterranean reservoir still sighing and echoing with the bubbling of the mountain spring. on the surface there floated a hat--hi kelsey's limp and worn old hat. they never told their secret. they replaced the boulder, and sealed their lips. the old man began to age rapidly. his conscience was heavier than his years. but it was a backwoods conscience, and had the distortions of his primitive philosophy. one day he said piteously: 'it air a dreadful thing, pete, ter kill a man by accident.' and pete replied meditatively, 'i dunno but what it air.' by degrees, as they reflected upon the incredible idea that a mistake could have been made between the two men, the truth percolated through their minds. it was a voluntary sacrifice. 'he war always preachin' agin killin',' said the old man, 'an' callin' folks,' his voice fell to a whisper--'cain!' it was well for him, perhaps, when he presently fell into mental decrepitude, and in vacancy was spared the anguish of remorse. and pete fearfully noted the fulfilment of the prophecy. no one could account for the change in pete cayce. he patched up old feuds, and forgave old debts, and forgot his contentious moods, and was meek and very melancholy. and although the parson preached no more, who shall say his sermons were ended? as to him, surely his doubts were solved in knowing all, and perhaps in the exaltations of that sacrificial moment he found christ. the mystery of his fate remained unexplained. the search for him flagged after a time, and failed. there were many conjectures, all wide of the truth. dorinda believed that, like the prophet of old, he had not been suffered to taste death, but was caught up into the clouds. and with a chastened solemnity she cherishes the last of her illusions. the end. by the same author his vanished star '"his vanished star," in all its well-defined, well-described human interests, and its graphic account of grand and lovely scenery, is an excellent novel.... the story is both charming and original.'--_glasgow herald._ 'a thrilling and pathetic tale, and one full of quiet humour and intimate observation of human nature.'--_morning leader._ 'there is not a page in it which will not cause a reader to respect the writer for her good work.'--_bookman._ 'c. e. craddock has given in "his vanished star" fresh evidence of strong imaginative power and a faculty of vivid description, bold, definite, and picturesque.... its excellencies are undeniable, and not of a common sort.'--_scotsman._ 'a remarkable study of nature as well as of character.... rich in the rather grim humour of a peculiar class, picturesque and in its way powerful, "his vanished star" will recommend itself to the lover of american fiction.'--_morning post._ 'there is a good deal of interesting character-drawing, and the spiritual impressions are strong and high. there is humour too.'--_athenã¦um._ 'as a vivid sketch of american life in its most primitive aspect, "his vanished star" is undoubtedly a noteworthy book.'--_speaker._ opinions of the press on the prophet of the great smoky mountains 'the name of george eliot rises to our lips once again as we read "the prophet of the great smoky mountains." ... the author is honoured in her own country as miss mary n. murfree. she is indeed worthy of honour. this book gives her an indisputable place in the first rank of american novelists. yet it is scarcely accurate to say that she stands in the rank; her station is abreast, yet apart. amid all the charms of the american school of fiction, we look for one in vain--to wit, robustness. this quality miss murfree possesses. her work may be called the most virile of recent american writing. the heroine is a really exquisite creation, full of health, grace, and womanly loyalty.'--_pall mall gazette._ 'the tale is really good, and gives graphic pictures of ways and manners far removed from any that are within our ken.... a story which shows appreciation of the beauties of nature, and much knowledge of the human heart. the heroine is earnest and charming--a gem.'--_morning post._ 'a remarkable story.... we have seldom, if ever, read a book with greater delight, or one more rich in the quaint and grim humour, the rare pathos, the touching simplicity, and the picturesque descriptions which are only to be found in stories of this kind.'--_society._ 'unquestionably the most remarkable story that has been received from america for a very long time indeed.... the whole picture, as a study both of nature and of human nature, is wonderfully impressive.'--_graphic._ [illustration: "yes, cissie, i understand now"] birthright a novel by t.s. stribling illustrated by f. luis mora 1922 to my mother amelia waits stribling list of illustrations "yes, cissie, i understand now" peter recognized the white aprons and the swords and spears of the knights and ladies of tabor up and down its street flows the slow negro life of the village in the siner cabin old caroline siner berated her boy the old gentleman turned around at last "you-you mean you want m-me--to go with you, cissie?" he stammered "naw yuh don't," he warned sharply. "you turn roun' an' march on to niggertown" the bridal couple embarked for cairo birthright chapter i at cairo, illinois, the pullman-car conductor asked peter siner to take his suitcase and traveling-bag and pass forward into the jim crow car. the request came as a sort of surprise to the negro. during peter siner's four years in harvard the segregation of black folk on southern railroads had become blurred and reminiscent in his mind; now it was fetched back into the sharp distinction of the present instant. with a certain sense of strangeness, siner picked up his bags, and saw his own form, in the car mirrors, walking down the length of the sleeper. he moved on through the dining-car, where a few hours before he had had dinner and talked with two white men, one an oregon apple-grower, the other a wisconsin paper-manufacturer. the wisconsin man had furnished cigars, and the three had sat and smoked in the drawing-room, indeed, had discussed this very point; and now it was upon him. at the door of the dining-car stood the porter of his pullman, a negro like himself, and peter mechanically gave him fifty cents. the porter accepted it silently, without offering the amenities of his whisk-broom and shoe-brush, and peter passed on forward. beyond the dining-car and pullmans stretched twelve day-coaches filled with less-opulent white travelers in all degrees of sleepiness and dishabille from having sat up all night. the thirteenth coach was the jim crow car. framed in a conspicuous place beside the entrance of the car was a copy of the kentucky state ordinance setting this coach apart from the remainder of the train for the purposes therein provided. the jim crow car was not exactly shabby, but it was unkept. it was half filled with travelers of peter's own color, and these passengers were rather more noisy than those in the white coaches. conversation was not restrained to the undertones one heard in the other day-coaches or the pullmans. near the entrance of the car two negroes in soldiers' uniforms had turned a seat over to face the door, and now they sat talking loudly and laughing the loose laugh of the half intoxicated as they watched the inflow of negro passengers coming out of the white cars. the windows of the jim crow car were shut, and already it had become noisome. the close air was faintly barbed with the peculiar, penetrating odor of dark, sweating skins. for four years peter siner had not known that odor. now it came to him not so much offensively as with a queer quality of intimacy and reminiscence. the tall, carefully tailored negro spread his wide nostrils, vacillating whether to sniff it out with disfavor or to admit it for the sudden mental associations it evoked. it was a faint, pungent smell that played in the back of his nose and somehow reminded him of his mother, caroline siner, a thick-bodied black woman whom he remembered as always bending over a wash-tub. this was only one unit of a complex. the odor was also connected with negro protracted meetings in hooker's bend, and the harvard man remembered a lanky black preacher waving long arms and wailing of hell-fire, to the chanted groans of his dark congregation; and he, peter siner, had groaned with the others. peter had known this odor in the press-room of tennessee cotton-gins, over a river packet's boilers, where he and other roustabouts were bedded, in bunk-houses in the woods. it also recalled a certain octoroon girl named ida may, and an intimacy with her which it still moved and saddened peter to think of. indeed, it resurrected innumerable vignettes of his life in the negro village in hooker's bend; it was linked with innumerable emotions, this pungent, unforgetable odor that filled the jim crow car. somehow the odor had a queer effect of appearing to push his conversation with the two white northern men in the drawing-room back to a distance, an indefinable distance of both space and time. the negro put his suitcase under the seat, hung his overcoat on the hook, and placed his hand-bag in the rack overhead; then with some difficulty he opened a window and sat down by it. a stir of travelers in the cairo station drifted into the car. against a broad murmur of hurrying feet, moving trucks, and talking there stood out the thin, flat voice of a southern white girl calling good-by to some one on the train. peter could see her waving a bright parasol and tiptoeing. a sandwich boy hurried past, shrilling his wares. siner leaned out, with fifteen cents, and signaled to him. the urchin hesitated, and was about to reach up one of his wrapped parcels, when a peremptory voice shouted at him from a lower car. with a sort of start the lad deserted siner and went trotting down to his white customer. a moment later the train bell began ringing, and the dixie flier puffed deliberately out of the cairo station and moved across the ohio bridge into the south. half an hour later the blue-grass fields of kentucky were spinning outside of the window in a vast green whirlpool. the distant trees and houses moved forward with the train, while the foreground, with its telegraph poles, its culverts, section-houses, and shrubbery, rushed backward in a blur. now and then into the jim crow window whipped a blast of coal smoke and hot cinders, for the engine was only two cars ahead. peter siner looked out at the interminable spin of the landscape with a certain wistfulness. he was coming back into the south, into his own country. here for generations his forebears had toiled endlessly and fruitlessly, yet the fat green fields hurtling past him told with what skill and patience their black hands had labored. the negro shrugged away such thoughts, and with a certain effort replaced them with the constructive idea that was bringing him south once more. it was a very simple idea. siner was returning to his native village in tennessee to teach school. he planned to begin his work with the ordinary public school at hooker's bend, but, in the back of his head, he hoped eventually to develop an institution after the plan of tuskeegee or the hampton institute in virginia. to do what he had in mind, he must obtain aid from white sources, and now, as he traveled southward, he began conning in his mind the white men and white women he knew in hooker's bend. he wanted first of all to secure possession of a small tract of land which he knew adjoined the negro school-house over on the east side of the village. before the negro's mind the different villagers passed in review with that peculiar intimacy of vision that servants always have of their masters. indeed, no white southerner knows his own village so minutely as does any member of its colored population. the colored villagers see the whites off their guard and just as they are, and that is an attitude in which no one looks his best. the negroes might be called the black recording angels of the south. if what they know should be shouted aloud in any southern town, its social life would disintegrate. yet it is a strange fact that gossip seldom penetrates from the one race to the other. so peter siner sat in the jim crow car musing over half a dozen villagers in hooker's bend. he thought of them in a curious way. although he was now a b.a. of harvard university, and although he knew that not a soul in the little river village, unless it was old captain renfrew, could construe a line of greek and that scarcely two had ever traveled farther north than cincinnati, still, as peter recalled their names and foibles, he involuntarily felt that he was telling over a roll of the mighty. the white villagers came marching through his mind as beings austere, and the very cranks and quirks of their characters somehow held that austerity. there were the brownell sisters, two old maids, molly and patti, who lived in a big brick house on the hill. peter remembered that miss molly brownell always doled out to his mother, at monday's washday dinner, exactly one biscuit less than the old negress wanted to eat, and she always paid her in old clothes. peter remembered, a dozen times in his life, his mother coming home and wondering in an impersonal way how it was that miss molly brownell could skimp every meal she ate at the big house by exactly one biscuit. it was miss brownell's thin-lipped boast that she understood negroes. she had told peter so several times when, as a lad, he went up to the big house on errands. peter siner considered this remembrance without the faintest feeling of humor, and mentally removed miss molly brownell from his list of possible subscribers. yet, he recalled, the whole brownell estate had been reared on negro labor. then there was henry hooker, cashier of the village bank. peter knew that the banker subscribed liberally to foreign missions; indeed, at the cashier's behest, the white church of hooker's bend kept a paid missionary on the upper congo. but the banker had sold some village lots to the negroes, and in two instances, where a streak of commercial phosphate had been discovered on the properties, the lots had reverted to the hooker estate. there had been in the deed something concerning a mineral reservation that the negro purchasers knew nothing about until the phosphate was discovered. the whole matter had been perfectly legal. a hand shook siner's shoulder and interrupted his review. peter turned, and caught an alcoholic breath over his shoulder, and the blurred voice of a southern negro called out above the rumble of the car and the roar of the engine: "'fo' gawd, ef dis ain't peter siner i's been lookin' at de las' twenty miles, an' not knowin' him wid sich skeniptious clo'es on! wha you fum, nigger?" siner took the enthusiastic hand offered him and studied the heavily set, powerful man bending over the seat. he was in a soldier's uniform, and his broad nutmeg-colored face and hot black eyes brought peter a vague sense of familiarity; but he never would have identified his impression had he not observed on the breast of the soldier's uniform the congressional military medal for bravery on the field of battle. its glint furnished peter the necessary clew. he remembered his mother's writing him something about tump pack going to france and getting "crowned" before the army. he had puzzled a long time over what she meant by "crowned" before he guessed her meaning. now the medal aided peter in reconstructing out of this big umber-colored giant the rather spindling tump pack he had known in hooker's bend. siner was greatly surprised, and his heart warmed at the sight of his old playmate. "what have you been doing to yourself, tump?" he cried, laughing, and shaking the big hand in sudden warmth. "you used to be the size of a dime in a jewelry store." "been in 'e army, nigger, wha i's been fed," said the grinning brown man, delightedly. "i sho is picked up, ain't i?" "and what are you doing here in cairo?" "tryin' to bridle a lil white mule." mr. pack winked a whisky-brightened eye jovially and touched his coat to indicate that some of the "white mule" was in his pocket and had not been drunk. "how'd you get here?" "wucked my way down on de st. louis packet an' got paid off at padjo [paducah, kentucky]; 'n 'en i thought i'd come on down heah an' roll some bones. been hittin' 'em two days now, an' i sho come putty nigh bein' cleaned; but i put up lil joe heah, an' won 'em all back, 'n 'en some." he touched the medal on his coat, winked again, slapped siner on the leg, and burst into loud laughter. peter was momentarily shocked. he made a place on the seat for his friend to sit. "you don't mean you put up your medal on a crap game, tump?" "sho do, black man." pack became soberer. "dat's one o' de great benefits o' bein' dec'rated. dey ain't a son uv a gun on de river whut kin win lil joe; dey all tried it." a moment's reflection told peter how simple and natural it was for pack to prize his military medal as a good-luck piece to be used as a last resort in crap games. he watched tump stroke the face of his medal with his fingers. "my mother wrote me; about your getting it, tump. i was glad to hear it." the brown man nodded, and stared down at the bit of gold on his barrellike chest. "yas-suh, dat 'uz guv to me fuh bravery. you know whut a skeery lil nigger i wuz roun' hooker's ben'; well, de sahgeant tuk me an' he drill ever' bit o' dat right out 'n me. he gimme a baynit an' learned me to stob dummies wid it over at camp oglethorpe, ontil he felt lak i had de heart to stob anything; 'n' 'en he sont me acrost. i had to git a new pair breeches ever' three weeks, i growed so fas'." here he broke out into his big loose laugh again, and renewed the alcoholic scent around peter. "and you made good?" "sho did, black man, an', 'fo' gawd, i 'serve a medal ef any man ever did. dey gimme dish-heah fuh stobbin fo' white men wid a baynit. 'fo' gawd, nigger, i never felt so quare in all my born days as when i wuz ajobbin' de livers o' dem white men lak de sahgeant tol' me to." tump shook his head, bewildered, and after a moment added, "yas-suh, i never wuz mo' surprised in all my life dan when i got dis medal fuh stobbin' fo' white men." peter siner looked through the jim crow window at the vast rotation of the kentucky landscape on which his forebears had toiled; presently he added soberly: "you were fighting for your country, tump. it was war then; you were fighting for your country." * * * * * at jackson, tennessee, the two negroes were forced to spend the night between trains. tump pack piloted peter siner to a negro cafe where they could eat, and later they searched out a negro lodging-house on gate street where they could sleep. it was a grimy, smelly place, with its own odor spiked by a phosphate-reducing plant two blocks distant. the paper on the wall of the room peter slept in looked scrofulous. there was no window, and peter's four-years régime of open windows and freshair sleep was broken. he arranged his clothing for the night so it would come in contact with nothing in the room but a chair back. he felt dull next morning, and could not bring himself either to shave or bathe in the place, but got out and hunted up a negro barber-shop furnished with one greasy red-plush barber-chair. a few hours later the two negroes journeyed on down to perryville, tennessee, a village on the tennessee river where they took a gasolene launch up to hooker's bend. the launch was about fifty feet long and had two cabins, a colored cabin in front of, and a white cabin behind, the engine-room. this unremitting insistence on his color, this continual shunting him into obscure and filthy ways, gradually gave peter a loathly sensation. it increased the unwashed feeling that followed his lack of a morning bath. the impression grew upon him that he was being handled with tongs, along back-alley routes; that he and his race were something to be kept out of sight as much as possible, as careful housekeepers manoeuver their slops. at perryville a number of passengers boarded the up-river boat; two or three drummers; a yellowed old hill woman returning to her wayne county home; a red-headed peanut-buyer; a well-groomed white girl in a tailor suit; a youngish man barely on the right side of middle age who seemed to be attending her; and some negro girls with lunches. the passengers trailed from the railroad station down the river bank through a slush of mud, for the river had just fallen and had left a layer of liquid mud to a height of about twenty feet all along the littoral. the passengers picked their way down carefully, stepping into one another's tracks in the effort not to ruin their shoes. the drummers grumbled. the youngish man piloted the girl down, holding her hand, although both could have managed better by themselves. following the passengers came the trunks and grips on a truck. a negro deck-hand, the truck-driver, and the white master of the launch shoved aboard the big sample trunks of the drummers with grunts, profanity, and much stamping of mud. presently, without the formality of bell or whistle, the launch clacked away from the landing and stood up the wide, muddy river. the river itself was monotonous and depressing. it was perhaps half a mile wide, with flat, willowed mud banks on one side and low shelves of stratified limestone on the other. trading-points lay at tenor fifteen-mile intervals along the great waterway. the typical landing was a dilapidated shed of a store half covered with tin tobacco signs and ancient circus posters. usually, only one man met the launch at each landing, the merchant, a democrat in his shirt-sleeves and without a tie. his voice was always a flat, weary drawl, but his eyes, wrinkled against the sun, usually held the shrewdness of those who make their living out of two-penny trades. at each place the red-headed peanut-buyer slogged up the muddy bank and bargained for the merchant's peanuts, to be shipped on the down-river trip of the first st. louis packet. the loneliness of the scene embraced the trading-points, the river, and the little gasolene launch struggling against the muddy current. it permeated the passengers, and was a finishing touch to peter siner's melancholy. the launch clacked on and on interminably. sometimes it seemed to make no headway at all against the heavy, silty current. tump pack, the white captain, and the negro engineer began a game of craps in the negro cabin. presently, two of the white drummers came in from the white cabin and began betting on the throws. the game was listless. the master of the launch pointed out places along the shores where wildcat stills were located. the crap-shooters, negro and white, squatted in a circle on the cabin floor, snapping their fingers and calling their points monotonously. one of the negro girls in the negro cabin took an apple out of her lunch sack and began eating it, holding it in her palm after the fashion of negroes rather than in her fingers, as is the custom of white women. both doors of the engine-room were open, and peter siner could see through into the white cabin. the old hill woman was dozing in her chair, her bonnet bobbing to each stroke of the engines. the youngish man and the girl were engaged in some sort of intimate lovers' dispute. when the engines stopped at one of the landings, peter discovered she was trying to pay him what he had spent on getting her baggage trucked down at perryville. the girl kept pressing a bill into the man's hand, and he avoided receiving the money. they kept up the play for sake of occasional contacts. when the launch came in sight of hooker's bend toward the middle of the afternoon, peter siner experienced one of the profoundest surprises of his life. somehow, all through his college days he had remembered hooker's bend as a proud town with important stores and unapproachable white residences. now he saw a skum of negro cabins, high piles of lumber, a sawmill, and an ice-factory. behind that, on a little rise, stood the old brownell manor, maintaining a certain shabby dignity in a grove of oaks. behind and westward from the negro shacks and lumberpiles ranged the village stores, their roofs just visible over the top of the bank. moored to the shore, lay the wharf-boat in weathered greens and yellows. as a background for the whole scene rose the dark-green height of what was called the "big hill," an eminence that separated the negro village on the east from the white village on the west. the hill itself held no houses, but appeared a solid green-black with cedars. the ensemble was merely another lonely spot on the south bank of the great somnolent river. it looked dead, deserted, a typical river town, unprodded even by the hoot of a jerk-water railroad. as the launch chortled toward the wharf, peter siner stood trying to orient himself to this unexpected and amazing minifying of hooker's bend. he had left a metropolis; he was coming back to a tumble-down village. yet nothing was changed. even the two scraggly locust-trees that clung perilously to the brink of the river bank still held their toe-hold among the strata of limestone. the negro deck-hand came out and pumped the hand-power whistle in three long discordant blasts. then a queer thing happened. the whistle was answered by a faint strain of music. a little later the passengers saw a line of negroes come marching down the river bank to the wharf-boat. they marched in military order, and from afar peter recognized the white aprons and the swords and spears of the knights and ladies of tabor, a colored burial association. siner wondered what had brought out the knights and ladies of tabor. the singing and the drumming gradually grew upon the air. the passengers in the white cabin, came out on the guards at this unexpected fanfare. as soon as the white travelers saw the marching negroes, they began joking about what caused the demonstration. the captain of the launch thought he knew, and began an oath, but stopped it out of deference to the girl in the tailor suit. he said it was a dead nigger the society was going to ship up to savannah. the girl in the tailor suit was much amused. she said the darkies looked like a string of caricatures marching down the river bank. peter noticed her northern accent, and fancied she was coming to hooker's bend to teach school. one of the drummers turned to another. "did you ever hear bob taylor's yarn about uncle 'rastus's funeral? funniest thing bob ever got off." he proceeded to tell it. every one on the launch was laughing except the captain, who was swearing quietly; but the line of negroes marched on down to the wharfboat with the unshakable dignity of black folk in an important position. they came singing an old negro spiritual. the women's sopranos thrilled up in high, weird phrasing against an organ-like background of male voices. but the black men carried no coffin, and suddenly it occurred to peter siner that perhaps this celebration was given in honor of his own homecoming. the mulatto's heart beat a trifle faster as he began planning a suitable response to this ovation. sure enough, the singing ranks disappeared behind the wharf-boat, and a minute later came marching around the stern and lined up on the outer guard of the vessel. the skinny, grizzly-headed negro commander held up his sword, and the knights and ladies of tabor fell silent. the master of the launch tossed his head-line to the wharf-boat, and yelled for one of the negroes to make it fast. one did. then the commandant with the sword began his address, but it was not directed to peter. he said: [illustration: peter recognized the white aprons and the swords and spears of the knights and ladies of tabor] "brudder tump pack, we, de hooker's ben' lodge uv de knights an' ladies uv tabor, welcome you back to yo' native town. we is proud uv you, a colored man, who brings back de highes' crown uv bravery dis newnighted states has in its power to bestow. "two yeahs ago, brudder tump, we seen you marchin' away fum hooker's ben' wid thirteen udder boys, white an' colored, all marchin' away togedder. fo' uv them boys is already back home; three, we heah, is on de way back, but six uv yo' brave comrades, brudder pack, is sleepin' now in france, an' ain't never goin' to come home no mo'. when we honors you, we honors them all, de libin' an' de daid, de white an' de black, who fought togedder fuh one country, fuh one flag." gasps, sobs from the line of black folk, interrupted the speaker. just then a shriveled old negress gave a scream, and came running and half stumbling out of the line, holding out her arms to the barrel-chested soldier on the gang-plank. she seized him and began shrieking: "bless gawd! my son's done come home! praise de lawd! bless his holy name!" here her laudation broke into sobbing and choking and laughing, and she squeezed herself to her son. tump patted her bony black form. "i's heah, mammy," he stammered uncertainly. "i's come back, mammy." half a dozen other negroes caught the joyful hysteria. they began a religious shouting, clapping their hands, flinging up their arms, shrieking. one of the drummers grunted: "good god! all this over a nigger getting back!" at the extreme end of the dark line a tall cream-colored girl wept silently. as peter siner stood blinking his eyes, he saw the octoroon's shoulders and breasts shake from the sobs, which her white blood repressed to silence. a certain sympathy for her grief and its suppression kept peter's eyes on the young woman, and then, with the queer effect of one picture melting into another, the strange girl's face assumed familiar curves and softnesses, and he was looking at ida may. a quiver traveled deliberately over peter from his crisp black hair to the soles of his feet. he started toward her impulsively. at that moment one of the drummers picked up his grip, and started down the gang-plank, and with its leathern bulk pressed tump pack and his mother out of his path. he moved on to the shore through the negroes, who divided at his approach. the captain of the launch saw that other of his white passengers were becoming impatient, and he shouted for the darkies to move aside and not to block the gangway. the youngish man drew the girl in the tailor suit close to him and started through with her. peter heard him say, "they won't hurt you, miss negley." and miss negley, in the brisk nasal intonation of a northern woman, replied: "oh, i'm not afraid. we waste a lot of sympathy on them back home, but when you see them--" at that moment peter heard a cry in his ears and felt arms thrown about his neck. he looked down and saw his mother, caroline siner, looking up into his face and weeping with the general emotion of the negroes and this joy of her own. caroline had changed since peter last saw her. her eyes were a little more wrinkled, her kinky hair was thinner and very gray. something warm and melting moved in peter siner's breast. he caressed his mother and murmured incoherently, as had tump pack. presently the master of the launch came by, and touched the old negress, not ungently, with the end of a spike-pole. "you'll have to move, aunt ca'line," he said. "we're goin' to get the freight off now." the black woman paused in her weeping. "yes, mass' bob," she said, and she and peter moved off of the launch onto the wharf-boat. the knights and ladies of tabor were already up the river bank with their hero. peter and his mother were left alone. now they walked around the guards of the wharf-boat to the bank, holding each other's arms closely. as they went, peter kept looking down at his old black mother, with a growing tenderness. she was so worn and heavy! he recognized the very dress she wore, an old black silk which she had "washed out" for miss patti brownell when he was a boy. it had been then, it was now, her best dress. during the years the old negress had registered her increasing bulk by letting out seams and putting in panels. some of the panels did not agree with the original fabric either in color or in texture and now the seams were stretching again and threatening a rip. peter's own immaculate clothes reproached him, and he wondered for the hundredth, or for the thousandth time how his mother had obtained certain remittances which she had forwarded him during his college years. as peter and his mother crept up the bank of the river, stopping occasionally to let the old negress rest, his impression of the meanness and shabbiness of the whole village grew. from the top of the bank the single business street ran straight back from the river. it was stony in places, muddy in places, strewn with goods-boxes, broken planking, excelsior, and straw that had been used for packing. charred rubbishpiles lay in front of every store, which the clerks had swept out and attempted to burn. hogs roamed the thoroughfare, picking up decaying fruit and parings, and nosing tin cans that had been thrown out by the merchants. the stores that peter had once looked upon as show-places were poor two-story brick or frame buildings, defiled by time and wear and weather. the white merchants were coatless, listless men who sat in chairs on the brick pavements before their stores and who moved slowly when a customer entered their doors. and, strange to say, it was this fall of his white townsmen that moved peter siner with a sense of the greatest loss. it seemed fantastic to him, this sudden land-slide of the mighty. as peter and his mother came over the brow of the river bank, they saw a crowd collecting at the other end of the street. the main street of hooker's bend is only a block long, and the two negroes could easily hear the loud laughter of men hurrying to the focus of interest and the blurry expostulations of negro voices. the laughter spread like a contagion. merchants as far up as the river corner became infected, and moved toward the crowd, looking back over their shoulders at every tenth or twelfth step to see that no one entered their doors. presently, a little short man, fairly yipping with laughter, stumbled back up the street to his store with tears of mirth in his eyes. a belated merchant stopped him by clapping both hands on his shoulders and shaking some composure into him. "what is it? what's so funny? damn it! i miss ever'thing!" "i-i-it's that f-fool tum-tump pack. bobbs's arrested him!" the inquirer was astounded. "how the hell can he arrest him when he hit town this minute?" "wh-why, bobbs had an old warrant for crap-shoot--three years old-before the war. just as tump was a-coming down the street at the head of the coons, out steps bobbs--" here the little man was overcome. the merchant from the corner opened his eyes. "arrested him on an old crap charge?" the little man nodded. they gazed at each other. then they exploded simultaneously. peter left his obese mother and hurried to the corner, dawson bobbs, the constable, had handcuffs on tump's wrists, and stood with his prisoner amid a crowd of arguing negroes. bobbs was a big, fleshy, red-faced man, with chilly blue eyes and a little straight slit of a mouth in his wide face. he was laughing and chewing a sliver of toothpick. "o tump pack," he called loudly, "you kain't git away from me! if you roll bones in hooker's bend, you'll have to divide your winnings with the county." dawson winked a chill eye at the crowd in general. "but hit's out o' date, mr. bobbs," the old gray-headed minister, parson ranson, was pleading. "may be that, parson, but hit's easier to come up before the j.p. and pay off than to fight it through the circuit court." siner pushed his way through the crowd. "how much do you want, mr. bobbs?" he asked briefly. the constable looked with reminiscent eyes at the tall, well-tailored negro. he was plainly going through some mental card-index, hunting for the name of peter siner on some long-forgotten warrant. apparently, he discovered nothing, for he said shortly: "how do i know before he's tried? come on, tump!" the procession moved in a long noisy line up pillow street, the white residential street lying to the west. it stopped before a large shaded lawn, where a number of white men and women were playing a game with cards. the cards used by the lawn party were not ordinary playing-cards, but had figures on them instead of spots, and were called "rook" cards. the party of white ladies and gentlemen were playing "rook." on a table in the middle of the lawn glittered some pieces of silver plate which formed the first, second, and third prizes for the three leading scores. the constable halted his black company before the lawn, where they stood in the sunshine patiently waiting for the justice of the peace to finish his game and hear the case of the state of tennessee, plaintiff, versus tump pack, defendant. chapter ii on the eastern edge of hooker's bend, drawn in a rough semicircle around the big hill, lies niggertown. in all the half-moon there are perhaps not two upright buildings. the grimy cabins lean at crazy angles, some propped with poles, while others hold out against gravitation at a hazard. up and down its street flows the slow negro life of the village. here children of all colors from black to cream fight and play; deep-chested negresses loiter to and fro, some on errands to the white section of the village on the other side of the hill, where they go to scrub or cook or wash or iron. others go down to the public well with a bucket in each hand and one balanced on the head. the public well itself lies at the southern end of this miserable street, just at a point where the drainage of the big hill collects. the rainfall runs down through niggertown, under its sties, stables, and outdoor toilets, and the well supplies the negroes with water for cooking, washing, and drinking. or, rather, what was once a well supplies this water, for it is a well no longer. its top and curbing caved in long ago, and now there is simply a big hole in the soft, water-soaked clay, about fifteen feet wide, with water standing at the bottom. here come the unhurried colored women, who throw in their buckets, and with a dexterity that comes of long practice draw them out full of water. black mothers shout at their children not to fall into this pit, and now and then, when a pig fails to come up for its evening slops, a black boy will go to the public well to see if perchance his porker has met misfortune there. the inhabitants of niggertown suffer from divers diseases; they develop strange ailments that no amount of physicking will overcome; young wives grow sickly from no apparent cause. although only three or four hundred persons live in niggertown, two or three negroes are always slowly dying of tuberculosis; winter brings pneumonia; summer, malaria. about once a year the state health officer visits hooker's bend and forces the white soda-water dispensers on the other side of the hill to sterilize their glasses in the name of the sovereign state of tennessee. the siner home was a three-room shanty about midway in the semicircle. peter siner stood in the sunlight just outside the entrance, watching his old mother clean the bugs out of a tainted ham that she had bought for a pittance from some white housekeeper in the village. it had been too high for white people to eat. old caroline patiently tapped the honeycombed meat to scare out the last of the little green householders, and then she washed it in a solution of soda to freshen it up. the sight of his bulky old mother working at the spoiled ham and of the negro women in the street moving to and from the infected well filled peter siner with its terrible pathos. although he had seen these surroundings all of his life, he had a queer impression that he was looking upon them for the first time. during his boyhood he had accepted all this without question as the way the world was made. during his college days a criticism had arisen in his mind, but it came slowly, and was tempered by that tenderness every one feels for the spot called home. now, as he stood looking at it, he wondered how human beings lived there at all. he wondered if ida may used water from the niggertown well. he turned to ask old caroline, but checked himself with a man's instinctive avoidance of mentioning his intimacies to his mother. at that moment, oddly enough, the old negress brought up the topic herself. "ida may wuz 'quirin' 'bout you las' night, peter." a faint tingle filtered through peter's throat and chest, but he asked casually enough what she had said. "didn' say; she wrote." peter looked around, frankly astonished. "wrote?" "yeah; co'se she wrote." "what made her write?" a fantasy of ida may dumb flickered before the mulatto. [illustration: up and down its street flows the slow negro life of the village] "why, ida may's in nashville." caroline looked at peter. "she wrote to cissie, astin' 'bout you. she ast is you as bright in yo' books as you is in yo' color." the old negress gave a pleased abdominal chuckle as she admired her broad-shouldered brown son. "but i saw ida may standing on the wharf-boat the day i came home," protested peter, still bewildered. "no you ain't. i reckon you seen cissie. dey looks kind o' like when you is fur off." "cissie?" repeated peter. then he remembered a smaller sister of ida may's, a little, squalling, yellow, wet-nosed nuisance that had annoyed his adolescence. so that little spoil-sport had grown up into the girl he had mistaken for ida may. this fact increased his sense of strangeness--that sense of great change that had fallen on the village in his absence which formed the groundwork of all his renewed associations. peter's prolonged silence aroused certain suspicions in the old negress. she glanced at her son out of the tail of her eyes. "cissie dildine is tump pack's gal," she stated defensively, with the jealousy all mothers feel toward all sons. a diversion in the shouts of the children up the mean street and a sudden furious barking of dogs drew peter from the discussion. he looked up, and saw a negro girl of about fourteen coming down the curved street, with long, quick steps and an occasional glance over her shoulder. from across the thoroughfare a small chocolate-colored woman, with her wool done in outstanding spikes, thrust her head out at the door and called: "whut's de matter, ofeely?" the girl lifted a high voice: "oh, miss nan, it's that constable goin' th'ugh the houses!" the girl veered across the street to the safety of the open door and one of her own sex. "good lawd!" cried the spiked one in disgust, "ever', time a white pusson gits somp'n misplaced--" she moved to one side to allow the girl to enter, and continued staring up the street, with the whites of her eyes accented against her dark face, after the way of angry negroes. around the crescent the dogs were furious. they were niggertown dogs, and the sight of a white man always drove them to a frenzy. presently in the hullabaloo, peter heard dawson bobbs's voice shouting: "aunt mahaly, if you kain't call off this dawg, i'm shore goin' to kill him." then an old woman's scolding broke in and complicated the mêlée. presently peter saw the bulky form of dawson bobbs come around the curve, moving methodically from cabin to cabin. he held some legallooking papers in his hands, and peter knew what the constable was doing. he was serving a blanket search-warrant on the whole black population of hooker's bend. at almost every cabin a dog ran out to blaspheme at the intruder, but a wave of the man's pistol sent them yelping under the floors again. when the constable entered a house, peter could hear him bumping and rattling among the furnishings, while the black householders stood outside the door and watched him disturb their housekeeping arrangements. presently bobbs came angling across the street toward the siner cabin. as he entered the rickety gate, old caroline called out: "whut is you after, anyway, white man?" bobbs turned cold, truculent eyes on the old negress. "a turkey roaster," he snapped. "some o' you niggers stole miss lou arkwright's turkey roaster." "tukky roaster!" cried the old black woman, in great disgust. "whut you s'pose us niggers is got to roast in a tukky roaster?" the constable answered shortly that his business was to find the roaster, not what the negroes meant to put in it. "i decla'," satirized old caroline, savagely, "dish-heah niggertown is a white man's pocket. ever' time he misplace somp'n, he feel in his pocket to see ef it ain't thaiuh. don'-chu turn over dat sody-water, white man! you know dey ain't no tukky roaster under dat sody-water. i 'cla' 'fo' gawd, ef a white man wuz to eat a flapjack, an' it did n' give him de belly-ache, i 'cla' 'fo' gawd he'd git out a search-wa'nt to see ef some nigger had n' stole dat flapjack goin' down his th'oat." "mr. bobbs has to do his work, mother," put in peter. "i don't suppose he enjoys it any more than we do." "den let 'im git out'n dis business an' git in anudder," scolded the old woman. "dis sho is a mighty po' business." the ponderous mr. bobbs finished with a practised thoroughness his inspection of the cabin, and then the inquisition proceeded down the street, around the crescent, and so out of sight and eventually out of hearing. old caroline snapped her chair back beside her greasy table and sat down abruptly to her spoiled ham again. "dat make me mad," she grumbled. "ever' time a white pusson fail to lay dey han' on somp'n, dey comes an' turns over ever'thing in my house." she paused a moment, closed her eyes in thought, and then mused aloud: "i wonder who is got miss arkwright's roaster." the commotion of the constable's passing died in his wake, and niggertown resumed its careless existence. dogs reappeared from under the cabins and stretched in the sunshine; black children came out of hiding and picked up their play; the frightened ophelia came out of nan's cabin across the street and went her way; a lanky negro youth in blue coat and pin-striped trousers appeared, coming down the squalid thoroughfare whistling the "memphis blues" with bird-like virtuosity. the lightness with which niggertown accepted the moral side glance of a blanket search-warrant depressed siner. caroline called her son to dinner, as the twelve-o'clock meal is called in hooker's bend, and so ended his meditation. the harvard man went back into the kitchen and sat down at a rickety table covered with a redchecked oil-cloth. on it were spread the spoiled ham, a dish of poke salad, a corn pone, and a pot of weak coffee. a quaint old bowl held some brown sugar. the fat old negress made a slight, habitual settling movement in her chair that marked the end of her cooking and the beginning of her meal. then she bent her grizzled, woolly head and mumbled off one of those queer old-fashioned graces which consist of a swift string of syllables without pauses between either words or sentences. peter sat watching his mother with a musing gaze. the kitchen was illuminated by a single small square window set high up from the floor. now the disposition of its single ray of light over the dishes and the bowed head of the massive negress gave peter one of those sharp, tender apprehensions of formal harmony that lie back of the genre in art. it stirred his emotion in an odd fashion. when old caroline raised her head, she found her son staring with impersonal eyes not at herself, but at the whole room, including her. the old woman was perplexed and a little apprehensive. "why, son!" she ejaculated, "didn' you bow yo' haid while yo' mammy ast de grace?" peter was a little confused at his remissness. then he leaned a little forward to explain the sudden glamour which for a moment had transfigured the interior of their kitchen. but even as he started to speak, he realized that what he meant to say would only confuse his mother; therefore he cast about mentally for some other explanation of his behavior, but found nothing at hand. "i hope you ain't forgot yo' 'ligion up at de 'versity, son." "oh, no, no, indeed, mother, but just at that moment, just as you bowed your head, you know, it struck me that--that there is something noble in our race." that was the best he could put it to her. "noble--" "yes. you know," he went on a little quickly, "sometimes i--i've thought my father must have been a noble man." the old negress became very still. she was not looking quite at her son, or yet precisely away from him. "uh--uh noble nigger,"--she gave her abdominal chuckle. "why--yeah, i reckon yo' father wuz putty noble as--as niggers go." she sat looking at her son, oddly, with a faint amusement in her gross black face, when a careful voice, a very careful voice, sounded in the outer room, gliding up politely on the syllables: "ahnt carolin'! oh, ahnt carolin', may i enter?" the old woman stirred. "da''s cissie, peter. go ast her in to de fambly-room." when siner opened the door, the vague resemblance of the slender, creamy girl on the threshold to ida may again struck him; but cissie dildine was younger, and her polished black hair lay straight on her pretty head, and was done in big, shining puffs over her ears in a way that ida may's unruly curls would never have permitted. her eyes were the most limpid brown peter had ever seen, but her oval face was faintly unnatural from the use of negro face powder, which colored women insist on, and which gives their yellows and browns a barely perceptible greenish hue. cissie wore a fluffy yellow dress some three shades deeper than the throat and the glimpse of bosom revealed at the neck. the girl carried a big package in her arms, and now she manipulated this to put out a slender hand to peter. "this is cissie dildine, mister siner." she smiled up at him. "i just came over to put my name down on your list. there was such a mob at the benevolence hall last night i couldn't get to you." the girl had a certain finical precision to her english that told peter she had been away to some school, and had been taught to guard her grammar very carefully as she talked. peter helped her inside amid the handshake and said he would go fetch the list. as he turned, cissie offered her bundle. "here is something i thought might be a little treat for you and ahnt carolin'." she paused, and then explained remotely, "sometimes it is hard to get good things at the village market." peter took the package, vaguely amused at cissie's patronage of the hooker's bend market. it was an attitude instinctively assumed by every girl, white or black, who leaves the village and returns. the bundle was rather large and wrapped in newspapers. he carried it into the kitchen to his mother, and then returned with the list. the sheet was greasy from the handling of black fingers. the girl spread it on the little center-table with a certain daintiness, seated herself, and held out her hand for peter's pencil. she made rather a graceful study in cream and yellow as she leaned over the table and signed her name in a handwriting as perfect and as devoid of character as a copybook. she began discussing the speech peter had made at the benevolence hall. "i don't know whether i am in favor of your project or not, mr. siner," she said as she rose from the table. "no?" peter was surprised and amused at her attitude and at her precise voice. "no, i'm rather inclined toward mr. dubois's theory of a literary culture than toward mr. washington's for a purely industrial training." peter broke out laughing. "for the love of mike, cissie, you talk like the instructor in sociology b! and haven't we met before somewhere? this 'mister siner' stuff--" the girl's face warmed under its faint, greenish powder. "if i aren't careful with my language, peter," she said simply, "i'll be talking just as badly as i did before i went to the seminary. you know i never hear a proper sentence in hooker's bend except my own." a certain resignation in the girl's soft voice brought peter a qualm for laughing at her. he laid an impulsive hand on her young shoulder. "well, that's true, certainly, but it won't always be like that, cissie. more of us go off to school every year. i do hope my school here in hooker's bend will be of some real value. if i could just show our people how badly we fare here, how ill housed, and unsanitary--" the girl pressed peter's fingers with a woman's optimism for a man. "you'll succeed, peter, i know you will. some day the name siner will mean the same thing to coloured people as tanner and dunbar and braithwaite do. anyway, i've put my name down for ten dollars to help out." she returned the pencil. "i'll have tump pack come around and pay you my subscription, peter." "i'll watch out for tump," promised peter in a lightening mood, "--and make him pay." "he'll do it." "i don't doubt it. you ought to have him under perfect control. i meant to tell you what a pretty frock you have on." the girl dimpled, and dropped him a little curtsy, half ironical and wholly graceful. peter was charmed. "now keep that way, cissie, smiling and human, not so grammatical. i wish i had a brooch." "a brooch?" "i'd give it to you. your dress needs a brooch, an old gold brooch at the bosom, just a glint there to balance your eyes." cissie flushed happily, and made the feminine movement of concealing the v-shaped opening at her throat. "it's a pleasure to doll up for a man like you, peter. you see a girl's good points--if she has any," she tacked on demurely. "oh, just any man--" "don't think it! don't think it!" waved down cissie, humorously. "but, cissie, how is it possible--" "just blind." cissie rippled into a boarding-school laugh. "i could wear the whole rue del opera here in niggertown, and nobody would ever see it but you." cissie was moving toward the door. peter tried to detain her. he enjoyed the implication of tump pack's stupidity, in their badinage, but she would not stay. he was finally reduced to thanking her for her present, then stood guard as she tripped out into the grimy street. in the sunshine her glossy black hair and canary dress looked as trim and brilliant as the plumage of a chaffinch. peter siner walked back into the kitchen with the fixed smile of a man who is thinking of a pretty girl. the black dowager in the kitchen received him in silence, with her thick lips pouted. when peter observed it, he felt slightly amused at his mother's resentment. "well, you sho had a lot o' chatter over signin' a lil ole paper." "she signed for ten dollars," said peter, smiling. "huh! she'll never pay it." "said tump pack would pay it." "huh!" the old negress dropped the subject, and nodded at a huge double pan on the table. "dat's whut she brung you." she grunted disapprovingly. "and it's for you, too, mother." "ya-as, i 'magine she brung somp'n fuh me." peter walked across to the double pans, and saw they held a complete dinner--chicken, hot biscuits, cake, pickle, even ice-cream. the sight of the food brought peter a realization that he was keenly hungry. as a matter of fact, he had not eaten a palatable meal since he had been evicted from the white dining-car at cairo, illinois. siner served his own and his mother's plate. the old woman sniffed again. "seems to me lak you is mighty onobsarvin' fuh a nigger whut's been off to college." "anything else?" peter looked into the pans again. "ain't you see whut it's all in?" "what it's in?" "yeah; whut it's in. you heared whut i said." "what is it in?" "why, it's in miss arkwright's tukky roaster, dat's whut it's in." the old negress drove her point home with an acid accent. peter siner was too loyal to his new friendship with cissie dildine to allow his mother's jealous suspicions to affect him; nevertheless the old woman's observations about the turkey roaster did prevent a complete and care-free enjoyment of the meal. certainly there were other turkey roasters in hooker's bend than mrs. arkwright's. cissie might very well own a roaster. it was absurd to think that cissie, in the midst of her almost pathetic struggle to break away from the uncouthness of niggertown, would stoop to--even in his thoughts peter avoided nominating the charge. and then, somehow, his memory fished up the fact that years ago ida may, according to village rumor, was "light-fingered." at that time in peter's life "light-fingeredness" carried with it no opprobrium whatever. it was simply a fact about ida may, as were her sloe eyes and curling black hair. his reflections renewed his perpetual sense of queerness and strangeness that hall-marked every phase of niggertown life since his return from the north. * * * * * cissie dildine's contribution tailed out the one hundred dollars that peter needed, and after he had finished his meal, the mulatto set out across the big hill for the white section of the village, to complete his trade. it was peter's program to go to the planter's bank, pay down his hundred, and receive a deed from one elias tomwit, which the bank held in escrow. two or three days before peter had tried to borrow the initial hundred from the bank, but the cashier, henry hooker, after going into the transaction, had declined the loan, and therefore siner had been forced to await a meeting of the sons and daughters of benevolence. at this meeting the subscription had gone through promptly. the land the negroes purposed to purchase for an industrial school was a timbered tract tying southeast of hooker's bend on the head-waters of ross creek. a purchase price of eight hundred dollars had been agreed upon. the timber on the tract, sold on the stump, would bring almost that amount. it was siner's plan to commandeer free labor in niggertown, work off the timber, and have enough money to build the first unit of his school. a number of negro men already had subscribed a certain number of days' work in the timber. it was a modest and entirely practical program, and peter felt set up over it. the brown man turned briskly out into the hot afternoon sunshine, down the mean semicircular street, where piccaninnies were kicking up clouds of dust. he hurried through the dusty area, and presently turned off a by-path that led over the hill, through a glade of cedars, to the white village. the glade was gloomy, but warm, for the shade of cedars somehow seems to hold heat. a carpet of needles hushed siner's footfalls and spread a sabbatical silence through the grove. the upward path was not smooth, but was broken with outcrops of the same reddish limestone that marks the whole stretch of the tennessee river. here and there in the grove were circles eight or ten feet in diameter, brushed perfectly clean of all needles and pebbles and twigs. these places were crap-shooters' circles, where black and white men squatted to shoot dice. under the big stones on the hillside, peter knew, was cached illicit whisky, and at night the boot-leggers carried on a brisk trade among the gamblers. more than that, the glade on the big hill was used for still more demoralizing ends. it became a squalid grove of ashtoreth; but now, in the autumn evening, all the petty obscenities of white and black sloughed away amid the religious implications of the dark-green aisles. the sight of a white boy sitting on an outcrop of limestone with a strap of school-books dropped at his feet rather surprised peter. the negro looked at the hobbledehoy for several seconds before he recognized in the lanky youth a little arkwright boy whom he had known and played with in his pre-college days. now there was such an exaggerated wistfulness in young arkwright's attitude that peter was amused. "hello, sam," he called. "what you doing out here?" the arkwright boy turned with a start. "aw, is that you, siner?" before the negro could reply, he added: "was you on the harvard football team, siner? guess the white fellers have a pretty gay time in harvard, don't they, siner? geemenettie! but i git tired o' this dern town! d' reckon i could make the football team? looks like i could if a nigger like you could, siner." none of this juvenile outbreak of questions required answers. peter stood looking at the hobbledehoy without smiling. "aren't you going to school?" he asked. arkwright shrugged. "aw, hell!" he said self-consciously. "we got marched down to the protracted meetin' while ago--whole school did. my seat happened to be close to a window. when they all stood up to sing, i crawled out and skipped. don't mention that, siner." "i won't." "when a fellow goes to college he don't git marched to preachin', does he, siner?" "i never did." "we-e-ll," mused young sam, doubtfully, "you're a nigger." "i never saw any white men marched in, either." "oh, hell! i wish i was in college." "what are you sitting out here thinking about?" inquired peter of the ingenuous youngster. "oh--football and--women and god and--how to stack cards. you think about ever'thing, in the woods. damn it! i got to git out o' this little jay town. d' reckon i could git in the navy, siner?" "don't see why you couldn't, sam. have you seen tump pack anywhere?" "yeah; on hobbett's corner. say, is cissie dildine at home?" "i believe she is." "she cooks for us," explained young arkwright, "and mammy wants her to come and git supper, too." the phrase "get supper, too," referred to the custom in the white homes of hooker's bend of having only two meals cooked a day, breakfast and the twelve-o'clock dinner, with a hot supper optional with the mistress. peter nodded, and passed on up the path, leaving young arkwright seated on the ledge of rock, a prey to all the boiling, erratic impulses of adolescence. the negro sensed some of the innumerable difficulties of this white boy's life, and once, as he walked on over the silent needles, he felt an impulse to turn back and talk to young sam arkwright, to sit down and try to explain to the youth what he could of this hazardous adventure called life. but then, he reflected, very likely the boy would be offended at a serious talk from a negro. also, he thought that young arkwright, being white, was really not within the sphere of his ministry. he, peter siner, was a worker in the black world of the south. he was part of the black world which the white south was so meticulous to hide away, to keep out of sight and out of thought. a certain vague sense of triumph trickled through some obscure corner of peter's mind. it was so subtle that peter himself would have been the first, in all good faith, to deny it and to affirm that all his motives were altruistic. once he looked back through the cedars. he could still see the boy hunched over, chin in fist, staring at the mat of needles. as peter turned the brow of the big hill, he saw at its eastern foot the village church, a plain brick building with a decaying spire. its side was perforated by four tall arched windows. each was a memorial window of stained glass, which gave the building a black look from the outside. as peter walked down the hill toward the church he heard the and somewhat nasal singing of uncultivated voices mingled with the snoring of a reed organ. when he reached main street, peter found the whole business portion virtually deserted. all the stores were closed, and in every show-window stood a printed notice that no business would be transacted between the hours of two and three o'clock in the afternoon during the two weeks of revival then in progress. beside this notice stood another card, giving the minister's text for the current day. on this particular day it read: go ye into all the world come hear rev. e.b. blackwater's great missionary address on christianizing africa eloquent, profound, heart-searching. illustrated with slides. half a dozen negroes lounged in the sunshine on hobbett's corner as peter came up. they were amusing themselves after the fashion of blacks, with mock fights, feints, sudden wrestlings. they would seize one another by the head and grind their knuckles into one another's wool. occasionally, one would leap up and fall into one of those grotesque shuffles called "breakdowns." it all held a certain rawness, an irrepressible juvenility. as peter came up, tump pack detached himself from the group and gave a pantomime of thrusting. he was clearly reproducing the action which had won for him his military medal. then suddenly he fell down in the dust and writhed. he was mimicking with a ghastly realism the death-throes of his four victims. his audience howled with mirth at this dumb show of the bayonet-fight and of killing four men. tump himself got up out of the dust with tears of laughter in his eyes. peter caught the end of his sentence, "sho put it to 'em, black boy. fo' white men--" his audience roared again, swayed around, and pounded one another in an excess of mirth. siner shouted from across the street two or three times before he caught tump's attention. the ex-soldier looked around, sobered abruptly. "whut-chu want, nigger?" his inquiry was not over-cordial. peter nodded him across the street. the heavily built black in khaki hesitated a moment, then started across the street with the dragging feet of a reluctant negro. peter looked at him as he came up. "what's the matter, tump?" he asked playfully. "ain't nothin' matter wid me, nigger." peter made a guess at tump's surliness. "look here, are you puffed up because cissie dildine struck you for a ten?" tump's expression changed. "is she struck me fuh a ten?" "yes; on that school subscription." "is dat whut you two niggers wuz a-talkin' 'bout over thaiuh in yo' house?" "exactly." peter showed the list, with cissie's name on it. "she told me to collect from you." tump brightened up. "so dat wuz whut you two niggers wuz a-talkin' 'bout over at yo' house." he ran a fist down into his khaki, and drew out three or four one-dollar bills and about a pint of small change. it was the usual crap-shooter's offering. the two negroes sat down on the ramshackle porch of an old jeweler's shop, and tump began a complicated tally of ten dollars. by the time he had his dimes, quarters, and nickels in separate stacks, services in the village church were finished, and the congregation came filing up the street. first came the school-children, running and chattering and swinging their books by the straps; then the business men of the hamlet, rather uncomfortable in coats and collars, hurrying back to their stores; finally came the women, surrounding the preacher. tump and peter walked on up to the entrance of the planter's bank and there awaited mr. henry hooker, the cashier. presently a skinny man detached himself from the church crowd and came angling across the dirty street toward the bank. mr. hooker wore somewhat shabby clothes for a banker; in fact, he never could recover from certain personal habits formed during a penurious boyhood. he had a thin hatchet face which just at this moment was shining though from some inward glow. although he was an unhandsome little man, his expression was that of one at peace with man and god and was pleasant to see. he had been so excited by the minister that he was constrained to say something even to two negroes. so as he unlocked the little one-story bank, he told tump and peter that he had been listening to a man who was truly a man of god. he said blackwater could touch the hardest heart, and, sure enough, mr. hooker's rather popped and narrow-set eyes looked as though he had been crying. all this encomium was given in a high, cracked voice as the cashier opened the door and turned the negroes into the bank. tump, who stood with his hat off, listening to all the cashier had to say, said he thought so, too. the shabby interior of the little bank, the shabby little banker, renewed that sense of disillusion that pervaded peter's home-coming. in boston the mulatto had done his slight banking business in a white marble structure with tellers of machine-like briskness and neatness. mr. hooker strolled around into his grill-cage; when he was thoroughly ensconced he began business in his high voice: "you came to see me about that land, peter?" yes, sir." "sorry to tell you, peter, you are not back in time to get the tomwit place." peter came out of his musing over the boston banks with a sense of bewilderment. "how's that? why, i bought that land--" "but you paid nothing for your option, siner." "i had a clear-cut understanding with mr. tomwit--" mr. hooker smiled a smile that brought out sharp wrinkles around the thin nose on his thin face. "you should have paid him an earnest, siner, if you wanted to bind your trade. you colored folks are always stumbling over the law." peter stared through the grating, not knowing what to do. "i'll go see mr. tomwit," he said, and started uncertainly for the door. the cashier's falsetto stopped him: "no use, peter. mr. tomwit surprised me, too, but no use talking about it. i didn't like to see such an important thing as the education of our colored people held up, myself. i've been thinking about it." "especially when i had made a fair square trade," put in peter, warmly. "exactly," squeaked the cashier. "and rather than let your project be delayed, i'm going to offer you the old dillihay place at exactly the same price, peter--eight hundred." "the dillihay place?" "yes; that's west of town; it's bigger by twenty acres than old man tomwit's place." peter considered the proposition. "i'll have to carry this before the sons and daughters of benevolence, mr. hooker." the cashier repeated the smile that bracketed his thin nose in wrinkles. "that's with you, but you know what you say goes with the niggers here in town, and, besides, i won't promise how long i'll hold the dillihay place. real estate is brisk around here now. i didn't want to delay a good work on account of not having a location." mr. hooker turned away to a big ledger on a breast-high desk, and apparently was about to settle himself to the endless routine of bank work. peter knew the dillihay place well. it lacked the timber of the other tract; still, it was fairly desirable. he hesitated before the tarnished grill. "what do you think about it, tump?" "you won't make a mistake in buying," answered the high voice of mr. hooker at his ledger. "i don' think you'll make no mistake in buyin', peter," repeated tump's bass. peter turned back a little uncertainly, and asked how long it would take to fix the new deed. he had a notion of making a flying canvass of the officers of the sons and daughters in the interim. he was surprised to find that mr. hooker already had the deed and the notes ready to sign, in anticipation of peter's desires. here the banker brought out the set of papers. "i'll take it," decided peter; "and if the lodge doesn't want it, i'll keep the place myself." "i like to deal with a man of decision," piped the cashier, a wrinkled smile on his sharp face. peter pushed in his bag of collections, then mr. hooker signed the deed, and peter signed the land notes. they exchanged the instruments. peter received the crisp deed, bound in blue manuscript cover. it rattled unctuously. to peter it was his first step toward a second tuskegee. the two negroes walked out of the planter's bank filled with a sense of well-doing. tump pack was openly proud of having been connected, even in a casual way, with the purchase. as he walked down the steps, he turned to peter. "don' reckon nobody could git a deed off on you wid stoppers in it, does you?" "we don't know any such word as 'stop,' tump," declared peter, gaily. for peter was gay. the whole incident at the bank was beginning to please him. the meeting of a sudden difficulty, his quick decision--it held the quality of leadership. napoleon had it. the two colored men stepped briskly through the afternoon sunshine along the mean village street. here and there in front of their doorways sat the merchants yawning and talking, or watching pigs root in the piles of waste. in peter's heart came a wonderful thought. he would make his industrial institution such a model of neatness that the whole village of hooker's bend would catch the spirit. the white people should see that something clean and uplifting could come out of niggertown. the two races ought to live for a mutual benefit. it was a fine, generous thought. for some reason, just then, there flickered through peter's mind a picture of the arkwright boy sitting hunched over in the cedar glade, staring at the needles. all this musing was brushed away by the sight of old mr. tomwit crossing the street from the east side to the livery-stable on the west. that human desire of wanting the person who has wronged you to know that you know your injury moved peter to hurry his steps and to speak to the old gentleman. mr. tomwit had been a confederate cavalryman in the civil war, and there was still a faint breeze and horsiness about him. he was a hammered-down old gentleman, with hair thin but still jet-black, a seamed, sunburned face, and a flattened nose. his voice was always a friendly roar. now, when he saw peter turning across the street to meet him, he halted and called out at once: "now peter, i know what's the matter with you. i didn't do you right." peter went closer, not caring to take the whole village into his confidence. "how came you to turn down my proposition, mr. tomwit," he asked, "after we had agreed and drawn up the papers?" "we-e-ell, i had to do it, peter," explained the old man, loudly. "why, mr. tomwit?" "a white neighbor wanted me to, peter," boomed the cavalryman. "who, mr. tomwit?" "henry hooker talked me into it, peter. it was a mean trick, peter. i done you wrong." he stood nodding his head and rubbing his flattened nose in an impersonal manner. "yes, i done you wrong, peter," he acknowledged loudly, and looked frankly into peter's eyes. the negro was immensely surprised that henry hooker had done such a thing. a thought came that perhaps some other henry hooker had moved into town in his absence. "you don't mean the cashier of the bank?" old mr. tomwit drew out a plug of black mule tobacco, set some gapped, discolored teeth into corner, nodded at peter silently, at the same time utilizing the nod to tear off a large quid. he rolled tin about with his tongue and after a few moments adjusted it so that he could speak. "yeah," he proceeded in a muffled tone, "they ain't but one henry hooker; he is the one and only henry. he said if i sold you my land, you'd put up a nigger school and bring in so many blackbirds you'd run me clean off my farm. he said it'd ruin the whole town, a nigger school would." peter was astonished. "why, he didn't talk that way to me!" "natchelly, natchelly," agreed the old cavalryman, dryly.--"henry has a different way to talk to ever' man, peter." "in fact," proceeded peter, "mr. hooker sold me the old dillihay place in lieu of the deal i missed with you." old mr. tomwit moved his quid in surprise. "the hell he did!" "that at least shows he doesn't think a negro school would ruin the value of his land. he owns farms all around the dillihay place." old mr. tomwit turned his quid over twice and spat thoughtfully. "that your deed in your pocket?" with the air of a man certain of being obeyed he held out his hand for the blue manuscript cover protruding from the mulatto's pocket. peter handed it over. the old gentleman unfolded the deed, then moved it carefully to and from his eyes until the typewriting was adjusted to his focus. he read it slowly, with a movement of his lips and a drooling of tobacco-juice. finally he finished, remarked, "i be damned!" in a deliberate voice, returned the deed, and proceeded across the street to the livery-stable, which was fronted by an old mulberry-tree, with several chairs under it. in one of these chairs he would sit for the remainder of the day, making an occasional loud remark about the weather or the crops, and watching the horses pass in and out of the stable. siner had vaguely enjoyed old mr. tomwit's discomfiture over the deed, if it was discomfiture that had moved the old gentleman to his sententious profanity. but the negro did not understand henry hooker's action at all. the banker had abused his position of trust as holder of a deed in escrow snapping up the sale himself; then he had sold peter the dillihay place. it was a queer shift. tump pack caught his principal's mood with that chameleon-like mental quality all negroes possess. "dat henry hooker," criticized tump, "allus was a lil ole dried-up snake in de grass." "he abused his position of trust," said peter, gloomily; "i must say, his motives seem very obscure to me." "dat sho am a fine way to put hit," said tump, admiringly. "why do you suppose he bought in the tomwit tract and sold me the dillihay place?" asked for an opinion, tump began twiddling military medal and corrugated the skin on his inch-high brow. "now you puts it to me lak dat, peter," he answered with importance, "i wonders ef dat gimlet-haided white man ain't put some stoppers in dat deed he guv you. he mout of." such remarks as that from tump always annoyed peter. tump's intellectual method was to talk sense just long enough to gain his companion's ear, and then produce something absurd and quash the tentative interest. siner turned away from him and said, "piffle." tump was defensive at once. "'t ain't piffle, either! i's talkin' sense, nigger." peter shrugged, and walked a little way in silence, but the soldier's nonsense stuck in his brain and worried him. finally he turned, rather irritably. "stoppers--what do you mean by stoppers?" tump opened his jet eyes and their yellowish whites. "i means niggerstoppers," he reiterated, amazed in his turn. "negro-stoppers--" peter began to laugh sardonically, and abruptly quit the conversation. such rank superiority irritated the soldier to the nth power. "look heah, black man, i knows i _is_ right. heah, lonme look at dat-aiuh, deed. maybe i can find 'em. i knows i suttinly is right." peter walked on, paying no attention to the request until tump caught his arm and drew him up short. "look heah, nigger," said tump, in a different tone, "i faded dad deed fuh ten iron men, an' i reckon i got a once-over comin' fuh my money." the soldier was plainly mobilized and ready to attack. to fight tump, to fight any negro at all, would be peter's undoing; it would forfeit the moral leadership he hoped to gain. moreover, he had no valid grounds for a disagreement with tump. he passed over the deed, and the two negroes moved on their way to niggertown. tump trudged forward with eyes glued to paper, his face puckered in the unaccustomed labor of reading. his thick lips moved at the individual letters, and constructed them bunglingly into syllables and words. he was trying to uncover the verbal camouflage by which the astute white brushed away all rights of all black men whatsoever. to peter there grew up something sadly comical in tump's efforts. the big negro might well typify all the colored folk of the south, struggling in a web of law and custom they did not understand, misplacing their suspicions, befogged and fearful. a certain penitence for having been irritated at tump softened peter. "that's all right, tump; there's nothing to find." at that moment the soldier began to bob his head. "eh! eh! eh! w-wait a minute!" he stammered. "whut dis? b'lieve i done foun' it! i sho is! heah she am! heah's dis nigger-stopper, jes lak i tol' you!" tump marked a sentence in the guaranty of the deed with a rusty forefinger and looked up at peter in mixed triumph and accusation. peter leaned over the deed, amused. "let's see your mare's nest." "well, she 'fo' god is thaiuh, an' you sho let loose a hundud dollars uv our 'ciety's money, an' got nothin' fuh hit but a piece o' paper wid a nigger-stopper on hit!" tump's voice was so charged with contempt that peter looked with a certain uneasiness at his find. he read this sentence switched into the guaranty of the indenture: "be it further understood and agreed that no negro, black man, afroamerican, mulatto, quadroon, octoroon, or any person whatsoever of colored blood or lineage, shall enter upon, seize, hold, occupy, reside upon, till, cultivate, own or possess any part or parcel of said property, or garner, cut, or harvest therefrom, any of the usufruct, timber, or emblements thereof, but shall by these presents be estopped from so doing forever." tump pack drew a shaken, unhappy breath. "now, i reckon you see whut a nigger-stopper is." peter stood in the sunshine, looking at the estoppel clause, his lips agape. twice he read it over. it held something of the quality of those comprehensive curses that occur in the old testament. he moistened his lips and looked at tump. "why that can't be legal." his voice sounded empty and shallow. "legal! 'fo' gawd, nigger, whauh you been to school all dese yeahs, never to heah uv a nigger-stopper befo'!" "but--but how can a stroke of the pen, a mere gesture, estop a whole class of american citizens forever?" cried peter, with a rising voice. "turn it around. suppose they had put in a line that no white man should own that land. it--it's empty! i tell you, it's mere words!" tump cut into his diatribe: "no use talkin' lak dat. our 'ciety thought you wuz a aidjucated nigger. we didn't think no white man could put nothin' over on you." "education!" snapped siner. "education isn't supposed to keep you away from shysters!" "keep you away fum 'em!" cried tump, in a scandalized voice. "'fo' gawd, nigger, you don' know nothin'! o' co'se a aidjucation ain't to keep you away fum shysters; hit's to mek you one 'uv 'em!" peter stood breathing irregularly, looking at his deed. a determination not to be cheated grew up and hardened in his nerves. with unsteady hands he refolded his deed and put it into his pocket, then he turned about and started back up the village street toward the bank. tump stared after him a moment and presently called out: "heah, nigger, whut you gwine do?" a moment later he repeated to his friend's back: "look heah, nigger, i 'vise you ag'inst anything you's gwine do, less'n you's ready to pass in you' checks!" as peter strode on he lifted his voice still higher: "peter! hey, peter, i sho' 'vise you 'g'inst anything you's 'gwine do!" a pulse throbbed in siner's temples. the wrath of the cozened heated his body. his clothes felt hot. as he strode up the trash-piled street, the white merchants lolling in their doors began smiling. presently a laugh broke out at one end of the street and was caught up here and there. it was the undying minstrel jest, the comedy of a black face. dawson bobbs leaned against the wide brick entrance of the livery-stable, his red face balled into shining convexities by a quizzical smile. "hey, peter," he drawled, winking at old mr. tomwit, "been investin' in real estate?" and broke into homeric laughter. as peter passed on, the constable dropped casually in behind the brown man and followed him up to the bank. to peter siner the walk up to the bank was an emotional confusion. he has a dim consciousness that voices said things to him along the way and that there was laughter. all this was drowned by desperate thoughts and futile plans to regain his lost money, flashing through his head. the cashier would exchange the money for the deed; he would enter suit and carry it to the supreme court; he would show the money had not been his, he had had no right to buy; he would beg the cashier. his head seemed to spin around and around. he climbed the steps into the planter's bank and opened the screen-door. the cashier glanced up briefly, but continued busily at his ledger. peter walked shakenly to the barred window in the grill. "mr. hooker." "very busy now, peter," came the high voice. "i want to know about this deed." the banker was nimbly setting down long rows of figures. "no time to explain deeds, peter." "but--but there is a clause in this deed, mr. hooter, estopping colored persons from occupying the dillihay place." "precisely. what about it?" mr. hooker snapped out his inquiry and looked up suddenly, catching peter full in the face with his narrow-set eyes. it was the equivalent of a blow. "according to this, i--i can't establish a school on it." "you cannot." "then what can i do with it?" cried peter. "sell it. you have what lawyers call a cloud on the title. sell it. i'll give you ten dollars for your right in it, just to clear up my title." a queer trembling seized peter. the little banker turned to a fantastic caricature of a man. his hatchet face, close-set eyes, harsh, straight hair, and squeaky voice made him seem like some prickly, dried-up gnome a man sees in a fever. at that moment the little wicket-door of the window opened under the pressure of peter's shoulder. inside on the desk, lay neat piles of bills of all denominations, ready to be placed in the vault. in a nervous tremor peter dropped in his blue-covered deed and picked up a hundred-dollar bill. "i--i won't trade," he jibbered. "it--it wasn't my money. here's your deed!" peter was moving away. he felt a terrific impulse to run, but he walked. the banker straightened abruptly. "stop there, peter!" he screeched. at that moment dawson bobbs lounged in at the door, with his perpetual grin balling up his broad red face. he had a toothpick, in his mouth. "'s matter?" he asked casually. "peter there," said the banker, with a pale, sharp face, "doesn't want to stick to his trade. he is just walking off with one of my hundreddollar bills." "sick o' yo' deal, peter?" inquired bobbs, smiling and shifting the toothpick. he bit down on it. "well, whut-chu want done, henry?" "oh," hesitated the cashier in a quandary, "nothing, i suppose. siner was excited; you know how niggers are. we can't afford to send every nigger to the pen that breaks the law." he stood studying peter out of his close-set eyes. "here's your deed, peter." he shoved it back under the grill. "and lemme give you a little friendly advice. i'd just run an ordinary nigger school if i was you. this higher education don't seem to make a nigger much smarter when he comes back than when he starts out." a faint smile bracketed the thin nose. dawson bobbs roared with sudden appreciation, took the bill from peter's fingers, and pushed it back under the grill. the cashier picked up the money, casually. he considered a moment, then reached for a long envelop. as he did so, the incident with peter evidently passed from his mind, for his hatchet face lighted up as with some inward illumination. "bobbs," he said warmly, "that was a great sermon brother blackwater preached. it made me want to help according as the lord has blessed me. couldn't you spare five dollars, bobbs, to go along with this?" the constable tried to laugh and wriggle away, but the cashier's gimlet eyes kept boring him, and eventually he fished out a five-dollar bill and handed it in. mr. hooker placed the two bills in the envelop, sealed it, and handed it to the constable. "jest drop that in the post-office as you go down the street, bobbs," he directed in his high voice. peter caught a glimpse of the type-written address. it was rev. lemuel hardiman, c/o united missions, katuako post, bahr el ghazal, sudan, east africa. chapter iii the white population of hooker's bend was much amused and gratified at the outcome of the hooker-siner land deal. every one agreed that the cashier's chicanery was a droll and highly original turn to give to a negro exclusion clause drawn into a deed. then, too, it involved several legal points highly congenial to the hooker's bend intellect could the sons and daughters of benevolence recover their hundred dollars? could henry hooker force them to pay the remaining seven hundred? could not siner establish his school on the dillihay place regardless of the clause, since the cashier would be estopped from obtaining an injunction by his own instrument? as a matter of fact, the sons and daughters of benevolence sent a committee to wait on mr. hooker to see what action he meant to take on the notes that paid for his spurious deed. this brought another harvest of rumors. street gossip reported that henry had compromised for this, that, and the other amount, that he would not compromise, that he had persuaded the fool niggers into signing still other instruments. peter never knew the truth. he was not on the committee. but high above the legal phase of interest lay the warming fact that peter siner, a negro graduate of harvard, on his first tilt in hooker's bend affairs had ridden to a fall. this pleased even the village women, whose minds could not follow the subtle trickeries of legal disputation. the whole affair simply proved what the white village had known all along: you can't educate a nigger. hooker's bend warmed with pleasure that half of its population was ineducable. white sentiment in hooker's bend reacted strongly on niggertown. peter siner's prestige was no more. the cause of higher education for negroes took a mighty slump. junius gholston, a negro boy who had intended to go to nashville to attend fisk university, reconsidered the matter, packed away his good clothes, put on overalls, and shipped down the river as a roustabout instead. in the siner cabin old caroline siner berated her boy for his stupidity in ever trading with that low-down, twisting snake in the grass, henry hooker. she alternated this with floods of tears. caroline had no sympathy for her offspring. she said she had thrown away years of selfsacrifice, years of washing, a thousand little comforts her money would have bought, all for nothing, for less than nothing, to ship a fool nigger up north and to ship him back. of all niggertown, caroline was the most unforgiving because peter had wounded her in her pride. every other negro in the village felt that genial satisfaction in a great man's downfall that is balm to small souls. but the old mother knew not this consolation. peter was her proxy. it was she who had fallen. the only person in niggertown who continued amiable to peter siner was cissie dildine. the octoroon, perhaps, had other criteria by which to judge a man than his success or mishaps dealing with a pettifogger. two or three days after the catastrophe, cissie made an excursion to the siner cabin with a plate of cookies. cissie was careful to place her visit on exactly a normal footing. she brought her little cakes in the role of one who saw no evil, spoke no evil, and heard no evil. but somehow cissie's visit increased the old woman's wrath. she remained obstinately in the kitchen, and made remarks not only audible, but arresting, through the thin partition that separated it from the poor living-room. cissie was hardly inside when a voice stated that it hated to see a gal running after a man, trying to bait him with a lot of fum-diddles. cissie gave peter a single wide-eyed glance, and then attempted to ignore the bodiless comment. "here are some cookies, mr. siner," began the girl, rather nervously. "i thought you and ahnt carolin'--" "yeah, i 'magine dey's fuh me!" jeered the spectral voice. "might like them," concluded the girl, with a little gasp. "i suttinly don' want no light-fingered hussy ma'yin' my son," proceeded the voice, "an' de whole dildine fambly 'll bear watchin'." [illustration: in the siner cabin old caroline siner berated her boy.] "won't you have a seat?" asked peter, exquisitely uncomfortable. cissie handed him her plate in confusion. "why, no, mr. siner," she hastened on, in her careful grammar, "i just-ran over to--" "to fling herse'f in a nigger's face 'cause he's been north and got made a fool uv," boomed the hidden censor. "i must go now," gasped cissie. peter made a harried gesture. "wait--wait till i get my hat." he put the plate down with a swift glance around for his hat. he found it, and strode to the door, following the girl. the two hurried out into the street, followed by indistinct strictures from the kitchen. cissie breathed fast, with open lips. they moved rapidly along the semicircular street almost with a sense of flight. the heat of the early autumn sun stung them through their clothes. for some distance they walked in a nervous silence, then cissie said: "your mother certainly hates me, peter." "no," said peter, trying to soften the situation; "it's me; she's terribly hurt about--" he nodded to-ward the white section--"that business." cissie opened her clear brown eyes. "your own mother turned against you!" "oh, she has a right to be," began peter, defensively. "i ought to have read that deed. it's amazing i didn't, but i--i really wasn't expecting a trick, mr. hooker seemed so--so sympathetic--" he came to a lame halt, staring at the dust through which they picked their way. "of course you weren't expecting tricks!" cried cissie, warmly. "the whole thing shows you're a gentleman used to dealing with gentlemen. but of course these hooker's bend negroes will never see that!" peter, surprised and grateful, looked at cissie. her construction of the swindle was more flattering than any apology he had been able to frame for himself. "still, cissie, i ought to have used the greatest care--" "i'm not talking about what you 'ought,'" stated the octoroon, crisply; "i'm talking about what you are. when it comes to 'ought,' we colored people must get what we can, any way we can. we fight from the bottom." the speech held a viperish quality which for a moment caught the brown man's attention; then he said: "one thing is sure, i've lost my prestige, whatever it was worth." the girl nodded slowly. "with the others you have, i suppose." peter glanced at cissie. the temptation was strong to give the conversation a personal turn, but he continued on the general topic: "well, perhaps it's just as well. my prestige was a bit too flamboyant, cissie. all i had to do was to mention a plan. the sons and daughters didn't even discuss it. they put it right through. that wasn't healthy. our whole system of society, all democracies are based on discussion. our old witenagemot--" "but it wasn't _our_ old witenagemot," said the girl. "well--no," admitted the mulatto, "that's true." they moved along for some distance in silence, when the girl asked: "what are you going to do now, peter?" "teach, and keep working for that training-school," stated peter, almost belligerently. "you didn't expect a little thing like a hundred dollars to stop me, did you?" "no-o-o," conceded cissie, with some reserve of judgment in her tone. presently she added, "you could do a lot better up north, peter." "for whom?" "why, yourself," said the girl, a little surprised. siner nodded. "i thought all that out before i came back here, cissie. a friend of mine named farquhar offered me a place with him up in chicago,--a string of garages. you'd like farquhar, cissie. he's a materialist with an absolutely inexorable brain. he mechanizes the universe. i told him i couldn't take his offer. 'it's like this,' i argued: 'if every negro with a little ability leaves the south, our people down there will never progress.' it's really that way, cissie, it takes a certain mental atmosphere to develop a people as a whole. a few individuals here and there may have the strength to spring up by themselves, but the run of the people--no. i believe one of the greatest curses of the colored race in the south is the continual draining of its best individuals north. farquhar argued--" just then peter saw that cissie was not attending his discourse. she was walking at his side in a respectful silence. he stopped talking, and presently she smiled and said: "you haven't noticed my new brooch, peter." she lifted her hand to her bosom, and twisted the face of the trinket toward him. "you oughtn't to have made me show it to you after you recommended it yourself." she made a little _moue_ of disappointment. it was a pretty bit of old gold that complimented the creamy skin. peter began admiring it at once, and, negro fashion, rather overstepped the limits white beaux set to their praise, as he leaned close to her. at the moment the two were passing one of the oddest houses in niggertown. it was a two-story cabin built in the shape of a steamboat. a little cupola represented a pilot-house, and two iron chimneys served for smoke-stacks. this queer building had been built by a negro stevedore because of a deep admiration for the steamboats on which he had made his living. instead of steps at the front door, this boat-like house had a stageplank. as peter strolled down the street with cissie, admiring her brooch, and suffused with a sense of her nearness, he happened to glance up, and saw tump pack walk down the stage-plank, come out, and wait for them at the gate. there was something grim in the ex-soldier's face and in the set of his gross lips as the two came up, but the aura of the girl prevented peter from paying much attention to it. as the two reached tump, peter had just lifted his hand to his hat when tump made a quick step out at the gate, in front of them, and swung a furious blow at peter's head. cissie screamed. siner staggered back with flames dancing before his eyes. the soldier lunged after his toppling man with gorilla-like blows. hot pains shot through peter's body. his head roared like a gong. the sunlight danced about him in flashes. the air was full of black fists smashing him, and not five feet away, the bullet head of tump pack bobbed this way and that in the rapid shifts of his attack. a stab of pain cut off peter's breath. he stood with his diaphragm muscles tense and paralyzed, making convulsive efforts to breathe. at that moment he glimpsed the convexity of tump's stomach. he drop-kicked at it with foot-ball desperation. came a loud explosive groan. tump seemed to rise a foot or two in air, turned over, and thudded down on his shoulders in the dust. the soldier made no attempt to rise, but curled up, twisting in agony. peter stood in the dust-cloud, wabbly, with roaring head. his open mouth was full of dust. then he became aware that negroes were running in from every direction, shouting. their voices whooped out what had happened, who it was, who had licked. tump pack's agonized spasms brought howls of mirth from the black fellows. negro women were in the crowd, grinning, a little frightened, but curious. some were in mother-hubbards; one had her hair half combed, one side in a kinky mattress, the other lying flat and greased down to her scalp. when peter gradually became able to breathe and could think at all, there was something terrible to him in tump's silent attack and in this extravagant black mirth over mere suffering. cissie was gone,--had fled, no doubt, at the beginning of the fight. the prostrate man's tortured abdomen finally allowed him to twist around toward peter. his eyes were popped, and seemed all yellows and streaked with swollen veins. "i'll git you fuh dis," he wheezed, spitting dust "you did n' fight fair, you--" the black chorus rolled their heads and pounded one another in a gale of merriment. peter siner turned away toward his home filled with sick thought. he had never realized so clearly the open sore of niggertown life and its great need of healing, yet this very episode would further bar him, peter, from any constructive work. he foresaw, too plainly, how the white town and niggertown would react to this fight. there would be no discrimination in the scandal. he, peter siner, would be grouped with the boot-leggers and crap-shooters and women-chasers who filled niggertown with their brawls. as a matter of simple fact, he had been fighting with another negro over a woman. that he was subjected to an attack without warning or cause would never become a factor in the analysis. he knew that very well. two of peter's teeth were loose; his left jaw was swelling; his head throbbed. with that queer perversity of human nerves, he kept biting his sore teeth together as he walked along. when he reached home, his mother met him at the door. thanks to the swiftness with which gossip spreads among black folk, she had already heard of the fight, and incidentally had formed her judgment of the matter. now she looked in exasperation at her son's swelling face. "i 'cla' 'fo' gawd!--ain't been home a week befo' he's fightin' over a nigger wench lak a roustabout!" peter's head throbbed so he could hardly make out the details of caroline's face. "but, mother--" he began defensively, "i--" "me sweatin' over de wash-pot," the negress went on, "so's you could go up north an' learn a lil sense; heah you comes back chasin' a dutty slut!" "but, mother," he begged thickly, "i was simply walking home with miss dildine." "miss dildine! miss dildine!" exploded the ponderous woman, with an erasing gesture. "ef you means dat stuck-up fly-by-night cissie dildine, say so, and don' stan' thaiuh mouthin', 'miss dildine, miss dildine'!" "mother," asked peter, thickly, through his swelling mouth, "do you want to know what did happen?" "i knows. i tol' you to keep away fum dat hussy. she's a fool 'bout her bright color an' straight hair. needn't be givin' herse'f no airs!" peter stood in the doorway, steadying himself by the jamb. the world still swayed from the blows he had received on the head. "what girl would you be willing for me to go with?" he asked in faint satire. "heah in niggertown?" peter nodded. the movement increased his headache. "none a-tall. no niggertown wench a-tall. when you mus' ma'y, i's 'speckin' you to go off summuhs an' pick yo' gal, lak you went off to pick yo' aidjucation." she swung out a thick arm, and looked at peter out of the corner of her eyes, her head tilted to one side, as negresses do when they become dramatically serious. peter left his mother to her stare and went to his own room. this constant implication among niggertown inhabitants that niggertown and all it held was worthless, mean, unhuman depressed peter. the mulatto knew the real trouble with niggertown was it had adopted the white village's estimate of it. the sentiment of the white village was overpowering among the imitative negroes. the black folk looked into the eyes of the whites and saw themselves reflected as chaff and skum and slime, and no human being ever suggested that they were aught else. peter's room was a rough shed papered with old newspapers. all sorts of yellow scare-heads streaked his walls. hanging up was a crayon enlargement of his mother, her broad face as unwrinkled as an egg and drawn almost white, for the picture agents have discovered the only way to please their black patrons is to make their enlargements as nearly white as possible. in one corner, on a home-made book-rack, stood peter's library,--a greek book or two, an old calculus, a sociology, a psychology, a philosophy, and a score of other volumes he had accumulated in his four college years. as peter, his head aching, looked at these, he realized how immeasurably removed he was from the cool abstraction of the study. the brown man sat down in an ancient rocking-chair by the window, leaned back, and closed his eyes. his blood still whispered in his ears from his fight. notwithstanding his justification, he gradually became filled with self-loathing. to fight--to hammer and kick in niggertown's dust-over a girl! it was an indignity. peter shifted his position in his chair, and his thoughts took another trail. tump's attack had been sudden and silent, much like a bulldog's. the possibility of a simple friendship between a woman and a man never entered tump's head; it never entered any niggertown head. here all attraction was reduced to the simplest terms of sex. niggertown held no delicate intimacies or reserves. two youths could not go with the same girl. black women had no very great powers of choice over their suitors. the strength of a man's arm isolated his sweetheart. that did not seem right, resting the power of successful mating entirely upon brawn. as peter sat thinking it over, it came to him that the progress of any race depended, finally, upon the woman having complete power of choosing her mate. it is woman alone who consistently places the love accent upon other matters than mere flesh and muscle. only woman has much sex selectiveness, or is inclined to select individuals with qualities of mind and spirit. for millions of years these instinctive spiritualizers of human breeding stock have been hampered in their choice of mates by the unrestrained right of the fighting male. indeed, the great constructive work of chivalry in the middle ages was to lay, unconsciously, the corner-stone of modern civilization by resigning to the woman the power of choosing from a group of males. siner stirred in his chair, surprised at whither his reverie had lead him. he wondered how he had stumbled upon these thoughts. had he read them in a book? in point of fact, a beating administered by tump pack had brought the brown man the first original idea he had entertained in his life. by this time, peter's jaw had reached its maximum swelling and was eased somewhat. he looked out of his little window, wondering whether cissie dildine would choose him--or tump pack. peter was surprised to find blue dusk peering through his panes. all the scare-heads on his walls had lapsed into a common obscurity. as he rose slowly, so as not to start his head hurting again, he heard three rapid pistol shots in the cedar glade between niggertown and the white village. he knew this to be the time-honored signal of boot-leggers announcing that illicit whisky was for sale in the blackness of the glade. chapter iv next day the siner-pack fight was the focus of news interest in hooker's bend. white mistresses extracted the story from their black maids, and were amused by it or deprecated cissie dildine's morals as the mood moved them. along main street in front of the village stores, the merchants and hangers-on discussed the affair. it was diverting that a graduate of harvard should come back to hooker's bend and immediately drop into such a fracas. old captain renfrew, one-time attorney at law and representative of his county in the state legislature, sat under the mulberry in front of the livery-stable and plunged into a long monologue, with old mr. tomwit as listener, on the uneducability of the black race. "take a horse, sir," expounded the captain; "a horse can be trained to add and put its name together out of an alphabet, but no horse could ever write a promissory note and figure the interest on it, sir. take a dog. i've known dogs, sir, that could bring your mail from the postoffice, but i never saw a dog stop on the way home, sir, to read a postcard." here the old ex-attorney spat and renewed the tobacco in a black brier, then proceeded to draw the parrallel between dogs and horses and peter siner newly returned from harvard. "god'lmighty has set his limit on dogs, horses, and niggers, mr. tomwit. thus far and no farther. take a nigger baby at birth; a nigger baby has no fontanelles. it has no window toward heaven. its skull is sealed up in darkness. the nigger brain can never expand and absorb the universe, sir. it can never rise on the wings of genius and weigh the stars, nor compute the swing of the pleiades. thus far and no farther! it's congenital. "now, take this peter siner and his disgraceful fight over a nigger wench. would you expect an educated stud horse to pay no attention to a mare, sir? you can educate a stud till--" "but hold on!" interrupted the old cavalryman. "i've known as gentlemanly stallions as--as anybody!" the old attorney cleared his throat, momentarily taken aback at this failure of his metaphor. however he rallied with legal suppleness: "you are talking about thoroughbreds, sir." "i am, sir." "good god, tomwit! you don't imagine i'm comparing a nigger to a thoroughbred, sir!" on the street corners, or piled around on cotton-bales down on the wharf, the negro men of the village discussed the fight. it was for the most part a purely technical discussion of blows and counters and kicks, and of the strange fact that a college education failed to enable siner utterly to annihilate his adversary. jim pink staggs, a dapper gentleman of ebony blackness, of pin-stripe flannels and blue serge coat-altogether a gentleman of many parts--sat on one of the bales and indolently watched an old black crone fishing from a ledge of rocks just a little way below the wharf-boat. around jim pink lounged and sprawled black men and youths, stretching on the cotton-bales like cats in the sunshine. jim pink was discussing peter's education. "i 'fo' gawd kain't see no use goin' off lak dat an' den comin' back an' lettin' a white man cheat you out'n yo' hide an' taller, an' lettin' a black man beat you up tull you has to 'kick him in the spivit. ef a aidjucation does you any good a-tall, you'd be boun' to beat de white man at one en' uv de line, or de black man at de udder. ef peter ain't to be foun' at eider en', wha is he?" "um-m-m!" "eh-h-h!" "you sho spoke a moufful, jim pink!" came an assenting chorus from the bales. eventually such gossip died away and took another flurry when a report went abroad that tump pack was carrying a pistol and meant to shoot peter on sight. then this in turn ceased to be news and of human interest. it clung to peter's mind longer than to any other person's in hooker's bend, and it presented to the brown man a certain problem in casuistry. should he accede to tump pack's possession of cissie dildine and give up seeing the girl? such a course cut across all his fine-spun theory about women having free choice of their mates. however, the harvard man could not advocate a socialization of courtship when he himself would be the first beneficiary. the prophet whose finger points selfward is damned. furthermore, all niggertown would side with tump pack in such a controversy. it was no uncommon thing for the very negro women to fight over their beaux and husbands. as for any social theory changing this régime, in the first place the negroes couldn't understand the theory; in the second, it would have no effect if they could. actions never grow out of theories; theories grow out of actions. a theory is a lookingglass that reflects the past and makes it look like the future, but the glass really hides the future, and when humanity comes to a turn in its course, there is always a smash-up, and a blind groping for the lost path. now, in regard to cissie dildine, peter was not precisely afraid of tump pack, but he could not clear his mind of the fact that tump had been presented with a medal by the congress of the united states for killing four men. good sense and a care for his reputation and his skin told peter to abandon his theory of free courtship for the time being. this meant a renunciation of cissie dildine; but he told himself he renounced very little. he had no reason to think that cissie cared a picayune about him. peter's work kept him indoors for a number of days following the encounter. he was reviewing some primary school work in order to pass a teacher's examination that would be held in jonesboro, the county seat, in about three weeks. to the uninitiated it may seem strange to behold a harvard graduate stuck down day after day poring over a pile of dog-eared school-books-third arithmetics, primary grammars, beginners' histories of tennessee, of the united states, of england; physiology, hygiene. it may seem queer. but when it comes to standing a wayne county teacher's examination, the specific answers to the specific questions on a dozen old examination slips are worth all the degrees harvard ever did confer. so, in his newspapered study, peter siner looked up long lists of questions, and attempted to memorize the answers. but the series of missteps he had made since returning to hooker's bend besieged his brain and drew his thoughts from his catechism. it seemed strange that in so short a time he should have wandered so far from the course he had set for himself. his career in niggertown formed a record of slight mistakes, but they were not to be undone, and their combined force had swung him a long way from the course he had plotted for himself. there was no way to explain. hooker's bend would judge him by the sheer surface of his works. what he had meant to do, his dreams and altruisms, they would never surmise. that was the irony of the thing. then he thought of cissie dildine who did understand him. this thought might have been cissie's cue to enter the stage of peter's mind. her oval, creamy face floated between peter's eyes and the dog-eared primer. he thought of cissie wistfully, and of her lonely fight for good english, good manners, and good taste. there was a pathos about cissie. peter got up from his chair and looked out at his high window into the early afternoon. he had been poring over primers for three days, stuffing the most heterogeneous facts. his head felt thick and slightly feverish. through his window he saw the side of another negro cabin, but by looking at an angle eastward he could see a field yellow with corn, a valley, and, beyond, a hill wooded and glowing with the pageantry of autumn. he thought of cissie dildine again, of walking with her among the burning maples and the golden elms. he thought of the restfulness such a walk with cissie would bring. as he mused, peter's soul made one of those sharp liberating movements that occasionally visit a human being. the danger of tump pack's jealousy, the loss of his prestige, the necessity of learning the specific answers to the examination questions, all dropped away from him as trivial and inconsequent. he turned from the window, put away his books and question-slips, picked up his hat, and moved out briskly through his mother's room toward the door. the old woman in the kitchen must have heard him, for she called to him through the partition, and a moment later her bulky form filled the kitchen entrance. she wiped her hands on her apron and looked at him accusingly. "wha you gwine, son?" "for a walk." the old negress tilted her head aslant and looked fixedly at him. "you's gwine to dat cissie dildine's, peter." peter looked at his mother, surprised and rather disconcerted that she had guessed his intentions from his mere footsteps. the young man changed his plans for his walk, and began a diplomatic denial: "no, i'm going to walk by myself. i'm tired; i'm played out." "tired?" repeated his mother, doubtfully. "you ain't done nothin' but set an' turn th'ugh books an' write on a lil piece o' paper." peter was vaguely amused in his weariness, but thought that he concealed his mirth from his mother. "that gets tiresome after a while." she grunted her skepticism. as peter moved for the door she warned him: "peter, you knows ef tump pack sees you, he's gwine to shoot you sho!" "oh, no he won't; that's tump's talk." "talk! talk! whut's matter wid you, peter? dat nigger done git crowned fuh killin' fo' men!" she stood staring at him with white eyes. then she urged, "now, look heah, peter, come along an' eat yo' supper." "no, i really need a walk. i won't walk through niggertown. i'll walk out in the woods." "i jes made some salmon coquettes fuh you whut'll spile ef you don' eat 'em now." "i didn't know you were making croquettes," said peter, with polite interest. "well, i is. i gotta can o' salmon fum miss mollie brownell she'd opened an' couldn't quite use. i doctered 'em up wid a lil vinegar an' sody, an' dey is 'bout as pink as dey ever wuz." a certain uneasiness and annoyance came over peter at this persistent use of unwholesome foods. "look here, mother, you're not using old canned goods that have been left over?" the old negress stood looking at him in silence, but lost her coaxing expression. "i've told and told you about using any tainted or impure foods that the white people can't eat." "well, whut ef you is?" "if it's too bad for them, it's too bad for you!" caroline made a careless gesture. "good lawd, boy! i don' 'speck to eat whut's good fuh me! all i says is, 'grub, keep me alive. ef you do dat, you done a good day's wuck.'" peter was disgusted and shocked at his mother's flippancy. modern colleges are atheistic, but they do exalt three gods,--food, cleanliness, and exercise. now here was peter's mother blaspheming one of his trinity. "i wish you 'd let me know when you want anything mother. i'll get it fresh for you." his words were filial enough, but his tone carried his irritation. the old negress turned back to the kitchen. "huh, boy! you been fotch up on lef'-overs," she said, and disappeared through the door. peter walked to the gate, let himself out, and started off on his constitutional. his tiff with his mother renewed all his nervousness and sense of failure. his litany of mistakes renewed their dolor in his mind. an autumn wind was blowing, and long plumes of dust whisked up out of the curving street and swept over the ill-kept yards, past the cabins, and toward the sere fields and chromatic woods. the wind beat at the brown man; the dust whispered against his clothes, made him squint his eyes to a crack and tickled his nostrils at each breath. when peter had gone two or three hundred yards, he became aware that somebody was walking immediately behind him. tump pack popped into his mind. he looked over his shoulder and then turned. through the veils of flying dust he made out some one, and a moment later identified not tump pack, but the gangling form of jim pink staggs, clad in a dark-blue sack-coat and white flannel trousers with pin stripes. it was the sort of costume affected by interlocutors of minstrel shows; it had a minstrel trigness about it. as a matter of fact, jim pink was a sort of semi-professional minstrel. ordinarily, he ran a pressing-shop in the niggertown crescent, but occasionally he impressed all the dramatic talent of niggertown and really did take the road with a minstrel company. these barn-storming expeditions reached down into alabama, mississippi, and arkansas. sometimes they proved a great success, and the darkies rode back several hundred dollars ahead. sometimes they tramped back. jim pink hailed peter with a wave of his hand and a grotesque displacement of his mouth to one side of his face, which he had found effective in his minstrel buffoonery. "whut you raisin' so much dus' about?" he called out of the corner of his mouth, while looking at peter out of one half-closed eye. peter shook his head and smiled. "thought it mout be mister hooker deliverin' dat lan' you bought." jim pink flung his long, flexible face into an imitation of convulsed laughter, then next moment dropped it into an intense gravity and declared, "'dus' thou art, to dus' returnest.'" the quotation seemed fruitless and silly enough, but jim pink tucked his head to one side as if listening intently to himself, then repeated sepulchrally, "'dus' thou art, to dus' returnest.' by the way, peter," he broke off cheerily, "you ain't happen to see tump pack, is you?" "no," said peter, unamused. "is he borrowed a gun fum you?" inquired the minstrel, solemnly. "no-o." peter looked questioningly at the clown through half-closed eyes. "huh, now dat's funny." jim pink frowned, and pulled down his loose mouth and seemed to study. he drew out a pearl-handled knife, closed his hand over it, blew on his fist, then opened the other hand, and exhibited the knife lying in its palm, with the blade open. he seemed surprised at the change and began cleaning his finger-nails. jim pink was the magician at his shows. peter waited patiently for jim pink to impart his information, "well, what's the idea?" he asked at last. "don' know. 'pears lak dat knife won't stay in any one han'." he looked at it, curiously. "i mean about tump," said peter, impatiently. "o-o-oh, yeah; you mean 'bout tump. well, i thought tump mus' uv borrowed a gun fum you. he lef' hobbett's corner wid a great big fortyfo', inquirin' wha you is." just then he glanced up, looked penetratingly through the dust-cloud, and added, "why, i b'lieve da' 's tump now." with a certain tightening of the nerves, peter followed his glance, but made out nothing through the fogging dust. when he looked around at jim pink again, the buffoon's face was a caricature of immense mirth. he shook it sober, abruptly, minstrel fashion. "maybe i's mistooken," he said solemnly. "tump did start over heah wid a gun, but mister dawson bobbs done tuk him up fuh ca'yin' concealed squidjulums; so tump's done los' dat freedom uv motion in de pu'suit uv happiness gua'anteed us niggers an' white folks by the constitution uv de newnighted states uv america." here jim pink broke into genuine laughter, which was quite a different thing from his stage grimaces. peter stared at the fool astonished. "has he gone to jail?" "not prezactly." "well--confound it!--exactly what did happen, jim pink?" "he gone to mr. cicero throgmartins'." "what did he go there for?" "couldn't he'p hisse'f." "look here, you tell me what's happened." "mr. bobbs ca'ied tump thaiuh. y' see, mr. throgmartin tried to hire tump to pick cotton. tump didn't haf to, because he'd jes shot fo' natchels in a crap game. so to-day, when tump starts over heah wid his gun, mr. bobbs 'resses tump. mr. throgmartin bails him out, so now tump's gone to pick cotton fuh mr. throgmartin to pay off'n his fine." here jim pink yelped into honest laughter at tump's undoing so that dust got into his nose and mouth and set him sneezing and coughing. "how long's he up for?" asked peter, astonished and immensely relieved at this outcome of tump's expedition against himself. jim pink controlled his coughing long enough to gasp: "th-thutty days, ef he don' run off," and fell to laughing again. peter siner, long before, had adopted the literate man's notion of what is humorous, and tump's mishap was slap-stick to him. nevertheless, he did smile. the incident filled him with extraordinary relief and buoyancy. at the next corner he made some excuse to jim pink, and turned off up an alley. * * * * * peter walked along with his shoulders squared and the dust peppering his back. not till tump was lifted from his mind did he realize what an incubus the soldier had been. peter had been forced into a position where, if he had killed tump, he would have been ruined; if he had not, he would probably have murdered. now he was free--for thirty days. he swung along briskly in the warm sunshine toward the multicolored forest. the day had suddenly become glorious. presently he found himself in the back alleys near cissie's house. he was passing chicken-houses and stables. hogs in open pens grunted expectantly at his footsteps. peter had not meant to go to cissie's at all, but now, when he saw he was right behind her dwelling, she seemed radiantly accessible to him. still, it struck him that it would not be precisely the thing to call on cissie immediately after tump's arrest. it might look as if--then the thought came that, as a neighbor, he should stop and tell cissie of tump's misfortune. he really ought to offer his services to cissie, if he could do anything. at cissie's request he might even aid tump pack himself. peter got himself into a generous glow as he charged up a side alley, around to a rickety front gate. let niggertown criticize as it would, he was braced by a high altruism. peter did not shout from the gate, as is the fashion of the crescent, but walked up a little graveled path lined with dusty box-shrubs and tapped at the unpainted door. doors in niggertown never open straight away to visitors. a covert inspection first takes place from the edges of the window-blinds. peter stood in the whipping dust, and the caution of the inmates spurred his impatience to see cissie. at last the door opened, and cissie herself was in the entrance. she stood quite still a moment, looking at peter with eyes that appeared frightened. "i--i wasn't expecting to see you," she stammered. "no? i came by with news, cissie." "news?" she seemed more frightened than ever. "peter, you--you haven't-" she paused, regarding him with big eyes. "tump pack's been arrested," explained peter, quickly, sensing the tragedy in her thoughts. "i came by to tell you. if there's anything i can do for you--or him, i'll do it." his altruistic offer sounded rather foolish in the actual saying. he could not tell from her face whether she was glad or sorry. "what did they arrest him for?" "carrying a pistol." she paused a moment. "will he--get out soon?" "he's sentenced for thirty days." cissie dropped her hands with a hopeless gesture. "oh, isn't this all sickening!--sickening!" she exclaimed. she looked tired. ghosts of sleepless nights circled her eyes. suddenly she said, "come in. oh, do come in, peter." she reached out and almost pulled him in. she was so urgent that peter might have fancied tump pack at the gate with his automatic. he did glance around, but saw nobody passing except the arkwright boy. the hobbledehoy walked down the other side of the street, hands thrust in pockets, with the usual discontented expression on his face. cissie slammed the door shut, and the two stood rather at a loss in the sudden gloom of the hall. cissie broke into a brief, mirthless laugh. "peter, it's hard to be nice in niggertown. i--i just happened to think how folks would gossip--you coming here as soon as tump was arrested." "perhaps i'd better go," suggested peter, uncomfortably. cissie reached up and caught his lapel. "oh, no, don't feel that way! i'm glad you came, really. here, let's go through this way to the arbor. it isn't a bad place to sit." she led the way silently through two dark rooms. before she opened the back door, peter could hear cissie's mother and a younger sister moving around the outside of the house to give up the arbor to cissie and her company. the arbor proved a trellis of honeysuckle over the back door, with a bench under it. a film of dust lay over the dense foliage, and a few withered blooms pricked its grayish green. the earthen floor of the arbor was beaten hard and bare by the naked feet of children. cissie sat down on the bench and indicated a place beside her. "i've been so uneasy about you! i've been wondering what on earth you could do about it." "it's a snarl, all right," he said, and almost immediately began discussing the peculiar _impasse_ in which his difficulty with tump had landed him. cissie sat listening with a serious, almost tragic face, giving a little nod now and then. once she remarked in her precise way: "the trouble with a gentleman fighting a rowdy, the gentleman has all to lose and nothing to gain. if you don't live among your own class, peter, your life will simmer down to an endless diplomacy." "you mean deceit, i suppose." "no, i mean diplomacy. but that isn't a very healthy frame of mind,-always to be suppressing and guarding yourself." peter didn't know about that. he was inclined to argue the matter, but cissie wouldn't argue. she seemed to assume that all of her statements were axioms, truths reduced to the simplest possible mental terms, and that proof was unnecessary, if not impossible. so the topic went into the discard. "been baking my brains over a lot of silly little exam questions," complained peter. "can you trace the circulation of the blood? i think it leaves the grand central station through the right aorta, and then, after a schedule run of nine minutes, you can hear it coming up the track through the left ventricle, with all the passengers eager to get off and take some refreshment at the lungs. i have the general idea, but the exact routing gets me." cissie laughed accommodatingly. "i wonder why it's necessary for everybody to know that once. i did. i could follow the circulation the right way or backward." "must have been harder backward, going against the current." cissie laughed again. a girl's part in a witty conversation might seem easy at first sight. she has only to laugh at the proper intervals. however, these intervals are not always distinctly marked. some girls take no chances and laugh all the time. cissie's appreciation was the sedative peter needed. the relief of her laughter and her presence ran along his nerves and unkinked them, like a draft of kentucky special after a debauch. the curves of her cheek, the tilt of her head, and the lift of her dull-blue blouse at the bosom wove a great restfulness about peter. the brooch of old gold glinted at her throat. the heavy screen of the arbor gave them a sweet sense of privacy. the conversation meandered this way and that, and became quite secondary to the feeling of the girl's nearness and sympathy. their talk drifted back to peter's mission here in hooker's bend, and cissie was saying: "the trouble is, peter, we are out of our _milieu_." some portion of peter's brain that was not basking in the warmth and invitation of the girl answered quite logically: "yes, but if i could help these people, cissie, reconstruct our life here culturally--" cissie shook her head. "not culturally." this opposition shunted more of peter's thought to the topic in hand. he paused interrogatively. "racially," said cissie. "racially?" repeated the man, quite lost. cissie nodded, looking straight into his eyes. "you know very well, peter, that you and i are not--are not anything near full bloods. you know that racially we don't belong in--niggertown." peter never knew exactly how this extraordinary sentence had come about, but in a kind of breath he realized that he and this almost white girl were not of niggertown. no doubt she had been arguing that he, peter, who was one sort of man, was trying to lead quite another sort of men moved by different racial impulses, and such leading could only come to confusion. he saw the implications at once. it was an extraordinary idea, an explosive idea, such as cissie seemed to have the faculty of touching off. he sat staring at her. it was the white blood in his own veins that had sent him struggling up north, that had brought him back with this flame in his heart for his own people. it was the white blood in cissie that kept her struggling to stand up, to speak an unbroken tongue, to gather around her the delicate atmosphere and charm of a gentlewoman. it was the caucasian in them buried here in niggertown. it was their part of the tragedy of millions of mixed blood in the south. their common problem, a feeling of their joint isolation, brought peter to a sense of keen and tingling nearness to the girl. she was talking again, very earnestly, almost tremulously: "why don't you go north, peter? i think and think about you staying here. you simply can't grow up and develop here. and now, especially, when everybody doubts you. if you'd go north--" "what about you, cissie? you say we're together--" "oh, i'm a woman. we haven't the chance to do as we will." a kind of titillation went over peter's scalp and body. "then you are going to stay here and marry--tump?" he uttered the name in a queer voice. tears started in cissie's eyes; her bosom lifted to her quick breathing. "i--i don't know what i'm going to do," she stammered miserably. peter leaned over her with a drumming heart; he heard her catch her breath. "you don't care for tump?" he asked with a dry mouth. she gasped out something, and the next moment peter felt her body sink limply in his groping arms. they clung together closely, quiveringly. three nights of vigil, each thinking miserably and wistfully of the other, had worn the nerves of both man and girl until they were ready to melt together at a touch. her soft body clinging to his own, the little nervous pressures of her arms, her eased breathing at his neck, wiped away siner's long sense of strain. strength and peace seemed to pour from her being into his by a sort of spiritual osmosis. she resigned her head to his palm in order that he might lift her lips to his when he pleased. after all, there is no way for a man to rest without a woman. all he can do is to stop work. for a long time they sat transported amid the dusty honeysuckles and withered blooms, but after a while they began talking a little at a time of the future, their future. they felt so indissolubly joined that they could not imagine the future finding them apart. there was no need for any more trouble with tump pack. they would marry quietly, and go away north to live. peter thought of his friend farquhar. he wondered if farquhar's attitude would be just the same toward cissie as it was toward him. "north," was the burden of the octoroon's dreams. they would go north to chicago. there were two hundred and fifty thousand negroes in chicago, a city within itself three times the size of nashville. up north she and peter could go to theaters, art galleries, could enter any church, could ride in street-cars, railroad-trains, could sleep and eat at any hotel, live authentic lives. it was cissie planning her emancipation, planning to escape her lifelong disabilities. "oh, i'll be so glad! so glad! so glad!" she sobbed, and drew peter's head passionately down to her deep bosom. chapter v peter siner walked home from the dildine cabin that night rather dreading to meet his mother, for it was late. cissie had served sandwiches and coffee on a little table in the arbor, and then had kept peter hours afterward. around him still hung the glamour of cissie's little supper. he could still see her rounded elbows that bent softly backward when she extended an arm, and the glimpses of her bosom when she leaned to hand him cream or sugar. she had accomplished the whole supper in the white manner, with all poise and daintiness. in fact, no one is more exquisitely polite than an octoroon woman when she desires to be polite, when she elevates the subserviency of her race into graciousness. however, the pleasure and charm of cissie were fading under the approaching abuse that caroline was sure to pour upon the girl. peter dreaded it. he walked slowly down the dark semicircle, planning how he could best break to his mother the news of his engagement. peter knew she would begin a long bill of complaints,--how badly she was treated, how she had sacrificed herself, her comfort, how she had washed and scrubbed. she would surely charge cissie with being a thief and a drab, and all the announcements of engagements that peter could make would never induce the old woman to soften her abuse. indeed, they would make her worse. so peter walked on slowly, smelling the haze of dust that hung in the blackness. out on the big hill, in the glade, peter caught an occasional glimmer of light where crap-shooters and boot-leggers were beginning their nightly carousal. these evidences of illicit trades brought peter a thrill of disgust. in a sort of clear moment he saw that he could not keep cissie in such a sty as this. he could not rear in such a place as this any children that might come to him and cissie. his thoughts drifted back to his mother, and his dread of her tongue. the siner cabin was dark and tightly shut when peter let himself in at the gate and walked to the door. he stood a moment listening, and then gently pressed open the shutter. a faint light burned on the inside, a night-lamp with an old-fashioned brass bowl. it sat on the floor, turned low, at the foot of his mother's bed. the mean room was mainly in shadow. the old-style four-poster in which caroline slept was an indistinct mound. the air was close and foul with the bad ventilation of all negro sleeping-rooms. the brass lamp, turned low, added smoke and gas to the tight quarters. the odor caught peter in the nose and throat, and once more stirred up his impatience with his mother's disregard of hygiene. he tiptoed into the room and decided to remove the lamp and open the high, small window to admit a little air. he moved noiselessly and had stooped for the lamp when there came a creaking and a heavy sigh from the bed, and the old negress asked: "is dat you, son?" peter was tempted to stand perfectly still and wait till his mother dozed again, thus putting off her inevitable tirade against cissie; but he answered in a low tone that it was he. "whut you gwine do wid dat lamp, son?" "go to bed by it, mother." "well, bring hit back." she breathed heavily, and moved restlessly in the old four-poster. as peter stood up he saw that the patched quilts were all askew over her shapeless bulk. evidently, she had not been resting well. peter's conscience smote him again for worrying his mother with his courtship of cissie, yet what could he do? if he had wooed any other girl in the world, she would have been equally jealous and grieved. it was inevitable that she should be disappointed and bitter; it was bound up in the very part and parcel of her sacrifice. a great sadness came over peter. he almost wished his mother would berate him, but she continued to lie there, breathing heavily under her disarranged covers. as peter passed into his room, the old negress called after him to remind him to bring the light back when he was through with it. this time something in her tone alarmed peter. he paused in the doorway. "are you sick, mother?" he asked. the old woman gave a yawn that changed to a groan. "i--i ain't feelin' so good." "what's the matter, mother?" "my stomach, my--" but at that moment her sentence changed to an inarticulate sound, and she doubled up in bed as if caught in a spasm of acute agony. peter hurried to her, thoroughly frightened, and saw sweat streaming down her face. he stared down at her. "mother, you are sick! what can i do?" he cried, with a man's helplessness. she opened her eyes with an effort, panting now as the edge of the agony passed. there was a movement under the quilts, and she thrust out a rubber hot-water bottle. "fill it--fum de kittle," she wheezed out, then relaxed into groans, and wiped clumsily at the sweat on her shining black face. peter seized the bottle and ran into the kitchen. there he found a brisk fire popping in the stove and a kettle of water boiling. it showed him, to his further alarm, that his mother had been trying to minister to herself until forced to bed. the man scalded a finger and thumb pouring water into the flared mouth, but after a moment twisted on the top and hurried into the sick-room. he reached the old negress just as another knife of pain set her writhing and sweating. she seized the hot-water bottle, pushed it under the quilts, and pressed it to her stomach, then lay with eyes and teeth clenched tight, and her thick lips curled in a grin of agony. peter set the lamp on the table, said he was going for the doctor, and started. the old woman hunched up in bed. with the penuriousness of her station and sacrifices, she begged peter not to go; then groaned out, "go tell mars' renfrew," but the next moment did not want peter to leave her. peter said he would get nan berry to stay while he was gone. the berry cabin lay diagonally across the street. peter ran over, thumped on the door, and shouted his mother's needs. as soon as he received an answer, he started on over the big hill toward the white town. peter was seriously frightened. his run to dr. jallup's, across the big hill, was a series of renewed strivings for speed. every segment of his journey seemed to seize him and pin him down in the midst of the night like a bug caught in a black jelly. he seemed to progress not at all. now he was in the cedar glade. his muffled flight drove in the sentries of the crap-shooters, and gamesters blinked out their lights and listened to his feet stumbling on through the darkness. after an endless run in the glade, peter found himself on top of the hill, amid boulders and outcrops limestone and cedar-shrubs. his flashlight picked out these objects, limned them sharply against the blackness, then dropped them into obscurity again. he tried to run faster. his impatience subdivided the distance into yards and feet. now he was approaching that boulder, now he was passing it; now he was ten feet beyond, twenty, thirty. perhaps his mother was dying, alone save for stupid nan berry. now he was going down the hill past the white church. all that was visible was its black spire set against a web of stars. he was making no speed at all. he panted on. his heart hammered. his legs drummed with lilliputian paces. now he was among the village stores, all utterly black. at one point the echo of his feet chattered back at him, as if some other futile runner strained amid vast spaces of blackness. after a long time he found himself running up a residential street, and presently, far ahead, he saw the glow of dr. jallup's porch light. its beam had the appearance of coming from a vast distance. when he reached the place, he flung his breast against the top panel of the doctor's fence and held on, exhausted. he drew in his breath, and began shouting, "hello, doctor!" peter called persistently, and as he commanded more breath, he called louder and louder, "hello, doctor! hello, doctor! hello, doctor!" in tones edging on panic. the doctor's house might have been dead. somewhere a dog began barking. high in the southern sky a star looked down remotely on peter's frantic haste. the black man stood in the black night with cries: "hello, doctor! hello, doctor! hello, doctor!" at last, in despair, he tried to think of other doctors. he thought of telephoning to jonesboro. just as he decided he must turn away there came a stirring in the dead house, a flicker of light appeared on the inside now here, now there; it steadied into a tiny beam and approached the door. the door opened, and dr. jallup's head and breast appeared, illuminated against the black interior. "my mother's sick, doctor," began peter, in immense relief. "who is it?" inquired the half-clad man, impassively. "caroline siner; she's been taken with a--" the physician lifted his light a trifle in an effort to see peter. "lemme see: she's that fat nigger woman that lives in a three-roomed house--" "i'll show you the way," said peter. "she's very ill." the half-dressed man shook his head. "no, ca'line siner owes me a five-dollar doctor's bill already. our county medical association made a rule that no niggers should--" with a drying mouth, peter siner stared at the man of medicine. "but, my god, doctor," gasped the son, "i'll pay you--" "have you got the money there in your pocket?" asked jallup, impassively. a sort of chill traveled deliberately over peter's body and shook his voice. "n-no, but i can get it--" "yes, you can all get it," stated the physician in dull irritation. "i'm tired of you niggers running up doctors' bills nobody can collect. you never have more than the law allows; your wages never get big enough to garnishee." his voice grew querulous as he related his wrongs. "no, i'm not going to see ca'line siner. if she wants me to visit her, let her send ten dollars to cover that and back debts, and i'll--" the end of his sentence was lost in the closing of his door. the light he carried declined from a beam to a twinkling here and there, and then vanished in blackness. dr. jallup's house became dead again. the little porch light in its glass box might have been a candle burning before a tomb. peter siner stood at the fence, licking his dry lips, with nerves vibrating like a struck bell. he pushed himself slowly away from the top plank and found his legs so weak that he could hardly walk. he moved slowly, back down the unseen street. the dog he had disturbed gave a few last growls and settled into silence. peter moved along, wetting his dry lips, and stirring feebly among his dazed thoughts, hunting some other plan of action. there was a tiny burning spot on the left side of his occiput. it felt like a heated cambric needle which had been slipped into his scalp. then he realized that he must go home, get ten dollars, and bring them back to dr. jallup. he started to run, but almost toppled over on his leaden legs. he plodded through the darkness, retracing the endless trail to niggertown. as he passed a dark mass of shrubbery and trees, he recalled his mother's advice to ask aid of captain renfrew. it was the old renfrew place that peter was passing. the negro hesitated, then turned in at the gate in the bare hope of obtaining the ten dollars at once. inside the gate peter's feet encountered the scattered bricks of an old walk. the negro stood and called captain renfrew's name in a guarded voice. he was not at all sure of his action. peter had called twice and was just about to go when a lamp appeared around the side of the house on a long portico that extended clear around the building. bathed in the light of the lamp which he held over his head, there appeared an old man wearing a worn dressing gown. "who is it?" he asked in a wavery voice. peter told his name and mission. the old captain continued holding up his light. "oh, peter siner; caroline siner's sick? all right i'll have jallup run over; i'll phone him." peter was beginning his thanks preparatory to going, when the old man interrupted. "no, just stay here until jallup comes by in his or he'll pick us both up. it'll save time. come on inside. what's the matter with old caroline?" the old dressing-gown led the way around the continuous piazza, to a room that stood open and brightly lighted on the north face of the old house. a great relief came to peter at this unexpected succor. he followed around the piazza, trying to describe caroline's symptoms. the room peter entered was a library, a rather stately old room, lined with books all around the walls to about as high as a man could reach. spaces for doors and windows were let in among the book-cases. the volumes themselves seemed composed mainly of histories and old-fashioned scientific books, if peter could judge from a certain severity of their bindings. on a big library table burned a gasolene-lamp, which threw a brilliant whiteness all over the room. the table was piled with books and periodicals. books and papers were heaped on every chair in the study except a deep morris chair in which the old captain had been sitting. a big meridional globe, about two and a half feet in diameter, gleamed through a film of dust in the embrasure of a window. the whole room had the womanless look of a bachelor's quarters, and was flavored with tobacco and just a hint of whisky. old captain renfrew evidently had been reading when peter called from the gate. now the old man went to a telephone and rang long and briskly to awaken the boy who slept in the central office. peter fidgeted as the old captain stood with receiver to ear. "hard to wake." the old gentleman spoke into the transmitter, but was talking to peter. "don't be so uneasy, peter. human beings are harder to kill than you think." there was a kindliness, even a fellowship, in captain renfrew's tones that spread like oil over peter's raw nerves. it occurred to the negro that this was the first time he had been addressed as an authentic human being since his conversation with the two northern men on the pullman, up in illinois. it surprised him. it was sufficient to take his mind momentarily from his mother. he looked a little closely at the old man at the telephone. the captain wore few indices of kindness. lines of settled sarcasm netted his eyes and drooped away from his old mouth. the very swell of his full temples and their crinkly veins marked a sardonic old man. at last he roused central over the wire, and impressed upon him the necessity of creating a stridor in dr. jallup's dead house, and a moment later a continued buzzing in the receiver betokened the operator's efforts to do so. the old gentleman turned around at last, holding the receiver a little distance from his ear. "i understand you went to harvard, peter." "yes, sir." peter took his eyes momentarily from the telephone. the old southerner in the dressing-gown scrutinized the brown man. he cleared his throat. "you know, peter, it gives me a--a certain satisfaction to see a harvard man in hooker's bend. i'm a harvard man myself." peter stood in the brilliant light, astonished, not at captain renfrew's being a harvard man,--he had known that,--but that this old gentleman was telling the fact to him, peter siner, a negro graduate of harvard. it was extraordinary; it was tantamount to an offer of friendship, not patronage. such an offer in the south disturbed peter's poise; it touched him queerly. and it seemed to explain why captain renfrew had received peter so graciously and was now arranging for dr. jallup to visit caroline. peter was moved to the conventional query, asking in what class the captain had been graduated. but while his very voice was asking it, peter thought what a strange thing it was that he, peter siner, a negro, and this lonely old gentleman, his benefactor, were spiritual brothers, both sprung from the loins of harvard, that ancient mother of souls. [illustration: the old gentleman turned around at last] from the darkness outside, dr. jallup's horn summmoned the two men. captain renfrew got out of his gown and into his coat and turned off his gasolene light. they walked around the piazza to the front of the house. in the street the head-lights of the roadster shot divergent rays through the darkness. they went out. the old captain took a seat in the car beside the physician, while peter stood on the running-board. a moment later, the clutch snarled, and the machine puttered down the street. peter clung to the standards of the auto top, peering ahead. the men remained almost silent. once dr. jallup, watching the dust that lay modeled in sharp lights and shadows under the head-lights, mentioned lack of rain. their route did not lead over the big hill. they turned north at hobbett's corner, drove around by river street, and presently entered the northern end of the semicircle. the speed of the car was reduced to a crawl in the bottomless dust of the crescent. the head-lights swept slowly around the cabins on the concave side of the street, bringing them one by one into stark brilliance and dropping them into obscurity. the smell of refuse, of uncleaned stables and sties and outhouses hung in the darkness. peter bent down under the top of the motor and pointed out his place. a minute later the machine came to a noisy halt and was choked into silence. at that moment, in the sweep of the head-light, peter saw viny berry, one of nan's younger sisters, coming up from niggertown's public well, carrying two buckets of water. viny was hurrying, plashing the water over the sides of her buckets. the importance of her mission was written in her black face. "she's awful thirsty," she called to peter in guarded tones. "nan called me to fetch some fraish water fum de well." peter took the water that had been brought from the semi-cesspool at the end of the street. viny hurried across the street to home and to bed. with the habitual twinge of his sanitary conscience, peter considered the water in the buckets. "we'll have to boil this," he said to the doctor. "boil it?" repeated jallup, blankly. then, he added: "oh, yes--boil. certainly." * * * * * a repellent odor of burned paper, breathed air, and smoky lights filled the close room. nan had lighted another lamp and now the place was discernible in a dull yellow glow. in the corner lay a half-burned wisp of paper. nan herself stood by the mound on the bed, putting straight the quilts that her patient had twisted awry. "she sho am bad, doctor," said the colored woman, with big eyes. seen in the light, dr. jallup was a little sandy-bearded man with a round, simple face, oddly overlaid with that inscrutability carefully cultivated by country doctors. with professional cheeriness, he approached the mound of bedclothes. "a little under the weather, aunt ca'line?" he slipped his fingers alongside her throat to test her temperature, at the same time drawing a thermometer from his waistcoat pocket. the old negress stirred, and looked up out of sick eyes. "doctor," she gasped, "i sho got a misery heah." she indicated her stomach. "how do you feel?" he asked hopefully. the woman panted, then whispered: "lak a knife was a-cuttin' an' a-tearin' out my innards." she rested, then added, "not so bad now; feels mo' lak somp'n's tearin' in de nex' room." "like something tearing in the next room?" repeated jallup, emptily. "yes, suh," she whispered. "i jes can feel hit--away off, lak." the doctor attempted to take her temperature, but the thermometer in her mouth immediately nauseated her, so he slipped the instrument under her arm. old caroline groaned at the slightest exertion, then, as she tossed her black head, she caught a glimpse of old captain renfrew. she halted abruptly in her restlessness, stared at the old gentleman, wet her dry lips with a queer brown-furred tongue. "is dat you, mars' milt?" she gasped in feeble astonishment. a moment later she guessed the truth. "i s'pose you had to bring de doctor. 'fo' gawd, mars' milt--" she lay staring, with the covers rising and falling as she gasped for breath. her feverish eyes shifted back and forth between the grim old gentleman and the tall, broad-shouldered brown man at the foot of her bed. she drew a baggy black arm from under the cover. "da' 's peter, mars' milt," she pointed. "da' 's peter, my son. he--he use' to be my son 'fo' he went off to school; but sence he come home, he been a-laughin' at me." tears came to her eyes; she panted for a moment, then added: "yeah, he done marked his mammy down fuh a nigger, mars' milt. whut i thought wuz gwine be sweet lays bitter in my mouf." she worked her thick lips as if the rank taste of her sickness were the very flavor of her son's ingratitude. a sudden gasp and twist of her body told nan that the old woman was again seized with a spasm. the neighbor woman took swift control, and waved out peter and old mr. renfrew, while she and the doctor aided the huge negress. the two evicted men went into peter's room and shut the door. peter, unnerved, groped, and presently found and lighted a lamp. he put it down on his little table among his primary papers and examination papers. he indicated to captain renfrew the single chair in the room. but the old gentleman stood motionless in the mean room, with its headline streaked walls. sounds of the heavy lifting of peter's mother came through the thin door and partition with painful clearness. peter opened his own small window, for the air in his room was foul. captain renfrew stood in silence, with a remote sarcasm in his wrinkled eyes. what was in his heart, why he had subjected himself to the noisomeness of failing flesh, peter had not the faintest idea. once, out of studently habit, he glanced at peter's philosophic books, but apparently he read the titles without really observing them. once he looked at peter. "peter," he said colorlessly, "i hope you'll be careful of caroline's feelings if she ever gets up again. she has been very faithful to you, peter." peter's eyes dampened. a great desire mounted in him to explain himself to this strange old gentleman, to show him how inevitable had been the breach. for some reason a veritable passion to reveal his heart to this his sole benefactor surged through the youth. "mr. renfrew," he stammered, "mr. renfrew--i--i--" his throat abruptly ached and choked. he felt his face distort in a spasm of uncontrollable grief. he turned quickly from this strange old man with a remote sarcasm in his eyes and a remote affection in his tones. peter clenched his jaws, his nostrils spread in his effort stoically to bottle up his grief and remorse, like a white man; in an effort to keep from howling his agony aloud, like a negro. he stood with aching throat and blurred eyes, trembling, swallowing, and silent. presently nan berry opened the door. she held a half-burned paper in her hand; dr. jallup stood near the bed, portioning out some calomel and quinine. the prevalent disease in hooker's bend is malaria; dr. jallup always physicked for malaria. on this occasion he diagnosed it must be a very severe attack of malaria indeed, so he measured out enormous doses. he took a glass of the water that viny had brought, held up old caroline's head, and washed down two big capsules into the already poisoned stomach of the old negress. his simple face was quite inscrutable as he did this. he left other capsules for nan to administer at regular intervals. then he and captain renfrew motored out of niggertown, out of its dust and filth and stench. at four o'clock in the morning caroline siner died. chapter vi when nan berry saw that caroline was dead, the black woman dropped a glass of water and a capsule of calomel and stared. a queer terror seized her. she began such a wailing that it aroused others in niggertown. at the sound they got out of their beds and came to the siner cabin, their eyes big with mystery and fear. at the sight of old caroline's motionless body they lifted their voices through the night. the lamentation carried far beyond the confines of niggertown. the last gamblers in the cedar glade heard it, and it broke up their gaming and drinking. white persons living near the black crescent were waked out of their sleep and listened to the eerie sound. it rose and fell in the darkness like a melancholy organ chord. the wailing of the women quivered against the heavy grief of the men. the half-asleep listeners were moved by its weirdness to vague and sinister fancies. the dolor veered away from what the anglo-saxon knows as grief and was shot through with the uncanny and the terrible. white children crawled out of their small beds and groped their way to their parents. the women shivered and asked of the darkness, "_what_ makes the negroes howl so?" nobody knew,--least of all, the negroes. nobody suspected that the bedlam harked back to the jungle, to black folk in african kraals beating tom-toms and howling, not in grief, but in an ecstasy of terror lest the souls of their dead might come back in the form of tigers or pythons or devils and work woe to the tribe. through the night the negroes wailed on, performing through custom an ancient rite of which they knew nothing. they supposed themselves heartbroken over the death of caroline siner. amid this din peter siner sat in his room, stunned by the sudden taking off of his mother. the reproaches that she had expressed to old captain renfrew clung in peter's brain. the brown man had never before realized the faint amusement and condescension that had flavored all his relations with his mother since his return home. but he knew now that she had felt his disapproval of her lifelong habits; that she saw he never explained or attempted to explain his thoughts to her, assuming her to be too ignorant; as she put it, "a fool." the pathos of his mother's last days, what she had expected, what she had received, came to peter with the bitterness of what is finished and irrevocable. she had been dead only a few minutes, yet she could never know his grief and remorse; she could never forgive him. she was utterly removed in a few minutes, in a moment in the failing of a breath. the finality of death overpowered him. into his room, through the thin wall, came the catch of numberless sobs, the long-drawn open wails, and the spasms of sobbing. blurred voices called, "o gawd! gawd hab mercy! hab mercy!" now words were lost in the midst of confusion. the clamor boomed through the thin partition as if it would shake down his newspapered walls. with wet cheeks and an aching throat, peter sat by his table, staring at his book-case in silence, like a white man. the dim light of his lamp fell over his psychologies and philosophies. these were the books that had given him precedence over the old washwoman who kept him in college. it was reading these books that had made him so wise that the old negress could not even follow his thoughts. now in the hour of his mother's death the backs of his metaphysics blinked at him emptily. what signified their endless pages about dualism and monism, about phenomenon and noumenon? his mother was dead. and she had died embittered against him because he had read and had been bewildered by these empty, wordy volumes. a sense of profound defeat, of being ultimately fooled and cozened by the subtleties of white men, filled peter siner. he had eaten at their table, but their meat was not his meat. the uproar continued. standing out of the din arose the burden of negro voices "hab mercy! gawd hab mercy!" in the morning the ladies of tabor came and washed and dressed caroline siner's body and made it ready for burial. for twenty years the old negress had paid ten cents a month to her society to insure her burial, and now the lodge made ready to fulfil its pledge. after many comings and goings, the black women called peter to see their work, as if for his approval. the huge dead woman lay on the four-poster with a sheet spread over the lower part of her body. the ministrants had clothed it in the old blacksilk dress, with its spreading seams and panels of different materials. it reminded peter of the new dress he had meant to get his mother, and of the modish suit which at that moment molded his own shoulders and waist. the pitifulness of her sacrifices trembled in peter's throat. he pressed his lips together, and nodded silently to the black ladies of tabor. presently the white undertaker, a silent little man with a brisk yet sympathetic air, came and made some measurements. he talked to peter in undertones about the finishing of the casket, how much the knights of tabor would pay, what peter wanted. then he spoke of the hour of burial, and mentioned a somewhat early hour because some of the negroes wanted to ship as roustabouts on the up-river packet, which was due at any moment. these decisions, asked of peter, kept pricking him and breaking through the stupefaction of this sudden tragedy. he kept nodding a mechanical agreement until the undertaker had arranged all the details. then the little man moved softly out of the cabin and went stepping away through the dust of niggertown with professional briskness. a little later two black grave-diggers set out with picks and shovels for the negro graveyard. numberless preparations for the funeral were going on all over niggertown. the knights of tabor were putting on their regalia. negro women were sending out hurry notices to white mistresses that they would be unable to cook the noonday meal. dozens of negro girls flocked to the hair-dressing establishment of miss mallylou speers. all were bent on having their wool straightened for the obsequies, and as only a few of them could be accommodated, the little room was packed. a smell of burning hair pervaded it. the girls sat around waiting their turn. most of them already had their hair down,--or, rather loose, for it stood out in thick mats. the hair-dresser had a small oil stove on which lay heating half a dozen iron combs. with a hot comb she teased each strand of wool into perfect straightness and then plastered it down with a greasy pomade. the result was a stiff effect, something like the hair of the japanese. it required about three hours to straighten the hair of one negress. the price was a dollar and a half. by half-past nine o'clock a crowd of negro men, in lodge aprons and with spears, and negro women, with sashes of ribbon over their shoulders and across the breasts, assembled about the siner cabin. in the dusty curving street were ranged half a dozen battered vehicles,--a hearse, a delivery wagon, some rickety buggies, and a hack. presently the undertaker arrived with a dilapidated black hearse which he used especially for negroes. he jumped down, got out his straps and coffin stands, directed some negro men to bring in the coffin, then hurried into the cabin with his air of brisk precision. he placed the coffin on the stands near the bed; then a number of men slipped the huge black body into it. the undertaker settled old caroline's head against the cotton pillows, running his hand down beside her cheek and tipping her face just so. then he put on the cover, which left a little oval opening just above her dead face. the sight of old caroline's face seen through the little oval pane moved some of the women to renewed sobs. eight black men took up the coffin and carried it out with the slow, wide-legged steps of roustabouts. parson ranson, in a rusty prince albert coat, took peter's arm and led him to the first vehicle after the hearse. it was a delivery wagon, but it was the best vehicle in the procession. as peter followed the coffin out, he saw the knights and ladies of tabor lined up in marching order behind the van. the men held their spears and swords at attention; the women carried flowers. behind the marchers came other old vehicles, a sorry procession. at fifteen minutes to ten the bell in the steeple of the colored church tolled a single stroke. the sound quivered through the sunshine over niggertown. at its signal the poor procession moved away through the dust. at intervals the bell tolled after the vanishing train. as the negroes passed through the white town the merchants, lolling in their doors, asked passers-by what negro had died. the idlers under the mulberry in front of the livery-stable nodded at the old negro preacher in his long greenish-black coat, and dawson bobbs remarked: "well, old parson ranson's going to tell 'em about it to-day," and he shifted his toothpick with a certain effect of humor. old mr. tomwit asked if his companions had ever heard how newt bodler, a wit famous in wayne county, once broke up a negro funeral with a hornets' nest. the idlers nodded a smiling affirmative as they watched the cortège go past. they had all heard it. but mr. tomwit would not be denied. he sallied forth into humorous reminiscence. another loafer contributed an anecdote of how he had tied ropes to a dead negro so as to make the corpse sit up in bed and frighten the mourners. all their tales were of the vintage of the years immediately succeeding the civil war,--pioneer humor, such as convulsed the readers of peck's bad boy, mr. bowser, sut lovingood. the favorite dramatic properties of such writers were the hornets' nest, the falling ladder, the banana peel. they cultivated the humor of contusions, the wit of impact. this style still holds the stage of hooker's bend. in telling these tales the white villagers meant no special disrespect to the negro funeral. it simply reminded them of humorous things; so they told their jokes, like the naïve children of the soil that they were. at last the poor procession passed beyond the white church, around a bend in the road, and so vanished. presently the bell in niggertown ceased tolling. * * * * * peter always remembered his mother's funeral in fragments of intolerable pathos,--the lifting of old parson ranson's hands toward heaven, the songs of the black folk, the murmur of the first shovelful of dirt as it was lowered to the coffin, and the final raw mound of earth littered with a few dying flowers. with that his mother--who had been so near to, and so disappointed in, her son--was blotted from his life. the other events of the funeral flowed by in a sort of dream: he moved about; the negroes were speaking to him in the queer overtones one uses to the bereaved; he was being driven back to niggertown; he reentered the siner cabin. one or two of his friends stayed in the room with him for a while and said vague things, but there was nothing to say. later in the afternoon cissie dildine and her mother brought his dinner to him. vannie dildine, a thin yellow woman, uttered a few disjointed words about sister ca'line being a good woman, and stopped amid sentence. there was nothing to say. death had cut a wound across peter siner's life. not for days, nor weeks, nor months, would his existence knit solidly back together. the poison of his ingratitude to his faithful old black mother would for a long, long day prevent the healing. chapter vii during a period following his mother's death peter siner's life drifted emptily and without purpose. he had the feeling of one convalescing in a hospital. his days passed unconnected by any thread of purpose; they were like cards scattered on a table, meaning nothing. at times he struggled against his lethargy. when he awoke in the morning and found the sun shining on his dusty primers and examination papers, he would think that he ought to go back to his old task; but he never did. in his heart grew a conviction that he would never teach school at hooker's bend. he would rise and dress slowly in the still cabin, thinking he must soon make new plans and take up some work. he never decided precisely what work; his thoughts trailed on in vague, idle designs. in fact, during peter's reaction to his shock there began to assert itself in him that capacity for profound indolence inherent in his negro blood. to a white man time is a cumulative excitant. continuous and absolute idleness is impossible; he must work, hunt, fish, play, gamble, or dissipate,--do something to burn up the accumulating sugar in his muscles. but to a negro idleness is an increasing balm; it is a stretching of his legs in the sunshine, a cat-like purring of his nerves; while his thoughts spread here and there in inconsequences, like water without a channel, making little humorous eddies, winding this way and that into oddities and fantasies without ever feeling that constraint of sequence which continually operates in a white brain. and it is this quality that makes negroes the entertainers of children _par excellence_. peter siner's mental slackening made him understandable, and gave him a certain popularity in nigger-town. black men fell into the habit of dropping in at the siner cabin, where they would sit outdoors, with chairs propped against the wall, and philosophize on the desultory life of the crescent. sometimes they would relate their adventures on the river packets and around the docks at paducah, cairo, st. joe, and st. louis; usually a recountal of drunkenness, gaming, fighting, venery, arrests, jail sentences, petty peculations, and escapes. through these iliads of vagabondage ran an irresponsible gaiety, a non-morality, and a kind of unbrave zest for adventure. they told of their defeats and flights with as much relish and humor as of their charges and victories. and while the spirit was thoroughly pagan, these accounts were full of the clichés of religion. a roustabout whom every one called the persimmon confided to peter that he meant to cut loose some logs in a raft up the river, float them down a little way, tie them up again, and claim the prize-money for salvaging them, god willing. the persimmon was so called from a scar on his long slanting head. a steamboat mate had once found him asleep in the passageway of a lumber pile which the boat was lading, and he waked the negro by hitting him in the head with a persimmon bolt. in this there was nothing unusual or worthy of a nickname. the point was, the mate had been mistaken: the persimmon was not working on his boat at all. in time this became one of the stock anecdotes which pilots and captains told to passengers traveling up and down the river. the persimmon was a queer-looking negro; his head was a long diagonal from its peak down to his pendent lower lip, for he had no chin. the salient points on this black slope were the persimmon's sad, protruding yellow eyeballs, over which the lids always drooped about half closed. an habitual tipping of this melancholy head to one side gave the persimmon the look of one pondering and deploring the amount of sin there was in the world. this saintly impression the persimmon's conduct and language never bore out. at the time of the persimmon's remarks about the raft two of peter's callers, jim pink staggs and parson ranson, took the roustabout to task. jim pink based his objection on the grounds of glutting the labor market. "ef us niggers keeps turnin' too many raf's loose fuh de prize-money," he warned, "somebody's goin' to git 'spicious, an' you'll ruin a good thing." the persimmon absorbed this with a far-away look in his half-closed eyes. "it's a ticklish job," argued parson ranson, "an' i wouldn't want to wuck at de debbil's task aroun' de ribber, ca'se you mout fall in, persimmon, an' git drownded." "i wouldn't do sich a thing a-tall," admitted the persimmon, "but i jes' natchelly got to git ten dollars to he'p pay on my divo'ce." "i kain't see whut you want wid a divo'ce," said jim pink, yawning, "when you been ma'ied three times widout any." "it's fuh a christmas present," explained the persimmon, carelessly, "fuh th' woman i'm libin' wid now. mahaly's a great woman fuh style. i'm goin' to divo'ce my other wives, one at a time lak my lawyer say." "on what grounds?" asked peter, curiously. "desuhtion." "desertion?" "uh huh; i desuhted 'em." jim pink shook his head, picked up a pebble, and began idly juggling it, making it appear double, single, treble, then single again. "too many divo'ces in dis country now, persimmon," he moralized. "well, whut's de cause uv 'em?" asked the persimmon, suddenly bringing his protruding yellow eyes around on the sleight-of-hand performer. jim pink was slightly taken aback; then he said: "'spicion; nothin' but 'spicion." "yeah, 'spicion," growled the persimmon; "'spicion an' de husban' leadin' a irreg'lar life." jim pink looked at his companion, curiously. "the husban'--leadin' a irreg'lar life?" "yeah,"--the persimmon nodded grimly,--"the husban' comin' home at onexpected hours. you know whut i means, jim pink." jim pink let his pebble fall and lowered the fore legs of his chair softly to the ground. "now, look heah, persimmon, you don' want to be draggin' no foreign disco'se into yo' talk heah befo' mr. siner an' parson ranson." the persimmon rose deliberately. "all i want to say is, i drapped off'n de matrimonial tree three times a'ready, jim pink, an' i think i feels somebody shakin' de limb ag'in." the old negro preacher rose, too, a little behind jim pink. "now, boys! boys!" he placated. "you jes think dat, persimmon." "yeah," admitted persimmon, "i jes think it; but ef i b'lieve ever'thing is so whut i think is so, i'd part jim pink's wool wid a brickbat." parson ranson tried to make peace, but the persimmon spread his hands in a gesture that included the three men. "now, i ain't sayin' nothin'," he stated solemnly, "an' i ain't makin' no threats; but ef anything happens, you-all kain't say that nobody didn' tell nobody about nothin'." with this the persimmon walked to the gate, let himself out, still looking back at jim pink, and then started down the dusty street. mr. staggs seemed uncomfortable under the persimmon's protruding yellow stare, but finally, when the roustabout was gone, he shrugged, regained his aplomb, and remarked that some niggers spent their time in studyin' 'bout things they hadn't no info'mation on whatever. then he strolled off up the crescent in the other direction. all this would have made fair minstrel patter if peter siner had shared the white conviction that every emotion expressed in a negro's patois is humorous. unfortunately, peter was too close to the negroes to hold such a tenet. he knew this quarrel was none the less rancorous for having been couched in the queer circumlocution of black folk. and behind it all shone the background of racial promiscuity out of which it sprang. it was like looking at an open sore that touched all of niggertown, men and boys, young girls and women. it caused tragedies, murders, fights, and desertions in the black village as regularly as the rotation of the calendar; yet there was no public sentiment against it. peter wondered how this attitude of his whole people could possibly be. with the query the memory of ida may came back to him, with its sense of dim pathos. it seemed to peter now as if their young and uninstructed hands had destroyed a safety-vault to filch a penny. the reflex of a thought of ida may always brought peter to cissie; it always stirred up in him a desire to make this young girl's path gentle and smooth. there was a fineness, a delicacy about cissie, that, it seemed to peter, ida may had never possessed. then, too, cissie was moved by a passion for self-betterment. she deserved a cleaner field than the niggertown of hooker's bend. peter took parson ranson's arm, and the two moved to the gate by common consent. it was no longer pleasant to sit here. the quarrel they had heard somehow had flavored their surroundings. peter turned his steps mechanically northward up the crescent toward the dildine cabin. nothing now restrained him from calling on cissie; he would keep no dinner waiting; he would not be warned and berated on his return home. the nagging, jealous love of his mother had ended. as the two men walked along, it was borne in upon peter that his mother's death definitely ended one period of his life. there was no reason why he should continue his present unsettled existence. it seemed best to marry cissie at once and go north. further time in this place would not be good for the girl. even if he could not lift all niggertown, he could at least help cissie. he had had no idea, when he first planned his work, what a tremendous task he was essaying. the white village had looked upon the negroes so long as non-moral and nonhuman that the negroes, with the flexibility of their race, had assimilated that point of view. the whites tried to regulate the negroes by endless laws. the negroes had come to accept this, and it seemed that they verily believed that anything not discovered by the constable was permissible. mr. dawson bobbs was niggertown's conscience. it was best for peter to take from this atmosphere what was dearest to him, and go at once. the brown man's thoughts came trailing back to the old negro parson hobbling at his side. he looked at the old man, hesitated a moment, then told him what was in his mind. parson ranson's face wrinkled into a grin. "you's gwine to git ma'ied?" "and i thought i'd have you perform the ceremony." this suggestion threw the old negro into excitement. "me, mr. peter?" "yes. why not?" "why, mr. peter, i kain't jine you an' miss cissie dildine." peter looked at him, astonished. "why can't you?" "whyn't you git a white preacher?" "well," deliberated peter, gravely, "it's a matter of principle with me, parson ranson. i think we colored people ought to be more self-reliant, more self-serving. we ought to lead our own lives instead of being mere echoes of white thought." he made a swift gesture, moved by this passion of his life. "i don't mean racial equality. to my mind racial equality is an empty term. one might as well ask whether pink and violet are equal. but what i do insist on is autonomous development." the old preacher nodded, staring into the dust. "sho! 'tonomous 'velopment." peter saw that his language, if not his thought, was far beyond his old companion's grasp, and he lacked the patience to simplify himself. "why don't you want to marry us, parson?" parson ranson lifted his brows and filled his forehead with wrinkles. "well, i dunno. you an' miss cissie acts too much lak white folks fuh a nigger lak me to jine you, mr. peter." peter made a sincere effort to be irritated, but he was not. "that's no way to feel. it's exactly what i was talking about,--racial self-reliance. you've married hundreds of colored couples." "ya-as, suh,"--the old fellow scratched his black jaw.--"i kin yoke up a pair uv ordina'y niggers all right. sometimes dey sticks, sometimes dey don't." the old man shook his white, kinky head. "i'll bust in an' try to hitch up you-all. i--i dunno whedder de cer'mony will hol' away up north or not." "it'll be all right anywhere, parson," said peter, seriously. "your name on the marriage-certificate will--can you write?" "n-no, suh." after a brief hesitation peter repeated determinedly: "it'll be all right. and, by the way, of course, this will be a very quiet wedding." "yas-suh." the old man bobbed importantly. "i wouldn't mention it to any one." "no, suh; no, suh. i don' blame you a-tall, mr. peter, wid dat tump pack gallivantin' roun' wid a forty-fo'. hit would keep 'mos' anybody's weddin' ve'y quiet onless he wuz lookin' fuh a short cut to heab'n." as the two negroes passed the berry cabin, nan berry thrust out her spiked head and called to peter captain renfrew wanted to see him. peter paused, with quickened interest in this strange old man who had come to his mother's death-bed with a doctor. peter asked nan what the captain wanted. nan did not know. wince washington had told nan that the captain wanted to see peter. bluegum frakes had told wince; jerry dillihay had told bluegum; but any further meanderings of the message, when it started, or what its details might be, nan could not state. it was a typical message from a resident of the white town to a denizen of niggertown. such messages are delivered to any black man for any other black man, not only in the village, but anywhere in the outlying country. it may be passed on by a dozen or a score of mouths before it reaches its objective. it may be a day or a week in transit, but eventually it will be delivered verbatim. this queer system of communication is a relic of slavery, when the master would send out word for some special negro out of two or three hundred slaves to report at the big house. however, as peter approached the dildine cabin, thoughts of his approaching marriage drove from his mind even old captain renfrew's message. his heart beat fast from having made his first formal step toward wedlock. the thought of having cissie all to himself, swept his nerves in a gust. he opened the gate, and ran up between the dusty lines of dwarf box, eager to tell her what he had done. he thumped on the cracked, unpainted door, and impatiently waited the skirmish of observation along the edge of the window-blinds. this was unduly drawn out. presently he heard women's voices whispering to each other inside. they seemed urgent, almost angry voices. now and then he caught a sentence: "what difference will it make?" "i couldn't." "why couldn't you?" "because--" "that's because you've been to nashville." "oh, well--" a chair was moved over a bare floor. a little later footsteps came to the entrance, the door opened, and cissie's withered yellow mother stood before him. vannie offered her hand and inquired after peter's health with a stopped voice that instantly recalled his mother's death. after the necessary moment of talk, the mulatto inquired for cissie. the yellow woman seemed slightly ill at ease. "cissie ain't so well, peter." "she's not ill?" "n-no; but the excitement an' ever'thing--" answered vannie, vaguely. in the flush of his plans, peter was keenly disappointed. "it's very important, mrs. dildine." vannie's dried yellow face framed the ghost of a smile. "ever'thing a young man's got to say to a gal is ve'y important, peter." it seemed to peter a poor time for a jest; his face warmed faintly. "it--it's about some of the details of our--our wedding." "if you'll excuse her to-day, peter, an' come after supper--" peter hesitated, and was about to go away when cissie's voice came from an inner room, telling her mother to admit him. the yellow woman glanced at the door on the left side of the hall, crossed over and opened it, stood to one side while peter entered, and closed it after him, leaving the two alone. the room into which peter stepped was dark, after the fashion of negro houses. only after a moment's survey did he see cissie sitting near a big fireplace made of rough stone. the girl started to rise as peter advanced toward her, but he solicitously forbade it and hurried over to her. when he leaned over her and put his arms about her, his ardor was slightly dampened when she gave him her cheek instead of her lips to kiss. "surely, you're not too ill to be kissed?" he rallied faintly. "you kissed me. i thought we had agreed, peter, you were not to come in the daytime any more." "oh, is that it?" peter patted her shoulder, cheerfully. "don't worry; i have just removed any reason why i shouldn't come any time i want to." cissie looked at him, her dark eyes large in the gloom. "what have you done?" "got a preacher to marry us; on my way now for a license. dropped in to ask if you 'll be ready by tomorrow or next day." the girl gasped. "but, peter--" peter drew a chair beside her in a serious argumentative mood. "yes i think we ought to get married at once. no reason why we shouldn't get it over with--why, what's the matter?" "so soon after your mother's death, peter?" "it's to get away from hooker's bend, cissie--to get you away. i don't like for you to stay here. it's all so--" he broke off, not caring to open the disagreeable subject. the girl sat staring down at some fagots smoldering on the hearth. at that moment they broke into flame and illuminated her sad face. "you'll go, won't you?" asked peter at last, with a faint uncertainty. the girl looked up. "oh--i--i'd be glad to, peter,"--she gave a little shiver. "ugh! this niggertown is a--a terrible place!" peter leaned over, took one of her hands, and patted it. "then we'll go," he said soothingly. "it's decided--tomorrow. and we'll have a perfectly lovely wedding trip," he planned cheerfully, to draw her mind from her mood. "on the car going north i'll get a whole drawing-room. i've always wanted a drawing-room, and you'll be my excuse. we'll sit and watch the fields and woods and cities slip past us, and know, when we get off, we can walk on the streets as freely as anybody. we'll be a genuine man and wife." his recital somehow stirred him. he took her in his arms, pressed her cheek to his, and after a moment kissed her lips with the trembling ardor of a bridegroom. cissie remained passive a moment, then put up he hands, turned his face away, and slowly released herself. peter was taken aback. "what _is_ the matter, cissie?" "i can't go, peter." peter looked at her with a feeling of strangeness. "can't go?" the girl shook her head. "you mean--you want us to live here?" cissie sat exceedingly still and barely shook her head. the mulatto had a sensation as if the portals which disclosed a new and delicious life were slowly closing against him. he stared into her oval face. "you don't mean, cissie--you don't mean you don't want to marry me?" the fagots on the hearth burned now with a cheerful flame. cissie stared at it, breathing rapidly from the top of her lungs. she seemed about to faint. as peter watched her the jealousy of the male crept over him. "look here, cissie," he said in a queer voice, "you--you don't mean, after all, that tump pack is--" "oh no! no!" her face showed her repulsion. then she drew a long breath and apparently made up her mind to some sort of ordeal. "peter," she asked in a low tone, "did you ever think what we colored people are trying to reach?" she stared into his uncomprehending eyes. "i mean what is our aim, our goal, whom are we trying to be like?" "we aren't trying to be like any one." peter was entirely at a loss. "oh, yes, we are," cissie hurried on. "why do colored girls straighten their hair, bleach their skins, pinch their feet? aren't they trying to look like white girls?" peter agreed, wondering at her excitement. "and you went north to college, peter, so you could think and act like a white man--" peter resisted this at once; he was copying nobody. the whole object of college was to develop one's personality, to bring out-the girl stopped his objections almost piteously. "oh, don't argue! you know arguing throws me off. i--now i've forgotten how i meant to say it!" tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. her mood was alarming, almost hysterical. peter began comforting her. "there, there, dear, dear cissie, what is the matter? don't say it at all." then, inconsistently, he added: "you said i copied white men. well, what of it?" cissie breathed her relief at having been given the thread of her discourse. she sat silent for a moment with the air of one screwing up her courage. "it's this," she said in an uncertain voice: "sometimes we--we--girls-here in niggertown copy the wrong thing first." peter looked blankly at her. "the wrong thing first, cissie?" "oh, yes; we--we begin on clothes and--and hair and--and that isn't the real matter." "why, no-o-o, that isn't the real matter," said peter puzzled. cissie looked at his face and became hopeless. "oh, _don't_ you understand! lots of us--lots of us make that mistake! i--i did; so--so, peter, i can't go with you!" she flung out the last phrase, and suddenly collapsed on the arm of her chair, sobbing. peter was amazed. he got up, sat on the arm of his own chair next to hers and put his arms about her, bending over her, mothering her. her distress was so great that he said as earnestly as his ignorance permitted: "yes, cissie, i understand now." but his tone belied his words, and the girl shook her head. "yes, i do, cissie," he repeated emptily. but she only shook her head as she leaned over him, and her tears slowly formed and trickled down on his hand. then all at once old caroline's accusation against cissie flashed on peter's mind. she had stolen that dinner in the turkey roaster, after all. it so startled him that he sat up straight. cissie also sat up. she stopped crying, and sat looking into the fire. "you mean--morals?" said peter in a low tone. cissie barely nodded, her wet eyes fixed on the fire. "i see. i was stupid." the girl sat a moment, drawing deep breaths. at last she rose slowly. "well--i'm glad it's over. i'm glad you know." she stood looking at him almost composedly except for her breathing and her tear-stained face. "you see, peter, if you had been like tump pack or wince or any of the boys around here, it--it wouldn't have made much difference; but--but you went off and--and learned to think and feel like a white man. you-you changed your code, peter." she gave a little shaken sound, something between a sob and a laugh. "i--i don't think th-that's very fair, peter, to--to go away an'--an' change an' come back an' judge us with yo' n-new code." cissie's precise english broke down. just then peter's logic caught at a point. "if you didn't know anything about my code, how do you know what i feel now?" he asked. she looked at him with a queer expression. "i found out when you kissed me under the arbor. it was too late then." she stood erect, with dismissal very clearly written in her attitude. peter walked out of the room. chapter viii with a certain feeling of clumsiness peter groped in the dark hall for his hat, then, as quietly as he could, let himself out at the door. outside he was surprised to find that daylight still lingered in the sky. he thought night had fallen. the sun lay behind the big hill, but its red rays pouring down through the boles of the cedars tinted long delicate avenues in the dusty atmosphere above his head. a sharp chill in the air presaged frost for the night. somewhere in the crescent a boy yodeled for his dog at about half-minute intervals, with the persistence of children. peter walked a little distance, but finally came to a stand in the dust, looking at the negro cabins, not knowing where to go or what to do. cissie's confession had destroyed all his plans. it had left him as adynamic as had his mother's death. it seemed to peter that there was a certain similarity between the two events; both were sudden and desolating. and just as his mother had vanished utterly from his reach, so now it seemed cissie was no more. cissie the clear-eyed, cissie the ambitious, cissie the refined, had vanished away, and in her place stood a thief. the thing was grotesque. peter began a sudden shuddering in the cold. then he began moving toward the empty cabin where he slept and kept his things. he moved along, talking to himself in the dusty emptiness of the crescent. he decided that he would go home, pack his clothes, and vanish. a st. louis boat would be down that night, and he would just have time to pack his clothes and catch it. he would not take his books, his philosophies. he would let them remain, in the newspapered room, until all crumbled into uniform philosophic dust, and the teachings of aristotle blew about niggertown. then, as he thought of traveling north, the vision of the honeymoon he had just planned revived his numb brain into a dismal aching. he looked back through the dusk at the dildine roof. it stood black against an opalescent sky. out of the foreground, bending over it, arose a clump of tall sunflowers, in whose silhouette hung a suggestion of yellow and green. the whole scene quivered slightly at every throb of his heart. he thought what a fool he was to allow a picaresque past to keep him away from such a woman, how easy it would be to go back to the soft luxury of cissie, to tell her it made no difference; and somehow, just at that moment it seemed not to. then the point of view which peter had been four years acquiring swept away the impulse, and it left him moving toward his cabin again, empty, cold, and planless. he was drawn out of his reverie by the soft voice of a little negro boy asking him apprehensively whom he was talking to. peter stopped, drew forth a handkerchief and dabbed the moisture from his cold face in the meticulous fashion of college men. with the boy came a dog which was cautiously smelling peter's shoes and trousers. both boy and dog were investigating the phenomenon of peter. peter, in turn, looked down at them with a feeling that they had materialized out of nothing. "what did you say?" he asked vaguely. the boy was suddenly overcome with the excessive shyness of negro children, and barely managed to whisper: "i--i ast wh-who you wuz a-talkin' to." "was i talking?" the little negro nodded, undecided whether to stand his ground or flee. peter touched the child's crisp hair. "i was talking to myself," he said, and moved forward again. the child instantly gained confidence at the slight caress, took a fold of peter's trousers in his hand for friendliness, and the two trudged on together. "wh-whut you talkin' to yo' se'f for?" peter glanced down at the little black head that promised to think up a thousand questions. "i was wondering where to go." "lawsy! is you los' yo' way?" he stroked the little head with a rush of self-pity. "yes, i have, son; i've completely lost my way." the child twisted his head around and peered up alongside peter's arm. presently he asked: "ain't you mr. peter siner?" "yes." "ain't you de man whut's gwine to ma'y miss cissie dildine?" peter looked down at his small companion with a certain concern that his marriage was already gossip known to babes. "i'm peter siner," he repeated. "den i knows which way you wants to go," piped the youngster in sudden helpfulness. "you wants to go over to cap'n renfrew's place acrost de big hill. he done sont fuh you. mr. wince washington tol' me, ef i seed you, to tell you dat cap'n renfrew wants to see you. i dunno whut hit's about. i ast wince, an' he didn' know." peter recalled the message nan berry had given him some hours before. now the same summons had seeped around to him from another direction. "i--i'll show you de way to cap'n renfrew's ef--ef you'll come back wid me th'ugh de cedar glade," proposed the child. "i--i ain't skeered in de cedar glade, b-b-but hit's so dark i kain't see my way back home. i--i--" peter thanked him and declined his services. after all, he might as well go to see captain renfrew. he owed the old gentleman some thanks--and ten dollars. the only thing of which peter siner was aware during his walk over the big hill and through the village was his last scene with cissie. he went over it again and again, repeating their conversation, inventing new replies, framing new action, questioning more fully into the octoroon's vague confession and his benumbed acceptance of it. the moment his mind completed the little drama it started again from the very beginning. at captain renfrew's gate this mental mummery paused long enough for him to vacillate between walking in or going around and shouting from the back gate. it is a point of etiquette in hooker's bend that negroes shall enter a white house from the back stoop. peter had no desire to transgress this custom. on the other hand, if captain renfrew was receiving him as a fellow of harvard, the back door, in its way, would prove equally embarrassing. after a certain indecision he compromised by entering the front gate and calling the captain's name from among the scattered bricks of the old walk. the house lay silent, half smothered in a dark tangle of shrubbery. peter called twice before he heard the shuffle of house slippers, and then saw the captain's dressing-gown at the piazza steps. "is that you, peter?" came a querulous voice. "yes, captain. i was told you wanted to see me." "you've been deliberate in coming," criticized the old gentleman, testily. "i sent you word by some black rascal three days ago." "i just received the message to-day." peter remained discreetly at the gate. "yes; well, come in, come in. see if you can do anything with this damnable lamp." the old man turned with a dignified drawing-together of his dressinggown and moved back. apparently, the renovation of a cranky lamp was the whole content of the captain's summons to peter. there was something so characteristic in this incident that peter was moved to a vague sense of mirth. it was just like the old régime to call in a negro, a special negro, from ten miles away to move a jar of ferns across the lawn or trim a box hedge or fix a lamp. peter followed the old gentleman around to the back piazza facing his study. there, laid out on the floor, were all the parts of a gasolene lamp, together with a pipe-wrench, a hammer, a little old-fashioned vise, a bar of iron, and an envelop containing the mantels and the more delicate parts of the lamp. "it's extraordinary to me," criticized the captain, "why they can't make a gasolene lamp that will go, and remain in a going condition." "has it been out of fix for three days?" asked peter, sorry that the old gentleman should have lacked a light for so long. "no," growled the captain; "it started gasping at four o'clock last night; so i put it out and went to bed. i've been working at it this evening. there's a little hole in the tip,--if i could see it,--a hairsized hole, painfully small. why any man wants to make gasolene lamps with microscopic holes that ordinary intelligence must inform him will become clogged i cannot conceive." peter ventured no opinion on this trait of lampmakers, but said that if the captain knew where he could get an oil hand-lamp for a little more light, he thought he could unstop the hole. the captain looked at his helper and shook his head. "i am surprised at you, peter. when i was your age, i could see an aperture like that hole under the last quarter of the moon. in this strong light i could have--er--lunged the cleaner through it, sir. you must have strained your eyes in college." he paused, then added: "you'll find hand-lamps in any of the rooms fronting this porch. i don't know whether they have oil in them or not--the shiftless niggers that come around to take care of this building--no dependence to be put in them. when i try it myself, i do even worse." the old gentleman's tone showed that he was thawing out of his irritable mood, and peter sensed that he meant to be amusing in an austere, unsmiling fashion. the captain rubbed his delicate wrinkled hands together in a pleased fashion and sat down in a big porch chair to await peter's assembling of the lamp. the brown man started down the long piazza, in search of a hand-light. he found a lamp in the first room he entered, returned to the piazza, sat down on the edge of it, and began his tinkering. the old captain apparently watched him with profound satisfaction. presently, after the fashion of the senile, he began endless and minute instructions as to how the lamp should be cleaned. "take the wire in your left hand, peter,--that's right,--now hold the tip a little closer to the light--no, place the mantels on the right side--that's the way i do it. system...." the old man's monologue ran on and on, and became a murmur in peter's ears. it was rather soothing than otherwise. now and then it held tremulous vibrations that might have been from age or that might have been from some deep satisfaction mounting even to joy. but to peter that seemed hardly probable. no doubt it was senility. the captain was a tottery old man, past the age for any fundamental joy. night had fallen now, and a darkness, musky with autumn weeds, hemmed in the sphere of yellow light on the old piazza. a black-and-white cat materialized out of the gloom, purring, and arching against a pillar. the whole place was filled with a sense of endless leisure. the old man, the cat, the perfume of the weeds, soothed in peter even the rawness of his hurt at cissie. indeed, in a way, the old manor became a sort of apology for the octoroon girl. the height and the reach of the piazza, exaggerated by the darkness, suggested a time when retinues of negroes passed through its dignified colonnades. those black folk were a part of the place. they came and went, picked up and used what they could, and that was all life held for them. they were without wage, without rights, even to the possession of their own bodies; so by necessity they took what they could. that was only fifty-odd years ago. thus, in a way, peter's surroundings began a subtle explanation of and apology for cissie, the whole racial training of black folk in petty thievery. and that this should have touched cissie--the meanness, the pathos of her fate moved peter. the negro was aroused from his reverie by the old captain's getting out of his chair and saying, "very good," and then peter saw that he had finished the lamp. the two men rose and carried it into the study, where peter pumped and lighted it; a bit later its brilliant white light flooded the room. "quite good." the old captain stood rubbing his hands with his odd air of continued delight. "how do you like this place, anyway, peter?" he wrapped his gown around him, sat down in the old morris chair beside the book-piled table, and indicated another seat for peter. the mulatto took it, aware of a certain flexing of hooker's bend custom, where negroes, unless old or infirm, are not supposed to sit in the presence of whites. "do you mean the study, captain?" "yes, the study, the whole place." "it's very pleasant," replied peter; "it has the atmosphere of age." captain renfrew nodded. "these old places," pursued peter, "always give me an impression of statesmanship, somehow. i always think of grave old gentlemen busy with the cares of public policy." the old man seemed gratified. "you are sensitive to atmosphere. if i may say it, every southron of the old régime was a statesman by nature and training. the complete care of two or three hundred negroes, a regard for their bodily, moral, and spiritual welfare, inevitably led the master into the impersonal attitude of statecraft. it was a training, sir, in leadership, in social thinking, in, if you please, altruism." the old gentleman thumped the arm of his chair with a translucent palm. "yes, sir, negro slavery was god's great lesson to the south in altruism and loving-kindness, sir! my boy, i do believe with all my heart that the institution of slavery was placed here in god's country to rear up giants of political leadership, that our nation might weather the revolutions of the world. oh, the yankees are necessary! i know that!" the old captain held up a palm at peter as if repressing an imminent retort. "i know the yankees are the marthas of the nation. they furnish food and fuel to the ship of state, but, my boy, the reservoir of our country's spiritual and mental strength, the mary of our nation, must always be the south. virginia is the mother of presidents!" the captain's oration left him rather breathless. he paused a moment, then asked: "peter, have you ever thought that we men of the leisure class owe a debt to the world?" peter smiled. "i know the theory of the leisure class, but i've had very little practical experience with leisure." "well, that's a subject close to my heart. as a scholar and a thinker, i feel that i should give the fruits of my leisure to the world. er--in fact, peter, that is why i sent for you to come and see me." "why you sent for me?" peter was surprised at this turn. "precisely. you." here the old gentleman got himself out of his chair, walked across to one of a series of drawers in his bookcases, opened it, and took out a sheaf of papers and a quart bottle. he brought the papers and the bottle back to the table, made room for them, put the papers in a neat pile, and set the bottle at a certain distance from the heap. "now, peter, please hand me one of those wineglasses in the religious section of my library--i always keep two or three glasses among my religious works, in memory of the fact that our lord and master wrought a miracle at the feast of cana, especially to bless the cup. indeed, peter, thinking of that miracle at the wedding-feast, i wonder, sir, how the prohibitionists can defend their conduct even to their own consciences, because logically, sir, logically, the miracle of our gracious lord completely cuts away the ground from beneath their feet! "no wonder, when the mikado sent a japanese envoy to america to make a tentative examination of christianity as a proper creed for the state religion of japan--no wonder, with this miracle flouted by the prohibitionists, the embassy carried back the report that americans really have no faith in the religion they profess. shameful! shameful! place the glass there on the left of the bottle. a little farther away from the bottle, please, just a trifle more. thank you." the captain poured himself a tiny glassful, and its bouquet immediately filled the room. there was no guessing how old that whisky was. "i will not break the laws of my country, peter, no matter how godless and sacrilegious those laws may be; therefore i cannot offer you a drink, but you will observe a second glass among the religious works, and the bottle sits in plain view on the table--er--em." he watched peter avail himself of his opportunity, and then added, "now, you may just drink to me, standing, as you are, like that." they drank, peter standing, the old gentleman seated. "it is just as necessary," pursued the old connoisseur, when peter was reseated, "it is just as necessary for a gentleman to have a delicate palate for the tints of the vine as it is for him to have a delicate eye for the tints of the palette. nature bestowed a taste both in art and wine on man, which he should strive to improve at every opportunity. it is a gift from god. perhaps you would like another glass. no? then accommodate me." he drained this one, with peter standing, worked his withered lips back and forth to experience its full taste, then swallowed, and smacked. "now, peter," he said, "the reason i asked you to come to see me is that i need a man about this house. that will be one phase of your work. the more important part is that you shall serve as a sort of secretary. i have here a manuscript." he patted the pile of papers. "my handwriting is rather difficult. i want you to copy this matter out and get it ready for the printer." peter became more and more astonished. "are you offering me a permanent place, captain renfrew?" he asked. the old man nodded. "i need a man with a certain liberality of culture. i will no doubt have you run through books and periodicals and make note of any points germane to my thesis." peter looked at the pile of script on the table. "that is very flattering, captain; but the fact is, i came by your place at this hour because i am just in the act of leaving here on the steamboat to-night." the captain looked at peter with concern on his face. "leaving hooker's bend?" "yes, sir." "why?" peter hesitated. "well, my mother is dead--" "yes, but your--your--your work is still here, peter." the captain fell into a certain confusion. "a man's work, peter; a man's work." "do you mean my school-teaching?" then came a pause. the conversation somehow had managed to leave them both somewhat at sea. the captain began again, in a different tone: "peter, i wish you to remain here with me for another reason. i am an old man, peter. anything could happen to me here in this big house, and nobody would know it. i don't like to think of it." the old man's tone quite painted his fears. "i am not afraid of death, peter. i have walked before god all my life save in one or two points, which, i believe, in his mercy, he has forgiven me; but i cannot endure the idea of being found here some day in some unconsidered posture, fallen out of a chair, or a-sprawl on the floor. i wish to die with dignity, peter, as i have lived." "then you mean that you want me to stay here with you until--until the end, captain?" the old man nodded. "that is my desire, peter, for an honorarium which you yourself shall designate. at my death, you will receive some proper portion of my estate; in fact, the bulk of my estate, because i leave no other heirs. i am the last renfrew of my race, peter." peter grew more and more amazed as the old gentleman unfolded this strange proposal. what queerer, pleasanter berth could he find than that offered him here in the quietude of the old manor, among books, tending the feeble flame of this old aristocrat's life? an air of scholasticism hung about the library. in some corner of this dark oaken library his philosophies would rest comfortably. then it occurred to peter that he would have to continue his sleeping and eating in niggertown, and since his mother had died and his rupture with cissie, the squalor and smells of the crescent had become impossible. he told the old captain his objections as diplomatically as possible. the old man made short work of them. he wanted peter to sleep in the manor within calling distance, and he might begin this very night and stay on for a week or so as a sort of test whether he liked the position or not. the captain waited with some concern until peter agreed to a trial. after that the old gentleman talked on interminably of the south, of the suffrage movement, the destructive influence it would have on the home, the irish question, the indian question, whether the mound-builders did not spring from the two lost tribes of israel--an endless outpouring of curious facts, quaint reasoning, and extraordinary conclusions, all delivered with the great dignity and in the flowing periods of an orator. it was fully two o'clock in the morning when it occurred to the captain that his new secretary might like to go to bed. the old man took the hand-lamp which was still burning and led the way out to the back piazza past a number of doors to a corner bedroom. he shuffled along in his carpet slippers, followed by the black-and-white cat, which ran along, making futile efforts to rub itself against his lean shanks. peter followed in a sort of stupor from the flood of words, ideas, and strange fancies that had been poured into his ears. the captain turned off the piazza into one of those old-fashioned southern rooms with full-length windows, which were really glazed doors, a ceiling so high that peter could make out only vague concentric rings of stucco-work among the shadows overhead, and a floor space of ballroom proportions. in one corner was a huge canopy bed, across from it a clothes-press of dark wood, and in another corner a large screen hiding the bathing arrangements. peter's bedroom was a sleeping apartment, in the old sense of the word before the term "apartment" had lost its dignity. the captain placed the lamp on the great table and indicated peter's possession with a wave of the hand. "if you stay here, peter, i will put in a call-bell, so i can awaken you if i need you during the night. now i wish you healthful slumbers and pleasant dreams." with that the old gentleman withdrew ceremoniously. when the captain was gone, the mulatto remained standing in the vast expanse, marveling over this queer turn of fortune. why captain renfrew had selected him as a secretary and companion peter could not fancy. the magnificence of his surroundings revived his late dream of a honeymoon with cissie. certainly, in his fancy, he had visioned a honeymoon in pullman parlor cars and suburban bungalows. he had been mistaken. this great chamber rose about him like a corrected proof of his desire. into just such a room he would like to lead cissie; into this great room that breathed pride and dignity. what a glowing heart the girl would have made for its somber magnificence! he walked over to the full-length windows and opened them; then he unbolted the jalousies outside and swung them back. the musk of autumn weeds breathed in out of the darkness. peter drew a long breath, with a sort of wistful melting in his chest. chapter ix a turmoil aroused peter siner the next morning, and when he discovered where he was, in the big canopy bed in the great room, he listened curiously and heard a continuous chattering and quarreling. after a minute or two he recognized the voice of old rose hobbett. rose was cooking the captain's breakfast, and she performed this function in a kind of solitary rage. she banged the vessels, slammed the stove-eyes on and off, flung the stove-wood about, and kept up a snarling animadversion upon every topic that drifted through her kinky head. she called the kitchen a rat-hole, stated the captain must be as mean as the devil to live as long as he did, complained that no one ever paid any attention to her, that she might as well be a stray cat, and so on. as peter grew wider awake, the monotony of the old negress's rancor faded into an unobserved noise. he sat up on the edge of his bed between the parted curtains and divined there was a bath behind the screen in the corner of his room. sure enough, he found two frayed but clean towels, a pan, a pitcher, and a small tub all made of tin. peter assembled his find and began splashing his heavily molded chest with a feeling of well-being. as he splashed on the water, he amused himself by listening again to old rose. she was now complaining that some white young'uns had called her "raving rose." she hoped "god'lmighty would send down two she bears and eat 'em up." peter was amazed by the old crone's ability to maintain an unending flow of concentrated and aimless virulence. the kitchen of the renfrew manor was a separate building, and presently peter saw old rose carrying great platters across the weed-grown compound into the dining-room. she bore plate after plate piled high with cookery,--enough for a company of men. a little later came a clangor on a rusty triangle, as if she were summoning a house party. old rose did things in a wholesale spirit. peter started for his door, but when he had opened the shutter, he stood hesitating. breakfast introduced another delicate problem. he decided not to go to the dining-room at once, but to wait and allow captain renfrew to indicate whether he, peter, should break his fast with the master in the dining-room or with old rose in the kitchen. a moment later he saw the captain coming down the long back piazza. peter almost addressed his host, but the old southerner proceeded into the dining-room apparently without seeing peter at all. the guest was gathering his breath to call good morning, but took the cue with a negro's sensitiveness, and let his eyes run along the weeds in the compound. the drying stalks were woven with endless spider-webs, all white with frost. peter stood regarding their delicate geometries a moment longer and then reentered his room, not knowing precisely what to do. he could hear rose walking across the piazza to and from the diningroom, and the clink of tableware. a few minutes later a knock came at his door, and the old woman entered with a huge salver covered with steaming dishes. the negress came into the room scowling, and seemed doubtful for a moment just how to shut the door and still hold the tray with both hands. she solved the problem by backing against the door tremendously. then she saw peter. she straightened and stared at him with outraged dignity. "well, 'fo' gawd! is i bringin' dish-here breakfus' to a nigger?" "i suppose it's mine," agreed peter, amused. "but whuffo, whuffo, nigger, is it dat you ain't come to de kitchen an' eat off'n de shelf? is you sick?" peter admitted fair bodily vigor. "den whut de debbil is i got into!" cried rose, angrily. "i ain't gwine wuck at no sich place, ca'yin' breakfus' to a big beef uv a nigger, stout as a mule. say, nigger, wha-chu doin' in heah, anyway? hoccum dis?" peter tried to explain that he was there to do a little writing for the captain. "well, 'fo' gawd, when niggers gits to writin' fuh white folks, ants'll be jumpin' fuh bullfrogs--an havin' other niggers bring dey breakfusses. you jes as much a nigger as i is, peter siner, de brightes' day you ever seen!" peter began a conciliatory phrase. old rose banged the platter on the table and then threatened: "dis is de las' time i fetches a moufful to you, peter siner, or any other nigger. you ain't no black jesus, even ef you is a woods calf." peter paused in drawing a chair to the table. "what did you say, rose?" he asked sharply. "you heared whut i say." a wave of anger went over peter. "yes, i did. you ought to be ashamed to speak ill of the dead." the crone tossed her malicious head, a little abashed, perhaps, yet very glad she had succeeded in hurting peter. she turned and went out the door, mumbling something which might have been apology or renewed invectives. peter watched the old virago close the door and then sat down to his breakfast. his anger presently died away, and he sat wondering what could have happened to rose hobbett that had corroded her whole existence. did she enjoy her vituperation, her continual malice? he tried to imagine how she felt. the breakfast rose had brought him was delicious: hot biscuits of feathery lightness, three wide slices of ham, a bowl of scrambled eggs, a pot of coffee, some preserved raspberries, and a tiny glass of whisky. the plate which captain renfrew had set before his guest was a delicate dawn pink ringed with a wreath of holly. it was old worcester porcelain of about the decade of 1760. the coffee-pot was really an old whieldon teapot in broad cauliflower design. age and careless heating had given the surface a fine reticulation. his cup and saucer, on the contrary, were thick pieces of ware such as the cabin-boys toss about on steamboats. the whole ceramic mélange told of the fortuities of english colonial and early american life, of the migration of families westward. no doubt, once upon a time, that dawn-pink worcester had married into a whieldon cauliflower family. a queer sort of genealogy might be traced among southern families through their mixtures of tableware. as peter mused over these implications of long ancestral lines, it reminded him that he had none. over his own past, over the lineage of nearly every negro in the south, hung a curtain. even the names of the colored folk meant nothing, and gave no hint of their kin and clan. at the end of the war between the states, peter's people had selected names for themselves, casually, as children pick up a pretty stone. they meant nothing. it occurred to peter for the first time, as he sat looking at the chinaware, that he knew nothing about himself; whether his kinsmen were valiant or recreant he did not know. even his own father he knew little about except that his mother had said his name was peter, like his own, and that he had gone down the river on a tie boat and was drowned. a faint sound attracted peter's attention. he looked out at his open window and saw old rose making off the back way with something concealed under her petticoat. peter knew it was the unused ham and biscuits that she had cooked. for once the old negress hurried along without railing at the world. she moved with a silent, but, in a way, self-respecting, flight. peter could see by the tilt of her head and the set of her shoulders that not only did her spoil gratify her enmity to mankind in general and the captain in particular, but she was well within her rights in her acquisition. she disappeared around a syringa bush, and was heard no more until she reappeared to cook the noon meal, as vitriolic as ever. * * * * * when peter entered the library, old captain renfrew greeted him with morning wishes, thus sustaining the fiction that they had not seen each other before, that morning. the old gentleman seemed pleased but somewhat excited over his new secretary. he moved some of his books aimlessly from one table to another, placed them in exact piles as if he were just about to plunge into heroic labor, and could not give time to such details once he had begun. as he arranged his books just so, he cleared his throat. "now, peter, we want to get down to this," he announced dynamically; "do this thing, shove this work out!" he started with tottery briskness around to his manuscript drawer, but veered off to the left to aline some magazines. "system, peter, system. without system one may well be hopeless of performing any great literary labor; but with system, the constant piling up of brick on brick, stone on stone--it's the way rome was built, my boy." peter made a murmur supposed to acknowledge the correctness of this view. eventually the old captain drew out his drawer of manuscript, stood fumbling with it uncertainly. now and then he glanced at peter, a genuine secretary who stood ready to help him in his undertaking. the old gentleman picked up some sheets of his manuscript, seemed about to read them aloud, but after a moment shook his head, and said, "no, we'll do that to-night," and restored them to their places. finally he turned to his helper. "now, peter," he explained, "in doing this work, i always write at night. it's quieter then,--less distraction. my mornings i spend downtown in conversation with my friends. if you should need me, peter, you can walk down and find me in front of the livery-stable. i sit there for a while each morning." the gravity with which he gave this schedule of his personal habits amused peter, who bowed with a serious, "very well, captain." "and in the meantime," pursued the old man, looking vaguely about the room, "you will do well to familiarize yourself with my library in order that you may be properly qualified for your secretarial labors." peter agreed again. "and now if you will get my hat and coat, i will be off and let you go to work," concluded the captain, with an air of continued urgency. peter became thoroughly amused at such an outcome of the old gentleman's headlong attack on his work,--a stroll down to the village to hold conversation with friends. the mulatto walked unsmilingly to a little closet where the captain hung his things. he took down the old gentleman's tall hat, a gray greatcoat worn shiny about the shoulders and tail, and a finely carved walnut cane. some reminiscence of the manners of butlers which peter had seen in theaters caused him to swing the overcoat across his left arm and polish the thin nap of the old hat with his right sleeve. he presented it to his employer with a certain duplication of a butler's obsequiousness. he offered the overcoat to the old gentleman's arms with the same air. then he held up the collar of the greatcoat with one hand and with the other reached under its skirts, and drew down the captain's long day coat with little jerks, as if he were going through a ritual. peter grew more and more hilarious over his barber's manners. it was his contribution to the old gentleman's literary labors, and he was doing it beautifully, so he thought. he was just making some minute adjustments of the collar when, to his amazement, captain renfrew turned on him. "damn it, sir!" he flared out. "what do you think you are? i didn't engage you for a kowtowing valet in waiting, sir! i asked you, sir, to come under my roof as an intellectual co-worker, as one gentleman asks another, and here you are making these niggery motions! they are disgusting! they are defiling! they are beneath the dignity of one gentleman to another, sir! what makes it more degrading, i perceive by your mannerism that you assume a specious servility, sir, as if you would flatter me by it!" the old lawyer's face was white. his angry old eyes jerked peter out of his slight mummery. the negro felt oddly like a grammar-school boy caught making faces behind his master's back. it shocked him into sincerer manners. "captain," he said with a certain stiffness, "i apologize for my mistake; but may i ask how you desire me to act?" "simply, naturally, sir," thundered the captain, "as one alumnus of harvard to another! it is quite proper for a young man, sir, to assist an old gentleman with his hat and coat, but without fripperies and genuflections and absurdities!" the old man's hauteur touched some spring of resentment in peter. he shook his head. "no, captain; our lack of sympathy goes deeper than manners. my position here is anomalous. for instance, i can talk to you sitting, i can drink with you standing, but i can't breakfast with you at all. i do that _in camera_, like a disgraceful divorce proceeding. it's precisely as i was treated coming down here south again; it's as i've been treated ever since i've been back; it's--" he paused abruptly and swallowed down the rancor that filled him. "no," he repeated in a different tone, "there is no earthly excuse for me to remain here, captain, or to let you go on measuring out your indulgences to me. there is no way for us to get together or to work together--not this far south. let me thank you for a night's entertainment and go." peter turned about, meaning to make an end of this queer adventure. the old captain watched him, and his pallor increased. he lifted an unsteady hand. "no, no, peter," he objected, "not so soon. this has been no trial, no fair trial. the little--little--er--details of our domestic life here, they will--er--arrange themselves, peter. gossip--talk, you know, we must avoid that." the old lawyer stood staring with strange eyes at his protégé. "i--i'm interested in you, peter. my actions may seem--odd, but--er--a negro boy going off and doing what you have done-extraordinary. i--i have spoken to your mother, caroline, about you often. in fact, peter, i--i made some little advances in order that you might complete your studies. now, now, don't thank me! it was purely impersonal. you seemed bright. i have often thought we gentle people of the south ought to do more to encourage our black folk--not--not as social equals--" here the old gentleman made a wry mouth as if he had tasted salt. "stay here and look over the library," he broke off abruptly. "we can arrange some ground of--of common action, some--" he settled the lapels of his great-coat with precision, addressed his palm to the knob of his stick, and marched stiffly out of the library, around the piazza, and along the dismantled walk to the front gate. peter stood utterly astonished at this strange information. suddenly he ran after the old lawyer, and rounded the turn of the piazza in time to see him walk stiffly down the shaded street with tremulous dignity. the old gentleman was much the same as usual, a little shakier, perhaps, his tall hat a little more polished, his shiny gray overcoat set a little more snugly at the collar. chapter x the village of hooker's bend amuses itself mainly with questionable jests that range all the way from the slightly brackish to the hopelessly obscene. now, in using this type of anecdote, the hooker'sbenders must not be thought to design an attack upon the decencies of life; on the contrary, they are relying on the fact that their hearers have, in the depths of their beings, a profound reverence for the object of their sallies. and so, by taking advantage of the moral shock they produce and linking it to the idea of an absurdity, they convert the whole psychical reaction into an explosion of humor. thus the ring of raconteurs telling blackguardly stories around the stoves in hooker's bend stores, are, in reality, exercising one another in the more delicate sentiments of life, and may very well be classed as a round table of sir galahads, _sans peur et sans reproche_. however, the best men weary in well doing, and for the last few days hooker's bend had switched from its intellectual staple of conversation to consider the comedy of tump pack's undoing. the incident held undeniably comic elements. for tump to start out carrying a forty-four, meaning to blow a rival out of his path, and to wind up hard at work, picking cotton at nothing a day for a man whose offer of three dollars a day he had just refused, certainly held the makings of a farce. on the heels of this came the news that peter siner meant to take advantage of tump's arrest and marry cissie dildine. old parson ranson was responsible for the spread of this last rumor. he had fumbled badly in his effort to hold peter's secret. not once, but many times, always guarded by a pledge of secrecy, had he revealed the approaching wedding. when pressed for a date, the old negro said he was "not at lib'ty to tell." up to this point white criticism viewed the stage-setting of the black comedy with the impersonal interest of a box party. some of the round table said they believed there would be a dead coon or so before the scrape was over. dawson bobbs, the ponderous constable, went to the trouble to telephone mr. cicero throgmartin, for whom tump was working, cautioning throgmartin to make sure that tump pack was in the sleeping-shack every night, as he might get wind of the wedding and take a notion to bolt and stop it. "you know, you can't tell what a fool nigger'll do," finished bobbs. throgmartin was mildly amused, promised the necessary precautions, and said: "it looks like peter has put one over on tump, and maybe a college education does help a nigger some, after all." the constable thought it was just luck. "well, i dunno," said throgmartin, who was a philosopher, and inclined to view every matter from various angles. "peter may of worked this out somehow." "have you heard what henry hooker done to siner in the land deal?" throgmartin said he had. "no, i don't mean _that_. i mean henry's last wrinkle in garnisheeing old ca'line's estate in his bank for the rest of the purchase money on the dilihay place." there was a pause. "you don't mean it!" "damn 'f i don't." the constable's sentence shook with suppressed mirth, and the next moment roars of laughter came over the telephone wire. "say, ain't he the bird!" "he's the original early bird. i'd like to get a snap-shot of the worm that gets away from him." both men laughed heartily again. "but, say," objected throgmartin, who was something of a lawyer himself,--as, indeed, all southern men are,--"i thought the sons and daughters of benevolence owed hooker, not peter siner, nor ca'line's estate." "well, it _is_ the sons and daughters, but ca'line was one of 'em, and they ain't no limited li'bility 'sociation. henry can jump on anything any of 'em's got. henry got the persimmon to bring him a copy of their by-laws." "well, i swear! say, if henry wasn't kind of held back by his religion, he'd use a gun, wouldn't he?" "i dunno. i can say this for henry's religion: 'it's jest like henry's wife,--it's the dearest thing to his heart; he'd give his life for it, but it don't do nobody a damn bit of good except jest henry.'" the constable's little eyes twinkled as he heard throgmartin roaring with laughter and sputtering appreciative oaths. at that moment a ringing of the bell jarred the ears of both telephonists. a voice asked for dr. jallup. it was an ill time to interrupt two gentlemen. the flair of a jest is lost in a pause. the officer stated sharply that he was the constable of wayne county and was talking business about the county's prisoners. his tone was so charged with consequence that the voice that wanted a doctor apologized hastily and ceased. came a pause in which neither man found anything to say. laughter is like that,--a gay bubble that a touch will destroy. presently bobbs continued, gravely enough: "talking about siner, he's stayin' up at old man renfrew's now." "'at so?" "old rose hobbett swears he's doin' some sort of writin' up there and livin' in one of the old man's best rooms." "hell he is!" "yeah?" the constable's voice questioned throgmartin's opinion about such heresy and expressed his own. "d' recken it's so? old rose is such a thief and a liar." "nope," declared the constable, "the old nigger never would of made up a lie like that,--never would of thought of it. old cap'n renfrew's gettin' childish; this nigger's takin' advantage of it. down at the liver'-stable the boys were talkin' about siner goin' to git married, an' dern if old man renfrew didn't git cut up about it!" "well," opined throgmartin, charitably, "the old man livin' there all by himself--i reckon even a nigger is some comp'ny. they're funny damn things, niggers is; never know a care nor trouble. lord! i wish i was as care-free as they are!" "don't you, though!" agreed the constable, with the weight of the white man's burden on his shoulders. for this is a part of the southern credo,--that all negroes are gay, care-free, and happy, and that if one could only be like the negroes, gay, care-free, and happy--ah, if one could only be like the negroes! none of this gossip reached peter directly, but a sort of back-wash did catch him keenly through young sam arkwright and serve as a conundrum for several days. one morning peter was bringing an armful of groceries up the street to the old manor, and he met the boy coming in the opposite direction. the negro's mind was centered on a peculiar problem he had found in the renfrew library, so, according to a habit he had acquired in boston, he took the right-hand side of the pavement, which chanced to be the inner side. this violated a hooker's-bend convention, which decrees that when a white and a black meet on the sidewalk, the black man invariably shall take the outer side. for this _faux pas_ the gangling youth stopped peter, fell to abusing and cursing him for his impudence, his egotism, his attempt at social equality,--all of which charges, no doubt, were echoes from the round table. such wrath over such an offense was unusual. ordinarily, a white villager would have thought several uncomplimentary things about peter, but would have said nothing. peter stopped with a shock of surprise, then listened to the whole diatribe with a rising sense of irritation and irony. finally, without a word, he corrected his mistake by retracing his steps and passing sam again, this time on the outside. peter walked on up the street, outwardly calm, but his ears burned, and the queer indignity stuck in his mind. as he went along he invented all sorts of ironical remarks he might have made to arkwright, which would have been unwise; then he thought of sober reasoning he could have used, which would perhaps have been just as ill-advised. still later he wondered why arkwright had fallen into such a rage over such a trifle. peter felt sure there was some contributing rancor in the youth's mind. perhaps he had received a scolding at home or a whipping at school, or perhaps he was in the midst of one of those queer attacks of megalomania from which adolescents are chronic sufferers. peter fancied this and that, but he never came within hail of the actual reason. when the brown man reached the old manor, the quietude of the library, with its blackened mahogany table, its faded green axminster, the meridional globe with its dusty twinkle, banished the incident from his mind. he returned to his work of card-indexing the captain's books. he took half a dozen at a time from the shelves, dusted them on the piazza, then carried them to the embrasure of the window, which offered a pleasant light for reading and for writing the cards. he went through volume after volume,--speeches by clay, calhoun, yancy, prentiss, breckenridge; an old life of general taylor, foxe's "book of martyrs"; a collection of the old middle-english dramatists, such as lillo, garrick, arthur murphy, charles macklin, george colman, charles coffey, men whose plays have long since declined from the boards and disappeared from the reading-table. the captain's collection of books was strongly colored by a religious cast,--john wesley's sermons, charles wesley's hymns; a treatise presenting a biblical proof that negroes have no souls; a little book called "flowers gathered," which purported to be a compilation of the sayings of ultra-pious children, all of whom died young; an old book called "elements of criticism," by henry home of kames; another tome entitled "studies of nature," by st. pierre. this last was a long argument for the miraculous creation of the world as set forth in genesis. the proof offered was a résumé of the vegetable, animal, and mineral kingdoms, showing their perfect fitness for man's use, and the immediate induction was that they were designed for man's use. still another work calculated the exact age of the earth by the naïve method of counting the generations from adam to christ, to the total adding eighteen hundred and eighty-five years (for the book was written in 1885), and the original six days it required the lord to build the earth. by referring to genesis and finding out precisely what the creator did on the morning of the first day, the writer contrived to bring his calculation of the age of the earth and everything in the world to a precision of six hours, give or take,--a somewhat closer schedule than that made by the tennessee river boats coming up from st. louis. these and similar volumes formed the scientific section of captain renfrew's library, and it was this paucity of the natural sciences that formed the problem which peter tried to solve. all scientific additions came to an abrupt stop about the decade of 1880-90. that was the date when charles darwin's great fructifying theory, enunciated in 1859, began to seep into the south. in the captain's library the only notice of evolution was a book called "darwinism dethroned." as for the elaborations of the darwinian hypothesis by spencer, fiske, devries, weismann, haeckel, kidd, bergson, and every subsequent philosophic or biologic writer, all these men might never have written a line so far as captain renfrew's library was informed. now, why such extraordinary occlusions? why should captain renfrew deny himself the very commonplaces of thought, theories familiarly held by the rest of america, and, indeed, by all the rest of the civilized world? musing by the window, peter succeeded in stating his problem more broadly: why was captain renfrew an intellectual reactionist? the old gentleman was the reverse of stupid. why should he confine his selection of books to a few old oddities that had lost their battle against a theory which had captured the intellectual world fifty years before? nor was it captain renfrew alone. now and then peter saw editorials appearing in leading southern journals, seriously attacking the evolutionary hypothesis. ministers in respectable churches still fulminated against it. peter knew that the whole south still clings, in a way, to the miraculous and special creation of the earth as described in genesis. it clings with an intransigentism and bitterness far exceeding other part of america. why? to peter the problem appeared insoluble. he sat by the window lost in his reverie. just outside the ledge half a dozen english sparrows abused one another with chirps that came faintly through the small diamond panes. their quick movements held peter's eyes, and their endless quarreling presently recalled his episode with young arkwright. it occurred to him, casually, that when arkwright grew up he would subscribe to every reactionary doctrine set forth in the library peter was indexing. with that thought came a sort of mental flare, as if he were about to find the answer to the whole question through the concrete attack made on him by sam. it is an extraordinary feeling,--the sudden, joyful dawn of a new idea. peter sat up sharply and leaned forward with a sense of being right on the fringe of a new and a great perception. young arkwright, the old captain, the whole south, were unfolding themselves in a vast answer, when a movement outside the window caught the negro's introspective eyes. a girl was passing; a girl in a yellow dress was passing the renfrew gate. even then peter would not have wavered in his synthesis had not the girl paused slightly and given a swift side glance at the old manor. then the man in the window recognized cissie dildine. a slight shock traveled through siner's body at the sight of cissie's colorless face and darkened eyes. he stood up abruptly, with a feeling that he had some urgent thing to say to the young woman. his sharp movement toppled over the big globe. the crash caused the girl to stop and look. for a moment they stood thus, the girl in the chill street, the man in the pleasant window, looking at each other. next moment cissie hurried on up the village street toward the arkwright house. no doubt she was on her way to cook the noon meal. peter remained standing at the window, with a heavily beating heart. he watched her until she vanished behind a wing of the shrubbery in the renfrew yard. when she had gone, he looked at his books and cards, sat down, and tried to resume his indexing. but his mind played away from it like a restive horse. it had been two weeks since he last saw cissie. two weeks.... his nerves vibrated like the strings of a pianoforte. he had scarcely thought of her during the fortnight; but now, having seen her, he found himself powerless to go on with his work. he pottered a while longer among the books and cards, but they were meaningless. they appeared an utter futility. why index a lot of nonsense? somehow this recalled his flare, his adumbration of some great idea connected with young arkwright and the old captain, and the south. he put his trembling nerves to work, trying to recapture his line of thought. he sat for ten minutes, following this mental train, then that, losing one, groping for another. his thoughts were jumpy. they played about arkwright, the captain, cissie, his mother's death, tump pack in prison, the quarrel between the persimmon and jim pink staggs. the whole of niggertown came rushing down upon him, seizing him in its passion and dustiness and greasiness, putting to flight all his cultivated white-man ideas. after half an hour's searching he gave it up. before he left the room he stooped, and tried to set up again the globe that the passing of the girl had caused him to throw down; but its pivot was out of plumb, and he had to lean it against the window-seat. the sight of captain renfrew coming in at the gate sent peter to his room. the hour was near twelve, and it had become a little point of household etiquette for the mulatto and the white man not to be together when old rose jangled the triangle. by this means they forestalled the mute discourtesy of the old captain's walking away from his secretary to eat. the subject of their separate meals had never been mentioned since their first acrimonious morning. the matter had dropped into the abeyance of custom, just as the old gentleman had predicted. peter had left open his jalousies, but his windows were closed, and now as he entered he found his apartment flooded with sunshine and filled with that equable warmth that comes of straining sunbeams through glass. he prepared for dinner with his mind still hovering about cissie. he removed a book and a lamp from the lion-footed table, and drew up an old chair with which the captain had furnished his room. it was a delicate old heppelwhite of rosewood. it had lost a finial from one of its back standards, and a round was gone from the left side. peter never moved the chair that vague plans sometime to repair it did not occur to him. when he had cleared his table and placed his chair beside it, he wandered over to his tall west window and stood looking up the street through the brilliant sunshine, toward the arkwright home. no one was in sight. in hooker's bend every one dines precisely at twelve, and at that hour the streets are empty. it would be some time before cissie came back down the street on her way to niggertown. she first would have to wash and put away the arkwright dishes. it would be somewhere about one o'clock. nevertheless, he kept staring out through the radiance of the autumn sunlight with an irrational feeling that she might appear at any moment. he was afraid she would slip past and he not see her at all. the thought disturbed him somewhat. it kept him sufficiently on the alert to stand tapping the balls of his fingers against the glass and looking steadily toward the arkwright house. presently the watcher perceived that a myriad spider-webs filled the sunshine with a delicate dancing glister. it was the month of voyaging spiders. invisible to peter, the tiny spinners climbed to the tip-most twigs of the dead weeds, listed their abdomens, and lassoed the wind with gossamer lariats; then they let go and sailed away to a hazard of new fortunes. the air was full of the tiny adventurers. as he stared up the street, peter caught the glint of these invisible airships whisking away to whatever chance might hold for them. there was something epic in it. it recalled to the mulatto's mind some of fabre's lovely descriptions. it reminded him of two or three books on entomology which he had left in his mother's cabin. he felt he ought to go after them while the spiders were migrating. he suddenly made up his mind he would go at once, as soon as he had had dinner; somewhere about one o'clock. he looked again at the arkwright house. the thought of walking down the street with cissie, to get his books, quickened his heart. he was still at the window when his door opened and old rose entered with his dinner. she growled under her breath all the way from the door to the table on which she placed the tray. only a single phrase detached itself and stood out clearly amid her mutterings, "hope it chokes you." peter arranged his chair and table with reference to the window, so he could look up the street while he was eating his dinner. the ill-wishing rose had again furnished a gourmet's meal, but peter's preoccupation prevented its careful and appreciative gustation. an irrational feeling of the octoroon's imminence spurred him to fast eating. he had hardly begun his soup before he found himself drinking swiftly, looking up the street over his spoon, as if he meant to rush out and swing aboard a passing train. siner checked his precipitation, annoyed at himself. he began again, deliberately, with an attempt to keep his mind on the savor of his food. he even thought of abandoning his little design of going for the books; or he would go at a different hour, or to-morrow, or not at all. he told himself he would far better allow cissie dildine to pass and repass unspoken to, instead of trying to arrange an accidental meeting. but the brown man's nerves wouldn't hear to it. that automatic portion of his brain and spinal column which, physiologists assert, performs three fourths of a man's actions and conditions nine tenths of his volitions-that part of peter wouldn't consider it. it began to get jumpy and scatter havoc in peter's thoughts at the mere suggestion of not seeing cissie. imperceptibly this radical left wing of his emotions speeded up his meal, again. he caught himself, stopped his knife and fork in the act of rending apart a broiled chicken. "confound it! i'll start when she comes in sight, no matter whether i've finished this meal or not," he promised himself. and suddenly he felt unhurried, in the midst of a large leisure, with a savory broiled chicken dinner before him,--not exactly before him, either; most of it had been stuffed away. only the fag-end remained on his plate. a perfectly good meal had been ruined by an ill-timed resistance to temptation. the glint of a yellow dress far up the street had just prompted him to swift action when the door opened and old rose put her head in to say that captain renfrew wanted to see peter in the library. the brown man came to a shocked standstill. "what! right now?" he asked. "yeah, right now," carped rose. "ever'thing he wants, he wants right now. he's been res'less as a cat in a bulldog's den ever sence he come home fuh dinner. dunno whut's come into he ole bones, runnin' th'ugh his dinner lak a razo'-back." she withdrew in a continued mumble of censure. peter cast a glance up the street, timed cissie's arrival at the front gate, picked up his hat, and walked briskly to the library in the hope of finishing any business the captain might have, in time to encounter the octoroon. he even began making some little conversational plans with which he could meet cissie in a simple, unstudied manner. he recalled with a certain satisfaction that he had not said a word of condemnation the night of cissie's confession. he would make a point of that, and was prepared to argue that, since he had said nothing, he meant nothing. in fact he was prepared to throw away the truth completely and enter the conversation as an out-and-out opportunist, alleging whatever appeared to fit the occasion, as all men talk to all women. the old captain was just getting into his chair as peter entered. he paused in the midst of lowering himself by the chair-arms and got erect again. he began speaking a little uncertainly: "ah--by the way, peter--i sent for you--" "yes, sir." peter looked out at the window. the old gentleman scrutinized peter a moment; then his faded eyes wandered about the library. "still working at the books, cross-indexing them--" "yes, sir." peter could divine by the crinkle of his nerves the very loci of the girl as she passed down the thoroughfare. "very good," said the old lawyer, absently. he was obviously preoccupied with some other topic. "very good," he repeated with racking deliberation; "quite good. how did that globe get bent?" peter, looking at it, did not remember either knocking it over or setting it up. "i don't know," he said rapidly. "i hadn't noticed it." "old rose did it," meditated the captain aloud, "but it's no use to accuse her of it; she'd deny it. and yet, on the other hand, peter, she'll be nervous until i do accuse her of it. she'll be dropping things, breaking up my china. i dare say i'd best accuse her at once, storm at her some to quiet her nerves, and get it over." this monologue spurred peter's impatience into an agony. "i believe you were wanting me, captain?" he suggested, with a certain urge for action. the captain's little pleasantry faded. he looked at peter and became uncomfortable again. "well, yes, peter. downtown i heard--well, a rumor connected with you--" such an extraordinary turn caught the attention of even the fidgety peter. he looked at his employer and wondered blankly what he had heard. "i don't want to intrude on your private affairs, peter, not at all-not--not in the least--" "no-o-o," agreed peter, completely at a loss. the old gentleman rubbed his thin hands together, lifted his eyebrows up and down nervously. "are--are you about to--to leave me, peter?" peter was greatly surprised at the slightness and simplicity of this question and at the evidence of emotion it carried. "why, no," he cried; "not at all! who told you i was? it is a deep gratification to me--" "to be exact," proceeded the old man, with a vague fear still in his eyes, "i heard you were going to marry." "marry!" this flaw took peter's sails even more unexpectedly than the other. "captain, who in the world--who could have told--" "are you?" "no." "you aren't?" "indeed, no!" "i heard you were going to marry a negress here in town called cissie dildine." a question was audible in the silence that followed this statement. the obscure emotion that charged all the old man's queries affected peter. "i am not, captain," he declared earnestly; "that's settled." "oh--you say it's settled," picked up the old lawyer, delicately. "yes." "then you had thought of it?" immediately, however, he corrected this breach of courtesy into which his old legal habit of cross-questioning had led him. "well, at any rate," he said in quite another voice, "that eases my mind, peter. it eases my mind. it was not only, peter, the thought of losing you, but this girl you were thinking of marrying--let me warn you, peter--she's a negress." the mulatto stared at the strange objection. "a negress!" the old man paused and made that queer movement with his wrinkled lips as if he tasted some salty flavor. "i--i don't mean exactly a--a negress," stammered the old gentleman; "i mean she's not a--a good girl, peter; she's a--a thief, in fact--she's a thief--a thief, peter. i couldn't endure for you to marry a thief, peter." it seemed to peter siner that some horrible compulsion kept the old captain repeating over and over the fact that cissie dildine was a thief, a thief, a thief. the word cut the very viscera in the brown man. at last, when it seemed the old gentleman would never cease, peter lifted a hand. "yes, yes," he gasped, with a sickly face, "i--i've heard that before." he drew a shaken breath and moistened his lips. the two stood looking at each other, each profoundly at a loss as to what the other meant. old captain renfrew collected himself first. "that is all, peter." he tried to lighten his tones. "i think i'll get to work. let me see, where do i keep my manuscript?" peter pointed mechanically at a drawer as he walked out at the library door. once outside, he ran to the front piazza, then to the front gate, and with a racing heart stood looking up and down the sleepy thoroughfare. the street was quite empty. chapter xi old captain renfrew was a trustful, credulous soul, as, indeed, most gentleman who lead a bachelor's life are. such men lack that moral hardening and whetting which is obtained only amid the vicissitudes of a home; they are not actively and continuously engaged in the employment and detection of chicane; want of intimate association with a woman and some children begets in them a soft and simple way of believing what is said to them. and their faith, easily raised, is just as easily shattered. their judgment lacks training. peter siner's simple assertion to the old captain that he was not going to marry cissie dildine completely allayed the old gentleman's uneasiness. even the further information that peter had had such a marriage under advisement, but had rejected it, did not put him on his guard. from long non-intimacy with any human creature, the old legislator had forgotten that human life is one long succession of doing the things one is not going to do; he had forgotten, if he ever knew, that the human brain is primarily not a master, but a servant; its function is not to direct, but to devise schemes and apologies to gratify impulses. it is the ways and means committee to the great legislature of the body. for several days after his fear that peter siner would marry cissie dildine old captain renfrew was as felicitous as a lover newly reconciled to his mistress. he ambled between the manor and the liverystable with an abiding sense of well-being. when he approached his home in the radiance of high noon and saw the roof of the old mansion lying a bluish gray in the shadows of the trees, it filled his heart with joy to feel that it was not an old and empty house that awaited his coming, but that in it worked a busy youth who would be glad to see him enter the gate. the fear of some unattended and undignified death which had beset the old gentleman during the last eight or ten years of his life vanished under peter's presence. when he thought of it at all now, he always previsioned himself being lifted in peter's athletic arms and laid properly on his big four-poster. at times, when peter sat working over the books in the library, the captain felt a prodigious urge to lay a hand on the young man's broad and capable shoulder. but he never did. again, the old lawyer would sit for minutes at a time watching his secretary's regular features as the brown man pursued his work with a trained intentness. the old gentleman derived a deep pleasure from such long scrutinies. it pleased him to imagine that, when he was young, he had possessed the same vigor, the same masculinity, the same capacity for persistent labor. indeed, all old gentlemen are prone to choose the most personable and virile young man they can find for themselves to have been like. the two men had little to say to each other. their thoughts beat to such different tempos that any attempt at continued speech discovered unequal measures. as a matter of fact, in all comfortable human conversation, words are used as mere buoys dropped here and there to mark well-known channels of thought and feeling. similarity of mental topography is necessary to mutual understanding. between any two generations the landscape is so changed as to be unrecognizable. our fathers are monarchists; our sons, bolsheviki. old rose hobbett was more of an age with the captain, and these two talked very comfortably as the old virago came and went with food at meal-time. for instance, the captain always asked his servant if she had fed his cat, and old rose invariably would sulk and poke out her lips and put off answering to the last possible moment of insolence, then would grumble out that she was jes 'bout to feed the varmint, an' 't wuz funny nobody couldn't give a hard-wuckin' colored woman breathin'-space to turn roun' in. this reply was satisfactory to the captain, because he knew what it meant,--that rose had half forgotten the cat, and had meant wholly to forget it, but since she had been snapped up, so to speak, in the very act of forgetting, she would dole it out a piece or two of the meat that she had meant to abscond with as soon as the dishes were done. while rose was fulminating, the old gentleman recalled his bent globe and decided the moment had come for a lecture on that point. it always vaguely embarrassed the captain to correct rose, and this increased his dignity. now he cleared his throat in a certain way that brought the old negress to attention, so well they knew each other. "by the way, rose, in the future i must request you to use extraordinary precautions in cleansing and dusting articles of my household furniture, or, in case of damage, i shall be forced to withhold an indemnification out of your pay." eight or ten years ago, when the captain first repeated this formula to his servant, the roll and swing of his rhetoric, and the last word, "pay," had built up lively hopes in rose that the old gentleman was announcing an increase in her regular wage of a dollar a week. experience, however, had long since corrected this faulty interpretation. she came to a stand in the doorway, with her kinky gray head swung around, half puzzled, wholly rebellious. "whut is i bruk now?" "my globe." the old woman turned about with more than usual innocence. "why, i ain't tech yo' globe!" "i foresaw that," agreed the captain, with patient irony, "but in the future don't touch it more carefully. you bent its pivot the last time you refrained from handling it." "but i tell you i ain't tech yo' globe!" cried the negress, with the anger of an illiterate person who feels, but cannot understand, the satire leveled at her. "i agree with you," said the captain, glad the affair was over. this verbal ducking into the cellar out of the path of her storm stirred up a tempest. "but i tell you i ain't bruk it!" "that's what i said." "yeah, yeah, yeah," she flared; "you says i ain't, but when you says i ain't, you means i is, an' when you says i is, you means i ain't. dat's de sort o' flapjack i's wuckin' fur!" the woman flirted out of the dining-room, and the old gentleman drew another long breath, glad it was over. he really had little reason to quarrel about the globe, bent or unbent; he never used it. it sat in his study year in and year out, its dusty twinkle brightened at long intervals by old rose's spiteful rag. the captain ate on placidly. there had been a time when he was dubious about such scenes with rose. once he felt it beneath his dignity as a southern gentleman to allow any negro to speak to him disrespectfully. he used to feel that he should discharge her instantly and during the first years of their entente had done so a number of times. but he could get no one else who suited him so well; her biscuits, her corn-lightbread, her lye-hominy, which only the old darkies know how to make. and, to tell the truth, he missed the old creature herself, her understanding of him and his ideas, her contemporaneity; and no one else would work for a dollar a week. presently in the course of his eating the old gentleman required another biscuit, and he wanted a hot one. three mildly heated disks lay on a plate before him, but they had been out of the oven for five minutes and had been reduced to an unappetizing tepidity. a little hand-bell sat beside the captain's plate whose special use was to summon hot biscuits. now, the old lawyer looked at its worn handle speculatively. he was not at all sure rose would answer the bell. she would say she hadn't heard it. he felt faintly disgruntled at not foreseeing this exigency and buttering two biscuits while they were hot, or even three. he considered momentarily a project of going after a hot biscuit for himself, but eventually put it by. south of the mason-dixon line, selfhelp is half-scandal. at last, quite dubiously, he did pick up the bell and gave it a gentle ring, so if old rose chose not to hear it, she probably wouldn't: thus he could believe her and not lose his temper and so widen an already uncomfortable breach. to the captain's surprise, the old creature not only brought the biscuits, but she did it promptly. no sooner had she served them, however, than the captain saw she really had returned with a new line of defense. she mumbled it out as usual, so that her employer was forced to guess at a number of words: "dat nigger, peter, mus' 'a' busted yo' gl--" "no, he didn't." "mus' uv." "no, he didn't. i asked him, and he said he didn't." the old harridan stared, and her speech suddenly became clear-cut: "well, 'fo' gawd, i says i didn't, too!" at this point the captain made an unintelligible sound and spread the butter on his hot biscuit. "he's jes a nigger, lak i is," stated the cook, warmly. the captain buttered a second hot biscuit. "we's jes two niggers." the captain hoped she would presently sputter herself out. "now look heah," cried the crone, growing angrier and angrier as the reaches of the insult spread itself before her, "is you gwine to put one o' us niggers befo' de udder? ca'se ef you is, i mus' say, it's kadylock-a-do' wid me." the captain looked up satirically. "what do you mean by katie-lock-the-door with you?" he asked, though he had an uneasy feeling that he knew. "you know whut i means. i means i 's gwine to leab dis place." "now look here, rose," protested the lawyer, with dignity, "peter siner occupies almost a fiduciary relation to me." the old negress stared with a slack jaw. "a relation o' yo's!" the lawyer hesitated some seconds, looking at the hag. his high-bred old face was quite inscrutable, but presently he said in a serious voice: "peter occupies a position of trust with me, rose." "yeah," mumbled rose; "i see you trus' him." "one day he is going to do me a service, a very great service, rose." the hag continued looking at him with a stubborn expression. "you know better than any one else, rose, my dread of some--some unmannerly death--" the old woman made a sound that might have meant anything. "and peter has promised to stay with me until--until the end." the old negress considered this solemn speech, and then grunted out: "which en'?" "which end?" the captain was irritated. "yeah; yo' en' or peter's en'?" "by every law of probability, peter will outlive me." "yeah, but peter 'll come to a en' wid you when he ma'ies dat stuck-up yellow fly-by-night, cissie dildine." "he's not going to marry her," said the captain, comfortably. "huh!" "peter told me he didn't intend to marry cissie dildine." "shu! then whut fur dey go roun' peepin' at each other lak a couple o' niggers roun' a haystack?" the old lawyer was annoyed. "peeping where?" "why, right in front o' dis house, dat's wha; ever' day when dat hussy passes up to de arkwrights', wha she wucks. she pokes along an' walls her eyes roun' at dis house lak a calf wid de splivins." "that going on now?" "ever' day." a deep uneasiness went through the old man. he moistened his lips. "but peter said--" "good gawd! mars' renfrew, whut diff'ence do it make whut peter say? ain't you foun' out yit when a he-nigger an' a she-nigger gits to peepin' at each udder, whut dey says don't lib in de same neighbo'hood wid whut dey does?" this was delivered with such energy that it completely undermined the captain's faith in peter, and the fact angered the old gentleman. "that'll do, rose; that'll do. that's all i need of you." the old crone puffed up again at this unexpected flare, and went out of the room, plopping her feet on floor and mumbling. among these ungracious sounds the captain caught, "blin' ole fool!" but there was no need becoming offended and demanding what she meant. her explanation would have been vague and unsatisfactory. the verjuice which old rose had sprinkled over peter and cissie by calling them "he-nigger" and "she-nigger" somehow minimized them, animalized them in the old lawyer's imagination. rose's speech was charged with such contempt for her own color that it placed the mulatto and the octoroon down with apes and rabbits. the lawyer fought against his feeling, for the sake of his secretary, who had come to occupy so wide a sector of his comfort and affection. yet the old virago evidently spoke from a broad background of experience. she was at least half convincing. while the captain repelled her charge against his quiet, hard-working brown helper, he admitted it against cissie dildine, whom he did not know. she was an animal, a female centaur, a wanton and a strumpet, as all negresses are wantons and strumpets. all white men in the south firmly believe that. they believe it with a peculiar detestation; and since they used these persons very profitably for a hundred and fifty years as breeding animals, one might say they believe it a trifle ungratefully. chapter xii the semi-daily passings of cissie dildine before the old renfrew manor on her way to and from the arkwright home upset peter siner's working schedule to an extraordinary degree. after watching for two or three days, peter worked out a sort of timetable for cissie. she passed up early in the morning, at about five forty-five. he could barely see her then, and somehow she looked very pathetic hurrying along in the cold, dim light of dawn. after she had cooked the arkwright breakfast, swept the arkwright floors, dusted the arkwright furniture, she passed back toward niggertown, somewhere near nine. about eleven o'clock she went up to cook dinner, and returned at one or two in the afternoon. occasionally, she made a third trip to get supper. this was as exactly as peter could predict the arrivals and departures of cissie, and the schedule involved a large margin of uncertainty. for half an hour before cissie passed she kept peter watching the clock at nervous intervals, wondering if, after all, she had gone by unobserved. invariably, he would move his work to a window where he had the whole street under his observation. then he would proceed with his indexing with more and more difficulty. at first the paragraphs would lose connection, and he would be forced to reread them. then the sentences would drop apart. immediately before the girl arrived, the words themselves grew anarchic. they stared him in the eye, each a complete entity, self-sufficient, individual, bearing no relation to any other words except that of mere proximity,--like a spelling lesson. only by an effort could peter enforce a temporary cohesion among them, and they dropped apart at the first slackening of the strain. strange to say, when the octoroon actually was walking past, peter did not look at her steadily. on the contrary, he would think to himself: "how little i care for such a woman! my ideal is thus and so--" he would look at her until she glanced across the yard and saw him sitting in the window; then immediately he bent over his books, as if his stray glance had lighted on her purely by chance, as if she were nothing more to him than a passing dray or a fluttering leaf. indeed, he told himself during these crises that he had no earthly interest in the girl, that she was not the sort of woman he desired,--while his heart hammered, and the lines of print under his eyes blurred into gray streaks across the page. one afternoon peter saw cissie pass his gate, hurrying, almost running, apparently in flight from something. it sent a queer shock through him. he stared after her, then up and down the street. he wondered why she ran. even when he went to bed that night the strangeness of cissie's flight kept him awake inventing explanations. * * * * * none of peter's preoccupations was lost upon captain renfrew. none is so suspicious as a credulous man aroused. after rose had struck her blow at the secretary, the old gentleman noted all of peter's permutations and misconstrued a dozen quite innocent actions on peter's part into signs of bad faith. by a little observation he identified cissie dildine and what he saw did not reëstablish his peace of mind. on the contrary, it became more than probable that the cream-colored negress would lure peter away. this possibility aroused in the old lawyer a grim, voiceless rancor against cissie. in his thoughts he linked the girl with every manner of evil design against peter. she was an adventuress, a cyprian, a seductress attempting to snare peter in the brazen web of her comeliness. for to the old gentleman's eyes there was an abiding impudicity about cissie's very charms. the passionate repose of her face was immodest; the possession of a torso such as a sculptor might have carved was brazen. the girl was shamefully well appointed. one morning as captain renfrew came home from town, he chanced to walk just behind the octoroon, and quite unconsciously the girl delivered an added fillip to the old gentleman's uneasiness. just before cissie passed in front of the renfrew manor, womanlike, she paused to make some slight improvements in her appearance before walking under the eyes of her lover. she adjusted some strands of hair which had blown loose in the autumn wind, looked at herself in a purse mirror, retouched her nose with her greenish powder; then she picked a little sprig of sumac leaves that burned in the corner of a lawn and pinned its flame on the unashamed loveliness of her bosom. this negro instinct for brilliant color is the theme of many jests in the south, but it is entirely justified esthetically, although the constant sarcasm of the whites has checked its satisfaction, if it has not corrupted the taste. the bit of sumac out of which the octoroon had improvised a nosegay lighted up her skin and eyes, and created an ensemble as closely resembling a henri painting as anything the streets of hooker's bend were destined to see. but old captain renfrew was far from appreciating any such bravura in scarlet and gold. at first he put it down to mere niggerish taste, and his dislike for the girl edged his stricture; then, on second thought, the oddness of sumac for a nosegay caught his attention. nobody used sumac for a buttonhole. he had never heard of any woman, white or black, using sumac for a bouquet. why should this cissie dildine trig herself out in sumac? the captain's suspicions came to a point like a setter. he began sniffing about for cissie's motives in choosing so queer an ornament. he wondered if it had anything to do with peter siner. all his life, captain renfrew's brain had been deliberate. he moved mentally, as he did physically, with dignity. to tell the truth, the captain's thoughts had a way of absolutely stopping now and then, and for a space he would view the world as a simple collection of colored surfaces without depth or meaning. during these intervals, by a sort of irony of the gods the old gentleman's face wore a look of philosophic concentration, so that his mental hiatuses had given him a reputation for profundity, which was county wide. it had been this, years before, that had carried him by a powerful majority into the tennessee legislature. the voters agreed, almost to a man, that they preferred depth to a shallow facility. the rival candidate had been shallow and facile. the polls returned the captain, and the young gentleman--for the captain was a young gentleman in those days--was launched on a typical politician's career. but some republican member from east tennessee had impugned the rising statesman's honor with some sort of improper liaison. in those days there seemed to be proper and improper liaisons. there had been a duel on the banks of the cumberland river in which the captain succeeded in wounding his traducer in the arm, and was thus vindicated by the gods. but the incident ended a career that might very well have wound up in the governor's chair, or even in the united states senate, considering how very deliberate the captain was mentally. to-day, as the captain walked up the street following cissie dildine, one of these vacant moods fell upon him and it was not until they had reached his own gate that it suddenly occurred to the old gentleman just what cissie's sumac did mean. it was a signal to peter. the simplicity of the solution stirred the old man. its meaning was equally easy to fathom. when a woman signals any man it conveys consent. denials receive no signals; they are inferred. in this particular case captain renfrew found every reason to believe that this flaring bit of sumac was the prelude to an elopement. in the window of his library the captain saw his secretary staring at his cards and books with an intentness plainly assumed. peter's fixed stare had none of those small movements of the head that mark genuine intellectual labor. so peter was posing, pretending he did not see the girl, to disarm his employer's suspicions,--pretending not to see a girl rigged out like that! such duplicity sent a queer spasm of anguish through the old lawyer. peter's action held half a dozen barbs for the captain. a fellow-alumnus of harvard staying in his house merely for his wage and keep! peter bore not the slightest affection for him; the mulatto lacked even the chivalry to notify the captain of his intentions, because he knew the captain objected. and yet all these self-centered objections were nothing to what old captain renfrew felt for peter's own sake. for peter to marry a nigger and a strumpet, for him to elope with a wanton and a thief! for such an upstanding lad, the very picture of his own virility and mental alertness when he was of that age, for such a boy to fling himself away, to drop out of existence--oh, it was loathly! the old man entered the library feeling sick. it was empty. peter had gone to his room, according to his custom. but in this particular instance it seemed to captain renfrew his withdrawal was flavored with a tang of guilt. if he were innocent, why should not such a big, strong youth have stayed and helped an old gentleman off with his overcoat? the old captain blew out a windy breath as he helped himself out of his coat in the empty library. the bent globe still leaned against the window-seat. the room had never looked so somber or so lonely. at dinner the old man ate so little that rose hobbett ceased her monotonous grumbling to ask if he felt well. he said he had had a hard day, a difficult day. he felt so weak and thin that he foretold the gray days when he could no longer creep to the village and sit with his cronies at the livery-stable, when he would be house-fast, through endless days, creeping from room to room like a weak old rat in a huge empty house, finally to die in some disgusting fashion. and now peter was going to leave him, was going to throw himself away on a lascivious wench. a faint moisture dampened the old man's withered eyes. he drank an extra thimbleful of whisky to try to hearten himself. its bouquet filled the time-worn stateliness of the dining-room. * * * * * during the weeks of peter's stay at the manor it had grown to be the captain's habit really to write for two or three hours in the afternoon, and his pile of manuscript had thickened under his application. the old man was writing a book called "reminiscences of peace and war." his book would form another unit of that extraordinary crop of personal reminiscences of the old south which flooded the presses of america during the decade of 1908-18. during just that decade it seemed as if the aged men and women of the south suddenly realized that the generation who had lived through the picturesqueness and stateliness of the old slave régime was almost gone, and over their hearts swept a common impulse to commemorate, in the sunset of their own lives, its fading splendor and its vanished deeds. on this particular afternoon the captain settled himself to work, but his reminiscences did not get on. he pinched a bit of floss from the nib of his pen and tried to swing into the period of which he was writing. he read over a few pages of his copy as mental priming, but his thoughts remained flat and dull. indeed, his whole life, as he reviewed it in the waning afternoon, appeared empty and futile. it seemed hardly worth while to go on. the captain had come to that point in his memoirs where the republican representative from knox county had set going the petard which had wrecked his political career. from the very beginnings of his labors the old lawyer had looked forward to writing just this period of his life. he meant to clear up his name once for all. he meant to use invective, argument, testimony and a powerful emotional appeal, such as a country lawyer invariably attempts with a jury. but now that he had arrived at the actual composition of his defense, he sat biting his penholder, with all the arguments he meant to advance slipped from his mind. he could not recall the points of the proof. he could not recall them with peter siner moving restlessly about the room, glancing through the window, unsettled, nervous, on the verge of eloping with a negress. his secretary's tragedy smote the old man. the necessity of doing something for peter put his thoughts to rout. a wild idea occurred to the captain that if he should write the exact truth, perhaps his memoirs might serve peter as a signal against a futile, empty journey. but the thought no sooner appeared than it was rejected. in the anglosaxon, especially the anglo-saxon of the southern united states, abides no such gallic frankness as moved a jean-jacques. southern memoirs always sound like the conversation between two maiden ladies,--nothing intimate, simply a few general remarks designed to show from what nice families they came. so the captain wrote nothing. during all the afternoon he sat at his desk with a leaden heart, watching peter move about the room. the old man maintained more or less the posture of writing, but his thoughts were occupied in pitying himself and pitying peter. half a dozen times he looked up, on the verge of making some plea, some remonstrance, against the madness of this brown man. but the sight of peter sitting in the window-seat staring out into the street silenced him. he was a weak old man, and peter's nerves were strung with the desire of youth. at last the two men heard old rose clashing in the kitchen. a few minutes later the secretary excused himself from the library, to go to his own room. as peter was about to pass through the door, the captain was suddenly galvanized into action by the thought that this perhaps was the last time he would ever see him. he got up from his chair and called shakenly to peter. the negro paused. the captain moistened his lips and controlled his voice. "i want to have a word with you, peter, about a--a little matter. i-i've mentioned it before." "yes, sir." the negro's tone and attitude reminded the captain that the supper gong would soon sound and they would best separate at once. "it--it's about cissie dildine," the old lawyer hurried on. peter nodded slightly. "yes, you mentioned that before." the old man lifted a thin hand as if to touch peter's arm, but he did not. a sort of desperation seized him. "but listen, peter, you don't want to do--what's in your mind!" "what is in my mind, captain?" "i mean marry a negress. you don't want to marry a negress!" the brown man stared, utterly blank. "not marry a negress!" "no, peter; no," quavered the old man. "for yourself it may make no difference, but your children--think of your children, your son growing up under a brown veil! you can't tear it off. god himself can't tear it off! you can never reach him through it. your children, your children's children, a terrible procession that stretches out and out, marching under a black shroud, unknowing, unknown! all you can see are their sad forms beneath the shroud, marching away--marching away. god knows where! and yet it's your own flesh and blood!" suddenly the old lawyer's face broke into the hard, tearless contortions of the aged. his terrible emotion communicated itself to the sensitive brown man. "but, captain, i myself am a negro. whom should i marry?" "no one; no one! let your seed wither in your loins! it's better to do that; it's better--" at that moment the clashing of the supper gong fell on the old man's naked nerves. he straightened up by some reflex mechanism, turned away from what he thought was his last interview with his secretary, and proceeded down the piazza into the great empty dining-room. chapter xiii with overwrought nerves peter siner entered his room. at five o'clock that afternoon he had seen cissie dildine go up the street to the arkwright home to cook one of those occasional suppers. he had been watching for her return, and in the midst of it the captain's extraordinary outburst had stirred him up. once in his room, the negro placed the broken hepplewhite in such a position that he could rake the street with a glance. then he tried to compose himself and await the coming of his supper and the passage of cissie. there was something almost pathetic in peter's endless watching, all for a mere glimpse or two of the girl in yellow. he himself had no idea how his nerves and thoughts had woven themselves around the young woman. he had no idea what a passion this continual doling out of glimpses had begotten. he did not dream how much he was, as folk naïvely put it, in love with her. his love was strong enough to make him forget for a while the old lawyer's outbreak. however, as the dusk thickened in the shrubbery and under the trees, certain of the old gentleman's phrases revisited the mulatto's mind: "a terrible procession ... marching under a black shroud.... your children, your children's children, a terrible procession,... marching away, god knows where.... and yet--it's your own flesh and blood!" they were terrific sentences, as if the old man had been trying to tear from his vision some sport of nature, some deformity. as the implications spread before peter, he became more and more astonished at its content. even to captain renfrew black men were dehumanized,--shrouded, untouchable creatures. it delivered to peter a slow but a profound shock. he glanced about at the faded magnificence of the room with a queer feeling that he had been introduced into it under a sort of misrepresentation. he had taken up his abode with the captain, at least on the basis of belonging to the human family, but this passionate outbreak, this puzzling explosion, cut that ground from under his feet. the more peter thought about it, the stranger grew his sensation. not even to be classed as a human being by this old gentleman who in a weak, helpless fashion had crept somewhat into peter's affections,--not to be considered a man! the mulatto drew a long, troubled breath, and by the mere mechanics of his desire kept staring through the gloom for cissie. peter siner had known all along that the unread whites of hooker's bend --and that included nearly every white person in the village--considered black men as simple animals; but he had supposed that the more thoughtful men, of whom captain renfrew was a type, at least admitted the afroamerican to the common brotherhood of humanity. but they did not. as peter sat staring into the darkness the whole effect of the dehumanizing of the black folk of the south began to unfold itself before his imagination. it explained to him the tragedies of his race, their sufferings at the hand of mob violence; the casualness, even the levity with which black men were murdered: the chronic dishonesty with which negroes were treated: the constant enactment of adverse legislation against them; the cynical use of negro women. they were all vermin, animals; they were one with the sheep and the swine; a little nearer the human in form, perhaps, and, oddly enough, one that could be bred to a human being, as testified a multitude of brown and yellow and cream-colored folk, but all marching away, as the captain had so passionately said, marching away, their forms hidden from human intercourse under a shroud of black, an endless procession marching away, god knew whither! and yet they were the south's own flesh and blood. the horror of such a complex swelled in peter's mind to monstrous proportions. as night thickened at his window, the negro sat dazed and wondering at the mightiness of his vision. his thoughts went groping, trying to solve some obscure problem it posed. he thought of the arkwright boy; he thought of the white men smiling as his mother's funeral went past the livery-stable; he thought of captain renfrew's manuscript that he was transcribing. through all the old man's memoirs ran a certain lack of sincerity. peter always felt amid his labors that the old captain was making an attorney's plea rather than a candid exposition. at this point in his thoughts there gradually limned itself in the brown man's mind the answer to that enigma which he almost had unraveled on the day he first saw cissie dildine pass his window. with it came the answer to the puzzle contained in the old captain's library. the library was not an ordinary compilation of the world's thought; it, too, was an attorney's special pleading against the equality of man. any book or theory that upheld the equality of man was carefully excluded from the shelves. darwin's great hypothesis, and every development springing from it, had been banned, because the moment that a theory was propounded of the great biologic relationship of all flesh, from worms to vertebrates, there instantly followed a corollary of the brotherhood of man. what christ did for theology, darwin did for biology,--he democratized it. the one descended to man's brotherhood from the trinity; the other climbed up to it from the worms. the old captain's library lacked sincerity. southern orthodoxy, which persists in pouring its religious thought into the outworn molds of special creation, lacks sincerity. scarcely a department of southern life escapes this fundamental attitude of special pleader and disingenuousness. it explains the southern fondness for legal subtleties. all attempts at southern poetry, belles-lettres, painting, novels, bear the stamp of the special plea, of authors whose exposition is careful. peter perceived what every one must perceive, that when letters turn into a sort of glorified prospectus of a country, all value as literature ceases. the very breath of art and interpretation is an eager and sincere searching of the heart. this sincerity the south lacks. her single talent will always be forensic, because she is a lawyer with a cause to defend. and such is the curse that arises from lynchings and venery and extortions and dehumanizings,--sterility; a dumbness of soul. peter siner's thoughts lifted him with the tremendous buoyancy of inspiration. he swung out of his chair and began tramping his dark room. the skin of his scalp tickled as if a ghost had risen before him. the nerves in his thighs and back vibrated. he felt light, and tingled with energy. unaware of what he was doing, he set about lighting the gasolene-lamp. he worked with nervous quickness, as if he were in a great hurry. presently a brilliant light flooded the room. it turned the gray illumination of the windows to blackness. joy enveloped peter. his own future developed under his eyes with the same swift clairvoyance that marked his vision of the ills of his country. he saw himself remedying those ills. he would go about showing white men and black men the simple truth, the spiritual necessity for justice and fairness. it was not a question of social equality; it was a question of clearing a road for the development of southern life. he would show white men that to weaken, to debase, to dehumanize the negro, inflicted a more terrible wound on the south than would any strength the black man might develop. he would show black men that to hate the whites, constantly to suspect, constantly to pilfer from them, only riveted heavier shackles on their limbs. it was all so clear and so simple! the white south must humanize the black not for the sake of the negro, but for the sake of itself. no one could resist logic so fundamental. peter's heart sang with the solemn joy of a man who had found his work. all through his youth he had felt blind yearnings and gropings for he knew not what. it had driven him with endless travail out of niggertown, through school and college, and back to niggertown,--this untiring hound of heaven. but at last he had reached his work. he, peter siner, a mulatto, with the blood of both white and black in his veins, would come as an evangel of liberty to both white and black. the brown man's eyes grew moist from joy. his body seemed possessed of tremendous energy. as he paced his room there came into the glory of peter's thoughts the memory of the arkwright boy as he sat in the cedar glade brooding on the fallen needles peter recalled the hobbledehoy's disjointed words as he wrestled with the moral and physical problems of adolescence. peter recalled his impulse to sit down by young sam arkwright, and, as best he might, give him some clue to the critical and feverish period through which he was passing. he had not done so, but peter remembered the instance down to the very desperation in the face of the brooding youngster. and it seemed to peter that this rejected impulse had been a sign that he was destined to be an evangel to the whites as well as to the blacks. the joy of peter's mission bore him aloft on vast wings. his room seemed to fall away from him, and he was moving about his country, releasing the two races from their bonds of suspicion and cruelty. * * * * * slowly the old manor formed about peter again, and he perceived that a tapping on the door had summoned him back. he walked to the door with his heart full of kindness for old rose. she was bringing him his supper. he felt as if he could take the old woman in his arms, and out of the mere hugeness of his love sweeten her bitter life. the mulatto opened the door as eagerly as if he were admitting some long-desired friend; but when the shutter swung back, the old crone and her salver were not there. all he could discern in the darkness were the white pillars marking the night into panels. there was no light in the outer kitchen. the whole manor was silent. as he stood listening, the knocking was repeated, this time more faintly. he fixed the sound at the window. he closed the door, walked across the brilliant room, and opened the shutters. for several moments he saw nothing more than the tall quadrangle of blackness which the window framed; then a star or two pierced it; then something moved. he saw a woman's figure standing close to the casement, and out of the darkness cissie dildine's voice asked in its careful english: "peter, may i come in?" chapter xiv for a full thirty seconds peter siner stared at the girl at the window before, even with her prompting, he thought of the amenity of asking her to come inside. as a further delayed courtesy, he drew the heppelwhite chair toward her. cissie's face looked bloodless in the blanched light of the gasolenelamp. she forced a faint, doubtful smile. "you don't seem very glad to see me, peter." "i am," he assured her, mechanically, but he really felt nothing but astonishment and dismay. they filled his voice. he was afraid some one would see cissie in his room. his thoughts went flitting about the premises, calculating the positions of the various trees and shrubs in relation to the windows, trying to determine whether, and just where, in his brilliantly lighted chamber the girl could be seen from the street. the octoroon made no further comment on his confusion. her eyes wandered from him over the stately furniture and up to the stuccoed ceiling. "they told me you lived in a wonderful room," she remarked absently. "yes, it's very nice," agreed peter in the same tone, wondering what might be the object of her hazardous visit. a flicker of suspicion suggested that she was trying to compromise him out of revenge for his renouncement of her, but the next instant he rejected this. the girl accepted the chair peter offered and continued to look about. "i hope you don't mind my staring, peter," she said. "i stared when i first came here to stay," assisted peter, who was getting a little more like himself, even if a little uneasier at the consequences of this visit. "is that a highboy?" she nodded nervously at the piece of furniture. "i've seen pictures of them." "uh huh. revolutionary, i believe. the night wind is a little raw." he moved across the room and closed the jalousies, and thus cut off the night wind and also the west view from the street. he glanced at the heavy curtains parted over his front windows, with a keen desire to swing them together. some fragment of his mind continued the surface conversation with cissie. "is it post-revolutionary or pre-revolutionary?" she asked with a preoccupied air. "post, i believe. no, pre. i always meant to examine closely." "to have such things would almost teach one history," cissie said. "yeah; very nice." peter had decided that the girl was in direct line with the left front window and an opening between the trees to the street. the girl's eyes followed his. "are those curtains velour, peter?" "i--i believe so," agreed the man, unhappily. "i--i wonder how they look spread." peter seized on this flimsy excuse with a wave of relief and thankfulness to cissie. he had to restrain himself as he strode across the room and swung together the two halves of the somber curtains in order to preserve an appearance of an exhibit. his fingers were so nervous that he bungled a moment at the heavy cords, but finally the two draperies swung together, loosing a little cloud of dust. he drew together a small aperture where the hangings stood apart, and then turned away in sincere relief. cissie's own interest in historic furniture and textiles came to an abrupt conclusion. she gave a deep sigh and settled back into her chair. she sat looking at peter seriously, almost distressfully, as he came toward her. with the closing of the curtains and the establishment of a real privacy peter became aware once again of the sweetness and charm cissie always held for him. he still wondered what had brought her, but he was no longer uneasy. "perhaps i'd better build a fire," he suggested, quite willing now to make her visit seem not unusual. "oh, no,"--she spoke with polite haste,--"i'm just going to stay a minute. i don't know what you'll think of me." she looked intently at him. "i think it lovely of you to come." he was disgusted with the triteness of this remark, but he could think of nothing else. "i don't know," demurred the octoroon, with her faint doubtful smile. "persons don't welcome beggars very cordially." "if all beggars were so charming--" apparently he couldn't escape banalities. but cissie interrupted whatever speech he meant to make, with a return of her almost painful seriousness. "i really came to ask you to help me, peter." "then your need has brought me a pleasure, at least." some impulse kept the secretary making those foolish complimentary speeches which keep a conversation empty and insincere. "oh, peter, i didn't come here for you to talk like that! will you do what i want?" "what do you want, cissie?" he asked, sobered by her voice and manner. "i want you to help me, peter." "all right, i will." he spaced his words with his speculations about the nature of her request. "what do you want me to do?" "i want you to help me go away." peter looked at her in surprise. he hardly knew what he had been expecting, but it was not this. some repressed emotion crept into the girl's voice. "peter, i--i can't stay here in hooker's bend any longer. i want to go away. i--i've got to go away." peter stood regarding her curiously and at the same time sympathetically. "where do you want to go, cissie?" the girl drew a long breath; her bosom lifted and dropped abruptly. "i don't know; that was one of the things i wanted to ask you about." "you don't know where you want to go?" he smiled faintly. "how do you know you want to go at all?" "oh, peter, all i know is i must leave hooker's bend!" she gave a little shiver. "i'm tired of it, sick of it--sick." she exhaled a breath, as if she were indeed physically ill. her face suggested it; her eyes were shadowed. "some northern city, i suppose," she added. "and you want me to help you?" inquired peter, puzzled. she nodded silently, with a woman's instinct to make a man guess the favor she is seeking. then it occurred to peter just what sort of assistance the girl did want. it gave him a faint shock that a girl could come to a man to beg or to borrow money. it was a white man's shock, a notion he had picked up in boston, because it happens frequently among village negroes, and among them it holds as little significance as children begging one another for bites of apples. peter thought over his bank balance, then started toward a chest of drawers where he kept his checkbook. "cissie, if i can he of any service to you in a substantial way, i'll be more than glad to--" she put out a hand and stopped him; then talked on in justification of her determination to go away. "i just can't endure it any longer, peter." she shuddered again. "i can't stand niggertown, or this side of town--any of it. they--they have no _feeling_ for a colored girl, peter, not--not a speck!" she rave a gasp, and after a moment plunged on into her wrongs: "when--when one of us even walks past on the street, they--they whistle and say a-all kinds of things out loud, j-just as if w-we weren't there at all. ththey don't c-care; we're just n-nigger w-women." cissie suddenly began sobbing with a faint catching noise, her full bosom shaken by the spasms; her tears slowly welling over. she drew out a handkerchief with a part of its lace edge gone, and wiped her eyes and cheeks, holding the bit of cambric in a ball in her palm, like a negress, instead of in her fingers, like a white woman, as she had been taught. then she drew a deep breath, swallowed, and became more composed. peter stood looking in helpless anger at this representative of all women of his race. "cissie, that's street-corner scum--the dirty sewage--" "they make you feel naked," went on cissie in the monotone that succeeds a fit of weeping, "and ashamed--and afraid." she blinked her eyes to press out the undue moisture, and looked at peter as if asking what else she could do about it than to go away from the village. "will it be any better away from here?" suggested peter, doubtfully. cissie shook her head. "i--i suppose not, if--if i go alone." "i shouldn't think so," agreed peter, somberly. he started to hearten her by saying white women also underwent such trials, if that would be a consolation; but he knew very well that a white woman's hardships were as nothing compared to those of a colored woman who was endowed with any grace whatever. "and besides, cissie," went on peter, who somehow found himself arguing against the notion of her going, "i hardly see how a decent colored woman gets around at all. colored boarding-houses are wretched places. i ate and slept in one or two, coming home. rotten." the possibility of cissie finding herself in such a place moved peter. the girl nodded submissively to his judgment, and said in a queer voice: "that's why i--i didn't want to travel alone, peter." "no, it's a bad idea--" and then peter perceived that a queer quality was creeping into the tête-à-tête. she returned his look unsteadily, but with a curious persistence. [illustration: "you-you mean you want m-me--to go with you, cissie?" he stammered] "i--i d-don't want to travel a-alone, peter," she gasped. her look, her voice suddenly brought home to the an the amazing connotation of her words. he stared at her, felt his face grow warm with a sharp, peculiar embarrassment. he hardly knew what to say or do before her intent and piteous eyes. "you--you mean you want m-me--to go with you, cissie?" he stammered. the girl suddenly began trembling, now that her last reserve of indirection had been torn away. "listen, peter," she began breathlessly. "i'm not the sort of woman you think. if i hadn't accused myself, we'd be married now. i--i wanted you more than anything in the world, peter, but i did tell you. surely, surely, peter, that shows i am a good woman--th-the real i. dear, dear peter, there is a difference between a woman and her acts. peter, you're the first man in all my life, in a-all my life who ever came to me kkindly and gently; so i had to l-love you and t-tell you, peter." the girl's wavering voice broke down completely; her face twisted with grief. she groped for her chair, sat down, buried her face in her arms on the table, and broke into a chattering outbreak of sobs that sounded like some sort of laughter. her shoulders shook; the light gleamed on her soft, black caucasian hair. there was a little rent in one of the seams in her cheap jacket, at one of the curves where her side molded into her shoulder. the customer made garment had found cissie's body of richer mold than it had been designed to shield. and yet in peter's distress and tenderness and embarrassment, this little rent held his attention and somehow misprized the wearer. it seemed symbolic in the searching white light. he could see the very break in the thread and the widened stitches at the ends of the rip. her coat had given way because she was modeled more nearly like the venus de milo than the run of womankind. he felt the little irony of the thing, and yet was quite unable to resist the comparison. and then, too, she had referred again to her sin of peculation. a woman enjoys confessions from a man. a man's sins are mostly vague, indefinite things to a woman, a shadowy background which brings out the man in a beautiful attitude of repentance; but when a woman confesses, the man sees all her past as a close-up with full lighting. he has an intimate acquaintance with just what she's talking about, and the woman herself grows shadowy and unreal. men have too many blots not to demand whiteness in women. by striking some such average, nature keeps the race a going moral concern. so peter, as he stood looking down on the woman who was asking him to marry her, was filled with as unhappy and as impersonal a tenderness as a born brother. he recalled the thoughts which had come to him when he saw cissie passing his window. she was not the sort of woman he wanted to marry; she was not his ideal. he cast about in his head for some gentle way of putting her off, so that he would not hurt her any further, if such an easement were possible. as he stood thinking, he found not a pretext, but a reality. he stooped over, and put a hand lightly on each of her arms. "cissie," he said in a serious, even voice, "if i should ever marry any one, it would be you." the girl paused in her sobbing at his even, passionless voice. "then you--you won't?" she whispered in her arms. "i can't, cissie." now that he was saying it, he uttered the words very evenly and smoothly. "i can't, dear cissie, because a great work has just come into my life." he paused, expecting her to ask some question, but she lay silent, with her face in her arms, evidently listening. "cissie, i think, in fact i know, i can demonstrate to all the south, both white and black, the need of a better and more sincere understanding between our two races." peter did not feel the absurdity of such a speech in such a place. he patted her arm, but there was something in the warmth of her flesh that disturbed his austerity and caused him to lift his hand to the more impersonal axis of her shoulder. he proceeded to develop his idea. "cissie, just a moment ago you were complaining of the insults you meet everywhere. i believe if i can spread my ideas, cissie, that even a pretty colored girl like you may walk the streets without being subjected to obscenity on every corner." his tone unconsciously patronized cissie's prettiness with the patronage of the male for the less significant thing, as though her ripeness for love and passion and children were, after all, not comparable with what he, a male, could do in the way of significantly molding life. cissie lifted her head and dried her eyes. "so you aren't going to marry me, peter?" woman-like, now that she was well into the subject, she was far less embarrassed than peter. she had had her cry. "why--er--considering this work, cissie--" "aren't you going to marry anybody, peter?" the artist in peter, the thing the girl loved in him, caught again that messianic vision of himself. "why, no, cissie," he said, with a return of his inspiration of an hour ago; "i'll be going here and there all over the south preaching this gospel of kindliness and tolerance, of forgiveness of the faults of others." cissie looked at him with a queer expression. "i'll show the white people that they should treat the negro with consideration not for the sake of the negro, but for the sake of themselves. it's so simple, cissie, it's so logical and clear--" the girl shook her head sadly. "and you don't want me to go with you, peter?" "why, n-no, cissie; a girl like you couldn't go. perhaps i'll be misunderstood in places, perhaps i may have to leave a town hurriedly, or be swung over the walls, like paul, in a basket." he attempted to treat it lightly. but the girl looked at him with a horror dawning in her melancholy face. "peter, do you really mean that?" she whispered. "why, truly. you don't imagine--" the octoroon opened her dark eyes until she might have been some weird. "oh, peter, please, please put such a mad idea away from you! peter, you've been living here alone in this old house until you don't see things clearly. dear peter, don't you _know?_ you can't go out and talk like that to white folks and--and not have some terrible thing happen to you! oh, peter, if you would only marry me, it would cure you of such wildness!" involuntarily she got up, holding out her arms to him, offering herself to his needs, with her frightened eyes fixed on his. it made him exquisitely uncomfortable again. he made a little sound designed to comfort and reassure her. he would do very well. he was something of a diplomat in his way. he had got along with the boys in harvard very well indeed. in fact, he was rather a man of the world. no need to worry about him, though it was awfully sweet of her. cissie picked up her handkerchief with its torn edge, which she had laid on the table. evidently she was about to go. "i surely don't know what will become of me," she said, looking at it. in a reversal of feeling peter did not want her to go away quite then. he cast about for some excuse to detain her a moment longer. "now, cissie," he began, "if you are really going to leave hooker's bend--" "i'm not going," she said, with a long exhalation. "i--" she swallowed-"i just thought that up to--ask you to--to--you see," she explained, a little breathless, "i thought you still loved me and had forgiven me by the way you watched for me every day at the window." this speech touched peter more keenly than any of the little drama the girl had invented. it hit him so shrewdly he could think of nothing more to say. cissie moved toward the window and undid the latch. "good night, peter." she paused a moment, with her hand on the catch. "peter," she said, "i'd almost rather see you marry some other girl than try so terrible a thing." the big, full-blooded athlete smiled faintly. "you seem perfectly sure marriage would cure me of my mission." cissie's face reddened faintly. "i think so," she said briefly. "good night," and she disappeared in the dark space she had opened, and closed the jalousies softly after her. chapter xv cissie dildine's conviction that marriage would cure peter of his mission persisted in the mulatto's mind long after the glamour of the girl had faded and his room had regained the bleak emptiness of a bachelor's bedchamber. cissie had been so brief and positive in her statement that peter, who had not thought on the point at all, grew more than half convinced she was right. now that he pondered over it, it seemed there was a difference between the outlook of a bachelor and that of a married man. the former considered humanity as a balloonist surveys a throng,--immediately and without perspective,--but the latter always sees mankind through the frame of his family. a single man tends naturally to philosophy and reform; a married man to administration and statesmanship. there have been no great unmarried statesmen; there have been no great married philosophers or reformers. now that cissie had pointed out this universal rule, peter saw it very clearly. and peter suspected that beneath this rough classification, and conditioning it, lay a plexus of obscure mental and physical reactions set up by the relations between husband and wife. it might very well be there was a difference between the actual cerebral and nervous structure of a married man and that of a single man. at any rate, after these reflections, peter now felt sure that marriage would cure him of his mission; but how had cissie known it? how had she struck out so involved a theory, one might say, in the toss of a head? the more peter thought it over the more extraordinary it became. it was another one of those explosive ideas which cissie, apparently, had the faculty of creating out of a pure mental vacuum. all this philosophy aside, cissie's appearance just in the nick of his inspiration, her surprising proposal of marriage, and his refusal, had accomplished one thing: it had committed peter to the program he had outlined to the girl. indeed, there seemed something fatalistic in such a concatenation of events. siner wondered whether or not he would have obeyed his vision without this added impulse from cissie. he did not know; but now, since it had all come about just as it had, he suspected he would have been neglectful. he felt as if a dangerous but splendid channel had been opened before his eyes, and almost at the same instant a hand had reached down and directed his life into it. this fancy moved the mulatto. as he got himself ready for bed, he kept thinking: "well, my life is settled at last. there is nothing else for me to do. even if this should end terribly for me, as cissie imagines, my life won't be wasted." next morning peter siner was awakened by old rose hobbett thrusting her head in at his door, staring around, and finally, seeing peter in bed, grumbling: "why is you still heah, black man?" the secretary opened his eyes in astonishment. "why shouldn't i be here?" "nobody wuz 'speckin' you to be heah." the crone withdrew her head and vanished. peter wondered at this unaccustomed interest of rose, then hurried out of bed, supposing himself late for breakfast. a dense fog had come up from the river, and the moisture floating into his open windows had dampened his whole room. peter stepped briskly to the screen and began splashing himself. it was only in the midst of his ablutions that he remembered his inspiration and resolve of the previous evening. as he squeezed the water over his powerfully molded body, he recalled it almost impersonally. it might have happened to some third person. he did not even recall distinctly the threads of the logic which had lifted him to such a pisgah, and showed him the whole south as a new and promised land. however, he knew that he could start his train of thought again, and again ascend the mountain. floating through the fog into his open window came the noises of the village as it set about living another day, precisely as it had lived innumerable days in the past. the blast of the six-o'clock whistle from the planing-mill made the loose sashes of his windows rattle. came a lowing of cows and a clucking of hens, a woman's calling. the voices of men in conversation came so distinctly through the pall that it seemed a number of persons must be moving about their morning work, talking and shouting, right in the renfrew yard. but the thing that impressed peter most was the solidity and stability of this southern village that he could hear moving around him, and its certainty to go on in the future precisely as it had gone on in the past. it was a tremendous force. the very old manor about him seemed huge and intrenched in long traditions, while he, peter siner, was just a brown man, naked behind a screen and rather cold from the fog and damp of the morning. he listened to old rose clashing the kitchen utensils. as he drew on his damp underwear, he wondered what he could say to old rose that would persuade her into a little kindliness and tolerance for the white people. as he listened he felt hopeless; he could never explain to the old creature that her own happiness depended upon the charity she extended to others. she could never understand it. she would live and die precisely the same bitter old beldam that she was, and nothing could ever assuage her. while peter was thinking of the old creature, she came shuffling along the back piazza with his breakfast. she let herself in by lifting one knee to a horizontal, balancing the tray on it, then opening the door with her freed hand. when the shutter swung open, it displayed the crone standing on one foot, wearing a man's grimy sock, which had fallen down over a broken, run-down shoe. in peter's mood the thought of this wretched old woman putting on such garments morning after morning was unspeakably pathetic. he thought of his own mother, who had lived and died only a shade or two removed from the old crone's condition. rose put down her foot, and entered the room with her lips poked out, ready to make instant attack if peter mentioned his lack of supper the night before. "aunt rose," asked the secretary, with his friendly intent in his tones, "how came you to look in this morning and say you didn't expect to find me in my room?" she gave an unintelligible grunt, pushed the lamp to one side, and eased her tray to the table. peter finished touching his tie before one of those old-fashioned mirrors, not of cut-glass, yet perfectly true. he came from the mirror and moved his chair, out of force of habit, so he could look up the street toward the arkwrights'. "aunt rose," said the young man, wistfully, "why are you always angry?" she bridled at this extraordinary inquiry. "me?" "yes, you." she hesitated a moment, thinking how she could make her reply a personal assault on peter. "'cause you come heah, 'sputin' my rights, da' 's' why." "no," demurred peter, "you were quarreling in the kitchen the first morning i came here, and you didn't know i was on the place." "well--i got my tribulations," she snapped, staring suspiciously at these unusual questions. there was a pause; then peter said placatingly: "i was just thinking, aunt rose, you might forget your tribulations if you didn't ride them all the time." "hoccum! what you mean, ridin' my tribulations?" "thinking about them. the old captain, for instance; you are no happier always abusing the old captain." the old virago gave a sniff, tossed her head, but kept her eyes rolled suspiciously on peter. "very often the way we think and act makes us happy or unhappy," moralized peter, broadly. "look heah, nigger, you ain't no preacher sont out by de lawd to me!" "anyway, i am sure you would feel more friendly toward the captain if you acted openly with him; for instance, if you didn't take off all his cold victuals, and handkerchiefs and socks, soap, kitchenware--" the cook snorted. "i'd feel dat much mo' nekked an' hongry, dat's how i'd feel." "perhaps, if you'd start over, he might give you a better wage." "huh!" she snorted in an access of irony. "i see dat skinflint gib'n' me a better wage. puuh!" the suddenly she realized where the conversation had wandered, and stared at the secretary with widening eyes "good lawd! did dat fool cap'n set up a nigger in dis bedroom winder jes to ketch ole rose packin' off a few ole lef'-overs?" peter began a hurried denial, but she rushed on: "'fo' gawd, i hopes his viddles chokes him! i hope his ole smoke-house falls down on his ole haid. i hope to jesus--" peter pleaded with her not to think the captain was behind his observations, but the hag rushed out of the bedroom, swinging her head from side to side, uttering the most terrible maledictions. she would show him! she wouldn't put another foot in his old kitchen. wild horses couldn't drag her into his smoke-house again. peter ran to the door and called after her down the piazza, trying to exonerate the captain: but she either did not or would not hear, and vanished into the kitchen, still furious. old rose made peter so uneasy that he deserted his breakfast midway and hurried to the library. in the solemn old room he found the captain alone and in rather a pleased mood. the old gentleman stood patting and alining a pile of manuscript. as the mulatto entered he exclaimed: "well, here's peter again!" as if his secretary had been off on a long journey. immediately afterward he added, "peter, guess what i did last night." his voice was full of triumph. peter was thinking about aunt rose, and stood looking at the captain without the slightest idea. "i wrote all of this,"--he indicated his manuscript,--"over a hundred pages." peter considered the work without much enthusiasm. "you must have worked all night." the old attorney rubbed his hands. "i think i may claim a touch of inspiration last night, peter. reminiscences rippled from under my pen, propitious words, prosperous sentences. er--the fact is, peter, you will see, when you begin copying, i had come to a matter--a--a matter of some moment in my life. every life contains such moments, peter. i had meant to write something in the nature of a defen--an explanation, peter. but after you left the library last night it suddenly occurred to me just to give each fact as it took place, quite frankly. so i did that--not--not what i meant to write, at all--ah. as you copy it, you may find it not entirely without some interest to yourself, peter." "to me?" repeated peter, after the fashion of the unattentative. "yes, to yourself." the captain was oddly moved. he took his hands off the script, walked a little away from the table, came back to it. "it-ah--may explain a good many things that--er--may have puzzled you." he cleared his throat and shifted his subject briskly. "we ought to be thinking about a publisher. what publisher shall we have publish these reminiscences? make some stir in tennessee's political circles, peter; tremendous sales; clear up questions everybody is interested in. h-m--well, i'll walk down town and you"--he motioned to the script-"begin copying--" "by the way, captain," said peter as the old gentleman turned for the door, "has rose said anything to you yet?" the old man detached his mind from his script with an obvious effort. "what about?" "about leaving your service." "no-o, not especially; she's always leaving my service." "but in this case it was my fault; at least i brought it about. i remonstrated with her about taking your left-over victuals and socks and handkerchiefs and things. she was quite offended." "yes, it always offends her," agreed the old man, impatiently. "i never mention it myself unless i catch her red-handed; then i storm a little to keep her in bounds." naturally, peter knew of this extraordinary system of service in the south; nevertheless he was shocked at its implications. "captain," suggested peter, "wouldn't you find it to your own interest to give old rose a full cash payment for her services and allow her to buy her own things?" the captain dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. "she's a nigger, peter; you can't hire a nigger not to steal. born in 'em. then i'm not sure but what it would be compounding a felony, hiring a person not to steal; might be so construed. well, now, there's the script. read it carefully, my boy, and remember that in order to gain a certain _status quo_ certain antecedents are--are absolutely necessary, peter. without them my--my life would have been quite empty, peter. it's--it's very strange--amazing. you will understand as you read. i'll be back to dinner, so good-by." in the strangest agitation the old captain walked out of the library. the last glimpse peter had of him was his meager old figure silhouetted against the cold gray fog that filled the compound. neither the captain's agitation nor his obvious desire that peter should at once read the new manuscript really got past the threshold of the mulatto's consciousness. peter's thoughts still hovered about old rose, and from that point spread to the whole system of colored service in the south. for rose's case was typical. the wage of cooks in small southern villages is a pittance--and what they can steal. the tragedy of the mothers of a whole race working for their board and thievings came over peter with a rising grimness. and there was no public sentiment against such practice. it was accepted everywhere as natural and inevitable. the negresses were never prosecuted; no effort was made to regain the stolen goods. the employers realized that what they paid would not keep soul and body together; that it was steal or perish. it was a fantastic truth that for any colored girl to hire into domestic service in hooker's bend was more or less entering an apprenticeship in peculation. what she could steal was the major portion of her wage, if two such anomalous terms may be used in conjunction. yet, strange to say, the negro women of the village were quite honest in other matters. they paid their small debts. they took their mistresses' pocket-books to market and brought back the correct change. and if a mistress grew too indignant about something they had stolen, they would bring it back and say: "here is a new one. i'd rather buy you a new one than have you think i would take anything." the whole system was the lees of slavery, and was surely the most demoralizing, the most grotesque method of hiring service in the whole civilized world. it was so absurd that its mere relation lapses into humor, that bane of black folk. such painful thoughts filled the gloomy library and harassed peter in his copying. he took his work to the window and tried to concentrate upon it, but his mind kept playing away. indeed, it seemed to peter that to sit in this old room and rewrite the wordy meanderings of the old gentleman's book was the very height of emptiness. how utterly futile, when all around him, on every hand, girls like cissie dildine were being indentured to corruption! and, as far as peter knew, he was the only person in the south who saw it or felt it or cared anything at all about it. when cissie dildine came to the surface of peter's mind she remained there, whirling around and around in his chaotic thoughts. he began talking to her image, after a certain dramatic trick of his mind, and she began offering her environment as an excuse for what had come between them and estranged them. she stole, but she had been trained to steal. she was a thief, the victim of an immense immorality. the charm of cissie, her queer, swift-working intuition, the candor of her confession, her voluptuousness--all came rushing down on peter, harassing him with anger and love and desire. to copy any more script became impossible. he lost his place; he hardly knew what he was writing. he flung aside the whole work, got to his feet with the imperative need of an athlete for the open. he started out of the room, but as an afterthought scribbled a nervous line, telling the captain he might not be back for dinner. then he found his hat and coat and walked briskly around the piazza to the front gate. the trees and shrubs were dripping, but the fog had almost cleared away, leaving only a haze in the air. a pale, level line of it cut across the scarp of the big hill. the sun shone with a peculiar soft light through the vapors. as peter passed out at the gate, the fancy came to him that he might very well be starting on his mission. it came with a sort of surprise. he wondered how other men had set about reforms. with unpremeditation? he wondered to whom jesus of nazareth preached his first sermon. the thought of that young galilean, sensitive, compassionate, inexperienced, speaking to his first hearer, filled peter with a strange trembling tenderness. he looked about the familiar street of hooker's bend, the old trees over the pavement, the shabby village houses, and it all held a strangeness when thus juxtaposed to the thought of nazareth nineteen hundred years before. the mulatto started down the street with his footsteps quickened by a sense of spiritual adventure. chapter xvi on the corner, against the blank south wall of hobbett's store, peter siner saw the usual crowd of negroes warming themselves in the soft sunshine. they were slapping one another, scuffling, making feints with knives or stones, all to an accompaniment of bragging, profanity, and loud laughter. their behavior was precisely that of adolescent white boys of fifteen or sixteen years of age. jim pink staggs was furnishing much amusement with an impromptu sleightof-hand exhibition. the black audience clustered around jim pink in his pinstripe trousers and blue-serge coat. they exhibited not the least curiosity as to the mechanics of the tricks, but asked for more and still more, with the naïve delight of children in the mysterious. peter siner walked down the street with his messianic impulse strong upon him. he was in that stage of feeling toward his people where a man's emotions take the color of religion. now, as he approached the crowd of negroes, he wondered what he could say, how he could transfer to them the ideas and the emotion that lifted up his own heart. as he drew nearer, his concern mounted to anxiety. indeed, what could he say? how could he present so grave a message? he was right among them now. one of the negroes jostled him by striking around his body at another negro. peter stopped. his heart beat, and he had a queer sensation of being operated by some power outside himself. next moment he heard himself saying in fairly normal tones: "fellows, do you think we ought to be idling on the street corners like this? we ought to be at work, don't you think?" the horse-play stopped at this amazing sentiment. "whuffo, peter?" asked a voice. "because the whole object of our race nowadays is to gain the respect of other races, and more particularly our own self-respect. we haven't it now. the only way to get it is to work, work, work." "ef you feel lak you'd ought to go to wuck," suggested one astonished hearer, "you done got my p'mission, black boy, to hit yo' natchel gait to de fust job in sight." peter was hardly less surprised than his hearers at what he was saying. he paid no attention to the interruption. "fellows, it's the only way our colored people can get on and make the most out of life. persistent labor is the very breath of the soul, men; it--it is." here peter caught an intimation of the whole flow of energy through the universe, focusing in man and being transformed into mental and moral values. and it suddenly occurred to him that the real worth of any people was their efficiency in giving this flow of force moral and spiritual forms. that is the end of man; that is what is prefigured when a baby's hand reaches for the sun. but peter considered his audience, and his thought stammered on his tongue. the persimmon, with his protruding, half-asleep eyes, was saying: "i don' know, peter, as i 's so partic'lar 'bout makin' de mos' out'n dis worl'. you know de bible say--hit say,"--here the persimmon's voice dropped a tone lower, in unconscious imitation of negro preachers,--"laay not up yo' treasure on uth, wha moss do corrup', an' thieves break th'ugh _an'_ steal." came a general nodding and agreement of soft, blurry voices. "'at sho whut it say, black man!" "sho do!" "lawd god loves a nigger on a street corner same as he do a millionaire in a six-cylinder, peter." "sho do, black man; but he's jes about de onlies' thing on uth 'at do." "well, i don' know," came a troubled rejoinder. "thaiuh 's de debbil, ketchin' mo' niggers nowadays dan he do white men, i 'fo' gawd b'liebes." "well, dat's because dey _is_ so many mo' niggers dan dey is white folks," put in a philosopher. "whut you say 'bout dat, brudder peter?" inquired the persimmon, seriously. none of this discussion was either derision or burlesque. none of the crowd had the slightest feeling that these questions were not just as practical and important as the suggestion that they all go to work. when peter realized how their ignorant and undisciplined thoughts flowed off into absurdities, and that they were entirely unaware of it, it brought a great depression to his heart. he held up a hand with an earnestness that caught their vagrant attention. "listen!" he pleaded. "can't you see how much there is for us black folks to do, and what little we have done?" "sho is a lot to do; we admits dat," said bluegum frakes. "but whut's de use doin' hit ef we kin manage to shy roun' some o' dat wuck an' keep on libin' anyhow, specially wid wages so high?" the question stopped peter. neither his own thoughts, nor any book that he had ever read nor any lecture that he had heard ever attempted to explain the enormous creative urge which is felt by every noble mind, and which, indeed, is shared to some extent by every human creature. put to it like that, siner concocted a sort of allegory, telling of a negro who was shiftless in the summer and suffered want in the winter, and applied it to the present high wage and to the low wage that was coming; but in his heart peter knew such utilitarianism was not the true reason at all. men do not weave tapestries to warm themselves, or build temples to keep the rain away. the brown man passed on around the corner, out of the faint warmth of the sunshine and away from the empty and endless arguments which his coming had provoked among the negroes. the futile ending of his first adventure surprised peter. he walked uncertainly up the business street of the village, hardly knowing where to turn next. cold weather had driven the merchants indoors, and the thoroughfare was quite deserted except for a few hogs rooting among the refuse heaps piled in front of the stores. it was not a pleasant sight, and it repelled peter all the more because he was accustomed to the antiseptic look of a northern city. he walked up to the third door from the corner, when a buzz of voices brought him to a standstill and finally persuaded him inside. at the back end of a badly lighted store a circle of white men and boys had formed around an old-fashioned, egg-shaped stove. near by, on some meal-bags, sat two negroes, one of whom wore a broad grin, the other, a funny, sheepish look. the white men were teasing the latter negro about having gone to jail for selling a mortgaged cow. the men went about their fun-making leisurely, knowing quite well the negro could not get angry or make any retort or leave the store, all of these methods of self-defense being ruled out by custom. "you must have forgot your cow was mortgaged, bob." "no-o-o, suh; i--i--i didn't fuhgit," drawling his vowels to a prodigious length. "didn't you know you'd get into trouble?" "no-o-o, suh." "know it now, don't you?" "ya-a-s, suh." "have a good time in jail, bob?" "ya-a-s, suh. shot cra-a-aps nearly all de time tull de jailer broke hit up." "wouldn't he let you shoot any more?" "no-o-o, suh; not after he won all our money." here bob flung up his head, poked out his lips like a bugle, and broke into a grotesque, "hoo! hoo! hoo!" it was such an absurd laugh, and bob's tale had come to such an absurd denouement, that the white men roared, and shuffled their feet on the flared base of the stove. some spat in or near a box filled with sawdust, and betrayed other nervous signs of satisfaction. when a man so spat, he stopped laughing abruptly, straightened his face, and stared emptily at the rusty stove until further inquisition developed some other preposterous escapade in bob's jail career. the merchant, looking up at one of these intermissions, saw peter standing at his counter. he came out of the circle and asked peter what he wanted. the mulatto bought a package of soda and went out. the chill north wind smelled clean after the odors of the store. peter stood with his package of soda, breathing deeply, looking up and down the street, wondering what to do next. without much precision of purpose, he walked diagonally across the street, northward toward a large faded sign that read, "killibrew's grocery." a little later peter entered a big, rather clean store which smelled of spices, coffee, and a faint dash of decayed potatoes. mr. killibrew himself, a big, rotund man, with a round head of prematurely white hair, was visible in a little glass office at the end of his store. even through the glazed partition peter could see mr. killibrew smiling as he sat comfortably at his desk. indeed, the grocer's chief assets were a really expansive friendliness and a pleasant, easily provoked laughter. he was fifty-two years old, and had been in the grocery business since he was fifteen. he had never been to school at all, but had learned bookkeeping, business mathematics, salesmanship, and the wisdom of the market-place from his store, from other merchants, and from the drummers who came every week with their samples and their worldly wisdom. these drummers were, almost to a man, very sincere friends of mr. killibrew, and not infrequently they would write the grocer from the city, or send him telegrams, advising him to buy this or to unload that, according to the exigencies of the market. as a result of this was very well off indeed, and all because he was a friendly, agreeable sort of man. the grocer heard peter enter and started to come out of his office, when peter stopped him and asked if he might speak with him alone. the white-haired man with the pink, good-natured face stood looking at peter with rather a questioning but pleasant expression. "why, certainly, certainly." he turned back to the swivel-chair at his desk, seated himself, and twisted about on peter as he entered. mr. killibrew did not offer peter a seat,--that would have been an infraction of hooker's bend custom,--but he sat leaning back, evidently making up his mind to refuse peter credit, which he fancied the mulatto would ask for and yet do it pleasantly. "i was wondering, mr. killibrew," began peter feeling his way along, "i was wondering if you would mind talking over a little matter with me. it's considered a delicate subject, i believe, but i thought a frank talk would help." during the natural pauses of peter's explanation mr. killibrew kept up a genial series of nods and ejaculations. "certainly, peter. i don't see why, peter. i'm sure it will help, peter." "i'd like to talk frankly about the relations of our two races in the south, in hooker's bend." the grocer stopped his running accompaniment of affirmations and looked steadfastly at peter. presently he seemed to solve some question and broke into a pleasant laugh. "now, peter, if this is some political shenanigan, i must tell you i'm a democrat. besides that, i don't care a straw about politics. i vote, and that's all." peter put down the suspicion that he was on a political errand. "not that at all, mr. killibrew. it's a question of the white race and the black race. the particular feature i am working on is the wages paid to cooks." "i didn't know you were a cook," interjected the grocer in surprise. "i am not." mr. killibrew looked at peter, thought intensely for a few moments, and came to an unescapable conclusion. "you don't mean you've formed a cook's union here in hooker's bend, peter!" he cried, immensely amazed. "not at all. it's this," clarified peter. "it may seem trivial, but it illustrates the principle i'm trying to get at. doesn't your cook carry away cold food?" it required perhaps four seconds for the merchant to stop his speculations on what peter had come for and adjust his mind to the question. "why, yes, i suppose so," he agreed, very much at sea. "i--i never caught up with her." he laughed a pleasant, puzzled laugh. "of course she doesn't come around and show me what she's making off with. why?" "well, it's this. wouldn't you prefer to give your cook a certain cash payment instead of having her taking uncertain amounts of your foodstuffs and wearing apparel?" the merchant leaned forward in his chair. "did old becky davis send you to me with any such proposition as that, peter?" "no, not at all. but, mr. killibrew, wouldn't you like better and more trustworthy servants as cooks, as farm-hands, chauffeurs, stable-boys? you see, you and your children and your children's children are going to have to depend on negro labor, as far as we can see, to the end of time." "we-e-ell, yes," admitted mr. killibrew, who was not accustomed to considering the end of time. "wouldn't it be better to have honest, self-respecting help than dishonest help?" "certainly." "then let's think about cooks. how can one hope to rear an honest, selfrespecting citizenry as long as the mothers of the race are compelled to resort to thievery to patch out an insufficient wage?" "why, i don't suppose niggers ever will be honest," admitted the grocer, very frankly. "you naturally don't trust a nigger. if you credit one for a dime, the next time he has any money he'll go trade somewhere else." the grocer broke into his contagious laugh. "do you know how i've built up my business here, peter? by never trusting a nigger." mr. killibrew continued his pleased chuckle. "yes, i get the whole cash trade of the niggers in hooker's bend by never cheating one and never trusting one." the grocer leaned back in his squeaking chair and looked out through the glass partition, over the brightly colored packages that lined his shelves from floor to ceiling. all that prosperity had come about through a policy of honesty and distrust. it was something to be proud of. "now, let me see," he proceeded, recurring pleasantly to what he recalled of peter's original proposition: "aunt becky sent you here to tell me if i'd raise her pay, she'd stop stealin' and--and raise some honest children." mr. killibrew threw back his head broke into loud, jelly-like laughter. "why, don't you know, peter, she's an old liar. if i gave her a hundred a week, she'd steal. and children! why, the old humbug! she's too old; she's had her crop. and, besides all that, i don't mind what the old woman takes. it isn't much. she's a good old darky, faithful as a dog." he arose from his swivel-chair briskly and floated peter out before him. "tell her, if she wants a raise," he concluded heartily, "and can't pinch enough out of my kitchen and the two dollars i pay her--tell her to come to me, straight out, and i'll give her more, and she can pinch more." mr. killibrew moved down the aisle of his store between fragrant barrels and boxes, laughing mellowly at old aunt becky's ruse, as he saw it. as he turned peter out, he invited him to come again when he needed anything in the grocery line. and he was so pleasant, hearty, and sincere in his friendliness toward both peter and old aunt becky that peter, even amid the complete sidetracking and derailing of his mission, decided that it ever he did have occasion to purchase any groceries, he would do his trading at this market ruled by an absolute honesty with, and a complete distrust in, his race. at the conclusion of the killibrew interview peter instinctively felt that he had just about touched the norm of hooker's bend. the village might contain men who would dive a little deeper into the race question with peter; assuredly, there would be hundreds who would not dive so deep. mr. killibrew's attitude on the race question turned on how to hold the negro patronage of the village to his grocery. it was not an abstract question at all, but a concrete fact, which he had worked out to his own satisfaction. with mr. killibrew, with all hooker's bend, there was no negro question. chapter xvii when peter siner started on his indefinite errand among the village stores he believed it would require much tact and diplomacy to discuss the race question without offense. to his surprise, no precaution was necessary. everybody agreed at once that the south would be benefited by a more trustworthy labor, that if the negroes were trustworthy they could be paid more; but nobody agreed that if negroes were paid more they would become more trustworthy. the prevailing dictum was, a nigger's a nigger. as peter came out into the shabby little street of hooker's bend discouragement settled upon him. he felt as if he had come squarely against some blank stone wall that no amount of talking could budge. the black man would have to change his psychology or remain where he was, a creature of poverty, hovels, and dirt; but amid such surroundings he could not change his psychology. the point of these unhappy conclusions somehow turned against cissie dildine. the mulatto became aware that his whole crusade had been undertaken in behalf of the octoroon. everything the merchants said against negroes became accusations against cissie in a sharp personal way. "a nigger is a nigger"; "a thief is a thief"; "she wouldn't quit stealing if i paid her a hundred a week." every stroke had fallen squarely on cissie's shoulders. a nigger, a thief; and she would never be otherwise. it was all so hopeless, so unchangeable, that peter walked down the bleak street unutterably depressed there was nothing he could do. the situation was static. it seemed best that he should go away north and save his own skin. it was impossible to take cissie with him. perhaps in time he would come to forget her, and in so doing he would forget the pauperism and pettinesses of all the black folk of the south. because through cissie peter saw the whole negro race. she was flexuous and passionate, kindly and loving, childish and naïvely wise; on occasion she could falsify and steal, and in the depth of her peter sensed a profound capacity for fury and violence. for all her precise english, she was untamed, perhaps untamable. cissie was a far cry from the sort of woman peter imagined he wanted for a mate; yet he knew that if he stayed on in hooker's bend, seeing her, desiring her, with her luxury mocking the loneliness of the old renfrew manor, presently he would marry her. already he had had his little irrational moments when it seemed to him that cissie herself was quite fine and worthy and that her speculations were something foreign and did not pertain to her at all. he would better go north. it would be safer up there. no doubt he could find another colored girl in the north. the thought of fondling any other woman filled peter with a sudden, sharp repulsion. however, peter was wise. he knew he would get over that in time. with this plan in mind, peter set out down the street, intending to cross the big hill at the church, walk over to his mother's shack, and pack his few belongings preparatory to going away. it was not a heroic retreat. the conversation which he had had with his college friend farquhar recurred to peter. farquhar had tried to persuade peter to remain north and take a position in a system of garages out of chicago. "you can do nothing in the south, siner," assured farquhar; "your countrymen must stand on their own feet, just as you are doing." peter had argued the vast majority of the negroes had no chance, but farquhar pressed the point that peter himself disproved his own statement. at the time peter felt there was an clench in the illinoisan's logic, but he was not skilful enough to analyze it. now the mulatto began to see that farquhar was right. the negro question was a matter of individual initiative. critics forgot that a race was composed of individual men. peter had an uneasy sense that this was exceedingly thin logic, a mere smoke screen behind which he meant to retreat back up north. he walked on down the poor village street, turning it over and over in his mind, affirming it positively to himself, after the manner of uneasy consciences. an unusual stir among the negroes on hobbett's corner caught peter's attention and broke into his chain of thought. half a dozen negroes stood on the corner, staring down toward the white church. a black boy suddenly started running across the street, and disappeared among the stores on the other side. peter caught glimpses of him among the wretched alleyways and vacant lots that lie east of main street. the boy was still running toward niggertown. by this time peter was just opposite the watchers on the corner. he lifted his voice and asked them the matter, but at the moment they began an excited talking, and no one heard him. jim pink staggs jerked off his fur cap, made a gesture, contorted his long, black face into a caricature of fright, and came loping across the street, looking back over his shoulder, mimicking a run for life his mummery set his audience howling. the buffoon would have collided with peter, but the mulatto caught jim pink by the arm and shoulder, brought him to a halt, and at the same time helped him keep his feet. to peter's inquiry what was the matter, the black fellow whirled and blared out loudly, for the sake of his audience: "'fo' gawd, nigger, i sho thought mr. bobbs had me!" and he writhed his face into an idiotic grimace. the audience reeled about in their mirth. because with negroes, as with white persons, two thirds of humor is in the reputation, and jim pink was of prodigious repute. peter walked along with him patiently, because he knew that until they were out of ear-shot of the crowd there was no way of getting a sensible answer out of jim pink. "where are you going?" he asked presently. "thought i'd step over to niggertown." jim pink's humorous air was still upon him. "what's doing over there? what were the boys raising such a hullabaloo about?" "such me." "why did that boy go running across like that?" jim pink rolled his eyes on peter with a peculiar look. "reckon he mus' 'a' wanted to git on t'other side o' town." peter flattered the punchinello by smiling a little. "come, jim pink, what do you know?" he asked. the magician poked out his huge lips. "mr. bobbs turn acrost by de church, over de big hill. da' 's always a ba-ad sign." peter's brief interest in the matter flickered out. another arrest for some niggerish peccadillo. the history of niggertown was one long series of petty offenses, petty raids, and petty punishments. peter would be glad to get well away from such a place. "think i'll go north, jim pink," remarked peter, chiefly to keep up a friendly conversation with his companion. "whut-chu goin' to do up thaiuh?" "take a position in a system of garages." "a position is a job wid a white color on it," defined the minstrel. "whut you goin' to do wid cissie?" peter looked around at the foolish face. "with cissie?--cissie dildine?" "uh huh." "why, what makes you think i'm going to do anything with cissie?" "m-m, visitin' roun'." the fool flung his face into a grimace, and dropped it as one might shake out a sack. peter watched the contortion uneasily. "what do you mean--visiting around?" "diff'nt folks go visitin' roun'; some goes up an' some goes down." apparently jim pink had merely quoted a few words from a poem he knew. he stared at the green-black depth of the glade, which set in about half-way up the hill they were climbing. "ef this weather don' ever break," he observed sagely, "we sho am in fuh a dry spell." peter did not pursue the topic of the weather. he climbed the hill in silence, wondering just what the buffoon meant. he suspected he was hinting at cissie's visit to his room. however, he did not dare ask any questions or press the point in any manner, lest he commit himself. the minstrel had succeeded in making peter's walk very uncomfortable, as somehow he always did. peter went on thinking about the matter. if jim pink knew of cissie's visit, all niggertown knew it. no woman's reputation, nobody's shame or misery or even life, would stand between jim pink and what he considered a joke. the buffoon was the crudest thing in this world--a man who thought himself a wit. peter could imagine all the endless tweaks to cissie's pride niggertown would give the octoroon. she had asked peter to marry her and had been refused. she had humbled herself for naught. that was the very tar of shame. peter knew that in the moral categories of niggertown cissie would suffer more from such a rebuff than if she had lied or committed theft and adultery every day in the calendar. she had been refused marriage. all the folk-ways of niggertown were utterly topsyturvy. it was a crazy-house filled with the most grotesque moral measures. it seemed to peter as he entered the cedar-glade that he had lost all sympathy with this people from which he had sprung. he looked upon them as strange, incomprehensible beings, just as a man will forget his own childhood and look upon children as strange, incomprehensible little creatures. in the midst of his thoughts he heard himself saying to jim pink: "i suppose it is as dusty as ever." "dustier 'an ever," assured jim pink. apparently their conversation had recurred to the weather, after all. a chill silence encompassed the glade. the path the negroes followed wound this way and that among reddish boulders, between screens of intergrown cedars, and over a bronze mat of needles. their steps were noiseless. the odor of the cedars and the temple-like stillness brought to peter's mind the night of his mother's death. it seemed to him a long time since he had come running through the glade after a doctor, and yet, by a queer distortion of his sense of time, his mother's death and burial bulked in his past as if it had occurred yesterday. there was no sound in the glade to disturb peter's thoughts except a murmur of human voices from some of the innumerable privacies of the place, and the occasional chirp of a waxwing busy over clusters of cedar-balls. it had been five weeks and a day since caroline died. five weeks and a day; his mother's death drifting away into the mystery and oblivion of the past. likewise, twenty-five years of his own life completed and gone. a procession of sad, wistful thoughts trailed through peter's brain: his mother, and ida may, and now cissie. it seemed to peter that all any woman had ever brought him was wistfulness and sadness. his mother had been jealous, and instead of the great happiness he had expected, his home life with her had turned out a series of small perplexities and pains. before that was ida may, and now here was her younger sister. peter wondered if any man ever reached the peace and happiness foreshadowed in his dream of a woman. * * * * * a voice calling his name checked peter's stride mechanically, and caused him to look about with the slight bewilderment of a man aroused from a reverie. at the first sound, however, jim pink became suddenly alert. he took three strides ahead of peter, and as he went he whispered over his shoulder: "beat it, nigger! beat it!" the mulatto recognized one of jim pink's endless stupid attempts at comedy. it would be precisely jim pink's idea of a jest to give peter a little start. as the mulatto stood looking about among the cedars for the person who had called his name, it amazed him that jim pink could be so utterly insane; that he performed some buffoonery instantly, by reflex action as it were, upon the slightest provocation. it was almost a mania with jim pink; it verged on the pathological. the clown, however, was pressing his joke. he was pretending great fear, and was shouting out in his loose minstrel voice: "hey, don' shoot down dis way, black man, tull i makes my exit!" and a voice, rich with contempt, called back: "you needn't be skeered, you fool rabbit of a nigger!" peter turned with a qualm. quite close to him, and in another direction from which he had been looking, stood tump pack. the ex-soldier looked the worse for wear after his jail sentence. his uniform was frayed, and over his face lay a grayish cast that marks negroes in bad condition. at his side, attached by a belt and an elaborate shoulder holster, hung a big army revolver, while on the greasy lapel of his coat was pinned his military medal for exceptional bravery on the field of battle. "been lookin' fuh you fuh some time, peter," he stated grimly. peter considered the formidable figure with a queer sensation. he tried to take tump's appearance casually; he tried to maintain an air of ordinariness. "didn't know you were back." "yeah, i's back." "have you--been looking for me?" "yeah." "didn't you know where i was staying?" "co'se i did; up 'mong de white folks. you know dey don' 'low no shootin' an' killin' 'mong de white folks." he drew his pistol from the holster with the address of an expert marksman. [illustration: "naw yuh don't," he warned sharply. "you turn roun' an' march on to niggertown"] peter stood, with a quickening pulse, studying his assailant. the glade, the air, the sunshine, seemed suddenly drawn to a tension, likely to, break into violent commotion. his abrupt danger brought peter to a feeling of lightness and power. a quiver went along his spine. his nostrils widened unconsciously as he calculated a leap and a blow at tump's gun. the soldier took a step backward, at the same time bringing the barrel to a ready. "naw you don't," he warned sharply. "you turn roun' an' march on to niggertown." "what for?" peter still tried to be casual, but his voice held new overtones. "because, nigger, i means to drap you right on de main street o' niggertown, 'fo' all dem niggers whut's been a-raggin' me 'bout you an' cissie. i's gwine show dem fool niggers i don' take no fumi-diddles off'n nobody." "tump," gasped jim pink, in a husky voice, "you oughtn't shoot peter; he mammy jes daid." "'en she won' worry none. turn roun', peter, an' when i says, 'march,' you march." he leveled his pistol. "'tention! rat about face! march!" peter turned and moved off down the noiseless path, walking with the stiff gait of a man who expects a terrific blow from behind at any instant. the mulatto walked twenty or more paces amid a confusion of selfprotective impulses. he thought of whirling on tump even at this late date. he thought of darting behind a cedar, but he knew the man behind him was an expert shot, and something fundamental in the brown man forbade his getting himself killed while running away. it was too undignified a death. presently he surprised himself by calling over his shoulder, as a sort of complaint: "how came you with the pistol, tump? thought it was against the law to carry one." "you kin ca'y 'em ef you don' keep 'em hid," explained the ex-soldier in a wooden voice. "mr. bobbs tol' me dat when he guv my gun back." the irony of the thing caught peter, for the authorities to arrest tump not because he was trying to kill peter, but because he went about his first attempt in an illegal manner. for the first time in his life the mulatto felt that contempt for a white man's technicalities that flavors every negro's thoughts. here for thirty days his life had been saved by a technical law of the white man; at the end of the thirty days, by another technical law, tump was set at liberty and allowed to carry a weapon, in a certain way, to murder him. it was grotesque; it was absurd. it filled peter with a sudden violent questioning of the whole white régime. his thoughts danced along in peculiar excitement. at the turn of the hill the trio came in sight of the squalid semicircle of niggertown. here and there from a tumbledown chimney a feather of pale wood smoke lifted into the chill sunshine. the sight of the houses brought peter a sharp realization that his life would end in the curving street beneath him. a shock at the incomprehensible brevity of his life rushed over him. just to that street, just as far as the curve, and his legs were swinging along, carrying him forward at an even gait. all at once he began talking, arguing. he tried to speak at an ordinary tempo, but his words kept edging on faster and faster: "tump, i'm not going to marry cissie dildine." "i knows you ain't, peter." "i mean, if you let me alone, i didn't mean to." "i ain't goin' to let you alone." "tump, we had already decided not to marry." after a short pause tump said in a slightly different tone: "'pears lak you don' haf to ma'y her--comin' to yo' room." a queer sinking came over the mulatto. "listen, tump, i--we--in my room --we simply talked, that's all. she came to tell me she was goin away. i--i didn't harm her, tump." peter swallowed. he despaired of being believed. but his defense only infuriated the soldier. he suddenly broke into violent profanity. "hot damn you! shut yo black mouf! whut i keer whut-chu done! you weaned her away fum me. she won't speak to me! she won't look at me!" a sudden insanity of rage seized tump. he poured on his victim every oath and obscenity he had raked out of the whole army. strangely enough, the gunman's outbreak brought a kind of relief to peter siner. it exonerated him. he was not suspected of wronging cissie; or, rather, whether he had or had not wronged her made no difference to tump. peter's crime consisted in mere being, in existing where cissie could see him and desire him rather than tump. why it calmed peter to know that tump held no dishonorable charge against him the mulatto himself could not have told. tump's violence showed peter the certainty of his own death, and somehow it washed away the hope and the thought of escape. half-way down the hill they entered the edge of niggertown. the smell of sties and stables came to them. peter's thoughts moved here and there, like the eyes of a little child glancing about as it is forced to leave a pleasure-ground. peter knew that jim pink, who now made a sorry figure in their rear, would one day give a buffoon's mimicry of this his walk to death. he thought of tump, who would have to serve a year or two in the nashville penitentiary, for the murder of negroes is seldom severely punished. he thought of cissie. he was being murdered because cissie desired him. and then peter remembered the single bit of wisdom that his whole life had taught him. it was this: no people can become civilized until the woman has the power of choice among the males that sue for her hand. the history of the white race shows the gradual increase of the woman's power of choice. among the yellow races, where this power is curtailed, civilization is curtailed. it was this principle that exalted chivalry. upon it the white man has reared all his social fabric. so deeply ingrained is it that almost every novel written by white men revolves about some woman's choice of her mate being thwarted by power or pride or wealth, but in every instance the rightness of the woman's choice is finally justified. the burden of every song is love, true love, enduring love, a woman's true and enduring love. and in his moment of clairvoyance peter saw that these songs and stories were profoundly true. against a woman's selectiveness no other social force may count. that was why his own race was weak and hopeless and helpless. the males of his people were devoid of any such sentiment or self-repression. they were men of the jungle, creatures of tusk and claw and loin. this very act of violence against his person condemned his whole race. these thoughts brought the mulatto an unspeakable sadness, not only for his own particular death, but that this idea, this great redeeming truth, which burned so brightly in his brain, would in another moment flicker out, unrevealed, and be no more. chapter xviii the coughing and rattling of an old motor-car as it rounded the niggertown curve delayed tump pack's act of violence. instinctively, the three men waited for the machine to pass before peter walked out into the road. next moment it appeared around the turn, moving slowly through the dust and spreading a veritable fog behind it. all three negroes recognized the first glimpse of the hood and top, for there are only three or four cars in hooker's bend, and these are as well known as the faces of their owners. this particular motor belonged to constable bobbs, and the next moment the trio saw the ponderous body of the officer at the wheel, and by his side a woman. as the machine clacked toward them peter felt a certain surprise to see that it was cissie dildine. the constable in the car scrutinized the black men, by the roadside in a very peculiar way. as he came near, he leaned across cissie and almost eclipsed the girl. he eyed the trio with his perpetual menace of a grin on his broad red face. his right hand, lying across cissie's lap, held a revolver. when closest he shouted above the clangor of his engine: "now, none o' that, boys! none o' that! you'll prob'ly hit the gal if you shoot, an' i'll pick you off lak three black skunks." he brandished his revolver at them, but the gesture was barely seen, and instantly concealed by the cloud; of dust following the motor. next moment it enveloped the negroes and hid them even from one another. it was only after peter was lost in the dust-cloud that the mulatto really divined what was meant by cissie's strange appearance with the constable, her chalky face, her frightened brown eyes. the significance of the scene grew in his mind. he stood with eyes screwed to slits staring into the apricot-colored dust in the direction of the vanishing noise. presently tump pack's form outlined itself in the yellow obscurity, groping toward peter. he still held his pistol, but it swung at his side. he called peter's name in the strained voice of a man struggling not to cough: "peter--is mr. bobbs done--'rested cissie?" peter could hardly talk himself. "don't know. looks like it." the two negroes stared at each other through the dust. "fuh gawd's sake! cissie 'rested!" tump began to cough. then he wheezed: "mine an' yo' little deal's off, peter. you gotta he'p git her out." here he fell into a violent fit of coughing, and started groping his way to the edge of the dust-cloud. in the rush of the moment the swift change in peter's situation appeared only natural. he followed tump, so distressed by the dust and disturbed over cissie that he hardly thought of his peculiar position. the dust pinched the upper part of his throat, stung his nose. tears trickled from his eyes, and he pressed his finger against his upper lip, trying not to sneeze. he was still struggling against the sneeze when tump recovered his speech. "wh-whut you reckon she done, peter? she don' shoot craps, nor bootlaig, nor--" he fell to coughing. peter got out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. "let's go--to the dildine house," he said. the two moved hurriedly through the thinning cloud, and presently came to breathable air, where they could see the houses around them. "i know she done somp'n; i know she done somp'n," chanted tump, with the melancholy cadence of his race. he shook his dusty head. "you ain't never been in jail, is you, black man?" peter said he had not. "lawd! it ain't no place fuh a woman," declared tump. "you dunno nothin' 'bout it, black man. it sho ain't no place fuh a woman." a notion of an iron cage floated before peter's mind. the two negroes trudged on through the crescent side by side, their steps raising a little trail of dust in the air behind them. their faces and clothes were of a uniform dust color. streaks of mud marked the runnels of their tears down their cheeks. the shrubbery and weeds that grew alongside the negro thoroughfare were quite dead. even the little avenue of dwarf box was withered that led from the gate to the door of the dildine home. the two colored men walked up the little path to the door, knocked, and waited on the steps for the little skirmish of observation from behind the blinds. none came. the worst had befallen the house; there was nothing to guard. the door opened as soon as an inmate could reach it, and vannie dildine stood before them. the quadroon's eyes were red, and her face had the moist, slightly swollen appearance that comes of protracted weeping. she looked so frail and miserable that peter instinctively stepped inside and took her arm to assist her in the mere physical effort of standing. "what is the matter, mrs. dildine?" he asked in a shocked tone. "what's happened to cissie?" vannie began weeping again with a faint gasping and a racking of her flat chest. "it's--it's--o-o-oh, peter!" she put an arm about him and began weeping against him. he soothed her, patted her shoulder, at the same time staring at the side of her head, wondering what could have dealt her this blow. presently she steadied herself and began explaining in feeble little phrases, sandwiched between sobs and gasps: "she--tuk a brooch--kep'--kep' layin' it roun' in--h-her way, th-that young sam arkwright did,--a-an' finally she--she tuk hit. n-nen, when he seen he h-had her, he said sh-sh-she 'd haf to d-do wh-whut he said, or he'd sen' her to-to ja-a-il!" vannie sobbed drearily for a few moments on peter's breast. "sh-she did fuh a while: 'n 'en sh-she broke off wid h-him, anyhow, an'--an' he swo' out a wa'nt an sont her to jail!" the mother sobbed without comfort, and finally added: "sh-she in a delicate fix now, an' 'at jail goin' to be a gloomy place fuh cissie." the three negroes stood motionless in the dusty hallway, motionless save for the racking of vannie's sobs. tump pack stirred himself. "well, we gotta git her out." his words trailed off. he stood wrinkling his half-inch of brow. "i wonder would dey exchange pris'ners; wonder ef i could go up an' serve out cissie's term." "oh, tump!" gasped the woman, "ef you only could!" "i'll step an' see, miss vannie. 'at sho ain't no place fuh a nice gal lak cissie." tump turned on his mission, evidently intending to walk to jonesboro and offer himself in the place of the prisoner. peter supported vannie back into the poor living-room, and placed her in the old rocking-chair before the empty hearth. there was where he had sat the evening cissie made her painful confession to him. only now did he realize the whole of what cissie was trying to confess. peter siner overtook tump pack a little way down the crescent, opposite the berry cabin. the thoroughfare was deserted, because the weather was cold and the scantily clad children were indoors. however, from every cabin came sound of laughing and romping, and now and then a youngster darted through the cold from one hut to another. it seemed to peter siner only a little while since he and ida may were skittering through wintry weather from one fire to another, with cissie, a wailing, wet-nosed little spoil-sport, trailing after them. and then, with a wheeling of the years, they were scattered everywhere. as the negroes passed the berry cabin, nan berry came out with an old shawl around her bristling spikes. she stopped the two men and drew them to her gate with a gesture. "wha you gwine?" "jonesbuh." "whut you goin' do 'bout po-o-o' cissie?" "goin' to see ef the sheriff won' take me 'stid o' cissie." "tha's right," said nan, nodding solemnly. "i hopes he will. you is mo' used to it, tump." "yeah, an' 'at jail sho ain't no place fuh a nice gal lak cissie." "sho ain't," agreed nan. peter interrupted to say he was sure the sheriff would not exchange. the hopes of his listeners fell. "weh-ul," dragged out nan, with a long face, "of co'se now it's lak dis: ef cissie goin' to stay in dat ja-ul, she's goin' to need some mo' clo'es 'cep'n whut she's got on,--specially lak she is." tump stared down the swing of the crescent. "'fo' gawd, dis sho don' seem lak hit's right to me," he said. nan let herself out at the rickety gate. "you niggers wait heah tull i runs up to miss vannie's an' git some o' cissie's clo'es fuh you to tote her." tump objected. "jail ain't no place fuh clean clo'es. she jes better serve out her term lak she is, an' wash up when she gits th'ugh." "you fool nigger!" snapped nan. "she kain't serve out her term lak she is!" "da' 's so," said tump. the three stood silent, nan and tump lost in blankness, trying to think of something to do for cissie. finally nan said: "i heah she done commit gran' larceny, an' they goin' sen' her to de pen." "whut is gran' larceny?" asked tump. "it's takin' mo' at one time an' de white folks 'speck you to take," defined the woman. "well, i'll go git her clo'es." she hurried off up the crescent. peter and tump waited in the berry cabin for nan's return. outside, the berry cabin was the usual clapboard-roofed, weather-stained structure; inside, it was dark, windowless, and strong with the odor of black folk. some children were playing around the hearth, roasting chestnuts. their elders sat in a circle of decrepit chairs. it was so dark that when peter first entered he could not make out the little group, but he soon recognized their voices: parson ranson, wince washington, jerry dillihay, and all of the berry family. they were talking of cissie, of course. they hoped cissie wouldn't really be sent to the penitentiary, that the white folks would let her out in time for her to have her child at home. parson ranson thought it would be bad luck for a child to be born in jail. wince washington, who had been in jail a number of times, suggested that they bail cissie out by signing their names to a paper. he had been set free by this means once or twice. sally, nan's little sister, observed tartly that if cissie hadn't acted so, she wouldn't have been in jail. "don' speak lak dat uv dem as is in trouble, sally," reproved old parson ranson, solemnly; "anybody can say 'ef.'" "sho am de troof," agreed jerry dillihay. "sho am, black man." the conversation drifted into the endless moralizing of their race, but it held no criticism or condemnation of cissie. from the tone of the negroes one would have thought some impersonal disaster had overtaken her. every one was planning how to help cissie, how to make her present state more endurable. they were the black folk, the unfortunate of the earth, and the pride of righteousness is only to the well placed and the untempted. presently nan came back with a bundle of cissie's clothes. tump took the bundle of dainty lingerie, the intimate garments of the woman he loved, and set forth on his quixotic errand. he tied it to his shoulder-holster and set out. peter went a little of the way with him. it was almost dusk when they started. the chill of approaching night stung the men's faces. as they walked past the footpath that led over the big hill, three pistol-shots from the glade announced that the boot-leggers had opened business for the night. tump paused and shivered. he said it was a cold night. he thought he would like to get a kick of "white mule" to put a little heart in him. it was a long walk to jonesboro. he hesitated a moment, then turned off the road around the crescent for the path through the glade. a thought to dissuade tump from drinking the fiery "singlings" of the moonshiners crossed peters mind, but he put it aside. tump was a habitué of the glade. all the physiological arguments upon which peter could base an argument were far beyond the ex-soldier's comprehension. so tump turned off through the dark trees. peter watched him until all he could see was the white blur of cissie's underwear swinging against his holster. after tump's disappearance, peter stood for several minutes thinking. his brief crusade into niggertown had ended in a situation far outside of his volition. that morning he had started out with some vague idea of taking niggertown in his hands and molding it in accordance with his white ideas; but niggertown had taken peter into its hands, had threatened his life, had administered to him profound mental and moral shocks, and now had dropped him, like some bit of waste, with his face set over the big hill for white town. as peter stood there it seemed to him there was something symbolic in his attitude. he was no longer of the black world; he was of the white. he did not understand his people; they eluded him. he belonged to the white world; not to the village across the hill, but to the north. nothing now prevented him from going north and taking the position with farquhar. cissie dildine was impossible for him now. niggertown was immovable, at least for him. he was no washington to lead his people to a loftier plane. in fact, peter began to suspect that he was no leader at all. he saw now that his initial success with the sons and daughters of benevolence had been effected merely by the aura of his college training. after his first misstep he had never rehabilitated himself. he perhaps had a dash of the artistic in him, and the power to mold ideas often confuses itself subjectively with the power to mold human beings. in reality he did not even understand the people he assumed to mold. a suspicion came to him that under the given conditions their ways were more rational than his own. as for cissie dildine, his duty by the girl, his queer protective passion for her--all that was surely past now. after her lapse from all decency there was no reason why he should spend another thought on her. he would go north to chicago. the last of the twilight was fading in swift, visible gradations of light. the cedars, the cabins, and the hill faded in pulse-beats of darkness. above the big hill the last ember of day smoldered against a green-blue infinity. here and there a star pricked the dome with a wintry brilliance. then, somehow, the thought of cissie looking out on that chilly sky through iron bars tightened peter's throat. he caught himself up sharply for his emotion. he began a vague defense of the white man's laws on grounds as cold and impersonal as the winter evening. laws, customs, and conventions were for the strengthening of men, to seed the select, to winnow the weak. it was white logic, applied firmly, as by a white man. but somehow the stars multiplied and kept cissie's image before peter--a cold, frightened girl, harassed with coming motherhood, peering at those chill, distant lights out of the blackness of a jail. the mulatto decided to spend the night in his mother's cabin. he would do his packing, and be ready for the down-river boat in the morning. he found his way to his own gate in the darkness. he lifted it around, entered, and walked to his door. when he tried to open it, he found some one had bored holes through the shutter and the jamb and had wired it shut. peter struck a match to see just what had been done. the flame displayed a small sheet tacked on the door. he spent two matches investigating it. it was a notice of levy, posted by the constable in an action of debt brought against the estate of caroline siner by henry hooker. the owner of the estate and the public in general were warned against removing anything whatsoever from the premises under penalty exacted by the law governing such offenses. then peter untwisted the wire and entered. peter searched about and found the tiny brass night-lamp which his mother always had used. the larger glass-bowled lamp was gone. the interior of the cabin was clammy from cold and foul from long lack of airing. in the corner his mother's old four-poster loomed in the shadows, but he could see some of its covers had been taken. he passed into the kitchen with a notion of building a fire and eating a bite, but everything edible had been abstracted. even one of the lids of the old step-stove was gone. most of the pans and kettles had disappeared, but the pretty old dutch sugar-bowl remained on a bare paper-covered shelf. negro-like, whatever person or persons who had ransacked peter's home considered the sugar-bowl too fine to take. or they may have thought that peter would want this bowl for a keepsake, and with that queer compassion that permeates a negro's worst moments they allowed it to remain. and peter knew if he raised an outcry about his losses, much of the property would be surreptitiously restored, or perhaps his neighbors would bring back his things and say they had found them. they would help him as best they could, just as they of the crescent would help cissie as best they could, and would receive her back as one of them when she and her baby were finally released from jail. they were a queer people. they were a people who would never get on well and do well. they lacked the steel-like edge that the white man achieves. by virtue of his hardness, a white man makes his very laws and virtues instruments to crush and mulct his fellow-man; but negroes are so softened by untoward streaks of sympathy that they lose the very uses of their crimes. the depression of the whole day settled upon peter with the deepening night. he held his poor light above his head and picked his way to his own room. after the magnificence of the renfrew manor, it had contracted to a grimy little box lined with yellowed papers. his books were still intact, but henry hooker would get them as part payment on the dillihay place, which henry owned. on his little table still lay the pile of old examination papers, lists of incoherent questions which somebody somewhere imagined formed a test of human ability to meet and answer the mysterious searchings of life. peter was familiar with the books; many of the questions he had learned by rote, but the night and the crescent, and the thought of a pregnant girl caged in the blackness of a jail filled his soul with a great melancholy query to which he could find no answer. chapter xix two voices talking, interrupting each other with ejaculations, after the fashion of negroes under excitement, aroused peter siner from his sleep. he caught the words: "he did! tump did! the jailer did! 'fo' god! black man, whut's cissie doin'?" overtones of shock, even of horror, in the two voices brought peter wide awake the moment he opened his eyes. he sat up suddenly in his bed, remained perfectly still, listening with his mouth open. the voices, however, were passing. the words became indistinct, then relapsed into that bubbling monotone of human voices at a distance, and presently ceased. these fragmentary phrases, however, feathered with consternation, filled peter with vague premonitions. he whirled his legs out of bed and began drawing on his clothes. when he was up and into the crescent, however, nobody was in sight. he stood breathing the chill, damp air, blinking his eyes. lack of his cold bath made him feel chilly and lethargic. he wriggled his shoulders and considered going back, after all, and having his splash. just then he saw the persimmon coming around the crescent. peter called to the roustabout and asked about tump pack. the persimmon looked at peter with his half-asleep, protruding eyeballs. "don' you know 'bout tump pack already, mister siner?" "no." peter was astonished at the formality of the "mr. siner." "then is you 'spectin' somp'n 'bout him?" "why, no, but i was asleep in there a moment ago, and somebody came along talking about tump and cissie. they--they aren't married, are they?" "oh, no-o, no-o-o, no-o-o-o-o." the persimmon waggled his bullet head slowly from side to side. "i heared tump got into a lil trouble wid de jailer las' night." "serious?" "i dunno." the persimmon closed one of his protruding yellow eyes. "owin' to whut you call se'ius; maybe whut i call se'ius wouldn't be se'ius to you at all; 'n 'en maybe whut you call se'ius would be ve'y insince'ius to tump." the roustabout's philosophy, which consisted in a monotonous recasting of a given proposition, trickled on and on in the cold wind. after a while it fizzled out to nothing at all, and the persimmon asked in a queer manner: "did you give tump some women's clo'es, peter?" it was such an odd question that at first peter was at loss; then he recalled nan berry's despatching cissie some underwear. he explained this to the persimmon, and tacked on a curious, "why?" "oh, nothin'; nothin' 'tall. ever'body say you a mighty long-haided nigger. jim pink he tell us 'bout tump pack marchin' you 'roun' wid a gun. i sho don' want you ever git mad at me, mister siner. man wid a gun an' you turn yo' long haid on him an' blow him away wid a wad o' women's clo'es. i sho don' want you ever cross yo' fingers at me, mister siner." peter stared at the grotesque, bullet-headed roustabout. "persimmon," he said uneasily, "what in the world are you talking about?" the persimmon smiled a sickly, white-toothed smile. "jim pink say yo' aidjucation is a flivver. i say, 'jim pink, no nigger don' go off an' study fo' yeahs in college whut 'n he comes back an' kin throw some kin' uv a hoodoo over us fool niggers whut ain't got no brains. now, tump wid a gun, an' you wid jes ordina'y women's clo'es! 'fo' gawd, aidjucation is a great thing; sho is a great thing." the persimmon gave peter an apprehensive wink and moved on. there was no use trying to extract information from the persimmon unless he was minded to give it. his talk would merely become vaguer and vaguer. peter watched him go, then turned and attempted to throw the whole matter off his mind by assuming a certain brisk northern mood. he must pack, get ready for the down-river gasolene launch. the doings of tump pack and cissie dildine were, after all, nothing to him. he started inside, when the levy notice on the door again met his eyes. he paused, read it over once more, and decided that he must go over the hill to the planter's bank and get henry hooker's permission to remove certain small personal belongings that he wanted to take with him. the mere clear-cut decision to go invigorated peter. some of the energy that always filled him during his college days in boston seemed to come to him now from the mere thought of the north. soon he would be in the midst of it, moving briskly, talking to wideawake men to whom a slightly unusual english word would not form a stumbling-block to conversation. he set out down the crescent and across the big hill at a swinging stride. he was glad to get away. beyond the white church on the other side of the hill he heard a motor coming in on the jonesboro road. presently he saw a battered car moving around the long swing of the pike, spewing a trail of dust down the wind. its clacking became prodigious. the mulatto was just entering that indefinite stretch of thoroughfare where a country road becomes a village street when there came a wail of brakes behind him and he looked around. it was dawson bobbs's car. the fat man now slowed up not far from the mulatto and called to him. "yes, sir," said peter. dawson bobbed his fat head backward and upward in a signal for peter to approach. it held the casualness of one certain to be obeyed. although peter had done no crime, nor had even harbored a criminal intention, a trickle of apprehension went through him at bobbs's nod. he recalled jim pink's saying that it was bad luck to see the constable. he walked up to the shuddering motor and stood about three feet from the running-board. the officer bit on a sliver of toothpick that he held in his thin lips. "accident up jonesboro las' night, peter." "what was it, mr. bobbs?" "tump pack got killed." peter continued looking fixedly at mr. bobbs's broad red face. the dusty road beneath him seemed to give a little dip. he repeated the information emptily, trying to orient himself to this sudden change in his whole mental horizon. the officer was looking at peter fixedly with his chill slits of eyes. "yeah; trying to make a jail delivery." the two men continued looking at each other, one from the road, the other from the motor. the flow of peter's thoughts seemed to divide. the greater part was occupied with tump pack. peter could vision the formidable ex-soldier lying dead in jonesboro jail, with his little congressional medal on his breast. some lighter portion of his mind nickered about here and there on trivial things. he observed a little hole rusted in the running-board of the motor. he noticed that the officer's eyes were just the same chill, washed blue as the winter sky above his head. he remembered a tale that, before electrocution became a law in tennessee the county sheriff's nerve had failed him at a hanging, and the constable dawson bobbs had sprung the drop. there was something terrible about the fat man. he would do anything, absolutely anything, that came to his hands in the way of legal sewage. in the midst of these thoughts peter heard himself saying. "he--was trying to get cissie out?" "yep." "he--must have been drunk." "oh, yeah." mr. bobbs sat studying the mulatto. as he studied him he said slowly: "some of 'em say he was disguised as a woman. others say he had some women's clothes along, ready to put on. now, me and the sheriff knowed tump pack purty well, peter, and we knowed that nigger never in the worl' would 'a' thought up sich a plan by hisself." he sat looking at peter so interrogatively that the mulatto began, in a strained, earnest voice, telling the constable precisely what had happened in regard to the clothes. mr. bobbs sat listening impassively, moving his toothpick up and down from one side to the other of his small, thin-lipped mouth. at last he nodded. "well, i guess that's about the way of it. i didn't exactly understand the women's clothes business,--damn' fool disguise,--but we figgered it might pop into the head of a' edjucated nigger." he sucked his teeth, reflectively. "peter," he said at last, "seems to me, if i was you, i'd drift on away from this town. the niggers around here ain't strong for you now; some say you're a hoodoo; some say this an' some that. the white folks don't exactly like you trying to get up a cook's union. it's your right to do that if you want to, of course, but this is a mighty small city to have unions and things. the fact is, it ain't a big enough place for a nigger of yore ability, peter. i b'lieve, if i was you, i'd jes drift on some'eres else." the officer tipped up his toothpick so that it lifted his upper lip in a little v-shaped opening and exposed a strong, yellowish tooth. at the moment his machine started slowly forward. it gave him the appearance of accidentally rolling off while immersed in deep thought. * * * * * the death of tump pack moved peter with a sense of strange pathos. he always remembered tump tramping away through the night to carry cissie some underclothes and, if possible, to take her place in jail. at the foundation of tump's being lay a faithfulness and devotion to cissie that reached the heights of a dog's. and yet, he might have deserted her, he would probably have beaten her, and he most certainly would have betrayed her many, many times. it was inexplicable. now that tump was dead, the mantle of his fidelity somehow seemed to fall on peter. for some reason peter felt that he should assume tump's place as cissie dildine's husband and protector. had tump lived, peter might have gone north in peace, if not in happiness. now such a journey, without cissie, had become impossible. he had a feeling that it would not be right. as for the disgrace of marrying such a woman as cissie dildine, peter slowly gave that idea up. the "worthinesses" and "disgraces" implicit in harvard atmosphere, which peter had spent four years of his life imbibing, slowly melted away in the air of niggertown. what was honorable there, what was disgraceful there, somehow changed its color here. by virtue of this change peter felt intuitively that cissie dildine was neither disgraced by her arrest nor soiled by her physical condition. somehow she seemed just as "nice" a girl, just as "good" a girl, as ever she was before. moreover, every other darky in niggertown held these same instinctive beliefs. had it not been for that, peter would have thought it was his passion pleading for the girl, justifying itself by a grotesque morality, as passions often do. but this was not the correct solution. the sentiment was enigmatic. peter puzzled over it time and time again as he waited in hooker's bend for the outcome of cissie's trial. the octoroon's imprisonment came to an end on the third day after tump's death. sam arkwright's parents had not known of their son's legal proceedings, and mr. arkwright immediately quashed the warrant, and hushed up the unfortunate matter as best he could. young sam was suddenly sent away from home to college, as the best step in the circumstances. and so the wishes of the adolescent in the cedar-glade came queerly to pass, even if peter did withhold any grave, mature advice on the subject which he may have possessed. naturally, there was much mirth among the men of hooker's bend and much virulence among the women over the peculiar conditions under which young sam made his pilgrimage in pursuit of wisdom and morals and the right conduct of life. and life being problematic and uncertain as it is, and prone to wind about in the strangest way, no one may say with certitude that young sam did not make a promising start. certainly, over the affair the knights of the round table launched many a quip and jest, but that simply proved the fineness of their sentiments toward a certain delicate human relation which forms mankind's single awful approach to the creative and the holy. tump pack became almost a mythical figure in niggertown. jim pink staggs composed a saga relating the soldier's exploits in france, his assault on the jail to liberate cissie, and his death. in his songs--and jim pink had composed a good many--the minstrel instinctively avoided humor. he always improvised them to the sobbing of a guitar, and they were as invariably sad as the poetry of adolescents. it was called "tump pack's lament." the negroes of hooker's bend learned it from jim pink, and with them it drifted up and down the three great american rivers, and now it is sung by the roustabouts, stevedores, and underlings of our strange black american world. this song commemorating tump pack's bravery and faithfulness to his love may very well take the place of the congressional medal which, unfortunately, was lost on the night the soldier was killed. between the two, there is little doubt that the accolade of fame bestowed in the buffoon's simple melody is more vital and enduring than that accorded by special act of the congress of the united states of america. when cissie dildine returned from jail, she and her mother arranged the dildine-siner wedding as nearly according to white standards in similar circumstances as they could conceive. they agreed that it should be a simple, quiet home wedding. however, as every soul in niggertown, a number of colored friends in jonesboro, and a contingent from up-river villages meant to attend, it became necessary to hold the service in the church. the officiating minister was not parson ranson after all, but a reverend cleotus haidus, the presiding elder of that circuit of the afro-american methodist church, whose duties happened to call him to hooker's bend that day. so, notwithstanding cissie's efforts at simplicity, the wedding, after all, was resolved into an affair. once, in one of her moments of clairvoyance, cissie said to peter: "our trouble is, peter, we are trying to mix what i have learned in nashville and what you have learned in boston with what we both feel in hooker's bend. i--i'm almost ashamed to say it, but i don't really feel sad and plaintive at all, peter. i feel glad, gloriously glad. oh, my dear, dear peter!" and she flung her arms around peter's neck and held him with all her might against her ripening bosom. to cissie her theft, her jail sentence, her pregnancy, were nothing more than if she had taken a sip of water. however, with the imitativeness of her race and the histrionic ability of her sex, she appeared pensive and subdued during the elaborate double-ring ceremony performed by the reverend cleotus haidus. nobody in the packed church knew how tremendously cissie's heart was beating except peter, who held her hand. the ethical engine that peter had patiently builded in harvard almost ceased to function in this weird morality of niggertown. whether he were doing right or doing wrong, peter could not determine. he lost all his moorings. at times he felt himself walking according to the ethnological law, which is the harvard way of saying walking according to the will of god; but at other times he felt party to some unpardonable obscenity. so deeply was he disturbed that out of the dregs of his mind floated up old bits of the scriptures that he was unaware of possessing: "there is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death." and peter wondered if he were not in that way. [illustration: the bridal couple embarked for cairo] the bridal couple embarked for cairo on the _red cloud_, a packet in the dubuque, ohio, and tennessee river trade. peter and cissie were not allowed to walk up the main stairway into the passengers' cabin, but were required to pick their way along the boiler-deck, through the stench of freight, lumber, live stock and sleeping roustabouts. then they went through the heat and steam of the engine-room up a small companionway that led through the toilet, on to the rear guard of the main deck, and thence back to a little cuddy behind the main saloon called the chambermaid's cabin. the chambermaid's cabin was filled with the perpetual odor of hot soapsuds, soiled laundry, and the broader smell of steam and the boat's machinery. the little place trembled night and day, for the steamer's engines were just beneath them, and immediately behind them thundered the great stern-wheel of the packet. a single square window in the end of the chambermaid's cabin looked out on the wheel, but at all times, except when the wind was blowing from just the right quarter, this window was deluged with a veritable niagara of water. the continual shake of the cabin, the creak of the rudder-beam working to and fro, the watery thunder of the wheel, and the solemn rumble of the engines made conversation impossible until the travelers grew accustomed to the noises. still, cissie found it pleasant. she liked to sit and look out into the main saloon, with its interminable gilded scrolls extending away up the long cabin, a suave perspective. she liked to watch the white passengers dine--the white napery, the bouquets, the endless tables all filled with diners; some swathed in napkins from chin to waistband, others less completely protected. it gave cissie a certain tang of triumph to smile at the swathed ones and to think that she knew better than that. at night a negro string-band played for the white excursionists to dance, and cissie would sit, with glowing eyes, clenching peter's hand, every fiber of her asway to the music, and it seemed as if her heart would go mad. all these inhibitions, all this spreading before her of forbidden joys, did not daunt her delight. she reveled in them by propinquity. the chambermaid was a mrs. antolia higgman, a strong, full-bodied _café-au-lait_ negress. she was a very sensible woman, and during her work on the boat she had picked up a northern accent and a number of little mannerisms from the chicago and st. louis excursionists, who made ten-day round trips from dubuque to florence, alabama, and return. when mrs. higgman was not running errands for the women passengers, she was working at her perpetual laundering. at first peter was a little uneasy as to how mrs. higgman would treat cissie, but she turned out a good-hearted woman, and did everything she could to make the young wife comfortable. it soon became clear that mrs. higgman knew the whole situation, for one day she said to cissie in her odd dialect, burred with yankeeish "r's" and "ing's." "these river-r towns, mrs. siner-r, are jest like one big village, with the river-r for its main street. i know ever-r'thang that goes on, through the cabin-boys an' cooks, an'--an'--you cerrtainly ar-re a dearr, mrs. siner-r," and thereupon, quite unexpectedly, she kissed cissie. so on about the second day down the river cissie dropped her saddened manner and became frankly, freely, and riotously happy. after the fashion of village negresses, she insisted on helping mrs. higgman with her work, and, incidentally, she cultivated mrs. higgman's northern accent. when the chambermaid was out on her errands and cissie found a moment alone with peter, she would tweak his ear or pull his cheek and provoke him to kiss her. indeed, it was all the hot, shuddering little laundry-room could do to contain the gay and bubbling cissie. peter thought and thought, resignedly now, but persistently, how this strange happiness that belonged to them both could be. he was content, yet he felt he ought not to be content. he thought there must be something base in himself, yet he felt that there was not. he drank the wine of his honeymoon marveling. on the morning before the _red cloud_ entered the port of cairo mrs. higgman was out of the cabin, and peter stood at the little square window, with his arm about cissie's waist, looking out to the rear of the steamer. a strong east wind blew the spray away from the glass, and peter could see the huge wheel covered with a waterfall thundering beneath him. back of the wheel stretched a long row of even waves and troughs. every seventh or eighth wave tumbled over on itself in a swash of foam. these flashing stern waves strung far up the river. on each side of the great waterway stretched the flat shores of kentucky and ohio. here and there over the broad clay-colored water moved other boats--tow-boats, a string of government auto-barges, a snag-boat, another packet. peter gave up his question. the curves of cissie's form in his arm held a sweetness and a restfulness that her maidenhood had never promised. he felt so deeply sure of his happiness that it seemed strange to him that he could not aline his emotions and his mind. as peter stood staring up the ohio river, it occurred to him that perhaps, in some queer way, the morals of black folk were not the morals of white folk; perhaps the laws that bound one race were not the laws that bound the other. it might be that white anathemas were black blessings. peter thought along this line peacefully for several minutes. and finally he concluded that, after all, morals and conventions, right and wrong, are merely those precepts that a race have practised and found good in its evolution. morals are the training rules that keep a people fit. it might very well be that one moral régime is applicable to one race, and quite another to another. the single object of all morals is racial welfare, the racial integrity, the breeding of strong children to perpetuate the species. if the black race possess a more exuberant vitality than some other race, then the black would not be forced to practise so severe a vital economy as some less virile folk. racial morals are simply a question of having and spending within safety limits. peter knew that for years white men had held a prejudice against marrying widows. this is utterly without grounds except for one reason: the first born of a woman is the lustiest. among the still weaker aryans of india the widows burn themselves. among certain south sea islanders only the first-born may live and mate; all other children are slain. among nearly every white race marriage lines are strictly drawn, and the tendency is to have few children to a family, to conserve the precious vital impulse. so strong is this feeling of birth control that to-day nearly all american white women are ashamed of large families. this shame is the beginning of a convention; the convention may harden into a cult, a law, or a religion. and here is the amazing part of morals. morals are always directed toward one particular race, but the individual members of that race always feel that their brand of morals does and should apply to all the peoples of the earth; so one has the spectacle of nations sending out missionaries and battle-ships to teach and enforce their particular folk-ways. another queer thing is that whereas the end of morals is designed solely for the betterment of the race, and is entirely regardless of the person, to the conscience of the person morals are always translated as something that binds him personally, that will shame him or honor him personally not only for the brief span of this worldly life, but through an eternity to come. to him, his particular code, surrounded by all the sanctions of custom, law, and religion, appears earth-embracing, hell-deep, and heaven-piercing, and any human creature who follows any other code appears fatally wicked, utterly shameless, and ineluctably lost. and yet there is no such thing as absolute morals. morals are as transitory as the sheen on a blackbird's wing; they change perpetually with the necessities of the race. any people with an abounding vitality will naturally practise customs which a less vital people must shun. morals are nothing more than the engines controlling the stream of energy that propel a race on its course. all engines are not alike, nor are all races bound for the same port. here peter siner made the amazing discovery that although he had spent four years in harvard, he had come out, just as he went in, a negro. a great joy came over him. he took cissie whole-heartedly in his arms and kissed again and again the deep crimson of her lips. his brain and his heart were together at last. as he stood looking out at the window, pressing cissie to him, he wondered, when he reached chicago, if he could ever make farquhar understand. southwest *** the conquest of the old southwest: the romantic story of the early pioneers into virginia, the carolinas, tennessee, and kentucky 1740-1790 by archibald henderson, ph.d., d.c.l. some to endure and many to fail, some to conquer and many to quail toiling over the wilderness trail. new york the century co. 1920 to the historian of old west and new west frederick jackson turner with admiration and regard the country might invite a prince from his palace, merely for the pleasure of contemplating its beauty and excellence; but only add the rapturous idea of property, and what allurements can the world offer for the loss of so glorious a prospect? --richard henderson. the established authority of any government in america, and the policy of government at home, are both insufficient to restrain the americans.... they acquire no attachment to place: but wandering about seems engrafted in their nature; and it is a weakness incident to it, that they should for ever immagine the lands further off, are still better than those upon which they are already settled. --lord dunmore, to the earl of dartmouth. introduction the romantic and thrilling story of the southward and westward migration of successive waves of transplanted european peoples throughout the entire course of the eighteenth century is the history of the growth and evolution of american democracy. upon the american continent was wrought out, through almost superhuman daring, incredible hardship, and surpassing endurance, the formation of a new society. the european rudely confronted with the pitiless conditions of the wilderness soon discovered that his maintenance, indeed his existence, was conditioned upon his individual efficiency and his resourcefulness in adapting himself to his environment. the very history of the human race, from the age of primitive man to the modern era of enlightened civilization, is traversed in the old southwest throughout the course of half a century. a series of dissolving views thrown upon the screen, picturing the successive episodes in the history of a single family as it wended its way southward along the eastern valleys, resolutely repulsed the sudden attack of the indians, toiled painfully up the granite slopes of the appalachians, and pitched down into the transmontane wilderness upon the western waters, would give to the spectator a vivid conception, in miniature, of the westward movement. but certain basic elements in the grand procession, revealed to the sociologist and the economist, would perhaps escape his scrutiny. back of the individual, back of the family, even, lurk the creative and formative impulses of colonization, expansion, and government. in the recognition of these social and economic tendencies the individual merges into the group; the group into the community; the community into a new society. in this clear perspective of historic development the spectacular hero at first sight seems to diminish; but the mass, the movement, the social force which he epitomizes and interprets, gain in impressiveness and dignity. [1] as the irresistible tide of migratory peoples swept ever southward and westward, seeking room for expansion and economic independence, a series of frontiers was gradually thrust out toward the wilderness in successive waves of irregular indentation. the true leader in this westward advance, to whom less than his deserts has been accorded by the historian, is the drab and mercenary trader with the indians. the story of his enterprise and of his adventures begins with the planting of european civilization upon american soil. in the mind of the aborigines he created the passion for the fruits, both good and evil, of the white man's civilization, and he was welcomed by the indian because he also brought the means for repelling the further advance of that civilization. the trader was of incalculable service to the pioneer in first spying out the land and charting the trackless wilderness. the trail rudely marked by the buffalo became in time the indian path and the trader's "trace"; and the pioneers upon the westward march, following the line of least resistance, cut out their roads along these very routes. it is not too much to say that had it not been for the trader--brave, hardy, and adventurous however often crafty, unscrupulous, and immoral--the expansionist movement upon the american continent would have been greatly retarded. so scattered and ramified were the enterprises and expeditions of the traders with the indians that the frontier which they established was at best both shifting and unstable. following far in the wake of these advance agents of the civilization which they so often disgraced, came the cattle-herder or rancher, who took advantage of the extensive pastures and ranges along the uplands and foot-hills to raise immense herds of cattle. thus was formed what might be called a rancher's frontier, thrust out in advance of the ordinary farming settlements and serving as the first serious barrier against the indian invasion. the westward movement of population is in this respect a direct advance from the coast. years before the influx into the old southwest of the tides of settlement from the northeast, the more adventurous struck straight westward in the wake of the fur-trader, and here and there erected the cattle-ranges beyond the farming frontier of the piedmont region. the wild horses and cattle which roamed at will through the upland barrens and pea-vine pastures were herded in and driven for sale to the city markets of the east. the farming frontier of the piedmont plateau constituted the real backbone of western settlement. the pioneering farmers, with the adventurous instincts of the hunter and the explorer, plunged deeper and ever deeper into the wilderness, lured on by the prospect of free and still richer lands in the dim interior. settlements quickly sprang up in the neighborhood of military posts or rude forts established to serve as safeguards against hostile attack; and trade soon flourished between these settlements and the eastern centers, following the trails of the trader and the more beaten paths of emigration. the bolder settlers who ventured farthest to the westward were held in communication with the east through their dependence upon salt and other necessities of life; and the search for salt-springs in the virgin wilderness was an inevitable consequence of the desire of the pioneer to shake off his dependence upon the coast. the prime determinative principle of the progressive american civilization of the eighteenth century was the passion for the acquisition of land. the struggle for economic independence developed the germ of american liberty and became the differentiating principle of american character. here was a vast unappropriated region in the interior of the continent to be had for the seeking, which served as lure and inspiration to the man daring enough to risk his all in its acquisition. it was in accordance with human nature and the principles of political economy that this unknown extent of uninhabited transmontane land, widely renowned for beauty, richness, and fertility, should excite grandiose dreams in the minds of english and colonials alike. england was said to be "new land mad and everybody there has his eye fixed on this country." [2] groups of wealthy or well-to-do individuals organized themselves into land companies for the colonization and exploitation of the west. the pioneer promoter was a powerful creative force in westward expansion; and the activities of the early land companies were decisive factors in the colonization of the wilderness. whether acting under the authority of a crown grant or proceeding on their own authority, the land companies tended to give stability and permanence to settlements otherwise hazardous and insecure. the second determinative impulse of the pioneer civilization was wanderlust--the passionately inquisitive instinct of the hunter, the traveler, and the explorer. this restless class of nomadic wanderers was responsible in part for the royal proclamation of 1763, a secondary object of which, according to edmund burke, was the limitation of the colonies on the west, as "the charters of many of our old colonies give them, with few exceptions, no bounds to the westward but the south sea." the long hunters, taking their lives in their hands, fared boldly forth to a fabled hunter's paradise in the far-away wilderness, because they were driven by the irresistible desire of a ponce de leon or a de soto to find out the truth about the unknown lands beyond. but the hunter was not only thrilled with the passion of the chase and of discovery; he was intent also upon collecting the furs and skins of wild animals for lucrative barter and sale in the centers of trade. he was quick to make "tomahawk claims" and to assert "corn rights" as he spied out the rich virgin land for future location and cultivation. free land and no taxes appealed to the backwoodsman, tired of paying quit-rents to the agents of wealthy lords across the sea. thus the settler speedily followed in the hunter's wake. in his wake also went many rude and lawless characters of the border, horse thieves and criminals of different sorts, who sought to hide their delinquencies in the merciful liberality of the wilderness. for the most part, however, it was the salutary instinct of the home-builder--the man with the ax, who made a little clearing in the forest and built there a rude cabin that he bravely defended at all risks against continued assaults--which, in defiance of every restraint, irresistibly thrust westward the thin and jagged line of the frontier. the ax and the surveyor's chain, along with the rifle and the hunting-knife, constituted the armorial bearings of the pioneer. with individual as with corporation, with explorer as with landlord, land-hunger was the master impulse of the era. the various desires which stimulated and promoted westward expansion were, to be sure, often found in complete conjunction. the trader sought to exploit the indian for his own advantage, selling him whisky, trinkets, and firearms in return for rich furs and costly peltries; yet he was often a hunter himself and collected great stores of peltries as the result of his solitary and protracted hunting-expeditions. the rancher and the herder sought to exploit the natural vegetation of marsh and upland, the cane-brakes and pea-vines; yet the constantly recurring need for fresh pasturage made him a pioneer also, drove him ever nearer to the mountains, and furnished the economic motive for his westward advance. the small farmer needed the virgin soil of the new region, the alluvial river-bottoms, and the open prairies, for the cultivation of his crops and the grazing of his cattle; yet in the intervals between the tasks of farm life he scoured the wilderness in search of game and spied out new lands for future settlement. this restless and nomadic race, says the keenly observant francis baily, "delight much to live on the frontiers, where they can enjoy undisturbed, and free from the control of any laws, the blessings which nature has bestowed upon them." [3] independence of spirit, impatience of restraint, the inquisitive nature, and the nomadic temperament--these are the strains in the american character of the eighteenth century which ultimately blended to create a typical democracy. the rolling of wave after wave of settlement westward across the american continent, with a reversion to primitive conditions along the line of the farthest frontier, and a marked rise in the scale of civilization at each successive stage of settlement, from the western limit to the eastern coast, exemplifies from one aspect the history of the american people during two centuries. [4] this era, constituting the first stage in our national existence, and productive of a buoyant national character shaped in democracy upon a free soil, closed only yesterday with the exhaustion of cultivable free land, the disappearance of the last frontier, and the recent death of "buffalo bill". the splendid inauguration of the period, in the region of the carolinas, virginia, tennessee, and kentucky, during the second half of the eighteenth century, is the theme of this story of the pioneers of the old southwest. contents introduction i. the migration of the peoples 3 ii. the cradle of westward expansion 19 iii. the back country and the border 32 iv. the indian war 49 v. in defense of civilization 64 vi. crushing the cherokees 78 vii. the land companies 96 viii. the long hunters in the twilight zone 116 ix. daniel boone and wilderness exploration 130 x. daniel boone in kentucky 144 xi. the regulators 160 xii. watauga--haven of liberty 175 xiii. opening the gateway--dunmore's war 196 xiv. richard henderson and the transylvania company 216 xv. transylvania--a wilderness commonwealth 237 xvi. the repulse of the red men 252 xvii. the colonization of the cumberland 269 xviii. king's mountain 289 xix. the state of franklin 306 xx. the lure of spain--the haven of statehood 327 list of notes 351 bibliographical notes 363 index 371 the conquest of the old southwest chapter i. the migration of the peoples inhabitants flock in here daily, mostly from pensilvania and other parts of america, who are over-stocked with people and some directly from europe, they commonly seat themselves towards the west, and have got near the mountains. --gabriel johnston, governor of north carolina, to the secretary of the board of trade, february 15, 1751. at the opening of the eighteenth century the tide of population had swept inland to the "fall line," the westward boundary of the established settlements. the actual frontier had been advanced by the more aggressive pioneers to within fifty miles of the blue ridge. so rapid was the settlement in north carolina that in the interval 1717-32 the population quadrupled in numbers. a map of the colonial settlements in 1725 reveals a narrow strip of populated land along the atlantic coast, of irregular indentation, with occasional isolated nuclei of settlements further in the interior. the civilization thus established continued to maintain a close and unbroken communication with england and the continent. as long as the settlers, for economic reasons, clung to the coast, they reacted but slowly to the transforming influences of the frontier. within a triangle of continental altitude with its apex in new england, bounded on the east by the atlantic, and on the west by the appalachian range, lay the settlements, divided into two zones--tidewater and piedmont. as no break occurred in the great mountain system south of the hudson and mohawk valleys, the difficulties of cutting a passage through the towering wall of living green long proved an effective obstacle to the crossing of the grim mountain barrier. in the beginning the settlements gradually extended westward from the coast in irregular outline, the indentations taking form around such natural centers of attraction as areas of fertile soil, frontier posts, mines, salt-springs, and stretches of upland favorable for grazing. after a time a second advance of settlement was begun in new jersey, pennsylvania, and maryland, running in a southwesterly direction along the broad terraces to the east of the appalachian range, which in north carolina lies as far as two hundred and fifty miles from the sea. the blue ridge in virginia and a belt of pine barrens in north carolina were hindrances to this advance, but did not entirely check it. this second streaming of the population thrust into the long, narrow wedge of the piedmont zone a class of people differing in spirit and in tendency from their more aristocratic and complacent neighbors to the east. these settlers of the valley of virginia and the north carolina piedmont region--english, scotch-irish, germans, scotch, irish, welsh, and a few french--were the first pioneers of the old southwest. from the joint efforts of two strata of population, geographically, socially, and economically distinct--tidewater and piedmont, old south and new south--originated and flowered the third and greatest movement of westward expansion, opening with the surmounting of the mountain barrier and ending in the occupation and assumption of the vast medial valley of the continent. synchronous with the founding of jamestown in virginia, significantly enough, was the first planting of ulster with the english and scotch. emigrants from the scotch lowlands, sometimes as many as four thousand a year (1625), continued throughout the century to pour into ulster. "those of the north of ireland...," as pungently described in 1679 by the secretary of state, leoline jenkins, to the duke of ormond, "are most scotch and scotch breed and are the northern presbyterians and phanatiques, lusty, able-bodied, hardy and stout men, where one may see three or four hundred at every meeting-house on sunday, and all the north of ireland is inhabited by these, which is the popular place of all ireland by far. they are very numerous and greedy after land." during the quarter of a century after the english revolution of 1688 and the jacobite uprising in ireland, which ended in 1691 with the complete submission of ireland to william and mary, not less than fifty thousand scotch, according to archbishop synge, settled in ulster. until the beginning of the eighteenth century there was no considerable emigration to america; and it was first set up as a consequence of english interference with trade and religion. repressive measures passed by the english parliament (1665-1699), prohibiting the exportation from ireland to england and scotland of cattle, beef, pork, dairy products, etc., and to any country whatever of manufactured wool, had aroused deep resentment among the scotch-irish, who had built up a great commerce. this discontent was greatly aggravated by the imposition of religious disabilities upon the presbyterians, who, in addition to having to pay tithes for the support of the established church, were excluded from all civil and military office (1704), while their ministers were made liable to penalties for celebrating marriages. this pressure upon a high-spirited people resulted inevitably in an exodus to the new world. the principal ports by which the ulsterites entered america were lewes and newcastle (delaware), philadelphia and boston. the streams of immigration steadily flowed up the delaware valley; and by 1720 the scotch-irish began to arrive in bucks county. so rapid was the rate of increase in immigration that the number of arrivals soon mounted from a few hundred to upward of six thousand, in a single year (1729); and within a few years this number was doubled. according to the meticulous franklin, the proportion increased from a very small element of the population of pennsylvania in 1700 to one fourth of the whole in 1749, and to one third of the whole (350,000) in 1774. writing to the penns in 1724, james logan, secretary of the province, caustically refers to the ulster settlers on the disputed maryland line as "these bold and indigent strangers, saying as their excuse when challenged for titles, that we had solicited for colonists and they had come accordingly." the spirit of these defiant squatters is succinctly expressed in their statement to logan that it "was against the laws of god and nature that so much land should be idle while so many christians wanted it to work on and to raise their bread." the rising scale of prices for pennsylvania lands, changing from ten pounds and two shillings quit-rents per hundred acres in 1719 to fifteen pounds ten shillings per hundred acres with a quit-rent of a halfpenny per acre in 1732, soon turned the eyes of the thrifty scotch-irish settlers southward and southwestward. in maryland in 1738 lands were offered at five pounds sterling per hundred acres. simultaneously, in the valley of virginia free grants of a thousand acres per family were being made. in the north carolina piedmont region the proprietary, lord granville, through his agents was disposing of the most desirable lands to settlers at the rate of three shillings proclamation money for six hundred and forty acres, the unit of land-division; and was also making large free grants on the condition of seating a certain proportion of settlers. "lord carteret's land in carolina," says north carolina's first american historian, "where the soil was cheap, presented a tempting residence to people of every denomination. emigrants from the north of ireland, by the way of pennsylvania, flocked to that country; and a considerable part of north carolina ... is inhabited by those people or their descendants." [5] from 1740 onward, attracted by the rich lure of cheap and even free lands in virginia and north carolina, a tide of immigration swept ceaselessly into the valleys of the shenandoah, the yadkin, and the catawba. the immensity of this mobile, drifting mass, which sometimes brought "more than 400 families with horse waggons and cattle" into north carolina in a single year (1752-3), is attested by the fact that from 1732 to 1754, mainly as the result of the scotch-irish inundation, the population of north carolina more than doubled. the second important racial stream of population in the settlement of the same region was composed of germans, attracted to this country from the palatinate. lured on by the highly colored stories of the commercial agents for promoting immigration--the "newlanders," who were thoroughly unscrupulous in their methods and extravagant in their representations--a migration from germany began in the second decade of the eighteenth century and quickly assumed alarming proportions. although certain of the emigrants were well-to-do, a very great number were "redemptioners" (indentured servants), who in order to pay for their transportation were compelled to pledge themselves to several years of servitude. this economic condition caused the german immigrant, wherever he went, to become a settler of the back country, necessity compelling him to pass by the more expensive lands near the coast. for well-nigh sixty years the influx of german immigrants of various sects was very great, averaging something like fifteen hundred a year into pennsylvania alone from 1727 to 1775. indeed, pennsylvania, one third of whose population at the beginning of the revolution was german, early became the great distributing center for the germans as well as for the scotch-irish. certainly by 1727 adam mã�â¼ller and his fellow germans had established the first permanent white settlement in the valley of virginia. [6] by 1732 jost heydt, accompanied by sixteen families, came from york, pennsylvania, and settled on the opeckon river, in the neighborhood of the present winchester. [7] there is no longer any doubt that "the portion of the shenandoah valley sloping to the north was almost entirely settled by germans." it was about the middle of the century that these pioneers of the old southwest, the shrewd, industrious, and thrifty pennsylvania germans (who came to be generally called "pennsylvania dutch" from the incorrect translation of pennsylvã�â¤nische deutsche), began to pour into the piedmont region of north carolina. in the autumn, after the harvest was in, these ambitious pennsylvania pioneers would pack up their belongings in wagons and on beasts of burden and head for the southwest, trekking down in the manner of the boers of south africa. this movement into the fertile valley lands of the yadkin and the catawba continued unabated throughout the entire third quarter of the century. owing to their unfamiliarity with the english language and the solidarity of their instincts, the german settlers at first had little share in government. but they devotedly played their part in the defense of the exposed settlements and often bore the brunt of indian attack. [8] the bravery and hardihood displayed by the itinerant missionaries sent out by the pennsylvania synod under the direction of count zinzendorf (1742-8), and by the moravian church (1748-53), are mirrored in the numerous diaries, written in german, happily preserved to posterity in religious archives of pennsylvania and north carolina. these simple, earnest crusaders, animated by pure and unselfish motives, would visit on a single tour of a thousand miles the principal german settlements in maryland and virginia (including the present west virginia). sometimes they would make an extended circuit through north carolina, south carolina, and even georgia, everywhere bearing witness to the truth of the gospel and seeking to carry the most elemental forms of the christian religion, preaching and prayer, to the primitive frontiersmen marooned along the outer fringe of white settlements. these arduous journeys in the cause of piety place this type of pioneer of the old southwest in alleviating contrast to the often relentless and bloodthirsty figure of the rude borderer. noteworthy among these pious pilgrimages is the virginia journey of brothers leonhard schnell and john brandmã�â¼ller (october 12 to december 12, 1749). [9] at the last outpost of civilization, the scattered settlements in bath and alleghany counties, these courageous missionaries--feasting the while solely on bear meat, for there was no bread--encountered conditions of almost primitive savagery, of which they give this graphic picture: "then we came to a house, where we had to lie on bear skins around the fire like the rest.... the clothes of the people consist of deer skins, their food of johnny cakes, deer and bear meat. a kind of white people are found here, who live like savages. hunting is their chief occupation." into the valley of the yadkin in december, 1752, came bishop spangenberg and a party of moravians, accompanied by a surveyor and two guides, for the purpose of locating the one hundred thousand acres of land which had been offered them on easy terms the preceding year by lord granville. this journey was remarkable as an illustration of sacrifices willingly made and extreme hardships uncomplainingly endured for the sake of the moravian brotherhood. in the back country of north carolina near the mulberry fields they found the whole woods full of cherokee indians engaged in hunting. a beautiful site for the projected settlement met their delighted gaze at this place; but they soon learned to their regret that it had already been "taken up" by daniel boone's future father-in-law, morgan bryan. on october 8, 1753, a party of twelve single men headed by the rev. bernhard adam grube, set out from bethlehem, pennsylvania, to trek down to the new-found haven in the carolina hinterland--"a corner which the lord has reserved for the brethren"--in anson county. [10] following for the most part the great highway extending from philadelphia to the yadkin, over which passed the great throng sweeping into the back country of north carolina--through the valley of virginia and past robert luhny's mill on the james river--they encountered many hardships along the way. because of their "long wagon," they had much difficulty in crossing one steep mountain; and of this experience brother grube, with a touch of modest pride, observes: "people had told us that this hill was most dangerous, and that we would scarcely be able to cross it, for morgan bryan, the first to travel this way, had to take the wheels off his wagon and carry it piecemeal to the top, and had been three months on the journey from the shanidore [shenandoah] to the etkin [yadkin]." these men were the highest type of the pioneers of the old southwest, inspired with the instinct of home-makers in a land where, if idle rumor were to be credited, "the people lived like wild men, never hearing of god or his word." in one hand they bore the implement of agriculture, in the other the book of the gospel of jesus christ. true faith shines forth in the simply eloquent words: "we thanked our saviour that he had so graciously led us hither, and had helped us through all the hard places, for no matter how dangerous it looked, nor how little we saw how we could win through, everything always went better than seemed possible." the promise of a new day--the dawn of the heroic age--rings out in the pious carol of camaraderie at their journey's end: we hold arrival lovefeast here, in carolina land, a company of brethren true, a little pilgrim-band, called by the lord to be of those who through the whole world go, to bear him witness everywhere, and nought but jesus know. chapter ii. the cradle of westward expansion in the year 1746 i was up in the country that is now anson, orange and rowan counties, there was not then above one hundred fighting men there is now at least three thousand for the most part irish protestants and germans and dailey increasing. --matthew rowan, president of the north carolina council, to the board of trade, june 28, 1753. the conquest of the west is usually attributed to the ready initiative, the stern self-reliance, and the libertarian instinct of the expert backwoodsmen. these bold, nomadic spirits were animated by an unquenchable desire to plunge into the wilderness in search of an el dorado at the outer verge of civilization, free of taxation, quit-rents, and the law's restraint. they longed to build homes for themselves and their descendants in a limitless, free domain; or else to fare deeper and deeper into the trackless forests in search of adventure. yet one must not overlook the fact that behind boone and pioneers of his stamp were men of conspicuous civil and military genius, constructive in purpose and creative in imagination, who devoted their best gifts to actual conquest and colonization. these men of large intellectual mold--themselves surveyors, hunters, and pioneers--were inspired with the larger vision of the expansionist. whether colonizers, soldiers, or speculators on the grand scale, they sought to open at one great stroke the vast trans-alleghany regions as a peaceful abode for mankind. two distinct classes of society were gradually drawing apart from each other in north carolina and later in virginia--the pioneer democracy of the back country and the upland, and the planter aristocracy of the lowland and the tide-water region. from the frontier came the pioneer explorers whose individual enterprise and initiative were such potent factors in the exploitation of the wilderness. from the border counties still in contact with the east came a number of leaders. thus in the heart of the old southwest the two determinative principles already referred to, the inquisitive and the acquisitive instincts, found a fortunate conjunction. the exploratory passion of the pioneer, directed in the interest of commercial enterprise, prepared the way for the great westward migration. the warlike disposition of the hardy backwoodsman, controlled by the exercise of military strategy, accomplished the conquest of the trans-alleghany country. fleeing from the traditional bonds of caste and aristocracy in england and europe, from economic boycott and civil oppression, from religious persecution and favoritism, many worthy members of society in the first quarter of the eighteenth century sought a haven of refuge in the "quackerthal" of william penn, with its trustworthy guarantees of free tolerance in religious faith and the benefits of representative self-government. from east devonshire in england came george boone, the grandfather of the great pioneer, and from wales came edward morgan, whose daughter sarah became the wife of squire boone, daniel's father. these were conspicuous representatives of the society of friends, drawn thither by the roseate representations of the great quaker, william penn, and by his advanced views on popular government and religious toleration. [11] hither, too, from ireland, whither he had gone from denmark, came morgan bryan, settling in chester county, prior to 1719; and his children, william, joseph, james, and morgan, who more than half a century later gave the name to bryan's station in kentucky, were destined to play important rã�â´les in the drama of westward migration. [12] in september, 1734, michael finley from county armagh, ireland, presumably accompanied by his brother archibald finley, settled in bucks county, pennsylvania. according to the best authorities, archibald finley was the father of john finley, or findlay as he signed himself, boone's guide and companion in his exploration of kentucky in 1769-71. [13] to pennsylvania also came mordecai lincoln, great-grandson of samuel lincoln, who had emigrated from england to hingham, massachusetts, as early as 1637. this mordecai lincoln, who in 1720 settled in chester county, pennsylvania, the great-great-grandfather of president lincoln, was the father of sarah lincoln, who was wedded to william boone, and of abraham lincoln, who married anne boone, william's first cousin. early settlers in pennsylvania were members of the hanks family, one of whom was the maternal grandfather of president lincoln. [14] no one race or breed of men can lay claim to exclusive credit for leadership in the hinterland movement and the conquest of the west. yet one particular stock of people, the ulster scots, exhibited with most completeness and picturesqueness a group of conspicuous qualities and attitudes which we now recognize to be typical of the american character as molded by the conditions of frontier life. cautious, wary, and reserved, these scots concealed beneath a cool and calculating manner a relentlessness in reasoning power and an intensity of conviction which glowed and burned with almost fanatical ardor. strict in religious observance and deep in spiritual fervor, they never lost sight of the main chance, combining a shrewd practicality with a wealth of devotion. it has been happily said of them that they kept the sabbath and everything else they could lay their hands on. in the polity of these men religion and education went hand in hand; and they habitually settled together in communities in order that they might have teachers and preachers of their own choice and persuasion. in little-known letters and diaries of travelers and itinerant ministers may be found many quaint descriptions and faithful characterizations of the frontier settlers in their habits of life and of the scenes amidst which they labored. in a letter to edmund fanning, the cultured robin jones, agent of lord granville and attorney-general of north carolina, summons to view a piquant image of the western border and borderers: "the inhabitants are hospitable in their way, live in plenty and dirt, are stout, of great prowess in manly athletics; and, in private conversation, bold, impertinent, and vain. in the art of war (after the indian manner) they are well-skilled, are enterprising and fruitful of strategies; and, when in action, are as bold and intrepid as the ancient romans. the shawnese acknowledge them their superiors even in their own way of fighting.... [the land] may be truly called the land of the mountains, for they are so numerous that when you have reached the summit of one of them, you may see thousands of every shape that the imagination can suggest, seeming to vie with each other which should raise his lofty head to touch the clouds.... it seems to me that nature has been wanton in bestowing her blessings on that country." [15] an excellent pen-picture of educational and cultural conditions in the backwoods of north carolina, by one of the early settlers in the middle of the century, exhibits in all their barren cheerlessness the hardships and limitations of life in the wilderness. the father of william few, the narrator, had trekked down from maryland and settled in orange county, some miles east of the little hamlet of hillsborough. "in that country at that time there were no schools, no churches or parsons, or doctors or lawyers; no stores, groceries or taverns, nor do i recollect during the first two years any officer, ecclesiastical, civil or military, except a justice of the peace, a constable and two or three itinerant preachers.... these people had few wants, and fewer temptations to vice than those who lived in more refined society, though ignorant. they were more virtuous and more happy.... a schoolmaster appeared and offered his services to teach the children of the neighborhood for twenty shillings each per year.... in that simple state of society money was but little known; the schoolmaster was the welcome guest of his pupil, fed at the bountiful table and clothed from the domestic loom.... in that country at that time there was great scarcity of books." [16] the journals of itinerant ministers through the valley of virginia and the carolina piedmont zone yield precious mementoes of the people, their longing after the things of the spirit, and their pitiful isolation from the regular preaching of the gospel. these missionaries were true pioneers in this old southwest, ardent, dauntless, and heroic--carrying the word into remote places and preaching the gospel beneath the trees of the forest. in his journal (1755-6), the rev. hugh mcaden, born in pennsylvania of scotch-irish parentage, a graduate of nassau hall (1753), makes the unconsciously humorous observation that wherever he found presbyterians he found people who "seemed highly pleased, and very desirous to hear the word"; whilst elsewhere he found either dissension and defection to baptist principles, or "no appearance of the life of religion." in the scotch-irish presbyterian settlements in what is now mecklenburg county, the cradle of american liberty, he found "pretty serious, judicious people" of the stamp of moses, william, and james alexander. while traveling in the upper country of south carolina, he relates with gusto the story of "an old gentleman who said to the governor of south carolina, when he was in those parts, in treaty with the cherokee indians that 'he had never seen a shirt, been in a fair, heard a sermon, or seen a minister in all his life.' upon which the governor promised to send him up a minister, that he might hear one sermon before he died." the minister came and preached; and this was all the preaching that had been heard in the upper part of south carolina before mr. mcaden's visit. [17] such, then, were the rude and simple people in the back country of the old southwest--the deliberate and self-controlled english, the aggressive, land-mongering scotch-irish, the buoyant welsh, the thrifty germans, the debonair french, the impetuous irish, and the calculating scotch. the lives they led were marked by independence of spirit, democratic instincts, and a forthright simplicity. in describing the condition of the english settlers in the backwoods of virginia, one of their number, doddridge, says: "most of the articles were of domestic manufacture. there might have been incidentally a few things brought to the country for sale in a primitive way, but there was no store for general supply. the table furniture usually consisted of wooden vessels, either turned or coopered. iron forks, tin cups, etc., were articles of rare and delicate luxury. the food was of the most wholesome and primitive kind. the richest meat, the finest butter, and best meal that ever delighted man's palate were here eaten with a relish which health and labor only know. the hospitality of the people was profuse and proverbial." the circumstances of their lives compelled the pioneers to become self-sustaining. every immigrant was an adept at many trades. he built his own house, forged his own tools, and made his own clothes. at a very early date rifles were manufactured at the high shoals of the yadkin; squire boone, daniel's brother, was an expert gunsmith. the difficulty of securing food for the settlements forced every man to become a hunter and to scour the forest for wild game. thus the pioneer, through force of sheer necessity, became a dead shot--which stood him in good stead in the days of indian incursions and bloody retaliatory raids. primitive in their games, recreations, and amusements, which not infrequently degenerated into contests of savage brutality, the pioneers always set the highest premium upon personal bravery, physical prowess, and skill in manly sports. at all public gatherings, general musters, "vendues" or auctions, and even funerals, whisky flowed with extraordinary freedom. it is worthy of record that among the effects of the rev. alexander craighead, the famous teacher and organizer of presbyterianism in mecklenburg and the adjoining region prior to the revolution, were found a punch bowl and glasses. the frontier life, with its purifying and hardening influence, bred in these pioneers intellectual traits which constitute the basis of the american character. the single-handed and successful struggle with nature in the tense solitude of the forest developed a spirit of individualism, restive under control. on the other hand, the sense of sharing with others the arduous tasks and dangers of conquering the wilderness gave birth to a strong sense of solidarity and of human sympathy. with the lure of free lands ever before them, the pioneers developed a restlessness and a nervous energy, blended with a buoyancy of spirit, which are fundamentally american. yet this same untrammeled freedom occasioned a disregard for law and a defiance of established government which have exhibited themselves throughout the entire course of our history. initiative, self-reliance, boldness in conception, fertility in resource, readiness in execution, acquisitiveness, inventive genius, appreciation of material advantages--these, shot through with a certain fine idealism, genial human sympathy, and a high romantic strain--are the traits of the american national type as it emerged from the old southwest. chapter iii. the back country and the border far from the bustle of the world, they live in the most delightful climate, and richest soil imaginable; they are everywhere surrounded with beautiful prospects and sylvan scenes; lofty mountains, transparent streams, falls of water, rich valleys, and majestic woods; the whole interspersed with an infinite variety of flowering shrubs, constitute the landscape surrounding them; they are subject to few diseases; are generally robust; and live in perfect liberty; they are ignorant of want and acquainted with but few vices. their inexperience of the elegancies of life precludes any regret that they possess not the means of enjoying them, but they possess what many princes would give half their dominion for, health, content, and tranquillity of mind. --andrew burnaby: travels through north america. the two streams of ulstermen, the greater through philadelphia, the lesser through charleston, which poured into the carolinas toward the middle of the century, quickly flooded the back country. the former occupied the yadkin valley and the region to the westward, the latter the waxhaws and the anson county region to the northwest. the first settlers were known as the "pennsylvania irish," because they had first settled in pennsylvania after migrating from the north of ireland; while those who came by way of charleston were known as the "scotch-irish." the former, who had resided in pennsylvania long enough to be good judges of land, shrewdly made their settlements along the rivers and creeks. the latter, new arrivals and less experienced, settled on thinner land toward the heads of creeks and water courses. [18] shortly prior to 1735, morgan bryan, his wife martha, and eight children, together with other families of quakers from pennsylvania, settled upon a large tract of land on the northwest side of the opeckon river near winchester. [19] a few years later they removed up the virginia valley to the big lick in the present roanoke county, intent upon pushing westward to the very outskirts of civilization. in the autumn of 1748, leaving behind his brother william, who had followed him to roanoke county, morgan bryan removed with his family to the forks of the yadkin river. [20] the morgans, with the exception of richard, who emigrated to virginia, remained in pennsylvania, spreading over philadelphia and bucks counties; while the hanks and lincoln families found homes in virginia--mordecai lincoln's son, john, the great-grandfather of president lincoln, removing from berks to the shenandoah valley in 1765. on may 1, 1750, squire boone, his wife sarah (morgan), and their eleven children--a veritable caravan, traveling like the patriarchs of old--started south; and tarried for a space, according to reliable tradition, on linville creek in the virginia valley. in 1752 they removed to the forks of the yadkin, and the following year received from lord granville three tracts of land, all situated in rowan county. [21] about the hamlet of salisbury, which in 1755 consisted of seven or eight log houses and the court house, there now rapidly gathered a settlement of people marked by strong individuality, sturdy independence, and virile self-reliance. the boones and the bryans quickly accommodated themselves to frontier conditions and immediately began to take an active part in the local affairs of the county. upon the organization of the county court squire boone was chosen justice of the peace; and morgan bryan was soon appearing as foreman of juries and director in road improvements. the great trading path, leading from virginia to the towns of the catawbas and other southern indians, crossed the yadkin at the trading ford and passed a mile southeast of salisbury. above sapona town near the trading ford was swearing creek, which, according to constant and picturesque tradition, was the spot where the traders stopped to take a solemn oath never to reveal any unlawful proceedings that might occur during their sojourn among the indians. [22] in his divertingly satirical "history of the dividing line" william byrd in 1728 thus speaks of this locality: "the soil is exceedingly rich on both sides the yadkin, abounding in rank grass and prodigiously large trees; and for plenty of fish, fowl and venison, is inferior to no part of the northern continent. there the traders commonly lie still for some days, to recruit their horses' flesh as well as to recover their own spirits." in this beautiful country happily chosen for settlement by squire boone--who erected his cabin on the east side of the yadkin about a mile and a quarter from alleman's, now boone's, ford--wild game abounded. buffaloes were encountered in eastern north carolina by byrd while running the dividing line; and in the upper country of south carolina three or four men with their dogs could kill fourteen to twenty buffaloes in a single day. [23] deer and bears fell an easy prey to the hunter; wild turkeys filled every thicket; the watercourses teemed with beaver, otter, and muskrat, as well as with shad and other delicious fish. panthers, wildcats, and wolves overran the country; and the veracious brother joseph, while near the present wilkesboro, amusingly records: "the wolves wh. are not like those in germany, poland and lifland (because they fear men and don't easily come near) give us such music of six different cornets the like of wh. i have never heard in my life." [24] so plentiful was the game that the wild deer mingled with the cattle grazing over the wide stretches of luxuriant grass. in the midst of this sylvan paradise grew up squire boone's son, daniel boone, a pennsylvania youth of english stock, quaker persuasion, and baptist proclivities. [25] seen through a glorifying halo after the lapse of a century and three quarters, he rises before us a romantic figure, poised and resolute, simple, benign--as naã�â¯ve and shy as some wild thing of the primeval forest--five feet eight inches in height, with broad chest and shoulders, dark locks, genial blue eyes arched with fair eyebrows, thin lips and wide mouth, nose of slightly roman cast, and fair, ruddy countenance. farming was irksome to this restless, nomadic spirit, who on the slightest excuse would exchange the plow and the grubbing-hoe for the long rifle and keen-edged hunting-knife. in a single day during the autumn season he would kill four or five deer; or as many bears as would make from two to three thousand pounds weight of bear-bacon. fascinated with the forest, he soon found profit as well as pleasure in the pursuit of game; and at excellent fixed prices he sold his peltries, most often at salisbury, some thirteen miles away, sometimes at the store of the old "dutchman," george hartman, on the yadkin, and occasionally at bethabara, the moravian town sixty-odd miles distant. skins were in such demand that they soon came to replace hard money, which was incredibly scarce in the back country, as a medium of exchange. upon one occasion a caravan from bethabara hauled three thousand pounds, upon another four thousand pounds, of dressed deerskins to charleston. [26] so immense was this trade that the year after boone's arrival at the forks of yadkin thirty thousand deerskins were exported from the province of north carolina. we like to think that the young daniel boone was one of that band of whom brother joseph, while in camp on the catawba river (november 12, 1752) wrote: "there are many hunters about here, who live like indians, they kill many deer selling their hides, and thus live without much work." [27] in this very class of professional hunters, living like indians, was thus bred the spirit of individual initiative and strenuous leadership in the great westward expansionist movement of the coming decade. an english traveler gives the following minute picture of the dress and accoutrement of the carolina backwoodsman: their whole dress is very singular, and not very materially different from that of the indians; being a hunting shirt, somewhat resembling a waggoner's frock, ornamented with a great many fringes, tied round the middle with a broad belt, much decorated also, in which is fastened a tomahawk, an instrument that serves every purpose of defence and convenience; being a hammer at one side and a sharp hatchet at the other; the shot bag and powder-horn, carved with a variety of whimsical figures and devices, hang from their necks over one shoulder; and on their heads a flapped hat, of a reddish hue, proceeding from the intensely hot beams of the sun. sometimes they wear leather breeches, made of indian dressed elk, or deer skins, but more frequently thin trowsers. on their legs they have indian boots, or leggings, made of coarse woollen cloth, that either are wrapped round loosely and tied with garters, or laced upon the outside, and always come better than half-way up the thigh. on their feet they sometimes wear pumps of their own manufacture, but generally indian moccossons, of their own construction also, which are made of strong elk's, or buck's skin, dressed soft as for gloves or breeches, drawn together in regular plaits over the toe, and lacing from thence round to the fore part of the middle of the ancle, without a seam in them, yet fitting close to the feet, and are indeed perfectly easy and pliant. their hunting, or rifle shirts, they have also died in a variety of colours, some yellow, others red, some brown, and many wear them quite white. [28] no less unique and bizarre, though less picturesque, was the dress of the women of the region--in particular of surry county, north carolina, as described by general william lenoir: the women wore linsey [flax] petticoats and 'bed-gowns' [like a dressing-sack], and often went without shoes in the summer. some had bonnets and bed-gowns made of calico, but generally of linsey; and some of them wore men's hats. their hair was commonly clubbed. once, at a large meeting, i noticed there but two women that had on long gowns. one of these was laced genteelly, and the body of the other was open, and the tail thereof drawn up and tucked in her apron or coat-string. [29] while daniel boone was quietly engaged in the pleasant pursuits of the chase, a vast world-struggle of which he little dreamed was rapidly approaching a crisis. for three quarters of a century this titanic contest between france and england for the interior of the continent had been waged with slowly accumulating force. the irrepressible conflict had been formally inaugurated at sault ste. marie in 1671, when daumont de saint lusson, swinging aloft his sword, proclaimed the sovereignty of france over "all countries, rivers, lakes, and streams ... both those which have been discovered and those which may be discovered hereafter, in all their length and breadth, bounded on the one side by the seas of the north and of the west, and on the other by the south sea." just three months later, three hardy pioneers of virginia, despatched upon their arduous mission by colonel abraham wood in behalf of the english crown, had crossed the appalachian divide; and upon the banks of a stream whose waters slipped into the ohio to join the mississippi and the gulf of mexico, had carved the royal insignia upon the blazed trunk of a giant of the forest, the while crying: "long live charles the second, by the grace of god, king of england, scotland, france, ireland and virginia and of the territories thereunto belonging." la salle's dream of a new france in the heart of america was blotted out in his tragic death upon the banks of the river trinity (1687). yet his mantle was to fall in turn upon the square shoulders of le moyne d'iberville and of his brother--the good, the constant bienville, who after countless and arduous struggles laid firm the foundations of new orleans. in the precious treasury of margry we learn that on reaching rochelle after his first voyage in 1699 iberville in these prophetic words voices his faith: "if france does not immediately seize this part of america which is the most beautiful, and establish a colony which is strong enough to resist any which england may have, the english colonies (already considerable in carolina) will so thrive that in less than a hundred years they will be strong enough to seize all america." [30] but the world-weary louis quatorze, nearing his end, quickly tired of that remote and unproductive colony upon the shores of the gulf, so industriously described in paris as a "terrestrial paradise"; and the "paternal providence of versailles" willingly yielded place to the monumental speculation of the great financier antoine crozat. in this paris of prolific promotion and amazed credulity, ripe for the colossal scheme of law, soon to blow to bursting-point the bubble of the mississippi, the very songs in the street echoed flamboyant, half-satiric panegyrics upon the new utopia, this mississippi land of cockayne: it's to-day no contribution to discuss the constitution and the spanish war's forgot for a new utopian spot; and the very latest phase is the mississippi craze. [31] interest in the new colony led to a great development of southwesterly trade from new france. already the french coureurs de bois were following the water route from the illinois to south carolina. jean couture, a deserter from the service in new france, journeyed over the ohio and tennessee rivers to that colony, and was known as "the greatest trader and traveller amongst the indians for more than twenty years." in 1714 young charles charleville accompanied an old trader from crozat's colony on the gulf to the great salt-springs on the cumberland, where a post for trading with the shawanoes had already been established by the french. [32] but the british were preparing to capture this trade as early as 1694, when tonti warned villermont that carolinians were already established on a branch of the ohio. four years later, nicholson, governor of maryland, was urging trade with the indians of the interior in the effort to displace the french. at an early date the coast colonies began to trade with the indian tribes of the back country: the catawbas of the yadkin valley; the cherokees, whose towns were scattered through tennessee; the chickasaws, to the westward in northern mississippi; and the choctaws farther to the southward. even before the beginning of the eighteenth century, when the south carolina settlements extended scarcely twenty miles from the coast, english traders had established posts among the indian tribes four hundred miles to the west of charleston. following the sporadic trading of individuals from virginia with the inland indians, the heavily laden caravans of william byrd were soon regularly passing along the great trading path from virginia to the towns of the catawbas and other interior tribes of the carolinas, delighting the easily captivated fancy and provoking the cupidity of the red men with "guns, powder, shot, hatchets (which the indians call tomahawks), kettles, red and blue planes, duffields, stroudwater blankets, and some cutlary wares, brass rings and other trinkets." [33] in pennsylvania, george croghan, the guileful diplomat, who was emissary from the council to the ohio indians (1748), had induced "all-most all the ingans in the woods" to declare against the french; and was described by christopher gist as a "meer idol among his countrymen, the irish traders." against these advances of british trade and civilization, the french for four decades had artfully struggled, projecting tours of exploration into the vast medial valley of the continent and constructing a chain of forts and trading-posts designed to establish their claims to the country and to hold in check the threatened english thrust from the east. soon the wilderness ambassador of empire, cã�â©loron de bienville, was despatched by the far-visioned galissoniã�â¨re at quebec to sow broadcast with ceremonial pomp in the heart of america the seeds of empire, grandiosely graven plates of lasting lead, in defiant yet futile symbol of the asserted sovereignty of france. thus threatened in the vindication of the rights of their colonial sea-to-sea charters, the english threw off the lethargy with which they had failed to protect their traders, and in grants to the ohio and loyal land companies began resolutely to form plans looking to the occupation of the interior. but the french seized the english trading-house at venango which they converted into a fort; and virginia's protest, conveyed by a calm and judicious young man, a surveyor, george washington, availed not to prevent the french from seizing captain trent's hastily erected military post at the forks of the ohio and constructing there a formidable work, named fort duquesne. washington, with his expeditionary force sent to garrison captain trent's fort, defeated jumonville and his small force near great meadows (may, 1754); but soon after he was forced to surrender fort necessity to coulon de villiers. the titanic struggle, fittingly precipitated in the backwoods of the old southwest, was now on--a struggle in which the resolute pioneers of these backwoods first seriously measured their strength with the french and their copper-hued allies, and learned to surpass the latter in their own mode of warfare. the portentous conflict, destined to assure the eastern half of the continent to great britain, is a grim, prophetic harbinger of the mighty movement of the next quarter of a century into the twilight zone of the trans-alleghany territory. chapter iv. the indian war all met in companies with their wives and children, and set about building little fortifications, to defend themselves from such barbarian and inhuman enemies, whom they concluded would be let loose upon them at pleasure. --the reverend hugh mcaden: diary, july, 1755. long before the actual outbreak of hostilities powerful forces were gradually converging to produce a clash between the aggressive colonials and the crafty indians. as the settlers pressed farther westward into the domain of the red men, arrogantly grazing their stock over the cherished hunting-grounds of the cherokees, the savages, who were already well disposed toward the french, began to manifest a deep indignation against the british colonists because of this callous encroachment upon their territory. during the sporadic forays by scattered bands of northern indians upon the catawbas and other tribes friendly to the pioneers the isolated settlements at the back part of the carolinas suffered rude and sanguinary onslaughts. in the summer of 1753 a party of northern indians warring in the french interest made their appearance in rowan county, which had just been organized, and committed various depredations upon the scattered settlements. to repel these attacks a band of the catawbas sallied forth, encountered a detached party of the enemy, and slew five of their number. among the spoils, significantly enough, were silver crucifixes, beads, looking-glasses, tomahawks and other implements of war, all of french manufacture. [34] intense rivalry for the good will of the near-by southern tribes existed between virginia and south carolina. in strong remonstrance against the alleged attempt of governor dinwiddie of virginia to alienate the cherokees, catawbas, muscogees, and chickasaws from south carolina and to attach them to virginia, governor glen of south carolina made pungent observations to dinwiddie: "south carolina is a weak frontier colony, and in case of invasion by the french would be their first object of attack. we have not much to fear, however, while we retain the affection of the indians around us; but should we forfeit that by any mismanagement on our part, or by the superior address of the french, we are in a miserable situation. the cherokees alone have several thousand gunmen well acquainted with every inch of the province ... their country is the key to carolina." by a treaty concluded at saluda (november 24, 1753), glen promised to build the cherokees a fort near the lower towns, for the protection of themselves and their allies; and the cherokees on their part agreed to become the subjects of the king of great britain and hold their lands under him. [35] this fort, erected this same year on the headwaters of the savannah, within gunshot distance of the important indian town of keowee, was named fort prince george. "it is a square," says the founder of the fort (governor glen to the board of trade, august 26, 1754), "with regular bastions and four ravelins it is near two hundred foot from salient angle to salient angle and is made of earth taken out of the ditch, secured with fachines and well rammed with a banquet on the inside for the men to stand upon when they fire over, the ravelins are made of posts of lightwood which is very durable, they are ten foot in length sharp pointed three foot and a half in the ground." [36] the dire need for such a fort in the back country was tragically illustrated by the sudden onslaught upon the "house of john gutry & james anshers" in york county by a party of sixty french indians (december 16, 1754), who brutally murdered sixteen of the twenty-one persons present, and carried off as captives the remaining five. [37] at the outbreak of the french and indian war in 1754 north carolina voted twelve thousand pounds for the raising of troops and several thousand pounds additional for the construction of forts--a sum considerably larger than that voted by virginia. a regiment of two hundred and fifty men was placed under the command of colonel james innes of the cape fear section; and the ablest officer under him was the young irishman from the same section, lieutenant hugh waddell. on june 3, 1754, dinwiddie appointed innes, his close friend, commander-in-chief of all the forces against the french; and immediately after the disaster at great meadows (july, 1754), innes took command. within two months the supplies for the north carolina troops were exhausted; and as virginia then failed to furnish additional supplies, colonel innes had no recourse but to disband his troops and permit them to return home. appointed governor of fort cumberland by general braddock, he was in command there while braddock advanced on his disastrous march. the lesson of braddock's defeat (july 9, 1755) was memorable in the history of the old southwest. well might braddock exclaim with his last breath: "who would have thought it? ... we shall know better how to deal with them another time." led on by the reckless and fiery beaujeu, wearing an indian gorget about his neck, the savages from the protection of trees and rough defenses, a prepared ambuscade, poured a galling fire into the compact divisions of the english, whose scarlet coats furnished ideal targets. the obstinacy of the british commanders in refusing to permit their troops to fight indian fashion was suicidal; for as herman alrichs wrote governor morris of pennsylvania (july 22, 1755): "... the french and indians had cast an intrenchment across the road before our army which they discovered not untill the [y] came close up to it, from thence and both sides of the road the enemy kept a constant fireing on them, our army being so confused, they could not fight, and they would not be admitted by the genl or sir john st. clair, to break thro' their ranks and take behind trees." [38] daniel boone, who went from north carolina as a wagoner in the company commanded by edward brice dobbs, was on the battle-field; but dobbs's company at the time was scouting in the woods. when the fierce attack fell upon the baggage train, boone succeeded in effecting his escape only by cutting the traces of his team and fleeing on one of the horses. to his dying day boone continued to censure braddock's conduct, and reprehended especially his fatal neglect to employ strong flank-guards and a sufficient number of provincial scouts thoroughly acquainted with the wilderness and all the wiles and strategies of savage warfare. for a number of months following braddock's defeat there was a great rush of the frightened people southward. in a letter to dinwiddie, washington expresses the apprehension that augusta, frederick, and hampshire county will soon be depopulated, as the whole back country is in motion toward the southern colonies. during this same summer governor arthur dobbs of north carolina made a tour of exploration through the western part of the colony, seeking a site for a fort to guard the frontier. [39] the frontier company of fifty men which was to garrison the projected fort was placed under the command of hugh waddell, now promoted to the rank of captain, though only twenty-one years old. in addition to waddell's company, armed patrols were required for the protection of the rowan county frontier; and during the summer indian alarms were frequent at the moravian village of bethabara, whose inhabitants had heard with distress on march 31st of the slaughter of eleven moravians on the mahoni and of the ruin of gnadenhã�â¼tten. many of the settlers in the outlying districts of rowan fled for safety to the refuge of the little village; and frequently every available house, every place of temporary abode was filled with panic-stricken refugees. so persistent were the depredations of the indians and so alarmed were the scattered rowan settlers by the news of the murders and the destruction of vaux's fort in virginia (june 25, 1756) that at a conference on july 5th the moravians "decided to protect our houses with palisades, and make them safe before the enemy should invade our tract or attack us, for if the people were all going to retreat we would be the last left on the frontier and the first point of attack." by july 23d, they had constructed a strong defense for their settlement, afterward called the "dutch fort" by the indians. the principal structure was a stockade, triangular in plan, some three hundred feet on a side, enclosing the principal buildings of the settlement; and the gateway was guarded by an observation tower. the other defense was a stockade embracing eight houses at the mill some distance away, around which a small settlement had sprung up. [40] during the same year the fort planned by dobbs was erected upon the site he had chosen--between third and fourth creeks; and the commissioners richard caswell and francis brown, sent out to inspect the fort, made the following picturesque report to the assembly (december 21, 1756): that they had likewise viewed the state of fort dobbs, and found it to be a good and substantial building of the dimentions following (that is to say) the oblong square fifty three feet by forty, the opposite angles twenty four feet and twenty-two in height twenty four and a half feet as by the plan annexed appears, the thickness of the walls which are made of oak logs regularly diminished from sixteen inches to six, it contains three floors and there may be discharged from each floor at one and the same time about one hundred musketts the same is beautifully scituated in the fork of fourth creek a branch of the yadkin river. and that they also found under command of capt hugh waddel forty six effective men officers and soldiers ... the said officers and soldiers appearing well and in good spirits. [41] as to the erection of a fort on the tennessee, promised the cherokees by south carolina, difficulties between the governor of that province and of virginia in regard to matters of policy and the proportionate share of expenses made effective coã�â¶peration between the two colonies well-nigh impossible. glen, as we have seen, had resented dinwiddie's efforts to win the south carolina indians over to virginia's interest. and dinwiddie had been very indignant when the force promised him by the indians to aid general braddock did not arrive, attributing this defection in part to glen's negotiations for a meeting with the chieftains and in part to the influence of the south carolina traders, who kept the indians away by hiring them to go on long hunts for furs and skins. but there was no such contention between virginia and north carolina. dinwiddie and dobbs arranged (november 6, 1755) to send a commission from these colonies to treat with the cherokees and the catawbas. virginia sent two commissioners, colonel william byrd, third of that name, and colonel peter randolph; while north carolina sent one, captain hugh waddell. salisbury, north carolina, was the place of rendezvous. the treaty with the catawbas was made at the catawba town, presumably the village opposite the mouth of sugaw creek, in york county, south carolina, on february 20-21, 1756; that with the cherokees on broad river, north carolina, march 13-17. as a result of the negotiations and after the receipt of a present of goods, the catawbas agreed to send forty warriors to aid virginia within forty days; and the cherokees, in return for presents and virginia's promise to contribute her proportion toward the erection of a strong fort, undertook to send four hundred warriors within forty days, "as soon as the said fort shall be built." virginia and north carolina thus wisely coã�â¶perated to "straighten the path" and "brighten the chain" between the white and the red men, in important treaties which have largely escaped the attention of historians. [42] on may 25, 1756, a conference was held at salisbury between king heygler and warriors of the catawba nation on the one side and chief justice henley, doubtless attended by captain waddell and his frontier company, on the other. king heygler, following the lead set by the cherokees, petitioned the governor of north carolina to send the catawbas some ammunition and to "build us a fort for securing our old men, women and children when we turn out to fight the enemy on their coming." the chief justice assured the king that the catawbas would receive a necessary supply of ammunition (one hundred pounds of gunpowder and four hundred pounds of lead were later sent them) and promised to urge with the governor their request to have a fort built as soon as possible. pathos not unmixed with dry humor tinges the eloquent appeal of good old king heygler, ever the loyal friend of the whites, at this conference: i desire a stop may be put to the selling of strong liquors by the white people to my people especially near the indian nation. if the white people make strong drink, let them sell it to one another, or drink it in their own families. this will avoid a great deal of mischief which otherwise will happen from my people getting drunk and quarrelling with the white people. i have no strong prisons like you to confine them for it. our only way is to put them under ground and all these (pointing proudly to his warriors) will be ready to do that to those who shall deserve it. [43] in response to this request, the sum of four thousand pounds was appropriated by the north carolina assembly for the erection of "a fort on our western frontier to protect and secure the catawbas" and for the support of two companies of fifty men each to garrison this and another fort building on the sea coast. the commissioners appointed for the purpose recommended (december 21, 1756) a site for the fort "near the catawba nation"; and on january 20, 1757, governor dobbs reported: "we are now building a fort in the midst of their towns at their own request." the fort thereupon begun must have stood near the mouth of the south fork of the catawba river, as dobbs says it was in the "midst" of their towns, which are situated a "few miles north and south of 38ã�â°" and might properly be included within a circle of thirty miles radius. [44] during the succeeding months many depredations were committed by the indians upon the exposed and scattered settlements. had it not been for the protection afforded by all these forts, by the militia companies under alexander osborne of rowan and nathaniel alexander of anson, and by a special company of patrollers under green and moore, the back settlers who had been so outrageously "pilfered" by the indians would have "retired from the frontier into the inner settlements." [45] chapter v. in defense of civilization we give thanks and praise for the safety and peace vouchsafed us by our heavenly father in these times of war. many of our neighbors, driven hither and yon like deer before wild beasts, came to us for shelter, yet the accustomed order of our congregation life was not disturbed, no, not even by the more than 150 indians who at sundry times passed by, stopping for a day at a time and being fed by us. --wachovia community diary, 1757 with commendable energy and expedition dinwiddie and dobbs, acting in concert, initiated steps for keeping the engagements conjointly made by the two colonies with the cherokees and the catawbas in the spring and summer of 1756. enlisting sixty men, "most of them artificers, with tools and provisions," major andrew lewis proceeded in the late spring to echota in the cherokee country. here during the hot summer months they erected the virginia fort on the path from virginia, upon the northern bank of the little tennessee, nearly opposite the indian town of echota and about twenty-five miles southwest of knoxville. [46] while the fort was in process of construction, the cherokees were incessantly tampered with by emissaries from the nuntewees and the savannahs in the french interest, and from the french themselves at the alibamu fort. so effective were these machinations, supported by extravagant promises and doubtless rich bribes, that the cherokees soon were outspokenly expressing their desire for a french fort at great tellico. dinwiddie welcomed the departure from america of governor glen of south carolina, who in his opinion had always acted contrary to the king's interest. from the new governor, william henry lyttelton, who arrived in charleston on june 1, 1756, he hoped to secure effective coã�â¶peration in dealing with the cherokees and the catawbas. this hope was based upon lyttelton's recognition, as stated in dinwiddie's words, of the "necessity of strict union between the whole colonies, with't any of them considering their particular interest separate from the general good of the whole." after constructing the fort "with't the least assistance from south carolina," major lewis happened by accident upon a grand council being held in echota in september. at that time he discovered to his great alarm that the machinations of the french had already produced the greatest imaginable change in the sentiment of the cherokees. captain raymond demere of the provincials, with two hundred english troops, had arrived to garrison the fort; but the head men of all the upper towns were secretly influenced to agree to write a letter to captain demere, ordering him to return immediately to charleston with all the troops under his command. at the grand council, atta-kulla-kulla, the great cherokee chieftain, passionately declared to the head men, who listened approvingly, that "as to the few soldiers of captain demere that was there, he would take their guns, and give them to his young men to hunt with and as to their clothes they would soon be worn out and their skins would be tanned, and be of the same colour as theirs, and that they should live among them as slaves." with impressive dignity major lewis rose and earnestly pleaded for the observance of the terms of the treaty solemnly negotiated the preceding march. in response, the crafty and treacherous chieftains desired lewis to tell the governor of virginia that "they had taken up the hatchet against all nations that were enemies to the english"; but lewis, an astute student of indian psychology, rightly surmised that all their glib professions of friendship and assistance were "only to put a gloss on their knavery." [47] so it proved; for instead of the four hundred warriors promised under the treaty for service in virginia, the cherokees sent only seven warriors, accompanied by three women. although the cherokees petitioned virginia for a number of men to garrison the virginia fort, dinwiddie postponed sending the fifty men provided for by the virginia assembly until he could reassure himself in regard to the "behaviour and intention" of the treacherous indian allies. this proved to be a prudent decision; for not long after its erection the virginia fort was destroyed by the indians. whether on account of the dissatisfaction expressed by the cherokees over the erection of the virginia fort or because of a recognition of the mistaken policy of garrisoning a work erected by virginia with troops sent from charleston, south carolina immediately proceeded to build another stronghold on the southern bank of the tennessee at the mouth of tellico river, some seven miles from the site of the virginia fort; and here were posted twelve great guns, brought thither at immense labor through the wilderness. [48] to this fort, named fort loudoun in honor of lord loudoun, then commander-in-chief of all the english forces in america, the indians allured artisans by donations of land; and during the next three or four years a little settlement sprang up there. the frontiers of virginia suffered most from the incursions of hostile indians during the fourteen months following may 1, 1755. in july, the rev. hugh mcaden records that he preached in virginia on a day set apart for fasting and prayer "on account of the wars and many murders, committed by the savage indians on the back inhabitants." on july 30th a large party of shawano indians fell upon the new river settlement and wiped it out of existence. william ingles was absent at the time of the raid; and mrs. ingles, who was captured, afterward effected her escape. [49] the following summer (june 25, 1756), fort vaux on the headwaters of the roanoke, under the command of captain john smith, was captured by about one hundred french and indians, who burnt the fort, killed john smith junior, john robinson, john tracey and john ingles, wounded four men, and captured twenty-two men, women, and children. among the captured was the famous mrs. mary ingles, whose husband, john ingles, was killed; but after being "carried away into captivity, amongst whom she was barbarously treated," according to her own statement, she finally escaped and returned to virginia. [50] the frontier continued to be infested by marauding bands of french and indians; and dinwiddie gloomily confessed to dobbs (july 22d): "i apprehend that we shall always be harrass'd with fly'g parties of these banditti unless we form an expedit'n ag'st them, to attack 'em in y'r towns." [51] such an expedition, known as the sandy river expedition, had been sent out in february to avenge the massacre of the new river settlers; but the enterprise engaged in by about four hundred virginians and cherokees under major andrew lewis and captain richard pearis, proved a disastrous failure. not a single indian was seen; and the party suffered extraordinary hardships and narrowly escaped starvation. [52] in conformity with his treaty obligations with the catawbas, governor dobbs commissioned captain hugh waddell to erect the fort promised the catawbas at the spot chosen by the commissioners near the mouth of the south fork of the catawba river. this fort, for which four thousand pounds had been appropriated, was for the most part completed by midsummer, 1757. but owing, it appears, both to the machinations of the french and to the intermeddling of the south carolina traders, who desired to retain the trade of the catawbas for that province, oroloswa, the catawba king heygler, sent a "talk" to governor lyttelton, requesting that north carolina desist from the work of construction and that no fort be built except by south carolina. accordingly, governor dobbs ordered captain waddell to discharge the workmen (august 11, 1757); [53] and every effort was made for many months thereafter to conciliate the catawbas, erstwhile friends of north carolina. the catawba fort erected by north carolina was never fully completed; and several years later south carolina, having succeeded in alienating the catawbas from north carolina, which colony had given them the best possible treatment, built for them a fort [54] at the mouth of line creek on the east bank of the catawba river. in the spring and summer of 1757 the long-expected indian allies arrived in virginia, as many as four hundred by may--cherokees, catawbas, tuscaroras, and nottaways. but dinwiddie was wholly unable to use them effectively; and in order to provide amusement for them, he directed that they should go "a scalping" with the whites--"a barbarous method of war," frankly acknowledged the governor, "introduced by the french, which we are oblidged to follow in our own defense." most of the indian allies discontentedly returned home before the end of the year, but the remainder waited until the next year, to take part in the campaign against fort duquesne. three north carolina companies, composed of trained soldiers and hardy frontiersmen, went through this campaign under the command of major hugh waddell, the "washington of north carolina." long of limb and broad of chest, powerful, lithe, and active, waddell was an ideal leader for this arduous service, being fertile in expedient and skilful in the employment of indian tactics. with true provincial pride governor dobbs records that waddell "had great honor done him, being employed in all reconnoitring parties, and dressed and acted as an indian; and his sergeant, rogers, took the only indian prisoner, who gave mr. forbes certain intelligence of the forces in fort duquesne, upon which they resolved to proceed." this apparently trivial incident is remarkable, in that it proved to be the decisive factor in a campaign that was about to be abandoned. the information in regard to the state of the garrison at fort duquesne, secured from the indian, for the capture of whom two leading officers had offered a reward of two hundred and fifty pounds, emboldened forbes to advance rather than to retire. upon reaching the fort (november 25th), he found it abandoned by the enemy. sergeant rogers never received the reward promised by general forbes and the other english officer; but some time afterward he was compensated by a modest sum from the colony of north carolina. [55] a series of unfortunate occurrences, chiefly the fault of the whites, soon resulted in the precipitation of a terrible indian outbreak. a party of cherokees, returning home in may, 1758, seized some stray horses on the frontier of virginia--never dreaming of any wrong, says an old historian, as they saw it frequently done by the whites. the owners of the horses, hastily forming a party, went in pursuit of the indians and killed twelve or fourteen of the number. the relatives of the slain indians, greatly incensed, vowed vengeance upon the whites. [56] nor was the tactless conduct of forbes calculated to quiet this resentment; for when atta-kulla-kulla and nine other chieftains deserted in disgust at the treatment accorded them, they were pursued by forbes's orders, apprehended and disarmed. [57] this rude treatment, coupled with the brutal and wanton murder of some cherokee hunters a little earlier, by an irresponsible band of virginians under captain robert wade, still further aggravated the indians. [58] incited by the french, who had fled to the southward after the fall of fort duquesne, parties of bloodthirsty young indians rushed down upon the settlements and left in their path death and desolation along the frontiers of the carolinas. [59] on the upper branch of the yadkin and below the south yadkin near fort dobbs twenty-two whites fell in swift succession before the secret onslaughts of the savages from the lower cherokee towns. [60] many of the settlers along the yadkin fled to the carolina fort at bethabara and the stockade at the mill; and the sheriff of rowan county suffered siege by the cherokees, in his home, until rescued by a detachment under brother loesch from bethabara. while many families took refuge in fort dobbs, frontiersmen under captain morgan bryan ranged through the mountains to the west of salisbury and guarded the settlements from the hostile incursions of the savages. so gravely alarmed were the rowan settlers, compelled by the indians to desert their planting and crops, that colonel harris was despatched post-haste for aid to cape fear, arriving there on july 1st. with strenuous energy captain waddell, then stationed in the east, rushed two companies of thirty men each to the rescue, sending by water-carriage six swivel guns and ammunition on before him; and these reinforcements brought relief at last to the harassed rowan frontiers. [61] during the remainder of the year, the borders were kept clear by bold and tireless rangers--under the leadership of expert indian fighters of the stamp of griffith rutherford and morgan bryan. when the cherokee warriors who had wrought havoc along the north carolina border in april arrived at their town of settiquo, they proudly displayed the twenty-two scalps of the slain rowan settlers. upon the demand for these scalps by captain demere at fort loudon and under direction of atta-kulla-kulla, the settiquo warriors surrendered eleven of the scalps to captain demere who, according to custom in time of peace, buried them. new murders on pacolet and along the virginia path, which occurred shortly afterward, caused gloomy forebodings; and it was plain, says a contemporary gazette, that "the lower cherokees were not satisfied with the murder of the rowan settlers, but intended further mischief." [62] on october 1st and again on october 31st, governor dobbs received urgent requests from governor lyttelton, asking that the north carolina provincials and militia coã�â¶perate to bring him assistance. although there was no law requiring the troops to march out of the province and the exposed frontiers of north carolina sorely needed protection, waddell, now commissioned colonel, assembled a force of five small companies and marched to the aid of governor lyttelton. but early in january, 1760, while on the march, waddell received a letter from lyttelton, informing him that the assistance was not needed and that a treaty of peace had been negotiated with the cherokees. [63] chapter vi. crushing the cherokees thus ended the cherokee war, which was among the last humbling strokes given to the expiring power of france in north america. --hewatt: an historical account of the rise and progress of the colonies of south carolina and georgia. 1779. governor lyttelton's treaty of "peace," negotiated with the cherokees at the close of 1759, was worse than a crime: it was a crass and hideous blunder. his domineering attitude and tyrannical treatment of these indians had aroused the bitterest animosity. yet he did not realize that it was no longer safe to trust their word. no sooner did the governor withdraw his army from the borders than the cunning cherokees, whose passions had been inflamed by what may fairly be called the treacherous conduct of lyttelton, rushed down with merciless ferocity upon the innocent and defenseless families on the frontier. on february 1, 1760, while a large party (including the family of patrick calhoun), numbering in all about one hundred and fifty persons, were removing from the long cane settlement to augusta, they were suddenly attacked by a hundred mounted cherokees, who slaughtered about fifty of them. after the massacre, many of the children were found helplessly wandering in the woods. one man alone carried to augusta no less than nine of the pitiful innocents, some horribly mutilated with the tomahawk, others scalped, and all yet alive. atrocities defying description continued to be committed, and many people were slain. the cherokees, under the leadership of si-lou-ee, or the young warrior of estatoe, the round o, tiftoe, and others, were baffled in their persistent efforts to capture fort prince george. on february 16th the crafty oconostota appeared before the fort and under the pretext of desiring some white man to accompany him on a visit to the governor on urgent business, lured the commander, lieutenant coytomore, and two attendants to a conference outside the gates. at a preconceived signal a volley of shots rang out; the two attendants were wounded, and lieutenant coytomore, riddled with bullets, fell dead. enraged by this act of treachery, the garrison put to death the indian hostages within. during the abortive attack upon the fort, oconostota, unaware of the murder of the hostages, was heard shouting above the din of battle: "fight strong, and you shall be relieved." [64] now began the dark days along the rowan border, which were so sorely to test human endurance. many refugees fortified themselves in the different stockades; and colonel hugh waddell with his redoubtable frontier company of indian-fighters awaited the onslaught of the savages, who were reported to have passed through the mountain defiles and to be approaching along the foot-hills. the story of the investment of fort dobbs and the splendidly daring sortie of waddell and bailey is best told in waddell's report to governor dobbs (february 29, 1760): for several days i observed a small party of indians were constantly about the fort, i sent out several parties after them to no purpose, the evening before last between 8 & 9 o'clock i found by the dogs making an uncommon noise there must be a party nigh a spring which we sometimes use. as my garrison is but small, and i was apprehensive it might be a scheme to draw out the garrison, i took our capt. bailie who with myself and party made up ten: we had not marched 300 yds. from the fort when we were attacked by at least 60 or 70 indians. i had given my party orders not to fire until i gave the word, which they punctually observed: we recd the indians' fire: when i perceived they had almost all fired, i ordered my party to fire which we did not further than 12 steps each loaded with a bullet and 7 buck shot, they had nothing to cover them as they were advancing either to tomahawk us or make us prisoners: they found the fire very hot from so small a number which a good deal confused them: i then ordered my party to retreat, as i found the instant our skirmish began another party had attacked the fort, upon our reinforcing the garrison the indians were soon repulsed with i am sure a considerable loss, from what i myself saw as well as those i can confide in they cou'd not have less than 10 or 12 killed and wounded; the next morning we found a great deal of blood and one dead whom i suppose they cou'd not find in the night. on my side i had 2 men wounded one of whom i am afraid will die as he is scalped, the other is in way of recovery, and one boy killed near the fort whom they durst not advance to scalp. i expected they would have paid me another visit last night, as they attack all fortifications by night, but find they did not like their reception. [65] alarmed by waddell's "offensive-defensive," the indians abandoned the siege. robert campbell, waddell's ranger, who was scalped in this engagement, subsequently recovered from his wounds and was recompensed by the colony with the sum of twenty pounds. [66] in addition to the frontier militia, four independent companies were now placed under waddell's command. companies of volunteers scoured the woods in search of the lurking indian foe. these rangers, who were clad in hunting-shirts and buckskin leggings, and who employed indian tactics in fighting, were captained by such hardy leaders as the veteran morgan bryan, the intrepid griffith rutherford, the german partisan, martin phifer (pfeiffer), and anthony hampton, the father of general wade hampton. they visited periodically a chain of "forest castles" erected by the settlers--extending all the way from fort dobbs and the moravian fortifications in the wachau to samuel stalnaker's stockade on the middle fork of the holston in virginia. about the middle of march, thirty volunteer rowan county rangers encountered a band of forty cherokees, who fortified themselves in a deserted house near the catawba river. the famous scout and hunter, john perkins, assisted by one of his bolder companions, crept up to the house and flung lighted torches upon the roof. one of the indians, as the smoke became suffocating and the flames burned hotter, exclaimed: "better for one to die bravely than for all to perish miserably in the flames," and darting forth, dashed rapidly hither and thither, in order to draw as many shots as possible. this act of superb self-sacrifice was successful; and while the rifles of the whites, who riddled the brave indian with balls, were empty, the other savages made a wild dash for liberty. seven fell thus under the deadly rain of bullets; but many escaped. ten of the indians, all told, lost their scalps, for which the volunteer rangers were subsequently paid one hundred pounds by the colony of north carolina. [67] beaten back from fort dobbs, sorely defeated along the catawba, hotly pursued by the rangers, the cherokees continued to lurk in the shadows of the dense forests, and at every opportunity to fall suddenly upon wayfaring settlers and isolated cabins remote from any stronghold. on march 8th william fish, his son, and thompson, a companion, were riding along the "trace," in search of provisions for a group of families fortified on the yadkin, when a flight of arrows hurtled from the cane-brake, and fish and his son fell dead. although pierced with two arrows, one in the hip and one clean through his body, thompson escaped upon his fleet horse; and after a night of ghastly suffering finally reached the carolina fort at bethabara. the good dr. bonn, by skilfully extracting the barbed shafts from his body, saved thompson's life. the pious moravians rejoiced over the recovery of the brave messenger, whose sensational arrival gave them timely warning of the close proximity of the indians. while feeding their cattle, settlers were shot from ambush by the lurking foe; and on march 11th, a family barricaded within a burning house, which they were defending with desperate courage, were rescued in the nick of time by the militia. no episode from fenimore cooper's leatherstocking tales surpasses in melancholy interest harry hicks's heroic defense of his little fort on bean island creek. surrounded by the indians, hicks and his family took refuge within the small outer palisade around his humble home. fighting desperately against terrific odds, he was finally driven from his yard into his log cabin, which he continued to defend with dauntless courage. with every shot he tried to send a redskin to the happy hunting-grounds; and it was only after his powder was exhausted that he fell, fighting to the last, beneath the deadly tomahawk. so impressed were the indians by his bravery that they spared the life of his wife and his little son; and these were afterward rescued by waddell when he marched to the cherokee towns in 1761. [68] the kindly moravians had always entertained with generous hospitality the roving bands of cherokees, who accordingly held them in much esteem and spoke of bethabara as "the dutch fort, where there are good people and much bread." but now, in these dread days, the truth of their daily text was brought forcibly home to the moravians: "neither nehemiah nor his brethren put off their clothes, but prayed as they watched." with bible in one hand and rifle in the other, the inhabitant of wachovia sternly marched to religious worship. no puritan of bleak new england ever showed more resolute courage or greater will to defend the hard-won outpost of civilization than did the pious moravian of the wachau. at the new settlement of bethania on easter day, more than four hundred souls, including sixty rangers, listened devoutly to the eloquent sermon of bishop spangenberg concerning the way of salvation--the while their arms, stacked without the gemein haus, were guarded by the watchful sentinel. on march 14th the watchmen at bethania with well-aimed shots repelled the indians, whose hideous yells of baffled rage sounded down the wind like "the howling of a hundred wolves." religion was no protection against the savages; for three ministers journeying to the present site of salem were set upon by the red men--one escaping, another suffering capture, and the third, a baptist, losing his life. a little later word came to fort dobbs that john long and robert gillespie of salisbury had been shot from ambush and scalped--long having been pierced with eight bullets and gillespie with seven. [69] there is one beautiful incident recorded by the moravians, which has a truly symbolic significance. while the war was at its height, a strong party of cherokees, who had lost their chief, planned in retaliation to attack bethabara. "when they went home," sets forth the moravian diary, "they said they had been to a great town, where there were a great many people, where the bells rang often, and during the night, time after time, a horn was blown, so that they feared to attack the town and had taken no prisoners." the trumpet of the watchman, announcing the passing of the hour, had convinced the indians that their plans for attack were discovered; and the regular evening bell, summoning the pious to prayer, rang in the stricken ears of the red men like the clamant call to arms. following the retirement from office of governor lyttelton, lieutenant-governor bull proceeded to prosecute the war with vigor. on april 1, 1760, twelve hundred men under colonel archibald montgomerie arrived at charleston, with instructions to strike an immediate blow and to relieve fort loudon, then invested by the cherokees. with his own force, two hundred and ninety-five south carolina rangers, forty picked men of the new "levies," and "a good number of guides," montgomerie moved from fort ninety-six on may 28th. on the first of june, crossing twelve-mile river, montgomerie began the campaign in earnest, devastating and burning every indian village in the valley of keowee, killing and capturing more than a hundred of the cherokees, and destroying immense stores of corn. receiving no reply to his summons to the cherokees of the middle and upper towns to make peace or suffer like treatment, montgomerie took up his march from fort prince george on june 24th, resolved to carry out his threat. on the morning of the 27th, he was drawn into an ambuscade within six miles of et-chow-ee, eight miles south of the present franklin, north carolina, a mile and a half below smith's bridge, and was vigorously attacked from dense cover by some six hundred and thirty warriors led by si-lou-ee. fighting with indian tactics, the provincial rangers under patrick calhoun particularly distinguished themselves; and the blood-curdling yells of the painted savages were responded to by the wild huzzas of the kilted highlanders who, waving their scotch bonnets, impetuously charged the redskins and drove them again and again from their lurking-places. nevertheless montgomerie lost from eighty to one hundred in killed and wounded, while the loss of the indians was supposed to be about half the loss of the whites. unable to care for his wounded and lacking the means of removing his baggage, montgomerie silently withdrew his forces. in so doing, he acknowledged defeat, since he was compelled to abandon his original intention of relieving the beleaguered garrison of fort loudon. captain demere and his devoted little band, who had been resolutely holding out, were now left to their tragic fate. after the bread was exhausted, the garrison was reduced to the necessity of eating dogs and horses; and the loyal aid of the indian wives of some of the garrison, who secretly brought them supplies of food daily, enabled them to hold out still longer. realizing at last the futility of prolonging the hopeless contest, captain demere surrendered the fort on august 8, 1760. at daylight the next morning, while on the march to fort prince george, the soldiers were set upon by the treacherous cherokees, who at the first onset killed captain demere and twenty-nine others. a humane chieftain, outassitus, says one of the gazettes of the day, "went around the field calling upon the indians to desist, and making such representations to them as stopped the further progress and effects of their barbarous and brutal rage," which expressed itself in scalping and hacking off the arms and legs of the defenseless whites. atta-kulla-kulla, who was friendly to the whites, claimed captain stuart, the second officer, as his captive, and bore him away by stealth. after nine days' journey through the wilderness they encountered an advance party under major andrew lewis, sent out by colonel byrd, head of a relieving army, to rescue and succor any of the garrison who might effect their escape. thus stuart was restored to his friends. this abortive and tragic campaign, in which the victory lay conclusively with the indians, ended when byrd disbanded his new levies and montgomerie sailed from charleston for the north (august, 1760). during the remainder of the year, the province of north carolina remained free of further alarms from the indians. but the view was generally entertained that one more joint effort of north carolina, south carolina, and virginia would have to be made in order to humble the cherokees. at the sessions of the north carolina assembly in november and again in december, matters in dispute between governor dobbs and the representatives of the people made impossible the passage of a proposed aid bill, providing for five hundred men to coã�â¶perate with virginia and south carolina. nevertheless volunteers in large numbers patriotically marched from north carolina to charleston and the congaree (december, 1760, to april, 1761), to enlist in the famous regiment being organized by colonel thomas middleton. [70] on march 31, 1761, governor dobbs called together the assembly to act upon a letter received from general amherst, outlining a more vigorous plan of campaign appropriate to the succession of a young and vigorous sovereign, george iii. an aid bill was passed, providing twenty thousand pounds for men and supplies; and one regiment of five companies of one hundred men each, under the command of colonel hugh waddell, was mustered into service for seven months' duty, beginning may 1, 1761. [71] on july 7, 1761, colonel james grant, detached from the main army in command of a force of twenty-six hundred men, took up his march from fort prince george. attacked on june 10th two miles south of the spot where montgomerie was engaged the preceding year, grant's army, after a vigorous engagement lasting several hours, drove off the indians. the army then proceeded at leisure to lay waste the fifteen towns of the middle settlements; and, after this work of systematic devastation was over, returned to fort prince george. peace was concluded in september as the result of this campaign; and in consequence the frontier was pushed seventy miles farther to the west. meantime, colonel waddell with his force of five hundred north carolinians had acted in concert with colonel william byrd, commanding the virginia detachment. the combined forces went into camp at captain samuel stalnaker's old place on the middle fork of holston. because of his deliberately dilatory policy, byrd was superseded in the command by colonel adam stephen. marching their forces to the long island of holston, stephen and waddell erected there fort robinson, in compliance with the instructions of governor fauquier, of virginia. the cherokees, heartily tired of the war, now sued for peace, which was concluded, independent of the treaty at charleston, on november 19, 1761. the successful termination of this campaign had an effect of signal importance in the development of the expansionist spirit. the rich and beautiful lands which fell under the eye of the north carolina and virginia pioneers under waddell, byrd, and stephen, lured them irresistibly on to wider casts for fortune and bolder explorations into the unknown, beckoning west. chapter vii. the land companies it was thought good policy to settle those lands as fast as possible, and that the granting them to men of the first consequence who were likeliest and best able to procure large bodies of people to settle on them was the most probable means of effecting the end proposed. --acting-governor nelson of virginia to the earl of hillsborough: 1770. although for several decades the virginia traders had been passing over the great trading path to the towns of the cherokees and the catawbas, it was not until the early years of the eighteenth century that virginians of imaginative vision directed their eyes to the westward, intent upon crossing the mountains and locating settlements as a firm barrier against the imperialistic designs of france. acting upon his oft-expressed conviction that once the english settlers had established themselves at the source of the james river "it would not be in the power of the french to dislodge them," governor alexander spotswood in 1716, animated with the spirit of the pioneer, led an expedition of fifty men and a train of pack-horses to the mountains, arduously ascended to the summit of the blue ridge, and claimed the country by right of discovery in behalf of his sovereign. in the journal of john fontaine this vivacious account is given of the historic episode: "i graved my name on a tree by the river side; and the governor buried a bottle with a paper enclosed on which he writ that he took possession of this place in the name and for king george the first of england. we had a good dinner, and after it we got the men together and loaded all their arms and we drank the king's health in burgundy and fired a volley, and all the rest of the royal family in claret and a volley. we drank the governor's health and fired another volley." by this jovial picnic, which the governor afterward commemorated by presenting to each of the gentlemen who accompanied him a golden horseshoe, inscribed with the legend, sic juvat transcendere montes, alexander spotswood anticipated by a third of a century the more ambitious expedition on behalf of france by cã�â¨loron de bienville (see chapter iii), and gave a memorable object-lesson in the true spirit of westward expansion. during the ensuing years it began to dawn upon the minds of men of the stamp of william byrd and joshua gee that there was imperative need for the establishment of a chain of settlements in the trans-alleghany, a great human wall to withstand the advancing wave of french influence and occupation. by the fifth decade of the century, as we have seen, the virginia settlers, with their squatter's claims and tomahawk rights, had pushed on to the mountains; and great pressure was brought to bear upon the council to issue grants for vast tracts of land in the uncharted wilderness of the interior. at this period the english ministry adopted the aggressive policy already mentioned in connection with the french and indian war, indicative of a determination to contest with france the right to occupy the interior of the continent. this policy had been inaugurated by virginia with the express purpose of stimulating the adoption of a similar policy by north carolina and pennsylvania. two land companies, organized almost simultaneously, actively promoted the preliminaries necessary to settlement, despatching parties under expert leadership to discover the passes through the mountains and to locate the best land in the trans-alleghany. in june, 1749, a great corporation, the loyal land company of virginia, received a grant of eight hundred thousand acres above the north carolina line and west of the mountains. dr. thomas walker, an expert surveyor, who in company with several other gentlemen had made a tour of exploration through eastern tennessee and the holston region in 1748, was chosen as the agent of this company. starting from his home in albemarle county, virginia, march 6, 1750, accompanied by five stalwart pioneers, walker made a tour of exploration to the westward, being absent four months and one week. on this journey, which carried the party as far west as the rockcastle river (may 11th) and as far north as the present paintsville, kentucky, they named many natural objects, such as mountains and rivers, after members of the party. their two principal achievements were the erection of the first house built by white men between the cumberland mountains and the ohio river--a feat, however, which led to no important developments; and the discovery of the wonderful gap in the alleghanies to which walker gave the name cumberland, in honor of the ruthless conqueror at culloden, the "bloody duke." in 1748 the ohio company was organized by colonel thomas lee, president of the virginia council, and twelve other gentlemen, of virginia and maryland. in their petition for five hundred thousand acres, one of the declared objects of the company was "to anticipate the french by taking possession of that country southward of the lakes to which the french had no right...." by the royal order of may 19, 1749, the company was awarded two hundred thousand acres, free of quit-rent for ten years; and the promise was made of an additional award of the remainder petitioned for, on condition of seating a hundred families upon the original grant and the building and maintaining of a fort. christopher gist, summoned from his remote home on the yadkin in north carolina, was instructed "to search out and discover the lands upon the river ohio & other adjoining branches of the mississippi down as low as the great falls thereof." in this journey, which began at colonel thomas cresap's, in maryland, in october, 1750, and ended at gist's home on may 18, 1751, gist visited the lower shawnee town and the lower blue licks, ascended pilot knob almost two decades before findlay and boone, from the same eminence, "saw with pleasure the beautiful level of kentucky," intersected walker's route at two points, and crossed cumberland mountain at pound gap on the return journey. this was a far more extended journey than walker's, enabling gist to explore the fertile valleys of the muskingum, scioto, and miami rivers and to gain a view of the beautiful meadows of kentucky. [72] it is eminently significant of the spirit of the age, which was inaugurating an era of land-hunger unparalleled in american history, that the first authentic records of the trans-alleghany were made by surveyors who visited the country as the agents of great land companies. the outbreak of the french and indian war so soon afterward delayed for a decade and more any important colonization of the west. indeed, the explorations and findings of walker and gist were almost unknown, even to the companies they represented. but the conclusion of peace in 1763, which gave all the region between the mountains and the mississippi to the british, heralded the true beginning of the westward expansionist movement in the old southwest, and inaugurated the constructive leadership of north carolina in the occupation and colonization of the imperial domain of kentucky and the ohio valley. in the middle years of the century many families of virginia gentry removed to the back country of north carolina in the fertile region ranging from williamsborough on the east to hillsborough on the west. [73] there soon arose in this section of the colony a society marked by intellectual distinction, social graces, and the leisured dignity of the landlord and the large planter. so conspicuous for means, intellect, culture, and refinement were the people of this group, having "abundance of wealth and leisure for enjoyment," that governor josiah martin, in passing through this region some years later, significantly observes: "they have great pre-eminence, as well with respect to soil and cultivation, as to the manners and condition of the inhabitants, in which last respect the difference is so great that one would be led to think them people of another region." [74] this new wealthy class which was now turning its gaze toward the unoccupied lands along the frontier was "dominated by the democratic ideals of pioneers rather than by the aristocratic tendencies of slave-holding planters." [75] from the cross-fertilization of the ideas of two social groups--this back-country gentry, of innate qualities of leadership, democratic instincts, economic independence, and expansive tendencies, and the primitive pioneer society of the frontier, frugal in taste, responsive to leadership, bold, ready, and thorough in execution--there evolved the militant american expansion in the old southwest. a conspicuous figure in this society of virginia emigrants was a young man named richard henderson, whose father had removed with his family from hanover county, virginia, to bute, afterward granville county, north carolina, in 1742. [76] educated at home by a private tutor, he began his career as assistant of his father, samuel henderson, the high sheriff of granville county; and after receiving a law-license, quickly acquired an extensive practice. "even in the superior courts where oratory and eloquence are as brilliant and powerful as in westminster-hall," records an english acquaintance, "he soon became distinguished and eminent, and his superior genius shone forth with great splendour, and universal applause." this young attorney, wedded to the daughter of an irish lord, often visited salisbury on his legal circuit; and here he became well acquainted with squire boone, one of the "worshipfull justices," and often appeared in suits before him. by his son, the nomadic daniel boone, conspicuous already for his solitary wanderings across the dark green mountains to the sun-lit valleys and boundless hunting-grounds beyond, henderson was from time to time regaled with bizarre and fascinating tales of western exploration; and boone, in his dark hour of poverty and distress, when he was heavily involved financially, turned for aid to this friend and his partner, who composed the law-firm of williams and henderson. [77] boone's vivid descriptions of the paradise of the west stimulated henderson's imaginative mind and attracted his attention to the rich possibilities of unoccupied lands there. while the board of trade in drafting the royal proclamation of october 7, 1763, forbade the granting of lands in the vast interior, which was specifically reserved to the indians, it was clearly not their intention to set permanent western limits to the colonies. [78] the prevailing opinion among the shrewdest men of the period was well expressed by george washington, who wrote his agent for preã�â«mpting western lands: "i can never look upon that proclamation in any other light (but i say this between ourselves) than as a temporary expedient to quiet the minds of the indians." and again in 1767: "it [the proclamation of 1763] must fall, of course, in a few years, especially when those indians consent to our occupying the lands. any person, therefore, who neglects the present opportunity of hunting out good lands, and in some measure marking out and distinguishing them for his own, in order to keep others from settling them, will never regain it." washington had added greatly to his holdings of bounty lands in the west by purchasing at trivial prices the claims of many of the officers and soldiers. three years later we find him surveying extensive tracts along the ohio and the great kanawha, and, with the vision of the expansionist, making large plans for the establishment of a colony to be seated upon his own lands. henderson, too, recognized the importance of the great country west of the appalachians. he agreed with the opinion of benjamin franklin, who in 1756 called it "one of the finest in north america for the extreme richness and fertility of the land, the healthy temperature of the air and the mildness of the climate, the plenty of hunting, fishing and fowling, the facility of trade with the indians and the vast convenience of inland navigation or water carriage." [79] henderson therefore proceeded to organize a land company for the purpose of acquiring and colonizing a large domain in the west. this partnership, which was entitled richard henderson and company, was composed of a few associates, including richard henderson, his uncle and law-partner, john williams, and, in all probability, their close friends thomas and nathaniel hart of orange county, north carolina, immigrants from hanover county, virginia. seizing the opportunity presented just after the conclusion of peace, the company engaged daniel boone as scout and surveyor. he was instructed, while hunting and trapping on his own account, to examine, with respect to their location and fertility, the lands which he visited, and to report his findings upon his return. the secret expedition must have been transacted with commendable circumspection; for although in after years it became common knowledge among his friends that he had acted as the company's agent, boone himself consistently refrained from betraying the confidence of his employers. [80] upon a similar mission, gist had carefully concealed from the suspicious indians the fact that he carried a compass, which they wittily termed "land stealer"; and washington likewise imposed secrecy upon his land agent crawford, insisting that the operation be carried on under the guise of hunting game. [81] the discreet boone, taciturn and given to keeping his own counsel, in one instance at least deemed it advantageous to communicate the purpose of his mission to some hunters, well known to him, in order to secure the results of their information in regard to the best lands they had encountered in the course of their hunting expedition. boone came among the hunters, known as the "blevens connection," at one of their tennessee station camps on their return from a long hunt in kentucky, in order, as expressed in the quaint phraseology of the period, to be "informed of the geography and locography of these woods, saying that he was employed to explore them by henderson & company." [82] the acquaintance which boone on this occasion formed with a member of the party, henry scaggs, the skilled hunter and explorer, was soon to bear fruit; for shortly afterward scaggs was employed as prospector by the same land company. in 1764 scaggs had passed through cumberland gap and hunted for the season on the cumberland; and accordingly the following year, as the agent of richard henderson and company, he was despatched on an extended exploration to the lower cumberland, fixing his station at the salt lick afterward known as mansker's lick. [83] richard henderson thus, it appears, "enlisted the harts and others in an enterprise which his own genius planned," says peck, the personal acquaintance and biographer of boone, "and then encouraged several hunters to explore the country and learn where the best lands lay." just why henderson and his associates did not act sooner upon the reports brought back by the hunters--boone and scaggs and callaway, who accompanied boone in 1764 in the interest of the land company--is not known; [84] but in all probability the fragmentary nature of these reports, however glowing and enthusiastic, was sufficient cause for the delay of five years before the land company, through the agency of boone and findlay, succeeded in having a thorough exploration made of the kentucky region. delay was also caused by rival claims to the territory. in the virginia gazette of december 1, 1768, henderson must have read with astonishment not unmixed with dismay that "the six nations and all their tributaries have granted a vast extent of country to his majesty, and the proprietaries of pennsylvania, and settled an advantageous boundary line between their hunting country and this, and the other colonies to the southward as far as the cherokee river, for which they received the most valuable present in goods and dollars that was ever given at any conference since the settlement of america." the news was now bruited about through the colony of north carolina that the cherokees were hot in their resentment because the northern indians, the inveterate foes of the cherokees and the perpetual disputants for the vast middle ground of kentucky, had received at the treaty of fort stanwix, november 5, 1768, an immense compensation from the crown for the territory which they, the cherokees, claimed from time immemorial. [85] only three weeks before, john stuart, superintendent for indian affairs in the southern department, had negotiated with the cherokees the treaty of hard labor, south carolina (october 14th), by which governor tryon's line of 1767, from reedy river to tryon mountain, was continued direct to colonel chiswell's mine, the present wytheville, virginia, and thence in a straight line to the mouth of the great kanawha. [86] thus at the close of the year 1768 the crown through both royal governor and superintendent of indian affairs acknowledged in fair and open treaty the right of the cherokees, whose tennessee villages guarded the gateway, to the valley lands east of the mountain barrier as well as to the dim mid-region of kentucky. in the very act of negotiating the treaty of fort stanwix, sir william johnson privately acknowledged that possession of the trans-alleghany could be legally obtained only by extinguishing the title of the cherokees. [87] these conflicting claims soon led to collisions between the indians and the company's settlers. in the spring of 1769 occurred one of those incidents in the westward advance which, though slight in itself, was to have a definite bearing upon the course of events in later years. in pursuance of his policy, as agent of the loyal land company, of promoting settlement upon the company's lands, dr. thomas walker, who had visited powell's valley the preceding year and come into possession of a very large tract there, simultaneously made proposals to one party of men including the kirtleys, captain rucker, and others, and to another party led by joseph martin, trader of orange county, virginia, afterward a striking figure in the old southwest. the fevered race by these bands of eighteenth-century "sooners" for possession of an early "cherokee strip" was won by the latter band, who at once took possession and began to clear; so that when the kirtleys arrived, martin coolly handed them "a letter from dr. walker that informed them that if we got to the valley first, we were to have 21,000 acres of land, and they were not to interfere with us." martin and his companions were delighted with the beautiful valley at the base of the cumberland, quickly "eat and destroyed 23 deer--15 bears--2 buffaloes and a great quantity of turkeys," and entertained gentlemen from virginia and maryland who desired to settle more than a hundred families there. the company reckoned, however, without their hosts, the cherokees, who, fortified by the treaty of hard labor (1768) which left this country within the indian reservation, were determined to drive martin and his company out. while hunting on the cumberland river, northwest of cumberland gap, martin and his company were surrounded and disarmed by a party of cherokees who said they had orders from cameron, the royal agent, to rob all white men hunting on their lands. when martin and his party arrived at their station in powell's valley, they found it broken up and their goods stolen by the indians, which left them no recourse but to return to the settlements in virginia. it was not until six years later that martin, under the stable influence of the transylvania company, was enabled to return to this spot and erect there the station which was to play an integral part in the progress of westward expansion. [88] before going on to relate boone's explorations of kentucky under the auspices of the land company, it will be convenient to turn back for a moment and give some account of other hunters and explorers who visited that territory between the time of its discovery by walker and gist and the advent of boone. chapter viii. the long hunters in the twilight zone the long hunters principally resided in the upper countries of virginia & north carolina on new river & holston river, and when they intended to make a long hunt (as they calld it) they collected near the head of holston near whare abingdon now stands.... --general william hall. before the coming of walker and gist in 1750 and 1751 respectively, the region now called kentucky had, as far as we know, been twice visited by the french, once in 1729 when chaussegros de lã�â©ry and his party visited the big bone lick, and again in the summer of 1749 when the baron de longueuil with four hundred and fifty-two frenchmen and indians, going to join bienville in an expedition against "the cherickees and other indians lying at the back of carolina and georgia," doubtless encamped on the kentucky shore of the ohio. kentucky was also traversed by john peter salling with his three adventurous companions in their journey through the middle west in 1742. but all these early visits, including the memorable expeditions of walker and gist, were so little known to the general public that when john filson wrote the history of kentucky in 1784 he attributed its discovery to james mcbride in 1754. more influential upon the course of westward expansion was an adventure which occurred in 1752, the very year in which the boones settled down in their yadkin home. in the autumn of 1752, a pennsylvania trader, john findlay, with three or four companions, descended the ohio river in a canoe as far as the falls at the present louisville, kentucky, and accompanied a party of shawanoes to their town of es-kip-pa-ki-thi-ki, eleven miles east of what is now winchester. this was the site of the "indian old corn field," the iroquois name for which ("the place of many fields," or "prairie") was ken-ta-ke, whence came the name of the state. five miles east of this spot, where still may be seen a mound and an ellipse showing the outline of the stockade, is the famous pilot knob, from the summit of which the fields surrounding the town lie visible in their smooth expanse. during findlay's stay at the indian town other traders from pennsylvania and virginia, who reported that they were "on their return from trading with the cuttawas (catawbas), a nation who live in the territories of carolina," assembled in the vicinity in january, 1753. here, as the result of disputes arising from their barter, they were set upon and captured by a large party of straggling indians (coghnawagas from montreal) on january 26th; but findlay and another trader named james lowry were so fortunate as to escape and return through the wilderness to the pennsylvania settlements. [89] the incident is of important historic significance; for it was from these traders, who must have followed the great warriors' path to the country of the catawbas, that findlay learned of the ouasioto (cumberland) gap traversed by the indian path. his reminiscences--of this gateway to kentucky, of the site of the old indian town on lulbegrud creek, a tributary of the red river, and of the pilot knob--were sixteen years later to fire boone to his great tour of exploration in behalf of the transylvania company. during the next two decades, largely because of the hostility of the savage tribes, only a few traders and hunters from the east ranged through the trans-alleghany. but in 1761, a party of hunters led by a rough frontiersman, elisha walden, penetrated into powell's valley, followed the indian trail through cumberland gap, explored the cumberland river, and finally reached the laurel mountain where, encountering a party of indians, they deemed it expedient to return. with walden went henry scaggs, afterward explorer for the henderson land company, william blevens and charles cox, the famous virginia hunters, one newman, and some fifteen other stout pioneers. their itinerary may be traced from the names given to natural objects in honor of members of the party--walden's mountain and walden's creek, scaggs' ridge and newman's ridge. following the peace of 1763, which made travel in this region moderately safe once more, the english proceeded to occupy the territory which they had won. in 1765 george croghan with a small party, on the way to prepare the inhabitants of the illinois country for transfer to english sovereignty, visited the great bone licks of kentucky (may 30th, 31st); and a year later captain harry gordon, chief engineer in the western department in north america, visited and minutely described the same licks and the falls. but these, and numerous other water-journeys and expeditions of which no records were kept, though interesting enough in themselves, had little bearing upon the larger phases of westward expansion and colonization. the decade opening with the year 1765 is the epoch of bold and ever bolder exploration--the more adventurous frontiersmen of the border pushing deep into the wilderness in search of game, lured on by the excitements of the chase and the profit to be derived from the sale of peltries. in midsummer, 1766, captain james smith, joshua horton, uriah stone, william baker, and a young mulatto slave passed through cumberland gap, hunted through the country south of the cherokee and along the cumberland and tennessee rivers, and as smith reports "found no vestige of any white man." during the same year a party of five hunters from south carolina, led by isaac lindsey, penetrated the kentucky wilderness to the tributary of the cumberland, named stone's river by the former party, for one of their number. here they encountered two men, who were among the greatest of the western pioneers, and were destined to leave their names in historic association with the early settlement of kentucky--james harrod and michael stoner, a german, both of whom had descended the ohio from fort pitt. with the year 1769 began those longer and more extended excursions into the interior which were to result in conveying at last to the outside world graphic and detailed information concerning "the wonderful new country of cantucky." in the late spring of this year hancock and richard taylor (the latter the father of president zachary taylor), abraham hempinstall, and one barbour, all true-blue frontiersmen, left their homes in orange county, virginia, and hunted extensively in kentucky and arkansas. two of the party traveled through georgia and east and west florida; while the other two hunted on the washita during the winter of 1770-1. explorations of this type became increasingly hazardous as the animosity of the indians increased; and from this time onward for a number of years almost all the parties of roving hunters suffered capture or attack by the crafty red men. in this same year major john mcculloch, living on the south branch of the potomac, set out accompanied by a white man-servant and a negro, to explore the western country. while passing down the ohio from pittsburgh mcculloch was captured by the indians near the mouth of the wabash and carried to the present site of terre haute, indiana. set free after four or five months, he journeyed in company with some french voyageurs first to natchez and then to new orleans, whence he made the sea voyage to philadelphia. somewhat later, benjamin cleveland (afterward famous in the revolution), attended by four companions, set out from his home on the upper yadkin to explore the kentucky wilderness. after passing through cumberland gap, they encountered a band of cherokees who plundered them of everything they had, even to their hats and shoes, and ordered them to leave the indian hunting-grounds. on their return journey they almost starved, and cleveland, who was reluctantly forced to kill his faithful little hunting-dog, was wont to declare in after years that it was the sweetest meat he ever ate. fired to adventure by the glowing accounts brought back by uriah stone, a much more formidable band than any that had hitherto ventured westward--including uriah stone as pilot, gasper mansker, john rains, the bledsoes, and a dozen others--assembled in june, 1769, in the new river region. "each man carried two horses," says an early pioneer in describing one of these parties, "traps, a large supply of powder and led, and a small hand vise and bellows, files and screw plate for the purpose of fixing the guns if any of them should get out of fix." passing through cumberland gap, they continued their long journey until they reached price's meadow, in the present wayne county, kentucky, where they established their encampment. in the course of their explorations, during which they gave various names to prominent natural features, they established their "station camp" on a creek in sumner county, tennessee, whence originated the name of station camp creek. isaac bledsoe and gasper mansker, agreeing to travel from here in opposite directions along a buffalo trace passing near the camp, each succeeded in discovering the famous salt-lick which bears his name--namely bledsoe's lick and mansker's lick. the flat surrounding the lick, about one hundred acres in extent, discovered by bledsoe, according to his own statement "was principally covered with buffelows in every direction--not hundreds but thousands." as he sat on his horse, he shot down two deer in the lick; but the buffaloes blindly trod them in the mud. they did not mind him and his horse except when the wind blew the scent in their nostrils, when they would break and run in droves. indians often lurked in the neighbourhood of these hunters--plundering their camp, robbing them, and even shooting down one of their number, robert crockett, from ambush. after many trials and vicissitudes, which included a journey to the spanish natchez and the loss of a great mass of peltries when they were plundered by piomingo and a war party of chickasaws, they finally reached home in the late spring of 1770. [90] the most notable expedition of this period, projected under the auspices of two bold leaders extraordinarily skilled in woodcraft, joseph drake and henry scaggs, was organized in the early autumn of 1770. this imposing band of stalwart hunters from the new river and holston country, some forty in number, garbed in hunting shirts, leggings, and moccasins, with three pack-horses to each man, rifles, ammunition, traps, dogs, blankets, and salt, pushed boldly through cumberland gap into the heart of what was later justly named the "dark and bloody ground" (see chapter xiv)--"not doubting," says an old border chronicler, "that they were to be encountered by indians, and to subsist on game." from the duration of their absence from home, they received the name of the long hunters--the romantic appellation by which they are known in the pioneer history of the old southwest. many natural objects were named by this party--in particular dick's river, after the noted cherokee hunter, captain dick, who, pleased to be recognized by charles scaggs, told the long hunters that on his river, pointing it out, they would find meat plenty--adding with laconic significance: "kill it and go home." from the knob lick, in lincoln county, as reported by a member of the party, "they beheld largely over a thousand animals, including buffaloe, elk, bear, and deer, with many wild turkies scattered among them; all quite restless, some playing, and others busily employed in licking the earth.... the buffaloe and other animals had so eaten away the soil, that they could, in places, go entirely underground." upon the return of a detachment to virginia, fourteen fearless hunters chose to remain; and one day, during the absence of some of the band upon a long exploring trip, the camp was attacked by a straggling party of indians under will emery, a half-breed cherokee. two of the hunters were carried into captivity and never heard of again; a third managed to escape. in embittered commemoration of the plunder of the camp and the destruction of the peltries, they inscribed upon a poplar, which had lost its bark, this emphatic record, followed by their names: 2300 deer skins lost ruination by god [91] undismayed by this depressing stroke of fortune, they continued their hunt in the direction of the lick which bledsoe had discovered the preceding year. shortly after this discovery, a french voyageur from the illinois who had hunted and traded in this region for a decade, timothã�â© de monbreun, subsequently famous in the history of tennessee, had visited the lick and killed an enormous number of buffaloes for their tallow and tongues with which he and his companion loaded a keel boat and descended the cumberland. an early pioneer, william hall, learned from isaac bledsoe that when "the long hunters crossed the ridge and came down on bledsoe's creek in four or five miles of the lick the cane had grown up so thick in the woods that they thought they had mistaken the place until they came to the lick and saw what had been done.... one could walk for several hundred yards a round the lick and in the lick on buffellows skuls, & bones and the whole flat round the lick was bleached with buffellows bones, and they found out the cause of the canes growing up so suddenly a few miles around the lick which was in consequence of so many buffellows being killed." this expedition was of genuine importance, opening the eyes of the frontiersmen to the charms of the country and influencing many to settle subsequently in the west--some in tennessee, some in kentucky. the elaborate and detailed information brought back by henry scaggs exerted an appreciable influence, no doubt, in accelerating the plans of richard henderson and company for the acquisition and colonization of the trans-alleghany. but while the "long hunters" were in tennessee and kentucky the same region was being more extensively and systematically explored by daniel boone. to his life, character, and attainments, as the typical "long hunter" and the most influential pioneer we may now turn our particular attention. chapter ix. daniel boone and wilderness exploration here, where the hand of violence shed the blood of the innocent; where the horrid yells of the savages, and the groans of the distressed, sounded in our ears, we now hear the praises and adorations of our creator; where wretched wigwams stood, the miserable abodes of savages, we behold the foundations of cities laid, that, in all probability, will equal the glory of the greatest upon earth. --daniel boone, 1784. the wandering life of a border nimrod in a surpassingly beautiful country teeming with game was the ideal of the frontiersman of the eighteenth century. as early as 1728, while running the dividing line between north carolina and virginia, william byrd encountered along the north carolina frontier the typical figure of the professional hunter: "a famous woodsman, call'd epaphroditus bainton. this forester spends all his time in ranging the woods, and is said to make great havock among the deer, and other inhabitants of the forest, not much wilder than himself." by the middle of the century, as he was threading his way through the carolina piedmont zone, the hunter's paradise of the yadkin and catawba country, bishop spangenberg found ranging there many hunters, living like indians, who killed thousands of deer each year and sold the skins in the local markets or to the fur-traders from virginia whose heavy pack-trains with their tinkling bells constantly traversed the course of the great trading path. the superlative skill of one of these hunters, both as woodsman and marksman, was proverbial along the border. the name of daniel boone became synonymous with expert huntsmanship and almost uncanny wisdom in forest lore. the bottoms of the creek near the boone home, three miles west of present mocksville, contained a heavy growth of beech, which dropped large quantities of its rich nuts or mast, greatly relished by bears; and this creek received its name, bear creek, because daniel and his father killed in its rich bottoms ninety-nine bears in a single hunting-season. after living for a time with his young wife, rebecca bryan, in a cabin in his father's yard, daniel built a home of his own upon a tract of land, purchased from his father on october 12, 1759, and lying on sugar tree, a tributary of dutchman's creek. here he dwelt for the next five years, with the exception of the period of his temporary removal to virginia during the terrible era of the indian war. most of his time during the autumn and winter, when he was not engaged in wagoning or farming, he spent in long hunting-journeys into the mountains to the west and northwest. during the hunting-season of 1760 he struck deeper than ever before into the western mountain region and encamped in a natural rocky shelter amidst fine hunting-grounds, in what is now washington county in east tennessee. of the scores of inscriptions commemorative of his hunting-feats, which boone with pardonable pride was accustomed throughout his life-time to engrave with his hunting-knife upon trees and rocks, the earliest known is found upon a leaning beech tree, only recently fallen, near his camp and the creek which since that day has borne his name. this is a characteristic and enduring record in the history of american exploration: d. boon cilled a. bar on tree in the year 1760 late in the summer of the following year boone marched under the command of the noted indian-fighter of the border, colonel hugh waddell, in his campaign against the cherokees. from the lips of waddell, who was outspoken in his condemnation of byrd's futile delays in road-cutting and fort-building, boone learned the true secret of success in indian warfare, which was lost upon braddock, forbes, and later st. clair: that the art of defeating red men was to deal them a sudden and unexpected blow, before they had time either to learn the strength of the force employed against them or to lay with subtle craft their artful ambuscade. in the late autumn of 1761, daniel boone and nathaniel gist, the son of washington's famous guide, who were both serving under waddell, temporarily detached themselves from his command and led a small party on a "long hunt" in the valley of the holston. while encamping near the site of black's fort, subsequently built, they were violently assailed by a pack of fierce wolves which they had considerable difficulty in beating off; and from this incident the locality became known as wolf hills (now abingdon, virginia). [92] from this time forward boone's roving instincts had full sway. for many months each year he threaded his way through that marvelously beautiful country of western north carolina felicitously described as the switzerland of america. boone's love of solitude and the murmuring forest was surely inspired by the phenomenal beauties of the country through which he roamed at will. blowing rock on one arm of a great horseshoe of mountains and tryon mountain upon the other arm, overlooked an enormous, primeval bowl, studded by a thousand emerald-clad eminences. there was the pilot mountain, the towering and isolated pile which from time immemorial had served the aborigines as a guide in their forest wanderings; there was the dizzy height of the roan on the border; there was mt. mitchell, portentous in its grandeur, the tallest peak on the continent east of the rockies; and there was the grandfather, the oldest mountain on earth according to geologists, of which it has been written: oldest of all terrestrial things--still holding thy wrinkled forehead high; whose every seam, earth's history enfolding, grim science doth defy! thou caught'st the far faint ray from sirius rising, when through space first was hurled the primal gloom of ancient voids surprising, this atom, called the world! what more gratifying to the eye of the wanderer than the luxuriant vegetation and lavish profusion of the gorgeous flowers upon the mountain slopes, radiant rhododendron, rosebay, and laurel, and the azalea rising like flame; or the rare beauties of the water--the cataract of linville, taking its shimmering leap into the gorge, and that romantic river poetically celebrated in the lines: swannanoa, nymph of beauty, i would woo thee in my rhyme, wildest, brightest, loveliest river of our sunny southern clime. ã¢â�¬â¢ ã¢â�¬â¢ ã¢â�¬â¢ gone forever from the borders but immortal in thy name, are the red men of the forest be thou keeper of their fame! paler races dwell beside thee, celt and saxon till thy lands wedding use unto thy beauty-linking over thee their hands. the long rambling excursions which boone made through western north carolina and eastern tennessee enabled him to explore every nook and corner of the rugged and beautiful mountain region. among the companions and contemporaries with whom he hunted and explored the country were his little son james and his brother jesse; the linville who gave the name to the beautiful falls; julius cã�â¦sar dugger, whose rock house stood near the head of elk creek; and nathaniel gist, who described for him the lofty gateway to kentucky, through which christopher gist had passed in 1751. boone had already heard of this gateway, from findlay, and it was one of the secret and cherished ambitions of his life to scale the mountain wall of the appalachians and to reach that high portal of the cumberland which beckoned to the mysterious new eden beyond. although hunting was an endless delight to boone he was haunted in the midst of this pleasure, as was kipling's explorer, by the lure of the undiscovered: till a voice as bad as conscience, rang interminable changes on one everlasting whisper day and night repeated--so: 'something hidden. go and find it. go and look behind the ranges-'something lost behind the ranges. lost and waiting for you. go.' of boone's preliminary explorations for the land company known as richard henderson and company, an account has already been given; and the delay in following them up has been touched on and in part explained. meanwhile boone transferred his efforts for a time to another field. toward the close of the summer of 1765 a party consisting of major john field, william hill, one slaughter, and two others, all from culpeper county, virginia, visited boone and induced him to accompany them on the "long journey" to florida, whither they were attracted by the liberal offer of colonel james grant, governor of the eastern section, the florida of to-day. on this long and arduous expedition they suffered many hardships and endured many privations, found little game, and on one occasion narrowly escaped starvation. they explored florida from st. augustine to pensacola; and boone, who relished fresh scenes and a new environment, purchased a house and lot in pensacola in anticipation of removal thither. but upon his return home, finding his wife unwilling to go, boone once more turned his eager eye toward the west, that mysterious and alluring region beyond the great range, the fabled paradise of kentucky. the following year four young men from the yadkin, benjamin cutbird, john stewart (boone's brother-in-law who afterwards accompanied him to kentucky), john baker, and james ward made a remarkable journey to the westward, crossing the appalachian mountain chain over some unknown route, and finally reaching the mississippi. the significance of the journey, in its bearing upon westward expansion, inheres in the fact that while for more than half a century the english traders from south carolina had been winning their way to the mississippi along the lower routes and indian trails, this was the first party from either of the carolinas, as far as is known, that ever reached the mississippi by crossing the great mountain barrier. when cutbird, a superb woodsman and veritable leatherstocking, narrated to boone the story of his adventures, it only confirmed boone in his determination to find the passage through the mountain chain leading to the mesopotamia of kentucky. such an enterprise was attended by terrible dangers. during 1766 and 1767 the steady encroachments of the white settlers upon the ancestral domain which the indians reserved for their imperial hunting-preserve aroused bitter feelings of resentment among the red men. bloody reprisal was often the sequel to such encroachment. the vast region of tennessee and the trans-alleghany was a twilight zone, through which the savages roamed at will. from time to time war parties of northern indians, the inveterate foes of the cherokees, scouted through this no-man's land and even penetrated into the western region of north carolina, committing murders and depredations upon the cherokees and the whites indiscriminately. during the summer of 1766, while boone's friend and close connection, captain william linville, his son john, and another young man, named john williams, were in camp some ten miles below linville falls, they were unexpectedly fired upon by a hostile band of northern indians, and before they had time to fire a shot, a second volley killed both the linvilles and severely wounded williams, who after extraordinary sufferings finally reached the settlements. [93] in may, 1767, four traders and a half-breed child of one of them were killed in the cherokee country. in the summer of this year governor william tryon of north carolina laid out the boundary line of the cherokees, and upon his return issued a proclamation forbidding any purchase of land from the indians and any issuance of grants for land within one mile of the boundary line. despite this wise precaution, seven north carolina hunters who during the following september had lawlessly ventured into the mountain region some sixty miles beyond the boundary were fired upon, and several of them killed, by the resentful cherokees. [94] undismayed by these signs of impending danger, undeterred even by the tragic fate of the linvilles, daniel boone, with the determination of the indomitable pioneer, never dreamed of relinquishing his long-cherished design. discouraged by the steady disappearance of game under the ruthless attack of innumerable hunters, boone continued to direct his thoughts toward the project of exploring the fair region of kentucky. the adventurous william hill, to whom boone communicated his purpose, readily consented to go with him; and in the autumn of 1767 boone and hill, accompanied, it is believed, by squire boone, daniel's brother, set forth upon their almost inconceivably hazardous expedition. they crossed the blue ridge and the alleghanies, the holston and clinch rivers near their sources, and finally reached the head waters of the west fork of the big sandy. surmising from its course that this stream must flow into the ohio, they pushed on a hundred miles to the westward and finally, by following a buffalo path, reached a salt-spring in what is now floyd county, in the extreme eastern section of kentucky. here boone beheld great droves of buffalo that visited the salt-spring to drink the water or lick the brackish soil. after spending the winter in hunting and trapping, the boones and hill, discouraged by the forbidding aspect of the hilly country which with its dense growth of laurel was exceedingly difficult to penetrate, abandoned all hope of finding kentucky by this route and wended their arduous way back to the yadkin. the account of boone's subsequent accomplishment of his purpose must be postponed to the next chapter. chapter x. daniel boone in kentucky he felt very much as columbus did, gazing from his caravel on san salvador; as cortes, looking down from the crest of ahualco, on the valley of mexico; or vasco nuã�â±ez, standing alone on the peak of darien, and stretching his eyes over the hitherto undiscovered waters of the pacific. --william gilmore simms: views and reviews. a chance acquaintance formed by daniel boone, during the french and indian war, with the irish lover of adventure, john findlay, [95] was the origin of boone's cherished longing to reach the el dorado of the west. in this slight incident we may discern the initial inspiration for the epochal movement of westward expansion. findlay was a trader and horse peddler, who had early migrated to carlisle, pennsylvania. he had been licensed a trader with the indians in 1747. during the same year he was married to elizabeth harris, daughter of john harris, the indian-trader at harris's ferry on the susquehanna river, after whom harrisburg was named. during the next eight years findlay carried on his business of trading in the interior. upon the opening of the french and indian war he was probably among "the young men about paxtang who enlisted immediately," and served as a waggoner in braddock's expedition. over the camp-fires, during the ensuing campaign in 1765, young boone was an eager listener to findlay's stirring narrative of his adventures in the ohio valley and on the wonderfully beautiful levels of kentucky in 1752. the fancies aroused in his brooding mind by findlay's moving recital and his description of an ancient passage through the ouasioto or cumberland gap and along the course of the warrior's path, inspired him with an irrepressible longing to reach that alluring promised land which was the perfect realization of the hunter's paradise. thirteen years later, while engaged in selling pins, needles, thread, and irish linens in the yadkin country, findlay learned from the pennsylvania settlers at salisbury or at the forks of the yadkin of boone's removal to the waters of the upper yadkin. at boone's rustic home, in the winter of 1768-9, findlay visited his old comrade-in-arms of braddock's campaign. on learning of boone's failure during the preceding year to reach the kentucky levels by way of the inhospitable sandy region, findlay again described to him the route through the ouasioto gap traversed sixteen years before by pennsylvania traders in their traffic with the catawbas. boone, as we have seen, knew that christopher gist, who had formerly lived near him on the upper yadkin, had found some passage through the lofty mountain defiles; but he had never been able to discover the passage. findlay's renewed descriptions of the immense herds of buffaloes he had seen in kentucky, the great salt-licks where they congregated, the abundance of bears, deer, and elk with which the country teemed, the innumerable flocks of wild turkeys, geese, and ducks, aroused in boone the hunter's passion for the chase; while the beauty of the lands, as mirrored in the vivid fancy of the irishman, inspired him with a new longing to explore the famous country which had, as john filson records, "greatly engaged mr. findlay's attention." in the comprehensive designs of henderson, now a judge, for securing a graphic report of the trans-alleghany region in behalf of his land company, boone divined the means of securing the financial backing for an expedition of considerable size and ample equipment. [96] in numerous suits for debt, aggregating hundreds of dollars, which had been instituted against boone by some of the leading citizens of rowan, williams and henderson had acted as boone's attorneys. in order to collect their legal fees, they likewise brought suit against boone; but not wishing to press the action against the kindly scout who had hitherto acted as their agent in western exploration, they continued the litigation from court to court, in lieu of certain "conditions performed" on behalf of boone, during his unbroken absence, by his attorney in this suit, alexander martin. [97] summoned to appear in 1769 at the march term of court at salisbury, boone seized upon the occasion to lay before judge henderson the designs for a renewed and extended exploration of kentucky suggested by the golden opportunity of securing the services of findlay as guide. shortly after march 6th, when judge henderson reached salisbury, the conference, doubtless attended by john stewart, boone's brother-in-law, john findlay, and boone, who were all present at this term of court, must have been held, for the purpose of devising ways and means for the expedition. peck, the only reliable contemporary biographer of the pioneer, who derived many facts from boone himself and his intimate acquaintances, draws the conclusion (1847): "daniel boone was engaged as the master spirit of this exploration, because in his judgment and fidelity entire confidence could be reposed.... he was known to henderson and encouraged by him to make the exploration, and to examine particularly the whole country south of the kentucky--or as then called the louisa river." [98] as confidential agent of the land company, boone carried with him letters and instructions for his guidance upon this extended tour of exploration. [99] on may 1, 1769, with findlay as guide, and accompanied by four of his neighbors, john stewart, a skilled woodsman, joseph holden, james mooney, and william cooley, boone left his "peaceable habitation" on the upper yadkin and began his historic journey "in quest of the country of kentucky." already heavily burdened with debts, boone must have incurred considerable further financial obligations to judge henderson and colonel williams, acting for the land company, in order to obtain the large amount of supplies requisite for so prolonged an expedition. each of the adventurers rode a good horse of strength and endurance; and behind him were securely strapped the blanket, ammunition, salt, and cooking-utensils so indispensable for a long sojourn in the wilderness. in powell's valley they doubtless encountered the party led thither by joseph martin (see chapter vii), and there fell into the "hunter's trail" commented on in a letter written by martin only a fortnight before the passing of boone's cavalcade. crossing the mountain at the ouasioto gap, they made their first "station camp" in kentucky on the creek, still named after that circumstance, on the red lick fork. after a preliminary journey for the purpose of locating the spot, findlay led the party to his old trading-camp at es-kip-pa-ki-thi-ki, where then (june 7, 1769) remained but charred embers of the indian huts, with some of the stockading and the gate-posts still standing. in boone's own words, he and findlay at once "proceeded to take a more thorough survey of the country"; and during the autumn and early winter, encountering on every hand apparently inexhaustible stocks of wild game and noting the ever-changing beauties of the country, the various members of the party made many hunting and exploring journeys from their "station camp" as base. on december 22, 1769, while engaged in a hunt, boone and stewart were surprised and captured by a large party of shawanoes, led by captain will, who were returning from the autumn hunt on green river to their villages north of the ohio. boone and stewart were forced to pilot the indians to their main camp, where the savages, after robbing them of all their peltries and supplies and leaving them inferior guns and little ammunition, set off to the northward. they left, on parting, this menacing admonition to the white intruders: "now, brothers, go home and stay there. don't come here any more, for this is the indians' hunting-ground, and all the animals, skins, and furs are ours. if you are so foolish as to venture here again, you may be sure the wasps and yellow jackets will sting you severely." chagrined particularly by the loss of the horses, boone and stewart for two days pursued the indians in hot haste. finally approaching the indians' camp by stealth in the dead of night, they secured two of the horses, upon which they fled at top speed. in turn they were immediately pursued by a detachment of the indians, mounted upon their fleetest horses; and suffered the humiliation of recapture two days later. indulging in wild hilarity over the capture of the crestfallen whites, the indians took a bell from one of the horses and, fastening it about boone's neck, compelled him under the threat of brandished tomahawks to caper about and jingle the bell, jeering at him the while with the derisive query, uttered in broken english: "steal horse, eh?" with as good grace as they could summon--wry smiles at best--boone and stewart patiently endured these humiliations, following the indians as captives. some days later (about january 4, 1770), while the vigilance of the indians was momentarily relaxed, the captives suddenly plunged into a dense cane-brake and in the subsequent confusion succeeded in effecting their escape. finding their camp deserted upon their return, boone and stewart hastened on and finally overtook their companions. here boone was both surprised and delighted to encounter his brother squire, loaded down with supplies. having heard nothing from boone, the partners of the land company had surmised that he and his party must have run short of ammunition, flour, salt, and other things sorely needed in the wilderness; and because of their desire that the party should remain, in order to make an exhaustive exploration of the country, squire boone had been sent to him with supplies. [100] findlay, holden, mooney, and cooley returned to the settlements; but stewart, squire boone, and alexander neely, who had accompanied squire, threw in their lot with the intrepid daniel, and fared forth once more to the stirring and bracing adventures of the kentucky wilderness. in daniel boone's own words, he expected "from the furs and peltries they had an opportunity of taking ... to recruit his shattered circumstances; discharge the debts he had contracted by the adventure; and shortly return under better auspices, to settle the newly discovered country." [101] boone and his party now stationed themselves near the mouth of the red river, and soon provided themselves, against the hardships of the long winter, with jerk, bear's oil, buffalo tallow, dried buffalo tongues, fresh meat, and marrow-bones as food, and buffalo robes and bearskins as shelter from the inclement weather. neely had brought with him, to while away dull hours, a copy of "gulliver's travels"; and in describing neely's successful hunt for buffalo one day, boone in after years amusingly deposed: "in the year 1770 i encamped on red river with five other men, and we had with us for our amusement the history of samuel gulliver's travels, wherein he gave an account of his young master, glumdelick, careing him on market day for a show to a town called lulbegrud. a young man of our company called alexander neely came to camp and told us he had been that day to lulbegrud, and had killed two brobdignags in their capital." [102] far from unlettered were pioneers who indulged together in such literary chat and gave to the near-by creek the name (after dean swift's lorbrulgrud) of lulbegrud which name, first seen on filson's map of kentucky (1784), it bears to this day. from one of his long, solitary hunts stewart never returned; and it was not until five years later, while cutting out the transylvania trail, that boone and his companions discovered, near the old crossing at rockcastle, stewart's remains in a standing hollow sycamore. the wilderness never gave up its tragic secret. the close of the winter and most of the spring were passed by the boones, after neely's return to the settlements, in exploration, hunting, and trapping beaver and otter, in which sport daniel particularly excelled. owing to the drain upon their ammunition, squire was at length compelled to return to the settlements for supplies; and daniel, who remained alone in the wilderness to complete his explorations for the land company, must often have shared the feelings of balboa as, from lofty knob or towering ridge, he gazed over the waste of forest which spread from the dim outlines of the alleghanies to the distant waters of the mississippi. he now proceeded to make those remarkable solitary explorations of kentucky which have given him immortality--through the valley of the kentucky and the licking, and along the "belle riviã�â¨re" (ohio) as low as the falls. he visited the big bone lick and examined the wonderful fossil remains of the mammoth found there. along the great buffalo roads, worn several feet below the surface of the ground, which led to the blue licks, he saw with amazement and delight thousands of huge shaggy buffalo gamboling, bellowing, and making the earth rumble beneath the trampling of their hooves. one day, while upon a cliff near the junction of the kentucky and dick's rivers, he suddenly found himself hemmed in by a party of indians. seizing his only chance of escape, he leaped into the top of a maple tree growing beneath the cliffs and, sliding to safety full sixty feet below, made his escape, pursued by the sound of a chorus of guttural "ughs" from the dumbfounded savages. finally making his way back to the old camp, daniel was rejoined there by squire on july 27, 1770. during the succeeding months, much of their time was spent in hunting and prospecting in jessamine county, where two caves are still known as boone's caves. eventually, when ammunition and supplies had once more run low, squire was compelled a second time to return to the settlements. perturbed after a time by squire's failure to rejoin him at the appointed time, daniel started toward the settlements, in search of him; and by a stroke of good fortune encountered him along the trail. overjoyed at this meeting (december, 1770) the indomitable boones once more plunged into the wilderness, determined to conclude their explorations by examining the regions watered by the green and cumberland rivers and their tributaries. in after years, gasper mansker, the old german scout, was accustomed to describe with comic effect the consternation created among the long hunters, while hunting one day on green river, by a singular noise which they could not explain. stealthily slipping from tree to tree, mansker finally beheld with mingled surprise and amusement a hunter, bare-headed, stretched flat upon his back on a deerskin spread on the ground, singing merrily at the top of his voice! it was daniel boone, joyously whiling away the solitary hours in singing one of his favorite songs of the border. in march, 1771, after spending some time in company with the long hunters, the boones, their horses laden with furs, set their faces homeward. on their return journey, near cumberland gap, they had the misfortune to be surrounded by a party of indians who robbed them of their guns and all their peltries. with this humiliating conclusion to his memorable tour of exploration, daniel boone, as he himself says, "once more reached home after experiencing hardships which would defy credulity in the recital." [103] despite the hardships and the losses, boone had achieved the ambition of years: he had seen kentucky, which he "esteemed a second paradise." the reports of his extended explorations, which he made to judge henderson, were soon communicated to the other partners of the land company; and their letters of this period, to one another, bristle with glowing and minute descriptions of the country, as detailed by their agent. boone was immediately engaged to act in the company's behalf to sound the cherokees confidentially with respect to their willingness to lease or sell the beautiful hunting-grounds of the trans-alleghany. [104] the high hopes of henderson and his associates at last gave promise of brilliant realization. daniel boone's glowing descriptions of kentucky excited in their minds, says a gifted early chronicler, the "spirit of an enterprise which in point of magnitude and peril, as well as constancy and heroism displayed in its execution, has never been paralleled in the history of america." chapter xi. the regulators it is not a persons labour, nor yet his effects that will do, but if he has but one horse to plow with, one bed to lie on, or one cow to give a little milk for his children, they must all go to raise money which is not to be had. and lastly if his personal estate (sold at one tenth of its value) will not do, then his lands (which perhaps has cost him many years of toil and labour) must go the same way to satisfy these cursed hungry caterpillars, that are eating and will eat out the bowels of our commonwealth, if they be not pulled down from their nests in a very short time. --george sims: a serious address to the inhabitants of granville county, containing an account of our deplorable situation we suffer ... and some necessary hints with respect to a reformation. june 6, 1765. it is highly probable that even at the time of his earlier explorations in behalf of richard henderson and company, daniel boone anticipated speedy removal to the west. indeed, in the very year of his first tour in their interest, daniel and his wife rebeckah sold all their property in north carolina, consisting of their home and six hundred and forty acres of land, and after several removals established themselves upon the upper yadkin. this removal and the later western explorations just outlined were due not merely to the spirit of adventure and discovery. three other causes also were at work. in the first place there was the scarcity of game. for fifteen years the shipments of deerskins from bethabara to charleston steadily increased; and the number of skins bought by gammern, the moravian storekeeper, ran so high that in spite of the large purchases made at the store by the hunters he would sometimes run entirely out of money. tireless in the chase, the far-roaming boone was among "the hunters, who brought in their skins from as far away as the indian lands"; and the beautiful upland pastures and mountain forests, still teeming with deer and bear, doubtless lured him to the upper yadkin, where for a time in the immediate neighborhood of his home abundance of game fell before his unerring rifle. certainly the deer and other game, which were being killed in enormous numbers to satisfy the insatiable demand of the traders at salisbury, the forks, and bethabara, became scarcer and scarcer; and the wild game that was left gradually fled to the westward. terrible indeed was the havoc wrought among the elk; and it was reported that the last elk was killed in western north carolina as early as 1781. another grave evil of the time with which boone had to cope in the back country of north carolina was the growth of undisguised outlawry, similar to that found on the western plains of a later era. this ruthless brigandage arose as the result of the unsettled state of the country and the exposed condition of the settlements due to the indian alarms. when rude borderers, demoralized by the enforced idleness attendant upon fort life during the dark days of indian invasion, sallied forth upon forays against the indians, they found much valuable property--horses, cattle, and stock--left by their owners when hurriedly fleeing to the protection of the frontier stockades. the temptations thus afforded were too great to resist; and the wilder spirits of the backwoods, with hazy notions of private rights, seized the property which they found, slaughtered the cattle, sold the horses, and appropriated to their own use the temporarily abandoned household goods and plantation tools. the stealing of horses, which were needed for the cultivation of the soil and useful for quickly carrying unknown thieves beyond the reach of the owner and the law, became a common practice; and was carried on by bands of outlaws living remote from one another and acting in collusive concert. toward the end of july, 1755, when the indian outrages upon the new river settlements in virginia had frightened away all the families at the town fork in the yadkin country, william owen, a man of welsh stock, who had settled in the spring of 1752 in the upper yadkin near the mulberry fields, was suspected of having robbed the storekeeper on the meho. not long afterward a band of outlaws who plundered the exposed cabins in their owners' absence, erected a rude fort in the mountain region in the rear of the yadkin settlements, where they stored their ill-gotten plunder and made themselves secure from attack. other members of the band dwelt in the settlements, where they concealed their robber friends by day and aided them by night in their nefarious projects of theft and rapine. the entire community was finally aroused by the bold depredations of the outlaws; and the most worthy settlers of the yadkin country organized under the name of regulators to break up the outlaw band. when it was discovered that owen, who was well known at bethabara, had allied himself with the highwaymen, one of the justices summoned one hundred men; and seventy, who answered the call, set forth on december 26, 1755, to seek out the outlaws and to destroy their fortress. emboldened by their success, the latter upon one occasion had carried off a young girl of the settlements. daniel boone placed himself at the head of one of the parties, which included the young girl's father, to go to her rescue; and they fortunately succeeded in effecting the release of the frightened maiden. one of the robbers was apprehended and brought to salisbury, where he was thrown into prison for his crimes. meanwhile a large amount of plunder had been discovered at the house of one cornelius howard; and the evidences of his guilt so multiplied against him that he finally confessed his connection with the outlaw band and agreed to point out their fort in the mountains. daniel boone and george boone joined the party of seventy men, sent out by the colonial authorities, under the guidance of howard, to attack the stronghold of the bandits. boone afterward related that the robbers' fort was situated in the most fitly chosen place for such a purpose that he could imagine--beneath an overhanging cliff of rock, with a large natural chimney, and a considerable area in front well stockaded. the frontiersmen surrounded the fort, captured five women and eleven children, and then burned the fort to the ground. owen and his wife, cumberland, and several others were ultimately made prisoners; but harman and the remainder of the band escaped by flight. owen and his fellow captives were then borne to salisbury, incarcerated in the prison there, and finally (may, 1756) condemned to the gallows. owen sent word to the moravians, petitioning them to adopt his two boys and to apprentice one to a tailor, the other to a carpenter. but so infuriated was owen's wife by howard's treachery that she branded him as a second judas; and this at once fixed upon him the sobriquet "judas" howard--a sobriquet he did not live long to bear, for about a year later he was ambushed and shot from his horse at the crossing of a stream. he thus paid the penalty of his betrayal of the outlaw band. for a number of years, the regulators continued to wage war against the remaining outlaws, who from time to time committed murders as well as thefts. as late as january, 1768, the regulators caught a horse thief in the hollows of surry county and brought him to bethabara, whence richter and spach took him to the jail at salisbury. after this year, the outlaws were heard of no more; and peace reigned in the settlements. colonel edmund fanning--of whom more anon--declared that the regulation began in anson county which bordered upon south carolina. [105] certain it is that the upper country of that province was kept in an uproar by civil disturbances during this early period. owing to the absence of courts in this section, so remote from charleston, the inhabitants found it necessary, for the protection of property and the punishment of outlaws, to form an association called, like the north carolina society, the regulation. against this association the horse thieves and other criminals made common cause, and received tacit support from certain more reputable persons who condemned "the irregularity of the regulators." the regulation which had been thus organized in upper south carolina as early as 1764 led to tumultuous risings of the settlers; and finally in the effort to suppress these disorders, the governor, lord charles montagu, appointed one scovil, an utterly unworthy representative, to carry out his commands. after various disorders, which became ever more unendurable to the law-abiding, matters came to a crisis (1769) as the result of the high-handed proceedings of scovil, who promiscuously seized and flung into prison all the regulators he could lay hands on. in the month of march the back country rose in revolt against scovil and a strong body of the settlers was on the point of attacking the force under his command when an eleventh-hour letter arrived from montagu, dismissing scovil from office. thus was happily averted, by the narrowest of margins, a threatened precursor of the fight at alamance in 1771 (see chapter xii). as the result of the petition of the calhouns and others, courts were established in 1760, though not opened until four years later. many horse thieves were apprehended, tried, and punished. justice once more held full sway. another important cause for boone's removal from the neighborhood of salisbury into the mountain fastnesses was the oppressive administration of the law by corrupt sheriffs, clerks, and tax-gatherers, and the dissatisfaction of the frontier squatters with the owners of the soil. at the close of the year 1764 reports reached the town of wilmington, after the adjournment of the assembly in november, of serious disturbances in orange county, due, it was alleged, to the exorbitant exactions of the clerks, registers, and some of the attorneys. [106] as a result of this disturbing news, governor dobbs issued a proclamation forbidding any officer to take illegal fees. troubles had been brewing in the adjacent county of granville ever since the outbreak of the citizens against francis corbin, lord granville's agent (january 24, 1759), and the issuance of the petition of reuben searcy and others (march 23d) protesting against the alleged excessive fees taken and injustices practised by robert (robin) jones, the famous lawyer. these disturbances were cumulative in their effect; and the people at last (1765) found in george sims, of granville, a fit spokesman of their cause and a doughty champion of popular rights. in his "serious address to the inhabitants of granville county, containing an account of our deplorable situation we suffer ... and some necessary hints with respect to a reformation," recently brought to light, he presents a crushing indictment of the clerk of the county court, samuel benton, the grandfather of thomas hart benton. after describing in detail the system of semi-peonage created by the merciless exactions of lawyers and petty court officials, and the insatiable greed of "these cursed hungry caterpillars," sims with rude eloquence calls upon the people to pull them down from their nests for the salvation of the commonwealth. [107] other abuses were also recorded. so exorbitant was the charge for a marriage-license, for instance, that an early chronicler records: "the consequence was that some of the inhabitants on the head-waters of the yadkin took a short cut. they took each other for better or for worse; and considered themselves as married without further ceremony." the extraordinary scarcity of currency throughout the colony, especially in the back country, was another great hardship and a perpetual source of vexation. all these conditions gradually became intolerable to the uncultured but free-spirited men of the back country. events were slowly converging toward a crisis in government and society. independent in spirit, turbulent in action, the backwoodsmen revolted not only against excessive taxes, dishonest sheriffs, and extortionate fees, but also against the rapacious practices of the agents of lord granville. these agents industriously picked flaws in the titles to the lands in granville's proprietary upon which the poorer settlers were seated; and compelled them to pay for the land if they had not already done so, or else to pay the fees twice over and take out a new patent as the only remedy of the alleged defect in their titles. in mecklenburg county the spirit of backwoods revolt flamed out in protest against the proprietary agents. acting under instructions to survey and close bargains for the lands or else to eject those who held them, henry eustace mcculloh, in february, 1765, went into the county to call a reckoning. the settlers, many of whom had located without deeds, indignantly retorted by offering to buy only at their own prices, and forbade the surveyors to lay out the holdings when this smaller price was declined. they not only terrorized into acquiescence those among them who were willing to pay the amount charged for the lands, but also openly declared that they would resist by force any sheriff in ejectment proceedings. on may 7th an outbreak occurred; and a mob, led by thomas polk, set upon john frohock, abraham alexander, and others, as they were about to survey a parcel of land, and gave them a severe thrashing, even threatening the young mcculloh with death. [108] the choleric backwoodsmen, instinctively in agreement with francis bacon, considered revenge as a sort of wild justice. especial objects of their animosity were the brothers frohock, john and thomas, the latter clerk of the court at salisbury, and edmund fanning, a cultured gentleman-adventurer, associate justice of the superior court. so rapacious and extortionate were these vultures of the courts who preyed upon the vitals of the common people, that they were savagely lampooned by rednap howell, the backwoods poet-laureate of the regulation. the temper of the back country is well caught in howell's lines anent this early american "grafter," the favorite of the royal governor: when fanning first to orange came, he looked both pale and wan; an old patched coat was on his back, an old mare he rode on. both man and mare wan't worth five pounds, as i've been often told; but by his civil robberies, he's laced his coat with gold. [109] the germs of the great westward migration in the coming decade were thus working among the people of the back country. if the tense nervous energy of the american people is the transmitted characteristic of the border settlers, who often slept with loaded rifle in hand in grim expectation of being awakened by the hideous yells, the deadly tomahawk, and the lurid firebrand of the savage, the very buoyancy of the national character is in equal measure "traceable to the free democracy founded on a freehold inheritance of land." the desire for free land was the fundamental factor in the development of the american democracy. no colony exhibited this tendency more signally than did north carolina in the turbulent days of the regulation. the north carolina frontiersmen resented the obligation to pay quit-rents and firmly believed that the first occupant of the soil had an indefeasible right to the land which he had won with his rifle and rendered productive by the implements of toil. preferring the dangers of the free wilderness to the paying of tribute to absentee landlords and officials of an intolerant colonial government, the frontiersman found title in his trusty rifle rather than in a piece of parchment, and was prone to pay his obligations to the owner of the soil in lead rather than in gold. chapter xii. watauga--haven of liberty the regulators despaired of seeing better times and therefore quitted the province. it is said 1,500 departed since the battle of alamance and to my knowledge a great many more are only waiting to dispose of their plantations in order to follow them. --reverend morgan edwards, 1772. the five years (1766-1771) which saw the rise, development, and ultimate defeat of the popular movement known as the regulation, constitute a period not only of extraordinary significance in north carolina but also of fruitful consequences in the larger movements of westward expansion. with the resolute intention of having their rulers "give account of their stewardship," to employ their own words, the sandy creek association of baptists (organized in 1758), in a series of papers known as regulators' advertisements (1766-8) proceeded to mature, through popular gatherings, a rough form of initiative and referendum. at length, discouraged in its efforts, and particularly in the attempt to bring county officials to book for charging illegal fees, this association ceased actively to function. it was the precursor of a movement of much more drastic character and formidable proportions, chiefly directed against colonel edmund fanning and his associates. this movement doubtless took its name, "the regulation," from the bands of men already described who were organized first in north carolina and later in south carolina, to put down highwaymen and to correct many abuses in the back country, such as the tyrannies of scovil and his henchmen. failing to secure redress of their grievances through legal channels, the regulators finally made such a powerful demonstration in support of their refusal to pay taxes that governor william tryon of north carolina, in 1768, called out the provincial militia, and by marching with great show of force through the disaffected regions, succeeded temporarily in overawing the people and thus inducing them to pay their assessments. [110] the suits which had been brought by the regulators against edmund fanning, register, and francis nash, clerk, of orange county, resulted in both being "found guilty of taking too high fees." [111] fanning immediately resigned his commission as register; while nash, who in conjunction with fanning had fairly offered in 1766 to refund to any one aggrieved any fee charged by him which the superior court might hold excessive, gave bond for his appearance at the next court. similar suits for extortion against the three frohocks in rowan county in 1769 met with failure, however; and this outcome aroused the bitter resentment of the regulators, as recorded by herman husband in his "impartial relation." during this whole period the insurrectionary spirit of the people, who felt themselves deeply aggrieved but recognized their inability to secure redress, took the form of driving local justices from the bench and threatening court officials with violence. an impartial relation of the first rise and cause of the recent differences, in publick affairs, in the province of north-carolina; and of the past tumults and riots that lately happened in that province. containing most of the true and genuine copies of letters, messages and remonstrances, between the parties contending:------by which any impartial man may easily gather and see the true ground and reasons of the dissatisfaction that universally reigns all over said province in more or less degree. printed for the compiler, 1770. at the session of the superior court at hillsborough, september 22, 1770, an elaborate petition prepared by the regulators, demanding unprejudiced juries and the public accounting for taxes by the sheriffs, was handed to the presiding justice by james hunter, a leading regulator. this justice was our acquaintance, judge richard henderson, of granville county, the sole high officer in the provincial government from the entire western section of the colony. in this petition occur these trenchant words: "as we are serious and in good earnest and the cause respects the whole body of the people it would be loss of time to enter into arguments on particular points for though there are a few men who have the gift and art of reasoning, yet every man has a feeling and knows when he has justice done him as well as the most learned." [112] on the following monday (september 24th), upon convening of court, some one hundred and fifty regulators, led by james hunter, herman husband, rednap howell, and others, armed with clubs, whips, and cudgels, surged into the court-room and through their spokesman, jeremiah fields, presented a statement of their grievances. "i found myself," says judge henderson, "under a necessity of attempting to soften and turn away the fury of these mad people, in the best manner in my power, and as such could well be, pacify their rage and at the same time preserve the little remaining dignity of the court." [113] during an interim, in which the regulators retired for consultation, they fell without warning upon fanning and gave him such rough treatment that he narrowly escaped with his life. the mob, now past control, horsewhipped a number of leading lawyers and citizens gathered there at court, and treated others, notably the courtly mr. hooper of boston, "with every mark of contempt and insult." judge henderson was assured by fields that no harm should come to him provided he would conduct the court in accordance with the behest of the regulators: namely, that no lawyer, save the king's attorney, should be admitted to the court, and that the regulators' cases should be tried with new jurors chosen by the regulators. with the entire little village terrorized by this campaign of "frightfulness," and the court wholly unprotected, judge henderson reluctantly acknowledged to himself that "the power of the judiciary was exhausted." nevertheless, he says, "i made every effort in my power consistent with my office and the duty the public is entitled to claim to preserve peace and good order." [114] agreeing under duress to resume the session the following day, the judge ordered an adjournment. but being unwilling, on mature reflection, to permit a mockery of the court and a travesty of justice to be staged under threat and intimidation, he returned that night to his home in granville and left the court adjourned in course. enraged by the judge's escape, the regulators took possession of the court-room the following morning, called over the cases, and in futile protest against the conditions they were powerless to remedy, made profane entries which may still be seen on the record: "damned rogues," "fanning pays cost but loses nothing," "negroes not worth a damn, cost exceeds the whole," "hogan pays and be damned," and, in a case of slander, "nonsense, let them argue for ferrell has gone hellward." [115] the uprising of these bold and resolute, simple and imperfectly educated people, which had begun as a constitutional struggle to secure justice and to prevent their own exploitation by dishonest lawyers of the county courts, now gave place to open anarchy and secret incendiarism. [116] in the dead of night, november 12th and 14th, judge henderson's barn, stables, and dwelling house were fired by the regulators and went up in flames. glowing with a sense of wrong, these misguided people, led on by fanatical agitators, thus vented their indiscriminate rage, not only upon their oppressors, but also upon men wholly innocent of injuring them--men of the stamp of william hooper, afterward signer of the declaration of independence, alexander martin, afterward governor and united states senator, and richard henderson, popular representative of the back country and a firm champion of due process of law. it is perhaps not surprising in view of these events that governor tryon and the ruling class, lacking a sympathy broad enough to ensure justice to the oppressed people, seemed to be chiefly impressed with the fact that a widespread insurrection was in progress, threatening not only life and property, but also civil government itself. the governor called out the militia of the province and led an army of well-nigh one thousand men and officers against the regulators, who had assembled at alamance to the number of two thousand. tryon stood firm upon the demands that the people should submit to government and disperse at a designated hour. the regulators, on their side, hoped to secure the reforms they desired by intimidating the governor with a great display of force. the battle was a tragic fiasco for the regulators, who fought bravely, but without adequate arms or real leadership. with the conclusion of this desultory action, a fight lasting about two hours (may 16, 1771), the power of the regulators was completely broken. [117] among these insurgents there was a remarkable element--an element whose influence upon the course of american history has been but imperfectly understood--which now looms into prominence as the vanguard of the army of westward expansion. there were some of the regulators who, though law-abiding and conservative, were deeply imbued with ideas of liberty, personal independence, and the freedom of the soil. through the influence of benjamin franklin, with whom one of the leaders of the group, herman husband, was in constant correspondence, the patriotic ideas then rapidly maturing into revolutionary sentiments furnished the inspiration to action. as early as 1766, the sandy creek leaders, referred to earlier in this chapter, issued a call to each neighborhood to send delegates to a gathering for the purpose of investigating the question "whether the free men of this country labor under any abuses of power or not." the close connection between the sandy creek men and the sons of liberty is amply demonstrated in this paper wherein the sons of liberty in connection with the "stamp law" are praised for "redeeming us from tyranny" and for having "withstood the lords in parliament in behalf of true liberty." [118] upon the records of the dutchman's creek church, of "regular" baptists, at the forks of the yadkin, to which daniel boone's family belonged, may be found this memorable entry, recognizing the "american cause" well-nigh a year before the declaration of independence at philadelphia: "at the monthly meeting it was agreed upon concerning the american cause, if any of the brethren see cause to join it they have the liberty to do it without being called to an account by the church. but whether they join or do not join they should be used with brotherly love." [119] the fundamental reasons underlying the approaching westward hegira are found in the remarkable petition of the regulators of anson county (october 9, 1769), who request that "benjamin franklin or some other known patriot" be appointed agent of the province in london to seek redress at the source. they exposed the basic evil in the situation by pointing out that, in violation of the law restricting the amount of land that might be granted to each person to six hundred and forty acres, much of the most fertile territory in the province had been distributed in large tracts to wealthy landlords. in consequence "great numbers of poor people are necessitated to toil in the cultivation of the bad lands whereon they hardly can subsist." [120] it was these poor people, "thereby deprived of his majesties liberality and bounty," who soon turned their gaze to the westward and crossed the mountains in search of the rich, free lands of the trans-alleghany region. this feverish popular longing for freedom, stimulated by the economic pressure of thousands of pioneers who were annually entering north carolina, set in motion a wave of migration across the mountains in 1769. long before alamance, many of the true americans, distraught by apparently irremediable injustices, plunged fearlessly into the wilderness, seeking beyond the mountains a new birth of liberty, lands of their own selection free of cost or quit-rents, and a government of their own choosing and control. [121] the glad news of the rich valleys beyond the mountains early lured such adventurous pioneers as andrew greer and julius cã�â¦sar dugger to the watauga country. the glowing stories, told by boone, and disseminated in the back country by henderson, williams, and the harts, seemed to give promise to men of this stamp that the west afforded relief from oppressions suffered in north carolina. during the winter of 1768-9 there was also a great rush of settlers from virginia into the valley of the holston. a party from augusta county, led by men who had been delighted with the country viewed seven years before when they were serving under colonel william byrd against the cherokees, found that this region, a wilderness on their outward passage in 1768, was dotted with cabins on every spot where the grazing was good, upon their return the following year. writing to hillsborough on october 18, 1770, concerning the "many hundred families" in the region from green river to the branches of the holston, who refused to comply with the royal proclamation of 1763, acting-governor nelson of virginia reports that "very little if any quit rents have been received for his majesty's use from that quarter for some time past"--the people claiming that "his majesty hath been pleased to withdraw his protection from them since 1763." [122] in the spring of 1770, with the express intention of discovering suitable locations for homes for himself and a number of others, who wished to escape the accumulating evils of the times, james robertson of orange county, north carolina, made an arduous journey to the pleasing valley of the watauga. robertson, who was born in brunswick county, virginia, june 28, 1742, of excellent scotch-irish ancestry, was a noteworthy figure of a certain type--quiet, reflective, conservative, wise, a firm believer in the basic principles of civil liberty and the right of local self-government. robertson spent some time with a man named honeycut in the watauga region, raised a crop of corn, and chose for himself and his friends suitable locations for settlement. lost upon his return in seeking the mountain defiles traversed by him on the outward journey, robertson probably escaped death from starvation only through the chance passing of two hunters who succored him and set him upon the right path. on arriving in orange he found political and social conditions there much worse than before, many of the colonists declining to take the obligatory oath of allegiance to the british crown after the battle of alamance, preferring to carve out for themselves new homes along the western waters. some sixteen families of this stamp, indignant at the injustices and oppressions of british rule, and stirred by robertson's description of the richness and beauty of the western country, accompanied him to watauga shortly after the battle. this vanguard of the army of westward advance, independent americans in spirit with a negligible sprinkling of loyalists, now swept in a great tide into the northeastern section of tennessee. the men of sandy creek, actuated by independent principles but out of sympathy with the anarchic side of the regulation, left the colony almost to a man. "after the defeat of the regulators," says the historian of the sandy creek association, "thousands of the oppressed, seeing no hope of redress for their grievances, moved into and settled east tennessee. a large proportion of these were of the baptist population. sandy creek church which some time previous to 1771, numbered 606, was afterward reduced to fourteen members!" [123] this movement exerted powerful influence in stimulating westward expansion. indeed, it was from men of regulating principles--boone, robertson, and the searcys--who vehemently condemned the anarchy and incendiarism of 1770, that judge henderson received powerful coã�â¶peration in the opening up of kentucky and tennessee. [124] the several treaties concerning the western boundary of white settlement, concluded in close succession by north carolina, virginia, and the crown with the southern and northern indians, had an important bearing upon the settlement of watauga. the cherokee boundary line, as fixed by governor tryon (1767) and by john stuart (1768), ran from reedy river to tryon mountain, thence straight to chiswell's mine, and thence direct to the mouth of the great kanawha river. by the treaty at fort stanwix (november 5, 1768), in the negotiation of which virginia was represented by dr. thomas walker and major andrew lewis, the six nations sold to the crown their shadowy claim to a vast tract of western country, including in particular all the land between the ohio and the tennessee rivers. the news of the cession resulted in a strong southwestward thrust of population, from the neighborhood of abingdon, in the direction of the holston valley. [125] recognizing that hundreds of these settlers were beyond the line negotiated by stuart, but on lands not yet surveyed, governor botetourt instructed the virginia commissioners to press for further negotiations, through stuart, with the cherokees. accordingly, on october 18, 1770, a new treaty was made at lochaber, south carolina, by which a new line back of virginia was established, beginning at the intersection of the north carolina-cherokee line (a point some seventy-odd miles east of long island), running thence in a west course to a point six miles east of long island, and thence in a direct course to the confluence of the great kanawha and ohio rivers. at the time of the treaty, it was agreed that the holston river, from its intersection with the north carolina-virginia line, and down the course of the same, should be a temporary southern boundary of virginia until the line should be ascertained by actual survey. [126] a strong influx of population into the immense new triangle thus released for settlement brought powerful pressure to bear upon northern tennessee, the point of least resistance along the western barrier. singularly enough, this advance was not opposed by the cherokees, whose towns were strung across the extreme southeast corner of tennessee. when colonel john donelson ran the line in the latter part of 1771, the little carpenter, who with other indian chiefs accompanied the surveying party, urged that the line agreed upon at lochaber should break off at the head of the louisa river, and should run thence to the mouth thereof, and thence up the ohio to the mouth of the great kanawha. for this increase in the territory of virginia they of course expected additional payment. as a representative of virginia, donelson agreed to the proposed alteration in the boundary line; and accordingly promised to send the cherokees, in the following spring, a sum alleged by them to have been fixed at five hundred pounds, in compensation for the additional area. this informal agreement, it is believed, was never ratified by virginia; nor was the promised compensation ever paid the cherokees. [127] under the belief that the land belonged to virginia, jacob brown with one or two families from north carolina settled in 1771 upon a tract of land on the northern bank of the nonachunheh (corruption, nolichucky) river. during the same year, an experimental line run westward from steep rock and beaver creek by anthony bledsoe showed that upon the extension of the boundary line, these settlers would fall within the bounds of north carolina. although thus informally warned of the situation, the settlers made no move to vacate the lands. but in the following year, after the running of donelson's line, alexander cameron, stuart's deputy, required "all persons who had made settlements beyond the said line to relinquish them." thus officially warned, brown and his companions removed to watauga. [128] cameron's order did not apply, however, to the settlement north of the holston river, south and east of long island; and the settlement in carter's valley, north of the holston and west of the long island, although lying without the virginia boundary, strangely enough remained unmolested. the order was directed at the watauga settlers, who were seated south of the holston river in the watauga valley. the plight in which the watauga settlers now found themselves was truly desperate; and the way in which they surmounted this apparently insuperable difficulty is one of the most striking and characteristic events in the pre-revolutionary history of the old southwest. it exhibits the indomitable will and fertile resource of the american character at the margin of desperation. the momentous influence of the watauga settlers, inadequately reckoned hitherto by historians, was soon to make itself powerfully felt in the first epochal movement of westward expansion. chapter xiii. opening the gateway--dunmore's war virginia, we conceive, can claim this country [kentucky] with the greatest justice and propriety, its within the limits of their charter. they fought and bled for it. and had it not been for the memorable battle, at the great kanaway those vast regions had yet continued inaccessable. --the harrodsburg petition. june 7-15, 1776. it was fortunate for the watauga settlers that the indians and the whites were on the most peaceful terms with each other at the time the watauga valley was shown, by the running of the boundary line, to lie within the indian reservation. with true american self-reliance, the settlers met together for deliberation and counsel, and deputed james robertson and john been, as stated by tennessee's first historian, "to treat with their landlords, and agree upon articles of accomodation and friendship. the attempt succeeded. for though the indians refused to give up the land gratuitously, they consented, for a stipulated amount of merchandise, muskets, and other articles of convenience, to lease all the country on the waters of the watauga." [129] in addition to the land thus leased for ten years, several other tracts were purchased from the indians by jacob brown, who reoccupied his former location on the nolichucky. in taking this daring step, the watauga settlers moved into the spotlight of national history. for the inevitable consequence of leasing the territory was the organization of a form of government for the infant settlement. through his familiarity with the north carolina type of "association," in which the settlers had organized for the purpose of "regulating" abuses, and his acquaintance with the contents of the "impartial relation," in which husband fully expounded the principles and practices of this association, robertson was peculiarly fitted for leadership in organizing this new government. the convention at which articles of association, unfortunately lost, were drawn up, is noteworthy as the first governmental assemblage of free-born american citizens ever held west of the alleghanies. the government then established was the first free and independent government, democratic in spirit, representative in form, ever organized upon the american continent. in describing this mimic republic, the royal governor of virginia says: "they appointed magistrates, and framed laws for their present occasion, and to all intents and purposes, erected themselves into, though an inconsiderable, yet a separate state." [130] the most daring spirit in this little state was the young john sevier, of french huguenot family (originally spelled xavier), born in augusta county, virginia, on september 23, 1745. it was from millerstown in shenandoah county where he was living the uneventful life of a small farmer, that he emigrated (december, 1773) to the watauga region. with his arrival there begins one of the most fascinating and romantic careers recorded in the varied and stirring annals of the old southwest. in this daring and impetuous young fellow, fair-haired, blue-eyed, magnetic, debonair--of powerful build, splendid proportions, and athletic skill--we hold the gallant exemplar of the truly heroic life of the border. the story of his life, thrilling in the extreme, is rich in all the multi-colored elements which impart romance to the arduous struggle of american civilization in the opening years of the republic. the creative impulses in the watauga commonwealth are hinted at by dunmore, who observes, in the letter above quoted, that watauga "sets a dangerous example to the people america, of forming governments distinct from and independent of his majesty's authority." it is true that the experiment was somewhat limited. the organization of the watauga association, which constituted a temporary expedient to meet a crisis in the affairs of a frontier community cut off by forest wilderness and mountain barriers from the reach of the arm of royal or provincial government, is not to be compared with the revolutionary assemblage at boonesborough, may 23, 1775, or with the extraordinary demands for independence in mecklenburg county, north carolina, during the same month. nevertheless the watauga settlers defied both north carolina and the crown, by adopting the laws of virginia and by ignoring governor josiah martin's proclamation (march 26, 1774) "requiring the said settlers immediately to retire from the indian territories." [131] moreover, watauga really was the parent of a series of mimic republics in the old southwest, gradually tending toward higher forms of organization, with a larger measure of individual liberty. watauga, transylvania, cumberland, franklin represent the evolving political genius of a free people under the creative leadership of three constructive minds--james robertson, john sevier, and richard henderson. indeed, watauga furnished to judge henderson precisely the "dangerous example" of which dunmore prophetically speaks. [132] immediately upon his return in 1771 from the extended exploration of kentucky, daniel boone as already noted was engaged as secret agent, to treat with the cherokees for the lease or purchase of the trans-alleghany region, on behalf of judge henderson and his associates. embroiled in the exciting issues of the regulation and absorbed by his confining duties as colonial judge, henderson was unable to put his bold design into execution until after the expiration of the court itself which ceased to exist in 1773. disregarding the royal proclamation of 1763 and locke's fundamental constitutions for the carolinas, which forbade private parties to purchase lands from the indians, judge henderson applied to the highest judicial authorities in england to know if there was any law in existence forbidding purchase of lands from the indian tribes. lord mansfield gave judge henderson the "sanction of his great authority in favor of the purchase." [133] lord chancellor camden and mr. yorke had officially advised the king in 1757, in regard to the petition of the east indian company, "that in respect to such territories as have been, or shall be acquired by treaty or grant from the great mogul, or any of the indian princes or governments, your majesty's letters patent are not necessary; the property of the soil vesting in the company by the indian grant subject only to your majesties right of sovereignty over the settlements, as english settlements, and over the inhabitants, as english subjects, who carry with them your majesties laws wherever they form colonies, and receive your majesties protection by virtue of your royal charters." [134] this opinion, with virtually no change, was rendered in regard to the indian tribes of north america by the same two authorities, certainly as early as 1769; [135] and a true copy, made in london, april 1, 1772, was transmitted to judge henderson. [136] armed with the legal opinions received from england, judge henderson was fully persuaded that there was no legal bar whatsoever to his seeking to acquire by purchase from the cherokees the vast domain of the trans-alleghany. [137] a golden dream of empire, with its promise of an independent republic in the form of a proprietary colony, casts him under the spell of its alluring glamour. in the meantime, the restless boone, impatient over the delay in the consummation of judge henderson's plans, resolved to establish himself in kentucky upon his own responsibility. heedless of the question of title and the certain hazards incident to invading the territory of hostile savages, boone designated a rendezvous in powell's valley where he and his party of five families were to be met by a band under the leadership of his connections, the bryans, and another company led by captain william russell, a daring pioneer of the clinch valley. a small detachment of boone's party was fiercely attacked by shawanoes in powell's valley on october 10, 1773, and almost all were killed, including sons of boone and russell, and young john and richard mendenhall of guilford county, north carolina. as the result of this bloody repulse, boone's attempt to settle in kentucky at this time was definitely abandoned. his failure to effect a settlement in kentucky was due to that characteristic disregard of the territorial rights of the indians which was all too common among the borderers of that period. this failure was portentous of the coming storm. the reign of the long hunters was over. dawning upon the horizon was the day of stern adventurers, fixed in the desperate and lawless resolve to invade the trans-alleghany country and to battle savagely with the red man for its possession. more successful than boone was the mcafee party, five in number, from botetourt county, virginia, who between may 10th and september 1, 1773, safely accomplished a journey through kentucky and carefully marked well-chosen sites for future location. [138] an ominous incident of the time was the veiled warning which cornstalk, the great shawanoe chieftain, gave to captain thomas bullitt, head of a party of royal surveyors, sent out by lord dunmore, governor of virginia. cornstalk at chillicothe, june 7, 1773, warned bullitt concerning the encroachments of the whites, "designed to deprive us," he said, "of the hunting of the country, as usual ... the hunting we stand in need of to buy our clothing." during the preceding summer, george rogers clark, an aggressive young virginian, with a small party, had descended the ohio as low as fish creek, where he built a cabin; and in this region for many months various parties of surveyors were busily engaged in locating and surveying lands covered by military grants. most significant of the ruthless determination of the pioneers to occupy by force the kentucky area was the action of the large party from monongahela, some forty in number, led by captain james harrod, who penetrated to the present miller county, where in june, 1774, they made improvements and actually laid out a town. a significant, secretly conducted movement, of which historians have taken but little account, was now in progress under the manipulation of virginia's royal governor. as early as 1770 dr. john connolly proposed the establishment of an extensive colony south of the ohio; and the design of securing such territory from the indians found lodgment in the mind of lord dunmore. but this design was for the moment thwarted when on october 28, 1773, an order was issued from the privy council chamber in whitehall granting an immense territory, including all of the present west virginia and the land alienated to virginia by donelson's agreement with the cherokees (1772), to a company including thomas walpole, samuel wharton, benjamin franklin, and others. this new colony, to be named "vandalia," seemed assured. a clash between dunmore and the royal authorities was imminent; for virginia under her sea-to-sea charter claimed the vast middle region of the continent, extending without known limit to west and northwest. moreover, dunmore was interested in great land speculations on his own account; and while overtly vindicating virginia's claim to the trans-alleghany by despatching parties of surveyors to the western wilderness to locate and survey lands covered by military grants, he with the collusion of certain members of the "honourable board," his council, as charged by washington, was more than "lukewarm," secretly restricting as rigorously as he dared the extent and number of the soldiers' allotments. according to the famous virginia remonstrance, he was in league with "men of great influence in some of the neighboring states" to secure, under cover of purchases from the indians, large tracts of country between the ohio and the mississippi. [139] in shaping his plans dunmore had the shrewd legal counsel of patrick henry, who was equally intent upon making for himself a private purchase from the cherokees. it was henry's legal opinion that the indiana purchase from the six nations by the pennsylvania traders at fort stanwix (november 5, 1768) was valid; and that purchase by private individuals from the indians gave full and ample title. [140] in consequence of these facts, william murray, in behalf of himself and his associates of the illinois land company, and on the strength of the camden-yorke decision, purchased two large tracts, on the illinois and ohio respectively, from the illinois indians (july 5, 1773); and in order to win the support of dunmore, who was ambitious to make a fortune in land speculation, organized a second company, the wabash (ouabache) land company, with the governor as the chief share-holder. in response to murray's petition on behalf of the illinois land company, dunmore (may, 1774) recommended it to lord dartmouth, secretary of state for the colonies, and urged that it be granted; and in a later letter he disingenuously disclaimed any personal interest in the illinois speculation. the party of surveyors sent out under the direction of colonel william preston, on the request of washington and other leading eastern men, in 1774 located lands covered by military grants on the ohio and in the kentucky area for prominent virginians, including washington, patrick henry, william byrd, william preston, arthur campbell, william fleming, and andrew lewis, among others, and also a large tract for dr. connolly. certain of these grants fell within the vandalia area; and in his reply (september 10, 1774) to dunmore's letter, lord dartmouth sternly censured dunmore for allowing these grants, and accused the white settlers of having brought on, by such unwarrantable aggressions, the war then raging with the indians. this charge lay at the door of dunmore himself; and there is strong evidence that dunmore personally fomented the war, ostensibly in support of virginia's charter rights, but actually in order to further his own speculative designs. [141] dunmore's agent, dr. connolly, heading a party posing as virginia militia, fired without provocation upon a delegation of shawanoe chiefs assembled at fort pitt (january, 1774). taking advantage of the alarming situation created by the conflict of the claims of virginia and pennsylvania, connolly, inspired by dunmore without doubt, then issued an incendiary circular (april 21, 1774), declaring a state of war to exist. just two weeks before the battle of the great kanawha, patrick henry categorically stated, in conversation with thomas wharton: that he was at williamsburg with ld. d. when dr. conolly first came there, that conolly is a chatty, sensible man, and informed ld. dunmore of the extreme richness of the lands which lay on both sides of the ohio; that the prohibitory orders which had been sent him relative to the land on the hither side (or vandalia) had caused him to turn his thoughts to the opposite shore, and that as his lordship was determined to settle his family in america he was really pursueing this war, in order to obtain by purchase or treaty from the natives a tract of territory on that side; he then told me that he was convinced from every authority that the law knew, that a purchase from the natives was as full and ample a title as could be obtained, that they had lord camden and mr. york's opinion on that head, which opinion with some others that ld. dunmore had consulted, and with the knowledge conolly had given him of the quality of the country and his determined resolution to settle his family on this continent, were the real motives or springs of the present expedition. [142] at this very time, patrick henry, in conjunction with william byrd 3d and others, was negotiating for a private purchase of lands from the cherokees; and when wharton, after answering henry's inquiry as to where he might buy indian goods, remarked: "it's not possible you mean to enter the indian trade at this period," henry laughingly replied: "the wish-world is my hobby horse." "from whence i conclude," adds wharton, "he has some prospect of making a purchase of the natives, but where i know not." the war, thus promulgated, we believe, at dunmore's secret instigation and heralded by a series of ghastly atrocities, came on apace. after the inhuman murder of the family of logan, the indian chieftain, by one greathouse and his drunken companions (april 30th), logan, who contrary to romantic views was a black-hearted and vengeful savage, harried the tennessee and virginia borders, burning and slaughtering. unable to arouse the cherokees, owing to the opposition of atta-kulla-kulla, logan as late as july 21st said in a letter to the whites: "the indians are not angry, only myself," and not until then did dunmore begin to give full execution to his warlike plans. the best woodsmen of the border, daniel boone and the german scout michael stoner, having been despatched on july 27th by colonel william preston to warn the surveyors of the trans-alleghany, made a remarkable journey on foot of eight hundred miles in sixty-one days. harrod's company at harrodsburg, a company of surveyors at fontainebleau, floyd's party on the kentucky, and the surveyors at mann's lick, thus warned, hurried in to the settlements and were saved. meanwhile, dunmore, in command of the virginia forces, invaded territory guaranteed to the indians by the royal proclamation of 1763 and recently (1774) added to the province of quebec, a fact of which he was not aware, conducted a vigorous campaign, and fortified camp charlotte, near old chillicothe. andrew lewis, however, in charge of the other division of dunmore's army, was the one destined to bear the real brunt and burden of the campaign. his division, recruited from the very flower of the pioneers of the old southwest, was the most representative body of borderers of this region that up to this time had assembled to measure strength with the red men. it was an army of the true stalwarts of the frontier, with fringed leggings and hunting-capes, rifles and powder-horns, hunting-knives and tomahawks. the battle of the great kanawha, at point pleasant, was fought on october 10, 1774, between lewis's force, eleven hundred strong, and the indians, under cornstalk, somewhat inferior in numbers. it was a desultory action, over a greatly extended front and in very brushy country between crooked creek and the ohio. throughout the long day, the indians fought with rare craft and stubborn bravery--loudly cursing the white men, cleverly picking off their leaders, and derisively inquiring, in regard to the absence of the fifes: "where are your whistles now?" slowly retreating, they sought to draw the whites into an ambuscade and at a favorable moment to "drive the long knives like bullocks into the river." no marked success was achieved on either side until near sunset, when a flank movement directed by young isaac shelby alarmed the indians, who mistook this party for the expected reinforcement under christian, and retired across the ohio. in the morning the whites were amazed to discover that the indians, who the preceding day so splendidly heeded the echoing call of cornstalk, "be strong! be strong!", had quit the battle-field and left the victory with the whites. [143] the peace negotiated by dunmore was durable. the governor had accomplished his purpose, defied the authority of the crown, and vindicated the claim of virginia, to the enthusiastic satisfaction of the backwoodsmen. while tendering their thanks to him and avowing their allegiance to george iii, at the close of the campaign, the borderers proclaimed their resolution to exert all their powers "for the defense of american liberty, and for the support of her just rights and privileges, not in any precipitous, riotous or tumultuous manner, but when regularly called forth by the unanimous voice of our countrymen." dunmore's war is epochal, in that it procured for the nonce a state of peace with the indians, which made possible the advance of judge henderson over the transylvania trail in 1775, and, through his establishment of the transylvania fort at boonesborough, the ultimate acquisition by the american confederation of the imperial domain of the trans-alleghany. [144] chapter xiv. richard henderson and the transylvania company i happened to fall in company, and have a great deal of conversation with one of the most singular and extraordinary persons and excentric geniuses in america, and perhaps in the world. his name is richard henderson. --j. f. d. smyth: a tour in the united states of america. early in 1774, chastened by his own disastrous failure the preceding autumn, boone advised judge henderson that the time was auspicious for opening negotiations with the cherokees for purchasing the trans-alleghany region. [145] in organizing a company for this purpose, henderson chose men of action and resource, leaders in the colony, ready for any hazard of life and fortune in this gigantic scheme of colonization and promotion. the new men included, in addition to the partners in the organization known as richard henderson and company, were colonel john luttrell, destined to win laurels in the revolution, and william johnston, a native of scotland, the leading merchant of hillsborough. [146] meeting in hillsborough on august 27, 1774, these men organized the new company under the name of the louisa company. in the articles then drawn up they agreed to "rent or purchase" a tract of land from the indian owners of the soil for the express purpose of "settling the country." each partner obligated himself to "furnish his quota of expenses necessary towards procuring the grant." in full anticipation of the grave dangers to be encountered, they solemnly bound themselves, as "equal sharers in the property," to "support each other with our lives and fortunes." [147] negotiations with the indians were begun at once. accompanied by colonel nathaniel hart and guided by the experienced indian-trader, thomas price, judge henderson visited the cherokee chieftains at the otari towns. after elaborate consultations, the latter deputed the old chieftain, atta-kulla-kulla, a young buck, and a squaw, "to attend the said henderson and hart to north carolina, and there examine the goods and merchandize which had been by them offered as the consideration of the purchase." the goods purchased at cross creek (now fayetteville, north carolina), in which the louisa company "had embarked a large amount," met the entire approval of the indians--the squaw in particular shrewdly examining the goods in the interest of the women of the tribe. [148] on january 6, 1775, the company was again enlarged, and given the name of the transylvania company--the three new partners being david hart, brother to thomas and nathaniel, leonard henley bullock, a prominent citizen of granville, and james hogg, of hillsborough, a native scotchman and one of the most influential men in the colony. in the elaborate agreement drawn up reference is explicitly made to the contingency of "settling and voting as a proprietor and giving rules and regulations for the inhabitants etc." [149] hillsborough was the actual starting-point for the westward movement, the first emigrants traveling thence to the sycamore shoals of the watauga. in speaking of the departure of the settlers, the first movement of extended and permanent westward migration, an eye-witness quaintly says: "at this place [hillsborough] i saw the first party of emigrant families that moved to kentucky under the auspices of judge henderson. they marched out of the town with considerable solemnity, and to many their destination seemed as remote as if it had been to the south sea islands." [150] meanwhile, the "proposals for the encouragement of settling the lands etc.," issued on christmas day, 1774, were quickly spread broadcast through the colony and along the border. [151] it was the greatest sensation north carolina had known since alamance; and archibald neilson, deputy-auditor and naval officer of the colony, inquired with quizzical anxiety: "pray, is dick henderson out of his head?" the most liberal terms, proffered by one quite in possession of his head, were embodied in these proposals. land at twenty shillings per hundred acres was offered to each emigrant settling within the territory and raising a crop of corn before september 1, 1775, the emigrant being permitted to take up as much as five hundred acres for himself and two hundred and fifty acres for each tithable person under him. in these "proposals" there was no indication that the low terms at which the lands were offered would be maintained after september 1, 1775. [152] in a letter to governor dunmore (january, 1775), colonel william preston, county surveyor of fincastle county, virginia, says: "the low price he [henderson] proposes to sell at, together with some further encouragement he offers, will i am apprehensive induce a great many families to remove from this county (fincastle) & carolina and settle there." [153] joseph martin, states his son, "was appointed entry-taker and agent for the powell valley portion" of the transylvania purchase on january 20, 1775; and "he (joseph martin) and others went on in the early part of the year 1775 and made their stand at the very spot where he had made corn several years before." [154] in speaking of the startling design, unmasked by henderson, of establishing an independent government, colonel preston writes to george washington of the contemplated "large purchase by one col.o henderson of north carolina from the cherokees.... i hear that henderson talks with great freedom & indecency of the governor of virginia, sets the government at defiance & says if he once had five hundred good fellows settled in that country he would not value virginia." [155] early in 1775 runners were sent off to the cherokee towns to summon the indians to the treaty ground at the sycamore shoals of the watauga; and boone, after his return from a hunt in kentucky in january, was summoned by judge henderson to aid in the negotiations preliminary to the actual treaty. the dominating figure in the remarkable assemblage at the treaty ground, consisting of twelve hundred indians and several hundred whites, was richard henderson, "comely in person, of a benign and social disposition," with countenance betokening the man of strenuous action--"noble forehead, prominent nose, projecting chin, firm-set jaw, with kindness and openness of expression." gathered about him, picturesque in garb and striking in appearance, were many of the buckskin-clad leaders of the border--james robertson, john sevier, isaac shelby, william bailey smith, and their compeers--as well as his carolina friends john williams, thomas and nathaniel hart, nathaniel henderson, jesse benton, [156] and valentine searcy. little was accomplished on the first day of the treaty (march 14th); but on the next day, the cherokees offered to sell the section bargained for by donelson acting as agent for virginia in 1771. although the indians pointed out that virginia had never paid the promised compensation of five hundred pounds and had therefore forfeited her rights, henderson flatly refused to entertain the idea of purchasing territory to which virginia had the prior claim. angered by henderson's refusal, the dragging canoe, leaping into the circle of the seated savages, made an impassioned speech touched with the romantic imagination peculiar to the american indian. with pathetic eloquence he dwelt upon the insatiable land-greed of the white men, and predicted the extinction of his race if they committed the insensate folly of selling their beloved hunting-grounds. roused to a high pitch of oratorical fervor, the savage with uplifted arm fiercely exhorted his people to resist further encroachments at all hazards--and left the treaty ground. this incident brought the conference to a startling and abrupt conclusion. on the following day, however, the savages proved more tractable, agreeing to sell the land as far south as the cumberland river. in order to secure the additional territory watered by the tributaries of the cumberland, henderson agreed to pay an additional sum of two thousand pounds. upon this day there originated the ominous phrase descriptive of kentucky when the dragging canoe, dramatically pointing toward the west, declared that a dark cloud hung over that land, which was known as the bloody ground. on the last day, march 17th, the negotiations were opened with the signing of the "great grant." the area purchased, some twenty millions of acres, included almost all the present state of kentucky, and an immense tract in tennessee, comprising all the territory watered by the cumberland river and all its tributaries. for "two thousand weight of leather in goods" henderson purchased "the lands lying down holston and between the watauga lease, colonel donelson's line and powell's mountain" as a pathway to kentucky--the deed for which was known as the "path deed." by special arrangement, carter's valley in this tract went to carter and lucas; two days later, for two thousand pounds, charles robertson on behalf of the watauga association purchased a large tract in the valleys of the holston, watauga, and new rivers; and eight days later jacob brown purchased two large areas, including the nolichucky valley. this historic treaty, which heralds the opening of the west, was conducted with absolute justice and fairness by judge henderson and his associates. no liquor was permitted at the treaty ground; and thomas price, the ablest of the cherokee traders, deposed that "he at that time understood the cherokee language, so as to comprehend everything which was said and to know that what was observed on either side was fairly and truly translated; that the cherokees perfectly understood, what lands were the subject of the treaty...." the amount paid by the transylvania company for the imperial domain was ten thousand pounds sterling, in money and in goods. [157] although daniel boone doubtless assisted in the proceedings prior to the negotiation of the treaty, his name nowhere appears in the voluminous records of the conference. indeed, he was not then present; for a fortnight before the conclusion of the treaty he was commissioned by judge henderson to form a party of competent woodmen to blaze a passage through the wilderness. on march 10th this party of thirty ax-men, under the leadership of boone, started from the rendezvous, the long island of holston, to engage in the arduous labor of cutting out the transylvania trail. [158] henderson, the empire-builder, now faced with courage and resolution the hazardous task of occupying the purchased territory and establishing an independent government. no mere financial promoter of a vast speculative enterprise, he was one of the heroic figures of the old southwest; and it was his dauntless courage, his unwavering resolve to go forward in the face of all dangers, which carried through the armed "trek" to a successful conclusion. at martin's station, where henderson and his party tarried to build a house in which to store their wagons, as the road could be cleared no further, they were joined by another party, of five adventurers from prince william county, virginia. [159] in henderson's party were some forty men and boys, with forty pack-horses and a small amount of powder, lead, salt, and garden-seeds. the warning freely given by joseph martin of the perils of the path was soon confirmed, as appears from the following entry in henderson's diary: friday the 7th. [april] about brake of day began to snow. about 11 oclock received a letter from mr. luttrells camp that were five persons killd. on the road to the cantuckie by indians. capt. [nathaniel] hart, uppon the receipt of this news retreated back with his company, & determined to settle in the valley to make corn for the cantucky people. the same day received a letter from dan. boone, that his company was fired uppon by indians, kill'd two of his men--tho he kept the ground & saved the baggage &c. [160] the following historic letter, which reveals alike the dogged resolution of boone and his reliance upon henderson and his company in this black hour of disaster, addressed "colonel richard henderson--these with care," is eloquent in its simplicity: dear colonel: after my compliments to you, i shall acquaint you of our misfortunes. on march the 25 a party of indians fired on my company about half an hour before day, and killed mr. twitty and his negro, and wounded mr. walker very deeply, but i hope he will recover. on march the 28 as we were hunting for provisions, we found samuel tate's son, who gave us an account that the indians fired on their camp on the 27th day. my brother and i went down and found two men killed and sculped, thomas mcdowell and jeremiah mcfeters. i have sent a man down to all the lower companies in order to gather them all at the mouth of otter creek. my advice to you, sir, is to come or send as soon as possible. your company is desired greatly, for the people are very uneasy, but are willing to stay and venture their lives with you. and now is the time to flusterate their [the indians'] intentions, and keep the country, whilst we are in it. if we give way to them now, it will ever be the case. this day we start from the battle ground, for the mouth of otter creek, where we shall immediately erect a fort, which will be done before you can come or send, then we can send ten men to meet you, if you send for them. i am, sir, your most obedient omble sarvent daniel boone. n.b. we stood on the ground and guarded our baggage till day, and lost nothing. we have about fifteen miles to cantuck [kentucky river] at otter creek. [161] this dread intelligence caused the hearts of strong men to quail and induced some to turn back, but henderson, the jurist-pioneer, was made of sterner stuff. at once (april 8th) he despatched an urgent letter in hot haste to the proprietors of transylvania, enclosing boone's letter, informing them of boone's plight and urging them to send him immediately a large quantity of powder and lead, as he had been compelled to abandon his supply of saltpeter at martin's station. "we are all in high spirits," he assures the proprietors, "and on thorns to fly to boone's assistance, and join him in defense of so fine and valuable a country." laconically eloquent is this simple entry in his diary: "saturday the 8th. started abt. 10 oclock crossed cumberland gap about 4 miles met about 40 persons returning from the cantucky, on acct. of the late murders by the indians could prevail on one only to return. memo several virginians who were with us return'd." there is no more crucial moment in early western history than this, in which we see the towering form of henderson, clad in the picturesque garb of the pioneer, with outstretched arm resolutely pointing forward to the "dark and bloody ground," and in impassioned but futile eloquence pleading with the pale and panic-stricken fugitives to turn about, to join his company, and to face once more the mortal dangers of pioneer conquest. significant indeed are the lines: some to endure, and many to fail, some to conquer, and many to quail, toiling over the wilderness trail. the spirit of the pioneer knight-errant inspires henderson's words: "in this situation, some few, of genuine courage and undaunted resolution, served to inspire the rest; by the help of whose example, assisted by a little pride and some ostentation, we made a shift to march on with all the appearance of gallantry, and, cavalier like, treated every insinuation of danger with the utmost contempt." fearing that boone, who did not even know that henderson's cavalcade was on the road, would be unable to hold out, henderson realized the imperative necessity for sending him a message of encouragement. the bold young virginian, william cocke, volunteered to brave alone the dangers of the murder-haunted trail--to undertake a ride more truly memorable and hazardous than that of revere. "this offer, extraordinary as it was, we could by no means refuse," remarks henderson, who shed tears of gratitude as he proffered his sincere thanks and wrung the brave messenger's hand. equipped with "a good queen anne's musket, plenty of ammunition, a tomahawk, a large cuttoe knife [french, couteau], a dutch blanket, and no small quantity of jerked beef," cocke on april 10th rode off "to the cantuckey to inform capt boone that we were on the road." the fearful apprehensions felt for cocke's safety were later relieved, when along the road were discovered his letters informing henderson of his arrival and of his having been joined on the way by page portwood of rowan. on his arrival at otter creek, cocke found boone and his men, and on relating his adventures, "came in for his share of applause." boone at once despatched the master woodman, michael stoner, with pack-horses to assist henderson's party, which he met on april 18th at their encampment "in the eye of the rich land." along with "excellent beef in plenty," stoner brought the story of boone's determined stand and an account of the erection of a rude little fortification which they had hurriedly thrown up to resist attack. with laconic significance henderson pays the following tribute to boone which deserves to be perpetuated in national annals: "it was owing to boone's confidence in us, and the people's in him, that a stand was ever attempted in order to wait for our coming." in the course of their journey over the mountains and through the wilderness, the pioneers forgot the trials of the trail in the face of the surpassing beauties of the country. the cumberlands were covered with rich undergrowth of the red and white rhododendron, the delicate laurel, the mountain ivy, the flame-azalea, the spicewood, and the cane; while the white stars of the dogwood and the carmine blossoms of the red-bud, strewn across the verdant background of the forest, gleamed in the eager air of spring. "to enter uppon a detail of the beuty & goodness of our country," writes nathaniel henderson, "would be a task too arduous.... let it suffice to tell you it far exceeds any country i ever saw or herd off. i am conscious its out of the power of any man to make you clearly sensible of the great beuty and richness of kentucky." young felix walker, endowed with more vivid powers of description, says with a touch of native eloquence: perhaps no adventureor since the days of donquicksotte or before ever felt so cheerful & ilated in prospect, every heart abounded with joy & excitement ... & exclusive of the novelties of the journey the advantages & accumalations arising on the settlement of a new country was a dazzling object with many of our company.... as the cain ceased, we began to discover the pleasing & rapturous appearance of the plains of kentucky, a new sky & strange earth to be presented to our view.... so rich a soil we had never saw before, covered with clover in full bloom. the woods alive abounding in wild game, turkeys so numerous that it might be said there appeared but one flock universally scattered in the woods ... it appeared that nature in the profusion of her bounties, had spread a feast for all that lives, both for the animal & rational world, a sight so delightful to our view and grateful to our feelings almost induced us, in immitation of columbus in transport to kiss the soil of kentucky, as he haild & saluted the sand on his first setting his foot on the shores of america. [162] on the journey henderson was joined in powell's valley by benjamin logan, afterward so famous in kentucky annals, and a companion, william galaspy. at the crab orchard they left henderson's party; and turning their course westward finally pitched camp in the present lincoln county, where logan subsequently built a fort. on sunday, april 16th, on scaggs's creek, henderson records: "about 12 oclock met james mcafee with 18 other persons returning from cantucky." they advised henderson of the "troublesomeness and danger" of the indians, says robert mcafee junior: "but henderson assured them that he had purchased the whole country from the indians, that it belonged to him, and he had named it transylvania.... robt, samuel, and william mcafee and 3 others were inclined to return, but james opposed it, alleging that henderson had no right to the land, and that virginia had previously bought it. the former (6) returned with henderson to boonesborough." among those who had joined henderson's party was abraham hanks from virginia, the maternal grandfather of abraham lincoln; but alarmed by the stories brought by stewart and his party of fugitives, hanks and drake, as recorded by william calk on that day (april 13th), turned back. [163] at last the founder of kentucky with his little band reached the destined goal of their arduous journeyings. henderson's record on his birthday runs: "thursday the 20th [april] arrived at fort boone on the mouth of oter creek cantuckey river where we were saluted by a running fire of about 25 guns; all that was then at fort.... the men appeared in high spirits & much rejoiced in our arrival." it is a coincidence of historic interest that just one day after the embattled farmers at lexington and concord "fired the shots heard round the world," the echoing shots of boone and his sturdy backwoodsmen rang out to announce the arrival of the proprietor of transylvania and the birth of the american west. chapter xv. transylvania--a wilderness commonwealth you are about a work of the utmost importance to the well-being of this country in general, in which the interest and security of each and every individual are inseparably connected.... our peculiar circumstances in this remote country, surrounded on all sides with difficulties, and equally subject to one common danger, which threatens our common overthrow, must, i think, in their effects, secure to us an union of interests, and, consequently, that harmony in opinion, so essential to the forming good, wise and wholesome laws. --judge richard henderson: address to the legislature of transylvania, may 23, 1775. the independent spirit displayed by the transylvania company, and henderson's procedure in open defiance of the royal governors of both north carolina and virginia, naturally aroused grave alarm throughout these colonies and south carolina. "this in my opinion," says preston in a letter to george washington (january 31, 1775), "will soon become a serious affair, & highly deserves the attention of the government. for it is certain that a vast number of people are preparing to go out and settle on this purchase; and if once they get fixed there, it will be next to impossible to remove them or reduce them to obedience; as they are so far from the seat of government. indeed it may be the cherokees will support them." [164] governor martin of north carolina, already deeply disturbed in anticipation of the coming revolutionary cataclysm, thundered in what was generally regarded as a forcible-feeble proclamation (february 19, 1775) against "richard henderson and his confederates" in their "daring, unjust and unwarrantable proceedings." [165] in a letter to dartmouth he denounces "henderson the famous invader" and dubs the transylvania company "an infamous company of land pyrates." officials who were themselves eager for land naturally opposed henderson's plans. lord dunmore, who in 1774, as we have seen, was heavily interested in the wabash land company engineered by william murray, took the ground that the wabash purchase was valid under the camden-yorke decision. this is so stated in the records of the illinois company, likewise under murray's control. but although the "ouabache company," of which dunmore was a leading member, was initiated as early as may 16, 1774, the purchase of the territory was not formally effected until october 18, 1775--too late to benefit dunmore, then deeply embroiled in the preliminaries to the revolution. under the cover of his agent's name, it is believed, dunmore, with his "passion for land and fees," illegally entered tracts aggregating thousands of acres of land surveyed by the royal surveyors in the summer of 1774 for dr. john connolly. [166] early in this same year, patrick henry, who, as already pointed out, had entered large tracts in kentucky in violation of virginia's treaty obligations with the cherokees, united with william byrd 3d, john page, ralph wormley, samuel overton, and william christian, in the effort to purchase from the cherokees a tract of land west of donelson's line, being firmly persuaded of the validity of the camden-yorke opinion. their agent, william kenedy, considerably later in the year, went on a mission to the cherokee towns, and upon his return reported that the indians might be induced to sell. when it became known that judge henderson had organized the transylvania company and anticipated patrick henry and his associates, colonel arthur campbell, as he himself states, applied to several of the partners of the transylvania company on behalf of patrick henry, requesting that henry be taken in as a partner. [167] it was afterward stated, as commonly understood among the transylvania proprietors, that both patrick henry and thomas jefferson desired to become members of the company; but that colonel richard henderson was instrumental in preventing their admission "lest they should supplant the colonel [henderson] as the guiding spirit of the company." [168] fully informed by preston's elaborate communication on the gravity of the situation, dunmore acted energetically, though tardily, to prevent the execution of henderson's designs. on march 21st dunmore sent flying through the back country a proclamation, demanding the immediate relinquishment of the territory by "one richard henderson and other disorderly persons, his associates," and "in case of refusal, and of violently detaining such possession, that he or they be immediately fined and imprisoned." [169] this proclamation, says a peppery old chronicler, may well rank with the one excepting those arch traitors and rebels, samuel adams and john hancock, from the mercy of the british monarch. in view of dunmore's confidence in the validity of the camden-yorke decision, it is noteworthy that no mention of the royal proclamation of 1763 occurs in his broadside; and that he bases his objection to the transylvania purchase upon the king's instructions that all vacant lands "within this colony" be laid off in tracts, from one hundred to one thousand acres in extent, and sold at public auction. this proclamation which was enclosed, oddly enough, in a letter of official instructions to preston warning him not to survey any lands "beyond the line run by colonel donaldson," proved utterly ineffective. at the same time, dunmore despatched a pointed letter to oconostota, atta-kulla-kulla, judge's friend, and other cherokee chieftains, notifying them that the sale of the great tract of land below the kentucky was illegal and threatening them with the king's displeasure if they did not repudiate the sale. [170] news of the plans which henderson had already matured for establishing an independent colony in the trans-alleghany wilderness, now ran like wild-fire through virginia. in a letter to george washington (april 9, 1775), preston ruefully says: "henderson i hear has made the purchase & got a conveyance of the great and valluable country below the kentucky from the cherokees. he and about 300 adventurers are gone out to take possession, who it is said intends to set up an independent government & form a code of laws for themselves. how this may be i cant say, but i am affraid the steps taken by the government have been too late. before the purchase was made had the governor interfered it is believed the indians would not have sold." [171] meanwhile judge henderson, with strenuous energy, had begun to erect a large stockaded fort according to plans of his own. captain james harrod with forty-two men was stationed at the settlement he had made the preceding year, having arrived there before the mcafees started back to virginia; and there were small groups of settlers at boiling spring, six miles southeast of harrod's settlement, and at st. asaph's, a mile west of the present stanford. a representative government for transylvania was then planned. when the frank and gallant floyd arrived at the transylvania fort on may 3d, he "expressed great satisfaction," says judge henderson, "on being informed of the plan we proposed for legislation & sayd he must most heartily concur in that & every other measure we should adopt for the well governg or good of the community in genl." in reference to a conversation with captain james harrod and colonel thomas slaughter of virginia, henderson notes in his diary (may 8th): "our plan of legislation, the evils pointed out--the remedies to be applyed &c &c &c were acceeded to without hesitation. the plann was plain & simple--'twas nothing novel in its essence a thousand years ago it was in use, and found by every year's experience since to be unexceptionable. we were in four distinct settlemts. members or delegates from every place by free choice of individuals they first having entered into writings solemnly binding themselves to obey and carry into execution such laws as representatives should from time to time make, concurred with, by a majority of the proprietors present in the country." in reply to inquiries of the settlers, judge henderson gave as his reason for this assembling of a transylvania legislature that "all power was derived from the people." six days before the prophetic arrival of the news of the battle of lexington and eight days before the revolutionary committee of mecklenburg county, north carolina, promulgated their memorable resolves establishing laws for an independent government, the pioneers assembled on the green beneath the mighty plane-tree at the transylvania fort. in his wise and statesmanlike address to this picturesque convention of free americans (may 23, 1775), an address which felix walker described as being "considered equal to any of like kind ever delivered to any deliberate body in that day and time," judge henderson used these memorable words: you, perhaps, are fixing the palladium, or placing the first corner stone of an edifice, the height and magnificence of whose superstructure ... can only become great in proportion to the excellence of its foundation.... if any doubt remain amongst you with respect to the force or efficiency of whatever laws you now, or hereafter make, be pleased to consider that all power is originally in the people; make it their interest, therefore, by impartial and beneficent laws, and you may be sure of their inclination to see them enforced. an early writer, in speaking of the full-blooded democracy of these "advanced" sentiments, quaintly comments: "if jeremy bentham had been in existence of manhood, he would have sent his compliments to the president of transylvania." this, the first representative body of american freemen which ever convened west of the alleghanies, is surely the most unique colonial government ever set up on this continent. the proceedings of this backwoods legislature--the democratic leadership of the principal proprietor; the prudence exhibited in the laws for protecting game, breeding horses, etc.; the tolerance shown in the granting of full religious liberty--all display the acumen and practical wisdom of these pioneer law-givers. as the result of henderson's tactfulness, the proprietary form of government, thoroughly democratized in tone, was complacently accepted by the backwoodsmen. from one who, though still under royal rule, vehemently asserted that the source of all political power was the people, and that "laws derive force and efficiency from our mutual consent," western democracy thus born in the wilderness was "taking its first political lesson." in their answer to henderson's assertion of freedom from alien authority the pioneers unhesitatingly declared: "that we have an absolute right, as a political body, without giving umbrage to great britain, or any of the colonies, to form rules for the government of our little society, cannot be doubted by any sensible mind and being without the jurisdiction of, and not answerable to any of his majesty's courts, the constituting tribunals of justice shall be a matter of our first contemplation...." in the establishment of a constitution for the new colony, henderson with paternalistic wisdom induced the people to adopt a legal code based on the laws of england. out of a sense of self-protection he reserved for the proprietors only one prerogative not granted them by the people, the right of veto. he clearly realized that if this power were given up, the delegates to any convention that might be held after the first would be able to assume the claims and rights of the proprietors. a land-office was formally opened, deeds were issued, and a store was established which supplied the colonists with powder, lead, salt, osnaburgs, blankets, and other chief necessities of pioneer existence. writing to his brother jonathan from leestown, the bold young george rogers clark, soon to plot the downfall of transylvania, enthusiastically says (july 6, 1775): "a richer and more beautifull cuntry than this i believe has never been seen in america yet. col. henderson is hear and claims all ye country below kentucke. if his claim should be good, land may be got reasonable enough and as good as any in ye world." [172] those who settled on the south side of kentucky river acknowledged the validity of the transylvania purchase; and clark in his memoir says: "the proprietors at first took great pains to ingratiate themselves in the favr. of the people." in regard to the designs of lord dunmore, who, as noted above, had illegally entered the connolly grant on the ohio and sought to outlaw henderson, and of colonel william byrd 3d, who, after being balked in patrick henry's plan to anticipate the transylvania company in effecting a purchase from the cherokees, was supposed to have tried to persuade the cherokees to repudiate the "great treaty," henderson defiantly says: "whether lord dunmore and colonel byrd have interfered with the indians or not, richard henderson is equally ignorant and indifferent. the utmost result of their efforts can only serve to convince them of the futility of their schemes and possibly frighten some few faint-hearted persons, naturally prone to reverence great names and fancy everything must shrink at the magic of a splendid title." [173] prompted by henderson's desire to petition the continental congress then in session for recognition as the fourteenth colony, the transylvania legislature met again on the first thursday in september and elected richard henderson and john williams, among others, as delegates to the gathering at philadelphia. [174] shortly afterward the proprietors of transylvania held a meeting at oxford, north carolina (september 25, 1775), elected williams as the agent of the colony, and directed him to proceed to boonesborough there to reside until april, 1776. james hogg, of hillsborough, chosen as delegate to represent the colony in the continental congress, was despatched to philadelphia, bearing with him an elaborate memorial prepared by the president, judge henderson, petitioning the congress "to take the infant colony of transylvania into their protection." [175] almost immediately upon his arrival in philadelphia, james hogg was presented to "the famous samuel and john adams." the latter warned hogg, in view of the efforts then making toward reconciliation between the colonies and the king, that "the taking under our protection a body of people who have acted in defiance of the king's proclamation, will be looked on as a confirmation of that independent spirit with which we are daily reproached." jefferson said that if his advice were followed, all the use the virginians should make of their charter would be "to prevent any arbitrary or oppressive government to be established within the boundaries of it"; and that it was his wish "to see a free government established at the back of theirs [virginia's] properly united with them." he would not consent, however, that congress should acknowledge the colony of transylvania, until it had the approbation of the virginia convention. the quit-rents imposed by the company were denounced in congress as a mark of vassalage; and many advised a law against the employment of negroes in the colony. "they even threatened us with their opposition," says hogg, with precise veracity, "if we do not act upon liberal principles when we have it so much in our power to render ourselves immortal." [176] chapter xvi. the repulse of the red men to this short war may be properly attributed all the kind feelings and fidelity to treaty stipulations manifested by the cherokees ever afterwards. general rutherford instilled into the indians so great a fear of the whites, that never afterwards were they disposed to engage in any cruelty, or destroy any of the property of our frontier men. --david l. swain: the indian war of 1776. during the summer of 1775 the proprietors of transylvania were confronted with two stupendous tasks--that of winning the favor and support of the frontiersmen and that of rallying the rapidly dwindling forces in kentucky in defense of the settlements. recognizing the difficulty of including martin's station, because of its remoteness, with the government provided for transylvania, judge henderson prepared a plan of government for the group of settlers located in powell's valley. in a letter to martin (july 30th), in regard to the recent energetic defense of the settlers at that point against the indians, henderson says: "your spirited conduct gives me much pleasure.... keep your men in heart if possible, now is our time, the indians must not drive us." the gloom which had been occasioned by the almost complete desertion of the stations at harrodsburg, the boiling spring, and the transylvania fort or boonesborough was dispelled with the return of boone, accompanied by some thirty persons, on september 8th, and of richard callaway with a considerable party on september 26th. the crisis was now passed; and the colony began for the first time really to flourish. the people on the south side of the kentucky river universally accepted proprietary rule for the time being. but the seeds of dissension were soon to be sown among those who settled north of the river, as well as among men of the stamp of james harrod, who, having preceded henderson in the establishment of a settlement in kentucky, naturally resented holding lands under the transylvania company. the great liberality of this organization toward incoming settlers had resulted in immense quantities of land being taken up through their land-office. [177] the ranging, hunting, and road-building were paid for by the company; and the entire settlement was furnished with powder, lead, and supplies, wholly on credit, for this and the succeeding year. "five hundred and sixty thousand acres of land are now entered," reports floyd on december 1st, "and most of the people waiting to have it run out." [178] after dunmore, having lost his hold upon the situation, escaped to the protection of a british vessel, the fowey, colonel preston continued to prevent surveys for officers' grants within the transylvania territory; and his original hostility to judge henderson gave place to friendship and support. on december 1st, colonel john williams, resident agent of the transylvania company, announced at boonesborough the long-contemplated and widely advertised advance in price of the lands, from twenty to fifty shillings per hundred acres, with surveying fees of four dollars for tracts not exceeding six hundred and forty acres. [179] at a meeting of the transylvania legislature, convened on december 21st, john floyd was chosen surveyor general of the colony, nathaniel henderson was placed in charge of the entering office, and richard harrison given the post of secretary. at this meeting of the legislature, the first open expression of discontent was voiced in the "harrodsburg remonstrance," questioning the validity of the proprietors' title, and protesting against any increase in the price of lands, as well as the taking up by the proprietors and a few other gentlemen of the best lands at the falls of the ohio. every effort was made to accommodate the remonstrants, who were led by abraham hite. office fees were abolished, and the payment of quit-rents was deferred until january 1, 1780. despite these efforts at accommodation, grave doubts were implanted by this harrodsburg remonstrance in the minds of the people; and much discussion and discontent ensued. by midsummer, 1775, george rogers clark, a remarkably enterprising and independent young pioneer, was "engrossing all the land he could" in kentucky. upon his return to virginia, as he relates, he "found there was various oppinions respecting henderson claim. many thought it go[o]d, others douted whether or not virginia coud with propriety have any pretentions to the cuntrey." [180] jefferson displayed a liberal attitude toward the claims of the transylvania proprietors; and patrick henry openly stated that, in his opinion, "their claim would stand good." but many others, of the stamp of george mason and george washington, vigorously asserted virginia's charter rights over the western territory. [181] this sharp difference of opinion excited in clark's mind the bold conception of seizing the leadership of the country and making terms with virginia under threat of secession. with the design of effecting some final disposition in regard to the title of the transylvania proprietors, judge henderson and colonel williams set off from boonesborough about may 1st, intending first to appeal to the virginia convention and ultimately to lay their claims before the continental congress. "since they have gone," reports floyd to preston, "i am told most of the men about harrodsburg have re-assumed their former resolution of not complying with any of the office rules whatever. jack jones, it is said, is at the head of the party & flourishes away prodigiously." [182] john gabriel jones was the mere figurehead in the revolt. the real leader, the brains of the conspiracy, was the unscrupulous george rogers clark. at clark's instance, an eight-day election was held at harrodsburg (june 7-15), at which time a petition to the virginia convention was drawn up; [183] and clark and jones were elected delegates. clark's plan, the scheme of a bold revolutionist, was to treat with virginia for terms; and if they were not satisfactory, to revolt and, as he says, "establish an independent government" ... "giving away great part of the lands and disposing of the remainder." in a second petition, prepared by the self-styled "committee of west fincastle" (june 20th), it was alleged that "if these pretended proprietors have leave to continue to act in their arbitrary manner out the controul of this colony [virginia] the end must be evident to every well wisher to american liberty." [184] the contest which now ensued between richard henderson and george rogers clark, waged upon the floor of the convention and behind the scenes, resulted in a conclusion that was inevitable at a moment in american history marked by the signing of the declaration of independence. virginia, under the leadership of her new governor, patrick henry, put an end to the proprietary rule of the transylvania company. on december 7th such part of transylvania as lay within the chartered limits of virginia was erected by the legislature of that colony into the county of kentucky. the proprietary form of government with its "marks of vassalage," although liberalized with the spirit of democracy, was unendurable to the independent and lawless pioneers, already intoxicated with the spirit of freedom swept in on the first fresh breezes of the revolution. yet it is not to be doubted that the transylvania company, through the courage and moral influence of its leaders, made a permanent contribution to the colonization of the west, which, in providential timeliness and effective execution, is without parallel in our early annals. [185] while events were thus shaping themselves in kentucky--events which made possible clark's spectacular and meteoric campaign in the northwest and ultimately resulted in the establishment of the mississippi instead of the alleghanies as the western boundary of the confederation--the pioneers of watauga were sagaciously laying strong the foundations of permanent occupation. in september, 1775, north carolina, through her provincial congress, provided for the appointment in each district of a committee of safety, to consist of a president and twelve other members. following the lead thus set, the watauga settlers assumed for their country the name of "washington district"; and proceeded by unanimous vote of the people to choose a committee of thirteen, which included james robertson and john sevier. this district was organized "shortly after october, 1775," according to felix walker; and the first step taken after the election of the committee was the organization of a court, consisting of five members. felix walker was elected clerk of the court thus organized, and held the position for about four years. james robertson and john sevier, it is believed, were also members of this court. to james robertson who, with the assistance of his colleagues, devised this primitive type of frontier rule--a true commission form of government, on the "watauga plan"--is justly due distinctive recognition for this notable inauguration of the independent democracy of the old southwest. the watauga settlement was animated by a spirit of deepest loyalty to the american cause. in a memorable petition these hardy settlers requested the provincial council of north carolina not to regard them as a "lawless mob," but to "annex" them to north carolina without delay. "this committee (willing to become a party in the present unhappy contest)", states the petition, which must have been drafted about july 15, 1776, "resolved (which is now on our records), to adhere strictly to the rules and orders of the continental congress, and in open committee acknowledged themselves indebted to the united colonies their full proportion of the continental expense." [186] while these disputes as to the government of the new communities were in progress an additional danger threatened the pioneers. for a whole year the british had been plying the various indian tribes from the lakes to the gulf with presents, supplies, and ammunition. in the northwest bounties had actually been offered for american scalps. during the spring of 1776 plans were concerted, chiefly through stuart and cameron, british agents among the southern indians, for uniting the loyalists and the indians in a crushing attack upon the tennessee settlements and the back country of north carolina. already the frontier of south carolina had passed through the horrors of indian uprising; and warning of the approaching invasion had been mercifully sent the holston settlers by atta-kulla-kulla's niece, nancy ward, the "pocahontas of the west"--doubtless through the influence of her daughter, who loved joseph martin. the settlers, flocking for refuge into their small stockaded forts, waited in readiness for the dreaded indian attacks, which were made by two forces totaling some seven hundred warriors. on july 20th, warned in advance of the approach of the indians, the borderers, one hundred and seventy in all, marched in two columns from the rude breastwork, hastily thrown up at eaton's station, to meet the indians, double their own number, led by the dragging canoe. the scouts surprised one party of indians, hastily poured in a deadly fire, and rushed upon them with such impetuous fury that they fled precipitately. withdrawing now toward their breastwork, in anticipation of encountering there a larger force, the backwoodsmen suddenly found themselves attacked in their rear and in grave danger of being surrounded. extending their own line under the direction of captain james shelby, the frontiersmen steadily met the bold attack of the indians, who, mistaking the rapid extension of the line for a movement to retreat, incautiously made a headlong onslaught upon the whites, giving the war-whoop and shouting: "the unakas are running!" in the ensuing hot conflict at close quarters, in some places hand to hand, the indians were utterly routed--the dragging canoe being shot down, many warriors wounded, and thirteen left dead upon the field. on the day after thompson, cocke, shelby, campbell, madison, and their men were thus winning the battle of the long island "flats," robertson, sevier, and their little band of forty-two men were engaged in repelling an attack, begun at sunrise, upon the watauga fort near the sycamore shoals. this attack, which was led by old abraham, proved abortive; but as the result of the loose investment of the log fortress, maintained by the indians for several weeks, a few rash venturers from the fort were killed or captured, notably a young boy who was carried to one of the indian towns and burned at the stake, and the wife of the pioneer settler, william been, who was rescued from a like fate by the intercession of the humane and noble nancy ward. it was during this siege, according to constant tradition, that a frontier lass, active and graceful as a young doe, was pursued to the very stockade by the fleet-footed savages. seeing her plight, an athletic young officer mounted the stockade at a single leap, shot down the foremost of the pursuers, and leaning over, seized the maiden by the hands and lifted her over the stockade. the maiden who sank breathless into the arms of the young officer, john sevier, was "bonnie kate sherrill"--who, after the fashion of true romance, afterward became the wife of her gallant rescuer. while the tennessee settlements were undergoing the trials of siege and attack, the settlers on the frontiers of rowan were falling beneath the tomahawk of the merciless savage. in the first and second weeks of july large forces of indians penetrated to the outlying settlements; and in two days thirty-seven persons were killed along the catawba river. on july 13th, the bluff old soldier of rowan, general griffith rutherford, reported to the council of north carolina that "three of our captains are killed and one wounded"; and that he was setting out that day with what men he could muster to relieve colonel mcdowell, ten men, and one hundred and twenty women and children, who were "besieged in some kind of a fort." aroused to extraordinary exertions by these daring and deadly blows, the governments of north carolina, south carolina, virginia, and georgia instituted a joint campaign against the cherokees. it was believed that, by delivering a series of crushing blows to the indians and so conclusively demonstrating the overwhelming superiority of the whites, the state governments in the old southwest would convince the savages of the futility of any attempt ever again to oppose them seriously. within less than a week after sending his despatches to the council rutherford set forth at the head of twenty-five hundred men to protect the frontiers of north carolina and to overwhelm the foe. leading the south carolina army of more than eighteen hundred men, colonel andrew williamson directed his attack against the lower cherokee towns; while colonel samuel jack led two hundred georgians against the indian towns at the heads of the chattahoochee and tugaloo rivers. assembling a force of some sixteen hundred virginians, colonel william christian rendezvoused in august at the long island of holston, where his force was strengthened by between three and four hundred north carolinians under colonels joseph williams and love, and major winston. the various expeditions met with little effective opposition on the whole, succeeding everywhere in their design of utterly laying waste the towns of the cherokees. one serious engagement occurred when the indians resolutely challenged rutherford's advance at the gap of the nantahala mountains. indian women--heroic amazons disguised in war-paint and armed with the weapons of warriors and the courage of despair--fought side by side with the indian braves in the effort to arrest rutherford's progress and compass his defeat. more than forty frontiersmen fell beneath the deadly shots of this truly spartan band before the final repulse of the savages. the most picturesque figures in this overwhelmingly successful campaign were the bluff old indian-fighter, griffith rutherford, wearing "a tow hunting shirt, dyed black, and trimmed with white fringe" as a uniform; captain benjamin cleveland, a rude paladin of gigantic size, strength, and courage; lieutenant william lenoir (le noir), the gallant and recklessly brave french huguenot, later to win a general's rank in the revolution; and that militant man of god, the reverend james hall, graduate of nassau hall, stalwart and manly, who carried a rifle on his shoulder and, in the intervals between the slaughter of the savages, preached the gospel to the vindictive and bloodthirsty backwoodsmen. such preaching was sorely needed on that campaign--when the whites, maddened beyond the bounds of self-control by the recent ghastly murders, gladly availed themselves of the south carolina bounty offered for fresh indian scalps. at times they exultantly displayed the reeking patches of hair above the gates of their stockades; at others, with many a bloody oath, they compelled their commanders either to sell the indian captives into slavery or else see them scalped on the spot. twenty years afterward benjamin hawkins relates that among indian refugees in extreme western georgia the children had been so terrorized by their parents' recitals of the atrocities of the enraged borderers in the campaign of 1776, that they ran screaming from the face of a white man. chapter xvii. the colonization of the cumberland march 31, 1780. set out this day, and after running some distance, met with col. richard henderson, who was running the line between virginia and north carolina. at this meeting we were much rejoiced. he gave us every information we wished, and further informed us that he had purchased a quantity of corn in kentucky, to be shipped at the falls of ohio, for the use of the cumberland settlement. we are now without bread, and are compelled to hunt the buffalo to preserve life. --john donelson: journal of a voyage, intended by god's permission, in the good boat adventure, from fort patrick henry, on holston river, to the french salt springs on cumberland river. to the settlements in tennessee and kentucky, which they had seized and occupied, the pioneers held on with a tenacious grip which never relaxed. from these strongholds, won through sullen and desperate strokes, they pushed deeper into the wilderness, once again to meet with undimmed courage the bitter onslaughts of their resentful foes. the crushing of the cherokees in 1776 relieved the pressure upon the tennessee settlers, enabling them to strengthen their hold and prepare effectively for future eventualities; the possession of the gateway to kentucky kept free the passage for western settlement; watauga and its defenders continued to offer a formidable barrier to british invasion of the east from kentucky and the northwest during the revolution; while these tennessee frontiersmen were destined soon to set forth again to invade a new wilderness and at frightful cost to colonize the cumberland. the little chain of stockades along the far-flung frontier of kentucky was tenaciously held by the bravest of the race, grimly resolved that this chain must not break. the revolution precipitated against this chain wave after wave of formidable indian foes from the northwest under british leadership. at the very time when griffith rutherford set out for the relief of mcdowell's fort, a marauding indian band captured by stealth near the transylvania fort, known as boone's fort (boonesborough), elizabeth and frances callaway, and jemima boone, the daughters of richard callaway and daniel boone, and rapidly marched them away toward the shawanoe towns on the ohio. a relief party, in two divisions, headed respectively by the young girls' fathers, and composed among others of the lovers of the three girls, samuel henderson, john holder, and flanders callaway, pursued them with almost incredible swiftness. guided by broken twigs and bits of cloth surreptitiously dropped by elizabeth callaway, they finally overtook the unsuspecting savages, killed two of them, and rescued the three maidens unharmed. this romantic episode--which gave fenimore cooper the theme for the most memorable scene in one of his leatherstocking tales--had an even more romantic sequel in the subsequent marriage of the three pairs of lovers. this bold foray, so shrewdly executed and even more sagaciously foiled, was a true precursor of the dread happenings of the coming years. soon the red men were lurking in the neighborhood of the stations; and relief was felt when the transylvania fort, the great stockade planned by judge henderson, was completed by the pioneers (july, 1776). glad tidings arrived only a few days later when the declaration of independence, read aloud from the virginia gazette, was greeted with wild huzzas by the patriotic backwoodsmen. during the ensuing months occasional invasions were made by savage bands; but it was not until april 24, 1777, that henderson's "big fort" received its first attack, being invested by a company of some seventy-five savages. the twenty-two riflemen in the fort drove off the painted warriors, but not before michael stoner, daniel boone, and several others were severely wounded. as he lay helpless upon the ground, his ankle shattered by a bullet, boone was lifted by simon kenton and borne away upon his shoulders to the haven of the stockade amid a veritable shower of balls. the stoical and taciturn boone clasped kenton's hand and gave him the accolade of the wilderness in the brief but heartfelt utterance; "you are a fine fellow." on july 4th of this same year the fort was again subjected to siege, when two hundred gaudily painted savages surrounded it for two days. but owing to the vigilance and superb markmanship of the defenders, as well as to the lack of cannon by the besieging force, the indians reluctantly abandoned the siege, after leaving a number dead upon the field. soon afterward the arrival of two strong bodies of prime riflemen, who had been hastily summoned from the frontiers of north carolina and virginia, once again made firm the bulwark of white supremacy in the west. kentucky's terrible year, 1778, opened with a severe disaster to the white settlers--when boone with thirty men, while engaged in making salt at the "lower salt spring," was captured in february by more than a hundred indians, sent by governor hamilton of detroit to drive the white settlers from "kentucke." boone remained in captivity until early summer, when, learning that his indian captors were planning an attack in force upon the transylvania fort, he succeeded in effecting his escape. after a break-neck journey of one hundred and sixty miles, during which he ate but one meal, boone finally arrived at the big fort on june 20th. the settlers were thus given ample time for preparation, as the long siege did not begin until september 7th. the fort was invested by a powerful force flying the english flag--four hundred and forty-four savages gaudy in the vermilion and ochre of their war-paint, and eleven frenchmen, the whole being commanded by the french-canadian, captain dagniaux de quindre, and the great indian chief, black-fish, who had adopted boone as a son. [187] in the effort to gain his end de quindre resorted to a dishonorable stratagem, by which he hoped to outwit the settlers and capture the fort with but slight loss. "they formed a scheme to deceive us," says boone, "declaring it was their orders, from governor hamilton, to take us captives, and not to destroy us; but if nine of us would come out and treat with them, they would immediately withdraw their forces from our walls, and return home peacably." transparent as the stratagem was, boone incautiously agreed to a conference with the enemy; callaway alone took the precaution to guard against indian duplicity. after a long talk, the indians proposed to boone, callaway, and the seven or eight pioneers who accompanied them that they shake hands in token of peace and friendship. as picturesquely described by daniel trabue: the indians sayed two indians must shake hands with one white man to make a double or sure peace at this time the indians had hold of the white men's hands and held them. col. calloway objected to this but the other indians laid hold or tryed to lay hold of the other hand but colonel calloway was the first that jerked away from them but the indians seized the men two indians holt of one man or it was mostly the case and did their best to hold them but while the man and indians was a scuffling the men from the fort agreeable to col. calloway's order fired on them they had a dreadful skuffel but our men all got in the fort safe and the fire continued on both sides. [188] during the siege callaway, the leader of the pioneers, made a wooden cannon wrapped with wagon tires, which on being fired at a group of indians "made them scamper perdidiously." the secret effort of the indians to tunnel a way underground into the fort, being discovered by the defenders, was frustrated by a countermine. unable to outwit, outfight, or outmaneuver the resourceful callaway, de quindre finally withdrew on september 16th, closing the longest and severest attack that any of the fortified stations of kentucky had ever been called upon to withstand. the successful defense of the transylvania fort, made by these indomitable backwoodsmen who were lost sight of by the continental congress and left to fight alone their battles in the forests, was of national significance in its results. had the transylvania fort fallen, the northern indians in overwhelming numbers, directed by hamilton and led by british officers, might well have swept kentucky free of defenders and fallen with devastating force upon the exposed settlements along the western frontiers of north carolina, virginia, and pennsylvania. this defense of boonesborough, therefore, is deserving of commemoration in the annals of the revolution, along with lexington and bunker's hill. coupled with clark's meteoric campaign in the northwest and the subsequent struggles in the defense of kentucky, it may be regarded as an event basically responsible for the retention of the trans-alleghany region by the united states. the bitter struggles, desperate sieges, and bloody reprisals of these dark years came to a close with the expeditions of clark and logan in november, 1782, which appropriately concluded the revolution in the west by putting a definite end to all prospect of formidable invasion of kentucky. in november, 1777, "washington district," the delegates of which had been received in the preceding year by the provincial congress of north carolina, was formed by the north carolina general assembly into washington county; and to it were assigned the boundaries of the whole of the present state of tennessee. while this immense territory was thus being definitely included within the bounds of north carolina, judge henderson on behalf of the transylvania company was making a vigorous effort to secure the reã�â«stablishment of its rights from the virginia assembly. by order of the virginia legislature, an exhaustive investigation of the claims of the transylvania company was therefore made, hearings being held at various points in the back country. on july 18, 1777, judge henderson presented to the peace commissioners for north carolina and virginia at the long island treaty ground an elaborate memorial in behalf of the transylvania company, which the commissioners unanimously refused to consider, as not coming under their jurisdiction. [189] finally, after a full and impartial discussion before the virginia house of delegates, that body declared the transylvania purchase void. [190] but in consideration of "the very great expense [incurred by the company] in making the said purchase, and in settling the said lands, by which the commonwealth is likely to receive great advantage, by increasing its inhabitants, and establishing a barrier against the indians," the house of delegates granted richard henderson and company two hundred thousand acres of land situated between the ohio and green rivers, where the town of henderson, kentucky, now stands. [191] with this bursting of the transylvania bubble and the vanishing of the golden dreams of henderson and his associates for establishing the fourteenth american colony in the heart of the trans-alleghany, a first romantic chapter in the history of westward expansion comes to a close. but another and more feasible project immediately succeeded. undiscouraged by virginia's confiscation of transylvania, and disregarding north carolina's action in extending her boundaries over the trans-alleghany region lying within her chartered limits, henderson, in whom the genius of the colonizer and the ambition of the speculative capitalist were found in striking conjunction, was now inspired to repeat, along broader and more solidly practical lines, the revolutionary experiment of transylvania. it was not his purpose, however, to found an independent colony; for he believed that millions of acres in the transylvania purchase lay within the bounds of north carolina, and he wished to open for colonization, settlement, and the sale of lands, the vast wilderness of the valley of the cumberland supposed to lie within those confines. but so universal was the prevailing uncertainty in regard to boundaries that it was necessary to prolong the north carolina-virginia line in order to determine whether or not the great french lick, the ideal location for settlement, lay within the chartered limits of north carolina. [192] judge henderson's comprehensive plans for the promotion of an extensive colonization of the cumberland region soon began to take form in vigorous action. just as in his transylvania project henderson had chosen daniel boone, the ablest of the north carolina pioneers, to spy out the land and select sites for future location, so now he chose as leader of the new colonizing party the ablest of the tennessee pioneers, james robertson. although he was the acknowledged leader of the watauga settlement and held the responsible position of indian agent for north carolina, robertson was induced by henderson's liberal offers to leave his comparatively peaceful home and to venture his life in this desperate hazard of new fortunes. the advance party of eight white men and one negro, under robertson's leadership, set forth from the holston settlement on february 6, 1779, to make a preliminary exploration and to plant corn "that bread might be prepared for the main body of emigrants in the fall." after erecting a few cabins for dwellings and posts of defense, robertson plunged alone into the wilderness and made the long journey to post st. vincent in the illinois, in order to consult with george rogers clark, who had entered for himself in the virginia land office several thousand acres of land at the french lick. after perfecting arrangements with clark for securing "cabin rights" should the land prove to lie in virginia, robertson returned to watauga to take command of the migration. toward the end of the year two parties set out, one by land, the other by water, for the wonderful new country on the cumberland of which boone and scaggs and mansker had brought back such glowing descriptions. during the autumn judge henderson and other commissioners from north carolina, in conjunction with commissioners from virginia, had been running out the boundary line between the two states. on the very day--christmas, 1779--that judge henderson reached the site of the transylvania fort, now called boonesborough, the swarm of colonists from the parent hive at watauga, under robertson's leadership, reached the french lick; and on new year's day, 1780, crossed the river on the ice to the present site of nashville. the journal of the other party, which, as has been aptly said, reads like a chapter from one of captain mayne reid's fascinating novels of adventure, was written by colonel john donelson, the father-in-law of andrew jackson. setting out from fort patrick henry on holston river, december 22, 1779, with a flotilla consisting of about thirty flatboats, dugouts, and canoes, they encountered few difficulties until they began to run the gauntlet of the chickamauga towns on the tennessee. here they were furiously attacked by the indians, terrible in their red and black war-paint; and a well-filled boat lagging in the rear, with smallpox on board, was driven to shore by the indians. the occupants were massacred; but the indians at once contracted the disease and died by the hundreds. this luckless sacrifice of "poor stuart, his family and friends," while a ghastly price to pay, undoubtedly procured for the cumberland settlements comparative immunity from indian forays until the new-comers had firmly established themselves in their wilderness stronghold. eloquent of the granite endurance and courageous spirit of the typical american pioneer in its thankfulness for sanctuary, for reunion of families and friends, and for the humble shelter of a log cabin, is the last entry in donelson's diary (april 24, 1780): this day we arrived at our journey's end at the big salt lick, where we have the pleasure of finding capt. robertson and his company. it is a source of satisfaction to us to be enabled to restore to him and others their families and friends, who were intrusted to our care, and who, some time since, perhaps, despaired of ever meeting again. though our prospects at present are dreary, we have found a few log cabins which have been built on a cedar bluff above the lick by capt. robertson and his company. [193] in the midst of the famine during this terrible period of the "hard winter," judge henderson was sorely concerned for the fate of the new colony which he had projected, and immediately proceeded to purchase at huge cost a large stock of corn. on march 5, 1780, this corn, which had been raised by captain nathaniel hart, was "sent from boonesborough in perogues [pettiaugers or flatboats] under the command of william bailey smith.... this corn was taken down the kentucky river, and over the falls of ohio, to the mouth of the cumberland, and thence up that river to the fort at the french lick. it is believed have been the only bread which the settlers had until it was raised there in 1781." [194] there is genuine impressiveness in this heroic triumphing over the obstacles of obdurate nature and this paternalistic provision for the exposed cumberland settlement--the purchase by judge henderson, the shipment by captain hart, and the transportation by colonel smith, in an awful winter of bitter cold and obstructed navigation, of this indispensable quantity of corn purchased for sixty thousand dollars in depreciated currency. upon his arrival at the french lick, shortly after the middle of april, judge henderson at once proceeded to organize a government for the little community. on may 1st articles of association were drawn up; and important additions thereto were made on may 13th, when the settlers signed the complete series. the original document, still preserved, was drafted by judge henderson, being written throughout in his own handwriting; and his name heads the list of two hundred and fifty and more signatures. [195] the "cumberland compact," as this paper is called, is fundamentally a mutual contract between the copartners of the transylvania company and the settlers upon the lands claimed by the company. it represents the collective will of the community; and on account of the careful provisions safeguarding the rights of each party to the contract it may be called a bill of rights. the organization of this pure democracy was sound and admirable--another notable early example of the commission form of government. the most remarkable feature of this backwoods constitution marks judge henderson as a pioneer in the use of the political device so prominent to-day, one hundred and forty years later--the "recall of judges." in the following striking clause this innovation in government was recognized thus early in american history as the most effective means of securing and safeguarding justice in a democracy: as often as the people in general are dissatisfied with the doings of the judges or triers so to be chosen, they may call a new election in any of the said stations, and elect others in their stead, having due respect to the number now agreed to be elected at each station, which persons so to be chosen shall have the same power with those in whose room or place they shall or may be chosen to act. a land-office was now opened, the entry-taker being appointed by judge henderson, in accordance with the compact; and the lands, for costs of entry, etc., were registered for the nominal fee of ten dollars per thousand acres. but as the transylvania company was never able to secure a "satisfactory and indisputable title," the clause resulted in perpetual nonpayment. in 1783, following the lead of virginia in the case of transylvania, north carolina declared the transylvania company's purchase void, but granted the company in compensation a tract of one hundred and ninety thousand acres in powell's valley. [196] as compensation, the grants of north carolina and virginia were quite inadequate, considering the value of the service in behalf of permanent western colonization rendered by the transylvania company. [197] james robertson was chosen as presiding officer of the court of twelve commissioners, and was also elected commander-in-chief of the military forces of the eight little associated settlements on the cumberland. here for the next two years the self-reliant settlers under robertson's wise and able leadership successfully repelled the indians in their guerrilla warfare, firmly entrenched themselves in their forest-girt stronghold, and vindicated their claim to the territory by right of occupation and conquest. here sprang up in later times a great and populous city--named, strangely enough, neither for henderson, the founder, nor for robertson and donelson, the leaders of the two colonizing parties, but for one having no association with its history or origins, the gallant north carolinian, general francis nash, who was killed at the battle of germantown. chapter xviii. king's mountain with the utmost satisfaction i can acquaint you with the sudden and favorable turn of our public affairs. a few days ago destruction hung over our heads. cornwallis with at least 1500 british and tories waited at charlotte for the reinforcement of 1000 from broad river, which reinforcement has been entirely cut off, 130 killed and the remainder captured. cornwallis immediately retreated, and is now on his way toward charleston, with part of our army in his rear.... --elizabeth maxwell steel: salisbury, october 25, 1780. so thoroughly had the cherokees been subdued by the devastations of the campaign of 1776 that for several years thereafter they were unable to organize for a new campaign against the backwoodsmen along the frontiers of north carolina and tennessee. during these years the holston settlers principally busied themselves in making their position secure, as well as in setting their house in order by severely punishing the lawless tory element among them. in 1779 the chickamaugas, with whom the dragging canoe and his irreconcilable followers among the cherokees had joined hands after the campaign of 1776, grew so bold in their bloody forays upon small exposed settlements that north carolina and virginia in conjunction despatched a strong expedition against them. embarking on april 10th at the mouth of big creek near the present rogersville, tennessee, three hundred and fifty men led by colonel evan shelby descended the tennessee to the fastnesses of the chickamaugas. meeting with no resistance from the astonished indians, who fled to the shelter of the densely wooded hills, they laid waste the indian towns and destroyed the immense stores of goods collected by the british agents for distribution among the red men. the chickamaugas were completely quelled; and during the period of great stress through which the tennessee frontiersmen were soon to pass, the cherokees were restrained through the wise diplomacy of joseph martin, superintendent of indian affairs for virginia. the great british offensive against the southern colonies, which were regarded as the vulnerable point in the american confederacy, was fully launched upon the fall of charleston in may, 1780. cornwallis established his headquarters at camden; and one of his lieutenants, the persuasive and brilliant ferguson, soon rallied thousands of loyalists in south carolina to the british standard. when cornwallis inaugurated his campaign for cutting washington wholly off from the southern colonies by invading north carolina, the men upon the western waters realized that the time had come to rise, in defense of their state and in protection of their homes. two hundred tennessee riflemen from sullivan county, under colonel isaac shelby, were engaged in minor operations in south carolina conducted by colonel charles mcdowell; and conspicuous among these engagements was the affair at musgrove's mill on august 18th when three hundred horsemen led by colonel james williams, a native of granville county, north carolina, colonel isaac shelby, and lieutenant-colonel clark of georgia repulsed with heavy loss a british force of between four and five hundred. these minor successes availed nothing in face of the disastrous defeat of gates by cornwallis at camden on august 16th and the humiliating blow to sumter at rocky mount on the following day. ferguson hotly pursued the frontiersmen, who then retreated over the mountains; and from his camp at gilbert town he despatched a threatening message to the western leaders, declaring that if they did not desist from their opposition to the british arms and take protection under his standard, he would march his army over the mountains and lay their country waste with fire and sword. stung to action, shelby hastily rode off to consult with sevier at his log castle near jonesboro; and together they matured a plan to arouse the mountain men and attack ferguson by surprise. in the event of failure, these wilderness free-lances planned to leave the country and find a home with the spaniards in louisiana. [198] at the original place of rendezvous, the sycamore shoals of the watauga, the over-mountain men gathered on september 25th. there an eloquent sermon was preached to them by that fiery man of god, the reverend samuel doak, who concluded his discourse with a stirring invocation to the sword of the lord and of gideon--a sentiment greeted with the loud applause of the militant frontiersmen. here and at various places along the march they were joined by detachments of border fighters summoned to join the expedition--colonel william campbell, who with some reluctance had abandoned his own plans in response to shelby's urgent and repeated message, in command of four hundred hardy frontiersmen from washington county, virginia; colonel benjamin cleveland, with the wild fighters of wilkes known as "cleveland's bulldogs"; colonel andrew hampton, with the stalwart riflemen of rutherford; major joseph winston, the cousin of patrick henry, with the flower of the citizenry of surry; the mcdowells, charles and joseph, with the bold borderers of burke; colonels lacy and hill, with well-trained soldiers of south carolina; and brigadier-general james williams, leading the intrepid rowan volunteers. before breaking camp at quaker meadows, the leading officers in conference chose colonel william campbell as temporary officer of the day, until they could secure a general officer from headquarters as commander-in-chief. the object of the mountaineers and big-game hunters was, in their own terms, to pursue ferguson, to run him down, and to capture him. in pursuance of this plan, the leaders on arriving at the ford of green river chose out a force of six hundred men, with the best mounts and equipment; and at daybreak on october 6th this force of picked mounted riflemen, followed by some fifty "foot-cavalry" eager to join in the pursuit, pushed rapidly on to the cowpens. here a second selection took place; and colonel campbell, was again elected commander of the detachment, now numbering some nine hundred and ten horsemen and eighty odd footmen, which dashed rapidly on in pursuit of ferguson. the british commander had been apprised of the coming of the over-mountain men. scorning to make a forced march and attempt to effect a junction with cornwallis at charlotte, ferguson chose to make a stand and dispose once for all of the barbarian horde whom he denounced as mongrels and the dregs of mankind. after despatching to cornwallis a message asking for aid, ferguson took up his camp on king's mountain, just south of the north carolina border line, in the present york county, south carolina. here, after his pickets had been captured in silence, he was surprised by his opponents. at three o'clock in the afternoon of october 7th the mountain hunters treed their game upon the heights. the battle which ensued presents an extraordinary contrast in the character of the combatants and the nature of the strategy and tactics. [199] each party ran true to form--ferguson repeating braddock's suicidal policy of opposing bayonet charges to the deadly fusillade of riflemen, who in indian fashion were carefully posted behind trees and every shelter afforded by the natural inequalities of the ground. in the army of the carolina and virginia frontiersmen, composed of independent detachments recruited from many sources and solicitous for their own individual credit, each command was directed in the battle by its own leader. campbell--like cleveland, winston, williams, lacey, shelby, mcdowell, sevier, and hambright--personally led his own division; but the nature of the fighting and the peculiarity of the terrain made it impossible for him, though the chosen commander of the expedition, actually to play that rã�â´le in the battle. the plan agreed upon in advance by the frontier leaders was simple enough--to surround and capture ferguson's camp on the high plateau. the more experienced indian fighters, sevier and shelby, unquestionably suggested the general scheme which in any case would doubtless have been employed by the frontiersmen; it was to give the british "indian play"--namely to take cover everywhere and to fire from natural shelter. cleveland, a hercules in strength and courage who had fought the indians and recognized the wisdom of indian tactics, ordered his men, as did some of the other leaders, to give way before a bayonet charge, but to return to the attack after the charge had spent its force. "my brave fellows," said cleveland, "every man must consider himself an officer, and act from his own judgment. fire as quick as you can, and stand your ground as long as you can. when you can do no better, get behind trees, or retreat; but i beg you not to run quite off. if we are repulsed, let us make a point of returning and renewing the fight; perhaps we may have better luck in the second attempt than in the first." the plateau upon which ferguson was encamped was the top of an eminence some six hundred yards long and about two hundred and fifty yards from one base across to the other; and its shape was that of an indian paddle, varying from one hundred and twenty yards at the blade to sixty yards at the handle in width. outcropping boulders upon the outer edge of the plateau afforded some slight shelter for ferguson's force; but, unsuspicious of attack, ferguson had made no abatis to protect his camp from the assault to which it was so vulnerable because of the protection of the timber surrounding it on all sides. as to the disposition of the attacking force, the center to the northeast was occupied by cleveland with his "bulldogs," hambright with his south fork boys from the catawba (now lincoln county, north carolina), and winston with his surry riflemen; to the south were the divisions of joseph mcdowell, sevier, and campbell; while lacey's south carolinians, the rowan levies under williams, and the watauga borderers under shelby were stationed upon the north side. ferguson's forces consisted of provincial rangers, one hundred and fifty strong, and other well-drilled loyalists, between eight and nine hundred in number; but his strength was seriously weakened by the absence of a foraging party of between one and two hundred who had gone off on the morning the battle occurred. shelby's men, before getting into position, received a hot fire, the opening shots of the engagement. this inspired campbell, who now threw off his coat, to shout encouraging orders to his men posted on the side of the mountain opposite to shelby's force. when campbell's virginians uttered a series of piercing shouts, the british officer, de peyster, second in command, remarked to his chief: "these things are ominous--these are the damned yelling boys." the battle, which lasted some minutes short of an hour, was waged with terrific ferocity. the loyalist militia, whenever possible, fired from the shelter of the rocks; while the provincial corps, with fixed bayonets, steadily charged the frontiersmen, who fired at close range and then rapidly withdrew to the very base of the mountain. after each bayonet charge the provincials coolly withdrew to the summit, under the accumulating fire of the returning mountaineers, who quickly gathered in their rear. owing to their elevated location, the british, although using the rapid-fire breech-loading rifle invented by ferguson himself, found their vision deflected, and continually fired high, thus suffering from nature's handicap, refraction. [200] the militia, using sharpened butcher-knives which ferguson had taught them to utilize as bayonets, charged against the mountaineers; but their fire, in answer to the deadly fusillade of the expert squirrel-shooters, was belated, owing to the fact that they could not fire while the crudely improvised bayonets remained inserted in their pieces. the americans, continually firing upward, found ready marks for their aim in the clearly delineated outlines of their adversaries, and felt the fierce exultation which animates the hunter who has tracked to its lair and surrounded wild game at bay. the leaders of the various divisions of the mountaineers bore themselves with impetuous bravery, recklessly rushing between the lines of fire and with native eloquence, interspersed with profanity, rallying their individual commands again and again to the attack. the valiant campbell scaled the rugged heights, loudly encouraging his men to the ascent. cleveland, resolutely facing the foe, urged on his bulldogs with the inspiriting words: "come, boys; let's try 'em again. we'll have better luck next time." no sooner did shelby's men reach the bottom of the hill, in retreating before a charge, than their commander, fiery and strenuous, ardently shouted: "now boys, quickly reload your rifles, and let's advance upon them, and give them another hell of a fire." the most deadly charge, led by de peyster himself, fell upon hambright's south fork boys; and one of their gallant officers, major chronicle, waving his military hat, was mortally wounded, the command, "face to the hill!", dying on his lips. these veteran soldiers, unlike the mountaineers, firmly met the shock of the charge, and a number of their men were shot down or transfixed; but the remainder, reserving their fire until the charging column was only a few feet away, poured in a deadly volley before retiring. the gallant william lenoir, whose reckless bravery made him a conspicuous target for the enemy, received several wounds and emerged from the battle with his hair and clothes torn by balls. the ranking american officer, brigadier-general james williams, was mortally wounded while "on the very top of the mountain, in the thickest of the fight"; and as he momentarily revived, his first words were: "for god's sake, boys, don't give up the hill." [201] hambright, sorely wounded, his boot overflowing with blood and his hat riddled with three bullet holes, declined to dismount, but pressed gallantly forward, exclaiming in his "pennsylvania dutch": "huzza, my prave poys, fight on a few minutes more, and the pattle will be over!" on the british side, ferguson was supremely valorous, rapidly dashing from one point to another, rallying his men, oblivious to all danger. wherever the shrill note of his silver whistle sounded, there the fighting was hottest and the british resistance the most stubborn. his officers fought with the characteristic steadiness of the british soldier; and again and again his men charged headlong against the wavering and fiery circle of the frontiersmen. [202] ferguson's boast that "he was on king's mountain, that he was king of the mountain, and god almighty could not drive him from it" was doubtless prompted, less by a belief in the impregnability of his position, than by a desperate desire to inspire confidence in his men. his location was admirably chosen for defense against attack by troops employing regulation tactics; but, never dreaming of the possibility of sudden investment, ferguson had erected no fortifications for his encampment. his frenzied efforts on the battle-field seem like a mad rush against fate; for the place was indefensible against the peculiar tactics of the frontiersmen. while the mountain flamed like a volcano and resounded with the thunder of the guns, a steady stricture was in progress. the lines were drawn tighter and tighter around the trapped and frantically struggling army; and at last the fall of their commander, riddled with bullets, proved the tragic futility of further resistance. the game was caught and bagged to a man. when winston, with his fox-hunters of surry, dashed recklessly through the woods, says a chronicler of the battle, and the last to come into position, flow'd in, and settling, circled all the lists, then from all the circle of the hills death sleeted in upon the doomed. the battle was decisive in its effect--shattering the plans of cornwallis, which till then appeared certain of success. the victory put a full stop to the invasion of north carolina, which was then well under way. cornwallis abandoned his carefully prepared campaign and immediately left the state. after ruthlessly hanging nine prisoners, an action which had an effectively deterrent effect upon future tory murders and depredations, the patriot force quietly disbanded. the brilliant initiative of the buckskin-clad borderers, the strenuous energy of their pursuit, the perfection of their surprise--all reinforced by the employment of ideal tactics for meeting the given situation--were the controlling factors in this overwhelming victory of the revolution. the pioneers of the old southwest--the independent and aggressive yeomanry of north carolina, virginia, and south carolina--had risen in their might. without the aid or authority of blundering state governments, they had created an army of frontiersmen, indian-fighters, and big-game hunters which had found no parallel or equal on the continent since the battle of the great kanawha. chapter xix. the state of franklin designs of a more dangerous nature and deeper die seem to glare in the western revolt.... i have thought proper to issue this manifesto, hereby warning all persons concerned in the said revolt ... that the honour of this state has been particularly wounded, by seizing that by violence which, in time, no doubt, would have been obtained by consent, when the terms of separation would have been explained or stipulated, to the mutual satisfaction of the mother and new state.... let your proposals be consistent with the honour of the state to accede to, which, by your allegiance as good citizens, you cannot violate and i make no doubt but her generosity, in time, will meet your wishes. --governor alexander martin: manifesto against the state of franklin, april 25, 1785. to the shrewd diplomacy of joseph martin, who held the cherokees in check during the period of the king's mountain campaign, the settlers in the valleys of the watauga and the holston owed their temporary immunity from indian attack. but no sooner did sevier and his over-mountain men return from the battle-field of king's mountain than they were called upon to join in an expedition against the cherokees, who had again gone on the war-path at the instigation of the british. after sevier with his command had defeated a small party of indians at boyd's creek in december, the entire force of seven hundred riflemen, under the command of colonel arthur campbell, with major joseph martin as subordinate, penetrated to the heart of the indian country, burned echota, chilhowee, settiquo, hiawassee, and seven other principal villages, and destroyed an immense amount of property and supplies. in march, suspecting that the arch-conspirators against the white settlers were the cherokees at the head waters of the little tennessee, sevier led one hundred and fifty horsemen through the devious mountain defiles and struck the indians a swift and unexpected blow at tuckasegee, near the present webster, north carolina. in this extraordinarily daring raid, one of his most brilliant feats of arms, sevier lost only one man killed and one wounded; while upon the enemy he inflicted the loss of thirty killed, took many more prisoners, burned six indian towns, and captured many horses and supplies. once his deadly work was done, sevier with his bold cavaliers silently plunged again into the forest whence he had so suddenly emerged, and returned in triumph to the settlements. disheartened though the indians were to see the smoke of their burning towns, they sullenly remained averse to peace; and they did not keep the treaty made at long island in july, 1781. the indians suffered from very real grievances at the hands of the lawless white settlers who persisted in encroaching upon the indian lands. when the indian ravages were resumed, sevier and anderson, the latter from sullivan county, led a punitive expedition of two hundred riflemen against the creeks and the chickamaugas; and employing the customary tactics of laying waste the indian towns, administered stern and salutary chastisement to the copper-colored marauders. during this same period the settlers on the cumberland were displaying a grim fortitude and stoical endurance in the face of indian attack forever memorable in the history of the old southwest. on the night of january 15, 1781, the settlers at freeland's station, after a desperate resistance, succeeded in beating off the savages who attacked in force. at nashborough on april 2d, twenty of the settlers were lured from the stockade by the artful wiles of the savages; and it was only after serious loss that they finally won their way back to the protection of the fort. indeed, their return was due to the fierce dogs of the settlers, which were released at the most critical moment, and attacked the astounded indians with such ferocity that the diversion thus created enabled the settlers to escape from the deadly trap. during the next two years the history of the cumberland settlements is but the gruesome recital of murder after murder of the whites, a few at a time, by the lurking indian foe. robertson's dominant influence alone prevented the abandonment of the sorely harassed little stations. the arrival of the north carolina commissioners for the purpose of laying off bounty lands and settlers' preemptions, and the treaty of peace concluded at the french lick on november 5 and 6, 1783, gave permanence and stability to the cumberland settlements. the lasting friendship of the chickasaws was won; but the creeks for some time continued to harass the tennessee pioneers. the frontiersmen's most formidable foe, the cherokees, stoically, heroically fighting the whites in the field, and smallpox, syphilis, and drunkenness at home, at last abandoned the unequal battle. the treaty at hopewell on november 28, 1785, marks the end of an era--the spartan yet hopeless resistance of the intrepid red men to the relentless and frequently unwarranted expropriation by the whites of the ancient and immemorial domain of the savage. the skill in self-government of the isolated people beyond the mountains, and the ability they had already demonstrated in the organization of "associations," received a strong stimulus on june 2, 1784, when the legislature of north carolina ceded to the congress of the united states the title which that state possessed to the land west of the alleghanies. among the terms of the cession act were these conditions: that the ceded territory should be formed into a separate state or states; and that if congress should not accept the lands thus ceded and give due notice within two years, the act should be of no force and the lands should revert to north carolina. [203] no sooner did this news reach the western settlers than they began to mature plans for the organization of a government during the intervening twelve months. their exposed condition on the frontiers, still harassed by the indians, and north carolina's delay in sending goods promised the indians by a former treaty, both promoted indian hostility; and these facts, combined with their remote location beyond the mountains, rendering them almost inaccessible to communication with north carolina--all rendered the decision of the settlers almost inevitable. moreover, the allurements of high office and the dazzling dreams of ambition were additional motives sufficiently human in themselves to give driving power to the movement toward independence. at a convention assembled at jonesborough on august 23, 1784, delegates from the counties of washington, sullivan, and greene characteristically decided to organize an "association." they solemnly declared by resolution: "we have a just and undeniable right to petition to congress to accept the session made by north carolina, and for that body to countenance us for forming ourselves into a separate government, and to frame either a permanent or temporary constitution, agreeably to a resolve of congress...." meanwhile, governor martin, largely as the result of the prudent advice of north carolina's representative in congress, dr. hugh williamson, was brought to the conclusion that north carolina, in the passage of the cession act, had acted precipitately. this important step had been taken without the full consideration of the people of the state. among the various arguments advanced by williamson was the impressive contention that, in accordance with the procedure in the case of other states, the whole expense of the huge indian expeditions in 1776 and the heavy militia aids to south carolina and georgia should be credited to north carolina as partial fulfilment of her continental obligations before the cession should be irrevocably made to the federal government. williamson's arguments proved convincing; and it was thus primarily for economic reasons of far-reaching national importance that the assembly of north carolina (october 22 to november 25, 1784) repealed the cession act made the preceding spring. [204] before the news of the repeal of the cession act could reach the western waters, a second convention met at jonesborough on december 17th. sentiment at this time was much divided, for a number of the people, expecting the repeal of the cession act, genuinely desired a continued allegiance to north carolina. of these may well have been john sevier, who afterward declared to joseph martin that he had been "draged into the franklin measures by a large number of the people of this country." [205] the principal act of this convention was the adoption of a temporary constitution for six months and the provision for a convention to be held within one year, at the expiration of which time this constitution should be altered, or adopted as the permanent constitution of the new state. [206] the scholars on the western waters, desiring to commemorate their aspirations for freedom, chose as the name of the projected new state: "frankland"--the land of the free. the name finally chosen, however, perhaps for reasons of policy, was "franklin," in honor of benjamin franklin. meanwhile, in order to meet the pressing needs for a stable government along the tennessee frontier, the north carolina assembly, which repealed the cession act, created out of the four western counties the district of washington, with john haywood as presiding judge and david campbell as associate, and conferred upon john sevier the rank of brigadier-general of the new district. the first week in december governor martin sent to sevier his military commission; and replying to joseph martin's query (december 31, 1784, prompted by governor martin) as to whether, in view of the repeal of the cession act, he intended to persist in revolt or await developments, sevier gave it out broadcast that "we shall pursue no furtheir measures as to a new state." owing to the remoteness of the tennessee settlements and the difficulty of appreciating through correspondence the atmosphere of sentiment in franklin, governor martin realized the necessity of sending a personal representative to discover the true state of affairs in the disaffected region beyond the mountains. for the post of ambassador to the new government, governor martin selected a man distinguished for mentality and diplomatic skill, a pioneer of tennessee and kentucky, judge richard henderson's brother, colonel samuel henderson. despite sevier's disavowal of any further intention to establish a new state, the governor gave colonel henderson elaborate written instructions, the purport of which was to learn all that he could about the political complexion of the tennessee frontiersmen, the sense of the people, and the agitation for a separate commonwealth. moreover, in the hope of placating the leading chieftains of the cherokees, who had bitterly protested against the continued aggressions and encroachments upon their lands by the lawless borderers, he instructed colonel henderson also to learn the temper and dispositions of the indians, and to investigate the case of colonel james hubbardt who was charged with the murder of untoola of settiquo, a chief of the cherokees. when colonel henderson arrived at jonesborough, he found the third franklin legislature in session, and to this body he presented governor martin's letter of february 27, 1785. in response to the governor's request for an "account of the late proceedings of the people in the western country," an extended reply was drafted by the new legislature; and this letter, conveyed to governor martin by colonel henderson, in setting forth in detail the reasons for the secession, made the following significant statement: "we humbly thank north carolina for every sentiment of regard she has for us, but are sorry to observe, that as it is founded upon principles of interest, as is aparent from the tenor of your letter, we are doubtful, when the cause ceases which is the basis of that affection, we shall lose your esteem." at the same time (march 22nd), sevier, who had just been chosen governor of the state of franklin, transmitted to governor martin by colonel henderson a long letter, not hitherto published in any history of the period, in which he outspokenly says: it gives me great pain to think there should arise any disputes between us and north carolina, & i flatter myself when north carolina states the matter in a fair light she will be fully convinced that necessity and self-preservation have compelled us to the measures we have taken, and could the people have discovered that no. carolina would have protected and govern'd them, they would have remained where they were; but they perceived a neglect and coolness, and the language of many of your most leading members convinced them they were altogether disregarded. [207] following the issuance of vigorous manifestos by martin (april 25th) and sevier (may 15th), [208] the burden of the problem fell upon richard caswell, who in june succeeded martin as governor of north carolina. meantime the legislature of the over-mountain men had given the name of franklin to the new state, although for some time it continued to be called by many frankland, and its adherents franks. the legislature had also established an academy named after governor martin, and had appointed (march 12th) william cocke as a delegate to the continental congress, urging its acceptance of the cession. in the memorial from the franklin legislature to the continental congress, dealing in some detail with north carolina's failure to send the cherokees some goods promised them for lands acquired by treaty, it is alleged: she [north carolina] immediately stoped the goods she had promised to give the indians for the said land which so exasperated them that they begun to commit hostalities on our frontiers in this situation we were induced to a declaration of independence not doubting we should be excused by congress ... as north carolina seemed quite regardless of our interest and the indians daily murdering our friends and relations without distinction of age or sex. [209] sympathizing with the precarious situation of the settlers, as well as desiring the cession, congress urged north carolina to amend the repealing act and execute a conveyance of the western territory to the union. a declaration of rights also, the constitution or form of government agreed to, and resolved upon, by the representatives of the freemen of the state of frankland, elected and chosen for that particular purpose, in convention assembled at greeneville, the 14th of november, 1785. philadelphia: printed by francis bailey, at yorick's head. m.dcc.lxxxvi. among the noteworthy features of the franklin movement was the constitution prepared by a committee, headed by the reverend samuel houston of washington county, and presented at the meeting of the franklin legislature, greeneville, november 14, 1785. this eccentric constitution was based in considerable part upon the north carolina model; but it was "rejected in the lump" and the constitution of north carolina, almost unchanged, was adopted. under this houston constitution, the name "frankland" was chosen for the new state. the legislature was to consist of but a single house. in a section excluding from the legislature "ministers of the gospel, attorneys at law, and doctors of physics," those were declared ineligible for office who were of immoral character or guilty of "such flagrant enormities as drunkenness, gaming, profane swearing, lewdness, sabbath-breaking and such like," or who should deny the existence of god, of heaven, and of hell, the inspiration of the scriptures, or the existence of the trinity. full religious liberty and the rights of conscience were assured--but strict orthodoxy was a condition for eligibility to office. no one should be chosen to office who was "not a scholar to do the business." this remarkable document, which provided for many other curious innovations in government, was the work of pioneer doctrinaires--houston, campbell, cocke, and tipton--and deserves study as a bizarre reflection of the spirit and genius of the western frontiersmen. [210] the liberal policy of martin, followed by the no less conciliatory attitude of his successor, caswell, for the time proved wholly abortive. however, martin's appointment of evan shelby in sevier's place as brigadier, and of jonathan tipton as colonel of his county, produced disaffection among the franks; and the influence of joseph martin against the new government was a powerful obstacle to its success. at first the two sets of military, civil, and judicial officers were able to work amicably together; and a working-basis drawn up by shelby and sevier, although afterward repudiated by the franklin legislature, smoothed over some of the rapidly accumulating difficulties. the persistent and quiet assertion of authority by north carolina, without any overt act of violence against the officers of franklin state, revealed great diplomatic skill in governors martin and caswell. it was doubtless the considerate policy of the latter, coupled with the defection from sevier's cause of men of the stamp of houston and tipton, after the blundering and cavalier rejection of their singular constitution, which undermined the foundations of franklin. sevier himself later wrote with considerable bitterness: "i have been faithfull, and my own breast acquits myself that i have acted no part but what has been consistent with honor and justice, tempered with clemency and mercy. how far our pretended patriots have supported me as their pretended chiefe magistrate, i leave the world at large to judge." arthur campbell's plans for the formation of a greater franklin, through the union of the people on the western waters of virginia with those of north carolina, came to nought when virginia in the autumn of 1785 with stern decisiveness passed an act making it high treason to erect an independent government within her limits unless authorized by the assembly. sevier, however, became more fixed in his determination to establish a free state, writing to governor caswell: "we shall continue to act independent and would rather suffer death, in all its various and frightful shapes, than conform to anything that is disgraceful." north carolina, now proceeding with vigor (november, 1786), fully reassumed its sovereignty and jurisdiction over the mountain counties, but passed an act of pardon and oblivion, and in many ways adopted moderate and conciliatory measures. driven to extremities, cocke and sevier in turn appealed for aid and advice to benjamin franklin, in whose honor the new state had been named. in response to cocke, franklin wrote (august 12, 1786): "i think you are perfectly right in resolving to submit them [the points in dispute] to the decision of congress and to abide by their determination." [211] franklin's views change in the interim; for when, almost a year later, sevier asks him for counsel, franklin has come to the conclusion that the wisest move for sevier was not to appeal to congress, but to endeavor to effect some satisfactory compromise with north carolina (june 30, 1787): there are only two things that humanity induces me to wish you may succeed in: the accomodating your misunderstanding with the government of north carolina, by amicable means; and the avoiding an indian war, by preventing encroaching on their lands.... the inconvenience to your people attending so remote a seat of government, and the difficulty to that government in ruling well so remote a people, would i think be powerful inducements with it, to accede to any fair & reasonable proposition it may receive from you towards an accommodation. [212] despite sevier's frenzied efforts to achieve independence--his treaty with the indians, his sensational plan to incorporate the cherokees into the new state, his constancy to an ideal of revolt against others in face of the reality of revolt against himself, his struggle, equivocal and half-hearted, with the north carolina authorities under tipton--despite all these heroic efforts, the star of franklin swiftly declined. the vigorous measures pursued by general joseph martin, and his effective influence focussed upon a movement already honey-combed with disaffection, finally turned the scale. to the franklin leaders he sent the urgent message: "nothing will do but a submission to the laws of north carolina." early in april, 1788, martin wrote to governor randolph of virginia: "i returned last evening from green co. washington destrict, north carolina, after a tower through that co'ntry, and am happy to inform your excellency that the late unhappy dispute between the state of north carolina, and the pretended state of franklin is subsided." ever brave, constant, and loyal to the interest of the pioneers, sevier had originally been drawn into the movement against his best judgment. caught in the unique trap, created by the passage of the cession act and the sudden volte-face of its repeal, he struggled desperately to extricate himself. alone of all the leaders, the governor of ill-starred franklin remained recalcitrant. chapter xx. the lure of spain[213]--the haven of statehood the people of this region have come to realize truly upon what part of the world and upon which nation their future happiness and security depend, and they immediately infer that their interest and prosperity depend entirely upon the protection and liberality of your government. --john sevier to don diego de gardoqui, september 12, 1788. from the early settlements in the eastern parts of this continent to the late & more recent settlements on the kentucky in the west the same difficulties have constantly occurred which now oppress you, but by a series of patient sufferings, manly and spirited exertions and unconquerable perseverance, they have been altogether or in great measure subdued. --governor samuel johnston to james robertson and anthony bledsoe, january 29, 1788. a strange sham-battle, staged like some scene from opã�â©ra bouffe, in the bleak snow-storm of february, 1788, is really the prelude to a remarkable drama of revolt in which sevier, robertson, bledsoe, and the cumberland stalwarts play the leading rã�â´les. on february 27th, incensed beyond measure by the action of colonel john tipton in harboring some of his slaves seized by the sheriff under an execution issued by one of the north carolina courts, sevier with one hundred and fifty adherents besieged tipton with a few of his friends in his home on sinking creek. the siege was raised at daybreak on february 29th by the arrival of reinforcements under colonel maxwell from sullivan county; and sevier, who was unwilling to precipitate a conflict, withdrew his forces after some desultory firing, in which two men were killed and several wounded. soon afterward sevier sent word to tipton that on condition his life be spared he would submit to north carolina. on this note of tragi-comedy the state of franklin appeared quietly to expire. the usually sanguine sevier, now thoroughly chastened, sought shelter in the distant settlements--deeply despondent over the humiliating failure of his plans and the even more depressing defection of his erstwhile friends and supporters. the revolutionary designs and separatist tendencies which he still harbored were soon to involve him in a secret conspiracy to give over the state of franklin into the protection of a foreign power. the fame of sevier's martial exploits and of his bold stroke for independence had long since gone abroad, astounding even so famous an advocate of liberty as patrick henry and winning the sympathy of the continental congress. one of the most interested observers of the progress of affairs in the state of franklin was don diego de gardoqui, who had come to america in the spring of 1785, bearing a commission to the american congress as spanish chargã�â© d'affaires (encargados de negocios) to the united states. in the course of his negotiations with jay concerning the right of navigation of the mississippi river, which spain denied to the americans, gardoqui was not long in discovering the violent resentment of the western frontiersmen, provoked by jay's crass blunder in proposing that the american republic, in return for reciprocal foreign advantages offered by spain, should waive for twenty-five years her right to navigate the mississippi. the cumberland traders had already felt the heavy hand of spain in the confiscation of their goods at natchez; but thus far the leaders of the tennessee frontiersmen had prudently restrained the more turbulent agitators against the spanish policy, fearing lest the spirit of retaliation, once aroused, might know no bounds. throughout the entire region of the trans-alleghany, a feeling of discontent and unrest prevailed--quite as much the result of dissatisfaction with the central government which permitted the wholesale restraint of trade, as of resentment against the domination of spain. no sooner had the shrewd and watchful gardoqui, who was eager to utilize the separatist sentiment of the western settlements in the interest of his country, learned of sevier's armed insurrection against the authority of north carolina than he despatched an emissary to sound the leading men of franklin and the cumberland settlements in regard to an alliance. this secret emissary was dr. james white, who had been appointed by the united states government as superintendent of indian affairs for the southern department on november 29, 1786. reporting as instructed to don estevan mirã�â³, governor of louisiana, white, the corrupt tool of spain, stated concerning his confidential mission that the leaders of "frankland" and "cumberland district" had "eagerly accepted the conditions" laid down by gardoqui: to take the oath of allegiance to spain, and to renounce all submission or allegiance whatever to any other sovereign or power. satisfied by the secret advices received, the spanish minister reported to the home authorities his confident belief that the tennessee backwoodsmen, if diplomatically handled, would readily throw in their lot with spain. [214] after the fiasco of his siege of tipton's home, sevier had seized upon the renewal of hostilities by the cherokees as a means of regaining his popularity. this he counted upon doing by rallying his old comrades-in-arms under his standard and making one of his meteoric, whirlwind onslaughts upon their ancient indian foe. the victory of this erstwhile popular hero, the beloved "nolichucky jack of the border," over the indians at a town on the hiwassee "so raised him in the esteem of the people on the frontier," reports colonel maxwell, "that the people began [once more] to flock to his standard." inspirited by this good turn in his fortunes, sevier readily responded to dr. white's overtures. alarmed early in the year over the unprovoked depredations and murders by the indians in several tennessee counties and on the kentucky road, sevier, robertson, and anthony bledsoe had persuaded governor samuel johnston of north carolina to address gardoqui and request him to exert his influence to prevent further acts of savage barbarity. in letters to governor johnston, to robertson, and to sevier, all of date april 18th, gardoqui expressed himself in general as being "extremely surprised to know that there is a suspicion that the good government of spain is encouraging these acts of barbarity." the letters to robertson and sevier, read between the lines as suggestive reinforcements of spain's secret proposals, possess real significance. the letter to sevier contains this dexterously expressed sentiment: "his majesty is very favorably inclined to give the inhabitants of that region all the protection that they ask for and, on my part, i shall take very great pleasure in contributing to it on this occasion and other occasions." this letter, coupled with the confidential proposals of dr. white, furnished a convenient opening for correspondence with the spaniards; and in july sevier wrote to gardoqui indicating his readiness to accede to their proposals. after secret conferences with men who had supported him throughout the vicissitudes of his ill-starred state, sevier carefully matured his plans. the remarkable letter of great length which he wrote to gardoqui on september 12, 1788, reveals the conspiracy in all its details and presents in vivid colors the strong separatist sentiment of the day. sevier urgently petitions gardoqui for the loan of a few thousand pounds, to enable him to "make the most expedient and necessary preparations for defense"; and offers to repay the loan within a short time "by sending the products of this region to the lower ports." upon the vital matter of "delivering" the state of franklin to spain, he forthrightly says: since my last of the 18th of july, upon consulting with the principal men of this country, i have been particularly happy to find that they are equally disposed and ready as i am to accept your propositions and guarantees. you may be sure that the pleasing hopes and ideas which the people of this country hold with regard to the probability of an alliance with, and commercial concessions from, you are very ardent, and that we are unanimously determined on that score. the people of this region have come to realize truly upon what part of the world and upon which nation their future happiness and security depend, and they immediately infer that their interest and prosperity depend entirely upon the protection and liberality of your government.... being the first from this side of the appalachian mountains to resort in this way to your protection and liberality, we feel encouraged to entertain the greatest hope that we shall be granted all reasonable aid by him who is so amply able to do it, and to give the protection and help that is asked of him in this petition. you know our delicate situation and the difficulties in which we are in respect to our mother state which is making use of every strategem to impede the development and prosperity of this country.... before i conclude, it may be necessary to remind you that there will be no more favorable occasion than the present one to put this plan into execution. north carolina has rejected the constitution and moreover it seems to me that a considerable time will elapse before she becomes a member of the union, if that event ever happens. through mirã�â³, gardoqui was simultaneously conducting a similar correspondence with general james wilkinson. the object of the spanish conspiracy, matured as the result of this correspondence, was to seduce kentucky from her allegiance to the united states. despite the superficial similarity between the situation of franklin and kentucky, it would be doing sevier and his adherents a capital injustice to place them in the category of the corrupt wilkinson and the malodorous sebastian. moreover, the secessionists of franklin, as indicated in the above letter, had the excuse of being left virtually without a country. on the preceding august 1st, north carolina had rejected the constitution of the united states; and the leaders of franklin, who were sorely aggrieved by what they regarded as her indifference and neglect, now felt themselves more than ever out of the union and wholly repudiated by the mother state. again, sevier had the embittered feeling resultant from outlawry. because of his course in opposing the laws and government of north carolina and in the killing of several good citizens, including the sheriff of washington county, by his forces at sinking creek, sevier, through the action of governor johnston of north carolina, had been attainted of high treason. under the heavy burden of this grave charge, he felt his hold upon franklin relax. further, an atrocity committed in the recent campaign under sevier's leadership--kirk's brutal murder of corn tassel, a noble old indian, and other chieftains, while under the protection of a flag of truce--had placed a bar sinister across the fair fame of this stalwart of the border. utter desperation thus prompted sevier's acceptance of gardoqui's offer of the protection of spain. john sevier's son, james, bore the letter of september 12th to gardoqui. by a strangely ironic coincidence, on the very day (october 10, 1788) that gardoqui wrote to mirã�â³, recommending to the attention of spain dr. white and james sevier, the emissaries of franklin, with their plans and proposals, john sevier was arrested by colonel tipton at the widow brown's in washington county, on the charge of high treason. he was handcuffed and borne off, first to jonesborough and later to morganton. but his old friends and former comrades-in-arms, charles and joseph mcdowell, gave bond for his appearance at court; and morrison, the sheriff, who also had fought at king's mountain, knocked the irons from his wrists and released him on parole. soon afterward a number of sevier's devoted friends, indignant over his arrest, rode across the mountains to morganton and silently bore him away, never to be arrested again. in november an act of pardon and oblivion with respect to franklin was passed by the north carolina assembly. although sevier was forbidden to hold office under the state, the passage of this act automatically operated to clear him of the alleged offense of high treason. with affairs in franklin taking this turn, it is little wonder that gardoqui and mirã�â³ paid no further heed to sevier's proposal to accept the protection of spain. sevier's continued agitation in behalf of the independence of franklin inspired governor johnston with the fear that he would have to be "proceeded against to the last extremity." but sevier's opposition finally subsiding, he was pardoned, given a seat in the north carolina assembly, and with extraordinary consideration honored with his former rank of brigadier-general. when dr. white reported to mirã�â³ that the leaders of "frankland" had eagerly accepted gardoqui's conditions for an alliance with spain, he categorically added: "with regard to cumberland district, what i have said of frankland applies to it with equal force and truth." james robertson and anthony bledsoe had but recently availed themselves of the good offices of governor johnston of north carolina in the effort to influence gardoqui to quiet the creek indians. the sagacious and unscrupulous half breed alexander mcgillivray had placed the creeks under the protection of spain in 1784; and shortly afterward they began to be regularly supplied with ammunition by the spanish authorities. at first spain pursued the policy of secretly encouraging these indians to resist the encroachments of the americans, while she remained on outwardly friendly terms with the united states. during the period of the spanish conspiracy, however, there is reason to believe that mirã�â³ endeavored to keep the indians at peace with the borderers, as a friendly service, intended to pave the way for the establishment of intimate relations between spain and the dwellers in the trans-alleghany. yet his efforts cannot have been very effective; for the cumberland settlements continued to suffer from the ravages and depredations of the creeks, who remained "totally averse to peace, notwithstanding they have had no cause of offence"; and robertson and bledsoe reported to governor caswell (june 12, 1787): "it is certain, the chickasaws inform us, that spanish traders offer a reward for scalps of the americans." the indian atrocities became so frequent that robertson later in the summer headed a party on the famous coldwater expedition, in which he severely chastised the marauding indians. aroused by the loss of a number of chiefs and warriors at the hands of robertson's men, and instigated, as was generally believed, by the spaniards, the creeks then prosecuted their attacks with renewed violence against the cumberland settlements. unprotected either by the mother state or by the national government, unable to secure free passage to the gulf for their products, and sorely pressed to defend their homes, now seriously endangered by the incessant attacks of the creeks, the cumberland leaders decided to make secret overtures to mcgillivray, as well as to communicate to mirã�â³, through dr. white, their favorable inclination toward the proposals of the one country which promised them protection. in a letter which mcgillivray wrote to mirã�â³ (transmitted to madrid, june 15, 1788) in regard to the visit of messrs. hackett and ewing, two trusty messengers sent by robertson and bledsoe, he reports that the two delegates from the district of cumberland had not only submitted to him proposals of peace but "had added that they would throw themselves into the arms of his majesty as subjects, and that kentucky and cumberland are determined to free themselves from their dependence on congress, because that body can not protect either their property, or favor their commerce, and they therefore believe that they no longer owe obedience to a power which is incapable of protecting them." commenting upon mcgillivray's communication, mirã�â³ said in his report to madrid (june 15, 1788): "i consider as extremely interesting the intelligence conveyed to mcgillivray by the deputies on the fermentation existing in kentucky, with regard to a separation from the union. concerning the proposition made to mcgillivray by the inhabitants of cumberland to become the vassals of his majesty, i have refrained from returning any precise answer." in his long letter of reply to robertson and bledsoe, mcgillivray agreed to make peace between his nation, the creeks, and the cumberland settlers. this letter was most favorably received and given wide circulation throughout the west. in a most ingratiating reply, offering mcgillivray a fine gun and a lot in nashville, robertson throws out the following broad suggestion, which he obviously wishes mcgillivray to convey to mirã�â³: "in all probability we cannot long remain in our present state, and if the british or any commercial nation who may be in possession of the mouth of the mississippi would furnish us with trade, and receive our produce there cannot be a doubt but the people on the west side of the appalachian mountains will open their eyes to their real interest." robertson actually had the district erected out of the counties of davidson, sumner, and tennessee given the name of "mirã�â³" by the assembly of north carolina in november, 1788--a significant symbol of the desires of the cumberland leaders. in a letter (april 23, 1789), mirã�â³, who had just received letters from robertson (january 29th) and daniel smith (march 4th) postmarked "district of mirã�â³," observes: "the bearer, fagot, a confidential agent of gen. smith, informed me that the inhabitants of cumberland, or mirã�â³, would ask north carolina for an act of separation the following fall, and that as soon as this should be obtained other delegates would be sent from cumberland to new orleans, with the object of placing that territory under the domination of his majesty. i replied to both in general terms." [215] robertson, bledsoe, and smith were successful in keeping secret their correspondence with mcgillivray and mirã�â³; and few were in the secret of sevier's effort to deliver the state of franklin to spain. joseph martin was less successful in his negotiations; and a great sensation was created throughout the southern colonies when a private letter from joseph martin to mcgillivray (november 8, 1788) was intercepted. in this letter martin said: "i must beg that you write me by the first opportunity in answer to what i am now going to say to you.... i hope to do honor to any part of the world i settle in, and am determined to leave the united states, for reasons that i can assign to you when we meet, but durst not trust it to paper." the general assembly of georgia referred the question of the intercepted letter to the governor of north carolina (january 24, 1789); and the result was a legislative investigation into martin's conduct. eleven months later, the north carolina assembly exonerated him. from the correspondence of joseph martin and patrick henry, it would appear that martin, on henry's advice, had acted as a spy upon the spaniards, in order to discover the views of mcgillivray, to protect the exposed white settlements from the indians, and to fathom the designs of the spaniards against the united states. [216] the sensational disclosures of martin's intercepted letter had no deterrent effect upon james robertson in the attempted execution of his plan for detaching the cumberland settlements from north carolina. history has taken no account of the fact that robertson and the inhabitants now deliberately endeavored to secure an act of separation from north carolina. in the event of success, the next move planned by the cumberland leaders, as we have already seen, was to send delegates to new orleans for the purpose of placing the cumberland region under the domination of spain. a hitherto unknown letter, from robertson to (mirã�â³), dated nashville, september 2, 1789, proves that a convention of the people was actually held--the first overt step looking to an alliance with spain. in this letter robertson says: i must beg your excellency's permission to take this early opportunity of thanking you for the honor you did me in writing by mr. white. i still hope that your government, and these settlements, are destined to be mutually friendly and usefull, the people here are impressed with the necessity of it. we have just held a convention; which has agreed that our members shall insist on being seperated from north carolina. unprotected, we are to be obedient to the new congress of the united states; but we cannot but wish for a more interesting connection. the united states afford us no protection. the district of mirã�â³ is daily plundered and the inhabitants murdered by the creeks, and cherokees, unprovoked. for my own part, i conceive highly of the advantages of your government. [217] a serious obstacle to the execution of the plans of robertson and the other leaders of the cumberland settlements was the prompt action of north carolina. in actual conformity with the wishes of the western people, as set forth in the petition of robertson and hayes, their representatives, made two years earlier, [218] the legislature of north carolina in december passed the second act of cession, by which the western territory of north carolina was ceded to the united states. instead of securing an act of separation from north carolina as the preparatory step to forming what robertson calls "a more interesting connection" with spain, robertson and his associates now found themselves and the transmontane region which they represented flung bodily into the arms of the united states. despite the unequivocal offer of the calculating and desperate sevier to "deliver" franklin to spain, and the ingenious efforts of robertson and his associates to place the cumberland region under the domination of spain, the spanish court by its temporizing policy of evasion and indecision definitely relinquished the ready opportunities thereby afforded, of utilizing the powerful separatist tendencies of tennessee for the purpose of adding the empire upon the western waters to the spanish domain in america. the year 1790 marks the end of an era--the heroic age of the pioneers of the old southwest. following the acceptance of north carolina's deed of cession of her western lands to the union (april 2, 1790) the southwest territory was erected on may 26th; and william blount, a north carolina gentleman of eminence and distinction, was appointed on june 8th to the post of governor of the territory. two years later (june 1, 1792) kentucky was admitted into the union. it is a remarkable and inspiring circumstance, in testimony of the martial instincts and unwavering loyalty of the transmontane people, that the two men to whom the western country in great measure owed its preservation, the inciting and flaming spirits of the king's mountain campaign, were the unopposed first choice of the people as leaders in the trying experiment of statehood--john sevier of tennessee and isaac shelby of kentucky. had franklin possessed the patient will of kentucky, she might well have preceded that region into the union. it was not, however, until june 1, 1796, that tennessee, after a romantic and arduous struggle, finally passed through the wide-flung portals into the domain of national statehood. list of notes 1 roosevelt's the winning of the west, a stirring recital with chief stress thrown upon the militant characteristics of the frontiersmen, is open to grave criticism because of failure to give adequate account of social and economic tendencies, the development of democracy, and the evolution of government under the pressure of frontier conditions. 2 johnson mss., xii, no. 127. 3 journal of a tour in unsettled parts of north america in 1796 and 1797, 217. 4 turner: "significance of the frontier in american history," american historical association report, 1893. 5 hugh williamson: history of north carolina (1812), ii, 71-2. 6 virginia historical magazine, xiii, 133; william and mary quarterly, ix, 132. 7 virginia historical magazine, op. cit. cf. also west virginia historical magazine, april, 1903. 8 bernheim: the german element and the lutheran church in the carolinas. 9 for this and other moravian diaries, see virginia historical magazine, vols xi and xii. 10 original diary in german in archives of the moravian church, winston-salem, n. c. cf. mereness, travels in the american colonies 1690-1783, 327-356. 11 cf. original minutes of abington and gwynedd monthly meetings, pa. 12 ms. history of bryan family, compiled by col. w. l. bryan, boone, n. c. 13 ely: the finleys of bucks (publications, bucks county historical society); also "historic associations of neshaminy valley," daily intelligencer (reading, pa.), july 29, 1913. see also wisconsin state historical society, draper mss., 2 b 161. 14 "the creative forces in westward expansion," american historical review, xx, 1. 15 north carolina colonial records, vii, 100-101. 16 magazine of american history, november, 1881. 17 foote: sketches of north carolina, xiii. 18 howe: history of the presbyterian church in south carolina. 19 virginia historical magazine, xiii, 127-8-9. 20 draper: ms. life of boone; draper collection, wisconsin state historical society. 21 rowan county records, salisbury, n. c. 22 rumple: history of rowan county. 23 logan: history of upper south carolina. 24 "diary of bishop spangenberg" (1752), north carolina colonial records, v. 25 sheets: history of liberty baptist association. 26 moravian community diary, preserved at winston-salem, n. c. 27 north carolina colonial records, v, 6. 28 j. f. d. smyth: a tour in the united states of america (london: 1784), vol. 1. chapter xxiii. 29 unpublished ms.: "in the olden time." 30 margry: navigation of the mississippi, iv, 322. 31 rauniã�â©: chansonnier historique du xviiie siã�â¨cle, iii, 132-3. this translation is by barbara henderson. 32 j. haywood: natural and aboriginal history of tennessee (1823), 223. 33 byrd: history of the dividing line. 34 north carolina colonial records, v, 25. 35 d. d. wallace: the life of henry laurens, appendix iv. 36 see also hewit in carroll's collections, i, 435. fort prince george was located in the fork of the six mile creek and keowee river, in the southwestern part of pickens county, and was completed probably by the end of 1753 (south carolina gazette, december 17, 1753). 37 north carolina colonial records, v, 140. 38 cited in channing, history of the united states, ii, 5-73 n. 39 north carolina colonial records, v, 333, 357. 40 moravian community diary. 41 north carolina colonial records, v, 849. 42 virginia historical magazine, xiii, 225-264. north carolina colonial records, v, 560, 617. 43 north carolina colonial records, v, 579. 44 north carolina colonial records, v, 641, 742, 849. cf. also hunter: sketches of western north carolina, 325. 45 north carolina colonial records, v, 604, 639. 46 virginia historical magazine, xiii, 263; north carolina colonial records, v, 606, 609, 613. 47 north carolina colonial records, v, 585, 612-4, 635, 637. 48 north carolina colonial records, v, 610; cf. timberlake's "a draught of the cherokee country" in avery's history of the united states, iv, facing p. 347; ramsey, history of tennessee, 57. 49 summers: southwest virginia, 57-60. 50 virginia historical magazine, xv, 254-7; waddell, augusta county (second edition), 115-6, 150-1. 51 north carolina colonial records, v, 606-8. 52 summers: southwest virginia, 60-1. 53 williamson: history of north carolina, ii, 37, footnote. 54 north carolina colonial records, viii, 563; xi, map facing p. 80, and p. 227. 55 north carolina colonial records, v. introduction, pp. xxx-xxxi. 56 carroll's collections, i, 433; ii, 519-20; draper's ms. life of boone, iii, 65-6. 57 sparks: washington, ii, 322. 58 journal: "concerning a march that capt. robt. wade took to the new river," in summers, southwest virginia. 62-66. 59 carroll's collections, i, 443-4. 60 south carolina gazette, may 12, 1759. 61 south carolina gazette, july 14, 1759. 62 south carolina gazette, aug. 4, sept. 22, 1759. 63 north carolina colonial records, vi, 221. 64 draper: ms. life of boone, iii, 75. 65 north carolina colonial records, vi, 229-230. 66 for a full account of the part which fort dobbs played in this indian warfare see the monograph, fort dobbs, by mrs. m. h. eliason. 67 maryland gazette, may 8, 1760; haywood: natural and aboriginal history of tennessee, 239-40; north carolina colonial records, xxii, 822. 68 "notes on the indians and the early settlers of western north carolina," collections of the north carolina historical commission. printed in papers of a. d. murphy, ii, 380 et seq. 69 maryland gazette, may 8, 1760. 70 south carolina gazette, dec. 23, 1760; feb. 28, april 11, 1761. 71 north carolina colonial records, vi, 622. 72 j. s. johnston: the first explorations of kentucky. filson club publications, no. 13. 73 william and mary college quarterly, xii, 129-134; young: genealogical narrative of the hart family (1882); nash: "history of orange county," north carolina booklet; henderson: "a federalist of the old school," north carolina booklet. 74 north carolina colonial records, ix, 349. 75 turner: "the old west," wisconsin historical society proceedings, 1908. 76 cf. "memoir of pleasant henderson," draper mss. 2cc21-23; w. h. battle: "a memoir of leonard henderson," north carolina university magazine, nov., 1859; t. b. kingsbury: "chief justice leonard henderson," wake forest student, november, 1898. 77 "the life and times of richard henderson," in the charlotte observer, march 9 to june 1, 1913; draper's ms. life of boone; morehead's address at boonesborough, 105 n. 78 c. w. alvord: "the genesis of the proclamation of 1763," michigan pioneer and historical collections, xxxvi. 79 sparks: works of franklin (1844), iii, 69-77. 80 j. m. peck to l. c. draper, may 15, 1854. 81 washington to crawford, september 21, 1767, in sparks: life and writings of washington, ii, 346-50. 82 haywood: civil and political history of tennessee (1823), 35. 83 ramsey: annals of tennessee (1853), 69-70. 84 ramsey: annals of tennessee, 69. 85 cf. c. w. alvord: "the british ministry and the treaty of fort stanwix," wisconsin historical society proceedings, 1908. 86 north carolina colonial records, vii, 851-855. for tryon's line, ibid., 245, 460, 470, 508. 87 johnson to gage, december 16, 1768. 88 jefferson mss. department of state. cf. also weeks: general joseph martin. 89 hanna: the wilderness trail, ii, 216, 230, 255; darlington: journals of gist, 131. 90 "narrative of general william hall," draper mss., wisconsin state historical society. 91 draper: ms. life of boone, viii, 238. 92 summers: southwest virginia, 76. 93 papers of a. d. murphy, ii, 386. 94 pennsylvania journal, october 29, 1769. 95 compare "john finley; and kentucky before boone," being chapter seven in volume two of c. a. hanna's the wilderness trail (1911). 96 j. w. monette: history of the discovery and settlement of the valley of the mississippi (1846), ii, 53. 97 court records of rowan county. 98 cf. "the pioneers of the west" in missouri republican (1847). cf. also putnam: middle tennessee, 20. 99 j. m. peck to l. c. draper, may 15, 1854. 100 missouri republican (1847). 101 a memorial to the legislature of kentucky (1812). 102 deposition book no. 1, p. 156, clark county court, kentucky. 103 cf. "daniel boone and the wilderness trail," bristol (tennessee-virginia) herald courier, boone trail edition, april, 1917. 104 hall: the romance of western history (1857), 150-1, 158-9. 105 north carolina colonial records, vii, 713. 106 martin: history of north carolina, ii, 191. 107 "the origin of the regulation in north carolina," american historical review, xxi, no. 2. 108 north carolina colonial records, vii, 14-31, 32-4, 37. 109 raleigh (n. c.) register, june 2, 1825. 110 cf. tryon's journal, north carolina colonial records, vii, 819-838. 111 tryon to hillsborough, december 24, 1768. 112 north carolina colonial records, viii, 231-4. 113 north carolina colonial records, viii, 241-244. 114 north carolina colonial records, viii, 241-244. 115 north carolina colonial records, viii, 236-240. 116 cf. j. s. bassett: "the regulators of north carolina (1765-1771)", american historical association report for 1894. 117 north carolina colonial records, x, 1019-1022; caruthers: life of caldwell, 145-158. 118 north carolina colonial records, vi, 250. 119 alderman: "the baptists at the forks of the yadkin," in baptist historical papers. 120 north carolina colonial records, viii, 70-80. 121 the discovery of an immense quantity of contemporary documents, since roosevelt's the winning of the west was written, betrays the numerous inaccuracies of that fascinating work, as well as the imperfect perspective in the picture of the westward expansionist movement. mr. roosevelt's virile apotheosis of the strenuous pioneer seems today almost as old-fashioned in its method and outlook as is draper's work on king's mountain. 122 bancroft transcripts, library of congress. 123 purefoy: history of sandy creek baptist association (1859). 124 cf. "pioneer contributions of north carolina to kentucky," charlotte (n. c.) observer, november 10, 1913. 125 summers: southwest virginia, 616-8. 126 north carolina colonial records, xiv, 314. cf. farrand: "the indian boundary line," american historical review, x. 127 dunmore to hillsborough, march, 1772. cf. also draper, ms. life of boone, draper mss., 3 b 87, 88. 128 north carolina colonial records, x, 885-6. 129 moses fisk: "a summary notice of the first settlements made by white people within the limits which bound the state of tennessee," in massachusetts historical collections, 1st series (1816). 130 dunmore to dartmouth, may 16, 1774. 131 north carolina colonial records, ix, 825-6, 982. ms. copy in minutes of council, public record office, colonial office, 5:355. 132 haywood: civil and political history of tennessee (1823), 40. 133 butler: history of kentucky (1836), p. lxvii, note. also draper mss., 2 cc 34. 134 wharton: plain facts (1781), 9. 135 alvord: the illinois-wabash land company manuscript. 136 a copy of the opinion, bearing this date, is in the henderson papers, draper collection, wisconsin historical society. 137 extended investigation establishes beyond question that judge henderson was proceeding in strict accordance with law in seeking to acquire title by purchase from the cherokees instead of applying to the royal government for a grant. when virginia's sea-to-sea charter was abrogated in 1624, virginia became a royal province and the settlement of boundaries a royal prerogative. of the three presumed indian claimants to the trans-alleghany region, viz., the iroquois, shawanoes, and cherokees, the iroquois by defeating the shawanoes and their confederates in the ohio valley at the battle of sandy island in 1672 acquired title, as understood by the indians, to this region. by the treaties of lancaster (1744), loggstown (1752), and fort stanwix (1768), the claims of the shawanoes and the iroquois to the trans-alleghany territory were ceded to the crown. while the shawanoes and the cherokees acquiesced in the treaty of fort stanwix, the crown fully acknowledged the claim of the cherokees to the trans-alleghany region; and by the treaties of hard labor (1768) and lochaber (1770) confirmed them in possession of this region to the west of the boundary line (see chapter xii). the sovereignty of england extended over this territory, the right of eminent domain being vested in the crown. henderson was legally justified in disregarding the royal proclamation of 1763 which was largely in the nature of a temporary expedient, and in purchasing the title to the trans-alleghany region from the cherokees in 1775. the right of eminent domain over the trans-alleghany region still vested in the crown after the treaty of sycamore shoals. 138 ms. journals of james and robert mcafee. durrett collection, university of chicago. these journals are printed in woods-mcafee memorial. 139 hening: virginia statutes at large, x, 558. 140 wharton: plain facts, 96 et seq. see also text ff. 141 alvord: the mississippi valley in british politics, ii, ch. 7; cotterill: history of pioneer kentucky, 65-66. 142 t. wharton to walpole, september 23, 1774, in "letter book of thomas wharton," pennsylvania magazine of history and biography, xxxiii (october, 1909). 143 for ample materials, cf. thwaites and kellogg: documentary history of dunmore's war--1774. 144 cf. "the inauguration of westward expansion," news and observer (raleigh, n. c.) july 5, 1914. 145 letter of major pleasant henderson, in the harbinger (chapel hill, n. c), 1834. 146 cf. "the beginnings of westward expansion," north carolina review, september and october, 1910. 147 draper mss. 1 cc 2-9, wisconsin state historical society. 148 jefferson mss. 5th series, v. 8. in mss. division, library of congress. 149 draper mss. 1 cc 2-9. 150 diary of morgan brown in tennessee historical magazine. 151 enclosure 6 in dunmore to dartmouth, no. 25, march 14, 1775, public record office, colonial office, 5:1353. 152 north carolina colonial records, ix, 1117, 1129-1131. 153 draper mss. 4 qq 1. 154 virginia historical magazine, viii, 355. cf. also draper mss. 2 cc 5. 155 letters to washington, mss. division, library of congress. 156 i am indebted to miss lucretia hart clay for the privilege of examining the extensive collection of hart and benton mss. in her possession. 157 the voluminous records of the treaty are found in the jefferson mss., vol. 5. mss. division, library of congress. 158 "narrative of felix walker," original ms. owned by c. l. walker. 159 hulbert: boone's road. 160 original of henderson's journal is in draper mss., 1 cc 21-130 a. d. 161 hall: sketches of the west, i, 254-5. 162 this quotation is taken from the original manuscript. the version in de bow's review, 1854, is imperfect. for better printed versions of walker's two accounts, see memoirs of felix walker, new orleans (1877), and journal of american history, i, no. 1 (1907). 163 original journal of william calk, owned by mrs. price calk. 164 letters to washington, mss. division, library of congress. 165 north carolina gazette. 166 draper mss., 1 cc 160-194, deposition of arthur campbell. 167 draper mss., 1 cc 160-194, deposition of arthur campbell. 168 draper collection, kentucky mss., ii. for a contrary view, cf. p. henry's deposition, kentucky mss., i. 169 published in virginia gazette, march 23, 1775. cf. "forerunners of the republic", neale's monthly, january-june, 1913. 170 draper mss., 4 qq 17. 171 letters to george washington, mss. division, library of congress. 172 draper mss., 1 l 20. 173 henderson and luttrell to the proprietors, july 18, 1775; printed in louisville news-letter, may 9, 1840. 174 nathaniel henderson to john williams, october 5, 1775. copy supplied by heirs of b. j. lossing. 175 "the struggle for the fourteenth american colony," news and observer (raleigh, n. c.), may 19, 1918. 176 in connection with transylvania, consult g. w. ranck: boonesborough: filson club publications, no. 16; f. j. turner: "state making in the revolutionary era", american historical review, i; g. h. alden: "new governments west of the alleghanies before 1780." 177 in a "proposal for the sale of its lands" (virginia gazette, sept. 30, 1775), the transylvania company offered to any settlers before june 1, 1776, land, limited in amount, at the rate of fifty shillings sterling per hundred acres, subject to an annual quit-rent of two shillings. cf. facsimile. 178 draper mss., 2 cc 25. 179 these increased rates were voted at a meeting of the proprietors of transylvania at oxford, n. c., september 25, 1775. american archives, iv. 180 draper mss., 47 j 1. this memoir has often been printed. 181 cf. for example, mason to washington, march 9, 1775, in letters to washington, mss. division, library of congress. 182 letter of date may 19, 1776. draper mss., 33 s 292-295. 183 original in virginia state archives. 184 original in virginia state archives. this and the aforementioned petition are printed in the virginia historical magazine, xvi, 157-163. see also j. r. robertson: petitions of the early inhabitants of kentucky, filson club publications, no. 27. 185 cf. "richard henderson and the occupation of kentucky, 1775," mississippi valley historical review, december, 1914. also a. b. hulbert: pilots of the republic. 186 original in north carolina state archives. printed in ramsey: annals of tennessee (1853), 134-138. 187 haldimand mss. 188 original in draper mss. collections. it has recently been printed in colonial men and times (1915), by lillie du p. van c. harper. 189 haywood: civil and political history of tennessee, (1823), appendix, 500-503. 190 journal virginia house of delegates, nov. 4-17, 1778. 191 hening: statutes at large, ix, 571. cf. also starling: history of henderson county, kentucky. 192 cf. sioussat: "the journal of daniel smith," tennessee historical magazine, march, 1915. 193 the original journal is in the archives of the tennessee state historical society. 194 n. hart, jr., to wilkins tannehill, april 27, 1839, in louisville news-letter, may 23, 1840. 195 the original document is preserved in the archives of the tennessee historical society. it is printed, with a number of minor inaccuracies, in putnam: middle tennessee, 94-102. 196 acts of north carolina, 1783, ch. xxxviii, north carolina state records, xxiv, 530-531. 197 for a more extended treatment of the subjects dealt with in the present chapter, see "richard henderson, the authorship of the cumberland compact, and the founding of nashville," tennessee historical magazine, september, 1916. 198 "isaac shelby, revolutionary patriot and border hero," in north carolina booklet, xvi, no. 3, 109-144. 199 while draper's king's mountain and its heroes is most valuable as a source book, it is very faulty in style and arrangement. the account of the battle, in particular, is deficient in perspective; and in general no clear line is drawn between traditionary and authentic testimony. 200 f. b. mcdowell: the battle of king's mountain (raleigh, 1907). this account was prepared chiefly from unpublished letters from isaac shelby to franklin brevard. 201 a sketch of the life and career of colonel james d. williams, by rev. j. d. bailey (cowpens, s. c., 1898). 202 a valuable source is the king's mountain expedition, by david vance and robert henry, edited by d. l. schenck (greensboro, 1891). 203 cf. acts of north carolina, 1784, april session, chapters xi and xii. 204 sioussat: "the north carolina cession of 1784 in its federal aspects," mississippi valley historical association proceedings, ii. 205 quoted in alden: "the state of franklin," american historical review, viii. 206 see charlotte (n. c.) observer, september 25, 1904. also consult north carolina state records, xxii, 664 ff. 207 state archives of north carolina. 208 pennsylvania packet, august 9, 1785. 209 state department mss., library of congress. 210 a single complete draft, in pamphlet form, printed in 1786, is preserved in the archives of the tennessee historical society. cf. "the provisional constitution of frankland," american historical magazine, i. 211 franklin papers, vii, folio 1651. mss. division, library of congress. 212 franklin papers, viii, folio 1803. mss. division, library of congress. 213 for a more extended treatment of matters dealt with in this chapter, compare "the spanish conspiracy in tennessee," tennessee historical magazine, december, 1917. 214 gardoqui to floridablanca, april 18, 1788. 215 on april 30th mirã�â³ wrote to valdez, in spain, informing him of the proposals received through mcgillivray and stating that he had returned conciliatory replies but had refrained from committing the spanish government until the pleasure of the king should be known. 216 w. w. henry: life, correspondence and speeches of patrick henry, iii, 409, 412-5. 217 archives of the indies, seville, spain. 218 ramsey: annals of tennessee (1853), 502-3. bibliographical note for the entire period (1740-1790) covered by this volume, an exceptionally rich store of materials is to be found in the colonial records of north carolina, 1662-1775 (published 1886-1890), and its continuation, the state records of north carolina, 1776-1790 (published 1895-1905), thirty volumes in all, including the four volumes of index. the introductions and supplementary matter in these volumes constitute a survey of the period. theodore roosevelt's the winning of the west (1889-1896; various editions), a vigorous and stirring narrative, over-accentuates the strenuous life, largely underemphasises economic and governmental phases, and is by no means free from error. for the scotch-irish migrations one should read c. a. hanna, the scotch-irish (2 vols., 1902), a large collection of original materials, imperfectly coã�â¶rdinated; and the excellent historical sketch by h. j. ford, the scotch-irish in america (1905). for the german migrations, adequate and readable accounts are a. b. faust, the german element in the united states (2 vols., 1909); j. h. clewell, history of wachovia in north carolina (1902); j. w. wayland, the german element of the shenandoah valley of virginia (1907); and g. d. bernheim, history of the german settlements and of the lutheran church in north and south carolina (1872). the best original sources for the life of the people in this period are: the state archives of north carolina at raleigh, scientifically ordered and accessible to collectors; the lyman c. draper collection at madison, wisconsin; the reuben t. durrett collection at the university of chicago; the state archives of south carolina, especially rich in collections of contemporary newspapers; the collections of the north carolina historical society at chapel hill; and the archives of the moravian church, in pennsylvania and at winston-salem, north carolina. the state archives of virginia, an unexplored mine of great riches, are as yet inaccessible, properly speaking, to investigators. the state of tennessee has not yet made any provision for the conservation of historical materials; but the tennessee historical society has preserved much valuable documentary material. books shedding light, from various quarters, upon the life of the people in this period are: w. h. foote, sketches of north carolina, historical and biographical (1846; reprinted 1913), dealing almost exclusively with the presbyterian church and the scotch-irish; j. f. d. smyth, a tour in the united states of america (2 vols., 1784), untrustworthy as to historical events and partisan as to politics, but graphic in description of the people and the country; william bartram, travels through north and south carolina, georgia, east and west florida (1791), delightful in its simplicity and genial tone; william byrd, history of the dividing line and other writings (j. s. bassett's edition, 1901), of sprightly style and instinct with literary charm, pungently satirical, untrustworthy as to north carolina; joseph doddridge, notes on the settlement and indian wars &c. (1824; reprinted 1912), photographic in its realistic delineation of backwoods conditions; j. h. logan, history of upper south carolina (1859); j. rumple, rowan county (1881; reprinted 1916); biographical history of north carolina (8 volumes printed, 1905-); s. dunbar, a history of travel in america(4 vols., 1915), first volume; travels in the american colonies, 1690-1783 (edited by n. d. mereness, 1916); and o. taylor, historic sullivan (1909). many valuable articles, of both local and national interest, are found in the excellent periodical publications: james sprunt historical monographs and publications (16 vols., 1900-), published by the university of north carolina; north carolina booklet (18 vols., 1901-), published by the n. c. society, d. a. r.; virginia magazine of history and biography (27 vols., 1893-); american historical magazine (8 vols., 1896-1903); tennessee historical magazine (4 vols., 1915-); register of the kentucky state historical society (17 vols., 1902-); mississippi valley historical review (6 vols., 1914-). a notable study is f. j. turner, the old west (wisconsin historical society proceedings, 1908). there is no adequate account in print of the french and indian war, in the old southwest. useful sources are e. mccrady, south carolina under the royal government, 1719-1776 (1899); s. a. ashe, history of north carolina, 1584-1783 (1 vol., 1908); l. p. summers, history of south-west virginia, 1746-1786 (1903); j. p. hale, trans-alleghany pioneers (1886); j. a. waddell, annals of augusta county, virginia (1886); s. kercheval, a history of the valley of virginia (third edition, 1902); a. s. withers, chronicles of border warfare (r. g. thwaites' edition, 1908); b. r. carroll, historical collections of south carolina (2 vols., 1886); e. m. avery, history of the united states (7 vols., 1908), fourth volume; j. g. m. ramsey, annals of tennessee (1853); calendar virginia state papers (11 vols., 1875-1893). an interesting biography is a. m. waddell, a colonial officer and his times (1890). the early explorations of the west, and the career of boone, are treated with reasonable fullness in the admirable publications of the filson club of kentucky (27 vols., 1884-); c. a. hanna, the wilderness trail (2 vols., 1911); john haywood, civil and political history of tennessee (1823; reprinted 1891), written in delightfully quaint style; l. and r. h. collins, history of kentucky (2 vols., 1882), a mine of conglomerate material; n. m. woods, the woods-mcafee memorial (1905); a. b. hulbert, pilots of the republic (1905) and boone's wilderness road (1903), attractively written; r. g. thwaites, daniel boone (1911), a lifeless condensation of draper's sprawling projected (ms.) biography; and john filson, kentucke (1784). of the voluminous mass of literature dealing with the regulation in north carolina, one should read: j. s. bassett, the regulators of north carolina, 1765-1771 (american historical association report, 1894); m. del. haywood, governor tryon of north carolina (1903); h. husband, an impartial relation of the first rise and cause of the present differences in publick affairs, in the province of north carolina (1770); and archibald henderson, the origin of the regulation in north carolina (american historical review, 1916). in addition to titles already mentioned, the following books and monographs give the best accounts of the watauga and cumberland settlements and of the state of franklin: a. w. putnam, history of middle tennessee (1859), a remarkably interesting book by a real "character"; j. w. caldwell, constitutional history of tennessee (second edition, 1907); f. m. turner, life of general john sevier (1910), in pedestrian style, reasonably accurate for the romantic period only; g. h. alden, the state of franklin (american historical review, 1903); s. b. weeks, joseph martin (american historical association report, 1894); archibald henderson, isaac shelby (north carolina booklet, 1917-1918). the source book for the indian war of 1774 is documentary history of dunmore's war (edited by r. g. thwaites and l. p. kellogg, 1905). for exhaustive data concerning the king's mountain campaign and its preliminaries, read l. c. draper, king's mountain and its heroes (1881), though the book is lacking in discrimination and deficient in perspective. for a briefer treatment, read d. l. schenck, north carolina, 1780-1781 (1889). other books and monographs dealing with the period, the westward movement, the settlement of the trans-alleghany, and the little governments, to be consulted are: james hall, sketches of the west (2 vols., 1835) and the romance of western history (1857); journals of the house of burgesses of virginia for 1766-1769 and 1770-1772 (published 1906); g. h. alden, new governments west of the alleghanies before 1780 (published 1897); c. w. alvord, the mississippi valley in british politics (2 vols., 1917), a notable work, ably written and embodying an immense amount of information; j. t. morehead, address at boonesborough, may 25, 1840 (published 1840); f. j. turner, the significance of the frontier in american history (wisconsin historical society proceedings, 1894) and western state-making in the revolutionary era (american historical review, 1895-1896), papers characterised by both brilliance and depth; and archibald henderson, the creative forces in westward expansion (american historical review, 1914), the occupation of kentucky in 1775 (mississippi valley historical review, 1914), the founding of nashville (tennessee historical magazine, 1916), and the spanish conspiracy in tennessee (tennessee historical magazine, 1917). on the subject of indian tribes and indian treaties, the annual reports of the bureau of ethnology, in especial numbers 5, 18, and 19, although compiled from secondary historical sources and occasionally erroneous in important matters, are useful--as is also bulletin 22: j. mooney, siouan tribes of the east (1895). rare and interesting works dealing with the eastern indian tribes are h. timberlake, memoirs (1765); j. haywood, natural and aboriginal history of tennessee (1823); and j. adair, american indians (1775). for both wider and more intensive reading in the history of this period, consult: f. j. turner, list of references on the history of the west (edition of 1915); a critical bibliography of kentucky history, in r. m. mcelroy, kentucky in the nation's history (1909); s. b. weeks, a bibliography of the historical literature of north carolina (1895); e. g. swem, a bibliography of virginia (part i, 1916); and the bibliographies in j. phelan, history of tennessee (1888); e. mccrady, south carolina under the royal government, 1719-1776 (published 1899) and south carolina in the revolution, 1775-1780 (published 1901); and e. m. avery, a history of the united states (1908), volumes 4, 5, and 6. note. for the use of a complete set of transcripts of the richard henderson papers in the draper collection, i am indebted to the north carolina historical commission through the courtesy of the secretary, mr. r. d. w. connor. index a abingdon: 134, 191. adams, john: 250. adams, samuel: 241, 250. ahualco: 144. alamance: see battles. alexander, abraham: 172. alexander, james: 27. alexander, moses: 27. alexander, capt. nathaniel: 62. alexander, william: 27. alibamu fort: 65. alleghany mountains: 100, 142, 155, 246, 259, 311. alleman's ford: 36. alrichs, herman: describes ambuscade of braddock's army, 54. amazons: 267. america: 111, 134, 159, 234, 248, 329; continent of, 198; history of, 286; emigration to, 7; people of, 173, 186, 198, 199; democracy in, ch. xiv-ch. xv, 174; colonies of, necessity for union, 65-66. american: cause, 185; congress, 329, 341; confederation, 215, 259, 291; republic, 329. american revolution: 12, 123, 239, 259, 267, 270, 277, 305. american union: 319, 335, 336, 342, 348, 349; see union. americans: 190, 300, 329, 339, 340; pioneers, 283; civilization of, ch. x, 199; character of, ch. x, 30-31, 195. amherst, gen. jeffrey: 93. anderson, colonel: 308. anshers, james: 52. appalachian mountains: 4, 5, 42, 107, 137, 139, 334, 343. arkansas: 122. atlantic ocean: 4. atta-kulla-kulla, cherokee chief: 66, 74, 76, 217, 242, 262. augusta: 79. b bacon, francis: 172. bailey, capt. andrew: leads sortie from fort dobbs, 80-82. baily, francis: on frontiersmen, ch. xiv. baker, john: 139. baker, william: 121. bainton, epaphroditus: 130. balboa: 155. baptists: 175, 185, 190. barbour, explorer: 122. battles: alamance, 168, 175, 182-183, 186, 189, 219; great kanawha, of the, 203-204, 209, 305; king's mountain, at, ch. xviii, 289, 327; lexington, 244, 277; long island flats, of, 262-263; musgrove's mill, at, 291. beaujeu, captain: 53. been, john: 196. been, mrs. william: 264. "belle riviere": 156; see ohio river. bentham, jeremy: 246. benton, jesse: 222. benton, samuel: 170. benton, thomas hart: 170. bethabara: 38, 56, 75, 85, 161, 162, 166; invested by indians, 88. bethania: 87. bienville (blainville) cã�â©loron de: 46-47, 98, 116. bienville, jean baptiste le moyne, sieur de: 42. big bone lick: 116, 156; see great bone lick. big lick: 33. big salt lick: 284; see french lick, french salt springs, great french lick, great salt springs. black fish, shawanoe chief: adopts daniel boone, 274. bledsoe, anthony: 194, 327, 332, 339, 340, 341, 342, 344. bledsoe family: 123. bledsoe, isaac: 126; discovers lick, 124. bledsoe's lick: discovery of, described, 124-125. blevens: hunters named, 109. blevens, william: 119. blount, william: 348. blowing rock: 134. blue licks: 156. blue ridge: 3, 5, 97, 142. board of trade: johnston to, 3; glen to, 51; draft royal proclamation, 106. boiling spring: 243, 253. bonn, dr. jacob: 85. boone, anne: 23. boone, daniel: 16, 20, 22, 29, 38, 41, 101, 108, 110, 115, 119, 129, 130, ch. ix, 131, 132, 133, 134, 142, 144, 148, 153, 155, 156, 158, 159, 160, 164, 165, 166, 185, 190, 200, 212, 221, 225, 226, 227, 231, 232, 235, 236, 280, 282; personal appearance, 37; at braddock's defeat, 54-55; meets richard henderson, 105; explores tennessee for henderson & company, 109; serves under waddell, 133; explores kentucky for richard henderson, ch. x; clears transylvania trail, 226; asks aid of judge henderson, 227-228; returns to boonesborough, 253; rescues daughter, 271; rescued by kenton, 272; captured, 272; adopted by black fish, 274; deceived by indians, 274. boone family: settles in north carolina, 34, 36, 117. boone, george: 21, 165. boone, james: 137. boone, jemima: captured by indians, 271. boone, jesse: 137. boone, squire: 21, 34, 35, 36, 37, 105. boone, squire, jr.: 29, 142, 156-157; sent by transylvania company to aid daniel boone, 153. boone, william: 23. boonesborough: 199, 215, 254, 277; henderson arrives at, 235; transylvania convention at, 244-248; boone returns to, 253; capture of girls at, 270-271; besieged by indians, 272, 273, 274-276; henderson returns to, 282; corn sent to, from french lick, 284, 285. boone's caves: 157. boone's ford: 36. boston: 8, 180. botetourt; governor, of virginia: 192. boyd's creek: 307. braddock, gen. edward: 53, 58, 135, 295; defeat of, described, 53-55. brandmã�â¼ller, john: pilgrimage of, 14-15. british: 49, 102, 189, 261, 270, 276, 289, 290, 292, 294, 296, 299, 302, 342; crown, 191, 200. brobdignags: 154. brown, francis: 57. brown, jacob: 194, 224. brown, the widow: 337. bryan family: 203. bryan, james: 22. bryan, joseph: 22. bryan, martha: 33. bryan, morgan: 22, settled in pennsylvania, 22; in virginia, 23; in north carolina, 16, 34; leads frontier rangers, 75-76, 83; in rowan, 35. bryan, morgan, jr.: 22. bryan, rebeckah: 132, 160. bryan, william: 22, 33. bryan's station: 22. "buffalo bill" (w. f. cody): ch. xv. bull, lieut. gov. william: 88. bullitt, capt. thomas: 204. bullock, leonard henley: member transylvania company, 218. bunker's hill: battle of, 277. burke, edmund: on charters, ch. xi. burnaby, andrew: describes life in backwoods, 32. byrd, col. william, 3rd.: 59, 91, 92, 94, 133, 187, 208, 210, 249. byrd, william: 36, 45, 98, 130; describes yadkin region, 35. c calhoun, patrick: family attacked, 79; commands provincial rangers, 89; relatives of, 168. calk, william: 235; with exploring party from virginia, 226. callaway, elizabeth: captured by indians, 271; rescued, 271. callaway, flanders: 271. callaway, frances: capture by indians, 271; rescued, 271. callaway, col. richard: 253; commands in defence of transylvania fort, 275-276. callaway, samuel: 110. camden: 292. camden, lord chancellor: 201. camden-yorke opinion: 207, 239, 240, 241. cameron, alexander: 194, 261. camp charlotte: 212. campbell, col. arthur: interested in kentucky lands, 208; seeks partnership in transylvania company for patrick henry, 240; leads force against cherokees, 307; plans greater franklin, 323. campbell, colonel william: leads virginians, 293; elected commander king's mountain expedition, 294; at king's mountain, 296, 299, 300. campbell, david: 314, 321. campbell, john: 263. campbell, robert: scalped, 82. cape fear: 53, 75. captain will: 151. carlisle: 144. carolina: 116, 118. carolinas, the two: 75, 139, 201. carter, john: 224. carter's valley: 195, 224. carteret, lord: lands of, 9. caswell, gov. richard: 57, 318, 322, 340. catawba town: 59. catawba valley: 10, 13. catawbas: 35, 45, 59-62, 64, 65, 70, 71, 72, 96, 118, 146; towns of, 96; country, 131. cession act: 310-311, 326. charles the second: 42. charleston: 32, 33, 38, 66, 68, 88, 94, 161, 167, 289. charleville, charles: at french lick, 44. charlotte: 289, 294. cherokees: 15, 28, 49, 59-60, 65, 67, 68, 70, 72, 73, 77, 78, 86, 88, 89, 91, 96, 111, 112, 114, 116, 123, 127, 133, 140, 141, 159, 187, 192, 193, 202, 206, 216, 221, 222, 225, 239, 242, 249, 252, 265, 266, 270, 290, 307, 310, 316, 331, 346; fort promised to, by south carolina, 58; treaty with, 59; hunters, 74; attack on long cane settlement, 79; warriors, 76; defeated, 83, 265; boundary line, 191; chiefs, 217, 242, 316; country of, 64. chickamaugas: 308; town of, 283; bloody forage of, 289-290; quelled, 290. chickasaws: 125, 310, 340. chilhowee: 307. chillicothe: 204. chiswell's mine: 112, 191. choctaws: 45. christian, col. william: member of company to purchase cherokee lands, 239; leads virginia forces against cherokees, 266. chronicle, major william: killed at king's mountain, 301. clark, george rogers: 255, 259, 277; prospecting in kentucky, 205; opinion of transylvania title, 248; memoir of, cited as to henderson claim, 255-256; threatens virginia with revolt in kentucky, 257; visited by james robertson, 281. clark, jonathan: 248. cleveland, col. benjamin: 296; explores west, 123; leads pioneers against indians, 267; leads wilkes volunteers at king's mountain, 293; addresses troops at king's mountain, 297, 301. "cleveland's bulldogs": 293, 301. clinch valley: 203. cocke, william: 231, 263, 321; delegate from franklin to continental congress, 318; appeals to benjamin franklin, 324. coldwater expedition: 340. columbus, christopher: 144, 234. committee of safety: 259. concord: 236. coghnawagas: 118. connolly, dr. john: 205, 208, 209, 210, 239. constitution: rejected by north carolina, 335, 336. continent, european: 4. continental congress: 249, 250, 257, 261, 276, 318, 319, 324, 329. cooley, william: explores kentucky, 149, 153. cooper, james fenimore: 85, 271. corbin, francis: 169. cornstalk, shawanoe chief: 204; leads indians at the great kanawha, 213-214. corn tassel, indian chief: 337. cornwallis, lord charles: 289, 291, 292, 294, 295, 304. cortez, hernando: 144. counties: albemarle, 99; anson, 16, 19, 32, 162, 167, 185; armagh, 22; augusta, 55, 198; berks, 34; botetourt, 204; brunswick, 188; bucks, 8, 22, 34; burke, 293; chester, 22-23; culpeper, 138; davidson, 343; fincastle, 220; floyd, 142; frederick, 55; granville, 160, 169, 170, 179, 181, 218, 291; greene, 312, 326; guilford, 203; hampshire, 55; hanover, 108; jessamine, 157; kentucky, 258; lincoln, 126, 234, 298; mecklenburg, 27, 30, 171, 200, 245; miller, 205; orange, north carolina, 19, 25-30, 169, 177, 189; orange, virginia, 113, 122; philadelphia, 34; prince william, 226; roanoke, 33; rowan, 19, 34, 56, 147, 177, 232, 294, 298; rutherford, 293; shenandoah, 198; sullivan, 291, 308, 312, 328; sumner, 124, 343; surry, 40, 166, 293, 298, 303; tennessee, 343; washington, 132, 277, 293, 312, 319, 336, 337; wayne, 124; wilkes, 293; york, pennsylvania, 52, 59; york, south carolina, 295. couture, jean: 44. cowpens: 294. cox, charles: 119. coytomore, lieut.: murdered by indians, 80. craighead, rev. alexander: 30. crawford, william: washington to, on western lands, 106, 108. creeks: 308, 310, 339, 340, 341, 342, 346. creeks: bean island, 85; bear, 131; beaver, 194; bledsoe's, 128; crooked, 213; cross, 218; dutchman's, 132; elk, 137; fish, 205; fourth, 57, 58; line, 71; linville, 34; lulbegrud, 119, 154; otter, 228, 229, 236; sinking, 328, 336; sugar tree, 132; sugaw, 59; swearing, 135; station camp, 124, 150; third, 57; walden's, 120. cresap, col. thomas: 101. crockett, robert: 125. croghan, george: 46, 120. cross creek (fayetteville): 218. crozat, antoine: 43, 44. culloden: 100. cumberland: colony, 200, 341, 342, 343; leaders, 341; desire alliance with spain, 343, 345; traders, 330, settlements, 283, 288, 309, 310, 330, 340, 345, 346; settlers, 328, 342; desire separation from north carolina, 343; valley, 280; region, ch. xvii, 280, 345, 347. cumberland: outlaw, 165. "cumberland compact": drafted by richard henderson, 285-286. cumberland district: 331, 339, 341. cumberland, duke of: 100. cumberland gap: names, 100, 115; traversed by traders, 118, 119, 121, 123, 124, 126, 145, 158, 229; see ouasioto gap. cumberland mountains: 100, 113, 138, 233. cutbird, benjamin: 139. d darien: 144. dark and bloody ground: 126; origin of name, 223-224. dartmouth, earl of: 208, 209, 238. dean swift: 154. declaration of independence: 258; read at boonesborough, 272. delaware: 8; valley, 8. demere, capt. raymond: 76; takes command of virginia fort, 66; surrenders fort loudon, 90-91. de peyster: 298, 299, 301. de soto, fernando: ch. xii. detroit: 273. devonshire, east: 21. dick, captain: cherokee hunter, 126. dinwiddie, gov. robert: 50, 53, 55, 58, 65; 67, 70, 72. dividing line: running of the north carolina-virginia, 269; william byrd's history of the, 35. doak, rev. samuel: 293. dobbs, gov. arthur: 55, 73, 77, 92, 93, 169; sends commissioner to treat with indians, 59; begins erection of catawba fort, 62, 70; orders building discontinued, 71. dobbs, edwards brice: 54. doddridge, joseph: on conditions of pioneer life, 125. donelson, col, john: 194, 206, 222, 288; runs boundary line, 193; meets richard henderson, 269; leads party by water route to french lick, 282; diary of, quoted, 269, 283-284. donelson's line: 194, 224, 239, 242. dragging canoe, the cherokee chief: 223, 290; leads indians in battle, 262-263. drake, enoch: 235. drake, joseph: 125. dunmore, john murray, earl of: 196, 198, 199, 200, 204, 206, 210, 211, 220, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242, 248, 249, 254. dunmore's war: ch. xiii, 196, 214. dugger, julius cã�â¦sar: tennessee pioneer, 137, 187. dutch, pennsylvania: 12, 302. dutchman's creek church: 185. e east india company: 201. eaton's station: defence of, 262. echota: 64, 66, 307. edwards, rev. morgan: on exodus of regulators for north carolina, 175. emery, will: 127. england: land-mad, ch. xi, 4, 21, 43, 201, 247. english: 67, 120, 274; settlers, 5, 96; revolution, 6; parliament, 7; colonies, 13; troops, 66; settlements, 46. es-kip-pa-ki-thi-ki: 117, 150. et-chow-ee: 89. f fagot: 343. falls of the ohio river (louisville): 255, 284. fanning, col. edmund: 22, 172, 173, 176, 177, 180, 182. fauquier, gov, francis: 94. fayetteville: 218. ferguson, col. patrick: 291, 292, 295, 296, 297, 298, 299, 300; conduct at king's mountain, 302; killed, 303. few, william: describes life in backwoods, 25. fields, jeremiah: 180, 181. filson, john: 117, 147. fincastle, committee of west: drafts protest against transylvania company, 257, 258. findlay, findley, finley: archibald, 22; michael, 22. findlay, john: visits kentucky, 117-118; meets boone, 144; visits boone on the yadkin, 22, 101, 138, 148, 149, 150, 153. fish, william: murdered by indians, 84. fleming, col. william: 208. florida: 138; east, 122, 138; west, 122. floyd, john: 212, 243, 254; appointed surveyor general of transylvania, 255. fontaine, john: journal of, 97. fontainebleau: 212. forbes, gen. john: 73, 74, 133. forks of ohio river: 47. forts: bethabara, at, 75; boone's, 236, 270; chain of, 83; carolina, 75, 84-85; catawba, 62, 70, 71; cumberland, 53; dobbs, 55, 57-58, 75, 80-82, 84, 87; duquesne, 47, 72-73, 74; dutch, 57, 83, 86;--at mouth of line creek, 71; loudoun, 68, 76, 88-90; mcdowell's, 265, 270; necessity, 48; ninety-six, 89; patrick henry, 269, 282-283; pitt, 121, 209; prince george, 51-52, 79-80, 91, 93, 94; robinson, 94; stalnaker's, 83, 94; stanwix, treaty of, 111, 112, 191, 207;--on tellico river, 68; transylvania, 215, 243, 244, 245, 253, 270, 272, 274, 276, 282; vaux's, 56, 69; virginia, 64, 67, 68, 69; watauga, 263. fowey: 254. france: 43, 78, 96, 99. frankland: 318, 331, 339; origin of name, 314, 321. franklin: 89. franklin, benjamin: 8, 107, 184, 185; new state named for, 314, 324; to cocke, 324; to sevier, 324-325. franklin, state of: 200, ch. xix, 315, 317, 318, 323, 325, 326, 328, 339, 334, 335, 336, 317, 338, 344, 347, 348;--leaders of, 326, 330; --legislature of, 312, 313-314, 316, 318;--greater, 323; origin of name, 314, 324. freeland's station: 309. french: 45, 47, 48, 49, 65, 66, 70, 97, 116, 274; coureurs de bois, 44; huguenot, 198; voyageurs, 123, 128;--canadian, 274; immigration of, 5; settlers, 28; traders, 44; explorations, 46. french lick: 281; treaty of peace at, 269, see french salt springs, great french lick, great salt springs. french and indian war: 52, 102, 144, 145. frohock, john: 172, 177. frohock, thomas: 172, 177. frontier: ch. vii. g galaspy, william: 234. galissoniã�â¨re, roland michel barrin, marquis de la: 47. gammern: storekeeper on yadkin, 161. gardoqui, diego de: 327, 329, 330, 331, 332, 333, 334, 335, 338, 339. gee, joshua: 98. george i: 97. george iii: 93, 214. georgia: 116, 122, 265, 268, 291, 313;--assembly of, 344; tours into, 14. german: pioneers, 11-18, 28;--palatinate, 11; immigration, 5, 11-12, 19. gilbert town: 292. gillespie, robert: slain from ambush by indians, 87. gist, christopher: 46, 108, 114, 116, 117, 137, 146; makes exploration for ohio company, 101-102. gist, nathaniel: 134, 137. glen, governor james: 58-59, 65; describes south carolina's condition, 50-51; promises cherokees a fort, 51; concludes treaty at saluda, 51. glumdelick: 154. gnadenhã�â¼tten: 56. gordon, capt. harry: 120. grandfather mountain: 135. grant, col. james: 138; leads expedition against indians, 93. granville, edward, earl of clarendon, lord: 15; lands of, 9-10, 34, 171. great bone licks: 120. great britain: 48, 247. great french lick: 280; see great salt springs, french lick, french salt springs. great grant: 224. greathouse, daniel: 211. great meadows: 48, 53. great mogul: 201. great tellico: 65. great trading path: 35, 45, 96, 131. great treaty: 249. great salt springs, 44, 269, see french lick, french salt springs, great french lick. great warrior's path: 118, 119. green: 62. greeneville: 319. greer, andrew: 187. grube, rev. bernhard adam: heads settlers into north carolina, 16. gulf of mexico: 43, 44, 341. "gulliver's travels": 154. gutry, john: 52. h hackett: 341. hall, gen. william: 116, 128. hall, rev. james: 267. hambright, lt. col. frederick: at king's mountain, 296, 302. hamilton, gov. henry: 273, 274, 276. hampton, anthony: leads rowan rangers, 83. hampton, col. andrew: leads rutherford riflemen, 293. hampton, gen. wade: 83. hancock, john: 241. hanks: family, 23, 34;--abraham, 23, 235. hard labor: treaty at, 112, 114. harman, outlaw: 165. harris, col.: 75. harris: elizabeth, 144; john, 145. harris's ferry: 145. harrisburg: 145. harrison, richard: 255. harrod, james: 121, 205, 212, 243, 244, 253. harrodsburg: 253; election held at, 257. harrodsburg remonstrance: 255. hart: david, 187, 218;--nathaniel, 108, 187, 217, 218, 222, 227, 284; --thomas, 108, 187, 218, 222. hartman, george: 38. hawkins, benjamin: 268. hayes: 347. haywood, john: 314. hempinstall, abraham: 122. henderson, kentucky: 279. henderson, col. samuel: chosen special envoy to franklin, 315-316; negotiates with john sevier, 316-318. henderson, nathaniel: 222, 233, 255. henderson, richard: born in virginia, 104; removes to north carolina, 104; acquainted with boones, 105; promotes western exploration, 110; in law suits involving boone, 147; promotes western exploration under boone's leadership, 148-149; sends supplies to boone, 153; court broken up by regulators, 179-181; burned out by regulators, 182; secures from english authorities sanction for purchase of indian lands, 201-202; reorganizes richard henderson & co. into louisa company, 217; visits otari towns, 217-218; organizes transylvania company, 218-219; negotiates great treaty with cherokees, 221-225; despatches boone to clean transylvania trail, 225-226; receives urgent appeal from boone, 227-229; hastens to boone's rescue, 229-232; reaches fort boone, 236; draws up plan of government for transylvania, 243-244; addresses legislature of transylvania, 237, 245; elected delegate from transylvania to continental congress, 249; prepares plan of government for powell's valley settlement, 252; attends virginia convention, 256-257; purchases corn for cumberland settlement, 269; runs north carolina-virginia dividing line, 269, 282; presents memorial on transylvania purchase, 278; plans colonization of cumberland region, 279-280; despatches robertson on prospecting tour, 280-281; sends corn to french lick, 284-285; organizes government on cumberland, 285; author of "cumberland compact," 286-287; introduces recall of judges, 286-287; founder of nashville, personal appearance, 221-222; diary of, quoted, 227, 229; mentioned, 158, 159, 183, 187, 190, 200, 203, 215, ch. xiv passim, 216, 220, 234, 235, 238, 240, 241, 242, 246, 247, 248, 253, 258, 272, 282, 315. henderson, richard & company: organized, 107; despatch boone on western exploration, 109, 160, 216-217; granted 200,000 acres by virginia; see land companies. henderson, samuel: 104. henderson & company; 109; see richard henderson & company. henley, chief justice peter: 60. henry, patrick: 209, 211, 249, 293, 329; pronounces camden-yorke decision valid, 210; endeavors to purchase lands from cherokees, 239-240; desires to become partner in transylvania company, 240; considers transylvania title good, 256; confiscates transylvania, 258; correspondence of, with joseph martin, 344-345. hewatt, rev. alexander: 78. heydt, jost: settles in virginia, 12. heygler, king, catawba chief: petitions for fort, 60; prevents completion of fort, 71; see oroloswa. hiawassee: 307. hicks, harry: heroic defence of home against indian attack, 85-86. high shoals: 29. highlanders: 90. hill, william: 138, 142, 143. hillsborough: 26, 103, 179, 188, 217, 218, 219. hillsborough, earl of: 96. hingham: 22. hogg, james: 251; partner in transylvania company, 218; appointed delegate from transylvania to continental congress, 250. holder, john: rescues sweetheart, 271. holden, joseph: 149, 153. hollows, the: 166. holston: region, 99, 126; settlement, 281;--settlers, 262; valley of, 134, 187, 191-192, 306. honeycut: 189. hooper, william: 180, 182. hopewell: 310. horton, joshua: 121. houston, rev. samuel: 321, 323; drafts constitution for frankland, 319; features of constitution drafted by, 321-322. howard, cornelius: 165, 166. howell, rednap: poet-laureate of the regulation, 173, 179. hubbardt, col. james: 316. hudson valley: 4. hunter, james: 179. hunter's trail: 150. husband, herman: author of "impartial relation," 177, 178, 197; leader in insurrection at hillsborough, 179; in correspondence with benjamin franklin, 184. i iberville, le moyne d': 42, 43. illinois company: see land companies. illinois country: 120, 128, 281. "impartial relation": 177, 197. indian: agent, 281;--allies, 72; chiefs, 211, 217, 274, 337; --depredations, 56, 163, 308, 340;--expeditions, 313; governments, 201; grant, 202; hostages, 80;--lands, 161, 308;--outbreak, 74, 262; --princes, 201;--territories, 200;--towns, 76, 89, 93, 117, 290, 307, 308;--trade, 44-46, 145;--traders, 144, 145, 217, 225;--trails, 119, 139;--tribes, 45, 201, 261;--war, 325;--warfare, 133, 295-296, 297; --affairs, superintendent of, 111. indians: 44, 46, 49, 57, 58-63, 68, 69, 74, 75, 85, 86, 87, 88, 112, 119, 122, 125, 127, 140, 151, 152, 156, 162, 196, 197, 200, 204, 205, 207, 209, 211, 213, 214, 215, 217, 218, 221, 222, 223, 227, 228, 229, 240, 242, 249, 252, 253, 261, 262, 263, 265, 267, 268, 270, 273, 275, 276, 283, 288, 290, 297, 306, 307, 308, 311, 332, 339, 340, 345; --northern, 49, 111, 141, 191;--southern, 35, 191, 261. indiana: 123. ingles: john, 69;--mrs. mary, 69;--william, 69;--mrs. william, 69. innes, col. james: 53. ireland, 7, 22, 33; character of inhabitants of north of, 6-7. irish: immigration of, 5;--pennsylvania, 33; settlers, 28. iroquois: 117. j jack, col. samuel: 265. jackson, andrew: 282. jacobite uprising: 7. jamestown: 6. jay, john: 329-330. jefferson, thomas: desires to join transylvania company, 240; favors free government back of virginia, 250-251; attitude of, toward transylvania claim, 256. jenkins, leoline: on character of scotch-irish, 6. johnson, sir william: 112. johnston, gov. gabriel: on immigration into north carolina, 3. johnston, gov. samuel: 332, 336, 338, 339; to robertson and bledsoe, 327. johnston, william: 217. jones, john gabriel: 257. jones, robert (robin): 169; characterization of scotch-irish by, 24-25. jonesborough: 292, 312, 313, 316, 337. joseph, miller: describes conditions of north carolina backwoods, 36, 38. judge's friend, cherokee chief: 242. k kenedy, william: agent for virginia gentlemen to purchase cherokee lands, 240. kenton, simon: rescues daniel boone, 272. kentucky (cantucky, cantuckey, cantuckie, cantuck): ch. xv, 22, 100, 101, 102, 107, 111, 112, 116, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 129, 137, 139, 140, 142, 143, 145, 146, 148, 149, 150, 153, 155, 156, 191, 196, 200, 203, 204, 205, 221, 223, 224, 227, 229, 231, 233, 234, 235, 256, 259, 269, 270, 273, 276, 277, 279, 315, 327, 335, 341, 342, 348, 349; origin of name, 117;--road, 332. keowee: 51;--valley of, 89. king's mountain: 295, 303. king's mountain campaign: 306, 348. kipling, rudyard: 137. kirk: 337. kirtleys, the: pioneers, 113. knob lick: 126. l lacey, col. william: 293, 296. land: policy of selling large tracts of, 113. land companies: illinois, 207-208, 239; louisa, 217, 218; loyal, 47, 99-100, 113; ohio, 47; organized, 100; sends out exploring expedition, 101-102; richard henderson & company, organized, 107; transylvania company, 114, 218; wabash (ouabache), 209, 238-239. land of cockayne: 44. la salle, robert cavelier de: 42. laurel mountain: 119. "leatherstocking tales": 85, 271. leestown: 248. lewes: 8. lenoir (le noir), gen. william: describes costume of pioneer women, 40-41; marches against indians; at king's mountain, 301-302. lã�â©ry, chaussegros de: 116. lewis, major andrew: 66-67, 81, 191, 208; erects virginia fort, 64-65; leads sandy river expedition, 70; commands at battle of great kanawha, 212, 214-215. lexington: 236. lincoln: family, 34;--abraham, 23, 34, 235; john, 34;--mordecai, 22-23, 34; samuel, 22;--sarah, 23. lindsay, isaac, 121. linville: john, 140, 142; capt. william, 137, 140, 142. linville falls: 136, 141. lochaber: 192, 193. locke, john: "fundamental constitutions" of, 203. loesch, brother: 75. logan, cayuga mingo chief: 211. logan, col. benjamin: 234, 277. logan, james: on character of squatters, 8-9. london: 202. loudoun, lord: 68. long cane settlement: 79. long hunters: ch. xii, ch. viii, 126, 128, 129, 157, 158, 204. long island of holston river: 94, 194, 195, 226, 266, 278, 308. long, john: slain by indians, 87. long knives: 213. longueuil, charles de moyne, baron de: 116. lorbrulgrud: 154. louis quatorze: 43. louisa company: see land companies. louisiana: 292, 331. love, col.: 266. lower blue licks: 101. lower salt spring: 273. lower shawnee town: 101. lowry, james: 118. loyal company: see land companies. loyalists: 190, 261, 291, 298, 299. lucas, robert: 224. luhny, robert, mill of, on james river, 16. lulbegrud: 154. luttrell, col. john: 227; joins transylvania company, 217. lyttelton, gov. william henry: 65-66, 71, 77, 78, 88. m madison, thomas: 263. madrid: 341, 342. mansfield, low: 201. mansker, gasper, pioneer: 123, 282; discovers lick, 124; encounters boone, 157-158. mansker's lick: 110, 124. margry, pierre: 43. martin, gov. alexander: 182, 312, 315, 316, 322; attorney for daniel boone, 148; appoints samuel henderson ambassador to franklin, 315; issues manifesto against state of franklin, 306, 318; sevier to, on franklin, 317-318; academy named for, 318. martin, col joseph: 150, 227, 262, 290, 306, 307, 313, 322, 325; settles in powell's valley, 113; driven out, 114; appointed agent for transylvania company, 202; richard henderson to, 252-253; letter of, to governor randolph, 326; exonerated of treason by north carolina assembly, 344; acts as spy on spaniards, 344-345. martin, gov. josiah: 103, 200; issues proclamation against transylvania company, 238. martin's station: 226, 229; founded, 220-221; henderson draws up plan of government for, 252; brave defence of, against indians, 253. maryland: 5, 14, 24, 101, 114; price of lands in, 9. mason, george: opposed to transylvania claim, 256. maxwell, col. george: 328, 332. mcaden, rev. hugh: diary of, 27-28, 49, 69. mcafees: 243; exploring party, 204; return home, 235;--james, 235; --robert, 235; robert, jr., 235; samuel, 235; william, 235. mcbride, james: 117. mcculloch, major john: 122. mcculloh, henry eustace: 172. mcdowell, col.: 265. mcdowell, col. charles: 291, 293, 337. mcdowell, col. joseph: 293, 296, 298, 337. mcdowell, thomas: 228. mcfeters, jeremiah: 228. mcgillivray, alexander: 339, 342, 344, 345; receives overtures from cumberland leaders, 341. mendenhall: john, 203;--richard, 203. middle ground: 111. middle settlements: 93. middleton, col. thomas: 93. middle towns: 89. middle west: 117. millerstown: 198. mirã�â³, district of: 343, 346. mirã�â³, gov. estevan: 331, 335, 338, 339, 341, 342, 343, 344, 345; reports on separatist movement in west, 342. mississippi bubble: 43. mohawk valley: 4. monbreun, timothã�â© de: hunts on cumberland, 128. monongahela: 205. montagu, lord charles: 168-169. montgomerie, col. archibald: abortive campaign of, against indians, 88-89; sails, 92. montreal: 118. mooney, james: explores kentucky, 149, 153. moore: 62. moravian: church, 1, 3, 88-89, 166;--community diary, 88;--brotherhood, 15-16;--town, 56; gemein haus, 87;--store-keeper, 161. moravians: 166; eleven killed, 56; warned against indians, 85; hospitable to indians, 86. morgan family: 34;--edward, 21; sarah, 21, 34;--richard, 34. morganton: 337, 338. morris, gov. samuel: 54. morrison: 337. mount mitchell: 135. mulberry fields: 15, 163. mã�â¼ller, adam: settles in virginia, 12. murray, william: 207, 208, 238, 239. n nantahala mountains: 267. nash, gen. francis: 177, 288. nashborough: 309. nashville: 282, 342, 345. nassau hall: 27, 267. natchez: 123, 125, 330. neely, alexander: 153, 154. neilson, archibald: 219. nelson, acting governor william: 96, 188. newcastle: 8. new england: 4, 86. new jersey: 5. "newlanders": 11. newman, hunter: 119. newman's ridge: 119. new orleans: 123, 343, 345. new river: region, 123, 126;--settlement, 69;--settlers, 70. "nolichucky jack of the border": 332. nolichucky: valley, 224. north america: 120, 202. north carolina: ch. xv, 5, 10, 13, 14, 15, 43, 52, 55, 59, 71, 73, 84, 99, 101, 107, 116, 130, 134, 136, 140, 160, 162, 163, 167, 174, 175, 176, 186, 187, 188, 191, 192, 193, 194, 197, 200, 203, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222, 237, 238, 245, 259, 260, 261, 265, 269, 277, 278, 279, 280, 281, 282, 288, 289, 290, 291, 295, 304, 305, 307, 310, 311, 312, 313, 317, 319, 322, 323, 324, 325, 326, 328, 330, 332, 335, 339, 343, 344, 345, 346, 347; frontier conditions in, 25-28;--border, 76;--back country, 261; grants lands in tennessee to transylvania company, 287; immigration into, 10, 13; increase in population of, 3, 11;--piedmont, 9, 26;--hunters, 141; pioneers, 95; governor of, 60; commissioners of, 310; troops, 53, 72, 77, 89, 93, 94, 266, 273; cedes western territory to united states, 347; legislature of, passes second cession act, 347; lands accepted by congress, 348. north carolina assembly: 57-58, 61, 92, 93, 277, 313, 314, 338, 343. north carolina: provincial congress of, 259, 277; provincial council of, 260, 265, 266. northwest: 259, 261, 270, 277. nottaway indians: 72. nuntewees: 65. o oconostota, cherokee chief: 242; treacherously murders lieut. coytomore, 79-80. ohio company: see land companies. ohio indians: 46. ohio valley: 102, 145. old abraham: 263. old chillicothe: 212. old southwest: 104, 126, 195, 198, 212, 226, 260, 265, 305, 309, 348; pioneers of, ch. xv, 5, 12, 14, 17, 28-31; pioneer democracy of, 20-21, 103-104;--planter aristocracy of, 20;--mimic republics of, 200; --colonizers of, 20. ormond, duke of: to leoline jenkins, 6. oroloswa, catawba chief: 71, see king heygler. osborne, captain alexander: leads rowan militia, 62. otari towns: 217. ouasioto gap: 118, 145, 146, 150, see cumberland gap. outassitus, cherokee chief: 91. overton, samuel: 239. owen, william: 163, 164, 165. oxford: 249. p pacific ocean: 144. page, john: 239. paintsville: 100. paris: 43. path deed: 224. paxtang: 145. pearis, capt. richard: 70. peck, john m.: 148. penn, william: 8, 21, 22. pennsylvania: 5, 10, 13, 27, 33, 45, 54, 99, 118, 144, 209, 277; population of, 8; lands, 9; immigrants into, 12;--synod, 13;--settlers, 146;--proprietaries of, 111;--traders, 146, 207. pensacola: 138, 139. perkins, john: defeats indians by strategy, 83-84. phifer, martin: leads frontier rangers, 83. philadelphia: 8, 32, 123, 185, 249, 250. pilot knob: 102, 118, 119. pilot mountain: 135. piomingo, chickasaw chief: 125. pioneer: farmer, ch. ix; promoter, ch. xi. pittsburgh: 122. "pocahontas of the west": 262; see nancy ward. point pleasant: 213. polk, thomas: 172. ponce de leon: ch. xii. portwood, age: 232. post st. vincent: 281. pound gap: 102. powell's mountain: 224. powell's valley: 113, 114, 149, 203, 224, 252; lands in, granted to transylvania company, 287-288. presbyterians: in ireland, 7;--scotch-irish, 27. preston, col. william: 208, 212, 240; to lord dunmore on henderson's offers of land, 220; to george washington on transylvania, 237-238, 242-243;--supports judge henderson, 254. price, thomas, indian trader: guides henderson at hart to otari towns, 217; testifies regarding great treaty, 225. price's meadow: 124. privy council: 206. "proposals for the encouragement of settling the lands, etc.": issued by transylvania company, 219, 220. puritan: 86. q quaker meadows: 294. quakers: 20-21. quebec: 212. quindre, dagniaux de: commands at siege of transylvania fort, 274-276. r rains, john: 123. randolph, col. peter: treaty commissioner, 59. recall of judges: early example, 286-287. red lick fork: 150. regulation: 167, 173, 174, 175, 176, 182, 192. regulators: ch. xi, 166, 167, 168, 175, 176, 177, 179, 180, 181, 183, 185, 190. reid, capt. mayne: 282. revere, paul: 231. richard henderson & company: 119, 129, 138; organized, 107; despatch boone on exploring expedition, 109; granted land by virginia, 279; see land companies. richter: 166. rivers: big sandy, west fork of, 142; broad, 59, 289; catawba, 62, 70, 83, 84;--south fork of, 298; chattahoochee, 266; cherokee, 111, 121; clinch, 142; cumberland, 44, 109, 114, 119, 121, 128, 157, 223, 224, 269, 284, 288, 308; dick's, 126, 156; great kanawha, 107, 112, 191, 192, 193; green, 151, 157, 188, 279, 294; hiwassee, 332; holston, 142, 192, 194, 195, 224, 283; illinois, 207; james, 16, 96-97; kentucky, 156, 159, 212, 236, 242, 248, 253, 284; licking, 156; little tennessee, 65, 307; louisa, 149, 193; meho, 163; miami, 102; mississippi, 42, 102, 139, 155, 259, 329, 330, 343; muskingum, 102; new, 224; nonachunheh, nolichucky, 194, 197; ohio, 42, 44, 45, 100, 107, 116, 117, 121, 122, 142, 151, 156, 191, 192, 193, 207, 213, 279;--falls of the, 255, 284;--forks of the, 47; opeckon, 12; pacolet, 76; potomac, 122; red, 119, 153, 154; reedy, 112, 191; roanoke, 69; rockcastle, 100, 155; scioto, 102; shenandoah, 17; stone's, 121; swannanoa, 136; tellico, 68; tennessee, 44, 58, 121, 191, 283, 290; trinity, 42; tugaloo, 266; twelve mile, 89; wabash, 123; washita, 122; watauga, 197, 219, 221, 224, 293. robertson, charles: 224. robertson, james: 188, 189, 190, 196, 197, 200, 222, 260, 263, 287, 309, 327, 332, 339, 340, 341, 342, 344, 347; leads scouting party for transylvania company, 280-281; guides party to french lick, 282; joined by donelson and party, 284; names mirã�â³ district, 343; desires union with spain, 343; seeks separation of cumberland from north carolina, 345; to mirã�â³ on separatist movement, 346. robinson, john: 69. rochelle: 43. rocky mountains: 135. rogers, sergt.: 73. rogersville: 290. roan mountain: 135. round-o, cherokee chief: 79. rowan, matthew: 19, 76. rowan rangers: 83; described, 82-83. rowan: settlers murdered, 77, 265. rucker, capt.: 113. rutherford, gen. griffith: leads rowan rangers, 76, 83; leads rescuing force, 265, 270; leads army against cherokees, 267. russell, capt. william: 203. s saint augustine: 138. saint lusson, daumont de: 41-42. salem: 87. salisbury: 34, 38, 59, 146, 148, 162, 165, 166, 168, 172, 289. salling, john peter: 117. san salvador: 144. sandy creek association: 175, 184, 185, 190. sandy river expedition: 70. sapona town: 35. sault ste. marie: 41. savannah: 51. savannah indians: 65. scaggs, charles: 126. scaggs, henry: 282; meets daniel boone, 109; agent for richard henderson & co., 109-110; explores cumberland region, 119; leads long hunters into kentucky, 125-126. scaggs' ridge: 120. schnell, leonard: pilgrimage of, 14-15. scotch lowlands: 6. scotch-irish: 7, 11, 27, 33, 188; in pennsylvania, 8;--immigration of, 5, 19; settlers, 28. scotchman: 218. scotland: 217. scovil: 168. searcy: connection, 190; reuben, 169; valentine, 222. settiquo: 76, 307, 316. sevier, james: emissary of franklin to mirã�â³, 337-338. sevier, john: 200, 222, 260, 298, 313-314, 322, 325, 326, 327, 330, 337, 344, 347; early life, 198; defends watauga fort, 263; rescues bonny kate sherrill, 264; with shelly plans king's mountain campaign, 292, 296; defeats indians, 307-308; disavows revolutionary intent, 315; elected governor of franklin, 317; writes defiant letter to caswell, 323-324; appeals to benjamin franklin, 324; besieges tipton, 330; attacks indians, 331-332; writes gardoqui, offering to "deliver" franklin to spain, 333-335; arrested for high treason, imprisoned, 337; rescued, 338; restored to office by north carolina, 338; elected first governor of tennessee, 348. shawanoes, shawnese: 25, 44, 69, 117, 151, 203, 205, 209, 271;--chief of, 204. shelby, col. evan: leads force against chickamaugas, 290; appointed brigadier-general, 322. shelby, isaac: 222, 291, 298; at battle of great kanawha, 213-214; initiates king's mountain campaign, 292; at king's mountain, 301; elected first governor of kentucky, 348. shelby, capt. james: 263. shenandoah valley: 10, 34. sherrill, katherine: rescued by john sevier, 264. silonee, cherokee chief: 79; checks montgomerie, 89; see young warrior of estatoe. sims, george: writes a serious address, etc., 160, 169, 170. simms, william gilmore: 144. six nations: 111, 191. slaughter: 138. slaughter, col. thomas: 244. smith, capt. john: 69. smith, gen. daniel: 343, 344. smith, james: 121. smith, john, jr.: 69. smith, william bailey: 222; carries corn to french lick, 284. smith's bridge: 89. smyth, j. f. d.: describes north carolina backwoodsmen, 39-40. south carolina: ch. xv, 14, 27-28, 43, 45, 58, 66, 68, 71, 112, 121, 139, 167, 192, 237, 262, 265, 268, 291, 294, 295, 305, 313; rangers, 89; traders, 71. south fork of catawba river, 62, 70;--boys, 298, 301. south sea: ch. xi, 42. south sea islands: 219. southwest: see old southwest. southwest territory: 348. southern department: 111, 331. spach: 166. spain: ch. xx, 330, 331, 332, 337, 338, 339, 340, 344, 345, 347. spangenberg, bishop augustus gottlieb: makes exploring tour, 13, 14, 131; preaches at bethania, 87. spaniards: 292, 332, 340, 345. spanish: authorities, 339; charged affairs, 329;--conspiracy in kentucky, 335, 339;--conspiracy in tennessee, ch. xx, 339;--court, 347;--domain, 348;--government, 346;--minister, 331;--traders, 340. spotswood, gov. alexander: 97, 98. st. asaph's: 243. st. clair, sir john: 54. st. clair, gen. arthur: 133. stalnaker, samuel: 83, 94. stanford: 243. steep rock: 194. stephen, col. adam: 94, 95. stewart, john: 139, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153. stone, uriah: 121, 123. stoner, michael: 121, 212, 232, 272. stuart, capt. john: 91-92. stuart, john: 111, 191, 192, 194, 261. stuart, pioneer: 283. superintendent of indian affairs: 112, 331. swan, david l.: 252. switzerland: 134. sycamore shoals of watauga river: 219, 221, 263, 293. synge, archbishop: 7. t tate, samuel: 228. taylor: hancock, 122;--richard, 122; zachary, 122. tennessee: ch. xv, 9, 112, 124, 128, 129, 132, 140, 190, 191, 192, 196, 211, 224, 269, 289, 290, 315, 348, 349; countries, 332;--riflemen, 291;--settlements, 261, 264, 314, 315;--settlers, 270, 281, 330, 331. terre haute: 123. thompson: 84. thompson, james: 263. tiftoe, cherokee chief: 79. tipton, col. john: 321, 322, 328, 331. tipton, jonathan: 322. tonti, henry de: 45. tories: 289, 305. town fork: 163. trabue, daniel: diary of, 275. tracey, john: 69. trade: british, 46. traders: with indians, ch. vii-ch. ix, 44, 46, 59, 113, 117, 118, 136. trading ford: 35. trading house: british, 47. trans-alleghany: 21, 48, 99, 102, 119, 129, 140, 147, 159, 185, 201, 202, 204, 206, 212, 215, 216, 242, 277, 279, 330, 340. transylvania: 200, 235, ch. xv, 243, 248, 252, 258, 279, 280, 287; colony of, 25; president of, 246; proprietors of, 229, 236, 244, 248, 256. transylvania company: 114, 119, ch. xii, 237, 238, 240, 249, 253, 254, 258, 278, 287, 288; compact of, with cumberland settlers, 285-286; organized, 218; permanent contribution of, to colonization of west, 259. transylvania legislature: 244, 249, 255. transylvania purchase: 220, 248, 278. transylvania trail: 215, 226. treaty: with indians, 59; at charleston, 94; at fort stanwix, 111; at hard labor, 112, 114; at lochaber, 192; at sycamore shoals, 221-225. trent, capt. william: 47. tryon, gov. william: 112, 141, 176, 183, 191. tryon mountain: 112, 135, 191. tryon's line: 112. tuckasegee: 307. tuscarora indians: 72. u ulster: 6-7. ulster scots: characterization of, 23, 32. unakas: 263. union: 319, 335, 336, 342, 348, 349; see american union. united states: 277, 335, 339, 344, 345, 346, 347. united states congress: 310, 311, 312, 346. untoola: 316. upper towns: 66, 89. utopia: 44. v valley of mexico: 144. vandalia: 206, 208. vasco nuã�â±ez: 144. venango: 47. versailles: 43. villiers, coulon de: 48. virginia: pioneers of, 95, 296;--traders, 96;--troops, 212, 266, 273; --frontier, 74; gazette, 110, 272;--backwoods, 28-29;--valley of, 9, 16, 26, 33, 34;--convention, 251, 257;--land office, 281;--assembly, 67, 278;--militia, 209;--house of delegates, 278, 279;--governor of, 67, 198;--path, 64, 76;--remonstrance, 207, ch. xv, 10, 14, 42, 45, 47, 52, 53, 58, 59, 64, 68, 69, 70, 72, 83, 96, 99, 112, 113, 114, 116, 118, 127, 130, 131, 132, 134, 138, 163, 187, 188, 191, 192, 193, 195, 198, 200, 204, 205, 206, 209, 211, 214, 220, 221, 222, 226, 235, 237, 239, 242, 243, 244, 251, 256, 258, 265, 269, 277, 278, 279, 281, 282, 287, 290, 305, 323, 326. virginians: 96, 205, 208, 230, 231, 251, 299. w wabash (ouabache) land company: see land companies. wachau: 83, 87. wachovia: 86;--community diary, 64. wade, capt. robert: 74. waddell, gen. hugh: 53, 55-56, 95, 133, 134; appointed indian commissioner, 59; begins erection of catawba fort, 70; discontinues work on fort, 71; in fort duquesne campaign, 72; hastens to rowan's defence, 76; marches to aid south carolina, 77; report of, on defeat of indians at fort dobbs, 81-82; rescues captives, 86; leads north carolina troops, 93, 94. walden, elisha: 119. walden's mountain: 119-120. walker, dr. thomas: 99, 102, 115, 116, 117, 191; makes exploration for loyal land company, 99-100; sells land to joseph martin, 113. walker, felix: 228, 245, 260; describes kentucky, 233-234. walpole, thomas, 206. ward, james: 139. ward, nancy: 262, 264. washington district: 260, 277, 314, 326. washington, george: 47, 55, 72, 134, 256, 291; opinion of royal proclamation, 106; purchases western lands, 106-107; makes charges against dunmore, 206-207; secures military grants for western lands, 208; preston to, on henderson purchase and transylvania company, 221, 237-238, 242-243. watauga: ch. xii, 191, 194, 200, 270, 281-282;--commonwealth, 199; valley of, 188, 195, 196, 306;--country, 187, 189; settlers, 195, 196, 197, 200, 259;--articles of association, 197;--association, 224; settlement, 260, 281. "watauga plan": commission form of government, 260. waxhaws: 32. webster: 307. welsh: immigration of, 5;--settlers, 28;--stock, 163. west: 160, 187, 259, 273, 277, 327, 342, 348. west virginia: 14, 206. western: leaders, 292;--people, 347;--settlers, 311, 329; territory, 347, 348;--waters, 314, 348. wharton: samuel, 206;--thomas, 209-211. white, dr. james: 331, 332, 338, 346; emissary of franklin, 337. whitehall: 206. wilderness trail: 230. wilkinson, general james: 335, 336. williams, brigadier-general james: 291, 294; killed at king's mountain, 302. williams, col. john: 105, 107, 149, 187, 222, 254; elected delegate from transylvania to continental congress, 249. williams, john: 141. williams and henderson, law firm: 105, 147. williamsborough: 103. williamsburg: 210. williamson, col. andrew: 266. williamson, dr. hugh: 10, 312-313. wilmington: 169. winchester, kentucky: 117. winchester, virginia: 12. winston, major joseph: leads north carolina troops against cherokees, 266; leads surry riflemen at king's mountain, 293, 298, 303-304. wolf hills (abingdon): 134. wood, col. abraham: 42. wormley, ralph: 239. wytheville: 112. y yadkin: country, 117, 131, 139, 143, 145, 163, 164;--forks of the, 33, 34, 162, 185;--valley, 10, 13, 15, 32. york, pennsylvania: 12. yorke, charles: renders legal opinion, 201. young warrior of estatoe, cherokee chief: 79; see silonee. z zinzendorf, count: 13. transcriber's notes introduction: we have retained the original punctuation and spelling in the book, but not in the index. obvious errors were corrected--and all of these changes can be found in the detailed notes section of these notes. the detailed notes section also includes issues that have come up during transcription. one common issue is that words are sometimes split into two lines for spacing purposes. these words are hyphenated in the physical book, but there is a question sometimes as to whether the hyphen should be retained in transcription. the reasons behind some of these decisions are itemized. there were numerous errors in the index. places like the ouasioto gap and the green river, which were spelled consistently and correctly throughout the text, ended up as "onasioto" and "guen" in the index. such errors detract from the index. therefore, corrections were made to the index and listed in the detailed notes section. detailed notes section: introduction ã¢â�¬â¢ page viii: in his letter to the earl of dartmouth, lord dunmore wrote the clause "should for ever immagine the lands further off..." this is a direct quote; the spelling is correct. preface ã¢â�¬â¢ page xvii: home-builder is hyphenated and split between two lines for spacing purposes, giving us two choices on how to transcribe the word. the word was not used again in the book. however, "home-makers" was used on page 17, and the word included a hyphen and was in the middle of the line. we believe that the author's use of home-makers signals the author's intent to keep the hyphen in "home-builder." so we kept the hyphen. chapter iii ã¢â�¬â¢ page 39: powder-horn is hyphenated and split between two lines for spacing purposes, giving us two choices on how to transcribe the word. on page 213, powder-horns with the hyphen appears in the middle of a line. that was the only other occurrence of the word in the book. therefore, we kept the hyphen. chapter vi ã¢â�¬â¢ page 68: the author used the original spelling of the fort on page 68 in the clause "to this fort, named fort loudoun in honor of lord loudoun," but changed the spelling to modern usage (fort loudon) on pages 76, 88, and 90. we made no modifications and retained the spelling from the text. chapter vii ã¢â�¬â¢ page 98: cã�â©loron de bienville is spelled with a grave accent despite the correct spelling (according to wikipedia) of cã�â©loron on page 46. the spelling in the book was retained. chapter viii ã¢â�¬â¢ page 127: half-breed is hyphenated and split between two lines for spacing purposes, giving us two choices on how to transcribe the word. on page 141, half-breed with the hyphen appears in the middle of a line. that was the only other occurrence of the word in the book. therefore, we kept the hyphen. chapter ix ã¢â�¬â¢ page 133: life-time is hyphenated and split between two lines for spacing purposes, giving us two choices on how to transcribe the word. there was no other occurrence of life-time or lifetime in the book. we kept the hyphen. chapter xii ã¢â�¬â¢ page 181: court-room is hyphenated and split between two lines for spacing in the clause "the regulators took possession of the court-room." on page 180, court-room is spelled with a hyphen in the middle of a sentence, so we retained the hyphen here. ã¢â�¬â¢ page 194: there is a printer's mistake on page 194: the first line of page 194 is actually the last line of page 194. the line "ston river, south and east of long island;" which is on the top line of page 194 in the printed book, should be on the bottom line, below "however, to the settlement north of the hol-." we have transcribed the book making this adjustment to the text. ã¢â�¬â¢ page 195: we have removed (see map for settlement and treaty lines.) because our transcription does not have images scanned. chapter xiv ã¢â�¬â¢ page 224: (compare map.) after "including the nolichucky valley." was removed because maps and images have not been scanned and included in our transcription of the book. chapter xvi ã¢â�¬â¢ page 266: rendez-voused was hyphenated for spacing and split between two lines in the clause "colonel william christian rendez-voused." rendezvous is written without the hyphen on pages 59, 203, 226, and 292. therefore, the hyphen was omitted in transcribing rendezvoused. chapter xvii ã¢â�¬â¢ page 270: far-flung is hyphenated for spacing and split between two lines in the clause "along the farflung frontier of kentucky." there are no other occurrences of the word. far-away, far-visioned, and far-reaching were used in the book. far west, far north, and far faint were used in the book, but replacing the hyphen with a space is not an option in transcribing hyphenated words. there weren't any options with far being part of a conjoined word. the hyphen was retained in far-flung. ã¢â�¬â¢ page 283: flat-boats is hyphenated for spacing and split between two lines in the clause: "about thirty flatboats, dugouts." on page 285, flatboats is not hyphenated, so the hyphen was not kept in transcribing the same word on page 283. ã¢â�¬â¢ page 286: co-partners is hyphenated for spacing and split between two lines in the clause: "contract between the copartners." there were no other occurrences of the word. we did not use the hyphen here. ã¢â�¬â¢ page 287: entry-taker is hyphenated for spacing and split between two lines in the clause: "the entry-taker being appointed by judge henderson." on page 220, "entry-taker" was used in a quote from joseph martin. there were no other occurrences of the word. we retained the hyphen. chapter xvii ã¢â�¬â¢ page 293: over-mountain men is hyphenated for spacing and split between two lines in the clause: "the over-mountain men gathered on september 25th." this word was used other times in the book, on pages 295, 306, and 316. each time it was spelled with a hyphen, so we have kept the hyphen here, too. ã¢â�¬â¢ page 303: battle-field is hyphenated for spacing and split between two lines in the clause: "his frenzied efforts on the battle-field ..." this word was used three other times, on pages 54, 214, and 306. each time it was spelled with a hyphen, so we have kept the hyphen here, too. chapter xix ã¢â�¬â¢ page 315: in sevier's quote, "we shall pursue no furtheir measures as to a new state," the spelling of furtheir matches that of henderson's book. because this is a quote, no change was made, although sevier meant further. index ã¢â�¬â¢ page 393: in the book, the clause "begins erection of catawba" is embedded between "see land companies" in the index entry for wabash land companies. that clause belongs before "fort, 70;" in the entry under hugh waddell. we have made the correction. spelling errors in the index as described in the introduction to the transcriber notes, the book has numerous spelling errors in the index. here is a list of changes made only to the index, and only because a new, incorrect variation of the word was introduced in the index. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "bieville, jean baptiste le moyne, sieur de: 42." to bienville. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "bathama" to bethania in preaches index under bishop spangenberg. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "corn sent from to french lick" to corn sent to, from french lick, in index entry under boonesborough. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "black fish, schawano chief" to shawanoe. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "celoron de blainville" to cã�â©loron. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "charleville; charles" to charleville, charles. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "conewagoes" to coghnawagas. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "cullodan" to culloden. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "onasioto" to ouasioto in entry under cumberland gap. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "laudown" to loudon in entry under captain demere. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "dugger, julius caesar" to dugger, julius cã�â¦sar. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "es-kippa-ki-thi-ki" to es-kip-pa-ki-thi-ki. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "etchowee" to et-chow-ee. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "gnadenhutten" to gnadenhã�â¼tten. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "greathouse, darmel" to daniel. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "howell, rednup" to howell, rednap. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "onabache" to ouabache in the entry for land companies, under the subtopic wabash. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "lockaber" to lochaber. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "lorbulgrud" to lorbrulgrud. also added index entry for lulbegrud. lulbegrud is the name of the creek in kentucky; lorbrulgrud is the capital metropolis of brobdingnag in swift's gulliver's travels. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "miro, district of:" to mirã�â³. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "monbrenn" to monbreun under timothã�â© de montbreun. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "paxtong" to paxtang. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "guen" under rivers to green. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "nonachunbreh" and "nolichuetry" under rivers to nonachunheh and nolichucky. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "trabum, damie" to trabue, daniel. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "tascarora indians" to tuscarora indians. moved index entry from the top of the t's to the bottom to reflect the proper alphabetical order with the changed spelling. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "vasco nunez" to vasco nuã�â±ez. ã¢â�¬â¢ moved "begins erection of catawba," misplaced under index entry wabash land company to waddell, gen. hugh. the sub-entry is "begins erection of catawba fort, 70;" which is after "indian commissioner, 59." ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "wachan" to wachau. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "wachonia" to wachovia. ã¢â�¬â¢ changed "young warrior of estaloe" to estatoe. this ebook was produced by ken reeder <kreeder@mailsnare.net> publisher's notice. eighteen years ago, the first edition of this book, "co. h., first tennessee regiment," was published by the author, mr. sam. r. watkins, of columbia, tenn. a limited edition of two thousand copies was printed and sold. for nearly twenty years this work has been out of print and the owners of copies of it hold them so precious that it is impossible to purchase one. to meet a demand, so strong as to be almost irresistable the chattanooga times has printed a second edition of 2000 copies, which to soldiers of the army of the tennessee and the army of the cumberland, between whom many battles were fought, it will prove of intense interest, serving to recall many scenes and incidents of battle field and camp in which they were the chief actors. to them and to all other readers we respectfully commend this book as being the best and most impersonal history of any army ever written. the chattanooga times. chattanooga, tenn., oct. 1, 1900. "co. aytch," maury grays, first tennessee regiment; or, a side show of the big show. by sam. r. watkins, columbia, tenn. "quaeque ipse miserima vidi, et quorum pars magna fui." to the memory of my dead comrades of the maury grays, and the first tennessee regiment, who died in defense of southern homes and liberties: also to my living comrades, nearly all of whom shed their blood in defense of the same cause, this book is respectfully dedicated by the author . . . . . contents chapter i--retrospective we are one and undivided the bloody chasm eighteen hundred and sixty-one camp cheatham on the road staunton warm springs cheat mountain romney standing picket on the potomac schwartz and pfifer the court-martial the death watch virginia, farewell chapter ii--shiloh shiloh chapter iii--corinth corinth rowland shot to death killing a yankee sharpshooter colonel field captain joe p. lee corinth forsaken chapter iv--tupelo tupelo the court-martial at tupelo raiding on roastingears chapter v--kentucky we go into kentucky the battle of perryville the retreat out of kentucky knoxville ah, sneak i jine the cavalry chapter vi--murfreesboro murfreesboro battle of murfreesboro robbing a dead yankee chapter vii--shelbyville shelbyville a foot race eating mussels poor berry morgan wright shot to death with musketry dave sublett promoted down duck river in a canoe sheneral owleydousky chapter viii--chattanooga back to chattanooga am visited by my father out a larking hanging two spies eating rats swimming the tenn. with roastingears am detailed to go foraging please pass the butter we evacuate chattanooga the bull of the woods the wing of the "angel of death" chapter ix--chickamauga battle of chickamauga after the battle a night among the dead chapter x--missionary ridge missionary ridge sergeant tucker and gen. wilder moccasin point battle of missionary ridge good-bye, tom webb the rear guard chickamauga station the battle of cat creek ringgold gap chapter xi--dalton gen. joe johnston takes command commissaries dalton shooting a deserter ten men killed at mourner's-bench dr. c. t. quintard y's you got my hog? target shooting uncle zack and aunt daphne red tape i get a furlough chapter xii--hundred days battle rocky face ridge falling back battle of resacca adairsville octagon house kennesaw line detailed to go into enemy's lines death of general leonidas polk general lucius e. polk wounded dead angle battle of new hope church battle of dallas battle of zion church kingston cassville on the banks of the chattahoochee removal of gen. joe e. johnston gen. hood takes command chapter xiii--atlanta hood strikes killing a yankee scout an ole citizen my friends an army without cavalry battle of july 22nd, 1864 the attack am promoted 28th of july at atlanta i visit montgomery the hospital the capitol am arrested those girls the talisman the brave captain how i got back to atlanta the death of tom tuck's rooster old joe brown's pets we go after stoneman bellum lethale death of a yankee lieutenant atlanta forsaken chapter xiv--jonesboro battle of jonesboro death of lieut. john whittaker then comes the farce palmetto jeff davis makes a speech armistice only in name a scout what is this rebel doing here? look out, boys am captured chapter xv--advance into tennessee gen. hood makes a flank movement we capture dalton a man in the well tuscumbia en route for columbia chapter xvi--battles in tennessee columbia a fiasco franklin nashville chapter xvii--the surrender the last act of the drama adieu chapter i retrospective "we are one and undivided" about twenty years ago, i think it was--i won't be certain, though-a man whose name, if i remember correctly, was wm. l. yancy--i write only from memory, and this was a long time ago--took a strange and peculiar notion that the sun rose in the east and set in the west, and that the compass pointed north and south. now, everybody knew at the time that it was but the idiosyncrasy of an unbalanced mind, and that the united states of america had no north, no south, no east, no west. well, he began to preach the strange doctrine of there being such a thing. he began to have followers. as you know, it matters not how absurd, ridiculous and preposterous doctrines may be preached, there will be some followers. well, one man by the name of (i think it was) rhett, said it out loud. he was told to "s-h-e-e." then another fellow by the name (i remember this one because it sounded like a graveyard) toombs said so, and he was told to "sh-sh-ee-ee." then after a while whole heaps of people began to say that they thought that there was a north and a south; and after a while hundreds and thousands and millions said that there was a south. but they were the persons who lived in the direction that the water courses run. now, the people who lived where the water courses started from came down to see about it, and they said, "gents, you are very much mistaken. we came over in the mayflower, and we used to burn witches for saying that the sun rose in the east and set in the west, because the sun neither rises nor sets, the earth simply turns on its axis, and we know, because we are pure(i)tans." the spokesman of the party was named (i think i remember his name because it always gave me the blues when i heard it) horrors greeley; and another person by the name of charles sumner, said there ain't any north or south, east or west, and you shan't say so, either. now, the other people who lived in the direction that the water courses run, just raised their bristles and continued saying that there is a north and there is a south. when those at the head of the water courses come out furiously mad, to coerce those in the direction that water courses run, and to make them take it back. well, they went to gouging and biting, to pulling and scratching at a furious rate. one side elected a captain by the name of jeff davis, and known as one-eyed jeff, and a first lieutenant by the name of aleck stephens, commonly styled smart aleck. the other side selected as captain a son of nancy hanks, of bowling green, and a son of old bob lincoln, the rail-splitter, and whose name was abe. well, after he was elected captain, they elected as first lieutenant an individual of doubtful blood by the name of hannibal hamlin, being a descendant of the generation of ham, the bad son of old noah, who meant to curse him blue, but overdid the thing, and cursed him black. well, as i said before, they went to fighting, but old abe's side got the best of the argument. but in getting the best of the argument they called in all the people and wise men of other nations of the earth, and they, too, said that america had no cardinal points, and that the sun did not rise in the east and set in the west, and that the compass did not point either north or south. well, then, captain jeff davis' side gave it up and quit, and they, too, went to saying that there is no north, no south, no east, no west. well, "us boys" all took a small part in the fracas, and shep, the prophet, remarked that the day would come when those who once believed that the american continent had cardinal points would be ashamed to own it. that day has arrived. america has no north, no south, no east, no west; the sun rises over the hills and sets over the mountains, the compass just points up and down, and we can laugh now at the absurd notion of there being a north and a south. well, reader, let me whisper in your ear. i was in the row, and the following pages will tell what part i took in the little unpleasant misconception of there being such a thing as a north and south. the bloody chasm in these memoirs, after the lapse of twenty years, we propose to fight our "battles o'er again." to do this is but a pastime and pleasure, as there is nothing that so much delights the old soldier as to revisit the scenes and battlefields with which he was once so familiar, and to recall the incidents, though trifling they may have been at the time. the histories of the lost cause are all written out by "big bugs," generals and renowned historians, and like the fellow who called a turtle a "cooter," being told that no such word as cooter was in webster's dictionary, remarked that he had as much right to make a dictionary as mr. webster or any other man; so have i to write a history. but in these pages i do not pretend to write the history of the war. i only give a few sketches and incidents that came under the observation of a "high private" in the rear ranks of the rebel army. of course, the histories are all correct. they tell of great achievements of great men, who wear the laurels of victory; have grand presents given them; high positions in civil life; presidents of corporations; governors of states; official positions, etc., and when they die, long obituaries are published, telling their many virtues, their distinguished victories, etc., and when they are buried, the whole country goes in mourning and is called upon to buy an elegant monument to erect over the remains of so distinguished and brave a general, etc. but in the following pages i propose to tell of the fellows who did the shooting and killing, the fortifying and ditching, the sweeping of the streets, the drilling, the standing guard, picket and videt, and who drew (or were to draw) eleven dollars per month and rations, and also drew the ramrod and tore the cartridge. pardon me should i use the personal pronoun "i" too frequently, as i do not wish to be called egotistical, for i only write of what i saw as an humble private in the rear rank in an infantry regiment, commonly called "webfoot." neither do i propose to make this a connected journal, for i write entirely from memory, and you must remember, kind reader, that these things happened twenty years ago, and twenty years is a long time in the life of any individual. i was twenty-one years old then, and at that time i was not married. now i have a house full of young "rebels," clustering around my knees and bumping against my elbow, while i write these reminiscences of the war of secession, rebellion, state rights, slavery, or our rights in the territories, or by whatever other name it may be called. these are all with the past now, and the north and south have long ago "shaken hands across the bloody chasm." the flag of the southern cause has been furled never to be again unfurled; gone like a dream of yesterday, and lives only in the memory of those who lived through those bloody days and times. eighteen hundred and sixty-one reader mine, did you live in that stormy period? in the year of our lord eighteen hundred and sixty-one, do you remember those stirring times? do you recollect in that year, for the first time in your life, of hearing dixie and the bonnie blue flag? fort sumter was fired upon from charleston by troops under general beauregard, and major anderson, of the federal army, surrendered. the die was cast; war was declared; lincoln called for troops from tennessee and all the southern states, but tennessee, loyal to her southern sister states, passed the ordinance of secession, and enlisted under the stars and bars. from that day on, every person, almost, was eager for the war, and we were all afraid it would be over and we not be in the fight. companies were made up, regiments organized; left, left, left, was heard from morning till night. by the right flank, file left, march, were familiar sounds. everywhere could be seen southern cockades made by the ladies and our sweethearts. and some who afterwards became union men made the most fiery secession speeches. flags made by the ladies were presented to companies, and to hear the young orators tell of how they would protect that flag, and that they would come back with the flag or come not at all, and if they fell they would fall with their backs to the field and their feet to the foe, would fairly make our hair stand on end with intense patriotism, and we wanted to march right off and whip twenty yankees. but we soon found out that the glory of war was at home among the ladies and not upon the field of blood and carnage of death, where our comrades were mutilated and torn by shot and shell. and to see the cheek blanch and to hear the fervent prayer, aye, i might say the agony of mind were very different indeed from the patriotic times at home. camp cheatham after being drilled and disciplined at camp cheatham, under the administrative ability of general r. c. foster, 3rd, for two months, we, the first, third and eleventh tennessee regiments--maney, brown and rains-learned of the advance of mcclelland's army into virginia, toward harper's ferry and bull run. the federal army was advancing all along the line. they expected to march right into the heart of the south, set the negroes free, take our property, and whip the rebels back into the union. but they soon found that secession was a bigger mouthful than they could swallow at one gobble. they found the people of the south in earnest. secession may have been wrong in the abstract, and has been tried and settled by the arbitrament of the sword and bayonet, but i am as firm in my convictions today of the right of secession as i was in 1861. the south is our country, the north is the country of those who live there. we are an agricultural people; they are a manufacturing people. they are the descendants of the good old puritan plymouth rock stock, and we of the south from the proud and aristocratic stock of cavaliers. we believe in the doctrine of state rights, they in the doctrine of centralization. john c. calhoun, patrick henry, and randolph, of roanoke, saw the venom under their wings, and warned the north of the consequences, but they laughed at them. we only fought for our state rights, they for union and power. the south fell battling under the banner of state rights, but yet grand and glorious even in death. now, reader, please pardon the digression. it is every word that we will say in behalf of the rights of secession in the following pages. the question has been long ago settled and is buried forever, never in this age or generation to be resurrected. the vote of the regiment was taken, and we all voted to go to virginia. the southern confederacy had established its capital at richmond. a man by the name of jackson, who kept a hotel in maryland, had raised the stars and bars, and a federal officer by the name of ellsworth tore it down, and jackson had riddled his body with buckshot from a doublebarreled shotgun. first blood for the south. everywhere the enemy were advancing; the red clouds of war were booming up everywhere, but at this particular epoch, i refer you to the history of that period. a private soldier is but an automaton, a machine that works by the command of a good, bad, or indifferent engineer, and is presumed to know nothing of all these great events. his business is to load and shoot, stand picket, videt, etc., while the officers sleep, or perhaps die on the field of battle and glory, and his obituary and epitaph but "one" remembered among the slain, but to what company, regiment, brigade or corps he belongs, there is no account; he is soon forgotten. a long line of box cars was drawn up at camp cheatham one morning in july, the bugle sounded to strike tents and to place everything on board the cars. we old comrades have gotten together and laughed a hundred times at the plunder and property that we had accumulated, compared with our subsequent scanty wardrobe. every soldier had enough blankets, shirts, pants and old boots to last a year, and the empty bottles and jugs would have set up a first-class drug store. in addition, every one of us had his gun, cartridge-box, knapsack and three days' rations, a pistol on each side and a long bowie knife, that had been presented to us by william wood, of columbia, tenn. we got in and on top of the box cars, the whistle sounded, and amid the waving of hats, handkerchiefs and flags, we bid a long farewell and forever to old camp cheatham. arriving at nashville, the citizens turned out _en masse_ to receive us, and here again we were reminded of the good old times and the "gal we left behind us." ah, it is worth soldiering to receive such welcomes as this. the rev. mr. elliott invited us to his college grove, where had been prepared enough of the good things of earth to gratify the tastes of the most fastidious epicure. and what was most novel, we were waited on by the most beautiful young ladies (pupils of his school). it was charming, i tell you. rev. c. d. elliott was our brigade chaplain all through the war, and dr. c. t. quintard the chaplain of the first tennessee regiment-two of the best men who ever lived. (quintard is the present bishop of tennessee). on the road leaving nashville, we went bowling along twenty or thirty miles an hour, as fast as steam could carry us. at every town and station citizens and ladies were waving their handkerchiefs and hurrahing for jeff davis and the southern confederacy. magnificent banquets were prepared for us all along the entire route. it was one magnificent festival from one end of the line to the other. at chattanooga, knoxville, bristol, farmville, lynchburg, everywhere, the same demonstrations of joy and welcome greeted us. ah, those were glorious times; and you, reader, see why the old soldier loves to live over again that happy period. but the yankees are advancing on manassas. july 21st finds us a hundred miles from that fierce day's battle. that night, after the battle is fought and won, our train draws up at manassas junction. well, what news? everyone was wild, nay, frenzied with the excitement of victory, and we felt very much like the "boy the calf had run over." we felt that the war was over, and we would have to return home without even seeing a yankee soldier. ah, how we envied those that were wounded. we thought at that time that we would have given a thousand dollars to have been in the battle, and to have had our arm shot off, so we could have returned home with an empty sleeve. but the battle was over, and we left out. staunton from manassas our train moved on to staunton, virginia. here we again went into camp, overhauled kettles, pots, buckets, jugs and tents, and found everything so tangled up and mixed that we could not tell tuther from which. we stretched our tents, and the soldiers once again felt that restraint and discipline which we had almost forgotten en route to this place. but, as the war was over now, our captains, colonels and generals were not "hard on the boys;" in fact, had begun to electioneer a little for the legislature and for congress. in fact, some wanted, and were looking forward to the time, to run for governor of tennessee. staunton was a big place; whisky was cheap, and good virginia tobacco was plentiful, and the currency of the country was gold and silver. the state asylums for the blind and insane were here, and we visited all the places of interest. here is where we first saw the game called "chuck-a-luck," afterwards so popular in the army. but, i always noticed that chuck won, and luck always lost. faro and roulette were in full blast; in fact, the skum had begun to come to the surface, and shoddy was the gentleman. by this, i mean that civil law had been suspended; the ermine of the judges had been overridden by the sword and bayonet. in other words, the military had absorbed the civil. hence the gambler was in his glory. warm springs, virginia one day while we were idling around camp, june tucker sounded the assembly, and we were ordered aboard the cars. we pulled out for millboro; from there we had to foot it to bath alum and warm springs. we went over the allegheny mountains. i was on every march that was ever made by the first tennessee regiment during the whole war, and at this time i cannot remember of ever experiencing a harder or more fatiguing march. it seemed that mountain was piled upon mountain. no sooner would we arrive at a place that seemed to be the top than another view of a higher, and yet higher mountain would rise before us. from the foot to the top of the mountain the soldiers lined the road, broken down and exhausted. first one blanket was thrown away, and then another; now and then a good pair of pants, old boots and shoes, sunday hats, pistols and bowie knives strewed the road. old bottles and jugs and various and sundry articles were lying pell-mell everywhere. up and up, and onward and upward we pulled and toiled, until we reached the very top, when there burst upon our view one of the grandest and most beautiful landscapes we ever beheld. nestled in the valley right before us is bath alum and warm springs. it seemed to me at that time, and since, a glimpse of a better and brighter world beyond, to the weary christian pilgrim who may have been toiling on his journey for years. a glad shout arose from those who had gained the top, which cheered and encouraged the others to persevere. at last we got to warm springs. here they had a nice warm dinner waiting for us. they had a large bath-house at warm springs. a large pool of water arranged so that a person could go in any depth he might desire. it was a free thing, and we pitched in. we had no idea of the enervating effect it would have upon our physical systems, and as the water was but little past tepid, we stayed in a good long time. but when we came out we were as limp as dishrags. about this time the assembly sounded and we were ordered to march. but we couldn't march worth a cent. there we had to stay until our systems had had sufficient recuperation. and we would wonder what all this marching was for, as the war was over anyhow. the second day after leaving warm springs we came to big springs. it was in the month of august, and the biggest white frost fell that i ever saw in winter. the yankees were reported to be in close proximity to us, and captain field with a detail of ten men was sent forward on the scout. i was on the detail, and when we left camp that evening, it was dark and dreary and drizzling rain. after a while the rain began to come down harder and harder, and every one of us was wet and drenched to the skin--guns, cartridges and powder. the next morning about daylight, while standing videt, i saw a body of twenty-five or thirty yankees approaching, and i raised my gun for the purpose of shooting, and pulled down, but the cap popped. they discovered me and popped three or four caps at me; their powder was wet also. before i could get on a fresh cap, captain field came running up with his seven-shooting rifle, and the first fire he killed a yankee. they broke and run. captain field did all the firing, but every time he pulled down he brought a yankee. i have forgotten the number that he did kill, but if i am not mistaken it was either twenty or twenty-one, for i remember the incident was in almost every southern paper at that time, and the general comments were that one southern man was equal to twenty yankees. while we were in hot pursuit, one truly brave and magnanimous yankee, who had been badly wounded, said, "gentlemen, you have killed me, but not a hundred yards from here is the main line." we did not go any further, but halted right there, and after getting all the information that we could out of the wounded yankee, we returned to camp. one evening, general robert e. lee came to our camp. he was a finelooking gentleman, and wore a moustache. he was dressed in blue cottonade and looked like some good boy's grandpa. i felt like going up to him and saying good evening, uncle bob! i am not certain at this late day that i did not do so. i remember going up mighty close and sitting there and listening to his conversation with the officers of our regiment. he had a calm and collected air about him, his voice was kind and tender, and his eye was as gentle as a dove's. his whole make-up of form and person, looks and manner had a kind of gentle and soothing magnetism about it that drew every one to him and made them love, respect, and honor him. i fell in love with the old gentleman and felt like going home with him. i know i have never seen a finer looking man, nor one with more kind and gentle features and manners. his horse was standing nipping the grass, and when i saw that he was getting ready to start i ran and caught his horse and led him up to him. he took the reins of the bridle in his hand and said, "thank you, my son," rode off, and my heart went with him. there was none of his staff with him; he had on no sword or pistol, or anything to show his rank. the only thing that i remember he had was an opera-glass hung over his shoulder by a strap. leaving big springs, we marched on day by day, across greenbrier and gauley rivers to huntersville, a little but sprightly town hid in the very fastnesses of the mountains. the people live exceedingly well in these mountains. they had plenty of honey and buckwheat cakes, and they called buttermilk "sour-milk," and sour-milk weren't fit for pigs; they couldn't see how folks drank sour-milk. but sour-kraut was good. everything seemed to grow in the mountains--potatoes, irish and sweet; onions, snap beans, peas--though the country was very thinly populated. deer, bear, and foxes, as well as wild turkeys, and rabbits and squirrels abounded everywhere. apples and peaches were abundant, and everywhere the people had apple-butter for every meal; and occasionally we would come across a small-sized distillery, which we would at once start to doing duty. we drank the singlings while they were hot, but like the old woman who could not eat corn bread until she heard that they made whisky out of corn, then she could manage to "worry a little of it down;" so it was with us and the singlings. from this time forward, we were ever on the march--tramp, tramp, tramp-always on the march. lee's corps, stonewall jackson's division--i refer you to the histories for the marches and tramps made by these commanders the first year of the war. well, we followed them. cheat mountain one evening about 4 o'clock, the drummers of the regiment began to beat their drums as hard as they could stave, and i saw men running in every direction, and the camp soon became one scene of hurry and excitement. i asked some one what all this hubbub meant. he looked at me with utter astonishment. i saw soldiers running to their tents and grabbing their guns and cartridge-boxes and hurry out again, the drums still rolling and rattling. i asked several other fellows what in the dickens did all this mean? finally one fellow, who seemed scared almost out of his wits, answered between a wail and a shriek, "why, sir, they are beating the long roll." says i, "what is the long roll for?" "the long roll, man, the long roll! get your gun; they are beating the long roll!" this was all the information that i could get. it was the first, last, and only long roll that i ever heard. but, then everything was new, and colonel maney, ever prompt, ordered the assembly. without any command or bugle sound, or anything, every soldier was in his place. tents, knapsacks and everything was left indiscriminately. we were soon on the march, and we marched on and on and on. about night it began to rain. all our blankets were back in camp, but we were expected every minute to be ordered into action. that night we came to mingo flats. the rain still poured. we had no rations to eat and nowhere to sleep. some of us got some fence rails and piled them together and worried through the night as best we could. the next morning we were ordered to march again, but we soon began to get hungry, and we had about half halted and about not halted at all. some of the boys were picking blackberries. the main body of the regiment was marching leisurely along the road, when bang, debang, debang, bang, and a volley of buck and ball came hurling right through the two advance companies of the regiment--companies h and k. we had marched into a yankee ambuscade. all at once everything was a scene of consternation and confusion; no one seemed equal to the emergency. we did not know whether to run or stand, when captain field gave the command to fire and charge the bushes. we charged the bushes and saw the yankees running through them, and we fired on them as they retreated. i do not know how many yankees were killed, if any. our company (h) had one man killed, pat hanley, an irishman, who had joined our company at chattanooga. hugh padgett and dr. hooper, and perhaps one or two others, were wounded. after the fighting was over, where, o where, was all the fine rigging heretofore on our officers? they could not be seen. corporals, sergeants, lieutenants, captains, all had torn all the fine lace off their clothing. i noticed that at the time and was surprised and hurt. i asked several of them why they had torn off the insignia of their rank, and they always answered, "humph, you think that i was going to be a target for the yankees to shoot at?" you see, this was our first battle, and the officers had not found out that minnie as well as cannon balls were blind; that they had no eyes and could not see. they thought that the balls would hunt for them and not hurt the privates. i always shot at privates. it was they that did the shooting and killing, and if i could kill or wound a private, why, my chances were so much the better. i always looked upon officers as harmless personages. colonel field, i suppose, was about the only colonel of the war that did as much shooting as the private soldier. if i shot at an officer, it was at long range, but when we got down to close quarters i always tried to kill those that were trying to kill me. sewell mountain from cheat mountain we went by forced marches day and night, over hill and everlasting mountains, and through lovely and smiling valleys, sometimes the country rich and productive, sometimes rough and broken, through towns and villages, the names of which i have forgotten, crossing streams and rivers, but continuing our never ceasing, unending march, passing through the kanawha valley and by the salt-works, and nearly back to the ohio river, when we at last reached sewell mountain. here we found general john b. floyd strongly entrenched and fortified and facing the advance of the federal army. two days before our arrival he had charged and captured one line of the enemy's works. i know nothing of the battle. see the histories for that. i only write from memory, and that was twenty years ago, but i remember reading in the newspapers at that time of some distinguished man, whether he was captain, colonel or general, i have forgotten, but i know the papers said "he sought the bauble, reputation, at the cannon's mouth, and went to glory from the death-bed of fame." i remember it sounded gloriously in print. now, reader, this is all i know of this grand battle. i only recollect what the newspapers said about it, and you know that a newspaper always tells the truth. i also know that beef livers sold for one dollar apiece in gold; and here is where we were first paid off in confederate money. remaining here a few days, we commenced our march again. sewell mountain, harrisonburg, lewisburg, kanawha salt-works, first four, forward and back, seemed to be the programme of that day. rosecrans, that wiley old fox, kept lee and jackson both busy trying to catch him, but rosey would not be caught. march, march, march; tramp, tramp, tramp, back through the valley to huntersville and warm springs, and up through the most beautiful valley--the shenandoah--in the world, passing towns and elegant farms and beautiful residences, rich pastures and abundant harvests, which a federal general (fighting joe hooker), later in the war, ordered to be so sacked and destroyed that a "crow passing over this valley would have to carry his rations." passing on, we arrived at winchester. the first night we arrived at this place, the wind blew a perfect hurricane, and every tent and marquee in lee's and jackson's army was blown down. this is the first sight we had of stonewall jackson, riding upon his old sorrel horse, his feet drawn up as if his stirrups were much too short for him, and his old dingy military cap hanging well forward over his head, and his nose erected in the air, his old rusty sabre rattling by his side. this is the way the grand old hero of a hundred battles looked. his spirit is yonder with the blessed ones that have gone before, but his history is one that the country will ever be proud of, and his memory will be cherished and loved by the old soldiers who followed him through the war. romney our march to and from romney was in midwinter in the month of january, 1862. it was the coldest winter known to the oldest inhabitant of these regions. situated in the most mountainous country in virginia, and away up near the maryland and pennsylvania line, the storm king seemed to rule in all of his majesty and power. snow and rain and sleet and tempest seemed to ride and laugh and shriek and howl and moan and groan in all their fury and wrath. the soldiers on this march got very much discouraged and disheartened. as they marched along icicles hung from their clothing, guns, and knapsacks; many were badly frost bitten, and i heard of many freezing to death along the road side. my feet peeled off like a peeled onion on that march, and i have not recovered from its effects to this day. the snow and ice on the ground being packed by the soldiers tramping, the horses hitched to the artillery wagons were continually slipping and sliding and falling and wounding themselves and sometimes killing their riders. the wind whistling with a keen and piercing shriek, seemed as if they would freeze the marrow in our bones. the soldiers in the whole army got rebellious--almost mutinous--and would curse and abuse stonewall jackson; in fact, they called him "fool tom jackson." they blamed him for the cold weather; they blamed him for everything, and when he would ride by a regiment they would take occasion, _sotto voce_, to abuse him, and call him "fool tom jackson," and loud enough for him to hear. soldiers from all commands would fall out of ranks and stop by the road side and swear that they would not follow such a leader any longer. when jackson got to romney, and was ready to strike banks and meade in a vital point, and which would have changed, perhaps, the destiny of the war and the south, his troops refused to march any further, and he turned, marched back to winchester and tendered his resignation to the authorities at richmond. but the great leader's resignation was not accepted. it was in store for him to do some of the hardest fighting and greatest generalship that was done during the war. one night at this place (romney), i was sent forward with two other soldiers across the wire bridge as picket. one of them was named schwartz and the other pfifer--he called it fifer, but spelled it with a p--both full-blooded dutchmen, and belonging to company e, or the german yagers, captain harsh, or, as he was more generally called, "god-for-dam." when we had crossed the bridge and taken our station for the night, i saw another snow storm was coming. the zig-zag lightnings began to flare and flash, and sheet after sheet of wild flames seemed to burst right over our heads and were hissing around us. the very elements seemed to be one aurora borealis with continued lightning. streak after streak of lightning seemed to be piercing each the other, the one from the north and the other from the south. the white clouds would roll up, looking like huge snow balls, encircled with living fires. the earth and hills and trees were covered with snow, and the lightnings seemed to be playing "king, king canico" along its crusted surface. if it thundered at all, it seemed to be between a groaning and a rumbling sound. the trees and hills seemed white with livid fire. i can remember that storm now as the grandest picture that has ever made any impression on my memory. as soon as it quit lightning, the most blinding snow storm fell that i ever saw. it fell so thick and fast that i got hot. i felt like pulling off my coat. i was freezing. the winds sounded like sweet music. i felt grand, glorious, peculiar; beautiful things began to play and dance around my head, and i supposed i must have dropped to sleep or something, when i felt schwartz grab me, and give me a shake, and at the same time raised his gun and fired, and yelled out at the top of his voice, "here is your mule." the next instant a volley of minnie balls was scattering the snow all around us. i tried to walk, but my pants and boots were stiff and frozen, and the blood had ceased to circulate in my lower limbs. but schwartz kept on firing, and at every fire he would yell out, "yer is yer mool!" pfifer could not speak english, and i reckon he said "here is your mule" in dutch. about the same time we were hailed from three confederate officers, at full gallop right toward us, not to shoot. and as they galloped up to us and thundered right across the bridge, we discovered it was stonewall jackson and two of his staff. at the same time the yankee cavalry charged us, and we, too, ran back across the bridge. standing picket on the potomac leaving winchester, we continued up the valley. the night before the attack on bath or berkly springs, there fell the largest snow i ever saw. stonewall jackson had seventeen thousand soldiers at his command. the yankees were fortified at bath. an attack was ordered, our regiment marched upon top of a mountain overlooking the movements of both armies in the valley below. about 4 o'clock one grand charge and rush was made, and the yankees were routed and skedaddled. by some circumstance or other, lieutenant j. lee bullock came in command of the first tennessee regiment. but lee was not a graduate of west point, you see. the federals had left some spiked batteries on the hill side, as we were informed by an old citizen, and lee, anxious to capture a battery, gave the new and peculiar command of, "soldiers, you are ordered to go forward and capture a battery; just piroute up that hill; piroute, march. forward, men; piroute carefully." the boys "pirouted" as best they could. it may have been a new command, and not laid down in hardee's or scott's tactics; but lee was speaking plain english, and we understood his meaning perfectly, and even at this late day i have no doubt that every soldier who heard the command thought it a legal and technical term used by military graduates to go forward and capture a battery. at this place (bath), a beautiful young lady ran across the street. i have seen many beautiful and pretty women in my life, but she was the prettiest one i ever saw. were you to ask any member of the first tennessee regiment who was the prettiest woman he ever saw, he would unhesitatingly answer that he saw her at berkly springs during the war, and he would continue the tale, and tell you of lee bullock's piroute and stonewall jackson's charge. we rushed down to the big spring bursting out of the mountain side, and it was hot enough to cook an egg. never did i see soldiers more surprised. the water was so hot we could not drink it. the snow covered the ground and was still falling. that night i stood picket on the potomac with a detail of the third arkansas regiment. i remember how sorry i felt for the poor fellows, because they had enlisted for the war, and we for only twelve months. before nightfall i took in every object and commenced my weary vigils. i had to stand all night. i could hear the rumblings of the federal artillery and wagons, and hear the low shuffling sound made by troops on the march. the snow came pelting down as large as goose eggs. about midnight the snow ceased to fall, and became quiet. now and then the snow would fall off the bushes and make a terrible noise. while i was peering through the darkness, my eyes suddenly fell upon the outlines of a man. the more i looked the more i was convinced that it was a yankee picket. i could see his hat and coat--yes, see his gun. i was sure that it was a yankee picket. what was i to do? the relief was several hundred yards in the rear. the more i looked the more sure i was. at last a cold sweat broke out all over my body. turkey bumps rose. i summoned all the nerves and bravery that i could command, and said: "halt! who goes there?" there being no response, i became resolute. i did not wish to fire and arouse the camp, but i marched right up to it and stuck my bayonet through and through it. it was a stump. i tell the above, because it illustrates a part of many a private's recollections of the war; in fact, a part of the hardships and suffering that they go through. one secret of stonewall jackson's success was that he was such a strict disciplinarian. he did his duty himself and was ever at his post, and he expected and demanded of everybody to do the same thing. he would have a man shot at the drop of a hat, and drop it himself. the first army order that was ever read to us after being attached to his corps, was the shooting to death by musketry of two men who had stopped on the battlefield to carry off a wounded comrade. it was read to us in line of battle at winchester. schwartz and pfifer at valley mountain the finest and fattest beef i ever saw was issued to the soldiers, and it was the custom to use tallow for lard. tallow made good shortening if the biscuits were eaten hot, but if allowed to get cold they had a strong taste of tallow in their flavor that did not taste like the flavor of vanilla or lemon in ice cream and strawberries; and biscuits fried in tallow were something upon the principle of 'possum and sweet potatoes. well, pfifer had got the fat from the kidneys of two hind quarters and made a cake of tallow weighing about twenty-five pounds. he wrapped it up and put it carefully away in his knapsack. when the assembly sounded for the march, pfifer strapped on his knapsack. it was pretty heavy, but pfifer was "well heeled." he knew the good frying he would get out of that twenty-five pounds of nice fat tallow, and he was willing to tug and toil all day over a muddy and sloppy road for his anticipated hot tallow gravy for supper. we made a long and hard march that day, and about dark went into camp. fires were made up and water brought, and the soldiers began to get supper. pfifer was in a good humor. he went to get that twenty-five pounds of good, nice, fat tallow out of his knapsack, and on opening it, lo and behold! it was a rock that weighed about thirty pounds. pfifer was struck dumb with amazement. he looked bewildered, yea, even silly. i do not think he cursed, because he could not do the subject justice. he looked at that rock with the death stare of a doomed man. but he suspected schwartz. he went to schwartz's knapsack, and there he found his cake of tallow. he went to schwartz and would have killed him had not soldiers interfered and pulled him off by main force. his eyes blazed and looked like those of a tiger when he has just torn his victim limb from limb. i would not have been in schwartz's shoes for all the tallow in every beef in virginia. captain harsh made schwartz carry that rock for two days to pacify pfifer. the court-martial one incident came under my observation while in virginia that made a deep impression on my mind. one morning, about daybreak, the new guard was relieving the old guard. it was a bitter cold morning, and on coming to our extreme outpost, i saw a soldier--he was but a mere boy--either dead or asleep at his post. the sergeant commanding the relief went up to him and shook him. he immediately woke up and seemed very much frightened. he was fast asleep at his post. the sergeant had him arrested and carried to the guard-house. two days afterwards i received notice to appear before a court-martial at nine. i was summoned to appear as a witness against him for being asleep at his post in the enemy's country. an example had to be made of some one. he had to be tried for his life. the court-martial was made up of seven or eight officers of a different regiment. the witnesses all testified against him, charges and specifications were read, and by the rules of war he had to be shot to death by musketry. the advocategeneral for the prosecution made the opening speech. he read the law in a plain, straightforward manner, and said that for a soldier to go to sleep at his post of duty, while so much depended upon him, was the most culpable of all crimes, and the most inexcusable. i trembled in my boots, for on several occasions i knew i had taken a short nap, even on the very outpost. the advocate-general went on further to say, that the picket was the sentinel that held the lives of his countrymen and the liberty of his country in his hands, and it mattered not what may have been his record in the past. at one moment he had forfeited his life to his country. for discipline's sake, if for nothing else, you gentlemen that make up this court-martial find the prisoner guilty. it is necessary for you to be firm, gentlemen, for upon your decision depends the safety of our country. when he had finished, thinks i to myself, "gone up the spout, sure; we will have a first-class funeral here before night." well, as to the lawyer who defended him, i cannot now remember his speeches; but he represented a fair-haired boy leaving his home and family, telling his father and aged mother and darling little sister farewell, and spoke of his proud step, though a mere boy, going to defend his country and his loved ones; but at one weak moment, when nature, tasked and taxed beyond the bounds of human endurance, could stand no longer, and upon the still and silent picket post, when the whole army was hushed in slumber, what wonder is it that he, too, may have fallen asleep while at his post of duty. some of you gentlemen of this court-martial may have sons, may have brothers; yes, even fathers, in the army. where are they tonight? you love your children, or your brother or father. this mere youth has a father and mother and sister away back in tennessee. they are willing to give him to his country. but oh! gentlemen, let the word go back to tennessee that he died upon the battlefield, and not by the hands of his own comrades for being asleep at his post of duty. i cannot now remember the speeches, but one thing i do know, that he was acquitted, and i was glad of it. "the death watch" one more scene i can remember. kind friends--you that know nothing of a soldier's life--i ask you in all candor not to doubt the following lines in this sketch. you have no doubt read of the old roman soldier found amid the ruins of pompeii, who had stood there for sixteen hundred years, and when he was excavated was found at his post with his gun clasped in his skeleton hands. you believe this because it is written in history. i have heard politicians tell it. i have heard it told from the sacred desk. it is true; no one doubts it. now, were i to tell something that happened in this nineteenth century exactly similar, you would hardly believe it. but whether you believe it or not, it is for you to say. at a little village called hampshire crossing, our regiment was ordered to go to a little stream called st. john's run, to relieve the 14th georgia regiment and the 3rd arkansas. i cannot tell the facts as i desire to. in fact, my hand trembles so, and my feelings are so overcome, that it is hard for me to write at all. but we went to the place that we were ordered to go to, and when we arrived there we found the guard sure enough. if i remember correctly, there were just eleven of them. some were sitting down and some were lying down; but each and every one was as cold and as hard frozen as the icicles that hung from their hands and faces and clothing-dead! they had died at their post of duty. two of them, a little in advance of the others, were standing with their guns in their hands, as cold and as hard frozen as a monument of marble--standing sentinel with loaded guns in their frozen hands! the tale is told. were they true men? does he who noteth the sparrow's fall, and numbers the hairs of our heads, have any interest in one like ourselves? yes; he doeth all things well. not a sparrow falls to the ground without his consent. virginia, farewell after having served through all the valley campaign, and marched through all the wonders of northwest virginia, and being associated with the army of virginia, it was with sorrow and regret that we bade farewell to "old virginia's shore," to go to other fields of blood and carnage and death. we had learned to love virginia; we love her now. the people were kind and good to us. they divided their last crust of bread and rasher of bacon with us. we loved lee, we loved jackson; we loved the name, association and people of virginia. hatton, forbes, anderson, gilliam, govan, loring, ashby and schumaker were names with which we had been long associated. we hated to leave all our old comrades behind us. we felt that we were proving recreant to the instincts of our own manhood, and that we were leaving those who had stood by us on the march and battlefield when they most needed our help. we knew the 7th and 14th tennessee regiments; we knew the 3rd arkansas, the 14th georgia, and 42nd virginia regiments. their names were as familiar as household words. we were about to leave the bones of joe bynum and gus allen and patrick hanly. we were about to bid farewell to every tender association that we had formed with the good people of virginia, and to our old associates among the soldiers of the grand army of virginia. _virginia, farewell!_ away back yonder, in good old tennessee, our homes and loved ones are being robbed and insulted, our fields laid waste, our cities sacked, and our people slain. duty as well as patriotism calls us back to our native home, to try and defend it, as best we can, against an invading army of our then enemies; and, virginia, once more we bid you a long farewell! chapter ii shiloh this was the first big battle in which our regiment had ever been engaged. i do not pretend to tell of what command distinguished itself; of heroes; of blood and wounds; of shrieks and groans; of brilliant charges; of cannon captured, etc. i was but a private soldier, and if i happened to look to see if i could find out anything, "eyes right, guide center," was the order. "close up, guide right, halt, forward, right oblique, left oblique, halt, forward, guide center, eyes right, dress up promptly in the rear, steady, double quick, charge bayonets, fire at will," is about all that a private soldier ever knows of a battle. he can see the smoke rise and the flash of the enemy's guns, and he can hear the whistle of the minnie and cannon balls, but he has got to load and shoot as hard as he can tear and ram cartridge, or he will soon find out, like the irishman who had been shooting blank cartridges, when a ball happened to strike him, and he halloed out, "faith, pat, and be jabbers, them fellows are shooting bullets." but i nevertheless remember many things that came under my observation in this battle. i remember a man by the name of smith stepping deliberately out of the ranks and shooting his finger off to keep out of the fight; of another poor fellow who was accidentally shot and killed by the discharge of another person's gun, and of others suddenly taken sick with colic. our regiment was the advance guard on saturday evening, and did a little skirmishing; but general gladden's brigade passed us and assumed a position in our immediate front. about daylight on sunday morning, chalmers' brigade relieved gladden's. as gladden rode by us, a courier rode up and told him something. i do not know what it was, but i heard gladden say, "tell general bragg that i have as keen a scent for yankees as general chalmers has." on sunday morning, a clear, beautiful, and still day, the order was given for the whole army to advance, and to attack immediately. we were supporting an alabama brigade. the fire opened--bang, bang, bang, a rattle de bang, bang, bang, a boom, de bang, bang, bang, boom, bang, boom, bang, boom, bang, boom, bang, boom, whirr-siz-siz-siz--a ripping, roaring boom, bang! the air was full of balls and deadly missiles. the litter corps was carrying off the dying and wounded. we could hear the shout of the charge and the incessant roar of the guns, the rattle of the musketry, and knew that the contending forces were engaged in a breast to breast struggle. but cheering news continued to come back. every one who passed would be hailed with, "well, what news from the front?" "well, boys, we are driving 'em. we have captured all their encampments, everything that they had, and all their provisions and army stores, and everything." as we were advancing to the attack and to support the alabama brigade in our front, and which had given way and were stricken with fear, some of the boys of our regiment would laugh at them, and ask what they were running for, and would commence to say "flicker! flicker! flicker!" like the bird called the yellowhammer, "flicker! flicker! flicker!" as we advanced, on the edge of the battlefield, we saw a big fat colonel of the 23rd tennessee regiment badly wounded, whose name, if i remember correctly, was matt. martin. he said to us, "give 'em goss, boys. that's right, my brave first tennessee. give 'em hail columbia!" we halted but a moment, and said i, "colonel, where are you wounded?" he answered in a deep bass voice, "my son, i am wounded in the arm, in the leg, in the head, in the body, and in another place which i have a delicacy in mentioning." that is what the gallant old colonel said. advancing a little further on, we saw general albert sidney johnson surrounded by his staff and governor harris, of tennessee. we saw some little commotion among those who surrounded him, but we did not know at the time that he was dead. the fact was kept from the troops. about noon a courier dashed up and ordered us to go forward and support general bragg's center. we had to pass over the ground where troops had been fighting all day. i had heard and read of battlefields, seen pictures of battlefields, of horses and men, of cannon and wagons, all jumbled together, while the ground was strewn with dead and dying and wounded, but i must confess that i never realized the "pomp and circumstance" of the thing called glorious war until i saw this. men were lying in every conceivable position; the dead lying with their eyes wide open, the wounded begging piteously for help, and some waving their hats and shouting to us to go forward. it all seemed to me a dream; i seemed to be in a sort of haze, when siz, siz, siz, the minnie balls from the yankee line began to whistle around our ears, and i thought of the irishman when he said, "sure enough, those fellows are shooting bullets!" down would drop first one fellow and then another, either killed or wounded, when we were ordered to charge bayonets. i had been feeling mean all the morning as if i had stolen a sheep, but when the order to charge was given, i got happy. i felt happier than a fellow does when he professes religion at a big methodist camp-meeting. i shouted. it was fun then. everybody looked happy. we were crowding them. one more charge, then their lines waver and break. they retreat in wild confusion. we were jubilant; we were triumphant. officers could not curb the men to keep in line. discharge after discharge was poured into the retreating line. the federal dead and wounded covered the ground. when in the very midst of our victory, here comes an order to halt. what! halt after today's victory? sidney johnson killed, general gladden killed, and a host of generals and other brave men killed, and the whole yankee army in full retreat. these four letters, h-a-l-t, o, how harsh they did break upon our ears. the victory was complete, but the word "halt" turned victory into defeat. the soldiers had passed through the yankee camps and saw all the good things that they had to eat in their sutlers' stores and officers' marquees, and it was but a short time before every soldier was rummaging to see what he could find. the harvest was great and the laborers were not few. the negro boys, who were with their young masters as servants, got rich. greenbacks were plentiful, good clothes were plentiful, rations were not in demand. the boys were in clover. this was sunday. on monday the tide was reversed. now, those yankees were whipped, fairly whipped, and according to all the rules of war they ought to have retreated. but they didn't. flushed with their victories at fort henry and fort donelson and the capture of nashville, and the whole state of tennessee having fallen into their hands, victory was again to perch upon their banners, for buell's army, by forced marches, had come to grant's assistance at the eleventh hour. gunboats and transports were busily crossing buell's army all of sunday night. we could hear their boats ringing their bells, and hear the puff of smoke and steam from their boilers. our regiment was the advance outpost, and we saw the skirmish line of the federals advancing and then their main line and then their artillery. we made a good fight on monday morning, and i was taken by surprise when the order came for us to retreat instead of advance. but as i said before, reader, a private soldier is but an automaton, and knows nothing of what is going on among the generals, and i am only giving the chronicles of little things and events that came under my own observation as i saw them then and remember them now. should you desire to find out more about the battle, i refer you to history. one incident i recollect very well. a yankee colonel, riding a fine gray mare, was sitting on his horse looking at our advance as if we were on review. w. h. rushed forward and grabbed his horse by the bridle, telling him at the same time to surrender. the yankee seized the reins, set himself back in the saddle, put the muzzle of his pistol in w. h.'s face and fired. about the time he pulled trigger, a stray ball from some direction struck him in the side and he fell off dead, and his horse becoming frightened, galloped off, dragging him through the confederate lines. his pistol had missed its aim. i have heard hundreds of old soldiers tell of the amount of greenback money they saw and picked up on the battlefield of shiloh, but they thought it valueless and did not trouble themselves with bringing it off with them. one fellow, a courier, who had had his horse killed, got on a mule he had captured, and in the last charge, before the final and fatal halt was made, just charged right ahead by his lone self, and the soldiers said, "just look at that brave man, charging right in the jaws of death." he began to seesaw the mule and grit his teeth, and finally yelled out, "it arn't me, boys, it's this blarsted old mule. whoa! whoa!" on monday morning i too captured me a mule. he was not a fast mule, and i soon found out that he thought he knew as much as i did. he was wise in his own conceit. he had a propensity to take every hog path he came to. all the bombasting that i could give him would not make him accelerate his speed. if blood makes speed, i do not suppose he had a drop of any kind in him. if i wanted him to go on one side of the road he was sure to be possessed of an equal desire to go on the other side. finally i and my mule fell out. i got a big hickory and would frail him over the head, and he would only shake his head and flop his ears, and seem to say, "well, now, you think you are smart, don't you?" he was a resolute mule, slow to anger, and would have made an excellent merchant to refuse bad pay, or i will pay your credit, for his whole composition seemed to be made up the one word--no. i frequently thought it would be pleasant to split the difference with that mule, and i would gladly have done so if i could have gotten one-half of his no. me and mule worried along until we came to a creek. mule did not desire to cross, while i was trying to persuade him with a big stick, a rock in his ear, and a twister on his nose. the caisson of a battery was about to cross. the driver said, "i'll take your mule over for you." so he got a large two-inch rope, tied one end around the mule's neck and the other to the caisson, and ordered the driver to whip up. the mule was loath to take to the water. he was no baptist, and did not believe in immersion, and had his views about crossing streams, but the rope began to tighten, the mule to squeal out his protestations against such villainous proceedings. the rope, however, was stronger than the mule's "no," and he was finally prevailed upon by the strength of the rope to cross the creek. on my taking the rope off he shook himself and seemed to say, "you think that you are mighty smart folks, but you are a leetle too smart." i gave it up that that mule's "no" was a little stronger than my determination. he seemed to be in deep meditation. i got on him again, when all of a sudden he lifted his head, pricked up his ears, began to champ his bit, gave a little squeal, got a little faster, and finally into a gallop and then a run. he seemed all at once to have remembered or to have forgotten something, and was now making up for lost time. with all my pulling and seesawing and strength i could not stop him until he brought up with me at corinth, mississippi. chapter iii corinth well, here we were, again "reorganizing," and after our lax discipline on the road to and from virginia, and after a big battle, which always disorganizes an army, what wonder is it that some men had to be shot, merely for discipline's sake? and what wonder that general bragg's name became a terror to deserters and evil doers? men were shot by scores, and no wonder the army had to be reorganized. soldiers had enlisted for twelve months only, and had faithfully complied with their volunteer obligations; the terms for which they had enlisted had expired, and they naturally looked upon it that they had a right to go home. they had done their duty faithfully and well. they wanted to see their families; in fact, wanted to go home anyhow. war had become a reality; they were tired of it. a law had been passed by the confederate states congress called the conscript act. a soldier had no right to volunteer and to choose the branch of service he preferred. he was conscripted. from this time on till the end of the war, a soldier was simply a machine, a conscript. it was mighty rough on rebels. we cursed the war, we cursed bragg, we cursed the southern confederacy. all our pride and valor had gone, and we were sick of war and the southern confederacy. a law was made by the confederate states congress about this time allowing every person who owned twenty negroes to go home. it gave us the blues; we wanted twenty negroes. negro property suddenly became very valuable, and there was raised the howl of "rich man's war, poor man's fight." the glory of the war, the glory of the south, the glory and the pride of our volunteers had no charms for the conscript. we were directed to re-elect our officers, and the country was surprised to see the sample of a conscript's choice. the conscript had no choice. he was callous, and indifferent whether he had a captain or not. those who were at first officers had resigned and gone home, because they were officers. the poor private, a contemptible conscript, was left to howl and gnash his teeth. the war might as well have ended then and there. the boys were "hacked," nay, whipped. they were shorn of the locks of their glory. they had but one ambition now, and that was to get out of the army in some way or other. they wanted to join the cavalry or artillery or home guards or pioneer corps or to be "yaller dogs," or anything. [the average staff officer and courier were always called "yaller dogs," and were regarded as non-combatants and a nuisance, and the average private never let one pass without whistling and calling dogs. in fact, the general had to issue an army order threatening punishment for the ridicule hurled at staff officers and couriers. they were looked upon as simply "hangers on," or in other words, as yellow sheep-killing dogs, that if you would say "booh" at, would yelp and get under their master's heels. mike snyder was general george maney's "yaller dog," and i believe here is where joe jefferson, in rip van winkle, got the name of rip's dog snyder. at all times of day or night you could hear, "wheer, hyat, hyat, haer, haer, hugh, snyder, whoopee, hyat, whoopee, snyder, here, here," when a staff officer or courier happened to pass. the reason of this was that the private knew and felt that there was just that much more loading, shooting and fighting for him; and there are the fewest number of instances on record where a staff officer or courier ever fired a gun in their country's cause; and even at this late day, when i hear an old soldier telling of being on some general's staff, i always think of the letter "e." in fact, later in the war i was detailed as special courier and staff officer for general hood, which office i held three days. but while i held the office in passing a guard i always told them i was on hood's staff, and ever afterwards i made those three days' staff business last me the balance of the war. i could pass any guard in the army by using the magic words, "staff officer." it beat all the countersigns ever invented. it was the "open sesame" of war and discipline. ] their last hope had set. they hated war. to their minds the south was a great tyrant, and the confederacy a fraud. they were deserting by thousands. they had no love or respect for general bragg. when men were to be shot or whipped, the whole army was marched to the horrid scene to see a poor trembling wretch tied to a post and a platoon of twelve men drawn up in line to put him to death, and the hushed command of "ready, aim, fire!" would make the soldier, or conscript, i should say, loathe the very name of southern confederacy. and when some miserable wretch was to be whipped and branded for being absent ten days without leave, we had to see him kneel down and have his head shaved smooth and slick as a peeled onion, and then stripped to the naked skin. then a strapping fellow with a big rawhide would make the blood flow and spurt at every lick, the wretch begging and howling like a hound, and then he was branded with a red hot iron with the letter d on both hips, when he was marched through the army to the music of the "rogue's march." it was enough. none of general bragg's soldiers ever loved him. they had no faith in his ability as a general. he was looked upon as a merciless tyrant. the soldiers were very scantily fed. bragg never was a good feeder or commissary-general. rations with us were always scarce. no extra rations were ever allowed to the negroes who were with us as servants. no coffee or whisky or tobacco were ever allowed to be issued to the troops. if they obtained these luxuries, they were not from the government. these luxuries were withheld in order to crush the very heart and spirit of his troops. we were crushed. bragg was the great autocrat. in the mind of the soldier, his word was law. he loved to crush the spirit of his men. the more of a hang-dog look they had about them the better was general bragg pleased. not a single soldier in the whole army ever loved or respected him. but he is dead now. peace to his ashes! we became starved skeletons; naked and ragged rebels. the chronic diarrhoea became the scourge of the army. corinth became one vast hospital. almost the whole army attended the sick call every morning. all the water courses went dry, and we used water out of filthy pools. halleck was advancing; we had to fortify corinth. a vast army, grant, buell, halleck, sherman, all were advancing on corinth. our troops were in no condition to fight. in fact, they had seen enough of this miserable yet tragic farce. they were ready to ring down the curtain, put out the footlights and go home. they loved the union anyhow, and were always opposed to this war. but breathe softly the name of bragg. it had more terror than the advancing hosts of halleck's army. the shot and shell would come tearing through our ranks. every now and then a soldier was killed or wounded, and we thought what "magnificent" folly. death was welcome. halleck's whole army of blue coats had no terror now. when we were drawn up in line of battle, a detail of one-tenth of the army was placed in our rear to shoot us down if we ran. no pack of hounds under the master's lash, or body of penitentiary convicts were ever under greater surveillance. we were tenfold worse than slaves; our morale was a thing of the past; the glory of war and the pride of manhood had been sacrificed upon bragg's tyrannical holocaust. but enough of this. rowland shot to death one morning i went over to the 23rd tennessee regiment on a visit to captain gray armstrong and colonel jim niel, both of whom were glad to see me, as we were old ante-bellum friends. while at colonel niel's marquee i saw a detail of soldiers bring out a man by the name of rowland, whom they were going to shoot to death with musketry, by order of a court-martial, for desertion. i learned that he had served out the term for which he had originally volunteered, had quit our army and joined that of the yankees, and was captured with prentiss' yankee brigade at shiloh. he was being hauled to the place of execution in a wagon, sitting on an old gun box, which was to be his coffin. when they got to the grave, which had been dug the day before, the water had risen in it, and a soldier was baling it out. rowland spoke up and said, "please hand me a drink of that water, as i want to drink out of my own grave so the boys will talk about it when i am dead, and remember rowland." they handed him the water and he drank all there was in the bucket, and handing it back asked them to please hand him a little more, as he had heard that water was very scarce in hell, and it would be the last he would ever drink. he was then carried to the death post, and there he began to cut up jack generally. he began to curse bragg, jeff. davis, and the southern confederacy, and all the rebels at a terrible rate. he was simply arrogant and very insulting. i felt that he deserved to die. he said he would show the rebels how a union man could die. i do not know what all he did say. when the shooting detail came up, he went of his own accord and knelt down at the post. the captain commanding the squad gave the command, "ready, aim, fire!" and rowland tumbled over on his side. it was the last of rowland. killing a yankee sharpshooter in our immediate front, at corinth, mississippi, our men were being picked off by sharpshooters, and a great many were killed, but no one could tell where the shots came from. at one particular post it was sure death. every detail that had been sent to this post for a week had been killed. in distributing the detail this post fell to tom webb and myself. they were bringing off a dead boy just as we went on duty. colonel george c. porter, of the 6th tennessee, warned us to keep a good lookout. we took our stands. a minnie ball whistled right by my head. i don't think it missed me an eighth of an inch. tom had sat down on an old chunk of wood, and just as he took his seat, zip! a ball took the chunk of wood. tom picked it up and began laughing at our tight place. happening to glance up towards the tree tops, i saw a smoke rising above a tree, and about the same time i saw a yankee peep from behind the tree, up among the bushes. i quickly called tom's attention to it, and pointed out the place. we could see his ramrod as he handled it while loading his gun; saw him raise his gun, as we thought, to put a cap on it. tom in the meantime had lain flat on his belly and placed his gun across the chunk he had been sitting on. i had taken a rest for my gun by the side of a sapling, and both of us had dead aim at the place where the yankee was. finally we saw him sort o' peep round the tree, and we moved about a little so that he might see us, and as we did so, the yankee stepped out in full view, and bang, bang! tom and i had both shot. we saw that yankee tumble out like a squirrel. it sounded like distant thunder when that yankee struck the ground. we heard the yankees carry him off. one thing i am certain of, and that is, not another yankee went up that tree that day, and colonel george c. porter complimented tom and i very highly on our success. this is where i first saw a jack o'lantern (ignis fatui). that night, while tom and i were on our posts, we saw a number of very dim lights, which seemed to be in motion. at first we took them to be yankees moving about with lights. whenever we could get a shot we would blaze away. at last one got up very close, and passed right between tom and i. i don't think i was ever more scared in my life. my hair stood on end like the quills of the fretful porcupine; i could not imagine what on earth it was. i took it to be some hellish machination of a yankee trick. i did not know whether to run or stand, until i heard tom laugh and say, "well, well, that's a jack o'lantern." colonel field before proceeding further with these memoirs, i desire to give short sketches of two personages with whom we were identified and closely associated until the winding up of the ball. the first is colonel hume r. field. colonel field was born a soldier. i have read many descriptions of stonewall jackson. colonel field was his exact counterpart. they looked somewhat alike, spoke alike, and alike were trained military soldiers. the war department at richmond made a grand mistake in not making him a "commander of armies." he was not a brilliant man; could not talk at all. he was a soldier. his conversation was yea and nay. but when you could get "yes, sir," and "no, sir," out of him his voice was as soft and gentle as a maid's when she says "yes" to her lover. fancy, if you please, a man about thirty years old, a dark skin, made swarthy by exposure to sun and rain, very black eyes that seemed to blaze with a gentle luster. i never saw him the least excited in my life. his face was a face of bronze. his form was somewhat slender, but when you looked at him you saw at the first glance that this would be a dangerous man in a ground skuffle, a foot race, or a fight. there was nothing repulsive or forbidding or even domineering in his looks. a child or a dog would make up with him on first sight. he knew not what fear was, or the meaning of the word fear. he had no nerves, or rather, has a rock or tree any nerves? you might as well try to shake the nerves of a rock or tree as those of colonel field. he was the bravest man, i think, i ever knew. later in the war he was known by every soldier in the army; and the first tennessee regiment, by his manipulations, became the regiment to occupy "tight places." he knew his men. when he struck the yankee line they felt the blow. he had, himself, set the example, and so trained his regiment that all the armies in the world could not whip it. they might kill every man in it, is true, but they would die game to the last man. his men all loved him. he was no disciplinarian, but made his regiment what it was by his own example. and every day on the march you would see some poor old ragged rebel riding his fine gray mare, and he was walking. captain joe p. lee the other person i wish to speak of is captain joe p. lee. captain henry j. webster was our regular captain, but was captured while on furlough, sent to a northern prison and died there, and joe went up by promotion. he was quite a young man, about twenty-one years old, but as brave as any old roman soldier that ever lived. joe's face was ever wreathed in smiles, and from the beginning to the end he was ever at the head of his company. i do not think that any member of the company ever did call him by his title. he was called simply "joe lee," or more frequently "black perch." while on duty he was strict and firm, but off duty he was "one of us boys." we all loved and respected him, but everybody knows joe, and further comment is unnecessary. i merely mention these two persons because in this rapid sketch i may have cause occasionally to mention them, and only wish to introduce them to the reader, so he may understand more fully my ideas. but, reader, please remember that i am not writing a history at all, and do not propose in these memoirs to be anybody's biographer. i am only giving my own impressions. if other persons think differently from me it is all right, and i forgive them. corinth forsaken one morning a detail was sent to burn up and destroy all the provisions and army stores, and to blow up the arsenal. the town was in a blaze of fire and the arsenal was roaring and popping and bellowing like pandemonium turned loose as we marched through corinth on the morning of the evacuation. we bade farewell to corinth. its history was black and dark and damning. no little speck of green oasis ever enlivened the dark recesses of our memory while at this place. it's a desert that lives only in bitter memories. it was but one vast graveyard that entombed the life and spirit of once brave and chivalrous men. we left it to the tender mercies of the yankees without one tear of sorrow or regret, and bade it farewell forever. chapter iv tupelo we went into summer quarters at tupelo. our principal occupation at this place was playing poker, chuck-a-luck and cracking graybacks (lice). every soldier had a brigade of lice on him, and i have seen fellows so busily engaged in cracking them that it reminded me of an old woman knitting. at first the boys would go off in the woods and hide to louse themselves, but that was unnecessary, the ground fairly crawled with lice. pharaoh's people, when they were resisting old moses, never enjoyed the curse of lice more than we did. the boys would frequently have a louse race. there was one fellow who was winning all the money; his lice would run quicker and crawl faster than anybody's lice. we could not understand it. if some fellow happened to catch a fiercelooking louse, he would call on dornin for a race. dornin would come and always win the stake. the lice were placed in plates--this was the race course--and the first that crawled off was the winner. at last we found out d.'s trick; he always heated his plate. billy p. said he had no lice on him. "did you ever look?" "no." "how do you know then?" "if ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise," said billy. "why, there is one crawling on your bosom now." billy took him and put him back in his bosom and said to the louse, "you stay there now; this makes the fourth time i have put you back, and if i catch you out again today i'll martyr you." billy was philosophic--the death of one louse did not stop the breed. the court martial at tupelo at this place was held the grand court-martial. almost every day we would hear a discharge of musketry, and knew that some poor, trembling wretch had bid farewell to mortal things here below. it seemed to be but a question of time with all of us as to when we too would be shot. we were afraid to chirp. so far now as patriotism was concerned, we had forgotten all about that, and did not now so much love our country as we feared bragg. men were being led to the death stake every day. i heard of many being shot, but did not see but two men shot myself. i do not know to what regiment they belonged, but i remember that they were mere beardless boys. i did not learn for what crime or the magnitude of their offenses. they might have deserved death for all i know. i saw an old man, about sixty years old, whose name was dave brewer, and another man, about forty-five, by the name of rube franklin, whipped. there was many a man whipped and branded that i never saw or heard tell of. but the reason i remembered these two was that they belonged to company a of the 23rd tennessee regiment, and i knew many men in the regiment. these two men were hung up by the hands, after having their heads shaved, to a tree, put there for the purpose, with the prongs left on them, and one hand was stretched toward one prong and the other hand to another prong, their feet, perhaps, just touching the ground. the man who did the whipping had a thick piece of sole-leather, the end of which was cut in three strips, and this tacked on to the end of a paddle. after the charges and specifications had been read (both men being stark naked), the whipper "lit in" on rube, who was the youngest. i do not think he intended to hit as hard as he did, but, being excited himself, he blistered rube from head to foot. thirty-nine lashes was always the number. now, three times thirty-nine makes one hundred and seventeen. when he struck at all, one lick would make three whelps. when he had finished rube, the captain commanding the whipping squad told him to lay it on old man brewer as light as the law would allow, that old man brewer was so old that he would die--that he could not stand it. he struck old man dave brewer thirty-nine lashes, but they were laid on light. old dave didn't beg and squall like rube did. he j-e-s-t did whip old man dave. like the old preacher who caught the bear on sunday. they had him up before the church, agreed to let him off if he did not again set his trap. "well," he said, "brethren, i j-e-s-t did set it." raiding on roastingears at this place general bragg issued an order authorizing citizens to defend themselves against the depredations of soldiers--to shoot them down if caught depredating. well, one day byron richardson and myself made a raid on an old citizen's roastingear patch. we had pulled about all the corn that we could carry. i had my arms full and was about starting for camp, when an old citizen raised up and said, "stop there! drop that corn." he had a doublebarreled shotgun cocked and leveled at my breast. "come and go with me to general bragg's headquarters. i intend to take you there, by the living god!" i was in for it. directed to go in front, i was being marched to bragg's headquarters. i could see the devil in the old fellow's eye. i tried to beg off with good promises, but the old fellow was deaf to all entreaty. i represented to him all of our hardships and suffering. but the old fellow was inexorable. i was being steadily carried toward bragg's headquarters. i was determined not to see general bragg, even if the old citizen shot me in the back. when all at once a happy thought struck me. says i, "mister, byron richardson is in your field, and if you will go back we can catch him and you can take both of us to general bragg." the old fellow's spunk was up. he had captured me so easy, he no doubt thought he could whip a dozen. we went back a short distance, and there was byron, who had just climbed over the fence and had his arms full, when the old citizen, diverted from me, leveled his double-barrel at byron, when i made a grab for his gun, which was accidentally discharged in the air, and with the assistance of byron, we had the old fellow and his gun both. the table was turned. we made the old fellow gather as much as he could carry, and made him carry it nearly to camp, when we dismissed him, a wiser if not a better and richer man. we took his gun and bent it around a black jack tree. he was at the soldiers' mercy. chapter v kentucky we go into kentucky after being thoroughly reorganized at tupelo, and the troops had recovered their health and spirits, we made an advance into kentucky. we took the cars at tupelo and went to mobile, from thence across mobile bay to montgomery, alabama, then to atlanta, from there to chattanooga, and then over the mountains afoot to the blue-grass regions of kentucky-the dark and bloody ground. please remember, patient reader, that i write entirely from memory. i have no data or diary or anything to go by, and memory is a peculiar faculty. i find that i cannot remember towns and battles, and remember only the little things. i remember how gladly the citizens of kentucky received us. i thought they had the prettiest girls that god ever made. they could not do too much for us. they had heaps and stacks of cooked rations along our route, with wine and cider everywhere, and the glad shouts of "hurrah for our southern boys!" greeted and welcomed us at every house. ah, the boys felt like soldiers again. the bands played merrier and livelier tunes. it was the patient convalescing; the fever had left him, he was getting fat and strong; the old fire was seen to illuminate his eyes; his step was buoyant and proud; he felt ashamed that he had ever been "hacked"; he could fight now. it was the same old proud soldier of yore. the bands played "dixie" and the "bonnie blue flag," the citizens cheered, and the ladies waved their handkerchiefs and threw us bouquets. ah, those were halcyon days, and your old soldier, kind reader, loves to recall that happy period. mumfordsville had been captured with five thousand prisoners. new recruits were continually joining our ranks. camp dick robinson, that immense pile of army stores, had fallen into our hands. we rode upon the summit of the wave of success. the boys had got clean clothes, and had their faces washed. i saw then what i had long since forgotten--a "cockade." the kentucky girls made cockades for us, and almost every soldier had one pinned on his hat. but stirring events were hastening on, the black cloud of battle and war had begun then to appear much larger than a man's hand, in fact we could see the lightning flash and hear the thunder roar. we were at harrodsburg; the yankees were approaching perryville under general buell. the yankees had been dogging our rear, picking up our stragglers and capturing some of our wagon trains. this good time that we were having was too good to last. we were in an ecstasy akin to heaven. we were happy; the troops were jubilant; our manhood blood pulsated more warmly; our patriotism was awakened; our pride was renewed and stood ready for any emergency; we felt that one southern man could whip twenty yankees. all was lovely and the goose hung high. we went to dances and parties every night. when general chalmers marched to perryville, in flanking and surrounding mumfordsville, we marched the whole night long. we, the private soldiers, did not know what was going on among the generals. all that we had to do was march, march, march. it mattered not how tired, hungry, or thirsty we were. all that we had to do was to march that whole night long, and every staff officer who would pass, some fellow would say, "hey, mister, how far is it to mumfordsville?" he would answer, "five miles." it seemed to me we traveled a hundred miles and were always within five miles of mumfordsville. that night we heard a volley of musketry in our immediate front, and did not know what it meant, but soon we came to where a few soldiers had lighted some candles and were holding them over the body of a dead soldier. it was captain allison, if i remember rightly, of general cheatham's staff. he was very bloody, and had his clothes riddled with balls. i heard that he rode on in front of the advance guard of our army, and had no doubt discovered the yankee picket, and came galloping back at full speed in the dark, when our advance guard fired on and killed him. we laid down in a graveyard that night and slept, and when we awoke the sun was high in the heavens, shining in our faces. mumfordsville had surrendered. the next day dr. c. t. quintard let me ride his horse nearly all day, while he walked with the webfeet. the battle of perryville in giving a description of this most memorable battle, i do not pretend to give you figures, and describe how this general looked and how that one spoke, and the other one charged with drawn sabre, etc. i know nothing of these things--see the history for that. i was simply a soldier of the line, and i only write of the things i saw. i was in every battle, skirmish and march that was made by the first tennessee regiment during the war, and i do not remember of a harder contest and more evenly fought battle than that of perryville. if it had been two men wrestling, it would have been called a "dog fall." both sides claim the victory--both whipped. i stood picket in perryville the night before the battle--a yankee on one side of the street, and i on the other. we got very friendly during the night, and made a raid upon a citizen's pantry, where we captured a bucket of honey, a pitcher of sweet milk, and three or four biscuit. the old citizen was not at home--he and his whole household had gone visiting, i believe. in fact, i think all of the citizens of perryville were taken with a sudden notion of promiscuous visiting about this time; at least they were not at home to all callers. at length the morning dawned. our line was drawn up on one side of perryville, the yankee army on the other. the two enemies that were soon to meet in deadly embrace seemed to be eyeing each other. the blue coats lined the hillside in plain view. you could count the number of their regiments by the number of their flags. we could see the huge war dogs frowning at us, ready at any moment to belch forth their fire and smoke, and hurl their thunderbolts of iron and death in our very midst. i wondered why the fighting did not begin. never on earth were our troops more eager for the engagement to open. the yankees commenced to march toward their left, and we marched almost parallel to our right-both sides watching each other's maneuvers and movements. it was but the lull that precedes the storm. colonel field was commanding our brigade, and lieutenant-colonel patterson our regiment. about 12 o'clock, while we were marching through a corn field, in which the corn had been shocked, they opened their war dogs upon us. the beginning of the end had come. here is where captain john f. wheless was wounded, and three others, whose names i have forgotten. the battle now opened in earnest, and from one end of the line to the other seemed to be a solid sheet of blazing smoke and fire. our regiment crossed a stream, being preceded by wharton's texas rangers, and we were ordered to attack at once with vigor. here general maney's horse was shot. from this moment the battle was a mortal struggle. two lines of battle confronted us. we killed almost every one in the first line, and were soon charging over the second, when right in our immediate front was their third and main line of battle from which four napoleon guns poured their deadly fire. we did not recoil, but our line was fairly hurled back by the leaden hail that was poured into our very faces. eight color-bearers were killed at one discharge of their cannon. we were right up among the very wheels of their napoleon guns. it was death to retreat now to either side. our lieutenant-colonel patterson halloed to charge and take their guns, and we were soon in a hand-to-hand fight--every man for himself--using the butts of our guns and bayonets. one side would waver and fall back a few yards, and would rally, when the other side would fall back, leaving the four napoleon guns; and yet the battle raged. such obstinate fighting i never had seen before or since. the guns were discharged so rapidly that it seemed the earth itself was in a volcanic uproar. the iron storm passed through our ranks, mangling and tearing men to pieces. the very air seemed full of stifling smoke and fire which seemed the very pit of hell, peopled by contending demons. our men were dead and dying right in the very midst of this grand havoc of battle. it was a life to life and death to death grapple. the sun was poised above us, a great red ball sinking slowly in the west, yet the scene of battle and carnage continued. i cannot describe it. the mantle of night fell upon the scene. i do not know which side whipped, but i know that i helped bring off those four napoleon guns that night though we were mighty easy about it. they were given to turner's battery of our brigade and had the name of our lieutenant-colonel patterson and our color-bearer, mitchell, both of whom were killed, inscribed on two of the pieces. i have forgotten the names inscribed on the other two pieces. i saw these very four guns surrendered at missionary ridge. but of this another time. the battle of perryville presented a strange scene. the dead, dying, and wounded of both armies, confederate and federal, were blended in inextricable confusion. now and then a cluster of dead yankees and close by a cluster of dead rebels. it was like the englishman's grog--'alf and 'alf. now, if you wish, kind reader, to find out how many were killed and wounded, i refer you to the histories. i remember one little incident that i laughed at while in the very midst of battle. we were charging through an old citizen's yard, when a big yellow cur dog ran out and commenced snapping at the soldiers' legs-they kicking at him to keep him off. the next morning he was lying near the same place, but he was a dead dog. i helped bring off our wounded that night. we worked the whole night. the next morning about daylight a wounded comrade, sam campbell, complained of being cold, and asked me to lie down beside him. i did so, and was soon asleep; when i awoke the poor fellow was stiff and cold in death. his spirit had flown to its home beyond the skies. after the battle was over, john t. tucker, scott stephens, a. s. horsley and i were detailed to bring off our wounded that night, and we helped to bring off many a poor dying comrade--joe thompson, billy bond, byron richardson, the two allen boys--brothers, killed side by side--and colonel patterson, who was killed standing right by my side. he was first shot through the hand, and was wrapping his handkerchief around it, when another ball struck and killed him. i saw w. j. whittorne, then a strippling boy of fifteen years of age, fall, shot through the neck and collar-bone. he fell apparently dead, when i saw him all at once jump up, grab his gun and commence loading and firing, and i heard him say, "d--n 'em, i'll fight 'em as long as i live." whit thought he was killed, but he is living yet. we helped bring off a man by the name of hodge, with his under jaw shot off, and his tongue lolling out. we brought off captain lute b. irvine. lute was shot through the lungs and was vomiting blood all the while, and begging us to lay him down and let him die. but lute is living yet. also, lieutenant woldridge, with both eyes shot out. i found him rambling in a briar-patch. about fifty members of the rock city guards were killed and nearly one hundred wounded. they were led by captains w. d. kelley, wheless, and steele. lieutenant thomas h. maney was badly wounded. i saw dead on the battlefield a federal general by the name of jackson. it was his brigade that fought us so obstinately at this place, and i did hear that they were made up in kentucky. colonel field, then commanding our brigade, and on his fine gray mare, rode up almost face to face with general jackson, before he was killed, and colonel field was shooting all the time with his seven-shooting rifle. i cannot tell the one-half, or even remember at this late date, the scenes of blood and suffering that i witnessed on the battlefield of perryville. but its history, like all the balance, has gone into the history of the war, and it has been twenty years ago, and i write entirely from memory. i remember lieutenant joe p. lee and captain w. c. flournoy standing right at the muzzle of the napoleon guns, and the next moment seemed to be enveloped in smoke and fire from the discharge of the cannon. when the regiment recoiled under the heavy firing and at the first charge, billy webster and i stopped behind a large oak tree and continued to fire at the yankees until the regiment was again charging upon the four napoleon guns, heavily supported by infantry. we were not more than twenty paces from them; and here i was shot through the hat and cartridge-box. i remember this, because at that time billy and i were in advance of our line, and whenever we saw a yankee rise to shoot, we shot him; and i desire to mention here that a braver or more noble boy was never created on earth than was billy webster. everybody liked him. he was the flower and chivalry of our regiment. his record as a brave and noble boy will ever live in the hearts of his old comrades that served with him in company h. he is up yonder now, and we shall meet again. in these memoirs i only tell what i saw myself, and in this way the world will know the truth. now, citizen, let me tell you what you never heard before, and this is this--there were many men with the rank and pay of general, who were not generals; there were many men with the rank and pay of privates who would have honored and adorned the name of general. now, i will state further that a private soldier was a private. it mattered not how ignorant a corporal might be, he was always right; it mattered not how intelligent the private might be (and so on up); the sergeant was right over the corporal, the sergeant-major over the sergeant, the lieutenant over him, and the captain over him, and the major over him, and the colonel over him, and the general over him, and so on up to jeff davis. you see, a private had no right to know anything, and that is why generals did all the fighting, and that is today why generals and colonels and captains are great men. they fought the battles of our country. the privates did not. the generals risked their reputation, the private soldier his life. no one ever saw a private in battle. his history would never be written. it was the generals that everybody saw charge such and such, with drawn sabre, his eyes flashing fire, his nostrils dilated, and his clarion voice ringing above the din of battle--"in a horn," over the left. bill johns and marsh pinkard would have made generals that would have distinguished themselves and been an honor to the country. i know today many a private who would have made a good general. i know of many a general who was better fitted to be excused from detail and fights, to hang around a camp and draw rations for the company. a private had no way to distinguish himself. he had to keep in ranks, either in a charge or a retreat. but now, as the generals and colonels fill all the positions of honor and emoluments, the least i say, the better. the retreat out of kentucky from perryville we went to camp dick robinson and drew three days' rations, and then set fire to and destroyed all those great deposits of army stores which would have supplied the south for a year. we ate those rations and commenced our retreat out of kentucky with empty haversacks and still emptier stomachs. we supposed our general and commissaries knew what they were doing, and at night we would again draw rations, but we didn't. the yankee cavalry are worrying our rear guards. there is danger of an attack at any moment. no soldier is allowed to break ranks. we thought, well surely we will draw rations tonight. but we didn't. we are marching for cumberland gap; the country has long ago been made desolate by the alternate occupation of both armies. there are no provisions in the country. it has long since been laid waste. we wanted rations, but we did not get them. fourth day out--cumberland gap in the distance--a great indenture in the ranges of cumberland mountains. the scene was grand. but grand scenery had but little attraction for a hungry soldier. surely we will get rations at cumberland gap. toil on up the hill, and when half way up the hill, "halt!"--march back down to the foot of the hill to defend the cavalry. i was hungry. a cavalryman was passing our regiment with a pile of scorched dough on the pummel of his saddle. says i, "halt! i am going to have a pattock of that bread." "don't give it to him! don't give it to him!" was yelled out from all sides. i cocked my gun and was about to raise it to my shoulder, when he handed me over a pattock of scorched dough, and every fellow in company h made a grab for it, and i only got about two or three mouthfuls. about dark a wild heifer ran by our regiment, and i pulled down on her. we killed and skinned her, and i cut off about five pounds of hindquarter. in three minutes there was no sign of that beef left to tell the tale. we ate that beef raw and without salt. only eight miles now to cumberland gap, and we will get rations now. but we didn't. we descended the mountain on the southern side. no rations yet. well, says i, this won't do me. i am going to hunt something to eat, bragg or no bragg. i turned off the road and struck out through the country, but had gone but a short distance before i came across a group of soldiers clambering over something. it was tom tuck with a barrel of sorghum that he had captured from a good union man. he was selling it out at five dollars a quart. i paid my five dollars, and by pushing and scrouging i finally got my quart. i sat down and drank it; it was bully; it was not so good; it was not worth a cent; i was sick, and have never loved sorghum since. along the route it was nothing but tramp, tramp, tramp, and no sound or noise but the same inevitable, monotonous tramp, tramp, tramp, up hill and down hill, through long and dusty lanes, weary, wornout and hungry. no cheerful warble of a merry songster would ever greet our ears. it was always tramp, tramp, tramp. you might, every now and then, hear the occasional words, "close up;" but outside of that, it was but the same tramp, tramp, tramp. i have seen soldiers fast asleep, and no doubt dreaming of home and loved ones there, as they staggered along in their places in the ranks. i know that on many a weary night's march i have slept, and slept soundly, while marching along in my proper place in the ranks of the company, stepping to the same step as the soldier in front of me did. sometimes, when weary, broken down and worn out, some member of the regiment would start a tune, and every man would join in. john branch was usually the leader of the choir. he would commence a beautiful tune. the words, as i remember them now, were "dear paul, just twenty years ago." after singing this piece he would commence on a lively, spirit-stirring air to the tune of "old uncle ned." now, reader, it has been twenty years ago since i heard it, but i can remember a part of it now. here it is: "there was an ancient individual whose cognomen was uncle edward. he departed this life long since, long since. he had no capillary substance on the top of his cranium, the place where the capillary substance ought to vegetate. his digits were as long as the bamboo piscatorial implement of the southern mississippi. he had no oculars to observe the beauties of nature. he had no ossified formation to masticate his daily rations, so he had to let his daily rations pass by with impunity." walker coleman raises the tune of "i'se a gwine to jine the rebel band, a fightin' for my home." now, reader, the above is all i can now remember of that very beautiful and soul-stirring air. but the boys would wake up and step quicker and livelier for some time, and arthur fulghum would holloa out, "all right; go ahead!" and then would toot! toot! as if the cars were starting-puff! puff! puff and then he would say, "tickets, gentlemen; tickets, gentlemen." like he was conductor on a train of cars. this little episode would be over, and then would commence the same tramp, tramp, tramp, all night long. step by step, step by step, we continued to plod and nod and stagger and march, tramp, tramp, tramp. after a while we would see the morning star rise in the east, and then after a while the dim gray twilight, and finally we could discover the outlines of our file leader, and after a while could make out the outlines of trees and other objects. and as it would get lighter and lighter, and day would be about to break, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, would come from tom tuck's rooster. [tom carried a game rooster, that he called "fed" for confederacy, all through the war in a haversack.] and then the sun would begin to shoot his slender rays athwart the eastern sky, and the boys would wake up and begin laughing and talking as if they had just risen from a good feather bed, and were perfectly refreshed and happy. we would usually stop at some branch or other about breakfast time, and all wash our hands and faces and eat breakfast, if we had any, and then commence our weary march again. if we were halted for one minute, every soldier would drop down, and resting on his knapsack, would go to sleep. sometimes the sleeping soldiers were made to get up to let some general and his staff pass by. but whenever that was the case, the general always got a worse cursing than when noah cursed his son ham black and blue. i heard jessee ely do this once. we march on. the scene of a few days ago comes unbidden to my mind. tramp, tramp, tramp, the soldiers are marching. where are many of my old friends and comrades, whose names were so familiar at every roll call, and whose familiar "here" is no more? they lie yonder at perryville, unburied, on the field of battle. they lie where they fell. more than three hundred and fifty members of my regiment, the first tennessee, numbered among the killed and wounded--one hundred and eighty-five slain on the field of battle. who are they? even then i had to try to think up the names of all the slain of company h alone. their spirits seemed to be with us on the march, but we know that their souls are with their god. their bones, today, no doubt, bleach upon the battlefield. they left their homes, families, and loved ones a little more than one short twelve months ago, dressed in their gray uniforms, amid the applause and cheering farewells of those same friends. they lie yonder; no friendly hands ever closed their eyes in death; no kind, gentle, and loving mother was there to shed a tear over and say farewell to her darling boy; no sister's gentle touch ever wiped the death damp from off their dying brows. noble boys; brave boys! they willingly gave their lives to their country's cause. their bodies and bones are mangled and torn by the rude missiles of war. they sleep the sleep of the brave. they have given their all to their country. we miss them from our ranks. there are no more hard marches and scant rations for them. they have accomplished all that could be required of them. they are no more; their names are soon forgotten. they are put down in the roll-book as killed. they are forgotten. we will see them no more until the last reveille on the last morning of the final resurrection. soldiers, comrades, friends, noble boys, farewell we will meet no more on earth, but up yonder some day we will have a grand reunion. knoxville the first night after crossing cumberland gap--i have forgotten the date, but i know it was very early in the fall of the year; we had had no frost or cold weather, and our marches all through kentucky had been characterized by very dry weather, it not having rained a drop on us during the whole time--about four o'clock in the morning it began to snow, and the next morning the ground was covered with a deep snow; the trees and grass and everything of the vegetable kingdom still green. when we got back to knoxville we were the lousiest, dirtiest, raggedest looking rebels you ever saw. i had been shot through the hat and cartridge-box at perryville, and had both on, and the clothing i then had on was all that i had in the world. william a. hughes and i were walking up the street looking at the stores, etc., when we met two of the prettiest girls i ever saw. they ran forward with smiling faces, and seemed very glad to see us. i thought they were old acquaintances of hughes, and hughes thought they were old acquaintances of mine. we were soon laughing and talking as if we had been old friends, when one of the young ladies spoke up and said, "gentlemen, there is a supper for the soldiers at the ladies' association rooms, and we are sent out to bring in all the soldiers we can find." we spoke up quickly and said, "thank you, thank you, young ladies," and i picked out the prettiest one and said, "please take my arm," which she did, and hughes did the same with the other one, and we went in that style down the street. i imagine we were a funny looking sight. i know one thing, i felt good all over, and as proud as a boy with his first pants, and when we got to that supper room those young ladies waited on us, and we felt as grand as kings. to you, ladies, i say, god bless you! ah, "sneak" almost every soldier in the army--generals, colonels, captains, as well as privates--had a nick-name; and i almost believe that had the war continued ten years, we would have forgotten our proper names. john t. tucker was called "sneak," a. s. horsley was called "don von one horsley," w. a. hughes was called "apple jack," green rieves was called "devil horse," the surgeon of our regiment was called "old snake," bob brank was called "count," the colonel of the fourth was called "guide post," e. l. lansdown was called "left tenant," some were called by the name of "greasy," some "buzzard," others "hog," and "brutus," and "cassius," and "caesar," "left center," and "bolderdust," and "old hannah;" in fact, the nick-names were singular and peculiar, and when a man got a nick-name it stuck to him like the old man of the sea did to the shoulders of sinbad, the sailor. on our retreat the soldiers got very thirsty for tobacco (they always used the word thirsty), and they would sometimes come across an old field off which the tobacco had been cut and the suckers had re-sprouted from the old stalk, and would cut off these suckers and dry them by the fire and chew them. "sneak" had somehow or other got hold of a plug or two, and knowing that he would be begged for a chew, had cut it up in little bits of pieces about one-fourth of a chew. some fellow would say, "sneak, please give me a chew of tobacco." sneak would say, "i don't believe i have a piece left," and then he would begin to feel in his pockets. he would pull that hand out and feel in another pocket, and then in his coat pockets, and hid away down in an odd corner of his vest pocket he would accidentally find a little chew, just big enough to make "spit come." sneak had his pockets full all the time. the boys soon found out his inuendoes and subterfuges, but john would all the time appear as innocent of having tobacco as a pet lamb that has just torn down a nice vine that you were so careful in training to run over the front porch. ah, john, don't deny it now! i jine the cavalry when we got to charleston, on the hiwassee river, there we found the first tennessee cavalry and ninth battalion, both of which had been made up principally in maury county, and we knew all the boys. we had a good old-fashioned handshaking all around. then i wanted to "jine the cavalry." captain asa g. freeman had an extra horse, and i got on him and joined the cavalry for several days, but all the time some passing cavalryman would make some jocose remark about "here is a webfoot who wants to jine the cavalry, and has got a bayonet on his gun and a knapsack on his back." i felt like i had got into the wrong pen, but anyhow i got to ride all of three days. i remember that mr. willis b. embry gave me a five-pound package of kallickanick smoking tobacco, for which i was very grateful. i think he was quartermaster of the first tennessee cavalry, and as good a man and as clever a person as i ever knew. none knew him but to love him. i was told that he was killed by a lot of yankee soldiers after he had surrendered to them, all the time begging for his life, asking them please not kill him. but he that noteth the sparrow's fall doeth all things well. not one ever falls to the ground with his consent. chapter vi murfreesboro we came from knoxville to chattanooga, and seemed destined to make a permanent stay here. we remained several months, but soon we were on the tramp again. from chattanooga, bragg's army went to murfreesboro. the federal army was concentrating at nashville. there was no rest for the weary. marches and battles were the order of the day. our army stopped at murfreesboro. our advanced outpost was established at lavergne. from time to time different regiments were sent forward to do picket duty. i was on picket at the time the advance was made by rosecrans. at the time mentioned, i was standing about two hundred yards off the road, the main body of the pickets being on the nashville and murfreesboro turnpike, and commanded by lieutenant hardy murfree, of the rutherford rifles. i had orders to allow no one to pass. in fact, no one was expected to pass at this point, but while standing at my post, a horseman rode up behind me. i halted him, and told him to go down to the main picket on the road and pass, but he seemed so smiling that i thought he knew me, or had a good joke to tell me. he advanced up, and pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket, handed it to me to read. it was an order from general leonidas polk to allow the bearer to pass. i read it, and looked up to hand it back to him, when i discovered that he had a pistol cocked and leveled in my face, and says he, "drop that gun; you are my prisoner." i saw there was no use in fooling about it. i knew if i resisted he would shoot me, and i thought then that he was about to perform that detestable operation. i dropped the gun. i did not wish to spend my winter in a northern prison, and what was worse, i would be called a deserter from my post of duty. the yankee picket lines were not a half mile off. i was perfectly willing to let the spy go on his way rejoicing--for such he was--but he wanted to capture a rebel. and i had made up my mind to think likewise. there i was, a prisoner sure, and no mistake about it. his pistol was leveled, and i was ordered to march. i was afraid to halloo to the relief, and you may be sure i was in a bad fix. finally says i, "let's play quits. i think you are a soldier; you look like a gentleman. i am a videt; you know the responsibility resting on me. you go your way, and leave me here. is it a bargain?" says he, "i would not trust a secesh on his word, oath, or bond. march, i say." i soon found out that he had caught sight of the relief on the road, and was afraid to shoot. i quickly made up my mind. my gun was at my feet, and one step would get it. i made a quick glance over my shoulder, and grabbed at my gun. he divined my motive, and fired. the ball missed its aim. he put spurs to his horse, but i pulled down on him, and almost tore the fore shoulder of his horse entirely off, but i did not capture the spy, though i captured the horse, bridle and saddle. major allen, of the twenty-seventh tennessee regiment, took the saddle and bridle, and gave me the blanket. i remember the blanket had the picture of a "big lion" on it, and it was almost new. when we fell back, as the yankee sharpshooters advanced, we left the poor old horse nipping the short, dry grass. i saw a yankee skirmisher run up and grab the horse and give a whoop as if he had captured a rebel horse. but they continued to advance upon us, we firing and retreating slowly. we had several pretty sharp brushes with them that day. i remember that they had to cross an open field in our front, and we were lying behind a fence, and as they advanced, we kept up firing, and would run them back every time, until they brought up a regiment that whooped, and yelled, and charged our skirmish line, and then we fell back again. i think we must have killed a good many in the old field, because we were firing all the time at the solid line as they advanced upon us. battle of murfreesboro the next day, the yankees were found out to be advancing. soon they came in sight of our picket. we kept falling back and firing all day, and were relieved by another regiment about dark. we rejoined our regiment. line of battle was formed on the north bank of stone's river--on the yankee side. bad generalship, i thought. it was christmas. john barleycorn was general-in-chief. our generals, and colonels, and captains, had kissed john a little too often. they couldn't see straight. it was said to be buckeye whisky. they couldn't tell our own men from yankees. the private could, but he was no general, you see. but here they were--the yankees--a battle had to be fought. we were ordered forward. i was on the skirmish line. we marched plumb into the yankee lines, with their flags flying. i called lieutenant-colonel frierson's attention to the yankees, and he remarked, "well, i don't know whether they are yankees or not, but if they are, they will come out of there mighty quick." the yankees marched over the hill out of sight. we were ordered forward to the attack. we were right upon the yankee line on the wilkerson turnpike. the yankees were shooting our men down by scores. a universal cry was raised, "you are firing on your own men." "cease firing, cease firing," i hallooed; in fact, the whole skirmish line hallooed, and kept on telling them that they were yankees, and to shoot; but the order was to cease firing, you are firing on your own men. captain james, of cheatham's staff, was sent forward and killed in his own yard. we were not twenty yards off from the yankees, and they were pouring the hot shot and shells right into our ranks; and every man was yelling at the top of his voice, "cease firing, you are firing on your own men; cease firing, you are firing on your own men." oakley, color-bearer of the fourth tennessee regiment, ran right up in the midst of the yankee line with his colors, begging his men to follow. i hallooed till i was hoarse, "they are yankees, they are yankees; shoot, they are yankees." the crest occupied by the yankees was belching loud with fire and smoke, and the rebels were falling like leaves of autumn in a hurricane. the leaden hail storm swept them off the field. they fell back and re-formed. general cheatham came up and advanced. i did not fall back, but continued to load and shoot, until a fragment of a shell struck me on the arm, and then a minnie ball passed through the same paralyzing my arm, and wounded and disabled me. general cheatham, all the time, was calling on the men to go forward, saying, "come on, boys, and follow me." the impression that general frank cheatham made upon my mind, leading the charge on the wilkerson turnpike, i will never forget. i saw either victory or death written on his face. when i saw him leading our brigade, although i was wounded at the time, i felt sorry for him, he seemed so earnest and concerned, and as he was passing me i said, "well, general, if you are determined to die, i'll die with you." we were at that time at least a hundred yards in advance of the brigade, cheatham all the time calling upon the men to come on. he was leading the charge in person. then it was that i saw the power of one man, born to command, over a multitude of men then almost routed and demoralized. i saw and felt that he was not fighting for glory, but that he was fighting for his country because he loved that country, and he was willing to give his life for his country and the success of our cause. he deserves a wreath of immortality, and a warm place in every southron's heart, for his brave and glorious example on that bloody battlefield of murfreesboro. yes, his history will ever shine in beauty and grandeur as a name among the brightest in all the galaxy of leaders in the history of our cause. now, another fact i will state, and that is, when the private soldier was ordered to charge and capture the twelve pieces of artillery, heavily supported by infantry, maney's brigade raised a whoop and yell, and swooped down on those yankees like a whirl-a-gust of woodpeckers in a hail storm, paying the blue coated rascals back with compound interest; for when they did come, every man's gun was loaded, and they marched upon the blazing crest in solid file, and when they did fire, there was a sudden lull in the storm of battle, because the yankees were nearly all killed. i cannot remember now of ever seeing more dead men and horses and captured cannon, all jumbled together, than that scene of blood and carnage and battle on the wilkerson turnpike. the ground was literally covered with blue coats dead; and, if i remember correctly, there were eighty dead horses. by this time our command had re-formed, and charged the blazing crest. the spectacle was grand. with cheers and shouts they charged up the hill, shooting down and bayoneting the flying cannoneers, general cheatham, colonel field and joe lee cutting and slashing with their swords. the victory was complete. the whole left wing of the federal army was driven back five miles from their original position. their dead and wounded were in our lines, and we had captured many pieces of artillery, small arms, and prisoners. when i was wounded, the shell and shot that struck me, knocked me winding. i said, "o, o, i'm wounded," and at the same time i grabbed my arm. i thought it had been torn from my shoulder. the brigade had fallen back about two hundred yards, when general cheatham's presence reassured them, and they soon were in line and ready to follow so brave and gallant a leader, and had that order of "cease firing, you are firing on your own men," not been given, maney's brigade would have had the honor of capturing eighteen pieces of artillery, and ten thousand prisoners. this i do know to be a fact. as i went back to the field hospital, i overtook another man walking along. i do not know to what regiment he belonged, but i remember of first noticing that his left arm was entirely gone. his face was as white as a sheet. the breast and sleeve of his coat had been torn away, and i could see the frazzled end of his shirt sleeve, which appeared to be sucked into the wound. i looked at it pretty close, and i said "great god!" for i could see his heart throb, and the respiration of his lungs. i was filled with wonder and horror at the sight. he was walking along, when all at once he dropped down and died without a struggle or a groan. i could tell of hundreds of such incidents of the battlefield, but tell only this one, because i remember it so distinctly. robbing a dead yankee in passing over the battlefield, i came across a dead yankee colonel. he had on the finest clothes i ever saw, a red sash and fine sword. i particularly noticed his boots. i needed them, and had made up my mind to wear them out for him. but i could not bear the thought of wearing dead men's shoes. i took hold of the foot and raised it up and made one trial at the boot to get it off. i happened to look up, and the colonel had his eyes wide open, and seemed to be looking at me. he was stone dead, but i dropped that foot quick. it was my first and last attempt to rob a dead yankee. after the battle was over at murfreesboro, that night, john tucker and myself thought that we would investigate the contents of a fine brick mansion in our immediate front, but between our lines and the yankees', and even in advance of our videts. before we arrived at the house we saw a body of yankees approaching, and as we started to run back they fired upon us. our pickets had run in and reported a night attack. we ran forward, expecting that our men would recognize us, but they opened fire upon us. i never was as bad scared in all my whole life, and if any poor devil ever prayed with fervency and true piety, i did it on that occasion. i thought, "i am between two fires." i do not think that a flounder or pancake was half as flat as i was that night; yea, it might be called in music, low flat. chapter vii shelbyville it is a bad thing for an army to remain too long at one place. the men soon become discontented and unhappy, and we had no diversion or pastime except playing poker and chuck-a-luck. all the money of the regiment had long ago been spent, but grains of corn represented dollars, and with these we would play as earnestly and as zealously as if they were so much money, sure enough. a foot race one of those amusing episodes that frequently occur in the army, happened at this place. a big strapping fellow by the name of tennessee thompson, always carried bigger burdens than any other five men in the army. for example, he carried two quilts, three blankets, one gum oil cloth, one overcoat, one axe, one hatchet, one camp-kettle, one oven and lid, one coffee pot, besides his knapsack, haversack, canteen, gun, cartridgebox, and three days' rations. he was a rare bird, anyhow. tennessee usually had his hair cut short on one side and left long on the other, so that he could give his head a bow and a toss and throw the long hairs over on the other side, and it would naturally part itself without a comb. tennessee was the wit and good nature of the company; always in a good humor, and ever ready to do any duty when called upon. in fact, i would sometimes get out of heart and low spirited, and would hunt up tennessee to have a little fun. his bye-word was "bully for bragg; he's hell on retreat, and will whip the yankees yet." he was a good and brave soldier, and followed the fortunes of company h from the beginning to the end. well, one day he and billy webster bet twenty-five dollars, put up in bill martin's hands, as to which could run the faster. john tucker, joe lee, alf. horsley and myself were appointed judges. the distance was two hundred yards. the ground was measured off, and the judges stationed. tennessee undressed himself, even down to his stocking feet, tied a red handkerchief around his head, and another one around his waist, and walked deliberately down the track, eyeing every little rock and stick and removing them off the track. comes back to the starting point and then goes down the track in half canter; returns again, his eyes flashing, his nostrils dilated, looking the impersonation of the champion courser of the world; makes two or three apparently false starts; turns a somersault by placing his head on the ground and flopping over on his back; gets up and whickers like a horse; goes half-hammered, hop, step, and jump--he says, to loosen up his joints--scratches up the ground with his hands and feet, flops his arms and crows like a rooster, and says, "bully for bragg; he's hell on a retreat," and announces his readiness. the drum is tapped, and off they start. well, billy webster beat him one hundred yards in the two hundred, and tennessee came back and said, "well, boys, i'm beat; billy martin, hand over the stakes to billy webster. i'm beat, but hang me if i didn't outrun the whole yankee army coming out of kentucky; got away from lieutenant lansdown and the whole detail at chattanooga with half a hog, a fifty pound sack of flour, a jug of meneesee commissary whisky, and a camp-kettle full of brown sugar. i'm beat. billy martin, hand over the stakes. bully for bragg; he's hell on a retreat." tennessee was trying bluff. he couldn't run worth a cent; but there was no braver or truer man ever drew a ramrod or tore a cartridge than tennessee. eating mussels reader, did you ever eat a mussel? well, we did, at shelbyville. we were camped right upon the bank of duck river, and one day fred dornin, ed voss, andy wilson and i went in the river mussel hunting. every one of us had a meal sack. we would feel down with our feet until we felt a mussel and then dive for it. we soon filled our sacks with mussels in their shells. when we got to camp we cracked the shells and took out the mussels. we tried frying them, but the longer they fried the tougher they got. they were a little too large to swallow whole. then we stewed them, and after a while we boiled them, and then we baked them, but every flank movement we would make on those mussels the more invulnerable they would get. we tried cutting them up with a hatchet, but they were so slick and tough the hatchet would not cut them. well, we cooked them, and buttered them, and salted them, and peppered them, and battered them. they looked good, and smelt good, and tasted good; at least the fixings we put on them did, and we ate the mussels. i went to sleep that night. i dreamed that my stomach was four grindstones, and that they turned in four directions, according to the four corners of the earth. i awoke to hear four men yell out, "o, save, o, save me from eating any more mussels!" "poor" berry morgan one of those sad, unexpected affairs, that remind the living that even in life we are in the midst of death, happened at shelbyville. our regiment had been out to the front, on duty, and was returning to camp. it was nearly dark, and we saw a black wind cloud rising. the lightning's flash and the deep muttering thunders warned us to seek shelter as speedily as possible. some of us ran in under the old depot shed, and soon the storm struck us. it was a tornado that made a track through the woods beyond shelbyville, and right through the town, and we could follow its course for miles where it had blown down the timber, twisting and piling it in every shape. berry morgan and i had ever been close friends, and we threw down our blankets and were lying side by side, when i saw roofs of houses, sign boards, and brickbats flying in every direction. nearly half of the town was blown away in the storm. while looking at the storm without, i felt the old shed suddenly jar and tremble, and suddenly become unroofed, and it seemed to me that ten thousand brickbats had fallen in around us. i could hear nothing for the roaring of the storm, and could see nothing for the blinding rain and flying dirt and bricks and other rubbish. the storm lasted but a few minutes, but those minutes seemed ages. when it had passed, i turned to look at "poor berry." poor fellow! his head was crushed in by a brickbat, his breast crushed in by another, and i think his arm was broken, and he was otherwise mutilated. it was a sad sight. many others of our regiment were wounded. berry was a very handsome boy. he was what everybody would call a "pretty man." he had fair skin, blue eyes, and fine curly hair, which made him look like an innocent child. i loved berry. he was my friend-as true as the needle to the pole. but god, who doeth all things well, took his spirit in the midst of the storm to that beautiful home beyond the skies. i thank god i am no infidel. we will meet again. wright shot to death with musketry i saw a young boy about seventeen or eighteen years old, by the name of wright, and belonging to general marcus j. wright's brigade, shot to death with musketry at this place. the whole of cheatham's division had to march out and witness the horrid scene. now, i have no doubt that many, if not all, would have gone without being forced to do so, but then you know that was bragg's style. he wanted always to display his tyranny, and to intimidate his privates as much as possible. the young man was hauled in a wagon, sitting on his coffin, to the place where the grave was to be dug, and a post was planted in the ground. he had to sit there for more than two hours, looking on at the preparations for his death. i went up to the wagon, like many others, to have a look at the doomed man. he had his hat pulled down over his eyes, and was busily picking at the ends of his fingers. the guard who then had him in charge told me that one of the culprit's own brothers was one of the detail to shoot him. i went up to the wagon and called him, "wright!" he made no reply, and did not even look up. then i said, "wright, why don't you jump out of that wagon and run?" he was callous to everything. i was sorry for him. when the division was all assembled, and the grave dug, and the post set, he was taken out of the wagon, and tied to the post. he was first tied facing the post, and consequently would have been shot in the back, but was afterwards tied with his back to the post. the chaplain of the regiment read a chapter in the bible, sang a hymn, and then all knelt down and prayed. general wright went up to the pinioned man, shook hands with him, and told him good-bye, as did many others, and then the shooting detail came up, and the officer in charge gave the command, "ready, aim, fire!" the crash of musketry broke upon the morning air. i was looking at wright. i heard him almost shriek, "o, o, god!" his head dropped forward, the rope with which he was pinioned keeping him from falling. i turned away and thought how long, how long will i have to witness these things? dave sublett promoted while at shelbyville, a vacancy occurring in captain ledbetter's company, the rutherford rifles, for fourth corporal, dave sublett became a candidate for the position. now, dave was a genius. he was a noble and brave fellow, and at one time had been a railroad director. he had a distinguished air always about him, but dave had one fault, and that was, he was ever prone to get tight. he had been a union man, and even now he always had a good word for the union. he was sincere, but eccentric. the election for fourth corporal was drawing nigh. dave sent off and got two jugs of _spirits vini frumenti_, and treated the boys. of course, his vote would be solid. every man in that company was going to cast his vote for him. dave got happy and wanted to make a speech. he went to the butcher's block which was used to cut up meat on--he called it butchers' hall--got upon it amid loud cheering and hurrahs of the boys. he spoke substantially as follows: "fellow citizens--i confess that it is with feelings of diffidence and great embarrassment on my part that i appear before you on this occasion. but, gentlemen and fellow-citizens, i desire to serve you in an humble capacity, as fourth corporal of company i. should you see cause to elect me, no heart will beat with more gratitude than my own. gentlemen, you well know that i was ever a union man: "'a union of lakes, and a union of lands, a union that no one can sever; a union of hearts, and a union of hands, a glorious union forever.' [cheers and applause.] "fellow-citizens, i can look through the dim telescope of the past and see kansas, bleeding kansas, coming like a fair young bride, dressed in her bridal drapery, her cheek wet and moistened with the tears of love. i can see her come and knock gently at the doors of the union, asking for admittance. [wild cheering.] looking further back, i can see our forefathers of the revolution baring their bosoms to the famine of a seven years' war, making their own bosoms a breastwork against the whole hosts of king george iii. but, gentlemen, as i before remarked, i desire to ask at your hands the high, distinguished and lucrative office, my fellow-citizens, and for which i will ever feel grateful--the office of fourth corporal in your company." [cheers.] now, dave had a competitor who was a states' rights democrat. if i mistake not, his name was frank haliburton. now, frank was an original secessionist. he felt that each state was a separate, sovereign government of itself, and that the south had the same rights in the territories as they of the north. he was fighting for secession and state rights upon principle. when sublett had finished his speech, frank took the stand and said: "gentlemen and fellow-citizens--i am a candidate for fourth corporal, and if you will elect me i will be grateful, and will serve you to the best of my ability. my competitor seems to harp considerably upon his union record, and union love. if i mistake not, my fellow-citizens, it was old george mcduffie that stood up in the senate chamber of the united states and said, 'when i hear the shout of "glorious union," methinks i hear the shout of a robber gang.' mcduffie saw through his prophetic vision the evils that would result, and has foretold them as if by inspiration from above. "fellow-citizens, under the name of union our country is invaded today. "these cursed yankees are invading our country, robbing our people, and desolating our land, and all under the detestable and damning name of union. our representatives in congress have been fighting them for fifty years. compromise after compromise has been granted by the south. we have used every effort to conciliate those at the north. they have turned a deaf ear to every plea. they saw our country rich and prosperous, and have come indeed, like a gang of robbers, to steal our property and murder our people. but, fellow-citizens, i for one am ready to meet them, and desire that you elect me fourth corporal of company i, so that i can serve you in a more efficient manner, while we meet as a band of brothers, the cursed horde of northern hessians and hirelings. i thank you for your attention, gentlemen, and would thank you for your votes." well, the election came off, and dave was elected by an overwhelming majority. but the high eminence of military distinction enthralled him. he seemed to live in an atmosphere of greatness and glory, and was looking eagerly forward to the time when he would command armies. he had begun to climb the ladder of glory under most favorable and auspicious circumstances. he felt his consequence and keeping. he was detailed once, and only once, to take command of the third relief of camp guard. ah, this thing of office was a big thing. he desired to hold a council of war with generals bragg, polk, hardee, and kirby smith. he first visited general polk. his war metal was up. he wanted a fight just then and there, and a fight he must have, at all hazards, and to the last extremity. he became obstreperous, when general polk called a guard and had him marched off to the guard-house. it was then ordered that he should do extra fatigue duty for a week. the guard would take him to the woods with an ax, and he would make two or three chops on a tree and look up at it and say: "woodman, spare that tree; touch not a single bough; in youth it sheltered me, and i'll protect it now." he would then go to another tree; but at no tree would he make more than two or three licks before he would go to another. he would hit a limb and then a log; would climb a tree and cut at a limb or two, and keep on this way until he came to a hard old stump, which on striking his ax would bound and spring back. he had found his desire; the top of that stump became fun and pleasure. well, his time of misdemeanor expired and he was relieved. he went back and reported to colonel field, who informed him that he had been reduced to the ranks. he drew himself up to his full height and said: "colonel, i regret exceedingly to be so soon deprived of my new fledged honors that i have won on so many a hard fought and bloody battlefield, but if i am reduced to the ranks as a private soldier, i can but exclaim, like moses of old, when he crossed the red sea in defiance of pharaoh's hosts, 'o, how the mighty have fallen!'" he then marched off with the air of the born soldier. down duck river in a canoe "ora pro nobis." at this place, duck river wended its way to columbia. on one occasion it was up--had on its sunday clothes--a-booming. andy wilson and i thought that we would slip off and go down the river in a canoe. we got the canoe and started. it was a leaky craft. we had not gone far before the thing capsized, and we swam ashore. but we were outside of the lines now, and without passes. (we would have been arrested anyhow.) so we put our sand paddles to work and landed in columbia that night. i loved a maid, and so did andy, and some poet has said that love laughs at grates, bars, locksmiths, etc. i do not know how true this is, but i do know that when i went to see my sweetheart that night i asked her to pray for me, because i thought the prayers of a pretty woman would go a great deal further "up yonder" than mine would. i also met cousin alice, another beautiful woman, at my father's front gate, and told her that she must pray for me, because i knew i would be court-martialed as soon as i got back; that i had no idea of deserting the army and only wanted to see the maid i loved. it took me one day to go to columbia and one day to return, and i stayed at home only one day, and went back of my own accord. when i got back to shelbyville, i was arrested and carried to the guard-house, and when court-martialed was sentenced to thirty days' fatigue duty and to forfeit four months' pay at eleven dollars per month, making forty-four dollars. now, you see how dearly i paid for that trip. but, fortunately for me, general leonidas polk has issued an order that very day promising pardon to all soldiers absent without leave if they would return. i got the guard to march me up to his headquarters and told him of my predicament, and he ordered my release, but said nothing of remitting the fine. so when we were paid off at chattanooga i was left out. the confederate states of america were richer by forty-four dollars. "sheneral owleydousky" general owleydousky, lately imported from poland, was bragg's inspector general. i remember of reading in the newspapers of where he tricked bragg at last. the papers said he stole all of bragg's clothes one day and left for parts unknown. it is supposed he went back to poland to act as "ugh! big indian; fight heap mit bragg." but i suppose it must have left bragg in a bad fix--somewhat like mr. jones, who went to ask the old folks for miss willis. on being told that she was a very poor girl, and had no property for a start in life, he simply said, "all right; all i want is the naked girl." on one occasion, while inspecting the arms and accoutrements of our regiments, when he came to inspect company h he said, "shentlemens, vatfor you make de pothook out of de sword and de bayonet, and trow de cartridge-box in de mud? i dust report you to sheneral bragg. mine gracious!" approaching orderly sergeant john t. tucker, and lifting the flap of his cartridge box, which was empty, he said, "bah, bah, mon dieu; i dust know dot you ish been hunting de squirrel and de rabbit. mon dieu! you sharge yourself mit fifteen tollars for wasting sixty cartridges at twenty-five cents apiece. bah, bah, mon dieu; i dust report you to sheneral bragg." approaching sergeant a. s. horsley, he said, "vy ish you got nodings mit your knapsack? sir, you must have somedings mit your knapsack." alf ran into his tent and came back with his knapsack in the right shape. well, old owleydousky thought he would be smart and make an example of alf, and said, "i vish to inspect your clodings." he took alf's knapsack and on opening it, what do you suppose was in it? well, if you are not a yankee and good at guessing, i will tell you, if you won't say anything about it, for alf might get mad if he were to hear it. he found webster's unabridged dictionary, cruden's concordance, macauley's history of england, jean valjean, fantine, cosset, les miserables, the heart of midlothian, ivanhoe, guy mannering, rob roy, shakespeare, the history of ancient rome, and many others which i have now forgotten. he carried literature for the regiment. he is in the same old business yet, only now he furnishes literature by the car load. chapter viii chattanooga back to chattanooga rosecrans' army was in motion. the federals were advancing, but as yet they were afar off. chattanooga must be fortified. well do we remember the hard licks and picks that we spent on these same forts, to be occupied afterwards by grant and his whole army, and we on lookout mountain and missionary ridge looking at them. am visited by my father about this time my father paid me a visit. rations were mighty scarce. i was mighty glad to see him, but ashamed to let him know how poorly off for something to eat we were. we were living on parched corn. i thought of a happy plan to get him a good dinner, so i asked him to let us go up to the colonel's tent. says i, "colonel field, i desire to introduce you to my father, and as rations are a little short in my mess, i thought you might have a little better, and could give him a good dinner." "yes," says colonel field, "i am glad to make the acquaintance of your father, and will be glad to divide my rations with him. also, i would like you to stay and take dinner with me," which i assure you, o kind reader, i gladly accepted. about this time a young african, whit, came in with a frying-pan of parched corn and dumped it on an old oil cloth, and said, "master, dinner is ready." that was all he had. he was living like ourselves--on parched corn. we continued to fortify and build breastworks at chattanooga. it was the same drudge, drudge day by day. occasionally a sunday would come; but when it did come, there came inspection of arms, knapsacks and cartridge-boxes. every soldier had to have his gun rubbed up as bright as a new silver dollar. w. a. hughes had the brightest gun in the army, and always called it "florence fleming." the private soldier had to have on clean clothes, and if he had lost any cartridges he was charged twenty-five cents each, and had to stand extra duty for every cartridge lost. we always dreaded sunday. the roll was called more frequently on this than any other day. sometimes we would have preaching. i remember one text that i thought the bottom had been knocked out long before: "and peter's wife's mother lay sick of fever." that text always did make a deep impression on me. i always thought of a young divine who preached it when first entering the ministry, and in about twenty years came back, and happening to preach from the same text again, an old fellow in the congregation said, "mr. preacher, ain't that old woman dead yet?" well, that was the text that was preached to us soldiers one sunday at chattanooga. i could not help thinking all the time, "ain't that old woman dead yet?" but he announced that he would preach again at 3 o'clock. we went to hear him preach at 3 o'clock, as his sermon was so interesting about "peter's wife's mother lay sick of a fever." we thought, maybe it was a sort of sickly subject, and he would liven us up a little in the afternoon service. well, he took his text, drawled out through his nose like "small sweetness long drawn out:" "m-a-r-t-h-a, thou art w-e-a-r-i-e-d and troubled about many things, but m-a-r-y hath chosen that good part that shall never be taken from her." well, you see, o gentle and fair reader, that i remember the text these long gone twenty years. i do not remember what he preached about, but i remember thinking that he was a great ladies' man, at any rate, and whenever i see a man who loves and respects the ladies, i think him a good man. the next sermon was on the same sort of a text: "and the lord god caused a deep sleep to fall on adam and took out of"--he stopped here and said _e_ meant out of, that _e_, being translated from the latin and greek, meant out of, and took _e_, or rather out of a rib and formed woman. i never did know why he expaciated so largely on _e_; don't understand it yet, but you see, reader mine, that i remember but the little things that happened in that stormy epoch. i remember the _e_ part of the sermon more distinctly than all of his profound eruditions of theology, dogmas, creeds and evidences of christianity, and i only write at this time from memory of things that happened twenty years ago. "out a larking" at this place, we took walter hood out "a larking." the way to go "a larking" is this: get an empty meal bag and about a dozen men and go to some dark forest or open field on some cold, dark, frosty or rainy night, about five miles from camp. get someone who does not understand the game to hold the bag in as stooping and cramped a position as is possible, to keep perfectly still and quiet, and when he has got in the right fix, the others to go off to drive in the larks. as soon as they get out of sight, they break in a run and go back to camp, and go to sleep, leaving the poor fellow all the time holding the bag. well, walter was as good and as clever a fellow as you ever saw, was popular with everybody, and as brave and noble a fellow as ever tore a cartridge, or drew a ramrod, or pulled a trigger, but was the kind of a boy that was easily "roped in" to fun or fight or anything that would come up. we all loved him. poor fellow, he is up yonder--died on the field of glory and honor. he gave his life, 'twas all he had, for his country. peace to his memory. that night we went "a larking," and walter held the bag. i did not see him till next morning. while i was gulping down my coffee, as well as laughter, walter came around, looking sort of sheepish and shy like, and i was trying to look as solemn as a judge. finally he came up to the fire and kept on eyeing me out of one corner of his eye, and i was afraid to look at him for fear of breaking out in a laugh. when i could hold in no longer, i laughed out, and said, "well, walter, what luck last night?" he was very much disgusted, and said, "humph! you all think that you are smart. i can't see anything to laugh at in such foolishness as that." he said, "here; i have brought your bag back." that conquered me. after that kind of magnanimous act in forgiving me and bringing my bag back so pleasantly and kindly, i was his friend, and would have fought for him. i felt sorry that we had taken him out "a larking." hanging two spies i can now recall to memory but one circumstance that made a deep impression on my mind at the time. i heard that two spies were going to be hung on a certain day, and i went to the hanging. the scaffold was erected, two coffins were placed on the platform, the ropes were dangling from the cross beam above. i had seen men shot, and whipped, and shaved, and branded at corinth and tupelo, and one poor fellow named wright shot at shelbyville. they had all been horrid scenes to me, but they were rebels, and like begets like. i did not know when it would be my time to be placed in the same position, you see, and "a fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind." i did not know what was in store in the future for me. ah, there was the rub, don't you see. this shooting business wasn't a pleasant thing to think about. but yankees--that was different. i wanted to see a yankee spy hung. i wouldn't mind that. i would like to see him agonize. a spy; o, yes, they had hung one of our regiment at pulaski--sam davis. yes, i would see the hanging. after a while i saw a guard approach, and saw two little boys in their midst, but did not see the yankees that i had been looking for. the two little boys were rushed upon the platform. i saw that they were handcuffed. "are they spies?" i was appalled; i was horrified; nay, more, i was sick at heart. one was about fourteen and the other about sixteen years old, i should judge. the ropes were promptly adjusted around their necks by the provost marshal. the youngest one began to beg and cry and plead most piteously. it was horrid. the older one kicked him, and told him to stand up and show the rebels how a union man could die for his country. be a man! the charges and specifications were then read. the props were knocked out and the two boys were dangling in the air. i turned off sick at heart. eating rats while stationed at this place, chattanooga, rations were very scarce and hard to get, and it was, perhaps, economy on the part of our generals and commissaries to issue rather scant rations. about this time we learned that pemberton's army, stationed at vicksburg, were subsisting entirely on rats. instead of the idea being horrid, we were glad to know that "necessity is the mother of invention," and that the idea had originated in the mind of genius. we at once acted upon the information, and started out rat hunting; but we couldn't find any rats. presently we came to an old outhouse that seemed to be a natural harbor for this kind of vermin. the house was quickly torn down and out jumped an old residenter, who was old and gray. i suppose that he had been chased before. but we had jumped him and were determined to catch him, or "burst a boiler." after chasing him backwards and forwards, the rat finally got tired of this foolishness and started for his hole. but a rat's tail is the last that goes in the hole, and as he went in we made a grab for his tail. well, tail hold broke, and we held the skin of his tail in our hands. but we were determined to have that rat. after hard work we caught him. we skinned him, washed and salted him, buttered and peppered him, and fried him. he actually looked nice. the delicate aroma of the frying rat came to our hungry nostrils. we were keen to eat a piece of rat; our teeth were on edge; yea, even our mouth watered to eat a piece of rat. well, after a while, he was said to be done. i got a piece of cold corn dodger, laid my piece of the rat on it, eat a little piece of bread, and raised the piece of rat to my mouth, when i happened to think of how that rat's tail did slip. i had lost my appetite for dead rat. i did not eat any rat. it was my first and last effort to eat dead rats. swimming the tennessee with roastingears the tennessee river is about a quarter of a mile wide at chattanooga. right across the river was an immense corn-field. the green corn was waving with every little breeze that passed; the tassels were bowing and nodding their heads; the pollen was flying across the river like little snowdrops, and everything seemed to say, "come hither, johnny reb; come hither, johnny; come hither." the river was wide, but we were hungry. the roastingears looked tempting. we pulled off our clothes and launched into the turbid stream, and were soon on the other bank. here was the field, and here were the roastingears; but where was the raft or canoe? we thought of old abraham and isaac and the sacrifice: "my son, gather the roastingears, there will be a way provided." we gathered the roastingears; we went back and gathered more roastingears, time and again. the bank was lined with green roastingears. well, what was to be done? we began to shuck the corn. we would pull up a few shucks on one ear, and tie it to the shucks of another--first one and then another--until we had at least a hundred tied together. we put the train of corn into the river, and as it began to float off we jumped in, and taking the foremost ear in our mouth, struck out for the other bank. well, we made the landing all correct. i merely mention the above incident to show to what extremity soldiers would resort. thousands of such occurrences were performed by the private soldiers of the rebel army. am detailed to go foraging one day i was detailed to go with a wagon train way down in georgia on a foraging expedition. it was the first time since i had enlisted as a private that i had struck a good thing. no roll call, no drilling, no fatigue duties, building fortifications, standing picket, dress parade, reviews, or retreats, had to be answered to--the same old monotonous roll call that had been answered five thousand times in these three years. i felt like a free man. the shackles of discipline had for a time been unfettered. this was bliss, this was freedom, this was liberty. the sky looked brighter, the birds sang more beautiful and sweeter than i remember to have ever heard them. even the little streamlets and branches danced and jumped along the pebbly beds, while the minnows sported and frollicked under the shining ripples. the very flocks and herds in the pasture looked happy and gay. even the screech of the wagons, that needed greasing, seemed to send forth a happy sound. it was fine, i tell you. the blackberries were ripe, and the roadsides were lined with this delicious fruit. the lord said that he would curse the ground for the disobedience of man, and henceforth it should bring forth thorns and briars; but the very briars that had been cursed were loaded with the abundance of god's goodness. i felt, then, like david in one of his psalms--"the lord is good, the lord is good, for his mercy endureth forever." please pass the butter for several days the wagon train continued on until we had arrived at the part of country to which we had been directed. whether they bought or pressed the corn, i know not, but the old gentleman invited us all to take supper with him. if i have ever eaten a better supper than that i have forgotten it. they had biscuit for supper. what! flour bread? did my eyes deceive me? well, there were biscuit--sure enough flour bread--and sugar and coffee--genuine rio--none of your rye or potato coffee, and butter--regular butter--and ham and eggs, and turnip greens, and potatoes, and fried chicken, and nice clean plates--none of your tin affairs--and a snow-white table-cloth and napkins, and white-handled knives and silver forks. at the head of the table was the madam, having on a pair of golden spectacles, and at the foot the old gentleman. he said grace. and, to cap the climax, two handsome daughters. i know that i had never seen two more beautiful ladies. they had on little white aprons, trimmed with jaconet edging, and collars as clean and white as snow. they looked good enough to eat, and i think at that time i would have given ten years of my life to have kissed one of them. we were invited to help ourselves. our plates were soon filled with the tempting food and our tumblers with california beer. we would have liked it better had it been twice as strong, but what it lacked in strength we made up in quantity. the old lady said, "daughter, hand the gentleman the butter." it was the first thing that i had refused, and the reason that i did so was because my plate was full already. now, there is nothing that will offend a lady so quick as to refuse to take butter when handed to you. if you should say, "no, madam, i never eat butter," it is a direct insult to the lady of the house. better, far better, for you to have remained at home that day. if you don't eat butter, it is an insult; if you eat too much, she will make your ears burn after you have left. it is a regulator of society; it is a civilizer; it is a luxury and a delicacy that must be touched and handled with care and courtesy on all occasions. should you desire to get on the good side of a lady, just give a broad, sweeping, slathering compliment to her butter. it beats kissing the dirty-faced baby; it beats anything. too much praise cannot be bestowed upon the butter, be it good, bad, or indifferent to your notions of things, but to her, her butter is always good, superior, excellent. i did not know this characteristic of the human female at the time, or i would have taken a delicate slice of the butter. here is a sample of the colloquy that followed: "mister, have some butter?" "not any at present, thank you, madam." "well, i insist upon it; our butter is nice." "o, i know it's nice, but my plate is full, thank you." "well, take some anyhow." one of the girls spoke up and said: "mother, the gentleman don't wish butter." "well, i want him to know that our butter is clean, anyhow." "well, madam, if you insist upon it, there is nothing that i love so well as warm biscuit and butter. i'll thank you for the butter." i dive in. i go in a little too heavy. the old lady hints in a delicate way that they sold butter. i dive in heavier. that cake of butter was melting like snow in a red hot furnace. the old lady says, "we sell butter to the soldiers at a mighty good price." i dive in afresh. she says, "i get a dollar a pound for that butter," and i remark with a good deal of nonchalance, "well, madam, it is worth it," and dive in again. i did not marry one of the girls. we evacuate chattanooga one morning while sitting around our camp fires we heard a boom, and a bomb shell passed over our heads. the yankee army was right on the other bank of the tennessee river. bragg did not know of their approach until the cannon fired. rosecrans' army is crossing the tennessee river. a part are already on lookout mountain. some of their cavalry scouts had captured some of our foraging parties in wills valley. the air was full of flying rumors. wagons are being packed, camps are broken up, and there is a general hubbub everywhere. but your old soldier is always ready at a moment's notice. the assembly is sounded; form companies, and we are ready for a march, or a fight, or a detail, or anything. if we are marched a thousand miles or twenty yards, it is all the same. the private soldier is a machine that has no right to know anything. he is a machine that moves without any volition of his own. if edison could invent a wooden man that could walk and load and shoot, then you would have a good sample of the private soldier, and it would have this advantage--the private soldier eats and the wooden man would not. we left chattanooga, but whither bound we knew not, and cared not; but we marched toward chickamauga and crossed at lee & gordon's mill. the bull of the woods on our way to lafayette from lee & gordon's mill, i remember a ludicrous scene, almost bordering on sacrilege. rosecrans' army was very near us, and we expected before three days elapsed to be engaged in battle. in fact, we knew there must be a fight or a foot race, one or the other. we could smell, as it were, "the battle afar off." one sabbath morning it was announced that an eloquent and able ll. d., from nashville, was going to preach, and as the occasion was an exceedingly solemn one, we were anxious to hear this divine preach from god's holy word; and as he was one of the "big ones," the whole army was formed in close column and stacked their arms. the cannon were parked, all pointing back toward chattanooga. the scene looked weird and picturesque. it was in a dark wilderness of woods and vines and overhanging limbs. in fact, it seemed but the home of the owl and the bat, and other varmints that turn night into day. everything looked solemn. the trees looked solemn, the scene looked solemn, the men looked solemn, even the horses looked solemn. you may be sure, reader, that we felt solemn. the reverend ll. d. had prepared a regular war sermon before he left home, and of course had to preach it, appropriate or not appropriate; it was in him and had to come out. he opened the service with a song. i did remember the piece that was sung, but right now i cannot recall it to memory; but as near as i can now recollect here is his prayer, _verbatim et literatim_: "oh, thou immaculate, invisible, eternal and holy being, the exudations of whose effulgence illuminates this terrestrial sphere, we approach thy presence, being covered all over with wounds and bruises and putrifying sores, from the crowns of our heads to the soles of our feet. and thou, o lord, art our dernier resort. the whole world is one great machine, managed by thy puissance. the beautific splendors of thy face irradiate the celestial region and felicitate the saints. there are the most exuberant profusions of thy grace, and the sempiternal efflux of thy glory. god is an abyss of light, a circle whose center is everywhere and his circumference nowhere. hell is the dark world made up of spiritual sulphur and other ignited ingredients, disunited and unharmonized, and without that pure balsamic oil that flows from the heart of god." when the old fellow got this far, i lost the further run of his prayer, but regret very much that i did so, because it was so grand and fine that i would have liked very much to have kept such an appropriate prayer for posterity. in fact, it lays it on heavy over any prayer i ever heard, and i think the new translators ought to get it and have it put in their book as a sample prayer. but they will have to get the balance of it from the eminent ll. d. in fact, he was so "high larnt" that i don't think anyone understood him but the generals. the colonels might every now and then have understood a word, and maybe a few of the captains and lieutenants, because lieutenant lansdown told me he understood every word the preacher said, and further informed me that it was none of your one-horse, old-fashioned country prayers that privates knew anything about, but was bang-up, first-rate, orthodox. well, after singing and praying, he took his text. i quote entirely from memory. "blessed be the lord god, who teaches my hands to war and my fingers to fight." now, reader, that was the very subject we boys did not want to hear preached on--on that occasion at least. we felt like some other subject would have suited us better. i forget how he commenced his sermon, but i remember that after he got warmed up a little, he began to pitch in on the yankee nation, and gave them particular fits as to their geneology. he said that we of the south had descended from the royal and aristocratic blood of the huguenots of france, and of the cavaliers of england, etc.; but that the yankees were the descendents of the crop-eared puritans and witch burners, who came over in the mayflower, and settled at plymouth rock. he was warm on this subject, and waked up the echoes of the forest. he said that he and his brethren would fight the yankees in this world, and if god permit, chase their frightened ghosts in the next, through fire and brimstone. about this time we heard the awfullest racket, produced by some wild animal tearing through the woods toward us, and the cry, "look out! look out! hooie! hooie! hooie! look out!" and there came running right through our midst a wild bull, mad with terror and fright, running right over and knocking down the divine, and scattering bibles and hymn books in every direction. the services were brought to a close without the doxology. this same brave chaplain rode along with our brigade, on an old string-haltered horse, as we advanced to the attack at chickamauga, exhorting the boys to be brave, to aim low, and to kill the yankees as if they were wild beasts. he was eloquent and patriotic. he stated that if he only had a gun he too would go along as a private soldier. you could hear his voice echo and re-echo over the hills. he had worked up his patriotism to a pitch of genuine bravery and daring that i had never seen exhibited, when fliff, fluff, fluff, _fluff_, fluff, fluff--a whir, a boom! and a shell screams through the air. the reverend ll. d. stops to listen, like an old sow when she hears the wind, and says, "remember, boys, that he who is killed will sup tonight in paradise." some soldier hallooed at the top of his voice, "well, parson, you come along and take supper with us." boom! whir! a bomb burst, and the parson at that moment put spurs to his horse and was seen to limber to the rear, and almost every soldier yelled out, "the parson isn't hungry, and never eats supper." i remember this incident, and so does every member of the first tennessee regiment. presentment, or the wing of the angel of death presentment is always a mystery. the soldier may at one moment be in good spirits, laughing and talking. the wing of the death angel touches him. he knows that his time has come. it is but a question of time with him then. he knows that his days are numbered. i cannot explain it. god has numbered the hairs of our heads, and not a sparrow falls without his knowledge. how much more valuable are we than many sparrows? we had stopped at lee & gordon's mill, and gone into camp for the night. three days' rations were being issued. when bob stout was given his rations he refused to take them. his face wore a serious, woe-begone expression. he was asked if he was sick, and said "no," but added, "boys, my days are numbered, my time has come. in three days from today, i will be lying right yonder on that hillside a corpse. ah, you may laugh; my time has come. i've got a twenty dollar gold piece in my pocket that i've carried through the war, and a silver watch that my father sent me through the lines. please take them off when i am dead, and give them to captain irvine, to give to my father when he gets back home. here are my clothing and blanket that any one who wishes them may have. my rations i do not wish at all. my gun and cartridge-box i expect to die with." the next morning the assembly sounded about two o'clock. we commenced our march in the darkness, and marched twenty-five miles to a little town by the name of lafayette, to the relief of general pillow, whose command had been attacked at that place. after accomplishing this, we marched back by another road to chickamauga. we camped on the banks of chickamauga on friday night, and saturday morning we commenced to cross over. about twelve o'clock we had crossed. no sooner had we crossed than an order came to double quick. general forrest's cavalry had opened the battle. even then the spent balls were falling amongst us with that peculiar thud so familiar to your old soldier. double quick! there seemed to be no rest for us. forrest is needing reinforcements. double quick, close up in the rear! siz, siz, double quick, boom, hurry up, bang, bang, a rattle de bang, bang, siz, boom, boom, boom, hurry up, double quick, boom, bang, halt, front, right dress, boom, boom, and three soldiers are killed and twenty wounded. billy webster's arm was torn out by the roots and he killed, and a fragment of shell buried itself in jim mcewin's side, also killing mr. fain king, a conscript from mount pleasant. forward, guide center, march, charge bayonets, fire at will, commence firing. (this is where the ll. d. ran.) we debouched through the woods, firing as we marched, the yankee line about two hundred yards off. bang, bang, siz, siz. it was a sort of running fire. we kept up a constant fire as we advanced. in ten minutes we were face to face with the foe. it was but a question as to who could load and shoot the fastest. the army was not up. bragg was not ready for a general battle. the big battle was fought the next day, sunday. we held our position for two hours and ten minutes in the midst of a deadly and galling fire, being enfiladed and almost surrounded, when general forrest galloped up and said, "colonel field, look out, you are almost surrounded; you had better fall back." the order was given to retreat. i ran through a solid line of blue coats. as i fell back, they were upon the right of us, they were upon the left of us, they were in front of us, they were in the rear of us. it was a perfect hornets' nest. the balls whistled around our ears like the escape valves of ten thousand engines. the woods seemed to be blazing; everywhere, at every jump, would rise a lurking foe. but to get up and dust was all we could do. i was running along by the side of bob stout. general preston smith stopped me and asked if our brigade was falling back. i told him it was. he asked me the second time if it was maney's brigade that was falling back. i told him it was. i heard him call out, "attention, forward!" one solid sheet of leaden hail was falling around me. i heard general preston smith's brigade open. it seemed to be platoons of artillery. the earth jarred and trembled like an earthquake. deadly missiles were flying in every direction. it was the very incarnation of death itself. i could almost hear the shriek of the death angel passing over the scene. general smith was killed in ten minutes after i saw him. bob stout and myself stopped. said i, "bob, you wern't killed, as you expected." he did not reply, for at that very moment a solid shot from the federal guns struck him between the waist and the hip, tearing off one leg and scattering his bowels all over the ground. i heard him shriek out, "o, o, god!" his spirit had flown before his body struck the ground. farewell, friend; we will meet over yonder. when the cannon ball struck billy webster, tearing his arm out of the socket, he did not die immediately, but as we were advancing to the attack, we left him and the others lying where they fell upon the battlefield; but when we fell back to the place where we had left our knapsacks, billy's arm had been dressed by dr. buist, and he seemed to be quite easy. he asked jim fogey to please write a letter to his parents at home. he wished to dictate the letter. he asked me to please look in his knapsack and get him a clean shirt, and said that he thought he would feel better if he could get rid of the blood that was upon him. i went to hunt for his knapsack and found it, but when i got back to where he was, poor, good billy webster was dead. he had given his life to his country. his spirit is with the good and brave. no better or braver man than billy webster ever drew the breath of life. his bones lie yonder today, upon the battlefield of chickamauga. i loved him; he was my friend. many and many a dark night have billy and i stood together upon the silent picket post. ah, reader, my heart grows sick and i feel sad while i try to write my recollections of that unholy and uncalled for war. but he that ruleth the heavens doeth all things well. chapter ix chickamauga battle of chickamauga sunday morning of that september day, the sun rose over the eastern hills clear and beautiful. the day itself seemed to have a sabbath-day look about it. the battlefield was in a rough and broken country, with trees and undergrowth, that ever since the creation had never been disturbed by the ax of civilized man. it looked wild, weird, uncivilized. our corps (polk's), being in the engagement the day before, were held in reserve. reader, were you ever held in reserve of an attacking army? to see couriers dashing backward and forward; to hear the orders given to the brigades, regiments and companies; to see them forward in line of battle, the battle-flags waving; to hear their charge, and then to hear the shock of battle, the shot and shell all the while sizzing, and zipping, and thudding, and screaming, and roaring, and bursting, and passing right over your heads; to see the litter corps bringing back the wounded continually, and hear them tell how their command was being cut to pieces, and that every man in a certain regiment was killed, and to see a cowardly colonel (as we saw on this occasion--he belonged to longstreet's corps) come dashing back looking the very picture of terror and fear, exclaiming, "o, men, men, for god's sake go forward and help my men! they are being cut all to pieces! we can't hold our position. o, for god's sake, please go and help my command!" to hear some of our boys ask, "what regiment is that? what regiment is that?" he replies, such and such regiment. and then to hear some fellow ask, "why ain't you with them, then, you cowardly puppy? take off that coat and those chicken guts; coo, sheep; baa, baa, black sheep; flicker, flicker; ain't you ashamed of yourself? flicker, flicker; i've got a notion to take my gun and kill him," etc. every word of this is true; it actually happened. but all that could demoralize, and i may say intimidate a soldier, was being enacted, and he not allowed to participate. how we were moved from one position to another, but always under fire; our nerves strung to their utmost tension, listening to the roar of battle in our immediate front, to hear it rage and then get dimmer until it seems to die out entirely; then all at once it breaks out again, and you think now in a very few minutes you will be ordered into action, and then all at once we go double-quicking to another portion of the field, the battle raging back from the position we had left. general leonidas polk rides up and happening to stop in our front, some of the boys halloo out, "say, general, what command is that which is engaged now?" the general kindly answers, "that is longstreet's corps. he is driving them this way, and we will drive them that way, and crush them between the 'upper and nether millstone.'" turning to general cheatham, he said, "general, move your division and attack at once." everything is at once set in motion, and general cheatham, to give the boys a good send-off, says, "forward, boys, and give 'em h--l." general polk also says a good word, and that word was, "do as general cheatham says, boys." (you know he was a preacher and couldn't curse.) after marching in solid line, see-sawing, right obliqueing, left obliqueing, guide center and close up; commence firing--fire at will; charge and take their breastworks; our pent-up nervousness and demoralization of all day is suddenly gone. we raise one long, loud, cheering shout and charge right upon their breastworks. they are pouring their deadly missiles into our advancing ranks from under their head-logs. we do not stop to look around to see who is killed and wounded, but press right up their breastworks, and plant our battle-flag upon it. they waver and break and run in every direction, when general john c. breckinridge's division, which had been supporting us, march up and pass us in full pursuit of the routed and flying federal army. after the battle we remained upon the battlefield of chickamauga all night. everything had fallen into our hands. we had captured a great many prisoners and small arms, and many pieces of artillery and wagons and provisions. the confederate and federal dead, wounded, and dying were everywhere scattered over the battlefield. men were lying where they fell, shot in every conceivable part of the body. some with their entrails torn out and still hanging to them and piled up on the ground beside them, and they still alive. some with their under jaw torn off, and hanging by a fragment of skin to their cheeks, with their tongues lolling from their mouth, and they trying to talk. some with both eyes shot out, with one eye hanging down on their cheek. in fact, you might walk over the battlefield and find men shot from the crown of the head to the tip end of the toe. and then to see all those dead, wounded and dying horses, their heads and tails drooping, and they seeming to be so intelligent as if they comprehended everything. i felt like shedding a tear for those innocent dumb brutes. reader, a battlefield, after the battle, is a sad and sorrowful sight to look at. the glory of war is but the glory of battle, the shouts, and cheers, and victory. a soldier's life is not a pleasant one. it is always, at best, one of privations and hardships. the emotions of patriotism and pleasure hardly counterbalance the toil and suffering that he has to undergo in order to enjoy his patriotism and pleasure. dying on the field of battle and glory is about the easiest duty a soldier has to undergo. it is the living, marching, fighting, shooting soldier that has the hardships of war to carry. when a brave soldier is killed he is at rest. the living soldier knows not at what moment he, too, may be called on to lay down his life on the altar of his country. the dead are heroes, the living are but men compelled to do the drudgery and suffer the privations incident to the thing called "glorious war." a night among the dead we rested on our arms where the battle ceased. all around us everywhere were the dead and wounded, lying scattered over the ground, and in many places piled in heaps. many a sad and heart-rending scene did i witness upon this battlefield of chickamauga. our men died the death of heroes. i sometimes think that surely our brave men have not died in vain. it is true, our cause is lost, but a people who loved those brave and noble heroes should ever cherish their memory as men who died for them. i shed a tear over their memory. they gave their all to their country. abler pens than mine must write their epitaphs, and tell of their glories and heroism. i am but a poor writer, at best, and only try to tell of the events that i saw. one scene i now remember, that i can imperfectly relate. while a detail of us were passing over the field of death and blood, with a dim lantern, looking for our wounded soldiers to carry to the hospital, we came across a group of ladies, looking among the killed and wounded for their relatives, when i heard one of the ladies say, "there they come with their lanterns." i approached the ladies and asked them for whom they were looking. they told me the name, but i have forgotten it. we passed on, and coming to a pile of our slain, we had turned over several of our dead, when one of the ladies screamed out, "o, there he is! poor fellow! dead, dead, dead!" she ran to the pile of slain and raised the dead man's head and placed it on her lap and began kissing him and saying, "o, o, they have killed my darling, my darling, my darling! o, mother, mother, what must i do! my poor, poor darling! o, they have killed him, they have killed him!" i could witness the scene no longer. i turned and walked away, and william a. hughes was crying, and remarked, "o, law me; this war is a terrible thing." we left them and began again hunting for our wounded. all through that long september night we continued to carry off our wounded, and when the morning sun arose over the eastern hills, the order came to march to missionary ridge. chapter x missionary ridge after retreating from chickamauga, the yankees attempted to re-form their broken lines on missionary ridge. we advanced to attack them, but they soon fell back to chattanooga. we knew they were in an impregnable position. we had built those breastworks and forts, and knew whereof we spoke. we stopped on missionary ridge, and gnashed our teeth at chattanooga. i do not know what our generals thought; i do not know what the authorities at richmond thought, but i can tell you what the privates thought. but here we were on missionary ridge and lookout mountain, looking right down into chattanooga. we had but to watch and wait. we would starve them out. the federal army had accomplished their purpose. they wanted chattanooga. they laughed at our triumph, and mocked at our victory. they got chattanooga. "now, where are you, johnny reb? what are you going to do about it? you've got the dry grins, arn't you? we've got the key; when the proper time comes we'll unlock your doors and go in. you are going to starve us out, eh? we are not very hungry at present, and we don't want any more pie. when we starve out we'll call on you for rations, but at present we are not starving, by a jug full; but if you want any whisky or tobacco, send over and we'll give you some. we've got all we wanted, and assure you we are satisfied." the above remarks are the supposed colloquy that took place between the two armies. bragg, in trying to starve the yankees out, was starved out himself. ask any old rebel as to our bill of fare at missionary ridge. in all the history of the war, i cannot remember of more privations and hardships than we went through at missionary ridge. and when in the very acme of our privations and hunger, when the army was most dissatisfied and unhappy, we were ordered into line of battle to be reviewed by honorable jefferson davis. when he passed by us, with his great retinue of staff officers and play-outs at full gallop, cheers greeted them, with the words, "send us something to eat, massa jeff. give us something to eat, massa jeff. i'm hungry! i'm hungry!" sergeant tucker and general wilder at this place the yankee outpost was on one side of the tennessee river, and ours on the other. i was on the detail one sunday commanded by sergeant john t. tucker. when we were approaching we heard the old guard and the yankee picket talking back and forth across the river. the new guard immediately resumed the conversation. we had to halloo at the top of our voices, the river being about three hundred yards wide at this point. but there was a little island about the middle of the river. a yankee hallooed out, "o, johnny, johnny, meet me half way in the river on the island." "all right," said sergeant tucker, who immediately undressed all but his hat, in which he carried the chattanooga rebel and some other southern newspapers, and swam across to the island. when he got there the yankee was there, but the yankee had waded. i do not know what he and john talked about, but they got very friendly, and john invited him to come clear across to our side, which invitation he accepted. i noticed at the time that while john swam, the yankee waded, remarking that he couldn't swim. the river was but little over waist deep. well, they came across and we swapped a few lies, canteens and tobacco, and then the yankee went back, wading all the way across the stream. that man was general wilder, commanding the federal cavalry, and at the battle of missionary ridge he threw his whole division of cavalry across the tennessee river at that point, thus flanking bragg's army, and opening the battle. he was examining the ford, and the swapping business was but a mere by-play. he played it sharp, and bragg had to get further. moccasin point maney's brigade fortified on top of lookout mountain. from this position we could see five states. the yankees had built a fort across the river, on moccasin point, and were throwing shells at us continually. i have never seen such accurate shooting in my life. it was upon the principle of shooting a squirrel out of a tree, and they had become so perfect in their aim, that i believe they could have killed a squirrel a mile off. we could have killed a great many artillery men if we had been allowed to shoot, but no private soldier was ever allowed to shoot a gun on his own hook. if he shot at all, it must by the order of an officer, for if just one cartridge was shot away or lost, the private was charged twenty-five cents for it, and had to do extra duty, and i don't think our artillery was ever allowed to fire a single shot under any circumstances. our rations were cooked up by a special detail ten miles in the rear, and were sent to us every three days, and then those three days' rations were generally eaten up at one meal, and the private soldier had to starve the other two days and a half. never in all my whole life do i remember of ever experiencing so much oppression and humiliation. the soldiers were starved and almost naked, and covered all over with lice and camp itch and filth and dirt. the men looked sick, hollow-eyed, and heart-broken, living principally upon parched corn, which had been picked out of the mud and dirt under the feet of officers' horses. we thought of nothing but starvation. the battle of missionary ridge was opened from moccasin point, while we were on lookout mountain, but i knew nothing of the movements or maneuvers of either army, and only tell what part i took in the battle. battle of missionary ridge one morning theodore sloan, hog johnson and i were standing picket at the little stream that runs along at the foot of lookout mountain. in fact, i would be pleased to name our captain, fulcher, and lieutenant lansdown, of the guard on this occasion, because we acted as picket for the whole three days' engagement without being relieved, and haven't been relieved yet. but that battle has gone into history. we heard a yankee call, "o, johnny, johnny reb!" i started out to meet him as formerly, when he hallooed out, "go back, johnny, go back; we are ordered to fire on you." "what is the matter? is your army going to advance on us?" "i don't know; we are ordered to fire." i jumped back into the picket post, and a minnie ball ruined the only hat i had; another and another followed in quick succession, and the dirt flew up in our faces off our little breastworks. before night the picket line was engaged from one end to the other. if you had only heard it, dear reader. it went like ten thousand wood-choppers, and an occasional boom of a cannon would remind you of a tree falling. we could hear colonels giving commands to their regiments, and could see very plainly the commotion and hubbub, but what was up, we were unable to tell. the picket line kept moving to our right. the second night found us near the tunnel, and right where two railroads cross each other, or rather one runs over the other high enough for the cars to pass under. we could see all over chattanooga, and it looked like myriads of blue coats swarming. day's and mannigault's brigades got into a night attack at the foot of lookout mountain. i could see the whole of it. it looked like lightning bugs on a dark night. but about midnight everything quieted down. theodore sloan, hog johnson and myself occupied an old log cabin as vidette. we had not slept any for two nights, and were very drowsy, i assure you, but we knew there was something up, and we had to keep awake. the next morning, nearly day, i think i had dropped off into a pleasant doze, and was dreaming of more pretty things than you ever saw in your life, when johnson touched me and whispered, "look, look, there are three yankees; must i shoot?" i whispered back "yes." a bang; "a waugh" went a shriek. he had got one, sure. everything got quiet again, and we heard nothing more for an hour. johnson touched me again and whispered, "yonder they come again; look, look!" i could not see them; was too sleepy for that. sloan could not see them, either. johnson pulled down, and another unearthly squall rended the night air. the streaks of day had begun to glimmer over missionary ridge, and i could see in the dim twilight the yankee guard not fifty yards off. said i, "boys, let's fire into them and run." we took deliberate aim and fired. at that they raised, i thought, a mighty sickly sort of yell and charged the house. we ran out, but waited on the outside. we took a second position where the railroads cross each other, but they began shelling us from the river, when we got on the opposite side of the railroad and they ceased. i know nothing about the battle; how grant, with one wing, went up the river, and hooker's corps went down wills valley, etc. i heard fighting and commanding and musketry all day long, but i was still on picket. balls were passing over our heads, both coming and going. i could not tell whether i was standing picket for yankees or rebels. i knew that the yankee line was between me and the rebel line, for i could see the battle right over the tunnel. we had been placed on picket at the foot of lookout mountain, but we were five miles from that place now. if i had tried to run in i couldn't. i had got separated from sloan and johnson somehow; in fact, was waiting either for an advance of the yankees, or to be called in by the captain of the picket. i could see the blue coats fairly lining missionary ridge in my head. the yankees were swarming everywhere. they were passing me all day with their dead and wounded, going back to chattanooga. no one seemed to notice me; they were passing to and fro, cannon, artillery, and everything. i was willing to be taken prisoner, but no one seemed disposed to do it. i was afraid to look at them, and i was afraid to hide, for fear some one's attention would be attracted toward me. i wished i could make myself invisible. i think i was invisible. i felt that way anyhow. i felt like the boy who wanted to go to the wedding, but had no shoes. cassabianca never had such feelings as i had that livelong day. say, captain, say, if yet my task be done? and yet the sweeping waves rolled on, and answered neither yea nor nay. about two or three o'clock, a column of yankees advancing to the attack swept right over where i was standing. i was trying to stand aside to get out of their way, but the more i tried to get out of their way, the more in their way i got. i was carried forward, i knew not whither. we soon arrived at the foot of the ridge, at our old breastworks. i recognized robert brank's old corn stalk house, and alf horsley's fort, an old log house called fort horsley. i was in front of the enemy's line, and was afraid to run up the ridge, and afraid to surrender. they were ordered to charge up the hill. there was no firing from the rebel lines in our immediate front. they kept climbing and pulling and scratching until i was in touching distance of the old rebel breastworks, right on the very apex of missionary ridge. i made one jump, and i heard captain turner, who had the very four napoleon guns we had captured at perryville, halloo out, "number four, solid!" and then a roar. the next order was "limber to the rear." the yankees were cutting and slashing, and the cannoneers were running in every direction. i saw day's brigade throw down their guns and break like quarter horses. bragg was trying to rally them. i heard him say, "here is your commander," and the soldiers hallooed back, "here is your mule." the whole army was routed. i ran on down the ridge, and there was our regiment, the first tennessee, with their guns stacked, and drawing rations as if nothing was going on. says i, "colonel field, what's the matter? the whole army is routed and running; hadn't you better be getting away from here? the yankees are not a hundred yards from here. turner's battery has surrendered, day's brigade has thrown down their arms; and look yonder, that is the stars and stripes." he remarked very coolly, "you seem to be demoralized. we've whipped them here. we've captured two thousand prisoners and five stands of colors." just at this time general bragg and staff rode up. bragg had joined the church at shelbyville, but he had back-slid at missionary ridge. he was cursing like a sailor. says he, "what's this? ah, ha, have you stacked your arms for a surrender?" "no, sir," says field. "take arms, shoulder arms, by the right flank, file right, march," just as cool and deliberate as if on dress parade. bragg looked scared. he had put spurs to his horse, and was running like a scared dog before colonel field had a chance to answer him. every word of this is a fact. we at once became the rear guard of the whole army. [ author's note: i remember of general maney meeting gary. i do not know who gary was, but maney and gary seemed to be very glad to see each other. every time i think of that retreat i think of gary. ] i felt sorry for general bragg. the army was routed, and bragg looked so scared. poor fellow, he looked so hacked and whipped and mortified and chagrined at defeat, and all along the line, when bragg would pass, the soldiers would raise the yell, "here is your mule;" "bully for bragg, he's h--l on retreat." bragg was a good disciplinarian, and if he had cultivated the love and respect of his troops by feeding and clothing them better than they were, the result would have been different. more depends on a good general than the lives of many privates. the private loses his life, the general his country. good-bye, tom webb as soon as the order was given to march, we saw poor tom webb lying on the battlefield shot through the head, his blood and brains smearing his face and clothes, and he still alive. he was as brave and noble a man as our heavenly father, in his infinite wisdom, ever made. everybody loved him. he was a universal favorite of the company and regiment; was brave and generous, and ever anxious to take some other man's place when there was any skirmishing or fighting to be done. we did not wish to leave the poor fellow in that condition, and a. s. horsley, john t. tucker, tennessee thompson and myself got a litter and carried him on our shoulders through that livelong night back to chickamauga station. the next morning dr. j. e. dixon, of deshler's brigade, passed by and told us that it would be useless for us to carry him any further, and that it was utterly impossible for him ever to recover. the yankees were then advancing and firing upon us. what could we do? we could not carry him any further, and we could not bury him, for he was still alive. to leave him where he was we thought best. we took hold of his hand, bent over him and pressed our lips to his--all four of us. we kissed him good-bye and left him to the tender mercies of the advancing foe, in whose hands he would be in a few moments. no doubt they laughed and jeered at the dying rebel. it mattered not what they did, for poor tom webb's spirit, before the sun went down, was with god and the holy angels. he had given his all to his country. o, how we missed him. it seemed that the very spirit and life of company h had died with the death of good, noble and brave tom webb. i thank god that i am no infidel, and i feel and believe that i will again see tom webb. just as sure and certain, reader, as you are now reading these lines, i will meet him up yonder--i know i will. the rear guard when we had marched about a mile back in the rear of the battlefield, we were ordered to halt so that all stragglers might pass us, as we were detailed as the rear guard. while resting on the road side we saw day's brigade pass us. they were gunless, cartridge-boxless, knapsackless, canteenless, and all other military accoutermentsless, and swordless, and officerless, and they all seemed to have the 'possum grins, like bragg looked, and as they passed our regiment, you never heard such fun made of a parcel of soldiers in your life. every fellow was yelling at the top of his voice, "yaller-hammer, alabama, flicker, flicker, flicker, yaller-hammer, alabama, flicker, flicker, flicker." i felt sorry for the yellow-hammer alabamians, they looked so hacked, and answered back never a word. when they had passed, two pieces of artillery passed us. they were the only two pieces not captured at missionary ridge, and they were ordered to immediately precede us in bringing up the rear. the whole rear guard was placed under the command of the noble, generous, handsome and brave general gist, of south carolina. i loved general gist, and when i mention his name tears gather in my eyes. i think he was the handsomest man i ever knew. our army was a long time crossing the railroad bridge across chickamauga river. maney's brigade, of cheatham's division, and general l. e. polk's brigade, of cleburne's division, formed a sort of line of battle, and had to wait until the stragglers had all passed. i remember looking at them, and as they passed i could read the character of every soldier. some were mad, others cowed, and many were laughing. some were cursing bragg, some the yankees, and some were rejoicing at the defeat. i cannot describe it. it was the first defeat our army had ever suffered, but the prevailing sentiment was anathemas and denunciations hurled against jeff davis for ordering longstreet's corps to knoxville, and sending off generals wheeler's and forrest's cavalry, while every private soldier in the whole army knew that the enemy was concentrating at chattanooga. chickamauga station when we arrived at chickamauga station, our brigade and general lucius e. polk's brigade, of cleburne's division, were left to set fire to the town and to burn up and destroy all those immense piles of army stores and provisions which had been accumulated there to starve the yankees out of chattanooga. great piles of corn in sacks, and bacon, and crackers, and molasses, and sugar, and coffee, and rice, and potatoes, and onions, and peas, and flour by the hundreds of barrels, all now to be given to the flames, while for months the rebel soldiers had been stinted and starved for the want of these same provisions. it was enough to make the bravest and most patriotic soul that ever fired a gun in defense of any cause on earth, think of rebelling against the authorities as they then were. every private soldier knew these stores were there, and for the want of them we lost our cause. reader, i ask you who you think was to blame? most of our army had already passed through hungry and disheartened, and here were all these stores that had to be destroyed. before setting fire to the town, every soldier in maney's and polk's brigades loaded himself down with rations. it was a laughable looking rear guard of a routed and retreating army. every one of us had cut open the end of a corn sack, emptied out the corn, and filled it with hard-tack, and, besides, every one of us had a side of bacon hung to our bayonets on our guns. our canteens, and clothes, and faces, and hair were all gummed up with molasses. such is the picture of our rear guard. now, reader, if you were ever on the rear guard of a routed and retreating army, you know how tedious it is. you don't move more than ten feet at furthest before you have to halt, and then ten feet again a few minutes afterwards, and so on all day long. you haven't time to sit down a moment before you are ordered to move on again. and the yankees dash up every now and then, and fire a volley into your rear. now that is the way we were marched that livelong day, until nearly dark, and then the yankees began to crowd us. we can see their line forming, and know we have to fight. the battle of cat creek about dark a small body of cavalry dashed in ahead of us and captured and carried off one piece of artillery and colonel john f. house, general maney's assistant adjutant-general. we will have to form line of battle and drive them back. well, we quickly form line of battle, and the yankees are seen to emerge from the woods about two hundred yards from us. we promptly shell off those sides of bacon and sacks of hard-tack that we had worried and tugged with all day long. bang, bang, siz, siz. we are ordered to load and fire promptly and to hold our position. yonder they come, a whole division. our regiment is the only regiment in the action. they are crowding us; our poor little handful of men are being killed and wounded by scores. there is general george maney badly wounded and being carried to the rear, and there is moon, of fulcher's battalion, killed dead in his tracks. we can't much longer hold our position. a minnie ball passes through my bible in my side pocket. all at once we are ordered to open ranks. here comes one piece of artillery from a mississippi battery, bouncing ten feet high, over brush and logs and bending down little trees and saplings, under whip and spur, the horses are champing the bits, and are muddied from head to foot. now, quick, quick; look, the yankees have discovered the battery and are preparing to charge it. unlimber, horses and caisson to the rear. no. 1 shrapnel, load, fire--boom, boom; load, ablouyat--boom, boom. i saw sam seay fall badly wounded and carried to the rear. i stopped firing to look at sergeant doyle how he handled his gun. at every discharge it would bounce, and turn its muzzle completely to the rear, when those old artillery soldiers would return it to its place--and it seemed they fired a shot almost every ten seconds. fire, men. our muskets roll and rattle, making music like the kettle and bass drum combined. they are checked; we see them fall back to the woods, and night throws her mantle over the scene. we fell back now, and had to strip and wade chickamauga river. it was up to our armpits, and was as cold as charity. we had to carry our clothes across on the points of our bayonets. fires had been kindled every few yards on the other side, and we soon got warmed up again. ringgold gap i had got as far as ringgold gap, when i had unconsciously fallen asleep by a fire, it being the fourth night that i had not slept a wink. before i got to this fire, however, a gentleman whom i never saw in my life--because it was totally dark at the time--handed me a letter from the old folks at home, and a good suit of clothes. he belonged to colonel breckinridge's cavalry, and if he ever sees these lines, i wish to say to him, "god bless you, old boy." i had lost every blanket and vestige of clothing, except those i had on, at missionary ridge. i laid down by the fire and went to sleep, but how long i had slept i knew not, when i felt a rough hand grab me and give me a shake, and the fellow said, "are you going to sleep here, and let the yankees cut your throat?" i opened my eyes, and asked, "who are you?" he politely and pleasantly, yet profanely, told me that he was general walker (the poor fellow was killed the 22nd of july, at atlanta), and that i had better get further. he passed on and waked others. just then, general cleburne and staff rode by me, and i heard one of his staff remark, "general, here is a ditch, or gully, that will make a natural breastwork." all i heard general cleburne say was, "er, eh, eh!" i saw general lucius e. polk's brigade form on the crest of the hill. i went a little further and laid down again and went to sleep. how long i had lain there, and what was passing over me, i know nothing about, but when i awoke, here is what i saw: i saw a long line of blue coats marching down the railroad track. the first thought i had was, well, i'm gone up now, sure; but on second sight, i discovered that they were prisoners. cleburne had had the doggondest fight of the war. the ground was piled with dead yankees; they were piled in heaps. the scene looked unlike any battlefield i ever saw. from the foot to the top of the hill was covered with their slain, all lying on their faces. it had the appearance of the roof of a house shingled with dead yankees. they were flushed with victory and success, and had determined to push forward and capture the whole of the rebel army, and set up their triumphant standard at atlanta--then exit southern confederacy. but their dead were so piled in their path at ringgold gap that they could not pass them. the spartans gained a name at thermopylae, in which leonidas and the whole spartan army were slain while defending the pass. cleburne's division gained a name at ringgold gap, in which they not only slew the victorious army, but captured five thousand prisoners besides. that brilliant victory of cleburne's made him not only the best general of the army of tennessee, and covered his men with glory and honor of heroes, but checked the advance of grant's whole army. we did not budge an inch further for many a long day, but we went into winter quarters right here at ringgold gap, tunnel hill and dalton. chapter xi dalton general joseph e. johnston general joseph e. johnston now took command of the army. general bragg was relieved, and had become jeff davis' war adviser at richmond, virginia. we had followed general bragg all through this long war. we had got sorter used to his ways, but he was never popular with his troops. i felt sorry for him. bragg's troops would have loved him, if he had allowed them to do so, for many a word was spoken in his behalf, after he had been relieved of the command. as a general i have spoken of him in these memoirs, not personally. i try to state facts, so that you may see, reader, why our cause was lost. i have no doubt that bragg ever did what he thought was best. he was but a man, under the authority of another. but now, allow me to introduce you to old joe. fancy, if you please, a man about fifty years old, rather small of stature, but firmly and compactly built, an open and honest countenance, and a keen but restless black eye, that seemed to read your very inmost thoughts. in his dress he was a perfect dandy. he ever wore the very finest clothes that could be obtained, carrying out in every point the dress and paraphernalia of the soldier, as adopted by the war department at richmond, never omitting anything, even to the trappings of his horse, bridle and saddle. his hat was decorated with a star and feather, his coat with every star and embellishment, and he wore a bright new sash, big gauntlets, and silver spurs. he was the very picture of a general. but he found the army depleted by battles; and worse, yea, much worse, by desertion. the men were deserting by tens and hundreds, and i might say by thousands. the morale of the army was gone. the spirit of the soldiers was crushed, their hope gone. the future was dark and gloomy. they would not answer at roll call. discipline had gone. a feeling of mistrust pervaded the whole army. a train load of provisions came into dalton. the soldiers stopped it before it rolled into the station, burst open every car, and carried off all the bacon, meal and flour that was on board. wild riot was the order of the day; everything was confusion, worse confounded. when the news came, like pouring oil upon the troubled waters, that general joe e. johnston, of virginia, had taken command of the army of tennessee, men returned to their companies, order was restored, and "richard was himself again." general johnston issued a universal amnesty to all soldiers absent without leave. instead of a scrimp pattern of one day's rations, he ordered two days' rations to be issued, being extra for one day. he ordered tobacco and whisky to be issued twice a week. he ordered sugar and coffee and flour to be issued instead of meal. he ordered old bacon and ham to be issued instead of blue beef. he ordered new tents and marquees. he ordered his soldiers new suits of clothes, shoes and hats. in fact, there had been a revolution, sure enough. he allowed us what general bragg had never allowed mortal man--a furlough. he gave furloughs to one-third of his army at a time, until the whole had been furloughed. a new era had dawned; a new epoch had been dated. he passed through the ranks of the common soldiers, shaking hands with every one he met. he restored the soldier's pride; he brought the manhood back to the private's bosom; he changed the order of roll-call, standing guard, drill, and such nonsense as that. the revolution was complete. he was loved, respected, admired; yea, almost worshipped by his troops. i do not believe there was a soldier in his army but would gladly have died for him. with him everything was his soldiers, and the newspapers, criticising him at the time, said, "he would feed his soldiers if the country starved." we soon got proud; the blood of the old cavaliers tingled in our veins. we did not feel that we were serfs and vagabonds. we felt that we had a home and a country worth fighting for, and, if need be, worth dying for. one regiment could whip an army, and did do it, in every instance, before the command was taken from him at atlanta. but of this another time. chaplains were brought back to their regiments. dr. c. t. quintard and rev. c. d. elliott, and other chaplains, held divine services every sabbath, prayer was offered every evening at retreat, and the morale of the army was better in every respect. the private soldier once more regarded himself a gentleman and a man of honor. we were willing to do and die and dare anything for our loved south, and the stars and bars of the confederacy. in addition to this, general johnston ordered his soldiers to be paid up every cent that was due them, and a bounty of fifty dollars besides. he issued an order to his troops offering promotion and a furlough for acts of gallantry and bravery on the field of battle. the cloven foot of tyranny and oppression was not discernible in the acts of officers, from general down to corporal, as formerly. notwithstanding all this grand transformation in our affairs, old joe was a strict disciplinarian. everything moved like clockwork. men had to keep their arms and clothing in good order. the artillery was rubbed up and put in good condition. the wagons were greased, and the harness and hamestrings oiled. extra rations were issued to negroes who were acting as servants, a thing unprecedented before in the history of the war. well, old joe was a yerker. he took all the tricks. he was a commander. he kept everything up and well in hand. his lines of battle were invulnerable. the larger his command, the easier he could handle it. when his army moved, it was a picture of battle, everything in its place, as laid down by scientific military rules. when a man was to be shot, he was shot for the crimes he had done, and not to intimidate and cow the living, and he had ten times as many shot as bragg had. he had seventeen shot at tunnel hill, and a whole company at rockyface ridge, and two spies hung at ringgold gap, but they were executed for their crimes. no one knew of it except those who had to take part as executioners of the law. instead of the whipping post, he instituted the pillory and barrel shirt. get brutus to whistle the barrel shirt for you. the pillory was a new-fangled concern. if you went to the guard-house of almost any regiment, you would see some poor fellow with his head and hands sticking through a board. it had the appearance of a fellow taking a running start, at an angle of forty-five degrees, with a view of bursting a board over his head, but when the board burst his head and both his hands were clamped in the bursted places. the barrel shirt brigade used to be marched on drill and parade. you could see a fellow's head and feet, and whenever one of the barrels would pass, you would hear the universal cry, "come out of that barrel, i see your head and feet sticking out." there might have been a mortification and a disgrace in the pillory and barrel shirt business to those that had to use them, but they did not bruise and mutilate the physical man. when one of them had served out his time he was as good as new. old joe had greater military insight than any general of the south, not excepting even lee. he was the born soldier; seemed born to command. when his army moved it moved solid. cavalry, artillery, wagon train, and infantry stepped the same tread to the music of the march. his men were not allowed to be butchered for glory, and to have his name and a battle fought, with the number of killed and wounded, go back to richmond for his own glory. when he fought, he fought for victory, not for glory. he could fall back right in the face of the foe as quietly and orderly as if on dress parade; and when his enemies crowded him a little too closely, he would about face and give them a terrible chastisement. he could not be taken by surprise by any flank movement of the enemy. his soldiers were to him his children. he loved them. they were never needlessly sacrificed. he was always ready to meet the attack of the enemy. when his line of battle was formed it was like a wall of granite. his adversaries knew him, and dreaded the certain death that awaited them. his troops were brave; they laughed in the face of battle. he had no rear guard to shoot down any one who ran. they couldn't run; the army was solid. the veriest coward that was ever born became a brave man and a hero under his manipulation. his troops had the utmost confidence in him, and feared no evil. they became an army of veterans, whose lines could not be broken by the armies of the world. battle became a pastime and a pleasure, and the rattle of musketry and roar of cannon were but the music of victory and success. commissaries before general joseph e. johnston took command of the army of tennessee, the soldiers were very poorly fed, it is true, but the blame was not entirely attributable to general bragg. he issued enough and more than enough to have bountifully fed his army, but there was a lot of men in the army, generally denominated commissaries, and their "gizzards," as well as fingers, had to be greased. there was commissary-general, then corps commissary, then division commissary, then brigade commissary, then regimental commissary, then company commissary. now, you know were you to start a nice hindquarter of beef, which had to pass through all these hands, and every commissary take a choice steak and roast off it, there would be but little ever reach the company, and the poor man among the johnnies had to feast like bears in winter--they had to suck their paws--but the rich johnnies who had money could go to almost any of the gentlemen denominated commissaries (they ought to have been called cormorants) and buy of them much nice fat beef and meal and flour and sugar and coffee and nice canvassed hams, etc. i have done it many times. they were keeping back the rations that had been issued to the army, and lining their own pockets. but when general johnston took command, this manipulating business played out. rations would "spile" on their hands. othello's occupation was gone. they received only one hundred and forty dollars a month then, and the high private got plenty to eat, and mr. cormorant quit making as much money as he had heretofore done. were you to go to them and make complaint, they would say, "i have issued regular army rations to your company, and what is left over is mine," and they were mighty exact about it. dalton we went into winter quarters at dalton, and remained there during the cold, bad winter of 1863-64, about four months. the usual routine of army life was carried on day by day, with not many incidents to vary the monotony of camp life. but occasionally the soldiers would engage in a snow ball battle, in which generals, colonels, captains and privates all took part. they would usually divide off into two grand divisions, one line naturally becoming the attacking party, and the other the defensive. the snow balls would begin to fly hither and thither, with an occasional knock down, and sometimes an ugly wound, where some mean fellow had enclosed a rock in his snow ball. it was fun while it lasted, but after it was over the soldiers were wet, cold and uncomfortable. i have seen charges and attacks and routes and stampedes, etc., but before the thing was over, one side did not know one from the other. it was a general knock down and drag out affair. shooting a deserter one morning i went over to deshler's brigade of cleburne's division to see my brother-in-law, dr. j. e. dixon. the snow was on the ground, and the boys were hard at it, "snow balling." while i was standing looking on, a file of soldiers marched by me with a poor fellow on his way to be shot. he was blindfolded and set upon a stump, and the detail formed. the command, "ready, aim, fire!" was given, the volley discharged, and the prisoner fell off the stump. he had not been killed. it was the sergeant's duty to give the _coup d'etat_, should not the prisoner be slain. the sergeant ran up and placed the muzzle of his gun at the head of the poor, pleading, and entreating wretch, his gun was discharged, and the wretched man only powder-burned, the gun being one that had been loaded with powder only. the whole affair had to be gone over again. the soldiers had to reload and form and fire. the culprit was killed stone dead this time. he had no sooner been taken up and carried off to be buried, than the soldiers were throwing snow balls as hard as ever, as if nothing had happened. ten men killed at the mourners' bench at this place (dalton) a revival of religion sprang up, and there was divine service every day and night. soldiers became serious on the subject of their souls' salvation. in sweeping the streets and cleaning up, an old tree had been set on fire, and had been smoking and burning for several days, and nobody seemed to notice it. that night there was service as usual, and the singing and sermon were excellent. the sermon was preached by rev. j. g. bolton, chaplain of the fiftieth tennessee regiment, assisted by rev. c. d. elliott, the services being held in the fourth tennessee regiment. as it was the custom to "call up mourners," a long bench had been placed in proper position for them to kneel down at. ten of them were kneeling at this mourners' bench, pouring out their souls in prayer to god, asking him for the forgiveness of their sins, and for the salvation of their souls, for jesus christ their redeemer's sake, when the burning tree, without any warning, fell with a crash right across the ten mourners, crushing and killing them instantly. god had heard their prayers. their souls had been carried to heaven. hereafter, henceforth, and forevermore, there was no more marching, battling, or camp duty for them. they had joined the army of the hosts of heaven. by order of the general, they were buried with great pomp and splendor, that is, for those times. every one of them was buried in a coffin. brass bands followed, playing the "dead march," and platoons fired over their graves. it was a soldier's funeral. the beautiful burial service of the episcopal church was read by rev. allen tribble. a hymn was sung, and prayer offered, and then their graves were filled as we marched sadly back to camp. dr. c. t. quintard dr. c. t. quintard was our chaplain for the first tennessee regiment during the whole war, and he stuck to us from the beginning even unto the end. during week days he ministered to us physically, and on sundays spiritually. he was one of the purest and best men i ever knew. he would march and carry his knapsack every day the same as any soldier. he had one text he preached from which i remember now. it was "the flying scroll." he said there was a flying scroll continually passing over our heads, which was like the reflections in a looking-glass, and all of our deeds, both good and bad, were written upon it. he was a good doctor of medicine, as well as a good doctor of divinity, and above either of these, he was a good man per se. every old soldier of the first tennessee regiment will remember dr. c. t. quintard with the kindest and most sincere emotions of love and respect. he would go off into the country and get up for our regiment clothing and provisions, and wrote a little prayer and song book, which he had published, and gave it to the soldiers. i learned that little prayer and song book off by heart, and have a copy of it in my possession yet, which i would not part with for any consideration. dr. quintard's nature was one of love. he loved the soldiers, and the soldiers loved him, and deep down in his heart of hearts was a deep and lasting love for jesus christ, the redeemer of the world, implanted there by god the father himself. y's you got my hog? one day, a party of "us privates" concluded we would go across the conasauga river on a raid. we crossed over in a canoe. after traveling for some time, we saw a neat looking farm house, and sent one of the party forward to reconnoiter. he returned in a few minutes and announced that he had found a fine fat sow in a pen near the house. now, the plan we formed was for two of us to go into the house and keep the inmates interested and the other was to toll and drive off the hog. i was one of the party which went into the house. there was no one there but an old lady and her sick and widowed daughter. they invited us in very pleasantly and kindly, and soon prepared us a very nice and good dinner. the old lady told us of all her troubles and trials. her husband had died before the war, and she had three sons in the army, two of whom had been killed, and the youngest, who had been conscripted, was taken with the camp fever and died in the hospital at atlanta, and she had nothing to subsist upon, after eating up what they then had. i was much interested, and remained a little while after my comrade had left. i soon went out, having made up my mind to have nothing to do with the hog affair. i did not know how to act. i was in a bad fix. i had heard the gun fire and knew its portent. i knew the hog was dead, and went on up the road, and soon overtook my two comrades with the hog, which had been skinned and cut up, and was being carried on a pole between them. i did not know what to do. on looking back i saw the old lady coming and screaming at the top of her voice, "you got my hog! you got my hog!" it was too late to back out now. we had the hog, and had to make the most of it, even if we did ruin a needy and destitute family. we went on until we came to the conasauga river, when lo and behold! the canoe was on the other side of the river. it was dark then, and getting darker, and what was to be done we did not know. the weather was as cold as blue blazes, and spitting snow from the northwest. that river had to be crossed that night. i undressed and determined to swim it, and went in, but the little thin ice at the bank cut my feet. i waded in a little further, but soon found i would cramp if i tried to swim it. i came out and put my clothes on, and thought of a gate about a mile back. we went back and took the gate off its hinges and carried it to the river and put it in the water, but soon found out that all three of us could not ride on it; so one of the party got on it and started across. he did very well until he came to the other bank, which was a high bluff, and if he got off the center of the gate it would capsize and he would get a ducking. he could not get off the gate. i told him to pole the gate up to the bank, so that one side would rest on the bank, and then make a quick run for the bank. he thought he had got the gate about the right place, and then made a run, and the gate went under and so did he, in water ten feet deep. my comrade, fount c., who was with me on the bank, laughed, i thought, until he had hurt himself; but with me, i assure you, it was a mighty sickly grin, and with the other one, barkley j., it was anything but a laughing matter. to me he seemed a hero. barkley did about to liberate me from a very unpleasant position. he soon returned with the canoe, and we crossed the river with the hog. we worried and tugged with it, and got it to camp just before daylight. i had a guilty conscience, i assure you. the hog was cooked, but i did not eat a piece of it. i felt that i had rather starve, and i believe that it would have choked me to death if i had attempted it. a short time afterward an old citizen from maury county visited me. my father sent me, by him, a silver watch--which i am wearing today-and eight hundred dollars in old issue confederate money. i took two hundred dollars of the money, and had it funded for new issue, 33 1/3 cents discount. the other six hundred i sent to vance thompson, then on duty at montgomery, with instructions to send it to my brother, dave watkins, uncle asa freeman, and j. e. dixon, all of whom were in wheeler's cavalry, at some other point--i knew not where. after getting my money, i found that i had $133.33 1/3. i could not rest. i took one hundred dollars, new issue, and going by my lone self back to the old lady's house, i said, "madam, some soldiers were here a short time ago, and took your hog. i was one of that party, and i wish to pay you for it. what was it worth?" "well, sir," says she, "money is of no value to me; i cannot get any article that i wish; i would much rather have the hog." says i, "madam, that is an impossibility; your hog is dead and eat up, and i have come to pay you for it." the old lady's eyes filled with tears. she said that she was perfectly willing to give the soldiers everything she had, and if she thought it had done us any good, she would not charge anything for it. "well," says i, "madam, here is a hundred dollar, new issue, confederate bill. will this pay you for your hog?" "well, sir," she says, drawing herself up to her full height, her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashing, "i do not want your money. i would feel that it was blood money." i saw that there was no further use to offer it to her. i sat down by the fire and the conversation turned upon other subjects. i helped the old lady catch a chicken (an old hen--about the last she had) for dinner, went with her in the garden and pulled a bunch of eschalots, brought two buckets of water, and cut and brought enough wood to last several days. after awhile, she invited me to dinner, and after dinner i sat down by her side, took her old hand in mine, and told her the whole affair of the hog, from beginning to end; how sorry i was, and how i did not eat any of that hog; and asked her as a special act of kindness and favor to me, to take the hundred dollars; that i felt bad about it, and if she would take it, it would ease my conscience. i laid the money on the table and left. i have never in my life made a raid upon anybody else. target shooting by some hook, or crook, or blockade running, or smuggling, or mason and slidell, or raphael semmes, or something of the sort, the confederate states government had come in possession of a small number of whitworth guns, the finest long range guns in the world, and a monopoly by the english government. they were to be given to the best shots in the army. one day captain joe p. lee and company h went out to shoot at a target for the gun. we all wanted the gun, because if we got it we would be sharpshooters, and be relieved from camp duty, etc. all the generals and officers came out to see us shoot. the mark was put up about five hundred yards on a hill, and each of us had three shots. every shot that was fired hit the board, but there was one man who came a little closer to the spot than any other one, and the whitworth was awarded him; and as we just turned round to go back to camp, a buck rabbit jumped up, and was streaking it as fast as he could make tracks, all the boys whooping and yelling as hard as they could, when jimmy webster raised his gun and pulled down on him, and cut the rabbit's head entirely off with a minnie ball right back of his ears. he was about two hundred and fifty yards off. it might have been an accidental shot, but general leonidas polk laughed very heartily at the incident, and i heard him ask one of his staff if the whitworth gun had been awarded. the staff officer responded that it had, and that a certain man in colonel farquharson's regiment--the fourth tennessee--was the successful contestant, and i heard general polk remark, "i wish i had another gun to give, i would give it to the young man that shot the rabbit's head off." none of our regiment got a whitworth, but it has been subsequently developed that our regiment had some of the finest shots in it the world ever produced. for instance, george and mack campbell, of maury county; billy watkins, of nashville, and colonel h. r. field, and many others, who i cannot now recall to mind in this rapid sketch. uncle zack and aunt daphne while at this place, i went out one day to hunt someone to wash my clothes for me. i never was a good washerwoman. i could cook, bring water and cut wood, but never was much on the wash. in fact, it was an uphill business for me to wash up "the things" after "grub time" in our mess. i took my clothes and started out, and soon came to a little old negro hut. i went in and says to an old negress, "aunty, i would like for you to do a little washing for me." the old creature was glad to get it, as i agreed to pay her what it was worth. her name was aunt daphne, and if she had been a politician, she would have been a success. i do not remember of a more fluent "conversationalist" in my life. her tongue seemed to be on a balance, and both ends were trying to out-talk the other--but she was a good woman. her husband was named uncle zack, and was the exact counterpart of aunt daphne. he always sat in the chimney corner, his feet in the ashes, and generally fast asleep. i am certain i never saw an uglier or more baboonish face in my life, but uncle zack was a good christian, and i would sometimes wake him up to hear him talk christian. he said that when he "fessed 'ligin, de debil come dare one nite, and say, 'zack, come go wid me,' and den de debil tek me to hell, and jes stretch a wire across hell, and hang me up jes same like a side of bacon, through the tongue. well, dar i hang like de bacon, and de grease kept droppin' down, and would blaze up all 'round me. i jes stay dar and burn; and after while de debil come 'round wid his gun, and say, 'zack, i gwine to shoot you,' and jes as he raise de gun, i jes jerk loose from dat wire, and i jes fly to heben." "fly! did you have wings?" "o, yes, sir, i had wings." "well, after you got to heaven, what did you do then?" "well, i jes went to eatin' grass like all de balance of de lams." "what! were they eating grass?" "o, yes, sir." "well, what color were the lambs, uncle zack?" "well, sir, some of dem was white, and some black, and some spotted." "were there no old rams or ewes among them?" "no, sir; dey was all lams." "well, uncle zack, what sort of a looking lamb were you?" "well, sir, i was sort of specklish and brown like." old zack begins to get sleepy. "did you have horns, uncle zack?" "well, some of dem had little horns dat look like dey was jes sorter sproutin' like." zack begins to nod and doze a little. "well, how often did they shear the lambs, uncle zack?" "well, w-e-l-l, w--e--l--l--," and uncle zack was fast asleep and snoring, and dreaming no doubt of the beautiful pastures glimmering above the clouds of heaven. red tape while here i applied for a furlough. now, reader, here commenced a series of red tapeism that always had characterized the officers under braggism. it had to go through every officer's hands, from corporal up, before it was forwarded to the next officer of higher grade, and so it passed through every officer's hands. he felt it his sworn and bound duty to find some informality in it, and it was brought back for correction according to his notions, you see. well, after getting the corporal's consent and approval, it goes up to the sergeant. it ain't right! some informality, perhaps, in the wording and spelling. then the lieutenants had to have a say in it, and when it got to the captain, it had to be read and re-read, to see that every "i" was dotted and "t" crossed, but returned because there was one word that he couldn't make out. then it was forwarded to the colonel. he would snatch it out of your hand, grit his teeth, and say, "d--n it;" feel in his vest pocket and take out a lead pencil, and simply write "app." for approved. this would also be returned, with instructions that the colonel must write "approved" in a plain hand, and with pen and ink. then it went to the brigadier-general. he would be engaged in a game of poker, and would tell you to call again, as he didn't have time to bother with those small affairs at present. "i'll see your five and raise you ten." "i have a straight flush." "take the pot." after setting him out, and when it wasn't his deal, i get up and walk around, always keeping the furlough in sight. after reading carefully the furlough, he says, "well, sir, you have failed to get the adjutant's name to it. you ought to have the colonel and adjutant, and you must go back and get their signatures." after this, you go to the major-general. he is an old aristocratic fellow, who never smiles, and tries to look as sour as vinegar. he looks at the furlough, and looks down at the ground, holding the furlough in his hand in a kind of dreamy way, and then says, "well, sir, this is all informal." you say, "well, general, what is the matter with it?" he looks at you as if he hadn't heard you, and repeats very slowly, "well, sir, this is informal," and hands it back to you. you take it, feeling all the while that you wished you had not applied for a furlough, and by summoning all the fortitude that you possess, you say in a husky and choking voice, "well, general (you say the "general" in a sort of gulp and dry swallow), what's the matter with the furlough?" you look askance, and he very languidly re-takes the furlough and glances over it, orders his negro boy to go and feed his horse, asks his cook how long it will be before dinner, hallooes at some fellow away down the hill that he would like for him to call at 4 o'clock this evening, and tells his adjutant to sign the furlough. the adjutant tries to be smart and polite, smiles a smole both child-like and bland, rolls up his shirt-sleeves, and winks one eye at you, gets astraddle of a camp-stool, whistles a little stanza of schottische, and with a big flourish of his pen, writes the majorgeneral's name in small letters, and his own--the adjutant's--in very large letters, bringing the pen under it with tremendous flourishes, and writes approved and forwarded. you feel relieved. you feel that the anaconda's coil had been suddenly relaxed. then you start out to the lieutenant-general; you find him. he is in a very learned and dignified conversation about the war in chili. well, you get very anxious for the war in chili to get to an end. the general pulls his side-whiskers, looks wise, and tells his adjutant to look over it, and, if correct, sign it. the adjutant does not deign to condescend to notice you. he seems to be full of gumbo or calf-tail soup, and does not wish his equanimity disturbed. he takes hold of the document, and writes the lieutenant-general's name, and finishes his own name while looking in another direction--approved and forwarded. then you take it up to the general; the guard stops you in a very formal way, and asks, "what do you want?" you tell him. he calls for the orderly; the orderly gives it to the adjutant, and you are informed that it will be sent to your colonel tonight, and given to you at roll-call in the morning. now, reader, the above is a pretty true picture of how i got my furlough. i get a furlough after going through all the formality of red-tapeism, and being snubbed with tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee, i got my furlough. when it started out, it was on the cleanest piece of paper that could be found in buck lanier's sutler's store. after it came back, it was pretty well used up, and looked as if it had gone through a very dark place, and been beat with a soot-bag. but, anyhow, i know that i did not appreciate my furlough half as much as i thought i would. i felt like returning it to the gentlemen with my compliments, declining their kind favors. i felt that it was unwillingly given, and, as like begets like, it was very unwillingly received. honestly, i felt as if i had made a bad bargain, and was keen to rue the trade. i did not know what to do with it; but, anyhow, i thought i would make the best of a bad bargain. i got on the cars at dalton--now, here is a thing that i had long since forgotten about--it was the first first-class passenger car that i had been in since i had been a soldier. the conductor passed around, and handed me a ticket with these words on it: "if you wish to travel with ease, keep this ticket in sight, if you please; and if you wish to take a nap, just stick this in your hat or cap." this was the poetry, reader, that was upon the ticket. the conductor called around every now and then, especially if you were asleep, to look at your ticket, and every now and then a captain and a detail of three soldiers would want to look at your furlough. i thought before i got to selma, alabama, that i wished the ticket and furlough both were in the bottom of the ocean, and myself back in camp. everywhere i went someone wanted to see my furlough. before i got my furlough, i thought it sounded big. furlough was a war word, and i did not comprehend its meaning until i got one. the very word "furlough" made me sick then. i feel fainty now whenever i think of furlough. it has a sickening sound in the ring of it--"furlough!" "furloch," it ought to have been called. every man i met had a furlough; in fact, it seemed to have the very double-extract of romance about it--"fur too, eh?" men who i knew had never been in the army in their lives, all had furloughs. where so many men ever got furloughs from i never knew; but i know now. they were like the old bachelor who married the widow with ten children--he married a "ready-made" family. they had ready-made furloughs. but i have said enough on the furlough question; it enthralled me--let it pass; don't want any more furloughs. but while on my furlough, i got with captain g. m. v. kinzer, a fine-dressed and handsome cavalry captain, whom all the ladies (as they do at the present day), fell in love with. the captain and myself were great friends. the captain gave me his old coat to act captain in, but the old thing wouldn't act. i would keep the collar turned down. one night we went to call on a couple of beautiful and interesting ladies near selma. we chatted the girls until the "wee sma' hours" of morning, and when the young ladies retired, remarked that they would send a servant to show us to our room. we waited; no servant came. the captain and myself snoozed it out as best we could. about daylight the next morning the captain and myself thought that we would appear as if we had risen very early, and began to move about, and opening the door, there lay a big black negro on his knees and face. now, reader, what do you suppose that negro was doing? you could not guess in a week. the black rascal! hideous! terrible to contemplate! vile! outrageous! well, words cannot express it. what do you suppose he was doing? he was fast asleep. he had come thus far, and could go no further, and fell asleep. there is where the captain and myself found him at daylight the next morning. we left for selma immediately after breakfast, leaving the family in ignorance of the occurrence. the captain and myself had several other adventures, but the captain always had the advantage of me; he had the good clothes, and the good looks, and got all the good presents from the pretty young ladies--well, you might say, "cut me out" on all occasions. "that's what makes me 'spise a furlough." but then furlough sounds big, you know. chapter xii hundred days battle rocky face ridge when i got back to dalton, i found the yankee army advancing; they were at rocky face ridge. now, for old joe's generalship. we have seen him in camp, now we will see him in action. we are marched to meet the enemy; we occupy turner's gap at tunnel hill. now, come on, mr. yank--we are keen for an engagement. it is like a picnic; the soldiers are ruddy and fat, and strong; whoop! whoop! hurrah! come on, mr. yank. we form line of battle on top of rocky face ridge, and here we are face to face with the enemy. why don't you unbottle your thunderbolts and dash us to pieces? ha! here it comes; the boom of cannon and the bursting of a shell in our midst. ha! ha! give us another blizzard! boom! boom! that's all right, you ain't hurting nothing. "hold on, boys," says a sharpshooter, armed with a whitworth gun, "i'll stop that racket. wait until i see her smoke again." boom, boom! the keen crack of the whitworth rings upon the frosty morning air; the cannoneers are seen to lie down; something is going on. "yes, yonder is a fellow being carried off on a litter." bang! bang! goes the whitworth, and the battery is seen to limber to the rear. what next? a yell! what does this yell mean? a charge right up the hill, and a little sharp skirmish for a few moments. we can see the yankee line. they are resting on their arms. the valley below is full of blue coats, but a little too far off to do any execution. old joe walks along the line. he happens to see the blue coats in the valley, in plain view. company h is ordered to fire on them. we take deliberate aim and fire a solid volley of minnie balls into their midst. we see a terrible consplutterment among them, and know that we have killed and wounded several of sherman's incendiaries. they seem to get mad at our audacity, and ten pieces of cannon are brought up, and pointed right toward us. we see the smoke boil up, and a moment afterwards the shell is roaring and bursting right among us. ha! ha! ha! that's funny-we love the noise of battle. captain joe p. lee orders us to load and fire at will upon these batteries. our enfields crack, keen and sharp; and ha, ha, ha, look yonder! the yankees are running away from their cannon, leaving two pieces to take care of themselves. yonder goes a dash of our cavalry. they are charging right up in the midst of the yankee line. three men are far in advance. look out, boys! what does that mean? our cavalry are falling back, and the three men are cut off. they will be captured, sure. they turn to get back to our lines. we can see the smoke boil up, and hear the discharge of musketry from the yankee lines. one man's horse is seen to blunder and fall, one man reels in his saddle, and falls a corpse, and the other is seen to surrender. but, look yonder! the man's horse that blundered and fell is up again; he mounts his horse in fifty yards of the whole yankee line, is seen to lie down on his neck, and is spurring him right on toward the solid line of blue coats. look how he rides, and the ranks of the blue coats open. hurrah for the brave rebel boy! he has passed and is seen to regain his regiment. i afterwards learned that that brave rebel boy was my own brother, dave, who at that time was not more than sixteen years old. the one who was killed was named grimes, and the one captured was named houser, and the regiment was the first tennessee cavalry, then commanded by colonel j. h. lewis. you could have heard the cheers from both sides, it seemed, for miles. john branch raised the tune, in which the whole first and twenty-seventh regiments joined in: "cheer, boys, cheer, we are marching on to battle! cheer, boys, cheer, for our sweethearts and our wives! cheer, boys, cheer, we'll nobly do our duty, and give to the south our hearts, our arms, our lives. old lincoln, with his hireling hosts, will never whip the south, shouting the battle cry of freedom." all this is taking place while the yankees are fully one thousand yards off. we can see every movement that is made, and we know that sherman's incendiaries are already hacked. sherman himself is a coward, and dares not try his strength with old joe. sherman never fights; all that he is after is marching to the sea, while the world looks on and wonders: "what a flank movement!" yes, sherman is afraid of minnie balls, and tries the flank movement. we are ordered to march somewhere. "falling back" old joe knows what he is up to. every night we change our position. the morrow's sun finds us face to face with the yankee lines. the troops are in excellent spirits. yonder are our "big guns," our cavalry-forrest and wheeler--our sharpshooters, and here is our wagon and supply train, right in our midst. the private's tread is light--his soul is happy. another flank movement. tomorrow finds us face to face. well, you have come here to fight us; why don't you come on? we are ready; always ready. everything is working like clockwork; machinery is all in order. come, give us a tilt, and let us try our metal. you say old joe has got the brains and you have got the men; you are going to flank us out of the southern confederacy. that's your plan, is it? well, look out; we are going to pick off and decimate your men every day. you will be a picked chicken before you do that. what? the yankees are at resacca, and have captured the bridge across the oostanaula river. well, now, that's business; that has the old ring in it. tell it to us again; we're fond of hearing such things. the yankees are tearing up the railroad track between the tank and resacca. let's hear it again. the yankees have opened the attack; we are going to have a battle; we are ordered to strip for the fight. (that is, to take off our knapsacks and blankets, and to detail bev. white to guard them.) keep closed up, men. the skirmish line is firing like popping fire-crackers on a christmas morning. every now and then the boom of a cannon and the screaming of a shell. ha, ha, ha! that has the right ring. we will make sherman's incendiaries tell another tale in a few moments, when--"halt! about face." well, what's the matter now? simply a flank movement. all right; we march back, retake our knapsacks and blankets, and commence to march toward resacca. tom tucker's rooster crows, and john branch raises the tune, "just twenty years ago," and after we sing that out, he winds up with, "there was an ancient individual whose cognomen was uncle edward," and "the old woman who kept a peanut stand, and a big policeman stood by with a big stick in his hand," and arthur fulghum halloes out, "all right; go ahead! toot, toot, toot! puff, puff, puff! tickets, gentlemen, tickets!" and the maury grays raise the yell, "all aboard for culleoka," while walker coleman commences the song, "i'se gwine to jine the rebel band, fightin' for my home." thus we go, marching back to resacca. battle of resacca well, you want to hear about shooting and banging, now, gentle reader, don't you? i am sorry i cannot interest you on this subject--see history. the yankees had got breeches hold on us. they were ten miles in our rear; had cut off our possibility of a retreat. the wire bridge was in their hands, and they were on the railroad in our rear; but we were moving, there was no mistake in that. our column was firm and strong. there was no excitement, but we were moving along as if on review. we passed old joe and his staff. he has on a light or mole colored hat, with a black feather in it. he is listening to the firing going on at the front. one little cheer, and the very ground seems to shake with cheers. old joe smiles as blandly as a modest maid, raises his hat in acknowledgement, makes a polite bow, and rides toward the firing. soon we are thrown into line of battle, in support of polk's corps. we belong to hardee's corps. now polk's corps advances to the attack, and hardee's corps fifty or seventy-five yards in the rear. a thug, thug, thug; the balls are decimating our men; we can't fire; polk's corps is in front of us; should it give way, then it will be our time. the air is full of deadly missiles. we can see the two lines meet, and hear the deadly crash of battle; can see the blaze of smoke and fire. the earth trembles. our little corps rush in to carry off our men as they are shot down, killed and wounded. lie down! thug, thug! general hardee passes along the line. "steady, boys!" (the old general had on a white cravat; he had been married to a young wife not more than three weeks). "go back, general, go back, go back, go back," is cried all along the line. he passes through the missiles of death unscathed; stood all through that storm of bullets indifferent to their proximity (we were lying down, you know). the enemy is checked; yonder they fly, whipped and driven from the field. "attention! by the right flank, file left, march! double quick!" and we were double quicking, we knew not whither, but that always meant fight. we pass over the hill, and through the valley, and there is old joe pointing toward the tank with his sword. (he looked like the pictures you see hung upon the walls). we cross the railroad. halloo! here comes a cavalry charge from the yankee line. now for it; we will see how yankee cavalry fight. we are not supported; what is the matter? are we going to be captured? they thunder down upon us. their flat-footed dragoons shake and jar the earth. they are all around us--we are surrounded. "form square! platoons, right and left wheel! kneel and fire!" there we were in a hollow square. the yankees had never seen anything like that before. it was something new. they charged right upon us. colonel field, sitting on his gray mare, right in the center of the hollow square, gives the command, "front rank, kneel and present bayonet against cavalry." the front rank knelt down, placing the butts of their guns against their knees. "rear rank, fire at will; commence firing." now, all this happened in less time than it has taken me to write it. they charged right upon us, no doubt expecting to ride right over us, and trample us to death with the hoofs of their horses. they tried to spur and whip their horses over us, but the horses had more sense than that. we were pouring a deadly fire right into their faces, and soon men and horses were writhing in the death agonies; officers were yelling at the top of their voices, "surrender! surrender!" but we were having too good a thing of it. we were killing them by scores, and they could not fire at us; if they did they either overshot or missed their aim. their ranks soon began to break and get confused, and finally they were routed, and broke and ran in all directions, as fast as their horses could carry them. when we re-formed our regiment and marched back, we found that general johnston's army had all passed over the bridge at resacca. now, reader, this was one of our tight places. the first tennessee regiment was always ordered to hold tight places, which we always did. we were about the last troops that passed over. now, gentle reader, that is all i know of the battle of resacca. we had repulsed every charge, had crossed the bridge with every wagon, and cannon, and everything, and had nothing lost or captured. it beat anything that has ever been recorded in history. i wondered why old joe did not attack in their rear. the explanation was that hood's line was being enfiladed, his men decimated, and he could not hold his position. we are still fighting; battles innumerable. the yankees had thrown pontoons across the river below resacca, in hopes to intercept us on the other side. we were marching on the road; they seemed to be marching parallel with us. it was fighting, fighting, every day. when we awoke in the morning, the firing of guns was our reveille, and when the sun went down it was our "retreat and our lights out." fighting, fighting, fighting, all day and all night long. battles were fought every day, and in one respect we always had the advantage; they were the attacking party, and we always had good breastworks thrown up during the night. johnston's army was still intact. the soldiers drew their regular rations of biscuit and bacon, sugar and coffee, whisky and tobacco. when we went to sleep we felt that old joe, the faithful old watch dog, had his eye on the enemy. no one was disposed to straggle and go back to company q. (company q was the name for play-outs). they even felt safer in the regular line than in the rear with company q. well as stated previously, it was battle, battle, battle, every day, for one hundred days. the boom of cannon, and the rattle of musketry was our reveille and retreat, and sherman knew that it was no child's play. today, april 14, 1882, i say, and honestly say, that i sincerely believe the combined forces of the whole yankee nation could never have broken general joseph e. johnston's line of battle, beginning at rocky face ridge, and ending on the banks of the chattahoochee. adairsville--octagon house--the first tennessee always occupies tight places we had stacked our arms and gone into camp, and had started to build fires to cook supper. i saw our cavalry falling back, i thought, rather hurriedly. i ran to the road and asked them what was the matter? they answered, "matter enough; yonder are the yankees, are you infantry fellows going to make a stand here?" i told colonel field what had been told to me, and he hooted at the idea; but balls that had shucks tied to their tails were passing over, and our regiment was in the rear of the whole army. i could hardly draw anyone's attention to the fact that the cavalry had passed us, and that we were on the outpost of the whole army, when an order came for our regiment to go forward as rapidly as possible and occupy an octagon house in our immediate front. the yankees were about a hundred yards from the house on one side and we about a hundred yards on the other. the race commenced as to which side would get to the house first. we reached it, and had barely gotten in, when they were bursting down the paling of the yard on the opposite side. the house was a fine brick, octagon in shape, and as perfect a fort as could be desired. we ran to the windows, upstairs, downstairs and in the cellar. the yankees cheered and charged, and our boys got happy. colonel field told us he had orders to hold it until every man was killed, and never to surrender the house. it was a forlorn hope. we felt we were "gone fawn skins," sure enough. at every discharge of our guns, we would hear a yankee squall. the boys raised a tune- "i'se gwine to jine the rebel band, a fighting for my home"-as they loaded and shot their guns. then the tune of- "cheer, boys, cheer, we are marching on to battle! cheer, boys, cheer, for our sweethearts and our wives! cheer, boys, cheer, we'll nobly do our duty, and give to the south our hearts, our arms, our lives." our cartridges were almost gone, and lieutenant joe carney, joe sewell, and billy carr volunteered to go and bring a box of one thousand cartridges. they got out of the back window, and through that hail of iron and lead, made their way back with the box of cartridges. our ammunition being renewed, the fight raged on. captain joe p. lee touched me on the shoulder and said, "sam, please let me have your gun for one shot." he raised it to his shoulder and pulled down on a fine-dressed cavalry officer, and i saw that yankee tumble. he handed it back to me to reload. about twelve o'clock, midnight, the hundred and fifty-fourth tennessee, commanded by colonel mcgevney, came to our relief. the firing had ceased, and we abandoned the octagon house. our dead and wounded--there were thirty of them--were in strange contrast with the furniture of the house. fine chairs, sofas, settees, pianos and brussels carpeting being made the death-bed of brave and noble boys, all saturated with blood. fine lace and damask curtains, all blackened by the smoke of battle. fine bureaus and looking-glasses and furniture being riddled by the rude missiles of war. beautiful pictures in gilt frames, and a library of valuable books, all shot and torn by musket and cannon balls. such is war. kennesaw line the battles of the kennesaw line were fought for weeks. cannonading and musketry firing was one continual thing. it seemed that shooting was the order of the day, and pickets on both sides kept up a continual firing, that sounded like ten thousand wood-choppers. sometimes the woodchoppers would get lazy or tired and there was a lull. but you could always tell when the old guard had been relieved, by the accelerated chops of the wood-choppers. am detailed to go into the enemy's lines one day our orderly sergeant informed me that it was my regular time to go on duty, and to report to captain beasley, of the twenty-seventh. i reported to the proper place, and we were taken to the headquarters of general leonidas polk. we had to go over into the enemy's lines, and make such observations as we could, and report back by daylight in the morning. our instructions were to leave everything in camp except our guns and cartridge-boxes. these were to be carried, but, under no circumstances, to be used, except in case of death itself. we were instructed to fall in in the rear of our relief guard, which would go out about sunset; not to attract their attention, but to drop out one or two at a time; to pass the yankee picket as best we could, even if we had to crawl on our bellies to do so; to go over in the yankee lines, and to find out all we could, without attracting attention, if possible. these were our instructions. you may be sure my heart beat like a muffled drum when i heard our orders. i felt like making my will. but, like the boy who was passing the graveyard, i tried to whistle to keep my spirits up. we followed the relief guard, and one by one stepped off from the rear. i was with two others, arnold zellner and t. c. dornin. we found ourselves between the picket lines of the two armies. fortune seemed to favor us. it was just getting dusky twilight, and we saw the relief guard of the yankees just putting on their picket. they seemed to be very mild, inoffensive fellows. they kept a looking over toward the rebel lines, and would dodge if a twig cracked under their feet. i walked on as if i was just relieved, and had passed their lines, when i turned back, and says i, "captain, what guard is this?" he answered, "nien bocht, you bet," is what i understood him to say. "what regiment are you from?" "ben bicht mir ein riefel fab bien." "what regiment is your detail from?" "iet du mein got donnermetter stefel switzer." i had to give it up-i had run across the detail of a dutch regiment. i passed on, and came to the regular line of breastworks, and there was an old irishman sitting on a stump grinding coffee. "general mccook's brigade, be jabbers," he answered to my inquiry as to what regiment it was. right in front of me the line was full of irish soldiers, and they were cooking supper. i finally got over their breastworks, and was fearful i would run into some camp or headquarter guard, and the countersign would be demanded of me. i did not know what to do in that case--but i thought of the way that i had gotten in hundreds of times before in our army, when i wanted to slip the guard, and that was to get a gun, go to some cross street or conspicuous place, halt the officer, and get the countersign. and while standing near general sherman's headquarters, i saw a courier come out of his tent, get on his horse, and ride toward where i stood. as he approached, says i, "halt! who goes there?" "a friend with the countersign." he advanced, and whispered in my ear the word "united." he rode on. i had gotten their countersign, and felt i was no longer a prisoner. i went all over their camp, and saw no demonstration of any kind. night had thrown her mantle over the encampment. i could plainly see the sentinels on their weary vigils along the lines, but there was none in their rear. i met and talked with a great many soldiers, but could get no information from them. about 2 o'clock at night, i saw a body of men approaching where i was. something told me that i had better get out of their way, but i did not. the person in command said, "say, there! you, sir; say, you, sir!" says i, "are you speaking to me?" "yes," very curtly and abruptly. "what regiment do you belong to?" says i, "one hundred and twentyseventh illinois." "well, sir, fall in here; i am ordered to take up all stragglers. fall in, fall in promptly!" says i, "i am instructed by general mccook to remain here and direct a courier to general williams' headquarters." he says, "it's a strange place for a courier to come to." his command marched on. about an hour afterwards--about 3 o'clock-i heard the assembly sound. i knew then that it was about time for me to be getting out of the way. soon their companies were forming, and they were calling the roll everywhere. everything had begun to stir. artillery men were hitching up their horses. men were dashing about in every direction. i saw their army form and move off. i got back into our lines, and reported to general polk. he was killed that very day on the kennesaw line. general stephens was killed the very next day. every now and then a dead picket was brought in. times had begun to look bilious, indeed. their cannon seemed to be getting the best of ours in every fight. the cannons of both armies were belching and bellowing at each other, and the pickets were going it like wood choppers, in earnest. we were entrenched behind strong fortifications. our rations were cooked and brought to us regularly, and the spirits of the army were in good condition. we continued to change position, and build new breastworks every night. one-third of the army had to keep awake in the trenches, while the other two-thirds slept. but everything was so systematized, that we did not feel the fatigue. pine mountain--death of general leonidas polk general leonidas polk, our old leader, whom we had followed all through that long war, had gone forward with some of his staff to the top of pine mountain, to reconnoiter, as far as was practicable, the position of the enemy in our front. while looking at them with his field glass, a solid shot from the federal guns struck him on his left breast, passing through his body and through his heart. i saw him while the infirmary corps were bringing him off the field. he was as white as a piece of marble, and a most remarkable thing about him was, that not a drop of blood was ever seen to come out of the place through which the cannon ball had passed. my pen and ability is inadequate to the task of doing his memory justice. every private soldier loved him. second to stonewall jackson, his loss was the greatest the south ever sustained. when i saw him there dead, i felt that i had lost a friend whom i had ever loved and respected, and that the south had lost one of her best and greatest generals. his soldiers always loved and honored him. they called him "bishop polk." "bishop polk" was ever a favorite with the army, and when any position was to be held, and it was known that "bishop polk" was there, we knew and felt that "all was well." golgotha church--general lucius e. polk wounded on this kennesaw line, near golgotha church, one evening about 4 o'clock, our confederate line of battle and the yankee line came in close proximity. if i mistake not, it was a dark, drizzly, rainy evening. the cannon balls were ripping and tearing through the bushes. the two lines were in plain view of each other. general pat cleburne was at this time commanding hardee's corps, and general lucius e. polk was in command of cleburne's division. general john c. brown's division was supporting cleburne's division, or, rather, "in echelon." every few moments, a raking fire from the yankee lines would be poured into our lines, tearing limbs off the trees, and throwing rocks and dirt in every direction; but i never saw a soldier quail, or even dodge. we had confidence in old joe, and were ready to march right into the midst of battle at a moment's notice. while in this position, a bomb, loaded with shrapnel and grapeshot, came ripping and tearing through our ranks, wounding general lucius e. polk, and killing some of his staff. and, right here, i deem it not inappropriate to make a few remarks as to the character and appearance of so brave and gallant an officer. at this time he was about twenty-five years old, with long black hair, that curled, a gentle and attractive black eye that seemed to sparkle with love rather than chivalry, and were it not for a young moustache and goatee that he usually wore, he would have passed for a beautiful girl. in his manner he was as simple and guileless as a child, and generous almost to a fault. enlisting in the first arkansas regiment as a private soldier, and serving for twelve months as orderly sergeant; at the reorganization he was elected colonel of the regiment, and afterwards, on account of merit and ability, was commissioned brigadier-general; distinguishing himself for conspicuous bravery and gallantry on every battlefield, and being "scalped" by a minnie ball at richmond, kentucky-which scar marks its furrow on top of his head today. in every battle he was engaged in, he led his men to victory, or held the enemy at bay, while the surge of battle seemed against us; he always seemed the successful general, who would snatch victory out of the very jaws of defeat. in every battle, polk's brigade, of cleburne's division, distinguished itself, almost making the name of cleburne as the stonewall of the west. polk was to cleburne what murat or the old guard was to napoleon. and, at the battle of chickamauga, when it seemed that the southern army had nearly lost the battle, general lucius e. polk's brigade made the most gallant charge of the war, turning the tide of affairs, and routing the yankee army. general polk himself led the charge in person, and was the first man on top of the yankee breastworks (_vide_ general d. h. hill's report of the battle of chickamauga), and in every attack he had the advance guard, and in every retreat, the rear guard of the army. why? because general lucius e. polk and his brave soldiers _never_ faltered, and with him as leader, the general commanding the army knew that "all was well." well, this evening of which i now write, the litter corps ran up and placed him on a litter, and were bringing him back through company h, of our regiment, when one of the men was wounded, and i am not sure but another one was killed, and they let him fall to the ground. at that time, the yankees seemed to know that they had killed or wounded a general, and tore loose their batteries upon this point. the dirt and rocks were flying in every direction, when captain joe p. lee, jim brandon and myself, ran forward, grabbed up the litter, brought general polk off the crest of the hill, and assisted in carrying him to the headquarters of general cleburne. when we got to general cleburne, he came forward and asked general polk if he was badly wounded, and general polk remarked, laughingly: "well, i think i will be able to get a furlough now." this is a fact. general polk's leg had been shot almost entirely off. i remember the foot part being twisted clear around, and lying by his side, while the blood was running through the litter in a perfect stream. i remember, also, that general cleburne dashed a tear from his eye with his hand, and saying, "poor fellow," at once galloped to the front, and ordered an immediate advance of our lines. cleburne's division was soon engaged. night coming on, prevented a general engagement, but we drove the yankee line two miles. "dead angle" the first and twenty-seventh tennessee regiments will ever remember the battle of "dead angle," which was fought june 27th, on the kennesaw line, near marietta, georgia. it was one of the hottest and longest days of the year, and one of the most desperate and determinedly resisted battles fought during the whole war. our regiment was stationed on an angle, a little spur of the mountain, or rather promontory of a range of hills, extending far out beyond the main line of battle, and was subject to the enfilading fire of forty pieces of artillery of the federal batteries. it seemed fun for the guns of the whole yankee army to play upon this point. we would work hard every night to strengthen our breastworks, and the very next day they would be torn down smooth with the ground by solid shots and shells from the guns of the enemy. even the little trees and bushes which had been left for shade, were cut down as so much stubble. for more than a week this constant firing had been kept up against this salient point. in the meantime, the skirmishing in the valley below resembled the sounds made by ten thousand wood-choppers. well, on the fatal morning of june 27th, the sun rose clear and cloudless, the heavens seemed made of brass, and the earth of iron, and as the sun began to mount toward the zenith, everything became quiet, and no sound was heard save a peckerwood on a neighboring tree, tapping on its old trunk, trying to find a worm for his dinner. we all knew it was but the dead calm that precedes the storm. on the distant hills we could plainly see officers dashing about hither and thither, and the stars and stripes moving to and fro, and we knew the federals were making preparations for the mighty contest. we could hear but the rumbling sound of heavy guns, and the distant tread of a marching army, as a faint roar of the coming storm, which was soon to break the ominous silence with the sound of conflict, such as was scarcely ever before heard on this earth. it seemed that the archangel of death stood and looked on with outstretched wings, while all the earth was silent, when all at once a hundred guns from the federal line opened upon us, and for more than an hour they poured their solid and chain shot, grape and shrapnel right upon this salient point, defended by our regiment alone, when, all of a sudden, our pickets jumped into our works and reported the yankees advancing, and almost at the same time a solid line of blue coats came up the hill. i discharged my gun, and happening to look up, there was the beautiful flag of the stars and stripes flaunting right in my face, and i heard john branch, of the rock city guards, commanded by captain w. d. kelly, who were next company h, say, "look at that yankee flag; shoot that fellow; snatch that flag out of his hand!" my pen is unable to describe the scene of carnage and death that ensued in the next two hours. column after column of federal soldiers were crowded upon that line, and by referring to the history of the war you will find they were massed in column forty columns deep; in fact, the whole force of the yankee army was hurled against this point, but no sooner would a regiment mount our works than they were shot down or surrendered, and soon we had every "gopher hole" full of yankee prisoners. yet still the yankees came. it seemed impossible to check the onslaught, but every man was true to his trust, and seemed to think that at that moment the whole responsibility of the confederate government was rested upon his shoulders. talk about other battles, victories, shouts, cheers, and triumphs, but in comparison with this day's fight, all others dwarf into insignificance. the sun beaming down on our uncovered heads, the thermometer being one hundred and ten degrees in the shade, and a solid line of blazing fire right from the muzzles of the yankee guns being poured right into our very faces, singeing our hair and clothes, the hot blood of our dead and wounded spurting on us, the blinding smoke and stifling atmosphere filling our eyes and mouths, and the awful concussion causing the blood to gush out of our noses and ears, and above all, the roar of battle, made it a perfect pandemonium. afterward i heard a soldier express himself by saying that he thought "hell had broke loose in georgia, sure enough." i have heard men say that if they ever killed a yankee during the war they were not aware of it. i am satisfied that on this memorable day, every man in our regiment killed from one score to four score, yea, five score men. i mean from twenty to one hundred each. all that was necessary was to load and shoot. in fact, i will ever think that the reason they did not capture our works was the impossibility of their living men passing over the bodies of their dead. the ground was piled up with one solid mass of dead and wounded yankees. i learned afterwards from the burying squad that in some places they were piled up like cord wood, twelve deep. after they were time and time again beaten back, they at last were enabled to fortify a line under the crest of the hill, only thirty yards from us, and they immediately commenced to excavate the earth with the purpose of blowing up our line. we remained here three days after the battle. in the meantime the woods had taken fire, and during the nights and days of all that time continued to burn, and at all times, every hour of day and night, you could hear the shrieks and screams of the poor fellows who were left on the field, and a stench, so sickening as to nauseate the whole of both armies, arose from the decaying bodies of the dead left lying on the field. on the third morning the yankees raised a white flag, asked an armistice to bury their dead, not for any respect either army had for the dead, but to get rid of the sickening stench. i get sick now when i happen to think about it. long and deep trenches were dug, and hooks made from bayonets crooked for the purpose, and all the dead were dragged and thrown pell mell into these trenches. nothing was allowed to be taken off the dead, and finely dressed officers, with gold watch chains dangling over their vests, were thrown into the ditches. during the whole day both armies were hard at work, burying the federal dead. every member of the first and twenty-seventh tennessee regiments deserves a wreath of imperishable fame, and a warm place in the hearts of their countrymen, for their gallant and heroic valor at the battle of dead angle. no man distinguished himself above another. all did their duty, and the glory of one is but the glory and just tribute of the others. after we had abandoned the line, and on coming to a little stream of water, i undressed for the purpose of bathing, and after undressing found my arm all battered and bruised and bloodshot from my wrist to my shoulder, and as sore as a blister. i had shot one hundred and twenty times that day. my gun became so hot that frequently the powder would flash before i could ram home the ball, and i had frequently to exchange my gun for that of a dead comrade. colonel h. r. field was loading and shooting the same as any private in the ranks when he fell off the skid from which he was shooting right over my shoulder, shot through the head. i laid him down in the trench, and he said, "well, they have got me at last, but i have killed fifteen of them; time about is fair play, i reckon." but colonel field was not killed--only wounded, and one side paralyzed. captain joe p. lee, captain mack campbell, lieutenant t. h. maney, and other officers of the regiment, threw rocks and beat them in their faces with sticks. the yankees did the same. the rocks came in upon us like a perfect hail storm, and the yankees seemed very obstinate, and in no hurry to get away from our front, and we had to keep up the firing and shooting them down in self-defense. they seemed to walk up and take death as coolly as if they were automatic or wooden men, and our boys did not shoot for the fun of the thing. it was, verily, a life and death grapple, and the least flicker on our part, would have been sure death to all. we could not be reinforced on account of our position, and we had to stand up to the rack, fodder or no fodder. when the yankees fell back, and the firing ceased, i never saw so many broken down and exhausted men in my life. i was as sick as a horse, and as wet with blood and sweat as i could be, and many of our men were vomiting with excessive fatigue, over-exhaustion, and sunstroke; our tongues were parched and cracked for water, and our faces blackened with powder and smoke, and our dead and wounded were piled indiscriminately in the trenches. there was not a single man in the company who was not wounded, or had holes shot through his hat and clothing. captain beasley was killed, and nearly all his company killed and wounded. the rock city guards were almost piled in heaps and so was our company. captain joe p. lee was badly wounded. poor walter hood and jim brandon were lying there among us, while their spirits were in heaven; also, william a. hughes, my old mess-mate and friend, who had clerked with me for s. f. & j. m. mayes, and who had slept with me for lo! these many years, and a boy who loved me more than any other person on earth has ever done. i had just discharged the contents of my gun into the bosoms of two men, one right behind the other, killing them both, and was re-loading, when a yankee rushed upon me, having me at a disadvantage, and said, "you have killed my two brothers, and now i've got you." everything i had ever done rushed through my mind. i heard the roar, and felt the flash of fire, and saw my more than friend, william a. hughes, grab the muzzle of the gun, receiving the whole contents in his hand and arm, and mortally wounding him. reader, he died for me. in saving my life, he lost his own. when the infirmary corps carried him off, all mutilated and bleeding he told them to give me "florence fleming" (that was the name of his gun, which he had put on it in silver letters), and to give me his blanket and clothing. he gave his life for me, and everything that he had. it was the last time that i ever saw him, but i know that away up yonder, beyond the clouds, blackness, tempest and night, and away above the blue vault of heaven, where the stars keep their ceaseless vigils, away up yonder in the golden city of the new jerusalem, where god and jesus christ, our savior, ever reign, we will sometime meet at the marriage supper of the son of god, who gave his life for the redemption of the whole world. for several nights they made attacks upon our lines, but in every attempt, they were driven back with great slaughter. they would ignite the tape of bomb shells, and throw them over in our lines, but, if the shell did not immediately explode, they were thrown back. they had a little shell called _hand grenade_, but they would either stop short of us, or go over our heads, and were harmless. general joseph e. johnston sent us a couple of _chevaux-de-frise_. when they came, a detail of three men had to roll them over the works. those three men were heroes. their names were edmund brandon, t. c. dornin, and arnold zellner. although it was a solemn occasion, every one of us was convulsed with laughter at the ridiculous appearance and actions of the detail. every one of them made their wills and said their prayers truthfully and honestly, before they undertook the task. i laugh now every time i think of the ridiculous appearance of the detail, but to them it was no laughing matter. i will say that they were men who feared not, nor faltered in their duty. they were men, and today deserve the thanks of the people of the south. that night about midnight, an alarm was given that the yankees were advancing. they would only have to run about twenty yards before they would be in our works. we were ordered to "shoot." every man was hallooing at the top of his voice, "shoot, shoot, tee, shoot, shootee." on the alarm, both the confederate and federal lines opened, with both small arms and artillery, and it seemed that the very heavens and earth were in a grand conflagration, as they will be at the final judgment, after the resurrection. i have since learned that this was a false alarm, and that no attack had been meditated. previous to the day of attack, the soldiers had cut down all the trees in our immediate front, throwing the tops down hill and sharpening the limbs of the same, thus making, as we thought, an impenetrable abattis of vines and limbs locked together; but nothing stopped or could stop the advance of the yankee line, but the hot shot and cold steel that we poured into their faces from under our head-logs. one of the most shameful and cowardly acts of yankee treachery was committed there that i ever remember to have seen. a wounded yankee was lying right outside of our works, and begging most piteously for water, when a member of the railroad company (his name was hog johnson, and the very man who stood videt with theodore sloan and i at the battle of missionary ridge, and who killed the three yankees, one night, from fort horsley), got a canteen of water, and gave the dying yankee a drink, and as he started back, he was killed dead in his tracks by a treacherous yankee hid behind a tree. it matters not, for somewhere in god's holy word, which cannot lie, he says that "he that giveth a cup of cold water in my name, shall not lose his reward." and i have no doubt, reader, in my own mind, that the poor fellow is reaping his reward in emanuel's land with the good and just. in every instance where we tried to assist their wounded, our men were killed or wounded. a poor wounded and dying boy, not more than sixteen years of age, asked permission to crawl over our works, and when he had crawled to the top, and just as blair webster and i reached up to help the poor fellow, he, the yankee, was killed by his own men. in fact, i have ever thought that is why the slaughter was so great in our front, that nearly, if not as many, yankees were killed by their own men as by us. the brave ones, who tried to storm and carry our works, were simply between two fires. it is a singular fanaticism, and curious fact, that enters the mind of a soldier, that it is a grand and glorious death to die on a victorious battlefield. one morning the sixth and ninth regiments came to our assistance--not to relieve us-but only to assist us, and every member of our regiment--first and twenty-seventh--got as mad as a "wet hen." they felt almost insulted, and i believe we would soon have been in a free fight, had they not been ordered back. as soon as they came up every one of us began to say, "go back! go back! we can hold this place, and by the eternal god we are not going to leave it." general johnston came there to look at the position, and told us that a transverse line was about one hundred yards in our rear, and should they come on us too heavy to fall back to that line, when almost every one of us said, "you go back and look at other lines, this place is safe, and can never be taken." and then when they had dug a tunnel under us to blow us up, we laughed, yea, even rejoiced, at the fact of soon being blown sky high. yet, not a single man was willing to leave his post. when old joe sent us the two _chevaux-defrise_, and kept on sending us water, and rations, and whisky, and tobacco, and word to hold our line, we would invariably send word back to rest easy, and that all is well at dead angle. i have ever thought that is one reason why general johnston fell back from this kennesaw line, and i will say today, in 1882, that while we appreciated his sympathies and kindness toward us, yet we did not think hard of old joe for having so little confidence in us at that time. a perfect hail of minnie balls was being continually poured into our head-logs the whole time we remained here. the yankees would hold up small looking-glasses, so that our strength and breastworks could be seen in the reflection in the glass; and they also had small mirrors on the butts of their guns, so arranged that they could hight up the barrels of their guns by looking through these glasses, while they themselves would not be exposed to our fire, and they kept up this continual firing day and night, whether they could see us or not. sometimes a glancing shot from our head-logs would wound some one. but i cannot describe it as i would wish. i would be pleased to mention the name of every soldier, not only of company h alone, but every man in the first and twenty-seventh tennessee consolidated regiments on this occasion, but i cannot now remember their names, and will not mention any one in particular, fearing to do injustice to some whom i might inadvertently omit. every man and every company did their duty. company g, commanded by captain mack campbell, stood side by side with us on this occasion, as they ever had during the whole war. but soldiers of the first and twenty-seventh regiments, it is with a feeling of pride and satisfaction to me, today, that i was associated with so many noble and brave men, and who were subsequently complimented by jeff davis, then president of the confederate states of america, in person, who said, "that every member of our regiment was fit to be a captain"--his very words. i mention captain w. c. flournoy, of company k, the martin guards; captain ledbetter, of the rutherford rifles; captains kelly and steele, of the rock city guards, and captain adkisson, of the williamson grays, and captain fulcher, and other names of brave and heroic men, some of whom live today, but many have crossed the dark river and are "resting under the shade of the trees" on the other shore, waiting and watching for us, who are left to do justice to their memory and our cause, and when we old rebels have accomplished god's purpose on earth, we, too, will be called to give an account of our battles, struggles, and triumphs. reader mine, i fear that i have wearied you with too long a description of the battle of "dead angle," if so, please pardon me, as this is but a sample of the others which will now follow each other in rapid succession. and, furthermore, in stating the above facts, the half has not been told, but it will give you a faint idea of the hard battles and privations and hardships of the soldiers in that stormy epoch--who died, grandly, gloriously, nobly; dyeing the soil of old mother earth, and enriching the same with their crimson life's blood, while doing what? only trying to protect their homes and families, their property, their constitution and their laws, that had been guaranteed to them as a heritage forever by their forefathers. they died for the faith that each state was a separate sovereign government, as laid down by the declaration of independence and the constitution of our fathers. battle of new hope church we were on a forced march along a dusty road. i never in my whole life saw more dust. the dust fairly popped under our feet, like tramping in a snow-drift, and our eyes, and noses, and mouths, were filled with the dust that arose from our footsteps, and to make matters worse, the boys all tried to kick up a "bigger dust." cavalry and artillery could not be seen at ten paces, being perfectly enveloped in dust. it was a perfect fog of dust. we were marching along, it then being nearly dark, when we heard the hoarse boom of a cannon in our rear. it sounded as if it had a bad attack of croup. it went, "croup, croup, croup." the order was given to "about face, double quick, march." we double quicked back to the old church on the road side, when the first tennessee cavalry, commanded by colonel lewis, and the ninth battalion, commanded by major james h. akin, passed us, and charged the advance of the federal forces. we were supporting the cavalry. we heard them open. deadly missiles were flying in every direction. the peculiar thud of spent balls and balls with shucks tied to their tails were passing over our heads. we were expecting that the cavalry would soon break, and that we would be ordered into action. but the news came from the front, that the cavalry were not only holding their position, but were driving the enemy. the earth jarred and trembled; the fire fiend seemed unchained; wounded men were coming from the front. i asked the litter corps, "who have you there?" and one answered, "captain asa g. freeman." i asked if he was dangerously wounded, and he simply said, "shot through both thighs," and passed on. about this time we heard the whoops and cheers of the cavalry, and knew that the yankees were whipped and falling back. we marched forward and occupied the place held by the cavalry. the trees looked as if they had been cut down for new ground, being mutilated and shivered by musket and cannon balls. horses were writhing in their death agony, and the sickening odor of battle filled the air. well, well, those who go to battle may expect to die. an halo ever surrounds the soldier's life, because he is ever willing to die for his country. battle of dallas--breckinridge charges the heights we are ordered to march to dallas. reader, somehow the name and character of general john c. breckinridge charms me. that morning he looked grand and glorious. his infantry, artillery, and cavalry were drawn up in line of battle in our immediate front. he passed along the line, and stopping about the center of the column, said, "soldiers, we have been selected to go forward and capture yon heights. do you think we can take them? i will lead the attack." the men whooped, and the cry, "we can, we can," was heard from one end of the line to the other. then, "forward, guide center, march!" were words re-repeated by colonels and captains. they debouched through the woods, and passed out of sight in a little ravine, when we saw them emerge in an open field and advance right upon the federal breastworks. it was the grandest spectacle i ever witnessed. we could see the smoke and dust of battle, and hear the shout of the charge, and the roar and rattle of cannon and musketry. but breckinridge's division continued to press forward, without wavering or hesitating. we can see the line of dead and wounded along the track over which he passed, and finally we see our battle flag planted upon the federal breastworks. i cannot describe the scene. if you, reader, are an old soldier, you can appreciate my failure to give a pen picture of battle. but breckinridge could not long hold his position. why we were not ordered forward to follow up his success, i do not know; but remember, reader, i am not writing history. i try only to describe events as i witnessed them. we marched back to the old church on the roadside, called new hope church, and fortified, occupying the battlefield of the day before. the stench and sickening odor of dead men and horses were terrible. we had to breathe the putrid atmosphere. the next day, colonel w. m. voorhies' forty-eighth tennessee regiment took position on our right. now, here were all the maury county boys got together at new hope church. i ate dinner with captain joe love, and frank frierson filled my haversack with hardtack and bacon. battle of zion church, july 4th, 1864 the 4th day of july, twelve months before, pemberton had surrendered twenty-five thousand soldiers, two hundred pieces of artillery, and other munitions of war in proportion, at vicksburg. the yankees wanted to celebrate the day. they thought it was their lucky day; but old joe thought he had as much right to celebrate the sabbath day of american independence as the yankees had, and we celebrated it. about dawn, continued boom of cannon reverberated over the hills as if firing a fourth of july salute. i was standing on top of our works, leveling them off with a spade. a sharpshooter fired at me, but the ball missed me and shot william a. graham through the heart. he was as noble and brave a soldier as ever drew the breath of life, and lacked but a few votes of being elected captain of company h, at the reorganization. he was smoking his pipe when he was shot. we started to carry him to the rear, but he remarked, "boys, it is useless; please lay me down and let me die." i have never in my life seen any one meet death more philosophically. he was dead in a moment. general a. j. vaughan, commanding general preston smith's brigade, had his foot shot off by a cannon ball a few minutes afterwards. it seemed that both confederate and federal armies were celebrating the fourth of july. i cannot now remember a more severe artillery duel. two hundred cannon were roaring and belching like blue blazes. it was but a battle of cannonade all day long. it seemed as though the confederate and federal cannons were talking to each other. sometimes a ball passing over would seem to be mad, then again some would seem to be laughing, some would be mild, some sad, some gay, some sorrowful, some rollicking and jolly; and then again some would scream like the ghosts of the dead. in fact, they gave forth every kind of sound that you could imagine. it reminded one of when two storms meet in mid-ocean--the mountain billows of waters coming from two directions, lash against the vessel's side, while the elements are filled with roaring, thundering and lightning. you could almost feel the earth roll and rock like a drunken man, or a ship, when she rides the billows in an awful storm. it seemed that the earth was frequently moved from its foundations, and you could hear it grate as it moved. but all through that storm of battle, every soldier stood firm, for we knew that old joe was at the helm. kingston here general johnston issued his first battle order, that thus far he had gone and intended to go no further. his line of battle was formed; his skirmish line was engaged; the artillery was booming from the rebel lines. both sides were now face to face. there were no earthworks on either side. it was to be an open field and a fair fight, when--"fall back!" what's the matter? i do not know how we got the news, but here is what is told us--and so it was, every position we ever took. when we fell back the news would be, "hood's line is being enfiladed, and they are decimating his men, and he can't hold his position." but we fell back and took a position at cassville our line of battle was formed at cassville. i never saw our troops happier or more certain of success. a sort of grand halo illumined every soldier's face. you could see self-confidence in the features of every private soldier. we were confident of victory and success. it was like going to a frolic or a wedding. joy was welling up in every heart. we were going to whip and rout the yankees. it seemed to be anything else than a fight. the soldiers were jubilant. gladness was depicted on every countenance. i honestly believe that had a battle been fought at this place, every soldier would have distinguished himself. i believe a sort of fanaticism had entered their souls, that whoever was killed would at once be carried to the seventh heaven. i am sure of one thing, that every soldier had faith enough in old joe to have charged sherman's whole army. when "halt!" "retreat!" what is the matter? general hood says they are enfilading his line, and are decimating his men, and he can't hold his position. the same old story repeats itself. old joe's army is ever face to face with sherman's incendiaries. we have faith in old joe's ability to meet sherman whenever he dares to attack. the soldiers draw their regular rations. every time a blue coat comes in sight, there is a dead yankee to bury. sherman is getting cautious, his army hacked. thus we continue to fall back for four months, day by day, for one hundred and ten days, fighting every day and night. on the banks of the chattahoochee our army had crossed the chattahoochee. the federal army was on the other side; our pickets on the south side, the yankees on the north side. by a tacit agreement, as had ever been the custom, there was no firing across the stream. that was considered the boundary. it mattered not how large or small the stream, pickets rarely fired at each other. we would stand on each bank, and laugh and talk and brag across the stream. one day, while standing on the banks of the chattahoochee, a yankee called out: "johnny, o, johnny, o, johnny reb." johnny answered, "what do you want?" "you are whipped, aren't you?" "no. the man who says that is a liar, a scoundrel, and a coward." "well, anyhow, joe johnston is relieved of the command." "what?" "general joseph e. johnston is relieved." "what is that you say?" "general joseph e. johnston is relieved, and hood appointed in his place." "you are a liar, and if you will come out and show yourself i will shoot you down in your tracks, you lying yankee galloot." "that's more than i will stand. if the others will hands off, i will fight a duel with you. now, show your manhood." well, reader, every word of this is true, as is everything in this book. both men loaded their guns and stepped out to their plates. they were both to load and fire at will, until one or both were killed. they took their positions without either trying to get the advantage of the other. then some one gave the command to "fire at will; commence firing." they fired seven shots each; at the seventh shot, poor johnny reb fell a corpse, pierced through the heart. removal of general joseph e. johnston such was the fact. general joseph e. johnston had been removed and general j. b. hood appointed to take command. generals hardee and kirby smith, two old veterans, who had been identified with the army of tennessee from the beginning, resigned. we had received the intelligence from the yankees. the relief guard confirmed the report. all the way from rocky face ridge to atlanta was a battle of a hundred days, yet hood's line was all the time enfiladed and his men decimated, and he could not hold his position. old joe johnston had taken command of the army of tennessee when it was crushed and broken, at a time when no other man on earth could have united it. he found it in rags and tatters, hungry and heart-broken, the morale of the men gone, their manhood vanished to the winds, their pride a thing of the past. through his instrumentality and skillful manipulation, all these had been restored. we had been under his command nearly twelve months. he was more popular with his troops day by day. we had made a long and arduous campaign, lasting four months; there was not a single day in that four months that did not find us engaged in battle with the enemy. history does not record a single instance of where one of his lines was ever broken--not a single rout. he had not lost a single piece of artillery; he had dealt the enemy heavy blows; he was whipping them day by day, yet keeping his own men intact; his men were in as good spirits and as sure of victory at the end of four months as they were at the beginning; instead of the army being depleted, it had grown in strength. 'tis true, he had fallen back, but it was to give his enemy the heavier blows. he brought all the powers of his army into play; ever on the defensive, 'tis true, yet ever striking his enemy in his most vulnerable part. his face was always to the foe. they could make no movement in which they were not anticipated. such a man was joseph e. johnston, and such his record. farewell, old fellow! we privates loved you because you made us love ourselves. hardee, our old corps commander, whom we had followed for nearly four years, and whom we had loved and respected from the beginning, has left us. kirby smith has resigned and gone home. the spirit of our good and honored leonidas polk is in heaven, and his body lies yonder on the kennesaw line. general breckinridge and other generals resigned. i lay down my pen; i can write no more; my heart is too full. reader, this is the saddest chapter i ever wrote. but now, after twenty years, i can see where general joseph e. johnston made many blunders in not attacking sherman's line at some point. he was better on the defensive than the aggressive, and hence, _bis peccare in bello non licet_. general hood takes command it came like a flash of lightning, staggering and blinding every one. it was like applying a lighted match to an immense magazine. it was like the successful gambler, flushed with continual winnings, who staked his all and lost. it was like the end of the southern confederacy. things that were, were not. it was the end. the soldier of the relief guard who brought us the news while picketing on the banks of the chattahoochee, remarked, by way of imparting gently the information-"boys, we've fought all the war for nothing. there is nothing for us in store now." "what's the matter now?" "general joe johnston is relieved, generals hardee and kirby smith has resigned, and general hood is appointed to take command of the army of tennessee." "my god! is that so?" "it is certainly a fact." "then i'll never fire another gun. any news or letters that you wish carried home? i've quit, and am going home. please tender my resignation to jeff davis as a private soldier in the c. s. army." five men of that picket--there were just five--as rapidly as they could, took off their cartridge-boxes, after throwing down their guns, and then their canteens and haversacks, taking out of their pockets their gun-wipers, wrench and gun-stoppers, and saying they would have no more use for "them things." they marched off, and it was the last we ever saw of them. in ten minutes they were across the river, and no doubt had taken the oath of allegiance to the united states government. such was the sentiment of the army of tennessee at that time. chapter xiii atlanta hood strikes general john b. hood had the reputation of being a fighting man, and wishing to show jeff davis what a "bully" fighter he was, lights in on the yankees on peachtree creek. but that was "i give a dare" affair. general william b. bate's division gained their works, but did not long hold them. our division, now commanded by general john c. brown, was supporting bate's division; our regiment supporting the hundred and fifty-fourth tennessee, which was pretty badly cut to pieces, and i remember how mad they seemed to be, because they had to fall back. hood thought he would strike while the iron was hot, and while it could be hammered into shape, and make the yankees believe that it was the powerful arm of old joe that was wielding the sledge. but he was like the fellow who took a piece of iron to the shop, intending to make him an ax. after working for some time and failing, he concluded he would make him a wedge, and, failing in this, said, "i'll make a skeow." so he heats the iron red-hot and drops it into the slack-tub, and it went s-k-e-o-w, bubble, bubble, s-k-e-o-w, bust. killing a yankee scout on the night of the 20th, the yankees were on peachtree creek, advancing toward atlanta. i was a videt that night, on the outpost of the army. i could plainly hear the moving of their army, even the talking and laughing of the federal soldiers. i was standing in an old sedge field. about midnight everything quieted down. i was alone in the darkness, left to watch while the army slept. the pale moon was on the wane, a little yellow arc, emitting but a dim light, and the clouds were lazily passing over it, while the stars seemed trying to wink and sparkle and make night beautiful. i thought of god, of heaven, of home, and i thought of jennie--her whom i had ever loved, and who had given me her troth in all of her maiden purity, to be my darling bride so soon as the war was over. i thought of the scenes of my childhood, my school-boy days. i thought of the time when i left peace and home, for war and privations. i had jennie's picture in my pocket bible, alongside of a braid of her beautiful hair. and i thought of how good, how pure, and how beautiful was the woman, who, if i lived, would share my hopes and struggles, my happiness as well as troubles, and who would be my darling bride, and happiness would ever be mine. an owl had lit on an old tree near me and began to "hoo, hoo, hoo are you," and his mate would answer back from the lugubrious depths of the chattahoochee swamps. a shivering owl also sat on the limb of a tree and kept up its dismal wailings. and ever now and then i could hear the tingle, tingle, tingle of a cow bell in the distance, and the shrill cry of the whip-poor-will. the shivering owl and whip-poor-will seemed to be in a sort of talk, and the jack-o'-lanterns seemed to be playing spirits--when, hush! what is that? listen! it might have been two o'clock, and i saw, or thought i saw, the dim outlines of a yankee soldier, lying on the ground not more than ten steps from where i stood. i tried to imagine it was a stump or hallucination of the imagination. i looked at it again. the more i looked the more it assumed the outlines of a man. something glistens in his eyes. am i mistaken? tut, tut, it's nothing but a stump; you are getting demoralized. what! it seems to be getting closer. there are two tiny specks that shine like the eyes of a cat in the dark. look here, thought i, you are getting nervous. well, i can stand this doubt and agony no longer; i am going to fire at that object anyhow, let come what will. i raised my gun, placed it to my shoulder, took deliberate aim, and fired, and waugh-weouw, the most unearthly scream i ever heard, greeted my ears. i broke and run to a tree nearby, and had just squatted behind it, when zip, zip, two balls from our picket post struck the tree in two inches of my head. i hallooed to our picket not to fire that it was "me," the videt. i went back, and says i, "who fired those two shots?" two fellows spoke up and said that they did it. no sooner was it spoken, than i was on them like a duck on a june-bug, _pugnis et calcibus_. we "fout and fit, and gouged and bit," right there in that picket post. i have the marks on my face and forehead where one of them struck me with a yankee zinc canteen, filled with water. i do not know which whipped. my friends told me that i whipped both of them, and i suppose their friends told them that they had whipped me. all i know is, they both run, and i was bloody from head to foot, from where i had been cut in the forehead and face by the canteens. this all happened one dark night in the month of july, 1864, in the rifle pit in front of atlanta. when day broke the next morning, i went forward to where i had shot at the "boogaboo" of the night before, and right there i found a dead yankee soldier, fully accoutered for any emergency, his eyes wide open. i looked at him, and i said, "old fellow, i am sorry for you; didn't know it was you, or i would have been worse scared than i was. you are dressed mighty fine, old fellow, but i don't want anything you have got, but your haversack." it was a nice haversack, made of chamois skin. i kept it until the end of the war, and when we surrendered at greensboro, n. c., i had it on. but the other soldiers who were with me, went through him and found twelve dollars in greenback, a piece of tobacco, a gun-wiper and gun-stopper and wrench, a looking-glass and pocket-comb, and various and sundry other articles. i came across that dead yankee two days afterwards, and he was as naked as the day he came into the world, and was as black as a negro, and was as big as a skinned horse. he had mortified. i recollect of saying, "ugh, ugh," and of my hat being lifted off my head, by my hair, which stood up like the quills of the fretful porcupine. he scared me worse when dead than when living. an old citizen but after the little unpleasant episode in the rifle pit, i went back and took my stand. when nearly day, i saw the bright and beautiful star in the east rise above the tree tops, and the gray fog from off the river begun to rise, and every now and then could hear a far off chicken crow. while i was looking toward the yankee line, i saw a man riding leisurely along on horseback, and singing a sort of humdrum tune. i took him to be some old citizen. he rode on down the road toward me, and when he had approached, "who goes there?" he immediately answered, "a friend." i thought that i recognized the voice in the darkness--and said i, "who are you?" he spoke up, and gave me his name. then, said i, "advance, friend, but you are my prisoner." he rode on toward me, and i soon saw that it was mr. mumford smith, the old sheriff of maury county. i was very glad to see him, and as soon as the relief guard came, i went back to camp with him. i do not remember of ever in my life being more glad to see any person. he had brought a letter from home, from my father, and some confederate old issue bonds, which i was mighty glad to get, and also a letter from "the gal i left behind me," enclosing a rosebud and two apple blossoms, resting on an arbor vita leaf, and this on a little piece of white paper, and on this was written a motto (which i will have to tell for the young folks), "receive me, such as i am; would that i were of more use for your sake. jennie." now, that was the bouquet part. i would not like to tell you what was in that letter, but i read that letter over five hundred times, and remember it today. i think i can repeat the poetry _verbatim et literatim_, and will do so, gentle reader, if you don't laugh at me. i'm married now, and only write from memory, and never in my life have i read it in book or paper, and only in that letter- "i love you, o, how dearly, words too faintly but express; this heart beats too sincerely, e'er in life to love you less; no, my fancy never ranges, hopes like mine, can never soar; if the love i cherish, changes, 'twill only be to love you more." now, fair and gentle reader, this was the poetry, and you see for yourself that there was no "shenanigan" in that letter; and if a fellow "went back" on that sort of a letter, he would strike his "mammy." and then the letter wound up with "may god shield and protect you, and prepare you for whatever is in store for you, is the sincere prayer of jennie." you may be sure that i felt good and happy, indeed. my friends reader mine, in writing these rapid and imperfect recollections, i find that should i attempt to write up all the details that i would not only weary you, but that these memoirs would soon become monotonous and uninteresting. i have written only of what i saw. many little acts of kindness shown me by ladies and old citizens, i have omitted. i remember going to an old citizen's house, and he and the old lady were making clay pipes. i recollect how they would mold the pipes and put them in a red-hot stove to burn hard. their kindness to me will never be forgotten. the first time that i went there they seemed very glad to see me, and told me that i looked exactly like their son who was in the army. i asked them what regiment he belonged to. after a moment's silence the old lady, her voice trembling as she spoke, said the fourteenth georgia, and then she began to cry. then the old man said, "yes, we have a son in the army. he went to virginia the first year of the war, and we have never heard of him since. these wars are terrible, sir. the last time that we heard of him, he went with stonewall jackson away up in the mountains of west virginia, toward romney, and i did hear that while standing picket at a little place called hampshire crossing, on a little stream called st. john's run, he and eleven others froze to death. we have never heard of him since." he got up and began walking up and down the room, his hands crossed behind his back. i buckled on my knapsack to go back to camp, and i shook hands with the two good old people, and they told me good-bye, and both said, "god bless you, god bless you." i said the same to them, and said, "i pray god to reward you, and bring your son safe home again." when i got back to camp i found cannon and caissons moving, and i knew and felt that general hood was going to strike the enemy again. preparations were going on, but everything seemed to be out of order and system. men were cursing, and seemed to be dissatisfied and unhappy, but the army was moving. a body without limbs--an army without cavalry forrest's cavalry had been sent to mississippi; wheeler's cavalry had been sent to north carolina and east tennessee. hood had sent off both of his "arms"--for cavalry was always called the most powerful "arm" of the service. the infantry were the feet, and the artillery the body. now, hood himself had no legs, and but one arm, and that one in a sling. the most terrible and disastrous blow that the south ever received was when hon. jefferson davis placed general hood in command of the army of tennessee. i saw, i will say, thousands of men cry like babies--regular, old-fashioned boohoo, boohoo, boohoo. now, hood sent off all his cavalry right in the face of a powerful army, by order and at the suggestion of jeff davis, and was using his cannon as "feelers." o, god! ye gods! i get sick at heart even at this late day when i think of it. i remember the morning that general wheeler's cavalry filed by our brigade, and of their telling us, "good-bye, boys, good-bye, boys." the first tennessee cavalry and ninth battalion were both made up in maury county. i saw john j. stephenson, my friend and step-brother, and david f. watkins my own dear brother, and arch lipscomb, joe fussell, captain kinzer, jack gordon, george martin, major dobbins, colonel lewis, captain galloway, aaron and sims latta, major j. h. akin, s. h. armstrong, albert dobbins, alex dobbins, jim cochran, rafe grisham, captain jim polk, and many others with whom i was acquainted. they all said, "good-bye, sam, good-bye, sam." i cried. i remember stopping the whole command and begging them to please not leave us; that if they did, atlanta, and perhaps hood's whole army, would surrender in a few days; but they told me, as near as i can now remember, "we regret to leave you, but we have to obey orders." the most ignorant private in the whole army saw everything that we had been fighting for for four years just scattered like chaff to the winds. all the generals resigned, and those who did not resign were promoted; colonels were made brigadier-generals, captains were made colonels, and the private soldier, well, he deserted, don't you see? the private soldiers of the army of tennessee looked upon hood as an over-rated general, but jeff davis did not. battle of july 22, 1864 cannon balls, at long range, were falling into the city of atlanta. details of citizens put out the fires as they would occur from the burning shells. we could see the smoke rise and hear the shells pass away over our heads as they went on toward the doomed city. one morning cheatham's corps marched out and through the city, we knew not whither, but we soon learned that we were going to make a flank movement. after marching four or five miles, we "about faced" and marched back again to within two hundred yards of the place from whence we started. it was a "flank movement," you see, and had to be counted that way anyhow. well, now as we had made the flank movement, we had to storm and take the federal lines, because we had made a flank movement, you see. when one army makes a flank movement it is courtesy on the part of the other army to recognize the flank movement, and to change his base. why, sir, if you don't recognize a flank movement, you ain't a graduate of west point. hood was a graduate of west point, and so was sherman. but unfortunately there was mynheer dutchman commanding (mcpherson had gone to dinner) the corps that had been flanked, and he couldn't speak english worth a cent. he, no doubt, had on board mein lager beer, so goot as vat never vas. i sweitzer, mein got, you bet. bang, bang, bang, goes our skirmish line advancing to the attack. hans, vat fer ish dot shooting mit mein left wing? ish dot der repels, hans? the attack the plan of battle, as conceived and put into action by general cleburne, was one of the boldest conceptions, and, at the same time, one of the most hazardous that ever occurred in our army during the war, but it only required nerve and pluck to carry it out, and general cleburne was equal to the occasion. the yankees had fortified on two ranges of hills, leaving a gap in their breastworks in the valley entirely unfortified and unprotected. they felt that they could enfilade the valley between the two lines so that no troop would or could attack at this weak point. this valley was covered with a dense undergrowth of trees and bushes. general walker, of georgia, was ordered to attack on the extreme right, which he did nobly and gallantly, giving his life for his country while leading his men, charging their breastworks. he was killed on the very top of their works. in the meantime general cleburne's division was marching by the right flank in solid column, the same as if they were marching along the road, right up this valley, and thus passing between the yankee lines and cutting them in two, when the command by the left flank was given, which would throw them into line of battle. by this maneuver, cleburne's men were right upon their flank, and enfilading their lines, while they were expecting an attack in their front. it was the finest piece of generalship and the most successful of the war. shineral mynheer dutchman says, "hans, mein got! mein got! vare ish shineral mackferson, eh? mein got, mein got! i shust pelieve dot der repel ish cooming. hans, go cotch der filly colt. now, hans, i vants to see vedder der filly colt mid stand fire. you get on der filly colt, und i vill get pehind der house, und ven you shust coome galloping py, i vill say 'b-o-o-h,' und if der filly colt don't shump, den i vill know dot der filly colt mid stand fire." hans says, "pap, being as you have to ride her in the battle, you get on her, and let me say booh." well, shineral mynheer gets on the colt, and hans gets behind the house, and as the general comes galloping by, hans had got an umbrella, and on seeing his father approach, suddenly opens the umbrella, and hallowing at the top of his voice b-o-o-h! _b-o-o-h!_ b-o-o-h! the filly makes a sudden jump and ker-flop comes down mynheer. he jumps up and says, "hans, i alvays knowed dot you vas a vool. you make too pig a booh; vy, you said booh loud enuff to scare der ole horse. hans, go pring out der ole horse. der tam repel vill be here pefore mackferson gits pack from der dinner time. i shust peleve dot der repel ish flanking, und dem tam fool curnells of mein ish not got sense enuff to know ven sheneral hood is flanking. hans, bring out der old horse, i vant to find out vedder mackferson ish got pack from der dinner time or not." we were supporting general cleburne's division. our division (cheatham's) was commanded by general john c. brown. cleburne's division advanced to the attack. i was marching by the side of a soldier by the name of james galbreath, and a conscript from the mt. pleasant country. i never heard a man pray and "go on" so before in my life. it actually made me feel sorry for the poor fellow. every time that our line would stop for a few minutes, he would get down on his knees and clasp his hands and commence praying. he kept saying, "o, my poor wife and children! god have mercy on my poor wife and children! god pity me and have mercy on my soul!" says i, "galbreath, what are you making a fool of yourself that way for? if you are going to be killed, why you are as ready now as you ever will be, and you are making everybody feel bad; quit that nonsense." he quit, but kept mumbling to himself, "god have mercy! god have mercy!" cleburne had reached the yankee breastworks; the firing had been and was then terrific. the earth jarred, and shook, and trembled, at the shock of battle as the two armies met. charge men! and i saw the confederate flag side by side with the federal flag. a courier dashed up and said, "general cleburne has captured their works--advance and attack upon his immediate left. attention, forward!" a discharge of cannon, and a ball tore through our ranks. i heard galbreath yell out, "o, god, have mercy on my poor soul." the ball had cut his body nearly in two. poor fellow, he had gone to his reward. we advanced to the attack on cleburne's immediate left. cleburne himself was leading us in person, so that we would not fire upon his men, who were then inside the yankee line. his sword was drawn. i heard him say, "follow me, boys." he ran forward, and amid the blazing fires of the yankee guns was soon on top of the enemy's works. he had on a bob-tail confederate coat, which looked as if it had been cut out of a scrimp pattern. (you see i remember the little things). we were but a few paces behind, following close upon him, and soon had captured their line of works. we were firing at the flying foe--astraddle of their lines of battle. this would naturally throw us in front, and cleburne's corps supporting us. the yankee lines seemed routed. we followed in hot pursuit; but from their main line of entrenchment--which was diagonal to those that we had just captured, and also on which they had built forts and erected batteries--was their artillery, raking us fore and aft. we passed over a hill and down into a valley being under the muzzles of this rampart of death. we had been charging and running, and had stopped to catch our breath right under their reserve and main line of battle. when general george maney said, "soldiers, you are ordered to go forward and charge that battery. when you start upon the charge i want you to go, as it were, upon the wings of the wind. shoot down and bayonet the cannoneers, and take their guns at all hazards." old pat cleburne thought he had better put in a word to his soldiers. he says, "you hear what general maney says, boys. if they don't take it, by the eternal god, you have got to take it!" i heard an irishman of the "bloody tinth," and a "darn good regiment, be jabbers," speak up, and say, "faith, gineral, we'll take up a collection and buy you a batthery, be jasus." about this time our regiment had re-formed, and had got their breath, and the order was given to charge, and take their guns even at the point of the bayonet. we rushed forward up the steep hill sides, the seething fires from ten thousand muskets and small arms, and forty pieces of cannon hurled right into our very faces, scorching and burning our clothes, and hands, and faces from their rapid discharges, and piling the ground with our dead and wounded almost in heaps. it seemed that the hot flames of hell were turned loose in all their fury, while the demons of damnation were laughing in the flames, like seething serpents hissing out their rage. we gave one long, loud cheer, and commenced the charge. as we approached their lines, like a mighty inundation of the river acheron in the infernal regions, confederate and federal meet. officers with drawn swords meet officers with drawn swords, and man to man meets man to man with bayonets and loaded guns. the continued roar of battle sounded like unbottled thunder. blood covered the ground, and the dense smoke filled our eyes, and ears, and faces. the groans of the wounded and dying rose above the thunder of battle. but being heavily supported by cleburne's division, and by general l. e. polk's brigade, headed and led by general cleburne in person, and followed by the first and twenty-seventh up the blazing crest, the federal lines waver, and break and fly, leaving us in possession of their breastworks, and the battlefield, and i do not know how many pieces of artillery, prisoners and small arms. here is where major allen, lieutenant joe carney, captain joe carthell, and many other good and brave spirits gave their lives for the cause of their country. they lie today, weltering in their own life's blood. it was one of the bloody battles that characterized that stormy epoch, and it was the 22nd of july, and one of the hottest days i ever felt. general george maney led us in the heat of battle, and no general of the war acted with more gallantry and bravery during the whole war than did general george maney on this occasion. the victory was complete. large quantities of provisions and army stores were captured. the federals had abandoned their entire line of breastworks, and had changed their base. they were fortifying upon our left, about five miles off from their original position. the battlefield was covered with their dead and wounded soldiers. i have never seen so many battle-flags left indiscriminately upon any battlefield. i ran over twenty in the charge, and could have picked them up everywhere; did pick up one, and was promoted to fourth corporal for gallantry in picking up a flag on the battlefield. on the final charge that was made, i was shot in the ankle and heel of my foot. i crawled into their abandoned ditch, which then seemed full and running over with our wounded soldiers. i dodged behind the embankment to get out of the raking fire that was ripping through the bushes, and tearing up the ground. here i felt safe. the firing raged in front; we could hear the shout of the charge and the clash of battle. while i was sitting here, a cannon ball came tearing down the works, cutting a soldier's head off, spattering his brains all over my face and bosom, and mangling and tearing four or five others to shreds. as a wounded horse was being led off, a cannon ball struck him, and he was literally ripped open, falling in the very place i had just moved from. i saw an ambulance coming from toward the yankee line, at full gallop, saw them stop at a certain place, hastily put a dead man in the ambulance, and gallop back toward the yankee lines. i did not know the meaning of this maneuver until after the battle, when i learned that it was general mcpherson's dead body. we had lost many a good and noble soldier. the casualties on our side were frightful. generals, colonels, captains, lieutenants, sergeants, corporals and privates were piled indiscriminately everywhere. cannon, caissons, and dead horses were piled pell-mell. it was the picture of a real battlefield. blood had gathered in pools, and in some instances had made streams of blood. 'twas a picture of carnage and death. am promoted "why, hello, corporal, where did you get those two yellow stripes from on your arm?" "why, sir, i have been promoted for gallantry on the battlefield, by picking up an orphan flag, that had been run over by a thousand fellows, and when i picked it up i did so because i thought it was pretty, and i wanted to have me a shirt made out of it." "i could have picked up forty, had i known that," said sloan. "so could i, but i knew that the stragglers would pick them up." reader mine, the above dialogue is true in every particular. as long as i was in action, fighting for my country, there was no chance for promotion, but as soon as i fell out of ranks and picked up a forsaken and deserted flag, i was promoted for it. i felt "sorter" cheap when complimented for gallantry, and the high honor of fourth corporal was conferred upon me. i felt that those brave and noble fellows who had kept on in the charge were more entitled to the honor than i was, for when the ball struck me on the ankle and heel, i did not go any further. and had i only known that picking up flags entitled me to promotion and that every flag picked up would raise me one notch higher, i would have quit fighting and gone to picking up flags, and by that means i would have soon been president of the confederate states of america. but honors now begin to cluster around my brow. this is the laurel and ivy that is entwined around the noble brows of victorious and renowned generals. i honestly earned the exalted honor of fourth corporal by picking up a yankee battle-flag on the 22nd day of july, at atlanta. 28th of july at atlanta another battle was fought by generals stephen d. lee and stewart's corps, on the 28th day of july. i was not in it, neither was our corps, but from what i afterwards learned, the yankees got the best of the engagement. but our troops continued fortifying atlanta. no other battles were ever fought at this place. i visit montgomery our wounded were being sent back to montgomery. my name was put on the wounded list. we were placed in a box-car, and whirling down to west point, where we changed cars for montgomery. the cars drew up at the depot at montgomery, and we were directed to go to the hospital. when we got off the cars, little huckster stands were everywhere--apples, oranges, peaches, watermelons, everything. i know that i never saw a greater display of eatables in my whole life. i was particularly attracted toward an old lady's stand; she had bread, fish, and hard boiled eggs. the eggs were what i was hungry for. says i: "madam, how do you sell your eggs?" "two for a dollar," she said. "how much is your fish worth?" "a piece of bread and a piece of fish for a dollar." "well, madam, put out your fish and eggs." the fish were hot and done to a crisp--actually frying in my mouth, crackling and singing as i bit off a bite. it was good, i tell you. the eggs were a little over half done. i soon demolished both, and it was only an appetizer. i invested a couple of dollars more, and thought that maybe i could make out till supper time. as i turned around, a smiling, one-legged man asked me if i wouldn't like to have a drink. now, if there was anything that i wanted at that time, it was a drink. "how do you sell it?" says i. "a dollar a drink," said he. "pour me out a drink." it was a tin cap-box. i thought that i knew the old fellow, and he kept looking at me as if he knew me. finally, he said to me: "it seems that i ought to know you." i told him that i reckon he did, as i had been there. "ain't your name sam?" said he. "that is what my mother called me." well, after shaking hands, it suddenly flashed upon me who the old fellow was. i knew him well. he told me that he belonged to captain ed. o'neil's company, second tennessee regiment, general william b. bate's corps, and that his leg had been shot off at the first battle of manassas, and at that time he was selling cheap whisky and tobacco for a living at montgomery, alabama. i tossed off a cap-box full and paid him a dollar. it staggered me, and i said: "that is raw whisky." "yes," said he, "all my cooked whisky is out." "if this is not quite cooked, it is as hot as fire anyhow, and burns like red-hot lava, and the whole dose seems to have got lodged in my windpipe." i might have tasted it, but don't think that i did. all i can remember now, is a dim recollection of a nasty, greasy, burning something going down my throat and chest, and smelling, as i remember at this day, like a decoction of red-pepper tea, flavored with coal oil, turpentine and tobacco juice. the hospital i went to the hospital that evening, saw it, and was satisfied with hospital life. i did not wish to be called a hospital rat. i had no idea of taking stock and making my headquarters at this place. everything seemed clean and nice enough, but the smell! ye gods! i stayed there for supper. the bill of fare was a thin slice of light bread and a plate of soup, already dished out and placed at every plate. i ate it, but it only made me hungry. at nine o'clock i had to go to bed, and all the lights were put out. every man had a little bunk to himself. i do not know whether i slept or not, but i have a dim recollection of "sawing gourds," and jumping up several times to keep some poor wretch from strangling. he was only snoring. i heard rats filing away at night, and thought that burglars were trying to get in; my dreams were not pleasant, if i went to sleep at all. i had not slept off of the ground or in a house in three years. it was something new to me, and i could not sleep, for the room was so dark that had i got up i could not have found my way out. i laid there, i do not know how long, but i heard a rooster crow, and a dim twilight began to glimmer in the room, and even footsteps were audible in the rooms below. i got sleepy then, and went off in a doze. i had a beautiful dream--dreamed that i was in heaven, or rather, that a pair of stairs with richly carved balusters and wings, and golden steps overlaid with silk and golden-colored carpeting came down from heaven to my room; and two beautiful damsels kept peeping, and laughing, and making faces at me from the first platform of these steps; and every now and then they would bring out their golden harps, and sing me a sweet and happy song. others were constantly passing, but always going the same way. they looked like so many schoolgirls, all dressed in shining garments. two or three times the two beautiful girls would go up the stairs and return, bringing fruits and vegetables that shined like pure gold. i knew that i never had seen two more beautiful beings on earth. the steps began to lengthen out, and seemed to be all around me; they seemed to shine a halo of glory all about. the two ladies came closer, and closer, passing around, having a beautiful wreath of flowers in each hand, and gracefully throwing them backward and forward as they laughed and danced around me. finally one stopped and knelt down over me and whispered something in my ear. i threw up my arms to clasp the beautiful vision to my bosom, when i felt my arm grabbed, and "d--n ye, i wish you would keep your d--n arm off my wound, ye hurt me," came from the soldier in the next bunk. the sun was shining full in my face. i got up and went down to breakfast. the bill of fare was much better for breakfast than it had been for supper; in fact it was what is called a "jarvis" breakfast. after breakfast, i took a ramble around the city. it was a nice place, and merchandise and other business was being carried on as if there was no war. hotels were doing a thriving business; steamboats were at the wharf, whistling and playing their calliopes. i remember the one i heard was playing "away down on the sewanee river." to me it seemed that everybody was smiling, and happy, and prosperous. the capitol i went to the capitol, and it is a fine building, overlooking the city. when i got there, i acted just like everybody that ever visited a fine building--they wanted to go on top and look at the landscape. that is what they all say. now, i always wanted to go on top, but i never yet thought of landscape. what i always wanted to see, was how far i could look, and that is about all that any of them wants. it's mighty nice to go up on a high place with your sweetheart, and hear her say, "la! ain't it b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l," "now, now, please don't go there," and how you walk up pretty close to the edge and spit over, to show what a brave man you are. it's "bully," i tell you. well, i wanted to go to the top of the capitol--i went; wanted to go up in the cupola. now, there was an iron ladder running up across an empty space, and you could see two hundred feet below from this cupola or dome on top. the ladder was about ten feet long, spanning the dome. it was very easy to go up, because i was looking up all the time, and i was soon on top of the building. i saw how far i could see, and saw the alabama river, winding and turning until it seemed no larger than a silver thread. well, i am very poor at describing and going into ecstacies over fancies. i want some abler pen to describe the scene. i was not thinking about the scene or the landscape--i was thinking how i was going to get down that ladder again. i would come to that iron ladder and peep over, and think if i fell, how far would i have to fall. the more i thought about going down that ladder, the more i didn't feel like going down. well, i felt that i had rather die than go down that ladder. i'm honest in this. i felt like jumping off and committing suicide rather than go down that ladder. i crossed right over the frightful chasm, but when forbearance ceased to be a virtue, i tremblingly put my foot on the first rung, then grabbed the top of the two projections. there i remained, i don't know how long, but after awhile i reached down with one foot and touched the next rung. after getting that foot firmly placed, i ventured to risk the other foot. it was thus for several backward steps, until i come to see down--away down, down, down below me--and my head got giddy. the world seemed to be turning round and round. a fellow at the bottom hallooed, "look up! look up, mister! look up!" i was not a foot from the upper floor. as soon as i looked at the floor, everything got steady. i kept my eyes fixed on the top of the building, and soon made the landing on _terra firma_. i have never liked high places since. i never could bear to go upstairs in a house. i went to the capitol at nashville, last winter, and mcandrews wanted me to go up in the cupola with him. he went, and paid a quarter for the privilege. i stayed, and--well, if i could estimate its value by dollars--i would say two hundred and fifty million dollars is what i made by staying down. am arrested the next day, while the ferryboat was crossing the river, i asked the ferryman to let me ride over. i was halted by a soldier who "knowed" his business. "your pass, sir!" "well, i have no pass!" "well, sir, i will have to arrest you, and take you before the provost marshal." "very well, sir; i will go with you to the provost or anywhere else." i appear before the provost marshal. "what command do you belong to, sir?" "well, sir, i belong to company h, first tennessee regiment. i am a wounded man sent to the hospital." "well, sir, that's too thin; why did you not get a pass?" "i did not think one was required." "give me your name, sir." i gave my name. "sergeant, take this name to the hospital and ask if such name is registered on their books." i told him that i knew it was not. the sergeant returns and reports no such name, when he remarks: "you have to go to the guard-house." says i, "colonel (i knew his rank was that of captain), if you send me to the guard-house, you will do me a great wrong. here is where i was wounded." i pulled off my shoe and began to unbandage. "well, sir, i don't want to look at your foot, and i have no patience with you. take him to the guard-house." turning back i said, "sir, aye, aye, you are clothed with a little brief authority, and appear to be presuming pretty heavy on that authority; but, sir"--well i have forgotten what i did say. the sergeant took me by the arm, and said, "come, come, sir, i have my orders." as i was going up the street, i met captain dave buckner, and told him all the circumstances of my arrest as briefly as i could. he said, "sergeant, bring him back with me to the provost marshal's office." they were as mad as wet hens. their faces were burning, and i could see their jugular veins go thump, thump, thump. i do not know what captain buckner said to them, all i heard were the words "otherwise insulted me." but i was liberated, and was glad of it. those girls i then went back to the river, and gave a fellow two dollars to "row me over the ferry." i was in no particular hurry, and limped along at my leisure until about nightfall, when i came to a nice, cosy-looking farm house, and asked to stay all night. i was made very welcome, indeed. there were two very pretty girls here, and i could have "loved either were 'tother dear charmer away." but i fell in love with both of them, and thereby overdid the thing. this was by a dim fire-light. the next day was sunday, and we all went to church in the country. we went in an old rockaway carriage. i remember that the preacher used the words, "o, god," nineteen times in his prayer. i had made up my mind which one of the girls i would marry. now, don't get mad, fair reader mine. i was all gallantry and smiles, and when we arrived at home, i jumped out and took hold the hand of my fair charmer to help her out. she put her foot out, and--well, i came very near telling--she tramped on a cat. the cat squalled. the talisman but then, you know, reader, that i was engaged to jennie and i had a talisman in my pocket bible, in the way of a love letter, against the charms of other beautiful and interesting young ladies. uncle jimmie rieves had been to maury county, and, on returning to atlanta, found out that i was wounded and in the hospital at montgomery, and brought the letter to me; and, as i am married now, i don't mind telling you what was in the letter, if you won't laugh at me. you see, jennie was my sweetheart, and here is my sweetheart's letter: my dear sam.:--i write to tell you that i love you yet, and you alone; and day by day i love you more, and pray, every night and morning for your safe return home again. my greatest grief is that we heard you were wounded and in the hospital, and i cannot be with you to nurse you. we heard of the death of many noble and brave men at atlanta; and the death of captain carthell, cousin mary's husband. it was sent by captain january; he belonged to the twelfth tennessee, of which colonel watkins was lieutenant-colonel. the weather is very beautiful here, and the flowers in the garden are in full bloom, and the apples are getting ripe. i have gathered a small bouquet, which i will put in the letter; i also send by uncle jimmie a tobacco bag, and a watch-guard, made out of horse hair, and a woolen hood, knit with my own hands, with love and best respects. we heard that you had captured a flag at atlanta, and was promoted for it to corporal. is that some high office? i know you will be a general yet, because i always hear of your being in every battle, and always the foremost man in the attack. sam, please take care of yourself for my sake, and don't let the yankees kill you. well, good-bye, darling, i will ever pray for god's richest and choicest blessings upon you. be sure and write a long, long letter--i don't care how long, to your loving and sincere jennie. the brave captain when i got back to the alabama river, opposite montgomery, the ferryboat was on the other shore. a steamboat had just pulled out of its moorings and crossed over to where i was, and began to take on wood. i went on board, and told the captain, who was a clever and good man, that i would like to take a trip with him to mobile and back, and that i was a wounded soldier from the hospital. he told me, "all right, come along, and i will foot expenses." it was about sunset, but along the line of the distant horizon we could see the dark and heavy clouds begin to boil up in thick and ominous columns. the lightning was darting to and fro like lurid sheets of fire, and the storm seemed to be gathering; we could hear the storm king in his chariot in the clouds, rumbling as he came, but a dead lull was seen and felt in the air and in nature; everything was in a holy hush, except the hoarse belchings of the engines, the sizzing and frying of the boilers, and the work of the machinery on the lower deck. at last the storm burst upon us in all its fury; it was a tornado and the women and children began to scream and pray--the mate to curse and swear. i was standing by the captain on the main upper deck, as he was trying to direct the pilot how to steer the boat through that awful storm, when we heard the alarm bell ring out, and the hoarse cry of "fire! fire! fire!" men were running toward the fire with buckets, and the hose began throwing water on the flames. men, women, and children were jumping in the water, and the captain used every effort to quiet the panic, and to land his boat with its passengers, but the storm and fire were too much, and down the vessel sank to rise no more. many had been saved in the lifeboat, and many were drowned. i jumped overboard, and the last thing i saw was the noble and brave captain still ringing the bell, as the vessel went down. he went down amid the flames to fill a watery grave. the water was full of struggling and dying people for miles. i did not go to mobile. how i get back to atlanta when i got to montgomery, the cars said toot, toot, and i raised the hue and cry and followed in pursuit. kind friends, i fear that i have wearied you with my visit to montgomery, but i am going back to camp now, and will not leave it again until our banner is furled never to be again unfurled. i, you remember, was without a pass, and did not wish to be carried a second time before that good, brave, and just provost marshal; and something told me not to go to the hospital. i found out when the cars would leave, and thought that i would get on them and go back without any trouble. i got on the cars, but was hustled off mighty quick, because i had no pass. a train of box-cars was about leaving for west point, and i took a seat on top of one of them, and was again hustled off; but i had determined to go, and as the engine began to puff, and tug, and pull, i slipped in between two box-cars, sitting on one part of one and putting my feet on the other, and rode this way until i got to west point. the conductor discovered me, and had put me off several times before i got to west point, but i would jump on again as soon as the cars started. when i got to west point, a train of cars started off, and i ran, trying to get on, when captain peebles reached out his hand and pulled me in, and i arrived safe and sound at atlanta. on my way back to atlanta, i got with dow akin and billy march. billy march had been shot through the under jaw by a minnie ball at the octagon house, but by proper attention and nursing, he had recovered. conner akin was killed at the octagon house, and dow wounded. when we got back to the regiment, then stationed near a fine concrete house (where shepard and i would sleep every night), nearly right on our works, we found two thirty-two-pound parrot guns stationed in our immediate front, and throwing shells away over our heads into the city of atlanta. we had just begun to tell all the boys howdy, when i saw dow akin fall. a fragment of shell had struck him on his backbone, and he was carried back wounded and bleeding. we could see the smoke boil up, and it would be nearly a minute before we would hear the report of the cannon, and then a few moments after we would hear the scream of the shell as it went on to atlanta. we used to count from the time we would see the smoke boil up until we would hear the noise, and some fellow would call out, "look out boys, the united states is sending iron over into the southern confederacy; let's send a little lead back to the united states." and we would blaze away with our enfield and whitworth guns, and every time we would fire, we would silence those parrot guns. this kind of fun was carried on for forty-six days. death of tom tuck's rooster atlanta was a great place to fight chickens. i had heard much said about cock pits and cock fights, but had never seen such a thing. away over the hill, outside of the range of thomas' thirty-pound parrot guns, with which he was trying to burn up atlanta, the boys had fixed up a cock pit. it was fixed exactly like a circus ring, and seats and benches were arranged for the spectators. well, i went to the cock fight one day. a great many roosters were to be pitted that day, and each one was trimmed and gaffed. a gaff is a long keen piece of steel, as sharp as a needle, that is fitted over the spurs. well, i looked on at the fun. tom tuck's rooster was named southern confederacy; but this was abbreviated to confed., and as a pet name, they called him fed. well, fed was a trained rooster, and would "clean up" a big-foot rooster as soon as he was put in the pit. but tom always gave fed every advantage. one day a green-looking country hunk came in with a rooster that he wanted to pit against fed. he looked like a common rail-splitter. the money was soon made up, and the stakes placed in proper hands. the gaffs were fitted, the roosters were placed in the pit and held until both were sufficiently mad to fight, when they were turned loose, and each struck at the same time. i looked and poor fed was dead. the other rooster had popped both gaffs through his head. he was a dead rooster; yea, a dead cock in the pit. tom went and picked up his rooster, and said, "poor fed, i loved you; you used to crow every morning at daylight to wake me up. i have carried you a long time, but, alas! alas! poor fed, your days are numbered, and those who fight will sometimes be slain. now, friends, conscripts, countrymen, if you have any tears to shed, prepare to shed them now. i will not bury fed. the evil that roosters do live after them, but the good is oft interred with their bones. so let it not be with confed. confed left no will, but i will pick him, and fry him, and dip my biscuit in his gravy. poor fed, confed, confederacy, i place one hand on my heart and one on my head, regretting that i have not another to place on my stomach, and whisper, softly whisper, in the most doleful accents, good-bye, farewell, a long farewell." "not a laugh was heard--not even a joke- as the dead rooster in the camp-kettle they hurried; for tom had lost ten dollars, and was broke, in the cock-pit where confed was buried. "they cooked him slowly in the middle of the day, as the frying-pan they were solemnly turning; the hungry fellows looking at him as he lay, with one side raw, the other burning. "some surplus feathers covered his breast, not in a shroud, but in a tiara they soused him; he lay like a 'picked chicken' taking his rest, while the rebel boys danced and cursed around him. "not a few or short were the cuss words they said, yet, they spoke many words of sorrow; as they steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, and thought 'what'll we do for chicken tomorrow?' "lightly they'll talk of the southern confed. that's gone, and o'er his empty carcass upbraid him; but nothing he'll reck, if they let him sleep on, in the place where they have laid him. "sadly and slowly they laid him down, from the field of fame fresh and gory; they ate off his flesh, and threw away his bones, and then left them alone in their glory." when, cut, slash, bang, debang, and here comes a dash of yankee cavalry, right in the midst of the camp, under whip and spur, yelling like a band of wild comanches, and bearing right down on the few mourners around the dead body of confed. after making this bold dash, they about faced, and were soon out of sight. there was no harm done, but, alas! that cooked chicken was gone. poor confed! to what a sad end you have come. just to think, that but a few short hours ago, you was a proud rooster-was "cock of the walk," and was considered invincible. but, alas! you have sunk so low as to become food for federals! _requiescat in pace_ you can crow no more. old joe brown's pets by way of grim jest, and a fitting burlesque to tragic scenes, or, rather, to the thing called "glorious war," old joe brown, then governor of georgia, sent in his militia. it was the richest picture of an army i ever saw. it beat forepaugh's double-ringed circus. every one was dressed in citizen's clothes, and the very best they had at that time. a few had double-barreled shotguns, but the majority had umbrellas and walking-sticks, and nearly every one had on a duster, a flat-bosomed "biled" shirt, and a plug hat; and, to make the thing more ridiculous, the dwarf and the giant were marching side by side; the knock-kneed by the side of the bow-legged; the driven-in by the side of the drawn-out; the pale and sallow dyspeptic, who looked like alex. stephens, and who seemed to have just been taken out of a chimney that smoked very badly, and whose diet was goobers and sweet potatoes, was placed beside the three hundred-pounder, who was dressed up to kill, and whose looks seemed to say, "i've got a substitute in the army, and twenty negroes at home besides--h-a-a-m, h-a-a-m." now, that is the sort of army that old joe brown had when he seceded from the southern confederacy, declaring that each state was a separate sovereign government of itself; and, as old joe brown was an original secessionist, he wanted to exemplify the grand principles of secession, that had been advocated by patrick henry, john randolph, of roanoke, and john c. calhoun, in all of whom he was a firm believer. i will say, however, in all due deference to the georgia militia and old joe brown's pets, that there was many a gallant and noble fellow among them. i remember on one occasion that i was detailed to report to a captain of the fourth tennessee regiment (colonel farquharson, called "guidepost"); i have forgotten that captain's name. he was a small-sized man, with a large, long set of black whiskers. he was the captain, and i the corporal of the detail. we were ordered to take a company of the georgia militia on a scout. we went away around to our extreme right wing, passing through terry's mill pond, and over the old battlefield of the 22nd, and past the place where general walker fell, when we came across two ladies. one of them kept going from one tree to another, and saying: "this pine tree, that pine tree; this pine tree, that pine tree." in answer to our inquiry, they informed us that the young woman's husband was killed on the 22nd, and had been buried under a pine tree, and she was nearly crazy because she could not find his dead body. we passed on, and as soon as we came in sight of the old line of yankee breastworks, an unexpected volley of minnie balls was fired into our ranks, killing this captain of the fourth tennessee regiment and killing and wounding seven or eight of the georgia militia. i hallooed to lay down, as soon as possible, and a perfect whizz of minnie balls passed over, when i immediately gave the command of attention, forward, charge and capture that squad. that georgia militia, every man of them, charged forward, and in a few moments we ran into a small squad of yankees, and captured the whole "lay out." we then carried back to camp the dead captain and the killed and wounded militia. i had seen a great many men killed and wounded, but some how or other these dead and wounded men, of that day, made a more serious impression on my mind than in any previous or subsequent battles. they were buried with all the honors of war and i never will forget the incidents and scenes of this day as long as i live. we go after stoneman one morning our regiment was ordered to march, double-quick, to the depot to take the cars for somewhere. the engine was under steam, and ready to start for that mysterious somewhere. the whistle blew long and loud, and away we went at break-neck speed for an hour, and drew up at a little place by the name of jonesboro. the yankees had captured the town, and were tearing up the railroad track. a regiment of rebel infantry and a brigade of cavalry were already in line of battle in their rear. we jumped out of the cars and advanced to attack them in front. our line had just begun to open a pretty brisk fire on the yankee cavalry, when they broke, running right through and over the lines of the regiment of infantry and brigade of cavalry in their rear, the men opening ranks to get out of the way of the hoofs of their horses. it was stoneman's cavalry, upon its celebrated raid toward macon and andersonville to liberate the federal prisoners. we went to work like beavers, and in a few hours the railroad track had been repaired so that we could pass. every few miles we would find the track torn up, but we would get out of the cars, fix up the track, and light out again. we were charging a brigade of cavalry with a train of cars, as it were. they would try to stop our progress by tearing up the track, but we were crowding them a little too strong. at last they thought it was time to quit that foolishness, and then commenced a race between cavalry and cars for macon, georgia. the cars had to run exceedingly slow and careful, fearing a tear up or ambuscade, but at last macon came in sight. twenty-five or thirty thousand federal prisoners were confined at this place, and it was poorly guarded and protected. we feared that stoneman would only march in, overpower the guards, and liberate the prisoners, and we would have some tall fighting to do, but on arriving at macon, we found that stoneman and all of his command had just surrendered to a brigade of cavalry and the georgia militia, and we helped march the gentlemen inside the prison walls at macon. they had furnished their own transportation, paying their own way and bearing their own expenses, and instead of liberating any prisoners, were themselves imprisoned. an extra detail was made as guard from our regiment to take them on to andersonville, but i was not on this detail, so i remained until the detail returned. macon is a beautiful place. business was flourishing like a green bay tree. the people were good, kind, and clever to us. everywhere the hospitality of their homes was proffered us. we were regarded as their liberators. they gave us all the good things they had--eating, drinking, etc. we felt our consequence, i assure you, reader. we felt we were heroes, indeed; but the benzine and other fluids became a little promiscuous and the libations of the boys a little too heavy. they began to get boisterous--i might say, riotous. some of the boys got to behaving badly, and would go into stores and places, and did many things they ought not to have done. in fact, the whole caboodle of them ought to have been carried to the guard-house. they were whooping, and yelling, and firing off their guns, just for the fun of the thing. i remember of going into a very nice family's house, and the old lady told the dog to go out, go out, sir! and remarked rather to herself, "go out, go out! i wish you were killed, anyhow." john says, "madam, do you want that dog killed, sure enough?" she says, "yes, i do. i do wish that he was dead." before i could even think or catch my breath, bang went john's gun, and the dog was weltering in his blood right on the good lady's floor, the top of his head entirely torn off. i confess, reader, that i came very near jumping out of my skin, as it were, at the unexpected discharge of the gun. and other such scenes, i reckon, were being enacted elsewhere, but at last a detail was sent around to arrest all stragglers, and we were soon rolling back to atlanta. "bellum lethale" well, after "jugging" stoneman, we go back to atlanta and occupy our same old place near the concrete house. we found everything exactly as we had left it, with the exception of the increased number of graybacks, which seemed to have propagated a thousand-fold since we left, and they were crawling about like ants, making little paths and tracks in the dirt as they wiggled and waddled about, hunting for ye old rebel soldier. sherman's two thirty-pound parrot guns were in the same position, and every now and then a lazy-looking shell would pass over, speeding its way on to atlanta. the old citizens had dug little cellars, which the soldiers called "gopher holes," and the women and children were crowded together in these cellars, while sherman was trying to burn the city over their heads. but, as i am not writing history, i refer you to any history of the war for sherman's war record in and around atlanta. as john and i started to go back, we thought we would visit the hospital. great god! i get sick today when i think of the agony, and suffering, and sickening stench and odor of dead and dying; of wounds and sloughing sores, caused by the deadly gangrene; of the groaning and wailing. i cannot describe it. i remember, i went in the rear of the building, and there i saw a pile of arms and legs, rotting and decomposing; and, although i saw thousands of horrifying scenes during the war, yet today i have no recollection in my whole life, of ever seeing anything that i remember with more horror than that pile of legs and arms that had been cut off our soldiers. as john and i went through the hospital, and were looking at the poor suffering fellows, i heard a weak voice calling, "sam, o, sam." i went to the poor fellow, but did not recognize him at first, but soon found out that it was james galbreath, the poor fellow who had been shot nearly in two on the 22nd of july. i tried to be cheerful, and said, "hello, galbreath, old fellow, i thought you were in heaven long before this." he laughed a sort of dry, cracking laugh, and asked me to hand him a drink of water. i handed it to him. he then began to mumble and tell me something in a rambling and incoherent way, but all i could catch was for me to write to his family, who were living near mt. pleasant. i asked him if he was badly wounded. he only pulled down the blanket, that was all. i get sick when i think of it. the lower part of his body was hanging to the upper part by a shred, and all of his entrails were lying on the cot with him, the bile and other excrements exuding from them, and they full of maggots. i replaced the blanket as tenderly as i could, and then said, "galbreath, good-bye." i then kissed him on his lips and forehead, and left. as i passed on, he kept trying to tell me something, but i could not make out what he said, and fearing i would cause him to exert himself too much, i left. it was the only field hospital that i saw during the whole war, and i have no desire to see another. those hollow-eyed and sunken-cheeked sufferers, shot in every conceivable part of the body; some shrieking, and calling upon their mothers; some laughing the hard, cackling laugh of the sufferer without hope, and some cursing like troopers, and some writhing and groaning as their wounds were being bandaged and dressed. i saw a man of the twenty-seventh, who had lost his right hand, another his leg, then another whose head was laid open, and i could see his brain thump, and another with his under jaw shot off; in fact, wounded in every manner possible. ah! reader, there is no glory for the private soldier, much less a conscript. james galbreath was a conscript, as was also fain king. mr. king was killed at chickamauga. he and galbreath were conscripted and joined company h at the same time. both were old men, and very poor, with large families at home; and they were forced to go to war against their wishes, while their wives and little children were at home without the necessaries of life. the officers have all the glory. glory is not for the private soldier, such as die in the hospitals, being eat up with the deadly gangrene, and being imperfectly waited on. glory is for generals, colonels, majors, captains, and lieutenants. they have all the glory, and when the poor private wins battles by dint of sweat, hard marches, camp and picket duty, fasting and broken bones, the officers get the glory. the private's pay was eleven dollars per month, if he got it; the general's pay was three hundred dollars per month, and he always got his. i am not complaining. these things happened sixteen to twenty years ago. men who never fired a gun, nor killed a yankee during the whole war, are today the heroes of the war. now, i tell you what i think about it: i think that those of us who fought as private soldiers, fought as much for glory as the general did, and those of us who stuck it out to the last, deserve more praise than the general who resigned because some other general was placed in command over him. a general could resign. that was honorable. a private could not resign, nor choose his branch of service, and if he deserted, it was death. the scout and death of a yankee lieutenant general hood had sent off all his cavalry, and a detail was made each day of so many men for a scout, to find out all we could about the movements of the yankees. colonel george porter, of the sixth tennessee, was in command of the detail. we passed through atlanta, and went down the railroad for several miles, and then made a flank movement toward where we expected to come in contact with the yankees. when we came to a skirt of woods, we were deployed as skirmishers. colonel porter ordered us to re-prime our guns and to advance at twenty-five paces apart, being deployed as skirmishers, and to keep under cover as much as possible. he need not have told us this, because we had not learned war for nothing. we would run from one tree to another, and then make a careful reconnoiter before proceeding to another. we had begun to get a little careless, when bang! bang! bang! it seemed that we had got into a yankee ambush. the firing seemed to be from all sides, and was rattling among the leaves and bushes. it appeared as if some supernatural, infernal battle was going on and the air was full of smoke. we had not seen the yankees. i ran to a tree to my right, and just as i got to it, i saw my comrade sink to the ground, clutching at the air as he fell dead. i kept trying to see the yankees, so that i might shoot. i had been looking a hundred yards ahead, when happening to look not more than ten paces from me, i saw a big six-foot yankee with a black feather in his hat, aiming deliberately at me. i dropped to the ground, and at the same moment heard the report, and my hat was knocked off in the bushes. i remained perfectly still, and in a few minutes i saw a young yankee lieutenant peering through the bushes. i would rather not have killed him, but i was afraid to fire and afraid to run, and yet i did not wish to kill him. he was as pretty as a woman, and somehow i thought i had met him before. our eyes met. he stood like a statue. he gazed at me with a kind of scared expression. i still did not want to kill him, and am sorry today that i did, for i believe i could have captured him, but i fired, and saw the blood spurt all over his face. he was the prettiest youth i ever saw. when i fired, the yankees broke and run, and i went up to the boy i had killed, and the blood was gushing out of his mouth. i was sorry. atlanta forsaken one morning about the break of day our artillery opened along our breastworks, scaring us almost to death, for it was the first guns that had been fired for more than a month. we sprang to our feet and grabbed our muskets, and ran out and asked some one what did that mean. we were informed that they were "feeling" for the yankees. the comment that was made by the private soldier was simply two words, and those two words were "o, shucks." the yankees had gone--no one knew whither--and our batteries were shelling the woods, feeling for them. "o, shucks." "hello," says hood, "whar in the dickens and tom walker are them yanks, hey? feel for them with long-range 'feelers'." a boom, boom. "can anybody tell me whar them yanks are? send out a few more 'feelers.' the feelers in the shape of cannon balls will bring them to taw." boom, boom, boom. "for the want of a nail, the shoe was lost, for the want of a shoe the horse was lost, for the want of a horse the general was lost, for the want of a general the battle was lost." forrest's cavalry had been sent off somewhere. wheeler's cavalry had been sent away yonder in the rear of the enemy to tear up the railroad and cut off their supplies, etc., and we had to find out the movements of the enemy by "feeling for them" by shelling the vacant woods. the yankees were at that time twenty-five miles in our rear, "a hundred thousand strong," at a place called jonesboro. i do not know how it was found out that they were at jonesboro, but anyhow, the news had come and cheatham's corps had to go and see about it. stewart's corps must hold atlanta, and stephen d. lee's corps must be stretched at proper distance, so that the word could be passed backward and forward as to how they were getting along. as yet it is impossible to tell of the movements of the enemy, because our cannon balls had not come back and reported any movements to us. we had always heard that cannon balls were blind, and we did not suppose they could see to find their way back. well, our corps made a forced march for a day and a night, and passed the word back that we had seen some signs of the yankees being in that vicinity, and thought perhaps, a small portion-about a hundred thousand--were nigh about there somewhere. says he, "it's a strange thing you don't know; send out your feelers." we sent out a few feelers and they report back very promptly that the yankees are here sure enough, or that is what our feelers say. pass the word up the line. the word is passed from mouth to mouth of lee's skirmish line twenty-five miles back to atlanta. well, if that be the case, we will set fire to all of our army stores, spike all our cannon, and play "smash" generally, and forsake atlanta. in the meantime, just hold on where you are till stewart gets through his job of blowing up arsenals, burning up the army stores, and spiking the cannon, and we will send our negro boy caesar down to the horse lot to see if he can't catch old nance, but she is such a fool with that young suckling colt of hers, that it takes him almost all day to catch her, and if the draw-bars happen to be down, she'll get in the clover patch, and i don't think he will catch her today. but if he don't catch her, i'll ride balaam anyhow. he's got a mighty sore back, and needs a shoe put on his left hind foot, and he cut his ankle with a broken shoe on his fore foot, and has not been fed today. however, i will be along by-and-by. stewart, do you think you will be able to get through with your job of blowing up by day after tomorrow, or by saturday at twelve o'clock? lee, pass the word down to cheatham, and ask him what he thinks the yankees are doing. now, kinlock, get my duster and umbrella, and bring out balaam. now, reader, that was the impression made on the private's mind at that time. chapter xiv jonesboro the battle of jonesboro stewart's corps was at atlanta, lee's corps was between atlanta and jonesboro, and cheatham's corps, then numbering not more than five thousand men--because the woods and roads were full of straggling soldiers, who were not in the fight--was face to face with the whole yankee army, and he was compelled to flee, fight, or surrender. this was the position and condition of the grand army of tennessee on this memorable occasion. if i am not mistaken, general cleburne was commanding cheatham's corps at that time. we expected to be ordered into action every moment, and kept see-sawing backward and forward, until i did not know which way the yankees were, or which way the rebels. we would form line of battle, charge bayonets, and would raise a whoop and yell, expecting to be dashed right against the yankee lines, and then the order would be given to retreat. then we would immediately re-form and be ordered to charge again a mile off at another place. then we would march and counter march backward and forward over the same ground, passing through jonesboro away over the hill, and then back through the town, first four forward and back; your right hand to your left hand lady, swing half round and balance all. this sort of a movement is called a "feint." a feint is what is called in poker a "bluff," or what is called in a bully a "brag." a feint means anything but a fight. if a lady faints she is either scared or in love, and wants to fall in her lover's arms. if an army makes a feint movement, it is trying to hide some other movement. "hello, lee, what does cleburne say the yankees are doing at jonesboro?" "they are fanning themselves." "well keep up that feint movement until all the boys faint from sheer exhaustion." "hello, stewart, do you think you will be able to burn up those ten locomotives, and destroy those hundred car loads of provisions by day after tomorrow?" "lee, ask cleburne if he feels feinty? ask him how a fellow feels when he feints?" cleburne says: "i have feinted, feinted, and feinted, until i can't feint any longer." "well," says hood, "if you can't feint any longer, you had better flee, fight, or faint; balaam gets along mighty slow, but i'll be thar after awhile." at one o'clock we were ordered to the attack. we had to pass through an osage orange hedge that was worse than the enemy's fire. their breastworks were before us. we yelled, and charged, and hurrahed, and said booh! booh! we're coming, coming, look out, don't you see us coming? why don't you let us hear the cannon's opening roar? why don't you rattle a few old muskets over there at us? booh! booh! we are coming. tag. we have done got to your breastworks. now, we tagged first, why don't you tag back? a yankee seems to be lying on the other side of the breastworks sunning himself, and raising himself on his elbow, says, "fool who with your fatty bread? w-e are too o-l-d a-birds to be caught with that kind of chaff. we don't want any of that kind of pie. what you got there wouldn't make a mouthful. bring on your pudding and pound-cake, and then we will talk to ye." general granberry, who, poor fellow, was killed in the butchery at franklin afterwards, goes up to the breastworks, and says, "look here, yank, we're fighting, sure enough." meynheer dutchman comes out; and says, "ish dot so? vel i ish peen von leetle pit hungry dish morning, und i yust gobble you up for mein lunch pefore tinner dime. dot ish der kind of mans vot i bees!" now, reader, that is a fine description of this memorable battle. that's it--no more, no less. i was in it all, and saw general granberry captured. we did our level best to get up a fight, but it was no go, any way we could fix it up. i mean no disrespect to general hood. he was a noble, brave, and good man, and we loved him for his many virtues and goodness of heart. i do not propose to criticize his generalship or ability as a commander. i only write of the impression and sentiment that were made upon the private's mind at the time, and as i remember them now. but atlanta had fallen into the hands of the yankees, and they were satisfied for the time. death of lieutenant john whittaker at this place we built small breastworks, but for what purpose i never knew. the yankees seemed determined not to fight, no way we could fix it. every now and then they would send over a "feeler," to see how we were getting along. sometimes these "feelers" would do some damage. i remember one morning we were away over a hill, and every now and then here would come one of those lazy-looking "feelers," just bouncing along as if he were in no hurry, called in military "ricochet." they were very easy to dodge, if you could see them in time. well, one morning as before remarked, lieutenant john whittaker, then in command of company h, and myself were sitting down eating breakfast out of the same tin plate. we were sopping gravy out with some cold corn bread, when captain w. c. flournoy, of the martin guards, hallooed out, "look out, sam; look! look!" i just turned my head, and in turning, the cannon ball knocked my hat off, and striking lieutenant whittaker full in the side of the head, carried away the whole of the skull part, leaving only the face. his brains fell in the plate from which we were sopping, and his head fell in my lap, deluging my face and clothes with his blood. poor fellow, he never knew what hurt him. his spirit went to its god that morning. green rieves carried the poor boy off on his shoulder, and, after wrapping him up in a blanket, buried him. his bones are at jonesboro today. the cannon ball did not go twenty yards after accomplishing its work of death. captain flournoy laughed at me, and said, "sam, that came very near getting you. one-tenth of an inch more would have cooked your goose." i saw another man try to stop one of those balls that was just rolling along on the ground. he put his foot out to stop the ball but the ball did not stop, but, instead, carried the man's leg off with it. he no doubt today walks on a cork-leg, and is tax collector of the county in which he lives. i saw a thoughtless boy trying to catch one in his hands as it bounced along. he caught it, but the next moment his spirit had gone to meet its god. but, poor john, we all loved him. he died for his country. his soul is with his god. he gave his all for the country he loved, and may he rest in peace under the shade of the tree where he is buried, and may the birds sing their sweetest songs, the flowers put forth their most beautiful blooms, while the gentle breezes play about the brave boy's grave. green rieves was the only person at the funeral; no tears of a loving mother or gentle sister were there. green interred his body, and there it will remain till the resurrection. john whittaker deserves more than a passing notice. he was noble and brave, and when he was killed, company h was without an officer then commanding. every single officer had been killed, wounded, or captured. john served as a private soldier the first year of the war, and at the reorganization at corinth, mississippi, he, w. j. whitthorne and myself all ran for orderly sergeant of company h, and john was elected, and the first vacancy occurring after the death of captain webster, he was commissioned brevet second lieutenant. when the war broke out, john was clerking for john l. & t. s. brandon, in columbia. he had been in every march, skirmish, and battle that had been fought during the war. along the dusty road, on the march, in the bivouac and on the battlefield, he was the same noble, generous boy; always, kind, ever gentle, a smile ever lighting up his countenance. he was one of the most even tempered men i ever knew. i never knew him to speak an unkind word to anyone, or use a profane or vulgar word in my life. one of those ricochet cannon balls struck my old friend, n. b. shepard. shep was one of the bravest and best soldiers who ever shouldered a musket. it is true, he was but a private soldier, but he was the best friend i had during the whole war. in intellect he was far ahead of most of the generals, and would have honored and adorned the name of general in the c. s. a. he was ever brave and true. he followed our cause to the end, yet all the time an invalid. today he is languishing on a bed of pain and sickness, caused by that ball at jonesboro. the ball struck him on his knapsack, knocking him twenty feet, and breaking one or two ribs and dislocating his shoulder. he was one of god's noblemen, indeed-none braver, none more generous. god alone controls our destinies, and surely he who watched over us and took care of us in those dark and bloody days, will not forsake us now. god alone fits and prepares for us the things that are in store for us. there is none so wise as to foresee the future or foretell the end. god sometimes seems afar off, but he will never leave or forsake anyone who puts his trust in him. the day will come when the good as well as evil will all meet on one broad platform, to be rewarded for the deeds done in the body, when time shall end, with the gates of eternity closed, and the key fastened to the girdle of god forever. pardon me, reader, i have wandered. but when my mind reverts to those scenes and times, i seem to live in another age and time and i sometime think that "after us comes the end of the universe." i am not trying to moralize, i am only trying to write a few scenes and incidents that came under the observation of a poor old rebel webfoot private soldier in those stormy days and times. histories tell the great facts, while i only tell of the minor incidents. but on this day of which i now write, we can see in plain view more than a thousand yankee battle-flags waving on top the red earthworks, not more than four hundred yards off. every private soldier there knew that general hood's army was scattered all the way from jonesboro to atlanta, a distance of twenty-five miles, without any order, discipline, or spirit to do anything. we could hear general stewart, away back yonder in atlanta, still blowing up arsenals, and smashing things generally, while stephen d. lee was somewhere between lovejoy station and macon, scattering. and here was but a demoralized remnant of cheatham's corps facing the whole yankee army. i have ever thought that sherman was a poor general, not to have captured hood and his whole army at that time. but it matters not what i thought, as i am not trying to tell the ifs and ands, but only of what i saw. in a word, we had everything against us. the soldiers distrusted everything. they were broken down with their long days' hard marching--were almost dead with hunger and fatigue. every one was taking his own course, and wishing and praying to be captured. hard and senseless marching, with little sleep, half rations, and lice, had made their lives a misery. each one prayed that all this foolishness might end one way or the other. it was too much for human endurance. every private soldier knew that such things as this could not last. they were willing to ring down the curtain, put out the footlights and go home. there was no hope in the future for them. then comes the farce from this time forward until the close of the war, everything was a farce as to generalship. the tragedy had been played, the glory of war had departed. we all loved hood; he was such a clever fellow, and a good man. well, yank, why don't you come on and take us? we are ready to play quits now. we have not anything to let you have, you know; but you can parole us, you know; and we'll go home and be good boys, you know;-good union boys, you know; and we'll be sorry for the war, you know; and we wouldn't have the negroes in any way, shape, form, or fashion, you know; and the american continent has no north, no south, no east, no west--boohoo, boohoo, boohoo. tut, tut, johnny; all that sounds tolerable nice, but then you might want some favor from uncle sam, and the teat is too full of milk at the present time for us to turn loose. it's a sugar teat, johnny, and just begins to taste sweet; and, besides, johnny, once or twice you have put us to a little trouble; we haven't forgot that; and we've got you down now--our foot is on your neck, and you must feel our boot heel. we want to stamp you a little--"that's what's the matter with hannah." and, johnny, you've fought us hard. you are a brave boy; you are proud and aristocratic, johnny, and we are going to crush your cursed pride and spirit. and now, johnny, come here; i've something to whisper in your ear. hold your ear close down here, so that no one can hear: "we want big fat offices when the war is over. some of us want to be presidents, some governors, some go to congress, and be big ministers to 'urup,' and all those kind of things, johnny, you know. just go back to your camp, johnny, chase round, put on a bold front, flourish your trumpets, blow your horns. and, johnny, we don't want to be hard on you, and we'll tell you what we'll do for you. away back in your territory, between columbia and nashville, is the most beautiful country, and the most fertile, and we have lots of rations up there, too. now, you just go up there, johnny, and stay until we want you. we ain't done with you yet, my boy-o, no, johnny. and, another thing, johnny; you will find there between mt. pleasant and columbia, the most beautiful country that the sun of heaven ever shone upon; and half way between the two places is st. john's church. its tower is all covered over with a beautiful vine of ivy; and, johnny, you know that in olden times it was the custom to entwine a wreath of ivy around the brows of victorious generals. we have no doubt that many of your brave generals will express a wish, when they pass by, to be buried beneath the ivy vine that shades so gracefully and beautifully the wall of this grand old church. and, johnny, you will find a land of beauty and plenty, and when you get there, just put on as much style as you like; just pretend, for our sake, you know, that you are a bully boy with a glass eye, and that you are the victorious army that has returned to free an oppressed people. we will allow you this, johnny, so that we will be the greater when we want you, johnny. and now, johnny, we did not want to tell you what we are going to say to you now, but will, so that you'll feel bad. sherman wants to 'march to the sea, while the world looks on and wonders.' he wants to desolate the land and burn up your towns, to show what a coward he is, and how dastardly, and one of our boys wants to write a piece of poetry about it. but that ain't all, johnny. you know that you fellows have got a great deal of cotton at augusta, savannah, charleston, mobile, and other places, and cotton is worth two dollars a pound in gold, and as christmas is coming, we want to go down there for some of that cotton to make a christmas gift to old abe and old clo, don't you see? o, no, johnny, we don't want to end the war just yet awhile. the sugar is mighty sweet in the teat, and we want to suck a while longer. why, sir, we want to rob and then burn every house in georgia and south carolina. we will get millions of dollars by robbery alone, don't you see?" palmetto "hark from the tomb that doleful sound, my ears attend the cry." general j. b. hood established his headquarters at palmetto, georgia, and here is where we were visited by his honor, the honorable jefferson davis, president of the confederate states of america, and the right honorable robert toombs, secretary of state under the said davis. now, kind reader, don't ask me to write history. i know nothing of history. see the histories for grand movements and military maneuvers. i can only tell of what i saw and how i felt. i can remember now general robert toombs' and hon. jeff davis' speeches. i remember how funny toombs' speech was. he kept us all laughing, by telling us how quick we were going to whip the yankees, and how they would skedaddle back across the ohio river like a dog with a tin oyster can tied to his tail. captain joe p. lee and i laughed until our sides hurt us. i can remember today how i felt. i felt that davis and toombs had come there to bring us glad tidings of great joy, and to proclaim to us that the ratification of a treaty of peace had been declared between the confederate states of america and the united states. i remember how good and happy i felt when these two leading statesmen told of when grim visaged war would smooth her wrinkled front, and when the dark clouds that had so long lowered o'er our own loved south would be in the deep bosom of the ocean buried. i do not know how others felt, but i can say never before or since did i feel so grand. (i came very near saying gloomy and peculiar). i felt that i and every other soldier who had stood the storms of battle for nearly four long years, were now about to be discharged from hard marches, and scant rations, and ragged clothes, and standing guard, etc. in fact, the black cloud of war had indeed drifted away, and the beautiful stars that gemmed the blue ether above, smiling, said, "peace, peace, peace." i felt bully, i tell you. i remember what i thought--that the emblem of our cause was the palmetto and the texas star, and the town of palmetto, were symbolical of our ultimate triumph, and that we had unconsciously, nay, i should say, prophetically, fallen upon palmetto as the most appropriate place to declare peace between the two sections. i was sure jeff davis and bob toombs had come there for the purpose of receiving the capitulation of and to make terms with our conquered foes. i knew that in every battle we had fought, except missionary ridge, we had whipped the yankees, and i knew that we had no cavalry, and but little artillery, and only two corps of infantry at missionary ridge, and from the way jeff and bob talked, it was enough to make us old private soldiers feel that swelling of the heart we ne'er should feel again. i remember that other high dignitaries and big bugs, then the controlling spirits of the government at richmond, visited us, and most all of these high dignitaries shook hands with the boys. it was all hands round, swing the corner, and balance your partner. i shook hands with hon. jeff davis, and he said howdy, captain; i shook hands with toombs, and he said howdy, major; and every big bug that i shook hands with put another star on my collar and chicken guts on my sleeve. my pen is inadequate to describe the ecstasy and patriotic feeling that permeated every vein and fiber of my animated being. it was paradise regained. all the long struggles we had followed the palmetto flag through victory and defeat, through storms and rains, and snows and tempest, along the dusty roads, and on the weary marches, we had been true to our country, our cause, and our people; and there was a conscious pride within us that when we would return to our homes, we would go back as conquerors, and that we would receive the plaudits of our people--well done, good and faithful servants; you have been true and faithful even to the end. jeff davis makes a speech "sinner come view the ground where you shall shortly lie." i remember that hon. jeff davis visited the army at this place, and our regiment, the first tennessee, serenaded him. after playing several airs, he came out of general hood's marquee, and spoke substantially as follows, as near as i can remember: "soldiers of the first tennessee regiment:--i should have said captains, for every man among you is fit to be a captain. i have heard of your acts of bravery on every battlefield during the whole war, and 'captains,' so far as my wishes are concerned, i today make every man of you a captain, and i say honestly today, were i a private soldier, i would have no higher ambition on earth than to belong to the first tennessee regiment. you have been loyal and brave; your ranks have never yet, in the whole history of the war, been broken, even though the army was routed; yet, my brave soldiers, tennesseans all, you have ever remained in your places in the ranks of the regiment, ever subject to the command of your gallant colonel field in every battle, march, skirmish, in an advance or a retreat. there are on the books of the war department at richmond, the names of a quarter of a million deserters, yet, you, my brave soldiers, captains all, have remained true and steadfast. i have heard that some have been dissatisfied with the removal of general joe e. johnston and the appointment of general hood; but, my brave and gallant heroes, i say, i have done what i thought best for your good. soon we commence our march to kentucky and tennessee. be of good cheer, for within a short while your faces will be turned homeward, and your feet will press tennessee soil, and you will tread your native heath, amid the blue-grass regions and pastures green of your native homes. we will flank general sherman out of atlanta, tear up the railroad and cut off his supplies, and make atlanta a perfect moscow of defeat to the federal army. situated as he is in an enemy's country, with his communications all cut off, and our army in the rear, he will be powerless, and being fully posted and cognizant of our position, and of the federal army, this movement will be the _ultima thule_, the grand crowning stroke for our independence, and the conclusion of the war." armistice in name only about this time the yankees sent us a flag of truce, asking an armistice to move every citizen of atlanta south of their lines. it was granted. they wanted to live in fine houses awhile, and then rob and burn them, and issued orders for all the citizens of atlanta to immediately abandon the city. they wanted atlanta for themselves, you see. for weeks and months the roads were filled with loaded wagons of old and decrepit people, who had been hunted and hounded from their homes with a relentless cruelty worse, yea, much worse, than ever blackened the pages of barbaric or savage history. i remember assisting in unloading our wagons that general hood, poor fellow, had kindly sent in to bring out the citizens of atlanta to a little place called rough-and-ready about half way between palmetto and atlanta. every day i would look on at the suffering of delicate ladies, old men, and mothers with little children clinging to them, crying, "o, mamma, mamma," and old women, and tottering old men, whose gray hairs should have protected them from the savage acts of yankee hate and puritan barbarity; and i wondered how on earth our generals, including those who had resigned--that is where the shoe pinches--could quietly look on at this dark, black, and damning insult to our people, and not use at least one effort to rescue them from such terrible and unmitigated cruelty, barbarity, and outrage. general hood remonstrated with sherman against the insult, stating that it "transcended in studied and ingenious cruelty, all acts ever before brought to my attention in the dark history of war." in the great crisis of the war, hardee, kirby smith, breckinridge, and many brigadiers, resigned, thus throwing all the responsibility upon poor hood. [author's note: in the southern army the question was, who ranked? not who was the best general, or colonel, or captain--but "who ranked?" the article of rank finally got down to corporals; and rank finally bursted the government.] i desire to state that they left the army on account of rank. o, this thing of rank! many other generals resigned, and left us privates in the lurch. but the gallant cheatham, cleburne, granberry, gist, strahl, adams, john c. brown, william b. bate, stewart, lowery, and others, stuck to us to the last. the sinews of war were strained to their utmost tension. a scout at this place i was detailed as a regular scout, which position i continued to hold during our stay at palmetto. it was a good thing. it beat camp guard all hollow. i had answered "hear" at roll-call ten thousand times in these nearly four years. but i had sorter got used to the darn thing. now, reader, i will give you a few chapters on the kind of fun i had for awhile. our instructions were simply to try and find out all we could about the yankees, and report all movements. one dark, rainy evening, while out as a scout, and, after traveling all day, i was returning from the yankee outposts at atlanta, and had captured a yankee prisoner, who i then had under my charge, and whom i afterwards carried and delivered to general hood. he was a considerable muggins, and a great coward, in fact, a yankee deserter. i soon found out that there was no harm in him, as he was tired of war anyhow, and was anxious to go to prison. we went into an old log cabin near the road until the rain would be over. i was standing in the cabin door looking at the rain drops fall off the house and make little bubbles in the drip, and listening to the pattering on the clapboard roof, when happening to look up, not fifty yards off, i discovered a regiment of yankee cavalry approaching. i knew it would be utterly impossible for me to get away unseen, and i did not know what to do. the yankee prisoner was scared almost to death. i said, "look, look!" i turned in the room, and found the planks of the floor were loose. i raised two of them, and yank and i slipped through. i replaced the planks, and could peep out beneath the sill of the house, and see the legs of the horses. they passed on and did not come to the old house. they were at least a half hour in passing. at last the main regiment had all passed, and i saw the rear guard about to pass, when i heard the captain say, "go and look in that old house." three fellows detached themselves from the command and came dashing up to the old house. i thought, "gone up, sure," as i was afraid the yankee prisoner would make his presence known. when the three men came up, they pushed open the door and looked around, and one fellow said "booh!" they then rode off. but that "booh!" i was sure i was caught, but i was not. "what is this rebel doing here?" i would go up to the yankee outpost, and if some popinjay of a tacky officer didn't come along, we would have a good time. one morning i was sitting down to eat a good breakfast with the yankee outpost. they were cavalry, and they were mighty clever and pleasant fellows. i looked down the road toward atlanta, and not fifty yards from the outpost, i saw a body of infantry approaching. i don't know why i didn't run. i ought to have done so, but didn't. i stayed there until this body of infantry came up. they had come to relieve the cavalry. it was a detail of negro soldiers, headed by the meanest looking white man as their captain, i ever saw. in very abrupt words he told the cavalry that he had come to take their place, and they were ordered to report back to their command. happening to catch sight of me, he asked, "what is this rebel doing here?" one of the men spoke up and tried to say something in my favor, but the more he said the more the captain of the blacks would get mad. he started toward me two or three times. he was starting, i could see by the flush of his face, to take hold of me, anyhow. the cavalrymen tried to protest, and said a few cuss words. the captain of the blacks looks back very mad at the cavalry. here was my opportunity, now or never. uncle negro looked on, not seeming to care for the cavalry, captain, or for me. i took up my gun very gently and cocked it. i had the gentleman. i had made up my mind if he advanced one step further, that he was a dead man. when he turned to look again, it was a look of surprise. his face was as red as a scalded beet, but in a moment was as white as a sheet. he was afraid to turn his head to give a command. the cavalry motioned their hands at me, as much as to say, "run, johnny, run." the captain of the blacks fell upon his face, and i broke and ran like a quarter-horse. i never saw or heard any more of the captain of the blacks or his guard afterward. "look out, boys." one night, five of us scouts, i thought all strangers to me, put up at an old gentleman's house. i took him for a catholic priest. his head was shaved and he had on a loose gown like a lady's dress, and a large cord and tassel tied around his waist, from which dangled a large bunch of keys. he treated us very kindly and hospitably, so far as words and politeness went, but we had to eat our own rations and sleep on our own blankets. at bedtime, he invited us to sleep in a shed in front of his double log cabin. we all went in, lay down, and slept. a little while before day, the old priest came in and woke us up, and said he thought he saw in the moonlight a detachment of cavalry coming down the road from toward the rebel lines. one of our party jumped up and said there was a company of cavalry coming that way, and then all four broke toward the old priest's room. i jumped up, put on one boot, and holding the other in my hand, i stepped out in the yard, with my hat and coat off--both being left in the room. a yankee captain stepped up to me and said, "are you no. 200?" i answered very huskily, "no, sir, i am not." he then went on in the house, and on looking at the fence, i saw there was at least two hundred yankee cavalry right at me. i did not know what to do. my hat, coat, gun, cartridge-box, and knapsack were all in the room. i was afraid to stay there, and i was afraid to give the alarm. i soon saw almost every one of the yankees dismount, and then i determined to give the alarm and run. i hallooed out as loud as i could, "look out, boys," and broke and run. i had to jump over a garden picket fence, and as i lit on the other side, bang! bang! bang! was fired right after me. they stayed there but a short time, and i went back and got my gun and other accouterments. am captured when i left the old priest's house, it was then good day--nearly sun up-and i had started back toward our lines, and had walked on about half a mile, not thinking of danger, when four yankees jumped out in the middle of the road and said, "halt, there! o, yes, we've got you at last." i was in for it. what could i do? their guns were cocked and leveled at me, and if i started to run, i would be shot, so i surrendered. in a very short time the regiment of yankee cavalry came up, and the first greeting i had was, "hello, you ain't no. 200, are you?" i was taken prisoner. they, i thought, seemed to be very gleeful about it, and i had to march right back by the old priest's house, and they carried me to the headquarters of general stephen williams. as soon as he saw me, he said, "who have you there--a prisoner, or a deserter?" they said a prisoner. from what command? no one answered. finally he asked me what command i belonged to. i told him the confederate states army. then, said he, "what is your name?" said i, "general, if that would be any information, i would have no hesitancy in giving it. but i claim your protection as a prisoner of war. i am a private soldier in the confederate states army, and i don't feel authorized to answer any question you may ask." he looked at me with a kind of quizical look, and said, "that is the way with you rebels. i have never yet seen one of you, but thought what little information he might possess to be of value to the union forces." then one of the men spoke up and said, "i think he is a spy or a scout, and does not belong to the regular army." he then gave me a close look, and said, "ah, ah, a guerrilla," and ordered me to be taken to the provost marshal's office. they carried me to a large, fine house, upstairs, and i was politely requested to take a seat. i sat there some moments, when a dandy-looking clerk of a fellow came up with a book in his hand, and said, "the name." i appeared not to understand, and he said, "the name." i still looked at him, and he said, "the name." i did not know what he meant by "the name." finally, he closed the book with a slam and started off, and said i, "did you want to find out my name?" he said, "i asked you three times." i said, "when? if you ever asked me my name, i have never heard it." but he was too mad to listen to anything else. i was carried to another room in the same building, and locked up. i remained there until about dark, when a man brought me a tolerably good supper, and then left me alone to my own meditations. i could hear the sentinels at all times of the night calling out the hours. i did not sleep a wink, nor even lay down. i had made up my mind to escape, if there was any possible chance. about three o'clock everything got perfectly still. i went to the window, and it had a heavy bolt across it, and i could not open it. i thought i would try the door, but i knew that a guard was stationed in the hall, for i could see a dim light glimmer through the key-hole. i took my knife and unscrewed the catch in which the lock was fastened, and soon found out that i could open the door; but then there was the guard, standing at the main entrance down stairs. i peeped down, and he was quietly walking to and fro on his beat, every time looking to the hall. i made up my mind by his measured tread as to how often he would pass the door, and one time, after he had just passed, i came out in the hall, and started to run down the steps. about midway down the steps, one of them cracked very loud, but i ran on down in the lower hall and ran into a room, the door of which was open. the sentinel came back to the entrance of the hall, and listened a few minutes, and then moved on again. i went to the window and raised the sash, but the blind was fastened with a kind of patent catch. i gave one or two hard pushes, and felt it move. after that i made one big lunge, and it flew wide open, but it made a noise that woke up every sentinel. i jumped out in the yard, and gained the street, and, on looking back, i heard the alarm given, and lights began to glimmer everywhere, but, seeing no one directly after me, i made tracks toward peachtree creek, and went on until i came to the old battlefield of july 22nd, and made my way back to our lines. chapter xv advance into tennessee general hood makes a flank movement after remaining a good long time at jonesboro, the news came that we were going to flank atlanta. we flanked it. a flank means "a go around." yank says, "what you doing, johnny?" johnny says, "we are flanking." yank says, "bully for you!" we passed around atlanta, crossed the chattahoochee, and traveled back over the same route on which we had made the arduous campaign under joe johnston. it took us four months in the first instance, and but little longer than as many days in the second, to get back to dalton, our starting point. on our way up there, the yankee cavalry followed us to see how we were getting along with the flanking business. we had pontoons made for the purpose of crossing streams. when we would get to a stream, the pontoons would be thrown across, and hood's army would cross. yank would halloo over and say, "well, johnny, have you got everything across?" "yes," would be the answer. "well, we want these old pontoons, as you will not need them again." and they would take them. we passed all those glorious battlefields, that have been made classic in history, frequently coming across the skull of some poor fellow sitting on top of a stump, grinning a ghastly smile; also the bones of horses along the road, and fences burned and destroyed, and occasionally the charred remains of a once fine dwelling house. outside of these occasional reminders we could see no evidence of the desolation of the track of an invading army. the country looked like it did at first. citizens came out, and seemed glad to see us, and would divide their onions, garlic, and leek with us. the soldiers were in good spirits, but it was the spirit of innocence and peace, not war and victory. where the railroads would cross a river, a block-house had been erected, and the bridge was guarded by a company of federals. but we always flanked these little affairs. we wanted bigger and better meat. we capture dalton when we arrived at dalton, we had a desire to see how the old place looked; not that we cared anything about it, but we just wanted to take a last farewell look at the old place. we saw the united states flag flying from the ramparts, and thought that yank would probably be asleep or catching lice, or maybe engaged in a game of seven-up. so we sent forward a physician with some white bandages tied to the end of a long pole. he walked up and says, "hello, boys!" "what is it, boss?" "well, boys, we've come for you." "hyah, ha; hyah, ha; hyah, ha; a hee, he, he, he; if it ain't old master, sho." the place was guarded by negro troops. we marched the black rascals out. they were mighty glad to see us, and we were kindly disposed to them. we said, "now, boys, we don't want the yankees to get mad at you, and to blame you; so, just let's get out here on the railroad track, and tear it up, and pile up the crossties, and then pile the iron on top of them, and we'll set the thing a-fire, and when the yankees come back they will say, 'what a bully fight _them nagers_ did make.'" (a yankee always says "nager"). reader, you should have seen how that old railroad did flop over, and how the darkies did sweat, and how the perfume did fill the atmosphere. but there were some yankee soldiers in a block-house at ringgold gap, who thought they would act big. they said that sherman had told them not to come out of that block-house, any how. but general william b. bate begun to persuade the gentlemen, by sending a few four-pound parrot "feelers." ah! those _feelers_! they persuaded eloquently. they persuaded effectually--those feelers did. the yanks soon surrendered. the old place looked natural like, only it seemed to have a sort of graveyard loneliness about it. a man in the well on leaving dalton, after a day's march, we had stopped for the night. our guns were stacked, and i started off with a comrade to get some wood to cook supper with. we were walking along, he a little in the rear, when he suddenly disappeared. i could not imagine what had become of him. i looked everywhere. the earth seemed to have opened and swallowed him. i called, and called, but could get no answer. presently i heard a groan that seemed to come out of the bowels of the earth; but, as yet, i could not make out where he was. going back to camp, i procured a light, and after whooping and hallooing for a long time, i heard another groan, this time much louder than before. the voice appeared to be overhead. there was no tree or house to be seen; and then again the voice seemed to answer from under the ground, in a hollow, sepulchral tone, but i could not tell where he was. but i was determined to find him, so i kept on hallooing and he answering. i went to the place where the voice appeared to come out of the earth. i was walking along rather thoughtlessly and carelessly, when one inch more and i would have disappeared also. right before me i saw the long dry grass all bending toward a common center, and i knew that it was an old well, and that my comrade had fallen in it. but how to get him out was the unsolved problem. i ran back to camp to get assistance, and everybody had a great curiosity to see "the man in the well." they would get chunks of fire and shake over the well, and, peeping down, would say, "well, he's in there," and go off, and others would come and talk about his "being in there." the poor fellow stayed in that well all night. the next morning we got a long rope from a battery and let it down in the well, and soon had him on _terra firma_. he was worse scared than hurt. tuscumbia we arrived and remained at tuscumbia several days, awaiting the laying of the pontoons across the tennessee river at florence, alabama, and then we all crossed over. while at tuscumbia, john branch and i saw a nice sweet potato patch, that looked very tempting to a hungry rebel. we looked all around, and thought that the coast was clear. we jumped over the fence, and commenced grabbling for the sweet potatoes. i had got my haversack full, and had started off, when we heard, "halt, there." i looked around, and there was a soldier guard. we broke and run like quarter-horses, and the guard pulled down on us just as we jumped the fence. i don't think his gun was loaded, though, because we did not hear the ball whistle. we marched from decatur to florence. here the pontoon bridges were nicely and beautifully stretched across the river. we walked over this floating bridge, and soon found ourselves on the tennessee side of tennessee river. in driving a great herd of cattle across the pontoon, the front one got stubborn, and the others, crowding up all in one bulk, broke the line that held the pontoon, and drowned many of the drove. we had beef for supper that night. en route for columbia "and nightly we pitch our moving tent a day's march nearer home." how every pulse did beat and leap, and how every heart did throb with emotions of joy, which seemed nearly akin to heaven, when we received the glad intelligence of our onward march toward the land of promise, and of our loved ones. the cold november winds coming off the mountains of the northwest were blowing right in our faces, and nearly cutting us in two. we were inured to privations and hardships; had been upon every march, in every battle, in every skirmish, in every advance, in every retreat, in every victory, in every defeat. we had laid under the burning heat of a tropical sun; had made the cold, frozen earth our bed, with no covering save the blue canopy of heaven; had braved dangers, had breasted floods; had seen our comrades slain upon our right and our left hand; had heard guns that carried death in their missiles; had heard the shouts of the charge; had seen the enemy in full retreat and flying in every direction; had heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded and dying; had seen the blood of our countrymen dyeing the earth and enriching the soil; had been hungry when there was nothing to eat; had been in rags and tatters. we had marked the frozen earth with bloody and unshod feet; had been elated with victory and crushed by defeat; had seen and felt the pleasure of the life of a soldier, and had drank the cup to its dregs. yes, we had seen it all, and had shared in its hopes and its fears; its love and its hate; its good and its bad; its virtue and its vice; its glories and its shame. we had followed the successes and reverses of the flag of the lost cause through all these years of blood and strife. i was simply one of hundreds of thousands in the same fix. the tale is the same that every soldier would tell, except jim whitler. jim had dodged about, and had escaped being conscripted until "hood's raid," he called it. hood's army was taking up every able-bodied man and conscripting him into the army. jim whitler had got a position as over-seer on a large plantation, and had about a hundred negroes under his surveillance. the army had been passing a given point, and jim was sitting quietly on the fence looking at the soldiers. the conscripting squad nabbed him. jim tried to beg off, but all entreaty was in vain. he wanted to go by home and tell his wife and children good-bye, and to get his clothes. it was no go. but, after awhile, jim says, "gentlemen, ay, ganny, the law!" you see, jim "knowed" the law. he didn't know b from a bull's foot in the spelling-book. but he said, _the law_. now, when anyone says anything about the "law," every one stops to listen. jim says, "ah, ganny, _the law_" (laying great stress upon the law)--"allows every man who has twenty negroes to stay at home. ah, ganny!" those old soldiers had long, long ago, forgotten about that old "law" of the long gone past; but jim had treasured it up in his memory, lo! these many years, and he thought it would serve him now, as it had, no doubt, frequently done in the past. the conscript officer said, "law or no law--you fall into line, take this gun and cartridge-box, and _march_!" jim's spirits sank; his hopes vanished into air. jim was soon in line, and was tramping to the music of the march. he stayed with the company two days. the third day it was reported that the yankees had taken position on the murfreesboro pike. a regiment was sent to the attack. it was jim's regiment. he advanced bravely into battle. the minnie balls began to whistle around his ears. the regiment was ordered to fire. he hadn't seen anything to shoot at, but he blazed away. he loaded and fired the second time, when they were ordered to retreat. he didn't see anything to run from, but the other soldiers began to run, and jim run, too. jim had not learned the word "halt!" and just kept on running. he run, and he run, and he run, and he kept on running until he got home, when he jumped in his door and shouted, "whoopee, rhoda! aye, ganny, _i've served four years in the rebel army_." chapter xvi battles in tennessee columbia "this is my own, my native land." once more the maury grays are permitted to put their feet upon their native heath, and to revisit their homes and friends, after having followed their tattered, and torn, and battle-riddled flag, which they had borne aloft for four long years, on every march, and in every battle that had been fought by the army of tennessee. we were a mere handful of devoted braves, who had stood by our colors when sometimes it seemed that god himself had forsaken us. but, parents, here are your noble and brave sons; and, ladies, four years ago you gave us this flag, and we promised you "that we would come back with the flag as victors, or we would come not at all." we have been true to our promise and our trust. on every battlefield the flag that you entrusted to our hands has been borne aloft by brave and heroic men, amid shot and shell, bloody battle, and death. we have never forsaken our colors. are we worthy to be called the sons of old maury county? or have we fought in vain? have our efforts been appreciated, or have four years of our lives been wasted, while we were battling for constitutional government, the supremacy of our laws over centralization, and our rights, as guaranteed to us by the blood of our forefathers on the battlefields of the revolution? it is for you to make up your verdict. if our lives as soldiers have been a _failure_, we can but bow our heads on our bosoms, and say, "surely, four years of our lives have been given for naught, and our efforts to please you have been in vain." yet, the invader's foot is still on our soil, but there beats in our bosoms the blood of brave and patriotic men, and we will continue to follow our old and war-worn and battle-riddled flag until it goes down forever. the maury grays, commanded by captain a. m. looney, left columbia, four years ago, with 120 men. how many of those 120 original members are with the company today? just twelve. company h has twenty members, but some of this number had subsequently enlisted. but we twelve will stick to our colors till she goes down forever, and until five more of this number fall dead and bleeding on the battlefield. a fiasco when we arrived in sight of columbia, we found the yankees still in possession of the town, fortified and determined to resist our advance. we send forward a "feeler," and the "feeler" reports back very promptly, "yes, the yankees are there." well, if that be the case, we'll just make a flank movement. we turn off the main turnpike at j. e. r. carpenter's, and march through the cedars, and cross duck river at davis' ferry, on pontoon bridges, near lowell's mill. we pass on, and cross rutherford creek, near burick's mill, about three o'clock in the afternoon. we had marched through fields in the heavy mud, and the men, weary and worn out, were just dragging themselves along, passing by the old union seminary, and then by mr. fred thompson's, until we came to the rally hill turnpike-it being then nearly dark--we heard some skirmishing, but, exhausted as we were, we went into bivouac. the yankees, it seems to me, might have captured the whole of us. but that is a matter of history. but i desire to state that no blunder was made by either generals cheatham or stewart, neither of whom ever failed to come to time. jeff davis is alone responsible for the blunder. about two hours after sun up the next morning we received the order to "fall in, fall in, quick, make haste, hurrah, promptly, men; each rank count two; by the right flank, quick time, march; keep promptly closed up." everything indicated an immediate attack. when we got to the turnpike near spring hill, lo! and behold; wonder of wonders! the whole yankee army had passed during the night. the bird had flown. we made a quick and rapid march down the turnpike, finding yankee guns and knapsacks, and now and then a broken down straggler, also two pieces of howitzer cannon, and at least twenty broken wagons along the road. everything betokened a rout and a stampede of the yankee army. double quick! forrest is in the rear. now for fun. all that we want to do now is to catch the blue-coated rascals, ha! ha! we all want to see the surrender, ha! ha! double quick! a rip, rip, rip; wheuf; pant, pant, pant. first one man drops out, and then another. the yankees are routed and running, and forrest has crossed harpeth river in the rear of franklin. hurrah, men! keep closed up; we are going to capture schofield. forrest is in the rear; never mind the straggler and cannon. kerflop we come against the breastworks at franklin. franklin "the death-angel gathers its last harvest." kind reader, right here my pen, and courage, and ability fail me. i shrink from butchery. would to god i could tear the page from these memoirs and from my own memory. it is the blackest page in the history of the war of the lost cause. it was the bloodiest battle of modern times in any war. it was the finishing stroke to the independence of the southern confederacy. i was there. i saw it. my flesh trembles, and creeps, and crawls when i think of it today. my heart almost ceases to beat at the horrid recollection. would to god that i had never witnessed such a scene! i cannot describe it. it beggars description. i will not attempt to describe it. i could not. the death-angel was there to gather its last harvest. it was the grand coronation of death. would that i could turn the page. but i feel, though i did so, that page would still be there, teeming with its scenes of horror and blood. i can only tell of what i saw. our regiment was resting in the gap of a range of hills in plain view of the city of franklin. we could see the battle-flags of the enemy waving in the breeze. our army had been depleted of its strength by a forced march from spring hill, and stragglers lined the road. our artillery had not yet come up, and could not be brought into action. our cavalry was across harpeth river, and our army was but in poor condition to make an assault. while resting on this hillside, i saw a courier dash up to our commanding general, b. f. cheatham, and the word, "attention!" was given. i knew then that we would soon be in action. forward, march. we passed over the hill and through a little skirt of woods. the enemy were fortified right across the franklin pike, in the suburbs of the town. right here in these woods a detail of skirmishers was called for. our regiment was detailed. we deployed as skirmishers, firing as we advanced on the left of the turnpike road. if i had not been a skirmisher on that day, i would not have been writing this today, in the year of our lord 1882. it was four o'clock on that dark and dismal december day when the line of battle was formed, and those devoted heroes were ordered forward, to "strike for their altars and their fires, for the green graves of their sires, for god and their native land." as they marched on down through an open field toward the rampart of blood and death, the federal batteries began to open and mow down and gather into the garner of death, as brave, and good, and pure spirits as the world ever saw. the twilight of evening had begun to gather as a precursor of the coming blackness of midnight darkness that was to envelop a scene so sickening and horrible that it is impossible for me to describe it. "forward, men," is repeated all along the line. a sheet of fire was poured into our very faces, and for a moment we halted as if in despair, as the terrible avalanche of shot and shell laid low those brave and gallant heroes, whose bleeding wounds attested that the struggle would be desperate. forward, men! the air loaded with death-dealing missiles. never on this earth did men fight against such terrible odds. it seemed that the very elements of heaven and earth were in one mighty uproar. forward, men! and the blood spurts in a perfect jet from the dead and wounded. the earth is red with blood. it runs in streams, making little rivulets as it flows. occasionally there was a little lull in the storm of battle, as the men were loading their guns, and for a few moments it seemed as if night tried to cover the scene with her mantle. the death-angel shrieks and laughs and old father time is busy with his sickle, as he gathers in the last harvest of death, crying, more, more, more! while his rapacious maw is glutted with the slain. but the skirmish line being deployed out, extending a little wider than the battle did--passing through a thicket of small locusts, where brown, orderly sergeant of company b, was killed--we advanced on toward the breastworks, on and on. i had made up my mind to die--felt glorious. we pressed forward until i heard the terrific roar of battle open on our right. cleburne's division was charging their works. i passed on until i got to their works, and got over on their (the yankees') side. but in fifty yards of where i was the scene was lit up by fires that seemed like hell itself. it appeared to be but one line of streaming fire. our troops were upon one side of the breastworks, and the federals on the other. i ran up on the line of works, where our men were engaged. dead soldiers filled the entrenchments. the firing was kept up until after midnight, and gradually died out. we passed the night where we were. but when the morrow's sun began to light up the eastern sky with its rosy hues, and we looked over the battlefield, o, my god! what did we see! it was a grand holocaust of death. death had held high carnival there that night. the dead were piled the one on the other all over the ground. i never was so horrified and appalled in my life. horses, like men, had died game on the gory breastworks. general adams' horse had his fore feet on one side of the works and his hind feet on the other, dead. the general seems to have been caught so that he was held to the horse's back, sitting almost as if living, riddled, and mangled, and torn with balls. general cleburne's mare had her fore feet on top of the works, dead in that position. general cleburne's body was pierced with forty-nine bullets, through and through. general strahl's horse lay by the roadside and the general by his side, both dead, and all his staff. general gist, a noble and brave cavalier from south carolina, was lying with his sword reaching across the breastworks still grasped in his hand. he was lying there dead. all dead! they sleep in the graveyard yonder at ashwood, almost in sight of my home, where i am writing today. they sleep the sleep of the brave. we love and cherish their memory. they sleep beneath the ivy-mantled walls of st. john's church, where they expressed a wish to be buried. the private soldier sleeps where he fell, piled in one mighty heap. four thousand five hundred privates! all lying side by side in death! thirteen generals were killed and wounded. four thousand five hundred men slain, all piled and heaped together at one place. i cannot tell the number of others killed and wounded. god alone knows that. we'll all find out on the morning of the final resurrection. kind friends, i have attempted in my poor and feeble way to tell you of this (i can hardly call it) battle. it should be called by some other name. but, like all other battles, it, too, has gone into history. i leave it with you. i do not know who was to blame. it lives in the memory of the poor old rebel soldier who went through that trying and terrible ordeal. we shed a tear for the dead. they are buried and forgotten. we meet no more on earth. but up yonder, beyond the sunset and the night, away beyond the clouds and tempest, away beyond the stars that ever twinkle and shine in the blue vault above us, away yonder by the great white throne, and by the river of life, where the almighty and eternal god sits, surrounded by the angels and archangels and the redeemed of earth, we will meet again and see those noble and brave spirits who gave up their lives for their country's cause that night at franklin, tennessee. a life given for one's country is never lost. it blooms again beyond the grave in a land of beauty and of love. hanging around the throne of sapphire and gold, a rich garland awaits the coming of him who died for his country, and when the horologe of time has struck its last note upon his dying brow, justice hands the record of life to mercy, and mercy pleads with jesus, and god, for his sake, receives him in his eternal home beyond the skies at last and forever. nashville a few more scenes, my dear friends, and we close these memoirs. we march toward the city of nashville. we camp the first night at brentwood. the next day we can see the fine old building of solid granite, looming up on capitol hill--the capitol of tennessee. we can see the stars and stripes flying from the dome. our pulse leaps with pride when we see the grand old architecture. we can hear the bugle call, and the playing of the bands of the different regiments in the federal lines. now and then a shell is thrown into our midst from fort negley, but no attack or demonstrations on either side. we bivouac on the cold and hard-frozen ground, and when we walk about, the echo of our footsteps sound like the echo of a tombstone. the earth is crusted with snow, and the wind from the northwest is piercing our very bones. we can see our ragged soldiers, with sunken cheeks and famine-glistening eyes. where were our generals? alas! there were none. not one single general out of cheatham's division was left--not one. general b. f. cheatham himself was the only surviving general of his old division. nearly all our captains and colonels were gone. companies mingled with companies, regiments with regiments, and brigades with brigades. a few raw-boned horses stood shivering under the ice-covered trees, nibbling the short, scanty grass. being in range of the federal guns from fort negley, we were not allowed to have fires at night, and our thin and ragged blankets were but poor protection against the cold, raw blasts of december weather--the coldest ever known. the cold stars seem to twinkle with unusual brilliancy, and the pale moon seems to be but one vast heap of frozen snow, which glimmers in the cold gray sky, and the air gets colder by its coming; our breath, forming in little rays, seems to make a thousand little coruscations that scintillate in the cold frosty air. i can tell you nothing of what was going on among the generals. but there we were, and that is all that i can tell you. one morning about daylight our army began to move. our division was then on the extreme right wing, and then we were transferred to the left wing. the battle had begun. we were continually moving to our left. we would build little temporary breastworks, then we would be moved to another place. our lines kept on widening out, and stretching further and further apart, until it was not more than a skeleton of a skirmish line from one end to the other. we started at a run. we cared for nothing. not more than a thousand yards off, we could see the yankee cavalry, artillery, and infantry, marching apparently still further to our left. we could see regiments advancing at double-quick across the fields, while, with our army, everything seemed confused. the private soldier could not see into things. it seemed to be somewhat like a flock of wild geese when they have lost their leader. we were willing to go anywhere, or to follow anyone who would lead us. we were anxious to flee, fight, or fortify. i have never seen an army so confused and demoralized. the whole thing seemed to be tottering and trembling. when, _halt! front! right dress!_ and adjutant mckinney reads us the following order: "soldiers:--the commanding general takes pleasure in announcing to his troops that victory and success are now within their grasp; and the commanding general feels proud and gratified that in every attack and assault the enemy have been repulsed; and the commanding general will further say to his noble and gallant troops, 'be of good cheer--all is well.' "general john b. hood, "general commanding. "kinlock falconer, "acting adjutant-general." i remember how this order was received. every soldier said, "o, shucks; that is all shenanigan," for we knew that we had never met the enemy or fired a gun outside of a little skirmishing. and i will further state that that battle order, announcing success and victory, was the cause of a greater demoralization than if our troops had been actually engaged in battle. they at once mistrusted general hood's judgment as a commander. and every private soldier in the whole army knew the situation of affairs. i remember when passing by hood, how feeble and decrepit he looked, with an arm in a sling, and a crutch in the other hand, and trying to guide and control his horse. and, reader, i was not a christian then, and am but little better today; but, as god sees my heart tonight, i prayed in my heart that day for general hood. poor fellow, i loved him, not as a general, but as a good man. i knew when that army order was read, that general hood had been deceived, and that the poor fellow was only trying to encourage his men. every impulse of his nature was but to do good, and to serve his country as best he could. ah! reader, some day all will be well. we continued marching toward our left, our battle-line getting thinner and thinner. we could see the federals advancing, their blue coats and banners flying, and could see their movements and hear them giving their commands. our regiment was ordered to double quick to the extreme left wing of the army, and we had to pass up a steep hill, and the dead grass was wet and as slick as glass, and it was with the greatest difficulty that we could get up the steep hill side. when we got to the top, we, as skirmishers, were ordered to deploy still further to the left. billy carr and j. e. jones, two as brave soldiers as ever breathed the breath of life--in fact, it was given up that they were the bravest and most daring men in the army of tennessee--and myself, were on the very extreme left wing of our army. while we were deployed as skirmishers, i heard, "surrender, surrender," and on looking around us, i saw that we were right in the midst of a yankee line of battle. they were lying down in the bushes, and we were not looking for them so close to us. we immediately threw down our guns and surrendered. j. e. jones was killed at the first discharge of their guns, when another yankee raised up and took deliberate aim at billy carr, and fired, the ball striking him below the eye and passing through his head. as soon as i could, i picked up my gun, and as the yankee turned i sent a minnie ball crushing through his head, and broke and run. but i am certain that i killed the yankee who killed billy carr, but it was too late to save the poor boy's life. as i started to run, a fallen dogwood tree tripped me up, and i fell over the log. it was all that saved me. the log was riddled with balls, and thousands, it seemed to me, passed over it. as i got up to run again, i was shot through the middle finger of the very hand that is now penning these lines, and the thigh. but i had just killed a yankee, and was determined to get away from there as soon as i could. how i did get back i hardly know, for i was wounded and surrounded by yankees. one rushed forward, and placing the muzzle of his gun in two feet of me, discharged it, but it missed its aim, when i ran at him, grabbed him by the collar, and brought him off a prisoner. captain joe p. lee and colonel h. r. field remember this, as would lieutenant-colonel john l. house, were he alive; and all the balance of company h, who were there at the time. i had eight bullet holes in my coat, and two in my hand, beside the one in my thigh and finger. it was a hail storm of bullets. the above is true in every particular, and is but one incident of the war, which happened to hundreds of others. but, alas! all our valor and victories were in vain, when god and the whole world were against us. billy carr was one of the bravest and best men i ever knew. he never knew what fear was, and in consequence of his reckless bravery, had been badly wounded at perryville, murfreesboro, chickamauga, the octagon house, dead angle, and the 22nd of july at atlanta. in every battle he was wounded, and finally, in the very last battle of the war, surrendered up his life for his country's cause. no father and mother of such a brave and gallant boy, should ever sorrow or regret having born to them such a son. he was the flower and chivalry of his company. he was as good as he was brave. his bones rest yonder on the overton hills today, while i have no doubt in my own mind that his spirit is with the redeemer of the hosts of heaven. he was my friend. poor boy, farewell! when i got back to where i could see our lines, it was one scene of confusion and rout. finney's florida brigade had broken before a mere skirmish line, and soon the whole army had caught the infection, had broken, and were running in every direction. such a scene i never saw. the army was panic-stricken. the woods everywhere were full of running soldiers. our officers were crying, "halt! halt!" and trying to rally and re-form their broken ranks. the federals would dash their cavalry in amongst us, and even their cannon joined in the charge. one piece of yankee artillery galloped past me, right on the road, unlimbered their gun, fired a few shots, and galloped ahead again. hood's whole army was routed and in full retreat. nearly every man in the entire army had thrown away his gun and accouterments. more than ten thousand had stopped and allowed themselves to be captured, while many, dreading the horrors of a northern prison, kept on, and i saw many, yea, even thousands, broken down from sheer exhaustion, with despair and pity written on their features. wagon trains, cannon, artillery, cavalry, and infantry were all blended in inextricable confusion. broken down and jaded horses and mules refused to pull, and the badly-scared drivers looked like their eyes would pop out of their heads from fright. wagon wheels, interlocking each other, soon clogged the road, and wagons, horses and provisions were left indiscriminately. the officers soon became effected with the demoralization of their troops, and rode on in dogged indifference. general frank cheatham and general loring tried to form a line at brentwood, but the line they formed was like trying to stop the current of duck river with a fish net. i believe the army would have rallied, had there been any colors to rally to. and as the straggling army moves on down the road, every now and then we can hear the sullen roar of the federal artillery booming in the distance. i saw a wagon and team abandoned, and i unhitched one of the horses and rode on horseback to franklin, where a surgeon tied up my broken finger, and bandaged up my bleeding thigh. my boot was full of blood, and my clothing saturated with it. i was at general hood's headquarters. he was much agitated and affected, pulling his hair with his one hand (he had but one), and crying like his heart would break. i pitied him, poor fellow. i asked him for a wounded furlough, and he gave it to me. i never saw him afterward. i always loved and honored him, and will ever revere and cherish his memory. he gave his life in the service of his country, and i know today he wears a garland of glory beyond the grave, where justice says "well done," and mercy has erased all his errors and faults. i only write of the under _strata_ of history; in other words, the _privates' history_--as i saw things then, and remember them now. the winter of 1864-5 was the coldest that had been known for many years. the ground was frozen and rough, and our soldiers were poorly clad, while many, yes, very many, were entirely barefooted. our wagon trains had either gone on, we knew not whither, or had been left behind. everything and nature, too, seemed to be working against us. even the keen, cutting air that whistled through our tattered clothes and over our poorly covered heads, seemed to lash us in its fury. the floods of waters that had overflowed their banks, seemed to laugh at our calamity, and to mock us in our misfortunes. all along the route were weary and footsore soldiers. the citizens seemed to shrink and hide from us as we approached them. and, to cap the climax, tennessee river was overflowing its banks, and several federal gunboats were anchored just below mussel shoals, firing at us while crossing. the once proud army of tennessee had degenerated to a mob. we were pinched by hunger and cold. the rains, and sleet, and snow never ceased falling from the winter sky, while the winds pierced the old, ragged, grayback rebel soldier to his very marrow. the clothing of many were hanging around them in shreds of rags and tatters, while an old slouched hat covered their frozen ears. some were on old, raw-boned horses, without saddles. hon. jefferson davis perhaps made blunders and mistakes, but i honestly believe that he ever did what he thought best for the good of his country. and there never lived on this earth from the days of hampden to george washington, a purer patriot or a nobler man than jefferson davis; and, like marius, grand even in ruins. hood was a good man, a kind man, a philanthropic man, but he is both harmless and defenseless now. he was a poor general in the capacity of commander-in-chief. had he been mentally qualified, his physical condition would have disqualified him. his legs and one of his arms had been shot off in the defense of his country. as a soldier, he was brave, good, noble, and gallant, and fought with the ferociousness of the wounded tiger, and with the everlasting grit of the bull-dog; but as a general he was a failure in every particular. our country is gone, our cause is lost. "_actum est de republica_." chapter xvii the surrender the last act of the drama on the 10th day of may, 1861, our regiment, the first tennessee, left nashville for the camp of instruction, with twelve hundred and fifty men, officers and line. other recruits continually coming in swelled this number to fourteen hundred. in addition to this major fulcher's battalion of four companies, with four hundred men (originally), was afterwards attached to the regiment; and the twenty-seventh tennessee regiment was afterwards consolidated with the first. and besides this, there were about two hundred conscripts added to the regiment from time to time. to recapitulate: the first tennessee, numbering originally, 1,250; recruited from time to time, 150; fulcher's battalion, 400; the twenty-seventh tennessee, 1,200; number of conscripts (at the lowest estimate), 200--making the sum total 3,200 men that belonged to our regiment during the war. the above i think a low estimate. well, on the 26th day of april, 1865, general joe e. johnston surrendered his army at greensboro, north carolina. the day that we surrendered our regiment it was a pitiful sight to behold. if i remember correctly, there were just sixty-five men in all, including officers, that were paroled on that day. now, what became of the original 3,200? a grand army, you may say. three thousand two hundred men! only sixty-five left! now, reader, you may draw your own conclusions. it lacked just four days of four years from the day we were sworn in to the day of the surrender, and it was just four years and twenty four days from the time that we left home for the army to the time that we got back again. it was indeed a sad sight to look at, the old first tennessee regiment. a mere squad of noble and brave men, gathered around the tattered flag that they had followed in every battle through that long war. it was so bullet-riddled and torn that it was but a few blue and red shreds that hung drooping while it, too, was stacked with our guns forever. thermopylae had one messenger of defeat, but when general joe e. johnston surrendered the army of the south there were hundreds of regiments, yea, i might safely say thousands, that had not a representative on the 26th day of april, 1865. our cause was lost from the beginning. our greatest victories-chickamauga and franklin--were our greatest defeats. our people were divided upon the question of union and secession. our generals were scrambling for "_who ranked_." the private soldier fought and starved and died for naught. our hospitals were crowded with sick and wounded, but half provided with food and clothing to sustain life. our money was depreciated to naught and our cause lost. we left our homes four years previous. amid the waving of flags and handkerchiefs and the smiles of the ladies, while the fife and drum were playing dixie and the bonnie blue flag, we bid farewell to home and friends. the bones of our brave southern boys lie scattered over our loved south. they fought for their "_country_," and gave their lives freely for that country's cause: and now they who survive sit, like marius amid the wreck of carthage, sublime even in ruins. other pens abler than mine will have to chronicle their glorious deeds of valor and devotion. in these sketches i have named but a few persons who fought side by side with me during that long and unholy war. in looking back over these pages, i ask, where now are many whose names have appeared in these sketches? they are up yonder, and are no doubt waiting and watching for those of us who are left behind. and, my kind reader, the time is coming when we, too, will be called, while the archangel of death is beating the long roll of eternity, and with us it will be the last reveille. god himself will sound the "assembly" on yonder beautiful and happy shore, where we will again have a grand "reconfederation." we shed a tear over their flower-strewn graves. we live after them. we love their memory yet. but one generation passes away and another generation follows. we know our loved and brave soldiers. we love them yet. but when we pass away, the impartial historian will render a true verdict, and a history will then be written in justification and vindication of those brave and noble boys who gave their all in fighting the battles of their homes, their country, and their god. "the united states has no north, no south, no east, no west." "_we are one and undivided_." adieu my kind friends--soldiers, comrades, brothers, all: the curtain is rung down, the footlights are put out, the audience has all left and gone home, the seats are vacant, and the cold walls are silent. the gaudy tinsel that appears before the footlights is exchanged for the dress of the citizen. coming generations and historians will be the critics as to how we have acted our parts. the past is buried in oblivion. the blood-red flag, with its crescent and cross, that we followed for four long, bloody, and disastrous years, has been folded never again to be unfurled. we have no regrets for what we did, but we mourn the loss of so many brave and gallant men who perished on the field of battle and honor. i now bid you an affectionate adieu. but in closing these memoirs, the scenes of my life pass in rapid review before me. in imagination, i am young again tonight. i feel the flush and vigor of my manhood--am just twenty-one years of age. i hear the fife and drum playing dixie and bonnie blue flag. i see and hear our fire-eating stump-orators tell of the right of secession and disunion. i see our fair and beautiful women waving their handkerchiefs and encouraging their sweethearts to go to the war. i see the marshaling of the hosts for "glorious war." i see the fine banners waving and hear the cry everywhere, "_to arms! to arms!_" and i also see our country at peace and prosperous, our fine cities look grand and gay, our fields rich in abundant harvests, our people happy and contented. all these pass in imagination before me. then i look and see glorious war in all its splendor. i hear the shout and charge, the boom of artillery and the rattle of small arms. i see gaily-dressed officers charging backwards and forwards upon their mettled war horses, clothed in the panoply of war. i see victory and conquest upon flying banners. i see our arms triumph in every battle. and, o, my friends, i see another scene. i see broken homes and broken hearts. i see war in all of its desolation. i see a country ruined and impoverished. i see a nation disfranchised and maltreated. i see a commonwealth forced to pay dishonest and fraudulent bonds that were issued to crush that people. i see sycophants licking the boots of the country's oppressor. i see other and many wrongs perpetrated upon a conquered people. but maybe it is but the ghosts and phantoms of a dreamy mind, or the wind as it whistles around our lonely cabin-home. the past is buried in oblivion. the mantle of charity has long ago fallen upon those who think differently from us. we remember no longer wrongs and injustice done us by anyone on earth. we are willing to forget and forgive those who have wronged and falsified us. we look up above and beyond all these petty groveling things and shake hands and forget the past. and while my imagination is like the weaver's shuttle, playing backward and forward through these two decades of time, i ask myself, are these things real? did they happen? are they being enacted today? or are they the fancies of the imagination in forgetful reverie? is it true that i have seen all these things? that they are real incidents in my life's history? did i see those brave and noble countrymen of mine laid low in death and weltering in their blood? did i see our country laid waste and in ruins? did i see soldiers marching, the earth trembling and jarring beneath their measured tread? did i see the ruins of smouldering cities and deserted homes? did i see my comrades buried and see the violet and wild flowers bloom over their graves? did i see the flag of my country, that i had followed so long, furled to be no more unfurled forever? surely they are but the vagaries of mine own imagination. surely my fancies are running wild tonight. but, hush! i now hear the approach of battle. that low, rumbling sound in the west is the roar of cannon in the distance. that rushing sound is the tread of soldiers. that quick, lurid glare is the flash that precedes the cannon's roar. and listen! that loud report that makes the earth tremble and jar and sway, is but the bursting of a shell, as it screams through the dark, tempestuous night. that black, ebon cloud, where the lurid lightning flickers and flares, that is rolling through the heavens, is the smoke of battle; beneath is being enacted a carnage of blood and death. listen! the soldiers are charging now. the flashes and roaring now are blended with the shouts of soldiers and confusion of battle. but, reader, time has brought his changes since i, a young ardent and impetuous youth, burning with a lofty patriotism first shouldered my musket to defend the rights of my country. lifting the veil of the past, i see many manly forms, bright in youth and hope, standing in view by my side in company h, first tennessee regiment. again i look and half those forms are gone. again, and gray locks and wrinkled faces and clouded brows stand before me. before me, too, i see, not in imagination, but in reality, my own loved jennie, the partner of my joys and the sharer of my sorrows, sustaining, comforting, and cheering my pathway by her benignant smile; pouring the sunshine of domestic comfort and happiness upon our humble home; making life more worth the living as we toil on up the hill of time together, with the bright pledges of our early and constant love by our side while the sunlight of hope ever brightens our pathway, dispelling darkness and sorrow as we hand in hand approach the valley of the great shadow. the tale is told. the world moves on, the sun shines as brightly as before, the flowers bloom as beautifully, the birds sing their carols as sweetly, the trees nod and bow their leafy tops as if slumbering in the breeze, the gentle winds fan our brow and kiss our cheek as they pass by, the pale moon sheds her silvery sheen, the blue dome of the sky sparkles with the trembling stars that twinkle and shine and make night beautiful, and the scene melts and gradually disappears forever. the end. appendix: transcription notes: about "company aytch": "company aytch" was printed as a series of newspaper articles in 1881-1882. first printed in book form, 2000 copies, in 1882. second printing of 2000 copies in 1900. reprinted in 1952 with an introduction and commentary by bell irvin wiley. 10 or more printings by collier books starting in 1962, with an introduction by roy p. basler. the following modifications were applied while transcribing the printed book to etext: quite a few of the sub-headings in the book were printed with a trailing period, while the majority were not. for example, in chapter 11: shooting a deserter. versus target shooting dr. c. t. quintard. versus general joseph e. johnston for the sake of consistency, i have removed these trailing periods. chapter 10 page 123, para 3, fix typo "minne ball" chapter 12 page 168, para 1, fix typo "breckenridge" the following words were sometimes printed hyphenated, sometimes not. in this etext, they are not hyphenated: arch-angel battle-fields foot-lights grave-yard hill-side horse-back re-organization shot-gun up-stairs/down-stairs the following words were sometimes printed hyphenated, sometimes not. in this etext, they are hyphenated: battle-flags the following words were printed using the "ae" or "oe" ligature: caesar diarrhoea thermopylae i did not change the following: some words in this book appear to be mis-spelled, at least by current usage: descendents geneology the author, intentionally or not, consistently mis-spelled several names, including those of capt./col. hume r. feild and gen. albert sidney johnston college, class of 1976 american lutheranism volume i early history of american lutheranism and the tennessee synod by f. bente st. louis, mo. concordia publishing house 1919 preface. essentially, _christianity_ is the special divine faith in the truth revealed by the bible that we are saved, not by our own efforts, works, or merits, but alone by the pure and unmerited grace of god, secured by christ jesus and freely offered in the gospel. and the christian church is the sum total of all those who truly believe, and therefore confess and propagate this truth of the gospel. accordingly, the _history_ of christianity and of the christian church is essentially the record concerning this truth, _viz.,_ how, when, where, by whom, with what success and consistency, etc., it has been proclaimed, received, rejected, opposed, defended, corrupted, and restored again to its original purity. _lutheranism_ is not christianity _plus_ several ideas or modifications of ideas added by luther, but simply christianity, consistent christianity, neither more nor less. and the lutheran church is not a new growth, but merely the restoration of the original christian church with its apostolic, pure confession of the only saving christian truth and faith. the _history_ of lutheranism and of the lutheran church, therefore, is essentially the story concerning the old christian truth, restored by luther, _viz.,_ how, by whom, where, when, etc., this truth was promulgated, embraced, rejected, condemned, defended, corrupted, and restored again to pristine purity. as for _american lutheranism,_ it is not a specific brand of lutheranism, but simply lutheranism in america; for doctrinally lutheranism, like christianity, with which it is identical, is the same the world over. neither is the american lutheran church a distinct species or variety of the lutheran church, but merely the lutheran church in america. the _modified_ lutheranism advocated during the middle of the nineteenth century as "american lutheranism" was a misnomer, for in reality it was neither american nor lutheran, but a sectarian corruption of both. hence, also, the _history_ of american lutheranism is but the record of how the christian truth, restored by luther, was preached and accepted, opposed and defended, corrupted and restored, in our country, at various times, by various men, in various synods and congregations. in the history of american lutheranism _four names_ are of special significance: muhlenberg, schmucker, walther, krauth. h. m. muhlenberg endeavored to transplant to america the modified lutheranism of the halle pietists. s. s. schmucker's ambition was to transmogrify the lutheran church into an essentially unionistic reformed body. c. f. walther labored most earnestly and consistently to purge american lutheranism of its foreign elements, and to restore the american lutheran church to its original purity, in doctrine as well as in practise. in a similar spirit charles porterfield krauth devoted his efforts to revive confessional lutheranism within the english portion of our church. the _first volume_ of our presentation of american lutheranism deals with the early history of lutheranism in america. the second, which appeared first, presents the history of the synods which in 1918 merged into the united lutheran church: the general synod, the general council, and the united synod in the south. the third deals with the history of the ohio, iowa, buffalo, and the scandinavian synods, and, _deo volente,_ will go to press as soon as concordia publishing house will be ready for it. in the fourth volume we purpose to present the history and doctrinal position of the missouri, wisconsin, and other synods connected with the synodical conference. as appears from the two volumes now in the market, _our chief object_ is to record the principal facts regarding the doctrinal position occupied at various times, either by the different american lutheran bodies themselves or by some of their representative men, such comment only being added as we deemed indispensable. we have everywhere indicated our sources, primary as well as secondary, in order to facilitate what we desire, _viz.,_ to hold us to strict accountability. brackets found in passages cited contain additions, comments, corrections, etc., of our own, not of the respective authors quoted. as collateral reading, especially to pages 1 to 147 of vol. i, we urgently recommend the unique, thorough, and reliable work of our sainted colleague _dr. a. graebner:_ "geschichte der lutherischen kirche in amerika. erster teil. st. louis, mo. concordia publishing house, 1892." while, as stated, the immediate object of our presentation is simply to state the facts concerning the questions, theologians, and synods involved, it self-evidently was an _ulterior end_ of ours also, by the grace of god, to be of some service in furthering and maintaining the unity of the spirit, an interest always and everywhere essential to the lutheran church. "may the almighty god and father of our lord jesus grant the grace of his holy spirit that we all may be one in him and constantly abide in such christian unity, which is well-pleasing to him! amen." (_form, of conc_., epit., 11, § 23.) f. bente, concordia seminary, st. louis, mo. july 28, 1919. table of contents. american lutheranism............................page introduction....................................1-10 early history of american lutheranism.........11-147 lutheran swedes in delaware....................11-16 salzburg lutherans in georgia..................16-20 lutherans in new york..........................20-24 justus falckner................................24-29 joshua kocherthal..............................29-32 william christopher berkenmeyer................32-35 deterioration in new york......................35-39 new york ministerium...........................39-42 john christopher hartwick......................42-46 germantown, pennsylvania.......................46-50 slavery of redemptioners.......................50-55 lutherans in pennsylvania......................55-59 henry melchior muhlenberg......................59-64 further activity and death of muhlenberg.......64-70 muhlenberg's confessionalism...................70-73 muhlenberg's pietism...........................73-77 muhlenberg's hierarchical tendencies...........77-83 muhlenberg's unionism..........................84-91 training of ministers and teachers neglected...91-99 deterioration of mother synod.................99-103 unionism in the ascendency...................103-110 typical representatives of synod.............110-113 synod's unlutheran attitude continued........113-116 lutherans in south carolina..................116-119 the north carolina synod.....................119-122 critical conventions.........................122-128 gottlieb shober..............................129-131 north carolina rupture.......................131-134 lutherans in virginia........................134-140 special conference in virginia...............140-144 synod of maryland and virginia...............144-147 tennessee synod..............................148-237 organization.................................148-158 objections to general synod..................158-167 attitude as to church-fellowship.............167-173 efforts at unity and peace...................174-184 tennessee justifying her procedure...........184-191 doctrinal basis..............................192-195 confession enforced..........................195-198 anti-romanistic attitude.....................198-207 anti-methodistic attitude....................207-213 anti-unionistic attitude.....................213-217 tennessee and missouri.......................217-221 peculiarities of tennessee synod.............221-232 the henkels..................................232-237 american lutheranism. introduction. 1. christianity the only real and true religion.--religion is man's filial relation to, and union with, god. natural religion is the concreated relation of adam and eve in their state of innocence toward their creator. fallen man, though he still lives, and moves, and has his being in god, is, in consequence of his sinful nature, _atheos,_ without god, and hence without true and real religion. his attitude toward god is not that of a child to his father. heathen religions are products of the futile efforts of men at reconciling god and restoring union with him by their own penances and works. they are religions invented and made by men. as such they are counterfeit religions, because they persuade men to trust either in fictitious merits of their own or in god's alleged indifference toward sin. christianity is the divine restoration of religion, _i. e.,_ of the true spiritual and filial relation of fallen man toward god. essentially, christianity is the divine trust and assurance that god, according to his own merciful promise in the gospel, is, for the sake of christ and his merits, my pardoning and loving father. it is the religion of justification, restoration, and salvation, not by human efforts and works, but by divine grace only. paganism believes in man and his capacity for self-redemption; christianity believes in the god-man and in salvation by his name and none other. from mohammedanism, buddhism, and all other religions of the world christianity differs essentially, just as jehovah differs from idols, as divine grace differs from human works. christianity is not one of many species of generic religion, but the only true and real religion. nor is christianity related to other religions as the highest stage of an evolutionary process is to its antecedent lower stages. christianity is divine revelation from above, not human evolution from below. based, as it is, on special divine interposition, revelation, and operation, christianity is the supernatural religion. and for fallen man it is the only availing and saving religion, because it alone imparts real pardon, and engenders real and divine assurance of such pardon; because it alone really pacifies the conscience and fully satisfies the heart; and because it alone bestows new spiritual powers of sanctification. christianity is absolute and final, it is the _non plus ultra,_ the alpha and omega, of religion, because its god is the only true god, its mediator is the only-begotten son of god, its ransom is the blood of god, and its gift is perfect union with god. compare john 8, 24; acts 4, 12; john 14, 6; 3, 36; gal. 1, 8. 9. romanism, rationalism, arminianism, synergism, etc., are heathen remnants within, and corruptions of, christianity, elements absolutely foreign to, and _per se_ subversive of, the religion of divine grace and revelation. 2. the church and its manifestations.--the christian church is the sum total of all christians, all true believers in the gospel of salvation by christ and his merits alone. faith always, and it alone, makes one a christian, a member of the church. essentially, then, the church, is invisible, because faith is a divine gift within the heart of man, hence beyond human observation. _dr. walther:_ "the church is invisible because we cannot see faith, the work of the holy spirit, which the members of this church have in their hearts; for we can never with certainty distinguish the true christians, who, properly, alone constitute the church, from the hypocrites." (_lutheraner,_ 1, 21.) _luther:_ "this part, 'i believe a holy christian church,' is an article of faith just as well as the others. hence reason, even when putting on ever so many spectacles, cannot know her. she wants to be known not by seeing, but by believing; faith, however, deals with things which are not seen. heb. 11, 1. a christian may even be hidden from himself, so that he does not see his own holiness and virtue, but observes in himself only fault and unholiness." (luther's works. st. louis, xiv, 139.) in order to belong to the church, it is essential to believe; but it is essential neither to faith nor to the church consciously to know yourself that you believe. nor would it render the church essentially visible, if, by special revelation or otherwise, we infallibly knew of a man that he is a believer indeed. even the word and the sacraments are infallible marks of the church only because, according to god's promise, the preaching of the gospel shall not return without fruit. wherever and only where the gospel is preached are we justified in assuming the existence of christians. yet the church remains essentially invisible, because neither the external act of preaching nor the external act of hearing, but inward, invisible believing alone makes one a christian, a member of the church. inasmuch, however, as faith _manifests_ itself in the confession of the christian truths and in outward works of love, the church, in a way, becomes visible and subject to human observation. yet we dare not infer that the church is essentially visible because its effects are visible. the human soul, though its effects may be seen, remains essentially invisible. god is invisible, though the manifestations of his invisible power and wisdom can be observed in the world. thus also faith and the church remain essentially invisible, even where they manifest their reality in visible effects and works. apart from the confession and proclamation of the gospel and a corresponding christian conversation, the _chief visible effects_ and works of the church are the foundation of local congregations, the calling of ministers, the organization of representative bodies, etc. and when these manifestations and visible works of the church are also called churches, the effects receive the name of the cause, or the whole, the mixed body, is given the name which properly belongs to a part, the true believers, only. visible congregations are called churches as quartz is called gold, and a field is called wheat. 3. visible churches, true and false.--the objects for which christians, in accordance with the will of god, unite, and should unite, in visible churches and local congregations, are mutual christian acknowledgment and edification, common christian confession and labor, and especially the establishment of the communal office of the public ministry of the pure gospel. this object involves, as a divine norm of christian organization, and fellowship, that such only be admitted as themselves believe and confess the divine truths of the bible, and who are not advocates of doctrines contrary to the plain word of god. christian organizations and unions must not be in violation of the christian unity of the spirit. organizations effected in harmony with the divine object and norm of christian fellowship are true visible churches, _i. e.,_ visible unions as god would have them. they are churches of the pure word and sacrament, professing the gospel and deviating from none of its doctrines. christians have no right to embrace, teach, and champion error. they are called upon and bound to believe, teach, and confess all, and only, christian truths. nor may they lawfully organize on a doctrinally false basis. organizations persistently deviating from the doctrines of the bible and establishing a doctrinally false basis, are sects, _i. e.,_ false or impure visible churches. yet, though error never saves, moreover, when consistently developed, has the tendency of corrupting the whole lump, false churches may be instrumental in saving souls, inasmuch as they retain essential parts of the gospel-truths, and inasmuch as god's grace may neutralize the accompanying deadly error, or stay its leavening power. indeed, individuals, by the grace of god, though errorists in their heads, may be truthists in their hearts; just as one who is orthodox in his head may, by his own fault, be heterodox in his heart. a catholic may, by rote, call upon the saints with his lips, and yet, by the grace of god, in his heart, put his trust in christ. and a lutheran may confess christ and the doctrine of grace with his lips, and yet in his heart rely on his own good character. false churches as such, however, inasmuch as theirs is a banner of rebellion in the kingdom of christ, do not exist by god's approval, but merely by his sufferance. it is their duty to reform on a basis of doctrinal purity and absolute conformity with the word of god. 4. the lutheran church the true visible church.--the lutheran church is the only known religious body which, in the book of concord of 1580, confesses the truths of the gospel without admixture of any doctrines contrary to the bible. hence its organization is in perfect harmony with the divine object and norm of christian union and fellowship. its basis of union is the pure word and sacrament. indeed, the lutheran church is not the universal or only christian church, for there are many believers belonging to other christian bodies. nor is it the only saving church, because there are other churches preaching christian truths, which, by the grace of god, prove sufficient and powerful to save men. the lutheran church is the church of the _pure_ word and the _unadulterated_ sacraments. it is the only church proclaiming the alone-saving truth of the gospel _in its purity_. it is the church with a doctrinal basis which has the unqualified approval of the scriptures, a basis which, materially, all churches must accept if they would follow the lead of the bible. and being doctrinally the pure church, the lutheran church is the true visible church of god on earth. while all sectarian churches corrupt god's word and the sacraments, it is the peculiar glory of the lutheran church that it proclaims the gospel in its purity, and administers the sacraments without adulteration. this holds good with regard to all lutheran organizations that are lutheran in truth and reality. true and faithful lutherans, however, are such only as, being convinced by actual comparison that the concordia of 1580 is in perfect agreement with the holy bible, subscribe to these symbols _ex animo_ and without mental reservation or doctrinal limitation, and earnestly strive to conform to them in practise as well as in theory. subscription only to the augustana or to luther's small catechism is a sufficient test of lutheranism, provided that the limitation does not imply, and is not interpreted as, a rejection of the other lutheran symbols or any of its doctrines. lutheran churches or synods, however, deviating from, or doctrinally limiting their subscription to, this basis of 1580, or merely _pro forma,_ professing, but not seriously and really living its principles and doctrines, are not truly lutheran in the adequate sense of the term, though not by any means un-lutheran in every sense of that term. 5. bible and book of concord on christian union and fellowship.-nothing is more frequently taught and stressed by the bible than the truth that church-fellowship presupposes, and must be preceded by, unity in the spirit, in doctrine. amos 3, 3: "how can two walk together except they be agreed?" according to the bible the word of god alone is to be taught, heard, and confessed in the christian church. only true teachers are to preach, in the church: deut. 13, 6 ff.; jer. 23, 28. 31. 32; matt. 5, 19; 28, 20; 2 cor. 2, 17; gal. 1, 8; 1 tim. 4, 16; 1 pet. 4, 11. christians are to listen to true teachers only: matt. 7, 15; john 8, 31; 10, 27. 5; acts 2, 42; rom. 16, 17; 2 john 10; 1 tim. 6, 3-5; eph. 4, 14; titus 3, 10; 2 cor. 6, 14-18. in the church the true doctrine, and only the true doctrine, is to be confessed, and that unanimously by all of its members: 1 cor. 1, 10; eph. 4, 3-6. 13; 1 tim. 5, 22; matt. 10, 32. 33. christian union and fellowship without the "same mind," the "same judgment," and the "same speech" with respect to the christian truths is in direct conflict with the clear scriptures. the unity of the spirit demanded eph. 4, 3 requires that christians be one in doctrine, one, not 50 or 75, but 100 per cent. with this attitude of the bible toward christian union and fellowship the lutheran symbols agree. the eleventh [tr. note: sic!] article of the augsburg confession declares: "for this is sufficient to true unity of the christian church that the gospel be preached unanimously according to the pure understanding, and that the sacraments be administered in agreement with the divine word. and it is not necessary to true unity of the christian church that uniform ceremonies, instituted by men, be observed everywhere, as st. paul says, eph. 4, 4. 5: 'one body, one spirit, even as ye are called in one hope of your calling; one lord, one faith, one baptism.'" "pure understanding of the gospel" is here contrasted with "ceremonies instituted by men." accordingly, with respect to everything that god plainly teaches in the bible unity is required, while liberty prevails only in such things as are instituted by men. in this sense the lutheran church understands the _"satis est"_ of the augustana, as appears from the tenth article of the formula of concord: "we believe, teach, and confess also that no church should condemn another because one has less or more external ceremonies not commanded by god than the other, if otherwise there is agreement among them in doctrine and all its articles, as also in the right use of the sacraments, according to the well-known saying: 'disagreement in fasting does not destroy agreement in faith.'" (mueller 553, 7.) it cannot, then, be maintained successfully that, according to the lutheran symbols, some doctrines, though clearly taught in the bible, are irrelevant and not necessary to church-fellowship. the lutheran confessions neither extend the requirements for christian union to human teachings and institutions, nor do they limit them to merely a part of the divine doctrines of the bible. they err neither _in excessu_ nor _in defectu_. accordingly, lutherans, though not unmindful of the admonition to bear patiently with the weak, the weak also in doctrine and knowledge, dare not countenance any denial on principle of any of the christian doctrines, nor sanction the unionistic attitude, which maintains that denial of minor christian truths does not and must not, in any way, affect christian union and fellowship. in the "treatise on the power of the pope" the book of concord says: "it is a hard thing to want to separate from so many countries and people and maintain a separate doctrine. but here stands god's command that every one shall be separate from, and not be agreed with, those who teach falsely," etc. (§42.) 6. misguided efforts at christian union.--perhaps never before has christendom been divided in as many sects as at present. denominationalism, as advocated by philip schaff and many unionists, defends this condition. it views the various sects as lawful specific developments of generic christianity, or as different varieties of the same spiritual life of the church, as regiments of the same army, marching separately, but attacking the same common foe. judged in the light of the bible, however, the numerous sects, organized on various aberrations from the plain word of god, are, as such, not normal developments, but corruptions, abnormal formations, and diseased conditions of the christian church. others, realizing the senseless waste of moneys and men, and feeling the shame of the scandalous controversies, the bitter conflicts, and the dishonorable competition of the disrupted christian sects, develop a feverish activity in engineering and promoting external ecclesiastical unions, regardless of internal doctrinal dissensions. for centuries the pope has been stretching out his arms to the greek and protestant churches, even making concessions to the ruthenians and other uniates as to the language of the liturgy, the marriage of priests, the cup to be given to the laity, etc. in order to present a united political front to the pope and the emperor, zwingli, in 1529, offered luther the hand of fellowship in spite of doctrinal differences. in political interests, frederick william iii of prussia, in 1817, forced a union without unity on the lutherans and reformed of his kingdom. in america this prussian union was advocated by the german evangelical synod of north america. the church of england, in 1862, 1874, and 1914, endeavored to establish a union with the old catholics and the russian church even at the sacrifice of the _filioque_. (the lutherans, when, in 1559 and again in 1673 to 1681, negotiations were opened to bring about an understanding with the greek church, insisted on unity in the doctrines of justification and of free will, to which jeremiah ii took exception.) pierpont morgan, a number of years ago, appropriated a quarter million dollars in order to bring the churches of america under the leadership of the protestant episcopal church, which demands as the only condition of union the recognition of their "historical episcopate," a fiction, historical as well as doctrinal. in 1919 three protestant episcopal bishops crossed the seas seeking a conference with the pope and the representatives of the greek orthodox churches in the interest of a league of churches. the evangelical alliance, organized 1846 at london, aimed to unite all protestants against rome on a basis of nine general statements, from which the distinctive doctrines were eliminated. the federal council, embracing 30 protestant denominations, was organized with the definite understanding that no church, by joining, need sacrifice any of its peculiar doctrines. the unions effected between the congregationalists and methodists in canada, and between the calvinistic northern presbyterians and the arminian cumberland presbyterians in our own country, were also unionistic. since the beginning of the last century the campbellites and kindred sects were zealous in uniting the churches by urging them to drop their distinctive names and confessions, call themselves "christians" or "disciples," and accept as their confession the bible only. indeed, the number of physicians seeking to heal the schisms of christendom is legion. but their cure is worse than the disease. unionistic henotics cannot but fail utterly, because their object is not unity in the spirit of truth, but union in the spirit of diversity and error. 7. lutherans qualified to head true union movement.--most of the union-efforts are failures _ab initio_. they seek outward union without inward unity. they proceed on a false diagnosis of the case. they observe the symptoms, and outlook or intentionally ignore the hidden cause, the deviations from the word of god, which disturb the unity of the spirit. and doctrinal discussions, which alone can bring about a real cure, are intentionally omitted and expressly declared taboo, as, _e. g._, by the federal council. the church, suffering from blood-poisoning, is pronounced cured when the sores have been covered. they put a plaster over the gap in zion's wall, which may hide, but does not heal, the breach. universally, sectarian henotics have proved to be spiritual quacks with false aims, false methods, and false diagnosis. nowhere among the sects a single serious effort to cure the malady from within and to restore to the church of christ real unity, unity in the true doctrine! indeed, how could a genuine unity-union movement originate with the sects? can the blind lead the blind? can the beggar enrich the poor? can the sects give to christendom what they themselves are in need of? the lutheran church is the only denomination qualified to head a true unity-union movement, because she alone is in full possession of those unadulterated truths without which there can be neither true christian unity nor god-pleasing christian union. accordingly, the lutheran church has the mission to lead the way in the efforts at healing the ruptures of christendom. but in order to do so, the lutheran church must be loyal to herself, loyal to her principles, and true to her truths. the mere lutheran name is unavailing. the american lutheran synods, in order successfully to steer a unity-union movement, must purge themselves thoroughly from the leaven of error, of indifferentism and unionism. a complete and universal return to the lutheran symbols is the urgent need of the hour. only when united in undivided loyalty to the divine truths of god's word, will the american lutheran church be able to measure up to its peculiar calling of restoring to christendom the truths of the gospel in their pristine purity, and in and with these truths the true unity of the spirit and a fellowship and union, both beneficial to man and well-pleasing to god. 8. lutheran statistics.--god has blessed the lutheran church in america abundantly, more than in any other country of the world. from a few scattered groups she has grown into a great people. in 1740 there were in america about 50 lutheran congregations. in 1820 the lutheran church numbered 6 synods, with almost 900 congregations, 40,000 communicants, and 175 pastors. in 1867 about 1,750 pastors, 3,100 congregations, and 332,000 communicants. twenty-five years later, 60 synods, with about 5,000 pastors, 8,390 congregations, and 1,187,000 communicants. in the jubilee year, 1917, the lutheran church in america embraced (besides about 200 independent congregations) 65 synods, 24 of which belonged to the general synod (350,000 communicants), 13 to the general council (500,000 communicants), 8 to the united synod south (53,000 communicants), and 6 to the synodical conference (800,000 communicants). the entire lutheran church in america reported in 1917 about 9,700 pastors; 15,200 congregations; 2,450,000 communicants; 28 theological seminaries, with 112 professors and 1,170 students; 41 colleges, with 640 professors and 950 students; 59 academies, with 404 teachers and 6,700 pupils; 8 ladies' seminaries, with 72 instructors and 340 pupils; 64 orphanages, with 4,200 inmates; 12 home-finding and children's friend societies; 45 homes for the aged, with 1,650 inmates; 7 homes for defectives, with 430 inmates; 9 deaconess homes, with 370 sisters; 50 hospitals; 19 hospices; 17 immigrant homes and seamen's missions; and 10 miscellaneous institutions; a large number of periodicals of many kinds, printed in numerous lutheran publishing houses, in english, german, swedish, norwegian and danish, icelandic, finnish, slavonian, lettish, esthonian, polish, portuguese, lithuanian, etc., etc. early history of american lutheranism. lutheran swedes in delaware. 9. new sweden.--the first lutheran pastor who set his foot on american soil in august, 1619, was rasmus jensen of denmark. he was chaplain of a danish expedition numbering 66 lutherans under captain jens munck, who took possession of the land about hudson bay in the name of the danish crown. in his diary we read of the faithful pastoral work, the sermons, and the edifying death, on february 20, 1620, of this lutheran pastor. however, the first lutheran minister to serve a _lutheran colony_ in america was reorus torkillus. he was born in 1609 at faessberg, sweden, educated at linkoeping, and for a time was chaplain at goeteborg. gustavus adolphus already had entertained the idea of founding a colony in america, chiefly for the purpose of carrying on mission-work among the indians. peter minuit, a german, who had come to manhattan island in 1626 to represent the interests of the dutch west india company (organized in 1621), led also the first swedish expedition to delaware in december, 1637. nine expeditions followed, until the flourishing colony was captured by the dutch in 1655. the work of torkillus, who died september 7, 1643, was continued by john campanius (1601 to 1683), who arrived on february 15, 1643. three years later, one hundred years after the death of luther, he dedicated the first lutheran church in america at christina (wilmington). his translation of luther's small catechism into the language of the delaware indians antedates eliot's indian bible, but was not published till 1696. returning to sweden in 1648, campanius left about 200 souls in the charge of lars lock (lockenius), who served them until his end, in 1688. in 1654, pastors vertunius and hjorst arrived with 350 additional souls. both, however, returned to sweden when stuyvesant took possession of the colony in 1655, permitting the swedes in delaware to retain only lars lock as pastor. jacob fabricius, who, after rendering his stay in new amsterdam (new york) impossible, was laboring among the dutch along the delaware from 1671 to 1675, before long also began to do mission-work among the swedes and finns, at the same time intriguing against lock, whose cup of sorrow was already filled with family troubles and other griefs. in 1677 fabricius took charge of the swedes at wicaco (philadelphia), where he, though blind since 1682, continued faithfully to wait on his office until his death in 1693 (1696). he preached in dutch, which, as reported, the swedes "spoke perfectly." 10. succored by the king of sweden.--in 1692 the now orphaned lutherans in delaware addressed themselves to karl xi, who promised to help them. however, four years passed before pastor rudman arrived with two assistants, bjoerk (bioerck) and auren, as well as with a consignment of bibles and other books. new life entered the swedish colony. in 1699 the new trinity church was erected at christina, and in 1700 gloria dei church in wicaco (philadelphia). from the very beginning, however, a spirit of legalism, hierarchy, and of unionism wormed its way into the promising harvest. the congregations were not taught to govern themselves, but were ruled by provosts sent from sweden. in the interest of discipline, andreas sandel, who arrived in 1702, introduced a system of monetary penances. in his _history of the lutheran church in america_ dr. a. graebner writes: "whoever came to church tipsy, was to pay 40 shillings and do public penance. blasphemy of the divine word or the sacraments carried with it a fine of 5 pounds sterling and church penance; to sing at unseemly hours was punished by a fine of 6 shillings; such as refused to submit to the discipline were to be excluded from the congregation and to be refused interment at its cemetery." (86.) eric unander, who returned to sweden in 1760, employed the same methods to keep order in the congregational meetings. a. rudman, after his brief pastorate among the dutch lutherans in new york during 1702, returned to philadelphia. from 1707 to his death, in 1708, he served an episcopal church without severing his connection with the swedes. his successors followed his footsteps. from 1737 to 1741 j. dylander preached at gloria dei church in german, swedish, and english every sunday, served the germans in germantown and lancaster, and, in the absence of their pastor, ministered also to the episcopalians. the same practise was observed by the provosts: eric bjoerk, who was appointed the first provost in 1712, and returned to sweden in 1714; a. sandel, who also served episcopalian congregations and returned in 1719; a. hesselius, who left in 1723, and in sweden, 1725, published a short report of the conditions prevailing in america; peter tranberg, who was stationed at raccoon and pennsneck, n. j., from 1726 to 1740, and at christina till his death in 1748; j. sandin, who arrived in 1746, dying two years later; israel acrelius, who arrived in 1749, saw the language question become acute, served episcopalian congregations, and returned to sweden in 1756, where he published (1759) a description of the conditions in new sweden; olaf parlin, who arrived in 1750 and died in 1757; dr. c. m. wrangel, who was provost from 1759 to 1768, assisted in rejuvenating the pennsylvania synod in 1760, and began a seminary with peter muhlenberg, daniel kuhn, and christian streit as students; nils collin, whose activity extended from 1770 to 1831, during which time he had eight episcopalian assistant pastors in succession. 11. church-fellowship with episcopalians.--in 1710 pastor sandel reported as follows on the unionism practised by the swedes and episcopalians: "as pastors and teachers we have at all times maintained friendly relations and intimate converse with the english preachers, one always availing himself of the help and advice of the other. at their pastoral conferences we always consulted with them. we have repeatedly preached english in their churches when the english preachers lacked the time because of a journey or a death. if anywhere they laid the corner-stone of a church, we were invited, and attended. when their church in philadelphia was enlarged, and the presbyterians had invited them to worship in their church, they declined and asked permission to come out to wicaco and conduct their services in our church, which i granted. this occurred three sundays in succession, until their church was finished; and, in order to manifest the unity still more, swedish hymns were sung during the english services. also bishop swedberg [of sweden], in his letters, encouraged us in such unity and intimacy with the anglicans; although there exists some difference between them and us touching the lord's supper, etc., yet he did not want that small difference to rend asunder the bond of peace. we enter upon no discussion of this point; neither do we touch upon such things when preaching in their churches; nor do they seek to win our people to their view in this matter; on the contrary, we live in intimate and brotherly fashion with one another, they also calling us brethren. they have the government in their hands, we are under them; it is enough that they desire to have such friendly intercourse with us; we can do nothing else than render them every service and fraternal intimacy as long as they are so amiable and confiding, and have not sought in the least to draw our people into their churches. as our church is called by them 'the sister church of the church of england,' so we also live fraternally together. god grant that this may long continue!" (g., 118.) thus from the very beginning the swedish bishops encouraged and admonished their emissaries to fraternize especially with the episcopalians. and the satisfaction with this state of affairs on the part of the episcopalian ministers appears from the following testimonial which they gave to hesselius and j. a. lidenius in 1723: "they were ever welcome in our pulpits, as we were also welcome in their pulpits. such was our mutual agreement in doctrine and divine service, and so regularly did they attend our conferences that, aside from the different languages in which we and they were called to officiate, no difference could be perceived between us." (131.) 12. absorbed by the episcopal church.--the evil influence which the unionism practised by the swedish provosts and ministers exercised upon the lutheran congregations appears from the resolution of the congregation at pennsneck, in 1742, henceforth to conduct english services exclusively, and that, according to the book of common prayer. in the same year pastor gabriel naesman wrote to sweden: "as to my congregation, the people at first were scattered among other congregations, and among the sects which are tolerated here, and it is with difficulty that i gather them again to some extent. the great lack of harmony prevailing among the members makes my congregation seem like a kingdom not at one with itself, and therefore near its ruin." (335.) the unionism indulged in also accounts for the trouble which the swedes experienced with the emissaries of zinzendorf: l. t. nyberg, abr. reinke, and p. d. bryzelius (who severed his connection with the moravians in 1760, became a member of the pennsylvania synod, and in 1767 was ordained by the bishop of london). unionism paved the way, and naturally led to the final undoing of the lutheran swedes in delaware. it was but in keeping with the unionism advised from sweden, practised in delaware, and indulged in to the limit by himself, when provost wrangel gave the final _coup de grace_ to the first lutheran church in america. dr. wrangel, the bosom-friend of h. m. muhlenberg, openly and extensively fraternized not only with the episcopalians, but also with the reformed, the presbyterians (in princeton), and the methodists, notably the revivalist whitefield. and, evidently foreseeing the early and unavoidable _debacle_ of swedish lutheranism in delaware, von wrangel, at his departure for sweden, suffered the episcopalians to use him as a tool to deliver the poor, weakened, and oppressed congregations, whose leader he had been, into the hands of the anglicans. (392.) on his way home wrangel carried with him an important letter of introduction from the episcopalian richard peters to the bishop of london, the ecclesiastical superior of the anglican ministers and congregations in the american colonies. the letter, dated august 30, 1768, reads, in part: "now dr. wrangel intends to utilize properly the general aversion [in delaware] to the presbyterians in order to unite the great mass of lutherans and swedes with with the church of england, which, as you know, is but small numerically and in humble circumstances in this province; through union with the german lutherans, however, we both would become respectable. according to dr. smith's and my opinion this could be effected through our academy. in it we could establish a theological professorship; then german and english young men could be educated, and as their training would embrace both languages, they could preach german as well as english at places where both nations are mixed. that would unite us all and make us one people in life and love. it is a happy thought. i would desire your excellency to speak with dr. wrangel, and encourage him as much as possible. in this matter i have written to the two archbishops, asking them to consider it carefully together with your excellency. i am sure that now the opportunity is good to bring this desirable affair to a happy conclusion." (394.) in a document dated june 25, 1789, the swedish government served official notice on the congregations in america that in future they could no longer expect help from sweden, alleging that, whereas "the purpose, the swedish tongue," had come to an end, it was but just that in future also the disbursements in sweden should be discontinued. (401.) the result was that one congregation after another united with the episcopalians. by 1846 the lutheran name had disappeared from the last charter. thus the entire swedish mission territory, all of whose congregations exist to the present day, was lost to the lutheran church. the chief causes of this loss were: unionism, hierarchical paternalism, interference from sweden, the failure to provide for schools and for the training of suitable pastors, and the lack of swedish and, later, of english lutheran literature. the report of the pennsylvania ministerium of 1762 remarks: "for several generations the swedish schools unfortunately have been neglected in the swedish congregations; dr. wrangel, however, has organized an english school in one of his parishes where luther's catechism is read in an english translation." from the very beginning the foundations of the lutheran structure along the delaware were both laid insecurely and undermined by its builders. salzburg lutherans in georgia. 13. banished by archbishop anton firmian.--like the swedes in delaware, so also the salzburg lutherans in georgia, as a church, have disappeared in the course of years. the story of their vicissitudes and especially of their colony ebenezer, however, has retained a peculiar charm. on reformation day of 1731 the cruel archbishop anton, knight of firmian, issued a manifesto which ordered the evangelicals of salzburg, austria, either to return to the bosom of the catholic church, or to emigrate, leaving their property and their young children behind them. some eighteen thousand lutherans chose banishment rather than deny the faith that was in them. on their journey the exiles awakened lively sympathy by singing their _exulantenlied_ (hymn of the exiles) which joseph schaitberger had composed for those banished in 1685. the eleven stanzas of this hymn read in the original as follows: "1. i bin ein armer exulant, a so tu i mi schreiba; ma tuet mi aus dem vaterland um gottes wort vertreiba. 2. das wass i wohl, herr jesu christ, es is dir a so ganga. itzt will i dein nachfolger sein; herr, mach's nach deim verlanga! 3. a pilgrim bin i halt numehr, muss reise fremde strossa; das bitt i di, mein gott und herr, du wirst mi nit verlossa. 4. den glauba hob i frei bekennt, des derf i mi nit schaema, wenn ma mi glei ein ketzer nennt und tuet mir's leba nehma. 5. ketta und banda wor mir en ehr um jesu willa z' dulda, und dieses macht die glaubenslehr und nit mei boes verschulda. 6. muss i glei in das elend fort, will i mi do nit wehra; so hoff i do, gott wird mir dort och gute fruend beschera. 7. herr, wie du willt, i gib mi drein, bei dir will i verbleiba; i will mi gern dem wille dein geduldig unterschreiba. 8. muss i glei fort, in gottes nam! und wird mir ales g'nomma, so wass i wohl, die himmelskron wer i amal bekomma. 9. so muss i heut von meinem haus, die kinderl muss i lossa. mei gott, es treibt mir zaehrel aus, zu wandern fremde strossa. 10. mein gott, fuehr mi in ene stodt, wo i dein wort kann hoba, darin will i di frueh und spot in meinem herzel loba. 11. soll i in diesem jammertal noch laenger in armut leba, so hoff i do, gott wird mir dort ein bessre wohnung geba."--the cruelly persecuted and banished salzburgers were hospitably received in prussia and holland, where many found a permanent home. others resolved to emigrate to georgia, where, through the mediation of dr. urlsperger of augsburg and the court preacher ziegenhagen of london, the british government promised them religious liberty and other advantages. 14. ebenezer in georgia.--the first ninety-one persons of the salzburg colony, which later numbered about 1,200 souls, landed at savannah, march 10, 1734. they were accompanied by pastors john martin bolzius and israel christian gronau, who had received their education at halle. governor oglethorpe led the immigrants twenty-three miles northwest of their landing-place, where they erected a monument of stones and called the settlement ebenezer. seven years later (1741) jerusalem church was built, for which also whitefield had made collections in europe. in 1743 a second church was dedicated in the country. dr. graebner records the following statistics: "in 1743 the congregation numbered 279 souls: 81 men, 70 married women, 6 widows, 52 boys, 59 girls, and 11 maid-servants." (554.) in 1744 the salzburgers celebrated the tenth anniversary of their deliverance on the tenth of march, a day which was annually observed by them as a day of thanksgiving. sorrow followed the joyous celebration, for in the following year, january 11, 1745, their beloved pastor gronau was called to his eternal reward. dwelling on gronau's edifying death, bolzius wrote in a letter dated january 14, 1845: "his heart was in deep communion with the dear savior. with profound desire he received the lord's supper a few days before his dissolution. he distinctly recognized all who surrounded him [when he was dying], and exhorted them to praise god. it seemed, and such was also inferred from his words, as though, like stephen, he saw something extraordinarily beautiful and glorious. at last, after stretching forth his hands and taking leave of all, he directed his folded hands toward heaven, praying and praising god. finally, saying, 'do come, lord jesus, amen, amen, amen!' he closed his eyes and mouth, and entered peacefully into the joy of god." (556.) gronau was succeeded by pastor h. h. lemke, of schaumburg, who previously had been active in the institutions at halle. his diploma of vocation was signed by samuel urlsperger in the stead and name of the english society for the promotion of the knowledge of christ. thus ebenezer was actually the foundation of a mission society whose members were for the most part adherents of the reformed church. in 1742 pastor john ulrich driessler had been called to the congregation of frederica, south of savannah. he entered upon his labors in 1744, and died three years later. in the following years several ships arrived bringing emigrants from swabia. to meet the growing needs pastor chr. rabenhorst was sent to the colony in 1753. in 1765 pastor bolzius died, sixty-two years old, repeating the words: "father, i will that they also whom thou hast given me be with me where i am, that they may behold my glory which thou hast given me." (john 17, 24.) none of the three pastors, who were easily able to minister to the spiritual needs of the colony, displayed a missionary spirit in any marked degree. 15. dissension and disintegration.--while bolzius, lemke, and rabenhorst had labored together in harmony, dissension and strife began to blast the blissful peace and quiet contentment of ebenezer, when, after the death also of lemke, pastor c. f. triebner arrived in 1773. the congregation was torn by factions, the minority siding with triebner in his bitter opposition to rabenhorst. when the majority refused triebner permission to officiate in the church, the minority forced the doors. after a new lock had been secured by the majority, the minority began to conduct separate services in the home of john wertsch, and entered suit before the governor of georgia. this brought about the loss of their church property, the governor, in accordance with the express wording of the patent grant of april 2, 1771, deeding jerusalem church to the episcopalians. the patent contained the provision: "... for the only proper use, benefit, and behoof of two ministers of the gospel, residents within the parish aforesaid, using and exercising divine service according to the rites and ceremonies of the church of england within the said parish and their successors forever." (599.) in 1774 muhlenberg arrived, commissioned by the "english society" to conduct an investigation and restore peace. a reconciliation was effected, and articles of agreement were signed by the pastors and the members of the congregation. before long, however, the old discord broke out again and continued unabated until the death of pastor rabenhorst in 1777. triebner now secured a firm footing in the congregation. but new storms were brewing for the poor people. in 1775 the war of independence had broken out, in which triebner not only espoused the cause of england himself, but urged his congregation to do the same, thereby bringing untold misery upon ebenezer. triebner, taken captive and severely dealt with, finally found his way back to europe. after the war ebenezer presented a sad spectacle. soldiers had used the church as a hospital and stable; rabenhorst's home had been given to the flames; fields were laid waste; and the inhabitants were scattered and despoiled of their property. the congregation, however, recovered, and through the endeavors of urlsperger received a new pastor in the person of john ernest bergmann, who had studied at leipzig. in 1785 he assumed the duties at ebenezer, formerly discharged by two and three pastors. but, though a diligent worker, bergmann was not a faithful lutheran, nor did he build up a truly lutheran congregation. there came a time when but very little of lutheranism was to be found in the old colony of the salzburgers. (600.) during bergmann's long pastorate, which was conducted in the german language exclusively until 1824, the americanized young people gradually began to drift away from the mother church. however, to the present day descendants of the salzburgers are found in the lutheran congregations of savannah and of the georgia synod. lutherans in new york. 16. persecuted in new amsterdam.--in the first part of the seventeenth century the lutheran church was by law prohibited and oppressed in the united netherlands. when the power of the papists had come to an end, reformed tendencies gained the ascendency, and calvinists reaped where lutherans had sowed with tears. while claiming to be adherents of the augsburg confession, they persecuted the lutherans, forbidding all lutheran worship in public meeting-houses as well as in private dwellings. nevertheless the lutheran church not only continued to exist, but even made some headway in amsterdam, antwerp, and other places. the greatest handicap, however, which also prevented the dutch lutherans from developing any missionary activity, was the lack of a native ministry thoroughly conversant with the language of the people. conditions similar to those in holland obtained in the american colonies. like the mother country, new amsterdam had a law prohibiting the exercise of any religion save that of the reformed faith. sanford h. cobb, in his work _the rise of religious liberty in america_, quotes the law as follows: "no other religion shall be publicly admitted in new netherland except the reformed, as it is at present preached and practised by public authority in the united netherlands; and for this purpose the [dutch west india] company shall provide and maintain good and suitable preachers, schoolmasters, and comforters of the sick (ziekentrooster)." (303, 321 f.) however, the report of the jesuit jogues, who sojourned in the colony in about 1642, shows that this law was not strictly enforced during the first part of the century. also the lutherans were permitted to conduct reading-services in their homes. but when the dutch and german lutherans (the former having arrived in new amsterdam probably as early as 1624) had organized a congregation in 1648, and in 1653 requested the authorities to grant them permission to call a lutheran pastor, they received a curt refusal at the hands of the governor, peter stuyvesant. the two reformed domines, megapolensis, who had arrived in 1649, and drisius, who came in 1652 (the successors to michaelius, who came over in 1623, and bogardus, who followed him in 1632), proved to be the most bigoted and fanatical in the opposition to the request of the lutherans. instead of their petition being granted, the lutherans were now forced to have their children baptized in the reformed churches by reformed pastors, and to promise to bring them up in the confession of dort; and private services in dwellings were made punishable with severe penalties. peter stuyvesant, who was also deacon of the reformed church, declared at the close of a session of the church council, that, if any one ever dared to appeal from his decision to the authorities in holland, he would reduce his stature by the length of his head and send him back to the old country in pieces. but the lutherans were not intimidated. when stuyvesant denied their request for a lutheran pastor, they appealed to the authorities overseas. the two reformed domines also sent a letter to holland, setting forth the dire consequences which were bound to follow in the wake of such religious toleration. 17. moderation advised.--the authorities in holland agreed with the intolerant domines and directed stuyvesant to allow none but the reformed religion. yet, while denying the request of the lutherans, they, at the same time, urged the governor to employ mildness and moderate means in dealing with them. cobb gives the following translation of these instructions: "we have decided absolutely to deny the request made by some of our inhabitants, adherents of the augsburg confession, for a preacher and free exercise of their religion, pursuant to the custom hitherto observed by us and the west india company, on account of the consequences arising therefrom; and we recommend to you also not to receive any similar petitions, but rather to turn them off in the most civil and least offensive way, and to employ all possible, but moderate means to induce them to listen and finally join the reformed church." (313.) the letter was dated february 26, 1654. but notwithstanding this rebuff, the lutherans persisted in their demand, and held religious services in their houses without a minister, declaring that "heaven was above law." this excited the wrath of the autocratic governor, who was not accustomed to brook opposition, nor knew how to employ mildness, wisdom, and "moderate means" in dealing with anybody, least of all with the lutherans. instead of persuasion he employed force; and instead of trying "the most civil and least offensive way," he resorted to harsh and most offensive measures. on february 1, 1656, a stringent "ordinance against conventicles" was posted, which ran: "some unqualified persons in such meetings assume the ministerial office, the expounding and explanation of the holy word of god, without being called or appointed thereto by ecclesiastical or civil authority, which is in direct contravention and opposition to the general civil and ecclesiastical order of our fatherland, besides that many dangerous heresies and schisms are to be apprehended. therefore, the director-general and council . . . absolutely and expressly forbid all such conventicles and meetings, whether public or private, differing from the customary, and not only lawful, but scripturally founded and ordained meetings of the reformed divine service, as this is observed . . . according to the synod of dordrecht." the penalties imposed by the act were 100 _flemish_ pounds for the preacher and 25 pounds for every attendant at such services. (317.) a number of lutherans were cast into prison. realizing that such harsh measures would prove hurtful to their business interests, the authorities in holland, in an order dated june 14, 1656, rebuked stuyvesant for his high-handed procedure, saying: "we should have gladly seen that your honor had not posted up the transmitted edict against the lutherans, and had not punished them by imprisonment, . . . inasmuch as it has always been our intention to treat them with all peaceableness and quietness. wherefore, your honor shall not cause any more such or similar edicts to be published without our previous knowledge, but suffer the matter to pass in silence, and permit them their free worship in their houses." (314.) 18. johannes ernestus gutwasser.--evidently, to the lutherans the time seemed favorable to renew their urgent requests for a pastor of their own. and in july, 1657, johannes ernestus gutwasser (not goetwater, or gutwater, or goetwasser), a german, sent by the lutheran consistory of amsterdam, arrived on manhattan island. great was the fury of the reformed domines and vehement their clamor for his immediate return. they wrote a letter to the classis in amsterdam in which, according to cobb, "they relate that 'a lutheran preacher, goetwater, arrived to the great joy of the lutherans and the especial discontent and disappointment of the congregation of this place, yea, of the whole land, even the english. we went to the director-general,' who summoned goetwater, and found that he had as credentials only a letter from a lutheran consistory in europe to the lutheran church in new amsterdam. the governor ordered him not to preach, even in a private house. the domines lament, 'we already have the snake in our bosom,' and urge stuyvesant to open the consistory's letter, which, oddly enough, he refused to do, but consented to the ministers' demand that goetwater be sent back in the ship that brought him. [']now this lutheran parson,' the dutch ministers conclude, 'is a man of a godless and scandalous life; a rolling, rollicking, unseemly carl, who is more inclined to look into the wine-can than to pore over the bible, and would rather drink a can of brandy for two hours than preach one.'" (315.) but, though maligned and persecuted, gutwasser did not suffer himself to be intimidated, and even begun to preach. so great and persistent, however, was the fury of the fanatics that he was finally compelled to yield and return to holland, in 1659. the second lutheran pastor to arrive on manhattan island while the dutch were still in power was abelius zetskorn, whom stuyvesant directed to the dutch settlement of new amstel (new castle) on the delaware. the tyranny of stuyvesant, however, was abruptly ended when in 1664 the english fleet sailed into the harbor and compelled the surrender of new amsterdam. in the articles of capitulation it was specifically agreed that "the dutch here shall enjoy the liberty of their consciences in divine worship and church discipline." and according to the proclamation of the duke of york, also the lutherans were granted religious liberty, "as long as his royal highness shall not order otherwise." justus falckner. 19. fabricius, arensius, falckner in new york.--in 1669, five years after the fall of new amsterdam, magister jacobus fabricius was sent over by the lutheran consistory of amsterdam to minister to the lutherans in new york and albany. being of a churlish and quarrelsome nature, he soon fell out with the authorities of albany and was banished from the town. the new york congregation was torn by factions, many demanding the resignation of fabricius on the ground of "deportment unbecoming a pastor." the matter was even carried before the governor. a solution of the problem was brought about through the arrival of a new pastor from holland in the person of bernhardus arensius (arnzius). fabricius obtained permission to install arensius as his successor, and went to delaware, where he labored among the dutch and swedish lutherans. arensius continued to serve the lutherans in new york and albany from 1671 to 1691. the mildness and firmness which he displayed in trying circumstances repaired the harm done by fabricius. dr. graebner says: "in pastor arnzius the dutch lutheran congregations on the hudson had an excellent preacher and pastor, a man of whom they had no cause whatever to be ashamed. above all he was a sound lutheran, whose opposition to any and all church-fellowship with the reformed was so decided that he abstained even from cultivating social intercourse with the pastor of the dutch reformed church, although it would seem that the existing conditions called for it." (70.) after the death of pastor arensius, in 1691, a long vacancy ensued, lasting till 1702, when pastor rudman, a swede from philadelphia, acceding to their repeated requests, took charge of the congregation in new york. but finding himself unequal to the task of regulating their deranged affairs, he resigned in 1703. rudman was succeeded by justus falckner, who was ordained november 25, 1703, in the swedish gloria dei church of wicaco, by rudman, bjoerk, and sandel, the first lutheran ordination in america. the new pastor, who arrived in new york on december 2, 1703, proved to be a true lutheran, a faithful shepherd of the flock committed to his care, among which he labored with much blessing for a period of twenty years. graebner says: "it is a most pleasing, captivating figure that we behold in pastor justus falckner during the twenty years of his activity, a man of excellent parts, of splendid knowledge, of a delicate disposition, of a truly pious frame of mind, of a decidedly lutheran standpoint, of active and enduring diligence in his office, in short, an all-round pastor. he had assumed the duties of his office with the consciousness that he was able to accomplish nothing without the gracious assistance of god; that god would grant him sufficiency was the fervent prayer of his heart." (94.) justus falckner, born november 22, 1672, was the fourth son of daniel falckner, lutheran pastor at langenreinsdorf, crimmitschau, and zwickau, saxony. he entered the university of halle, january 20, 1693, and studied theology under a. h. francke. he completed his course, but shrank from assuming the tremendous responsibility of the ministry. on april 23, 1700, he acquired the power of attorney for the sale of william penn's lands in pennsylvania, and left with his older brother, daniel, for america. in 1701 ten thousand acres of penn's lands were sold to provost rudman and other swedes. probably this transaction brought rudman into closer contact with j. falckner, who also had attended the swedish church in philadelphia. the result was that falckner was ordained and placed in charge of the congregations in new york and albany. while a student at halle, falckner wrote the hymn: "auf! ihr christen, christi glieder-rise, ye children of salvation." (_dict. of hymnology_, 363.) 20. falckner's spirituality.--falckner was of a spiritual and truly pastoral frame of mind. he was a faithful and humble shepherd, who loved the flock entrusted to him with all his heart. "god, the father of all goodness and lord of great majesty, who hast thrust me into this harvest, be with me, thy humble and very weak laborer, with thy special grace, without which i must needs perish under the burden of temptations which frequently descend upon me with violence. in thee, lord, have i put my trust, let me not be confounded! render me sufficient for my calling. i have not run, but thou hast sent, hast thrust me into this office. meanwhile forgive whatever, without my knowledge, my evil nature may add; pardon me, who am humbly crying unto thee, through our lord jesus christ. amen." such was the prayer with which, in classic latin, falckner prefaced his entries in the church register. following are some of the prayers which he appended to his entries of baptisms: "o lord, lord, may this child, together with the three aforementioned hackensack children, be and remain recorded in the book of life, through jesus christ. amen." "god grant that also this child be and remain embraced in thy eternal grace and favor through jesus christ. amen." "o lord, may this child be commended unto thee for its temporal and eternal welfare, through jesus christ. amen." "may this child also, o lord god, be and remain an heiress of thy kingdom of grace and of the glory which christ has obtained for us. amen." "god grant that this child may overcome satan, the world, and its own corrupted nature, and with christ reign and triumph eternally for christ's sake. amen." "lord jesus, grant that this child may taste and enjoy thy sweet love and grace in time and eternity." in 1704 falckner baptized in his congregation at new york "maria, the daughter of are of guinea, a negro, and his wife jora, both christians of our congregation." to the record of this baptism he added the prayer: "lord, merciful god, who regardest not the person of men, but in every nation, he that feareth thee and doeth right is accepted before thee: let this child be clothed with the white garment of innocence and righteousness, and so remain, through christ, the redeemer and savior of all men. amen." in later years, falckner, after recording the baptisms of an entire year, would add a prayer like the following: "lord, lord god, merciful and gracious, long-suffering, and abundant in goodness and truth, keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquities and transgressions and sin: do not let one of the names above written be blotted out of thy book, but let them be written and remain therein, through jesus christ, thy dear son. amen." one of the intercessions recorded with the entries of confirmations reads as follows: "lord jesus christ, should satan seek to sift as wheat one or the other of these members of thy congregation, then do thou pray for them to thy heavenly father that their faith may not cease, for the sake of thy holy merit. amen." marriages are recorded with prayers like the following: "grant, lord god, that also this union may redound to the honor of thy holy name, to the promotion of thy kingdom, and to the temporal and eternal blessing of those united, through jesus christ. amen." graebner remarks: "what a gifted and sincerely pious pastoral frame of mind appears in the entries of the noble man, whom god, in wonderful ways, led from far-away saxony to new york and here made a shepherd and teacher of the dutch lutherans!" (94 ff.) 21. distinctive doctrines stressed.--tender love for his flock did not silence falckner's confessional lutheranism, nor did it induce him to keep doctrinal differences in the background. he was no unionist. on the contrary, in order to protect the souls committed to his care from the reformed errors with which they came into contact everywhere, and to enable them to confess and defend the lutheran truth efficiently, he emphasized and preached also the distinctive doctrines of the lutheran church. naturally, his congregation was imbued with the same spirit of sound and determined lutheranism. "the straitened circumstances of our dutch lutherans," says graebner, "might have suggested to their flesh to seek a better understanding with the dutch and english reformed of the city, and to sacrifice some of their lutheranism, in order to win the friendship as well as the support of these people. indeed, we hear that these lutherans manfully confessed their lutheran faith whenever they came in contact with their reformed compatriots. and pastor falckner was repeatedly urged by members of his congregation to compile a booklet for his parishioners in which the chief doctrines, especially the distinctive doctrines concerning which they were often called upon to make confession, would be briefly set forth, together with the necessary proof-passages. falckner acceded to these requests. in 1708 he published a book entitled 'thorough instruction (grondlycke onderricht) concerning certain chief articles of the true, pure, saving, christian doctrine, based upon the foundation of the prophets and apostles, jesus christ himself being the chief corner-stone.'" it was the first book to appear from the pen of a lutheran pastor in america, and till the awakening of confessional lutheranism the only uncompromising presentation of lutheran doctrine. v. e. loescher praised it as being an "anti-calvinistic compend of doctrine, compendium doctrinae anti-calvinianum." the chapter on the "freedom of the will," which is embodied in graebner's _history of the lutheran church in america_, bespeaks theological acumen and clarity on the part of the author. in simple catechetical form, together with most appropriate bible-passages, falckner presents the following truths: having lost the divine image, man, by his own natural free will, can neither understand, will, nor do that which is spiritually right, good, and pleasing to god. man is converted to god and to all that is "thoroughly good" only by the grace and power of god. it is god's pleasure to work in every man in order that he may will and do that which is good. the reason why this is not accomplished in all men is, because many wilfully resist the work of god's grace, despise the means of conversion, and thus, by their own stubborn and evil wills, frustrate the good and gracious will of god. man has a _free_ will; for he does the evil and rejects the good freely and without constraint, without any compulsion on the part of god. furthermore, in external matters, which reason comprehends, man also has a free will, in a measure. the will of a regenerate christian is set free, inasmuch as he is able to will that which is pleasing to god, by faith in jesus christ, although, in this world, he is not able perfectly to do that which is good. falckner says: "i conceive this doctrine of free will as follows: all the good which i will and do i ascribe to the grace of god in christ and to the working of his good spirit within me, render thanks to him for it, and watch that i may traffic with the pound of grace, luke 19, which i have received, in order that more may be given unto me, and that i may receive grace for grace out of the fulness of grace in jesus christ. john 1, 16. on the contrary, all the evil which i will and do i ascribe to my own evil will alone, which maliciously deviates from god and his gracious will, and becomes one with the will of the devil, the world, and sinful flesh. and i am persuaded that if only my own will does not dishonestly, wilfully, and stubbornly resist the converting gracious will of god, he, by his spirit, will bend and turn it toward that which is good, and, for the sake of christ's perfect obedience, will not regard, nor impute unto me, the obstinacy cleaving to me by nature." in the introduction of the book, which was written in the dutch language, falckner unequivocally professes adherence to the symbols of the lutheran church, the confession of his fathers, "which confession and faith," he says, "by the grace of god and the convincing testimony of his word and spirit, also dwell in me, and shall continue to dwell in me until my last, blessed end." (91 ff.) joshua kocherthal. 22. palatinates in quassaic, east and west camp.--wearying of the afflictions which the thirty years' war, the persecutions of louis xiv, and elector john wilhelm, who was a tool of the jesuits, had brought upon them, hosts of palatinates came to america in quest of liberty and happiness. the cruelties and barbarities which the french king, the french officers, and the french soldiers perpetrated against innocent men, women, and children are described by macaulay as follows: "the french commander announced to near half a million of human beings that he granted them three days of grace. soon the roads and fields, which then lay deep in snow, were blackened by innumerable multitudes of men, women, and children flying from their homes. many died of cold and hunger; but enough survived to fill the streets of all the cities of europe with lean and squalid beggars, who had once been thriving farmers and shopkeepers. meanwhile the work of destruction began. the flames went up from every marketplace, every hamlet, every parish church, every country seat, within the devoted provinces. the fields where the corn had been sown were plowed up. the orchards were hewn down. no promise of a harvest was left on the fertile plains where had once been frankenthal. not a vine, not an almond tree, was to be seen on the slopes of the sunny hills round what had once been heidelberg." (wolf, _lutherans in america_, 175.) great numbers of emigrants from hesse, baden, and wuerttemberg whose fate had been similar to that of the palatinates, joined them. permission to settle in the new world was sought from the authorities in london, where in 1709, according to various authorities, from ten to twenty thousand palatines, as they were all designated, were assembled, waiting for an opportunity to emigrate. joshua kocherthal, lutheran pastor at landau in bavaria, was the leader of the emigrants from the palatinate. in 1704 he went to london to make the necessary arrangements. two years later he published a booklet on the proposed emigration. in 1708 he sailed for the new world with the first fifty-three souls, landing in new york at the close of december, 1708, or the beginning of january, 1709, after a long and stormy voyage lasting about four months. it was the first german lutheran congregation in the state of new york. after spending the winter in the city, they settled on the right bank of the hudson, near the mouth of the quassaic, where newburgh is now located. every person received a grant of fifty acres and the congregation five hundred acres of church land, which, however, the british governor in 1750 awarded to the episcopalians. in july, 1709, kocherthal, entrusting his congregation to the care of falckner, whose acquaintance he had made during the winter in new york, returned to london to obtain, through a personal interview with the queen, grants of money which were needed to supply the utterly destitute colonists with the necessary means of subsistence until the land was made arable. he returned in june, 1710, with a multitude of emigrants in eleven ships. but, while 3,000 had sailed from london, only 2,200 were destined to reach their homes in the new world, 800 having died while en route and in quarantine on governor's island. a tract of land comprising 40 acres for each person was assigned to them at the foot of the catskill mountains, about 100 miles north of new york. they settled on both sides of the hudson, naming their settlements east and west camp, respectively. 23. hewing their way to the mohawk valley.--the immigrants had been promised prosperity; but the english officials were actuated by selfish motives and shamefully exploited the colonists. they were ordered to engage in the production of tar and pitch, and were treated as slaves and redemptioners, _i.e._, emigrants, shamefully defrauded by "the newlanders (neulaender)," as muhlenberg designated the conscienceless dutch agents who decoyed germans from their homes and in america sold them into slavery, at least temporarily. the contract for provisioning the palatinate colonists was let to livingston, a cruel and greedy scot, from whom (governor hunter had purchased the land on which the palatinates were settled. livingston now sought to enrich himself by reducing both the quantity and quality of the food furnished to the colonists. hunger was common among the settlers, becoming especially acute in winter, as they had not been given sufficient time to plant crops for themselves. dissatisfaction spread throughout the ranks of the palatinates, and when the governor refused to heed their appeal for relief, fifty families left the settlement and hewed their way through the primeval forest to the mohawk valley, where they obtained fertile lands from the indians and founded the schoharie congregation in the winter of 1712/13. the governor declared the fugitives rebels; but still more followed in march, making their way through three feet of snow. the lutherans of schoharie were the first white people to live at peace with the indians. in order to obtain a clear title to the lands in the schoharie valley, which the governor refused to grant them, john conrad weiser was sent to england. on his way he was plundered by pirates; in england he was thrown into a sponging house on account of debts. after regaining his liberty, he was compelled to return to schoharie broken in health and without accomplishing his purpose. the result was that 33 families left schoharie and settled in tulpehocken, pa., in 1723. among those who remained in west camp was pastor kocherthal. he continued faithfully to serve his congregations, including schoharie, until his end, december 27, 1719. he lies buried in west camp. a weather-beaten stone slab marks his resting-place. the inscription calls him "the joshua and pure lutheran pastor of the high germans in america on the east and west bank of the hudson." in the original the epitaph reads complete as follows: "wisse wandersman unter diesem steine ruht nebst seiner sibylla charlotte ein rechter wandersmann der hoch-teutschen in america ihr josua und derselben an der ost und west seite der hudson rivier rein lutherischer prediger seine erste ankunft war mit l'd lovelace 1707/8 den 1. januar seine sweite mit col. hunter 1710 d. 14 juny seine englandische reise unterbrach seine seelen himmlische reise an st. johannis tage 1719 begherstu mehr zu wissen so unter suche in welanchtons vaterland wer war de kocherthal wer harschias wer winchonbach b. berkenmayer s heurtein l brevort mdccxlii." (111.) the successors of kocherthal were: justus falckner, until 1723; daniel falckner, the brother of justus, who had served several german congregations along the raritan, till 1725; berkenmeyer; and from 1743 to 1788 peter n. sommer, who preached in thirteen other settlements and baptized 84 indians. he died october 27, 1795. sommer's aversion to the halle pastors probably was the reason why he took no part in the organization of the new york ministerium at albany in 1786. william christopher berkenmeyer. 24. activity in new york.--in new york falckner was succeeded by w. ch. berkenmeyer (1686-1751). berkenmeyer was born in the duchy of lueneburg and had studied theology at altorf under dr. sontag, a theologian whose maxim was, "quo propius luthero, eo melior theologus, the closer to luther, the better a theologian." upon request of the new york congregation the lutheran consistory of amsterdam, in 1724, called him to serve the dutch congregations in the hudson valley. while _en route_ to his new charge, he was informed that a vagabond preacher by the name of j. b. von dieren, a former tailor, had succeeded in ingratiating himself with the new york lutherans, and had been accepted as their preacher. nothing daunted, berkenmeyer continued his journey, landing at new york in 1725. at the first meeting of the church council he won the hearts of all, even of those who had been instrumental in foisting von dieren upon the congregation, who now stood convicted as an ignorant pretender, and therefore was dismissed. dieren continued his agitation in other lutheran congregations until berkenmeyer in 1728 published a tract fully exposing the character of the impudent impostor. from the beginning berkenmeyer's labors were blessed abundantly. bringing with him money collected by the lutherans in amsterdam and receiving additional financial help from london and the congregations of daniel falckner, berkenmeyer was enabled to resume the building operations in new york begun as early as 1670 (1705). on june 29, 1729, the new trinity church was dedicated. berkenmeyer's parish covered a large territory. in addition to new york, albany, and loonenburg he served the congregations at hackensack, raritan, clavernack, newton, west camp, tar bush, camp, rheinbeck (where a new church was dedicated on the first sunday in advent, 1728), schenectady, coxsackie, and in the schoharie valley. in schoharie he baptized the infant daughter of conrad weiser, who eighteen years later became the wife of henry melchior muhlenberg. in the absence of churches, berkenmeyer preached in private dwellings or, more frequently, in barns. at one of these services fourteen children were baptized in the "lutheran barn" of pieter lassing. (176.) this immense parish was divided in 1731, berkenmeyer removing to loonenburg. pastor christian knoll of holstein was called to take charge of the southern congregations in and about new york. berkenmeyer delivered his farewell sermon november 26, 1732, and sixteen days later knoll preached his first sermon. in 1734 the lutheran clergy received an addition in the person of magister wolff, who succeeded the aged and infirm daniel falckner at raritan and five other congregations in new jersey. in the same year the three lutheran pastors and a number of congregations organized the first lutheran synod in america, with berkenmeyer as chairman. its first and only convention of which we have record was held at raritan, august 20, 1735; nine congregations were represented by delegates. the chief business of synod was to settle a quarrel between wolff and his congregations, one of the charges preferred against the pastor being that he read his sermons instead of delivering them from memory ("statt aus dem haupte zu predigen"). peace was restored, but temporarily only. berkenmeyer continued his ministry in loonenburg for twenty years. like other lutheran divines of his day, the swedes and salzburgers not excepted, he kept two slaves, whom he himself united in marriage in 1744. also during his declining years berkenmeyer experienced much sorrow. his end came on august 26, 1751. the closing words of his epitaph are: "he has elected us in christ before the foundation of the world; there is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in christ jesus." in the same year knoll, who, owing to disputes arising from the language question, had been compelled to resign at new york, took charge of the loonenburg congregation and continued there until 1765. 25. berkenmeyer's sturdy lutheranism.--though not clear in some points and, at times, rigorous in discipline, berkenmeyer stood for a sound and decided lutheranism. his orthodoxy appears from the very library which he selected and brought with him for the congregation in new york, consisting of twenty folios, fifty-two quartos, twenty-three octavos, and six duodecimos, among them calovius's _biblia illustrata_, balduinus's _commentarius in epistolas s. pauli_, dedekennus's _consilia_, huelsemann's _de auxiliis gratiae_, brochmand's _systema, etc_. owing to his staunch orthodoxy, berkenmeyer also had an aversion to the pietists, and refused to cooperate with muhlenberg and his colaborers from halle. he disapproved of, and opposed, the unionistic practises of the swedish and halle pastors. speaking of berkenmeyer's pastorate in new york, dr. graebner remarks: "in a firm and faithful manner he had preserved for himself and his congregation, both in doctrine and practise, a staunch lutheran character, which banished the very thought of fraternizing with the heterodox. at the same time, though a german theologian and commanding an easy, flexible, and forceful latin, he was a genial dutchman among his dutch parishioners, perfectly adapting himself to their manners." (186.) he was firm and consistent, but not fanatical, bigoted, or narrow. "in 1746, when the reformed pastor freylinghausen lay ill with the smallpox at albany, berkenmeyer visited him. but never did he establish an intimately friendly intercourse with the reformed pastors, and in church-matters he was determined to keep himself and his people separate from the reformed. in the german congregations, such as those in and about newton, where lutherans lived among the reformed, with whom, after suffering together with them, they had emigrated, warnings against apostasy and unionistic practises were even more necessary than in the dutch congregations, especially, as the reformed made concessions to lutherans uniting with them, _e.g._, by having the lutheran children recite the lutheran catechism in the catechetical instructions of children (christenlehren). berkenmeyer, however, knew how to keep awake the lutheran conscience. when, in 1736, the calvinists on the katsbaan, several miles from newton, forbade their lector henceforth to have the children recite the lutheran catechism, this led to a declaration on the part of the lutherans to the effect that they would no longer attend services at their church. at schoharie, berkenmeyer had to preach in the reformed church; but that did not prevent him from testifying against joint services. he declared that in such union, without unity in the faith, the pastor was required to become 'either a dumb dog or a mameluke'; the theme of his sermon here was: 'our duty to defend the truth against the gainsayers.'" (207.) the same earnestness characterized berkenmeyer's dealings with pastors, whom he recognized only after they had confessed their lutheranism in clear and unequivocal terms. deterioration in new york. 26. germans versus dutch.--about 1742 the language question became acute in new york. dutch immigration had ceased, while germans arrived in ever increasing numbers. as a result the german communicants in new york outnumbered the dutch about 8 to 1. as the spokesmen of the german element made unreasonable demands and met with unreasonable opposition on the part of the dutch, frequent and stormy meetings became the order of the day. pastor m. c. knoll had labored faithfully; but, difficulties constantly increasing, he lost control of the situation, and toward the close of 1750 was compelled to resign his charge. prior to this some of the germans had withdrawn from trinity church, and organized as christ church, suffering themselves to be served by unworthy characters, such as j. l. hofgut, j. p. ries, p. h. rapp, j. g. wiesner, and j. m. schaeffer. a better element having come into control, they called men whom h. m. muhlenberg recommended: i. n. kurtz, who had been active in tulpehocken; i. g. baugher (bager), who came to america from helmstedt in 1752, served new york from 1754 to 1767, and died in 1794; j. 8. gerock, who was sent to america by the consistory of wuerttemberg in 1755, served in lancaster, then in new york from 1767 to 1773, and died in 1787; f. c. a. muhlenberg, educated in halle, who served tulpehocken in 1770, new york from 1773 to 1776, and (having fled from new york when the british captured the city in the revolutionary war) new hanover in 1777. after 1779 f. c. a. muhlenberg entered political life, being elected a member of the continental congress and speaker of the pennsylvania legislature. he died in 1801. in the dutch trinity church peace was restored by henry melchior muhlenberg, who served as knoll's successor from 1751 to 1753. muhlenberg cultivated an intimate and fraternal intercourse with the reformed and episcopalian pastors, and inaugurated a period of pietism and unionism in new york. on his departure he recommended pastor j. a. weygand, who had been serving the raritan congregations since his arrival, in 1748, from halle. weygand remained in new york until 1767. in 1755 he published an english translation of the augsburg confession. during his pastorate a parochial school was organized and housed in a building erected for that purpose. he died in 1770. weygand's successor was houseal (hausihl), who had emigrated from strassburg in 1752. in 1771 he conducted the last service in the dutch language. in 1776 the church was reduced to ashes by the great fire which destroyed about one-fourth of the city. though losing all his personal property, he rescued the documents and records of the old congregation. being an ardent loyalist, he received permission from the british commander to use the presbyterian church, where his services were also attended by the hessian troops of the army. when peace was concluded, houseal emigrated to halifax, where he was ordained in the episcopal church and made chaplain of the garrison. here he died in 1799. 27. union lauded by kunze and schaeffer.--the two lutheran congregations in new york reunited in 1783. the first pastor to serve them was j. c. kunze. he was born in the vicinity of mansfeld, received his preparatory education at halle and other schools, and studied theology at the university of leipzig. after a brief service in halle, kunze was called to be third pastor in philadelphia. he landed in new york, september 22, 1770, accompanied by two sons of muhlenberg, who had studied in halle. in philadelphia, where he married muhlenberg's daughter, kunze conducted a seminary from 1773 till its close in 1776, and then successively occupied the chairs of philosophy and of oriental languages at the university of pennsylvania. in 1773 this institution awarded him the title of doctor of divinity. in the following year he received the call from the reunited lutheran congregation in new york, which he accepted. he entered upon his new labors with great zeal, and met with no little success, confirming 87 persons in the first six months. kunze laid especial stress upon the english, which hitherto had been greatly neglected. he also educated young men for the english ministry. a year after his arrival in new york he published "the rudiments of the shorter catechism of dr. martin luther," and ten years later, 1795, the first english ev. lutheran hymnand prayer-book. in the same year he issued a new translation of the small catechism, containing, besides the six chief parts, also, the christian questions, 103 fundamental questions, and a "systematic presentation of the order of salvation." (527.) kunze was also the first president of the new york ministerium, organized at albany in 1786. at his burial, in 1807, the reformed pastor runkel delivered the funeral oration. while a learned man, a hard worker, a man of great influence, a man also who sought to familiarize not only the german, but also the english element of his church with the doctrines of the catechism, kunze was not a sound and staunch lutheran on the order of berkenmeyer or falckner. he had no adequate appreciation for the doctrinal differences which separate the lutherans and the reformed. in the appendix to his hymnand prayer-book of 1795 kunze wrote: "that the two protestant churches have often shown animosities against one another is true and to be lamented. but that such times are past is a truth more joyful than another, which likewise ought not to be concealed, and [_viz_.] that true piety in the evangelical church stands highly in need of a new and energetic revival, and that it is doubtful in many cases whether the present union of the two churches, which, however, every true christian will wish to be indissoluble, has its origin in enlightened ideas or in worldly interest, in brotherly love or in indifference." (528.) kunze's pupil, g. strebeck, who had been called to preach english in the old congregation, organized an english lutheran church instead, and in 1804, with a part of his english flock, united with the episcopal church. the english congregation now called as its pastor a man who had been excommunicated from the presbyterian church on account of chiliasm, who, in turn, was succeeded by a former methodist preacher, under whom, in 1810, the entire congregation followed strebeck into the episcopalian fold. 28. reformation jubilee in 1817.--in the mother congregation kunze, who died 1807, was succeeded by f. w. geissenhainer. when the latter was no longer able to supply the growing need for english services, f. c. schaeffer was called in his stead, with the duty expressly imposed upon him of preaching also in english. in 1817, at the tercentenary of the reformation, schaeffer arranged a great celebration in which he was assisted by an episcopalian, a reformed, and a moravian pastor. _dr. spaeth:_ "here also [in america, as in prussia] a great reformation jubilee was celebrated in 1817. here also it was, in the first place, of a unionistic character. the ministerium of pennsylvania invited the moravians, episcopalians, reformed, and presbyterians to unite with them in this celebration. in the city of new york the eloquent lutheran pastor, f. c. schaeffer, having kept the jubilee in the morning with his own congregation, delivered an english discourse in the afternoon in st. paul's episcopal church on the text, 'i believe, therefore i have spoken.' thousands were unable to find admittance to the service, so great was the throng." (_c. p. krauth_, 1, 322.) rejoicing in the growth of unionism, schaeffer said in his sermon: "in germany, the cradle of the reformation, the 'protestants' are daily becoming more united in the bond of christian charity. whilst the asperities, which indeed too often affected the great reformers themselves, no longer give umbrage; whilst the most laudable and beneficial exertions are universally made by evangelical christians to remove every sectarian barrier, the 'evangelical church,' extending her pale, becomes more firmly established. and though we have melancholy evidence that the state and disposition of the present romish church calls loudly for a reformation, we must not omit the pleasing fact that many of her worthy members are conscientiously alive to the cause of truth and enlightened christianity." (g., 654.) but, instead of more firmly establishing the lutheran church, the indifferentism and unionism introduced into new york by the halle pietists soon opened wide her gates to a flood of rationalism. new york ministerium. 29. eliminating confession.--in 1786 the new york ministerium was organized in albany, n. y., by pastors kunze, of new york city, h. moeller, of albany, and j. s. schwerdfeger, of fellstown, and two lay delegates, one from new york, the other from albany. eight of the eleven pastors in this district took no part in the organization. six years elapsed before another meeting convened. the minutes of the first convention state: "in view of the fact that only three pastors and two delegates appeared, those present considered it advisable to look upon themselves only as a committee of the lutheran church in the state of new york." the _lutheran cyclopaedia_ says: "though no records prior to the meeting at albany are extant, dr. kunze stated in 1795, and again in 1800, that the new york ministerium, revived in 1786, had been organized as early as 1773 by f. a. c. muhlenberg, then pastor in new york." (490.) _dr. jacobs:_ "concerning the fact that any meeting was actually held, we are in ignorance; but dr. kunze, who ought to be most competent authority, declares: 'to the late dr. henry muhlenberg belongs the immortal honor of having formed in pennsylvania a regular ministry, and, what is somewhat remarkable, to one of his sons, who officiated as lutheran minister from the year 1773 to 1776 in the city of new york, that of having formed the evangelical ministry of new york state.' the thought was carried out in 1786." (300.) in a letter to his father, then visiting in georgia, f. a. c. muhlenberg mentions a meeting of the lutheran ministers in the province of new york, planned for april, 1774. (graebner, 450.) the ministerium organized at albany was a duplicate of the pennsylvania ministerium. according to the minutes a resolution was adopted to regard "the constitution of the ev. luth. church of pennsylvania as their law." (469.) in 1792 the new york ministerium adopted the new constitution of the pennsylvania synod, which contained no reference to the lutheran confessions whatever, merely retaining the name lutheran. at the convention in rheinbeck, 1797, dr. kunze being the leading spirit and president, the new york ministerium passed the notorious resolution: "resolved, that, on account of the intimate relation subsisting between the english episcopalian and lutheran churches, the identity of their doctrine, and the near approach of their church-discipline, this consistory will never acknowledge a newly erected lutheran church in places where the members may partake of the services of the said english episcopal church." (628.) seven years later this resolution was rescinded, not, indeed, for confessional reasons, but in the interest of expediency and policy, because in 1804 g. strebeck, with a part of his english congregation in new york, had been received by the episcopalians. spaeth remarks with respect to the rheinbeck resolution: "a fitting parallel to this resolution is found in the advances made by the mother synod of pennsylvania toward a union with the german reformed church, first in 1819 for the joint establishment of a common theological seminary, and afterward, in 1822, for a general union with the evangelical reformed church. see minutes of 1822." (_c.p. krauth,_ 1,320.) 30. president quitman the rationalist.--the unionism and indifferentism of the new york ministerium naturally developed and merged into socinianism and rationalism under its liberal, but most able and influential leader, dr. f. h. quitman (1760-1832). "quitman," says graebner, "was a stately person, over six feet in height and of correspondingly broad and powerful build. already at his entrance in halle, one of the professors greeted the nineteen-year-old giant with the words, 'quanta ossa! quantum robur! what bones! what power!'" in his subsequent intercourse with the polite world quitman acquired a fine tact and measured, dignified ways. at the same time he was a man of excellent parts, a master at repartee, with a keen intellect and a firm will, and in every respect a born leader." (532.) he was the only lutheran minister who ever received, and perhaps desired [?] [tr. note: sic!] to receive, the degree of d. d. from harvard university. quitman, a disciple of teller and of semler in halle, was a determined protagonist of german rationalism. in 1807 this outspoken and consistent socinian was elected president of the new york ministerium, remaining in this office till 1825. when quitman accepted the call to the schoharie congregations, which he served beginning with the year 1795, he vowed that he would preach the truth according to the word of god and "our symbolical books." before long, however, he began to reveal the true inwardness of his character. in his revised edition of kunze's catechism, which appeared in 1804, authorized by synod, the 94th of the "fundamental questions," which treated of the real presence of the body and blood of christ in the lord's supper, was omitted. ten years later, 1814, in his own catechism, which was likewise published with the approval of synod, he omitted and denied such fundamental doctrines as those of the trinity, the deity of christ, the vicarious atonement, justification for the sake of christ, etc. in this book quitman and the new york ministerium declare: "the gospel teaches us that christ suffered and died in order to seal with his blood the doctrine which he had preached." (533.) two years later a "lutheran hymn-book" appeared, containing an un-lutheran order of service, the union formula of distribution, a rationalistic order for the celebration of the lord's supper, rationalistic prayers to the "great father of the universe," etc. also this book appeared "by order of the ev. luth. ministerium of the state of new york," and with a preface signed by president quitman and pastor wackerhagen. (535.) when the tercentenary of the reformation was celebrated, quitman, again by order of the new york ministerium, published several sermons bearing on this event. here he says: "reason and revelation are the only sources from which religious knowledge can be drawn, and the norms according to which all religious questions ought to be decided. . . . are not both, reason and revelation, from heaven, always in agreement and the one supporting the other?" again: "the true sense which the reformers connected with the term 'faith' is still more apparent from the xx. article of the augsburg confession, where they explicitly declare that faith 'which is productive of good works justifies man before god.'" (653.) this rank socinianism and rationalism of quitman and the ministerium became firmly intrenched and was protected from attack by the constitution of 1816, which contained the paragraph: "and we establish it as a fundamental rule of this association that the person to be ordained shall not be required to make any other engagement than this, that he will faithfully teach, as well as perform all other ministerial duties, and regulate his walk and conversation, according to the gospel of our lord jesus christ as contained in holy scriptures, and that he will observe this constitution while he remains a member of this ministerium." (655.) within the new york ministerium, therefore, ministers could no longer be required by their congregations to pledge themselves on the lutheran confessions. according to the constitution doctrinal discussions were permitted on the floor of synod, but only with the express proviso "that the fundamental principle of protestantism, the right of free research, be not infringed upon, and that no endeavor be made to elevate the ministerium to an inquisitorial tribunal." (679.) thus the entire heritage of the reformation, together with its scriptural principle and cardinal doctrine of justification by faith, had gone by the board, the unionism and indifferentism of the halle pastors having served as the first entering wedge--just as in halle pietism and subjectivism, an essentially reformed growth, foreign to sound objective lutheranism, had given birth to the ugly child, afterwards, when grown up, named _rationalismus vulgaris_. john christopher hartwick. 31. the eccentric wandering bachelor.--hartwick (hartwig, hartwich, hardwick) was born 1714 in thuringia, saxony. coming to new york in 1746, berkenmeyer had him subscribe to the loonenburg church constitution. his parish included the congregations at rheinbeck, camp, staatsburg, ancrum, and tar bush. the capriciousness with which hartwick, who remained an eccentric bachelor all his life, performed his pastoral duties soon gave rise to dissatisfaction. complaints were lodged against him with berkenmeyer, who finally wrote against him publicly. in 1750 muhlenberg conducted a visitation in hartwick's congregations, and reports as follows: "he went to pennsylvania too often, and that without the permission of his congregations, etc. he did not sufficiently prepare the young for confirmation, by simple instruction in the catechism; is too austere in his dealings with the people; does not always permit them to see him; does not maintain order at public worship; begins services an hour or two after the time fixed; has long hymns sung and preaches long, so that those who come from a distance must drive till late into the night and are compelled to neglect their cattle. he is headstrong (koppich), that is, self-willed, and will not allow any one to tell him anything or to give him advice. he says he did not come here to learn from the people, but to teach them. nor did he, said they, cultivate the friendship of the old spiritual father berkenmeyer, while pastors were to set a good example. such and similar were the complaints made by his opponents." (g., 412.) the upshot of the deliberations was that raus was appointed vicar of the congregations, while hartwick agreed to spend six months in pennsylvania, where he previously, 1748, had participated in the organization of the pennsylvania synod. in 1752 hartwick preached to the dutch congregation of new york, an honor that was denied him in 1750 because of his hostility to berkenmeyer. january 8, 1751, hartwick addressed a pastoral letter to his congregations, in which he not only displays a lack of lutheran knowledge, but also refers to berkenmeyer as "brother esau" and speaks of his opponents as "edomites" and "esauites." in the spring of 1751 hartwick returned to his congregations. when it became impossible for him to maintain his position any longer, he went to reading, in 1757. in the following year he returned to columbia and duchess co., n. y. subsequently, wandering about aimlessly, he was seen, now in hackensack and providence, now (1761) as muhlenberg's successor in the country congregations, then in maryland, 1763 in philadelphia, then in winchester, va., 1767 in new york, attending the unionistic church dedication, 1774 in boston, and ten years later again in new york, whither he returned to ingratiate himself with the lutherans who had not emigrated to nova scotia with houseal. known everywhere, but at home nowhere, and usually an unwelcome guest, hartwick died suddenly, july 16, 1796, at east camp. the last lines of the dreary inscription on his tombstone are: "the brief span of our days is seventy to eighty years, and though it was ever so precious, its sum is trouble and sorrow. on the wings of time we hasten to a long eternity." in the original the epitaph reads as follows: "hier ruhet johann c. hartwich prediger der evangelisch lutherischen kirche. gebohren in sax gotha de 6 jenner 1714 gestorben den 16 julius 1706 seines alters 82 jahre 6 monat.--das kurzgesteckte ziel der tage ist siebenzig is achtzig jahr ein innbegrif von muh und plage auch wenn es noch so kostlich war. geflugelt eilt mit uns die zeit in eine lange ewigkeit." (657.) 32. hartwick seminary and dr. hazelius.--in 1754 hartwick purchased 21,500 acres of land in otsego co., n. y., which he endeavored to colonize with a lutheran congregation. "the lease was to contain a clause pledging every colonist to unite with the church within a year; to recognize pastor hartwick or his representative as his pastor and spiritual adviser; to attend his services regularly, decently, and with devotion; to contribute to the maintenance of the church, school, and parsonage according to ability; to have his children baptized, and to send them to school and confirmation instruction until they were confirmed. the validity of the lease was to depend on the fulfilment of these conditions." (454.) the plan failed, and hartwick, in a will, executed shortly before his death, left his estate, valued at about $17,000, to found a theological seminary. among the conditions were that heathen authors should never be read in this institution, and that a catechism be prepared and agreed upon by pastors of various churches, in which, all controversial points being avoided, the essential questions of the christian religion were to be answered by classic bible-verses containing the christian doctrines. a request was appended to the will, in which congress was asked to promote in every possible way the undertaking planned by him "in the interest of humanizing, civilizing, moralizing, and christianizing, not only the aborigines of north america, but all other barbarous peoples with whom the united states may have connection or intercourse." (658.) in 1797 the income of hartwick's estate was used to pay dr. j. c. kunze, of new york, for his theological instruction, rev. a. t. braun, of albany, for instruction in the classics, and rev. j. f. ernst for teaching the children on the patent (otsego county) where the seminary was to be located. the foundation for a building was laid in 1812, which was dedicated december 15, 1815, and opened by dr. hazelius and a. quitman (later renowned as a lawyer, statesman, and general) with 19 students. a charter was obtained in 1816 containing the provision that the director must always be a lutheran theologian, and that the majority of the trustees must be lutherans. when the english congregations separated from the new york ministerium in 1867, hartwick seminary remained in their hands. in 1871 the trustees requested the franckean, hartwick, new york, and new jersey synods each to nominate three trustees, the institution thus coming under the control of these synods. the first director of hartwick seminary was dr. hazelius, who was born in silesia in 1777, and educated at the institution of the moravians in germany. he came to america in 1800 and was made instructor in the classics at the moravian institution at nazareth, pa. before long he was employed in the theological department. in 1809, hazelius was ordained as lutheran pastor of germantown. he was connected with hartwick seminary for fifteen years, when he was called to gettysburg seminary. three years later (1833) he accepted a call to the seminary of the south carolina synod at lexington, where he died in 1853. hazelius, who did not leave the moravians for doctrinal reasons, held that lutherans and reformed do not differ fundamentally. accordingly, he also approved of distributing the lord's supper at the same altar, to lutherans according to their practise, to others in the manner of the reformed. the minutes of the proceedings of the general synod held at winchester, va., may 21, 1853, record the following: "whereas, it has pleased the god of all and head of the church to remove from this transitory scene, and to take home to himself, our venerable and beloved father in christ, the rev. ernest lewis hazelius, d. d., we, who have been privileged to sit at his feet, and to be instructed by him in the various departments of sacred service, desire to unite in a public expression of our grief at his departure from among us, and of our high regard for his name and memory; therefore, resolved, that we duly appreciate and gratefully acknowledge the importance, efficiency, and happy results of his long, faithful, and untiring labors as a minister of our church; first a pastor, then, for fifteen years, as the first professor and principal of hartwick seminary, afterwards as professor at the theological seminary of this body at gettysburg, for two years, and, lastly, up to october, 1852, as professor of theology at lexington, in the theological seminary of the synod of south carolina." (44.) germantown, pennsylvania. 33. early germans in america.--in the colonial days, next to the english, the germans were foremost in settling and developing our country. long before the puritans thought of emigrating to america, germans had landed in various parts of the new world. as early as 1538, j. cromberger established a printing-office in the city of mexico, from which he issued numerous books. from 1528 to 1546 german explorers came to venezuela also with a printing-press and with fifty miners to explore the mountains. a number of german craftsmen accompanied the first english settlers who came with captain john smith to virginia. soon after henry hudson had discovered the river which bears his name, christiansen, a german, became the explorer of that stream. he also built the first homes on manhattan island, 1613, and laid the foundations of new amsterdam and fort nassau, the present cities of new york and albany. peter minuit (minnewit), the first director-general of new netherland, was also a german, born in wesel, on the lower rhine. he arrived in new amsterdam on may 4, 1626, and one of his first acts was the purchase of manhattan island, 22,000 acres, from the indians for trinkets valued at $24. he remained at his post till 1631, when he, soon after, became the founder and first director of new sweden, at the mouth of the delaware river. he lost his life in the west indies during a hurricane. his successor in new sweden was another german, printz von buchau, during whose regime, from 1643 to 1654, the colony became very successful and thereby aroused the jealousy of the dutch, who, while buchau was on a trip to europe, attacked the colony and annexed it to new netherland. when new netherland, in 1664, fell a prey to the english, the colony had among its citizens numerous germans, most of them lutherans. a native of hamburg, nicholaus de meyer, became burgomaster of new york in 1676. another german, augustin herrman, made the first reliable maps of maryland and virginia. j. lederer, a young german scholar, who came to jamestown in 1668, was the first to explore virginia and part of south carolina. lederer's itinerary, written in latin, was translated by governor talbot of maryland into english and published 1672 in london; etc. however, it was at germantown, at present a suburb of philadelphia, that germans broke ground for the first permanent german settlement in north america. a group of mennonites, 33 persons, landed october 6, 1683. they were received by william penn and franz daniel pastorius, a young lawyer from frankfort on the main. in germantown gerhard henkel preached before 1726, and st. michael's church was begun 1730 and dedicated by the swede j. dylander in 1737. pastorius had landed in america with several families on august 20 of the same year in advance of the mennonite emigrants, in order to prepare for their arrival. the official seal of germantown bore the inscription: "vinum, linum et textrinum," the culture of grapes, flax-growing, and the textile industries being the principal occupations of the colony. in 1690 w. rittenhaus established in germantown the first paper-mill in america. here also christopher sauer, a native of westphalia, published the first newspaper in german type, and in 1743 the first german bible, antedating, by forty years, the printing of any other bible in america. the germans in the cloister ephrata, pa., established by the tunker, or dunkards, also owned a printing-press, a paper-mill, and a bookbindery. they published, in 1749, the _maertyrer-spiegel_, a folio of 1514 pages, the greatest literary undertaking of the american colonies. to the germans enumerated must be added the german reformed; the moravians, who founded bethlehem and nazareth in pennsylvania; the salzburgers in georgia; the palatines in new york; etc. and what may be said of germantown, is true also with regard to philadelphia. june 6, 1734, baron von reck wrote concerning the conglomerate community of this city: "it is an abode of all religions and sects, lutherans, reformed, episcopalians, presbyterians, catholics, quakers, dunkards, mennonites, sabbatarians, seventh-day baptists, separatists, boehmists, schwenkfeldians, tuchfelder, wohlwuenscher, jews, heathen, etc." (jacobs, 191.) concerning the thrifty character and all-round good citizenship of the german immigrants in pennsylvania generally, mcmaster remarks: "wherever a german farmer lived, there were industry, order, and thrift. the size of the barns, the height the fences, the well-kept wheat fields and orchards, marked off the domain of such farmer from the lands of his shiftless irish neighbor." "they were," says scharf in his _history of maryland_, 2, 423, "an industrious, frugal, temperate people, tilling their farms, accustomed to conflict with savage and other enemies on the border, and distinguished for their bold and independent spirit." (jacobs, 235.) also in the cause of liberty and humanity the german immigrants in america stood in the front ranks. 34. first anti-slavery declaration in america.--the importation of negro slaves to america was practised by the english and dutch since the sixteenth century, without disapproval on the part of the puritans and quakers, who boasted of being the fathers of liberty and the defenders of human rights. the inhabitants of germantown, led by pastorius, were the first to draw up, on february 18, 1688, a protest against this trade in human flesh and blood. the remarkable document, addressed to the meeting of the quakers in pennsylvania, reads as follows: "this is to ye monthly meeting held at richard warrel's. these are the reasons why we are against the traffick of men body, as followeth: is there any that would be done or handled at this manner? to be sold or made a slave for all the time of his life? how fearful and fainthearted are many on sea when they see a strange vessel, being afraid it should be a turk, and they should be taken and sold for slaves into turckey. now what is this better done as turcks doe? yea rather is it worse for them, which say they are christians; for we hear that ye most part of such negers are brought hither against their will and consent; and that many of them are stollen. now, tho' they are black, we cannot conceive there is more liberty to have them slaves, as it is to have other white ones. there is a saying, that we shall doe to all men, like as we will be done our selves; making no difference of what generation, descent or colour they are. and those who steal or robb men, and those who buy or purchase them, are they not all alike? here is liberty of conscience, which is right and reasonable; here ought to be likewise liberty of ye body, except of evildoers which is another case. but to bring men hither, or to robb and sell them against their will, we stand against. in europe there are many oppressed for conscience sake; and here there are those oppressed which are of a black colour. and we, who know that men must not commit adultery, some doe commit adultery in others, separating wifes from their husbands and giving them to others; and some sell the children of those poor creatures to other men. oh! doe consider well this things, you who doe it; if you would be done at this manner? and if it is done according to christianity? you surpass holland and germany in this thing. this makes an ill report in all those countries of europe, where they hear off, that ye quackers doe here handel men like they handel there ye cattel. and for that reason some have no mind or inclination to come hither, and who shall maintaine this your cause or plaid for it? truly we can not do so, except you shall inform us better hereoff, that christians have liberty to practise this things. pray! what thing on the world can be done worse towards us, then if men should robb or steal us away, and sell us for slaves to strange countries, separating housbands from their wifes and children. being now this is not done at that manner, we will be done at, therefore we contradict and are against this traffick of menbody. and we who profess that it is not lawful to steal, must likewise avoid to purchase such are stollen but rather help to stop this robbing and stealing if possible; and such men ought to be delivered out of ye hands of ye robbers and sett free as well as in europe. then is pennsylvania to have a good report, instead it hath now a bad one for this sacke in other countries. especially whereas ye europeans are desirous to know in what manner ye quackers doe rule in their province; and most of them doe look upon us with an envious eye. but if this is done well, what shall we say is done evill? if once these slaves (which they say are so wicked and stubborn men) should joint themselves, fight for their freedom and handel their masters and mastrisses as they did handel them before, will these masters and mastrisses tacke the sword at hand and warr against these poor slaves, like we are able to believe, some will not refuse to doe? or have these negers not as much right to fight for their freedom, as you have to keep them slaves? now consider well this thing, if it is good or bad? and in case you find it to be good to handel these blacks at that manner, we desire and require you hereby lovingly, that you may inform us here in, which at this time never was done, that christians have such a liberty to do so, to the end we shall be satisfied in this point, and satisfie lickewise our good friends and acquaintances in our natif country, to whose it is a terrour or fairfull thing that men should be handeld so in pennsylvania. this is from our meeting at germantown held ye 18. of the 2. month 1688, to be delivered to the monthly meeting at richard warrel's. gerret hendericks derick op de graeff francis daniell pastorius abraham op den graeff." (cronau, _german achievements_, 20.) this protest was submitted at several meetings of the quakers. but it was not before 1711 that the quakers introduced "an act to prevent the importation of negroes and indians into the province," and still later that they declared against slave-trading. also the salzburgers in georgia were opposed to slavery, though bolzius himself was compelled to buy slaves on account of the lack of white laborers. the germans also were first and most emphatic in condemning the cruelties connected with the "white slavery" of the so-called redemptioners. slavery of redemptioners. 35. cruelly deceived by the newlanders.--toward the middle of the eighteenth century there were some 80,000 germans in pennsylvania, almost one-half of the entire inhabitants. in 1749 about 12,000 arrived. benjamin franklin and others expressed the fear: "they come in such numbers that they will soon be able to enforce their laws and language upon us, and, uniting with the french, drive all englishmen out." many of the germans were so-called redemptioners, who, in payment of their freight, were sold and treated as slaves for a stipulated number of years. most of them had been shamefully deceived and decoyed into the horrors of this "white slavery" by dutch and english merchants and conscienceless agents whom muhlenberg called newlanders (neulaender). in holland they were called "soul-traders." by means of stories of the fabulous wealth acquired in america they enticed germans and other emigrants into the signing of papers in the english language which not only committed them and their children to slavery, but sometimes separated husband and wife, parents and children. the following is an instance of the revolting horrors connected with this trade: in 1793, when the yellow fever prevailed in chester, a cargo of redemptioners was sent thither, and a market for nurses opened. (jacobs, 236.) in pennsylvania this kind of slavery continued from about 1740 to the second decade of the nineteenth century. quakers and other "friends of liberty and humanity" exploited the system. foremost among those who exposed and condemned it were germans, notably muhlenberg, who described the abominable business of the newlanders as follows: "these newlanders first make themselves acquainted with the merchants in the netherlands. from them they receive, in addition to free freight, a certain gratification (_douceur_) for each family or each unmarried person which they enlist in germany and bring to the traders in holland. in order to attain their object, they resort to all manner of tricks. as long as the comedy requires it, they make a great show in dress, frequently look at their watches, and make a pretense of great wealth, in order to excite a desire within the hearts of people to emigrate to so happy and rich a country. they give such descriptions of america as make one believe it to contain nothing but elysian fields, bearing seed of themselves, without toil and labor, mountains full of solid gold and silver, and wells pouring forth nothing but milk and honey, etc. who goes as a servant, becomes a lord; who goes as a maid, becomes a milady; a peasant becomes a nobleman; a citizen and artisan, a baron!" deceived and allured by such stories, muhlenberg continues, "the families break up, sell what little they have, pay their debts, turn over what may be left to the newlanders for safe-keeping, and finally start on their journey. already the trip on the rhine is put to their account. in holland they are not always able to depart immediately, and frequently they get a small amount of money, advanced by the traders, on their account. the expensive freight from holland to america is added, also the head-money. before they leave holland, they must sign a contract in the english language. the newlanders persuade and reassure the people [who, not understanding the english, knew not what they were signing] that they, as impartial friends, would see to it that, in the contract, no wrong was done their countrymen. the more freight in persons a merchant and captain can bring in a ship, the more profitable it is, provided that they do not die _en route_, for then it may be disadvantageous. for this reason the ships are kept clean, and every means is employed to deliver healthy ware to the market. for a year or so they may not have been as careful, suffering to die what could not live. when parents die on the ships and leave children, the captains and the most intelligent of the newlanders, acting as guardians and orphan-fathers, take the chests and inheritance in their safe-keeping, and the orphans, arriving on the land, are sold for their own freight and the freight of their deceased parents; the real little ones are given away, and the inheritance of their parents just about pays for the manifold troubles caused to the guardians. this crying deceit moved some well-disposed german inhabitants of pennsylvania, especially in and about philadelphia, to organize a society, which, as much as possible, would see to it that, at the arrival of the poor emigrants, they were dealt with according to justice and equity." when a ship of emigrants has arrived in the harbor of philadelphia, muhlenberg proceeds, "the newcomers are led in procession to the court-house, in order to take the oath of allegiance to the king of great britain; then they are led back to the ship. hereupon the papers announce that so and so many german people are to be sold for their freight. whoever is able to pay his own freight receives his freedom. those having wealthy friends endeavor to obtain a loan from them to pay the freight; but these are few. the ship is the market. the buyers pick out some and bargain with them as to the years and days of service, whereupon they make them bind themselves before the magistrate by a written instrument for a certain period as their property. the young, unmarried people of both sexes sell first, their lot being a good or a bad one, for better or worse, according to the character of the buyer and god's providence or permission. we have frequently noted that children who were disobedient to their parents, and left them stubbornly and against their will, here found masters from whom they received their reward. old and married people, widows and the frail, nobody wants to buy, because there is here already an abundance of poor and useless people who become a burden to the state. but if they have healthy children, then the freight of the old people is added to that of the children, and the children must serve so much longer, are sold so much dearer, and scattered far and wide from each other, among all manner of nations, languages, and tongues, so that they rarely see their old parents or brothers and sisters again in this life; many also forget their mother-tongue. in this way the old people leave the ship free, but poor, naked, and weak, looking as though they were coming from the graves, and go begging in the city at the doors of the german inhabitants; for, as a rule, the english, afraid of infection, close the doors on them. such being the conditions, one's heart might bleed seeing and hearing how these poor human beings, who came from christian lands into the new world, partly moan, cry, lament, and throw up their arms because of the misery and separation which they had never imagined would befall them, partly call upon and adjure all elements and sacraments, yea, all thunderbolts and the terrible inhabitants of hell to smash into numberless fragments and torment the newlanders and the dutch merchants, who deceived them! those who are far away hear nothing of it, and the properly so-called newlanders only laugh about it, and give them no other consolation beyond that given to judas iscariot by the pharisees, matt. 27, 4: 'what is that to us? see thou to that!' even the children, when they are cruelly kept and learn that they must remain in bondage all the longer on account of their parents, conceive a hatred and bitterness toward them." (g., 474 ff.) 36. mittelberger on redemptioners.--mittelberger, who, in 1750, brought to america the organ built at heilbronn for the lutheran church in philadelphia, and served muhlenberg also as schoolteacher in providence, describes, in substance, the sad lot of the redemptioners as follows: "healthy and strong young people were bound to serve from three to six years, young people from their tenth to their twenty-first year. many parents, in order to obtain their freedom, must themselves bargain about and sell their own children like cattle. a wife must bear the freight of her husband if he arrives sick; in like manner the husband is held for his sick wife; thus he must serve not only for himself, but, in addition, five or six years for his sick spouse. when both are sick, they are brought into the hospital, but only when no buyer is found. as soon as they are well, they must serve in payment of their freight, or pay, if they have property. it frequently happens that a whole family, husband, wife, and children, being sold to different buyers, are separated, especially if they are unable to pay anything on their freight themselves. when a spouse dies on the ocean after one-half of the voyage is completed, the remaining spouse must not only pay or serve for himself, but also for the freight of the deceased one. when both parents die on the ocean, their children must serve for their own and their parents' freight till their twenty-first year. if anybody escapes a cruel master, he cannot get very far, since good provisions are made for the certain and speedy recapture of escaped redemptioners. a liberal reward is paid to him who holds or returns a deserter. if a deserter was absent for a day, he must serve a week for it; for a week, a month; and for a month, half a year. men of rank, skill, or learning, unable to pay their freight, or to give any surety, must serve their masters by doing manual labor like ordinary servants. while learning to perform the unaccustomed hard labor, they are treated with lashes like cattle. many a suicide was the consequence of the abominable deceit of the newlanders. others sank into utter despair, or deserted, only to suffer more afterwards than before. sometimes the merchants in holland make a secret agreement to deliver their cargo of human beings not in philadelphia, where they wanted to go, but at some other place, where they expect a better market, thus robbing many of the assistance of their friends and relatives in pennsylvania. many entrust their money to the newlanders, who remain in holland, and on their arrival in this country they must either serve themselves, or sell their children to serve for them." (477 ff.) like the negroes, the redemptioners could be resold. the newspapers carried advertisements like the following from the _staatsbote_ of philadelphia: "the time of service of a bond-maid is for sale. she is tall and strong enough to do any kind of work, and is able to perform work in the city as well as in the country. she is not sold on account of a physical defect, but only because her master has many women folks about. she has yet to serve for four and a half years. the name of her owner may be learned from the publisher of this paper." (481.) as with the negro slaves the lot of a redemptioner was not in every case physically a sad and cruel one. in maryland the laws protected them by limiting the days of work in summer to five and a half a week, and demanding for them three hours of rest in the middle of the day during the months of greatest heat. in 1773 pastor kunze wrote: "if i should ever obtain 20 pounds, i would buy the first german student landing at our coast and owing freight, put him in my upper room, begin a small latin school, teach during the morning hours myself, and then let my servant teach and make my investment pay by charging a small fee." (481.) some of the honored names in american history are those of redemptioners, among them charles thomson, the secretary of congress during the revolution, matthew thornton, a signer of the declaration of independence, and the parents of major-general sullivan. (jacobs, 235.) lutherans in pennsylvania. 37. roaming about without altar and ministry.--justus falckner, in a letter to dr. h. muhlen, [tr. note: sic!] dated august 1, 1701, describes the "spiritual wilderness" in and about germantown as follows: "as much, then, as i was able to observe the conditions of the churches in these parts and in particular in this province, they are still pretty bad. because of the lack of any good preparations the aborigines, or indians, remain in their blindness and barbarism. in addition to this they are scandalized by the wicked life of the christians, and especially by the trade carried on with them, and merely acquire vices which were unknown to them before, such as drunkenness, theft, etc. the few christians here are divided in almost in numerable sects, which kat' exochen [tr. note: two words in greek] may be called sects and rabbles, such as quakers, anabaptists, naturalists, libertinists, independentists, sabbatarians, and many others, especially secretly spreading sects, regarding whom we are at a loss what to make of them. however, all of them agree in their beautiful principles (si dis placet): abolish all good order, and live for yourself as you see fit. the quakers are the most numerous because the governor [william penn] belongs to them, so that one might call this land an anatomical laboratory of quakers. for much as our theologians have labored to dissect this cadaver and discover its entrails, they, nevertheless, have not been able to do it as well as the quakers are now doing it themselves in this country. it would fill a whole tract if, as could be done easily, i were to describe how they, by transgressing their own principles, make it apparent what kind of a spirit is moving them, while they, by virtue of the foundation of such principles, are scoffers and ishmaels of all well-ordered church-life. _hic rhodus, hie saltant_ (here is rhodes, here they dance)." "also here" (as in europe), falckner proceeds, "the protestant church is divided in three nations; for there is here an english protestant church, a swedish protestant lutheran church, and people of the german nation belonging to the evangelical lutheran and the reformed churches. the swedes have two congregations.... but not without reason have i spoken of the germans merely as some evangelical lutheran germans and not the german evangelical lutheran church, inasmuch as they are roaming about in this desert without altar and the ministry (scilicet qui ara sacerdotuque destituti vagantur hoc in deserto), a miserable condition, indeed. otherwise there is a great number of germans here. but a part of them have joined the other sects, who use the english language, which is learned first by all who come here, and some of them are quakers and anabaptists. another part of them are freethinkers, uniting with nobody and letting their children grow up in the same way. in brief, there are germans here, and probably the most of them, who despise god's word and all good outward order, blaspheme and frightfully and publicly desecrate the sacraments. spiritus enim errorum et sectarum asylum sibi hic constituit (for the spirit of errors and sects has here established his asylum). and the chief fault and cause of this is the lack of provision for an external visible church-communion. for since, as it were, the first thesis of natural theology, inborn in all men, is 'religiosum quendam cultum observandum, a certain religious cult must be observed,' it happens that these people, when they come here and find no better external service, elect any one rather than none. for though they are libertinists, nevertheless also libertinism is not without its outward form, by which it makes itself a specific religion in none of them." falckner proceeds: "i and my brother [daniel] attend the swedish church, although, as yet, we understand little of the language. and by our example we have induced several germans to come to their meetings occasionally, even though they did not understand the language, and for the purpose only of gradually drawing them out of barbarism and accustoming them to outward order, especially as one of the swedish pastors, mr. m. rudman, for the sake of love and the glory of god, offered to go to the trouble of learning the german language and occasionally to deliver a german address in the swedish church, until the germans could have a church of their own." in the following falckner dwells on the great help it would afford in attracting the indians and the children of the quakers and drawing the young swedes to the services if an organ could be installed in the swedish church. (g. fritschel, _geschichte_, 35 ff.) the miserable condition spiritually of the lutherans in pennsylvania appears from a letter of their representatives to dr. ziegenhagen in london, dated october, 1739, in which they state: "there is not one german lutheran preacher in the whole land, except caspar stoever, now sixty miles distant from philadelphia." (jacobs, 191.) 38. new hanover, philadelphia, providence.--it was a motley crowd of germans that gathered in the land of the quakers. indeed, pastorius, the first mayor of germantown, was a rather moderate pietist from the circles of spener, but, as stated above, with him and after him came mennonites, tunkers, moravians, gichtelians, schwenkfeldians, disciples of the cobbler of goerlitz, jacob boehme, and enthusiasts who as yet had no name. (g., 242.) before long, however, the lutherans outnumbered all other german denominations (moravians and german reformed) and sects in the quaker state, to which they came in increasingly large numbers, especially after the sad experiences of the palatinates in new york. by 1750 the number of germans in pennsylvania was estimated at 60,000, of whom about two-thirds were lutherans by birth. though imbued with apocalyptical and mystical ideas, h. b. koester, who arrived in 1694 with forty families, is said to have conducted the first german lutheran services in germantown. before long he united with the episcopalians and founded christ episcopal church in philadelphia, but returned to germany in 1700. daniel falckner, who had emigrated with koester, opposed the quakers in germantown. in falckner's swamp (new hanover), he organized the first german lutheran congregation in pennsylvania, and is said to have erected a log church as early as 1704. in his struggle against the mismanagement of pastorius, falckner, in 1708, fell a prey to intrigues. a disappointed man he went to new jersey, where he served the congregations at raritan, muehlstein, rockaway, and other points, and from 1724 to 1725 also the settlements which kocherthal had served along the hudson. owing to his increasing mental weakness, daniel falckner, in 1731, resigned his field in favor of j. a. wolff. he died at raritan ten years later. in new hanover gerhard henkel, the first lutheran pastor in virginia, continued the work from 1717 to 1728. in philadelphia j. c. schulz, of wuerttemberg, was the first lutheran pastor of whom we have any knowledge. educated in strassburg, schulz arrived in philadelphia on september 25, 1732. he also served new hanover and new providence. at the latter place the first entries in the parish register date back to 1729, and the congregation numbered about one hundred communicant members when muhlenberg took charge. in 1732 pastor schulz, accompanied by two lay delegates, left for europe to collect money, and, above all, to secure laborers from halle, for the mission-work in pennsylvania. these efforts terminated when schulz was arrested in germany for disorderly conduct. before leaving pennsylvania, schulz had ordained john caspar stoever, a relative of pastor j. c. stoever, sr., in spottsylvania, va., and placed him in charge of his congregations. stoever, jr., had studied theology in germany, and after his arrival in america, 1728, had been active in mission-work among the lutherans in pennsylvania, a labor which he zealously continued till his sudden death in 1779, while confirming a class at lebanon. stoever's aversion to pietism at first kept him from uniting with muhlenberg. it was 1763, fifteen years after its organization, before he became a member of the pennsylvania ministerium. concerning stoever and the agenda of 1748, muhlenberg relates the following: "we were minded to employ the very words of our lord jesus: take and eat; this is the body of jesus christ, etc. take and drink, this cup is the new testament in the blood of christ, etc. at the baptism of children it was our intention to ask the sponsors, or godparents: do you renounce in the name of this child, etc.? to this the opponents [stoever, wagner, and their adherents] objected strenuously before we had finished. we therefore made a change immediately and used the words which their terrified consciences desired, _viz_.: this is the _true body_, etc.; this is the _true blood_, etc., and in the formula of baptism: peter, paul, or maria, dost thou renounce, etc.?" graebner comments as follows: "if the wagners and stoevers [whom muhlenberg severely censured in 1748] had committed no other crimes but that of compelling the 'united preachers' [from halle] to take a decided lutheran position, one might wish that their influence had extended still farther." in the following year, 1749, however, the pennsylvania synod changed the formula of baptism so that the sponsors were asked, "do you renounce (believe) in the name of this child, etc.?" (graebner, 327.) henry melchior muhlenberg. 39. self-sacrificing halle emissaries.--the help which pastor schulz and his laymen had requested from halle in 1734 arrived nine years later. francke's hesitation with regard to questions of salary, etc., drew the matter out until muhlenberg declared himself willing to accept the call to america without further conditions. he was the instrument whereby it pleased god to preserve the lutheran church in america from complete deterioration and disintegration and from the imminent danger of apostasy through zinzendorf. muhlenberg (muehlenberg) was born at eimbeck, hannover, september 6, 1711. in 1738 he graduated from goettingen. he spent one year teaching in the orphan home at halle, and served a congregation in upper lusatia from 1739 to 1741. in 1741 he also published his only work, a defense of pietism against b. mentzer. in the same year he accepted the call to the congregations in pennsylvania: philadelphia, providence, and new hanover. september 23, 1742, he landed at charleston, visited bolzius and the salzburgers in ebenezer, and arrived in philadelphia, november 25, 1742. from the very beginning muhlenberg was successful in his opposition to zinzendorf, who had come to america in 1741 to convert the indians and to merge the pious of all churches in the _unitas fratrum_. pretending to be a lutheran, he had wormed his way into the lutheran congregation at philadelphia, assuming the title and functions of inspector-general of all the lutheran churches in america. however, unmasked by muhlenberg, he now, january, 1743, returned to germany in disgrace. in spite of many other difficulties, muhlenberg rapidly won recognition from all the congregations. in 1745 he dedicated his first church in philadelphia. the _hallesche nachrichten_ contain vivid pictures, from the pens of muhlenberg and his assistants, of their untiring, self-sacrificing, blessed, and constantly increasing missionary activity, which at the same time served the purpose of encouraging halle to send additional laborers. the close of january, 1745, saw the arrival of peter brunnholtz (who took charge of philadelphia and germantown) and of the two catechists nicholaus kurtz and j. h. schaum, who at first served as assistants and were later on ordained as pastors. muhlenberg wrote to halle: "to be brief: the church which must be planted here is at a very critical juncture (hier ist ecclesia plantanda in einer recht kritischen junctura). hence we ought to have experienced and strong men, able to stand in the breach and to dare with patience and self-denial. you, highly venerable fathers, know full well that i am not the man. but i regard my dear colleague brunnholtz as such a man, and wish that he had two or three colaborers like himself; that would help us. god would easily direct me to some smaller corner." (290.) in 1743 muhlenberg sent tobias wagner to the palatines in tulpehocken creek, where gerhard henkel had already preached, and where, in 1745, wagner solemnized the marriage of muhlenberg and the daughter of j. c. weiser. services were conducted at this time also in ohly, cohenzi, indianfield, chester, and reading (where the lutherans and the reformed had erected a church together). in 1745 muhlenberg conducted a visitation at raritan, induced wolff to resign, sent them kurtz and 1747 schaum as temporary supply-pastors, and finally, in 1748, induced the congregation to call j. a. weygand. following the track of the moravian nyberg, who created confusion wherever he went, muhlenberg secured a foothold also at lancaster in 1746, at york, and conewago, in 1747, as well as in monocacy and frederick, md. j. f. handschuh (handschuch), who arrived from halle in 1748, was put in charge of lancaster. l. h. schrenck and l. raus arrived in 1749. the former was stationed in upper milford and saccum, the latter was appointed vicar in rheinbeck and camp. f. schultz and heintzelmann came in 1751. the latter received an appointment in philadelphia and married muhlenberg's daughter. baugher (bager) arrived in 1752, and gerock the year following.--pastors and congregations were imbued with one and the same spirit, and considered themselves parts of one and the same church, consisting of the "collegium pastorum" on the one hand and the "united congregations" on the other. 40. organizing pennsylvania synod.--to stablish the congregations, muhlenberg, with five pastors and ten congregations, on august 26, 1748, organized the pennsylvania synod, then generally called "the united congregations" or "the united pastors." this event has been designated by dr. graebner "the most important in the history of the american lutheran church of the eighteenth century." from the very beginning muhlenberg's three original congregations were called "the united congregations." this name was extended also to the congregations subsequently organized or served by muhlenberg and his colaborers at germantown, lancaster, tulpehocken, york, etc. and pastors and congregations being imbued, as they were, with one and the same spirit, and considering themselves parts of one and the same church, consisting of "the college of pastors (collegium pastorum)" on the one hand and "the united congregations" on the other, it was but natural that they should unite in a regular synod with regular meetings. the year 1748 was most opportune and suggestive for such an organization. pastor hartwick of rhinebeck had come to philadelphia. nicholas kurtz had arrived in order to be ordained as pastor for the congregation at tulpehocken. the dedication of st. michael's church in philadelphia brought other representative lutherans to the city. the swedes were represented by provost sandin and peter kock (koch), a trustee of gloria dei church, who zealously advocated synodical connection between the germans and swedes. before the public services, pastors brunnholtz, handschuh, and hartwick met to examine kurtz. his answers were approved of in halle as creditable even to candidates in germany. on the following day, sunday, st. michael's was dedicated. provost sandin headed the procession from brunnholtz's parsonage to the new church. "come, holy spirit, god and lord," was sung. a letter from the swedish pastor tranberg, regretting his absence and congratulating the congregation in english, was then read. the address emphasized that "the foundation of this church was laid with the intention that the evangelical lutheran doctrine should be taught therein according to the foundation of the prophets and apostles, and according to the unaltered augsburg confession and the other symbolical books." after singing another hymn, six prayers were offered, two in swedish by the swedish pastors, and four in german by brunnholtz, hartwick, handschuh, and mr. kock. after another hymn a child was baptized, and a sermon preached by handschuh. hereupon the ministers, with a few of the congregation, received the lord's supper. in the afternoon hartwick preached the ordination sermon. then, the lay delegates standing in a semicircle about the altar, provost sandin and the four german pastors ordained kurtz. muhlenberg read the liturgical formula. on monday, august 26 (15 old style), 1748, the first session of synod was held, n. kurtz, the newly ordained pastor, delivering the opening sermon. 41. first session of synod.--according to the minutes, written by brunnholtz and signed by the four german pastors residing in pennsylvania and a number of lay delegates, the synod consisted of six ministers (including sandin and hartwick) and twenty-four delegates, exclusive of the church council of the philadelphia congregation: four lay delegates from germantown, three from providence, three from new hanover, two from upper milford, one from saccum, three from tulpehocken, one from nordkiel, six from lancaster, and one from earlingtown. peter kock represented the swedish laity. the congregation at york, in a letter, regretted the absence of representatives. the organization proceeded without the adoption of any formulated constitution. though not formally elected, muhlenberg, by virtue of his first call and commission by the authorities in halle, was president of the synod. when, at the second meeting of the synod, in 1749, brunnholtz, on motion of muhlenberg, was elected overseer of all the united congregations, this was ignored by the authorities in halle, and, brunnholtz's health failing, the office was soon transferred to muhlenberg, who exercised it for many years. at the first meeting, after the hymn, "du suesse lieb', schenk' uns deine gunst," was sung, muhlenberg addressed the assembly, saying, in part: this union was desired for a long time. the effort made five years ago in the swedish church was frustrated by nyberg. unity among us is necessary. every member in the congregation has children. in their interest elders are required to assist in making a good church order. for this purpose we are here assembled, and, god willing, shall meet annually. "we preachers, here present," muhlenberg emphasized, "have not run of ourselves, but have been called here and urged to go. we are bound to render account to god and to our consciences. we maintain connection with our fathers in europe. we must not only care for ourselves, but also for our descendants." in part, muhlenberg's remarks reflected on stoever, streit (streiter, as he is called in the minutes), andreae, and wagner. these ministers had not been invited to participate in the organization of the synod, because, as a declaration put on record by synod explains, "1. they, without reason, decry us [muhlenberg and his adherents] as pietists; 2. are not sent and have neither an internal nor an external call; 3. are unwilling to observe a uniform order of service with us, each following the ceremonies of his country; 4. an experience of six years had taught muhlenberg that their object was nothing but bread; 5. they were subject to no consistory and gave no account of the exercise of their office." the lay delegates were called upon to give a report concerning the efficiency of their pastors, and their opinion concerning the new liturgy, which they regarded as too long. also the condition of the parochial schools was inquired into. the conference with the laymen was adjourned monday afternoon, after which they dined together. the pastors then attended to business generally regarded as belonging to them. hartwick addressed the elders, wishing their congregations every blessing. the swedish provost expressed his desire to be a member of the body. but peter kock having died, no swede attended the meeting in the following year. seven annual meetings were held by the united congregations, the last at new hanover in 1754. revived by dr. wrangel and muhlenberg in 1760, this oldest lutheran synod in america exists to the present day as "the evangelical lutheran ministerium of pennsylvania." (graebner, 301 ff.) further activity and death of muhlenberg. 42. discouraging conditions.--the joyous events of 1748 in philadelphia were followed by disappointments to such an extent that after 1754 the synodical meetings were abandoned till 1760, when, as stated, provost von wrangel revived the synod in the interest of establishing a german-swedish organization. the failure was caused by various discouragements: the deaths of heintzelman and brunnholtz; the troubles in the congregations of handschuh at lancaster, germantown, and philadelphia; the opposition of stoever and other anti-pietists, whom the synod in 1748 marked as undesirables; charges against muhlenberg and his colaborers, that they were but secret agents of zinzendorf, etc.; and above all the entirely insufficient support in men and moneys from halle. the difficulties and discouraging conditions under which muhlenberg and his assistants were laboring, appear from the urgent appeal, signed by muhlenberg, brunnholtz, and handschuh, adopted by the synod in 1754, and sent to both london and halle. dr. jacobs writes: "it is one of the most important papers in the halle 'reports.' the entire field is surveyed, the history of german immigration traced, and the religious condition of the immigrants described. the manner in which other denominations and the swedish lutherans are aided by foreign help is shown, and a very discouraging contrast is drawn. the condition of each parish is then candidly and at length set forth. three great dangers they see threatening the inner life of congregations, _viz_.: the assumption, by the leading men of particular parishes, of the right to dictate, as a compensation for the perhaps greater amount expected of them for the pastor's support; the lawlessness of immigrants who abuse the freedom of the country, want to break through all rules, and revile all good order, the regular ministry, and divine service as papacy itself; the introduction of worthless men into the country as pretended ministers by the newlanders, who sell their services from the ship to lutherans willing to be deceived in this way. the united pastors, they urge, are almost powerless to resist. the people are, as a rule, poor. in a congregation of three hundred members scarcely fifteen can be found able to contribute toward the building of churches; and the responsibility for debts incurred must, therefore, as a rule, fall upon the pastors themselves. many thousands of lutheran people are scattered throughout north carolina, virginia, maryland, new jersey, new york, etc. no provision is made for the traveling expenses of the pastors or supplies for their places, if these lutherans are cared for. people come often one and even two hundred miles to hear a sermon and receive the sacrament, and weep bitterly over the destitution, which no one endeavors to remove. they [the signers of the appeal] contrast the condition of a pastor in the new with that of one in the old world. the latter has the assurance of necessary support, of protection in his office, of all needed buildings, of provision for the proper instruction of his people. the former has none of these. among ten families there is scarcely one or two that contribute according to their promises. the sects diffuse among the people the ideas, to which they lend too ready assent, that the pastors as well as their hearers ought to work at a trade, cut wood, sow and reap during the week, and then preach to them gratuitously on sunday. they hear such things wherever they go--in papers, in company, on their journeys, and at the taverns. the picture is a very dark one. the pastors feel that they do not see how it is possible for them to advance; and yet to recede or even to be stationary must be fatal." jacobs continues: "such representations probably had something to do with the impression current for a while at halle that muhlenberg was visionary and eccentric, so strange do his statements seem to those incompetent from personal observation to appreciate the urgency of the situation in pennsylvania. if there was any time when, even for a moment, muhlenberg entertained the suggestion of transferring the care of the lutherans of pennsylvania to the church of england, it was only at some such time when he and his associates in the synod were allowed to struggle on under such burdens almost unaided, while union with the church of england would at once have provided all missionaries sent thither with an appropriation almost sufficient for support, and with far better protection against the prevalent disorder. if the lutherans in europe could not meet the demands of the hour, we can pardon the thought, which never became a fixed purpose, that, sooner than have the thousands for whose care he felt himself responsible neglected, some other mode of relief would have to be sought." (246 ff.) 43. further activity and death.--in may, 1751, as related above, muhlenberg became pastor of the dutch congregation in new york. from 1753 to 1761 he once more labored in new hanover and providence. during this period he made visits to raritan (1757, 1758 for nine weeks, 1759 with his family, again in october, 1759, and in january, 1760), his assistant j. h. schaum in the mean time representing him in providence. october 29, 1761 muhlenberg returned to philadelphia to allay the strife which had broken out. here he lived in his own home, and maintained an intimate intercourse with dr. wrangel. by the new congregational constitution, which his congregation subscribed to in 1762, and which, in the course of time, was adopted by nearly all the congregations in pennsylvania, muhlenberg's influence was extended far and wide. in 1769 he dedicated the new zion church at philadelphia. (the national memorial services of benjamin franklin [1790], of washington [1799], and of abraham lincoln [1865] were held in this church.) september 8, 1774, he arrived in charleston, accompanied by his wife and daughter, where the congregation had requested him to settle their quarrel, which he did with skill and success. his real goal, however, was ebenezer, where he, by order of the authorities in europe, was to conduct a visitation and to repair the harm done by triebner. here he drafted a new constitution, which was adopted by the salzburgers and resulted in a temporary peace. on february 6, 1775, he began his journey back to pennsylvania. when the vestry of his congregation at philadelphia in 1779, without further ado, elected kunze to be his successor, muhlenberg conducted himself with dignity. the congregation rescinded her action, whereupon muhlenberg resigned, and was given a pension of 100 pounds annually and granted permission to preach occasionally in the church. as early as 1748 muhlenberg had compiled an agenda, which at first was circulated in manuscript, and was printed in 1786 in a somewhat modified form. the only objection which, in 1748, the congregations raised to the agenda was that "public worship would last too long, especially in the cold winter months"; wherefore "they requested that it be abbreviated." in 1782 muhlenberg also did the chief work in preparing the hymnal, which was printed in 1784. in the same year pennsylvania academy conferred upon him the degree of doctor of divinity. muhlenberg accepted the title, but requested his friends not to make any use of it in their intercourse with him. muhlenberg died october 7, 1787. taking leave of his friend for this life, he spoke of the journey ahead to his true fatherland, repeating the words of the hymn: "ich hab' vor mir ein' schwere reis' zu dir in's himmels paradeis, das ist mein rechtes vaterland, darauf du hast dein blut gewandt." shortly before his death he prayed the stanza: "mach' end', o herr, mach' ende an aller unsrer not, staerk' unsre fuess' und haende und lass bis in den tod uns allzeit deiner pflege und treu' empfohlen sein, so gehen unsre wege gewiss zum himmel ein." muhlenberg's funeral was attended by eight lutheran pastors, the reformed minister schlatter, and a great concourse of people, so that pastor j. l. voigt was compelled to deliver his oration in the open. memorial services were conducted in new york and in many other places, as well as in almost all congregations belonging to the synod. in muhlenberg the greatest man whom god had given to the lutheran church of america in the eighteenth century, "the patriarch of the american lutheran church," had passed away. his body was interred just outside the walls of the church in trappe. a marble slab over his grave bears the inscription: "qualis et quantus fuerit, non ignorabunt sine lapide futura saecula. (future ages will know his character and importance without a stone.)" (484. 521.) 44. tributes to, and estimates of, muhlenberg.--in his letter to dr. freylinghausen in halle, muhlenberg himself reveals the pious and humble frame of his mind as follows: "to-day, december 6, 1762, it is forty years since i set foot in philadelphia for the first time; and i believe that my end is no longer removed very far. had i during these forty years served my lord as faithfully as jeremiah, i could look forward to a more joyful end. but i must now account it grace and mercy unparalleled if the gracious redeemer, for the sake of his all-sufficient merits, will not regard my mistakes and weaknesses, but receive me graciously." speaking of muhlenberg's faithfulness, dr. e. a. w. krauss remarks: "muhlenberg continued faithful in things both small and great, even after he had received assistance from germany, and one coworker after another began to labor at his side. before long his activity had exceeded the sphere of his three congregations. on request he visited the scattered lutherans in germantown, tulpehocken, lancaster, york, raritan, frederick. he was the counselor of poorly served congregations, the judge in their quarrels. confidence was everywhere reposed in him. "by reason of his talent for organizing, his erudition, but, above all, his unselfishness, his modesty, dignity, and piety, he was in universal demand, and was compelled to take the lead, which he also kept till his blessed departure from this world." (_lebensbilder_, 694.) dr. h. e. jacobs sketches muhlenberg's character as follows: "depth of religious conviction, extraordinary inwardness of character, apostolic zeal for the spiritual welfare of individuals, absorbing devotion to his calling and all its details, were among his most marked characteristics. these were combined with an intuitive penetration and extended width of view, a statesmanlike grasp of every situation in which he was placed, an almost prophetic foresight, coolness, and discrimination of judgment, and peculiar gifts for organization and administration." dr. a. graebner writes: "the task which muhlenberg found set before him when he entered upon the wild and disordered field which had been allotted to him here, was such that, if any one in halle had been able to tell him and had told him what was awaiting him in america, he would hardly have found the necessary courage and cheerfulness to lay his hand to the plow which was to convert this wild bramblepatch into an arable field. still, where could a second man have been found at that time who would have proven equal to the task in the same measure as henry melchior muhlenberg? richly endowed with a robust physique and a pious mind, with faithfulness in matters great and small, with cheerful, but firm courage, with restless activity and a spirit of progressive enterprise, with wisdom and prudence, with the ability to inform himself quickly and to accommodate himself to the circumstances, and, in addition to this, with the necessary independence of volition and action,--characteristics seldom found combined in one and the same person,--muhlenberg was splendidly equipped, both as to degree and variety, with the gifts which a missionary and an organizer has need of. and from the very first day of his planting and watering god gave a rich increase to his labors, so rich, that muhlenberg could say with a grateful heart: 'it seems as though now the time had come that god would visit us with special grace here in pennsylvania.' furthermore, self-exaltation was utterly foreign to him. 'god does not need me,' he would say; 'he can carry out his work also without me.' likewise, he was ever content although he never saw much money. during the first half-year of his stay in philadelphia he earned his board by giving music lessons." (279.) dr. a. spaeth: "though there were lutheran congregations and pastors among the dutch on the hudson, and among the swedes on the delaware, as early as the first half of the seventeenth century, and, later on, among the numerous german immigrants, still the real organization of the lutheran church in america, on the foundation of the fathers, only dates from the middle of the eighteenth century, and is due to the rev. henry melchior muhlenberg, by common consent the patriarch of the lutheran church on this continent, through whose efforts the ministerium of pennsylvania, 'the mother synod,' was established in 1748. in missionary zeal, in pastoral tact and fidelity, in organizing ability and personal piety, he had no superior." (_c.p. krauth_, 1, 316.) muhlenberg's confessionalism. 45. unqualified subscription to entire book of concord.--like the "fathers in halle," muhlenberg, self-evidently, desired to be a lutheran and to build a lutheran church in america. he himself says, in a manner somewhat touchy: "i defy satan and every lying spirit to lay at my door anything which contradicts the teaching of our apostles or the symbolical books. i have often said and written that i have found neither error, nor mistake, nor any defect in our evangelical doctrine, based, as it is, on the apostles and prophets, and exhibited in our symbolical books." _dr. spaeth:_ "the standards of the lutheran church of the sixteenth century were accepted and endorsed by muhlenberg without reservation, and in his whole ministerial work he endeavored to come up to this standard, as he had solemnly pledged himself in his ordination vow before the theological faculty of the university at leipzig, on august 24, 1739, which committed to him the office of 'teaching the gospel and administering the sacraments according to the rule given in the writings of the prophets and apostles, the sum of which is contained in those three symbols, the apostolic, nicene, and athanasian, in the augsburg confession laid before emperor charles v, a. d. 1530, in the apology of the same, in dr. luther's large and small catechism, in the articles subscribed to in the smalcald convention, and in the formula of concord. he solemnly promised that he would propose to his hearers what would be conformed and consentient to these writings, and that he would never depart from the sense which they give.' (dr. w. j. mann's _the conservatism of henry melchior muehlenberg_, in the _lutheran church review_, january, 1888.) and this was the position not of the patriarch alone, but of his colaborers, of the whole synod of pennsylvania, which he organized, and of the sisteror daughter-synod of new york, during the lifetime of muhlenberg and kunze. 'those fathers were very far from giving the lutheran church, as they organized it on this new field of labor, a form and character in any essential point different from what the lutheran church was in the old world, and especially in germany. they retained not only the old doctrinal standards, but also the old traditional elements and forms of worship; the church-year with its great festivals, its gospeland epistle-lessons, the liturgy, the rite of confirmation, preparatory service for the lord's supper, connected with the confession of sins and absolution. their doctrinal position was unmistakably lutheran, in the sense in which lutheranism is historically known, and is something individual and distinct, and as such stands in opposition to romanism on the one hand, and to zwingli, calvin, and all other so-called protestant parties on the other. those fathers were admitted to the ministry on condition of their own declaration that they were in harmony with the confessio augustana invariata, and with all the other symbolical books of the lutheran church. they demanded of those whom they admitted to the sacred office the same condition. they allowed no organization or constitutions of congregations without demanding the acknowledgment of all the symbolical books of the lutheran church as the doctrinal basis.'" (1,317.) in a letter dated june 14, 1774, and addressed to one of the members of the lutheran congregation at charleston, s. c., some of whose troubles and difficulties he had endeavored to adjust, muhlenberg stated the rule of his own personal course as follows: "during the thirty-two years of my sojourning in america, time and again occasions were given me to join the episcopal church, and to receive four or live times more salary than my poor german fellow-members of the lutheran faith gave me; but i preferred reproach in and with my people to the treasures in egypt." (jacobs, 298.) the confirmation form of the agenda contained the question: "do you intend to remain true to the truth of the evangelical lutheran church as you have learned to know it and solemnly confessed it?" (g.,498.) 46. pledge of pastors and congregations.--in like manner as muhlenberg himself, all his colaborers and congregations were pledged to the lutheran confessions. the religious oath which brunnholtz took reads, in part, as follows: "i, peter brunnholtz, do solemnly swear and before god almighty do take an oath upon my soul . . . that i will abide by the pure and unadulterated word of god, as, according to the sense of the spirit, it has been diligently compiled from holy scripture against all errorists in the three chief symbols, and especially also in the true lutheran church-books, as the unaltered augsburg confession, its apology, the smalcald articles, the two catechisms of luther, and in the specific formula of concord, and that i will teach according to them." (g., 283.) in similar fashion, kurtz, weygand, and all pastors solemnly promised to discharge their office "according to the pure doctrine of the apostles and prophets and all our synodical books." (_lehre u. wehre_, 1856, 120.) according to the agenda of 1748 the catechumens promised faithfulness unto death "to the truth of the evangelical lutheran church which they had solemnly confessed." (488.) from the very outset, muhlenberg also had the congregations subscribe to articles in which they confessed themselves to god's word and the lutheran symbols. (299.) the congregations, in agreement with the constitution of 1762, pledged their pastors to preach "the word of god according to the foundation of the apostles and prophets and in conformity with the unaltered augsburg confession." true, the pennsylvania synod, at its organization in 1748, did not draw up any special articles of confession, yet, according to the agenda which had been previously adopted, it was regarded as self-evident that all pastors and congregations subscribe to the lutheran symbols. the synodical constitution of 1778, which was entered in the official book of record begun in 1781, contained the following provisions: "as to his life and teaching, every pastor is to be found in consonance with the word of god and our symbolical books." "in case complaints are lodged against teachers, the investigation must concern itself with: 1. express errors against the clear sense of holy writ and our symbolical books of faith." (529.) muhlenberg's devotion to the lutheran doctrine appears also from the interest and zeal which he showed in furthering the institution of catechetical instruction and in establishing parochial schools. one of the chief questions to engage the attention of the first convention of synod in 1748 was, "what is the condition of the schools?" yet, though muhlenberg, in the manner described, stood for confessional lutheranism, it cannot be maintained convincingly that his influence in this direction was sound and salubrious in every respect. his was not the genuine lutheranism of luther, but the modified lutheranism, then advocated in europe and germany generally, notably in halle and the circles of the pietists, a lutheranism inoculated with legalism, subjectivism, indifferentism, and unionism. muhlenberg's confessionalism was of the historic kind, that is to say, reverence for the venerable lutheran symbols rather than the living power of lutheran truth itself, directing, permeating, and shaping one's entire ecclesiastical activity both as to teaching and practise. muhlenbberg's pietism. 47. subjectivism of halle pietists.--following are some of the aberrations of the pietists in halle: that doctrine was of minor importance for, and as compared with, piety; that sanctification was not contained in, but must be added to, faith; that repentance and conversion were urged in such a manner as if man himself could force them; that such christians as could not tell of certain peculiar penitential struggles and sensations of grace were regarded as unconverted; that the assurance of salvation was not based on the objective word of god, but on subjective marks, notably such us were found in those converted in the circles of the pietists; that the afflicted, instead of being comforted with the gospel of the unconditional pardon of the entire world, were bidden to feel the pulse of their own piety; that such as did not manifest the symptoms of conversion _a la_ halle, were judged uncharitably and looked down upon as not being truly converted; that the "revived" and "awakened" were regarded as the real church in the church, the _ecclesiolae in ecclesia_. and what of the pietism of the halle emissaries in pennsylvania? dr. mann declared concerning muhlenberg and his co-laborers: "their pietism was truly lutheran piety, a warm-hearted, devout, practical lutheranism." (spaeth, 1, 318.) however, traces of the morbid and infected lutheranism cultivated by pietists, were but too apparent also in muhlenberg and the associates carefully selected for him by francke and freylinghausen in halle. the piety for which they strove so earnestly and zealously was, in more than one respect, neither truly evangelical nor soundly lutheran, but of a legalistic and subjective nature. they delighted in evangelistic sermons designed to convert men in the manner of halle. they endeavored to ascertain who were the truly converted in their congregations. as a standard they applied their own experiences and as models the halle converts. instead of immediately comforting terrified sinners with the full consolation of the gospel, they proved them "according to the marks of the state of grace." _graebner:_ "while diaconus in grosshennersdorf, muhlenberg had already published a polemical tract against dr. balthasar mentzer, who had attacked pietism, and had pictured the time before the rise of pietism as a time of darkness, in which god had 'set up a true light here and there, until at last the faithful servants of the lord, the sainted spener, francke, breithaupt, anton, and others arose' and 'again brought forth the bible.' at that time muhlenberg advocated private meetings for souls who had been 'awakened from the sleep of sin,' to which the burgomaster of eimbeck referred when he sent word to muhlenberg 'to cease the pietistic conventicles, as they were against the law of the land.'" (315.) 48. converts, prayer-meetings, revivals.--brunnholtz, whose work was highly praised by muhlenberg, says of his parishioners, whom, nevertheless, he admitted to the lord's table, that, for the greater part, they were "totally blind and dead," people who had not yet experienced any "true change of heart"; that in present-day congregations one must "be content with the gleanings while looking and waiting for traces of divine activity, where, when, in whom, and whether the spirit can give a rich harvest." it is only too true, he continues, "that the great multitude, both old and young, are still buried in carnal-mindedness and in great ignorance, and stand in need of a true conversion." "there are indeed a few, some also in my two congregations, concerning whom i have the well-founded hope that they have been awakened from the spiritual sleep of sin and are being drawn to the son by the father." "with regard to my congregation here in philadelphia, i am not able to boast very much of the majority and of the outwardly great number, since there is still much corruption among them. the lord, however, has granted me a small remnant, who have been awakened by the word, and who earnestly seek after the paths of peace, permitting themselves quietly, but in earnestness, to be prepared for the rest of god." muhlenberg says: "true repentance and conversion according to the word of god is a difficult matter and a rare occurrence." "we continued our labors upon the inner and outward upbuilding of the church, because a small, divinely sanctified seed was noticed among them." what brunnholtz and muhlenberg looked for in the communicant members of their congregations whom they regarded as unconverted were, no doubt, the halle symptoms. in 1748 submissiveness to be guided by the pastor was numbered among these marks. when the elders of the congregation in lancaster opposed their pastor and insisted upon their opinion, which was not wrong by any means, they were admonished "to convert themselves with all their hearts, since otherwise they could not properly wait on their office, and the pastor's trials in the congregation would become too great." (319.) the "small remnant of the converted" were nurtured by the pastors in "special prayer-meetings in the houses." (320.) this was the practise of brunnholtz in philadelphia. and muhlenberg wrote from new york in 1751: "i have learned that among the reformed here there is a small body of awakened souls who hunger and thirst after righteousness. it is said that this awakening was brought about by the younger of the two reformed pastors. my hostess also belongs to the reformed congregation. some years ago she was so terrified by the opinion of the unconditional decree of god that a hysterical malady set in with which she is still somewhat afflicted. i searched for the marks of the state of grace. she answered sensibly, which gave me hope that she is in a state of grace. my host desired me to go into a private chamber with him and his weak spouse, and to pray in secret, which we did." "at the close of the day my dear host again desired that i pray with him and his wife in private, since she thereby had experienced strength and relief on the former occasion. on the 30th of july i was taken to the pious english merchant, who had some awakened souls with him. they sang a psalm, read a chapter from a devotional book, and urged me to pray at the close. after a time the dear souls returned to their homes, and i remained with him till eleven o'clock and employed the time in pleasant and edifying conversation with him and his godly wife." "august 1, saturday evening, i preached penitential sermons both in the german and dutch languages. . . . the church was well filled on this occasion, and the parting seemed to touch and sadden the awakened and well-meaning souls." weygand continued the work in the spirit of muhlenberg, conducting "private hours" with the "awakened souls," and finding particular delight in some souls who had been awakened by wesley. when whitefield returned to pennsylvania in 1702, dr. wrangel entered into relations with him and began to conduct prayer-meetings in a private house in the city, and when the room in that house could no longer contain the people, muhlenberg's congregation granted him the use of their church. when not prevented by other duties, muhlenberg regularly attended these english devotional hours. the congregational constitution of 1762 especially reserved for the pastor the right to "conduct hours of edification, exhortation, and prayer in churches and schools, on week-days or evenings, as necessity might dictate, and as strength and circumstances might permit." (383. 425. 440. 485.) dr. j. h. c. helmuth was the first to report on a revivalistic awakening in his congregation at lancaster, in 1773. later on, 1811, helmuth, in the name of the pennsylvania synod, wrote a letter to paul henkel, then on his missionary tours in ohio, warning him not to participate in camp-meetings, "if he should come into contact with similar aberrations from our lutheran ways." but even at this time synod did not take a decided stand against revivalistic enthusiasm. already in the first decades of the nineteenth century reports, coming out of the synod, such as the following were heard: "here the fire is also burning." "here we behold miracles of god's grace; everywhere we find the wounded, the weeping, the moaning, and those who are praying. some cried out, 'my god, what shall i do that i may be saved?' others asked with tears, 'can i still be saved?'" (549.) in 1810 the north carolina synod resolved to have philip henkel try out a revival, since such awakenings were also to be desired among lutherans. during the revival agitation from 1830 to 1850, the english lutheran churches caught the contagion in great numbers. they introduced emotional preaching, the mourners' bench, protracted meetings, and, vying with the fanatical sects, denounced as spiritually dead formalists all who adhered to the old ways of lutheranism. in its issue of march 21, 1862, the _lutheran observer_ declared that the "symbolism" of the old lutherans in st. louis meant the death of the lutheran church, which nothing but revivals were able to save. (_l. u. w_. 1862, 152; 1917, 374.) muhlenberg's pietism had helped to prepare the way for this methodistic aberration. muhlenberg's hierarchical tendencies. 49. government of and by the ministers.--a clear conception of the doctrines of the church and of the holy ministry was something muhlenberg did not possess. hence his congregations also were not educated to true independence and to the proper knowledge and exercise of their priestly rights and duties. dr. mann says of muhlenberg and his coworkers: "these fathers were very far from giving the lutheran church, as they organized it on this new field of labor, a form and character in any essential point different from what the lutheran church was in the old world, and especially in germany." (spaeth, _c. p. krauth_, 1, 317.) the pastor ruled the elders; the pastor and the elders ruled the congregation; the synod ruled the pastor, the elders, and the congregation; the college of pastors ruled the synod and the local pastor together with his elders and his congregation; and all of these were subject to, and ruled by, the authorities in europe. the local congregations were taught to view themselves, not as independent, but as parts of, and subject to, the body of united congregations and pastors. the constitution for congregations simply presupposed that a congregation was a member of, and subordinate to, synod. (499.) this appears also from a document signed by the elders of tulpehocken and northkill (nordkiel), august 24, 1748, two days before the organization of the pennsylvania synod. in it the elders, in the name of the congregations, state and promise: "in this it always remains presupposed that we with the united congregations constitute one whole ev. lutheran congregation, which acknowledges and respects as her lawful pastors all the pastors who constitute the college of pastors (collegium pastorum) and remains in the closest connection with them, as being our regular teachers. . . . accordingly, we have the desire to be embodied and incorporated in the united congregations in pennsylvania, and to be recognized and received by them as brethren and members of a special congregation of the ev. lutheran church, and consequently to share in the pastoral care of the college of all the rev. pastors of the united congregations. in accordance herewith we most publicly and solemnly desire, acknowledge and declare all the rev. pastors of the united church-congregations to be our pastors and ministers (seelsorger und hirten); we also give them complete authority to provide for the welfare of our souls, how and through whom, also as long as, they choose. we furthermore promise to regard the rev. college of pastors of the ev. lutheran congregations in pennsylvania as a lawful and regular presbyterium and ministerium and particularly as our pastorsand ministers-in-chief, also to respect and regard, them as such, without whose previously known advice and consent we do, order, resolve, or change nothing; hence to have nothing to do with any [other] pastor, nor even, without their previously known advice and consent, to undertake anything in important church-matters with the pastor whom they have sent to us; on the contrary, to approve of and with all our powers to observe and execute whatever, in church-matters of our own and the congregations, the whole rev. college of pastors will resolve, and properly indicate and make known to us. furthermore we promise to recognize, receive, respect, honor and hear the teacher [minister] as our lawful and divinely called teacher as long as the rev. college of pastors will see fit to leave him with us; nor to make any opposition in case they should be pleased for important reasons to call him away and to put another in his place; moreover, to receive and regard his successor with equal love and duty. we furthermore promise, if (which god forfend) a misunderstanding or separation should arise between the whole congregation or part of it and the teacher, or between members of the congregation, to report this immediately to the rev. college of pastors, and to await their decision, and to abide by it." (301 f.) _graebner:_ "one's indignation is roused when reading how the elders of the lancaster congregation were treated at the first synod. these men defended the by no means improper demand of their congregation that such as had fallen away to the sects and again returned should subscribe to the constitution of the congregation before they once more were recognized as members. in spite of the opinion of the assembly and the utterly wrong admonition 'to leave it to their pastor,' the elders 'adhered to their opinion.' immediately their conversion is questioned, and 'all the elders who have not yet been thoroughly converted are admonished to convert themselves with all their heart.' the remark of the minutes, 'they kept silence,' conveys the impression that the rebuke had been merited, and that the cut was felt." (320.) according to the constitution for congregations, subscribed to october 18, 1762, by muhlenberg and handschuh and 270 members of their congregations, the grades of admonition and church discipline were: 1. admonition by the preacher alone; 2. admonition by the preacher in the presence of the elders and wardens; 3. expulsion before or by the whole church council. (402.) the same constitution contains the provision: if any deacon or elder who has been elected to perform this arduous duty refuses to accept the office without sufficient reasons, "he is not to be excused until he has made a considerable contribution to the church treasury." (490.) at synod the pastors ruled supreme. the lay delegates, consisting of the elders of the congregations, merely reported to synod, when asked, concerning the work, fidelity, and efficiency of their pastors, the parochial schools, etc., and presented requests to synod. but they had no voice in her decisions. in the common assembly of the pastors and laymen no vote was taken. the _lutheran cyclopedia_ says: "the deliberations were exclusively those of the pastors, while the lay delegates were present only to furnish the needed information concerning local conditions and the fidelity of pastors." (493.) furthermore, the ministerium, the college of pastors, conferred the office and made pastors through ordination, a rite considered essential to the ministry, and without which no one was regarded a lawful and full-fledged pastor. thus, for instance, in the case of j. a. weygand it was held that he was given the right to perform all the functions pertaining to his office, not by the call of the congregation which he had accepted, but by his subsequent ordination. (432.) 50. obedience to ministerium and fathers in halle.--in the ordination the pastors were pledged to obey the ministerium. in weygand's call the clause was embodied, "that he would submit to the investigation and judgment of the united pastors and the venerable fathers" in halle. (452.) the manner in which kurtz was bound appears from the following points of the "revers" which he had to sign before his ordination in 1748: "2. to consider my congregation nothing but a part of the united congregations. ... 4. to introduce no ceremonies into the public worship or into the administration of the sacraments other than those which have been introduced by the college of pastors of the united congregations, also to use no other book of forms than the one which will be assigned to me by them. 5. to undertake nothing of importance alone nor with the assistance of the church-council, except it have been previously communicated to the reverend college of pastors, and their opinion have been obtained, as well as to abide by their good counsel and advice. 6. to render a verbal or written account of my pastorate at the demand of the reverend college of pastors. 7. to keep a diary and daybook and to record therein official acts and remarkable occurrences. 8. should they call me hence, to accept the call, and not to resist." (305.) before his ordination pastor j. h. schaum had to sign a "revers" and, with a handclasp, seal the promise to the united pastors that he as their adjunct "would be faithful and obedient to them." to the congregations the ministerium did not only prescribe the liturgy, but appointed and removed their pastors as they saw fit. pastor schaum's call to new york was signed by the four pastors, muhlenberg, brunnholtz, handschuh, and kurtz as their own vocation, in their own name, not in the name of the congregation. (327.) the congregation at lancaster desired kurtz as their pastor instead of handschuh, whom the ministerium was planning to send to them. muhlenberg, however, reports: "we bade them consider this and demanded a short answer, giving them to understand that, if a single one of them would be restive and dissatisfied with our advice and arrangement, we would consent to give them neither the one nor the other, but would turn to the other congregations still vacant and leave the dust to them. they must consider it a special favor that we had come to them first." graebner comments on this as follows: "one can safely say that there could be found to-day in all america not a single lutheran pastor or congregation who would consent to concede to a synod such powers as pastor kurtz and the congregation at tulpehocken yielded to the 'united pastors' in 1748." (321.) the superiors of the united pastors and their congregations were the "fathers in europe." they had commissioned them, and to them they were responsible. all decisions of synod in doctrinal, liturgical, and governmental questions were subject to the advice and approval of the authorities in halle. when the church council of the congregation in philadelphia sent a humble petition to the synod in 1750, requesting permission to retain the services of pastor brunnholtz for themselves, they received the answer: we have no right to make changes without the previous knowledge and permission of the "fathers in europe." (330.) in order to ordain weygand, muhlenberg had to get permission from the "fathers in europe." (432.) even such pastors as stoever and wagner, who did not unite with the ministerium, were by muhlenberg designated as "such as had run of themselves," as "so-called pastors," who had "neither an inner nor an outward call," and "who were concerned about nothing but their daily bread." and why? because, according to muhlenberg, they had not "been sent" (by the ministerium or the fathers); because they were not subject to a consistory, did not render account of their pastorates, and would not observe the same order with those who had come from halle. (311.) concerning weygand, who arrived in 1748, muhlenberg reports: "i asked him what he was now going to do in pennsylvania, whether he intended to be for us or against us; if he desired to be with us, it would be necessary for us first to obtain permission from our venerable fathers. if, however, he intended to be against us, he might come on, we entertained no fear, as we had already encountered such as had run of themselves. he answered, 'god forfend!' he would not side with the ministerium, to which men belonged like valentine kraft, andrew stoever, wagner, and the like, though they had requested him to join them; that, on the other hand, he would not be in our way either, but rather go elsewhere and begin a school at some place or another." (431. 322.) 51. constitution of 1792.--the new constitution, adopted by the pennsylvania synod in 1792, though granting a modified suffrage to lay delegates in all important questions, left the synod what it had been, a body governed by the clergy. dr. graebner says: "it has been pointed out how this [hierarchical] trait plainly appeared already when the pennsylvania synod was founded; later on we meet it everywhere and in all synods organized prior to the general synod. according to the conception generally prevailing a synod had its real foundation, its essential part, not in the congregations, but in the preachers. this idea governed their thinking and speaking. the 'preachers of the state of ohio united with some of the preachers in pennsylvania living nearest to them, and established a conference or synod of their own.' some 'preachers west of the susquehanna' were granted their petition of being permitted to form a synod. in agreement herewith they preferred to speak of a synod according to its chief and fundamental part, as a 'ministerium.' the constitution of the pennsylvania synod began: 'we evangelical lutheran preachers in pennsylvania and the neighboring states, by our signatures to this constitution, acknowledging ourselves as a body, name this union of ours the german evangelical lutheran ministerium in pennsylvania and the neighboring states, and our individual meetings a ministerial assembly.' lay delegates of the congregations, though admitted to the synodical conventions in pennsylvania and at other places, were nowhere recognized as members having equal rights with the ministers. it was as late as 1792 that the lay delegates obtained the right to vote in pennsylvania, and even then only with restrictions. in the affairs of greatest import (doctrinal matters, admission of new members, etc.) they were privileged neither to speak nor to vote. on this point the ministerial order of the pennsylvania synod declared: 'lay delegates who have a right to vote shall sit together at one place in the assembly; they are privileged to offer motions, and to give their opinion and cast their votes in all questions submitted for decision and determination, except in matters pertaining to the learning of a candidate or a catechist, to questions of orthodoxy and heterodoxy, the admission to, and expulsion from, the ministerium, and other, similar cases, for the ministerial assembly has cognizance of such as these.' the constitution of the new york ministerium contained the same provision, chap. 7, §4: 'each lay delegate shall have a right to take part in the debates of the house, to offer resolutions, and to vote on all questions, except the examining, licensing, or ordaining of candidates for the ministry, the admission of ministers into the association or their exclusion from it, and the discussion of weighty articles of faith or cases of conscience.' the right of a layman to vote was regarded as grounded in that of the minister, not the right of both in the congregation. when a minister lost his vote, the delegate of the congregation lost his too." the constitution of the pennsylvania synod provided: such lay delegates only "as have an ordained preacher or licensed candidate, and whose teacher is himself present," shall have a right to vote. accordingly, "no more lay delegates can cast their votes than the number of ordained preachers and licensed candidates present." furthermore, the resolutions of synod were regarded as binding on the congregations. the constitution of the pennsylvania ministerium provided, chap. 6, §14: "whereas the united congregations are represented in the synodical assembly by their delegates and have a seat and vote in it, they accordingly are bound willingly to observe the decisions and resolutions of the synodical assembly and of the ministerium." chap. 7, §5 of the constitution of the new york ministerium read: "every congregation which is represented by a delegate in the synods of this body is bound to receive, and submit to, the resolutions and recommendations of the ministerium, and to bear its part of all expenses and services necessary for the welfare of the associated churches generally and the advancement of the common cause. and if any congregation perseveres in refusing such submission, it shall no longer be entitled to a representation in this body." (693 ff.) muhlenberg's unionism. 52. attitude toward non-lutherans.--in the _lutheran encyclopedia_ h. e. jacobs says in praise of muhlenberg: "he knew how to combine width of view and cordiality of friendship towards those of other communions, with strict adherence to principle." (331.) similar views had been expressed by dr. w. j. mann at the first free lutheran diet at philadelphia. in his "theses on the lutheranism of the fathers of the church in this country" he said: "their lutheranism did not differ from the lutheran orthodoxy of the preceding period, in the matter of doctrine, but to an extent in the manner of applying it. it was orthodoxy practically vitalized. they were less polemical and theoretical. whilst tolerant toward those of other convictions, they were, however, neither indifferent nor unionistically inclined, and never conformed lutheranism to any other form of christianity, though in their days the pressure in this direction was heavy." (spaeth, _c. p. krauth_, 1, 318.) however, though muhlenberg's intentions undoubtedly were to be and remain a lutheran, his fraternal intercourse and intimate fellowship with the reformed, episcopalians, methodists, and other denominations, was of a nature incompatible with true lutheranism. he evidently regarded the various christian communions as sister churches, who had practically the same divine right to exist and to propagate their distinctive views as the lutheran church. such was the principle of indifferentism on which muhlenberg based his practise of fraternal recognition and fellowship. the natural and inevitable result of his relations with the sects was that the free, open, and necessary confession of lutheran truth over against reformed error was weakened and muffled, and finally smothered and entirely silenced and omitted. nor can it be denied that muhlenberg, by this unionism and indifferentism, wasted and corrupted much of the rich blessings which god bestowed, and purposed to bestow, on the american lutheran church through him. like dr. wrangel and the swedes in delaware generally, muhlenberg and his associates entertained the opinion that especially the lutherans and episcopalians were not separated by any essential doctrinal differences. indeed, the germans in pennsylvania, like the swedes in delaware, seem at times to have seriously considered a union between the episcopalians and the lutherans. in brief, muhlenberg's attitude toward the reformed and other sects was of a nature which cannot be justified as lutheran nor construed as non-unionistic in character. 53. the facts in the case.--from the very beginning to the end of his activity in america the practise of muhlenberg was not free from indifferentism and unionism. already on his voyage across the ocean he had conducted services according to the book of common prayer. (g., 322.) november 25, 1742, muhlenberg had arrived in philadelphia, and on december 28th of the same year he wrote in his journal: "in the afternoon i visited the english pastor of the episcopal church. he was very cordial, and informed me that he had always been a good friend of our lutheran brethren, the swedish missionaries, and desired to be on friendly terms also with me." (267.) in 1743 muhlenberg signified his willingness to build a union church with the reformed in case they were willing to shoulder their part of the expenses. (272.) in 1751 he reported from new york: "may 31, i visited mr. barclay, the most prominent pastor of the anglican church, whom the archbishop has appointed commissioner of the province of new york. . . . the dutch reformed have at present four pastors. i called on the oldest of them, mr. du bois, who received me cordially. thereupon i visited the youngest of the dutch reformed ministerium. i visited also the third member of this body, who, together with his wife, carried on a beautiful and edifying conversation, so that i was truly delighted." (421.) "june 28, i visited mr. pemberton, the pastor of the english presbyterian congregation, for the first time. he was much pleased with my short call, and remarked that he had received a letter from pastor tennent in philadelphia, who had mentioned my name and advised him to cultivate my company. almost immediately he began to speak of the sainted professor francke, saying that he had read several of his latin works. besides this we had several other edifying conversations. upon my departure he asked me to visit him frequently." (422.) "july 22, my host and i drove to the oldest reformed pastor, who gave us a cordial reception. in the afternoon we visited one of the elders of my congregation. in the evening the younger reformed pastor visited me." (425.) "on the 23d i again preached in dutch on the opening verses of the fifth chapter of matthew. the two reformed pastors and a large number of people were present." (425.) "august 17, i preached a penitential sermon and had confession. the church was filled with lutherans and reformed, among whom was also the younger pastor." (428.) "august 21, the members of the congregation who live near by, several reformed neighbors, and a number of friends of new york assembled to hear my farewell sermon at that place." (420.) "may 11, our dutch congregation-members who live near by, and some reformed neighbors, were invited to attend an hour of edification." (434.) "in the afternoon i bade farewell to the younger reformed pastor." (439.) "early on tuesday morning the reformed pastor schlatter came to my home and embraced me after the custom of our old and unfeigned love." (439.) "in the evening i was called to the six reformed pastors who had arrived. i went and welcomed them with the words: 'behold i send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves; be ye therefore wise as serpents and harmless as doves.' july 30, i was taken to the pious english merchant, as he had some awakened souls with him. they sang a psalm, read a chapter from a devotional book, and in conclusion urged me to pray. after the dear souls had returned to their homes, i remained with him and had a very delightful and edifying conversation with him and his pious wife." (440.) muhlenberg praises the episcopalian richard peters as a "moderate theologian," possessed of a "catholic spirit," and reports in 1760: "on the ninth and tenth of august mr. richard peters, secretary of the province and president of the academy in philadelphia, visited me in providence. in the morning he attended our german service, with which, he said, he was greatly delighted. in the afternoon he himself delivered a very solid and edifying sermon to a large audience." (516.) after his removal to philadelphia, in 1761, muhlenberg wrote: "on monday, march 16, i intended quietly to leave the city. however, provost wrangel as well as some of the elders accompanied me, the former as far as the home of pastor schlatter, where we were hospitably received and entertained for the night." (380.) on the services conducted at barren hill on easter monday, 1762, muhlenberg reports as follows: "after my sermon pastor schlatter added a short admonition, impressing upon them what they had already heard." (517.) "on monday, may 25, i went out in the forenoon to visit some english friends. as i happened to pass by the english high church at eleven o'clock, i was called into the manse, where i found a numerous assembly of the honorable english missionaries, who were conducting their annual meeting. they took me to church with them, showed me unmerited honor, and permitted me to attend their session as a friend and witness." (380.) may 21, 1762, muhlenberg noted in his diary: "at noon i was with mr. r., who related with joy how he, mr. d., and provost wrangel, together with the new swedish pastor, mr. wicksel, and the reformed pastor, schlatter, had yesterday, on ascension day, attended the new church, where they had heard two splendid and edifying sermons in german and english delivered to two large audiences." (383.) october 16, 1763, he wrote: "pastor handschuh was called upon to bury a reformed woman who died in childbirth; he delivered the sermon in the old reformed church." on october 18, 1763, during the sessions of synod, and at its request, whitefield preached in the pulpit of muhlenberg. in 1767 j. s. gerock dedicated his new church in new york, "assisted by different high german and english protestant pastors and teachers," h. m. muhlenberg and hartwick also preaching. (444.) when muhlenberg dedicated his new zion church in philadelphia, on june 25, 1769, the professors of the academy as well as the episcopalian and presbyterian pastors were invited. the report says: "the second english pastor, mr. duchee, opened the services by reading the english prayers, the prorector of the academy offered an appropriate prayer, and commissioner peters delivered a splendid sermon on the song of the angels, luke 2, whereupon rector muhlenberg, in the name of the corporation and congregation, thanked the honorable assembly, in english, for their favor and kindness in honoring this newly erected church and conducting a service there." may 27, 1770, whitefield, upon invitation, also preached in the new church. (518.) without a word of censure on the part of his father, or of protest on the part of synod, peter muhlenberg, in 1772, at london, subscribed to the thirty-nine articles and received episcopal ordination, in order to be able to perform legal marriage ceremonies within his congregations in virginia. invited by the presbyterian pastor, w. tennent, muhlenberg, sr., preached in his church on two occasions while at charleston, in 1774. (578.) at savannah he preached in the union church of the reformed pastor zuebli, and in the lutheran church at savannah he enjoyed the sermon of a methodist pastor. (518.) at the church dedication in pikestown, in 1775, he preached in german, and an episcopalian, mr. currie, in english, etc. 54. whitefield in muhlenberg's pulpit.--"the pastors of the first period of the ministerium," says dr. jacobs, "were on friendly relations with whitefield. dr. wrangel interested himself in securing for him an invitation to meet with the members of the ministerium during the sessions of 1763. in urging this proposition, wrangel did not forget the collections which whitefield had made in europe for the impoverished salzburgers. the presence of a man who had pleaded eloquently in english pulpits for contributions to build lutheran churches in georgia, and with that eminent success which benjamin franklin has noted in a well-known passage in his autobiography, certainly deserved recognition, even apart from whitefield's services in awakening life in the church of england and in america. he was present at the examination of the children of st. michael's church before the synod, made a fervent prayer and an edifying address. on the next day he bade the synod farewell, and requested the prayers of its members. the next year he was in attendance at the funeral of pastor handschuh. in 1770 (may 27) he preached by special invitation in zion church." (286.) in his report, dated october 15, 1763, on the synod of the same year, muhlenberg himself says: "it was also considered, whether we should not invite mr. whitefield and the two well-disposed preachers of the episcopal church for monday and tuesday, especially to the examination of the children. among other reasons dr. wrangel mentioned the fact that whitefield had assisted our poor suffering brethren in georgia [salzburgers] with collections. in the evening dr. wrangel took me to mr. whitefield, and in the name of the ministerium we invited him together with the rector of the high church, who was present." october 16, muhlenberg wrote: "after the services dr. wrangel, pastor handschuh, and three trustees went to mr. whitefield and asked him if on the morrow he would attend our examination in the church, and speak a word of admonition to the children. he answered: yes, if his weakness permitted, and such were god's gracious will." october 18, muhlenberg wrote: "mr. whitefield ascended the pulpit, and said a hearty and powerful prayer. hereupon he addressed himself to the children, delivering, with tears and deep emotion, a condescending sermon about pious children of the old and new testaments, together with some modern examples which he had himself experienced, and finally enjoined upon parents their duties. after this the children were examined by dr. wrangel, and then, in german, by me. whitefield, however, being very weak in body, and the church being very crowded, we discontinued and closed with a piece of church music. the pastors and other delegates, the elders and deacons took dinner in the school, the old mr. tennent [episcopalian], who was given the place of honor, delighting us with edifying conversation." october 19, muhlenberg wrote: "at four o'clock mr. george whitefield visited our ministerium in the school, bidding us an affectionate farewell, and requesting us to intercede for him before the throne of grace." dr. graebner remarks: "a misstep as serious as this, admitting an errorist like whitefield to the pulpit of the local pastor and synodical president, such as was done at this synodical meeting, had, at least, not been made before the time of wrangel." (383 ff.) concerning his fellowship with whitefield in 1770, muhlenberg made the following entries in his journal: "friday, may 25... because i could not do otherwise, i wrote a few lines to rev. mr. whitefield, stating that if he would preach for me on next sunday night in zion church, it would be acceptable to me." "sunday, may 27.... early in the evening zion church was filled with people of all sorts of religion, both german and english. we two preachers went to mr. whitefield's lodging and took him with us to the church, which was so crowded that we had to take him in through the steeple-door.... he complained of a cold contracted at the morning service, and consequent hoarseness, but preached very acceptably from 2 chron. 7, 1 on 'the outer and the inner glory of the house of god.' he introduced some impressive remarks concerning our fathers--francke and ziegenhagen, etc." (jacobs, 287.) at the first lutheran diet, dr. c. p. krauth explained: "whitefield was an evangelist of forgotten or ignored doctrines of the gospel; a witness excluded from many pulpits of his own church because of his earnestness in preaching the truth; in some sense a martyr. this invested him with interest in the eyes of our fathers, and his love to the lutheran church and his services to it made him very dear." (287.) 55. experiencing the consequences.--from what has been said it is evident that muhlenberg's relations with the sects was not without reprehensible unionism. even where, in such fellowship, syncretism was not directly practised, the proper confession of lutheran truth was omitted. as with the swedes in delaware, fraternal intercourse proceeded on the silent understanding that the sore spot of doctrinal differences must be carefully avoided. for lutherans, however, this was tantamount to a denial of the truth. muhlenberg set an example the influence of which was all the more pernicious by reason of the high esteem in which he was held by the members of synod, who revered him as a father. as late as 1866 the pennsylvania synod defended its intercourse with the reformed synod "as a measure introduced by the fathers in the time of muhlenberg and schlatter." and the unionistic practises indulged in by the general synod throughout its history cannot but be viewed as the fruits of the tree first planted by the halle emissaries. nor could they fail to see the abyss into which such unionism must finally lead, as it was apparent already in the history of the swedes. that muhlenberg had a presentiment whither things were drifting appears from his warning in 1783 to j. l. voigt not to open his pulpit to methodist preachers. (516.) indeed, muhlenberg himself lived to see the first bitter fruits of his dalliance with the sects. four months before his end, june 6, 1787, franklin college, at lancaster, was solemnly opened as a german high school and a union theological seminary for lutherans, reformed, and a number of other sects. h. e. muhlenberg delivered the sermon at the opening exercises, which were attended by the entire synod. the name of the institution was chosen in view of the virtues and merits of benjamin franklin, who had contributed 200 pounds. the college had forty-five trustees, consisting of 15 lutherans, 15 reformed, and 15 chosen from other communions. a director was to be chosen alternately from the lutheran and from the reformed church. among the first trustees were j. h. c. helmuth and other lutheran pastors. two of the first four teachers were lutherans: pastor h. e. muhlenberg, the first director, and pastor f. w. melsheimer. (515.) dr. a. spaeth, agreeing with w. j. mann, says: "sooner or later the whole lutheran church of america should and could unite on the position of muhlenberg." (252.) we would not detract from the merit of muhlenberg. the slogan of the american lutheran church, however, dare never be: "back to muhlenberg!" "back to halle!" but "back to wittenberg!" "back to luther! back to lutheran sincerity, determination, and consistency both in doctrine and practise!" training of ministers and teachers neglected. 56. parish schools cultivated.--one cannot possibly say too much in praise of the missionary zeal on the part of muhlenberg and his associates and of their unceasing efforts to establish new mission-posts and organize new congregations, and to obtain additional laborers from europe, notably from halle. in a large measure this applies also to their labors in the interest of establishing parochial schools. in fact, wherever we read of early lutherans in america, especially german lutherans, there we also hear the cry for schools and schoolteachers to instruct the children. comparatively weak efforts to establish schools for their children were made by the swedes in delaware. at christina a teacher was employed in 1699; in wicaco teacher hernboom began a school in 1713. the minutes of the pennsylvania synod of 1762 record: "in the swedish congregations the swedish schools have for several generations been regrettably neglected; dr. wrangel, however, has started an english school in one of his congregations in which the lutheran catechism is read in an english translation." acrelius, who had been provost of the swedes in delaware, wrote in 1759: "forty years back our people scarcely knew what a school was. the first swedish and holland settlers were a poor, weak, and ignorant people, who brought up their children in the same ignorance." the result was great ignorance among the swedes. _jacobs:_ "there seems to have been an entire dearth of laymen capable of intelligently participating in the administration of the affairs of the congregation until we come to peter kock. eneberg found at christina that 'of the vestrymen and elders of the parish there was scarcely any one who could write his own name.'" (104.) the salzburgers had a school in ebenezer, and later a second school in the country. at the beginning bolzius and gronau gave daily instruction in religion, the one four, the other three hours daily. in 1741 ortmann and an english teacher instructed the youth at ebenezer. the palatinates in new york began with the building, not only of a church, but also of a school in 1710, the very year in which they had settled at west camp. in new york there was a schoolhouse as well as a church, and a "schoolkeeper" (_schulhalter_) was employed. when the teacher disappeared, the schoolhouse was rented out, but berkenmeyer taught the children in his home for five months in a year, three times a week. also in north carolina, virginia, tennessee, etc., parish schools were established, and the great need of them explained to and urged upon the people by the conferences and ministers. in pennsylvania there were several german schools even before the arrival of muhlenberg; as a rule, however, the teachers were incompetent or immoral, or both. (247.) when, in 1734, daniel weisiger, one of the representatives of the congregations at philadelphia, new hanover, and providence, made his appearance in halle, he asked for both an able and pious preacher and a schoolteacher. in the beginning muhlenberg himself took charge of the school. in january, 1743, he wrote: "because there is a great ignorance among the youth of this land and good schoolteachers are so very rare, i shall be compelled to take hold of the work myself. those who possibly could teach the youth to read are lazy and drunken, compile a sermon from all manner of books, run about, preach, and administer the lord's supper for hard cash. miserable and disgusting, indeed! i announced to the people [at providence] to send first their oldest children for instruction, as i intended to remain with the congregation eight days at a time. on monday some of the parents brought their children. it certainly looks depressing when children of seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty years come with the abc-book. yet i am delighted that they are possessed of so great a desire to learn something," etc. "in providence," muhlenberg wrote later on, "i have a splendid young man, who keeps school in winter, and in summer earns his living by doing manual labor." in 1745 j. n. kurtz and j. h. schaum were sent from halle to take charge of the youth. one of the chief questions to engage the attention of the first convention of the pennsylvania synod, in 1748, was: "what is the condition of the parish schools?" brunnholtz reported: in his home at philadelphia, schaum, whom he supported, had been keeping school for three and a half years; since easter there had been no school, as schaum was needed at another place; however, before winter would set in, he and his elders would do their best in this matter. germantown, continued brunnholtz, had two teachers, doeling, a former moravian, being one of them, whose schools were attended by many children, some of them non-lutherans. another school near germantown with twenty children had been closed for lack of a teacher. muhlenberg stated: in providence there had been a small school in the past year. new hanover had a fair school, jacob loeser being teacher. though a teacher could be had for the filials saccum and upper milford, there were no schools there. when the elders hereupon explained that the distances were too great, synod advised to change off monthly with the teacher, and demanded an answer in this matter in the near future. kurtz promised to begin a school at tulpehocken in winter. handschuh reported: in lancaster the school was flourishing; teacher schmidt and his assistant vigera had instructed 70 children. at the meeting of synod in 1753 the pastors complained: "the schools within our congregations are in a very poor state, since able and faithful teachers are rare, salaries utterly insufficient, the members too widely scattered and in most cases poor, roads too bad in winter, and the children too urgently needed on the farms in summer." (g., 496.) according to the report of the synod held in 1762 there were parochial schools in new providence, one main school and several smaller ones; in new hanover; in philadelphia, where a public examination during the sessions of synod exhibited the efficiency of the school; in vincent township, a school with a good teacher and 60 children; in reading, a school with more than 80 children; in tulpehocken, a school of 40 children; in heidelberg, a school of 30 children; in northkeel, 30 children, taught by pastor kurtz; in lancaster, a school of 60 children in summer and 90 in winter, etc. (495.) 57. dearth of pastors and schoolteachers.--from the very beginning one of the greatest obstacles to the spread and healthy growth of the lutheran church in america was the dearth of well-trained, able, and truly lutheran pastors and schoolteachers. and the greatest of all mistakes of the early builders of the american zion was the failure to provide for the crying need of laborers by the only proper and effectual means--the establishment of american seminaries for the training of truly lutheran pastors and teachers qualified to serve in american surroundings. the growing indifferentism and deterioration of the lutheran ministry as well as of the lutheran congregations was a necessary consequence of this neglect, which resulted in an inadequate service, rendered, to a large extent, by incompetent or heterodox ministers. dr. mann was right when he maintained in his _plea for the augsburg confession_ of 1856, that the doctrinal aberrations of the definite platform theologians were due, in part, to the fact that s. s. schmucker and other ministers had received their theological education at princeton and other non-lutheran schools. the constantly increasing need, coupled with the insufficient preparation of the men willing to serve, led to the pernicious system of licensing, which for many decades became a permanent institution in pennsylvania and other states. in 1857 the general synod adopted the following report: "the committee on the licensure system respectfully report that the action of this body requesting the several district synods to take into consideration and report their judgment on the proposed alteration or abolition of our licensure system has been responded to by fifteen synods. out of this number all the synods, excepting three, have decided against a change. your committee have to report the judgment of the church to be decidedly against any change of our long-established regulations on this subject, and therefore deem it unnecessary to enter on the discussion of the merits of the subject, in this report, and propose the adoption of the following resolution: resolved, that the great majority of our synods having expressed their judgment against any change in our licensure system, your committee be released from the further consideration of the subject." (20.) the great dearth of ministers accounted for this action. even before 1727 there were in pennsylvania more than 50,000 germans. in 1751 benjamin franklin expressed his apprehension that "the palatine boors" would germanize pennsylvania. in 1749 more than 12,000 german emigrants arrived. in 1750 the germans in pennsylvania numbered about 80,000, almost one-half of the inhabitants of the state. and more than one-half of these were considered lutherans. in 1811, however, when this number had greatly increased, the pennsylvania synod reported only 64 ministers, of whom 34 were ordained, 26 were licensed to preach, and 4 were catechists. the number of ministers sent from germany had been augmented by such as had been tutored by pastors in america. chr. streit and peter muhlenberg, for example, were instructed by provost wrangel and muhlenberg, sr. another pupil of muhlenberg was jacob van buskirk. h. moeller, d. lehman, and others had studied under j. c. kunze. jacob goering, j. bachman, c. f. l. endress, j. g. schmucker, miller, and baetis were pupils of j. h. ch. helmuth. h. a. muhlenberg, who subsequently became prominent in politics, and b. keller were educated in franklin college. later on some attended princeton and other reformed schools to prepare themselves for the lutheran ministry! to make matters worse, the ministers who, toward the close of the eighteenth century, came from germany were no longer adapted for their surroundings, which were rapidly becoming english. besides, halle and the other german universities had grown rationalistic. according to the report of the general synod in 1823 the lutheran church in america numbered 900 churches with only 175 ministers. (9.) the same report states: "the ancient and venerable synod of pennsylvania is rapidly increasing both in members and in ministers, and we trust that much good is doing in the name of our blessed savior jesus. from the minutes of the session of the present year, which was held at lebanon, it appears that the body consists of 74 ministers, who have the pastoral charge of upwards of 278 churches; that between the session of 1822 and 1823 they admitted to membership by baptism 6,445, admitted to sacramental communion by confirmation 2,750, that the whole number of communicants is 24,794, and that there are under the superintendence of the different churches 208 congregational schools." (11.) in 1843, according to the _lutheran almanac_ for that year, the general synod numbered 424 ordained and licensed pastors and 1,374 congregations with 146,303 communicants. this averaged three congregations for every pastor, some serving as many as six, eight, or even twelve, giving the majority of the congregations one service every four weeks, and to many only one service every eight weeks. (_kirchl. mitt. 1843, no. 11.) in 1853 about 9,000 lutheran congregations in the united states were served by only 900 pastors. (_lutheraner,_ 10, 31.) thus, as the years rolled on, the question became increasingly pressing: "where shall we find pastors for our children?" yet, while the lutheran ministers, as a rule, were most zealous and self-sacrificing in their labors to serve and gather the scattered lutherans, organize congregations, and establish parochial schools, the early history of american lutheranism does not record a single determined effort anywhere to provide in a systematic way for the training of preachers and teachers, such as were required by american conditions and surroundings. we hear of an orphan home founded by the salzburgers in 1737 with three boys and eight girls, but nowhere of a seminary turning out preachers and teachers for the maintenance and upbuilding of the church. it was in 1864, more than 120 years after the first appearance of muhlenberg in pennsylvania, that the "mother synod" of the lutheran church in america founded a seminary in philadelphia. 58. hopeless situation.--several years after his arrival in america, muhlenberg realized the need and conceived the thought of founding an orphan asylum with a preachers' seminary in connection; and in 1748 he had acquired the ground for this purpose. in his letters to halle he repeatedly declared that it would be impossible to supply "the almost innumerable multitude of german lutherans" with pastors for any length of time without a seminary in america. in one of these letters he says: "an institution of this kind does not appear to be impossible. and it seems to be necessary, because, as the past experience has taught us, the calling of well-tried and able preachers from germany, though indeed of especial advantage, and needed also in the future, at least for a considerable time, is connected with so many difficulties and such great expense that it will be impossible to send over as many from germany as will be required in order to provide sufficiently for all congregations." (504.) in 1769 muhlenberg broached the matter to the convention of the ministerium, and synod repeatedly considered the question. but nothing materialized. indeed, j. c. kunze, who later became muhlenberg's son-in-law, finally did succeed in opening a preparatory school; lack of funds, however, compelled him to close it during the revolutionary war. kunze, helmuth, and j. f. schmidt now pinned their hopes to the "german institute" of the pennsylvania university, whose professors were lutherans from 1779 to 1822. helmuth instructed every day from eight to twelve and from two to five o'clock. but the "german institute" did not turn out any lutheran pastors, as the curriculum contained no course in theology. kunze writes: "it is true, i was professor of oriental languages in philadelphia. however, i had but six scholars, and i doubt if one of them will study theology. and who would instruct them, in case they should desire to study theology? we did not have time to devote a single hour to this subject in philadelphia." in 1785 helmuth and schmidt wrote: "there is nothing we pastors desire more than a german educational institution, where young men could be prepared directly for the service of the church. to be sure, we have part in the university located here, and also make use of it. but languages and philosophy only are taught here, from which our churches and schools derive no benefit." the hopelessness of the situation is further revealed by the following letter which helmuth addressed to the synod assembled in lancaster, pa., 1784: "brethren, we are living in a sad time. my heart weeps over the awful decay of christendom. i readily acknowledge my share of the guilt that god seems to hide his countenance from us, permitting the doors to stand wide open, for the spirit of lies [rationalism] to enter and destroy the vineyard of the lord. you will learn from the report from halle how the swine are uprooting the garden of christ in germany. . . . another thing, dearest brethren, how shall we in the future supply our congregations with pastors? where shall we find ministers to meet our need, which will increase from time to time! from germany? possibly a secret arian, socinian, or deist? for over there everything is full of this vermin. god forbid! under present circumstances, no one from germany! we ourselves must put our hands to the plow. god will call us to account for it, and will let our children suffer for it, if we do not wake up, and hazard something for the weal of immortal souls."--and how did they now seek to provide help? franklin college was founded in conjunction with the german reformed and other sects! helmuth and other lutheran pastors were among the trustees of the institution. in an appeal to the lutheran congregations they say: "where will you at last find pastors and teachers if you do not send your children to college? . . . think you that your churches and schools can exist without them? either your children will have to content themselves with the poorest kind of men, or else surrender language and religion, for which you have laid the foundation, thus loading a great guilt upon yourselves. dear friends, german church-life can impossibly continue to exist as it has hitherto existed in many places. in a few years the churches you already have will be deserted. and what will then become of the increased number of germans dwelling in your midst? are there not already a great number of localities where the inhabitants hear no sermon for six to eight weeks, and where the young grow up like the savages?" (515. 530.) the synod of 1818 also staked its hopes on franklin college, which, however, was eking out a pitiable existence, and finally became the exclusive property of the reformed. the dire need was apparent to all; the true way out of the difficulty, however, no one saw nor wanted to see. and the reason? avarice on the part of the congregations, and a lack of initiative and lutheran earnestness and determination on the part of the pastors. nor did the seminaries founded in the first part of the nineteenth century (hartwick seminary, established in 1815; gettysburg seminary, in 1825; and the seminary of the south carolina synod, in 1829, at lexington) meet the needs of the church, either as to the quantity or the quality of the candidates required for the lutheran ministry. in a letter addressed to the general synod, assembled 1827 at gettysburg, dr. hazelius wrote: "our [hartwick] seminary has been established since the year 1815; during which time 11 young men have received their theological education here, 10 of whom are now actively engaged as laborers in the vineyard of our lord; but one is prevented by disease from participating in the labors of his brethren." (20.) all told, 10 preachers produced by lutheran seminaries in the united states till 1827! besides, in reality these seminaries were not lutheran, but unionistic and, in a degree, reformed schools. deterioration of mother synod. 59. descent increasingly swift.--the lutheran church has always held that, as faith cannot and must not be coerced, the broadest tolerance as to matters of conscience and religion should govern the policy of the state everywhere. on the other hand, the lutheran church maintains that, as truth is absolutely intolerant of error, and error is the direct denial of truth, the christian church dare not in any shape or manner give recognition to false teaching, but, on the contrary, is bound always to reject it and to confess god's truth alone. indifferentism as to false doctrine and practise has ever proved to be the most deadly foe of true lutheranism, which, essentially, is but another name for consistent christianity. lutheranism and doctrinal indifferentism are just as destructive mutually as are truth and falsehood. also the history of the pennsylvania synod offers ample proof of this law. in the days of muhlenberg, lutherans began to doubt that their doctrinal position, as presented in the lutheran symbols, alone is of divine right in the christian church, and alone in complete keeping with the scriptures. then they began to defend themselves as also being in the right and standing for truth; then, to apologize for their presence in america; then, to be ashamed of themselves and publicly to deny the distinctive tenets of lutheranism; and, finally, to oppose its doctrines, champion their counterpart, and practically embrace sectarianism. muhlenberg had lived to see the beginning of the end of true lutheranism when franklin college was opened. the descent was increasingly swift. in 1792 the confession of the lutheran symbols was omitted in the new constitution of the ministerium. and when, under the influence of quitman, the new york ministerium became rationalistic, the pennsylvania synod made no protest, administered no rebuke, and did not sever its fraternal relations with it. moreover, in a measure, they opened their own doors to rationalism; the german language was regarded as being of greater import than faithful adherence to the lutheran confessions; and refuge against the inroads of rationalism and the english language was sought in a union with the german reformed and the german moravians. the utter degeneration of the pennsylvania synod appears from the new agenda, concerning which synod resolved in 1818 that it be introduced in all german congregations of the ministerium. in this book there were embodied also forms designed to satisfy the rationalists. two of the forms for administering the sacrament of baptism contained no confession of faith. the confession to the lutheran church was stricken from the form for confirmation. in two of the forms for the administration of the lord's supper the union formula of distribution was employed, _viz_., "jesus says: take and eat--jesus says: take and drink ye all of it," etc. the second form contained the following general invitation: "in the name of jesus christ, our lord and master, i say to all who acknowledge him as their savior, and are determined to be his faithful followers: you are welcome at this feast of love." (669.) the second formula for burials had a rationalistic tang. and the formulas of ordination and licensure no longer demanded adherence to the lutheran confessions. (669.) 60. intrenching behind the german language.--the christian church, hence also the lutheran church, views every language, hebrew, greek, and latin, as well as german and english, not as an end, but always as a means only toward furthering her real end, the regeneration and salvation of souls. according to loehe's _kirchliche mitteilungen_ of 1845, no. 5, a german emigrant wrote shortly after his arrival in america: "i cannot sufficiently thank god for the grace bestowed upon me; for when i for the first time heard the language of canaan [english], the language of the new jerusalem, i was immediately and deeply moved by the spirit of god and was caught like tinder." this was certainly not the attitude of the german lutheran ministers of the pennsylvania synod, some of whom, going to the other extreme, were in danger of viewing the english, as compared with the german, as impregnated with the spirit of rationalism and infidelity. riding, as it were, on the language, rationalism had made its public entry into the new york ministerium. the real cause, however, was not the language, but the indifferentism and unionism prevailing within this body, which long ago had paved the way for, indeed, had itself bred, religious unbelief. however, mistaking what was merely accidental and a concomitant for the chief and real cause of the calamity in the new york ministerium, prominent german ministers of the pennsylvania synod, in order to guard against a similar turn of events in their own midst, frantically opposed the use of the english language in the synod and her congregations, and placed such emphasis on the german as made it an end _per se_ peculiar to the lutheran church rather than a means employed wherever and whenever the conditions call for it in order to attain her real and supreme object--the saving of souls. men like j. h. c. helmuth and j. f. schmidt, in a way, identified english and rationalism, german and lutheranism (that is to say, unionistic evangelicalism). lamenting the inroads that rationalism was making also in lutheran congregations, they wrote: "but now the protestant churches are threatened by a terrible storm, which is not the mere consequence of the natural course of things, but a _sign of this time_, and it will soon despoil them of the treasures of their church together with all their happiness, unless teachers and parents will counteract it with united strength. almost universally, especially in the cities and at the boundaries, they are beginning to educate the children exclusively in the english language, and, in a manner for which they will not be able to answer, to neglect them as regards the german services. this is the consequence of the indifference and the disregard of sound doctrine which, in the present hour of great temptation, is spreading over the face of the earth." but instead of stemming the tide of rationalism by returning to lutheran faithfulness, they ignored the lutheran confessions and intrenched themselves behind the german language and the "brethren" in the german reformed and german moravian churches. the general church-prayer of the agenda of 1786, universally introduced in the congregations of the pennsylvania synod, contained the passage: "and since it has pleased thee [god] to transform this state [pennsylvania] into a blooming garden, the deserts into delightful meadows, grant that we may not forget our nation, but strive to have our dear youth educated in such a manner that german churches and schools may not only be maintained, but brought to a flourishing condition, ever increasing." (404.) in 1812 the _evangelisches magazin_ appeared "under the auspices of the german evangelical lutheran synod," pastors helmuth and schmidt being the editors. its avowed purpose, however, was not to represent lutheranism, but specifically to bolster up the cause of the german and to oppose the introduction of the english language. the "proposal to synod" concerning the new german paper states: "1. we want to aid the german language as much as we can, because we are convinced that, with her language, our church will lose unspeakably much, and, finally, for the most part, even her very existence under her [lutheran] name. 2. we know the days of the great apostasy in europe. . . . also this devouring monster could be counteracted by a well-arranged _evangelisches magazin_." (544.) in 1813 the _magazin_ contained a series of articles urging the reformed and lutherans to stand together against all attempts at introducing english. the english language, it is said, is too poor to furnish an adequate translation of the german prayers and hymns and books of devotion. english congregations could not remain either lutheran or reformed, because "our religious writings are all german." revealing his utopian dreams, the writer continues: "what would philadelphia be in forty years if the germans there were to remain german, and retain their language and customs? it would not be forty years until philadelphia would be a german city, just as york and lancaster are german counties. . . . what would be the result throughout pennsylvania and northern maryland in forty or fifty years? an entirely german state, where, as formerly in germantown, the beautiful german language would be used in the legislative halls and the courts of justice." (jacobs, 330.) in 1805 the pennsylvania synod resolved that "this ministerium must remain a german-speaking body"--a resolution which, especially in philadelphia, merely served to increase the humiliating and damaging language-strife which had begun several decades before. unionism in the ascendency. 61. seeking refuge with the reformed.--in their struggle against rationalism and the english language the german lutherans of pennsylvania sought help in an alliance with the german reformed and the moravians. fellowship between them became increasingly intimate. "luther and zwingli," they boasted harmoniously, "opened the eyes of the world!" "after all," they kept on saying, "there is but one faith, one baptism, one supper, no matter how much the lutheran and reformed views on it may be at variance." (539.) one of the objects of the german _evangelical magazine_ evidently was to bring about a more intimate union between all german evangelical bodies. for this reason it was not called "lutheran," but "evangelical." the preface to the first volume declared: "our undertaking would be greatly furthered if the brethren of other communions would beautify it with their pious contributions, and also solicit subscriptions. the brethren of the moravian unity have expressed their satisfaction with this imperfect work, and assured us of their abiding love in this point." (544.) in view of the celebration of the reformation jubilee, the ministerium of pennsylvania, at york, june 2, 1817, resolved that the german reformed, moravian, episcopal, and presbyterian churches be invited by our president to take part with us in the festival of the reformation. in the following year the unionistic and rationalistic agenda characterized above was adopted by the ministerium. a committee was also appointed to confer with the german reformed, and to devise plans for utilizing franklin college as a theological seminary, in order to prepare ministers for both denominations. in 1819, at lancaster, pa., synod again considered the proposition of founding a joint seminary at lancaster, and appropriated the sum of $100 for this purpose on condition that the reformed synod set aside an equal amount. a committee was also appointed to confer with a similar committee of the reformed, and to draw up the necessary plans for the seminary. during this time, especially in the period of 1817 to 1825, prominent men of the pennsylvania synod considered and advocated plans for an organic "general union of our church in this country with the evangelical reformed church." (685.) the pennsylvania minutes of 1822 contain a notice according to which endress and w. a. muhlenberg were among the chief advocates of this movement. many, especially in the pennsylvania and north carolina synods, regarded and zealously urged the union of all lutheran synods in a general synod as a step in this direction, _viz_., union with the reformed. graebner says: "when all the lutherans had been organized into one general body, and had grown accustomed to marching together, one might also hope to experience that when the command for the greater union would be given, the entire lutheran people, now freed from lutheranism, would march in stately procession to the goal of schober's morning star [union of all evangelical churches]. this was evidently the policy and ulterior object when, at harrisburg, 1818, the pennsylvania synod resolved that 'the officers of synod be a standing correspondence committee to bring about, if possible, a union with the other lutheran synods.'" (685.) viewed in its historical context (the favorable deliberations and resolutions on the union seminary, the union hymn-book, etc.), this resolution admits of no other interpretation. when, therefore, the organization of the general synod seemed, in the opinion of many, to interfere with and threaten the projected union with the reformed, the pennsylvania synod promptly withdrew from this body, in 1823. says jacobs: "the form of the opposition [to the general synod] was that the general synod interfered with the plans that had been projected for a closer union with the reformed, and the establishment of a lutheran-reformed theological seminary. congregations in lehigh county petitioned the synod, for this reason, to 'return to the old order of things'; and the synod, in the spirit of charity [?] toward its congregations, in order that nothing might interrupt the mutual fraternal love that subsisted between the brethren, consented, by a vote of seventy-two to nine, to desert the child which it had brought into being." (361.) 62. union reformation jubilee of 1817.--at york, june 2, 1817, the pennsylvania synod resolved to celebrate the tercentenary of the reformation together with the reformed, the episcopalians, etc. invitations were extended accordingly. in his answer of october 14, 1817, bishop william white of the episcopal church wrote to pastor lochman, expressing his delight at the prospect of taking part in the prospective celebration. he said: "i received the letter with which you honored me, dated july 23, 1817. in answer i take occasion to inform you that it will give me great satisfaction to join with the reverend ministers and with the whole body of the lutheran church, in this city, on the day appointed, in returning thanks to almighty god for the beginning of the blessed reformation in the three-hundredth year preceding, and in raising up for that purpose the great and good man who has transmitted to your church his name, and whose praise is in all the churches of the reformation. this occasion must, of course, be the more welcome to me on account of the agreement in doctrine which has always been considered as subsisting between the lutheran churches and the church of england, the mother of that of which i am a minister." (jacobs, 356.) in his sermon at frederick, md., d. f. schaeffer declared that it is noteworthy that both luther and calvin "were agreed on all points, with the exception of one which was of minor importance." the congregation sang according to the tune of "wie schoen leuchtet der morgenstern": "one hundred years, thrice told this day, by heavenly grace truth's radiant ray beamed through the reformation; yea, glorious as aurora's light dispels the gloomy mists of night, dawn'd on the world salvation. luther! zwingli! joined with calvin! from error's sin the church to free restored religious liberty." in yorktown a german cantata was sung from which we quote, according to the original, as follows: "chor: heute vor dreihundert jahr, strahlte licht aus gottesthron, durch die reformation. luther, deutschlands hoechste zier, stund der kirche jesu fuer. solo: aber welch ein widerstand! solo: luther war mit gott verwandt. duetto: seiner lehre heller schein, drang in tausend herzen ein, drang in tausend herzen ein. pause: zwingel kam und calvin, traten auf in christi sinn; duetto: und verbreiten licht und heil segensvoll in ihrem teil. ganzer chor: millionen feiern heut', dankbar froh' im hoeh'ren ton, dieses fest dem menschensohn." (g., 665.) 63. reformed and lutheran minutes on lancaster seminary.--from 1817 to 1825 the synod of pennsylvania and the german reformed church were engaged in devising plans and adopting measures looking to the establishment of a united theological seminary for the education of the ministers of both the reformed and lutheran churches. according to the minutes of the two bodies the respective actions taken were as follows: minutes of the german reformed synod, 1817: "the committee on the founding of a literary institution reported further, recommending that two committees be appointed, consisting of three persons each, the one to confer with a committee of the new york synod [dutch reformed] and the other with the lutheran synod. resolved, that the rev. messrs. pomp and saml. helffenstein be the committee to the new york synod, and the rev. messrs. hendel, hoffmeier, and wack, sr., the committee to the lutheran synod." (11.) minutes of pennsylvania synod, 1818: "at this point, revs. h. hoffmeier, e. wack, and w. hendel appeared before the synod as a committee from the reformed synod of this state, and presented the following communication in writing, namely: an extract from the minutes of the reformed synod held at york, september 9, 1817. mr. hoffmeier having explained this whole subject more particularly to synod, it was thereupon resolved, that a committee be appointed to confer with our esteemed brethren of the reformed synod in respect to the subject under consideration. the messrs. j. george schmucker, conrad jaeger, and h. a. muhlenberg were named as this committee." "the committee appointed yesterday to confer with the committee of the reformed synod, and to make inquiry as to the way in which a union seminary for the education of young men for the ministerial office in both churches could be best established, presented the following report: '1. that they have attended to the duty assigned them, and have had under consideration the fact that in the city of lancaster there is an institution already in existence, known by the name of franklin college. ... 2. that the committee greatly regret that this institution has hitherto been neglected, and consequently the object to which it was originally devoted by the state has altogether failed of attainment. 3. that the committee has examined the charter of said institution with care, and finds it necessary to recommend that the president thereof be instructed to make arrangements for holding a meeting of all its trustees. 4. that messrs. hoffmeier and endress see to it that such a meeting be held. 5. that a committee be appointed by both synods, who shall conjointly prepare a plan setting forth how this institution can be best adapted to the accomplishment of the purpose aforementioned.' the above report was received with general favor, and messrs. schmucker, lochman, geissenhainer, sr., endress, and muhlenberg were appointed the committee provided for in section five of the report." (7. 8.) minutes of german reformed synod, 1818: "the committee which was appointed to confer with a committee of the lutheran synod in reference to the founding of a theological school reported that they attended the lutheran synod of last year, and were received in a very fraternal manner; and that that synod has appointed a committee to confer after the present meeting with a committee of the reformed synod on any subjects relating to the school, and to submit something definite; and they proposed that a similar committee be appointed. the proposition of the committee was accepted, and revs. j. w. hoffmeier, f. herman, sr., wm. hendel, thos. pomp, and s. helffenstein were appointed such committee." at the same meeting a committee which had been appointed to confer with a similar committee from the reformed dutch church, in reference to uniting with it in establishing a theological seminary, reported, stating that, inasmuch as negotiations were in progress with reference to uniting with other germans in pennsylvania, who have a common interest in property voted to them by the state legislature for the support of a german institution [at lancaster], nothing definite could at present be done in the matter. (6.) minutes of pennsylvania synod, 1819: "pastor endress made a verbal report in behalf of the committee appointed the previous year to confer with a committee of the reformed synod in regard to the matter of franklin college in lancaster. resolved, that the sum of $100 be appropriated out of our synodical treasury toward the support of the college in lancaster, provided the same be done by the reformed synod. resolved, that a committee be appointed on our part who shall, at the next meeting of the reformed synod in lancaster, in conjunction with a committee from this latter body, draw up a plan for a theological seminary. resolved, that the pastors schmucker, endress, lochman, muhlenberg, and ernst constitute said committee. resolved, that, through mr. endress, fifty copies of the minutes of synod of this year be forwarded to the reformed synod, shortly to convene at lancaster." (15.) minutes of reformed synod, 1819: "proposed and resolved that a committee of five be appointed to confer with a committee of the lutheran synod in reference to the founding of a union theological institution, with authority to devise the plan necessary for the purpose. the committee consists of revs. hoffmeier, hendel, pomp, becker, and saml. helffenstein." "the committee of the lutheran and reformed synods to consider the matter relating to a theological seminary have prepared a plan for this purpose, and carefully examined the same, and found that such a theological seminary would be not only exceedingly useful for our youth preparing for the ministerial office, but also can easily be established. the committee, therefore, submit this plan to the rev. synod, and, at the same time, request the rev. synod to have the plan printed, in order that it may be circulated among the members of both synods, to afford each one an opportunity to examine it carefully for himself, because the time for this purpose is at present too short. the committee of the rev. lutheran synod proposes to pay half the expenses of printing, and recommended that two hundred copies thereof be printed." "it was proposed and resolved, that fifty copies of the proceedings of the present synod be transmitted to the rev. lutheran synod as an evidence of our gratitude and mutual respect." (7. 19.) minutes of pennsylvania synod, lancaster, may 28, 1820: "the president of synod made a verbal report in behalf of the committee that had been appointed, in conjunction with a committee of the reformed synod, last september at lancaster to draw up and publish a plan for a union seminary. from this report it appears that the members of our committee were not all present; that the joint committee did actually prepare a plan; that the printing of the same was entrusted to revs. endress and hoffmeier, but that this duty was not attended to. dr. endress arose and made a long speech in defense of himself, referring to a number of local reasons and certain misunderstandings that influenced him to omit the publication of the plan. to this it was replied that the reasons given by him were not altogether satisfactory. candidate schnee arose and gave synod an account of an institution located at middletown, pa., known as 'the fry's orphans' home.' he awakened the joyful hope that by the blessing of the lord it might be possible at some future time to establish at that place a theological seminary for the lutheran church in this country. dr. lochman arose and made a powerful speech in favor of establishment of a theological seminary, and of supporting the college at lancaster. resolved, that a committee be appointed to attend the meeting of the reformed synod shortly to be held at hagerstown; that revs. d. f. schaeffer and b. kurtz constitute said committee." (19. 20.) minutes of pennsylvania synod, chambersburg, 1821: "revs. hoffman and rahausen, deputies of the german reformed synod, took seats as advisory members. resolved, that rev. mr. denny, pastor of the presbyterian church at chambersburg, be acknowledged as an advisory member of this synodical assembly. the committee to examine the protocol of the german reformed general synod reported that they examined said protocol, and found the following items which may require to be considered at this meeting: 1. that messrs. schaeffer and kurtz, appointed as our delegates to the reformed synod at our last year's meeting, were received as advisory members by the reformed synod. resolved, that this synod sees in this action evidence of the love of those whom we acknowledge as brethren, and that it is prepared always, as heretofore, to reciprocate this kindness. 2. that revs. hoffman and rahausen were appointed delegates by the reformed synod to attend our present synodical meeting. resolved, that pastors muhlenberg and knoske attend the next meeting of the reformed synod at reading as delegates from this synod." (6. 16 f.) in 1820 the pennsylvania synod entered upon its wild scheme to found a seminary at frederick, md., with dr. milledoller as professor, with $2,000 salary. this stopped all other negotiations for the time being. dr. milledoller held the call under consideration two years, and then declined. he went to new brunswick immediately after that, and col. rutger's money went with him to that place, which, it was understood, would go to whatever place dr. milledoller would go. (_lutheran observer_, sept., 1881.) the fact that nothing tangible resulted from the movement of uniting the lutheran and reformed synods and of establishing a union seminary was not due in the least to a growing confessionalism on the part of the pennsylvania synod, for at that time such was not in evidence anywhere. typical representatives of synod. 64. c. f. l. endress denounces form of concord.--among the better class of lutherans prominent in the pennsylvania synod during the decades immediately preceding and following the year 1800 were such men as j. b. schmucker, h. a. muhlenberg, lochman, probst, and endress. in the proceedings of the general synod, 1827, lochman and endress are spoken of as belonging to "the fathers of our general synod, and able ministers of the lord jesus," as the "oldest and most respected members" of the synod of east pennsylvania, as "men who were among the brightest ornaments of the lutheran church, and whose departure is lamented no less by the synods in general than by that to which they more immediately belonged." (12. 21.) yet they, too, were absolutely indifferent as to the lutheran symbols. dr. c. f. endress, a pupil of helmuth, a leading spirit in the pennsylvania ministerium and most prominent in the unionistic transactions with the german reformed church, declared his theological position as follows: "we have the formula concordiae, in which expulsion, condemnation, anathema, were, in the most liberal manner, pronounced and poured forth against all those who were of a different opinion, which, however, thank god, was never received universally by the lutheran church. i would suffer both my hands to be burned off before i would subscribe that instrument." "as we have hitherto received the augsburg confession and luther's catechism and melanchthon's apology, so i have no objection that they should be kept in reverence and respect as our peculiar documents, but not to overrule the bible. for by this shall the lutheran church forever distinguish itself from all other religious connections, that the bible, the bible alone, shall remain the only sun in christ jesus, and that we rest upon human declarations of faith only in so far as they receive their light more or less from that great light." "what shall i answer on the question, what is the confession of faith of the lutheran church? answer: i will not dictate to you what you should say; but if i should be asked, i would say, first, and principally, and solely, and alone: the holy word of god contained in the writings of the prophets and apostles. the confessions of faith by the church of the first four centuries we hold in conformity with the bible, and receive them, as far as i know, universally in the lutheran church. the confession of the princes of the german empire presented at the diet of augsburg is held by all in honor and respect, and when we compare it with other human confessions, we give it a decided preference. luther's catechism is used in all lutheran churches, and no catechism of other religious denominations has that honor. the so-called apology is in possession of very few lutheran ministers; but whether they have read it or not, they consider it a good book. the smalcald articles i have often read. in germany they are taken up among the symbols. i know not whether any other divine in the lutheran church in america ever read it except muhlenberg and lochman. in short, we hold firmly and steadfastly to our beloved bible, when the one holds to calvin, the other to zwingli, a third to the heidelberg catechism, a fourth to the confession of the synod of dort, a fifth to the westminster catechism, a sixth to the common-prayer book, a seventh to the solemn league and covenant, and the eighth to the darkened and depraved reason per se, the ninth to reason under the name of holy spirit, and the tenth to the devil himself in the form of an angel of light. but i will cleave to my beloved bible, and hereby it shall remain. amen." (_luth. observer_, sept., 1881.) 65. rev. probst defending union.--the _lutheran observer_, september, 1881, from whose columns we quoted the statements above concerning dr. endress, continues: rev. probst, who was a member of the pennsylvania synod from 1813 until his death, and well acquainted with the sentiments of his brethren, in a work published in 1826 for the express purpose of promoting a formal and complete union of the german reformed and lutheran churches in america, entitled, _reunion of the lutherans and reformed_, says that there was no material difference of doctrinal views between them, the lutherans having relinquished the bodily presence, and the reformed unconditional election. speaking of the supposed obstacles to such union, he remarks: "the doctrine of unconditional election cannot be in the way. this doctrine has long since been abandoned; for there can scarcely be a single german reformed preacher found who regards it as his duty to defend this doctrine. zwingli's more liberal, rational, and scriptural view of this doctrine, as well as of the lord's supper, has become the prevailing one among lutherans and reformed, and it has been deemed proper to abandon the view of both luther and calvin on the subject of both these doctrines." (74.) "the whole mass of the old confessions, occasioned by the peculiar circumstances of those troublous times, has become obsolete by the lapse of ages, and is yet valuable only as matter of history. those times and circumstances have passed away, and our situation, both in regard to political and ecclesiastical relations, is entirely changed. we are therefore not bound to these books, but only to the bible. for what do the unlearned know of the augsburg confession, or the form of concord, or the synod of dort?" (76.) "both churches [the lutheran and the reformed] advocate the evangelical liberty of judging for themselves, and have one and the same ground of their faith--the bible. accordingly, both regard the gospel as their exclusive rule of faith and practise, and are forever opposed to all violations of the liberty of conscience." (76.) "all enlightened and intelligent preachers of both churches agree that there is much in the former symbolical books that must be stricken out as antiquated and contrary to common sense, and be made conformable with the bible, and that we have no right to pledge ourselves to the mere human opinions of luther, or calvin, or zwingli, and that we have but one master, christ. nor is any evangelical christian bound to the interpretations which luther, or calvin, or any other person may place on the words of christ; but each one has the right to interpret them according to the dictates of his own conscience." (80.) "inasmuch as all educated ministers of the lutheran and reformed churches now entertain more reasonable and more scriptural views on those doctrines which were formerly the subjects of controversy, what necessity is there of a continued separation?" (81.) synod's un-lutheran attitude continued. 66. decades of indifferentism.--after the abortive efforts at establishing a union seminary and uniting with the reformed organically, and after her withdrawal from the general synod in 1823, the pennsylvania synod passed through a long period of indifferentism before the spirit of lutheran confessionalism once more began to manifest itself, chiefly in consequence of influences from german lutheran immigrants and by the activity of such men as drs. krauth and mann. however, even till the middle of the nineteenth century the symptoms of reviving lutheranism in the pennsylvania synod were but relatively weak, few, and far between. the agenda of 1842 still contained the union formula of distribution in the lord's supper and revealed a unionistic and reformed spirit everywhere. a form of baptism savors of pelagianism and rationalism. the agenda does not contain a single clear and unequivocal confession of the lutheran doctrine of the real presence. the second form for celebrating the lord's supper states: "as we are sensual creatures, he [christ] has appointed two external, visible elements, bread and wine, as tokens (pfaender), as it were, in order by them to assure us that with, in, and under them (mit, bei und unter denselben) we should become partakers of his body and blood, that is, of his entire grace of atonement. as surely, therefore, as a penitent communicant receives the blessed bread and the blessed cup, so surely he, in a manner invisible, will also receive from his savior a share in his body and blood." (_lutheraner_ 1844,47; 1846,61.81.) in 1848 rev. weyl, of baltimore, the arch-enemy of confessional lutheranism and unscrupulous slanderer of wyneken, reynolds, etc., declared in his church-paper that within the whole synod of pennsylvania there were hardly ten preachers who, in their faith and teaching regarding the doctrine of the lord's supper, deviated from the views of the general synod. dr. walther remarked with respect to this statement, which he was inclined to regard as mendacious: "since the [pennsylvania] synod was not ashamed to conclude its centennial jubilee by declaring this miserable paper [of weyl] its organ and thereby publishing to the world its spiritual death [as a lutheran church], it serves her right to have this man write her epitaph." (_l_. 1848, 31.) concerning the new hymn-book of the pennsylvania synod, rev. hoyer wrote in _kirchliche mitteilungen:_ "after a closer inspection i found that this hymn-book was compiled for three classes of people, orthodox, unionists, and supranaturalists. here we find, besides 'es ist das heil uns kommen her,' also 'religion, von gott gegeben,' as well as a hymn for the national holiday, the 4th of july, imploring the lord to give us the spirit of washington." (1850, 91; _l_. 7, 65.) _der lutherische herold_, which, edited by h. ludwig, appeared since april, 1851, in new york, represented the class of german lutherans within the ministeriums of pennsylvania and new york then most advanced in their protestations of lutheranism. but what kind of lutheranism it was that ludwig and his paper advocated appears from the following quotation: "we expect little sympathy from the old lutherans; yet, our endeavor shall always be to banish from our columns everything that might increase the breach, _for in doctrine we are one, we only differ in the form, of the dress_, that is to say, in practise, and in the mode and manner of spreading the doctrine." (_l._ 1, 151; 8, 143.) in january, 1855, the same paper was complimented by the _reformierte kirchenzeitung_ as follows: "the _lutherische herold_, published by h. ludwig, endeavors to mediate between the two extremes in the lutheran church of this country, and represents the milder melanchthonian conception of the sacraments. we read the _herold_ with joy, and wish it a recognition and encouragement commensurate with its services." (_l_. 11, 102.) as late as 1851 the pennsylvania synod, according to the report of the convention in that year, 51 ministers being present, maintained fraternal intercourse with the reformed, united, methodists, and moravians. she admitted reformed and presbyterian preachers as advisory members. synod had also received a reformed minister as such into her ministerium. she assembled in reformed and presbyterian churches for union services, and attended the service in a methodist church. she also adopted the resolution to enter into more intimate relations with the moravians. (_l_. 1852, 138.) in the following year synod returned to its original confessional position in the days of muhlenberg, though in a somewhat equivocal manner. (spaeth, _w. j. mann_, 171.) in 1853, however, at the same time appealing to all lutheran synods to follow her example, the pennsylvania synod resolved, by a vote of 54 to 28, to reunite with the general synod, then rapidly approaching its lowest water-mark, doctrinally and confessionally, its leading men openly and uninterruptedly denouncing the doctrines distinctive of lutheranism and zealously preparing the way for the definite platform as a substitute for the augsburg confession. indeed, the pennsylvania synod added to its resolution on the reunion that, "should the general synod violate its constitution, and require of our synod assent to anything conflicting with the old and long-established faith of the evangelical lutheran church, then our delegates are hereby required to protest against such action, to withdraw from its sessions, and to report to this body." (penn. minutes 1853, 18.) however, the action as such was tantamount to a violation and denial of the lutheran confession. dr. walther remarked with respect to the union: "this event will be hailed by many with great joy, a joy, however, that we are unable to share in in any measure. . . . for who does not see that the synod [of pennsylvania], by entering into ecclesiastical union with a body notoriously heterodox, has already departed from, and actually denied, the good confession of our church?" (_l_. 9, 122.) confirming the correctness of this statement, the pennsylvania synod, thirteen years later, when the ranks of her conservatives had materially increased, severed her connection with the general synod. 67. dr. sihler's estimate.--in 1858 dr. sihler wrote concerning the pennsylvania synod: "when the writer of this article, more than fourteen years ago, came to this country and gradually informed himself on the american conditions of the lutheran church, he had to observe with heartfelt sorrow that the pennsylvania synod, then still undivided and very numerous, in whose territory or vicinity the leaders of the so-called lutheran general synod have their field of labor was so completely indifferent toward the shameful apostasy of the latter from the faith and the confession of the lutheran church. for in vain one looked for a strong and decided testimony in any of the synodical reports of this church-body against the pseudo-lutherans of the general synod. nor was there to be found within the pennsylvania synod, or in other synods not belonging to the general synod, so much earnest zeal and love for the truth of god's word and of the confessions of the church, nor did it have any men among its theologians who were able to expose thoroughly in the english language the error, the hollowness and shallowness of the miserable productions of a schmucker and kurtz, who were made doctors of theology by god in his wrath and by satan as a joke and for the purpose of ridicule. on the contrary, they seemed to be not a little impressed with the theological learning and dogmatical science of these two so-called doctors, who, in rare self-satisfaction, found life and complete happiness in reinhard's supernaturalism. in short, these open counterfeiters, calvinists, methodists, and unionists, these base traitors and destroyers of the lutheran church, were and always remained the dear brethren, who contributed not a little to the prosperity and welfare of the dear 'lutheran zion.' accordingly, it did not require a gift of prophecy when the writer of this article, as early as 1844, foretold in the _lutherische kirchenzeitung_ [edited by schmidt in pittsburgh] that, in differently observing, as they did, the anticonfessional, church-destroying activities of the so-called general synod, yea, fraternizing with their leaders, they would become their prey, as was actually the case several years ago." (_lehre u. wehre_ 1858, 137.) lutherans in south carolina. 68. pioneer pastors in south carolina.--in 1735 colonists from germany and switzerland had settled in orangeburg co., s.c. their first resident pastor was j. u. giessendanner, who arrived in 1737 with new emigrants, but died the following year. he was succeeded by his son, who was ordained first by the presbyterians and then by the bishop of london, in 1849. [tr. note: sic!] orangeburg was thus lost to the lutheran church. at charleston, s.c., bolzius conducted the first lutheran services and administered the lord's supper in 1734. muhlenberg preached there in 1742. the first pastor who, in 1755, organized the lutherans at charleston into a congregation (st. john's) was j. g. friedrichs (friederichs). in 1759 he was succeeded by h. b. g. wordman (wartmann), who had labored in pennsylvania. in 1763 wordman was succeeded by j. n. martin. he dedicated the church begun in 1759. j. s. hahnbaum, who came from germany with his family in 1767, was, according to the church records, forbidden to "be addicted to the english articles" and to attack the church of england. the gown, wafers, festivals, gospels and epistles, and the use of the litany on sunday afternoons, are required. (jacobs, 297.) hahnbaum died in 1770. his successor, who also married his daughter, was magister f. daser. he had arrived in charleston, sold as a redemptioner, and had been redeemed by one of the elders of the lutheran congregation. (g., 574.) in 1774 h. m. muhlenberg advised the congregation and adjusted some of her difficulties. in the same year martin returned and served till 1778, when he was succeeded by christian streit, who labored until he was driven away in the vicissitudes of the revolutionary war, there being a tradition of his arrest by the british in 1780. (jacobs, 297.) pastor martin served a third term in charleston from 1786 to 1787, when he was succeeded by j. c. faber, who wrote to germany, from where he had arrived in 1787: his congregation was growing; it was a model of christian unity; it consisted of lutherans, german reformed, and catholics; they all lived together most peacefully, attending the same services and sharing in the support of their pastor, who had brought about such a union. no wonder that the congregation was satisfied with the service of the episcopalian pogson when faber had resigned on account of ill health. (g., 582 f.) 69. "unio ecclesiastica" in south carolina.--in 1788 fifteen german congregations were incorporated in the state of south carolina, nine of them being lutheran and six reformed or united. the lutheran congregations were served by f. daser, j. g. bamberg, f. a. wallberg, f. j. wallern, and c. binnicher; the rest, by the reformed pastors theus and froelich. in 1787 these ministers and congregations had united as a "corpus evangelicum" under the following title: "unio ecclesiastica of the german protestant churches in the state of south carolina." pastor daser was chosen _senior ministerii_. at the following convention, january 8, 1788, all lutheran ministers present pledged themselves on the symbolical books. a third meeting was held august 12, 1788; president daser presented a constitution, which was adopted. among other things it provided: 1. the intention of this union was not that any member should deny his own confession. 2. a directorium, composed of the ministers and two laymen, should remain in power as long as a majority of the 15 congregations would be in favor of it. 3. the directorium should be entrusted with all church affairs: the admission, dismissal, election, examination, ordination, and induction of ministers; the establishment of new churches and schools; the order of divine service, collections, etc. 4. any member of any of the congregations was bound to appear before the directorium when cited by this body. 5. where the majority of a congregation was reformed, a reformed agenda and catechism were to be used. 6. the ministers should be faithful in the discharge of their pastoral duties, . . . visiting the schools frequently, admonishing the parents to give their children a christian training, etc. 7. a copy of this constitution should be deposited in every congregation and subscribed by its members. 8. complaints against the pastor which the vestry failed to settle should be reported to the president immediately. 9. the brethren in europe should be petitioned to provide the congregations with preachers and schoolteachers.--it is self-evident that this anomalous union with a directorium invested with governing and judicial powers, to whose decisions lutheran as well as reformed pastors and congregations had to submit, lacked vitality, and, apart from flagrant denials of the truth, was bound to lead to destructive frictions. after an existence of several years the "unio ecclesiastica" died a natural death, the directorium, as far as has been traced, holding its last meeting in 1794. by 1804, the ministers who had organized this union body, all save one, were dead. the congregations eked out a miserable existence, becoming, in part, a prey to the methodists and baptists. thus also the promising lutheran field of south carolina was finally turned into a desert, chiefly in consequence of the dearth of lutheran preachers, who really could have been produced from this very field. (g., 601 ff.) the north carolina synod. 70. unionistic from the beginning.--most of the germans in north carolina came from pennsylvania. in 1771 the congregation at salisbury (which was in existence as early as 1768, and soon thereafter erected a church), together with the congregations in rowan co. and in mecklenburg co., sent a delegation to england, holland, and germany, asking for assistance. the result was that pastor a. ruessmann, who died in 1794, and teacher j. g. arends (ahrends), who soon officiated as pastor, were sent in 1773. in 1787 pastor chr. e. bernhardt arrived, followed by c. a. g. stork (storch) in 1788, and a. roschen, who returned to germany in 1800. but it was not genuine lutheranism which was cultivated by these german emissaries. many of the books coming from helmstedt were of a rationalistic character. also the north carolina catechism ("nordkarolingischer katechismus . . ., entworfen von johann kaspar velthusen, doktor und ordentlichem lehrer der theologie, erstem prediger in helmstedt und generalsuperintendent") savored of rationalism. the confessional and doctrinal degeneration of the pastors in north carolina appears from, and is attested by, the fact that in his ordination, in 1794, r. j. miller was pledged to the thirty-nine articles of the episcopalians. the synod of north carolina experienced a rapid growth, receiving 19 congregations into membership in 1813. according to the report of 1815, twenty lay delegates were present at the meeting of that year. in 1823, after the separation of the tennessee synod, the north carolina synod reported 19 ministers with about 1,360 communicants. its first convention had been held in salisbury, may 2, 1803. besides the lay delegates, this meeting was attended by pastor arends, miller, stork, and paul henkel. from the very beginning the articles of synod made no mention of the lutheran confessions. at the meeting of 1804 a reformed minister delivered the sermon. in 1810 a resolution was passed permitting every pastor to administer communion to those of another faith. it was furthermore resolved: "whereas it is evident that awakenings occur in our day by means of preaching for three consecutive days, and whereas this is to be desired among our brethren in the faith, it was resolved, on motion of mr. philip henkel, to make a trial in all our churches next spring." in the same year the north carolina synod ordered the ordination of the moravian g. shober (schober). the minutes of 1815 record the following: "since the church council of a newly built reformed church in guilford county expressly desires that our next synod be held in their church, it was resolved that synod shall be held in said church on the third sunday in october, 1816." as in the other lutheran bodies of that time, pulpitand altar-fellowship, reformed teaching, and methodistic enthusiasm became increasingly rampant in synod. in 1817 synod declared that it would continue to bear the lutheran name, and became demonstrative over the reformation tercentenary. the same convention, however, passed a resolution with regard to the joint hymn-book published by schaeffer and maund in baltimore, as follows: "we hereby tender the aforementioned gentlemen our heartiest thanks, and rejoice that we are able to accede fully to the aforementioned recommendations for its use both at church and in private among all our congregations. at the same time we humbly petition the god of love and unity to crown it with blessings in his kingdom and temple. it was also resolved that the english agenda which quitman had introduced in new york "be adopted as one of our symbolical books, and as such be recommended for use." (g., 647.) 71. shober's jubilee book.--in 1817 synod also approved of, and resolved to publish, shober's jubilee book, "a comprehensive account of the rise and progress of the blessed reformation of the christian church by doctor martin luther, begun on the thirty-first of october, a. d. 1517; interspersed with views of his character and doctrine, extracted from his book; and how the church established by him arrived and progressed in north america, as also the constitution and rules of that church, in north carolina and adjoining states, as existing in october, 1817." in the preface, shober gives utterance to the hope that all protestant churches and their individual members would, by reading his book, be moved "to pray to god that he would awaken the spirit of love and union in all who believe in the deity of jesus christ, the only mediator between god and men, in order to attain the happy time prophesied, when we shall blissfully live as one flock under one shepherd." on page 208 ff. he says: "why are we not all united in love and union? why these distances, controversies, disputes, mutual condemnations, why these splittings of formulas? why cannot the church of christ be one flock under one shepherd? my friends, at the proper time the lord will unite us all. thank god, we see the morning star rising; the union approaches, in europe through bible-societies, in america, too, through mission-societies, through the efforts of the rich and poor in sending out religious tracts, through the hundred thousand children who now learn to know their god and savior in the sunday-schools. through frequent revivals and many other signs it becomes apparent that the earth will soon be filled with the knowledge of the lord. among all classes of those who adore jesus as god i see nothing of importance which could prevent a cordial union; and what a fortunate event would it be if all churches would unite and send delegates to a general convention of all denominations and there could settle down on christ, the rock, while at the same time each denomination would be permitted to retain its peculiar ways and forms. this would have the influence on all christians that, wherever and whenever they met each other, they would love one another and keep fellowship with each other." synod declared: this book "will give to our fellow-christians in other denominations a clear view of what the lutheran church really is." yet, in this jubilee-gift shober practically denied the lutheran doctrines of the lord's supper and of absolution, and, as shown, enthusiastically advocated a universal union of all christian denominations. previously shober had written: "i have carefully examined the doctrine of the episcopal church, have read many excellent writers of the presbyterians, know the doctrine of the methodists from their book _portraiture of methodism_, and am acquainted with the doctrine of the baptists, as far as they receive and adore jesus the savior. among all classes of those who adore jesus as god, i find nothing of importance which could prevent a cordial union." (647 f. 682.) critical conventions. 72. "untimely synod" of 1819.--the leaders of the north carolina synod, stork, shober, jacob scherer, daniel scherer, miller, and others, cherished a sanguine hope of uniting all churches into a national american church, despite doctrinal differences. what could be more delightful, and what in all the world could be more desired, they declared in 1820, than "to bring about a general union of all religious parties throughout the entire land, that the glorious prophecy might be fulfilled: that they might all be one flock who are all under one shepherd." (_tennessee report_ 1820, 25.) the scheme also of organizing a lutheran general synod (for which purpose the pennsylvania synod had invited all other lutheran bodies to attend its meetings at baltimore in 1819 in order to discuss plans for this projected pan-lutheran union) was exultantly hailed as a step in this direction by leaders of the north carolina synod, notably by shober. accordingly, in order to enable the north carolina synod to take part in the meeting at baltimore, the officers of synod autocratically convened that body five weeks before the time fixed by the constitution. shober was sent to baltimore as delegate, and took a prominent part in drawing up the "planentwurf," the tentative constitution for the organization of a general synod. this irregular meeting of the north carolina synod was later on known as the "untimely synod." it provoked much ill feeling and led to the organization of the tennessee synod in 1820. (_tenn. rep_. 1820, 49.) at this "untimely synod" david henkel was charged with teaching transubstantiation, because he had preached the lutheran doctrine of the lord's supper to his congregations. synod found him guilty, and degraded him to the rank of catechist for a period of six months. says the report of the tennessee synod, 1820: "david henkel was to be entitled to his former rank in office only when, after a period of six months, sufficient written evidence should have been submitted to the president that peace obtained in his congregations, and that no important accusation was lodged against him by others, especially by the reformed [presbyterians], whereupon the president would be empowered to confer on him the privileges of a candidate until the next synod." (18.) the following statement of the same report characterizes the doctrinal attitude of president stork and other leaders of synod: "we [the henkels] have written evidence that, when a paper was read at said 'untimely synod' containing the statement that the human nature of jesus christ had been received into the divine nature (dass die menschheit jesu christi in die gottheit sei aufgenommen worden), and that therefore he possessed all the divine attributes, the president [stork] declared that he could not believe this. and when it was said that such was the teaching of the bible, he answered: 'even if five hundred bibles should say so, he would not believe it!' and to our knowledge he was never called to account for this statement." (20.) the autocratic actions of the leaders of the north carolina synod and their adherents virtually resulted in a rupture of synod in the same year. for the dissatisfied party held a synod of their own at buffalo creek, at the time specified by the constitution, and ordained bell and david henkel. 73. "synod of strife" (streitsynode).--the meeting at lincolnton, n. c., 1820, which followed the "untimely synod," was marked by painful scenes and altercations and the final breach between the majority, who were resolved to unite with the general synod, and the minority, who opposed the union and accused the leader not only of high-handed, autocratic procedure and usurpation of power in contravention of the constitution, but also of false doctrine, and publicly refused to recognize them as lutherans. on sunday, may 28, synod was opened with a service in which stork preached german and bell english. monday morning the preachers, delegates, and a great multitude of people from the neighborhood returned to the church. they found it occupied by pastors paul henkel, philip henkel, david henkel, and bell, who refused admission to the rest. after some parliamenteering, written and verbal, both parties entered the church. the henkels report as follows: "they [the opponents] took their stand on the fact that the majority was on their side and according to it everything should be decided. accordingly, before they came to us in the church, they first delegated one of their preachers with two questions directed to one of our preachers. the first was: 'whether he intended to separate from the north carolina synod?' the second: 'whether he was willing to be governed by a majority of preachers and delegates in the matters disputed?' he, giving him no decisive answer, came to the rest of us and told us. we answered in writing: 'that we neither intend to separate ourselves from synod, nor would suffer ourselves to be governed by a majority; but that we wanted everything investigated and decided according to the doctrine of the augsburg confession and according to the constitution or order of our church, nothing else.' in the mean time the minister delegated came to us where we were gathered and demanded a verbal answer to the same questions. we then gave this answer also verbally, whereupon he said with an arrogant gesture and autocratic tone: 'that is not the point; i only ask, do you want to, or do you not want to?' we answered: 'we did not want to.' he declared, 'that is all i desire to know'; and saying which he rapidly turned about and hastily ran away from us. in the mean time the multitude of our opponents moved toward us, proposing the same questions. we answered as before. the leaders among them endeavored to maintain that, in order to decide the dispute, we were not bound to the constitution, but only to the majority of the votes of the preachers and delegates, which majority they had; and that it was reasonable and fair for us to act according to it in this dispute. but we thought that the doctrine of the augsburg confession (being assured, as we were, that it can be proved by the doctrine of the bible) should be of a greater weight to us than the voice of a majority of men who are opposed to the doctrine and order of our church. after a brief altercation of this kind they went into the church, and we followed. here the president [stork], in a long speech in german, endeavored to prove what he had asserted before. the secretary [shober] made a still longer speech in english, in which he endeavored to prove that we were not at all bound to act according to the constitution or order of our church; although he himself, with the approval of synod, had written the constitution and had it printed, this was not done with the intention of making it a rule or norm by which we, as members of synod, were to be guided in our transactions; it was merely a sort of draft or model according to which, in course of time, one might formulate a good constitution, if in the future such should become necessary. however, it was proved [by the henkels] from the constitution itself that it had been received as just such an [official] document, sanctioned, after previous examination and approval by several ministers, by synod and ordered to be printed. to this he [shober] answered that such had not been the intention of synod. haste and lack of time had caused him to write it thus without previous careful consideration; therefore, now everything had to be governed and judged according to the majority. but we were of the opinion that it would prove to be a very unreasonable action to reject a constitution which a few years ago, according to a resolution of synod, had been printed and bound in 1,500 copies, the money being taken from the synodical treasury, and sold at 75 cts. a copy." (_tenn. rep_. 1820, 24.) the question concerning the violation of the constitution would, no doubt, have been settled in favor of the henkels, if they had not opposed the leaders in their union schemes and charged them with false doctrine and apostasy from the lutheran church. says the aforementioned tennessee report: "even though the officers with their adherents (die alten herrn beamten mit ihrem zugehoer) could perhaps themselves have thought so far [as to realize the arbitrariness of their procedure with reference to the 'untimely synod'], yet the desire to organize the general synod and to bring about a union with all religious bodies, especially with the presbyterians, was so strong as to outweigh everything else" [even an imminent breach]. the leaders finally admitted that both parties had erred, and declared their willingness to pardon everything if the minority would reunite with them. the henkels, however, declared that they could have no fellowship with people who were addicted to false doctrines concerning baptism and the lord's supper, and rejected the doctrine of the augsburg confession. they also declared their impatience with the contemplated "general union of all religious denominations," saying that such a union was no more possible than to bring together as one peaceful flock into one fold "sheep, goats, lambs, cows, oxen, horses, bears, wolves, wild cats, foxes, and swine." at this juncture one of the officers, dissolving the meeting and leaving the church, exclaimed: "whoever is a _true lutheran_, may he come with us to the hotel of j. h.; there we will begin our synod!" the minority answered: "whoever wants to be a true fanatic (schwaermer), may he go along; for you are no real lutheran preachers: you are fanatics (schwaermer) and to them you belong!" a young teacher added: "according to the testimony of holy scripture, it is impossible for us to regard you as anything but false teachers." then one of the old ministers, turning toward the assembly, said: "now you yourselves have heard the boldness and impertinence of this young man, who charges us, old and respectable ministers that we are, with false doctrine." similar utterances were made by others. the report concludes: "however, they left the church without defending themselves against such accusations, except that one of the old ministers said at the exit of the church that he was much astonished. but we could not help that." (_tenn. report_ 1820, 27.) as bell joined the shober party, his ordination at buffalo creek was declared constitutional and ratified as valid. shober now reported on his cordial reception by the pennsylvania synod and on the transaction which led to the adoption of the "planentwurf" for the contemplated organization of the general synod. the document, after its individual paragraphs had been read and discussed, was adopted by the north carolina synod by a majority of 15 to 6--a result which shober had forestalled in a letter to the pennsylvania synod assembled at lancaster, stating "that the greatest part of the members of the north carolina synod had adopted the so-called planentwurf," and expressing the hope that the general synod might be established. after adopting the "planentwurf," the north carolina synod elected pastors shober and peter schmucker delegates to the convention of the general synod, which was to convene at hagerstown, md., october 22, 1820. only a few ministers from tennessee being present, the henkels resolved not to transact any business at this time. (27.) 74. doctrinal dispute at lincolnton.--the points disputed at lincolnton did not only refer to the autocratic actions of the leaders of the synod and their union schemes, but also to the doctrines of baptism and the lord's supper, regarding which the minority charged stork, shober, and their followers with holding un-lutheran and anticonfessional views. the discussions on these doctrines caused james hill, a methodist preacher who was present, to address a letter to synod in which he said: "for almost thirteen years which i have spent in this county [lincoln co., n.c., where david henkel preached], i have understood that the greatest number of your preachers in the county have taught that the baptism of water effects regeneration, and that the body and blood of christ is received bodily with the bread and wine in the lord's supper, so that these doctrines, being so generally taught and confessedly believed, confirmed me in the conviction that they are the orthodox doctrines of the lutheran church. last monday [at the discussion on floor of synod], however, i discovered, or believed to discover, that some members of your rev. synod entertained different views. . . . now, in order that i may know how to conduct myself in the future toward so respectable a part of the church of christ [north carolina synod], i request the opinion of your synod on the above points." the answer, formulated by r. j. miller and peter schmucker, and approved of by the ministerium, was: "we do not say that all who are baptized with water are regenerated and converted to god, so that they are saved without the operation of the holy spirit, or in other words, without faith in christ." "we do not believe and teach that the body and blood of our lord jesus christ are bodily received with the bread and wine in the holy supper, but that the true believer receives and enjoys it spiritually together with all saving gifts of his suffering and death, by faith in jesus christ." (681.) according to the report of the henkels, the doctrine of predestination as taught by the presbyterians was also touched upon, for in it we read: "one of the members declared, and sought to maintain, that it was impossible for a man to fall from the grace of god after he had once been truly converted. another denied the doctrine of baptism as laid down in our catechism and in the second and ninth articles of the augsburg confession. the offer was made to a third to prove to him from his own handwriting that he denied the doctrine of the lord's supper as set forth in the tenth article [of the augsburg confession]. they offered to have the letter read; but our opponents did not agree to this. a book was placed before him and a passage was pointed out to him, in order that he might read what luther, of blessed memory, himself teaches on this question. he closed it angrily and pushed it away. a fourth put the question: 'can i not be a [presbyterian] predestinarian and also a lutheran?' for he believed that the [presbyterian] doctrine of predestination could be proven from the bible. he received the answer: 'if he believed as the predestinarians believe, then he belonged to them, and might go to them, it did not concern us.'--for these reasons we believed to be all the more certain that they were not true evangelical lutheran preachers, and this we also told them without reservation." (_tenn. rep_. 1820, 24 f.) in connection with the doctrine of regeneration by baptism, the henkels also referred to the error of the enthusiasts, gaining ground increasingly within the north carolina synod, _viz_., that conversion and regeneration was effected by anxious shrieking, united praying, and the exertion of all powers of the body and soul. (32 f.) the rupture, then, was inevitable: the doctrinal and spiritual gap between shober and his compeers on the one hand and the henkels and their adherents on the other hand being just as wide and insurmountable as that between zwingli and luther at marburg 1529. the leaders of the north carolina synod were not only unionistic, but, in more than one respect, reformed theologians. the ministers who soon after united in organizing the tennessee synod declared with respect to the north carolina synod: "if they would adopt the name of what we believe they really are, and in this way withdraw from us, then we and other people would know what our relation was toward them. but if they intend to remain in our household, they shall also submit to its authority [augsburg confession], or we will have nothing to do with them." (31.) gottlieb shober. 75. harbors reformed views on lord's supper.--the charges against david henkel as to his teaching the romish doctrine of transubstantiation, referred to above, had been lodged with pastor shober, then secretary of the north carolina synod. when david henkel complained that his accusers were not named, shober, who had never forsaken his moravian views, wrote him a letter, dated october 20, 1818, which at the same time reveals that, as to the lord's supper, his were the views of the reformed. for here we read: "your very long epistle, proving that christ is with his body every where present, is excellent on paper, but not so in the pulpit, where seven-eighths of the hearers will gaze at the profound erudition and one-eighth of such as reason will shake heads at a thing to be believed, but not explainable, and to none will it effect conviction of the necessity of spiritual regeneration and of adopting him as their god and savior crucified." "i must assure you that creditable people of our church and the reformed have not only heard you advance that whosoever is baptized and partakes of the supper wants no other and further repentance, but also that whosoever teaches other doctrine, he is a false teacher. this, my dear sir, is making people secure in forms and not in realities. how easy is it to go to heaven, for an adulterous heart to be absolved by mr. henkel, and as a seal to receive from mr. henkel the sacrament, who by his few words made bread body and wine blood--and such a holy divine body, without limitation of space, as is compelled to enter into all substances and beings, whether they will or not, so that a belial, when he receives it, must thereby be made an heir of heaven. no, no, i cannot believe in such theories, and as i told you once at my home when you returned from virginia and asked me on that subject, so i think yet, and say that when mr. henkel consecrates bread and wine, it is the body and blood of our savior to such with whom he can unite; but to those who are not of pure heart and yet partake, and that with reverence, the spirituality of the true essence does not unite with their souls; they eat bread and wine, for they have not such a faith, love, and humility as enables them to possess the divine essence. and those that partake without reverence, light-minded, and during the ceremony disdain the simplicity of the institution, mock and deride it, they bring judgment upon themselves for eating and drinking the consecrated elements, but not for partaking [the] body and blood of jesus, for they have not partaken thereof. god and belial cannot unite. do, pray, reflect deeply on the subject, and assure to all peace in heart, and those of contrite spirit that the lord in the sacrament will unite with them spiritually and seal their heavenly inheritance. but invite them all to come and partake that revere the savior as god, and assure them that, if they approach with reverence, it may be made the means of viewing the condescending love of god ready to unite with them, and their own depravity, which will or may make them cry, and, if pure in heart, obtain mercy." 76. slandering david henkel.--what the henkels, as early as 1809, had taught on the lord's supper, appears from a pamphlet published in that year at new market, in the printery of henkel. here we read as follows: "but paul teaches us that the bread which we break in the lord's supper is the communion of the body of christ, and the cup of blessing with which we bless is the communion of the blood of christ. if our bread and wine has communion with the body and blood of christ, then it also must be what our dear lord himself calls it in the institution: his body and his blood." (680.) this genuinely lutheran doctrine it was that also david henkel had been preaching, and which his opponents who charged him with roman aberrations called transubstantiation, impanation, or consubstantiation. and true to his reformed traditions, shober continued in his endeavors to slander david henkel as a crypto-papist. this compelled henkel to make the following explanation in 1827: "the ministry of the north carolina synod are charged with denying the most important doctrine of the lutheran church, and have been requested to come to a reciprocal trial, which they have obstinately refused. . . . those ministers, as it plainly appears, entertain a strong personal prejudice against me, and have asserted many charges with respect to my personal conduct, as well as with respect to my doctrines. what shall i say? have i not heretofore offered them a reciprocal trial, even as it respects personal conduct? why did they not accede to it? they are truly injuring their own reputation when they speak many evil things of me, in order to render me ridiculous, and an object of persecution, and yet are unwilling to confront me and prove their accusations by legal testimony. . . . i wish a reciprocal forgiveness. but as it respects the difference with respect to doctrines, it is necessary to be discussed, as that respects the lutheran community. mr. shober has most confidently charged me with teaching 'that if a man only is baptized and partakes of the lord's supper, [he] is safe; and that i call those enthusiasts and bigots who insist upon further repentance and conversion.' again he charges me with openly supporting the roman doctrine of transubstantiation, and of forgiving sins like the papists pretend to do. now i positively deny these charges as being true, and if mr. shober does not confront me and prove these charges by a legal testimony or testimonies, what can i otherwise, agreeably to the truth, call him but a calumniator, or one who bears false witness against his neighbor? i do not believe that any man in the united states (or, at least, i have never heard of any) teaches that, if a person only is baptized and receives the lord's supper, [he] is safe exclusive of repentance. what a puerile conduct some men manifest in trying to prove that the doctrine with which mr. shober has charged me is erroneous, when no man nor class of men contend for it! they are all the while fighting their own shadows. if the reader will take the trouble to read my book entitled, '_answer to mr. joseph moore, the methodist;_ with a few fragments on the doctrine of justification,' he may readily see whether i maintain the doctrines with which i am charged, or whether i deny regeneration and the influence of the holy spirit. again, as little as i believe the doctrine of transubstantiation, so little do i believe that of consubstantiation. a perusal of the book just now mentioned will also satisfy the reader on this subject." (_tenn. rep_. 1827, 48.) north carolina rupture. 77. charges preferred by tennessee synod.--the report of the committee which the tennessee synod appointed in 1824 to discuss the doctrinal differences with the north carolina synod charged them with the following statements of un-lutheran doctrine which they quoted from their writings: "1. 'jesus says, without being baptized; and furthermore he says: he that believeth not shall be damned--hence, baptized or not baptized, faith saves us.' see the committee's appendix to the proceedings of said north carolina connection of the year 1822, p.4, §2. the president of said connection [stork] says in his _english review_, p.46, 'that none but idiots could believe that the body of christ fills all space.' see also their proceedings of 1820, p. 18." (_tenn. rep_. 1824, appendix.) accordingly the charges lodged by tennessee against the north carolina synod were that they rejected the distinctive doctrines of lutheranism. in keeping herewith tennessee refused to acknowledge the north carolina synod as lutheran, and declined to grant her this title, speaking of her as a connection "which _calls_ itself a lutheran synod." in 1825 the tennessee synod declared: "we must here observe that we cannot consistently grant to the synod of north carolina this title [lutheran], because we maintain that they departed from the lutheran doctrine." (6.) the same convention headed a letter addressed to the north carolina synod as follows: "to the reverend synod of north carolina, who assume the title lutheran, but which we at this time, for reason aforesaid, dispute. well beloved in the lord, according to your persons!" etc. (7.) according to a letter of ambrosius henkel, march 24, 1824, riemenschneider declared: "the north carolina synod must have deviated not only from the lutheran doctrine, but from the very words of christ as well, as i have lately, in one of their publications, read the horrible words: baptized or not baptized, faith saves us. what is that except to declare baptism unnecessary? one would think that these people were crazy (man sollte denken, diese menschen waeren verrueckt)." the north carolina synod, however, in spite of their avowed unionistic and essentially reformed attitude, boldly insisted that they were the "true lutherans"--a bit of bravado imitated several decades later by benjamin kurtz, one of the reformed theologians of the general synod, over against missouri and other synods loyal to the lutheran confessions. 78. "lutheraner" on division of north carolina synod.--the first unbiased lutheran estimate and, in all essential points, correct presentation of the division in the north carolina synod is found in the _lutheraner_ of june 5, 1855. here theo. brohm, who attended the thirty-fourth convention of the tennessee synod in 1854 as the representative of the missouri synod, writes as follows: "german lutheran congregations had been organized in the state of north carolina as early as the middle of the preceding century. about 1798 the first attempts were made to unite these congregations by a regulated synodical bond. however, the removal of a number of pastors resulted in the decay of the church life in this field. after a number of years the congregations increased again, and so the foundation for the ev. luth. synod of north carolina was laid in 1803. paul henkel was among the charter members. the beginning was weak, but the good cause progressed. gradually lutheran congregations were organized also in virginia, south carolina, and in tennessee, uniting with this synod. as most of the pastors had come from pennsylvania, cordial unity obtained between the pennsylvania synod and the synod of north carolina. in the course of time, however, satan succeeded in sowing tares among the wheat. two opposing parties sprang up in the synod. the one, to which the great majority belonged, found its expression and embodiment in the general synod, and is too well known to our readers to require further characterization at this place. the other was the staunch and truly lutheran party, to which, indeed, but a small minority adhered. the majority, in agreement with a number of influential men in the pennsylvania synod, proposed the idea of a general synod, which, according to their view, was to embody not only the various lutheran synods of this country, but, if possible, all other religious bodies as well. while the true lutherans could see nothing but mischief arising from this general synod, the majority entered upon this unhappy scheme with great enthusiasm. and, in order to carry out their plan, without the let or hindrance of the staunch lutherans, the friends of the general synod convened a meeting of synod in 1819 at an unlawful time, and also without notifying all pastors, especially those of tennessee. delegates were elected to the convention of the pennsylvania synod in baltimore, where the plan for the general synod was to be matured. in order to destroy the influence of one of the most decided opponents, the young david henkel, he was suspended from office for a period of six months, ostensibly because he was spreading roman catholic doctrines, which in reality, however, were none but pure lutheran doctrines, especially those of the power of baptism and of the presence of the true body and blood in the lord's supper. when the synod met at lincolnton, n. c., in the following year, those members of synod who were dissatisfied with the resolutions of the previous year demanded a thorough investigation of the mooted questions. in answer reference was made to the majority vote, which decision was to be final. hostility to the augsburg confession and especially to the doctrines of baptism and of the lord's supper, as well as the tendency to unite with all religious bodies, became more and more apparent. and when the plan of the general synod met with the determined opposition of the staunch lutherans, the other party dissolved the meeting and made the beginning of the general synod. those pastors who remained faithful to the lutheran confessions, six in number, now united and organized the so-called evangelical lutheran tennessee synod." (11, 165.) lutherans in vibginia. 79. g. henkel, stoever, klug at spottsylvania.--in 1754 muhlenberg and the pennsylvania synod sent an appeal to both london and halle in which they state: "many thousands of lutheran people are scattered through north carolina, virginia, maryland, new jersey, new york, etc." when the indians attacked new bern, n. c., shortly after it had been founded in 1710 by 650 palatines and swiss, twelve lutheran families escaped from the massacre and sought refuge in virginia. here governor spottwood allotted them homes in spottsylvania county. gerhard henkel is said to have been their first pastor; but he served them for a short time only. their number was increased by a colony of alsatians and palatinates. they had started for pennsylvania, but, after various hardships on the voyage, in which many of their companions died, were purchased by governor spottwood, and sent by him to his lands in the same locality, on the upper rappahannock, "twelve german miles from the sea." (jacobs, 184.) in 1728, after a vacancy of sixteen years, henkel was succeeded by john caspar stoever, sr., born in frankenberg, hesse, who came to america with his younger relative of the same name, the latter being active for many years as a missionary in pennsylvania. stoever's salary in virginia was three thousand pounds of tobacco a year. in 1734 he and two members of his congregation, michael schmidt and michael holden, went to europe to collect a fund for the endowment of their church. "because the congregation," as an old report has it, "ardently desires that the evangelical truth should not be extinguished with his death, but be preserved to them and their descendants, the said preacher, rev. stoever, toward the close of the year 1734, . . . undertook a voyage to europe to collect a fund for the continuance of their service, the building of a church and school, and the endowment of the ministry." (g., 115.) in london they were cordially received by ziegenhagen, and recommended to germany and holland. besides a large amount of money, they procured a library of theological books. george samuel klug offered his services as a pastor, and, after his ordination at danzig, august 30, 1736, proceeded to virginia with one of the laymen. after completing his collections, stoever returned, in 1838, but died at sea. the contributions which stoever had collected amounted to three thousand pounds, one-third of which paid the expenses, and the rest the building of a chapel (hebron church) and the purchase of farmlands and slaves. muhlenberg, sr., wrote: "it is said to be a profitable plantation, and owns several slaves to till the land." (g., 606.) pastor klug, who, in order to relieve the monotony of his isolation, made occasional visits to the lutheran ministers in pennsylvania, wrote in 1749 that "the congregation was not in the least burdened by his support." however, the endowment of the church seems to have been a hindrance rather than an advantage. the congregation lost many members to the dunkards. klug continued his ministry till 1761, when he was succeeded by schwarbach, and later by frank, both of whom were licensed at culpeper, the latter for three years, beginning with 1775. probably also peter muhlenberg preached in the old hebron church. later on paul henkel, when active as a missionary in virginia, had the congregation under his supervision. 80. peter muhlenberg and j. n. schmucker at woodstock.--many of the more enterprising of the germans in pennsylvania, notably in montgomery, berks, lancaster, and york counties, pressed toward the frontiers of their state, and then followed the cumberland valley into maryland and far beyond into the shenandoah valley of virginia, their number being constantly increased by immigrants from germany. to supply their needs, peter gabriel muhlenberg, in 1772, was sent to virginia, woodstock (muellerstadt) being his home and the center of his field. though serving practically none but german lutherans, he sought and secured the ordination of the episcopal church in order to obtain legal recognition of his marriages. in virginia the protestant episcopal church was firmly established, and dissenters were compelled to pay an annual tribute to the established preachers. says muhlenberg, sr.: "if dissenting parties were married by their own pastors, this was not legal, and they could not get off any cheaper than by paying the marriage dues to the established county preacher and obtaining a marriage certificate from him." (g., 606.) together with w. white, afterward bishop of the protestant episcopal church in pennsylvania, peter muhlenberg was ordained by the bishop of london, after he had been examined and had subscribed to the thirty-nine articles. by the indifferentistic germans and swedes of those days such ordinations were generally regarded as a favor and comity from the episcopalians rather than a humiliation and denial on the part of the lutherans. dr. kunze says: "the bishops of london have never made a difficulty to ordain lutheran divines, when called to congregations which, on account of being connected with english episcopalians, made this ordination requisite. thus by bishops of london the following lutheran ministers were ordained: bryselius, peter muhlenberg, illing, houseal, and wagner. the last-mentioned was called, after having obtained this ordination, to an ev. lutheran congregation in the margraviate of anspach in germany." (jacobs, 285.) peter muhlenberg viewed his episcopal ordination as a purely civil affair, and, though claimed by the episcopalians, he always regarded himself as a lutheran. he died (1807) with the conviction that he had never been anything but a lutheran. in a circular to the lutheran churches of philadelphia, dated march 14, 1804, he said: "brethren, we have been born, baptized, and brought up in the evangelical lutheran church. many of us have vowed before god and the congregation, at our confirmation, to live and die by this doctrine of our church. in the doctrine of our church we have our joy, our brightest joy; we prize it the more highly since, in our opinion, it agrees most with the doctrine of the faithful and true witness of our savior jesus christ. we wish nothing more than that we and our children and our children's children and all our posterity may remain faithful to this doctrine." (284.) among the friends of peter muhlenberg at woodstock were george washington and the orator of the revolution, patrick henry. the story is well known how, after preaching a sermon on the seriousness of the times and pronouncing the benediction, he cast off his clerical robe, appearing before his congregation in the glittering uniform of a colonel. during the long vacancy which followed wildbahn, goering, and j. d. kurtz preached occasionally in the old church at woodstock. in 1805 john nicholas schmucker took charge of the field. he was a popular preacher, using, almost exclusively, also in the pulpit, the pennsylvania german. "zu so kinner," he said, "muss mer so preddige." (g., 608.) 81. patriotic activity of peter muhlenberg.--peter was the oldest son of h. m. muhlenberg. he was sent to the university of halle for his theological training, where his independent spirit soon brought him into trouble. at one occasion he resented an insult on the part of his instructor with a blow. forestalling expulsion, the young man enlisted in a german regiment, in which he was known as "teufel piet." after two years of military training he returned to america, and consented to study theology under his father. after a short pastorate in new jersey he was transferred to woodstock. he traveled extensively through the shenandoah valley and the mountains to the west, preaching wherever lutherans could be found. when the revolution began, peter muhlenberg roused the patriotism of his fellow-germans in virginia, who were much better established and in closer touch with their english neighbors than those in north carolina, many of them being acquainted with lord fairfax and george washington and holding civil offices in their communities. muhlenberg brought about, and was chairman of, the woodstock convention, june 16, 1774, at which the germans united with their scotch-irish neighbors in a declaration against british tyranny, nearly a year before the famous mecklenburg declaration in may, 1775. the resolutions adopted at woodstock were prepared by a committee, of which muhlenberg was chairman. they read, in part, as follows: "that we will pay due submission to such acts of government as his majesty has a right by law to exercise over his subjects, and to such only." "that it is the inherent right of british subjects to be governed and taxed by representatives chosen by themselves only, and that every act of the british parliament respecting the internal policy of america is a dangerous and unconstitutional invasion of our rights and privileges." "that the enforcing of the execution of the said act of parliament by military power will have a necessary tendency to cause a civil war, thereby dissolving that union which has so long happily subsisted between the mother country and her colonies; and that we will most heartily and unanimously concur with our suffering brethren of boston and every other part of north america that may be the immediate victim of tyranny, as promoting all proper measures to avert such dreadful calamities to procure a redress of our grievances and to secure our common liberties." after the woodstock meeting muhlenberg was elected a member of the house of burgesses of virginia and also of the state convention. he was appointed colonel of the eighth regiment, afterwards known as the german regiment, which he also raised. after receiving his commission, muhlenberg preached the famous war sermon which colonel roosevelt, several years ago, repeated in _collier's weekly_, in his plea for fair play for the germans. beneath his black pulpit robe, which is to-day in the possession of the henkel brothers' publishing house, peter muhlenberg wore his uniform. in his sermon he spoke of the duties citizens owe to their country. in closing he said: "there is a time for preaching and praying; but there is also a time of fighting; now this time has come!" the service ended, he retired to the sacristy and came out the colonel. he made a speech from the front steps of his church and began the enlistment, 300 signing. in the war he distinguished himself at brandywine, germantown, monmouth, and yorktown, and was advanced to the rank of major-general. the war over, peter muhlenberg served as speaker of the house in congress and afterwards as united states senator. (_luth. church review_ 1919, 160 ff.) 82. chr. streit at winchester, henkel at new market.--in 1785 christian streit, who had been active in new hanover, pa., since 1782, came to winchester, va., where he served till 1812. here the foundations for a church had been laid in 1704. according to a document found in the cornerstone, the congregation, then numbering 33 members, declared: "this temple is dedicated to the triune god and the lutheran religion; all sects, whatsoever their names may be, departing from, or not fully agreeing with, the evangelical lutheran religion, shall forever be excluded from it." this document was signed by caspar kirchner, then pastor of the congregation, l. adams, secretary, and anton ludi, schoolteacher. by the aid of a lottery the church was completed under chr. streit in 1787. william carpenter, a scholar of streit, labored in madison co., va., from 1791 to 1813, when he removed to kentucky. augusta county, in the shenandoah valley, was almost exclusively settled by germans, the koiner (coyner, koyner, coiner, kiner, cuyner) family, hailing from wuerttemberg, being especially numerous. new market, shenandoah county, was the home of paul henkel (1754--1825), who had studied german, latin, greek, and theology under the direction of pastor krug in pennsylvania, and was ordained at philadelphia in 1792. a most zealous and energetic missionary, his journeys carried him into virginia, north carolina, south carolina, tennessee, kentucky, ohio, and indiana. from 1800 to 1805 he was stationed in rowan co., n. c., and took part in the organization of the synod of north carolina in 1803. returning to virginia in 1805, he, together with his six sons, established a printery at new market, which loyally served the cause of true lutheranism. as the years rolled on, the henkels became increasingly free from the prevailing doctrinal indifferentism, and arrived at an ever clearer understanding of lutheran truth, and this at a time when all existing lutheran synods were moving in the opposite direction. the lutheran loyalty and determination of the henkels over against the unionistic and reformed tendencies within the north carolina synod led to the organization of the tennessee synod, july 17, 1820, a synod which espoused the cause of pure lutheranism, and zealously opposed the enthusiastic, unionistic, and reformed aberrations then prevalent in all other lutheran synods of america. two years prior, september 14, 1818, paul henkel had participated in the organization of the ohio synod, at first called the general conference of evangelical lutheran pastors, etc. on october 11, 1820, conferences, which had met since 1793, led to the organization of the synod of maryland and virginia at winchester, va., by ten pastors and nine delegates. nine years later the virginia synod was organized; and the southwest virginia synod, september 20, 1841. special conference in virginia. 83. minutes of 1805.--in the first decade of the nineteenth century a special conference was organized in virginia: "specialkonferenz der evang.-luth. prediger (lehrer) und abgeordneten im staat virginien." at the meeting held on sunday, october 7, 1805, in the newly built church at millerstadt (woodstock), five lay delegates (among them doctor solomon henkel) and the following ministers were present: chr. streit, w. carpenter, paul henkel, j. foltz, a. spintler. streit delivered a touching sermon (eine ruehrende rede) in the lutheran church on matt. 28, 20. in the afternoon paul henkel preached in the reformed church on 2 cor. 4, 5; in the evening, carpenter on 1 cor. 1, 23, also in the reformed church. monday morning they met in the schoolhouse. at 12 o'clock spintler preached in the reformed church on eph. 1, 7. in the afternoon it was decided that an address to the congregations be added to the minutes "on better bringing up of the children and better order of the youth." on motion of solomon henkel it was resolved to add to the minutes also the 21 articles of the augsburg confession. furthermore it was resolved that after the sermon the children should be instructed in the catechism. it was also approved to abolish as far as possible the custom of saying the individual lines of the hymns in public worship (die lieder zeilenweise vorzusprechen). the address added to the minutes says, in part: "if children are to grow up well-bred and be reared to the honor of god, then the teachers in the churches, the schoolteachers in the school-houses, and the parents in their dwellings must perform their various duties toward the young plants in the vineyard of the lord." "generally men care for the bodily welfare of their children, which in itself is not wrong; why, then, should we not also, and indeed much more so, be concerned about their everlasting and eternal welfare?" "o parents, parents! seek to save yourselves and, as much as is in you, also your children! do not spare any trouble or expenses to have your children instructed in the fundamental truths of our holy religion. send them, according to your ability and the circumstances, to school regularly, especially to such schools where they are trained, not only for this world, but for heaven also, where they are instructed in song, prayer, and the doctrine of the catechism." "in our corrupted times some parents permit their children to waste the whole day of the holy sabbath in a disorderly and sinful manner rather than bring them to the teacher in order to have them instructed for half an hour to their temporal and eternal welfare. o parents, parents! is that the way to bring up your children in the nurture and admonition of the lord? o remember that, who knows how soon, you with your dear children will have to appear before god's judgment! o ponder what a fearful and terrible thing it would be, if at that great day your own children should have to accuse and condemn you there before the throne of god!" with respect to the grown-up youth the address complains: "we cannot, in truth, think of many of you without shedding tears. many of you do not only despise your mother tongue, but with it your mother church. many, at least among those of our acquaintance, born of evangelical lutheran parents, neglect the instruction which they could have so conveniently, neglect confirmation and the lord's supper, and frequently behave in public worship in a manner to make one feel almost ashamed of them, and thus they live in the world without religion and without god." 84. minutes of 1807, etc.--to the minutes of 1807 a formula for burial, furnished by henkel, is added for the use of schoolteachers in the absence of a minister. at the meeting in the schoolhouse at winchester, 1808, it was resolved that the congregations elect devout men to conduct reading-services and give catechetical instruction to the children on sundays when ministers are absent. it was furthermore resolved that ministers should conduct, as often as possible, private meetings in their congregations in order to edify the members by prayer, song, and instruction. the admonition, written by paul henkel and streit, and added to the minutes, in a simple and earnest manner urges the congregations to introduce the reading-services, the instruction of the young, and to attend the private meetings. "coldness and indifference in religion," they say, "is so universal that we must employ all possible means to awaken men to a true and living christianity." a special and fervent appeal is added not to abuse, but to keep, the sabbath, the day of the lord, "the good, useful, holy day, which god especially has reserved for himself for the furtherance of his honor and the welfare of our immortal souls." the appeal concludes: "do you love your country? then sanctify the sabbath. do you love civic rest? then sanctify the sabbath. do you love your neighbors? then sanctify the sabbath. do you love your children? then sanctify the sabbath. do you love your parents? then sanctify the sabbath. do you love your preachers, your savior, and your souls? then sanctify the sabbath. do you desire to escape hell? then sanctify the sabbath. do you desire some day to celebrate the eternal sabbath with the saints and the perfected just before the throne of god? then sanctify the sabbath here on earth, whereby you may be best prepared for those blissful occupations." at the meeting of the special conference in the school of solomon's church, shenandoah county, 1809, it was resolved that the admonition to be added to the minutes of this year should take "special reference to the furtherance of the german language and schools." the admonition, written by paul henkel and carpenter, complains that the ministers were not able to do their mission-duty, partly because they were rich and unable to undergo the hardships connected with traveling, partly because the congregations supporting them refused to let them go. they admonish the congregations to show their brotherly love in permitting their ministers to serve their forsaken and needy brethren. respecting the cultivation of the german language, the admonition remarks, in part: "in the first place, we know that the english language is not as easily understood as the german. even when the germans are able to read and write it, they understand very little of it aright. their parents, themselves not knowing the language, can hear their children read, and see them write, but cannot show them where they err, nor correct them. and just as little are they able to explain to them the contents of what they read; for [even] the english understand very little of what they read in some useful books, until they learn to understand it from their dictionaries." "if parents were really concerned about training their children for the general weal of the country, they would see to it that their sons be taught the christian religion in their mother-tongue as well as be instructed in the english language to read, write, figure, etc. then they might become truly useful men for the general welfare of their country. all the most useful men that one can point out in our country are, as a rule, of this class. it cannot be expected that men who, for reasons of selfishness and pride, despise their language and church will stand for the welfare of their country." the admonition concludes: "we know how much good and wholesome instruction for the edification of our souls and for the comfort of our hearts we have derived from our german books, which are so easily understood, and which so plainly describe the simple way of life. from what we learned from them ever since our youth, we have obtained our only hope of salvation hereafter; why, then, should we, for any reason whatsoever, deprive our children of it?" according to the statistical appendix of the minutes of the special conference in 1809, there were, at that time, no less than 49 organized congregations in virginia. it does not, however, appear that the interest in the german language and the consciousness of true lutheranism made any marked progress in the following years. in 1817, at culpeper, pastors g. riemenschneider, a reck, nicholas and peter schmucker, and michael meyerhoeffer, and five lay delegates were present. four german and three english sermons were delivered. among the resolutions is the following: "that only pious and, if possible, only converted men be chosen as elders of the congregations, and that they live piously both in their homes with family prayer in the evening and morning, and before the world respectably and honorably, receive the lord's supper frequently," etc. instead of any reference to the tercentenary of the reformation we find in the minutes of 1817 a resolution to the effect "that the proceedings of this year, together with a _letter of a traveling jew_ appended, be printed." synod of maryland and virginia. 85. always prominent and liberal.--the synod of maryland and virginia, organized october 11, 1820, has always been prominent in the general synod. "the _lutheran observer_, the pastors' fund, the lutheran ministers' insurance league, the missionary institute, now susquehanna university, were all born in this venerable synod, which was also first to suggest the observance of reformation day. lutherville and hagerstown female seminaries are within its bounds. it has always been abreast of the most advanced, evangelical, and catholic life of the church, giving no uncertain sound upon the divine obligation of the lord's day and the saloon." (j. g. butler in the _luth. cycl_., 482.) among its noted pastors were j. d. and b. kurtz, j. g. morris, f. w. conrad, s. w. harkey, theo. and c. a. stork, d. f. schaeffer, c. philip and c. porterfield krauth, s. s. schmucker, h. l. baugher, sr., w. a. passavant, sr., ezra keller. but men of this synod also led the van in doctrinal and practical liberalism. harkey and kurtz were new-measurists and enthusiastic revivalists. harkey moved the publication of a monthly, _the revivalist_, which synod, however, declared "inexpedient." through the endeavors of kurtz a committee was appointed to bring in a report on the "new measures," which was referred back to the committee. in 1844 synod resolved to issue an "abstract of the doctrines and practise of the ev. luth. synod of maryland." fourteen doctrinal articles were prepared by h. l. baugher, b. kurtz, and s. w. harkey, containing, among other statements, also the following: "we believe that the scriptures teach that god has given to man, as a natural gift, the power of choice, and that, whilst he is influenced in his volitions by motives, he always possesses the ability to choose the opposite of that which was the object of his choice. god, in his providence and grace, places before man the evil and the good, urging him by the most powerful considerations to choose the latter and reject the former. when the sinner yields to god, that is regeneration." "we believe that the scriptures teach that there are but two sacraments, _viz_., baptism and the lord's supper, in each of which truths essential to salvation are symbolically represented. we do not believe that they exert any influence _ex opere operato_, but only through the faith of the believer. neither do the scriptures warrant the belief that christ is present in the lord's supper in any other than a spiritual manner." "we regard them [the lutheran symbols] as good and useful exhibitions of truth, but do not receive them as binding on the conscience, except so far as they agree with the word of god." evidently these articles of the maryland "abstract," as a. spaeth puts it, "not only avoid or contradict the distinctive features of the lutheran confession, but have a decided savor of arminianism and pelagianism." (_c. p. krauth_, 1, 111 f.) october 17, 1856, the maryland synod declared that every one is at liberty to accept or reject the doctrines of the augsburg confession which the "definite platform" rejected as false, provided that thereby the divine institution of the sabbath be not rejected, nor the doctrinal basis of the general synod changed. (_l. u. w_. 1856, 382.) 86. maryland abstract of doctrines.--on the un-lutheran, reformed, and arminian articles of the maryland "abstract" we quote dr. a. spaeth as follows: "this report was first recommitted, and, in 1846, was laid on the table and indefinitely postponed. the _lutheran observer_ referred to it in an extended editorial (november 27, 1846), and printed it in full, with a few slight alterations and omissions. we quote from this article as follows: 'when asked what lutherans believe, the question is not always so easily answered to the satisfaction of the inquirer. we may refer him to books, confessions, catechisms, etc.; but the proponent, most probably, has neither inclination nor time to hunt up and examine such authorities. he desires to be told in a few words, distinctly and definitely, what is the prevailing belief in the lutheran church on all fundamental points of religious truth. a short tract, a page or two comprehending an epitome of the doctrines and usages of the mass of lutheran christians in the united states, is what would suit him. is there anything of this kind to be found in the church? the want of it has long been felt and expressed. from the north and the south, the east and the west, we have been asked for something of this nature. the question assumed such importance that it was finally agitated some two years ago in the synod of maryland, and afterward in the general synod (1846), held in philadelphia. in both instances committees were appointed to draw up and report an abstract of our "doctrine and practise." the committee appointed by the maryland synod complied; and though the "abstract" itself was approved, the synod, for reasons which we have not time at present to explain, did not think proper to adopt the report and recommend it to the church. the committee was composed of some of our most intelligent and valued ministers; when they had prepared it, they sent a copy to every minister of the synod, soliciting his emendations on the margin, and after its final return it was reprinted with the benefit of these emendations; and it is in this improved form that we now present it. we find no difficulty in subscribing the document, and in presenting it as a fair, honest exhibition of lutheran doctrine and practise as understood in the latitude in which we reside; and if we are not greatly mistaken, the great mass of our american ministers throughout the land would not make any material objection to it.'" dr. spaeth continues: "this attempt to substitute such an 'abstract' for the full and precise language of the confession of the church was a sort of forerunner of the famous 'definite platform,' which appeared about ten years afterward, and whose principal author, prof. s. s. schmucker in gettysburg, was so much pleased with the 'abstract' that he referred to it again and again in his lectures and articles, and even made his students commit to memory its principal statements. in an article on the 'vocation of the american lutheran church' (_evangelical review_, vol. ii, p. 510) he says: 'with the exception of several minor shades of doctrine, in which we are more symbolic than dr. baugher, we could not ourselves, in so few words, give a better description of the views taught in the seminary [gettysburg] than that contained in his "abstract of the doctrines and practise," etc. no ground of apprehension as to our seminary, since the doctrines of our symbols and the prevailing doctrines of our american church are here faithfully taught.'" (112.) the tennessee synod. organization. 87. "german ev. luth. conference of tennessee."--although the tennessee synod has always been and is now only one of the smaller american lutheran synods, its history reveals much that is gratifying, instructive, edifying, and interesting. the first report is entitled: "report of the transactions of the first conference of the german ev. luth. pastors and deputies held in the state of tennessee, in solomon's church, cove creek, green co., on the 17th, 18th, and 19th of july, 1820." the conference was organized by pastors jacob zink of virginia, paul henkel of virginia, adam miller of tennessee, philip henkel of tennessee, george esterly of tennessee, and david henkel of north carolina (who was unable to attend the first meeting), and 19 deputies of congregations in tennessee. (_bericht_ 1820, 3.) by 1827 the number of pastors had increased to 14, by 1856 to 32, and by 1900 to 40. at present the tennessee synod numbers about 130 congregations and 14,500 communicants. the name "synod" appears for the first time in the english report of 1825, and is found in the constitution since 1827. in the minutes of 1820 we read: "firstly, it was deemed necessary and good that all business and proceedings of this conference, or synod, shall be conducted in the german language. all written reports of the proceedings belonging to the whole shall also be published in the german language." (4.) synod also regarded it "as most necessary that we be as diligent as possible to acquaint our children with all our doctrines of faith in our german language, since in it we are able to instruct them in the easiest way." (9.) a footnote makes the following comment: "the reason why we desire a purely german-speaking conference: experience has taught us that where a conference is german-english, either the one or the other party considers itself offended. when german is spoken, the english brethren understand little, and very frequently nothing at all. when english is spoken, many a german brother is unable to grasp the matter, and accordingly unable to judge in questions of the greatest importance. besides, at the present time there are very few purely english pastors who accept the doctrine of our church and desire to preach it." (4.) the same sentiments are voiced in the following statement of this report: "false lutherans prefer to seek entrance among the german church-people, because they still contribute most to the support of the ministry. some germans also of our day are of such a kind that if they are able to preach a little english, no matter how broken and jargonlike it is spoken, they are inflated with such senseless pride that they would no longer preach a thing in their mother-tongue nor care the least for the order of the church, if it were not a question of bread and of keeping the good will of some obdurate germans. they preach because they take pleasure in hearing themselves. those who are really english and understand their language do not care to hear such, except at times, and then for their amusement only. the germans therefore are under no obligations to the good will of such sirs, when they serve them in their language and according to their order." (31.) originally, then, the tennessee synod was determined to be and to remain a purely german-speaking body. 88. attitude toward the english language.--that the interest manifested by the tennessee synod in the german language was not due to any unreasonable prejudice or hatred toward the english language as such, appears from the fact that since 1821 the minutes of synod were printed both in english and german. moreover, in the minutes of the second convention, 1821, we read: "at the request of some of our brethren of north carolina it was resolved that there be annually a synod held in north carolina, or in an adjoining state in the english language. the members of the german tennessee synod may also help to compose this synod. it shall be governed agreeably to the same constitution as that of the german tennessee synod (the language excepted). those who compose this synod may appoint the place and time of the meeting, when and where they may deem it expedient." (report 1821, 7.) the report of 1822 records: "resolved: because this synod is german-speaking, and mr. blalock not understanding this language, he cannot therefore have a seat and vote in this body. yet, the revs. paul and david henkel are allowed as individual ministers to examine him, and in case he is qualified, to ordain him. it is to be understood that mr. blalock is to be ordained a minister of the evangelical lutheran church; but in case he should acquire a knowledge of the german language, which he expects to do, he can then have a seat and vote in the german synod. but whilst he understands the english language only, he may with other ministers, who walk agreeably to the doctrines and rules of the german synod, organize an english-speaking synod, in conformity to a resolution passed last year." (5.) in 1826 the resolution was adopted: "whereas there are sundry members belonging to this synod who do not understand the german language, and yet do not wish to form a separate body, it was resolved that the secretary, during this session, shall act as an interpreter between the german and english brethren. it was further resolved that at the next session, during the three first days, all the business shall be transacted in the german language, _i.e._, if so much time shall be requisite; after which the business shall be resumed in the english language." (3.) the anxiety caused by the language-question appears from the following letter of philip henkel, dated october 19, 1826: "after my return from synod, i found our german congregation-members very much dissatisfied because they believed that we had violated the constitution, and i am afraid that a separation will be the result. for the old germans will never suffer the tennessee synod to become a german-english-speaking body. we must certainly act carefully in this matter, otherwise our synod will be ruined. . . . they said that they were willing to sacrifice the constitution, provided that we remain an exclusively german-speaking body. i also am willing to relinquish the constitution, provided that the augsburg confession is made the constitution of this synod. we shall find that we shall not be able to keep the germans and english together, even when we conduct synod at the same place three days in the german and three days in the english language, for the germans will have to suffer the burden. the english will always want to attend; then they are coarsely treated by the germans; the english complain; thus the matter will be ruined. my advice, therefore, is: let us always hold a german-speaking synod, and afterwards an english-speaking one. in this way we shall be able to exist. for my part, i am willing to attend both. every constitution except the augsburg confession may then be set aside. if the germans refuse to maintain their language, we can't help it, and we are not at fault if they perish. if you approve the plan of holding first an exclusively german-speaking synod and then an exclusively english-speaking synod, and also of abolishing every constitution except the augsburg confession, advise me at your earliest convenience. i will then write to the rest of the preachers, and appoint the time and place for synod. this seems to be the only means of keeping our people united, for at present they are apart, and who knows how we may bring them together. after the constitution has been transgressed, everybody feels free. but if the augsburg confession were the constitution, every member would readily agree to it. these are my thoughts. write soon. philip henkel." (_l. u. w_. 60, 63.) in the minutes of 1827 we read: "14. some members of this congregation alleged the following charge against mr. adam miller, jr.: that he neglected to officiate in the german language, and thus deprived those of religious instructions and edification who do not understand the english. the synod was convinced of the justice of the complaint, and considered it highly necessary that these brethren should be served in the german language. mr. miller, in defense of his conduct, said that he did not understand the german language accurately and therefore could not officiate in it, and that hitherto he has not had an opportunity of learning it. but he promised to acquire a more accurate knowledge of this language, provided his congregations were willing to spare him from their service for one year. he intends to study this language with david henkel. the members of his congregations who were present agreed for him to do so, but requested to be visited a few times by some of the other ministers during the time they should be vacant. the synod highly approved mr. miller's resolution, and wished him to persevere in this laudable undertaking." (12.) the synod of 1827 was confronted by conflicting petitions as to the language-question. the following memorials were read: "1. a memorial from st. james's church in greene county, tenn., subscribed by 23 persons. they pray this synod not to alter the constitution. further, that this body remain exclusively german, and that some measures be taken to establish a separate english synod.... 4. in a letter in which the rev. adam miller, sr., states the reasons of his absence, he prays this body to allow the english brethren equal privileges, so that they may not be under the necessity of establishing a separate synod." (14.) the constitution, which was proposed at this meeting and accepted in the following year, disposed of this question as follows: "all debates shall first be held in the german language, whereupon the same shall be resumed in the english; provided there shall be both german and english members present. after the debates on a subject shall have been ended, then the decision shall be made." (r. 1827, 24; b. 1828, 28.) in the following years the english language rapidly gained the ascendency, until finally the german disappeared entirely. (r. 1831, 9; b. 1841, 8. 9.) rev. th. brohm, after visiting the tennessee synod, wrote in the _lutheraner_ of january 2, 1855: "though of german origin, the tennessee synod in the course of time has lost its german element, and has become a purely english synod." 89. born of lutheran loyalty.--the organization of the tennessee synod came as a protest against the projected general synod, and especially against existing conditions in the synod of north carolina, to which the tennessee pastors belonged until their secession in 1820. march 14, 1820, philip henkel had written to his brother: "if i am spared, i shall attend synod. . . . if the old ministers will not act agreeably to the augsburg confession, we will erect a synod in tennessee." the "old ministers" were stork, shober, jacob and daniel sherer, and other pastors of the north carolina synod who advocated a union with the sects and the connection with the general synod, and sought to suppress such testimony on behalf of lutheran truth and consistency as the henkels had begun to bear publicly. aversion to faithful confessional lutheranism was the real reason why the synod of north carolina in 1816 refused to ordain the young, but able david henkel, which, even at that time, almost resulted in a withdrawal of the henkels and their delegates. the tension was greatly increased when the synod of 1819 degraded david henkel to the rank of catechist, on the false charge that he had preached transubstantiation and other papistic heresies and thereby given offense to the "reformed brethren." as a matter of fact, he had proclaimed the lutheran doctrine of the lord's supper. the north carolina synod made the entry into their minutes. "he [david henkel] is therefore no preacher of the lutheran church of north carolina and adjacent states." (g., 696.) a source of additional ill will was the autocratic procedure of the officers in arbitrarily convening the synod of 1819, five weeks before the constitutional time (whence known as the "untimely synod"), and that without sending out notices sufficiently early, and for a purpose most odious to the henkels and their adherents, _viz_., to elect a delegate (shober was chosen) to the convention of the pennsylvania synod at baltimore in order to participate in the framing of a tentative constitution for the projected general synod. resenting the arrogance and unconstitutional action of the officers as well as the obnoxious resolutions of the "untimely synod," those members of the north carolina synod who had been either unwilling or unable (having been notified too late) to take part in the deliberations of the "untimely synod," five weeks later, at the time prescribed by the constitution, held a synod of their own at buffalo creek, in stork's congregation, where the "untimely synod" had been held, under the oaks, near the church, stork having refused them the use of the church for this purpose. "the synod," stork declared, "has been held; and there is no need of holding it again." he ordered his elders not to open the church, but finally permitted them to hold services there, with the express proviso, however, that no business was to be transacted in it. (b. 1820, 21.) philip henkel was elected president, and bell and david henkel were ordained. (21.) in the following year, a few months after the so-called "quarreling synod" ("streitsynode"), where the majority of the north carolina synod decided in favor of a union with the general synod, the minority, as related above, organized the tennessee synod. (15.) in the minutes (bericht) of 1820, the members of the new synod justify their withdrawal and organization as a separate body by calling attention especially to the following points: 1. the officers and some of the members of the north carolina synod had proven by their words and actions that they "could no longer be regarded as truly evangelical lutheran pastors." (12. 15.) 2. the "untimely synod" had declared the excommunication of a member of david henkel's congregation to be invalid, without investigating the matter in that congregation, thereby infringing upon the rights of the congregation. (20.) 3. the same synod had not rebuked its president, rev. stork, when he made the statement that he could not believe the lutheran doctrine that christ as man was in possession of all divine attributes, and that he would not believe it if 500 bibles should say so. 4. the synod of 1820 had declared david henkel's ordination "under the oaks" invalid, and had published a sort of letter of excommunication against him. (22.) 5. synod had refused to settle the mooted questions according to the augsburg confession and the synodical constitution, but, instead, had demanded that the minority should yield to the majority. "we, however, thought," says the report, "that the doctrine of the augsburg confession (concerning which we were convinced that it could be proven by the doctrine of the bible) should have greater weight with us than the voice of a majority of men who are opposed to the doctrine and ordinance of our church." (23.) 6. synod had permitted the un-lutheran remarks made at the convention and elsewhere on baptism, the eucharist, election, conversion, and the certainty of the state of grace, as well as on union with all religious parties, to pass unreproved.--stating the causes of the deplorable schism, david henkel wrote in 1827: "a most unhappy difference exists between this body and the north carolina synod. previous to the year 1820 some members of the former and some of the latter constituted one synod. in this year the north carolina synod entered into the connection of a general synod with some other synods. this is a connection and institution which heretofore did not exist in the lutheran community, and to which the tennessee synod object as an institution calculated to subvert ecclesiastical liberty, and to prepare the way for innovations. this, together with the difference in regard to some of the fundamental doctrines of the christian religion, are the principal reasons of the division." (r. 1827, 32.) in brief, the organization of the tennessee synod was a solemn protest against synodical tyranny and anticonfessional teaching then prevailing in the north carolina synod and in all other lutheran bodies in america. accordingly, as compared with her contemporaries, it remains the peculiar glory of the tennessee synod that she was born of lutheran loyalty. 90. back to luther! back to the lutheran symbols!--such, in substance and effect, was the slogan sounded by the tennessee synod, for the first time in the history of the lutheran church in america, after long years of confessional disloyalty and of doctrinal and practical deterioration. by dint of earnest and conscientious study of the lutheran symbols and of luther's writings, the tennessee pastors, in particular the henkels, had attained to a clear knowledge of lutheran truth and practise, thereby, at the same time, becoming fully convinced that of all teachings in christendom the lutheran doctrine alone is in full accord with holy writ. march 13, 1823, solomon henkel wrote: "a week ago mr. york was here, bringing with him luther's works. they are bound in 13 folio volumes and cost $100. i purchased the books." to penetrate deeper and deeper into the writings of luther, to persuade others to do the same, and to make this possible to them, such was the ardent desire and earnest endeavor of the tennessee pastors. evidently with this purpose in view, paul henkel had established a printery at new market, va., where books and tracts breathing a lutheran spirit were published. synodical colporteurs diligently canvassed them among the congregations. sound lutheran works, _e.g._, the augsburg confession, sermons by luther and arndt, the article on good works from the formula of concord, were from time to time, by resolution of synod, appended to the synodical reports. (1831, 11.) nor was their zeal satisfied with fostering true lutheranism in their own midst. in order to acquaint the english-speaking public with the truths and treasures of our church, they issued translations of standard lutheran works. besides an agenda and a hymnal, the new market printery published in 1829 an english translation of luther's small catechism with notes by david henkel; in 1834, a translation of the augsburg confession with a preface by karl henkel (in 1827 david henkel had already been commissioned to prepare a correct translation); in 1851, an english version of the entire book of concord, of which a second and improved edition appeared in 1854; in 1852, "luther on the sacraments," being translations of some writings of luther by jos. salyards and solomon d. henkel, 423 pages octavo; in 1869, luther's epistle sermons, an english edition of which had been determined upon in 1855. (rep. 1826, 7; 1830, 17; 1841, 15; 1855, 14.) on march 1, 1824, a certain sam blankenbecker wrote to david henkel: "there are two sorts of lutherans: the one sort believes there is no doctrine right and pure but the lutheran; the other thinks that also the methodists, presbyterians, and baptists are equally right and pure; and such lutherans are very hurtful to others." the tennessee synod belonged to the first class. they were conscious lutherans, who knew what they were and what they stood for. the fact is that in those days tennessee was the only synod with a true lutheran heart and an honest lutheran face. 91. despised and ostracized.--their return to luther and the lutheran symbols brought the henkels and the tennessee synod into direct opposition to, and sharp conflict with, all other lutheran synods of that day. for, though still bearing, and priding themselves on, the lutheran name, they all had long ago begun to abandon the confessions and distinctive doctrines of the church which the cherished and coveted name of luther stood for. their leaders had become indifferentists, unionists, and reformed and methodistic enthusiasts. over against this lack of lutheran faithfulness and apostasy from the confessions the henkels gave no uncertain testimony. being lutherans in their hearts as well as in their heads, they boldly confessed the truths, and most energetically championed the cause of genuine lutheranism. and they squared their actions with their words and convictions. consistent also in their practise, they refused to fellowship and recognize the errorists everywhere, even when found in lutheran synods. no wonder, then, that the henkels and their uncompromising attitude met with no sympathy on the part of the lutheran synods then found in america. and, being, as they were, a standing protest against the apostasy of these synods, it was but natural, carnally, that the tenneesee [tr. note: sic] confessors were avoided, ignored, despised, hated, maligned, and ostracized by their opponents. tennessee was decried and stigmatized as the "quarreling conference" ("streitkonferenz"). the "henkelites," it was said, had been convicted of error at the "quarreling synod"; there they had not been able to prove their doctrine; they were false lutherans; some of them had been excluded from synod, therefore they had no authority to officiate as ministers; their synod was not a lawful synod; its transactions were invalid, etc. (1820, 22.30; 1824, app. 3; 1827, 43 f.) all endeavors on the part of the tennessee synod to bring about an understanding and a unification in the truth were spurned by the other synods "with silent contempt," says david henkel. (1827, 6. 25.) in the maryland synod the prediction was heard: "this tennessee synod will go to pieces finally." the address of the general synod of 1823 states: "our church, which was originally embraced in two independent synods [ministeriums of pennsylvania and new york], has spread over so extensive a portion of the united states that at present we have _five_ synods [north carolina, ohio, maryland and virginia, pennsylvania, and new york synods], and shall shortly have several more." (3. 9. 14.) the general synod, then, refused to recognize tennessee as a lutheran synod in america. in a letter, dated january 23, 1826, and addressed to solomon henkel, h. muhlenberg remarked that the tennessee synod "had as yet not been recognized as a synod by the other lutheran synods." in 1839 the general synod censured both the franckean and tennessee synods as the two extremes "causing disturbances and divisions in our churches" and standing in the way of a union of the lutheran church in america--a resolution which was rescinded in 1864. thus universal contempt and proscription was the reward which tennessee received for her endeavors to lead the lutheran church out of the mire of sectarian aberrations back to luther and the lutheran symbols. rev. brohm, after his visit with the tennessee synod, wrote in the _lutheraner_ of june 5, 1855: "in order to heal, if in any way possible, the deplorable breach, the tennessee synod, in the course of seven years, made repeated attempts to persuade her opponents [in the north carolina synod] to discuss the mooted doctrines, offering them conditions most just and most acceptable . . . . but with exasperating indifference all these offers were stubbornly despised and rejected. tennessee directed various questions also to the pennsylvania synod in order to learn their views on the pending doctrinal controversies. but this body, too, did not even deign to answer. the tennessee synod, however, though rebuffed on all sides and stigmatized as a fanatical sect, quietly went its way, without suffering itself to be confused or led astray. unanimity and love reigned among its members. the number of congregations which united with them and desired pastors from them constantly increased, so that the synod was not able to satisfy all requests. the synodical resolutions offer ample evidence of the lively interest and diligence of their pastors to appropriate more and more fully the riches of the reformation, and to make their congregations partakers thereof." (11, 166.) the first request for a minister came from cape girardeau, mo. the minutes record: "at the earnest request and desire of a number of german inhabitants in cape girardeau ("cape cheredo"), mo., through h. johannes schmidt and georg klemmer, who earnestly pray that they might be visited, it was resolved that h. jacob zink should make a journey thither, as soon as possible, to preach the gospel to them and to perform all other official acts that may be required. for this laudable undertaking we wish him the rich blessing of the lord." (b. 1820, 10.) objections to general synod. 92. critique of so-called "planentwurf."--the formation of a lutheran general synod, warmly advocated by the synods of pennsylvania and north carolina, met with the earnest and zealous, though not in every respect judicious, opposition of the tennessee synod. her report of 1820 contains a criticism of the _planentwurf_, which in 1819 had been proposed by the pennsylvania synod as a tentative constitution for the projected general synod. among the objections enumerated are the following: 1. whosoever desired to be recognized as a pastor would be compelled to pursue his studies at the proposed seminary of the general synod. 2. of those entitled to cast a vote there were two pastors to every lay delegate. "it would therefore be vain for a lay deputy to make the journey, except he desired the honor of being a servant of two masters." 3. the general synod arrogated to itself the exclusive right to introduce new books for public worship. 4. luther's catechism also was to remain only _until_ the synod would introduce other books. 5. according to the _planentwurf_, the general synod could reject all articles of faith or omit them entirely. 6. neither the augsburg confession nor the bible was designated as the foundation of the general synod, nor even so much as mentioned in the _planentwurf_. (52 f.) 7. the general synod was striving to establish a dominion over all ministeriums, as appeared from the statement: "until the permission or approval of the general synod shall have been formally obtained, no newly established body shall be regarded as a ministerium, nor shall an ordination conferred by them be considered valid." "accordingly," they said, "one had as much liberty as the rope permitted." (54 f.; 1822, 10.) 8. the general synod claimed the right to specify the "ranks universally valid for the ministry." "catechist," as the report of 1820 has it, "candidate, dean, and pastor will no longer suffice; who knows but something higher will be required, such as bishop, archbishop, cardinal, or even pope!" 9. pastors were granted the right to appeal from the decision of their synod to the general synod. "accordingly the case of a pastor, be he ever so bad, may drag on for years; and if, owing to extreme distances or other circumstances, the witnesses are not able to attend, he may finally even win it. this provision renders the matter similar to a temporal government, where appeals are commonly made from a lower to a higher court." 10. "one cannot be sure that a spirit desiring as much power as appears to be granted by this _planentwurf_ will be able to rest and not seek further power." 11. no one was able to guarantee that this lutheran general synod would not later on unite with the general synods of the sects to form a national synod, in which the majority would then determine all articles of faith and all church-customs. 12. such a national synod would be able also to change the constitution of the united states and compel every one to unite with this national synod, impose taxes, etc. (50 f.) by resolution of synod the reasons why some pastors in ohio, influenced in their action by paul henkel, rejected the _planentwurf_ were also appended to the report of 1820. among them were: 1. the fear "of falling into the hands of a strong hierarchy" by accepting this _planentwurf_, since they knew from church history that the papacy had developed rapidly along similar lines. (64.) 2. the general synod would soon become english, whereas, according to its ministerial order, the ohio synod "must remain a german-speaking ministerium." (65.) 3. every meeting of the general synod would mean for them a traveling expense of $168. 4. as the _planentwurf_ was subject to change, union with the general synod would be tantamount "'to buying the cat in the bag,' as the proverb has it." these scruples reveal the fact that the tennessee synod viewed the general synod as a body which was hierarchical in its polity and thoroughly un-lutheran in its doctrinal position, an opinion well founded, even though the objections advanced are not equally valid. 93. general synod's constitution criticized.--the critique of the _planentwurf_ was not devoid of fruit in every respect. due to the testimony of the henkels, its hierarchical features were toned down considerably in the constitution finally adopted at hagerstown, md., 1820. thus, _e.g._, the odious passage regarding the establishment of new ministeriums and the validity of their ordinations was omitted. still tennessee was far from being satisfied with the constitution as amended. moreover, a committee was appointed to draw up their remaining objections, and the report submitted was appended to the minutes of 1821 and printed by order of synod. it subjects the constitution to a severe examination, and makes a number of important strictures. 1. the first objection was raised against the words of the preamble: "whereas jesus christ, the great head of the church, hath not given her any particular prescriptions how church-government should be regulated, she therefore enjoys the privilege in all her departments to make such regulations as may appear best, agreeably to situation and circumstances." while recognizing that christ has given no prescriptions "for the regulation of some things not essential to the church," they objected to the sweeping statement of the preamble whereby the government of the church would be left to a majority of votes. tennessee maintained that matt. 18, 16 christ prescribes to the church how discipline is to be exercised; that 1 cor. 11, 4-11 sufficient rules with respect to public worship are prescribed; that 1 tim. 3, 1-3 the grades of ministers are described; that 1 tim. 5, 19-22 instructions are given how to receive an accusation against an elder; and that 2 tim. 2, 3-6 paul shows that ministers should not be entangled with the things of this world. "from these and many more passages that might be quoted, it is evident that christ and his inspired apostles have given the church sufficient prescriptions of her government in all her various branches. they are general rules, and yet applicable to every particular case that may occur, so that they are also particular prescriptions. but that the constitution of the general synod saith, christ has not left such particular prescriptions, appears a strange, unwarranted, and arbitrary assertion." (14 f.) 2. the second objection asserted that the general synod was a yoke of commandments of men, hence could not serve the purpose of true peace. according to the constitution the purpose of the general synod was "the exercise of brotherly love, the furtherance of christian harmony, and the preservation of the unity of the spirit in the bonds of peace." but the report maintained: "the attempt of the establishment of this general synod has not produced any brotherly love, nor harmony, nor peace; but on the contrary, divisions, contentions, and confusion. this establishment is nothing but self-invented rules and traditions of men, and such as love christian liberty cannot suffer themselves to be brought into bondage; hence the confusion. o ye watchmen of zion, pity and spare the flock!" (17 f.) a "note" added by david henkel, the "clerk of the committee," explains: "that this institution of general synod's promotes unity in spirit is contrary to constant experience. the presbyterians, methodists, and other churches are governed by general synods, and have many human rules and regulations; but yet from time to time many disputes and factions have arisen among them, so that they are split into many sects and parties. the lutheran church never heretofore was governed by a general synod, yet she never was divided until this novel system was introduced. . . . the first lutheran ministers emigrated from germany and sweden. . . . being few in number, no particular synods were formed for many years; yet they were united. the augsburg confession of faith, containing the principal doctrines of the holy scriptures, was their standard of union. it was unalterable; they had no novel system, produced by a majority of votes, to expect. . . . each of these synods, before the general constitution was formed, were independent, and not amenable to any superior tribunal, except that of christ. differences in local and temporary regulations, the formation of new synods, etc., were not considered as divisions of the church; their standard of unity was far more noble, and exalted: the pure scriptural doctrines of the augsburg confession of faith was their meridian sun, which they viewed with united eyes; and anything less, such as local and temporary regulations, never influenced their minds, even to think of divisions. the church proceeded peaceably, until the unhappy and fatal period of 1819 arrived, when a meeting was called to baltimore, consisting of some of the synod of pennsylvania and an individual from north carolina, for the purpose of devising a plan for the establishment of the general synod, etc. (17 f.) article iii, sec. v, which provided that "the general synod shall take good care not to burden the consciences of ministers with human traditions," called forth the following comment: "the general synod shall not burden the consciences of ministers with human traditions, yet at the same time the very institution of the general synod is nothing but human laws and traditions! how vehemently our savior upbraided the pharisees for their human laws and the traditions they imposed upon the common people! by means of human laws and traditions popery was established.--why are preparations made now again to introduce that horrid beast? how careful individual synods should be not to impose human traditions upon the church, but to remember that they do 'not assemble for the purpose of making laws for the church, but only to devise means to execute those already made by christ." (b. 1821, 26; r. 1821, 28. 29.) in an additional "note" david henkel remarks: "the unity of the lutheran church doth not consist in any external forms or ceremonies, or government established by men. it is independent of any general head except christ. the seventh article of the augsburg confession of faith points out the true nature of her unity. . . . it is the same as if it had said: the church of christ is but one united body, consisting of innumerable members; but what unites them? all believers believe in one invisible lord, by whom they are governed, for he is their king; they are anointed by the same holy ghost, for he is their comforter and guide. this is an invisible, godlike union, not discerned by the carnal eye, nor doth it imitate the unity of the kingdom of this world. christ is its polar star, the bible its charter, ministers who proclaim sweet words of peace, its heralds, baptism and the lord's supper its seal, bond, token, and security. this union is independent of all human ceremonies, traditions, general synods, or anything of the kind, and has existed ever since the promulgation of the gospel in all realms and climes. . . . a union which consists of human laws, ceremonies, and discipline may be termed a political union--a union peculiar to civil government of this world. now, even were it the case that all who call themselves christians would be united in this manner, it would by no means prove their spiritual unity. for many may conform to one external rule, and yet be divided in heart, for they are not all israelites that are of israel. it is evident, because the general synod is but the invention of men, that they make much more necessary to christian unity than the pure preaching of the gospel and the proper administration of the sacraments, commanded by christ. thus, this establishment of the general synod must be contrary to the seventh article of our confession of faith. true christianity is thereby blended with human laws and policy--the true lineaments of popery. . . . if no man is to judge christians in respect to meat and drink or of an holy day, or of the new moon, or of the sabbath-days, who, then, has a right to judge them in respect of forming books for the public use in churches, or in respect of meeting as a synod, without a formal permission, or in respect of performing ordinations? the general synod have arrogated this right of judging and oppressing christians in these respects. these are prerogatives they claim, contrary to the doctrines of the apostle." (r. 1821, 28.) 94. criticism of constitution continued.--3. the third objection maintained that the general synod was lutheran in name only. says the report: "this body, indeed, may call itself evangelical lutheran, and yet not be such. the constitution does nowhere say that the augsburg confession of faith, or luther's catechism, or the bible shall be the foundation of doctrine and discipline of the general synod. it is well known that they always have been the standard of the lutheran church. why does the constitution not once name them?" "had the framers of this constitution been zealous advocates of lutheran doctrine, they would have been careful to insert a clause to compel the general synod always to act according to our standard books. it is an easy thing to prove that some of the founders of this general synod have openly denied some of the important doctrines of the augsburg confession of faith and of luther's catechism." (b. 1821, 18; r. 1821, 19.) 4. the fourth objection was based on the proposed membership of the new body, which, according to article ii, was to consist "of deputies of the different evangelical synodical and ministerial connections in the united states." tennessee commented: "this body [general synod] may consist of deputies from the different evangelical connections. it is not said of the several evangelical _lutheran_ connections. if this body may consist of the different connections, then it is evident that it may be composed of _all_ denominations, such as presbyterians, methodists, baptists, etc. these all denominate themselves evangelical, and are even recognized as such by some who call themselves lutherans. thus it is manifest that all denominations who call themselves evangelical may have seats and votes in this body, forasmuch as there is nothing to prohibit them from it." (r. 1821, 22.) the german version adds the following: "the constitution has opened a door where all manner of sects and parties may creep into the lutheran church and extirpate her doctrine." (b. 1821, 20.) these apprehensions of tennessee were no mere products of their own imagination, for just such a union of all evangelical denominations shober and his compeers had been ardently advocating in the north carolina synod, especially since 1817. 5. the fifth objection was that the general synod proposed to curtail the exercise of christian liberty in regard to ceremonies. article iii, section ii, provided that no synod or ministry in connection with the general synod shall publish any new catechism, liturgy, compilation of hymns, or confession of faith "without having first handed a complete copy thereof to the general synod, and having received their sentiments, or admonitions, or advice." the tennessee synod held this to be against the seventh article of the augsburg confession and said: "why shall individual societies be robbed of the liberty to introduce such books us suit them best, when our confession of faith grants every person liberty in this case?" (23.) 6. a further objection was raised against this article (iii, 2) of the constitution because its language permitted the introduction of a new confession of faith. tennessee remarked: "an opportunity is here given to introduce a new confession of faith. this appears a conclusive proof that the general synod do not intend to be governed by (the augsburg confession of faith, nor vindicate the lutheran doctrines contained therein; for if they did, they would not by this clause have given liberty to form other confessions of faith. perhaps this may be one of the reasons why they have nowhere promised in the constitution that luther's catechism, the augsburg confession of faith, nor the bible should be the guide of their body. they wish to have power to form a new confession; perhaps more popular, and suited to the newfangled opinions of this present age of infidelity. were not the men such as luther, melanchthon, etc., who formed the augsburg confession of faith, as a testimony against popery and other heresies, godly and enlightened men, and to whose instrumentality we owe our light of the gospel? will any of the votaries of the general synod presume to say that this confession is erroneous, heretical, and wicked? can they form a better one? if they answer in the affirmative, they are no lutherans, as they call themselves. if they answer in the negative, why, then, have they not positively specified in the constitution that such should remain the standard of the church? why have they given an opportunity to introduce a new confession? it is known that all lutheran ministers, when they are ordained, are solemnly pledged as by an oath to maintain the doctrine of the augsburg confession of faith. but when there is an opportunity given to propose and introduce other confessions, perhaps the very reverse, what shall become of all the oaths made at the time of ordination?" (24.) the german report argues: "the evangelical lutheran church already has, for almost three hundred years, a confession of faith, to wit, the augsburg confession. to this confession all lutheran ministers are pledged by an oath when they are ordained. since the constitution nowhere states that the augsburg confession shall be retained, and other confessions of faith may be proposed, it is apparent that the general synod has the power to abrogate the augsburg confession entirely, and to introduce a new and erroneous confession of faith, and consequently to set aside the oath of ordination." (b. 1821, 22.) 7. a further objection to the general synod was based on article iii, section v, which provided, among other things, that the general synod shall take good care "not to oppress any person on account of differences in opinion." after pointing out that this can only be understood as referring to doctrinal differences, tennessee made the following arraignment: "what an opportunity is here given to introduce all manner of false doctrines! if no person is to be afflicted in respect to difference in opinion, then no person can be excommunicated for propagating any false or wicked doctrine. one might deny the holy trinity, and encourage any system of infidelity, and yet, agreeably to this constitution, no one could be rebuked nor suspended. one might plead this article in defense, and say the general synod have no right to oppress me for my different opinion." (r. 1821, 30; b. 1821, 25.) the german report concludes as follows: "this is nourishment for the lukewarm spirit, where men are indifferent whether true or false opinions are maintained." (27.) that also these apprehensions were not purely imaginary appears from the fact that two delegates of the ministerium of new york, then identifying itself with the rationalism of quitman, were permitted to participate in the organization of the general synod. 8. finally, article iii, section viii, provided that the general synod should "be sedulously and incessantly regardful of the circumstances of the times, and of every casual rise and progress of unity of opinions among christians in general, in order that the blessed opportunities to promote concord and unity, and the interests of the redeemer's kingdom, may not pass by neglected and unavailing." in this, too, tennessee saw but "another opportunity to extirpate the lutheran doctrine." "for," said they, "how is it possible that the opinions of lutherans can ever become agreed with those of calvinists and other parties so long as they do not deny their teachings?" (b. 1821, 30.) the english report merely states: "all that we can understand from this [section viii] is a desire to unite with all denominations." (34.) thus the tennessee synod, with the utmost candor, exposed and rebuked the un-lutheran features of the constitution of the general synod, which substituted external organization and union for true internal christian unity in the spirit. david henkel remarked: "is the general synod a plant which has been planted by the heavenly father? no. it was planted by a majority of votes. . . . it is too lamentable a fact that among the most denominations human laws, discipline, and ceremonies are made the rallying point of unity!" (r. 1821, 30; 1832, 17.) it was in the spirit of truth and conscientiousness that tennessee had made her objections to the constitution of the general synod. "we conclude," they say, "hoping that the friends of the general synod will not view us as enemies. we would freely join in with them if we could do it with a good conscience . . .; it is much easier to swim with than against the current." (34.) attitude as to church-fellowship. 95. refusing to join in with general synod.--the practise of the tennessee synod squared with her doctrinal position. also church-fellowship was regarded as a matter, not of expediency and policy, but of conscience. in the conclusion to their "objections against the constitution of the general synod" the committee declared: since a general connection of all ministers in a general synod would exalt the clerical state to a high degree above the people; since greater burdens might then be imposed on the people, and ministers could thereby live more comfortably; since our widows and orphans also might then live with much ease and our missionary services would be amply remunerated; and since the union with the general synod would increase our popularity and decrease our burdensome labors,--"we, therefore, would freely join in with them if we could do it with a good conscience," and "if we could justify such conduct before the judgment throne of christ." (r. 34; b. 30.) in accordance herewith tennessee, at her first meeting, resolved: "it cannot be tolerated that a teacher of our conference have any connection with the so-called central or general synod, for the reason which will be adduced afterwards." (5.) the minutes of 1826 record: "whereas there is a report in circulation, both verbally and in print, that some of us, members of the tennessee conference, should have said that we now regard the general synod as a useful institution; that we disapprove the turbulent conduct of a certain member of this body; that we (some of us) pledged ourselves to leave this body if we cannot succeed in having said member expelled, we deem it our duty hereby to inform the public that we are unanimously agreed in viewing the general synod as an anti-lutheran institution, and highly disapprove it, and are the longer, the more confirmed in this opinion; and that we know of no member among us whose conduct is turbulent or immoral, and hence have no desire either to expel any one, nor do any of us intend to withdraw from this body. neither do we know of any member among us who is not legally ordained. we testify that we live in brotherly love and harmony. september 5, 1826." (6.) in 1839 the general synod publicly denounced the tennessee synod, charging her with un-lutheran as well as unchristian doctrine and conduct. the matter, brought to the attention of tennessee by a petition from the congregation at new market and from coiner's church, was disposed of by the following resolutions: "1. resolved, that it is to us a matter of small importance whether the general synod recognizes us as an evangelical lutheran synod or not, since our orthodoxy and our existence as a lutheran body in no wise depends on their judgment. 2. resolved, that we cannot recognize the general synod as an evangelical lutheran body, forasmuch as they have departed from the doctrines and practises of the lutheran church. 3. resolved, that under present circumstances we have no inclination whatsoever to unite with the general synod, and can never unite with them, except they return once more to the primitive doctrine and usages of the lutheran church. 4. resolved, that pastor braun be appointed to draw up our objections to the general synod, and to show from its own publications wherein that body has departed from the doctrine and usages of the lutheran church, and submit his manuscript to this synod at its next session for examination; and that, if approved, it be printed." (b. 1841, 11; r. 1842, 8.) in this connection the tennessee synod likewise resolved in no wise to take part in the centenary of the lutherans in america as recommended by the general synod. (15.) at the next session of synod the committee reported that they had examined the manuscript submitted by rev. braun, and that it was "well calculated to place in their proper light the views and practises of the general synod and expose its corruptions and departures from lutheranism, as well as to evince the fact that the tennessee synod still retain in their primitive purity the doctrines, and adhere to the usages of the lutheran church." (10.) when, in 1853, the pennsylvania synod called upon all lutheran synods to follow their example and unite with the general synod, tennessee took cognizance of this matter in the following resolution: "whereas we regard the unaltered augsburg confession as the authorized and universally acknowledged symbol of the evangelical lutheran church, and consequently the belief and acknowledgment of it, in its entireness, as essential to the existence of lutheranism in its integrity; and whereas we profess, in our synodical constitution, to believe the doctrines of the christian system as exhibited in this symbol, and have pledged ourselves to teach according to it; and whereas the doctrinal position of the general synod, as we understand it, is only a qualified acknowledgment of the augsburg confession, as we think it evident, a) from the constitution of this body, in which there is no clause binding its members to teach according to the unaltered augsburg confession, and not even a distinct mention of this instrument; b) from the constitution recommended by the general synod to the district synods connected with it; c) from the form of oath required of professors in its theological seminary, when inducted into office; d) from the construction placed upon its constitution by the framer of that instrument, and other prominent members of it; e) from the various publications made by distinguished members of the general synod, in which distinctive doctrines of our church confessions are openly assailed, and for doing which they have never been called to account: be it therefore 1. resolved, that we cannot, under existing circumstances, take any steps toward a union with the general synod." (8.) 96. attitude toward north carolina synod.--in her relations with the north carolina synod the practise of tennessee was in perfect keeping with her doctrine, her actions tallying with her words. in 1820 they declared: "no teacher of our conference may take seat and vote in the present synod of north carolina, since we cannot look upon them as a truly evangelical lutheran synod." (b. 1820, 9.) neither was it tolerated that a member of the tennessee synod at the same time be a member of the north carolina synod; witness the case of seechrist. (r. 1826, 4.) furthermore, tennessee declared that steps looking to a union with the north carolina synod would be contemplated only if the respective pastors of that synod were to "revoke their doctrine in print as publicly as they had disseminated the same, and would give entire assent to the doctrine of the augsburg confession." (1824, 11; 1825, 6.) at the sixth convention, 1825, the committee previously appointed to negotiate with the north carolina synod reported that the ministers of that connection had refused to deal with them, 1. because this "committee did not entitle them as a genuine lutheran body; and 2. because we appointed farmers to constitute the committee." (6.) with respect to the first grievance tennessee declared: "we must here observe that we cannot consistently grant to the synod of north carolina this title, because we maintain that they departed from the lutheran doctrine. this is the very design in preferring the questions, in order to ascertain whether they adopted different views, since they published their doctrines. we, therefore, entreat them not to be offended when at this time we cannot grant the desired title, but to be contented until a union with respect to doctrine shall have been effected." (r. 1825, 6.) thus tennessee was careful to avoid even the appearance of denying her convictions. dissimulation was not in her nature. true to her convictions she formulated the address of her second petition for negotiations as follows: "to the rev. synod of north carolina, _who assume the title lutheran_, but which we, at this time, for the reason aforesaid, dispute. well-beloved in the lord, according to your persons," etc. (r. 1825, 6.) similar language was employed in the invitation of december, 1826, which the tennessee committee (daniel moser and david henkel) sent to pastors stork, shober, sherer, and other pastors of the north carolina synod to conduct a public debate, that every one might be enabled to decide for himself "who are the genuine and who the spurious lutherans." the invitation reveals a spirit of love, fairness, and willingness to yield in every point which was not a matter of conscience, as well as true lutheran conscientiousness and determination not to yield a single point in violation of the scriptures and the lutheran symbols. here daniel moser and david henkel who wrote the letter of invitation state with true christian frankness: "you call yourselves lutherans, and we call ourselves the same; notwithstanding there is a division. you have accused us with teaching erroneous doctrines, and we, notwithstanding the appellation you give yourselves, deny that your doctrines correspond with the same or with the holy scriptures." (27.) "we are willing to forgive all private conduct which we conceive erroneous and criminal in you. you ought also to be willing to forgive what you conceive to be the same in us. but as we differ with you in the fundamental doctrines of the christian religion, an ecclesiastical union is impracticable, until the one or the other party be clearly refuted and convinced." (29.) the following were mentioned as the chief points of difference which ought to be discussed: "1. the person and incarnation of christ, etc. 2. justification. 3. repentance. 4. good works. 5. holy baptism. 6. the lord's supper. 7. church government." (r. 1827, 26.) an offer of union made by the north carolina synod, in 1847, was answered by tennessee as follows: "resolved, that we accede to a union with the said synod only on the platform of pure and unadulterated evangelical lutheranism--a union which we shall heartily rejoice to form, as is evident from the repeated overtures we made to bring about such a desirable state of things." (r. 1847, 9.) 97. attitude toward other southern synods.--tennessee was conscious of representing nothing but the pure truth of unadulterated lutheranism also over against the synods of south carolina, virginia, and south west virginia. despite enmity, contempt, and slander, they were unwilling to enter into any unionistic compromise at the expense of the truth as they saw it. as for the synod of south carolina (organized 1824), the tennessee report of 1838 recorded the following protest: "whereas the synod of south carolina has recently employed various scandalous means in order to bring the ev. luth. tennessee synod into disrepute, in particular by the annotations contained in a sermon delivered by pastor johannes bachman, d. d., which was published with the approval and by the support of said synod (the aforementioned sermon, unless its evil influence is hindered, is well calculated to make a false and unfavorable impression upon otherwise honest minds, and to represent our doctrine, synod, and pastors as being the objects of scorn, disdain, and constant persecution); and whereas we believe that we stand on the primitive ground of the lutheran church, and that the doctrine of the glorious and memorable reformation, which was wrought through the especial mediation of the saxon reformers, dr. martin luther and his immortal assistants, exactly agrees with the word of god, which we regard as the only infallible norm of faith and life: 1. therefore be it resolved, that we regard the actions of the south carolina synod toward us as impolite, ignoble, dishonest, and uncharitable. 2. resolved, that we look upon the assertions in dr. bachman's sermon as utterly unfounded and without the slightest approach to the truth, but as base calumniations, well calculated to insult (beschimpfen) our synod." at the same time pastors braun and miller were appointed a committee to publish a refutation of bachman's sermon. (b. 1838, 11.) in his address delivered on november 12, 1837, bachman, as president of the south carolina synod, had voiced, with a squint toward tennessee, among others, the following sentiments: "we have never boasted of being an exclusive church, whose doctrines are more scriptural or whose confessors are purer than those of other denominations round about us. . . . we will gladly unite with every friend of the gospel in producing the downfall of sectarianism, though not the obliteration of sects. our pulpits have ever been open to the servants of every christian communion, and we invite to our communion tables the followers of jesus regardless of what particular denomination they may belong to." dr. bachman, in direct contravention to what the henkels had maintained over against stork and shober of the north carolina synod, expressed his own indifferentistic and reformed doctrinal position as follows: "if baptism is regeneration, why, then, does not every one who has been baptized in infancy walk with god from his baptism? why does not every one lead a pious life? evidently, such is not the case!" "as a matter of fact, for a hundred years the lutheran church has abandoned the moot question of the body of christ, etc., and has left it to the consciences of its members to decide what they must believe according to holy writ. this we may do without deviating from the faith of our church, since at our ordination, especially in this country, we confess nothing more than that the fundamental articles of the divine word are, in a manner substantially correct, presented in the doctrinal articles of the augsburg confession." (_kirchl. mitt_. 1846, 34 f.) in the same year (1838) the tennessee synod instructed its secretary to inquire of the president of the virginia synod (organized 1829 at woodstock) why, according to the resolution passed at their last meeting, they do "not recognize the members of the tennessee conference as evangelical lutheran pastors." (b. 1838 12.) and, when, in 1848, the western virginia synod (southwest virginia synod, organized 1841) requested an exchange of delegates, tennessee answered: "resolved, that, although it would afford us the highest gratification, and we most sincerely desire to see those who are one with us in name also united in doctrine and practise, and in that case would most cheerfully unite and cooperate with them in such measures as are calculated to advance and promote the cause of truth, yet we wish it to be distinctly understood that, however much a union is desired, it can only be effected upon the assurance of a strict adherence to the doctrines and usages of our church as set forth in its symbols; and until we can have this assurance, we, on our part, can consent to no such union." (r. 1848, 8.) efforts at unity and peace. 98. attempts at union with north carolina.--though universally decried as the "quarreling conference," tennessee enjoyed and cultivated unity and harmony within, and zealously also sought peace and unity with other lutheran synods. in 1826 all of the tennessee ministers signed a document, denying a report circulated by their enemies, according to which tennessee was disagreed as to its attitude toward the general synod, and declaring: "we testify that we live in brotherly love and harmony." the minutes add: "thus it is evident that all the ministers of this body live in brotherly love, and entertain uniform sentiments." (7.) nor did the staunch, unbending doctrinal position of tennessee prove to be a hindrance of, and a check upon, their efforts at unity and peace, but rather a spur to most earnest endeavors in this direction. moreover, after having themselves fully realized that the lutheran confessions contain nothing but god's eternal truth over against the manifest errors of the roman and other churches, it was, as shown above, the ambition and prayer of the henkels to lead the american lutheran synods out of the mire of sectarian aberrations back to the unadulterated lutheranism of luther and the lutheran symbols. when, in 1824, some members of the north carolina synod made proposals for a union of the two synods, tennessee forthwith appointed a committee to negotiate with them. (10.) this committee was instructed to compile the controverted points of doctrine from the writings of the two parties, "and to put into one column what the ministers of the north carolina synod teach, and in an adjoining column what the tennessee synod teaches, so that every one may immediately perceive the difference." in this way they hoped to enable every one to decide for himself which party taught according to the augsburg confession. in the interest of truth the committee was also authorized to direct such questions to the north carolina synod as they might see fit. (11.) it was, however, resolved that any further arrangements for union were not to be made until "said pastors, in case they would be convinced, recall their doctrine in print as publicly as they had disseminated it, and fully assent to the doctrine of the augsburg confession and to lutheran order as it obtained before the institution of the general synod arose." (11.) following are the questions which were directed "to the messrs. c. stork, g. shober, jacob sherer, daniel sherer, jacob miller, martin walter, and to all other men belonging to this connection" (north carolina synod): "1. do ye intend for the future to maintain what you have asserted, _viz_.: 'baptized or not baptized, faith saves us?' or upon mature deliberation, have ye concluded publicly to revoke the same as erroneous? 2. will ye also maintain that the christian church may consist of twenty different opinions? 3. do ye deny that the true body and blood of jesus christ are really present in the lord's supper, and administered and received under the external signs of bread and wine? and that also the unbelieving communicants do eat and drink his body and blood? further, do ye deny that jesus christ, agreeably to both natures, as god and man, inseparably connected in one person, is omnipresent, and thus an object of supreme worship? 4. do ye intend to relinquish the general synod, if in case ye cannot prove the same to be founded in the holy scriptures?" (r. 1825, 8; b. 1824, appendix, 2.) however, the carolina synod declined to answer. the tennessee committee reported 1825: "the ministers of said connection [carolina synod] refused to answer the committee that was appointed last year to negotiate with them. the reasons of their refusal shall here be inserted: said ministers assign the following reasons which we learn from mr. j. sherer's letter and their minutes: 1. that the committee did not entitle them as a genuine lutheran body; and 2. because we appointed farmers to constitute the committee." (r. 1825, 6.) david henkel wrote in 1827: "in the year 1822 i addressed a letter to them [north carolina synod]. . . . but they refused to accept the letter because they got offended with the address which was, 'the lutheran synod of north carolina and adjoining states, _so called_.' the tennessee synod have since, at several of their sessions, made sundry propositions to them for a reciprocal trial, and have proposed some questions to them which they were requested to answer. but as they were not addressed in such manner as to recognize them as genuine lutherans, they rejected every proposition. it must, however, be observed that they were not thus addressed through contempt, but rather through, necessity. one of the charges against them is that they deviated from the lutheran doctrines; hence had we addressed them in such manner as to have recognized them as genuine lutherans, they might easily have justified themselves under the covert of the address, and have produced it as an evidence against our charge." (r. 1827, 35.) however, though north carolina had not even answered their letter, tennessee did not relinquish her efforts at peace and harmony. in the following year, 1825, a memorial subscribed by nine persons was submitted, requesting synod "to make another attempt to effect a union with the ministers of the north carolina synod; yet so that the genuine lutheran doctrine be not thereby suppressed." (r. 1825, 6.) pursuant to this request, "it was resolved that the questions again should be preferred in a friendly manner; and provided their answer should prove satisfactory, all the necessary regulations shall be made to effect peace and harmony." (7.) at the same time tennessee explained and justified their action of withholding from the north carolina synod the title lutheran, and of appointing laymen, "farmers," as they were styled by north carolina, to constitute the committee. "it was believed," david henkel declared with respect to the latter point, "laymen would act more impartially, since the ministers are more immediately concerned in this controversy. neither can i discover that all the farmers are so contemptible a class of people that mr. sherer could possibly be offended at the appointment!" (r. 1825, 7.) regarding the first point synod declared: "we must here observe that we cannot consistently grant to the synod of north carolina this title [lutheran], because we maintain that they departed from the lutheran doctrine. . . . we therefore entreat them not to be offended when at this time we cannot grant the desired title, but to be contented until a union with respect to doctrine shall have been effected." (r. 1825, 7.) in accordance herewith the letter to the north carolina synod was addressed as follows: "to the rev. synod of north carolina who assume the title lutheran; but which we at this time, for the reason aforesaid, dispute. well-beloved in the lord, according to your persons!" (r. 1825, 7.) 99. debates at organ and st. paul's churches.--according to her resolutions of 1825, tennessee was ready to establish peace and harmony with the north carolina synod. but one proviso had been added by tennessee, limiting this action as follows: "provided their [north carolina's] answer should prove satisfactory." if such, however, should not be the case, they proposed public discussions of the differences. the minutes continue: "but if in case their answers should not prove satisfactory, that we propose to them to appoint a certain time and place, and that each party appoint a speaker, for the purpose of exhibiting the disputed doctrines, so that the assembly, which may be present, may discover the difference; and that also all the arguments, on both sides, may afterwards be published." (r. 1825, 7.) in the following year, when the questions preferred were still unanswered by north carolina, tennessee resolved: "this synod have made sundry proposals to the north carolina connection for the purpose of amicably adjusting the difference which exists with respect to doctrine and other differences, but said connection have hitherto refused to comply with any of the proposals. although it seems to be in vain to make any further propositions, yet this synod deem it their duty to adopt the following resolutions: 1. that the revs. adam miller, daniel moser, and david henkel be authorized to proclaim and hold a public meeting at or near the organ church, rowan co., n.c. they shall continue said meeting at least three days, and preach on the disputed points of doctrine. 2. that they invite the revs. c. a. stork and daniel sherer, who reside near said organ church, to attend said meeting, and give them an opportunity of alleging their objections and proving their doctrines. further, that as many of the other ministers belonging to the north carolina connection as may be conveniently notified be also invited to attend for the same purpose. this will afford an opportunity to a number of people to ascertain which party have deviated from the lutheran doctrine. this meeting shall, if god permit, commence on the 4th day of next november." (r. 1826, 5.) the public meeting was duly proclaimed at organ church in rowan co., n.c., on the 4th of november. a notice was inserted into the weekly paper, and some of the ministers were individually requested to attend. however, not one of the north carolina synod ministers put in his appearance, or made any official statement of their reasons for not attending. persons who had visited rev. stork quoted him as having said: "let them [the committee] come to our synod, which is the proper place to discuss these points." (r. 1827, 5.) stork's remark suggested the arrangement of a second debate in connection with the prospective meeting of the north carolina synod in st. paul's church, lincoln co., beginning may 7, 1827. the tennessee report of 1827 records: "on the day appointed [november 4, 1826], messrs. moser and henkel attended [the meeting at the organ church]; but none of the ministers whom they had invited. whereupon sundry respectable members of the lutheran community [in lincoln co.] requested the committee [of the tennessee synod, moser and henkel] to renew this invitation, and to make another appointment. the same request was also made by the lutheran joint committee of this county [composed of members of several lutheran congregations in lincoln county], at their session on the 9th of last december [1826]. accordingly, messrs. moser and henkel renewed the invitation, and proclaimed another meeting." (25.) the request of the lutheran joint committee reads as follows: "to lutherans. the lutheran tennessee synod had appointed a committee for the purpose of publicly debating some points of doctrine, which are in dispute between the aforesaid synod, and that which is commonly called the synod of north carolina and adjoining states. some members of the latter were invited and notified by the committee to attend at organ church, on the 4th ult., for the purpose of reciprocally discussing the aforesaid points of doctrine. two of the committee attended, but none of the ministers of the north carolina synod. whatever reasons they may have had for not attending, we, the members of several lutheran congregations in this county, being assembled and constituting a joint committee for the purpose of regulating the internal government of the same, request said committee to proclaim another public meeting at a convenient place for the aforesaid purpose, and to invite the members of the north carolina synod to attend the same. we also hereby request the members of the north carolina synod to meet the committee [of tennessee] in a friendly manner, in order to discuss the doctrines in dispute." moser and henkel responded: "we . . . acquiesce in your request, and deem it pertinent to the manifestation of the truth." (26.) they also published a proclamation, inviting the ministers of the north carolina synod to attend a public meeting to be held in st. paul's church, lincoln co., "to commence on the day after you shall have adjourned, and to continue at least three days." (r. 1827, 27.) again invitations and notices of the projected meeting were printed, and a copy was sent to each of the ministers of the north carolina synod a few months prior to their session. and when the north carolina synod was convened, by special messenger, a letter was sent to the president for presentation to synod, inviting them to attend the proposed debate, at the same time asking them to give their reasons in case they should refuse to comply with the request. on the following day the messenger, mr. rudisill, applied for an answer, and again on the day of adjournment; but in vain. the report of 1827 records: "mr. rudisill handed this letter to the president, who, taking it, replied that it was not properly directed to them; notwithstanding it should be given to a committee appointed by this synod, who should report on the same. on the next day mr. rudisill applied for an answer, but he received none. on wednesday, the day of their adjournment, mr. rudisill again requested an answer, but he again received none. neither did the synod assign any reason for their refusal. whereupon mr. rudisill publicly proclaimed that messrs. moser and henkel would attend on the next day, _i.e._, on thursday, and discourse upon these disputed topics, and invited all who were present to attend. accordingly, messrs. moser and henkel attended, but none of the ministerium of the north carolina synod appeared. the most of them, or perhaps all, had started on their way home. the members of the church who were present requested david henkel to discourse on a few of those disputed points, with which he complied. after his discourse was ended, it was concluded that it was not necessary then to pursue the subject any further. the congregation, who were present, nominated a majority of the members of this committee to draw up the above statements. it was resolved that this report shall be laid before the next session of the tennessee synod and that the same shall be requested to annex it to the report of their transactions. it was further resolved that david henkel be requested to write a treatise, in order to show the propriety and scriptural grounds for the debate on the disputed points of doctrine, which was offered to the ministers of the north carolina synod." (r. 1827, 31 f.) thus the repeated and cordial offers on the part of the tennessee synod to discuss and settle the differences were ignored and spurned by the north carolina synod. david henkel wrote: "as the committee, who gave them the last invitation to attend to public debate, knew from past experience that to address the north carolina synod with the addition 'so called' was offensive, and was made a plea to evade a public trial, they addressed some of the principal ministers thereof agreeably to etiquette, by their personal names, and including all the others, believing that no rational man would be offended to be called by his own name. neither did i hear that any of them objected to the address as offensive, nor to any of the propositions for the manner of conducting the debate. notwithstanding this, and although they accepted a letter directed to them also by the committee, and promised the bearer to return an answer, yet they treated both the invitation and letter with silent contempt." (35.) the repeated endeavors of the tennessee synod to draw the false lutherans out of their holes failed. the lutheran church of america was destined to sink even deeper into the mire of indifferentism, unionism, and sectarianism. 100. characteristic address of moser and henkel.--the truly lutheran spirit in which tennessee endeavored to bring about unity and peace with the north carolina synod appears from the following letter, published in connection with the debates proposed in the interest of union, and dated, "lincoln co., n.c., december 10, 1826": "to the revs. charles a. stork, g. shober, jacob sherer, and daniel sherer, and all other ministers belonging to their synod.--sirs! you call yourselves lutherans, and we call ourselves the same; notwithstanding there is a division. you have accused us of teaching erroneous doctrines, and we, notwithstanding the appellation you give yourselves, deny that your doctrines correspond with the same or with the holy scriptures. it is hence somewhat difficult for some professors of lutheranism to determine with which party to associate, as they have not sufficient information on the subject. we know no method which would be better calculated to afford the people information and an opportunity for both parties to prove their accusations than to meet each other, and debate the points in dispute publicly, according to the rules of decorum.--whereas we are informed that you intend to hold your next synod in st. paul's church in this county, on the first sunday in next may, why we wish to try your doctrines, and why we wish you to try ours by the augustan confession and the aforesaid symbolical books, is because the important question in the dispute is, who are the genuine and who the spurious lutherans? for it is known that lutheran ministers are pledged to maintain the augustan confession. but if you should at said meeting declare that the augustan confession contains false doctrine, and that dr. luther erred in any of the doctrines which are here proposed for discussion, we shall then, in that case, be willing to appeal exclusively to the holy scriptures.--whatever private misunderstanding may have existed between us heretofore, we notwithstanding intend to meet you in a friendly manner, without attempting to wound your feelings by personal reflections. that we intend publicly to contradict your doctrines as erroneous we beg you not to consider as an insult, as we expect and are willing for you to treat ours in the same manner. we pray you as our former brethren, do not despise and reject those proposals, as a compliance with them may have the salutary effect to convince either the one or the other party of the truth, and we are confident it will be beneficial to many of the hearers.--we are willing to forgive all private conduct which we conceive erroneous and criminal in you. you ought also to be willing to forgive what you consider the same in us. but as we differ with you in the fundamental doctrines of the christian religion, an ecclesiastical union is impracticable until the one or the other party be clearly refuted and convinced.--we remain yours, respectfully, daniel moser. david henkel." (r. 1827, 27.) 101. probing orthodoxy of pennsylvania synod.--in the interest of doctrinal clarity and christian unity the tennessee synod, in 1823, addressed to the pennsylvania synod the following questions: "1. do ye believe that holy baptism performed with water, in the name of the holy trinity, effects remission for sins, delivers from death and satan, and gives admittance into everlasting life to all such as believe, according to god's promises? 2. do ye believe that the true body and blood of christ are present, administered, and received under the external signs of bread and wine? do ye believe that the unbelieving communicants also eat and drink the body and blood of christ? we do not ask whether they receive remission for their sins, but simply, whether they also eat and drink the body and blood of christ. 3. ought jesus christ to be worshiped as true god and man in one person? 4. ought the evangelic lutheran church, endeavor to be united with any religious denomination, whose doctrines are contrary to the augustan confession of faith? or, is it proper for lutherans to commune with such?" (r. 1825, 9.) the pennsylvania synod, which immediately prior to that time had been planning to establish a union seminary with the german reformed and to enter into organic union with that body, treated the request with silent contempt. two years later tennessee, patiently and humbly, renewed the questions with the following preamble: "in the year of our lord 1823, a few questions were preferred to your honorable body by this synod, but as no answers have been received, and as the reasons thereof are not known, we [daniel moser, ambrose henkel, john ramsauer, peter hoyle] were appointed by our synod to renew the request, and to solicit you to comply with the same. we most humbly beseech you to make known the reasons of your hope that is in you, because we believe if this be done, it will contribute towards restoring peace and tranquillity [tr. note: sic] among all genuine lutherans. we, therefore, renew the following questions," etc. (r. 1825, 8 f.) "it was also resolved," the report of 1825 continues, "that the secretary of this synod be ordered to address a friendly letter to the rev. muhlenberg, member of the synod of pennsylvania, for the purpose of obtaining his counsel relative to the present affairs of the church." (9.) however, these letters also remained unanswered. but, even this did not exasperate, nor exhaust the patience of, tennessee, as appears from the following entry in the minutes of 1826: "at our last session a few theological questions were submitted to the reverend synod of east pennsylvania, and a letter to the rev. muhlenberg; but we received no answer, neither from the synod nor from mr. muhlenberg. the cause of this delay we do not know; but we indulge the hope of receiving satisfactory answers before our next session." (r. 1826, 6.) in the same report we read: "several letters from pennsylvania [not the synod] were read in which david henkel is particularly requested to visit that state for the purpose of preaching, and arguing the peculiar doctrines of the lutheran church. resolved, that this synod also solicit him to undertake this task. he agreed to do so, provided he can arrange his other business so as to be enabled." (9.) in the following year, however, as no answer had arrived from the pennsylvania synod, tennessee made the following declaration, which was directed also against the north carolina synod: "whereas there are sundry ministers who appear under the disguise of lutherans, notwithstanding [they] deny the lutheran doctrines, and as they are patronized by several synods, this body deemed it expedient and to have a scriptural privilege to demand of other bodies answers to some theological questions, in order to ascertain whether they differ in points of doctrine from this body. accordingly, they submitted a few theological questions to the reverend synod of pennsylvania (now east pennsylvania), and have waited patiently four years for an answer. but no answer was received. the secretary was also ordered by the session of 1825 to address a friendly letter on the subject to the rev. muhlenberg. the secrtary [tr. note: sic] complied with this order; but mr. muhlenberg has not as yet returned an answer. in order, therefore, to ascertain the sentiments of the several synods, as well as of individual ministers on sundry points of doctrine, it was resolved, 1. that there shall be a pastoral address directed to the lutheran community, in which shall be shown what this body deem to be the genuine lutheran doctrines relative to such points as are in dispute. 2. that the several synods, as well as individual ministers shall be requested, in the preface of the aforesaid contemplated address, to peruse and examine it; and then, in a formal manner, either justify it as correct, or condemn it as erroneous. that every synod and minister who shall be silent after having had an opportunity of perusing it shall be considered as fully sanctioning all its contents as correct, although they should teach or patronize a contrary doctrine. 3. that david henkel shall compile and prepare said book for publication, and that the other ministers of this body shall assist him in it. . . . this address is intended to be published both in the german and english languages." (r. 1827, 6 f.) also from the ohio synod, which at that time practically identified itself with the indifferentistic attitude of the pennsylvania synod, tennessee received but little encouragement in her efforts at purifying the lutheran church from the leaven of sectarianism. says sheatsley: "the minutes [of the ohio synod of 1825] report that david henkel of the tennessee synod placed several theological questions before synod. these were discussed in the ministerial meeting and answered, but as many of the older heads were absent, the answers should first be sent to them and then forwarded to pastor henkel. what the questions were we have no means of determining [no doubt, they were the same questions asked the pennsylvania synod], but, judging from the ability and bent of the doughty david henkel, we may surmise that the questions involved some difficulties. in the following year synod resolved that it could not answer these questions, since it is not our purpose at our meetings to discuss theological questions, but to consider the general welfare of the church. this did not betoken indifference [?] [tr. note: sic] to doctrine, but it was then like it is now a joint synod; there was little or no time for the discussion of these matters." (_history_, 73.) tennessee justifying her procedure. 102. confession of truth a christian duty.--it appears from the procedure of the tennessee synod, as well as from the resolution of 1827, quoted in the preceding paragraph, that tennessee felt justified in demanding a showdown on the part of the american lutheran synods, which had persistently refused to reveal their colors. however, being unionists, indifferentists, and masked or open calvinists, these false lutherans resented such a demand as obtrusive, arrogant, and impudent. hence their contemptuous silence. however, also in this matter tennessee realized that they were only asking what, according to the word of god, it was their solemn duty to demand. for to confess the faith which is in him is not only the privilege of a christian, but also an obligation and a debt which he owes his brethren. accordingly, when, in 1827, the committee reported how all efforts to induce the carolina and pennsylvania synods to reveal their colors and to give testimony of their faith as to the doctrines of baptism, the lord's supper, etc., had been rebuked with silent contempt, tennessee passed the resolutions quoted in the preceding paragraph. they felt called upon publicly to justify their procedure; and this all the more so because a member of the north carolina synod had declared "that it was not only improper, but also sinful to argue publicly on religious subjects." (r. 1827, 36.) david henkel, therefore, in a treatise appended to the report of 1827, endeavored to show the propriety and the scriptural grounds for the public debate proposed to the ministers of the north carolina synod. how tennessee justified her actions appears from the following quotations culled from this treatise: "the members of the lutheran church," says david henkel, "are pledged by their confirmation vows to support and to adhere to her doctrines and discipline. now as it is not a matter of little importance to break such vows, it is therefore highly interesting for every member to know who of the ministers and which of the synods have departed from the confession of faith they have vowed to maintain, as a connection with such would be a partaking of their errors." (33.) "because all lutherans are pledged to maintain the doctrines of their confession of faith, it may therefore be legally required of any one to stand an examination, if it be believed that he has deviated from the same." (36.) "the members of the lutheran church at the time of their confirmation declare that they believe the doctrines as held by the same, and every minister is solemnly pledged to maintain the augustan confession. independently of synods, the augustan confession of faith is the point of union of all lutherans, and by which they are distinguished from other denominations. as all bear the same name, and are pledged to maintain the same creed, they are viewed as one body. therefore one member is accountable to another, and it is one minister's duty to watch the other's official conduct, as the doctrines taught by one are ascribed to the others, because they constitute one body. how does a man become partaker of another's guilt but by being in connection with him, and not reproving it? 1 tim. 5, 22." (37.) "now as one lutheran minister's doctrine is ascribed to another, why should the one not have the right to bring the other to an account, provided he believes that he deviates from the confession they are both pledged to maintain? the ministers of the north carolina synod call themselves lutherans, but as we believe that they propagate doctrines contrary to the augustan confession, we considered it necessary to require of them to stand an examination. it is necessary to correct a wrong opinion, which is, that lutheran ministers are at liberty to deviate from the augustan confession whereinsoever they conceive it as erroneous. some ministers have declared that they did not care what the augustan confession teaches, that they simply taught the doctrines of the scriptures; further, that luther was only a man, and was therefore liable to err. in answer to this, i observe that lutheran ministers have no right to deviate from any article of this confession because the whole of it is viewed by the lutheran community as true and scriptural. let them remember their solemn vows! such as think proper to deviate, infringe upon the rights of the community. it must, however, be admitted that if any one should discover that this confession is unscriptural, he would be justifiable in renouncing it. by doing so no one would be deceived. if there are errors in this confession, why should any man who has discovered them yet pretend to preach under its covert? such as believe that this confession contains errors practise a twofold fraud. the one is, that they cause lutherans to think that they hold the same doctrines as they do themselves, when yet they do not. the other is (provided it be true what they affirm), that they encourage the people in those errors, because they pretend to support the very confession which contains them. that the bible is the proper rule of doctrine must be confessed; yet the question is, does the augustan confession contradict it? that luther was a man, and therefore liable to err, is not denied; but that he did err with regard to the doctrines contained in the augustan confession remains to be proven. but if he erred, why do such as believe this call themselves lutherans? such practise a fraud by being called lutherans, when they affirm that luther taught erroneous doctrines; or else [they] must own that, by being called after him, they sanction such errors." (37 f.) 103. truth always seeks the light.--in his justification of the procedure of the tennessee synod, david henkel continues as follows: "the intention of the public debate which was offered to the ministers of the north carolina synod was to afford them an opportunity of manifesting the doctrines we teach, and to prove them as erroneous. the same [opportunity] we would also had to have treated theirs in like manner. the propositions which were made were calculated to have brought all these things to light. they would not only have offered the hearers who might have been present the opportunity of knowing the difference, and arguments on each side, but the debates might also have been committed to paper and published, and thus the whole lutheran community might have been judges in this controversy. when a doctrine is in dispute between two parties, how shall the public decide when they never heard the opposite arguments? is it rational to condemn either party without a trial? whilst the deeds of men are to be concealed, there are just grounds for believing that they are evil. our blessed savior says, 'for every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved. but he that doeth the truth cometh to the light that his deeds may be made manifest that they are wrought in god.' john 3, 20. 21. no man who is confident that he has the truth on his side will ever evade coming to the light; for he is not ashamed to profess and vindicate the truth; and though it should be scrutinized to the utmost, yet he knows that thereby, like gold passing through the fire, it shall become more brilliant. even the man who is diffident with respect to his doctrines, yet having an honest disposition, never objects to be brought to the light; for he considers that no greater favor could be shown him than that his errors be overthrown, and he be led into the paths of truth. but the man who knows that he cannot defend his doctrines upon scriptural grounds, and yet possesses too high an estimation of himself, hates to be brought to the light, for he knows that his errors will be unmasked; 'for every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved.' why do men make so many shifts to evade a public trial of the doctrines, but a consciousness of being in an error which their pride does not suffer to be publicly exposed? many a man in a hasty ill humor condemns a doctrine merely because the man whom he considers his enemy vindicates it; and though he should afterwards be clearly convinced, yet he believes it to be beneath his dignity to make a recantation, and thus throughout all his days he is tormented with a guilty conscience. in the days of the reformation public debates were highly conducive to manifest the errors of the papists. when luther confronted his opponents in the presence of multitudes, it was that many souls got convinced of the truth, which before were kept in ignorance. had he refused to appear, especially before the diet at worms, what would have been the result? though he knew that his life was in danger, if he appeared, yet he also knew that the cause he had espoused would have suffered, provided he evaded a public test of his doctrines. the papists having been taught by experience that the public debates with luther proved injurious to their party, they avoided them as much as they could and employed various stratagems to destroy him and his cause. luther says: 'the court of rome most horribly fears, and shamefully flees from, a christian council.' had this principle been uniformly followed in the days of luther that it is sinful to dispute on points of doctrine, the errors of the papish church could have been impregnable; and those who bear the name of christian might perhaps yet groan under papal superstition and tyranny. . . . thousands have joined churches with whose peculiar doctrines they are not acquainted, and even do not know whether their government is republican, aristocratical, or monarchical. they are satisfied with what they hear from their ministers, without even examining their creeds or forms of government. such being ignorant, they are already prepared for a state of slavery. they who so easily submit to an ecclesiastical slavery may also by degrees, by the same means, be led to sacrifice their civil liberty. how is it possible that people can with any degree of safety be in connection with such ministers as are publicly impeached with erroneous doctrines, and yet are not willing to be brought to light? ought not every person conclude: if such ministers believed that they had nothing but the truth on their side, they would freely embrace every opportunity of coming to the light, so that they might show that their works are wrought in god, and refute their opponents' calumnies? that a public debate would create animosity is no reason that it should be omitted. would it offend real christians? by no means. it indeed might offend false teachers and their votaries, who for the want of argument would substitute the ebullitions of their anger. but what christian can imagine that no error should be exposed, lest the persons who are guilty might be offended?" (38 ff.) 104. arguments continued.--david henkel furthermore showed from phil. 2, 15; 1 pet. 2, 9; 1 pet. 3, 15. 16, that it is the duty of christians to shine as lights in the world, to instruct the ignorant, to give an answer to every man who asks them a reason of the hope that is in them, and then proceeds to the following conclusion: "now if it be every christian's duty to answer those who interrogate them respecting the grounds of their faith, how contrary to the word of god do such synods and ministers act when they refuse answering some important theological questions either by writing or public interview! do they refuse because they consider the persons who interrogate them too far beneath their notice? does not this (if it be the case) indicate that they are possessed with the pride of the devil? what! poor sinful mortals, do they exalt themselves above their fellowmen? or are they ashamed to let their sentiments be known? are they sensible that they cannot rationally defend their doctrines if they were scrutinized? or, indeed, have they the truth on their side, and yet fear to let it be known that they believe it, lest they should become unpopular? alas! there are too many whose sentiments may be correct, yet through fear of getting the ill will of some others will not answer the most important questions. let such men remember, that, whilst they wish to keep the truth in darkness, with a view to please opposite parties, that they are vile hypocrites; and let them tremble! st. paul says: 'for if i yet pleased men, i should not be the servant of christ.' gal. 1, 10. we have asked the ministers of the north carolina synod for the reasons of the hope that is in them, or properly, for the proofs of their doctrines; and, agreeably to the last invitation given them, they might have had the opportunity of showing the reasonableness of their doctrines. now as they have neglected to endeavor to convince us, why do they warn the people against us, especially since they are not willing to confront us in a public debate?" (42 f.) henkel continues: "we, as it has been already said, are represented by the ministers of the north carolina synod as enemies of the promulgation of the gospel. particularly i am charged with teaching the most dangerous heresies, as may be seen from a scurrilous pamphlet written by their president, mr. shober. how is such a dangerous man to be treated by christian pastors? is he to be at liberty without reproof? is he to be opposed behind his back, and defeated by arguments, or rather invectives, to which he has no opportunity of replying? no. for such treatment has rather a tendency to strengthen him in his errors, and cause such as are led by him to conclude that his doctrines are incontestable; otherwise the learned and pious clergy would confront him in a public interview. st. paul describes the duty of a bishop in this respect: that he should 'hold fast the faithful word as he hath been taught, that he may be able by sound doctrine both to exhort and to convince the gainsayers.' he adds: 'for there are many unruly and vain talkers and deceivers, specially they of the circumcision, whose mouth must be stopped, who subvert whole houses, teaching things which they ought not, for filthy lucre's sake.' titus 1, 9. 11. as these show that it is the duty of a bishop to exhort and convince the gainsayer, and to stop his mouth, the question may be asked, how is this to be done? it cannot be done otherwise than to propose to the gainsayer an interview, and if he attend to it, to refute his arguments. but if he refuses to attend, the bishop has discharged his duty; for the gainsayer thereby shows that he is, already convinced, and his mouth stopped, because, if he believed that he could not be refuted, he would by no means avoid the light. again, when the gainsayer in a public debate is closely pursued by the truth, he uses invectives instead of arguments, which is a plain indication of his mouth being stopped. a false teacher is said to be a wolf in sheep's clothing, which signifies to be under the covert of a servant of god. . . . now, indeed is it possible that the ministers of the north carolina synod represent me as the most dangerous wolf, and yet can see me come among their congregations, and gain a goodly number of their people, without even being willing to confront me in a public debate, which would be calculated to show me in mine originality. why do they flee? do they not feel for their flocks? to pronounce them hirelings would seem uncharitable. how could i otherwise acquit them of such a charge, unless i would suppose that they in reality do not consider me as a false teacher? otherwise they would not flee, but stand public test. but that they have called me a false teacher is perhaps owing to the violence of the old man in them, whom they have not yet crucified through the spirit." (44 ff.) finally, in defending the propriety of the procedure of the tennessee synod, david henkel refers to the example of christ, who "answered the questions of the pharisees, sadducees, scribes, and the devil. now, as christ debated with wicked men, yea, with the devil himself, with what face can any man say, it is wrong to dispute on doctrinal topics?" (45 f.) david henkel concludes: "whereas all lutherans are pledged to their creed by a solemn vow, it must be a matter of great importance for every one to know the sentiments of the ministers under whose care he may be; for whosoever supports such as are inimical to the doctrines of the church acts contrary to his vow. every lutheran ought to be certain, and able to prove by texts of scripture, that his creed contains erroneous doctrine, before he adopts a contrary one, lest he incur the crime of perjury. the ministry of the north carolina synod are charged with denying the most important doctrine of the lutheran church, and have been requested to come to a reciprocal trial, which they have obstinately refused. now, what is the duty of the people under their care? ought they not to urge them to come to a reciprocal trial? how can they consider themselves safe under a ministry who are not willing to come to the light!" (47.) doctrinal basis. 105. attitude toward the scriptures.--regarding the constitution of the tennessee synod we read in the report of 1827: "whereas the constitution [of 1820] of this synod is blended with the transactions of the session at which it was formed, and as the unalterable articles are not distinguished from those that are local and of a temporary nature, and as the language is not sufficiently explicit, it was deemed necessary, in order to supply those defects, to supply another. consequently a committee was appointed to draw up one for examination." the committee complied with the order, drew up a constitution, and laid it before the body. every one of its articles having been critically examined, synod resolved: "1. that this constitution shall be annexed to this journal [report]; but it shall not now be adopted nor ratified, so that the absent ministers, as well as the congregations may have the opportunity of alleging their probable objections, or of proposing necessary amendments. this also affords an opportunity for the members of the present session to reexamine it. 2. but that, if no objection of importance shall be alleged, or necessary amendments proposed by any member of this body, or by any congregation, and be laid before the next session, it shall then be considered as the adopted and ratified constitution of this synod." (9.) in the following year the new constitution was adopted and ratified in a somewhat revised form, and appended to the minutes of the same year. the english version is found also in the report of 1853. the first article of this constitution reads as follows: "the holy scriptures, or the inspired writings of the old and new testaments, shall be the only rule of doctrine and church-discipline. the correctness or incorrectness of any translations is to be judged according to the original tongues, in which the scriptures were first written." (b. 1828, 13; r. 1853, 20.) the introduction declared: "nothing relative to doctrines and church-discipline ought to be transacted according to the mere will of the majority or minority, but in strict conformity with holy writ." (b. 1828, 12; r. 1853, 19.) according to the constitution of 1828, therefore, tennessee recognized the holy scriptures as the only norm and rule of doctrine and life. this had been the position of the tennessee synod from the very beginning. as early as 1822 they declared: "forasmuch as the holy bible is the only rule of matters respecting faith and church-discipline, and because the augsburg confession of faith is a pure emanation from the bible, and comprises the most important doctrines of faith and discipline, hence it must always remain valid. therefore our synod can neither be governed by a majority nor a minority, now nor ever hereafter, with respect to doctrine and discipline. this is the reason why nothing can be introduced among us, now nor at any time hereafter, which may be repugnant to the bible and the augsburg confession of faith. neither the majority nor the minority shall determine what our doctrine and discipline are, because they are already determined in the above-named rule. but that we assemble from time to time is neither to form new rules, doctrines, nor traditions, but as united instruments in the hand of god we wish to promulgate the doctrine of the bible, and to execute the rules already laid down in the holy scriptures. but with respect to local and temporary regulations, such as the place and time of meeting, and such like things, which do not interfere with matters of faith and discipline, the synod suit themselves to the conveniences of the most of their members. we refer the reader to the seventh, fifteenth, and twenty-eighth articles of the augsburg confession of faith, where he may find more satisfactory instructions with respect to these things." (r. 1822, 9 f.) 106. augsburg confession adopted with a "quia."--from the very beginning the tennessee synod regarded the book of concord as a correct exhibition of the teachings of holy writ, although at first only the augsburg confession was officially received into the constitution. at its organization in 1820 synod declared: "all doctrines of faith and the doctrine of the christian life, as well as all books which are used for public worship in the church, shall, as far as possible, be arranged and observed according to the holy scriptures and the augsburg confession. especially shall the youth and others who have need thereof in our church be instructed according to the small catechism of dr. luther, as has been the custom hitherto. said catechism shall always be the chief catechism of our church." (4.) "whoever will be a teacher shall solemnly promise that he will teach according to the word of god, and the augsburg confession, and the doctrine of our church." (5.) the minutes of 1821 record: "on motion made by mr. peter boger, it was resolved that a copy of the augsburg confession of faith, likewise a copy of the minutes of the synod, shall be deposited in every church." (8.) the second article of the new constitution, adopted 1828, reads as follows: "the augustan confession of faith, comprised in twenty-eight articles, as it is extant in the book entitled 'the christian concordia,' is acknowledged and received by this body, _because_ it is a true declaration of the principal doctrines of faith and of church-discipline. neither does it contain anything contrary to the scriptures. no minister shall therefore be allowed to teach anything, nor shall this body transact anything that may be repugnant to any article of this confession. luther's smaller catechism is also acknowledged and received, because it contains a compendium of scriptural doctrines, and is of great utility in the catechising of youth." (r. 1853, 21.) the "remarks" appended to this article explain: "creeds fraught with human tradition and opinions are rejected by this body. neither is the authority of a general council considered as valid, or sufficient to establish any point of doctrine. . . . now there is a considerable difference when a body of christians receive a human composition [symbol] as an unerring guide in addition to the scriptures, or when they receive it to show their views as respecting points of doctrine. lutherans acknowledge the holy scriptures as the only rule of doctrine and discipline; nevertheless they receive the augustan confession _because_ it exhibits the same views they have on the scriptures, and is a formal declaration of what they believe. but if it were possible to prove that the views on the points of doctrine contained in the augustan confession were erroneous, it would be the duty of this body to renounce it; nevertheless, in that case they could by no means be lutherans, as they would have rejected the views of lutherans. as there have been various editions of the augustan confession, this body have chosen the one which is extant in the book entitled 'the christian concordia,' because they are well assured that that is genuine." (22.) the revised constitution of 1866 recognized the entire book of concord as being the doctrinal basis of the tennessee synod, thereby merely giving expression to the position which the tennessee synod had actually occupied from the very beginning. in their letter of december 10, 1826, addressed to the pastors of the north carolina synod, daniel moser and david henkel declared: "we also wish to appeal to the book called 'concordia,' as it is one of the principal symbolical books of the lutheran church." (r. 1827, 28.) the sixth of the "alterable articles" of the proposed constitution submitted to synod in 1827 reads: "the book entitled 'concordia,' which contains the symbolical books of the lutheran church, shall be viewed as a directory in theology." (24.) after visiting the tennessee synod in 1855, brohm wrote: "creditable witnesses have given me the assurance that, as far as their persons are concerned, all the pastors of the synod adhere to the entire concordia." (_lutheraner_ 11, 78.) when the tennessee synod was organized, it was the only american lutheran synod which was pledged to the lutheran confession, not merely with a _quatenus, i.e._, as far as it agrees with the bible, but with an honest _quia, i.e._, because it agrees with the bible. confession enforced. 107. confession no mere dead letter.--that tennessee did not regard the lutheran confession a mere dead document appears from her attitude toward the pennsylvania, north carolina, and other unfaithful lutheran synods, as delineated above. the treatise appended to the report of 1827 declared: it is necessary to correct the wrong opinion that lutheran ministers are at liberty to deviate from the augustan confession whereinsoever they conceive it as erroneous. as long as a minister pretends to be a lutheran minister, he has no right to deviate from any article of this confession. let him remember his vows! if any one should discover that the augsburg confession is unscriptural, he is justified and bound to renounce it. but if he continues to preach under its cover, he is guilty of a twofold fraud. he deceives the church by causing lutherans to believe that he agrees with them. and he deceives the christians by failing to warn them against what he regards erroneous teaching. if luther and the lutheran confessions erred, "why do such as believe this call themselves lutherans? such practise a fraud by being called lutherans, when they affirm that luther taught erroneous doctrines; or else must own that, by being called after him, they sanction such errors." (38.) tennessee was not satisfied with being _called_ lutheran. they were seriously determined to _be_ lutherans. the lutheran confessions were the living norm of both their preaching and their practise. in publishing books, receiving pastors and teachers, examining candidates, in negotiating with other synods, tennessee was scrupulously guided and governed by the lutheran symbols. in 1821 they resolved on a liturgy to be prepared by paul henkel "according to the augsburg confession of faith and the bible." (7.) in 1826 it was resolved that luther's smaller catechism should be translated into the english language, and that ambrose henkel was to provide both for an _accurate translation_ and for the publication of the catechism. (7.) numerous instances where pastors were carefully examined with respect to doctrine before they were admitted to membership are recorded in the synodical minutes. in the report of 1831, _e.g._, we read: "mr. rankin [who previously had been a member of the presbyterian church] presented himself to the committee. he was first made a full member of the lutheran church by confirmation. then, having taken the most solemn pledge, he was ordained a pastor of the same church with prayer and laying on of hands." (8.) the report of 1832 records: "whereas mr. rankin, as appears from a letter of mr. bonham, addressed to synod, and from other trustworthy sources from green county, tenn., _has departed from the augsburg confession_, both as to doctrine and discipline, it was resolved that mr. rankin be requested to attend the next session of our synod, and there defend himself against the above-mentioned charges, otherwise we can regard him as member of this synod no longer." (9. 16.) in the report of 1827 we find the following entry: "it was considered necessary that one of the pastors should visit all the other pastors, and their congregations, and examine whether there be any who deviate from the doctrines and rules of our church. but as none of the pastors who were present could undertake this visit, it was resolved that any of the absent ministers who may volunteer his services shall hereby be authorized to make this visit, and to reprove all errors that may come within his knowledge. whatever pastor may undertake this visit is requested to inform the secretary of his intention, and to hand in a report of his journey at the next session." (12.) 108. symbols regarded as necessary.--in the "remarks," appended to the second article of the constitution, adopted 1828, the necessity of symbols in explained as follows: "now the question may be put, is not the augustan confession a human composition? why is it adopted by this body? answer: the apostle peter exhorts christians to 'be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh them a reason of the hope that is in them,' etc. 1 pet. 3, 15. 16. from the history of the reformation it is evident that the protestants were called upon to deliver their confession of faith before the diet assembled at augsburg. every christian is not only privileged, but also commanded to confess what he believes. although the scriptures be a sufficient guide without any other, and though there be but one explanation of them which can be correct, yet not all who profess christianity explain them alike, for their views are widely different. hence, as all do not explain the scriptures alike, it could but be known what each body of christians believed; consequently others could not know whether they should fellowship them, provided they had not a formal declaration of their views on the points of doctrine contained in the scriptures. but when a body of christians make a formal declaration of their views on the holy scriptures, others are enabled to judge whether they be correct, and thus may know with whom to hold christian fellowship. . . . lutherans acknowledge the holy scriptures as the only rule of doctrine and discipline; nevertheless they receive the augustan confession because it exhibits the same views they have on the scriptures, and is a formal declaration of what they believe." (22.) according to his own report of a conversation with a pastor of the general synod, dated december 2, 1824, andrew henkel answered as follows the objection that the scriptures are sufficient, and that for that reason symbols are superfluous: "i told him then that he had departed from the augsburg confession, and, of course, from the lutheran church. he then told me that the bible was his creed, and not the augsburg confession, and that the said confession contained things which were not in the scriptures. i then replied and said that every fanatic and sectarian said so, and that lutherans as much considered the scriptures to be the only guide in doctrines as he or any other person did, but that it was necessary to have some standard by which men could know how the scriptures were understood by this or the other denominations, as men varied materially in their explanations of the scriptures. i then demanded of him to show wherein the confession did not correspond with the scriptures. he referred me to the word 'real' in the article of the lord's supper, and added that that word was inserted by the hotheaded luther." anti-romanistic attitude. 109. church governed by word of god alone.--the tennessee synod did not only realize the importance of the symbols for the lutheran church, but had correctly apprehended also their spirit and doctrinal content. this appears from her uncompromising attitude toward the romanistic, reformed, methodistic, and unionistic tendencies prevailing in the lutheran synods and congregations at the time of her organization. as to polity, the cast of the first american lutheran synods and congregations was of the hierarchical type. the congregations were subordinate to their pastors, the pastors and congregations to their respective synods, as a rule called ministeriums, because, essentially, they were bodies composed of ministers. david henkel had experienced the tyranny to which such an order would naturally lead and lend itself. the tennessee synod must be credited with being the first, in a large measure, to recognize, confess, and defend the inalienable rights of all christians and christian congregations. the henkels must be regarded as champions also of the basic truth of all normal church-government, _viz._, that no one is to govern the christian church, save christ and his word alone, not the pastor, nor the ministerium, nor the synod, nor any sort of majority. (1820, 23; 1828, 12.) in 1820, when the leaders of the north carolina synod, in matters of right and wrong, demanded subjection to the majority of votes, the henkels maintained: "we thought the doctrine of the augsburg confession, of which we were assured that it can be proved by the doctrine of the bible, ought to be of greater authority to us than the voice of a majority of men who are opposed to the doctrine and order of our church." (1820, 23.) nothing short of clear proof and conviction from the word of god and the augsburg confession would satisfy the henkels. in 1822 tennessee declared: "our synod can neither be governed by a majority nor a minority, now nor ever hereafter, with respect to doctrine and discipline. . . . neither the majority nor the minority shall determine what our doctrine and discipline are to be, because they are already determined in the above-named rule. . . . but with respect to local and temporary regulations, such as the place and time of meeting, and such like things, which do not interfere with matters of faith and discipline, the synod suit themselves to the conveniences of the most of their members." (r. 1822, 9.) in a "note" appended to the above declaration, david henkel defines the position of tennessee as follows: "herein is the difference between the government of the pure evangelical lutheran church and the government of the general synod. the established rule of the pure christian church is the holy scriptures and her supreme head, jesus christ. christ, by his word, governs the church in the doctrines of faith and discipline; there needeth no majority of votes to determine. in such matters as do not immediately interfere with the doctrines of faith and government of the church, as, for instance, to appoint the time and place for the meeting of a synod, or the erection of a synod, and such like things, herein our church doth not seek to exercise any authority, but granteth liberty to each congregation and to each of her ministers to act and do as they judge it most convenient for themselves. no one is despised for not joining with us in our synod; no one is oppressed who is not in conformity with us in matters which are not essential to the doctrine of faith. nothing can separate our union or break our peace with any, only when they deviate from the pure doctrine of the gospel, and when they compose traditions of their own and impose them on others. a majority is not to have authority over any one, because they have no power to impose traditions of men on others with regard to religion. the government of the general synod is altogether otherwise. . . . it is plainly to be seen in her constitution that her aim is to impose a number of human traditions on the church, as, for instance, that no synod shall be erected in any state, unless there are six ordained ministers living therein, and not even then unless they are authorized by the general synod. the general synod is to be governed by a majority; if it were not so, she would admit that every congregation and every minister should act agreeably to their own advantage in matters not interfering with the doctrines of faith, and not seek such universal power, by which they may compel men to act according to the will of a majority. the church of god on earth was never constantly governed right by a majority. in the times of the prophets the church was oppressed by a majority. . . . how was it in the time of christ? how did the majority act against the savior? who was right? the great council of jerusalem and thousands of their adherents, or jesus of nazareth, and the few of his disciples who were despised by the world? how was it in the days of luther? what was he against millions of the papist church? and yet every protestant will confess that luther's cause was just, and is thankful to god that the light of the gospel was set up by luther. but supposing that luther had yielded to be governed by a majority as the advocates for a general synod insist, or wish that the church should be governed by a majority, might we not have remained in the ignorance of blind popery to the present day? the government of the world is supported by a majority, and thus, many imagine to themselves, it ought so to be in the church; but they are greatly mistaken! jesus saith, 'my kingdom is not of this world,' and consequently not his manner of government. . . . jesus himself hath already prescribed all things respecting the doctrine and discipline of his church, therefore we need no general synod to give us prescriptions! as touching matters not essential, as appointing the time and place of a convention or the like, whereof no prescription is given, no one is justifiable to give any prescription or direction, much less to compel any one thereto, whereas all are to enjoy christian liberty. see rom. 14; col. 2. but those of the general synod undertake to erect universal directions in these matters, or else they would not name their synod universal. whosoever submits himself to be governed by a majority must be such as trust to a majority. the scripture saith: 'cursed is the man who putteth his trust in man.' jer. 17." (r. 1822, 11 f.) these views were embodied also in the constitution of 1828. in the explanatory "remarks" to the fourth article we read: "as the aforesaid duties [to supply laborers, detect false teachers, examine and ordain ministerial candidates, etc.] devolve on all churches and ministers, they undoubtedly have the privilege to perform them jointly, _i.e._ they may constitute a synod. but no christian synod can have legislative powers, consequently have no right to make rules for churches. all necessary and salutary rules pertaining to the government of the church are prescribed in the scriptures; therefore every body of men who make rules for the church are in opposition to christ. to make rules for the church is one thing, but to execute these rules already made, and to employ the proper means for the promulgation of the gospel, is another. the latter, but by no means the former, is the business of this body. that there ought to be no appeals from the decisions of congregations is evident from matt. 18, 15-20." (b. 1828, 20; r. 1853, 25.) of course, appeals from the congregation to the synod as a higher authority, to which the congregation is subordinated, were meant. the introduction to the constitution says: "the rules and principles of church-government are contained in the holy scriptures. therefore no body of christians have authority to dispense with, or alter or transact, anything contrary to them. human traditions or rules impressed upon the church as necessary for christian fellowship, which have no foundation in the scriptures, are rejected by our savior. matt. 15, 9. 13. 14." although, in executing the rules of the church, different times, persons, and local circumstances intervene, as, for instance, in one age and country one language is prevalent, but not in another age, and perhaps not in the same country . . ., nevertheless, christ being omniscient, and his all-wise spirit having inspired his apostles, they have provided the church with salutary rules, which are applicable to all persons in all places, times, and circumstances. nothing relative to doctrines and church-discipline ought to be transacted according to mere will of the majority or minority, but in strict conformity to the scriptures. local and temporary regulations, such as the time and place of the meeting of the synod, the ratio of representatives from congregations, etc., may be varied for the sake of convenience, hence are subject to be altered, amended, or abolished by the majority; yet they ought not to attempt to make their decisions in such cases absolutely obligatory upon the whole community, because such regulations are only subservient to the execution of the rules which are founded upon the scriptures." (19.) 110. antihierarchical principles practised.--the organization of, and connection with, a synod was regarded by tennessee as a matter not of divine obligation, but of christian wisdom and liberty. no congregation was condemned or refused fellowship merely because it refused to unite organically with their synod. in the "remarks" to the fourth article of her constitution tennessee explains: "when ministers and lay-delegates are assembled, they may have a more accurate knowledge of the exigencies of the whole connection they represent, hence are the better enabled to impart their counsel. by their simultaneous efforts, vacant churches may be supplied with ministerial labors, and others formed and organized. indeed, the same end may also be obtained by individual ministers and churches; nevertheless, as it frequently becomes necessary for such to receive cooperation from their brethren, this end may be obtained with more facility by the meeting of a synod." (1853, 25.) according to tennessee, then, the organization of, and connection with, a synod is a matter of christian liberty, wisdom, and expediency. but, while not opposed to synods as such, tennessee most strenuously objected to any kind of human autocracy within the synods and congregations. when, in a letter, several members of the north carolina synod designated paul henkel "the head" of the tennessee synod, the latter declared, and could do so truthfully, that their synod "confesses no man as its head save the one and only god-man, jesus christ." (b. 1824, 10.) the fact is that, in the beginning, tennessee was even without standing officers. the chairmen were elected and changed at pleasure even during the sessions of the same convention. (b. 1820, 7.) largely, her opposition to the general synod also was rooted in her determined hostility to every form of romanism. (r. 1820, 55; 1821, 17.) "if you will consider," they said to the north carolina synod, which had joined the general synod, "what pertains to true christianity, you certainly cannot reasonably desire that a government, shall be forced upon the church, of which no trace can be found in the bible." (b. 1824, anhang 2.) indeed, in their aversion to any and every form of synodical dominion over the congregations tennessee frequently went so far as to create the impression that they viewed with suspicion and as questionable, if indeed not as directly objectionable and sinful, every form of organization of synods into a _general_ body. on this point, also in her criticism of the general synod, tennessee frequently ran riot. but, though occasionally losing her balance and making a wrong application of her antihierarchical doctrine, the principle as such was sound to the core and truly lutheran. when the north carolina synod, without further investigation, annulled a ban of excommunication which david henkel's congregation had imposed, tennessee repudiated the action as an infringement on the rights of the congregation. "for," said they, "it cannot be proven anywhere that a synod has authority to break the decision made by the church council and the congregation. in such matters a congregation has greater power than any synod." (b. 1820, 20.) in agreement herewith the fourth article of the constitution submitted in 1827 provided: "but this synod shall have no power to receive appeals from the decision of congregations, with respect to the excommunication or receiving of members. for every congregation in this respect is independent of the synod." the german version adds: "hence synod cannot change or annul a decision of any congregation pertaining to the exclusion or the acceptance of a member." (r. 1827, 22; b., 21.) the form in which this article was finally adopted (1828) reads: "but this synod shall have no power to receive appeals from the decisions of, nor to make rules nor regulations for, congregations." (b. 1828, 19; r. 1853, 25.) neither did the tennessee synod arrogate to itself the right to appoint pastors to the congregations or to remove them. the report of 1824 records concerning adam miller: "this young man displays strong inclination for preaching; but since he has produced _no regular call from a congregation_, he could not be ordained." (14.) the tennessee synod claimed no power whatever over the individual congregations. the minutes of 1825 record: "it is reported that this synod, in 1821, ordered all the congregations not to suffer any minister who is connected with the general synod to preach in their meeting-houses. be it therefore known to all whom it may concern that there was no such a resolution adopted; although, there was a petition handed in, subscribed by three congregations in tennessee, in which they stated that they had adopted a resolution among themselves not to suffer a minister belonging to the general synod to preach in their meeting-houses, and also petitioned the synod to admonish all the congregations to concur with their resolution. but the synod sanctioned their resolution only in part, in so far as not to be connected with the general synod; yet the synod do not arrogate to themselves any authority to prescribe to any congregation, whom they shall suffer to preach in their meeting-houses. all congregations in this respect are independent of the synod." (r. 1825, 11; 1821, 7.) the report of 1832 declared: "this body arrogates to itself no power to make laws and rules for the congregations, because it is against their rights and liberties, as well as also against the fourth article of our constitution." indeed, such was their care not to exceed their authority that, _e.g._, synod, superscrupulously, refrained even from making a declaration how to further the instruction of the young, but contented itself with merely advising "the diverse church councils and congregations to make such rules and arrangements how they might most fittingly and conveniently (wie es fuer sie am schicklichsten und bequemsten sei) instruct their young." (b. 1832, 9.) according to the fourth article of the constitution it was the business of synod "to detect and expose false doctrines and false teachers." but the "remarks" appended to this article are careful to explain: "that it shall be the duty of this body to detect erroneous doctrines and false teachers does by no means suppose that the same does not also devolve upon individual churches and ministers, for this body does not claim it as their prerogative. but it is believed that this duty may be performed more advantageously by a synod." (r. 1853, 25; b. 1828, 19.) even the right of examining and ordaining ministers was not denied to the congregation. the draft of the constitution published 1827 declared: "the business of this body shall be . . . to examine (_if requested_) candidates for the ministry who may be called by congregations, and, if they be found qualified, to consecrate them with the imposition of hands and prayer." (r. 1827, 22.) the reading adopted in 1828 ran thus: "the business of this body shall be to impart their useful advice . . . and, _upon application_, to examine candidates for the ministry." (1853, 24.) the "remarks" appended this explanation: "neither does this body claim the exclusive right of examining and ordaining candidates for the ministry. for every congregation has the privilege of choosing fit persons for their ministers, and individual pastors have the authority to perform their ordination. this is evident from the practise of the primitive christians, as well as from the scriptures. but when any congregation shall _request_ this body to examine and ordain the person of their choice, it then devolves on this body to perform this duty. as the aforenamed duties devolve on all churches and ministers, they undoubtedly have the privilege to perform them jointly, _i.e._, they may constitute a synod. but no christian synod can have legislative powers, consequently have no right to make rules for churches." (1853, 25.) 111. rights of laymen recognized.--from the very beginning the tennessee synod vindicated to the deputies of the congregations the right not merely to listen, to witness, and to testify, when called upon to do so by the ministers, as had been the custom in the pennsylvania synod, but also, on equal terms with the pastors, to deliberate, decide, and vote on all matters submitted to synod. (_ lutheraner_ 11, 166.) article three of the constitution declared: "it shall not be allowed either for the ministers to transact any business exclusively of the lay delegates, or for the lay delegates exclusively of the ministers; provided there shall be both ministers and lay delegates present." (b. 1828, 16; r. 1853, 23.) the "remarks" appended, add the following: "it is not the privilege and duty of the clergy alone to impart their counsel in ecclesiastical matters, and to employ means for the promulgation of the gospel, but also of other christians. the first christian council was convened in jerusalem, and consisted of the apostles, the elders, and the other brethren. they decided the question whether it was necessary to be circumcised. see acts 15, 1-31. the apostles were inspired, hence could have made the decision, without the assistance of the lay brethren; but it appears they desired no such prerogative. this precedent justifies the laity in being in council with the clergy for the purpose of deliberating on the most important ecclesiastical matters. christians, in common, are called 'a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people,' and they are 'to show forth the praises of him who hath called them out of darkness into his marvelous light.' 1 pet. 2, 9. now, since christians in common have such honorable titles, sustain such a high dignity, and are to manifest the praises of god, it may be concluded that they have the same rights in church-government as the clergy. st. paul, in writing to the corinthians, said: 'do ye not know that the saints shall judge the world? and if the world shall be judged by you, are ye unworthy to judge the smallest matters? know ye not that ye shall judge angels? how much more things that pertain to this life?' 1 cor. 6, 2. 3. not only the believing ministers, but also the laity are saints. . . . now, if saints shall judge the world, even the angels, why should they not also be capable and privileged to transact the most important matters pertaining to the church? that laymen should exercise equal rights with clergymen in church-government, is not only scriptural, but also conducive to the preservation both of civil and ecclesiastical liberty. . . . from the history of the church it appears that whenever the clergy governed without the laity, they enslaved the people, grasped civil authority, and persecuted those who detected or opposed their aspiring views. this not only has been the case under the reign of popery, but also some of the clergymen who called themselves protestants have been the most bloody persecutors." (b. 1828, 17; r. 1853, 23.) in accordance with these principles, laymen in the tennessee synod were also represented on, or even exclusively composed, most important committees. thus, in 1824, three laymen were elected members of the committee which was to confer with the north carolina synod in an effort to remove the doctrinal differences separating them. "they appointed farmers," jacob sherer of the north carolina synod, in a letter, remarked contemptuously, "to instruct us, who in public print have slandered us, and treated us scornfully when it is known to them that the priests' lips are to preserve the doctrine." david henkel, then secretary of the tennessee synod, however, in a "note," recorded in the report of 1825, justified the action of tennessee. here he wrote: "i conceive it to be my duty to observe that it is truly astonishing that farmers should not also, as well as ministers, be capable of judging the christian doctrine. whenever it shall be proved that farmers are not to read the holy scriptures, then only ought they to be excluded from this important business. it is well known that in the dark ages of popery the layman was not permitted to judge in religious controversies, and it seems very alarming that mr. sherer has expressed a similar sentiment, inasmuch as he considers himself much offended because the synod appointed laymen or, as he says, farmers to constitute the committee. that the priests' lips are to preserve the doctrine does not prove that it is inexpedient or wrong to appoint laymen to assist on deciding a dispute. it was believed laymen would act more impartially, since the ministers are more immediately concerned in this controversy. neither can i discover that all farmers are so contemptible a class of people (so niedertraechtige leute) that mr. sherer could possibly be offended at the appointment! if in case the committee have published anything, which is contrary to truth, mr. sherer is at liberty to make it appear." (r. 1825, 6.) anti-methodistic attitude. 112. fanatics described.--at the time of the organization of the tennessee synod the lutheran church of america generally was suffering with a threefold malady: unionism, reformedism, and methodism. methodism may be defined as a diseased condition of christianity, causing christians to base their assurance of salvation not on the gracious promises of god in the objective means of grace, the word and sacraments, but on feelings and experiences produced by their own efforts and according to their own methods. as the years rolled on, the early lutheran church in america became increasingly infected with this poison of subjectivism and enthusiasm, especially its english portions. rev. larros of eaton, 0., said in a letter to paul henkel, dated august 2, 1821: "i remember when eighteen or twenty years ago many among the germans in north carolina were awakened as to their salvation, and we, in joyful hope, spared no trouble teaching and instructing, in order to make of them men for the kingdom of jesus, preserving the bible-religion, that even then one could notice how some were flushed and puffed up with pride. this was evident especially at the time of the great revival of the english church, when, at the large meetings, their novices ["neulinge," young english preachers] admonished the people, and, to the detriment of the church and the depreciation of the older ministers, by their bold and arrogant actions indicated, that they understood the business of converting the people better than the old preachers, and this without being called to order by their superiors. since that time impudence and lust of ruling have greatly increased, so that the fruit of it appears at public synods." (b. 1821, 35.) the methodistic doctrine of conversion, as related above, was a point of dispute also between the north carolina and tennessee synods. the tennessee report of 1820 states this difference as follows: "since our opponents [of the north carolina synod] refuse to admit that regeneration is wrought in the manner taught by our church, we infer that they believe it must be effected in an altogether different way. for almost all religionists of this time teach most frequently and diligently and urge most earnestly that one must _experience_ regeneration, or be eternally lost. we are also accused by many that we deny the doctrine of regeneration. our answer is: we do not deny the doctrine of regeneration at all; moreover, we teach it as well as our opponents. but that regeneration is effected in the manner and by the means such as they teach and pretend, this we cannot believe, nor do we admit that it is possible in this way. some of them teach and maintain that regeneration cannot be wrought in any other way than by fear and terror, when one, experiencing true contrition and sorrow of sin, is moved to pray and cry anxiously, beseeching the holy ghost to perform in him the work of regeneration. they hold that the holy ghost can operate this in such only as are previously brought into this state of fear and terror. as a natural birth cannot be effected without pain, in like manner, they argue, no one could be born anew without previously, through anguish and fear, having experienced pains of the soul, more or less. such teachers, however, fail to observe that by this example they contradict themselves. for in a natural birth, as everybody knows, only the mother has pain, not the child, while according to their doctrine the child ought to have the pain. who, therefore, does not see that their teaching is most absurd and questionable? now, in order to bring about regeneration in the manner they teach, it is the rule to preach the law and its curse. to produce the required pangs of the soul, the poor people are threatened with the devil, eternal death, and hell. the intention is to cause a sinner to pray earnestly in order, by such prayer, to receive the holy spirit. to produce this result, joint prayers are said to contribute the most, _viz._, when a number of people gather and strain every power of body and soul in crying and screaming to move the holy spirit, or even to force him, to finish the work of regeneration. they imagine that, by their own exercises in prayer, and especially by their joint prayers, they have advanced the matter and earned and obtained the holy ghost, and that, he [the holy ghost] having united with their exercises and labor, the work of regeneration was finished through the combined operation of their prayers and the gifts of the holy spirit acquired by them. they mistake imaginations for divine revelations. and the sensation rising from such imaginations they regard as effects of the holy spirit. they apply to themselves what the apostle paul writes rom. 8, 16: 'the spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit that we are the children of god.' they declare: we are born anew, and we know indeed that it is so, for the spirit of god has given testimony to our spirit. but if one desires to learn how he had given this testimony, whether they had seen him or heard him, or in what manner or whereby he had given such assurance, they appeal to their imaginations and sensations, from which also something peculiar, like an apparition, may come to them; but whatever this is we do not know. one can be absolutely sure, however, that it is not the holy spirit. for as soon as you let them understand that you believe that they have been deceived and you endeavor to lead their attention to the testimonies of holy scripture in order to obtain from it reliable testimonies, immediately their anger begins to rise, their countenance becomes disfigured, and, alas, with some already a fist is clenching with which they strike the table or their knees and declare defiantly: 'i don't care anything for what you say; it is none of your business; i know that i am born of god, and will suffer it to be taken away from me by nobody, by no learned man, nor by any devil; what i know i do know.' there is a reason, why such a person will not suffer his opinion to be taken from him by anybody, and he need not fear that any devil will rob him of it, especially when he is ready to use his fist in defense of his opinion." (b. 1820, 32 ff.) 113. sober attitude of tennessee synod.--in opposition to the subjectivism of the methodistic enthusiasts within the lutheran synods, tennessee based the certainty of salvation on the objective means of grace, placing especial emphasis on the well-known comforting passages of holy writ concerning baptism, such as john 3, 5; eph. 5, 23. 25. 26; titus 3, 5; 1 pet. 3, 20. 21; rom. 6, 3-5; acts 2, 38; 22, 16; gal. 3, 26. 27; mark 16, 16. "these passages of the bible," they said, "show us that we are not to seek salvation in any work which we ourselves can create or perform, no matter whatever its nature may be, but only through faith on the lord and savior christ, who alone has done everything for us, and through the grace which he bestows and confers on us in holy baptism, whereby we are regenerated." (b. 1820, 34.) again: "from the passages here quoted the attentive reader is able to see and comprehend that regeneration is not effected in the manner as some teach." it was evident from the scriptures, they maintained, that christ referred to baptism when he declared that no one can enter the kingdom of god unless he was born again of the water and the spirit. they explained: self-evidently it is not a natural power or effect of the water to wash away sin. "yet we see that the washing and cleansing from sin is effected alone [?] [tr. note: sic!] through baptism, and that by faith alone such grace is appropriated. accordingly, whoever believes and is baptized shall be saved. mark 16, 16." (38.) in this passage, mark 16, 16, tennessee declared, "christ in a few and clear words indicates the whole condition under which a man can be saved. it consists in this, that he believes that, for the sake of christ and what he has done and suffered for us, god will forgive all our sins, and that by faith, in baptism, he appropriates such promises of all the gifts of salvation which god imparts to man for jesus' sake. this also shows us that man cannot be saved by his own work or merit, but alone by what god presents and imparts to him. he obtains faith through preaching, which is by th. word of god, as paul writes, rom. 10, 17. baptism is administered by the command of jesus christ, matt. 28, 19, through the service of the minister of the church. in this way god, through means, seeks man before man seeks him. accordingly, for having been translated into the state of salvation, man is to thank god and his ordinances alone, not himself, his merit, his own works, or his experiences." "because we understand and teach this matter in the manner indicated, we are said to despise prayer, declare it unnecessary, and teach men that it is sufficient for salvation if they are baptized and attend the lord's supper, and that nothing else is needed. to this we answer: whoever is baptized and has _true faith_ in christ, is in need of nothing else in order to die a blessed death; if he should die thus, he would be saved, for whosoever believeth and is baptized shall be saved. and paul writes to the galatians: 'ye are all children of god through faith in christ jesus; for as many of you as have been baptized into christ have put on christ.' however, if they are possessed of the true faith, they will also acknowledge the grace of god, for which they thank him heartily. whoever truly believes, loves his neighbor; indeed, he loves all men, he prays for all, being moved to do so by love and compassion toward all. such a one will also experience many temptations and tribulations by the devil, the world, and his own flesh against which he will have to fight and strive daily. this will cause him trouble and teach him to pray of his own accord. such people we advise to pray heartily, and give them instruction therein. and this we do for the reason that god in his word promises to hear them, and that they may be strengthened in faith, to continue faithfully to the end, but not in order that thereby they may be born anew." (36 f.) the question, "how does the spirit give testimony?" was answered by david henkel as follows: "when an evil-doer condemned to death receives a document with the name and seal of the governor affixed, that his crime is pardoned, and that he shall be set free, then he is in possession of something upon which he may firmly rely. by it he cannot be deceived, as would be the case when such a thing merely appeared to him in his thoughts, or he had dreamt that he was set free. in like manner he cannot be deceived who firmly believes the assurances given him in the word of god that god, for the sake of christ, has forgiven all his sins. the spirit is then giving him, through the word, firm assurance of the forgiveness of his sins. and if he remains in faith, he always has this firm assurance in the gospel which proclaims the forgiveness of sins. all men could have such an assurance if by faith they were obedient to the gospel. the romans had it, but only for the reason that, in accordance with the ordinance of jesus christ, they were baptized and believed in him. that this text [rom. 8, 16] does not, though always misinterpreted in this way, prove that one must have been favored with a certain heavenly vision in order to know that one's sins are forgiven, every intelligent man will see without further explanation. the prince of darkness always endeavors to lead men away from the ordinances and promises of god, and causes them to rely on all manner of works and merits of their own, in order, finally, to make the poor creatures believe as all deists do, _viz._, that christianity is nothing but a nursery-tale. there is reason also to believe that wily satan presents some illusion to such as, in an overwrought frame of mind, are in great expectations of seeing a vision, and that they regard it as sent from heaven, and build on it their assurance of the forgiveness of their sins." (43.) in the letter, appended to the report of 1821, from which we quoted above, jacob larros says: "if i can again, after falling from baptismal grace, appropriate to myself from holy scripture the blessed marks of a state of grace and of regeneration, then it truly is no new grace, produced by the storming of men; but it most assuredly is the same grace promised in baptism which has been found once more. the grace secured by storm [die gestuermte gnade] may also have its marks, drawn from the air or out of the head, not from the bible, but from the majority of false voices." (b. 1821, 35.) concerning the "new measures" (die "neuen massregeln") the report of 1841 records the following: "now the 'new measures' were taken under advisement [by synod], and after a carefully considered discussion it was unanimously resolved, that we disapprove most strongly of the 'new measures' which have been introduced into the lutheran church by modern enthusiasts, because we believe that they are in conflict with the word of god, with the doctrine of the augsburg confession, with the symbolical books of the lutheran church, and with the usages of the church in her best and purest era, and are calculated to arouse discord and contention between the members of the church." (b. 1841, 10.) however, though strenuously opposed to methodistic enthusiasm, tennessee, at the same time, was very considerate of christians who were pietistically inclined, and care fully avoided judging their hearts. in the report of 1820 we read: "it is indeed true that some men of honest mind do err in this matter; they do not perceive the difference and seek in their own exercise and experience what in reality they have already received in baptism. however, if they are but faithful, they will advance in holiness by the thing wherein they seek regeneration, and thus it cannot, harm their salvation. the harm, however, is this, that the price of darkness misleads many who are in such error to believe that, since they seek to be regenerated by their own works and doings, baptism is unnecessary; and, remaining unbaptized themselves, they will not permit their children to be baptized." (43.) anti-unionistic attitude. 114. refusing fellowship to non-lutherans.--the purpose of the general synod was an external union of all bodies bearing the lutheran name, irrespective of their differences as to doctrine and practise, and to cultivate intimate fraternal relations with other evangelical denominations. the tennessee synod, on the contrary, was not only opposed to any kind of union with non-lutheran churches, but also sought to bring about a separation of the true lutherans from the spurious lutherans, and to unite the former in defense of true lutheranism against reformed and other corruptions then prevailing in the lutheran synods. unity in the spirit, unity in doctrine, unity in faith and confession, was viewed by tennessee as the _sine qua non_, the absolutely necessary condition, of all church-fellowship, church union, and cooperation. this appears from their attitude toward the north carolina and other synods, as described above. while stork, shober, and others advocated a union not only with the general synod, but with all religious bodies in america, the henkels and their adherents declared at the "quarreling synod," 1820: "the general union of the numerous religious parties, though a very desirable matter, is not to be hoped for, as we can clearly see that such a thing is impossible at this time. how should it be possible? some teach: christ died on the cross for all men to redeem all. others teach: this is not true; he died only for the small number of those who, according to the holy will and the wise counsel of god, are elected from eternity and are compelled to be saved; the rest of mankind, also according to his wise counsel, god, from eternity, has ordained and elected unto damnation, and they must be lost. again, some teach: baptism is necessary to salvation, because christ and his apostles teach thus. others hold: this is not true; baptism is a mere outward sign indicating obedience toward the command of the lord and nothing more; baptism is not at all necessary unto regeneration, as regeneration is wrought by the holy spirit without any means whatever. some say: it is right to baptize children. others maintain: infant baptism is an institution of the pope. others: it is of the devil. some reject every kind of baptism. such and similar are the people who constitute the present so-called christendom: opinions, opposing one another, and that always will be opposed to each other! all these are supposed to be united in one church, and to become one congregation and one flock, all under the care of one shepherd. that would be like stabling together sheep, goats, lambs, cows, oxen, horses, bears, wolves, wildcats, foxes, and swine, and putting them under the care of one shepherd, saying, 'here you have a united flock which now you may feed and pasture in peace; you have many heads under one hat, take your place among them.' that some were much displeased by this objection to the general union is not to be wondered at, for some of that stripe were present. there were also some of almost all religious parties in attendance." (b. 1820, 26.) it is apparent from these statements that a general union of all denominations, irrespective of their doctrinal differences, was certainly not relished by tennessee in 1820. twenty years later synod still occupied the same position. in 1841, after discussing an appeal which had gone out to unite all the different religious parties in one big body, tennessee "resolved that whereas the church of christ is a gathering of all true believers, and is not now, nor ever has been, divided; and whereas it is impossible that all the different, contradictory teachings should agree with the word of god; and whereas it is also impossible to bring about a christian union of all the different denominations without the unity of opinions; and whereas the teachers do greatly differ in their views on religion and the form of church-government: a union of all the various denominations in one large body is both impossible and improper; and even if brought about, instead of furthering the kingdom of our redeemer, it would harm the welfare thereof and jeopardize the religious liberty of our happy land." (b. 1841, 11.) 115. refusing fellowship to false lutherans.--that the attitude of tennessee also over against those whom they regarded as false lutherans was of a most determined and consistent nature, and free from all unionism, has been shown above. nor did they regard this a mere matter of policy, but of conscience. with respect to their public testimony against the errorists of the north carolina synod the men of tennessee declared: "should any one raise the accusation that it was unbecoming for us as teachers of the gospel to publish and reveal this matter here [in the report of 1820], to him we give the answer: the prophets in the old testament did also contend against every erroneous doctrine, and the apostles paul, peter, and john marked all such as taught false doctrine, and warned the christians against them. if, however, it can be proven from holy writ that we proclaim erroneous or false doctrine, we will suffer ourselves to be corrected. we cannot, however, for the sake of keeping the peace, let everything pass and approve of everything they preach, for we know that it does not agree with the holy scriptures. it is certainly our desire to be able to live and continue to work in peace and union with all members of the entire synod. we cannot, however, unite with them at present [because they were not agreed doctrinally]. we consider it our supreme duty and obligation to defend the doctrines of our church against all false teachings; and though they proceed from such as call themselves lutheran preachers, we cannot on that account spare them nor keep silence in this matter, even if we could thereby win their favor and the favor of all great men on earth." (1820, 31.) with special reference to shober, stork, and their compeers tennessee declared: "should we help them to cover such bold things as you have here read [errors concerning baptism, lord's supper, etc.], because they belong to our organization and bear the name lutheran? can we do this with a good conscience?" (1820, 31.) true, at the "quarreling synod," 1820, the henkels were charged with having served all religious parties with the word and sacrament. they admitted that this was true, and expressed their confidence that it had not been without blessing, at least, for some. but they added: "this, however, must also be taken into consideration, that they [the henkels] had always taught such people what our church teaches, and that they had never preached anything else in deference to them, or to please them. now, if any one was agreed with our doctrine, and hence felt free to hear our doctrine and to commune with us, we could not hinder him. we do not regard the name of such people, but what they believe." (1820, 25.) however, one will admit that the practise of tennessee at this early date does not appear to have been fully consistent. the report of 1820, for example, records: "with the evangelical reformed david henkel had no quarrel that we know of, for many of them, who are members in good standing, receive communion from him." (18.) the following remark of the same report uncovers a similar inconsistency: "should any one who has been baptized according to christ's command, and who has been confirmed in another church, desire to commune with us and to be in fellowship with our church, it shall be permitted him, and he may be looked upon as a member of the church without being baptized or confirmed for the second time." (5; 1831, 8.) these shortcomings, how ever, do not dispute the fact that the tennessee synod, in a manner most energetic and persistent, endeavored to steer clear of, and opposed every kind of, unionism with the sects, as well as with unfaithful lutherans. in 1886, however, tennessee, untrue to its noble traditions, participated in the unionistic organization of the united synod in the south, and in 1918 she joined the lutheran merger, which brought her into complete fellowship with all the unionistic synods that constituted the general synod, opposition to which having been the primary cause of her separate organization in 1820. tennessee and missouri. 116. mutual attraction.--the doctrinal, confessional, and practical position of the tennessee synod being such as described, it was but natural that, as soon as missouri and tennessee became acquainted with each other, both should sense their kindred spirits, and feel attracted mutually. and such was the case in spite of the fact that tennessee at this time had practically sloughed off the german language, while missouri was thoroughly german, and continued so for many decades. immediately after the first contact with tennessee, missouri displayed a lively interest in these early protagonists of genuine confessional lutheranism. they rejoiced in having found in the tennessee confessors flesh of their flesh and bone of their bone. with great satisfaction they reported on the antiunionistic position which tennessee held over against the old, apostate synods. in loehe's _kirchliche mitteilungen_ of 1847 we find the following: "several virginians came to st. louis to the lutheran pastor buenger, and asked him whether he still adhered to the old lutheran faith, which he affirmed to their joy. thereupon they told of henkel. . . . they had protested against an edition of luther's small catechism in which, with reference to baptism, the words 'who believe _it_' (die _es_ glauben) had been made to read 'who believe' (die _da_ glauben)." (94.) the _lutheraner_ of february 22, 1848, published the tennessee resolution, stating that they could unite with the synod of north carolina "only on the ground of pure and unadulterated evangelical lutheranism," and added the comment: "we confess that a closer acquaintance has filled us with the best prepossessions for this synod. as far as we can see from the report, they are earnestly striving to preserve the treasure of pure lutheran teaching." at the convention of the missouri synod at fort wayne, in 1849, dr. sihler was elected a delegate to the tennessee synod. he wrote to loehe that "according to its reports and confessions, this synod maintains an upright churchly position." "it would be a great joy," sihler adds, "if we could enter into definite church-fellowship with them, especially, as we, above all others, have been stigmatized as the 'exclusive lutherans.'" (_kirchl. mitt._ 1849, 92.) reviewing the tennessee report of 1848, walther remarked in the _lutheraner_ of january 23, 1849: "like its predecessor, this report proves that this synod belongs to the small number of those who are determined not only to be _called_ lutherans, but also to _be_ and to remain lutherans." after reporting their chief resolutions, including the one expressing their delight over the organization of the missouri synod, and recommending the _lutheraner_ to their german-speaking members, walther continues as follows: "we close this extract with the sincere wish that the lord would continue to bless this synod, which for almost thirty years, in spite of much shame and persecution, has faithfully testified and fought against the apostasy of the so-called american lutheran church, especially against the general synod, and which, as far as we know, of all the older lutheran synods, alone has preserved in this last evil time the treasures of our lutheran church; and we also wish that the lord would make this synod a salt of the earth to stay the growing spiritual corruption in other synods." (5, 84.) at the meeting of the tennessee synod in 1853, a letter dated october 6, 1853, and signed by theo. brohm and a. hoyer, delegates appointed by missouri, but unable to attend personally, was read, stating, in part: "we are highly rejoiced in this vast desert and wilderness to meet a whole lutheran synod steadfastly holding to the precious confession of our beloved church, and zealously engaged in divulging the unaltered doctrines and principles of the reformation among the english portion of lutherans, by translating the standard writings of the fathers, at the same time firmly resisting the allurements of those who say they are lutherans and are not. our synod extends, through our instrumentality, the hand of fraternity to you, not fearing to be refused, and ardently desires, however separated from you by a different language and local interests, to cooperate with you, hand in hand, in rebuilding the walls of our dilapidated zion. we are authorized to beseech your venerable synod to delegate as many of your members as you may deem proper to our synodical meeting to be held next year at st. louis, promising hereby a friendly and hospitable reception. should your synod next year assemble at a place more easily accessible, and more convenient, to us, we, or they whom our synod may appoint, shall not fail to attend." (1853, 18.) with special reference to a letter of rev. a. biewend, also a delegate appointed by the missouri synod, but prevented from attending, in which he expressed "the hope and desire that a more intimate acquaintance may be formed between both synods," tennessee adopted the resolution, "that we duly appreciate the kind regard of the missouri synod, and that we also desire a more intimate acquaintance with them, and that we appoint rev. j. r. moser a delegate to the next session of that synod." (1853, 13.) in the tennessee minutes of 1854 we read: "the rev. theodore brohm, of the synod of missouri, ohio, and other states, was introduced to synod, and received as a corresponding member of this body." (5.) "during recess, rev. th. brohm preached from rev. 14, 6. 7." (11.) "the rev. theodore brohm, of the missouri synod, being present, the following preamble and resolutions were unanimously adopted: whereas the rev. theodore brohm, of the city of new york, delegate of the synod of missouri, ohio, and other states, has appeared amongst us, and we are assured from personal interviews with him, as well as from other sources of information, that the synod which he represents adhere strictly to the doctrines of the ev. lutheran church, as exhibited in her confessional standards, and are zealously and actively engaged in promoting the interests of the redeemer's kingdom, be it therefore 1. resolved, that we are highly gratified to see brother brohm in our midst. 2. resolved, that we fully and cheerfully reciprocate the kind and fraternal feelings expressed and manifested towards us by the missouri synod. 3. resolved, that we endeavor to cultivate a more intimate acquaintance and a closer union with the missouri synod. 4. resolved, that, for this purpose, rev. socrates henkel be appointed a delegate from this body to the eastern division of the missouri synod, to be holden in baltimore; and that rev. j. r. moser be appointed our delegate to the western division of said synod, at its next session." (12; _lutheraner_ 11, 77.) moser attended and reported to his synod in the following year. (1856, 23.) brohm, relating in the _lutheraner_ his visit to the tennessee synod, said, in part: "let the assurance here suffice that, among the pastors in attendance, i have found a faithful adherence to our common mother church, and that i have not met with any essential doctrinal differences. it gave me great pleasure to observe how these men, in spite of the great dearth of english-lutheran literature, have preserved such a living consciousness of lutheran orthodoxy and such a firm lutheran character." (11, 78.) 117. tributes from dr. walther.--when, in 1852, the book, _luther on the sacraments_, published by the tennessee synod, came to walther's attention, he wrote: "we praise god that he has caused this glorious work to succeed. the importance of the appearance of this work in this country, where the great majority of the english-speaking lutherans have fallen into reformed errors regarding the articles of the holy sacraments, and are ignorant of, yea, do not even suspect, the good foundation on which the lutheran doctrine of the sacraments is built, cannot be estimated at its true value. after the book of concord had been presented to the english-speaking lutherans in their own language, no better selection could have been made for them than the above-mentioned three writings [sermon on holy baptism, of 1535; letter on anabaptism, of 1528; confession of the lord's supper, of 1528 of luther, the chosen vessel of god for the reformation of the church. these two books, now rendered into english, are gracious visitations indeed for the english lutheran church of this country. may it know the time of its visitation! . . . and the right reverend tennessee synod, which has issued both works (the book of concord and luther on the sacraments) in the english language, as well as the dear men who moved by love for the truth and the church of their fathers, have regarded neither the unspeakable labor nor the great expense connected with this undertaking--may god reward them by showering his blessings upon them in abundant measure!" (9, 115.) when the second edition of the _book of concord_ appeared, walther wrote: "we thank god for the unspeakable blessing which he has conferred upon the church of our adopted fatherland [through the publication of this book], and in our hearts we bless the faithful publishers. it is surprising as well as faith-strengthening to learn that already in the first year a second edition has become necessary. may many hands reach out for it, and may a third edition soon become necessary!" (l. 11, 63.) walther's joy and enthusiasm over these works published by tennessee in the english language will be understood when we remember that it was the time when the definite platform was preparing, and benjamin kurtz and others, in order to discredit the "old lutherans," who still adhered to the lutheran doctrine of the lord's supper, were boldly repeating the heidelberg lie (die heidelberger landluege), according to which luther, shortly before his death, disavowed his doctrine regarding the lord's supper. (l. 12, 31.) peculiarities of tennessee synod. 118. opposed to incorporation.--the peculiarities of the tennessee synod, several of which have already been alluded to, may be accounted for partly by the lack, on their part, of correct logical distinctions and clear conceptions, partly by their fear of synodical tyranny over the individual ministers and congregations. conspicuous among these abnormalities is the rejection of civil incorporation us a reprehensible commingling of state and church. article 5 of the constitution declares: "this synod shall never be incorporated by civil government, nor have any incorporated theological seminary under their care." (b. 1828, 20; 1827, 22; 1853, 26.) the "remarks" appended explain: "this article prohibits this body ever from being incorporated by civil government. that the government of the church ought not to be blended (vereinbart) with the state, is a tenet of the augustan confession, amply supported by the scriptures. see 28th article. our lord declared that his kingdom was not of this world. john 18, 36. that the church ought not to be blended with the state is also according to the constitution of the united states, whose spirit and design is to secure to every person full liberty with respect to spiritual matters. the kingdom of christ admits of no bondage, for 'it is righteousness and peace and joy in the holy ghost,' rom. 14,17; 'and where the spirit of the lord is, there is liberty,' 2 cor. 3, 17. but when the church is identified with the state, it is also fettered by human traditions, aspiring priests obtain the power to tyrannize men's consciences. however, an ecclesiastical body may be incorporated by civil authority, and yet not be the established church of the nation; and so far as i am acquainted with our civil constitutions there is nothing contained in them to prohibit a legislative body from incorporating any society. but when a church is incorporated, _it approximates to a state coalition_. the church, by an act of incorporation, if i am not greatly misinformed, would have power to enact laws and regulations binding upon all their members, and could recover by a civil suit at law any property, or its value, bequeathed to them. thus empowered, could they not also borrow money upon the credit of their whole community for the establishment of any institution? an incorporated church may not only preserve their funds, but they may also lend out their money on usury, and obtain a vast increase. the aspiring priests of such a body, knowing that the wealth of the church is their interest, they invent many schemes to enlarge the so-called treasury of god, lest it should ever get exhausted. they fetter the conscience of some persons, by telling them that they ought to promote the cause of god, by casting their donations into the sacred treasury, so that they yield to their request, whilst they denounce those who refuse to comply with their importunities as foes to christ and his holy gospel. they contrive to obtain testamentary devices to the injury (in many cases) of widows and orphans; they condescend to flatter the female sex until they have begged all that they are able to bestow. thus by the instrumentality of those clerical beggars, and by the cause of christ being made a pander, the church becomes wealthy; and wealth creates power, and power, tyranny and oppression. that many of the clergymen of the day possess an aspiring spirit is evident from the several attempts they have made to get some of their institutions incorporated by civil authority. if a few of the most numerous denominations in the united states were to unite, join their funds, in one, and could succeed in obtaining an incorporation act, they would not only be extremely wealthy already; but they might also increase in wealth to such a degree as would endanger our civil as well as ecclesiastical liberty. but if it be asked in what manner this could be effected, i answer: in various ways, as, for instance, such a gigantic body might by means of their wealth establish so great a number of printing-offices as would enable them to print and sell bibles at so reduced a price that they would engross the sales of all the bibles wanted in america, which would be an annual revenue of millions. they would be enabled to educate thousands for the ministry who otherwise had no inclination to embark in that office; and they, tutored in the principles of aristocracy, and the churches filled with them, those principles might be disseminated among millions; they could also supply the most of the common schools with their teachers, and thus the rising generation would imbibe the same pernicious principles, until at length persons of this description would occupy all the civil offices in our country, which would ultimately effect the destruction of civil liberty. in a similar manner the roman church became elevated above the state. by testamentary devises from the people, as well as from noblemen and kings, by the sales of indulgences and other inventions, the church became exceedingly wealthy; cloisters were erected, and they occupied by friars and nuns supported at the expense of the people, it was their interest to support the power and dignity of the roman pontiff. the same causes will produce the same effects. if the church should ever acquire great wealth, aspiring priests will grasp great power. whereas this body know these things, and wish to preserve both spiritual and civil liberty, and to prevent their successors from attempting to blend the church with the state, they have by this article prohibited an incorporation of this body, and of any theological seminary under their care, and from accumulating funds for the support of such a seminary and of missionaries." (1853, 27.) 119. establishment of seminaries discouraged.--tennessee did not only oppose the incorporation of seminaries, but, strangely enough, never did encourage the establishment of any kind of theological school whatever. according to their views, theological and literary schools, supported by the church, were superfluous, since the languages might be studied in the secular academies of the country, and a course of theology could be pursued with some able divine. the fifth article of the tennessee constitution provides: "neither shall they have any particular treasury for the purpose of supporting . . . theological seminaries." (1853, 26.) the "remarks" appended to this article explain: "although this body shall have no incorporated theological seminary under their care, nor any particular treasury for its support, nevertheless they consider it highly beneficial to the church for every minister to understand the original tongues of the scriptures, and to be well skilled in theology. but such qualifications may be acquired without an incorporated theological seminary. there are already a goodly number of academies dispersed throughout our country which are not under the care of any particular denomination, in which the student may acquire a classical education. he, in like manner, may have the opportunity of studying theology with some able divine." (1853, 26.) however, though tennessee in no way encouraged the establishment of a theological seminary, the conclusion must not be drawn that they underestimated or despised a well-educated ministry. the minutes of 1821 record: "a motion was made by rev. david henkel that no person shall be ordained a pastor of our church unless he understands as much of the greek language as will enable him to translate the new testament. but no resolution respecting it was passed. it remains postponed until the next synod, when it shall be taken into contemplation." (1821, 8.) in 1827 tennessee made the following recommendations and declarations with, respect to the german, greek, and hebrew languages: "whereas the symbolical books of our church, particularly luther's works, are extant in the german language, and as sundry extracts have been made out of them, and most erroneously translated into the english; and as it is probable that such frauds may be practised in future, this body recommend the study of the german language to all the members of the church. this would enable them to detect the glaring frauds practised by men under the garb of lutherans. it was resolved that a more strict attention shall be paid to the literary qualifications of those who enter the ministry than has been done heretofore. a deacon should at least understand the language in which he officiates with some degree of accuracy, and be able to make the logical compositions in writing. a pastor ought, in addition to these qualifications, be acquainted with the greek, the original tongue of the new testament. also an acquaintance with the hebrew, the original tongue of the old testament, would the more amply qualify him for the sacred ministry. the synod, however, do not think that there are not also useful men in the ministry who do not possess all those qualifications. for there are men whose manifold experience supplies some literary defects. but when a whole body of ministers are illiterate, they are not able to defend the truth of the gospel against the subtile attacks of enemies. suppose false teachers were to make a spurious translation of the scriptures, how could such an illiterate body of ministers detect the forgery? if the knowledge of the original tongues should ever become extinct, the gospel might soon become forged and corrupted. it is to be lamented that there are too many young men who wish to be ministers; notwithstanding, they are too indolent to acquire a knowledge of the original tongues. they are infatuated to think that they are immediately inspired from heaven, and that, therefore, they need no literary qualifications. in order to check this growing evil, and to oppose this fanaticism, it was resolved that every candidate for the ministry shall stand a literary as well as a theological examination, and be promoted agreeably to his industry. this resolution principally respects young men." (11.) 120. general mission treasury regarded dangerous.--the report of 1824 records: "synod has not, and does not want to have, a treasury to pay traveling missionaries." (8.) the "remarks" appended to the fifth article of the constitution, rejecting "any particular treasury for the purpose of supporting missionaries and theological seminaries," explain as follows: "there are but few, if any, young men in our country who are not able to defray the expenses of their education either by means of their property or industry. yet if there be such whose indolence is the cause why they are not able to defray the expenses of their education, they should by no means embark in the ministry, as the faithful discharge of ministerial duties requires men of great industry. it must also be observed that this article does not limit the charities of liberal christians who wish to encourage the promulgation of the gospel; for they may, if they deem it expedient, assist any student in getting his education, or any indigent congregation in getting ministerial labors. nor does it prohibit individual congregations from having funds under their own care, for the purpose of defraying their own expenses, and assisting any of their indigent brethren. it would be expedient for every congregation to have a fund, yet by no means to hold such under an act of incorporation. again, although this article prohibits this body from having any particular treasury for the purpose of supporting missionaries, yet some of the ministers of this body annually perform missionary labors. now if it be asked how they are supported, it may again be asked, how were the apostles of christ supported when they went into all the world to preach the gospel? did christ recommend the establishment of a general fund by begging donations, and obtaining testamentary devises from dying men to remunerate his apostles for missionary labors? by no means. he said unto them that they should 'first seek the kingdom of god and his righteousness,' and that 'all these things should be added unto them.' matt. 6, 33. see also vv. 25-31. thus they had the promise of being supported whilst they labored in the lord's vineyard. every faithful minister may rely upon these promises. if he be industrious in preaching the gospel and instructing the ignorant, he will turn many unto righteousness, who will consider it their duty and privilege to manifest their gratitude in contributing towards his support. but such people as manifest an avaricious disposition, so that they will suffer faithful ministers to serve them without contributing something towards their support, prove themselves unworthy of the gospel, and minister to others, who will receive them with gratitude." (1853, 26.) in their "objections" to the constitution of the general synod, tennessee declared: "we cannot conceive the propriety of paying missionaries out of a general fund. how many pious ministers heretofore have preached the gospel in remote parts, without such a provision. men who are commissioned by christ to preach the gospel, 'take no thought, saying, what shall we eat, or what shall we drink, or wherewithal shall we be clothed?' matt. 6, 31-34. their daily employment is to teach and admonish the people--for their support they depend on the faithful promise of our lord who said: 'all these things shall be added unto you.' men who are sent of god shall profit the people; the lord, therefore, who feeds the winged songsters, though they toil not, and arrays the lilies of the field, stirreth up the hearts of the people, and fills them with gratitude, so that they freely honor him with their substance in supporting his ministers. thus the promise of christ shall evermore be verified. but hirelings and wolves do not believe this promise. they are either entangled with some temporal employment to secure their support, or else must know what they are to have from a general fund before they go forth to labor in the lord's vineyard. when men know what they shall get from a general fund, before they preach, they have no need to exercise faith in the promise of christ, for their trust is in the general fund! the country is already filled with such hired circuit-riders, whose trust for a support is not in the promise of our lord; because they first bargain with their superiors or general synods what they are to have per month or year from the general fund. was the mission of the primitive apostles conducted in this manner? had christ established a general treasury, out of which he had hired his apostles by the month or year? no. is it not degrading for christians to depart so far from the paths of christ and his apostles? is it not enough that we have his promise? genuine ministers have no need of a general fund to support them; their mission is profitable to the people, whose hearts, being moved by the lord, will support their teachers--but such men, who are not called of god do not profit the people; they therefore do not expect to be be supported by the promise of christ, hence they must look to the general treasury. what is better calculated to induce hirelings to enter into the holy orders than their sure wages, by a general fund?" (1821, 31.) the german report of 1821 concludes these remarks as follows: "give an itinerant preacher 40 to 50 dollars a month, as some already receive, and it will prove to be a veritable bait to lead all manner of evil men into the ministry, whether they are called of god or not; for the salary calls them!" (28.) 121. funds for widows and orphans of pastors denounced.--regarding christian benevolence and charity, tennessee admonished the christians to be liberal, and also to establish a congregational treasury to meet their needs. general treasuries, however, were denounced as leading to synodical tyranny and worldly-mindedness. this was applied also to the establishment of general funds for the support of widows and orphans of pastors. in the report of 1821 we read: "why are ministers' widows and orphans, and poor ministers only, to be supported by a general fund, and not also the poor members of the church? are the families of ministers a nobler race than other people, so that extraordinary provisions must be made for them in preference to others? would it not be better if every congregation had a fund of its own to support their needy at home? each congregation are best acquainted with their own poor, and know who deserves help. is it necessary that the congregations should send their money several hundred miles from home, into the general fund, and that the poor should receive it from thence? pious ministers accustom their families to honest labor, so that they may know how to support themselves when they need it. who supports the people's widows and orphans? it is too lamentable a fact that too many ministers do not accustom their children to labor, but indulge them in their pride, vanity, indolence, and in the imitation of rich, proud, and pompous people of the world. behold how many ministers with their wives, in our time, surpassing humility--how grand their attire, how lofty their appearance, how great their association with the wealthy of this world! with what contempt do they view the poor! how numerous their waiters, and how little do they expose themselves to preach the gospel unto the poor! there is no similarity between them and christ, whose ministers they affect to be--for he was poor; he appeared lowly and in the form of a servant. such vain, arrogant, and indolent families truly cannot support themselves in such style after their fathers' decease; a general treasury indeed might be considered necessary to support such in their vanity. the farmers and mechanics may labor hard to procure money to fill this treasury, of which, though, their widows and orphans in their straits could expect no assistance. have we any nobility in america whom the people must bear upon their hands? what a constant tax is hereby imposed upon the congregations! how frequently the ministers or church-council must admonish the people to cast their mites into the general fund, lest it should be exhausted! there would be no end to begging and expostulating with the people for money. howbeit, it is said that no person is compelled to contribute towards the general fund. we grant it in one sense, but not in another; for such as did not freely contribute would be viewed with a contemptible eye, and frequently reproved as avaricious, hardened wretches, so that at last they would find themselves obliged to contribute. such widows and orphans who by some misfortune are rendered unable to support themselves generally find benefactors, in addition to those means civil government hath already provided." (33.) the "remarks" to the third article of the constitution conclude as follows: "can it be believed that the majority of the clergy of the day are true shepherds? and that they do not cherish the most aspiring views? why are there so many attempts made to identify the church with the state? why are so many petitions sent to legislative bodies for incorporation? why is there such an insatiable thirst for creating funds of immense sums for churches under incorporation acts, if the clergy of the day did not cherish the most aspiring views, and did not wish to acquire a spiritual dominion blended with civil power?" (1853, 24.) it was in keeping with these views on general funds when tennessee, in 1841, resolved not to participate in the lutheran centenary jubilee advocated by the general synod, also for the reason that they were opposed to the plan of collecting $150,000 as an endowment fund for its literary and other institutions. (15.) 122. doctrinal peculiarities.--evidently at the time of its organization, the views prevailing in the tennessee synod concerning "the last things" were not as yet sufficiently clarified. they believed that by the organization of the general synod the way was prepared for "the great falling away," spoken of in the bible, when "the _ antichrist_ prophesied 2 thess. 2 would set himself in the temple of god." in the "conclusion" of his "objections" to the constitution of the general synod, david henkel said: "we do not expect finally to prevent the establishment of this general synod by publishing our objections, because we believe, agreeably to the divine predictions, that the great falling away is approaching, so that antichrist will set himself into the temple of god. 2 thess. 2 we also believe that the establishment of general synods are preparing the way for him. antichrist will not, nor cannot, get into power without a general union, which is not effected by a divine harmony of godly doctrines, but by common temporal interests and the power of a majority. notwithstanding, we consider it our duty to make the people attentive to those things, and to instruct such as are not wilfully [tr. note: sic] blind. but should we be deceived in our opinion, and clearly be convinced of it, we shall not be ashamed to recant. in vain people dream of the millennium before crosses and tribulations shall have visited the christian world by the rage of antichrist. his kingdom is reared under a good garb; if this were not the case, no person would be deceived. men who are notoriously immoral and vicious cannot deceive, but they only who appear like innocent lambs. may god preserve all his people against every temptation, for jesus' sake! amen." (1821, 35.) in a letter of jacob larros, appended to the german report of 1821, we read: "o that our dear brethren in office would recognize the prophecies of holy writ concerning the kingdom of antichrist which . . . soon will undergo a great change and appear in its highest stage; for then they would be on their guard. of him it is written: 'and it was given him to make war with the saints, and to overcome them; and power was given him over all kindreds and tongues and nations. and all that dwell upon the earth shall worship him.' he desires a universal communion (universalgemeinschaft) to reach his purpose. this he neither can nor denies to attain by [bringing them all into] agreement with the scriptures, but by the majority of votes. oh, how it will grieve our brethren when they, having by their well-meant _planentwurf_ [constitution of the general synod] organized a universal communion, behold that, as forerunners, they have only prepared the way for antichrist to reach his goal and obtain his dominion. from this, lord god, preserve our church and our dear brethren in the ministry! amen." (36.)--concerning the _ministry_ the sixth article of the constitution, adopted 1828, declares: "the grades of the ministry are two: pastor and deacon, or, as st. paul calls them, bishop and deacon. they must possess the qualifications which are described by st. paul 1 tim. 3, 1-14; titus 1, 4-9." (1853, 25.) both of these offices, as well as ordination, were regarded as necessary. says the report of 1820: "as concerning the states and grades of the ministry (des lehramts), we do not recognize more than two, to wit, pastor and deacon, as necessary for the preservation and propagation of the church. a pastor is an evangelical teacher who discharges the office fully, in all its parts, or who performs all ministerial acts. he must be ordained and consecrated to this office by prayer and the imposition of hands by one or more pastors, when he also solemnly promises faithfully to discharge such office according to the word of god and the doctrine of our church. a deacon is indeed also a minister of the word of god, but he does not discharge this office fully, like a pastor, but conducts catechetical instruction, reads sermons, conducts funerals, exhorts and, in the absence of a pastor, also baptizes children, where such is desired. he must be a regular member of the church and possess the testimony of a christian conversation. at the request of the church-council he is to be examined at the synod as to his qualifications. if he is found able, he is dedicated [gewidmet] to such service by one or more pastors by prayer and laying on of hands either at the conference or in one of the congregations which he serves. and in the presence of the whole congregation he is, at the same time, to make the solemn promise that he will faithfully discharge his office according to his instructions. if such a deacon proves to be diligent in his office and acquires the knowledge and ability needed for the discharge of the office of a pastor, and also receives a regular call from one or more congregations who are without a minister, he may be consecrated and ordained a pastor in the manner indicated before." (1820, 6.)--in the _celebration of the lord's supper_ the tennessee synod adhered to the custom of breaking the bread, instead of using wafers. when questioned by missouri concerning this practise, they appealed to 1 cor. 10, 16 and to passages of the confessions which speak of a "breaking of the bread." in 1856 synod declared: "with all due deference to the learning and high character of the missouri synod for orthodoxy, we have been unable to see sufficient reason to make any change in our manner of administering the lord's supper. we are influenced in our practise in this respect by the authority of both the holy scriptures and the symbolical books of the lutheran church. . . . for the present, therefore, we feel fully justified in our present practise." (r. 1856, 23 f.) self-evidently, tennessee did not adhere to this practise in the interest of reformed or unionistic views. the henkels. 123. a most influential family.--the henkels were by far the most prominent and influential of the men composing the tennessee synod. because of their bold and uncompromising attitude toward the sects as well as all others deviating from the christian doctrine, as taught by the lutheran confessions, they, together with their adherents, were universally, by false lutherans as well as methodists, baptists, presbyterians, and other sects, hated and ostracized, and stigmatized as "the henkelites," paul henkel being designated as their "head." (b. 1824, 10.) the sire of the american branch of the henkel family was gerhard henkel. for a time he was court chaplain to the duke moritz of saxony. but when the duke turned roman catholic, henkel was banished. he left for america and served the first lutherans in virginia and later on lutheran congregations in pennsylvania, notably in new hanover and germantown. james henkel, the grandson of g. henkel, was the father of moses, paul, isaac, and john henkel. thus paul henkel, born 1754, was the great-grandson of gerhard henkel. he was educated by j. a. krug and ordained by the pennsylvania ministerium in 1702. for many years he served as missionary, laboring especially in virginia, north carolina, and ohio. he was pastor at new market, va., at salisbury, va., and again at new market, where he died, november 17, 1825. he participated in the organization of the north carolina synod, in 1803, of the ohio synod, in 1818, of the tennessee synod, in 1820. in new market, paul henkel, together with his sons, established a printery for the purpose of supplying the lutheran church with the books, german and english, which they were in need of so sorely: luther's catechism, the augsburg confession, a liturgy, hymn-books, etc. paul henkel was the father of six sons: solomon, philip, ambrose, andrew, david, and carl. solomon was a physician and manager of the printing-establishment. philip was pastor in green county, tenn., and a member of the north carolina synod. together with bell, who was later ordained a minister, he opened a union seminary which, however, soon passed out of existence. he was one of the founders of the tennessee synod. two of his sons, irenaeus and eusebius, were lutheran ministers. ambrose was minister at new market, and a member of the new market publishing firm. under him the book of concord and other important works were issued. he was joint translator of the augsburg confession, the apology, the smalcald articles, the appendix, and the articles of visitation. andrew, the fourth son, was pastor in ohio. david, the fifth son, was the most gifted of the henkel family. a clear, able, and undaunted theologian, he was preeminent in zealously defending the lutheran truth. he died 1831, at the early age of thirty-six years. his two sons, polycarp and socrates, entered the ministry. the latter was pastor in new market for more than forty years; he also assisted in the publication of the book of concord. charles, the youngest son, was pastor in ohio and published a translation of the augsburg confession in 1834. dr. graebner remarks with respect to the publishing house established by the henkels at new market: "from this printery, which is in existence today as the oldest lutheran publishing house in america, were issued numerous large and mall publications in both the english and german languages, abc-books, catechisms, hymnals, theological dissertations and polemical writings, books for pastime and for instruction for young and old, christmas booklets, such as _das virginische kinderbuch_ of 1809, a paper entitled, _der virginische volksberichter und neumarketer wochenschrift_ bearing the motto: '_ich bring' das neu's, so gut ich's weiss!_' the henkels were a busy and skilful [tr. note: sic] people. when in need of manuscript for their press, they wrote it; when in need of verses, they composed them; when in need of woodcuts, they cut in wood; after the books were printed, they bound them; and when the bindings had dried, they, in part themselves, canvassed the finished product throughout the country." (611.) 124. paul henkel.--"my father," says andrew henkel, "was a large man, within half an inch of six feet in height, well developed, with a keen black eye, as erect as an indian; somewhat inclined to corpulency, and yet athletic and rapid in his movements. though his health was not always good, yet he was almost constantly employed either in reading, writing, preaching, or traveling; and when necessary he did not hesitate to labor with his hands. he had no desire for this world's goods beyond what was wanting for daily use; whatever savored of ostentation was foreign to his nature. his manner of living was frugal, and his dress plain, and yet in performing the services of the sanctuary, he uniformly wore a gown of rich black silk. he had great equanimity and serenity of temper, and his friendships were sincere and constant, and his friends numerous. in the social circle he always rendered himself agreeable, and often communicated important instruction by means of some pertinent and, sometimes, humorous anecdote. as a preacher he possessed much more than ordinary power. in the commencement of his discourse he was slow and somewhat blundering, but, as his subject opened before him, he would become animated and eloquent, with a full flow of appropriate thought and glowing language. his illustrations were lucid and forceful, simple and natural. he assisted in training a goodly number of young men for the ministry, some of whom have occupied responsible stations with great fidelity and usefulness." (sheatsley, _history_, 40; _l. u. w._ 43, 106 ff.) the obituary notice of "father paul henkel of blessed memory," appended to the tennessee report of 1826, says, in, part: "during his illness his greatest concern was that we might all remain faithful to the pure evangelical lutheran doctrine, and with meekness and patience, yet manfully contend for the truth for which he had contended so earnestly." (b. 1825, 16.) he expressed the same sentiments in a message to pastor riemenschneider, by whom also desired to be buried. ambrose henkel, in a letter, november 30, 1825, reports concerning the death of his father: "i then asked him whether i should inform also all my brothers to this effect concerning him. he said: 'o yes; write to all of them, that by all means they should remain steadfast.' i furthermore asked him whether he still stood on the faith which he had hitherto defended. he said: 'yes, indeed; on this faith i have lived, and on it i will now die.' i was also careful to call in several neighbors to listen to his words, fearing that enemies might contradict my report of his statements." in his last letter, written to his son david, and dated august 20, 1825, paul henkel wrote: "if the doctrine is right and it is the will of the lord that it should be taught publicly, he will also find and show ways and means to do it. . . . how our mendax-priests would rejoice if they could accuse some of us that we deviated in a single article from the teaching of the augsburg confession of faith." (_l. u. w._ 60, 62.) 125. david and philip henkel.--as for david henkel, the report of 1831 enumerates his publications and speaks of him as "this much-esteemed and venerable fellow-laborer." "his last illness," says the notice of his death, "was dyspepsia, which disabled him from officiating in a public capacity for the term of nine months. he bore his afflictions with a perfect resignation to the will of his divine redeemer. he embarked in the cause of his blessed savior when a youth (1812). and we are happy to say, to the praise of this worthy servant of christ, that his assiduity and vigilance to study and deep researches into the truth of divine revelation have seldom been equaled by any. he remained immovable in the doctrines he promulgated to the end of his life. this venerable servant of the lord had to endure many trials, crosses, and temptations, but he maintained his integrity through them all, trusting to the promises of his redeemer; and notwithstanding the difficulties he had to encounter, he left a bright example to succeeding pilgrims. his ardent desire for the promotion of his redeemer's kingdom and his love of truth caused him to submit cheerfully to the difficulties connected with his official labors. when on his death-bed, being interrogated by his friends whether he still remained steadfast in the doctrines which he had taught, he confidently answered in the affirmative. being again asked whether he feared death, he replied in the negative. the last words which he was heard to utter, were, 'o lord jesus, thou son of god, receive my spirit!' and in a few moments expired." "the perishable remains of this worthy brother were followed to the grave by his loving companion and seven children, together with a numerous train of mourners, who were left to lament the loss of a kind father, an affectionate husband, a friend and benefactor. the body is deposited at st. john's church, lincoln county, n.c. the funeral sermon was delivered by the rev. daniel moser, from phil. 1, 21: 'for to me to live is christ, and to die is gain.'" from 1812 to 1830 david henkel preached 3,200 sermons, baptized 2,997 infants and 243 adults, and confirmed 1,105 persons. the whole course of his ministry was distinguished for industry and perseverance. he traveled in all seasons, even the most inclement, and frequently preached two and three times in a day, in the german and english languages. besides, he maintained an extensive correspondence and was quite active also in a literary way. (1831, 15.)--concerning philip henkel we read in the obituary notice, appended to the tennessee report of 1833: "already in his youth he was a confessor and defender of the christian religion, and began in 1800 to consecrate his services to the lord, in whose vineyard he labored incessantly for 33 years and 3 months. during this time he preached 4,350 sermons, of which 125 were funeral sermons. he baptized 4,115 children and 325 adults, and confirmed 1,650 persons into the christian church. . . . shortly before his end he declared, if it were the will of god to take him home, he was willing, and prayed the verse, which were also the last words he was heard to utter: 'for me to live is jesus, to die is gain for me, to him i gladly yield me, and die right cheerfully.'" (b. 1833, 24.) philip henkel was the first to conceive the plan of organizing the tennessee synod. in a letter to his brother david, dated december 9, 1819, he wrote that he would do his utmost to induce pastor zink and miller to join them. "but," he added, "do not say a word of it to anybody, not even to your best friend, lest they get wind of it. in a second letter, dated march 14, 1820, philip declared: "if the old ministers will not act agreeably to the augsburg confession, we will erect a synod in tennessee." (_l. u. w._ 59, 481.) the end of volume i. transcriber's note minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. a printer error has been changed and is listed at the end. all other inconsistencies are as in the original. the story of old fort loudon [illustration: "the officers expressed their earnest remonstrances." (see page 198.)] the story of old fort loudon by charles egbert craddock author of "in the tennessee mountains," "the prophet of the great smoky mountains," etc., etc. with illustrations by ernest c. peixotto new york the macmillan company london: macmillan & co., ltd. 1899 _all rights reserved_ copyright, 1898, by the macmillan company. _norwood press_ _j. s. cushing & co.--berwick & smith norwood, mass., u.s.a._ illustrations "the officers expressed their earnest remonstrances" (see page 198) _frontispiece_ facing page "what more wonderful? what more fearful?" 16 "the canoe rocked in the swirls" 54 "and oh, the moment of housewifely pride!" 128 "plunging through the gate and half across the parade ground" 240 belinda and the ensign on the moonlit rampart 252 "the men had been hastily formed into a square" 346 "he stared forward blankly at the inevitable prospect" 376 the story of old fort loudon chapter i along the buffalo paths, from one salt-lick to another, a group of pioneers took a vagrant way through the dense cane-brakes. never a wheel had then entered the deep forests of this western wilderness; the frontiersman and the packhorse were comrades. dark, gloomy, with long, level summit-lines, a grim outlier of the mountain range, since known as the cumberland, stretched from northeast to southwest, seeming as they approached to interpose an insurmountable barrier to further progress, until suddenly, as in the miracle of a dream, the craggy wooded heights showed a gap, cloven to the heart of the steeps, opening out their path as through some splendid gateway, and promising deliverance, a new life, and a new and beautiful land. for beyond the darkling cliffs on either hand an illuminated vista stretched in every lengthening perspective, with softly nestling sheltered valleys, and parallel lines of distant azure mountains, and many a mile of level woodland high on an elevated plateau, all bedight in the lingering flare of the yellow, and deep red, and sere brown of late autumn, and all suffused with an opaline haze and the rich, sweet languors of sunset-tide on an indian-summer day. as that enchanted perspective opened to the view, a sudden joyous exclamation rang out on the still air. the next moment a woman, walking beside one of the packhorses, clapped both hands over her lips, and turning looked with apprehensive eyes at the two men who followed her. the one in advance cast at her a glance of keen reproach, and then the whole party paused and with tense attention bent every faculty to listen. silence could hardly have been more profound. the regular respiration of the two horses suggested sound. but the wind did not stir; the growths of the limitless cane-brakes in the valley showed no slight quiver in the delicately poised fibers of their brown feathery crests; the haze, all shot through with glimmers of gold in its gauzy gray folds, rested on the mute woods; the suave sky hung above the purple western heights without a breath. no suggestion of motion in all the landscape, save the sudden melting away of a flake of vermilion cloud in a faintly green expanse of the crystal heavens. the elder man dropped his hand, that had been raised to impose silence, and lifted his eyes from the ground. "i cannot be rid of the idea that we are followed," he said. "but i hear nothing." although the eldest of the group, he was still young,--twenty-five, perhaps. he was tall, strong, alert, with a narrow, long face; dark, slow eyes, that had a serious, steadfast expression; dark brown hair, braided in the queue often discarded by the hunters of this day. a certain staid, cautious sobriety of manner hardly assorted with the rough-and-ready import of his garb and the adventurous place and time. both he and the younger man, who was in fact a mere boy not yet seventeen, but tall, muscular, sinewy,--stringy, one might say,--of build, were dressed alike in loose hunting-shirts of buckskin, heavily fringed, less for the sake of ornament than the handiness of a selection of thongs always ready to be detached for use; for the same reason the deerskin leggings, reaching to the thighs over the knee-breeches and long stockings of that day, were also furnished with these substantial fringes; shot-pouch and powder-horn were suspended from a leather belt, and on the other side a knife-hilt gleamed close to the body. both wore coonskin caps, but that of the younger preserved the tail to hang down like a plume among his glossy brown tangles of curls, which, but for a bit of restraining ribbon, resisted all semblance to the gentility of a queue. the boy was like his brother in the clear complexion and the color of the dark eyes and hair, but the expression of his eyes was wild, alert, and although fired with the earnest ardor of first youth, they had certain roguish intimations, subdued now since they were still and seriously expectant, but which gave token how acceptably he could play that cherished _rôle_, to a secluded and isolated fireside, of family buffoon, and make gay mirth for the applause of the chimney-corner. the brothers were both shod with deerskin buskins, but the other two of the party wore the shoe of civilization,--one a brodequin, that despite its rough and substantial materials could but reflect a grace from the dainty foot within it; the other showed the stubby shapes deemed meet for the early stages of the long tramp of life. the little girl's shoes were hardly more in evidence than the mother's, for the skirts of children were worn long, and only now and then was betrayed a facetious skip of some active toes in the blunt foot-gear. their dresses were of the same material, a heavy gray serge, which fact gave the little one much satisfaction, for she considered that it made them resemble the cow and calf--both great personages in her mind. but she flattered herself; her aspect in the straight, short bodice that enclosed her stout little rotund figure, and the quaint white mob-cap that encircled her chubby, roseate face, all smiles, and indeterminate nose, and expanded, laughing, red mouth, and white, glittering, irregular teeth, had little in common with the mother whom she admired and imitated, and but for the remnant of the elder's stuff gown, of which her own was fashioned, the comparison with the cow and calf would have failed altogether. she was not even a good imitator of the maternal methods. of course the days of her own infancy, recent though they were, had long been lost to her limited memory, and a token of the length of time that they had dwelt in the wilderness, and the impressions her juvenile faculties had received therefrom might have been given by the fact that her doll was reared after pappoose fashion; on her back was slung a basket in the manner of the peripatetic cradle of the indian women, and from this protruded the head and the widely open eyes of a cat slightly past kittenhood, that was adapting its preferences to the conditions of the journey with a discretion which might argue an extension of the powers of instinct in pioneer animals,--a claim which has often been advanced. the cat evidently realized the fact that it was a domesticated creature, that naught was possible for it in these strange woods but speedy destruction by savage beast or man, and that decorous submission became a cat promoted to the estate of a juvenile settler's baby. the cat was as silent and as motionless during the halt as the rest of the party, looking out watchfully over the shoulder of the little three-year-old, who, with perfect and mute trust, and great, serene eyes, gazed up at the face of her father, nothing doubting his infinite puissance and willingness to take care of her. when he spoke and the tension was over, she began to skip once more, the jostled cat putting out her claws to hold to the wicker-work of her basket; the two had ridden most of the day on one of the packhorses, their trifling weight adding but little to the burden of the scanty store of clothing and bedding, the cooking and farming utensils, the precious frying-pan and skillet, the invaluable axe, hand-saw, auger, and hoe,--the lares and penates of the pioneer. there were some surveying-instruments, too, and in the momentary relaxation of suspense the elder of the brothers consulted a compass, as he had done more than once that day. "i thought i heard something," said the boy, shouldering his rifle and turning westward, "but i couldn't say what." "ah, _quelle barbarie_!" exclaimed the woman, with a sigh, half petulance, half relief. she seemed less the kind of timber that was to build up the great structure of western civilization than did the others,--all unfitted for its hardships and privation and labor. her gray serge gown was worn with a sort of subtle elegance hardly discounted by the plainness of the material and make. the long, pointed waist accented the slender grace of her figure; the skirt had folds clustered on the hips that gave a sort of fullness to the drapery and suggested the charm of elaborate costume. she wore a hood on her head,--a large calash, which had a curtain that hung about her shoulders. this was a dark red, of the tint called indian red, and as she pushed it back and turned her face, realizing that the interval of watching was over, the fairness of her complexion, the beauty of her dark, liquid eyes, the suggestion of her well-ordered, rich brown hair above her high forehead, almost regal in its noble cast, the perfection of the details of her simple dress, all seemed infinitely incongruous with her estate as a poor settler's wife, and the fact that since dawn and for days past she had, with the little all she possessed, fled from the pursuit of savage indians. she returned with a severe glance the laughing grimace of the boy, with which, despite his own fear but a moment ago, he had, in the mobility of the moods of youth, decorated his countenance. "if it were not for you, hamish," she said to him, "i should not be so terrified. i have seen indians many a time,--yes,--and when they were on the war-path, too. but to add to their fury by an act of defiance on our part! it is fatal--they have only to overtake us." "what was i to do, odalie?" said hamish macleod, suddenly grave, and excitedly justifying himself. "there was that red injun, as still as a stump. i thought he was a stump--it was nearly dark. and i heard the wild turkey gobbling,--you heard it yourself, you sent me out to get it for supper,--you said that one more meal on buffalo meat would be the death of you,--and it was nearly dark,--and--gobble--gobble--gobble--so appetizing. i can hear it yet." with an expression of terror she caught suddenly at his hand as he walked beside her, but he petulantly pulled away. "i mean _in my mind_, odalie,--i hear it now _in my mind_. and all of a sudden it came to me that it was that stump up on the slope that was gobbling so cheerful, and gobbling me along into gunshot.[1] and just then i was in rifle range, and i fired at the same minute that the stump fired, or the turkey, whichever you choose to call him--what is the reason, sandy, that injuns are so apt to load with too little powder?" he broke off, speaking to his brother. "the turkey shot straight--his ball dropped spent just at my feet." "_quelle barbarie!_" exclaimed mrs. macleod, catching his hand again--this time to give it a little squeeze--impressed with the imminence of the boy's danger and their loss. but hamish was quite as independent of caresses and approval as of rebuke, and he carelessly twisted his hand away from his sister-in-law as he cocked his head to one side to hear the more experienced hunter's reply. "because their powder is so precious, and scant, and hard to come by, they economize it," said alexander macleod, as he trudged along behind the packhorses, guarding the rear of his little party with his rifle on his shoulder. "the turkey would better have economized his meat this time," said the boy, swinging round his belt to lift the lid of his powder-horn and peep gloatingly in at the reinforced stores. "he was economical with his powder, but extravagant with his life; for that turkey will gobble no more." he gobbled a brisk and agitated imitation of the cry of the fowl, and then broke off to exclaim, "_quelle barbarie!_--eh, odalie?" he looked at his sister-in-law with a roguish eye, as he travestied the tone and manner of her favorite ejaculation, which he was wont to call the "family oath." for indeed they had all come to make use of the phrase, in their varying accent, to express their disaffection with the ordering of events, or the conduct of one another, or the provoking mischance of inanimate objects,--as the gun's hanging fire, or the reluctance of a spark to kindle from flint to make their camp-fire, or the overturning of a pot of buffalo soup, or bear stew, when the famished fugitives were ready to partake in reality of the feast which their olfactory nerves and eyes had already begun. even the little girl would exclaim, "_quelle barbarie!_" when thorns caught her skirts and held her prisoner as she had skipped along so low down among the brambles and dense high cane, that one must needs wonder at the smallness of empire, as expressed in her personality and funny cap, taking its westward way. "_quelle barbarie!_" too, when the cat's culture in elegant manners required of maternal solicitude a smart box on the ear. and if the cat did not say "_quelle barbarie!_" with an approved french accent, we all know that she thought it. "so much better for the soul's health than swearing," hamish was wont to say, when odalie showed signs of considering the phrase a bit of ridicule of her and her frenchy forbears. her grandfather had been a huguenot refugee, driven out of his country by the religious persecution about the time of the revocation of the edict of nantes, seventy odd years previously. her father had prospered but indifferently in the more civilized section of the new world, and had died early. there his daughter had met her young scotchman, who was piqued by her dainty disdain of his french accent, which macleod had recklessly placed on exhibition, and was always seeking to redeem the impression, finally feeling that he must needs improve it by having a perfect mentor at hand. he had brought from the land of his birth, which he had quitted in early years, but few distinctive local expressions, yet a certain burr clung to his speech, and combined as incongruously as might be with his french accent. she evidently considered the latter incurable, intolerable, and always eyed him, when he spoke in that language, with ostentatious wonder that such verbal atrocities could be, and murmured gently in lieu of reply--"_quelle barbarie!_" he found his revenge in repeating a similar slogan, one that had often been as a supplement to this more usual phrase,--"_partons pour la france aujourd'hui, pour l'amour de dieu!_" it had been urged by her grandmother in moments of depression, and odalie, born and reared in the royal province of south carolina, had always the logic and grace to wince at this ungrateful aspiration to return to france,--the dear france that had been so much too hot to hold them. for the family had rejoiced to escape thence with their lives, even at the forfeiture of all that they possessed. this jesting warfare of words had become established in the macleod household, and often recurred, sometimes with a trifle of acrimony. little they thought how significant it was to be and how it should serve them in their future lives. the sun was going down. far, far purple mountains, that they might never have seen but for that great clifty gateway, were bathed in the glory of the last red suffusion of the west; the evening star of an unparalleled whiteness pulsated in the amber-tinted lucidity of the sky. the fragrance of the autumn woods was more marked on the dank night air. one could smell the rich mould along a watercourse near at hand, the branch from a spring bubbling up in the solid rock hard by. odalie had seated herself on the horizontal ledge at the base of one of the crags and had thrown back her hood, against which her head rested. her large eyes were soft and lustrous, but pensive and weary. "rest, odalie, while hamish and i make the fire, and then you can fix the things for supper," her husband admonished her. it was the first time that they had halted that day, and dinner had been but the fragments of breakfast eaten while on the march. there had been a sudden outbreak of the cherokee indians which had driven them from the more frequented way where they feared pursuit,--this, and the fate of the brave who had sought to lure hamish to his death last night with the mimicry of the gobbler, and was killed in consequence himself. they could not judge whether he had been alone or one of a party; whether his body might be discovered and his death avenged by the death or capture of them all; whether he had been a scout, thrown out to discover the direction they took, and his natural blood-thirstiness had overmastered his instructions, and he must needs seek to kill the boy before his return with his news. with this more recent fear that they were followed they had not to-day dared to build a fire lest its smoke betray to the crafty observation of the indians, although at a great distance, their presence in this remote quarter of the wilderness, far even from the indian war-path, that, striking down the valley between the cumberland range and the eastern mountains, was then not only the road that the indians followed to battle, but the highway of traffic and travel, the only recognized and known path leading from the cherokee settlements south of the tennessee river through this great uninhabited park or hunting-ground to the regions of other indian tribes on the scioto and to western virginia. now, however, rest and refreshment were necessary; even more imperative was the need of a fire as a protection to the camp against the encroachments of wild beasts; for wolves were plentiful and roamed the night-bound earth, and the active panther, the great american cougar, was wont to look down from the branches of overhanging trees. the horses were not safe beyond the flare of the flames, to say nothing of wife and child. therefore the risk of attracting observation from indians must be run, especially since it was abated by the descending dusk. the little treacherous smoke escaping from the forest to curl against the blue sky need not be feared at night. the darkness would hide all from a distance; as to foes lurking nearer at hand, why, if any such there were, then their fate was already upon them. with the stout heart of the pioneer, alexander macleod heaped the fagots upon the ground and struck the flint and steel together after giving the officious little josephine a chance to try her luck with the tinder. soon the dry dead wood was timidly ablaze, while hamish led the horses to the water and picketed them out. odalie's eyes followed the boy with a sort of belated yet painful anxiety, thinking how near he had been to parting with that stanch young spirit, and what a bereavement would have been the loss of that blithe element from their daily lives. "_quelle barbarie!_" she exclaimed suddenly. "_quelle barbarie!_" perhaps her husband realized her fatigue and depression and was willing to put his french accent on parade for her amusement; perhaps it was for the sake of the old flouting retort; he theatrically rejoined without looking up, "_partons pour la france aujourd'hui, pour l'amour de dieu._" and josephine, taking the cat out of its basket and kissing its whiskers and the top of its head, was condoling with it on its long restraint:--"_quelle barbarie, ma poupée, quelle barbarie, ma douce mignonne,_" she poutingly babbled. alexander macleod paused to listen to this affectionate motherly discourse; then glanced up at his wife with a smile, to call her attention to it. she had not moved. she had turned to stone. it seemed as if she could never move again. a waving blotch of red sumach leaves in a niche in the dark wall of the crag hard by had caught her notice. a waving blotch of red leaves in the autumnal dusk,--what more natural? what more wonderful? what more fearful? there was no wind. how could the bough stir? there was no bough. the blotch of color was the red and black of a hideous painted face that in the dusk, the treacherous dusk, had approached very near and struck her dumb and turned her to stone. it had approached so near that she could see its expression change as the sound of the words spoken about the fireside arose on the air. her mental faculties were rallying from the torpor which still paralyzed her physical being; she understood the reason for this facial change, and by a mighty effort of the will summoned all her powers to avail herself of it. alexander macleod, glancing up with a casual laugh on his face, was almost stunned to see a full-armed and painted cherokee rise up suddenly from among the bushes about the foot of the cliff. standing distinctly outlined against the softly tinted mountain landscape, which was opalescent in its illumined hues, faint and fading, and extending his hand with a motion of inquiry toward odalie, the savage demanded in a lordly tone,--"flinch? flanzy?" as in a dream macleod beheld her, nodding her head in silent acquiescence,--as easily as she might were she humming a tune and hardly cared to desist from melody for words. she could not speak! the cherokee, his face smeared with vermilion, with a great white circle around one eye and a great black circle around the other, looked not ill-pleased, yet baffled for a moment. "me no talk him," he observed. [illustration: "what more wonderful? what more fearful?"] he had never heard of babel, poor soul, but he was as subject to the inconvenience of the confusion of tongues as if he had had an active share in the sacrilegious industry of those ambitious architects who builded in the plains of shinar. "but i can speak english too," said odalie. "him?" said the cherokee, "and him?" pointing at alexander and then at hamish--at hamish, with his recollection of that dead indian, a cherokee, lying, face downward, somewhere there to the northward under the dark trees, his blood crying aloud for the ferocious reprisal in which his tribe were wont to glut their vengeance. "both speak french," said odalie. the indian gazed upon her doubtfully. he had evidently only a few disconnected sentences of english at command, although he understood far more than he could frame, but he could merely discern and distinguish the sound of the admired "flanzy." odalie realized with a shiver that it was only this trifle that had preserved the lives of the whole party. for even previous to the present outbreak and despite the stipulations of their treaties with the english, the cherokees were known to have hesitated long in taking sides in the struggle between france and great britain, still in progress now in 1758, for supremacy in this western country, and many were suspected of yet inclining to the french, who had made great efforts to detach them from the british interest. "where go?" demanded the chief, suspiciously. "to choté, old town," she averred at haphazard, naming the famous "beloved town, [2]city of refuge," of the cherokee nation. he nodded gravely. "i go choté,--travel with white man," he remarked, still watchful-eyed. the shadows were deepening; the flames had revealed other dark figures, eight braves at the heels of the spokesman, all painted, all armed, all visibly mollified by the aspect that the dialogue had taken on,--that of an interpreting female for a french husband. "what do--choté--old town?" demanded the chief. "buy furs," said odalie at a venture, pointing at her husband. the cherokee listened intently, his blanket drawn up close around his ears, as if thus shrouded he took counsel of his own identity. the garment was one of those so curiously woven of the lustrous feathers of wild-fowl that the texture had a rich tufted aspect. this lost manufacture of the cherokee indians has been described by a traveler in that region in 1730 as resembling a "fine flowered silk shag." "ugh!" muttered the chief. "ugh!" he said again. but the tone was one of satisfaction. the buying and shipping of peltry was at that date a most lucrative business, furs bearing a high price in all the markets of the world, and this region bade fair to be one of the large sources of supply. the indians profited by selling them, and this, too, was the magnet that was beginning to draw the hardy carolina hunters westward, despite the hazards. at no other industry elsewhere could commensurate sums of money be earned without outlay beyond a rifle and ammunition and a hunter's cheap lodgement and fare. the indians early developed a dependence on the supplies of civilization,--guns, ammunition, knives, tools, paints, to say nothing of fire-water, quickly demonstrating their superiority to primitive inventions, and this traffic soon took on most prosperous proportions. thus, although the cherokees resented the presence of the white man upon their hunting-ground in the capacity of competitor, and still more of colonist, they were very tolerant of his entrance into their towns and peaceful residence there as buyer and shipper--one of the earliest expressions of middleman in the west--of the spoils of the chase, the trophies of the indian's skill in woodcraft. although the british government, through treaties with the cherokees, sought a monopoly of this traffic as a means of controlling them by furnishing or withholding their necessities as their conduct toward the english colonists on the frontier might render judicious, many of the earlier of these traders were french--indeed one of the name of charleville was engaged in such commerce on the present site of the city of nashville as early as the year 1714, his base of supplies being in louisiana, altogether independent of the english, as he was then one of the traders of antoine crozat, under the extensive charter of that enterprising speculator. the french had exerted all their suavest arts of ingratiation with the cherokees, and as the indians were now on the point of breaking out into open enmity against the english, the idea of a french trader in furs, which odalie had suggested, was so acceptable to the cherokee scheme of things, that for the time all doubt and suspicion vanished from the savage's mind. vanished so completely, in fact, that within the half-hour the chief was seated with the family-party beside their camp-fire and sharing their supper, and the great willinawaugh, with every restraint of pride broken down, with characteristic reserve cast to the winds, speaking to the supposed frenchman, alexander macleod, as to a brother, was detailing with the utmost frankness and ferocity the story of the treatment of the indians by the virginians, their allies, in the late expedition against fort duquesne. the cherokees had marched thither to join general forbes's army, agreeably to their treaty with the english, by which, in consideration of the building of a fort within the domain of their nation to afford them protection against their indian enemies and the french, now the enemies of their english allies, and to shelter their old men and women and children during such absences of the warriors of the tribe, they had agreed to take up arms under the british flag whenever they were so required. and this the cherokees had done. then his painted, high-cheek-boned face grew rigid with excitement, and the eagle feathers bound to his scalp-lock quivered in the light of the fire as he told of the result. his braves hovered near to hear, now catching the broad flare of the flames on their stalwart, erect forms and flashing fire-locks, now obscured in the fluctuating shadow. the pale-faced group listened, too, scarcely moving a muscle, for by long familiarity with the sound, they understood something of the general drift of the cherokee language, which, barring a few phrases, they could not speak. there had been only a very bloody skirmish,--since known as "grant's defeat,"--but no fight at fort duquesne, not even a formal defence of the works. the french had surely forgotten general braddock! they had forgotten the fleeing red-coated _unaka_[a] soldiers who, three years before, had been beaten near there with such terrible slaughter, and their chief warrior, the great braddock, himself, had been tamed by death--the only foe that could tame him!--and lay now somewhere in those eastern woods. he pointed vaguely with his hand as he spoke, for braddock's grave had been left unmarked, in the middle of the military road, in order that, passing over it without suspicion, it might not be rifled and desecrated by those savage indians who had fought with such furious efficiency in the french interest.[3] willinawaugh paused, and all his braves muttered in applause "ugh! ugh!" to the warlike cherokee the event of a battle was not paramount. victory or defeat they realized was often the result of fortuitous circumstance. courage was their passion. "we cannot live without war," was their official reply to an effort on the part of the government to mediate between them and another tribe, the tuscaroras, their hereditary enemies. but upon this second attempt on fort duquesne the british had only to plant their flag, and repair the dismantled works, and change the name to fort pitt. for in the night the french had abandoned and fired the stronghold, and finally made their escape down the ohio river. in all good faith, however, the cherokees had marched thither to help the virginians defend their frontier,--far away from home! so far, that the horses of a few of the warriors had given out, and finding some horses running wild as they came on their homeward way through the western region of virginia, these braves appropriated the animals for the toilsome march of so many hundred miles, meaning no harm; whereupon a band of virginians fell upon these cherokees, their allies, and killed them! and his voice trembled with rage as he rehearsed it. for all her address odalie could not sustain her _rôle_. she uttered a low moan and put her hand before her eyes. for he had not entered upon the sequel,--a sequel that she knew well;--the sudden summary retaliation of the cherokees upon the defenseless settlers in the region contiguous to the line of march of the returning warriors,--blood for blood is the invariable cherokee rule! never, never could she forget the little cabin on the west side of new river where she and her adventurous husband had settled on the virginia frontier not far from other adventurous and scattered pioneers. they had thought themselves safe enough; many people in these days of the western advance relied on the community strength of a small station, well stockaded, with the few settlers in the cabins surrounded by the palisades; others, and this family of the number, felt it sufficient protection to be within the sound of a signal gun from a neighboring house. but the infuriated homeward-bound cherokees fell on the first of these cabins that lay in their way, massacred the inmates, and marched on in straggling blood-thirsty bands, burning and slaying as they went. so few were the settlers in that region that there was no hope in uniting for defense. they fled wildly in scattered groups, and this little household found itself in the untried, unfrequented region west of the great indian trail, meditating here a temporary encampment, until the aggrieved cherokees on their homeward march should all have passed down the "warrior's path" to their far-away settlements south of the tennessee river. then, the way being clear, the fugitives hoped to retrace their journey, cross new river and regain the more eastern section of virginia. meantime they were slipping like shadows through the dark night into the great unknown realms of this uninhabited southwestern wilderness, itself a land of shadow, of dreams, of the vague unreality of mere rumor. some intimation of their flight must have been given, for following their trail had skulked the indian whom hamish had killed,--a spy doubtless, the forerunner of these cherokees, who, but for thinking them french, would have let out their spirits into the truly unknown, by way of that great mountain pass opening on an unknown world. if the savages but dreamed of the fate that had befallen their scout!--she hardly dared look at hamish when she thought of the dead indian, lest her thought be read. she wondered what had become of her neighbors; where had they gone, and how had they fared, and where was she herself going in this journey to choté,--a name, a mere name, heard by chance, and repeated at haphazard, to which she had committed the future. this fresh anxiety served to renew her attention. willinawaugh, still rehearsing the griefs of his people, and the perfidy, as he construed it, of the government, was detailing the perverse distortion of the english compliance with their treaty to erect a great defensive work in the cherokee nation--the heart of the nation--to aid them in their wars on indian enemies, and to protect their country and the non-combatants when the warriors should be absent in the service of their allies, the english. such a work had the government indeed erected, on the south bank of the tennessee river, mounted with twelve great cannon, not five miles from choté, old town, and there, one hundred and fifty miles in advance of anglo-american civilization, lay within it now the garrison of two hundred english soldiers! odalie's heart gave a great bound! she felt already safe. to be under the protection of british cannon once more! to listen to an english voice! her brain was a-whirl. she could hear the drums beat. she could hear the sentry's challenge. she even knew the countersign--"god save the king!"--they were saying that to-night at fort loudon as the guard turned out;--she did not know it; she never knew it; she was only sure of it! willinawaugh had never heard of the agriculturist who sowed dragon's teeth and whose crop matured into full-armed soldiers. but he acutely realized this plight as he detailed how the cherokees had protested, and had sent a "talk" (letter) to the earl of loudon, who had been at the time commander-in-chief of the british forces in america, setting forth the fact that the cherokees did not like the presence of so many white people among them as the two hundred soldiers and the settlers that had gathered about the place. the military occupation made the fort a coercion and menace to the cherokee people, and they requested him to take away the soldiers and relinquish the fort with its twelve great guns and other munitions of war to the cherokee nation,--to which suggestion the earl of loudon had seemed to turn a deaf ear. alexander macleod, deliberating gravely, realized that under such circumstances the fort would ultimately be used against the english interest that it was designed to foster, by reason of the ever-ready machinations of the french influence among the cherokees. the fort was evidently intended to afford protection to the cherokees, but only so long as they were the allies of the english. much of the night passed in this discourse, but at length willinawaugh slept, his feet toward the fire, around which the other indians, all rolled in their blankets, like the spokes of a wheel about a hub, were already disposed. alexander macleod had been nearly the last man to drop out of the conversation. he glanced up to note that odalie sat still wide awake with her back against the trunk of a great chestnut-oak, her eyes on the fire, the child in her arms. they exchanged a glance which said as plain as speech that he and hamish and she would divide the watch. each would rest for two or three hours and watch while the others slept. it behooved them to be cautious and guard against surprise. the recollection of that dead indian, lying on his face in the woods miles to the north of them, and the doubt whether or not he belonged to this party, and the sense of vengeance suspended like a sword by a hair,--all impinged very heavily on hamish's consciousness, and in his own phrase he had to harry himself to sleep. alexander, realizing that, as the ablest of the family, he was their chief means of defense, betook himself to much-needed repose, and odalie was the only waking human being in many and many a mile. now and again she heard far away the hooting of an owl, or the scream of a panther, and once, close at hand, the leaves stirred with a stealthy tread and the horses snorted aloud. she rose and threw more lightwood on the flaring fire, and as the flames leaped up anew two bright green eyes in the dusk on the shadowy side of the circle vanished; she saw the snarl of fierce fangs and no more, for the fire burned brilliantly that night as she fed the flames, and far down the aisles of the primeval forest the protective light was dispensed. above were the dense boughs of the trees, all red and yellow, but through that great gate, the gap in the mountain wall, she could look out on the stars that she had always known, keeping their steadfast watch above this strange, new land. so accustomed was she to nature that she was not awed by the presence of the somber, wooded, benighted mountain range, rising in infinite gloom, and austere silence, and indefinable extent against the pallid, instarred sky. she began to think, woman-like, of that home she had left; in her mind it was like a deserted living thing. and the poor sticks of furniture all standing aghast and alone, the door open and flapping in the wind! and when she remembered a blue pitcher,--a squat little blue jug that had come from france,--left on a shelf by the window with some red leaves in it to do duty as a bouquet,--so relieved was she now of her fears for the lives of them all that she must needs shed tears of regret for the little blue pitcher,--the squat little blue jug that came from france. and how had she selected so ill among her belongings as to what she should bring and what leave? fifine had a better frock than that serge thing; it would not wear so well, but her murrey-colored pelisse trimmed with the sarcenet ribbon would have added warmth enough. if it were not such a waste of goods she would make over her paduasoy coat for fifine, for she loved to see a small child very fine of attire. but precious little time she would have for remodeling the paduasoy coat,--a primrose-tinted ground with dark red roses, that had been her "grand'maman's" when new. "i wonder if i expected to live always in a hollow tree, that i should have left that pair of sheets, new ten hundred linen, the ones that i have just woven," she arraigned herself indignantly, as she mentally went over the stock in the pack. "and did i think i should be so idle that i must bring instead so much spun-truck so as to weave others. to think of those new linen sheets! and then too that lovely, quaint little jug--the little squat blue jug that came from france!" oh, no; odalie was not at all lonely during the long watch through the night, and did not lack subjects of meditation. the time did not hang heavily on her hands! it hardly seemed that an hour had passed when hamish, in obedience to some inward monition, turned himself suddenly, looked up, stretched himself to a surprising length, then sat up by the fire, motioning to her to close her eyes. his face was compassionate; perhaps he saw traces of tears about her eyes. he could not know why she had been weeping, or he might have accounted his sympathy wasted. for hamish looked upon crockery as inanimate and a mere manufacture, yet endowed with a perverse ingenuity in finding occasions to come into disastrous contact with a boy's unsuspecting elbow, and get itself broken and the boy into disgrace. he had his gentle interpretation of her sorrow, and motioned to her, once more, to close her eyes, and pointed up at the skies, where orion was unsheathing his glittering blade above the eastern mountains--a warning that the night was well-nigh spent and a chill day of early december on the way. and it seemed only an inappreciable interval of time before odalie opened her eyes again, upon a crimson dawn, with the rime white on the sparse red and brown leaves and bare boughs; to see breakfast cooking under hamish's ministrations; to see fifine washing the cat's face with fresh water from the spring--very cold it was, as fifine herself found it, when it came her turn to try it herself and cry "_quelle barbarie!_"--to see the indians getting a party to horse to go back and search for one of their number, who had become separated in some way; to see poor hamish's face pale with fear and consciousness, and then harden with resolution to meet the worst like a man. at length they set forth in the frosty dawn of a new day, changing their route and making their progress further southward along untried ways she had never thought to travel. the sun came grandly up; the mountain range, wooded to the summit, flaunted in splendid array, red, and yellow, and even purple, with the heavy growths of the sweet-gum trees, and their wealth of lingering foliage. here and there, along the heights, grim crags showed their beetling precipices, and where the leaves had fallen, covering great slopes with russet hues, the bare boles and branches of the forest rose frosted with fine lace-like effects. sometimes, with a wild woodland call and a flash of white foam, a cataract dashed down the valley. the feeding deer lifted their heads to gaze after the party with evanescent curiosity and then fell to quietly grazing again: they had not known enough of man to acquire a fear of him. sometimes arose the bellowing of distant herds of buffalo, filling the cumberland spurs and coves with a wonted sound, to which they have now long been strangers. wild turkey, quail, wild duck, wild geese, the latter already beginning their southward migration, were as abundant, one might say, as leaves on the trees or on the ground. there were trout of the finest flavor in these mountain streams, and one might call for what one would for dinner. if one cared for sweets there was honey in the honeycomb in almost any hollow tree, where the wild bees worked and the bear profited; and for fruit and nuts there were the delicious amber persimmons, and the sprightly frost grapes, and walnuts and hickory-nuts and chestnuts galore. the march was far swifter now than the rate that the settlers had maintained before the indians had joined the party, and the little girl was added to the burden of one of the packhorses, but odalie, light, active, with her native energy tense in every nerve, and with every pulse fired by the thought that each moment carried her nearer to the cannon of fort loudon and safety, kept step valiantly with the pedestrians. willinawaugh sat at his ease on his horse, which was somewhat jaded by long and continuous marches, or perhaps his patience would not have sufficed to restrain him to the pace of the pioneers and his own unmounted followers. a grave spirit of amity still pervaded the party, but there was little talk. odalie relegated herself to the subservient manner and subordinate silence befitting a squaw; macleod, restricted to the french language and his bit of cherokee, feared that his interest might lead him beyond the bounds of the simulation their safety required; hamish was silent, too, partly tamed by the halt which they now and then made on rising ground, when the chief would turn his keen, high-nosed profile, distinct upon the faint tints of the blue mountains beyond, his eagle feathers on his scalp-lock blowing back against the sky, and cast a sharp-eyed glance over the landscape to discern if perchance the search party, from which they had separated, was now coming to rejoin them. these frequent halts were discontinued after two days, when the indian saw fit to change his proposed line of march, and the rest of his party, if following, could hardly be expected to also deviate from the agreed plan and overtake them. they had hitherto proceeded down a valley, between clifty mountain walls on the one hand, and a high, steep, frowning ridge on the other, running with the same trend in unbroken parallelism. now it suited willinawaugh to turn his horse's head straight up these seemingly inaccessible slopes; and without exchanging a glance or venturing a comment his fellow-travelers obediently followed his lead, conscious of the sly and furtive observation of his tribesmen and even of willinawaugh himself, for the suspicion of the indian never seems quite allayed but only dormant for a time. he noted naught that could excite it afresh, although it was only by the toil of hours that they could surmount the obstacles of great rocks, could find a deer-path through the dense jungle of the laurel, otherwise impenetrable, could cross foaming mountain torrents so swift and so deep that more than once it seemed that the packhorses, with odalie also mounted now for the ford, must succumb to the strength of the current. at length the party stood upon the summit, with a dozen wild outliers of the cumberland and the intervenient coves below their feet; then came a vast spread of undulating country to the eastward, broken here and there by parallel ridges; and beyond rose mountains brown, and mountains purple, and still further, mountains blue; and still beyond and above, a-glimmering among the clouds, so high and so vague, apparently so like the gossamer texture of the vapor that one could hardly judge whether these congeners of the very heavens were earth or sky, mythical peaks or cloud mountains--the great smoky range. in the wide, wide world below, noble rivers flowed, while aloft, like the gods on olympus, it seemed the travelers could overlook the universe, so vast as to discount all theories of measurement, and mark its varying mood. so clear and limpid was the air that trivial incidents of that great scene were asserted despite the distance, and easily of note,--a herd of buffalo was distinguishable in an open, trodden space about a salt-lick; a fleet of canoes, like a bevy of swallows, winged along the broad surface of the largest of these splendid streams, called the tsullakee (cherokee) as willinawaugh informed them, for these indians never used the sound represented by our letter r. in the phonetically spelled words in which it seems to occur the sound is more accurately indicated by the letter l. a notable philological authority states that the english rendering of the word "cherokee" and others of the language in which the letter r appears is derived from the mistaken pronunciation of neighboring tribes and of the french, who called the tsullakee[b]--_la rivière des chéraquis_. odalie could not refrain from asking in what direction was choté, "beloved town, city of refuge." she had the art to affect to interpret for her husband, but she could not keep the light from her eyes, the scarlet flush of joyful expectation from her cheek, when the savage, with a sweeping wave of his pipe-stem, indicated a region toward the southeast on the banks of a tributary (the little tennessee) of that broad and splendid river, which was now running crimson and gold and with a steely glitter, reflecting the sunset, in the midst of the dusky, dull-blue landscape, with the languor of evening slipping down upon it. there it lay in primeval beauty,--the land of hope. oh, for the spirit of a soothsayer; for one prophetic moment! what did that land hold,--what days should dawn upon it; what hearthstones should be alight; who should be the victor in the conquests of the future, and what of the victim? but they loved this country--the cherokees; their own, they said, for the great spirit gave it them. they even sought to associate with those splendid eastern mountains the origin of the cherokee people by the oft-reiterated claim that the first of their race sprung from the soil of those noble summits or dropped from the clouds that hover about the lofty domes. and now willinawaugh broke from the silence that the lack of a common tongue had fostered, and despite that embargo on the exchange of ideas he grew fluent and his enthusiasm seemed to whet the understanding of his listeners, who could realize in some sort the language that they could not speak. they caught the names of the great landmarks. the vast range, on an outlier of which they pitched their camp, as insignificant in proportion as an atom to the universe, he called the wasioto mountain, and one of the rivers was the hoho-hebee, and others were the coot-cla, the agiqua, the canot, the nonachuckeh. hamish remembered these names long after they were forgotten by others, and the re-christened clinch and holston and french broad flowed as fairly with their uncouth modern nomenclature as when they were identified by as liquid musical syllables as the lapsing of their own currents; for never did he lose the impression of this night;--never faded the mental picture of the cherokee chief, the war-paint, vermilion and black and white, on his face as he sat before the fire, the waving of the eagle-feathers on his tufted scalp-lock blotting out half the dull-blue landscape below, which had the first hour of the night upon it, and the moon, blooming like a lily, with a fair white chalice reflected in the dark deeps of the tsullakee river. and in this hour while odalie reached out with all tender, tremulous hope to the future the savage told of the past. of the past,--mysterious, mythical. of the strange lack of tradition of this new world that was yet so old. for here, in the midst of the cherokee hunting-ground,--the whole country was but a great uninhabited park heavily stocked with game, the cherokee settlements being merely a fringe upon its verges,--were vestiges of a previous population; remains of works of defense like forts; fragments of pottery and other manufactures; unfading allegorical paintings high on the face of inaccessible cliffs; curious tiny stone sarcophagi containing pygmy bones, the mysterious evidence of the actual existence of the prehistoric "little people";[4] great burial mounds, with moldering skeletons, and caves entombing mummies of splendid stature and long yellow hair, evidently placed there ages ago, still wearing ornaments of beads and metals, with remnants of strange fabrics of fibers and feathers, and with weapons befitting a high rank and a warlike race. and who were they? and whence did they come? they were always here, said willinawaugh. so said all the cherokees. they were always here. and whither did this unknown people go? the indian shook his head, the flicker of the fire on his painted face. they were gone, he said, when the tsullakee came. long gone--long gone! and alas, what was their fate? odalie looked about at the violet night, at the white moon and the dun shadows, with an upbraiding question, and the night was silent with a keen chill fall of a frost. this was no new world into which they were adventuring. it had witnessed tragedies. it held death. it sealed its lips and embodied oblivion. oh, for the hopes of the future,--and oh, for the hopes of the dead and gone past! footnotes: [footnote a: white.] [footnote b: it is known now as the tennessee river.] chapter ii the next day when odalie turned her face once more toward her mecca of home and peace she felt that she trod on air, although her shoes, ill calculated for hard usage, had given way at last, and suffered the thorns to pierce through the long rifts between sole and upper leather and the stones to still further rend the gaping tatters. macleod would not allow himself to comment on it even by a look, lest some uncontrollable sympathy should force him to call a halt, now when he felt that their lives depended on pressing forward and taking advantage of the pacific mood of the indian and the assumed character of french traders to reach the english fort. hamish, however, with a dark-eyed, reproachful glance upbraided this apparently callous disregard, and then addressed himself to the task of making light of the matter to odalie in lieu of other solace. "_tu ne_ ought _pas l'avoir fait_," he gravely admonished her in his queer french. "_tu_ ought known better, odalie!" "known what better?" demanded odalie, resenting reprimand in a very un-squawlike fashion. "_marcher_ in shoes! _mong dew!_ _ces souliers_ couldn't have been made _pour marcher_ in!" he retorted, with a funny grimace. the facial contortion seemed suddenly to anger willinawaugh, who had chanced to observe them; to suggest recollections that he resented, and the reminder shared in his disfavor. he abruptly wreathed his fierce countenance into a simulacrum of hamish's facetious mug; he shrugged his shoulders with a genuine french twist; and anything more incongruously and grotesquely frightful and less amusing could hardly be imagined. "fonny! vely fonny! flanzy!" he exclaimed harshly. "balon des johnnes!"[5] his unwilling companions gazed at him with as genuine a terror as if the devil himself had entered into him and thus expressed his presence among them. willinawaugh abruptly discontinued his "fonny" grimace, that had a very ferocity of rebuke, and leaning from his horse with an expression of repudiation, spat upon the ground. then he began to talk about baron des johnnes and his sudden disappearance from the cherokee nation. at choté, it seemed, was this gay and facetious frenchman, this all-accomplished baron des johnnes, who could speak seven different indian languages with equal facility, to say nothing of a trifle or two such as english, spanish, german, and french, of course!--at choté, city of refuge, where, if he had shed the blood of the native cherokee on his own threshold, his life would have been sacred even from the vengeance of the indian's brother! and suddenly came the carolina colonel sumter, returning with an indian delegation that had been to charlestown, and found the frenchman here. and with colonel sumter was oconostota, king of the cherokees, and other head-men, who had just signed a treaty at charlestown, promising to kill or arrest any frenchman discovered within the cherokee nation. and who so appalled as oconostota, to see his friend, the gay baron des johnnes, lying on a buffalo skin before the fire, smoking his pipe in the chief's own wigwam. and when colonel sumter demanded his arrest oconostota refused and pleaded the sanctity of the place--the city of refuge. and baron des johnnes arose very smiling and bland, and bowed very low, and reminded colonel sumter that he was in choté--old town! and what said colonel sumter? he spoke in the english, like a wolf might talk--"old town--or new town--i'll take _you_ to charles town!" and what did the baron des johnnes? not a cherokee; not bound by the ever-sacred laws of the city of refuge! although surrounded by his friends he struck not one blow for his freedom, as man to man. he suffered himself to be arrested, single-handed, by this wolf of a colonel--colonel sumter--saying in gentle protest, "_mais, m'sieur!_" "_mais, m'sieur!_" grimaced willinawaugh, in mimicry. then "_mais m'sieur!_" he threw up both hands. "_mais, m'sieur!_" he shrieked in harsh derision to the unresponsive skies. alexander knew that the baron des johnnes had been taken to charlestown and examined, and although nothing could be proved against him, it had been deemed expedient to ship him off to england. perhaps the authorities were of opinion that a man with such conversational facilities as eight or ten languages had best be kept where "least said, soonest mended." but for the repeated harsh treatment that the cherokees sustained from the english settlers, the ingratiating arts of the french might have failed to find so ready a response. sedate of manner and of a grave cast of mind themselves, the indians could ill tolerate the levity, the _gaieté de coeur_, of the french, whom they pronounced "light as a feather, fickle as the wind, and deceitful as serpents." with this intimation of willinawaugh's reserves of irritability the pioneers journeyed on, a trifle more ill at ease in mind, which was an added hardship, since their physical sufferings were intensifying with every long mile of continued effort. they began to wonder how they, supposed to be french, would fare when they should meet other cherokees, perhaps more disposed than willinawaugh to adhere to the terms of their treaty to kill or make prisoner every frenchman who should venture into the cherokee nation, yet on the other hand perhaps more competent by virtue of a familiarity with the language to detect and resent the fact that they were not of the french nationality. already willinawaugh had counseled that they should go further than choté, to ply their trade in furs, for choté was dangerously near the english fort for a frenchman; one of the tuckaleechee towns on the canot river was a preferable location, and he promised to contrive to slip them past fort loudon without the commandant's knowledge. they restrained all expression of objection or discomfort and bore their growing distresses with a fortitude that might rival the stoicism of a savage. only when an aside was possible, macleod besought his wife to loose the burden of one of the packhorses and mount the animal herself. she shook her head resolutely. she had already suffered grief enough for the household stores she had left behind. to these precious remaining possessions she clung desperately. "when i can no longer walk," she said, with a flash in her eye which admonished him to desist. they offered no comment on their route, although it seemed that they had climbed the mountain two days ago for the express purpose of descending it again, but on the eastern side. macleod, however, at length realized that the indian was following some faint trace, well distinguishable to his skilled eye, and the difficulties of the steep descent were rendered more tolerable by his faith in the competence of his guide. the packhorses found it hard work filing down the sharp declivities and sustaining the equilibrium of their burden. the chief, with his lordly impatience and superiority to domestic concerns, evidently fumed because of the delay they occasioned, and had he not supposed that the contents of the bales of goods were merchandise and trinkets to be bartered with the indians for peltry, instead of odalie's slim resources of housekeeping wares,--sheets, and table-linen and garments, and frugal supplies of flax and seeds,--he would not have suffered the slow progress. through the new country below, that they had watched from the heights, they went now, the mountains standing sentinel all around the horizon--east and west, and north and south, sometimes nearer, sometimes more distant; always mountains in sight, like some everlastingly uplifting thought, luring a life to a higher plane of being. now and again the way wended along the bank of a river, with the steeps showing in the waters below as well as against the sky above, and one day when they had but recently broken their camp on its shores there shot out from beneath an overhanging boscage of papaw trees a swift, arrowy thing akin to a fish, akin to a bird--an indian canoe, in which were three braves. the poor pioneers were exhausted with their long and swift journey; their hearts, which had been stanch within them, could but fail with the failure of physical strength. their courage only sufficed to hold them to a mute endurance of a dreadful expectation, and a suspense that set every nerve a-quiver. the boatmen had cried out with a wild, fierce note of surprise on perceiving the party, and the canoe was coming straight across to the bank as fast as the winglike paddles could propel it. willinawaugh rode slowly down to meet them, and in contrast to the usual impassive manners of the indians he replied to the agitated hail in a tone of tense and eager excitement. there ensued evidently an exchange of news, of a nature which boded little good to the settlers. dark anger gathered on the brow of the chieftain as he listened when the braves had bounded upon the bank, and more than once he cried out inarticulately like a wild beast in pain and rage. perhaps it is rare that a man has such a moment in his life as alexander experienced when one of the savages, a ferocious brute, turned with a wild, untamed, indigenous fury kindling in his eyes, and drawing his tomahawk from his belt smiled fiercely upon the silent, motionless little band, his deadly racial hatred reinforced by a thousand bitter grudges and wrongs. hamish's fingers trembled on his gun, but ostensibly no one moved. willinawaugh hastily interposed, speaking but the magic words--"flanzy--flinch!" then still in english, as if to reassure the pioneers--"go choté--old town--buy fur!" the hatred died out of the fierce indian faces. the french in the south, as has been said, had always used every art to detach the cherokees from the british interest, and even now the men who had abandoned fort duquesne, escaping down the ohio river, were sending emissaries up the tsullakee, to the lower towns, there finding fruitful soil in which to sow the seeds of dissension against the english. the assertion that these travelers were french, and the fact that by receiving persons of this nation the cherokees could requite with even a trivial and diplomatic injury some faint degree of the wrong which they considered they had sustained from the virginians, was more than adequate to nullify for the time the rage they felt against these pioneers as of the white race. with the instinct of hospitality, which is a very marked element of the cherokee nature, one of them signed with a free and open gesture to the boat. "_beaucoup marchez!_" he said, smiling with an innocent suavity like a child, "svim!" he did not mean literally "swim," and to offer them the facilities of the tennessee river for that purpose, although this might have been inferred. but the pioneers understood the proffer of the canoe for the remainder of their journey, and a deadly terror seized the heart of odalie as she marked the demonstrations of the others in pulling willinawaugh forcibly from his horse in spite of his feigned objections, for the canoe could hold but three persons. little choice had she, however. willinawaugh, maintaining the affable demeanor of a guest of conscious distinction, was already seated in the boat, and pointed out alexander as his preferred companion. for once the scotchman disregarded the wishes of his guide, philosopher, and friend, and taking his wife by the hand motioned to her to step over the side of the little craft. odalie could only look reproachfully at him; she could not contend with her lord and master in the presence of savages--such are the privileges of civilization! the indians, somewhat accustomed by the talk, and on occasion the example, of the french traders, and perhaps by traditions from the white settlements, to the idea of the extreme value that the paleface was wont to place on wife or daughter, scornfully marked the instance, but beyond an expressive "ugh!" naught was said. the child was lifted to odalie's arms--the cat strapped pappoose-wise to josephine's back and accommodating itself quiescently to the situation. alexander had never intended to embark odalie and josephine alone with the indians, although his will was but a slight thing, so entirely were they now in the power of the savages; he motioned to hamish to take the paddle, and with the slight mixture of french and cherokee at his command, intimated to the apparent owner of the boat that he would rather walk by his side and profit by his converse than to be able to sail at will on the water like the swan there--a large and handsome bird, who was giving the finest exhibition of that method of progression to be easily found anywhere, with her white neck arched, her gliding motion, and snowy breast reflected in the clear water. and so odalie had parted from her husband, without so much as a glance of farewell! perhaps he dared not look at her. so far they had come together, and now in these wild fastnesses, among these blood-loving fiends in the likeness of humanity, they were separated to meet when?--where? perchance no more. she could not--would not--leave him thus. she would turn back at the last moment! she would go back! she rose to her feet so precipitately that with the shifting of her weight the canoe careened suddenly and was momentarily in danger of capsizing with all on board. willinawaugh glanced up with a kindling eye and a ferocious growl. hamish, throwing himself skillfully on the opposite side, adroitly trimmed the boat. his look of warning, upbraiding and yet sympathizing, steadied odalie's nerves as she sank back into her place. she tactfully made it appear that she had accidentally come near to dropping the little girl from her grasp and rising to recover her had shaken the poise of the frail craft. willinawaugh's mutter of dissatisfaction showed that he esteemed the possibility no very great mischance, and set no high store on josephine. now and again he eyed the cat, too, malevolently, as if he could ill brook her mannerisms and pampered mien. hamish had an uncomfortable idea that the cherokee was not familiar with animals of this kind, and that he harbored a wonder if kitty would not serve her best and noblest possibilities in a savory stew. but for himself hamish avoided the indian's eyes with their curious painted circles of black and white, as much as he might, for whenever their glances met, willinawaugh's facial contortion to deride the "fonny" disposition he deemed a part of hamish's supposed french nature so daunted the boy that he bent his head as well as his muscles to the work. that day was like a dream to odalie, and, indeed, from the incongruity of her mental images she hardly knew whether she was sleeping or waking. one moment it seemed to her that she was in carolina, in the new frame mansion that she had always thought so fine, sitting on the arm of her grandmother's chair, with her dark hair against the white locks and the snowy cap, while she babbled, in the sweet household patois of french children that has no lexicon, and no rules, and is handed down from one generation to another, her girlish hopes, and plans, and anxieties, to find the grandmother's fine, old, deft hand smooth all the difficulties away and make life easy, and hope possible, and trouble a mere shadow. alas! that brightening perspective of the colonial garden, where the jasmine, gold and white, clung to the tall trellises, and the clove gillyflower, and the lilies and roses grew in the borders in the broad suffusions of the sunshine, was metamorphosed to the wide spread of the tennessee river, with the noon-day blaze on its burnished expanse of ripples; and grand'maman had long since ceased her ministry of soothing and consolation, and found her own comfort in the peace and quiet of the grave. and ere odalie could suffer more than a pang to realize that she was so far from that grave, her head drooped once more--she was asleep. no; she was awake, awake and splendid in a white dress, her beautiful bridal dress in which she had looked a very queen, with her grand'maman's pearl necklace, itself an heirloom, about her white throat. and so, standing at the altar of the little church with alexander, and much light about her, and a white dress, oh, very white--and suddenly! all the church is stricken to darkness. no; there is light again! it was a flash from a thunder cloud, reflected in sinister, forked lines in the tennessee river, so that they seemed in the very midst of the lightning, until it vanished into the darkness of a lowering black sky, that overhung the water and made all the woods appear bleak and leafless, though here and there still a red tree blazed. the world was drearier for these grim portents of storm, for all the way hitherto fair weather had smiled upon their progress. still she could not heed--she did not care even when the rain came down and pitilessly beat upon her white face; she did not know when fifine crept under the shawl which hamish threw around her, and that the frightened little girl held to her tight with both arms around her waist, while the pioneer cat very discreetly nestled down in the basket on josephine's back. she was not roused even by loud voices when later a pettiaugre, a much larger boat than theirs, pulled alongside with eight or ten warriors and remained in close and unremitting conversation with willinawaugh for several miles. poor hamish could hardly sustain himself. he felt practically alone. odalie was, he thought, on the verge of death from exhaustion and realized naught of her surroundings. his brother had been left in these wild woods with a party of savages, who were as likely to murder him for a whim or for the treasures of the bales which the packhorses carried, as to respect the safe conduct of willinawaugh and the supposed character of french traders. this, hamish was aware, hardly sufficed now, so unrestrained was the ferocity of the glances cast upon them by the indians in the pettiaugre alongside--so like the glare of a savage catamount, ready to leap upon its prey and yet with a joyance in its ferocity, as if this rage were not the pain of anger but the pleasure of it. what subtle influence roused odalie at last she could hardly have said; perhaps the irresistible torpor of exhaustion had in some sort recruited her faculties. the storm was gone, unseasonable and transient, and only a broken remnant of its clouds hung about the western mountains. toward the east the sky was clear and a dull fluctuation of sunset, alternating with shadow, was on the landscape. as a sudden suffusion of this broad, low, dusky glare lay upon the scene for a moment, she saw against the dark blue chilhowee mountain in the middle distance something glimmering and waving, and as she strained her eyes it suddenly floated broadly forth to the breeze,--the blended cross of st. george and st. andrew blazoned on the british flag. in one moment she was strong again; alert, watchful, brave, despite that boat close alongside and the alternate questions and remonstrances of the fierce and cruel indians. one of them, the light of a close and fine discernment in his savage features, was contending that willinawaugh was deceived; that these were no french people; that the cast of the face of the "young dog" was english; he looked like the virginia settlers and hunters; even like the men at the fort. willinawaugh had the air of deigning much to consider the plea that the other indians preferred. he only argued astutely that they all spoke french among themselves,--man, boy, squaw, and pappoose. they showed gratitude when he had promised them that they should not be obliged to pass the english fort and risk the chance of detection. he intended to slip them up the tellico river where it flows into the tennessee a mile on the hither side of the fort and thence make their way to a remoter indian town than choté. the skeptical cherokee, savanukah, immediately asserted boastfully that he spoke "flinch" himself and would test the nationality of the boy. hamish had never had great scholastic advantages and had sturdily resisted those that odalie would have given him. he remembered with despair the long lines of french verbs in the little dog's-eared green book that all her prettiest sisterly arts could never induce him to learn to conjugate. why should he ever need more talking appliance than he already possessed, he used to argue. he could tell all he knew, and more besides, in the somewhat limited english vocabulary at his command. "parlez vous? parlez, fou!" he was wont to exclaim, feeling very clever. how should he have dreamed that odalie's little _vocabulaire français_ would be more efficacious to save his life than his rifle and his deadly aim? [illustration: "the canoe rocked in the swirls."] he looked toward her once more in his despair. the boats were now among a series of obstructions formed by floating débris of a recent storm,--many branches of trees, here and there a bole itself, uprooted and flung into the river by the violence of the tempest,--which necessitated careful steering and paddling and watching the current to take them through safely. it threw the two boats apart for a space, prolonging hamish's suspense, yet serving as a reprieve to the ordeal of his examination as to his proficiency in the french language by the erudite cherokee. the canoe rocked in the swirls, and although willinawaugh sat still in stately impassiveness, odalie and fifine clung to the gunwale. hamish's eyes met odalie's, which were clear, liquidly bright, as if fired with some delightful anticipation, and yet weary and feverishly eager. oh, this was delirium! she did not realize her surroundings; her intelligence was gone! his poor young heart swelled nearly to bursting as he turned back with aching arms and dazzled eyes and throbbing, feverish pulses to the careful balancing of the paddle, for willinawaugh was an exacting coxswain. hamish could not know what vision had been vouchsafed to odalie in the midst of the gloomy woods while the other indians and willinawaugh had wrangled and he had hung absorbed upon their words as on the decrees of fate. even she at first had deemed it but hallucination, the figment of some fever of the brain--this had been a day of dreams! yet there it had stood on the river bank with the primeval woods around it, with the red sunset amongst the clouds above it, with the sunset below it, reflected in the current of the river, full of sheen and full of shadow,--a figure, a hunter, looking out at the boats; a white man,--a man she had never before seen. how he stared! she dared make no signal of distress. she only turned her head that she might look back covertly with a face full of meaning. the next moment she saw him mount his horse in the buffalo path in the cane-brake and gallop off at a breakneck speed. but was she sure--had she seen aught, she asked herself, tremulously. for it had been a day of dreams--it had been a day of dreams! and the confluence of the tellico river with the tennessee might be so hopelessly near! the progress of both boats was very slow now, upstream against the current and the débris of the storm; even the crew of indian braves needed to pull with vigor to make the clear water again. when this was reached they rested motionless, the duplication of the pettiaugre and the feather headdress of the cherokees as clearly pictured in the bright, still reaches of the river as above in the medium of the air between sunset and dusk. they were all looking back, all commenting on hamish's slow progress. he had the current and his exhaustion both against him, and the most earnest and well-equipped postulant of culture would hardly be eager to go to an examination in the french language when his life was to be the forfeit of failure. the sound of the river was loud on the evening air; a wind was astir on either bank,--a pillaging force, rifling the forest of the few leaves it might still treasure; now and then a scurrying cloud of them fled before the blast against the sky; the evening had grown chill; the boy felt its dank depression in every nerve despite the drops of perspiration that stood upon his brow as he too paddled into the clear water. he held the boat stationary by a great effort. he had come to the end. he could strive no more. he saw savanukah rise up in the pettiaugre, looking toward him. the next moment the savage turned his head. there was an alien sound upon the air, so close at hand that despite the fret and turmoil of the water, the blare of the wild wind, the tumultuous clashing together of the bare boughs in the black forest, it arrested the attention. once more it asserted itself against the tumult, and then hamish, his head spinning around until he thought that the canoe had broken loose from his mechanical plying of the paddle, recognized the regular rhythmical dash of oars. chapter iii in the next instant from beyond a curve in the river a boat shot into the current,--a large row-boat, manned by twelve red-coated soldiers, bending to the oars, whose steady strokes sent the craft down the stream with the speed, it seemed, of a meteor. they were alongside and a non-commissioned officer was in diplomatic converse with willinawaugh before hamish had regained possession of his faculties. very diplomatic was the conference, for the corporal had his pacific orders and willinawaugh was burdened with the grave anxiety to make the facts conform at once to the probabilities, yet sustain the impeccability of his own conduct. a little network of wrinkles, almost like a visible mesh, gathered at the corners of his eyes and gave token of his grave cogitation. the corporal, a dark-haired, blue-eyed, florid young irishman, looking very stanch and direct and steady, but not without a twinkle of humor which betokened some histrionic capacity to support the situation, speaking partly in english and partly, glibly enough, in very tolerable cherokee, although incongruously embellished with an irish brogue, detailed that captain stuart had been apprised that there was a band of indians on the river who had some white people with them, and he wished to know if these white people were french, in which case, according to the treaty made with the cherokees, they must be arrested and delivered up to the commandant of the fort, or if english, he wished to be assured that they were at liberty to go where they pleased, and were under no restraint. as the officer concluded, having bowed to odalie with much politeness, considering he was not yet informed as to whether she were of a party of french emissaries, forever sowing dissension amongst the cherokee allies of the english, he drew himself up very erect, with a complacent mien. he was conscious of being a fine-looking fellow, and he had not seen so handsome a young woman of her evident position in life for a month of sundays. nevertheless he kept one eye on willinawaugh, who was also eminently worthy of his respectful attention. "ingliss--all ingliss," said the chief, unexpectedly. the indians in the pettiaugre, listening attentively, gave no sign of surprise upon this statement, so at variance with the warrior's previous representations. his ruse to shield the travelers now by declaring them english shielded himself as well, for being a chief and head-man he could hardly find a plausible subterfuge to cloak his playing the _rôle_ of guide, philosopher, and friend to people of a nation so obnoxious to his english allies, and establishing them in the very heart of the cherokee nation, contrary to its many solemn obligations and treaties. after a moment's further reflection, willinawaugh said again with emphasis, "ingliss, ingliss." perhaps he did not desire to avail himself of the added fluency of explanation which the cherokee language would have afforded him, and which corporal o'flynn evidently understood. "go choté--old town. buy fur--man--packhorse," he added, pointing across the woods in the direction in which alexander macleod was presumably still wearily tramping. the corporal for the moment forgot how good-looking he was. he concentrated his whole attention on willinawaugh's disingenuous countenance, and then turned and cast a long, searching look upon odalie. the eyes that met his own were swimming in tears, and with an expression of pleading insistence that fairly wrung his heart, although he hardly understood it. if she were english, why then she was free as the air. if french--well, bedad, thin, corporal o'flynn wished himself at the bottom of the tennessee river, for a french lady in grief and under arrest had no right to be so good-looking at all, at all. here was something wrong, he could but perceive, and yet because of willinawaugh's diplomacy he could not fix upon it. "what's your name, my lad?" he said abruptly to hamish. hamish had his eyes on the water. his fortitude, too, had given way in the sudden relaxation of the strain of suspense. he could not, would not, lift his face and let that boat's crew of stalwart soldiers resting on their oars, the two ranks gazing at him, see the tears in his eyes. "hamish macleod," he made shift to say, and could say no more. "a good english name, bedad, for a scotch one, and an english accent," corporal o'flynn mentally commented, as he looked curiously at the boy, standing with downcast face, mechanically handling the paddle. "now by the powers," said the young soldier to himself with sudden resolution, "captain stuart may undertake the unraveling o' this tangle himself." "english!" he exclaimed aloud. then with much courtesy of manner, "captain stuart desires his compliments, and begs the english party to do him the honor to lie at fort loudon to-night and pursue their journey at their convanience." he glanced up at the sky. "it grows late and there are catamounts out, an' other bletherin' bastes, an' their howlin' might frighten the leddy." odalie, remembering the real dangers that had beset her and catching his serious, unconscious glance as he animadverted on the possibly terrifying vocalizations, burst into momentary laughter, and then into a torrent of tears. at which the corporal, the boat's crew, and the indian braves gazed at her in blank astonishment. hysterics were a new importation on the frontier. she controlled with an effort her tendency to laugh, but still wept with the profusion of exhaustion and nervous tension. willinawaugh's eyes were fixed on her with deep displeasure. "ugh!" he grunted from time to time. "ugh!" "oh, there's bloody murder here, if one could but chance upon the carpse," said the corporal to himself, looking bewildered from her to the boy. and now was demonstrated the fact that although the corporal had but the slightest bit of a brogue in the world, there was a twist in his tongue which showed that he had at some time in his career made a practice of kissing the "blarney stone" and was as irish as county clare. "of course captain stuart couldn't have known that his valued friend, the great chief, willinawaugh, was to be passing with the english party, but, sure, he would take it mighty ill if the chief did not stop over, too, and lie at the fort to-night,--an' he so seldom up from toquoe! captain demeré, too, will expect the great chief. my word on't, he will." now willinawaugh, an epitome of craft, had no idea of adventuring with his supposed french friends, whom he had endeavored to pass off as english, into the british stronghold, for he doubted their capacity to sustain their character of compatriots; he had no means of judging of their knowledge of the english language and how soon their ignorance might betray them. since the ruse he had adopted had evidently not sufficed to evade the enforced stoppage at fort loudon, he had relinquished the intention to take them on past choté to some other of the overhill towns, and let them establish themselves as french traders. he feared that were they once inside the walls of fort loudon this design against the agreement with his allies would become transparent. to be sure, it must be soon elucidated, but willinawaugh was determined to be far away by that time, and, moreover, he could send a "talk" (letter) to captain stuart, whose good opinion he greatly coveted, to say that the french trader had deceived him and made him believe that the party was english. at the same time he was too wary to venture into his valued friend's power with this fresh grievance and with stormy times for the two peoples evidently in prospect. but he was flattered, infinitely flattered, as indeed who would not have been, by corporal o'flynn's tone and expression of ingenuous eyes and respectful word of mouth. willinawaugh was glad to have these choté cherokees see how highly he was esteemed--he was indeed a great warrior and a "big injun" of exclusive privilege. the invitation in no wise was to be extended to the others to pass the night at fort loudon--not even to savanukah, a chief himself, who spoke french! corporal o'flynn was now going over in his mind how willinawaugh might best be insulated, so to speak, that he might not have means to fire the barracks, should that enterprise suggest itself to his fertile brain, or find a way to open the gates, or otherwise afford ingress to confederates without; how to lock him in, and yet not seem to treat him as a prisoner; to leave him at liberty, and yet free to do nothing but that which his hosts should please. all such complicated and contradictory details did corporal o'flynn deem himself capable of reconciling--but one such subject was enough. unfortunately for the triumphant elucidation of these puzzling problems, willinawaugh, with dignity and a certain gruffness; yet now and again a flicker of covert smile as if to himself, declined to partake of captain stuart's hospitality. he had a mission to the head-men of choté which would not brook delay. yet he had a message to leave for the english officer. he desired to tell captain stuart that he often thought of him! whenever he heard tales of famous warriors, of british generals, he thought of _him_! he considered these fighting men brave and noble, when he learned of their splendid deeds in battle; and then again, they were as naught in his mind,--for he had once more thought of the great captain stuart! the corporal, listening attentively to pick out the meaning of cherokee and english, made a low bow in behalf of captain stuart, with a flourishing wave of his hat. "i'll bear yer message, sir, and a proud man captain stuart ought to be the day! an those jontlemen,"--he glanced at the pettiaugre full of indians,--"be so good as to ask them to lead the way." then he added in an undertone to his own men, "i am glad on't. i don't want the responsibility of takin' care of the baste. i might be accused of kidnapin' the craythure if anythin' was to happen to 'm,--though as to kids, he's more like the old original billy-goat o' the whole worruld!" corporal o'flynn cast the eye of a disciplinarian about him. it was one of the rules of the tyranny he practiced, thus remote from civilization, that however jocose he might be not a trace of responsive merriment must decorate the faces of the men. they were all now, as was meet, grave and wooden. at the orders in his clear, ringing voice--"let fall!" and the oars struck the water with emphasis, "give way!"--odalie's tears must needs flow anew. she gazed at the dozen fresh, florid young faces, as the boat swung round and they came once more near the canoe, as if they were a vision of saints vouchsafed to some poor groping, distraught spirit,--when they were far indeed from being saints, though good enough in their way, too! they all looked with unconscious sympathy at her as she sat and wept and looked at them, and corporal o'flynn, moved by the tears, exclaimed below his breath, "but, be jabbers, afther all, what's the good of 'em now--better have been cryin' yesterday, or mebbe the day before. back oars! now--now! give way!" he was the last in the little fleet, and hamish paddled briskly now to keep ahead, as he was evidently expected to do, for corporal o'flynn intended that his own boat should bring up the rear. as they fared thus along, odalie noted the inflowing of that tributary, the tellico river--how solitary, how remote, how possible its loneliness had rendered the scheme of willinawaugh. some distance beyond appeared a settler's cabin in an oasis of cultivated land in the midst of the dense cane-brake; then others, now dull and dusky in the blue twilight, with the afterglow of the sunset redly aflare above in the amber sky and below in the gray and glimmering water; now with a lucent yellow flicker from the wide-open door gemming the night with the scintillations of the hearthstone, set like a jewel in the center of the wilderness; now sending forth a babbling of childish voices where the roof-tree had been planted close by the river-side and the passing of the boats had drawn all the household to the brink. how many they seemed--these cabins of the adventurous pioneers! how many happy homes--alas, that there should ever be cause to cry it were better for them had they never been! odalie began to realize that she owed her liberty and perhaps her life to the first of these settlers who had espied the craft upon the river; as she marked the many windings and tortuous curves of the stream she understood that he must have galloped along some straight, direct route to the fort to acquaint the officers with the suspicious aspect of the indian party and their white captives. as to the tremendous speed the commandant's boat had made to their rescue,--she blessed anew those reckless young saints who had plied the oars with such fervent effort, which, however, could hardly have effected such speed had it not been too for the swift current running in their favor. suddenly the fort came into view--stanch, grim, massive, with the great red-clay exterior slopes and the sharp points of the high palisades on the rampart distinct in the blue twilight. it was very different from the stockaded stations of the early settlers with which she had been familiar. this fort had been erected by the british government, and was a work of very considerable strength and admirably calculated for defensive purposes, not only against the subtle designs of the indians but against possible artillery attacks of the french. there were heavy bastions at the angles and within each a substantial block-house, the upper story built with projections beyond the lower, that would not only aid the advantage which the bastions gave of a flanking fire upon an assailant, but enable a watch to be maintained at all times and from all quarters upon the base of the wooden stockade on the rampart lest an enemy passing the glacis should seek to fire the palisades. but this was in itself well-nigh impracticable. strong fraises, defending both scarp and counterscarp, prevented approach. the whole was guarded by twelve cannon, grimly pointed from embrasures, and very reassuring their black muzzles looked to one who hoped to ply the arts of peace beneath the protection of their threat of war. even the great gates were defended, being so thickly studded with iron spikes that not an inch of the wood was left uncovered. they were broadly aflare now, and a trifle in advance of the sentry at the entrance two officers were standing, brilliant with their red coats and cocked hats. they were gazing with a certain curiosity at the boats on the river, for corporal o'flynn, having pressed forward and landed first, had left his men resting on their oars and taken his way into the presence of his superior officers to make his report. he had paused for half a dozen words with hamish macleod as the boat passed the canoe, and when odalie and the boy, with a couple of soldiers at either side maintaining the aspect of a guard, came up the gentle ascent at a slower pace, captain stuart was already fully apprised of their long and perilous flight from virginia. he stood awaiting their approach,--a tall man of about twenty-eight years of age, bluff and smiling, with dense light-brown hair braided in a broad, heavy queue and tied with a black ribbon. he had a fair complexion, considerably sun-burned, strong white teeth with a wide arch of the jaw, and he regarded her with keen steel-blue eyes, steady and unfathomable, yet withal pleasant. he took off his hat and cordially held out his hand. odalie could do naught but clasp it in both her cold hands and shed tears over it, mute and trembling. with that ready tact which always distinguished him, captain stuart broke the tension of the situation. "do you wish to enlist, mrs. macleod?" he said, his smile showing a glimpse of his white teeth. "his majesty, the king, has need of stout-hearted soldiers. and i will take my oath i never saw a braver one!" and odalie broke into laughter to blend with her tears, because she divined that it was with the intention of passing on a difficulty that he not ungracefully transferred her hands to the officer standing near with the words, "i have the pleasure of presenting captain demeré." however capable captain stuart might be of dealing with savages, he evidently shrank from the ordeal of being wept over and thanked by a woman. he has been described by a contemporary historian as "an officer of great address and sagacity," and although he may have demonstrated these qualities on more conspicuous occasions, they were never more definite than in thus securing his escape from feminine tearfulness. captain demeré was of a graver aspect. he heard without impatience her wild insistence that the whole available force of the fort should turn out and scour the wilderness for her husband--he even argued the matter. it would be impossible to find mr. macleod at night and the effort might cost him his life. "so marked a demonstration of a military nature would alarm the indians and precipitate an outbreak which we have some reason to expect. if he does not appear by daylight, the hunters of the fort who always go out shall take that direction and scout the woods. rest assured everything shall be done which is possible." she felt that she must needs be content with this, and as it had been through the intervention of the officers that she and hamish and fifine were set free, it did not lie in her mouth to doubt their wisdom in such matters, or their capacity to save her husband. looking back to the river, as upon a phase of her life already terminated, she saw the canoe in which she had spent this troublous day already beginning to push out upon the broad current. willinawaugh, with an indian from the other crew to paddle the craft, had eluded captain stuart, who had reached the water's edge too late for a word with him, and who stood upon the bank, an effective martial figure, and blandly waved his hand in farewell, with a jovial outcry, "_canawlla! canawlla!_"[c] the features of the chief were slightly corrugated with those fine lines of diplomatic thought, and even at this distance he muttered the last word he had spoken to the corporal as he swiftly got away from him--"ingliss!" he said again. "all ingliss!" as odalie turned, the interior of the fort was before her; the broad parade, the lines of barracks, the heavy, looming block-houses, the great red-clay wall encircling all, and the high, strong palisades that even surmounted the rampart. it gave her momentarily the sensation, as she stood in its shadow, of being down in a populous and very secure well. there was a pervasive sentiment of good cheer; here and there the flicker of firelight fluctuated from an open door. supper was either in progress or just over, and savory odors gushed out into the air. the champing of horses and now and then a glad whinny betokened that the corn-bin was open in the stables somewhere in the dusk. she felt as if the wilderness was a dream, for surely all this cordial scene of warmth, and light, and cheer, and activity, could not have existed while she wandered yonder, so forlorn, and desolate, and endangered; in pity of it,--surely it was a dream! now and again groups of fresh-faced soldiers passed, most of them in full uniform, for there had been a great dress parade during the afternoon, perhaps to impress the indians with the resources and military strength of the fort; perhaps to attach them by affording that spectacular display, so new to all their experience, so imposing and splendid. some of the savage visitors lingered, wistful, loath to depart, and were being hustled carefully out of the place by a very vigilant guard, who had kept them under surveillance as a special charge all the afternoon. a few soldiers of the post coming in laden with game wore the buckskin leggings, shirt, and coonskin cap usual among the settlers, for it had been bitterly demonstrated that the thorns of the trackless wilderness had no sort of reverence for the texture of the king's red coat. even the cat realized the transition to the demesne of civilization and in some sort the wonted domestic atmosphere. she suddenly gave an able-bodied wriggle in the basket on josephine's back where she had journeyed, pappoose-wise, sprang alertly out, and scampered, tail up and waving aloft, across the parade. josephine's shriek of despair rang shrilly on the air, and captain demeré himself made a lunge at the animal, as she sped swiftly past, with a seductive cry of "puss! puss!" a young soldier hard by faced about alertly and gave nimble chase; the cry of "puss! puss!" going up on all sides brought out half a dozen supple young runners from every direction, but kitty, having lost none of the elasticity of her muscles during her late inaction, darted hither and thither amongst her military pursuers, eluded them all, and scampering up the rampart, thence scaled the stockade and there began to walk coolly along the pointed eminence of this lofty structure as if it were a backyard fence, while the soldier boys cheered her from below. in this jovial demonstration poor josephine's wailing whimper of despair and desertion was overborne, and with that juvenile disposition to force the recognition and a share of her woe on her elders she forthwith lost the use of her feet, and was half dragged, rather than led, by poor odalie, who surely was not calculated to support any added burden. she herself, with halting step, followed captain demeré across the parade to a salient angle of the enclosure, wherein stood one of the block-houses, very secure of aspect, the formidable, beetling upper story jutting out above the open door, from which flowed into the dusky parade a great gush of golden light. josephine's whimper was suddenly strangled in her throat and the tears stood still on her cheeks, for as captain demeré stepped aside at the door with a recollection of polite society, yielding precedence to the ladies, which formality odalie marveled to find surviving in these rude times so far on the frontier, josephine seemed resolved into a stare of dumb amazement, for she had never seen a room half so fine. be it remembered she was born in the backwoods and had no faint recollection of such refinement and elegances as the colonial civilization had attained on the carolina coast, and which her father and mother had relinquished to follow their fortunes to the west. and in truth the officers' mess-hall presented a brave barbaric effect that had a sort of splendor all its own. it was a large room, entered through the gorge of the bastion, and its deep chimney-place, in the recesses of which a great fire burned with a searchingly illuminating flare, was ample enough to afford a substantial settee on either hand without impinging on the roomy hearth of flagstones that joined the puncheons of the floor. around the log walls the suffusion of light revealed a projecting line of deer antlers and the horns of buffalo and elk, partly intended as decoration and trophies of the chase, and partly for utilitarian purposes. here and there a firelock lay from one to another, or a powder-horn or brace of pistols swung. a glittering knife and now and again a tomahawk caught the reflection of the fire and bespoke trophies of less peaceful pursuit. over the mantel-shelf a spreading pair of gigantic antlers held suspended a memento evidently more highly cherished,--a sword in its sheath, but showing a richly chased hilt, which odalie divined was a presentation in recognition of special service. other and humbler gifts were suggested in the long indian pipes, with bowls of deftly wrought stone; and tobacco-bags and shot-pouches beaded with intricate patterns; and belts of wampum and gorgeous moccasons; and bows and arrows with finely chiseled flint-heads winged with gayly colored feathers--all hanging from antlers on either side, which, though smaller than the central pair, were still large enough to have stretched with surprise more sophisticated eyes than fifine's. the variegated tints of the stained quills and shells with which a splendid curious scarlet quiver was embroidered, caught odalie's attention, and reminded her of what she had heard in carolina of the great influence which this captain stuart had acquired among the indians, and the extraordinary admiration that they entertained for him. these tokens of aboriginal art were all, she doubted not, little offerings of the chieftains to attest good-will, for if they had been merely bought with money they would not have been so proudly displayed. there was a continual fluttering movement in the draught from the loop-holes and open door, and lifting her eyes she noted the swaying folds of several banners against the wall, carrying the flare of color to the ceiling, which was formed only by the rude floor of the room above. but in all the medley her feminine eye did not fail to perceive high up and withdrawn from ordinary notice, a lady's silk riding-mask such as was used in sophisticated regions at the period to protect the complexion on a journey,--dainty, fresh, of a garnet hue with a black lace frill, evidently treasured, yet expressively null. and this was doubtless all that was left of some spent romance, a mere memory in the rude military life on the far frontier, barely suggesting a fair and distant face and eyes that looked forth on scenes more suave. with a sentiment of deep respect odalie observed the six or eight arm-chairs of a rude and untoward manufacture, which were ranged about the hearth, draped, however, to real luxury by wolfskins, for the early settlers chiefly affected rough stools or billets of wood as seats, or benches made of puncheons with a couple of auger-holes at each end, through which four stout sticks were adjusted for legs, which were indeed often of unequal length and gave the unquiet juvenile pioneer of that day a peculiarly acceptable opportunity for cheerily jouncing to and fro. there were several of these benches, too, but placed back against the walls, for the purpose she supposed of affording seats when the festive board was spread at length. an absolute board, this figurative expression implied, for the stern fact set forth a half dozen puncheons secured together with cleats and laid across trestles when in use, but at other times placed against the wall beside the ladder which gave access to the room above. the table was now in the center of the floor, spread with some hasty refreshments, of which captain demeré invited the forlorn travelers to partake. at the other end lay a draughtsman's board, a gunter's scale, a pair of dividers and other materials, where he had been trying to reduce to paper and topographical decorum for transference to an official report a map of the region which rayetaeh, a chief from toquoe, who had visited the fort that afternoon, had drawn on the sand of the parade ground with a flint-headed arrow. the officer had found this no slight task, for rayetaeh was prone to measure distance by the time required to traverse it--"two warriors, a canoe, and one moon" very definitely meaning a month's journey by watercourse, but requiring some actively minute calculation to bring the space in question to the proportional scale. rayetaeh might be considered the earliest cartographer of this region, and some of his maps, copied from the sand, are extant to this day. captain demeré laid the papers of this unfinished task carefully aside, and by way of giving his hospitality more grace took the head of the table himself. but odalie could not eat, and wept steadily on as if for the purpose of salting her food with tears, and fifine's hunger seemed appeased by the feast of her eyes. now and again her head in its little white mob-cap turned actively about, and she seemed as if she might have entered upon a series of questions save for the multiplicity of objects that enthralled her attention at once. captain demeré desisted from insistence after one or two well-meant efforts, and the man who had served the table waited in doubt and indecision. "it's a hard life for women on the frontier," the officer observed as if in polite excuse for odalie's ill-mannered tears that she could not control. "and for men," she sobbed, thinking of alexander and marveling if the indians would carry him on without resistance to choté,--for he could not know she had found lodgement in the fort,--or further still and enslave him--many captives had lived for years in indian tribes--she had heard of this even in carolina; or would they murder him in some trifling quarrel or on the discovery of his nationality or to make easier the robbery of the packhorses. ah, why had she brought so much; why had she hampered their flight and risked their lives for these paltry belongings, treasures to the indians, worth the shedding of much blood? how could she have sacrificed to these bits of household gear even her own comfort! she remembered, with an infinite yet futile wish to recall the moment, how eagerly sandy had urged the abandonment of these poor possessions, that she might herself mount the horse and ease her bleeding and torn feet. is every woman an idolater at heart, odalie wondered. do they all bow down, in the verity of their inner worship, to a few fibers of woven stuff and some poor fashioning of potter's clay, and make these feeble, trivial things their gods? it seemed so to her. she had bled for the things she had brought through the wilderness. she had wept for others that she had left. and if for such gear sandy had come to grief--"i wonder--i wonder if i could find a pretext to care for them still!" but she only said aloud, with a strong effort to control her attention, "and for men, too." "men must needs follow when duty leads the way," said captain demeré, a trifle priggishly. odalie, trying to seem interested, demanded, lifting her eyes, "and what do women follow?" if captain demeré had said what he truly thought, he would have answered:-"folly! their own and that of their husbands!" he had had close observation of the fact that the pioneers gave heavy hostages to fate in their wives and children, and a terrible advantage to a savage foe, and the very bravery of so many of these noble helpmeets only proved the value of all they risked. he could not elaborate, however, any scheme by which a new country should be entered first by the settlers aided by a strong occupancy of soldiery, and only when the lands should be cleared and the savages expelled the women and children venture forth. so he said:-"they follow their destiny." he had a smile in his eyes as if appealing to her clemency not to tax him with ascribing a humbler motive to the women than to the men, as he was only making talk and spoke from a natural deprecation of dangers to non-combatants who of right should be exempt from peril. his eyes, which were large, were of a color between gray and brown--darker than the one and lighter than the other. his hair was brown and smooth; he was slender and tall; his aquiline nose and finely cut lips gave a certain cast of distinction to his face, although the temples were slightly sunken and the thinness of his cheek revealed the outline of the jaw and chin which showed determination and force, despite his mild expression at present. josephine fixed an amazed stare upon his polished shoes as he crossed his legs, never having seen any men's foot-gear save a buskin of deer hide. "the men have a natural interest in warfare," suggested odalie, forlornly, seeking to be responsive to his conversational efforts. "warfare!" exclaimed captain demeré, with sudden animation. "contention with savages is not warfare! it cannot be conducted on a single recognized military principle." he went on to say that all military tactics counted for naught; the merely mechanical methods of moving bodies of troops were unavailable. discipline, the dexterities of strategy, an enlightened courage, and the tremendous force of _esprit de corps_ were alike nullified. the problem of indian fighting in america was then far greater than it has been since the scene has shifted to the plains, the densely wooded character of the tangled wilderness affording peculiar advantage to the skulking individual methods of the savage and embarrassing inconceivably the more cumbrous evolutions of organized bodies. but long before captain demeré's time, and often since, the futility of opposing regular scientific tactics to the alert wiles of the savage native in his own difficult country has been commented upon by observers of military methods, and doubtless recognized in the hard knocks of experience by those whose fate it has been to try again the experiment.[6] "as to military ethics," he added, "to induce the indian to accept and abide by the principles governing civilized warfare seems an impossibility. he cannot be constrained for a pledge of honor to forego an advantage. he will not respect his parole. he continually violates and sets at naught the provisions of his solemn treaty." odalie would not ask if the white man never broke faith with the red--if the indian had not been taught by example near at hand of what brittle stuff a treaty was made. it was not worth while to reason logically with a mere man, she said to herself, with a little secret sentiment of derision, which served to lighten a trifle the gloom of her mental atmosphere, and since she could not eat and little backwoods fifine's eyes had absorbed her appetite, it was just as well that hamish, who had been greatly interested in being shown over the fort by the jolly corporal o'flynn, appeared at the door with the intelligence that their quarters were assigned them. the courteous captain demeré handed her to the door, and she stepped out from the bizarre decorated mess-hall into the dark night, with the stars showing a chill scintillation as of the approach of winter in their white glitter high in the sky, and the looming bastion close at hand. the barracks were silent; "tattoo" had just sounded; the great gates were closed, and the high walls shut off the world from the deserted parade. naught was audible in all the night save the measured tread of a sentry walking his beat, and further away, seeming an echo, the step of another sentinel, while out in the wilderness the scream of a wildcat came shrilly on the wind from the darkness where alexander roamed with savage beasts and still more savage men far from the sweet security so trebly protected here. not even the flare of another big homelike fire in the cabin assigned to her could efface the impression of the bleak and dark loneliness outside the walls of the fort, and when the three were together, untrammeled by the presence of others, they were free to indulge their grief and their awful terror for husband and brother and father. they could not speak of it, but they sat down on a buffalo rug spread before the fire, and all three wept for the unuttered thought. the suspense, the separation of the little party, seemed unbearable. they felt that they might better have endured anything had they been together. perhaps it was well for the elder two that their attention was diverted now and again by the effort to console fifine in a minor distress, for with the ill-adjusted sense of proportion peculiar to childhood she had begun to clamor loudly too for her cat--her _mignonne_, her _douce fillette_ that she had brought so far in her arms or on her back. alas, poor fifine! to learn thus early how sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child! for indeed kitty might have seemed to lie under the imputation of having merely "played baby" in order to secure free transportation. at all events, she was a cat now, the only one in the fort, and for all she knew in the settlement. the _douce mignonne_ was in high elation, now walking the palisades, now peeping in at a loop-hole in the upper story of one of the block-houses where a sentinel was regularly on guard, being able to scan from the jutting outlook not only the exterior of the fort on two sides, but a vast extent of darkling country. in his measured tramp to and fro in the shadowy apartment lighted only by the glimmer of the night without, he suddenly saw a flicker at the loop-hole he was approaching, caught a transient glimpse of a face, the gleam of a fiery eye, and he nearly dropped his loaded firelock in amazement. "by george!" he exclaimed, "i thought that was a blarsted cat!" he had not seen one since he left charlestown a year before. he walked to the loop-hole and looked far down from the projecting wall and along the parapet of the curtain and the scarp to the opposite bastion with its tower-like block-house. nothing--all quiet as the grave or the desert. he could hear the river sing; he could see in the light of the stars, and a mere flinder of a moon, the clods of earth on the ground below,--naught else. for the _douce mignonne_, with her back all handsomely humped, had suddenly sprung aside and fled down the interior slope of the rampart into the parade and over to the cook's quarters neighboring the kitchen. she nosed gleefully about among pots and kettles, feeling very much at home and civilized to the verge of luxury; she pried stealthily, every inch a cat, into the arrangements for to-morrow's breakfast, with a noiseless step and a breathless purr, until suddenly a tin pan containing beans was tumultuously overturned, being within the line of an active spring. for the _douce fillette_ had caught a mouse, which few sweet little girls are capable of doing;--a regular domestic fireside mouse, a thing which the _douce fillette_ had not seen in many weeks. the stir in the neighboring cabin did not affright kitty, and when the officers' cook, a veritable african negro, suddenly appeared with an ebony face and the rolling whites of astonished eyes, she exhibited her capture and was rewarded by a word of commendation which she quite understood, although it was as outlandish as the gutturals of willinawaugh. when the night was nearly spent, a great star, splendidly blazing in the sorceries of a roseate haze, seemed to conjure into the blackness a cold glimmer of gray light above the high, bleak, serrated summit line of the mountains of the eastern horizon, showing here and there white blank intervals, that presently were revealed as stark snowy domes rising into the wintry silence of a new day. the resonant bugle suddenly sounded the reveillé along the far winding curves of the river, rousing greetings of morning from many a mountain crag, and before the responsive echoes of the forest were once more mute the parade was full of the commotion elicited by the beating of the drums; shadowy military figures were falling in line, and the brisk authoritative ringing voice of the first sergeant was calling the roll in each company. and on the doorstep of odalie's cabin, when josephine opened the door, sat the _douce mignonne_ with her most babified expression on her face, now and again mewing noiselessly, going through the motions of grief, and cuddling down in infantile style when with wild babbling cries of endearment the little girl swooped up maternally the renegade cat. footnotes: [footnote c: friendship! friendship!] chapter iv with the earliest flush of dawn hamish macleod was seeking one of the officers in order to solicit a guide to enable him to go in search of his brother with some chance of success. captain stuart, whom he finally found at the block-house in the northwestern bastion, was standing on the broad hearth of the great hall, where the fire was so brightly aflare that although it was day the place had all the illuminated effect of its aspect of last night. the officer's fresh face was florid and tingling from a recent plunge in the cold waters of the tennessee river. he looked at hamish with an unchanged expression of his steady blue eye, and drawing the watch from his fob consulted it minutely. "the hunters of the post," he said, still regarding it, "have been gone for more than half an hour. there is no use in trying to overtake them. they have their orders as to what kind of game they are to bring in." he smiled slightly, with the air of a man who in indulgent condescension would humor natural anxiety and overlook the effort of intermeddling, and as he returned the watch to his pocket, hamish felt dismissed from the presence. the sun was well over the great range of purple bronze mountains in the east, their snowy domes a-glister in the brilliance between the dark slopes below and the blue sky above, and the fort, as he came forth, was a scene of brisk activity. the parade ground had already been swept like a floor, and groups of soldiers were gathered about the barracks busily burnishing and cleaning their arms, pipe-claying belts and rotten-stoning buckles and buttons, and at the further end near the stables horses were in process of being groomed and fed; one of them, young and wild, broke away, and in a mad scamper, with tossing mane and tail, and head erect and hoofs scattering the gravel, plunged around and around the enclosure, baffling his groom. a drill-sergeant was busy with an awkward squad; another squad without arms, in charge of a corporal, was marching and marching, making no progress, but vigorously marking time, whether for exercise or discipline hamish could hardly determine, for he began to have a very awesome perception of the rigor of authority maintained in this frontier post. he had noticed--and the gorge of a freeman had risen at the sight--a soldier mounted high upon a trestle, facetiously called a horse, and he was well aware that this was by no means a new and a merry game. hamish wavered a little in his mental revolt against the powers that be, as he noticed the reckless devil-may-care look of the man. he was a ruddy young fellow; he had a broad visage, with a wide, facetious red-lipped mouth, a quick, blithe, brown eye, and a broad, blunt nose. hamish knew intuitively that this was the typical inhabitant, the native, so to speak, of the guard-house; his sort had ridden the wooden-horse, for many a weary hour in every country under the sun, and when an indian's tomahawk or a frenchman's bullet should clear the ranks of him, the gap would be filled by a successor so like him in spirit that he might seem a lineal descendant instead of a mere successor in the line. he had long ago been dubbed the "devil's dragoon," and he looked down with a good-humored glance at a bevy of his comrades, who from the door of the nearest log-cabin covertly cast gibes at him, calling out _sotto voce_, "right about wheel--trot!--march!" in another quarter of the parade the regular exercise was in progress, and hamish listened with interest to the voice of the officer as it rang out crisp and clear on the frosty air. "poise--firelock!" a short interval while the sun glanced down the gleaming barrels of the muskets. "cock--firelock!" a sharp metallic click as of many sounds blent into one. "take--aim!" a moment of suspense. "fire!" a resonant detonation of blank cartridges--and all the live echoes leaped in the woods, while the smoke drifted about the parade and glimmered prismatic in the sun, and then cleared away, escaping over the ramparts and blending with the timorous dissolving mists of the morning. several indians had come in through the open gate, some arrayed in feather or fur match-coats and others in buckskin shirt and leggings, with their blankets purchased from the traders drawn up about their ears; they were standing near the walls of one of the block-houses to see the drill. a certain expectancy hung upon this group as they watched the movements of the men now loading anew. "half-cock--firelock!" came the order in the peremptory voice of the officer. once more that sharp, metallic, unnerving click. "handle--cartridge!" a sudden swift facial expression went along the line with a formidable effect. with the simultaneous show of strong teeth it was as if each soldier had fiercely snarled like a wild beast. but each had only bitten the end of the cartridge. "prime!" the eyes of the indians followed with an unwinking, fascinated stare the swift, simultaneous movement of the rank as of one man, every muscle animated by the same impulse. "shut--pan!" once more the single sound as of many sounds. "charge with--cartridge!" the watchful eyes of the indians narrowed. "draw--rammer!" once more the loud, sharp, clash of metal rising to a menace of emphasis with the succeeding,-"ram down--cartridge!" "return--rammer!" and as hard upon the clatter of the ramrods, slipping back into their grooves, came the orders-"shoulder--firelock!" "advance--arms!" the cherokees drew a long breath as of the relief from the tension of suspense. they were evidently seeking to discern the utility of these strange military gyrations. this the indians, although always alert to perceive and adopt any advantage in arms or military method, despite their characteristic tenacity to their ancient customs in other matters, could not descry. they had, even at this early day, almost discarded the bow and arrow for the firelock, wherever or however it could be procured, but the elaborate details of the drill baffled them, and they regarded it as in some sort a mystery. their own discipline had always sufficed, and their military manoeuvres, their march in single file or widely extended lines, their skulking approach, stalking under cover from tree to tree, were better suited, as even some of their enemies thought, for military movements, than tactical precision, to the broken character of the country and the dense forest of the trackless wilderness. they noticed with kindling eyes a brisk reprimand administered to corporal o'flynn, when lieutenant gilmore called attention to the fact that one of the men had used three motions instead of the prescribed two motions in charging with cartridge, and two motions, instead of one, in ramming down cartridge. corporal o'flynn's mortification was painted in a lively red on his fresh irish cheek, for this soldier was of a squad whose tuition in the manual exercise had been superintended by no less a tactician than himself. "faith, sir," he said to his superior officer, "i don't know what ails that man. he has motion without intelligence. like thim windmills, ye'll remember, sir, we seen so much on the continent. he minds me o' thim in the way he whur-r-ls his ar-rms." the lieutenant--they had served together in foreign countries--laughed a trifle, his wrath diverted by the farcical suggestion, and the instant the command to break ranks had been given, corporal o'flynn, with the delinquent under close guard, convoyed him to the scene of the exploits of the awkward squad, where he might best learn to discard the free gestures of the windmills of the continent of europe. "to disgrace me afore the officers," said corporal o'flynn, "and i fairly responsible for ye! i larned ye all ye know--and for ye to show the leftenant how little 'tis! ye've got to quit that way of loading with ca'tridge with as many motions as an old jontleman feeling for his snuff-box! i'm fairly responsible for yez. i'm yer sponsor in this business. i feel like yer godfathers, an' yer godmothers, an' yer maiden aunt. i never seen a man so supple! ye have as much use of yer hands as if ye was a centipede!" the matter and manner of this discourse tried the gravity of the awkward squad, but no one dared to laugh, and corporal o'flynn himself was as grave as if it were a question of the weightiest importance involved, as he stood by and watched for a time the drill of the men. the indians turned their attentive eyes to captain stuart and captain demeré, who were both upon the terre-pleine at the shoulder-point of a bastion where one of the twelve cannon, mounted _en barbette_, looked grimly forth over the parapet. the gunners were receiving some instructions which stuart was giving in reference to serving the piece; now and again it was pointed anew; he handled the heavy sponge-staff as if in illustration; then stepped swiftly back, and lifted the match, as if about to fire the gun. the indians loitering in the shade watched the martial figure, the sun striking full on the red coat and cocked hat, and long, heavy queue of fair hair hanging on his shoulders, and as he stood erect, with the sponge-staff held horizontally in both hands, they turned and looked with a common impulse at one another and suddenly spat upon the ground. the sentry in a sort of cabin above the gate--a gate-house, so to speak--maintained a guard within as well as without, for an outer sentinel was posted on the crest of the counterscarp beyond the bridge; he kept his eye on the cherokees, but he did not note their look. he was not skilled in deciphering facial expression, nor did he conceive himself deputed to construe the grimaces of savages. gazing without for a moment, he turned back and cast a glance of kindly concern on hamish macleod, who was disconsolately strolling about, not daring to go back and encounter the reproaches of odalie, who doubtless thought him even now in the wilderness with a searching party, too urgent to admit of the time to acquaint her with so hasty a departure--and yet striving against his eagerness to go on this very errand, relying on the superior wisdom of the officers even while rebelling against it. all that he observed tended to confirm this reliance. how safe it was here! how trebly guarded! even to his callow experience it was most obvious that whatever fate held in store for this garrison, whose lives were intrusted to the wisdom and precaution of the commandant, surprise was not among the possibilities. he remembered anew poor sandy, far from these stanch walls, the very citadel of security, within which he felt so recreant; and as he thought again of the perils to which his brother was exposed, and a possibly impending hideous fate, he felt a constriction about his throat like the clutch of a hand. the tears rose to his eyes--and through them as he looked toward the gate he saw sandy coming into the fort! in the extremity of the revulsion of feeling hamish gave a sudden shrill yell that rang through the woods like a war-whoop. even the indians, still loitering in the diminishing shadow of the block-house, started at the sound and gazed at him amazed, as he dashed across the parade and flung his arms around his brother. sandy, who had had his own terrors to endure concerning the fate of his family, was not altogether appreciative of their terrors for his sake. he felt amply capable of taking care of himself, and if he were not--why, his scalp was not worth saving! he extricated himself with unflattered surprise from hamish's frantic embrace that was like the frenzied hug of a young bear and made his ribs crack. "that's enough, hamish; that's enough!" he said. "of course i'm safe, all right. that's enough." he advanced with what grace he could command after such an exhibition to shake hands with the two officers near the sally-port and thank them for the shelter the fort had afforded his family. and here was odalie,--for a good-natured soldier, one of the boat's crew of the previous evening, had instantly run to her cabin with the news of the arrival--restored to her normal poise in an instant, in the twinkling of an eye, by the shattering of her dismal forebodings in the glad reality of macleod's safety. so composed was her manner, so calmly happy, that captain stuart could not forbear to unmask the sham, and let the poor man know how he had been bewept yesterday at even. "we were very glad to take in the wanderers, although i cannot say it was a cheerful scene. i never realized until mrs. macleod reached the gate here the meaning of the phrase 'dissolved in tears.'" alexander looked anxiously at his wife--had she found the journey, then, so vexatious? "i was tired and dusty," she said demurely, as if in explanation. "my shoes--one of them was in tatters; and, sandy, i was _so_ ashamed." captain stuart stared at her for a moment and broke into a laugh. "that's putting the shoe on the other foot, at all events," he said. he and captain demeré, accompanied by the newcomer, turned into the block-house, in order to question sandy as to any information he might have been able to acquire concerning french emissaries, the disposition of the cherokees, the devastation of the virginia settlements, and any further news of general forbes and the fall of fort duquesne now called fort pitt. however, sandy had naught to report, save the angry threat with the tomahawk which gave way upon the assurance that the party was french. in the solitary journey with those who had resigned their boat to willinawaugh, he had experienced no worse treatment than the destruction of his pocket compass. with this at first they had been highly delighted, but some ten miles from the fort they had been joined by an indian who declared he had seen such things in carolina, doubtless among land-surveyors, and who stigmatized it as a "land-stealer," forthwith crushing it with his tomahawk. macleod had expected this revelation to bring about ill-feeling, but the party shortly met the hunters of the post, who had insisted on conducting him to the fort on suspicion of being a frenchman. these pioneers never forgot that day, a rich, languid day of the lingering st. martin's summer-tide. what though in the early morn the frost had lain in rime as white as snow on the bare branches of the great trees where now the yellow sunshine dripped in liquid light! a tender haze like that of spring suffused the depths of the forest, the gleaming, glancing reaches of the river, the level summit-lines of the great massive purple mountains of the west, and half concealed, and shifting half revealed, always elusively, the fine azure snow-capped domes against the pearl-tinted eastern sky. what though the flowers were dead, the leaves had fled, the woods were bare and rifled,--when the necromancy of the powers of the air filled all the winter day with sweet, subtle odors that excelled the fragrance of summer, as a memory might outvie the value of the reality, seeming to exhale now from the forest, and again from the river, and anon from some quality of the beneficent sunshine, or to exist in ethereal suspension in the charmed atmosphere. nature was in such blessed harmony, full of graceful analogy; a bird would wing his way aloft, his shadow careering through the sun-painted woods below; a canoe with its swift duplication in the water would fly with its paddles like unfeathered wings down the currents of the river; those exquisite traceries of the wintry woods, the shadows of the leafless trees, would lie on a sandy stretch like some keen etching, as if to illustrate the perfection of the lovely dendroidal design and proportion of the growth it imaged; now and again the voice of herds of buffalo rose thunderously, muffled by distance; a deer splashed into the river a little above the fort, and gallantly breasting the current, swam to the other side, while a group of soldiers standing on the bank watched his progress and commented on his prowess. no shot followed him; the larders were filled, and orders had been given to waste no powder and ball. the newcomers were made most heartily welcome in the settlement near the fort, as newcomers were apt to be in every pioneer hamlet, whatever their quality; for the frontiersmen, in their exposed situation, earnestly appreciated the strength in numbers. but this gratulation was of course infinitely increased when the arrivals were, like these, people of character, evidently so valuable an addition to the community. finally several of the settlers persisted in carrying off sandy to look at a fertile nook where the river swung round in a bend, earnestly recommending the rich bottom lands for the growth of corn, and the crest of the hill with a clear free-stone spring for that home he sought to plant in the far west. hamish went too,--he could not bear sandy to be out of his sight and was "tagging" after him as resolutely and as unshake-off-ably as when he was four and sandy was twelve years of age. in their absence odalie and josephine and the _douce mignonne_ sat on the doorstep of their latest entertainer, and watched the shadows and sunshine shift in the woods, and listened to the talk of their hostess. and here was where the trail of the serpent began to be manifest; for this old woman was a professed gossip, and odalie speedily learned the points of view from which the settlement about fort loudon ceased to present the aspect of the earlier paradisaic era. mrs. halsing had a hard, set visage, and was very shrewd,--none the worse gossip for that,--and went straight to the weak point, and unraveled the tangle of mystery in any subject that presented itself for discussion. she was thin and angular and uncultivated, and had evidently come of people who had been used to small advantages in education and breeding. equally humble of origin was another of odalie's future neighbors, with a sort of homespun dress made after the fashion called a "short gown," a red petticoat, and a pair of moccasons in lieu of shoes. her face was as broad as the moon, and as bland. much smiling had worn dimples around her mouth instead of wrinkles in her forehead. she, too, had a keen gleam of discernment in her eyes, but tempered with a perception of the sweetly ludicrous in life, which converted folly into the semblance of fun. she seemed to love her comfort, to judge by her leisurely motions and the way her arms fell into easy foldings, but the wife of a pioneer could never have lived at ease in those days. she sat opposite mrs. halsing, by the cabin door, on a bench which the hostess had vacated in her favor, adopting instead an inverted tub, and although admitting as true much that was said, mrs. beedie advanced palliating theories which, paradoxically enough, while they did not contradict the main statement, had all the effect of denial. for her part, said mrs. halsing, she did not see what anybody who was safe in virginia or carolina, or anywhere else, would come to this country for. she wouldn't, except that her husband was possessed! the sight of a road put him into a "trembly fit." he was moving west to get rid of civilization, and he was as uncivilized as a "bar himself, or an injun." odalie learned that a number of the men were wild, roving, roaring fellows, who came here because they hated law and order; then, without contradiction, mrs. beedie's exposition tended to show that it was a new country with splendid prospects and they desired to take advantage of its opening opportunities; some of them being already poor, sought here cheaper homes, with more chance for development. and, pursuing the interpretation of her side of the shield, mrs. halsing detailed the fact that some people love change and adventure, because no matter what the lord gave 'em they wouldn't fold their hands and be thankful. were the rush people poor and oppressed in carolina? mighty well off, they seemed to her--had cows, if the wolves hadn't got 'em, and had owned property and held their heads mighty high where they came from, and claimed kin with well-to-do people in england. people said captain stuart said he knew who they were--but the lord only knew what captain stuart knew! then mrs. halsing further unfolded the fact that mrs rush's husband had been the son of a bishop, but had got among the dissenters, and had been cast out like a prodigal, because he took to preaching. "preachin' being in the blood, i reckon," mrs. beedie palliated. thereupon he emigrated to america and was seized with a mission to the indians, that fastened upon him like a plague; and he lost his scalp and his life--not even a red indian would tolerate the doctrine he set up as the word! and mrs. halsing pursed her lips with a truly orthodox fixity. and now we have no religion at the fort and the settlement. but here mrs. beedie took up her testimony with unction and emphasis. we had captain stuart! mrs. halsing gave a sudden cry of derision like the abrupt squawk of a jay-bird. captain stuart was not a humble man. that back of his was never bent! she wondered if his heart had ever felt the need of aught. "yes," mrs. beedie affirmed. "when one of the soldiers died of the pleurisy last winter in the fort and captain demeré was ill himself, captain stuart read the service all solemn and proper, and had men to march with arms reversed and fire a volley over the grave." mrs. halsing rose to the occasion by demanding what good such evidences of religion might do in such a lot as there was at the fort. forgetting her scorn of the bishop's son, who had taken to methodism and indians, she set forth the fact that the whole settlement was given to dances--that the settlers with their wives and daughters, not content with dances at home, must needs go to the fort on state and special occasions, such as christmas, and there participate in the ball, as they called it, given in the officers mess-hall. they went in daylight, and did not return till daylight, and the fiddle it sang the whole night through! and cards--the soldiers played cards, and the settlers too; and the officers, they played "loo," as they called it, as if that made it any better. even captain demeré! this latter phrase occurred so frequently in mrs. halsing's prelection that it created a sort of mitigating effect, and made the enormity it qualified gain a trifle of respectability from the fact that captain demeré countenanced it. odalie knew already that he was the commandant, and it was plain to be seen that captain demeré stood first in mrs. halsing's estimation. and the officers all, she declared, the captains, the frisky lieutenants, and the ensigns, all drank tafia. "when they can git it," interpolated mrs. beedie, with twinkling eyes. "they are deprived, i will say, by the slowness and seldomness of the express from over the mountains. but if they are a sober set, it is against their will, and that i do maintain," mrs. halsing added, turning an unflinching front toward mrs. beedie. then resuming her dissertation to odalie:-"but there's one thing that rests on my mind. i can't decide which one it belongs to, captain stuart or captain demeré. did ye see--i know ye did--a lady's little riding-mask on the shelf of the great hall. ye must have seen it,"--lowering her voice,--"a love token?" "oh," said odalie, in a casual tone and with a slight shrug of the shoulders, not relishing the intrusive turn of the disquisition, "a souvenir, perhaps, from the colonies or over seas." "la, now!" cried mrs. halsing, baffled and disconcerted, "you're as french as a frog!" recovering herself, she resumed quickly. "it's the deceitfulness of captain stuart that sets me agin him. ye must be obleeged to know he can't abide the injuns. he keeps watch day and night agin 'em. yet they think everything o' captain stuart! they _all_ prize him. now don't ye know such wiles as he hev got for them must be deceit?" odalie made an effort to say something about magnetism, but it seemed inadequate to express the officer's bonhomie, when mrs. halsing continued: "ye never know _how_ to take captain stuart," she objected. "before folks he'll behave to captain demeré as ceremonious and polite as if they had just met yesterday; but if you hear them talking off together, in another minute he'll be rollicking around as wild as a buck, and calling him 'quawl--i say quawl!'" she evidently resented this familiarity to the dignified officer, and odalie pondered fruitlessly on the possible ridicule involved in being called "quawl." in this remote frontier fort a strong personal friendship had sprung up between the two senior officers which not only promoted harmony in their own relations, but a unanimity of sentiment in the exertion of authority that redoubled its force, for the garrison was thus debarred from the support on a vexed question of the suspicion of a dissentient mind in high quarters. stuart had chanced to address his friend as "paul," in a fraternal aside on an unofficial occasion, and one or two of the indians overhearing it, and unaccustomed to the ceremony of a surname, had thus accosted him,--to stuart's delight in the incongruity that this familiarity should be offered to the unapproachable demeré, rather than to himself, whose jovial methods might better warrant the slack use of a christian name. moreover, "paul" was transmogrified as "quawl," the cherokees never definitely pronouncing the letter p; and thereafter in moments of expansive jollity stuart permitted himself the liberty of imitation in saying "quawl," and sometimes "captain quawl." as odalie puzzled over this enigma, mrs. halsing became more personal still, having noticed during the pause the crystal clearness of her visitor's eyes, the fairness of her complexion, the delicacy of her beauty, her refinement, and the subtle suggestion of elegance that appertained to her manner, and-"how old be you?" asked mrs. halsing, bluntly. "twenty-one," replied odalie, feeling very responsible and matronly. "child," said mrs. halsing, solemnly, "why did you ever come to the frontier?" "we were lacking somewhat in this world's goods. and we wish to make a provision for our little girl. we are young and don't care for privation." "you ain't fitten for the frontier." "i walked all the way here from new river," cried odalie, "and not by the direct route, either--not by the old 'warrior's path.' we came by way of the setting sun, as willinawaugh has it." "you can't work," mrs. halsing's eyes narrowed as she measured the figure, slight and delicate despite its erect alertness. "i can spin two hanks of yarn a day, six cuts to the hank," boasted odalie. "i can weave seven yards of woolen cloth a day--my linen is all ten hundred. and i can hoe corn like a squaw." "that's what you'll be in this country--a squaw! all women are. you'll have to hoe all the corn you can plant." mrs. halsing shook her head mournfully from side to side. "i'd like to see the coast towns agin. if i was as young as you i'd not tarry, i'd not tarry in the wilderness." odalie was all unaffected by her arguments, but this talk, so deadly to the progressive spirit of the pioneer settlements, and so rife then and later, was, she knew, inimical to content. the disaffection of those who remained to complain wrought more evil against the permanence of the settlements than the desertion of the few who quitted the frontier to return to the towns of the provinces. she welcomed, therefore, with ardor the reappearance of sandy and hamish from their tour of investigation of the site of their new home, and her eyes sparkled responsively as she noted their enthusiasm. she was glad to be again hanging on sandy's right arm, while hamish hung on his left, and fifine, with her _fillette toute chérie_, toddled on in front. very cheerful the fort looked to odalie as they approached. the afternoon dress-parade was on. the men were once more in full uniform, instead of the pioneer garb of buckskin shirt and leggings and moccasons which had won such universal approval, and was so appropriate to general use that it was almost recognized as a fatigue uniform. the sun was reddening upon the still redder ranks of scarlet coats that took even a higher grade of color from the effect of the white belts and the burnished metallic glitter of the gun-barrels. a different effect was afforded by the dress of a small body of militia from the provinces that had recently reinforced the garrison, whose dark blue had a rich but subsidiary tone and abated the glare of the ranks of scarlet, even while heightening the contrast. the indians, always gathering from their towns up the river to revel in this feast of color and spectacle of military pomp, so calculated to impress them with the superior capacity and knowledge of the arts of warfare possessed by the white race, had mustered in stronger numbers than usual and stood in rows about the walls of the block-houses or along the interior slopes of the rampart. in groups near the gate were some of the cherokee women, huddled in blankets, although one wore a civilized "short gown" that had a curiously unrelated look to her physiognomy and form. their countenances were dull and lack-luster, and the elder hag-like and hideous, but as the new settlers passed the group of squaws a broadside of bright black eyes, a fresh, richly tinted, expressionless, young face, and a string of red beads above a buckskin garb that was a sort of tunic, half shirt, half skirt, only partly revealed by the strait folds of a red blanket girt about a slender, erect figure, reminded the observant odalie of the claim to a certain sort of beauty arrogated for the youthful among these denizens of the woods--a short-lived beauty, certainly. fifine had caught sight of other children, the families of the settlers having gathered here to witness the parade. here, too, were many of the men; now a hunter, leaning on his rifle, with a string of quail, which he called "pat-ridges," tied to one another with thongs detached from the fringes of his buckskin shirt and looking themselves like some sort of feathered ornament, as they hung over his shoulder and almost to his knee, and a brace of wild turkeys, young and tender, at his belt; another, attracted from the field by the military music and the prospect of the rendezvous of the whole settlement, still carried a long sharp knife over his shoulder, with which he had been cutting cane, clearing new ground. a powerful fellow leaning on an ax was exhibiting to another and an older settler a fragment of wood he had brought, and both examined with interest the fiber; this was evidently a discovery, the tree being unknown in the eastern section, for these people were as if transplanted to a new world. odalie's attention was suddenly arrested by a man of gigantic build, wearing the usual buckskin garb, and with a hard, stern, fierce face, that seemed somehow peculiarly bare; he wore no queue, it is true, for at this period many of the hunters cut their hair for convenience, and only the conservative retained that expression of civilization. under his coonskin cap his head was tied up in a red cotton handkerchief, and as he stood leaning against the red-clay wall of the rampart, talking gravely to another settler, the children swarmed up the steep interior slope of the fortifications behind him and from this coign of vantage busied themselves, without let or hindrance, in pulling off his cap, untying the handkerchief, and with shrill cries of excitement and interest exposing to view the bare poll. for the man had been scalped and yet had escaped with his life. "_quelle barbarie! oh, quelle barbarie!_" murmured odalie, wincing at the sight. years ago it must have chanced, for the wounds had healed; but it had left terrible scars which the juvenile element of the settlement prized and loved to trace as one might the map of the promised land, were such charts known to mere earthly map-makers. a frequent ceremony, this, evidently, for the shrill cries were of recognition rather than discovery, and when the unknown became a feature it was as a matter of speculation. "here! here!" exclaimed one wiry being of ten,--his limited corporeal structure, too, was incased in buckskin, the pioneer mother, like other mothers, feeling no vocation toward works of supererogation in the way of patching, and having discovered that skins of beasts resist the clutch of briers and the destructive propensities characteristic of callow humanity better than cloth, even of the stoutest homespun weave,--"here's where the tomahawk knocked him senseless!" "here's where the scalping-knife began!" cried a snaggle-toothed worthy, from the half-bent posture in which he had been surveying the forlorn cicatrices of the bare poll, and digging his heels into the red-clay slope to sustain his weight. "no, no--here!" advanced another theorist. odalie turned her head away; it was too horrible!--or she would have seen the tugging climb of josephine and her triumphant emergence on the slope amongst the boys. they looked at her in surprise for a moment, but without resentment, for it was too good an opportunity to rehearse the history that so enchanted them. "here, here," the shrill voices began anew. "here's where the tomahawk hit him a clip!" "an' here," shrieked out another, seizing upon fifine's chubby little hand that her own soft finger might have the privilege of exploring the wound, "here's where the scalping-knife circled him round!" "the injun begun here first, but his knife was dull, an' he had to mend his holt!" screeched a third. "an',--an', 'n," vociferated another, almost speechless in the contemplation of so bloody a deed, "ter git a full purchase onto it the injun held him down by putting a foot on his breast!" he lifted his own bare foot, itself a cruel and savage sight, scarred with the scratching of briers and stone-bruises and the results of what is known as dew-poison--he called it "jew-pizen," and so do those of his ilk to this good day,--and aped the gesture so present to his imagination. fifine knew only too well what it all meant, as her soft infantile face, incongruously maternal with compassion, bent above the hideous record of a hideous deed. "all this here," cried the first expositor, sparing a sustaining hand to hold her by the elbow,--for her weight not being sufficient to drive her heels into the clay slope, she had given imminent signs of slipping down the incline,--"all this here top of his 'ead ain't the sure enough top; the injuns scalped that off. this is just sich top as growed since; he ain't got no real top to his 'ead." fifine's baby hands traveled around this substitute top; her mouth quivered pitifully; then she bent down and kissed the grim wounds in several places with a sputter of babbling commiseration. at this moment hamish caught sight of her and advanced in great contrition. he flushed to the roots of his hair as he spoke to the man, for as a rule those few fortunate yet unfortunate persons who had chanced to survive the cruel disaster of being scalped were exceedingly sensitive on the subject of their disfigurement--it was usually a subject not to be mentioned. but this settler looked at hamish in surprise as the boy said, "pray excuse the little girl, sir. i had lost sight of her and didn't know she was so vexatious with her curiosity." "no, no," returned the stalwart giant, in a singularly languid voice, mild and deep and pacific to the last degree. "it pleases the chil'n, an' don't hurt me." he was busying himself in tying up the horrible exhibition in his red handkerchief preparatory to putting on his coonskin cap, for the brisk interest the children took in disrobing, so to speak, his scalpless head, did not extend to the task of properly accoutering it again, and repairing the disarray they themselves had made, for they had scampered off through the great gate of the fort. his voice gave hamish a sort of intimation how they had had the hardihood to venture on these familiarities with one so formidable of aspect. hamish learned afterward that he had lost his scalp rather through this quality of quiet indulgence, so open to treachery, than to inability to keep it. a terrible fighter he was when he was roused, though even then his utmost prowess was exerted without anger. in the indian fights his friends had often exhorted him to scalp the wretches he slew, as he had been scalped, and thus complete his revenge, for the indians believed that a scalpless person would be excluded from the happy hunting-grounds of heaven, their fury thus following their foes from this world into the next. "let 'em have all the heaven they can git," he would remark, wiping his bloody knife upon the mane of his horse. "i expec' to smoke the pipe o' peace with all i meet on canaan's shore,--cherokees, creeks, or chickasaws,--reg'lars, millish, or settlers." for he was intensely religious and had a queer conglomeration of doctrines that he had picked up here and there in his rambles through this western world. he embraced alike the theory of purgatory and the presbyterian tenets of predestination and justification. he had acquired the words of "hail mary!" from a french catholic with whom he had hunted on the banks of the sewanee, as the indians called it, and chauvanon, as the gallic tongue metamorphosed the name,--perhaps these two were the first white men that ever trod those bosky ways,--and he believed faithfully in total immersion as promulgated by the baptists. he was all for peace, like the quakers,--peace at any price; and yet when for the entertainment of the boys at a friendly fireside he was urged to recount how many men he had fought and killed, the long list failed only from failure of memory. hamish expected to hear no more of him after they parted, and he experienced a sort of repulsion which found an echo in odalie's exclamation, when captain demeré proposed that gilfillan should live with them. "i should recommend a strong stockade if you go as far from the fort as the bend of the river," the officer commented, when the spot they had selected was made known to him. "and with only two gun men," he cogitated, as he paused. "it would not be safe." then brightening,--for the officers of the post sought to facilitate in every way the prospects of the settlers and the extension of the settlement,--"take gilfillan with you; he's an odd fish, but he is equal to any four men, and he has never quite settled down since the massacre on the yadkin where he lost his wife and children. take gilfillan." a group from the fort strolled along the river-bank, and the ripples were red under the red sunset sky, and the eastern mountains were blue and misty, and the western were purple and massive and distinct, and though sedges were sere and the birds gone, summer was in the air, and they talked of hope and home. captain demeré's suggestion broke discordantly on the serenity of the hour and the theme. "oh! oh!" cried odalie, "and have fifine forever tracing the map of anguish all around that terrible head, never tiring of 'here's where the tomahawk hit him a clip!' and 'here's where the scalping-knife began!'" "what a consideration!" exclaimed the officer, with some asperity. "and if you will excuse me, how very french! the man's rifle--the finest marksman i ever saw--is the point for your consideration. and you find his looks not convenable." "fifine, herself, will be less likely to have a head like his, perhaps, if he will come and strengthen our station," suggested alexander macleod, astutely. "oh,--yes, yes!" assented odalie, with a sudden expression of fright. "besides," said captain stuart, with his bluff nonchalance, "the river-bend will be so easily famous for the good looks of the stationers that a trifle of discount upon gilfillan will not mar the sum total." "and then," said captain demeré, "he is a very exceptional kind of man--you are fortunate to find such a man--for a single man, in the settlements. you would not like it if he were one of the rattling, roaring blades that such irresponsible single fellows are here, usually." "mighty sprightly company, some of these rufflers," remarked captain stuart, with a twinkling eye. "rarely good company," he averred. "and besides," added captain demeré, whose extreme sensitiveness enabled him better to appreciate her sentiment than the others, despite his rebuke, "you need not have him in the same house with you; you can have two cabins within the stockade and connected by the palisades from one house to the other. otherwise, in the present state of feeling among the cherokees it would hardly be safe so far from the fort." it had been explained that alexander was especially solicitous concerning the choice of his location, since the quality of the land had not been well selected in his former home on new river. here he had found in a comparatively small compass the ideal conjuncture for those growths so essential to the pioneer who must needs subsist on the produce of his own land. in that day and with the extremely limited and difficult means of transportation, no deficit could be filled from the base of a larger supply. the projected station, he thought, would be as safe as any other place outside the range of the guns of the fort, but he welcomed the idea of numbering among its denizens the hardy hunter, gilfillan, and cared no more for his bald head than he did for the broad, smooth, handsome plait of captain stuart's fair hair. macleod had all the desperate energy of one who seeks to retrieve good fortune, although no great deal of money was involved in his earlier disasters. his father had had shipping interests, and the loss of a barque and her cargo at sea had sufficed to swamp the young man's financial craft on shore. as to the possessions of his wife's family--they were a few inconsiderable heirlooms, some fine traditions, growing now a trifle stale and moldy with age, and a brave, proud spirit in facing the world, the result of the consciousness of having a fine old record to sustain; her forefathers had been of that class of refugees from religious persecution whose property was of such a character and whose emergency was so imminent that they had fled from france with little else than the garments in which they stood. they had not prospered since, nor multiplied, and odalie was nearly the last of the family. a certain innate refinement in both, macleod's gravity and dignity of carriage and the distinction of odalie's manner, notwithstanding its simplicity, marked their exceptional quality to a discerning judgment, despite their precarious plight. the two officers had grave doubts as to the wisdom of their adventuring so boldly in the quest of fortune in these savage wildernesses, but both felt that it was well for the community that harbored them, and each knew of isolated instances elsewhere when such folly had been transmuted into a potent sapience by the bounty of uncovenanted good luck. they had experienced a sort of pleasure in the advent of the newcomers, for sandy's intelligence and information were far above the average, and they were more or less isolated in this remote frontier post from those dainty charms of toilette and manner which odalie would have found means to practice were she cast away on a desert island, all the more marked, perhaps, from their demure simplicity and a sort of unstudied elegance. it was only a serge gown she wore, of the darkest red hue,--murrey-colored, she called it,--but all faint vestige of the journey had vanished, and over the long, straight bodice of those days was a cape or fichu of fine white cambric, embellished with a delicate tambour, one of those graceful accomplishments which her "grand'maman" had brought from france, and transmitted to a docile pupil as among the arts which should adorn a woman. the deep red and the vivid white of this costume comported well with her fine dark-brown hair, rising straight from her forehead in a heavy lustrous undulation, and drawn back to be gathered into a dense knot, her fair smooth complexion, the contemplative yet suave expression of her large dark eyes, and their heavy, almost diplomatic eyelashes,--for they implied so much that they did not say, and were altogether the most effective feature of that most effective face. often sandy, who had taken more notice of those eyes and eyelashes than any one else in the world,--although they had not been unremarked in general,--could not decipher what she meant by them, and at other times he marveled why she should say so much with them instead of with the means which nature had bestowed for the expression of her views,--of which, too, she made ample use. those eyelashes, for instance, indicated disdain, reproof, reproach, and yet a repudiation of comprehension when captain stuart said significantly that he hoped she found her footing quite satisfactory to-day--she was wearing a spruce pair of prunella brodequins which had come in the pack. with his bluff raillery he inquired of her how she had the conscience to grudge her husband the triumph of knowing that she had shed a tun of tears for his absence yesterday and had demanded of the commandant of the post that the whole strength of the garrison should instantly take the field to search for him. "for discipline," she answered, with placid solemnity. "if he knew that i care enough to weep for him instead of for my shabby shoes, my authority would be shattered. and a mutiny, under any circumstances, is not pretty." the river carried the officer's jovial laughter far along the lapsing current that was growing steely now, reflecting a pale gray sky of very luminous tone, beneath which the primeval woods were dark and gloomy, and the mountains on the east loomed but dimly through the gray mists, while on the west the summit-line was hard and darkly distinct. it was winter, for all the still air; no sound of bird, no chirring of cicada, no rustle of leaf. the voice of the river rose quite alone in the silence, and a single star seemed to palpitate in a white agitation as it listened. and when the party sat down on the rocky ledges of the river-bank, captain demeré was beside odalie, and they talked not of this new country lying before them, with the unread, unrecorded mystery of its past, and the unsolved, impenetrable question of its future, but of his own people. with her delicate tact she had evaded the continual occupation of the general attention with her experiences and expectations, and the details of her new home, and led him to speak of himself and his own interests, which he was insensibly brought to do with little disguise, so potent were the reminiscent effects of the murrey-colored gown, and the dainty freshness of the cambric fichu, and the delicate feminine attraction that hung about her like an exquisite fragrance, and seemed, because of her lack of arrogation, less peculiar to herself than some sweet quality appertaining to the whole species of womankind. she noted how the future of men like these is not with the future of the country. they were not to participate in the prosperity which their presence here might foster. while all the others looked forward they looked backward, or perhaps aside, as at a separate life. such is the part a garrison must always play. she doubted if many felt it. with mrs. halsing, she, too, marveled if captain stuart felt the need of aught. but demeré, looking into the past as the tide of reminiscence rose, said to a sympathetic heart a thousand things of home. trifles came back, hitherto forgotten; sorrows seared over by time; old jests that had outworn the too frequent laugh at last; resolutions failing midway, half-hearted; friends heretofore dead even to memory; old adventures conjured up anew; affections lingering about an old home, like the scent of roses when the fallen petals have left but the bare stalk; vanished joys, reviviscent with a new throb that was more like pain than pleasure. and if he did not look to the future that sweet december night of saint martin's summer by the placid tennessee river, perhaps it was as well,--oh, poor captain demeré! chapter v the next day ushered in a crisis in the affairs of the would-be stationers--the house-raising began. all the men of the settlement gathered to the fore, and the cabins--a substantial double-cabin the larger was, and the other, one room and a loft--went up as if by magic. the stockade, boles of stout young trees sawed off in lengths of twenty feet and sharply pointed at the upper end, the other end deeply sunken into the ground, began to grow apace. the spring was within the enclosure--a point of vast importance in that day, since in times of danger from the indians it was not necessary to sally forth from the protection of the stockade for the indispensable water-supply for household and cattle. the prospects of many an early station were blighted by overlooking in a period of comparative peace and comfort this urgent advantage, and many a life was taken during some desperate sortie with piggins and pails by the defenders of the stockade, who could have held out valiantly against the savage except for the menace of death by thirst. the officers had urged this point upon the pioneers. "of course in any emergency," demeré argued, "the forces at the fort would relieve you at once. but the true military principle ought to govern even in such a minor stronghold. an unfailing water-supply ought to be a definitely recognized necessity in every military post subject to beleaguerment. otherwise the station can be held only very temporarily; one can lay in provisions and stand a siege, but drouth means death, for surrender is massacre." nevertheless, eastward at the time, and later in westward settlements, this obvious precaution was often neglected and the obvious disaster as often ensued. the woodland spring within the stockade was a charming and rocky spot with no suggestion of flowing water till one might notice that the moss and mint beneath a gigantic tree were moist; then looking under a broad, flat, slab-like ledge might be descried a deep basin four feet in diameter filled with water, crystal, clear, and brown in the deep shadow--brown and liquid as the eyes of some water-nymph hidden among the rocks and the evergreen laurel. and, oh joy! the day when odalie kindled her own fire once more on her own hearth-stone--good, substantial flagging; when traversing the passage from one room to another she could look down through the open gate of the stockade at the silvery rushing of the tennessee in its broad expanse under the blue sky, giving, as it swirled around, a long perspective, down the straight and gleaming reach before it curved anew. and oh, the moment of housewifely pride when the slender stock of goods was unpacked and once more the familiar articles adjusted in their places, her flax wheel in the chimney corner, her china ranged to its best advantage on the shelf; and often did she think about the little blue jug that came from france and marvel what had been its fate! all her linen that was saved, the pride of her heart, made, too, its brave show. she had a white cloth on her table, albeit the table seemed to have much ado to stand alone since its legs were of unequal length, and white counterpanes on her beds, and gay curtains at the windows opening within the stockade--the other side had but loop-holes--on which birds of splendid plumage, cut from east indian chintz, had been overcast on the white dimity, and which looked when the wind stirred them, for there was no glass and only a batten shutter, as if all the winged denizens of the brilliant tropics were seeking entrance to this happy bower; the room had an added woodland suggestion because of the bark adhering to the logs of the walls, for the timbers of these primitive houses were unhewn, although the daubing and the chinking were stout and close, and with the aid of the great flaring fires stood off jack frost with a very valiant bluff. so many things had she brought in small compass. when the fire was a-flicker on a dull wintry afternoon, and the snow a-whirl outside, and the tropical birds quite still on their shadowy perches against the closed batten shutters, odalie, hamish, fifine, and the cat were wont to congregate together and sit on the buffalo rug spread on the puncheon floor beside the hearth, and explore sundry horns of buffalo or elk in which many small articles of varying degrees of value had been compactly packed. they all seemed of an age--and this a young age--when the joyous exclamations arose upon the recognition of sundry treasured trifles whose utility had begun to be missed. "my emery bag!" her eyes dewy with delight, "and oh, my cake of wax!" "and lord!" exclaimed hamish, "there's my bullet-mould--whoever would have thought of that!" "and your new ribbon; 'tis a very pretty piece," and odalie let the lustrous undulations catch the firelight as she reeled it out. "the best taffeta to tie up your queue." [illustration: "and oh, the moment of housewifely pride!"] "i don't intend to plait my hair in a queue any more," hamish declared contemptuously. "the men in this country," he continued with a lofty air, "have too much men's work to do to busy themselves with plaiting hair and wearing a bobbing pig-tail at their ears." he shook his own dangling curls as he spoke. fifine babbled out an assortment of words with many an ellipsis and many a breathy aspiration which even those accustomed to the infant infirmities of her tongue could with difficulty interpret. both odalie and hamish, bending attentive eyes upon her, discerned at last the words to mean that mr. gilfillan had no hair to plait. at this hamish looked blank for a moment and in consternation; odalie exclaimed, "oh, oh!" but fifine infinitely admired mr. gilfillan, and nothing doubted him worthy of imitation. "i'll have none, but for a different reason. i'll cut my lovely locks close with odalie's shears as soon as she finds them," hamish declared. he did not dream that they were already found and bestowed in a safe nook in a crevice between the chinking where they would not be again discovered in a hurry, for he had earlier expressed his determination to forsake the gentility of long hair in emulation of sundry young wights, the roaring blades of single men about the settlement. odalie was too tactful to remonstrate. "and oh!" she exclaimed with a sort of ecstasy. "my pouncet-box! how sweet! _delicieux!_" she presented the gold filigree at the noses successively of hamish and fifine and the cat, all of whom sniffed in polite ecstasy, but kitty suddenly wiped her nose with her paw several times and then began to wash her face. "my poppet! my poppet!" cried fifine, ecstatically, as a quaint and tiny wooden doll of a somewhat dutch build and with both arms stretched out straight was fished out. she snuggled it up to her lips in rapture, then showed it to the cat, who evidently recognized it, and as it was danced seductively before her on the buffalo rug, put out her paw and with a delicate tentative gesture and intent brow was about to play with it after her fashion of toying with a mouse, when one of her claws caught in a mesh of the doll's bobinet skirt. now the doll's finery, while limited in compass to minuteness, was very fine, and as josephine's short shriek of indignation, "_quelle barbarie!_" arose on the air, the cat turned around carrying the splendidly arrayed poppet off on her unwilling claw--to be lost, who knew where, in the wilderness! the frantic little owner seized the tail of the _mignonne toute chérie_, which sent up a wail of poignant discordance; the romping hamish, with a wicked mimicry of the infantile babbling cry, "_quelle barbarie!_" impeded the progress of fifine by catching the skirt of her little jacket, called a josie; whereupon odalie, imitating his dislocated french accent and boyish hoarseness in the exclamation, "_quelle barbarie!_" laid hold upon his long curly hair, held together by a ribbon as an apology for a pig-tail. there ensued an excited scramble around on the buffalo rug before the fire, during which the horn was turned over and some of its small treasures escaped amidst the long fur. this brought odalie to a pause, for the lost articles were buttons of french gilt, and they must be found in the fur and counted; for did they not belong to sandy's best blue coat, and could not be dispensed with? in the course of the merry-go-round the cat's claw had become disentangled from the doll's frock. fifine had released the clutch of reprisal on the cat's tail. hamish had been visited with a fear that the end of fifine's josie might give way in rents before her obstinacy would relax; and odalie had not the heart to pull his hair with more cruelty than she had heretofore indulged. so the magic circle gave way by its own impulse as it had formed, and all the heads were once more bent together in earnest absorption in the search and the subsequent disclosures of the buffalo horn. such choice symposia as these were usually reserved for the dusk of the afternoon in bad weather when the outdoor work was done, and odalie--her house all in order--needed more light for her other vocations. it was quite incredible how soon a loom was set up and warping-bars constructed, and all the details in motion of that pioneer home life, which added the labor and interests of domestic manufacture to the other absorbing duties of the housewife that have survived in these times of machinery and delegated responsibility. these were the holiday moments of the day, but once when the mother and the little girl and the cat sat intent upon the rug, their treasures spread before them, odalie's face paled and her heart almost sprang into her mouth as she heard hamish's step outside, quick and disordered. as he burst into the room she knew by his eyes that something of grave import had happened. and yet, as she faced him speechless, he said nothing. she noted his uncaring casual glance at that potent fascinator, the buffalo horn, and his hasty, unsettled gesture. he seemed resolved not to speak--then he suddenly exclaimed solemnly:-"odalie, there is the prettiest creature in this settlement that you ever saw in your life--and--the gracefullest!" "a fawn?" said the mercurial odalie, who recovered her poise as suddenly as it was shaken. he looked at her in a daze for a moment. "a fawn? what absurdity!" "nothing less than a dear, i must needs be sure." he apprehended her sarcasm. then, too absorbed to be angry, he reverted to himself. "oh," he cried with bitterness, "why do you let me go about in worshipful company with my hair like this?--" he clutched at his tousled locks. "yes--yes, i see. it always goes to the head," said odalie, demurely. "don't laugh at me," he exclaimed, "but how had you the heart--and sandy's hair always in such trim-wise, and you and fifine like people of fashion." odalie could but laugh in truth; she had known such splendors as colonial life at that day could present and she was well aware how the ill-equipped wife of a pioneer on the furthest frontier failed of that choice aspect. "i thought," she said, still laughing, "that you were ambitious of the fashion of such coiffure as mr. gilfillan affects--oh, poor man!--and had made up your mind to plait your hair no more." hamish took this very ill, and in dudgeon would not divulge the name and quality of the fair maiden the sight of whom had so gone to his head. but it was the next evening only that they were to attend a ball in the officers' mess-hall at the fort, in celebration of the joys of christmastide, and odalie perceived the rancor of resentment gradually departing when he came and begged--not her pardon--but that she would do him the infinite favor to plait his hair. try as he would, and he had tried for an hour, he could not achieve a coiffure that seemed satisfactory to him in the solicitous state of his feelings. this ceremony she performed, perched upon what she called a _tabouret_, which was nothing but a stout, square billet of wood with a cover and valance of a dull blue fustian, while he sat at her feet, and sandy looked on with outward gravity, but with a twinkle in his sober eyes that made hamish's blood boil to realize that she had told his brother of the sudden reason for a change of heart touching the mode of wearing his hair, and that they had quietly laughed at him about it. nevertheless, now he valued every strand of it as if it were spun gold, and would have parted with it as hardly. the christmas ball was indeed an affair of much splendor. profuse wreaths of holly, with berries all aflame, decorated the walls of the great hall, and among them the lines of buffalo horns and the antlers of deer and the waving banners showed with enhanced effect. from the centre of the ceiling the mystic mistletoe depended with such suggestively wide-spreading boughs that it might seem that no fair guest could hope to escape the penalty; this was the broad jest of the masculine entertainers. the hosts, all the commissioned officers being present, were in full uniform, seeming brilliant against the decorated walls and in the great flare of the fire; even lace ruffles were to be seen and many a queue was braided and tied as fairly as hamish's own. a huge yule log, such as could not be discredited by any that had ever sent up sparks and flame at this sacred season, made the great chimney place one vast scarlet glow; the door of necessity stood open, although the snow was on the ground, and the dark, bare branches of the rows of trees left in military alignment, down the centre of the parade, whitely glimmered with frost and ice akin to the chilly glitter of the wintry stars which they seemed to touch with their topmost boughs. the garrison had been surprised on the previous midnight by the sudden outbreak of the sound on the icy air of certain familiar old christmas carols sung by a few of the soldiers, who had the memory and the voice to compass the feat, and who had been wont for a time to steal off to the woods to rehearse in secret, in order to bring to the yule-tide, so surely coming, even to these far-away fastnesses, something of the blithe association and yet the spirit of sanctity of the old remembered yule-tides of long distances agone both of time and place. the enthusiasm that this reminder awakened nullified all thought of the breach of discipline. the singers were summoned into the hall by the commandant, and the embers stirred up, and they drank his health and the king's as long as he dared let them have the liquor. and now, all unseen in the darkness, the waits were stationed at a little distance to mellow the sound, and were singing these old christmas carols while the guests gathered. the rough martial voices rang out with a sort of jubilant solemnity and a strongly defined _tempo giusto_, very natural to men who "mark time" for their sins, and whose progress through life is to the sound of the drum. the iterative beat pulsed through the open doors to the groups about the big yule-tide fires and those coming in out of the dark wilderness, not daring to stir without firelock, knife, and pistol, for fear of a treacherous foe. and in the hearts and minds of the full-armed guests was roused a sentiment not new but half-forgotten, to hear in those confident, mellow, assured tones- "god rest ye, merry gentlemen, let nothing ye dismay; for jesus christ our saviour was born upon this day." between each stanza when silence came unwelcome to the ear and the chatter of tongues seemed dull and trivial a bugle sang out suddenly, its golden-sweet notes vibrating and ringing in the air in the intervals of this sweet old hymning theme. after this tribute, such as they could pay to the holier character of the day and the reminder of home, the festivity and jollity began. the introduction was auspicious and touched the sense of the picturesque of those to whom life was wont to show but a sordid aspect. the settlers were pleased with the pomp and ceremony of their reception, genuinely delighted with the effect of the carols and the summoning up of old memories and homing thoughts so tenderly stirred, satisfied with themselves and disposed to admire each other. one would hardly have believed that there was so much finery in the settlement--of different dates and fashions, it is true, and various nationalities. the wife of one settler wore a good gown of brocade, although her husband seemed quite assured in his buckskins. two or three heads were held the higher from a proud consciousness of periwigs[7] and powder. mrs. halsing had a tall, curious comb of filigree silver and great silver ear-rings, a sad-colored stuff gown, but a queer foreign apron across which were two straight bands of embroidery of a pattern and style that might have graced a museum; odalie, the expert, determined that the day was not far distant when she should sue for the privilege of examining the stitch. she herself was clad in the primrose-flowered paduasoy, with a petticoat of dark red satin and all her mechlin lace for a fichu, while pearls--her grand'maman's necklace--were in her dark hair. mrs. beedie had woven her own frock with her own sturdy hands, and with a fresh mob-cap on her head and a very fresh rose on her cheek actively danced the whole night through. the widow of the man who had come hither to forward his passion for the ministry to the indian savages, and who had lost his life in the fruitless effort, now probably deemed dissent a grievous folly and had returned to earlier ways of thinking and conventional standards. she wore no weeds--one could not here alter the fashion of one's dress, the immutable thing, for so transitory a matter as grief. she regarded the scene with the face of one who has little share, although she wore a puce-colored satin with some fine lace frills and a modish cap on her thin hair. but the daughter! with a lordly carriage of her delicate head that might have been reminiscent of her grandfather, the bishop, and yet joyous girlish red lips, full and smiling and set about with deep dimples; with her hair of red-gold, and sapphire eyes, she was eminently calculated to shatter what poor remnant of peace of mind the young ensign and two young lieutenants who clustered about her had been able to keep in this desert place--the more precarious since it was well understood that the fair belinda had high expectations, and as to matrimonial bait hoped for the opportunity to "bob for whale." this gay exile herself, born and reared in the provinces and surrounded always by the little court her beauty summoned about her, did not look forward to a life on the frontier. she anticipated at some time an invasion of england and a life worthy the brilliance of her aspect, and occasionally when her interlocutors were such as could attribute to her no braggart pride, she would mention that she had relatives there--of good quality--who would doubtless be glad to receive her. the mother, poor sad-visaged martyr of deceit, would only draw her thin wrinkled collapsed lips the closer, holding hard hidden the fact that the girl's father had been looked upon by these relatives "of good quality" as a monster of ingratitude, and at the same time as a candidate for a strait waist-coat, whose apostasy and voluntary exile had hastened the good bishop's old age and broken his heart; that the children of the ingrate would be avoided by this conventional clique, like the leprosy, and esteemed sure to develop sooner or later terrible and infinitely inconvenient heresies, and occasion heaven only knew what bouleversement in any comely and orthodox and reasonable method of life. she had not much vigor of sentiment, but such flicker of hatred as could burn among the ashes of her nature glowed toward those who had cut her husband off and ostracized him, and made of his earnest sacrificial effort to do his duty, as it was revealed to him, a scoff, a burlesque, a reproach, and a bitter caricature. she knew, too, how much of money, of dress, and of connections it would require to return to that country where they would have no base from which to organize the brave campaign that the brilliantly equipped daughter contemplated with such gay and confident courage. the girl's brother, however, hamilton rush, five years her senior, forgetting that he was the grandson of a prelate and the son of a martyr by election, bent all the energies he had inherited from both in the effort to build up home and wealth and a fair future in this rich land, which held out such bounties to the strong hand and the brave heart. he was here to-night, looking on at the scene of pleasure with as absent and absorbed a face as a london stockbroker might have worn in the midst of a financial crisis. the brilliant mirage before the shining anticipative eyes of the fair belinda did not preclude her from entering with youthful ardor into these festivities now _faute de mieux_ garbed in a canary-colored tabby, of which the moiré effect, as we should say nowadays, glistened and shoaled in the light and the luster of the silk. it was worn opening over a skirt of white satin with yellow stripes, enclosing in each a delicate pattern of a vine of roses in several natural tints from pink to a deep purplish red, all having that sere sort of freshness which comes from solicitous preservation rather than newness--like a pressed flower; one might imagine that garbed thus the galvanized widow had captured the affections of the bishop's son, not then perhaps so severely ascetic of outlook. but miss belinda danced as graciously with the ensign as if she had no splendid ulterior views, and graced the minuet which odalie and captain demeré led. hamish looking at them thought that though she was as unlike odalie as a splendid tulip differs from the stately, tender sweetness of the aspect of a white rose, they both adorned the dance like flowers in a parterre. he resolved with a glow of fraternal pride that he would tell odalie how beautiful she was in her primrose-tinted gown and deep red jupon with her dark hair rolled high, and its string of white pearls, her step so deliberate and smooth with its precision of grace as with uplifted clasped hands she and the officer opened the dance. this minuet was a splendid maze to hamish's limited experience, as the firelight glowed and flashed on the scarlet uniforms and the delicate, dainty tints of the gowns of the ladies, giving out the gloss of satin and now and again showing the soft whiteness of a bare arm held upward to the clasp of a partner's hand in a lace ruffle and a red sleeve in the graceful attitudes prescribed by the dance. the measured and stately step, the slow, smooth whirl, the swinging changing postures, the fair smiling faces and shining eyes, all seemed curiously enhanced by the environment--the background of boughs of holly on the walls, and the military suggestions of the metallic flashing of the arms resting on the line of deer antlers that encircled the room--it was like a bird singing its roundelay perched in a cannon's mouth. hamish himself stood against the wall, and for a time it may be doubted if any one saw how very handsomely his "lovely locks" were plaited, so did he court the shadows. sandy noted with secret amusement how persistently the boy's eyes followed the beautiful miss rush, for it was evident that she was nineteen or twenty years of age, at least three years older than her latest admirer. despite his sudden infatuation, however, hamish was a person of excellent good sense, and he soon saw the fatuity of this worship from afar. "let the ensign and the lieutenants pine to death," he thought--then with the rough old frontier joke, "i'm saving _my_ scalp for the injuns." nevertheless he was acutely glad that his hair was like a gentleman's, and when he finally ventured out of the crowd he secured, to his great elation, a partner for one of the contra-dances that succeeded the minuet, for the men so greatly outnumbered the women that this argued considerable enterprise on a newcomer's part. hamish had determined to dance, if with nobody but mrs. halsing; but there were other girlish flowers, somewhat overshadowed by the queens of the parterre, whom he found when his eyes had lost their dazing gloat upon the beauty of the belle of the settlement--mere little daisies or violets, as near half wild as himself, knowing hardly more of civilized society than he did. most of these were clad in bright homespun; one or two were so very young that they found it amazing sport, and in truth so did he, although he had the style of patronizing the enterprise, to plunge out of the great hall and scamper across the snowy parade to a room, emptied by the gradual exhaustion of the munitions it had contained, and now devoted to the entertainment of the children of the settlers, who it is needless to say had come necessarily with the elder members of the pioneer families to participate in the gayeties of the fort. it was a danger not to be contemplated to leave them in the wholly deserted settlement; so, sequestered here in this big room, bare of all but holly boughs upon the wall and a great fire and a bench or two about the chimney corner, they added _éclat_ to the occasion of the officers' ball by reason of the enthusiastic spirit that pervaded the christmas games under the direction of corporal o'flynn. he had been delegated to supervise and control the juvenile contingent, being constituted master of the revels. with his wild irish spirit aflame he was in his element. a finer looking bruin than he was when enveloped in a great bearskin never came out of the woods, and certainly none more active as he chased the youthful pioneers, who were screaming shrilly, from one side of the hall to the other. as "poor puss" he struggled frantically for a corner, failing, however, when a settler of the advanced age of four, but mighty enterprising, made in swiftly between his knees, gave him a tremendous fall, and gained the coveted goal. "mily, mily bright" was infinitely enlivened by the presence of the recruits from the ball-room, and the romp became tumultuous when hamish undertook the _rôle_ of one of the witches that waited by the way to intercept those--among whom was the corporal--who sought to get there by "candle-light," and who were assured that they could do this if their "legs were long enough." when he pursued the soldier and his juvenile party from one side of the room to the other, winding and doubling and almost tumbling into the fire, the delighted screams of the children were as loud and shrill as if they were all being scalped, and caused the sentries in the block-house towers to look in surprise and doubt in that direction more than once, and finally brought captain stuart from the officers' quarters to see for himself what was going on. as he stood in the door with his imperious face, his bluff manner, his military dress, and his great muscular height, the children, inspired by that love of the incongruous which always characterizes childhood, swarmed about him with the insistence that he should be blindfolded in blindman's buff. and surely he proved the champion blind man of the world! after one benighted stumbling rush half across the room, amidst a storm of squealing ecstasy, he plunged among his pygmy enemies with such startling success as to have caught two or three by the hair of their heads with one hand, while with the other he was laying about him with such discrimination that his craft became apparent. he was not playing fair!--he could see!--he peeped! he peeped! and his laugh being much resented, he was put to the door by his small enemies, who evidently expected him to feel such repentance as he might experience if he were to be court-martialed. o'flynn, watching him go off across the snowy shadowy parade, noticed that he did not at once return to the open door of the great hall where the swirl of the dance could be seen in a kaleidoscopic glow of color, and whence the glad music came forth in a mellow gush of sound; but stood at some little distance watching the progress of the corporal of the guard, who with the relief was on his way to the posts of the sentinels; then stuart disappeared within one of the block-houses, evidently ascending to the tower; after an interval he came out and again traversed the parade, going diagonally across the whole enclosure without doubt to the block-house at the further bastion; thus from these two coigns of vantage he could survey the whole of the region on the four sides of the fort. "i'll go bail, ould foxy," said corporal o'flynn, apostrophizing his superior officer under his breath, "that there's nothin' that your sharp eyes doesn't see--if it's just a snake takin' advantage o' the privacy o' the dark hour to slough his skin. but i'd give ye," he hesitated, "me blessin', if you'd tell me what 'tis ye're lookin' for. i want to know, not from a meddlesome sphirit, but jist from sheer curiosity--because my mother was a woman an' not a witch." for captain stuart had encountered a difficulty in these simple backwoods christmas festivities which was altogether unexpected. he had diligently considered the odds against success, in which, however, the chief seemed the lack of appropriate refreshment, for one could not serve venison and buffalo and wild fowl to hunters as luxuries, and the limited compass and utilitarian character of the goods sent from the base of supplies over the mountains rendered even the accumulation of the requisite materials for the punch-bowl a matter of forethought and skilled strategy. after the wheat-bread had been secured to make the ramequins this feature came near to being dropped because of the difficulty of obtaining the simple ingredients of eggs and cheese to compound the farce wherewith they should be spread. but this too had been accomplished. the method of providing for the safety and entertainment of the children of the settlers, without whom they could not leave home yet whose presence would have hindered if not destroyed the enjoyment of the elders, seemed a stroke of genius. the soldiers and non-commissioned officers were satisfactorily assigned a share in the entertainment appropriate to their military rank and in consonance with their taste, and were even now carousing gayly in their quarters, where there was more christmas spirit in circulation than spirituous liquor, for the commandant's orders were niggardly indeed as to serving out the portions of tafia, not in the interests of temperance so much as of discipline in view of their perilous situation so far from help, so alone in the midst of hordes of inimical savages; his parsimony in this regard passed with them as necessity, since they knew that rum was hard to come by, and even this meager dole was infrequent and a luxury. therefore they drank their thimbleful with warm hearts and cool heads; the riotous roared out wild songs and vied with one another in wrestling matches or boxing encounters; the more sedate played cards or dominoes close in to the light of the flaring fire, or listened with ever fresh interest to the great stories often told by the gray-headed drum-major who had served under the duke of cumberland in foreign lands, and promptly smote upon the mouth any man who spoke of his royal highness as "billy the butcher";[8] for there were scotchmen in the garrison intolerant of the title of "hero of culloden," having more or less remote associations with an experience delicately mentioned in scotland as "being out in the forty-five." with each fresh narration the drum-major produced new historical details of the duke's famous fields and added a few to the sum of the enemies killed and wounded, till it seemed that if the years should spare him, it would one day be demonstrated that the warlike william augustus had in any specified battle slain more men by sword and bayonet and good leaden ball than were ever mustered into any army on the face of the earth. all the soldiers were in their spruce parade trim, and every man had a bunch of holly in his hat. even the indians had been considered. in response to the invitation, they had sent the previous day their symbolic white swan's wings painted with streaks of white clay, and these were conspicuously placed in the decorated hall. the gates of the fort that morning had been flung wide open to all who would come. tafia--in judiciously small quantities, it is true--was served to the tribesmen about the parade, but the head-men, atta-kulla-kulla, willinawaugh, rayetaeh, otacite, more than all, oconostota, the king of the cherokee nation, were escorted to the great hall of the officers' quarters, the latter on the arm of captain stuart himself; the indian king, being a trifle lame of one leg,--he was known among the soldiers as "old hop,"--was evidently pleased by the exceptional attention and made the most of his infirmity, leaning heavily on the officer's arm. arrayed in their finest fur robes with beautiful broad collars of white swan's down about their necks, with their faces mild and devoid of paint, seated in state before the great fire, the head-men were regaled with french brandy, duly diluted, and the best virginia tobacco, offered in very curious pipes, which, with some medals and gorgets imported for the purpose, were presented as gifts when the ceremony was concluded, and which the cherokees accepted with a show of much pleasure; indeed, they conducted themselves always under such circumstances with a very good grace and a certain dignity and propriety of feeling which almost amounted to good breeding. this was maintained when, invited by the commandant, they witnessed the dress parade, especially elaborate in honor of the occasion, and they listened attentively when captain stuart made a short address to the troops on the subject of the sacred character of the day and adjured them in a frank and soldierly fashion to have a care that they maintained the moral discipline in which they had all been drilled and gave no advantage to the enemy because they were here, cut off from the main body of christianity, so far from the ministrations of a chaplain and the beneficent usages of civilization. "every soldier learns command from obedience," he said. "and if i should send a detail from the ranks on some special duty, the file-leader would know how to command it, although he had never given an order in his life. you are each, with all your spiritual forces, detached on special duty. you are veteran soldiers of the cross and under marching orders!" oconostota, with a kingly gesture, signified that the interpreter should repeat in his ear this discourse, and now and again nodded his head during its translation with cogitation and interest, and as if he understood and approved it. he watched too, as if with sympathy, the ranks go suddenly down upon their knees, as the commandant read the collect for the day followed by the unanimous delivery of the lord's prayer, in their hearty, martial voices. after the tap of the drum had given a resonant "amen!" they marched off upon the word and broke ranks; and such little observance as the fort could offer in commemoration of the event was over. the indians all realized this, and were soon loitering out of the great gate, the commandant receiving their compliments upon the good behavior of his "young men" and their fine appearance, an elaborate and flowery speech of farewell. then oconostota took his presents, by far the largest and most elaborate of the collection, and, leaning on stuart's arm, left the fort, the officer attending him in this fashion down to the river-bank, where his pettiaugre awaited him. stuart evolved, apparently without effort, a felicitous phrase of farewell and esteem, graded carefully to suit the rank of the other head-men who followed with captain demeré and several lieutenants. these words, atta-kulla-kulla, a cherokee of an intelligent, spirited countenance, either had the good feeling or the art to seem to especially value. "such smoke as goes up from this pipe between my face and your face, my friend," he said through the interpreter, "shall never come between you and me. i shall always see you very clear, for i know your heart. your ways are strange; you come from a far place; but i know you well, for i know your heart." he laid his hand for a moment on the broad chest of the red coat of the tall, blond officer, then stepped into the canoe, and the little craft shoved off to join a very fleet of canoes, so full was the shining surface of the river of indians who had come from the towns above to the celebration of the "big sunday"[d] at the fort. captain stuart felt relieved that all had gone off so well and that they were rid of the cherokees for the day. but now the unforeseen was upon him, the fatally uncovenanted event for which none can prepare. an express had come after nightfall from over the mountains, bringing, besides the mail, rumors of another indian outbreak on the south carolina frontier. a number of settlers had been massacred, and the perpetrators of the deed had escaped unpunished. stuart, charging the man to say nothing of his news to blight the christmas festivities--since the reports might not be true--sent him to make merry among the soldiers. anxiety had taken possession of that stout heart of stuart's. when the settlers had begun to gather to the ball, the earliest arrivals brought no suggestion of difficulty. the next comers, however, had seen straggling bands of indians across the river, but they were mentioned casually and with no sense of premonition. the guests to enter last had been somewhat surprised to notice numbers of canoes at the landing-place, and presently captain stuart was called aside by the officer of the day, who stated that in making the rounds he had learned that the sentinel at the gate had reported having observed bands of indians lurking about on the edge of the woods, and that quite a number had come, singly and in groups, to the gate to demand admission. the gathering of the white people had roused their attention evidently. they had always held the cannon-mounted fort and the presence of the soldiery as a menace, and they now sought to discern what this unprecedented assemblage might portend. if their entrance were resisted, they who so often frequented the place, it was obviously inimical to them. they had heard--for the transmission of news among the indians was incredibly swift--of the massacres on the frontier and feared some effort at reprisal. the scanty numbers of the garrison invited their blood-thirsty rapacity, but they were awed by the cannon, and although entertaining vague ideas concerning the management and scope of artillery, realized its terrible potencies. perhaps it was with some idea of forcing an entrance by surprise--that they might be within the walls of the fort and out of the range of the guns at this critical juncture of the massing of the forces of the settlers and the garrison--that a party of thirty or forty cherokees suddenly rushed past the sentinel on the counterscarp, who had hardly time to level his firelock and to call lustily on the guard. the guard at once turning out, the soldiers met the onset of the savages at the gate and bore them back with the bayonet. there was the sudden, quick iterative tramp on the frozen ground of a man running at full speed, and as stuart dashed through the sally-port he called out "bar the gates! bar the gates!" in a wild, imperative voice. in another moment he was standing outside among the savages, saying blandly in cherokee, of which he had mastered sundry phrases--"how now, my friends,--my best friends!" and holding out his hand with his frank, genial manner first to one of the indians, then to another. they looked upon his hand in disdain and spat upon the ground. the sentry in the gate-house above, his firelock ready leveled to his shoulder, gazed down at the officer, as he stood with his back to the heavy iron-spiked oaken gates; there was light enough in the reflection of the snow, that made a yellow moon, rising higher and higher into the blue night and above the brown, shadowy woods, seem strangely intense of color, and in the melancholy radiation from its weird, gibbous disk to show the officer's calm, impassive face; his attitude, with his arms folded, the rejected hand withdrawn; even the gold lace on his red coat and the color of his hair in the thick braid that hung down under his cocked hat. even the latent expectation might be discerned in his eyes that the interval of silence would prove too irksome to the hot impulse, which had nerved the rush on the gates, to be long continued, and that the moment would reveal the leader and the purpose of the demonstration. a cherokee stepped suddenly forward--a man with a tuft of eagle feathers on his scalp-lock quivering with angry agitation, his face smeared with vermilion, clad in the buckskin shirt and leggings that the settlers had copied from the indians, with pistols at his belt as well as a firelock in one hand--the barrel sawed off short to aid its efficacy. the air was bitterly cold, but the blood blazed hot in his face; in cherokee he spoke and he paused for no interpreter; if the _unaka_ captain did not understand him, so much the worse for the _unaka_ captain. through his teeth the tense swift utterances came in half-suppressed breathless tones, save when a sudden loud exclamation now and again whizzed out on the air like the ascent of a bursting rocket. his fury was such that even without the disguise of the paint on his face, stuart might hardly have recognized him were it not for his peculiarly sinewy, slight elegance of shape. he had advanced one foot and he brandished his tomahawk--a furious gesture, but without immediate intention, for now and again he thrust the weapon into his belt. "the white captain calls on his friends--and where are they? not on the outside of these great guns that bar us from our own. the fort is ours! _to-e-u-hah!_ it is our own. _to-e-u-hah!_[e] did we not bargain for it in solemn treaty! did we not make our peace and smoke our pipe and give our belts of white wampum and sign names to the treaty we made with the white english? _wahkane?_[f] did we not join his cause and fight his battles and shed our blood in his wars against the french? _wahkane_, john stuart, _wahkane_? and for what? that the great king george should build us some forts in our nation to protect our women and children, our old men and our young boys while the cherokee braves are away fighting the battles of this great king george against the french--yes, and to make strong the arm of our warriors should the french come here with the great guns like these, that make naught of the small gun,"--he looked scornfully at the firelock and shook it in his left hand--"and the bow and arrows--"he spat upon the ground. "and what does the great earl of loudon? he builds this fort for which we have paid with our blood! blood! blood!--these guns bought with long marches and burnt towns and the despiteful usage of the virginians"--once more he spat upon the ground. "and then he sends his redcoat soldiers to hold our fort from us and man our great guns and be a threat and a danger forever to our peace and make us slaves to the fear of the great cannon! _yo-he-wah! yo-he-wah!_[g] and when we send a talk to tell him this, he sends more soldiers! and the white men gather together for grief to the red man, and take the indians' fort paid for with the indians' blood and turn the great cannon against him who bought them with a dear price, and bar out his entrance from his own"--the foam flew from his lips. "you call on your friend--where?" he turned a scornful fiery face to look at the scornful fiery faces about him. "where?" "here!" captain stuart's calm, full voice struck the vibrating air at least an octave lower than the keen, high vociferation of the cherokee. "here is my friend! that is the moon, atta-kulla-kulla, _neus-se a-nan-to-ge_"[h]--he lifted his arm and with his debonair, free gesture pointed at it. "another sun has not risen. and yet this day, and before the sun was high, you told me that naught should come between you and me. you told me that even a cloud coming between you and me could not separate us because you knew my heart--and my heart swelled with pride at your words." he hesitated for a moment; he detected a sudden change in the indian's face. "my heart swelled with pride," he went on, firmly, "for i believed you! and i believe you still, for"--he laid his hand on the cherokee's breast in imitation of the gesture of atta-kulla-kulla as he repeated atta-kulla-kulla's words--"for i know _your heart_." there was a moment of tense silence. then not waiting for the dramatic effect to be lost, he continued: "and now, if you say it is not well to shut the gates on this array of braves, i open them! i come here because i am sent--a _unaka_ soldier has no will of his own. he is held to a strict law, and has no liberty such as your young fighting men, who sometimes grow rash, however, and make the wisdom of the plans of your 'beloved men,' your sage councils, mere folly. the earl of loudon sent the garrison here. perhaps if you send a 'talk' to the new head-man, general amherst, he will take the soldiers away. i go or stay according to orders--i march at a word. but to-night the children of the settlers make merry. i told you this morning of our religion. this day is the festival of the child. so the children make merry--you can hear them now at their play." and indeed there was a sharp, wild squealing upon the air, and stuart hoped that the beat of the dancing feet might be supposed to be of their making and the sound of the music for their behoof--for the dance of the indians often heralds war and is not for sheer joy. "the parents bring them here and share their mirth. for this is the festival of the child. now your warriors are brave and splendid and terrible to look upon. if they go through the gates, the little children would be smitten with fear; the heart of a little child is like a leaf in the wind--so moved by fear. do not the cherokee children flee from me--who am not a great warrior and have not even paint for my face--when i come to visit you at nachey creek. say the word--and i open the gates." there was something in this cherokee which stuart saw both then and afterward, and which also attracted the attention of others, that indicated not only an acute and subtle intelligence and a natural benignity, but a wide and varied scope of emotion, truly remarkable in a savage without education, of course, and without even the opportunity of observing those of a higher culture and exercising sentiments esteemed of value and grace in a civilized appraisement. yet he was experiencing as poignant a humiliation to be convicted of an ungenerous attitude of mind and upbraided with a protest belied as if he had been a knight of the round table, bred to noble thoughts as well as to chivalrous deeds of arms, and had never taken the scalp of a child or treacherously slain a sleeping enemy. stuart could feel the cherokee's heart beat fast under his hand. atta-kulla-kulla grasped it suddenly in his own, gripping it hard for a moment, while with his other hand he waved a command for his men to retire, which they did, slowly, with lowering, surprised eyes and clouded brows. "go back!" he said to stuart. "hold the gate fast. you make your feast. keep it. i believe your words. and because--" there was a slight convulsion of his features--"of the wicked ways of the wicked earl loudon i have forgot to-night my words i said to-day, i say them again--and i do not always forget!" he turned suddenly and went down toward the river, the sad, yellow moon sending his brown, elongated shadow with its quivering tuft of feathers far along the stretches of white snow. captain stuart paused for a moment, leaning heavily against the gate; then as he slipped within it and into the shadow of the wall, he was full glad to hear the dancing feet, all unconscious of the danger that had been so near, and the childish treble scream of the unscalped children. "a little more, and there would have been another massacre of the innocents," he said, walking slowly across the parade; he had hardly the strength for a speedier gait. he rescinded the order concerning the hour at which "tattoo" and "lights out" should sound. "for," he thought, noticing the cheerful groups in the soldiers' quarters, "i could get them under arms much more quickly if awake than by drumming them up out of their beds in barracks." he carried no sign of the agitation and the significance of the interview just past when he returned to the prismatic tinted swirl of the dancing figures in the flaring light of the great fire, made more brilliant by the glow of the holly boughs and the flutter of banners and the flash of steel from the decorated walls about them. he, too, trod a gay measure with the fair belinda rush, and never looked more at ease and care-free and jovially imperious than in the character of gallant host. even in the gray dawn as he stood at the sally-port of the fort and there took leave of the guests, as group by group departed, he was as debonair and smiling throughout the handshaking as though the revels were yet to begin. footnotes: [footnote d: the indians in north carolina called the christmas holidays _winick-kesbuse_, or "the englishman's god's moon."] [footnote e: it is most true.] [footnote f: is it not so?] [footnote g: it has been maintained that this exclamation constantly used by the cherokees in solemn adjuration signified "jehovah."] [footnote h: literally "the sun of the night."] chapter vi breakfast, the rigorous cleaning of the quarters, guard mounting, and inspection, followed in their usual sequence, but the morning drills were omitted to give the opportunity to recruit from the vigils of the previous night, protracted, as the soldiers began to suspect, that they might be in readiness to respond to an onslaught of the savages. for captain stuart made no effort to restrain the story of the scene at the gate, since the sentries were already cognizant of it; he always saw fit to maintain before the troops an attitude of extreme frankness, as if the officers suppressed no intelligence, whatever its character, even with the intention of conducing to the public good. in the great hall in the block-house of the northwestern bastion, when the officers were congregated about the fire, in the rude arm-chairs, and their pipes lighted, he divulged without reserve the news which the express had brought. in an instant all the garnered sweetness of the retrospect of the little holiday they had made for themselves and their co-exiles was turned to gall. it even held bitter dregs of remorse. "and we were dancing all the night through while you knew this horrible thing!" exclaimed captain demeré, his voice tense with reproach. "lord!--it happened three weeks ago, paul," returned stuart, "if it happened at all! some of the settlers had already come. i did not feel qualified to balk the children and the young people of their enjoyment--or the elders, either. the world will go on after such tragedies. it must, you know." he pulled at his pipe, meditatively. "to have called a halt could have done those poor fellows no good," he nodded toward the south, "and might have done us incalculable harm. there had already been a demonstration of the indians, before the express came in, because they had noticed the gathering of the guests, and i thought the settlers safer congregated in the fort until daybreak than going home scattered through the night. this is no time or place to give ceremonious deference to questions of feeling." "was there a demonstration of the indians last night, captain?" asked lieutenant gilmore. stuart detailed both occurrences at the gate. "without the chief's guaranty i don't see how we could have let the settlers go this morning," he concluded. demeré frowned deeply as he sat upright in his chair and gazed at the fire. "you have great presence of mind in these queer emergencies, john," he said. "for my life i could not have thought how to get rid of them peaceably--to offer to open the gates!" "i can't soothe the indians," said ensign whitson, with a quick flush. "my gorge rises at the very sight of them." "if a dog licks my hand, i must needs pat him on the head," said stuart, lounging easily among the soft rugs that covered the chair. "but if a wolf licks your hand, sir, would you pat him on the head?" asked the ensign. "a wolf will not lick my hand," retorted the superior officer. "besides, my young friend, bear this in mind,--if this dog is not patted on the head, he will fly not only at my throat, but at the throat of the garrison and of the settlement as well." there was silence for a time, while the flames of the great fire sprang elastically upward in the strong draught with an impetuous roar. the holly boughs and the banners stirred fitfully on the wall. the men's heads were surrounded by tobacco smoke. demeré sat upright, meditative, with one elbow on the table. stuart was lolling far back in the soft fur rugs that covered the great chair, his hat on the floor behind him, where it had fallen off his dense, blond hair, which so much attracted the curiosity and admiration of the swarthy indians. "and then," he said suddenly, drawing some official letter-books and files from the table, and fluttering the pages with one hand while he held the pipe-stem with the other, "were we not admonished to be diplomatic in such matters? we had our orders to cultivate the graces of our manners! the earl of loudon desired that we should," and he began to read aloud, "'you can best retain our confidence by promoting, in every way in your power, the preservation of peace with the cherokees.'" he shoved the papers away on the table, and laughing, put the stem of his pipe between his teeth. "now," he said, "i am as much disposed toward peace as a man of war may decently be. i only wish my lord could have won oconostota to his lordship's pacific way of thinking. a garrison of two hundred soldiers is not likely to prove very overbearing to a neighbor who can muster three thousand fighting men armed with british muskets. my lord's advice was timely." he glanced with raillery at demeré, and laughed again. while the individual soldier is but a factor in a great machine, and moves only as one motor element acts and reacts on another, making naught of his own volition or intelligence, it being his "to do and die," the courage and strength of character which make this abnegation of will and mind possible are the greater from the fact that the reasoning faculties cannot by the same process be annulled. he sees the convergence of the circumstances drawing to the event; whether consciously or not he deliberates upon the validity of the policy unfolded; he often goes to meet disaster, perceiving its undisguised approach from afar off. and yet he goes unfalteringly. "when our government armed these savage fiends against the french,--civilized men and 'palefaces' like ourselves," said captain demeré, "and the american colonists fought with them as allies, side by side, despite their hideous barbarities, we fell upon our own sword." "honors are easy," returned captain stuart, lightly. "have the french armed no indian allies? did they not do it first?" "we are not wont to look so far afield for our warrant," demeré retorted testily. then resuming: "these barbarous beasts are no fit allies for english arms. they degrade our spirit, and destroy our discipline, and disgrace our victories. i would rather suffer any honorable defeat than win through their savageries." he was unconsciously the advance guard of that sentiment which caused the earl of chatham, nearly twenty years afterward, to declare in the house of lords that it was a reflection on the honor of the nation that the scalping-knife and the tomahawk should be the aids of the british firelock and sword, and wreak their savage deeds under the sanction of the same brave banner; but even then lord gower was able to retort that, when still mr. pitt the "great commoner," and the ruling spirit of the ministry, he, himself, had without scruple employed american savages in warfare. as yet, however, this objection was but a sensitive protest in the heart and mind of an obscure officer, the commandant of a merely temporary post on the furthest western frontier.[9] the papers had been pushed near demeré's elbow, and he began to look over them disaffectedly. "hear governor lyttleton," he said, and read in a tone that was itself a commentary: "'use all means you think proper to induce our indians to take up the hatchet. promise a reward to every man who shall bring in the scalp of a frenchman or a french indian.'" "as if one could be sure of a dead man's nationality or allegiance by seeing the hair on his scalp," said whitson, as ever readily disgusted. stuart sought to take an unprejudiced view. "i never looked upon war as a pastime or an elegant accomplishment," he declared, watching the wreaths rise from the deep bowl of his long pipe. "war is war, and when we call it civilized we only mean that invention has multiplied and elaborated our methods of taking life. a commander can but use the surest means to his end against his enemy that the circumstances afford. a soldier is at best but the instrument of the times." "and what of the torture, the knife, the fagot?" demanded demeré, excitedly. "what do you think of them?" "i never, dear captain demeré, think of them, in a garrison of two hundred men in a little mud fort on the frontier, with the cherokees three thousand strong just outside, toward whom i have been admonished to mind my pretty manners. but since you are so keen to reason it out, i will remind you that until comparatively recently the torture was one of our own methods of punishment, or coercion, tending to the disclosure of secret conspiracies or any other little matter that the government might want to know and could not otherwise find out, and was practiced, thumb-screws, iron-boot, and all, in the worshipful presence of men of high estate--councils, commissions, and what not! men and women--women, too!--have been burned alive in england under due authority because their style of piety was not acceptable. they were christians, to be sure, but not exactly the highest fashion of christian. you will say all this was long ago. granted! but if such practices still obtain in such an oligarchy as oconostota's realm,--the frontier being, paradoxically, a little in the rear of the times,--should we be surprised? no! i don't think of such things. i keep my mind on the discipline of the garrison, and control my temper very nicely when in the presence of the cherokee kings, and bless god and the earl of loudon for the cannon at the embrasures and the powder and ball in the magazine." he leaned forward suddenly to examine with momentary interest the sole of his boot as he sat with his leg crossed, then with a bantering "eh, captain quawl?" he glanced up with a smile of _camaraderie_ at captain demeré as if to test the effect of his argument, and finally laughed outright at his friend's silent gravity. such arguments were the ordinary incidents in the great hall of the block-house of the northwest bastion. the time hung heavily on the hands of the officers of the garrison. for beyond the military routine, a little hunting and fishing, a little card and domino playing, a little bout now and again of fencing, there was naught to relieve the monotony, for books were few and the express with mail from over the mountains infrequent, and therefore discussions in familiar conclave on abstract subjects, protracted sometimes for hours, filled the breach. often these questions developed on paper, for a continual correspondence, as regular as might be compassed, was maintained with the officers of fort prince george, another frontier post, estimated as three hundred miles distant from charlestown, yet still two hundred miles from fort loudon. as a matter of public policy it was deemed expedient that the commandants of the two posts should keep each other informed as to the state of the country about their respective strongholds, of the condition of the settlers, the temper of the indians, the masked movements of french emissaries. in dearth of official intelligence, as the express necessarily went back and forth with mail and dispatches from charlestown, the correspondence sympathetically expanded into personal interests, for the conditions surrounding both posts were in many respects similar. fort prince george also was a work designed with special reference to the military needs of that region and the character of its possible assailants. the defenses consisted of a rampart of clay, eight feet high, surmounted by a strong stockade, forming a square with a bastion at each angle; four small cannon were mounted on each bastion, and a deep ditch surrounded the whole; there was a natural glacis where the ground fell away on two sides of the quadrangle and on the others a strong abatis had been constructed at a short distance from the crest of the counterscarp. within the fort were two block-houses and barracks for a garrison of one hundred men. the sequestered, remote situation of each post developed a certain mutual interest and the exchange of much soldierly chaff; the names and disposition of even the subalterns were elicited in this transmitted gossip of the forts; in default of news, details of trivial happenings were given, unconsciously fertile in character-drawing; jokes, caricatures, good stories,--and thus at arm's length sprung up a friendship between men who had never seen one another and who were possibly destined never to meet. of course all this gayety of heart vanished from the paper when serious tidings or despondent prospects were at hand, but even in the succinct official statements an undertone of sympathy was perceptible, and the slightest nerve of thought, of danger, of joy, of dissatisfaction touched at fort loudon thrilled in kind at fort prince george. the attention of the group about the fire of the officers' mess-hall had seldom been brought to themes so grave as the news of the recent massacre, holding so definite and possible a personal concern, and after the evening of the christmas ball life at fort loudon began to seem more serious and the current event to be scanned and questioned as to a probable bearing on the future. even odalie's optimistic mind, forever alert to hope and fair presage, felt the influence of the atmospheric change of the moral conditions. but the fact was revealed to her in an incident sufficiently startling. that morning after the festivity, when gayly rowing down the bleak river to macleod's station, as the bend had begun to be called, she looked blithely enough over the stream's gray stretches of ruffled steel to the snowy slopes of the banks, and to the brown woods, and beyond to the dark bronze and dusky blue mountains as they stretched away in varying distance. the dull suffusive flare of carmine beginning to show above them seemed a spell to drive the day-star out of the sky, to bid the weird mists hie home with the fancies of the night, to set a wind keenly astir in a new dawn. all this she watched with eyes as clear, as soft, as confiding as if it were a may morning coming over the mountains, scattering the largesse of the spring--new life, new hopes, new strength, and all the glad inspiration of success that has a rarer, finer flavor than the actual consummation of the triumph. the stationers landed at the bend, and she was glad of her home as she took her way within the enclosure of the high stockade. she looked around at it, still leading the sleepy fifine by one hand and only half hearing hamish's enthusiastic sketches of the boys and girls in the settlement, with whom he had made fast friends. the snow was heavy on the roofs of the two log cabins and the shanty of poles that served as a barn, and lay in fluffy masses between the sharp points of the palisades and on the bare boughs of sundry great trees that odalie had insisted should not be cut away with the rest in the enclosure or "girdled" like those outside in the field. the smoke still curled up lazily from the chimneys, and after she had uncovered the embers and donned her rough homespun dress and housewifely apron and cap, and had the preparations for breakfast well under way, she went to the door and called aloud in the crisp, chill air to "dill," as gilfillan was christened by fifine,--the name being adopted by all the family,--insisting that he should not cook his own breakfast but join them. "there are going to be 'flim-flams,'" she shouted triumphantly. then with a toss of the head--"short eating!" it had chanced that one day when the lonely pioneer had dined with his fellow-stationers he had remarked approvingly of certain dishes of french cookery acquired from her grand'maman's receipts--"i dunno what ye might call them flim-flams, mrs. macleod, but they make powerful short eatin'." he and she and fifine had become fast friends, and it was indeed a happy chance that had thrown the lonely man into this cordial and welcoming atmosphere of home. even his terribly ghastly head odalie had begun to forget, so deeply did she pity him for other things,--for the loss of wife and children and friends in the terrible yadkin massacre; for the near approach of age,--and stalwart as he was, it was surely coming on; for the distortions of his queer religion, which was so uncouth as to be rendered hardly the comfort it might have been otherwise. "i can't see how you can mention it," she said one day, with wincing eyes, when he was telling hamish, who manifested that blood-thirsty imagination peculiar to boys, how he was conscious throughout the whole ordeal of scalping; how the tomahawk hit him a clip; how the indian, one whom he had trusted, put his foot on his breast for a better purchase on the knife. "why, mrs. macleod," dill replied, "it makes me thankful to think he took nothing but the scalp. if he had mended his holt a little he could have took my whole head, and where would i have been now!" "by the grace of god you would be a saint in paradise," said odalie, presenting the orthodox view. "yes," he admitted, "i've always feared there might be more in that notion of the injuns about the scalpless being shut out of heaven than we know about--revelation, mebbe." "no, no!" and horrified at this interpretation she made her meaning clear. after that she undertook the _rôle_ of missionary in some sort, and in quiet unobtrusive ways suggested bits of orthodox doctrine of much solace to his ruminating spirit, and sometimes on dreary, icebound days he and she and fifine sat on the crudely fashioned benches before the fire and sang psalms and hymns together till the station rang with the solemn choiring. "dill" came in now, bringing his own knife for breakfast, and a very cheery face under his coonskin cap and red handkerchief, and when the "short eating" was disposed of all three men took their axes to chop up a tree for fuel, close outside the stockade, for the great chimney-places had capacious maws, and the weather was fast hardening to a freeze. presently odalie heard the quick strokes of their axes, alternating with sharp clangs, the blows ringing out briskly on the icy air. the house was very still. fifine had fallen asleep on the rug before the fire, having peevishly declined the folly of being disrobed and put to bed in the daytime, to recuperate from the exhaustion attendant upon her first ball. as she could not stay awake without whimpering, odalie saw with satisfaction her little distorted countenance, round head, and chubby body collapse on the opposite side of the fireplace. odalie herself sat down to rest for one moment on the befrilled block of wood which she complimented by calling a _tabouret_. once she roused herself, smoothed out the expanse of her white apron over her blue homespun dress, then careful to permit the attitude to foster no crumple in her stiff, sheer, white mob-cap on the lustrous folds of dark hair, she leaned her head against the rude chimney. how long she sat there she did not know. while sleeping she saw the faces of indians, and when she gradually woke she thought she still slept. for there beside the fire were the indian faces of her dream! she was stifled and dumbly sought to cry out, for this was surely some terror of the nightmare. but no! without was the light of the wan wintry day, showing in a vague blear at the half-open door, and within, the dull glow of the fire, sunken now to a vermilion mass of embers. on the opposite side of the hearth lay fifine on the rug, sleeping still, with the sleeping cat in her arms--and between were indian faces, the indian faces of her dream! odalie breathed more freely, for they were women's faces--two women, muffled to the ears in red blankets, were calmly seated on the rug before the fire as if they had long been there gazing at her with blank, expressionless faces. she still heard the regular strokes of the axes of the men of the station, as just outside the stockade they resolutely pursued the chopping of the tree. she could not understand how the two women, unobserved by them, had slipped in at the open gate; odalie was able to smile faintly at a prevision of sandy's amazement at his own negligence. one of the indian women smiled in return, a bright-eyed demonstration, and suddenly odalie remembered the young cherokee beauty she had noted at the sally-port, watching the parade, the day after her arrival at fort loudon. the other, encouraged, began to speak, and to speak in french--a curious, dislocated patter. asking how she had acquired the language, odalie was informed that this was the squaw of savanukah, and that he had journeyed as guide and hunted much with a french trader who had formerly dwelt at choté, and hearing them talk the squaw, too, had learned. "and how did you know that i speak french?" asked odalie. the elder woman pointed at the girl, who laughed and tucked down her head like a child. she was obviously solicitous that odalie should observe the many strings of red beads about her neck; these she now and again caught in her fingers and drew forward, and then looked down at them with her head askew like a bird's. odalie, with ready tact, let her eyes rest attentively on them, and smiled again. her instinct of hospitality was so strong that it was no effort to simulate the gracious hostess. it was one of hamish's stock complaints, often preferred in their former home when visitors were an intrusion and their long lingering a bore, that if the enemy of mankind himself should call, odalie would be able to muster a smile, and request him to be seated, and offer him a fan of her best turkey feathers, and civilly hope that the climate of his residence was not oppressive to _him_! "and how do _you_ know that i am french?" she asked, with a delightful expression of her fascinating eyes. the soldier had told her,--the handsome young brave who talked to her one day at choté,--the girl said in fairly good english. odalie asked her name, and, as it was given, exclaimed that it was a whole sentence. both the cherokee women laughed at this in the pleasure of _camaraderie_, and the elder translated the name as the "wing of the flying whip-poor-will." the young indian girl came to be known afterward at macleod's station as choo-qualee-qualoo, the cherokee word which imitates the note of the bird. recurring to the subject, she attempted to describe the soldier, by way of identification, as having hair the color of the lace on the captain's red coat. odalie was able to recollect a certain smart young soldier, who as orderly had one day accompanied captain stuart on a visit of ceremony to oconostota, at his seat of government at choté--old town. while the young orderly had led the horse of the english captain up and down before the door of the chief's great council-house, choo-qualee-qualoo had been set to ask him some questions, and as she told this the little minx laughed with her sharp white teeth shining, and looked like some sly little animal, malevolent, yet merry, and of much grace. willinawaugh, she continued, believed that he had been duped by macleod into affording him and his family safe conduct on his journey hither, under the pretext that he was french, and therefore an enemy to the english, whom willinawaugh hated; for the newcomer, macleod, and his brother, had been suffered to build a house and settle here among the english, while if frenchmen they would have been hung as spies at the great gate of the fort or sent direct to charlestown as prisoners. so willinawaugh had set her to weave her toils about the young soldier and discover the truth from him, as he walked the officer's fine horse up and down, and the tall english captain and the great warrior, oconostota, smoked their pipes in the council chamber. thus it had chanced that the unsuspicious orderly, free with his tongue, as a young man is apt to be in the presence of a pretty girl, told all that choo-qualee-qualoo asked to know, as far as he knew it himself, and sooth to say, a trifle further. he gave forth the fact that macleod was english--that is scotch, which he made as one of the same tribe, and so was the brother. but the wife was french--he himself had overheard her talking the frog-eaters' lingo--and, by george, she was a stunner! the baby was hers, and thus a mixture of english and french; as for the cat, he could not undertake to pronounce upon the animal's nationality, for he had not the pleasure of the acquaintance of its parents. choo-qualee-qualoo laid down this last proposition with a doubting gravity, for the young man had promulgated it as if with a sense of its importance and a weighty soberness, although he laughed at most that he said himself and at everything that any one else said. he saw fit to remark that he did not understand how that sober-minded sawney--meaning the scotchman--had ever contrived to capture such a fine woman, but that was always the way with these dull prigs. now as for such rattling blades as himself and his captain--who would have been disposed to lay the flat of his sword smartly across the shoulders of the orderly, could he have dreamed of mention in such irreverent fellowship--they had no chance with the women, and for his own part this made him very sad. and he contrived to look so for about a minute, as he led the captain's horse up and down before the door of the council-house, while choo-qualee-qualoo, at one end of his beat, stood among a clump of laurel and talked to him as he came and went, and willinawaugh, in the shadowy recesses of a neighboring hut, watched through the open door how his scheme took effect. it made him very sad, the soldier said, mournfully, for the girls to like other fellows better than him--as they generally did! and choo-qualee-qualoo broke off to say here that she did not discern why such preference should be, for this soldier's hair was the color of the captain's gold lace on his red coat (the orderly was called "carrots" by his comrades), and he had a face with--and at a loss she dabbled the tips of her fingers delicately about the bridge of her nose and her eyes to intimate the freckles on his fair skin, which beauty-spots she evidently admired. the scotchman's french wife was a stunner, the orderly was good enough to declare again, and everybody else thought so too. but he had overheard captain demeré say to captain stuart that her husband had no right to bring her to this western wilderness, and that that terrible journey of so many hundred miles, keeping up on foot with men, was enough to have killed her; and captain stuart had replied that she would make a fine pace-setter for infantry in heavy marching order. the orderly protested that for his part, if he were a condemned fine woman like that, he wouldn't live in a wilderness--he would run away from the scotchman and go back to wherever she came from. handsomest eyes he ever saw--_except two eyes_! here choo-qualee-qualoo gave odalie a broadside glance which left no doubt as to whose eyes this exception was supposed to refer, and put two or three strands of the red beads into her mouth, showing her narrow sharp teeth as she laughed with pleasure and pride. thus it was that odalie was apprised of the fact that she was regarded by the indians as a french prisoner in the hands of the english, and that the young soldier's use of the idea of capture by her husband, figuratively, as in the toils of matrimony, was literally construed. her first impulse was to repudiate this suggestion of captivity, of detention against her will. then her strong instinct of wisdom,--for she had no foresight in the matter,--that made hamish sometimes charge her with being as politic as captain stuart himself, moved her to reserve this detail for the consideration of the commandant of the fort, as every matter, however trivial, that bore upon the growing enmity of the cherokees toward the english amongst them, and their disposition to fraternize with the french, was important. the two captains listened with serious attention when she detailed this conversation to them, having repaired to the fort for the purpose, and being received as a guest of much distinction in the great hall, summarily cleared of the junior officers, and, not so summarily, of the clouds of tobacco smoke. they both instantly commended her course in leaving the impression on the minds of the indian women as it had chanced to be made, and in dismissing them in unimpaired good humor with some little presents--a tiny mirror set locket-wise and an ivory bobbin wound around with red thread. the women had evidently derived special pleasure from the slyness and presumable secrecy of their interview, skulking out with a craft of concealment that completely eluded the notice of sandy and "dill," and this had given odalie a sense of disapprobation and repulsion. "why should you care?" demanded demeré, always sympathetic with a woman's whim-whams, even when he could not feel with them. "no amount of explanation could enable the indian women to comprehend the situation from your standpoint." and captain stuart could not restrain his laughter at her discomfiture. "do you consider yourself so free, then? do you call it freedom--in the holy _bonds_ of matrimony? i had no idea how much you object to hear the clanking of your chains!" as he noted her long-lashed glance of disdain,--"doesn't the holy scripture call it a 'yoke,'" he persisted, bursting out laughing afresh. she would not reply but sat listening to captain demeré, who began to reason,--"this impression on the part of the cherokee women might afford us--i don't know how--some means of learning and frustrating the treacherous plans of the savages. it gives us a source of information through you that we can trust." "i don't relish the deceitful part assigned to me," she protested. "what would we do with any information, mrs. macleod, supposing we gain aught of value," returned demeré with some haughtiness, "except to use it for the defense of the fort, and your own outlying station? are we here to wage war or to maintain peace?" she was silent, a trifle mortified because of her own mortification to be supposed a mere captive. "everybody else knows that you are the commanding officer at macleod's station," said stuart in pretended consolation, only half smothering a laugh. "besides," demeré argued, gravely, "you will never be able to convince them of the facts. of course you know i intend no disparagement to you when i say they will believe that young soldier's rodomontade in preference to your word--being women of such extreme ignorance." "why, the man ought to be gagged!" exclaimed stuart, in delight at her seriousness. the color mounted to odalie's cheek. she had but entered her twenties, and despite her matronly arrogations she felt very young, now and then. notwithstanding her humble pioneer status, she retained much of the aristocratic traditions inherited from her "grand'maman"; she was beginning to feel it a great liberty that the young orderly should have expressed his admiration of her, although of course he was not aware that it would be repeated. she objected that he should know that she knew of it. "i hope you will not acquaint him with the circumstances," she said, stiffly. "by no means," said demeré, appreciating her scruples. "that sort of thing is beyond discipline. the men in a garrison will tell everything they know or think they know." odalie sat for a moment longer. "i think," she said, recovering her equanimity after a fashion, "that since i immediately placed the information of this ludicrous _contretemps_ at your disposal, for whatever you may make it worth, i should be promised exemption from the kind of raillery--and jokes--which captain stuart--frequent mention of chains, and bond-slave, and matrimonial noose and--such things," she paused, rising and looking at stuart, wistfully remonstrant, for she could but notice how her chagrin ministered to his mischievous delight. "how _can you_, mrs. macleod!" he cried. "captain 'quawl' will have me clapped into irons at the first offence! and this is the vaunted tender-heartedness of women!" even captain demeré joined in the laugh at her, only becoming grave to insist that she should not, without notice to him, divulge the fact that she was not french, but of carolinian birth and parentage, and the further fact--and his serious face relaxed--that she, herself, was the commandant at macleod's station, and that sandy and hamish, fifine and "dill," were the mere minions of her power. she found discretion the better part of valor, and thought it wise to laugh a little at herself and her own pride, although the dimples came and went in very red cheeks, and her eyes were so bright as they rested on the merry face of the big blond officer that they might be said to flash. she diverted with difficulty hamish's attention from captain demeré's half-finished map on the table at the other end of the room, over which the boy had been poring during the entire interview, and then they took their leave. little did any of the party realize how important the mistaken impression of the cherokee women was to prove! chapter vii the winter wore gradually away. while the snows were still on the ground, and the eastern mountain domes were glittering white against a pale blue sky, all adown the nearer slopes the dense forests showed a clear garnet hue, that betokened the swelling of congregated masses of myriads of budding boughs. even the aspect of more distant ranges bespoke a change, in the dull soft blue which replaced the hard lapis-lazuli tint that the chill, sharp weather had known. for the cold had now a reviviscent tang--not the bleak, benumbing, icy deadness of the winter's thrall. and while the flames still flared on the hearth, and the thumping of the batten and the creak of the treadle resounded most of the day from the little shed-room where odalie worked at her loom, and the musical whir of her spinning-wheel enlivened all the fire-lit evenings as she sat in the chimney corner, the thaws came on, and brought the mountain snows down the tennessee river with a great rushing turbulence, and it lifted a wild, imperious, chanting voice into the primeval stillness. a delicate vernal haze began to pervade the air, and a sweet placidity, as if all nature were in a dream, not dead,--an expectant moment, the crisis of development. now and again odalie and fifine would come to the door, summoned by a loud crackling sound, as of a terrible potency, and watch wincingly the pervasive flare of the great elastic yellow and vermilion flames springing into the air from the bonfires of the piles of cane as the cleared land was transformed from the cane-brake into fields. and soon the ploughs were running. oh, it was spring in this loveliest of regions, in this climate of garnered delights! as the silvery sycamore trees, leaning over the glittering reaches of the slate-blue river, put forth the first green leaves, of the daintiest vernal hue, odalie loved to gaze through them from the door of the cabin, perchance to note an eagle wing its splendid flight above the long, rippling white flashes of the current; or a canoe, as swift, as light, cleave the denser medium of the water; or in the stillness of the noon a deer lead down a fawn to drink. she was wont to hear the mocking-bird pour forth his thrilling ecstasy of song, the wild bee drone, and in the distance the muffled booming thunder of the herds of buffalo. who so quick to see the moon, this vernal moon,--surely not some old dead world of lost history, and burnt-out hopes, and destroyed utilities, but fair of face, virginal and fresh as the spring itself,--come down the river in the sweet dusk, slowly, softly, pace by pace, ethereally refulgent, throwing sparse shadows of the newly leaved sycamore boughs far up the slope, across the threshold that she loved, with the delicate traceries of this similitude of the roof-tree. "oh, this is home! home!" she often exclaimed, clasping her hands, and looking out in a sort of solemn delight. "why don't you say that in french, odalie?" hamish would mischievously ask. for his researches into the mysteries of the french language, although not extensive, had sufficed to acquaint him with the fact that the tongue has no equivalent for this word, and to furnish him with this home-thrust, as it were. odalie, always rising with spirit to the occasion, would immediately inquire if he had seen or heard of savanukah lately, and affect to be reminded to urge him to put himself in preparation to be able to stand an examination in french by that linguistic authority by conjugating the reflective verb _s'amuser_. "so much you might, hamish, _amuse yourself_ with savanukah." "i am not disturbed, now," hamish would declare, "since we have made interest with the family. i'd just get your friend, mrs. savanukah, to intercede for me." for odalie had to run the gauntlet of a good deal of merriment in the family circle because of her close acquaintance with the indian women. their visits annoyed her extremely. if she went for an afternoon's talk with belinda rush,--the two had become fast friends,--she deprecated leaving her scanty store of possessions lest their dainty order be disturbed by the indian intruders in her absence. she dared not quit fifine, whom it was sometimes inconvenient to take, even though the child's father was inside the stockade, lest she be kidnapped, so covert and sly was their slipping in and out, for somehow they were never discovered at the moment of entrance. nevertheless, she treated her cherokee callers with such sweet patient courtesy that it is not to be wondered that they came again and again. she gave them trifles that she could spare, and a share of the seeds of vegetables which she had brought with her, and this they received with real and unfeigned gratitude, for the women were the gardeners among the cherokees and the tillers of the soil. odalie herself had that strong nerve of sympathy with the springing growths of the earth that made every turned furrow of the rich mould a delight to her. it was not work--it partook of the nature of a pastime, wrought for the love of it, when following her husband's plough she dropped the indian corn and covered it with her hoe. she loved the soft, tender, sprouting blades, as they put strongly forth; she loved hardly less the quickly springing weeds even as she cut them mercilessly away with her hoe. she loved the hot sun, and the clear, fresh wind that came rushing down the rushing river, and the delicious delicate perfume of its waterside ferns, and the cool, sleeping shadows in the dark mysteries of the woods, and the solemnity of the great mountains on the eastern horizon, and the song of a thrush in mid-air above it all. and when the clouds gathered and came the soft, soft falling of the steady spring rain, she loved the interval it afforded for the setting of things in order within, and once more she and hamish and fifine and the cat were congregated on the buffalo rug in front of the fire, which had dwindled to an ember kept from meal to meal, to sort treasures brought with them in the small compass of a buffalo horn,--seeds now, the seeds of certain simple flowers, a bulb and a root or two,--the precious roots of an eglantine and a clematis vine. and now that the chance of killing frosts was overpast, odalie and fifine were grubbing much of the time in the ground and hamish often came and grubbed too. the seeds were sown and grew apace; the bulbs and roots throve; the vines began to clamber over the support of a rude bower of saplings built above the door; and soon when odalie sat here beside her spinning-wheel, in her white linen dress with its broad collar of her own hand-wrought lace, to enjoy the cool air from the mountains, and the color of the red sunset on the river, she had a canopy of vines above her head, and between her upward glance and the sky, a blooming rose, faintly pink, and a bird's nest with four blue eggs. captain demeré, coming in at the gate of the stockade one afternoon, exclaimed in surprise and pleasure at the prettiness and the completeness of this rude comfort. there was but one room in the house with a floor; the seats were only puncheon benches with rough staves for legs thrust through auger-holes and one or two of her befrilled "tabourets"; the table was of like manufacture; the beds and pillows were mere sacks filled with dried balsam fringes from the great fir-trees, and supported on the rudest frames; but the fresh aromatic fragrance the fir dispensed, the snow-white linen the couches displayed, the flutter of the quaint bird-decorated curtains at the windows, the array of the few bits of treasured old china, the shelf of precious old books, the cluster of purple and white violets arranged in a great opaline pearly mussel-shell from the river, in default of vase, in the center of the wabbly table, the dainty freshness and neatness of the whole--"this is _home_!" he declared. "i accept a new anthropological dogma. man is only the fort-builder--woman is the home-maker!" "yes," said odalie in content and pride, surveying her treasures, as she conducted him about the place, for he had not been here since the completion of the improvements; "i often say that this is _home_!" "but never in french," put in hamish at her elbow. nevertheless, this did not contribute to alter captain demeré's opinion that the frontier was no place for women, though that would imply, with his later conclusions, no place for home. he went away wearing in his buttonhole a sprig of sweetbrier, which he declared again reminded him so of home. he had not thought to find it here, and memory fell upon him unprepared and at a disadvantage. the moon was up when he stepped into his boat, and the orderly, bending to the oars, shot straight out into the river. long, burnished white lines lay upon its gleaming surface, and looking back demeré could see beyond the shadow and sheen of the sloping bank the cleared space, where the moonbeams fell in unbroken splendor before the stockade, and through its open gate the log-cabin with its primitive porch, where, young and beautiful, she sat in her white dress in the bright light beside the silent little flax-wheel. home undoubtedly! as the boat headed up the river he looked moodily at the ripples, glancing in the moonbeams, and noted with a keen new sensitiveness the fragrance of the eglantine, reminiscent of summers dead and gone, and life as fleeting and frail as the transitory flower. for the news that came in these days from over the mountains was always heavy news,--rumors of massacres, now of a single individual in some exposed and dangerous situation, and again of settlers surprised and overcome by numbers within the defenses of their own stanch stockade. all along the frontier the spirit seemed to extend, first toward the north and then southward, and it was apparently only a question of time when the quiet and peace that encircled fort loudon should be summarily broken. many of the pioneers, could they now have returned to virginia or the carolinas without danger, would have forever relinquished their new homes, and have set forth on their long journey without delay. but the cherokees about them, personally known to them and apparently without individual animosity, seemed a slighter menace than the probable encounter with wild wandering bands, glutted with blood yet thirsting still for vengeance. in one of demeré's reports about this time, early in the year 1759, he says: "we are living in great harmony here--no 'bad talks' at all." again and again he and captain stuart, accompanied only by an orderly to mark their sense of confidence, went to choté to confer in a friendly way with the king and half-king, and seek to induce them to take some order with these depredators, and restore the peace of the border. the great council-house at choté was a curious circular structure, formed of withes and willows and wand-like timbers, woven together in a dome-like shape to the height of twenty feet, with a diameter of thirty feet at the base; the whole was covered over with a thick coating within and without of the deeply and richly tinted red clay of that region, and pierced by no window or chimney or other outlet than the tall and narrow doorway. the last time the two officers together sought the presence of the kings in the _ottare_ district, as the mountainous region was called,--the towns designated as the _ayrate_ settlements signified the lower country,--they were received here, and stuart, from the moment of their entrance, knew that their mission was hopeless. they had recently been ordered to demand the surrender to them of certain notable cherokees, for having been concerned in the distant border murders, and who lived in the towns of citico and tellico hard by, close at hand to both choté and fort loudon. they realized that this measure was at once displeasing and impracticable to the kings, whose authority could not compass the surrender of their tribesmen to the justice of the gibbet, after the expiatory methods of the english, and who foresaw that such compliance would but provoke reprisal on the paleface and further outbreaks. sitting motionless on buffalo rugs, a number of which were spread over the floor of the room, on which the two officers were also invited to be seated, the indians advanced none of the equivocal statements and doubtful promises and fallacious expectations of peace as heretofore, but kept their eyes fixed upon the ground, while the officers once more expressed their earnest remonstrances and made their summary demand, implicitly obeying their orders, although this extreme and impolitic measure was secretly deprecated by both. the "talk" was conducted by means of the services of an interpreter, an indian, who stood behind the great chiefs and recited, now in cherokee and now in english, and always with a wooden, expressionless accent, as if he were a talking machine and understood not a word for which he furnished the equivalent, in deference to the great company not permitting his mind to take part in the deeper significance of the ideas they interchanged. he kept his eyes fixed upon the blank wall opposite, and effaced his individuality as far as possible. but after the first sentences of merely formal greeting, the wooden clapper of the interpreter's tongue vibrated back and forth with cherokee only, for the indian chiefs said nothing to be rendered into english. silent and stony they sat, looking neither to the right nor left, unmoved by urgency, stolid to remonstrance, and only when demeré with a flash of fire suggested that governor lyttleton of south carolina, or general amherst the new "head-man," who was now commander-in-chief of the army, would soon take fierce measures to retaliate these enormities, there was a momentary twinkle in the crafty eyes of oconostota, and he spoke briefly. the interpreter woodenly repeated:-"i can well believe you, for after an english treaty we have fraud and then force and at last bloodshed." stuart, the sombre red shadow of the terra-cotta walls hardly dulling the glare of his red uniform, sat looking out, quite placid and self-poised, through the open portal at the scattered huts of the town, at the occasional passing of an indian's figure, at chilhowee mountain in the middle distance, densely green with the dark lush growths of summer, and beyond at the domes of the great smoky range, a soft velvet blue against the hard turquoise blue of the sky. the object, however, on which his eyes fixed most intently was the bright spot of color of the orderly's red coat, like a buoy, one might say, against the glimmering river, in the foreground, as he rested on his oars in the glow of the sunset, while the little boat swung idly in the shallows. not again did either of the chiefs speak. demeré flushed with anger as sentence after sentence rang out in english, now from stuart's lips, now from his own,--cogent, persuasive, flattering, fruitless; repeated by the interpreter in cherokee, and followed by a blank pause. finally demeré rose, and with a curt phrase of formal farewell, to which neither of the chiefs responded, bowed angrily, and walked out, pausing near the entrance to wait for stuart, who with blandest ceremony was taking his leave,--saying how much he hoped there would be no interruption to the kind friendship with which the great men had personally favored them, and which they so highly valued; and how earnestly he desired to express their thanks for the interview, although it grieved him to perceive that the chiefs felt they could say so little on the subject that had brought him hither. he could not have bowed with more respectful formality if he were quitting the presence of general amherst himself, the cocked hat in his right hand sweeping low as he made his obeisance; but he could detect in both faces no change of expression, except that the eye of oconostota twinkled with derision or anger or pleasure--who can say? he left them sitting motionless there in the deep red dusk reflected down from the terra-cotta walls, and the interpreter, looking as wooden as his voice sounded, standing bolt upright behind them. stuart did not comment on the character of the audience vouchsafed as, shoulder to shoulder, he and demeré took their way down to the boat, where the young soldier awaited them. he only said, "i have been uneasy about that orderly all the time for fear our presence here did not protect him, as he was not on the ever-sacred soil of the 'beloved city of refuge'--choté--old town. i wished we had taken the precaution of ordering him ashore. affairs are near the crisis, paul." they seated themselves, and the young soldier pulled out from the shore, demeré, both angry and cast down, realizing as he had not heretofore the imminence of the peril to the settlement. dusk was upon the river; stars began to palpitate elusively in the pallid sky; shadows mustered thick along the bank. suddenly a sound, sharp, discordant, split the air, and a rifle-ball whizzed past between the two officers and struck the water on the further side of the boat. the unarmed orderly seemed for a moment as if he would plunge into the river. "steady--steady--give way," said stuart. then to demeré, who had his hand on his pistol, and was casting a keen glance along the shore preparatory to taking aim,--"why do you return the fire, paul? to make our fate certain? we should be riddled in a moment. i have counted nearly fifty red rascals in those laurel bushes." why the menace was not repeated, whether the skulking braves feared the displeasure of their own authorities, or the coolness of the little group extorted their admiration, so quick to respond to an exhibition of stoical courage, no further demonstration was offered, and the boat was pulled down the five miles from choté to fort loudon in better time perhaps than was ever made with the same weight on that river. the landing was reached, to the relief even of the phlegmatic-seeming stuart. "so ends so much," he said, as he stepped out of the boat. "and i go to choté--old town--no more." but he was destined one day to retrace his way, and, sooth to say, with a heavier heart. the season waxed to ripeness. the opulent beauty of the early summer-tide was on this charmed land. along the heavily-wooded mountain sides the prodigal profusion of the blooming rhododendron glowed with a splendor in these savage solitudes which might discredit the treasures of all the royal gardens of europe. vast lengths of cabling grape-vines hung now and again from the summit of one gigantic tree to the ground, and thence climbed upward a hundred feet to the topmost boughs of another, affording ambush for indians, and these darkling coverts began to be craftily eyed by the soldiers, whose daily hunt for the provisions of the post carried them through many dense jungles. everywhere the exquisite mountain azalea was abloom, its delicate, subtle fragrance pervading the air as the appreciation of some noble virtue penetrates and possesses the soul, so intimate, so indissoluble, so potent of cognition. it seemed the essential element of the atmosphere one breathed. and this atmosphere--how light--how pure! sheer existence was a cherished privilege. and always on this fine ethereal medium came the echo of woe; blended with the incense of the blooming wild grape seemed the smell of blood; the rare variety of flame-tinted azaleas flaring on some high, secluded slope showed a color reminiscent only of the burning roof-trees and stockades of destroyed homes. peace upon the august mountains to the east, veiling their peaks and domes in stillness and with diaphanous cloud; peace upon the flashing rivers, infinitely clear and deep in their cliff-bound channels; and peace upon all the heavily-leaved shadowy forests to the massive westward range, level of summit, stern and military of aspect, like some gigantic rampart! but the mind was continually preëmpted by the knowledge that in the south were murder and despair, in the east were massacre and pillage, that rapine was loosed upon the land, and that this external fixity of calm was as unstable as the crystalline sphere of a bubble to collapse at a touch. every ear was strained to a whisper; the express from over the mountain was met afar off by stragglers from the settlement, and came, delivering by word of mouth such news as he personally possessed, before his package was rendered up to the officers at the fort. every heart seemed subject to the tension of suspense except such organ as might serve captain stuart for the cardiacal functions. he appeared wholly engrossed in perfecting the details of battalion drill, and the attention of the garrison was concentrated on these military maneuvers; even the men of the settlement, especially the rattling single men, were drawn into these ranks, the garrison not being strong enough to furnish the complement desired. in their buckskin hunting-shirts and leggings, with their muscular, keen activity, their ready practice, and their suppleness in handling their rifles, the pioneers made what he was pleased to call "a very pretty body of fencibles." his praise and their evident advance in proficiency gratified them, although the tactical arts of war in the heavy growths of this wild and rocky country were at a discount, since the defeat of that martinet and military precisian, general braddock. thus the afternoon drill at the fort became of increasing public interest, and afforded the social opportunity of a rendezvous for the whole settlement; and despite the growing disaffection of the cherokees, now and again groups of indian spectators appeared at the gate. stuart's tact never deserted him; one day when ordering a knot of pioneers near the sally-port to "fall in"--for he himself drilled the fencibles--he motioned too, with his imperious gesture, to half a dozen braves who were standing hard by, as if he made no difference between them and the other civilian neighbors. one moment of astounded doubt, then they "fell in" as front-rank men, evidently infinitely flattered and marvelously quick in adapting the manual exercise they had often witnessed. now and again there was an expression of keen interest on their stolid faces, and more than once when woe befell the effort to ploy the battalion into double column to form square and the movement became a contortion, they laughed out gutturally--that rare indian mirth not altogether pleasant to hear. and as they went home in the red sunset to citico, and great tellico, and tennessee town and choté, from along the river banks came their harsh cries--"shoulder firelock!" or "fa'lock," as they rehearsed it. "feex bay'net! pleasant a'hms!" it became evident that they rehearsed their learning, suiting the action to the word, once too often,--for they returned no more. whatever might have been the advantage of their acquiring the secret of the military maneuvers from so competent and patient an instructor as the condescending captain stuart, the powers that were at choté had no mind to expose their stalwart young braves to the winning wiles of that magnetic commander, and permitting them to acquire among the troops, perchance, a personal regard for the officer and an _esprit de corps_ in addition to a more available military spirit. if he had had a scheme and the scheme had failed there was no intimation to that effect on the imperturbable exterior he maintained. it had always been known that captain stuart was somewhat fond of the pleasures of the table, and he suddenly developed a certain domesticity in this regard. he desired to experiment on the preserving of some "neat's tongues,"--as he politely called those of the buffalo,--and for the sake of this delicacy utilized a floorless hut, otherwise unoccupied, at the further end of the whole enclosure, as a smokehouse. often smoke was seen issuing thence, but with this understanding it created no surprise. sometimes the quartermaster-sergeant and two or three other non-commissioned officers were seen pottering about it. now and again captain demeré stood at the door and looked in. one day it chanced that hamish, who had secured two tongues, desiring to offer them as a small tribute, came up close to him, in his deft, noiseless deerskin buskins, before captain demeré was aware. as he turned and saw the boy, he instantly let the door in his hand fly back--not, however, before the quick young fellow had had a dissolving view of the interior. a fire smoked in the center of the chimneyless place, half smothered with stones that constituted at once a hearth and protection from the blaze, but one flickering shred of flame revealed not only the tongues which captain stuart coveted, but rows of haunches and saddles of venison and bear hams, and great sections of buffalo meat, as well as pork and beef. the boy understood in an instant, for the hunters from the fort provided day by day for the wants of the garrison from the infinite reserves of game in the vast wilderness without; these were preparations against a state of siege, kept secret that the garrison might not be dispirited by so gloomy a prospect, possibly groundless, and the settlement with its women and children affrighted. hamish, with a caution beyond his years, affected to see naught, made his little offering, and took his way and his speculations homeward. there he was admonished to say nothing of the discovery; it was very proper, sandy thought, for the garrison to be prepared even against remote contingencies. hamish dutifully acquiesced, although he could but feel very wise to know the secret workings of captain stuart's subtle mind and divine his hidden plans, when that officer seemed to grow gravely interested in the development and resources of the country, in which he had no share save the minimum of space that the ramparts enclosed. he speculated adroitly about mineral wealth in gossiping with the groups of settlers at the gates after the drill. he told some strange stories that atta-kulla-kulla had recounted of the vestiges of previous vanished inhabitants of this country--of certain evidences of ancient mining ventures where still lay curious outlandish tools; he felt certain of the existence of copper and lead, and he believed most faithfully too in the proximity of gold; for his own part, he declared, he thought the geological formation indicated its presence. these themes, transferred to the great hall, served to fill it with eager discussions and clouds of tobacco smoke, and to detain the settlers as long as the regulations would admit of the presence of visitors. as to iron and other minerals, the springs indicated iron ore beyond a doubt, and he inquired earnestly had any one ever tried to obtain salt by the usual primitive process of boiling and evaporation at the big salt-lick down the river? thus nobody was surprised when captain stuart and the quartermaster and a detail of soldiers and a lot of big cauldrons were reported to be actively engaged in the effort to manufacture salt down at the lick. no necessary connection was apprehended between the circumstances when four packhorses came over the mountain laden with salt, for even after that event captain stuart continued the boiling and stirring that went on down at the lick. hamish wondered how long he would care to keep up the blind, for the need of salt for the preservation of more meat had by this last importation been satisfied. perhaps stuart himself felt it a relief when one day it chanced that some buffalo bulls met at the salt-lick,--as if by appointment,--and the battle that ensued among them was loud and long and stormy. so numerous were the contestants, and so fiercely did the conflict wage, that the officer and his force were compelled to climb to a scaffold built in one of the gigantic trees, used by the settlers who were wont to wait here for the big game and fire down upon them without the danger of being trampled to death. this battle had other observers: a great panther in the same tree crouched on a limb not far above the soldiers, and sly and cowardly as the creature is, gazed at them with a snarling fierce distention of jaws, plainly unaware of any weapons that could obviate the distance, and counting on a lingering remnant of the party as evidently as on the slain bison to be left on the ground when the battle should be over. now and again came a glimpse of the stealthy approach of wolves, which the tumult of the conflict had lured to the great carcass of the defeated. although the salt-makers waited in much impatience through several hours for the dispersal of the combatants, and were constrained to fire their pistols almost in the faces of the wolves and panthers, captain stuart's chief emotions seemed expressed in admiring the prowess of a champion in the fight, whom he identified as the "big _yanasa_[i] that was the pivot man of the wheeling flank," and, on his return, in guying the quartermaster on the loss of the great cauldrons, for their trampled remains were unrecognizable; but indeed, this worthy's countenance was lugubrious enough to grace the appellation of chief mourner, when he was apprised of the sad ending of the salt-making episode, for he loved a big kettle, as only a quartermaster or a cook can, in a country in which utensils are small and few and not to be replaced. that stuart felt more than he seemed to feel was suspected by demeré, who was cognizant of how the tension gave way with a snap one day in the autumn of that year of wearing suspense. demeré looked up with a changed face from the dispatches just received--the first express that had come across the mountains for a month, having dodged and eluded bands of wandering indian marauders all the way. "governor lyttleton has taken the field," he said. "_at last!_" cried stuart, as in the extremity of impatience. for upon the massacre of all the inmates of a strong station, carried by storm, in addition to other isolated murders up and down the frontier, the royal governor of south carolina had initiated a series of aggressive measures; asked aid of north carolina, urged virginia to send reënforcements and provisions to fort loudon (it being a place which from its remote situation was very difficult at all times to victual, but in the event of a cherokee war entirely cut off from means of supply), and by great exertions succeeded in mustering a force of eight hundred militia and three hundred regulars to advance into the indian country from the south. the vigor and proportions of this demonstration alarmed the cherokees, grown accustomed to mere remonstrance and bootless threats. they had realized, with their predominant military craft, the most strongly developed of their mental traits, that the occupation of all the available forces of the government in canada and on the northwestern frontiers crippled the capacity to make these threats good. thus they had reveled in a luxury of fancied impunity and a turbulent sense of power. now they were smitten with consternation to perceive the cloud upon the horizon. suddenly the privileges of trade which they had forfeited,--for they had become dependent on the supplies of civilization, such as ammunition, guns, tools, blankets, etc., and certain stores in transit to them had been, by governor lyttleton's instructions, intercepted by captain coytmore, the commandant at fort prince george;--the opportunities of a strong alliance that they had discarded; the advantageous stipulations of the treaties they had annulled; all seemed precious when annihilated by their own act. the upper towns and the lower towns--the _ottare_ and the _ayrate_--met in solemn conclave at choté to consider the situation. fort loudon, hard by, maintained quiet and keen watch and strict discipline. the drums beat, the bugles sounded for the measured routine. the flag waved in the sunshine, slipping up to meet the dawn, fluttering down as the last segment of the vermilion disk slipped behind the dark, level, rampart-like summit of the distant cumberland range, and the sunset-gun boomed till the echoes blared faintly even about the council-chamber at choté, where the warriors were gathered in state. whether the distant thunderous tone of that potent force which the indians admired, and feared, and sought to comprehend beyond all other arms of the service, the artillery, suggested anew the untried menace of lyttleton's invasion of their country with a massed and adequate strength; whether they had become desirous now to regain those values of trade and alliance that they had thrown away in haste; whether their repeated reprisals had satiated their greed of vengeance for their comrades, slain on the return march from aiding the defense of the virginia frontier; whether they were inspired only by their veiled deceit and savage craft, in which they excelled and delighted, and which we now call diplomacy, exercised between the enlightened statesmen of conferring and christian nations,--whatever motive urged their decision, no gun barrel was sawed off, an unfailing preparation for battle, no corn pounded, no knife whetted, no face painted, no bow strung, no mysterious scalp-dance celebrated--the cherokees were not upon the war-path! a deputation of their "beloved men" went to forestall the martial advance of the carolinians--oconostota, the "great warrior," with his many wrinkles, and his crafty eye, and his port of meaning that heralded events; and atta-kulla-kulla, of whom all had heard, whose courage was first of the brain and then of the hand, whose savage instincts were disciplined by a sort of right judgment, an intelligence all independent of education, or even of that superficial culture which comes of the observation of those of a higher and trained intellect; and also willinawaugh, fierce, intractable, willing to treat for peace, to be sure, but with a mental reservation as to how far it might serve his purposes. savanukah was of the delegation, doubtful, denying, with a dozen devices of duplicity; he could not at times understand the english he spoke fairly well, and the french, in which he could chaffer smartly and drive a bargain, nor even the cherokee, for which he kept a deaf ear to hinder a settlement he deprecated with the hated english--invaluable at a council was savanukah! of the number, too, was tennessee warrior, who fought, and did nothing but fight, and was ready and willing to fight again, and yet again, and to-morrow! he was always silent during the conferences, studying with successive scowls the faces of the white men. he knew nothing about numbers, and did not yearn to handle the match, and make the big gun howl; he had but to paint his face, and whet his scalp-knife, and load his firelock, and blaze away with as deadly an aim as a pioneer's. what need had the tennessee warrior for diplomacy? if there was to be any fighting the tennessee warrior would rejoice in going along to partake. if there was to be only diplomacy, and diplomacy were long continued with peace unbroken, then the white men and the red men might be sure of one thing--of hearing the tennessee warrior snore! he was an excellent selection to go to a council. then there was bloody fellow, eskaqua, who had scant need of vermilion, so sure he was to paint himself red in another way. and tus-ka-sah, the terrapin of chiletooch, and old abram, ooskuah, of chilhowee, and otassite, the man-killer of hiwassee, and old tassel, rayetaeh of toquoe,--about thirty-five in all,--went in a body to charlestown to negotiate for peace, and some of them signed. these chiefs who signed were oconostota, atta-kulla-kulla, otassite, kitagusta, oconnocca, and killcannokea. the day on which they set forth captain stuart and captain demeré, themselves in council in the great hall at fort loudon, heard the news of the departure of the delegation on this errand, looked at each other in amazement, and fell into bursts of laughter. had their sense of triumph been such as to find joy in reprisal they might have relished the fact that the anxieties, the secret fear, the turmoil of doubt, which oconostota had occasioned to them, were returned to him in plenitude on his arrival in charlestown. governor lyttleton had not yet set out, but the military forces summoned forth were already entered upon their long and toilsome march from various distant districts to the appointed rendezvous at congaree, and thither the commander of the expedition felt that he must needs forthwith repair to meet them. "i did not invite you to come here," he said to oconostota, and despite the remonstrance of the delegation, and doubtless thinking he could treat with the savages to more effect at the head of an armed force invading their country, he postponed hearing their "talk" till he should have joined his little army, but offered them safe-conduct in accompanying his march. "not a hair of your head shall be touched," he declared. returning thus, however, almost in the humiliated guise of prisoners, in fact under a strong guard, accompanying a military force that was invading cherokee soil, comported little indeed with oconostota's pride and his sense of the yet unbroken power of his nation. the coercions of this virtual captivity extended to the stipulations of the treaty presently formulated. while ratifying previous pledges on the part of the indians to renounce the french interest, and providing for the renewal to them of the privileges of trade, this treaty required of them the surrender of the murderers concerned in the massacres along the frontier; pending the delivery of these miscreants to the commandant at fort prince george, and as a guarantee of the full and faithful performance of this compact, the terms dictated the detention at the fort, as hostages, of twenty-two of the cherokee delegation now present.[10] oconostota himself was numbered among the hostages to be detained at fort prince george until the surrender of the cherokee murderers, but the representations of atta-kulla-kulla, who was at liberty, compassed the king's release, urging his influence with his nation and the value of his counsels in the british interest for the restoration of peace. the little band of cherokees, helpless among overwhelming numbers, was hardly in a position to openly withstand these severe measures proposed, and consequently the treaty thus signed on the 26th day of december, 1759, might have been expected to prove of but slight cohesive properties. the hostages remained of necessity at fort prince george; the few indians of the unfortunate embassy who retained their freedom began to scatter, sullen, fierce, disconsolate, to their towns; the army, already discontented, mutinous, and eager to be gone because of the devastations of the smallpox in a neighboring indian village, and the appearance of that disease among a few of the volunteers, set out upon its homeward march, without striking a blow, from an expedition that cost the province the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds sterling. oconostota and willinawaugh, sitting together on the ground, in the flickering sunlight and the sparse wintry shadows of the leafless woods, looking like two large rabbits of some strange and very savage variety, watched the rear-guard file over the hill in the narrow blazed way that seemed a very tolerable road in that day. when the last man had vanished, they listened for a long time to the throb of the drum--then the sound was lost in the distance; a mere pulsing in the air continued, discriminated by the keen discernment of the indians. at last, when not even a faint ripple of sound-waves could be felt in the still atmosphere, oconostota keeled over suddenly and laid his ear to the ground. no vague reverberation, no electrical thrill, no stir of atom of earth striking against atom; nothing! the army was gone! the two savage old rabbits squatted again upright and seemed to ruminate on the situation. then, as if with a single impulse, they looked at each other and broke into sudden harsh gutturals of triumphant laughter. footnotes: [footnote i: buffalo.] chapter viii peace was welcome--so welcome. hence the turning of the soil by the pioneers commenced betimes in the chill spring with heartfelt thankfulness to be anew between the stilts of a plow. the sap was rising; the winter had gone like a quiet sleep ensuing on the heavy tumults of troubled dreams. one day a wren came and perched in a loop-hole of the block-house of the northwestern bastion and sang very loud and sweet and clear, till all the men sitting about the fire turned to look at it, amazed at its temerity, and enjoying in a lazy, sensuous way the jubilance and thrilling crystalline purity of its tone. two of the youngsters, lieutenant gilmore and ensign whitson, ready to wager anything on anything, disputed as to the size of the creature,--if it had on no feathers,--one maintaining that it was two inches long, the other, an inch and a half. the bird brought a straw and arranged it carefully in place in the loop-hole, and then singing, flew away, and came back with a feather. his intention was evident. "my young friend," said stuart, carelessly eyeing him, "you are a fine figure of a settler, but that loop-hole is ours!" "let him have it," said demeré. "we shall never need it." the door opened suddenly, and the orderly, saluting, announced the express from over the mountains. at once there ensued a great stir of the tobacco smoke, and a laying aside of pipes in any coign of vantage to better handle the mail from home, as soon as the official dispatches should be read. and then, "here's something from fort prince george," said demeré, from where he sat at the rude table with the papers scattered before him. "a goodly packet," he continued, as he broke the seal, in the expectant, pleased silence of the others. "ensign milne is writing--both the official communication and a long personal letter," noting the signature. at the first glance along the lines his face fell. "captain coytmore is dead," he said in a low voice. murdered by the indians he had been, in front of the fort, in the presence of the officers of his own command! as the news was unfolded, startled, amazed glances were exchanged; no word was spoken; the silence was only broken by the low, tense voice as demeré read, and now and again the wren's clear, sweet, reedy note, full of joyance, of life, as the bird fluttered in and out and builded his nest in the loop-hole. without warning the blow had fallen. one morning it happened, the 16th of february, when naught of moment seemed to impend. on the bank of the keowee river opposite to fort prince george, two indian women appeared, and as they loitered, seeming to have something in hand, the sentinel called the attention of an officer of the fort,--doharty it was,--who at once went out to speak to them, thinking they might have some news. he called out to them, having a trifle of cherokee at command, but before they could answer they were joined by oconostota, the king of the indian tribe, arrayed in his buckskin shirt and leggings, and mounted upon a very excellent chestnut horse. he told doharty that he desired to speak to the commandant of the fort. doharty, thinking it a matter of importance, and possibly having reference to the surrender of some of the murderers of the settlers in exchange for the hostages, went in great haste and summoned captain coytmore, who instantly came, accompanied by lieutenant bell with foster, the interpreter, following. the writer detailed that he himself was within, engaged in inspection duty as officer of the day, or his interest and curiosity would have carried him in their company. in expectation of developments they all went down to the water's edge, and coytmore asked the chief if he would not ford the stream and come over. but oconostota stated that he was in haste touching matters of great moment which he wished to impart to the royal governor of south carolina. it was imperative that he should treat of the subject in person, and thus he would go to charlestown to see governor lyttleton if captain coytmore would send a white man to accompany him as a safeguard in the white settlements. captain coytmore seemed to consider for a moment whom he could send; and then, evidently desirous of furthering any pacific negotiation, said that he could detail a man for that duty. oconostota replied that that courtesy was all he would ask of the commandant--a white man as a safeguard. he himself would furnish a horse for the man to ride. he had come prepared for the purpose, and he lifted a bridle, which he had brought over one arm, to show it. he then remarked that he would get the horse, which he had left a little distance back, while captain coytmore gave the man his instructions. so saying, he lifted up the bridle in his hand, whirling it three times around his head, and wheeling his horse, galloped off, while from an ambush amongst the trees and underbrush a fire of twenty or thirty muskets was poured upon the little group at the river bank. captain coytmore was shot through the left breast and died that day. bell and foster were each wounded in the leg. doharty and the sentinel had much ado to get them into the fort with coytmore's help, for the commandant was able to run to shelter with the rest through the sally-port, and until parker, who the writer said had had considerable experience as a chirurgeon, examined coytmore's wound, neither he nor the others knew that it was mortal. milne, being now the officer in command, thought it fit to order the hostages into irons, fearing some outbreak within the fort as well as an attack from without. one and twenty stalwart savages were dangerous inmates at large, with the freedom of the parade as they had had much of the time. they resisted; one of the soldiers was killed in the effort to shackle them, for arms appeared among them, evidently brought and secreted by their friends who had been permitted to visit them, much leniency having been accorded them, being hostages and not themselves criminals. another soldier was wounded in the head with a tomahawk. upon the death of their comrade, and the announcement that the commandant was dying, the garrison was seized with an uncontrollable frenzy, fell upon the hostages, and within five minutes had slaughtered the last man of them. "i know you will feel for me," milne wrote. "i dared scarce reprimand the men, for they were full of fury. i see here and there signs of sullenness. they watch me--their way of showing regret. i can scarcely blame--yet the cherokees were hostages and i am sorry; i was much alone, with the temper of the soldiers to consider. coytmore dead, and bell gone into a delirium with the fever--his wound bled very little--the ball is near the bone. doharty had been ill of a pleurisy and seems to relapse. on the night after, i sat for a time in the block-house where we had laid the commandant, feeling very low in my mind. there is one of the men a bit of a joiner, and a great billet of the red cedar, used in building the fort, being left over, he made a decent coffin, the wood working easily and with a fine grain and gloss. i could hear as i sat there the tapping of his mallet and chisel as he worked on the coffin, while coytmore lay with the flag over him, his sword and hat by his side--there was no fire, because of him, and only a candle at his head, or i think the savages would have seen the light. but the work being finished and everything still, they supposed all asleep. i cannot think why they did not smell the blood--for the ground of the room where the hostages lay reeked of it. twenty-one!--i could not think how i could bury them inside the fort and i dared not send out a detail, nor do i think the men would obey--the barracks seemed steeped in the smell, though none there. of a sudden, the night being fine and chill as i sat there with coytmore, a sentry outside the door, i heard a great voice like a wind rushing. i thought i had been sleeping. and again i heard it--words in cherokee. _o-se-skinnea co-tan-co-nee!_ i slipped outside the block-house where was the sentinel, much startled, and bade him fetch the interpreter, alive or dead. he came limping--not greatly hurt. the words he said meant, "good tidings for the unhappy." then as we stood there other words sounded signifying 'fight manfully and you will be assisted!' they were spoken to the hostages and close to the rampart hard by their hut, unknowing their--i cannot think how they should not smell the blood! then from a greater distance came the "whoo-whoop!" and a thick hail of musketry. the men got under arms very quick and tractable, and i think wished to atone. the fire of the savages had no effect, the balls being buried in the earth of the escarp, or falling spent within the fort. but we were kept at it all night, the men tireless and dutiful. the savages now and then paused at first, expecting some token from the hostages. then they fought with great persistence--realizing. with what loss we do not know, since they carried off their dead. sure, how strange 'tis to be fighting all night, firing through the loop-holes of the block-house around coytmore, with never a word from him, an order, or a sign. i miss him more since he is out of sight. i am afraid to speak of burying the savages inside the fort, along with the commandant and private mahone--and yet i _must_ get rid of them. twenty-one!--in so narrow an enclosure---"much gratified by a deputation of indians, realizing at last, and asking for bodies. would not open gates for fear of surprise. had each hoisted up and slipped out of embrasure; could hardly force men to touch them. i said, 'you were too quick once!'--drew my pistol. the indians seemed mighty glad to get them, yet women went off howling. soldiers seemed relieved to find in the hut tomahawks buried in ground, and a phial of liquid, which they think was poison for well. i poured this out on the earth, and broke bottle. men's spirits improve--quite cheerful. hope you have better luck at ft. loudon. pray some one of you write to me! bell and the others too ill to send remembrances--doubtless would." the circle listened in appalled silence, and when the reading was concluded, except here and there a murmur of commiseration, or a deep imprecation, hardly a stir was in the room until the joyous notes of the building wren arose, so clear that they had a suggestion of glitter, if the quality of light can ever be an attribute of sound. then captain stuart asked for the letter and silently read it from end to end, while a fragmentary conversation concerning the personality of the slain hostages, all men of great note in their respective towns, began to be prosecuted by the others. that evil days were upon the land hardly admitted of a doubt, and they fell to discussing the improbability of measures of relief and reprisal being undertaken so early after the bootless return of governor lyttleton's troops without striking a blow. the cherokees, too, were surely cognizant of the fact that it was scarcely possible in view of the great expense of mustering and sending forth this force that such an expedition would again be soon set on foot. acting upon this theory, and always instigated by the subtle french, their demonstration probably heralded a systematic and vigorous outbreak all along the frontier, to exterminate the settlers and free their land forever from the encroachments of the hated english. this view was confirmed by an attack which presently ensued on fort ninety-six, and being without effect, the repulsed indian forces drew off and fell upon the more defenseless settlements, ravaging the frontier throughout the borders of the two carolinas and virginia and practicing all the horrible atrocities of savage warfare. the settlers about fort loudon quaked in their little log-cabins and looked upon their limited clearings in the wilderness and their meager beginnings of a home, and wondered if it were worth coming so far and risking so much to attain so little. as yet, save for glances of a flashing ire and sullen silence, the indians had made no demonstration, but it was a period of poignant doubt, like waiting for the falling of a sword suspended by a hair. one day odalie was startled by seeing fifine, seated on the threshold, persistently wreathing her countenance into a grimace, which, despite the infantile softness of her face and the harsh savagery of the one she imitated, was so singularly recognizable that the mother took her hands from the bread-trough where she was mixing the pounded corn meal and went near to hear what the child was saying:-"fonny! fonny!" with the terrible look of malevolent ridicule with which willinawaugh had rebuked hamish's poor pleasantries on that heart-breaking journey hither. odalie's pulses seemed to cease to beat. the child could hardly have remembered an incident of so long ago without some recent reminder. "where, josephine? where did you see willinawaugh?" but fifine had no mind to answer, apprehending the agitation in the sharp tones, and translating it as displeasure. she drew her countenance straight in short order, and put a meditative forefinger in her mouth as she looked up doubtfully at her mother. odalie changed her tone; she laughed out gayly. "fonny! fonny!" and she too imitated the indian. then exclaimed--"_oh_, isn't it droll, fifine?" and fifine, deceived, banged her heels hilariously against the door-step, laughing widely and damply, and crying, "fonny! fonny!" in infantile derision. "you didn't see 'fonny' yesterday. no, fifine! no!" odalie had the air of detracting from some merit on fifine's part, and as she played her little _rôle_ she trembled so with a realization of terror that she could scarcely stand. yes, fifine protested with pouts and anger. she _had_ seen him; she had seen him, only yesterday. "where, fifine, where?" cried odalie bewildered, for the child sat upon the threshold all the day long, while the mother spun and wove and cooked within the sound of the babble of her voice, the gates of the stockade being closed in these troublous times, and always one or more of the men at work hard by in the fields without. the mystery was too fraught with menace to be disregarded, but odalie hesitated, doubting the policy of this direct question. fifine's interest, however, was suddenly renewed and her importance expanded. "him wasn't all in," she explained. "him top-feathers--him head--an' him ugly mouf!" she looked expectantly and half doubtfully at her mother, remembering her seeming anger. "oh, how droll! one might perish with laughter!" screamed odalie, with a piercing affectation of merriment, and once more fifine banged her heels hilariously against the door-step, as she sat on the threshold, and cried in derision, "fonny! fonny!" "where, fifine? at the stockade? some hole?" fifine became angry at this suggestion, for had not "dill" built the stockade, and would he build a stockade so indians might get through and cut off her curls--she bounced them about her head--that dill said were "'andsomer than any queen's." but odalie _knew_ she had seen "fonny" at the stockade, and fifine contradicted, and after a spirited passage of "did!" "didn't!" "did!" "didn't!" fifine arose to go and prove her proposition. there at the little spring, so sylvan sweet, so full, yet with the merest trickle of a branch that hardly wet the mint, so shyly hidden amongst its rocks, was a fissure. odalie had often noted it; dark it was, for the shadows fell on it, and it might be deep; limited--it would but hold her piggin, should she thrust it there, or admit a man's head, yet not his shoulders--and this was what it had done yesterday, for protruding thence fifine maintained she had seen willinawaugh's face with "him top-feathers, him head, an' him ugly mouf!" odalie laid her ear to the ground to listen; smooth, quiet, full, she heard the flow of water, doubtless the branch from the little spring always brimming, yet seeming to send so tiny a rill over the slopes of the mint. there was evidently a cave beneath, and they had never dreamed of it! she began to search about for fissures, finding here and there in the deep herbage and the cleft rocks one that might admit the passage of a man's body. she remembered the first sudden strange appearance of the cherokee women at her fireside, and afterward, and that sandy and hamish and dill often declared that watch the gate as they might they never saw the squaws enter the stockade nor issue therefrom. doubtless they had come through the cave, that had a hidden exit. her heart throbbed, her eyes filled; "i ought to be so thankful to discover it in time--to think how safe we felt here when the gates were locked! but, oh, my home! my sweet, sweet home!" the way the men's faces fell when they were summoned, and stood and looked at the slope, might make one pity them. it represented the hard labor of nearly two years--and it was all to begin anew. when sandy, with the vigorous scotch thrift, began to show how easily the stockade might be moved to exclude the spring, gilfillan shook his head warningly. a station should never be without water. sooner or later its days were numbered. as to the stockade, it was futile. twenty--nay, fifty men might be surprised and massacred here. for the ordinary purposes of life the place was useless. hamish, after the first sharp pang, was resolved into curiosity; he must needs slip through the fissure and into the cave below. when odalie ceased her tears to remonstrate, he declared that he could get out of any cave that willinawaugh or choo-qualee-qualoo could, and then demanded to be tied to her apron-string to be drawn up again in case he should prove unable to take care of himself. he went down with a whoop, somewhat like willinawaugh's own war-cry, then called out that the coast was clear, and asked for his rifle to be handed to him. following the wall with his hand and the sound of the water he took his way through a narrow subterranean passage, so densely black that it seemed he had never before known what darkness was. he could hear naught but the wide, hollow echo of the flow of the stream, but never did it touch his feet; and after he had progressed, as he judged, including the windings of his way, some five or six miles, he began to recollect a little, meager stream, yet flowing with a good force for its compass, that made a play in the current not a quarter of a mile, not more than one thousand feet, from the fort. so well founded was his judgment of locality that when the light first appeared, a pale glimmer at the end of a long tunnel, growing broader and clearer on approach, and he reached an archway with a sudden turn, seeming from without a mere "rock-house"--as a grotto formed by the beetling ledges of a cliff is called in that region--and with no further cavernous suggestion, the first thing that caught his eye was the english flag flying above the primitive block-houses and bastions and out-works of fort loudon, while the little stream gathered all its strength and hied down through the thick underbrush to join the tennessee river. the officers heard with evident concern of the disaster that had befallen macleod station, and immediately sent a runner to bid the stationers come to the fort, pending their selection of a new site and the raising of new houses. so odalie, with such few belongings as could be hastily collected once more loaded on a packhorse, again entered the gates of fort loudon with a heavy heart. but it was a cheery group she encountered. the soldiers were swaggering about the parade in fine form, the picture of military jollity, and the great hall was full of the officers and settlers. an express had come in with news of a different complexion. long delayed the bearer had been; tempted to turn back here, waiting an opportunity there, now assisted on his backward journey by a friendly indian, and again seeing a dodging chance of making through to loudon, he had traveled his two hundred miles so slowly that the expedition he heralded came hard on the announcement of its approach. while the tidings raised the spirits of the officers and the garrison, it was evident that the movement added elements of danger and developed the crisis. still they consisted with hope, and with that sentiment of good cheer and jovial courage which succeeded the reading of the brief dispatch from fort prince george. advices just received from charles town. general amherst detaches colonel montgomery with adequate force to chastise indians. discussions of the situation were rife everywhere. there was much talk of the officer in command of the expedition, a man of distinguished ability and tried courage, and the contradictory gilmore and whitson found themselves in case to argue with great vivacity, offering large wagers of untransferable commodities,--such as one's head, one's eyes, one's life,--on the minor point, impossible to be settled at the moment, as to whether or not he spelled his name with a final "y," one maintaining this to be a fact, the other denying it, since he was a younger brother (afterward succeeding to the title) of the earl of eglinton, who always spelled his name montgomerie. it might have afforded them further subject for discussion, and enlarged their appreciation of the caricature of incongruity, could they have known that some two years later three of these savage cherokee chiefs would be presented to his majesty king george in london by the earl of eglinton, where they were said to have conducted themselves with great dignity and propriety. horace walpole in one of his letters chronicles them as the lions of the hour, dining with peers, and having a vocal celebrity, mrs. clive, to sing on one of these occasions in her best style for their pleasure. in fact, such was the grace of their deportment, that several of the newspapers seemed to deduce therefrom the failure of civilization, since the aboriginal state of man could show forth these flowers of decorum, a point of view that offends to the quick a learned historian, who argues astutely throughout a precious half-page of a compendious work that the refinements of spiritual culture are still worth consideration, seeming to imply that although we cannot all be cherokee chieftains, and take london by storm,--in a manner different, let us say in passing, from their previous reduction of smaller cities,--it is quite advisable for us to mind our curriculum and our catechism, and be as wise and good as we may, if not distinguished. perhaps the cherokees acted upon the intuitive perception of the value of doing in rome as the romans do. and that rule of conduct seems earlier to have been applied by colonel montgomery. however he spelled his name, he was sufficiently identifiable. he came northward like an avenging fury. advancing swiftly with a battalion of highlanders and four companies of the royal scots,[11] some militia and volunteers, through that wild and tangled country, he fell on little keowee town, where with a small detachment he put every man to the sword, and, by making a night march with the main body of his force, almost simultaneously destroyed estatoe, taking the inhabitants so by surprise that the beds were warm, the food was cooking, loaded guns exploded in the flames, for the town was promptly fired, and many perished thus, the soldiers having become almost uncontrollable on discovering the body of an englishman who had only that morning suffered death by torture at the hands of the savages. sugaw town next met this fate--in fact, almost every one of the ayrate towns of the cherokee nation, before colonel montgomery wiped his bloody sword, and sheathed it at the gates of fort prince george, having personally made several narrow escapes. these details, however, were to fort loudon like the flashes of lightning of a storm still below the horizon, and of which one is only made aware by the portentous conditions of the atmosphere. the senior officers of the post began to look grave. the idea occurred to them with such force that they scarcely dared to mention it one to the other, lest it be developed by some obscure electrical transmission in the brain of oconostota, that fort loudon would offer great strategic value in the possession of the indians. the artillery, managed by french officers, who, doubtless, would appear at their appeal, might well suffice to check the english advance. the fort itself would afford impregnable shelter to the braves, their french allies and non-combatants. always they had coveted it, always they claimed that it had been built for them, here in the heart of their nation. stuart was not surprised by the event. he only wondered that it had not chanced earlier. that night the enmity of the indians was prefigured by a great glare suddenly springing into the sky. it rose above the forests, and from the open spaces about fort loudon, whence the woods had been cleared away, one could see it fluctuate and flush more deeply, and expand along the horizon like some flickering mystery of the aurora borealis. but this baleful glare admitted of no doubt. one needed not to speculate on unexplained possibilities of electrical currents, and resultant thrills of light. it only epitomized and materialized the kindling of the fires of hate. it was odalie's little home; much that she valued still remained there--left to be quietly fetched to the fort next day. their flitting had taken place at dusk, with but a load of wearing apparel, and it was supposed that the rest was quite safe, as the cherokees were not presumed to be apprised of their absence. the spinning-wheel and the loom; her laborious treasures of home-woven linen for bed and table; the fine curtains on which the birds flickered for the last time; the beds and pillows, adding pounds on pounds of dry balsam needles to the fire; the flaunting, disguised tabourets, showing themselves now at their true value, and burning stolidly like the chunks of wood they were; the unsteady tables and puncheon benches; all the uncouth, forlorn little makeshifts of her humble housekeeping, that her embellishing touch had rendered so pretty, added their fuel to the flames which cast long-glancing lines of light up and down the silvery reaches of the river she had loved. captain stuart and captain demeré, who had gone instantly to the tower in the block-house by the gate, on the report of a strange, distant light, saw her as they came down, and both paused, demeré wincing a trifle, preferring not to meet her. she was standing beside one of the great guns and had been looking out through the embrasure. the moon was directly overhead above the parade, and the shadows of the palisades fell outward. the officers could not avoid her; their way led them down near at hand and they needs must pass her. she turned, and as she stood with one hand on the big cannon, her white dress richly a-gleam in the moonlight, she looked at them with a smile, something of the saddest, in her eyes. "if i wanted to scream, mrs. macleod, i should scream," exclaimed demeré, impulsively. she laughed a little, realizing how he would have upbraided the futility of tears had she shed them--he was always so ready with his staid, kind, undeniably reasonable rebukes. "no," she said, "i am trying to remember that home is not in a house, but in the heart." "i think you are trying to show us the mettle of a soldier," said demeré, admiringly. "mrs. macleod would like the king's commission!" cried stuart, breaking the tension with his bluff raillery, striking the cannon a smart tap with the butt of the pistol he carried in his hand, while the metal gave out a deep, hollow resonance. "her unbridled ambition was always to be the commanding officer!" both stuart and demeré thought more seriously of the demonstration as affecting the public weal than did the pioneers of the settlement. still hoping for the best, it seemed to them not unnatural that an abandoned station should be fired as merely wanton mischief, and not necessarily with the knowledge or connivance of the head-men of the cherokees. the next day, the hunters of the fort went out betimes as usual, and hamish found it agreeable to make one of the party. corporal o'flynn was among the number, and several horses were taken to bring in the game; a bright, clear day it was, of that sweet season when the spring blooms gradually into the richness of summer. the wind was fresh; the river sang; the clouds of a glittering whiteness, a flocculent lightness, floated high in the blue sky. suddenly the sentry at the gate called out sharply for the corporal of the guard. the men, lounging about the parade, turned to look and listen. [illustration: "plunging through the gate and half across the parade ground."] the hoof-beats of a horse coming at frantic speed smote first upon the ear; then across the open space to which the glacis sloped, with snorting head and flying mane and tail, the frightened creature galloped, plunging through the gate and half across the parade ground; a soldier was on his back, leaning forward upon the animal's neck, his arms clasped about it, the stirrups and his position alone retaining him in the saddle; for he was dead--quite dead. too dead to answer any of the dozen questions hurled at him as the soldiers caught the bridle; when the horse whirled he reeled out of the saddle, so hopelessly dead that they asked him no more. the good sorrel would have told much, if he might, as he stood, snorting and tossing his head, and trembling in every fiber, his eyes starting out of their sockets, yet, conscious he was among his friends, looking from one to another of the soldiers as they handled him, with an earnest appeal for sympathy and consolation which implied some terrible ordeal. before an order could be given the crack of rifles came from the woods, and a few of the hunters were seen bursting from the forest, one by one, and coming at a double-quick up the slope of the glacis. hamish and o'flynn were the last. they had been together a little distant from the others. now and again they had heard the report of firearms, multiplied into something like a volley. "listen at them spalpeens wastin' powdher," the corporal exclaimed once, wroth at this unsoldierly practice. "must they have twenty thrys to hit a big black buffalo? just lemme git 'em into the gyard house wunst agin--time they git out they'll be fit to worship the outside o' the dure; it'll look so strange an' good to 'm." it was a wolf-trap which he was exploiting at the moment, made of logs cumbrously adjusted and baited with buffalo meat, and within it now were two large, handsome specimens whose skins were of value, and who had evidently resolved to part with those ornamental integuments as reluctantly as might be; they were growling and plunging at the timbers with a most ferocious show of fangs and the foam flying from their snarling jaws. the sun sifted down through the great trees and the soft green shadows on the man and boy, both clad in the hunter's buckskin shirt and leggings. corporal o'flynn had knelt down outside the pen the better to see in the shadow the two plunging wild beasts. "i'm afeared to shoot so close lest i might singe yer hair, but i can't stand on ceremony, me dears," he said, addressing the wolves, as he drew his pistol. "bedad, i _must_ go and stop that wastin' o' powdher!" the next moment something suddenly sang aloud in the wilderness--a wild, strange, sibilant strain. it seemed materialized as it whizzed past hamish's ear, and so long had it been since he had heard the flight of the almost discarded arrow that he did not recognize the sound till he heard a sharp exclamation of pain and saw the shaft sticking in o'flynn's right arm, pinning it to the logs of the wolf-trap. the claws of the wild beasts, reaching through, tore now the buckskin and now the flesh from his chest, as he pluckily struggled to free himself; the pistol went off in his grasp and one of the wolves fell in convulsive agonies; the other, dismayed, shrank back. hamish caught up o'flynn's loaded gun, looking about warily for indians, and prudently reserving his fire. he saw naught, and the next moment he realized that o'flynn was fainting from the pain. he knew that the straggler who had shot the arrow had sped swiftly away to summon other cherokees, or to secure a gun or more arrows. he risked his life in waiting only a moment, but with the fellow-feeling which was so strong among the pioneers of the tennessee valley that it would induce two men at parting, having but one knife between them, to break and share the blade, to divide the powder that meant life in that wild country equally to the last grain. hamish did not for one instant contemplate any other course. he rushed to o'flynn and sought to release him, but the flint of the arrow that had gone through the heavy muscular tissues of the arm still stuck fast in the strong fiber of the logs of the trap, and the blood was streaming, and once more the wolf was angrily plunging against the side of the pen. suddenly the boy remembered the juvenile account of the scalping of "dill." calling piteously to o'flynn not to mind, if he could help it, hamish placed one firm foot against the straight back of the soldier, and bracing himself with his left arm around a stanch young tree, he pulled at the arrow with all his might. there was a ripping sound of flesh, a human scream, a creak of riving wood, and corporal o'flynn lay face downward on the ground, freed, but with the shaft still in his arm, the blood spurting from it, and the wolf plunging and snarling unheeded at the very hair of his head. chapter ix with a great effort hamish dragged o'flynn, who was a heavy, muscular fellow, out of the reach of the wolf. fortunately there chanced to be a spring branch near at hand, and the ice-cold water hurriedly dashed into the corporal's face, together with an earnest reminder of the hideous danger of death and torture by the indians, and a sense of the possibility of escape, served to sufficiently restore him to enable him to get upon his feet, unsteadily enough, however, and with hamish's help make his way toward the fort at a pretty fair speed. he fainted after they crossed the ditch, and the great gates closed. these two were the last of the hunters who found rescue; the others who had straggled in previously, reported having been fired upon by indians, and that several dead soldiers were left upon the ground. the parade was a scene of wild turmoil, far different from its usual orderly military aspect. the settlers and their families, alarmed at last, had fled for refuge to the fort, bringing only a small portion of their scanty possessions. women were weeping in agitation and terror of the dangers passed, and in despair because of the loss of their little homes, which the indians were even now pillaging; children were clinging about their mothers and peevishly plaining, their nerves unstrung by the rush and commotion, and the unaccustomed aspect of the place; bundles of clothing and bedding lay about on the ground; the pioneers moved hither and thither, now seeking to adjust discomforts and clear the domestic atmosphere, now aiding in the preparations for an expected attack. odalie, who had braced up her heart, found little to encourage her as she went from one to another of the matrons and sought to comfort them with the reflection that it might have been worse. "for my own part," she declared, "i think of what might have been. if my household gear were not sacrificed we should have been at home last night when the indians came and found us gone and sacked and fired the house. and such a little thing to save us--fifine's talk of seeing willinawaugh." "him top-feathers, him head, an' him ugly mouf," reiterated fifine, who had become impressed with the belief that she had done something very clever indeed, and was enchanted to hear it celebrated. odalie's exertions were more appreciated at the hospital, where she assisted in dressing the wounds and caring for the comfort of the soldiers who had been shot. afterward, still determined to make the best of things and to help all she could, she discovered a mission to tax her powers in offering to assist in what manner she might the quarter-master-sergeant. that functionary looked as if the conundrum of the created world had suddenly been propounded to him. he was a short, square, red-faced man, with light, staring, gray eyes, and they seemed about to pop out of his head whenever the finding of quarters for another family was required of him. "why couldn't they have brought some conveniences, such as knives and forks and cups and platters, instead of fool trifles?" he demanded fiercely, aside, as he turned away from one group who were as destitute of all appliances as if they had expected to peck off the ground, or drink out of the bubbles of the spring branch. "i have got none to spare except those of the poor fellows who were killed and corporal o'flynn's, for he will be equal to nothing but spoon-meat for one while." "oh, the poor settlers,--i pity them,--and poor mr. green,--i feel very guilty, for i came here just such a charge on the resources of the fort, myself." he paused pudgily, as if he were mentally in full run and had brought up with a short stop. "oh, you--" he exclaimed, in the tone of making an exception, "you are you." he felt equal to any arrangements for merely military mortals, but the "squaw question," as he mentally called it, overwhelmed him. with a lot of anxious, troubled, houseless women and querulous, distraught, frightened children, and difficult half-grown boys,--and the commandant's general orders to quarter them all to their satisfaction and to furnish whatever was necessary,--the strain might have proved too great for the old bustling sergeant, and like undue pressure on the boiler of one of our modern locomotives, which he much resembled, as he went back and forth puffingly, might have exploded his valuable faculties, but for odalie's well-meant hints. "i should give mrs. halsing the larger room if i were you," she suggested. "mrs. beedie is a friend of mine and i will answer for it that she won't mind." or--"if i might suggest, i wouldn't put mrs. dean and the twin babies next to mrs. rush. nervous headaches and other people's twin babies won't keep step--not one bit. put them next to me. i am conveniently deaf at times." and mrs. halsing said, "that french thing flirts with every man in the fort, from the commandant down to mrs. dean's one-year-old boy twin!" for odalie was presently conveying this juvenile personage about in her arms, and he left off a whimper, characteristic of no particular age or sex, to exhibit a truly masculine interest in the big soldiers with their bright uniforms and clanking accouterments, and although constrained by the force of the concussion to blink and close his eyes whenever the great guns were fired, he fairly wheezed and squealed with manly ecstasy in the sound--for a cannonade had begun, seeking to deter the plunder of the deserted houses in the settlement. the din suddenly ceased; the active military figures paused in the swift preparations that were in progress to meet the expected attack; the confusion and stir of the groups of settlers' families in the parade were petrified in a sort of aghast disarray; amongst them appeared half a dozen stalwart fellows bearing a stretcher, on which lay the body of the dead soldier whom the horse had brought into the fort, his young boyish face all smooth again and serenely upturned to the serene sky. he was dressed in his uniform, with his belt and gloves freshly pipeclayed and glittering white. his melancholy progress from the crowded barracks to a vacant building where were kept the spare arms,--called the armory,--there to wait the few remaining hours of his sojourn in these familiar scenes, served to deepen the gloom with the thought of the others of the little band, lying out in the woods, who would not receive even such simple honors of sepulture as the fort could bestow. but after the next day, when the poor young soldier was buried (the children wept dreadfully at the sound of the muffled drum, the troops being touched by their sympathetic tears, and captain demeré read the burial service and alluded feelingly to the other dead of the garrison, to whom they could only do reverence in the heart and keep their memory green)--after all this the place took on an air of brisk cheerfulness and the parade ground presented somewhat the appearance of the esplanade of a watering-place, minus the wealth and show and fashion. in the evenings after the dress-parade and the boom of the sunset-gun, the elder women sat about in the doors and porches, and knitted and gossiped, and the men walked up and down and discussed the stale war news from europe--for the triumphs of british arms were then rife in all the world--or sat upon the grass and played dominoes or cards; the soldiers near the barracks threw horseshoes for quoits; the children rollicked about, shrill but joyous; odalie and belinda rush in their cool fresh linen dresses, arm in arm, the admiration of all beholders, strolled up and down with measured step and lissome grace; and the flag would slip down, and the twilight come on, and a star tremble in the blue summer sky; and the sweet fern that overhung the deep clear spring, always in the shadow of the oaks near one of the block-houses, would give out a fresh, pungent fragrance. presently the moon would shed her bland benediction over all the scene, and the palisades would draw sharp-pointed shadows on the dark interior slope, and beside each cannon the similitude of another great gun would be mounted; a pearly glister would intimate where the river ran between the dense glossy foliage of the primeval woods, and only the voice of the chanting cicada, or the long dull drone of the frogs, or the hooting of an owl, would come from the deserted village, lying there so still and silent, guarded by the guns of the fort. and after a little odalie would be strolling on her husband's arm in the moonlight, and would silently gaze about with long, doubting, diplomatic eyelashes and inquiring eyes when asked where was belinda rush,--which conduct induced mrs. halsing's comment as to mrs. macleod's proclivity toward matchmaking. for in the neighborhood of the northwestern bastion one might see, if one were very keen, sitting in the moonlight on the tread of the banquette, belinda rush and ensign whitson--talking and talking--of what?--so much!--in fact so much that at other times ensign whitson had little to say, and lieutenant gilmore pined for lack of contradiction, and his powers of argument fell away. captain demeré and captain stuart, on their way to a post of observation in the block-house tower, came near running over these young people seated thus one moonlight night--to captain demeré's manifest confusion and captain stuart's bluff delight, although both passed with serious mien, doffing their hats with some casual words of salutation. despite his relish of the episode, stuart glanced down at them afterward from the block-house tower and said, in a tone of commiseration, "poor little love-story!" "why preëmpt ill-fortune for them, john?" broke out demeré, irritably. "bless you, my boy, i'm no prophet!" exclaimed stuart easily. [illustration: belinda and the ensign on the moonlit rampart.] the expected attack by the indians took place one night late, in the dead hour, after the sinking of the moon, and with all the cunning of a designed surprise. the shadowy figures, that one might imagine would be indistinguishable from the darkness, had crept forward, encompassing the fort, approaching nearly to the glacis, when the crack of a sentry's firelock rang out, splitting the dead silence, and every cannon of the twelve roared in hideous unison, for the gunners throughout the night lay ready beside the pieces. a fusillade ill-directed upon the works, for the besiegers encountered the recoil of the surprise they had planned, met a furious response from the loop-holes where the firelocks of the garrison were reënforced by the rifles of the backwoodsmen. every man had been assigned his post, and it seemed that the wild alarum of the drum had hardly begun to vibrate on the thrilling air when each, standing aside from the loop-hole according to orders, leveled his weapon without sighting and fired. wild screams from without, now and again, attested the execution of these blind volleys into the black night, and the anguish that overcame the stoical fortitude of the warlike cherokee. the crashing of the trees, as the cannon on all sides sent the heavy balls thundering beyond the open space into the forest, seemed to indicate that the retreat of the assailants was cut off, or that it must needs be made under the open fire of the artillery. how the movement fared the defenders could ill judge, because of the tumult of their own rapidly delivered volleys--all firing to the word, the "fencibles" adopting the tactics of the garrison in which they had been so well drilled--and the regular reverberations of the rapidly served cannon. they only knew when the ineffectual fire of the assailants slackened, then ceased; the crash of riving timber, and now and again a hideous yell from the forest, told of the grim deed wrought beyond the range of the firelock by the far-reaching great guns. it was soon over, and although the garrison stood ready at their posts for an hour or more afterward, till the night was wearing into dawn, no further demonstration was made. "vastly fine! they will not return to the attack,--the fun's over," captain stuart cried hilariously;--his face and hands were as black with powder "as if he had been rubbing noses with the cannon," corporal o'flynn said, having crawled out of the hospital on his hands and knees to participate in the fight in some wise, if only as spectator. "they have had a lesson," said demeré, with grim triumph, "how severe, we can't judge till we see the ground." this satisfaction, however, was to be denied them, for the corporal of the guard presently brought the report of a sentinel whose sharp eyes had descried, in the first faint gray siftings of the dawn through the black night, parties of indians, chiefly women, carrying off the dead and disabled, and now and then a wild, shuddering groan or a half-smothered cry of the wounded attested their errand of mercy. "they ought to show a white flag," said demeré, exactingly, like the martinet he was. "and they ought to wear top-boots on their feet, and steinkirks around their gullets, and say their prayers, but they don't," retorted stuart in high good humor, for his rigorous discipline and persistent formality were exerted only on his own forces; he cared not to require such punctiliousness of the enemy since it did not serve his interest. "let them take the carrion away. we don't want to play scavenger for them--from an ambuscade they could make it mighty hot for us! and we should be compelled to do it for sanitary reasons--too close to the fort to let the bodies lie there and rot." and with this prosaic reminder captain demeré was content to dispense with the polite formality of a flag of truce. they never knew what the loss might be on the indian side, nor did the braves again venture within gunshot. now and then the cannon sought to search the woods and locate the line, but no sound followed the deep-voiced roar, save the heavy reverberations of the echo from up and down the river and the sullen response of the craggy hills. the cannonade had served to acquaint the cherokees with an accurate estimate of the range of the guns. the fact that a strong cordon was maintained just beyond this, was discovered when the post hunters were again sent out, on the theory that the repulse of the indians had been sufficiently decisive to induce a suspension of hostilities and a relinquishment of their designs to capture the fort, if not a relapse into the former pacific relations. the hunters were driven back by a smart fire, returning with one man shot through the leg, brought in by a comrade on horseback, and four others riding double, leaving their slain horses on the ground. it became very evident that the cherokees intended to maintain a blockade, since the fort obviously could not be carried by storm, and the commandant was proof against surprise. to send the hunters out again was but to incur the futile loss of life and thus weaken the garrison. the supply of fresh game already in the fort being exhausted, the few head of cattle and the reserves of the smoke-house came into use. the very fact that such reserves had been provided put new heart into the soldiers and roused afresh the confidence of the settlers, who had begun to quake at the idea of standing a siege so suddenly begun, without warning or preparation, save indeed for the forethought for all emergencies manifested by the senior officers. both demeré and stuart became doubly popular, and when there was a call for volunteers to run the blockade and severally carry dispatches to colonel montgomery, they had but to choose among all the men in the fort. the tenor of these dispatches was to apprise colonel montgomery of the blockade of fort loudon and ask relief, urging him to push forward at once and attack the ottare towns, when valuable assistance could be rendered him by the ordnance of the fort, as well as by a detachment of infantry from the forces of the garrison attacking the indians on the flank in support of the aggressions of his vanguard. gilfillan was selected as the earliest express sent out, and loud and woeful was fifine's outcry when she discovered that her precious "dill" was to be withdrawn from her sight. but when he declared that he needs must go to keep the indians from cutting off her curls and starving out the garrison--mrs. dean's twin babies were represented as the most imminent victims, so much more precious than one, "being philopenas" as o'flynn admonished her--she consented, and tearfully bade him adieu. and he kissed her very gravely, and very gravely at her request kissed the cat. so with these manifestations of his simple affection he goes out of these pages beyond all human ken, and into the great unknown. for dill returned no more. his long backwoods experience, his knowledge of indian character, his wide familiarity with the face of the country, and many by-ways and unfrequented routes, his capacity to speak the cherokee language, all combined to suggest his special fitness for the dangerous part he had undertaken to play. the next express, going two days later and following the beaten track, was a man who had frequently served in this capacity and knew half the indians of the lower towns and middle settlements by name--a quick-witted pioneer, "half-trader, half-hunter, and half-packman," as he often described himself, and he had been in the country, he boasted, "ever since it was built." the choice of these two men was evidently specially judicious, and after the mysterious disappearance of each, being smuggled out of the fort in dead silence and the darkest hour of the deep night, the garrison settled down to a regular routine, to wear away the time till they might wake some morning to hear the crack of montgomery's musketry on the horizon, or the hissing of his grenades burning out their fuses and bursting among the dense jungles, where the cherokees lay in ambush and blockaded fort loudon. the military precision and order maintained continued as strict as heretofore. it argued no slight attention to detail and adroit handling of small opportunities that the comfort of the soldiers was in no wise reduced by the intrusion into their restricted domain of so considerable a number of people, many unprovided with the most ordinary conveniences of life. even in such a matter as table and cooking utensils the food of the companies was served as heretofore, and only after the military had breakfasted or dined, or supped, could their precious pewter platters and cups be borrowed by the families, to be rigorously cleaned and restored before the preparations began for the next meal. every utensil in the place did double duty, yet not one failed to be ready for service when required. mrs. halsing ventured to cavil, and suggested that she had always heard elsewhere that it was polite to serve ladies and children first, instead of giving a lot of hulking soldiers precedence. "why, madam," demeré said, with rebuking severity, "the men are the muscles of our defense, and must be kept in the best possible physical condition." nothing was allowed to interfere with the regular hours of the troops or break their rest. tattoo and "lights out" had the same meaning for the women and children and wild young boys as for the soldiery; no boisterous callow cries and juvenile racing and chasing were permitted on the parade; no belated groups of gossipers; no nocturnal wailing of wickedly wakeful infants in earshot. "a-body would think the men was cherubim or seraphim the way the commandant cares for them," plained mrs. halsing. the supplies were regulated by the same careful supervision and served out duly by weight and allowance. somewhat frugal seemed this dole, especially to those who had lived on the unlimited profusion of the woodland game, yet it was sufficient. no violent exercise, to which the men had been accustomed, required now the restoring of exhausted tissues by a generous food supply. there was ample provision, too, made for the occupation of the men's attention and their amusement. the regular cleaning of quarters, inspection, drill and guard duties, and dress-parades went on as heretofore, with the "fencibles" as an auxiliary body. the rude games of ball, ring toss, leap-frog were varied sometimes by an exhibition, given under the auspices of the officers, of feats of strength; certain martial samsons lifted great weights, made astonishing leaps, ran like greyhounds competing with one another in a marked-off course, or engaged in wrestling-matches--to the unbounded applause of the audience, except the compassionate fifine, who wept loudly and inconsolably whenever a stalwart fellow caught a fall. one rainy evening, in the officers' mess-hall, the society of the fort was invited to hear the performance of a clever but rascally fellow, more used to ride the wooden horse than to any other occupation, who was a bit of a ventriloquist. among other feats he made fifine's cat talk, and tell about willinawaugh with "him top-feathers, him head, an' him ugly mouf," to the great relish of his comrades (who resented the fact that the indians, exceedingly vain of their own personal appearance,[12] were accustomed to speak of the paleface as the "ugly white people"); to the intense, shrieking delight of the elder children; and to the amazement of fifine, who could not understand afterward why the _douce mignonne_ would not talk to her. when the pretended conversation of the cat grew funnily profane, captain demeré only called out "time's up," from the back of the hall, and the fellow came sheepishly down from the platform, holding the borrowed kitty by the nape of the neck, and half the audience did not catch the funny swear that he attributed to the exemplary feline. then there was a shadow-pantomime, where immaterial roisterers "played injun," and went through the horrid details of scalping and murders, with grotesque concomitant circumstances,--such as the terrifying ricochet effects on an unsophisticated red-man of riving a buzz-wig from the head of his victim in lieu of a real scalp, and the consequent sudden exchange of the characters of pursued and pursuer,--all of which, oddly enough, the people who stood in imminent danger of a horrible fate thought very funny indeed. one evening the commandant devised a new plan to pass the time. all were summoned to the parade ground to share in an entertainment designated as "songs of all nations." "an' i could find it in my stommick to wish it was to share in 'soups of all nations,'" said corporal o'flynn to a comrade. for it seemed that the quartermaster-sergeant had docked his rations by an ounce or two, a difference that made itself noted in so slender a dole and a convalescent's appetite. it was a night long to be remembered. the great coils of scorpio seemed covered with scintillating scales, so brilliant were the stars. no cloud was in the sky, unless one might so call that seeming glittering vapor, the resplendent nebulose clusters of the galaxy. a wind was moving through the upper atmosphere, for the air was fresh and cool, but below was the soft, sweet stillness of the summer night, full of fragrant odors from the woods, the sound of the swift-flowing river, the outpour of the melody of a mocking-bird that had alighted on the tip of the great flagstaff, and seemed to contribute thence his share to the songs of all nations. he caught upon his white wing and tail-feathers, as he flirted them, the clear radiance of the moon,--not a great orb, but sending forth a light fair enough to be felt in all that sidereal glitter of the cloudless sky, to show the faces of odalie and belinda and others less comely, as the ladies sat in chairs under the line of trees on one side of the parade with a group of officers near them, and the soldiers and "single men" and children of the settlers filling the benches of the post which were brought out for the occasion. so they all sang, beginning with a great chorus of "rule britannia," into which they threw more force and patriotism than melody. then came certain solo performances, some of which were curious enough. odalie's french chansonnettes acquired from her grand'maman, drifting out in a mellow contralto voice, and a big booming proclamation concerning the "vaterland," by the drum-major, were the least queerly foreign. mrs. halsing, after much pressing, sang an outlandish, repetitious melody that was like an intricate wooden recitative, and the words were suspected of being icelandic,--though she averred they were high dutch, to the secret indignation of the drum-major, who, as o'flynn afterward remarked, when discussing the details of the evening, felt himself qualified by descent to judge, his own father-in-law having been a german. the men who had sung in the christmas carols remembered old english ditties,- "how now, shepherd, what means that, why that willow in thy hat?" and "barbara allen." corporal o'flynn, in the most incongruously sentimental and melancholy of tenors, sang "savourneen deelish eileen ogg." the sober sandy gave a rollicking scotch drinking-song that seemed to show the very bead on the liquor, "hey the browst, and hey the quaigh!". the officers' cook, a quaint old african, seated cross-legged on the ground, on the outskirts of the crowd, piped up at the commandant's bidding, and half sang, half recited, in a wide, deep, musical voice, and an unheard-of language that excited great interest for a time; but interpreting certain manifestations of applause among the soldiers as guying, he took himself and his ear-rings and a gay kerchief, which he wore, to the intense delight of the garrison, as a belt around the waistband of his knee-breeches, to his kitchen, replying with cavalier insubordination,--pioneer of the domestic manners of these days,--to captain stuart's remonstrances by the assertion that he had to wash his kettle. there were even cradle songs, for mrs. dean, who certainly had ample field for efforts in that line, sang a sweet little theme, saying she knew nothing else, and a big grenadier, whose hair was touched with gray, and who spoke in a deep sonorous voice (the cherokees had always called him _kanoona_, "the bull-frog"), respectfully requested to know of the lady if she could sing one that he had not heard for forty years, in fact, not since his mother sang it to him. one or two of the settlers, hailing originally from england, remembered it too, and some discussion ensued touching the words and the exact turn of the tune. in the midst of this a wag among the younger pioneers mischievously suggested that the grenadier should favor them with a rendition of his version, and the big soldier, in the simplicity of his heart and his fond old memories, in a great bass voice that fairly trembled with its own weight, began "bye-low, bye-low"; and the ventriloquist who had made the cat swear, and who so often rode the wooden horse, was compelled during the performance to wear his hat adjusted over his face, for his grin was of a distention not to be tolerated in polite society. perhaps because of the several contradictory phases of interest involved in this contribution to the entertainment, it held the general attention more definitely than worthier vocal efforts that had preceded it, and the incident passed altogether unnoticed, except by captain stuart, when the corporal of the guard appeared in the distance, his metal buttons glimmering from afar in the dusk as he approached, and captain demeré softly signaled to him to pause, and rising quietly vanished in the shadow of the block-house. he encountered stuart at the door, for he had also slipped away from the crowd, himself, like a shadow. "dispatches?" he asked. "the express from fort prince george," demeré replied, his voice tense, excited, with the realization of an impending crisis. chapter x demeré was not a man to consider an omen and attach weight to trifling chances, yet he was in some sort prepared for disaster. within the hall a pair of candles stood on the table where it was the habit to transact official business,--to write letters; to construct maps of the country from the resources of the information of the officers and the descriptions of the indians; to make out reports and the accounts of the post. writing materials were kept in readiness here for these purposes--a due array of quills, paper, inkhorn, wafers, sealing-wax, sand-box, and lights. as the door was opened the candles flickered in the sudden draught, bowed to the wicks grown long and unsnuffed, and in another moment were extinguished, leaving the place in total darkness, with the papers on which hung such weighty interests of life and death, of rescue or despair, unread in his hand. "the tinder-box--the flint--where are they? cannot you strike a spark?" he demanded, in agitated suspense, of stuart, who made more than one fruitless effort before the timorous flame was started anew on the old and drooping wicks, which had to be smartly snuffed before they would afford sufficient light to discern the hasty characters, that looked as if they might have been written on a drumhead--as in fact they were. "here--read them, john--i can't," said demeré, handing the package to stuart, and throwing himself into a chair to listen. although the suspense had been of the kind that does not usually herald surcease of anxiety, he was not prepared for the face of consternation with which stuart silently perused the scrawled lines. "from montgomery!" he exclaimed. "but our dispatches evidently have never reached him." for in the bold strain of triumph colonel montgomery acquainted the commandant of fort loudon with the successful issue of his campaign, having lost only four men, although he had burned a number of indian towns, destroyed incalculable quantities of provisions, killed and wounded many braves, and was carrying with him a train of prisoners, men, women, and children. he was now on the march to the relief of fort prince george, which the savages had invested, where the garrison was in much distress, not for the want of provisions but for fuel to cook food, since the enemy was in such force that no sortie could be made to the woods to procure a supply. two of his prisoners he had set at liberty, fiftoe, and the old warrior of estatoe, that they might acquaint the nation of his further intentions, for, if the indians did not immediately sue for peace and deliver up the principal transgressors to justice, he would sally forth from fort prince george on another foray, and he would not hold his hand till he had burned every cherokee town of the whole nation. he deputed captain stuart and captain demeré to offer these terms to the upper towns, and let them know that they were admitted to this clemency solely in consideration of the regard of the government for atta-kulla-kulla. this chieftain, the half-king of the cherokee tribe, had deprecated, it was understood, the renewal of the war, since he had signed the last treaty at the congarees, and having shown himself friendly on several occasions to the british people his majesty's government esteemed him as he deserved. the two officers gazed silently at one another. montgomery was obviously entirely unaware of their situation. here they were, penned up in this restricted compass, besieged by an enemy so furious that even a hat showing but for one moment above the palisades,--for the soldiers had tried the experiment of poising an old busby on the point of a bayonet,--would be riddled in an instant. often a well-directed bullet would enter the small loop-holes for musketry, and thus, firing from ambush, endanger the sentinel as he stood within the strong defenses. more than once arrows, freighted with inflammable substances, all ablaze, had been shot into the fort with the effort to fire the houses; it was dry weather mostly, with a prospect of a long drought, and the flames thus started threatened a conflagration, and required the exertions of the entire garrison to extinguish them. this proclivity necessitated eternal vigilance. ever and anon it was requisite that the cannon should renew their strong, surly note of menace, and again send the balls crashing through the forest, and about the ears of the persistent besiegers. only the strength of the primitive work saved the garrison from instant massacre, with the women and children and the settlers who had sought safety behind those sturdy ramparts. of the ultimate danger of starvation the officers did not dare to think. and from this situation to be summoned to send forth threats of sword and fire, and to offer arrogant terms of peace, and to demand the surrender, to the justice of the gibbet, of the principal transgressors in the violation of the treaty! there were no words that could express what they felt. they could only look at one another, each conscious of the other's sympathy, and say nothing. outside, odalie, belinda, and ensign whitson were singing a trio, the parts somewhat at haphazard, the fugue-like effects coming in like the cadences of the wind, now high, now low, and in varying strength. the stars still glittered down into the parade; the moon cast a gentle shadow along the palisades; the sentries in the block-house towers, the gunners lying flat beneath their great cannon, feeling the dew on their faces, looking toward the moon, the guard ready to turn out at the word,--all listened languorously, and drank in the sweets of the summer night with the music. a scene almost peaceful, despite the guarded walls, and the savage hordes outside, balked, and furious, and thirsting for blood. "let us see the express, paul," said stuart at last. the express had repeatedly served as a means of communication between fort loudon and fort prince george, and as he came in he cautiously closed the door. he was a man of war, himself, in some sort, and was aware that a garrison is hardly to be included in the conference between commanders of a frontier force and their chosen emissary. with the inside of his packet his brain was presumed to have no concern, but in such a time and such a country his eyes and ears, on his missions to and fro, did such stalwart service in the interests of his own safety that he was often able to give the officers at the end of his route far more important news, the fruits of his observation, than his dispatches were likely to unfold. he was of stalwart build, and clad in the fringed buckskin shirt and leggings of the hunter, and holding his coonskin cap in his hand. he had saluted after the military fashion, and had evidently been enough the inmate of frontier posts to have some regard for military rank. he waited, despite his look of having much of moment to communicate, until the question had been casually propounded by stuart: "well, what can you tell us of the state of the country?" then in disconnected sentences the details came in torrents. montgomery's campaign had been something unheard of. his "feet were winged with fire and destruction,"--that was what oconostota said. oh, yes, the express had seen oconostota. but for oconostota he could not have made fort loudon. he had let him come with the two warriors, set free by montgomery to suggest terms of peace and spread the news of the devastation, as a safe-guard against any straggling white people they might chance to meet, and in return they afforded him safe-conduct from the cherokees. the devastation was beyond belief,--dead and dying indians lying all around the lower country, and many were burned alive in their houses when the towns were fired. many were now pitifully destitute. as the fugitives stood on the summits of distant hills and watched their blazing homes and great granaries of corn--"i could but be sorry for them a little," declared major grant of montgomery's command. but the result was not to be what montgomery hoped. the cherokees were arming anew everywhere. they would fight now to the death, to extermination,--even atta-kulla-kulla, who had been opposed to breaking the treaty. oh, yes, he had seen atta-kulla-kulla. the chief said he would not strike a blow with a feather to break a treaty and his solemn word. but to avenge the blood of his kindred that cried out from the ground he would give his life, if he had as many years to live as there were hairs on his head! the express added that atta-kulla-kulla had been sitting on the ground in his old blanket, with ashes on his head, after the council agreed to break the treaty. but now he was going round with his scalp-lock dressed out with fresh eagle-feathers, and armed with his gun, and tomahawk, and scalp-knife, and wearing his finest gear, and with all his war-paint on--one side of his face red, and the other black, with big white circles around his eyes,--"looks mighty keen," the man exclaimed with a sort of relish of the fine barbaric effect of the fighting trim of the great warrior. then his face fell. "and i told oconostota that i would not deliver his message to you, captain stuart and captain demeré, sir," he hesitated; "it was not fit for your worshipful presence; and he said that the deed might go before the word, then." "what message did he send?" asked demeré, with flashing eyes. "well, sir, he said fort loudon was theirs,--that it was built for the cherokees, and they had paid the english nation for it in the blood they had shed in helping the virginians defend their frontier against the french and their indian allies. but you english had possessed the fort; you had claimed it; and now he would say that it was yours,--yours to be burnt in,--to be starved in,--to die in,--to leave your bones in, till they are thrust forth by the rightful owner to be gnawed by the wolf of the wilderness." there was a momentary silence. "vastly polite!" exclaimed captain stuart, with a rollicking laugh. "lord, sir," said the man, as if the sound grated upon him, "they are a dreadful people. i wouldn't go through again what i have had to risk to get here for--any money! it has been full three weeks since i left oconostota's camp. he is with the lower towns--him and atta-kulla-kulla, but willinawaugh is the head-man of the force out here. they seemed to think i was spying,--but they have got so many men that i just doubts but what they want you should know their strength." "you will go back to colonel montgomery at fort prince george with dispatches?" said demeré. the man's expression hardened. "captain demeré," he said, "and captain stuart, sir, i have served you long and faithful. you know i bean't no coward. but it is certain death for me to go out of that sally-port. i couldn't have got in except for that message from oconostota. he wanted you to hear that. i believe 'old hop' thinks willinawaugh can terrify you out of this place if they can't carry it by storm. i misdoubts but they expects frenchmen to join them. they talk so sweet on the french! every other word is louis latinac! that french officer has made them believe that the english intend to exterminate the cherokees from off the face of the earth." he paused a moment in rising discontent,--to have done so much, yet refuse aught! "i wouldn't have undertook to bring that message from oconostota except i thought it was important for you to have your dispatches; it ain't my fault if they ain't satisfactory." he cast a glance of the keenest curiosity at the papers, and captain stuart, lazily filling his pipe, took one of the candles in his hand and kindled the tobacco at the blaze. "nothing is satisfactory that is one-sided," he said easily. "we don't want colonel montgomery to do all the talking, and to have to receive his letters as orders. we propose to say a word ourselves." a gleam of intelligence was in the scout's eyes. it was a time when there was much professional jealousy rife in the various branches of the service, and he had been cleverly induced to fancy that here was a case in point. these men had a command altogether independent of colonel montgomery, it was true, but he was of so much higher rank that doubtless this galled them, and rendered them prone to assert their own position. he bent his energies now, however, to a question touching his pay, and answering a seemingly casual inquiry relative to the fact that he had heard naught of gilfillan and the other express, was dismissed without being subjected to greater urgency. the two maintained silence for a time, the coal dying in captain stuart's pipe as he absently contemplated the fireless chimney-place filled now with boughs of green pine. demeré spoke first. "if we can get no communication with colonel montgomery it means certain death to all the garrison." "sooner or later," assented stuart. the problem stayed with them all that night. they were forced to maintain a cheerful casual guise in the presence of their little public, and the appearance of the express put great heart into the soldiery. the fact that the commandant was in the immediate receipt of advices from colonel montgomery and his victorious army seemed itself a pledge of safety. the express was turned loose among them to rehearse the exploits of montgomery's troops,--the splendid forced marches they made; the execution of their marksmanship; the terror that the cherokees manifested of their sputtering grenades, hurled exploding into the ambuscades by the stalwart grenadiers at the word,--"fall on"; the interest of the indians in the sound of the bagpipes and in the national dress, the plaid and philibeg, of the highlanders, which, although now generally proscribed by law, was continued as a privilege granted to those enlisted in regiments in the british army. he told of the delight of the highlanders in the sight of the great smoky mountains, how they rejoiced to climb the crags and steep ravines even of the foothills. he repeated jokes and gibes of the camp outside fort prince george, for montgomery had overtaken him and raised the siege before he reached the fort, so difficult was the slow progress of the express among the inimical cherokees. he detailed colonel montgomery's relish of the sight of a piece of field artillery which ensign milne showed him; that officer had mounted it one day before the siege when he was with a detail that he had ordered into the woods to get fuel for the post, and a band of cherokees had descended upon him,--"a quaker," he called it; you might have heard colonel montgomery laugh two hundred miles to fort loudon, for of course it wouldn't fight,--a very powerful friend, indeed,--only a black log mounted between two wheels, which the soldiers had been in the habit of using to ease up the loads of wood. but the indians were deceived, and with their terror of artillery got out of range in short order, and the soldiers made their way back into the fort under the protection of their "little quaker." when the barracks were lost in slumber, and the parade was deserted but for the moon, and the soft wind, and the echo of the tramp of the sentry, captain stuart went over to captain demeré's house, and there until late the two discussed the practicabilities, that each, like a blind trail, promised thoroughfare and led but to confusion. the officers did not dare to call for volunteers to carry dispatches to montgomery, in the face of the fact that the express just arrived could not be prevailed on to return. without, moreover, some assurance of the safety of the messengers previously sent out, no man would now so lightly venture his life as to seek to slip through the vigilant savage hordes. to explain the terrors of the crisis to the garrison would be to have the ferocious cherokees without, and panic, mutiny, and violence within. yet a man must go; a man who would return; a man who would risk torture and death twice. "for we must have some assurance of the delivery of our dispatches," stuart argued. "i am anxious as to the homing qualities of our dove that we are about to send out of this ark of ours," he said, as he lay stretched out at full length on the buffalo rug on the floor, in the moonlight that fell so peacefully in at the window of his friend's bedroom. demeré was recumbent on his narrow camp-bed, so still, so silent, that more than once stuart asked him if he slept. "how can i sleep,--with this sense of responsibility?" demeré returned, reproachfully. but stuart slept presently, waking once to reply to demeré's remark that a married man would have the homing quality desired, the fort holding his family; stuart declared that no one would be willing to leave wife and children to such protection as other men might have presence of mind to give them in a desperate crisis. the mere communication might create a panic. "of all things," said stuart, as he lay at his stalwart length, his long, fair hair blowsing in the wind over the rug, "i am most afraid of fear." when demeré presently asked him if he were quite comfortable down there, his unceremonious presence placing him somewhat in the position of guest, his silence answered for him, and he did not again speak or stir until the drums were sounding without and the troops were falling in line for roll-call. neither gave sign of their vigil; they both were exceedingly spruce, and fresh, and well set up, to sustain the covert scrutiny of the garrison, who regarded them as a sort of moral barometer of the situation, and sought to discern in their appearance the tenor of montgomery's official dispatches. that morning, when stuart went with his spy-glass to reconnoiter from the tower of one of the block-houses, he noted, always keenly observant, a trifle of confusion, as he entered, in the manner of the sentinel,--the smart, fair-haired, freckled-faced young soldier whose services were sometimes used as orderly, and whose name was daniel eske. the boy immediately sought to appear unconcerned. the officer asked no question. he raised the glass to his eye and in one moment discerned, amongst the laurel jungles close to the river, an indian, a young girl, who suddenly lifted her arm and gracefully waved her hand toward the bastion. stuart lowered the glass and gravely looked a grim inquiry at the young soldier. daniel eske answered precipitately: "for god's sake, sir, don't let this go against me. i'm not holding any communication with the enemy,--the red devils. that baggage, sir, has been twice a-waving her hand to me when i have been on guard here. i never took no notice, so help me god,--captain,--i--" the distance being minimized by the lens, stuart could discern all the coquettish details of the apparition; the garb of white dressed doe skin--a fabric as soft and flexible, the writers of that day tell us, as "velvet cloth"--the fringed borders of which were hung with shells and bits of tinkling metal; the hair, duly anointed, black and lustrous, dressed high on the head and decorated with small wings of the red bird; many strings of red beads dangled about the neck, and the moccasons were those so highly valued by the indians, painted an indelible red. with a definite realization of the menace of treachery in her presence, stuart's face was stern indeed as he looked at her. all at once his expression changed. "do as i bid you," he said to the sentry, suddenly remembering "wing-of-the-flying-whip-poor-will," and her talk of the handsome young orderly with his gold hair and freckles, and his gossip touching the scotchman's beautiful french wife, whom she regarded merely as a captive. "wait till she waves again. but no,--she is going,--show yourself at the window,--must risk a shot now and then." the loop-hole here attained the size of a small window, being commanded only by the river, which would expose any marksman to a direct return fire. "now, she sees you," exclaimed stuart, as the young fellow's face appeared in the aperture, gruff, sheepish, consciously punished and ridiculous,--how could he dream of stuart's scheme! "take off your hat. wave it to her. wave it with a will, man! there,--she responds. that will do." then, with a change of tone, "i advise you, for your own good, to stay away from that window, for if any man in this garrison is detected in engaging in sign language with the enemy he will certainly be court-martialed and shot." "captain," protested the boy, with tears in his eyes, "i'd as lieve be shot now, sir, as to have you think i would hold any communication with the enemy,--the warriors. as to that girl,--the forward hussy came there herself. i took no notice of her waving her hand. i'd--" but captain stuart was half down the ladder, and, despite young eske's red coat, and the fact that he smelled powder with more satisfaction than perfume, and could hear bullets whizzing about his head without dodging, and had made forced marches without flinching, when he could scarce bear his sore feet to the ground, the tears in his eyes overflowed upon the admired freckles on his cheek, and he shed them for the imputation of captain stuart's warning as to communicating with the enemy. that officer had forgotten him utterly, except as a factor in his plan. he sat so jocund and cheerful beside the table in the great hall that odalie, summoned thither, looked at him in surprise, thinking he must have received some good news,--a theory corrected in another moment by the downcast, remonstrant, doubtful expression on demeré's face. he rose to offer her a chair, and stuart, closing the door behind her, replied to something he had already said:-"at all events it is perfectly safe to lay the matter before mrs. macleod." to this demeré responded disaffectedly, "oh, certainly, beyond a doubt." "mrs. macleod," said stuart deliberately, and growing very grave, as he sat opposite to her with one hand on the table, "we are trusting very deeply to your courage and discretion when i tell you that our situation here is very dangerous, and the prospect nearly desperate." she looked at him silently in startled dismay. she thought of her own, of all that she loved. and for a moment her heart stood still. "you know that all received methods, all military usages, fail as applied to indian warfare. you can be of the greatest service to us in this emergency. will you volunteer?" there was a little smile at the corner of stuart's lip as he looked at her steadily. "no, no, i protest," cried demeré. "tell her first what she is to do." "no," said stuart, "when you agreed to the plan you expressly stipulated that you were to have no responsibility. now if mrs. macleod volunteers it is as a soldier and unquestioningly under orders." "it is sudden," hesitated odalie. "may i tell my husband?" "would he allow you to risk yourself?" asked stuart. "and yet it is for yourself, your husband, your child, the garrison,--to save all our lives, god willing." odalie's color rose, her eyes grew bright. "i know i can trust you to make the risk as slight as it may be,--to place me in no useless danger. i volunteer." the two men looked at her for one moment, their hearts in their eyes. then captain stuart broke out with his reassuring raillery. "i always knew it,--such a proclivity for the military life! in the king's service at last." odalie laughed, but captain demeré could not compass a smile. stuart's next question she thought a bit of his fun. "have you here," he said, with deep gravity, "some stout gown, fashioned with plaits and fullness in the skirt, and a cape or fichu,--is that what you call it,--about the shoulders? and, yes,--that large red hood, calash, that you wore the first day you arrived at the fort,"--his ready smile flickered,--"on an understanding so little pleasing to your taste. go get them on, and meet me at the northwestern bastion." the young soldier, daniel eske, still standing guard in the block-house tower, looked out on a scene without incident. the river shone in the clear june daylight; the woods were dark, and fresh with dew and deeply green, and so dense that they showed no token of broken boughs and riven hole, results of the cannonade they had sustained, which still served to keep at a distance, beyond the range of the guns, the beleaguering cordon of savages, and thus prevent surprise or storm. nevertheless there were occasional lurking indians, spies, or stragglers from the main line, amongst the dense boughs of the blooming rhododendron; he saw from time to time skulking painted faces and feathers fluttering from lordly scalp-locks, which rendered so much the more serious and probable the imputation of communicating with the enemy that the presence and gestures of choo-qualee-qualoo, still lingering there, had contrived to throw upon him. her folly might have cost him his life. he might have been sentenced to be shot by his own comrades, discovered to be holding communication with the enemy, and that enemy the cherokees,--good sooth! suddenly rampant in his mind was a wild strange suspicion of treachery. his abrupt cry, "halt, or i fire!" rang sharply on the air, and his musket was thrust through the window, aiming in intimidation down alongside the parapet, where upon the exterior slope of the rampart the beautiful carolina girl, the french wife of the scotch settler, had contrived to creep through the embrasure below the muzzle of the cannon, for the ground had sunk a trifle there with the weight of the piece or through some defect of the gabions that helped build up the "cheek," and she now stood at full height on the berm, above the red clay slope of the scarp, signing to choo-qualee-qualoo with one hand, and with the other motioning toward the muzzle of his firelock, mutely imploring him to desist. how did she dare! the light tint of her gray gown rendered her distinct against the deep rich color of the red clay slope; her calash, of a different, denser red, was a mark for a rifle that clear day a long way off. he was acutely conscious of those skulking braves in the woods, all mute and motionless now, watching with keen eyes the altercation with the sentry, and he shuddered at her possible fate, even while, with an unrealized mental process, doubts arose of her loyalty to the interests of the garrison, which her french extraction aided her strange, suspicious demonstration to foster. he flushed with a violent rush of resentment when he became aware that choo-qualee-qualoo was signing to him also, with entreating gestures, and so keen-eyed had the indian warfare rendered him that he perceived that she was prompted to this action by a brave,--he half fancied him willinawaugh,--who knelt in the pawpaw bushes a short distance from the cherokee girl and spoke to her ever and anon. "one step further and i fire!" he called out to odalie, flinching nevertheless, as he looked down into her clear, hazel, upturned eyes. then overwhelmed by a sense of responsibility he raised the weapon to fire into the air and lifted the first note of a wild hoarse cry for "corporal of the guard,"--and suddenly heard o'flynn's voice behind him:-"shet up, ye blethering bull-calf! the leddy's actin' under orders." and not only was o'flynn behind him but stuart. "sign to mrs. macleod that she may go," said that officer, "but not for long. shake your head,--seem doubtful. then take your hat and wave it to the cherokee wench, as if you relent for her sake!" "oh, sir,--i can't," exclaimed the young soldier even while he obeyed, expressing the revolt in his mind against the action of his muscles. "it's mighty hard to kape the girls away from ye, but we will lend ye a stick nex' time," said corporal o'flynn, in scornful ridicule of his reluctance, not aware of the imputation of colloguing with the enemy to which the long-range flirtation with choo-qualee-qualoo had seemed to expose him in captain stuart's mind. captain stuart had placed in a loop-hole the muzzle of a firelock, which he sighted himself. o'flynn leveled another, both men being of course invisible from without; as the young sentinel obeyed the order to openly lounge in the window and look toward choo-qualee-qualoo he could see within the parapet that the gunners of the battery were standing to their shotted pieces, captain demeré, himself, in command. with this provision against capture, or for revenge, one might fear, rather than protection, odalie took her way down the steep slope amongst the impeding stakes of the fraises, thickly sown, and looking, it might seem, like dragons' teeth in process of sprouting. more than once she paused and glanced up at the sentinel leaning in the window with his firelock and entreated by signs his forbearance, which he seemed to accord qualified, doubtful, and limited. she soon crossed the ditch, the glacis, so swift she was, so sure and free of step, and paused in the open space beyond; then choo-qualee-qualoo, too, began to advance. better protected was the cherokee girl, for she carried in her hand, and now and again waved, laughingly, as if for jest, a white flag, a length of fluttering cambric and lace. "by the howly poker!" exclaimed corporal o'flynn, beneath his breath, "that is the cravat of a man of quality,--some british officer of rank, belike." he glanced with anxiety at captain stuart, whose every faculty seemed concentrated on the matter in hand. "the cherokees know that a white flag is a sign which we respect, and that that squaw is as safe with it as if she were the commandant of the post. i only wish mrs. macleod could have a like security." this aspiration had the effect of fastening o'flynn's eye and mind to the sighting of his firelock and obliterating his speculations concerning the cravat as spoil stripped from some slain officer of rank. the two women met in the open space, with the rifles of how many keen-sighted, capricious savages leveled toward the spot demeré hardly dared to think, as he watched odalie in a sort of agony of terror that he might have felt had she been a cherished sister. they stood talking for a time in the attitudes and the manner of their age, which was near the same, swinging a little apart now and then, and coming together with suddenly renewed interest, and again, with free, casual gestures, and graceful, unconstrained pose, they both laughed, and seemed to take a congenial pleasure in their meeting. they sat down for a time on a bit of grass,--the sward springing anew, since it was so little trodden in these days, and with a richness that blood might have added to its vigor. odalie answered, with apparent unsuspiciousness, certain shrewd questions concerning the armament of the fort, the store of ammunition, the quantity of provisions, the manner in which stuart and demeré continued to bear themselves, the expectation held out to the garrison of relief from any quarter,--questions which she was sure had never originated in the brain of choo-qualee-qualoo, but had been prompted by the craft of willinawaugh. odalie, too, had been carefully prompted, and stuart's anticipatory answers were very definitely delivered, as of her own volition. then they passed to casual chatting, to the presentation of a bauble which odalie had brought, and which seemed to touch choo-qualee-qualoo to the point of detailing as gossip the fact that the attack on the white people had been intended to begin at macleod station, willinawaugh retaining so much resentment against the scotchman to whom he had granted safe-conduct, thinking him french, when he only had a french squaw as a captive. savanukah, who really spoke french, had made capital of it, and had rendered willinawaugh's pretensions ridiculous in the eyes of the nation, for willinawaugh had always boasted, to savanukah at least, that he understood french, although it was beneath his dignity to speak it. this was done to reduce savanukah's linguistic achievements, and to put him in the position of a mere interpreter of such people, when savanukah was a great warrior, and yet could speak many languages, like the famous baron des johnnes. and what was there now at macleod station? nothing: stockade, houses, fields, all burnt! great was the wrath of willinawaugh! this talk, however, was less to the taste of choo-qualee-qualoo than questions and answers concerning the young sentinel, whom the cherokees had named _sekakee_, "the grasshopper," as he was so loquacious; she often paused to put the strings of red beads into her mouth, and to gaze away at the glittering reaches of the river with large liquid eyes, sending now and then a glance at the window where that gruff young person leaned on his firelock. savanukah's wife said _sekakee_ must be hungry, choo-qualee-qualoo told odalie. was _sekakee_ hungry? she would bring him some beans. savanukah said they would all be hungry soon. and the fort would be the indians', and there would be nobody in the land but the cherokees, and the french to carry on trade with them--was odalie not glad that she was french?--for there had been great fighting with the english colonel's men, and willinawaugh had told her to tell the captains english both that fact: much blood did they shed of their own blood, as red as their own red coats! odalie regarded this merely as an empty boast, the triumphs of montgomery's campaign rife this day in the garrison, but it made her tremble to listen. nevertheless, she had the nerve to walk with choo-qualee-qualoo almost to the water-side, near the shadowy covert of the dense woods. nothing lurked there now,--no flickering feather, no fiercely gay painted face. her confidence seemed the ally of the indians. the french captive of the carolina scotchman would be to them like a spy in the enemy's camp! perhaps the ordeal made the greater draughts on the courage of the men who stood in the shelter of the works and sighted the guns. the tension grew so great as she lingered there in the shadows that cold drops stood on demeré's face, and the hand with which stuart held the firelock trembled. "it's a woman that can't get enough of anything," o'flynn muttered to himself. "i'll have the lockjaw in me lungs, for i'm gittin' so as i can't move me chist to catch me breath." but odalie turned at last, and still signaling anxiously to the sentry, as if to implore silence and forbearance, she crossed the open space with her swift, swinging step, climbed the red clay slope among the spiked staves of the fraises, knelt down, slipped through the embrasure, and was lifted to her feet by demeré, while the gunners stood by looking on, and smiling and ready to cry over her. twice afterward, the same detail, all enjoined to secrecy, loaded their cannon, and stood with burning matches ready to fire at the word, while the maneuver was repeated; an interval of a day or so was allowed to elapse on each occasion, and the hour was variously chosen--when it was possible for the french woman to escape, as choo-qualee-qualoo was given to understand. both times demeré protested, although he had accorded the plan his countenance, urging the capricious temper of the indians, who might permit mrs. macleod's exit from the fort one day, and the next, for a whim, or for revenge toward her husband, who had incurred their special enmity for outwitting them on his journey hither, shoot her through the heart as she stood on the crest of the counterscarp. and of what avail then the shotted cannon, the firelocks in the loop-holes! "you know they are for our own protection," he argued. "otherwise we could not endure to see the risk. the utmost we can do for her is to prevent capture, or if she is shot to take quick vengeance. loading the cannon only saves _our_ nerves." "i admit it," declared stuart,--"a species of military sal-volatile. i never pretended to her that she was protected at all, or safe in any way,--she volunteered for a duty of great hazard." demeré, although appreciating the inestimable value to the garrison of the opportunity, was relieved after the third occasion, when alexander macleod, by an accident, discovered the fact of these dangerous sorties in the face of a savage enemy, no less capriciously wicked and mischievous than furious and blood-thirsty. his astonished rage precluded speech for a moment, and the two officers found an opportunity to get him inside the great hall, and turning the key stuart put it in his pocket. "now, before you expend your wrath in words that we may all regret," he said, sternly, "you had best understand the situation. your wife is not a woman to play the fool under any circumstances, and for ourselves we are not in heart for practical jokes. mr. macleod, we have here more than three hundred mouths to feed daily, nearly three hundred the mouths of hearty, hungry men, and we have exhausted our supply of corn and have in the smoke-house barely enough salted meat to sustain us for another fortnight. then we shall begin to eat the few horses. we are so closely beleaguered that it has proved impossible to get an express through that cordon of savages to the country beyond. to communicate with colonel montgomery as early as practicable is the only hope of saving our lives. mrs. macleod's sorties from the fort are a part of our scheme--the essential part. you may yet come to think the dearest boon that fate could have given her would have been a ball through her brain as she stood on the escarp--so little her chances are worth!" this plain disclosure staggered macleod. he had thought the place amply victualed. a rising doubt of the officers' capacity to manage the situation showed in his face. stuart interpreted the expression. "you see,--the instant disaster is suggested you can't rely on us,--even you! and if that spirit were abroad in the garrison and among the settlers, we should have a thousand schemes in progress, manipulated by people not so experienced as we, to save themselves first and--_perhaps_ the others. the ammunition might be traded to the cherokees for a promise of individual security. the gates might be opened and the garrison delivered into the enemy's hands by two or three as the price of their own lives. such a panic or mutiny might arise as would render a defense of the place impracticable, and the fort be taken by storm and all put to the sword, or death by torture. we are keeping our secret as well as we can, hoping for relief from montgomery, and scheming to receive assurance of it. we asked mrs. macleod's help, and she gave it!" the logic of this appeal left macleod no reply. "how could you!" he only exclaimed, glancing reproachfully at his wife. "that is what i have always said," cried stuart, gayly, perceiving that the crisis was overpast. "how _could_ she!" there was no more that odalie could do, and that fact partially reconciled the shuddering macleod to the past, although he felt he could hardly face the ghastly front of the future. and he drew back wincingly from the unfolding plans. as for odalie, the next day she spent in her room, the door barred, her hair tossed out of its wonted perfection of array, her dress disordered, her face and eyes swollen with weeping, and when she heard the great guns of the fort begin to send forth their thunder, and the heavy shot crashing among the boughs of the forest beyond, she fell upon her knees, then rose, wild and agitated, springing to the door, yet no sooner letting down the bar than again replacing it, to fall anew upon her knees and rise once more, too distraught for the framing of a prayer. yet at this same moment mrs. macleod, in her familiar gray serge gown and red calash, was seen, calm and decorous, walking slowly across the parade in the direction of the great hall of the northwest bastion. the soldiers who met her doffed their hats with looks of deep respect. now and again she bowed to a settler with her pretty, stately grace,--somewhat too pronounced an elegance for the wife of so poor a man as macleod, it was thought, he being of less ornamental clay. she hesitated at the door of the block-house, with a little air of diffidence, as might befit a lady breaking in upon the time of men presumed to be officially busy. the door opened, and with a bow of mingled dignity and deprecation she entered, and as the door closed, hamish dropped the imitation of her manner, and bounded into the middle of the room with a great gush of boyish laughter, holding out both arms and crying, "don't i look enticing! to see the fellows salaaming to the very ground as i came across the parade!--what are you doing to my frock, captain demeré?" he broke off, suddenly. "it's just right. odalie fixed it herself." "don't scuffle up these frills so," captain demeré objected. "mrs. macleod is wont to wear her frock precisely." "did o'flynn mistake you for mrs. macleod?" asked stuart, relishing the situation despite his anxiety. "i wish you could have seen the way he drew down that red irish mouth of his," said hamish, with a guffaw, "looking so genteel and pious!" "i think it passes," said demeré, who was not optimistic; but now he too was smiling a little. "it passes!" cried stuart, triumphantly. for the height of odalie and hamish was exactly the same--five feet eight inches. hamish, destined to attain upward of six feet, had not yet all his growth. the full pleated skirt with the upper portion drawn up at the hips, and the cape about the shoulders, obviated the difference between odalie's delicately rounded slenderness and hamish's lank angularity. the cape of the calash, too, was thrown around the throat and about the chin and mouth, and as she was wont to hold her head down and look up at you from out the dusky red tunnel of its depths the difference in the complexion and the expression of the hazel eyes of each was hardly to be noticed in passing. to speak would have been fatal, but hamish had been charged not to speak. his chestnut curls, brushed into a glossy similarity, crept out and lay on the folds of the red cape of the calash with a verisimilitude that seemed almost profane. admonished by stuart to have heed of long steps, and the dashing swing of his habitual gait, he was leaning on sandy's arm, as they went out, in an imitation of odalie's graceful manner. the young sentry, daniel eske,--no one else was permitted at these times to stand guard in this block-house tower,--noted this, with the usual maneuver of mrs. macleod's escape through the embrasure, and he was filled with ire. he had fancied that her husband did not know of this recklessness, as he was half inclined to think it, although evidently some fine-spun scheme of captain stuart's; it seemed especially futile this evening, so near sunset, and the odd circumstance of the cannonade having sufficed to clear every indian out of the forest and the range of the guns. mrs. macleod could not speak to choo-qualee-qualoo now, he argued within himself; the girl would not be there in the face of this hot fire! how rapidly mrs. macleod walked; only once she paused and glanced about her as if looking for the cherokee girl,--what folly!--for with a flash of fire and a puff of white smoke, and a great sweeping curve too swift to follow with the eye, each successive ball flew from the cannon's mouth over her head and into the woods beyond. from the opposite bank of the river an indian, crouched in the cleft of a rock, yet consciously out of the range, watched her progress for one moment, then suddenly set off at a swift pace, doubtless to fetch the young squaw, so that when the firing should cease she could ascertain from the french woman what the unusual demonstration of the cannonade might signify. it was only for a moment that the sentry's attention was thus diverted, but when he looked again the gray gown, the red calash, the swiftly moving figure had disappeared. the gunners had been ordered to cease firing, and the usual commotion of sponging out the bore, and reloading the guns, and replacing all the appliances of their service, was interrupted now and again by the men looking anxiously through the embrasure for mrs. macleod's return. they presently called up an inquiry to the sentinel in the tower, presuming upon the utility of the secret service to excuse this breach of discipline. "why," said the soldier, "i took my eye off her for one minute and she disappeared." "you mean you shut your eyes for five minutes," said corporal o'flynn, gruffly, having just entered. "captain stuart told me that he himself opened the little gate and let her in by the sally-port. and there she is now, all dressed out fresh again, walking with her husband on the parade under the trees. an' yonder is the injun colleen,--got here too late! answer her, man, according to your orders." against his will the young sentinel leaned out of the window with a made-to-order smile, and as choo-qualee-qualoo waved her hand and pointed to the empty path along which odalie was wont to come, he intimated by signs that she had waited but was obliged to return to the fort and was now within, and he pointed down to the gorge of the bastion. to-morrow when there should be an eastern sky she would come out, and choo-qualee-qualoo signed that she would meet her. then she lingered, waving her hand now and again on her own account, and he dutifully flourished his hat. "gosh," he exclaimed, "if treachery sticks in the gizzard like this pretense there is no use in cord or shot,--the fellow does for himself!" he was glad when the lingering twilight slipped down at last and put an end to the long-range flirtation, for however alert an interest he might have developed, were it voluntary, its utility as a military maneuver blunted its zest. choo-qualee-qualoo had sped away to her home up the river; the stars were in the sky, and in broken glimmers reflected in the ripples of the current. the head-men among the cordon, drawn around fort loudon, sat in circles and discussed the possible reasons of the sudden furious cannonade, and the others of minor tribal importance listened and adjusted their own theories to the views advanced; the only stragglers were the spies whom the cannonade had driven from the woods that afternoon, now venturing back into the neighborhood, looking at the lights of the fort, hearing often hilarious voices full of the triumph of montgomery's foray, and sometimes finding on the ground the spent balls of the cannonade. it had so cleared the nearer spaces that it had enabled hamish, in a guise become familiar to them, to gain the little thicket where choo-qualee-qualoo and odalie were wont to conclude their talks. close by was the mouth of the cavernous passage that led to macleod's station, which no indians knew the white people had discovered. with a sudden plunge the boy was lost to sight in its labyrinthine darkness, and when hamish macleod emerged at the further end five miles away, in his own garb, which he had worn beneath the prim feminine attire,--this he had carefully rolled into a bundle and stowed in a cleft in the rocks of the underground passage,--he issued into a night as sweet, as lonely, and as still, in that vast woodland, as if there were no wars or rumors of wars in all the earth. but, alas! for the sight of odalie's home that she had loved and made so happy, and where he had been as cherished as fifine herself,--all grim, charred ashes; and poor dill's cabin!--he knew by this time that dill was dead, very dead, or he would have come back to them. the fields, too, that they had sown, and that none would reap, trampled and torn, and singed and burnt! hamish gave but one sigh, bursting from an overcharged heart; then he was away at full speed in the darkness that was good to him, and the only friend he had in the world with the power to help him and his. captain demeré that night was more truly cheerful than he had been for a long time, despite his usual port of serene, although somewhat austere, dignity. "the boy has all the homing qualities you desired in an express," he said to stuart. "he will come back to his brother's family as certainly as a man with wife and children, and yet in quitting them he leaves no duty to devolve on others." "moreover," said stuart, "we have the satisfaction of knowing that he safely reached the mouth of the underground passage without detection. he could not have found the place in a dark night. in the moonlight he would have been seen, and even if we had protected his entrance by a cannonade, and cleared the woods, his exit at the other end of the passage would have been intercepted. disguised as mrs. macleod, seeking to meet choo-qualee-qualoo in bold daylight, he passed without a suspicion on the part of the indians. and we know that the exit of the passage at macleod station is fully three miles in the rear of the indian line. i feel sure that the other two expresses never got beyond the indian line. this is the best chance we have had." "and a very good chance," said demeré. stuart could but laugh a little, remembering that demeré had thought the plan impracticable, and, although there was no other opportunity possible, had protested against it on the point of danger involved to mrs. macleod. stuart, himself, had quaked on this score, and had seized on this ingenious device only as a last resort. "mrs. macleod is fine timber for a forlorn hope," he said reflectively. the matter had been so sedulously guarded from the knowledge of the garrison, save such share as was of necessity divulged to the men who fired the guns, the young sentinel, and corporal o'flynn,--and even they were not aware that there had been a sortie of any other person than mrs. macleod,--that hamish's absence passed unnoticed for several days, and when it was announced that he had been smuggled out of the fort, charged with dispatches to colonel montgomery, no one dreamed of identifying him with the apparition in the gray gown whom the gunners had seen to issue forth and return no more. even corporal o'flynn accepted the statement, without suspicion, that captain stuart had let mrs. macleod in at the sally-port. these excursions, he imagined, were to secure information from choo-qualee-qualoo. the announcement that an express was now on the way was made to encourage the men, for the daily ration had dwindled to a most meager portion, and complaints were rife on every hand both among the soldiery and the families of the settlers. a wild, startled look appeared in many eyes, as if some ghastly possibility had come within the range of vision, undreamed-of before. the facts, however, that the commandant was able to still maintain a connection beyond the line of blockading cherokees, that hamish had been gone for more than a week, that decisive developments of some sort must shortly ensue, that the officers themselves kept a cheerful countenance, served to stimulate an effort to sustain the suspense and the gnawing privation. continual exertions were made in this direction. "try to keep up the spirits of the men," said demeré to o'flynn one day. "i do, sor," returned o'flynn, his cheek a trifle pale and sunken. "i offer meself to 'm as an example. i says to the guard only to-day, sor, says i,--'now in affliction ye see the difference betune a person of quality, and a common spalpeen.' an' they wants to know who is this person of quality, sor. and i names meself, sor, being descended from kings of oirland. an', would ye belave me, sor, not one of them bog-trotting teagues but what was kings of oirland, too, sor." corporal o'flynn might have thought his superior officer needed cheering too, for the twinkle in his eye had lost none of its alluring celtic quality. the distressing element of internecine strife and bickerings was presently added to the difficulties of the officers, who evidently faced a situation grievous enough in itself without these auxiliary troubles. certain turbulent spirits opined loudly that they, the humbler people, had advantage taken of them,--that the officers' mess was served in a profusion never abated, while the rest starved. captain stuart and captain demeré would not notice this report, but the junior officers were vehement in their protestations that they and their superiors had had from the beginning of the scarcity the identical rations served out to the others, and that their gluttony had not reduced the general supply. the quartermaster-sergeant confirmed this, yet who believed him, as mrs. halsing said, for he carried the keys and could favor whom he would. that he did not favor himself was obvious from the fact that his once red face had grown an ashen gray, and the cheeks hung in visible cords and ligaments under the thrice-folded skin, the flesh between having gradually vanished. the african cook felt his honor so touched by this aspersion on his master's methods that he carried his kettles and pans out into the center of the parade one day and there, in insubordinate disregard of orders, cooked in public the scanty materials of the officers' dinner. and having thus expressed his indignant rage he sat down on the ground among his kettles and pans and wept aloud in a long lugubrious howl, thus giving vent to his grief, and requiring the kind offices of every friend he had in the fort to pacify him and induce him to remove himself, his pans, and his kettles from this unseemly conspicuousness. at the height of the trouble, when stuart and demeré, themselves anxious and nervous, and greatly reduced by the poor quality and scarcity of food, sat together and speculated on the problem of montgomery's silence, and the continued absence of the express, and wondered how long this state of things could be maintained, yearning for, yet fearing the end,--talking as they dared not talk to any human being but each to the other,--ensign whitson burst into the room with an excited face and the news that there had been a fight over in the northeast bastion at the further side of the terrepleine. captain stuart rose, bracing his nerves for the endurance of still more. "a food riot? i have expected it. have they broken into the smoke-house?" whitson looked wild for one moment. "oh, no, sir,--not that!--not that! two irishmen at fisticuffs,--about the battle of the boyne!--corporal o'flynn and a settler." for the first time in a week stuart laughed with genuine hilarity. "mighty well!" he exclaimed. "let us settle the important questions between the irish catholics and the irish protestants before we go a step further!" but demeré was writhing under the realization of a relaxed discipline, although when o'flynn presented himself in response to summons he was so crest-fallen and woe-begone and reduced, that demeré had not the heart to take summary measures with the half-famished boxer. "o'flynn," he said, "do you deem this a fitting time to set the example of broils between the settlers and soldiers? truly, i think we need but this to precipitate our ruin." stuart hastily checked the effect of this imprudent phrase by breaking in upon a statement of corporal o'flynn's, which seemed to represent his right arm as in some sort a free agent, mechanically impelled through the air, the hand in a clinched posture, in disastrous juxtaposition with the skulls of other people, and that he was not thinking, and would not have had it happen for nothing, and-"but _is_ the man an irishman?" asked stuart. "he has no brogue." "faith, sor," said the repentant o'flynn, glad of the diversion, "he hits loike an oirishman,--i don't think he is an impostor. my nose feels rather limber." o'flynn having been of great service in the crisis, they were both glad to pass over his breach of discipline as lightly as they might; and he doubtless reaped the benefit of their relief that the matter was less serious than they had feared. the next day, however, the expected happened. the unruly element, partly of soldiers with a few of the settlers, broke into the smoke-house and discovered there what the commandant was sedulously trying to conceal,--_nothing_! it stunned them for the moment. it tamed them. the more prudential souls began now to fear the attitude of the officers, to turn to them, to rely again upon their experience and capacity. when the two captains came upon the scene, demeré wearing the affronted, averse, dangerous aspect which he always bore upon any breach of discipline, and stuart his usual cool, off-hand look as if the matter did not greatly concern him, they listened in silence to the clamor of explanations and expostulations, of criminations and recriminations which greeted them. only a single sentence was spoken by either of them,--a terse low-toned order. upon the word, corporal o'flynn with a squad of soldiers rushed briskly into the crowd, and in less than two minutes the rioters were in irons. "jedburgh justice!" said stuart aside to demeré, as they took their way back across the parade. "hang 'em first, and try 'em afterward." the bystanders might argue little from demeré's reticent soldierly dignity, but stuart's ringing laugh, as he spoke aside to his brother officer, his cheerful, buoyant, composed mien, restored confidence as naught less than the sound of montgomery's bugles outside the works might have done. doubtless he was apprised of early relief. surely he did not look like a man who expected to live on horse-flesh in the midst of a mutinous garrison, with the wild savages outside, and within that terrible strain upon the courage,--the contemplation of the sufferings of non-combatants, the women and children, who had entered into no covenant and received no compensation to endure the varying chances of war. yet this prospect seemed close upon him before that day was done. the orderly routine had slipped again into its grooves. the hungry men, brisk, spruce, were going about their various military duties with an alacrity incongruous with their cadaverous aspect. the sentinels were posted as usual, and captain stuart, repairing according to his wont to a post of observation in the block-house tower of the northwest bastion, turned his glass upon the country beyond, lowered it suddenly, looking keenly at the lens, as if he could not believe his eyes, and again lifted it. there was no mistake. on the opposite side of the river, looking like some gigantic monkey capering along on a pair of thin bare legs, was a stalwart indian, arrayed for the upper part of his person in a fine scarlet coat, richly laced, evidently the spoil from some british officer of high rank. perhaps no apparition so grotesque ever sent a chill to so stout a heart. stuart was no prophet, quotha. but he could see the worst when it came and stared him in the eyes. chapter xi stuart and demeré argued the matter in their secret conclaves. both admitted that although montgomery had had only four or five men killed, among them no officers, on his first expedition, he might have again taken the field, and this was as they hoped. he was advancing; he must be near. the trophy of the fine red coat meant probably that he had lost an officer of value;--perhaps meant less--the personal disaster of the capture of baggage or the necessity of throwing it away. montgomery had advanced,--that was indubitable. nevertheless,--and perhaps it was the lowering influence of the scanty fare on which they had so long subsisted,--both officers dreaded the suspense less than the coming disclosure. stuart felt all his nerves grow tense late one day in the red july sunset, when there emerged from the copse of pawpaw bushes, close to the river where odalie had once been wont to repair to talk to choo-qualee-qualoo, a tall form, arrayed in a gray gown, a trifle ill-adjusted, with a big red calash drawn forward on the head, that walked at a somewhat slashing gait across the open space toward the glacis. he thanked heaven that mrs. macleod was ill in her bed, although he had some twenty minutes ago been sending to her through her husband expressions of polite and heartfelt regret and sympathy. "why, i hardly thought mrs. macleod was well enough to take a walk," he observed to the sentry. daniel eske naturally supposed that mrs. macleod had slipped out before he had gone on duty, having just been sent to the relief of the previous sentinel. stuart went down to the embrasure, assisted the supposed lady to her feet as she slipped through, and ceremoniously offered her his arm as she was about to plunge down the steep interior slope in a very boyish fashion. they found demeré in the great hall, and both officers read the brief official dispatch with countenances of dismay. "this says that you can explain the details," said demeré, with dry lips and brightly gleaming eyes. "oh, yes," said hamish. "all the time that i was at fort prince george the commandant was writing letters to governor bull--for lyttleton has been appointed to jamaica--and hustling off his expresses to south carolina. he sent three, and said if he heard from none by return he would send more." for this was the appalling fact that had fallen like a thunderbolt,--colonel montgomery had with his command quitted the country and sailed for new york. his orders were to strike a sudden blow for the relief of carolina and return to head-quarters at albany at the earliest possible moment. no word of the grievous straits of the garrison of fort loudon had reached him. he had, indeed, advanced from fort prince george, which he had made the base of his aggressive operations against the cherokees, but not for the relief of fort loudon, for neither he nor the commandant of fort prince george knew that that post was in danger. the overtures to the cherokees for peace having proved fruitless, colonel montgomery had sought to make peace by force. in pursuance of this further effort he pushed forward with great energy and spirit, but encountered throughout disasters so serious as to cripple his enterprise, culminating finally in a result equivalent to a repulse. the indians, in the skulking methods peculiar to their warfare, harassed his march, hanging upon the flanks of the main body, and firing in detail from behind trees and rocks, from the depths of ravines and the summits of hills of the broken, rugged wilderness. never did they present any front that it was possible to charge and turn. the advance-guard, approaching through a narrow valley, the town of etchoee, which the indians had abandoned, fell into an ambuscade of considerable strength, and there he lost captain morrison of the rangers, and ten or twelve men who fell at the first fire. the vanguard, discouraged, began to give way, when the light infantry and grenadiers were detached for its support. they succeeded in locating the chief strength of the cherokees sufficiently to drive the savages back, despite the disastrous results of their scattered fire. the main body, coming up, encamped near etchoee, on a level space which proved, however, to be commanded by eminences in the vicinity. thence the indians poured destructive volleys into the british ranks, and only after repeated charges the soldiers succeeded in dislodging them. impetuously attacked on the flank, the cherokees suffered severely at the hands of the royal scots before being able to get out of their reach. the terrible aspect of the painted savages, and their nerve-thrilling whoops with which the woods resounded, failed also to affect the courage of the wild highlanders, and all the troops fought with great ardor. but colonel montgomery deemed it impossible to penetrate further through the wilderness, hampered as he was by seventy wounded men whom he could not leave to the mercies of so savage an enemy, by the loss of many horses, by the necessity--which was yet almost an impossibility--of carrying a train of cattle and other provisions with him in so rugged, trackless, and heavily wooded a region, and relinquished the attempt, thinking the terrible losses which the indians had sustained would prove sufficient punishment and dispose them to peace. he was even compelled to sacrifice a considerable portion of his stores, throwing away bags of flour in large numbers in order to effect the release of the packhorses to transport his wounded. his dead he sunk heavily weighted into the rivers, that the bodies might not be dragged from their graves and scalped by the indians. his return march of sixty miles to fort prince george, which was accomplished with great regularity, was marked by the same incidents that had characterized his advance,--the nettling fire of the masked enemy, the futile response, and the constant loss of men and horses. and so he was gone, and all the hopes that had clustered about his advance had gone with him! to fort loudon remained only two remote chances,--that governor bull of south carolina might be able to act on the belated information and send out an expedition of relief; yet this was to the last degree improbable, since the province, after its first expensive expedition against the cherokees, had been compelled to appeal for its own protection to the british commander-in-chief, the militia being practically disabled by the ravages of smallpox. but even at the best could such an expedition reach them in time? the other possibility of succor lay in virginia, and it was obvious wisdom to embrace both chances. stuart knew that demeré's quill, scraping over the paper, was fashioning the appeal to the royal governor of that province, even while hamish was still speaking, and he, himself, wrote supplemental letters to other persons of note, that the news of their desolation, failing to carry in one direction, might be spread in another. "now, hamish," he said, smiling behind the candle as he held the wax in it for the seal, "can you do as much again?" "where? when?" demanded hamish, in surprise. "to virginia. to-night." hamish's eyes stretched very wide. "you won't wait for governor bull? the officers at fort prince george said they would lay their lives that governor bull would respond." "we must try virginia, too. my boy, we are starving. to-morrow we begin to eat the horses,--then there may be a dog or two." hamish rose precipitately. "where is sandy? where is odalie?" stuart pushed him back into his chair, sternly giving him to understand that the only possible hope of saving their lives was to get away as quickly as might be with the dispatches for virginia. "without seeing sandy and odalie?" said hamish, his lip quivering. "we have not the time to spare. besides, would they let you risk it again, even for them?" and hamish was suddenly diverted to telling of his risks, of all the escapes, by flood and fell, that he had made;--how often he had been shot at from ambush; how he had swum rivers; how he had repeatedly hidden from the indians by dropping himself down into the hollows of trees, and once how nearly he had come to getting out no more, the place being so strait that he could scarcely use his constricted muscles to climb up to the cavity that had let him in. he had not so much trouble on the return trip; ensign milne had procured for him a good horse, and a rifle--he had had a brace of pistols--the horse was a free goer--as fresh now as if he had not been a mile to-day. "and where is he now?" asked demeré, a look of anxiety on his face. "at macleod station, hitched there with a good saddle on him and saddle-bags half full of corn." "come, hamish," said stuart, rising, "you must be off; some indian might find the horse." hamish's eyes filled with tears,--to leave odalie and sandy without a word! he could not endure for the men to see these tears, although they thought none the less well of him for them. "let me drop a tear in farewell for odalie," he said, trying to be very funny, brushing his right eye with his right hand. "and for sandy," his left eye with his left hand. "and fifine," his right eye with his right hand. "and the cat," his left eye with his left hand. there could be nothing unmanly or girlish in this jovial demonstration! "come, you zany!" exclaimed stuart, affecting to think these tremulous farewells very jocose. "yes," said demeré, seriously, "we do not know how soon the indians may discover our use of that passage,--up to this time it has been our only hope." hamish gathered up his calash, and the precise demeré assisted him to adjust it and his disordered dress more after the manner in which odalie wore it. hamish, as directed, took stuart's arm as they went out, his eyes still full of tears, and for his life he could not control the tremor of emotion, not of fear, in the fibers of his hand, which he was sure the officer must note. but stuart's attention was fixed on the skies. it was later than in those days when odalie was wont to keep tryst with choo-qualee-qualoo, now nearly a month ago. still he fancied that in the afterglow of the sunset the indians might discern the color and the style of the costume. now and then a ball flew from the cannon to the woods, to clear the forest of too close observers,--whatever risk there was must needs be dared. the cannoneers summoned to this queer duty looked at "mrs. macleod" curiously, as she slipped through the embrasure and made her way with a swinging agility down the slope amongst the fraises and then off through the gloaming at a fresh, firm pace. then they gazed at stuart, who presently bade them cease firing, and they had no excuse to wait to see her return. a queer move, they thought it, a very queer move! hope had grown so inelastic because of the taut tension to which its fine fibers had been subjected, that stuart felt a thrill of merely mechanical apprehension when the next day daniel eske, the young soldier, came in, desiring to make a special report to him. while on guard duty he had heard a deep subterranean explosion, which had been reported to the officer of the day. later, choo-qualee-qualoo had come, waving her flag of truce, and after waiting vainly for mrs. macleod, she had ventured up the slope of the scarp, knowing full well that she was safe under that white flag. she had brought a bag of beans, which she had given him,--he bit his lip and colored with vexation, consciously ridiculous in speaking of his feminine admirer to his superior officer,--and he had taken the opportunity to ask some questions about affairs outside the fort, upon which she detailed that an indian--it was savanukah--had seen mrs. macleod, as he thought, enter the subterranean passage that used to lead to macleod station. at first he had considered it a slight matter, since the carolinian's french wife had come so often to talk to choo-qualee-qualoo. but it somehow flashed into his mind how this woman had walked,--with what a long stride, with what strength, and how fast! and suddenly he realized that it was a man, despite the full skirts and flutterings of capes and calash. so savanukah ran swiftly to his boat and pulled down the river, and made macleod station just in time to see a youth, arrayed in buckskins, issue from the cave and mount a tethered horse. savanukah fired at him, but without effect, and the young man wheeled in his saddle and returned the fire with such accuracy that even at the distance and in the twilight the ball, although nearly spent, struck savanukah in the mouth with such force as to knock out a tooth. then the boy made off with a tremendous burst of speed. and the gray gown and the calash which the youth had worn were found inside the passage. and great was the wrath of willinawaugh! he had blown up with powder both ends of the passage,--like thunder, _een-ta-qua ros-ke_,--use could no more be made of it. but some were sorry, wishing the paleface to return by that way, so that he might be stabbed in the dark windings of the passage. this was impossible now, choo-qualee-qualoo said, for the spring had burst forth, forced in a new direction, and was flooding all that part of the slope, flowing outside instead of within, and willinawaugh could not now change its disposition if he would. stuart breathed more freely. if hamish should return alone, which god forbid, and not with an armed force, the external changes wrought at macleod station would preclude his effort to enter into the cavern, and force him to devise some other method of approach. he wondered at willinawaugh--to destroy so promising a trap! but rage may overpower at times the most foxy craft. the dull days, dragging on, seemed each interminable while the beleaguered garrison watched the impassive horizon and awaited developments, and hoped against hope. the wonted routine came to be abridged of necessity; the men on their reduced fare were incapable of drill duty; the best hope was that they might make shift to stand to their arms should a sudden attack require the exertion of all their reserve force in the imminent peril of their lives. the diet of horse-flesh proved not only unpalatable but insanitary, perhaps because the animals had thus far shared the physical distresses of the siege, and were in miserable plight, and there were as many men on the sick list as the hospital could accommodate; this misfortune was mitigated to a degree when choo-qualee-qualoo brought another bag of beans to the hero of the long-range flirtation, and he generously offered to share the food with his fellow-sufferers. odalie suggested its devotion to hospital uses; and a few days of a certain potage which she compounded of the beans and her economic french skill, and administered with her own hands to the invalids, with her own compassionate smiles, and with a sauce of cheering words, put a number of the stouter fellows on their feet again. the efforts to amuse and entertain had given way under the stress of a misery that could form no compact with mirth, but from time to time the officers made short spirited addresses to the troops to animate and encourage their hope, and continue to the utmost their power of resistance. and the exhalation of every sigh was with a thought of south carolina, and the respiration of every breath was with a prayer toward virginia. as the number of horses had greatly diminished, and the discovery was made that certain lean dogs had gone to the kitchen on an errand far different from the one that used to lure them to the pots, about which they had been wont to greedily and piteously snuff and whine, the quiescent waiting and reliance on the judgment and the capacity of the commandant to extricate the garrison from this perilous plight gave way anew. criticisms of the management grew rife. the return of hamish macleod, at the moment when starvation seemed imminent, and his instant departure at so great a peril, for the circumstances of his escape had been learned by the soldiers from the confidences of choo-qualee-qualoo to young eske, who was always free with his tongue, implied that hamish's earlier mission had failed, and that no troops were now on the march to their succor. they, too, had seen the capering indian in the red coat of an officer of rank, the lace cravat of a man of quality which choo-qualee-qualoo flourished, and they deduced a shrewd surmise of montgomery's repulse. the men who had earliest revolted against the hardships now entertained rebellious sentiments and sought to foster them in others. although, as ringleaders in the food riot, they had been summarily placed in irons, their punishment had been too brief perhaps for a salutary moral effect. demeré's severity was always theoretical,--a mental attitude one might say. the hardship of adding shackles to the agonies of slow starvation so preyed upon his heart that he had ordered the prisoners released before a sober reflection had done its full work. the exemplary conduct, for a time, of the culprits had no sufficient counterpart in chastened hearts, for they nourished bitterness and secretly agitated mutiny. the crisis came one morning when the meager supply of repulsive food had shrunken to the scope of a few days' rations, the quantity always dwindling in a regularly diminishing ratio; it had recently barely enabled the men to sustain the usual guard duty, and they lay about the parade at other times, or at full length on the porches of the barracks, too feeble and dispirited to stir hand or foot without necessity. corporal o'flynn, one of the few officers fit for duty, with a shade of pallor on his face a trifle more ghastly than that of starvation, reported that five men had failed to respond to roll-call, and upon investigation it was found that they had burrowed out of the fort in the darkness, seeking to desert to the enemy, but their intentions being mistaken, or their overtures scorned, they had been stabbed and scalped at the edge of the forest, and there their bodies were visible in the early rays of the sun. "may become unpleasant when the wind shifts," remarked stuart easily, and without emotion apparently, "but we are spared the duties of punishing deserters according to their deserts." demeré's face had shown a sudden nervous contraction but resumed its fixed reserved expression, and he said nothing. corporal o'flynn's report, however, was not yet exhausted. he hesitated, almost choked. the blood rushed so scarlet to his face that one might have wondered, at the show it made, that he had so much of that essential element in circulation in his whole thin body. he lifted his voice as if to urge the concentration of stuart's attention which seemed so casual--he had it the next moment. "i feel like a traitor in tellin' it, sor," said o'flynn, "i'm just one of the men meself, an' it breaks me heart intirely to go agin 'em with the officers. but me duty as a soldier is to the commandant of the fort, an' as a man to the poor women an' childer." he choked again, so reluctant was he in unfolding the fact that this was but the first step, providentially disastrous, of a plan by which the fort and the officers were to be abandoned, the rank and file determining to throw themselves on the mercy of the savages, since even to die at their hands was better than this long and futile waiting for succor. through choo-qualee-qualoo some negotiations with the enemy had been set on foot, of which o'flynn was unaware hitherto, being excluded from their councils as a non-commissioned officer, but after the result of the desertion in the early hours before dawn, daniel eske, thoroughly dismayed, had once more reverted to his reliance on the superior wisdom of the commandant, and had seen fit to disclose the state of affairs to the corporal, whose loyalty to his superior officers was always marked. o'flynn was commended, cautioned to be silent, and the door closed. the two captains looked blankly at one another. "the catastrophe is upon us," said stuart. "fort loudon must fall." in this extremity a council of war was held. yet there seemed no course open even to deliberation. on the one hand rose mutiny, starvation, and desertion; but to surrender to such an enemy as the cherokees meant massacre. their terrible fate held them in a remorseless clutch! at last, with some desperate hope, such as the unsubstantial illusion with which drowning men catch at straws, that the indians might make and keep terms, it was agreed that captain stuart, at his earnest desire, should be the officer to treat with the enemy and secure such terms of capitulation as they could be induced to hold forth. it might be imagined that the little band of officers, in their hard stress, had become incapable of any further vivid emotion, but in vicarious terror they watched stuart step forth boldly and alone from the sally-port, a white flag in his hand, and arrayed, in deference to the indians' love of ceremony and susceptibility to compliment, in full uniform. he stood on the parapet of the covered way, motionless and distinct, in the clear light of the morning, against the background of the great red clay embankments. he was evidently seen, for through a spy-glass demeré in the block-house tower noted the instant stillness that fell like a spell upon the indian line; the figures of the warriors, crouching or erect, seemed petrified in the chance attitude of the moment. that he was instantly recognized by skulking scouts in the woods was as evident. his tall, sinewy figure; his long, dense, blond hair, with its heavy queue hanging on the shoulders of his red coat; a certain daring, martial insouciance of manner, sufficiently individualized him to the far-sighted cherokees, and the white flag in his hand--a token which they understood, although they did not always respect it--intimated that developments of moment in the conduct of the siege impended. there was no sudden shrill whistling of a rifle ball, and demeré, thinking of the fate of coytmore on the river-bank at fort prince george, began to breathe more freely. a vague sense of renewed confidence thrilled through the watching group. stuart had stipulated that he should go alone--otherwise he would not make the essay. the presence of two or three armed men, officers of the fort, intimated suspicion and fear, incurred danger, and yet, helpless among such numbers, afforded no protection. the others had yielded to this argument, for he knew the indian character by intuition, it would seem. he was relying now, too, upon a certain personal popularity. he had somehow engaged the admiration of the indians, yet without disarming their prejudice--a sort of inimical friendship. they all realized that any other man would have now been lying dead on the glacis with a bullet through his brain, if but for the sheer temptation to pick him off neatly as a target of uncommon interest, whatever his mission might have betokened. how to accomplish this mission became a problem of an essential solution, and on the instant. not a figure stirred of the distant cherokee braves; not one man would openly advance within range of the great guns that carried such terror to the indian heart. stuart stood in momentary indecision, his head thrown back, his chin up, his keen, far-seeing gray-blue eyes fixed on the motionless indian line. through the heated august air the leaves of the trees seemed to quiver; the ripples of the river scintillated in the sun; not a breath of wind stirred; on the horizon the solidities of the great smoky mountains shimmered ethereal as a mirage. suddenly stuart was running, lightly, yet at no great speed; he reached the river-bank, thrust a boat out from the gravel, and with the flag of truce waving from the prow he pushed off from the shore, and began to row with long, steady strokes straight up the river. he was going to choté! the observers at fort loudon, petrified, stared at one another in blank amazement. the observers at the cherokee camp were freed from their spell. the whole line seemed in motion. all along the river-bank the braves were speeding, keeping abreast of the swift little craft in the middle of the stream. the clamors of the guttural voices with their unintelligible exclamations came across the water. it was like the passing of a flight of swallows. in less than five minutes the boat, distinctly visible, with those salient points of color, the red coat and the white flag against the silver-gray water, had rounded the bend; every indian runner was out of sight; and the line of warriors had relapsed into their silent staring at the fort, where the garrison dragged out three hours of such poignant suspense as seldom falls to the lot of even unhappy men. the sun's rays deepened their intensity; the exhausted, half-famished sentries dripped with perspiration, the effects of extreme weakness as well as of the heat, as they stood shouldering their firelocks and anxiously watching from the loop-holes of the block-house towers, the roofs of which, blistering in the sun, smelled of the wood in a close, breathless, suffocating odor which their nerves, grown sensitive by suffering, discriminated like a pain. the men off duty lay in the shadow of the block-houses, for the rows of trees had vanished to furnish fuel for the kitchen, or on the porches of the barracks, and panted like lizards; the officers looked at one another with the significance of silent despair, and believed stuart distraught. demeré could not forgive himself that he had been persuaded to agree that stuart should appear. beyond the out-works, however, they had had no dream of his adventuring. to try the effect of a personal appearance and invitation to a conference was the extent of the maneuver as it was planned. there was scant expectation in fort loudon that he would be again seen alive. when the tension of the sun began to slacken and the heat to abate; when the wind vaguely flapped the folds of the flag with a drowsing murmur, as if from out of sleep; when the chirr of the cicada from the woods grew vibratory and strident, suggestive of the passing of the day's meridian, and heralding the long, drowsy lengths of the afternoon to come, the little boat, with that bright touch of scarlet, shot out from behind the wooded bend of the river, and in a few minutes was beached on the gravel and stuart was within the gates of fort loudon. he came with a face of angry, puzzled excitement that surprised his brother officers, whose discrimination may have been blunted in the joy of his safe and unexpected return and the fair promises of the terms of capitulation he had secured. never had a vanquished enemy been more considerately and cordially entreated than he at choté. oconostota and cunigacatgoah had come down to the river-bank on the news of his approach and had welcomed him like a brother. to the great council-hall he was taken, and not one word would oconostota hear of his mission till food was placed before him,--fish and fowl, bread, and a flask of wine! "and when oconostota saw that i had been so nearly starved that i could hardly eat--lord!--how his eyes twinkled!" cried stuart, angrily. but oconostota had permitted himself to comment on the fact. he said that it had grieved him to know of the sufferings from famine of his brother and the garrison--for were they not all the children of the same great father! but captain stuart must have heard of the hideous iniquities perpetrated by the british colonel in burning the cherokee towns in the southern region, where many of the inhabitants perished in the flames, and slaying their warriors who did naught but defend their own land from the invaders--the land which the great spirit had given to the cherokees, and which was theirs. and, now that the terrible colonel montgomery had been driven out with his hordes, still reeking with cherokee blood, it was but fit that the cherokees should take possession of fort loudon, which was always theirs, built for them at their request, and paid for with their blood, shed in the english service, against the enemies of the english colonists, the french, who had always dealt fairly with the cherokees. captain stuart bluntly replied that it did not become him to listen to reflections upon the methods in which british commanders had seen fit to carry out the instructions of the british government. they had, doubtless, acted according to their orders, as was their duty. for his own mission, although fort loudon could be held some space longer, in which time reënforcements, which he had reason to think were on the march, might come to its relief, the officers had agreed that the sufferings of the garrison were such that they were not justified in prolonging their distress, provided such terms of capitulation could be had as would warrant the surrender of the fort. as the interpreter, with the wooden voice, standing behind the chief, gabbled out this rebuke of the cherokee king's aspersions on montgomery, stuart's ever quick eye noted an expression on the man's face, habitually so blank and wooden,--he remembered it afterward,--an expression almost applausive. then his attention was concentrated on the circumlocutions of oconostota, who, in winding phrase almost affectionate, intimated the tender truth that, without waiting for these reënforcements, the enfeebled garrison could be overpowered now and destroyed to the last man by a brisk onslaught, the cherokees taking the place by storm. stuart shook his head, and his crafty candor strengthened the negation. "not so long as the great guns bark," he declared. "they are the dogs of war that make the havoc." then oconostota, with that greed of the warlike cherokee for the details concerning this great arm of the british service, the artillery, always coveted by the indians, yet hardly understood, listened to a description of the process by which these guns could be rendered useless in a few minutes by a despairing garrison. their cannoneers could spike them after firing the last round. and of what value would the fort be to the cherokees without them,--it would be mere intrenchments with a few dead men,--the most useless things under the sun. the english government would bring new guns, and level the works in a single day. the great chief knew the power of england. in the days when moy toy sent his delegation to london, of which he and atta-kulla-kulla were members, to visit king george, they had seen the myriads of people and had heard many great guns fired in salute to the princely guests, and had assisted at the review of thousands and thousands of soldiers. and with the reminder of all these overpowering military splendors of his great enemy, oconostota began to feel that he would be glad to secure possession of these few of king george's great guns uninjured, fit to bark, and, if occasion should offer, to bite. from that point the negotiation took a stable footing. with many a crafty recurrence on the part of stuart to the coveted artillery at every balking doubt or denial, it was agreed that the stronghold should be evacuated;--"that the garrison of fort loudon march out with their arms and drums, each soldier having as much powder and ball as their officer shall think necessary for their march, and all the baggage they may chuse to carry: that the garrison be permitted to march to virginia or fort prince george, as the commanding officer shall think proper, unmolested; and that a number of indians be appointed to escort them and hunt for provisions during their march: that such soldiers as are lame or by sickness disabled from marching, be received into the indian towns and kindly used until they recover, and then be allowed to return to fort prince george: that the indians do provide for the garrison as many horses as they conveniently can for their march, agreeing with the officers and soldiers for payment: that the fort, great guns, powder, ball, and spare arms, be delivered to the indians without fraud or further delay on the day appointed for the march of the troops." these terms of capitulation were signed by paul demeré, oconostota, and cunigacatgoah, and great was the joy the news awoke among the garrison of fort loudon. the sick arose from their beds; the lame walked, and were ready to march; almost immediately, in the open space beneath the terrible great guns, were men,--settlers, soldiers, and indians,--trying the paces of horses, and chaffering over the terms of sale. provisions were brought in; every chimney sent up a savory reek. women were getting together their little store of valuables in small compass for the journey. children, recently good from feeble incapacity to be otherwise, were now healthily bad, fortified by a generous meal or two. and fifine was stroking the cat's humped back, as the animal munched upon the ground bits of meat thrown prodigally away, and telling her that now she would not be eaten,--so had that terror preyed upon the motherly baby heart! odalie had some smiling tears to shed for hamish's sake, in the earnest hope that he might be as well off, and those whom she had consoled in affliction now in their prosperity sought to console her. the officers were hilarious. they could hardly credit their own good fortune--permitted to surrender fort loudon, after its gallant defense to the last extremity, to the savage cherokees, upon just such terms as would have been dictated by a liberal and civilized enemy! demeré, after the first burst of reproach that stuart should have so recklessly endangered himself, and of joy that his mission had been so successfully accomplished, was cheerfully absorbed in destroying such official papers as, falling into the hands of the french, might be detrimental to the british interest. of them all, only stuart was doubtful, angry, disconsolate. perhaps because some fiber of sensitive pride, buried deep, had been touched to the quick by oconostota's ill-disguised triumph; or he realized that he had labored long here, and suffered much uselessly, and but for the threatened desertion of the garrison felt that the fort might still be held till relief could reach it; or he was of the temperament that adorns success, or even stalwart effort, but is blighted by failure; or he was only staggered by the completeness of his prosperous negotiations with the cherokees and doubtful of their good faith,--at all events he had lost his poise. he was gloomy, ruminative, and broke out now and again with futile manifestations of his disaffection. demeré, burning letter-books and other papers on the hearth of the great chimney-place of the hall, looked up from the table where he sorted them to remind stuart, as he strode moodily to and fro, not to leave things of value to fall into the hands of the enemy. stuart paused for a moment with a gloomy face. then, "they shall not have this," he said angrily. the little red silk riding-mask, that was wont to look down from the wall, null and inexpressive, with no suggestion in its vacant, sightless orbs of the brightness of vanished eyes, with no faint trace of the fair face that it had once sheltered, save as memory might fill the blank contour, began to blaze humbly as he thrust it among the burning papers on the hearth. an odd interpretation of things of value, certainly--a flimsy memento of some bright day, long ago, and far away, when, not all unwelcome, he had ridden at a lady's bridle-rein. demeré looked at him with sudden interest, seemed about to speak, checked himself and said nothing. and thus with this souvenir the romance of stuart's life perished unstoried. more characteristic thoughts possessed him later. he came to demeré's bedside that night as he lay sleeping in quiet peace, even his somnolent nerves realizing the prospect of release. stuart roused him with a new anxiety. there was a very considerable quantity of powder in the fort, far more than the indians, unacquainted with the large charges required for cannon, suspected that they possessed. by surrendering this great supply of powder, stuart argued, as well as the guns, they only postponed not precluded their destruction. brought down with the guns to fort prince george in the hands of french cannoneers, this ample supply of artillery would easily level those works with the ground. the french officers, who they had reason to suspect were lurking in the lower towns, would be unlikely to have otherwise so large a store of ammunition in reach, capable of maintaining a siege, and before this could be procured for the service of the surrendered cannon some reënforcements to the commandant of fort prince george would arrive, or an aggressive expedition be sent out from south carolina. "at all events this quantity of powder in the hands of the cherokees makes it certain that a siege of fort prince george will follow close on the fall of fort loudon," stuart declared. demeré raised himself on his elbow to gaze at stuart by the light of the flickering candle which the visitor held in his hand. "i am afraid that you are right," demeré said, after a grave pause. "but how can we help it?" "hide the powder,--hide it," said stuart excitedly. "bury it!" "contrary to the stipulations and our agreement," returned demeré. stuart evidently struggled with himself. "if these fiends," he exclaimed,--the triumph of oconostota had gone very hard with him,--"were like any other enemy we could afford to run the chance. but have we the right to submit the commandant of fort prince george and his garrison--to say nothing of ourselves and our garrison, hampered as we are with women and children, taking refuge with him,--to the risk of siege and massacre, fire and torture, compassed by materials practically furnished by us,--on a delicate question of military ethics?" "if we do not keep our word, how can we expect oconostota to keep his word?" asked demeré. "but do we really expect it? have we any guarantee?" once more stuart hesitated, then suddenly decided. "but if you have scruples"--he broke off with a shrug of the shoulders. "i should leave oconostota enough powder to amuse him with the guns for a while, but not enough to undertake a siege. the government will surely occupy this place again. i expect to find the powder here when i come back to fort loudon." his words were prophetic, although neither knew it. he cast a hasty glance at demeré, who again objected, and stuart went out of the door saying nothing further, the draught flickering, then extinguishing, the flame of the candle in his hand. it was very dark about midnight when the whole place lay locked in slumber. the sentries, watchful as ever in the block-house towers and at the chained and barred gates, noted now and again shadowy figures about the region of the southeast bastion,--the old exhausted smoke-house had been in that locality,--and thence suppressed voices sounded occasionally in low-toned, earnest talk. no light showed save in glimpses for a while through the crevices in the walls of the building itself, and once or twice when the door opened and was suddenly shut. there corporal o'flynn and three soldiers and captain stuart himself, armed with mattocks, dug a deep trench in the tough red clay, carefully drawing to one side the dead ashes and cinders left by the fires of his earnest preparations against the siege. then the lights were extinguished, and from the great traverse, in which was the powder magazine, they brought ten heavy bags of powder, and laid them in the trench, covering them over with the utmost caution, lest a mattock strike a spark from a stone here and there in the earth. at last, still observing great care, they tramped the clay hard and level as a floor, and spread again the ashes and cinders over the upturned ground, laying the chunks of wood together, as they had burnt half out after the last fire many weeks ago. when captain stuart inveigled captain demeré thither the next morning, on some pretext concerning the removal of the troops, he was relieved to see that although demeré was most familiar with the place he had not even the vaguest suspicion of what lay under his feet, for this was the best test as to whether the work had been well done. it was only at the moment of departure, of rendering up the spare arms, and serving out ammunition to the soldiers for the journey, that he was made aware how mysteriously the warlike stores had shrunken, but oconostota's beadlike eyes glistened with rapture upon attaining the key of the magazine with its hoard of explosives, unwitting that it had ever contained more. the soldiers went out of the gates in column, in heavy marching order, their flags and uniforms making a very pretty show for the last time on the broad open spaces about fort loudon. for the last time the craggy banks and heavily wooded hills of the tennessee river echoed to the beat of the british drums. behind, like a train of gypsies, were the horses purchased from the indians, on which were mounted the women and little girls, with here and there a sick soldier, unable to keep his place in the ranks and guyed by his comrades with reviving jollity, in the face of hope and freedom, as "a squaw-man." the more active of the children, boys chiefly, ran alongside, and next in order came the settlers, now in column as "fencibles," and again one or two quitting the ranks to cuff into his proper place some irrepressible youngster disposed to wander. in the rear were the indian safe-guards through the cherokee nation, with their firelocks and feathers and scanty attire that suggested comfort this hot day. for the august sun shone from a sky of cloudless blue; a wind warm but fresh met them going the other way; the dew was soon dried and the temperature rose; the mountains glimmered ethereally azure toward the east with a silver haze amongst the domes and peaks, and toward the west they showed deeply and densely purple, as the summit lines stretched endlessly in long parallel levels. and so these pioneers and the soldiers set forth on their way out of the land that is now tennessee, to return no more; wending down among the sun-flooded cane-brakes, and anon following the trail through the dense, dark, grateful shades of the primeval woods. so they went to return no more,--not even in the flickering guise of spectral visitants to the scenes that knew them once,--scarcely as a vague and vagrant memory in the country where they first planted the home that cost them so dearly and that gave them but little. nevertheless, a hearty farewell it bestowed this morning,--for they sang presently as they went, so light and blithe of heart they were, and the crags and the hills, and the rocky banks of that lovely river, all cried out to them in varying tones of sweet echoes, and ever and again the boom of the drums beat the time. chapter xii the definite ranks were soon broken; the soldiers marched at ease in and out amongst the indians and the settlers, all in high good humor; jest and raillery were on every side. they ate their dinner, still on the march, the provisions for the purpose having been cooked with the morning meal. thus they were enabled, despite the retarding presence of the women and children, and the enfeebling effects of the long siege, to make the progress of between fifteen and twenty miles that day. they encamped on a little plain near the indian town of taliquo. there, the supper having been cooked and eaten--a substantial meal of game shot during the day's march--and the shades of night descending thick in the surrounding woods, captain stuart observed the inexplicable phenomenon that every one of their indian guards had suddenly deserted them. the fact, however contemplated, boded no good. the officers, doubtless keenly sensitive to the renewal of anxiety after so slight a surcease of the sufferings of suspense, braced themselves to meet the emergency. a picket line was thrown out; sentinels were posted in the expectation of some imminent and startling development; the soldiers were ordered to sleep on their arms, to be in readiness for defense as well as to gain strength for the morrow's march and rest from the fatigues of the day. the little gypsy-looking groups of women and children, too, were soon hushed, and naught was left the anxious senior officers but to sleep if they might, or in default, as they lay upon the ground, to watch the great constellations come over the verge of the gigantic trees at the east of the open space, and deploy with infinite brilliance across the parade of the sky, and in glittering alignment pass over the verge of the western woods and out of sight. so came the great archer, letting fly myriads of arrows of flakes of light in the stream near the camp. so came in slow, gliding majesty the swan, with all the splendor of the galaxy, like infinite unfoldings of white wings, in her wake. so came the scorpio, with coil on coil of sidereal scintillations, and here and again the out-thrust dartings of a malign red star. and at last so came the morn. demeré, who had placed himself, wrapped in his military cloak, on the ground near stuart, that they might quietly speak together in the night without alarming the little camp with the idea of precautions and danger and plotting and planning, noted first a roseate lace-like scroll unrolled upon the zenith amidst the vague, pervasive, gray suggestions of dawn. he turned his head and looked at his friend with a smile of banter as if to upbraid their fears;--for here was the day, and the night was past! a sudden wild clamor smote upon the morning quiet. the outposts were rushing in with the cry that the woods on every side were full of cherokees, with their faces painted, and swinging their tomahawks; the next moment the air resounded with the hideous din of the war-whoop. demeré's voice rose above the tumult, calling to the men to fall in and stand to their arms. a volley of musketry poured in upon the little camp from every side. demeré fell at the first fire with three other officers and twenty-seven soldiers. again and again, from the unseen enemy masked by the forest, the women and children, the humble beasts of burden,--fleeing wildly from side to side of the space,--the soldiers and the backwoodsmen, all received this fusillade. the men had been hastily formed into a square and from each front fired volleys as best they might, unable to judge of the effect and conscious of the futility of their effort, surrounded as they were on every side. now and again a few, impelled by despair, made a wild break for liberty, unrestrained by the officers who gave them what chance they might secure, and with five or six exceptions these were shot down by the indians after reaching the woods. the devoted remnant, fighting until the last round of ammunition was exhausted, were taken prisoners by the triumphant savages. stuart, his face covered with blood and his sword dripping, was pinioned before he could be disarmed, and then helpless, hopeless, with what feelings one may hardly imagine, he was constrained to set forth with his captor on the return march to fort loudon. [illustration: "the men had been hastily formed into a square."] the cherokees could hardly restrain their joy in thus taking him alive. so far-famed had he become among them, so high did they esteem his military rank, so autocratic seemed his power in the great stronghold of fort loudon, with his red-coated soldiers about him, obeying his words, even saluting his casual presence, that it afforded the most æsthetic zest of revenge, the most acute realization of triumph, to contemplate him as he stood bound, bloody, bareheaded in the sun, while the very meanest of the lowest grade of the tribesmen were free to gather round him with gibes and menacing taunts and buffets of derision. his hat had been snatched off in order to smite him with it in the face; his hair, always of special interest to the indians because of its light brown color and dense growth, was again and again caught by its thick, fair plait with howls of delight, and if the grasp of the hand unaided could have rent the scalp from the head, those fierce derisive jerks would have compassed the feat; more than one whose rage against him was not to be gratified by these malevolently jocose manifestations of contempt, gave him such heavy and repeated blows over the head with the butt of their firelocks that they were near clubbing the prisoner to death, when this circumstance attracted the attention of his captor, willinawaugh, who was fain to interfere. stuart, regretting the intervention, realized that he was reserved to make sport for their betters in the fiercer and more dramatic agonies of the torture and the stake. his fortitude might well have tempted them. in a sort of stoical pride he would not wince. never did he cry out. he hardly staggered beneath the crushing blows of the muskets, delivered short hand and at close quarters, that one might have thought would have fractured his skull. that the interposition of willinawaugh was not of the dictates of clemency might be inferred from the manner in which the return journey was accomplished. forced to keep pace with his captor on horseback stuart traveled the distance from taliquo town to old fort loudon in double-quick time, bareheaded, pinioned, in the blazing meridian heat of a sultry august day. he hoped he would die of exhaustion. in the long-continued siege of fort loudon, necessitating much indoor life, to which he was little used, the texture of his skin had become delicate and tender, and now blistered and burned as if under the touch of actual cautery. with the previous inaction and the unaccustomed exposure the heat suggested the possibility of sunstroke to offer a prospect of release. but he came at last to the great gates of fort loudon with no more immediate hurt than a biting grief deep in his heart, the stinging pain of cuts and bruises about his head and face, and a splitting, throbbing, blinding headache. not so blinding that he did not see every detail of the profane occupancy of the place on which so long he had expended all his thought and every care, in the defense of which he had cheerfully starved, and would with hearty good-will have died. all the precise military decorum that characterized it had vanished in one short day. garbage, filth, bones, broken bits of food lay about the parade, that was wont to be so carefully swept, with various litter from the plunder of the officers' quarters, for owing to the limited opportunity of transportation much baggage had been left. this was still in progress, as might be judged from the figures of women and men seen through the open doors and now again on the galleries, chaffering and bargaining over some trifle in process of sale or exchange. indian children raced in and out of the white-washed interiors of the barracks which had been glaringly clean; already the spring branch was choked by various débris and, thus dammed, was overflowing its rocky precincts to convert the undulating ground about it into a slimy marsh. myriads of flies had descended upon the place. here and there horses were tethered and cows roamed aimlessly. idle savages lay sprawling about over the ground, sleeping in the shade. in the block-houses and towers and along the parade, where other braves shouldered the firelocks, the surrendered spare arms, mimicking the drill of the soldiers with derisive cries of "plesent _ahms_!" "shouldie _fa'lock_!" "ground _fa'lock_!" only such injury as bootless folly might compass was to be deplored, but upon the terrepleine in the northeast bastion several cherokees were working at one of the great cannons, among whom was no less a personage than oconostota himself, striving to master the secrets of its service. the box of gunner's implements was open, and stuart with a touch of returning professional consciousness wondered with that contempt for ignorance characteristic of the expert what wise project they had in progress now. for the gun had just been charged, but with that economy of powder, the most precious commodity in these far-away wilds, for which the indians were always noted. the ball, skipping languidly out, had dropped down the embankment outside and rolled along the ground with hardly more force than if impelled down an alley by a passable player at bowls, barely reaching the glacis before coming to a full halt. realizing the difficulty, the gun under the king's directions was shotted anew; erring now in the opposite extreme, it was charged so heavily that, perhaps from some weakness in the casting, or the failure to duly sponge and clean the bore, or simply from the expansive force of the inordinate quantity of powder, the piece exploded, killing two of the savages, serving as gunners, and wounding a third. the ball, for the cannon had been improperly pointed by some mischance, struck the side of the nearest block-house, and as its projectile force was partly spent by the explosion, the tough wood turned it; it ricochetted across the whole expanse of the enclosure, striking and killing an indian lying asleep on the opposite rampart. a vast uproar ensued, and stuart could have laughed aloud in bitter mirth to see oconostota almost stunned alike by the surprise and the force of the concussion, timorously and dubiously eying the wreck. then, with a subdued air of renunciation and finality, "old hop," as the soldiers called him, came limping carefully down the steep ramp from the terrepleine, evidently just enlightened as to the dangers lurking about the breech of the cannon, well as he had long been acquainted with the menace of its muzzle. the fury of the savages bore some similarity to the ricochet forces of the misdirected cannon-ball. stuart plainly perceived himself destined to bear the brunt of the infuriating mishap in which, although he had no agency, he might be suspected of taking secret and extreme delight. it was for a moment a reversal of the red man's supremacy in the arts of war, that had been demonstrated by the results of the siege, the acquisition of the ordnance, the surprise and the massacre of the capitulated garrison. in the stress of the noisy moment, when the corpses had been carried off and the howling women and their friends had followed them to their assigned homes in the barracks, several braves, including oconostota himself, had become aware of stuart's return and gathered around him. nothing could have been more acutely malevolent than oconostota's twinkling eyes; no words could have shown a keener edge of sarcasm than his greeting of the officer once more by the title of his dear brother. stuart, impolitic for once, disdained to respond, and, grimly silent, eyed him with a sort of stoical defiance that struck the indian's mummery dumb. there was a moment of inaction as they all contemplated him. his vigor, his fortitude, his rank, the consciousness how his proud spirit raged in his defeat and despair, all combined to render him a notable victim and promised a long and a keen extension of the pleasures of witnessing his torture. and at that instant of crisis, as if to seal his doom, a great guttural clamor arose about the southeast bastion, and here was willinawaugh, with wild turbulent gesticulations, and starting gleaming eyes, and a glancing upheaving tomahawk, for in the perspective a dozen hale fellows were dragging out of the pit beneath the old smoke-house the ten bags of powder that stuart had concealed there--only two nights ago, was it?--it seemed a century! how had they the craft to find them, so securely, so impenetrably were they hidden! stuart's store of cherokee enabled him to gather the drift of the excited talk. one of the indians, with the keen natural senses of the savage, had smelled the freshly turned clay--_smelled it_ in that assortment of evil odors congregated in the parade!--and had sought to discover what this might be so recently buried. fraud! fraud! the cry went up on every side. unmasked fraud, and stuart should die the death! he had violated the solemn agreement by which the garrison was liberated; he had surrendered the spare arms and the cannon indeed, but only a fraction of the powder of the warlike stores--and he should die the death and at once. stuart wondered that he was not torn to pieces by the infuriated savages, protesting their indignation because of his violation of the treaty,--while his garrison, under the cherokees' solemn agreement of safe-conduct, lay in all their massacred horrors unburied on the plains of taliquo. the cant of the cherokees, their hypocrisy, and their vaunting clamor of conscience made them seem, if one were disposed to be cynical, almost civilized! doubtless, but for oconostota's statesmanlike determination to sift the matter first, stuart could not have been torn from among the tribesmen and dragged to the seclusion of his own great mess-hall, where the door was closed and barred in their distorted faces as they followed with their howls. he was required to stand at one end of the grievously dismantled room and detail his reason for this reserve of the powder. had he grounds to suspect any renewal of the english occupancy? had he knowledge of forces now on the march in the expectation of raising the siege of fort loudon? oconostota pointed out the desirability of telling the truth, with a feeling allusion to the great spirit, the folly of seeking to deceive the omniscient indian, as the discovery of the powder sufficiently illustrated, and the discomforts that would ensue to captain stuart, should it be found necessary to punish him for lying, by burning him alive in his own chimney-place, admirably adapted for the purpose. oconostota sat now with his back to it, with all his council of chiefs in a semicircle about him, on the buffalo rug on the broad hearth. the indian interpreter quoo-ran-be-qua, the great oak, stood behind him and looked across the length of the room at captain stuart, the only other person standing, and clattered out his wooden sentences. stuart could make no further effort. his capacity to scheme seemed exhausted. he replied in his bluff, off-hand manner, his bloody head held erect, that they now had more powder than was good for them,--witness the bursting of that costly great gun! he had buried the powder in the hope of further english occupancy of the fort, which he had, however, no reason to expect; it was only his hope,--his earnest hope! he had left them spare arms, great guns, ball, powder,--much powder,--and if he had seen fit to reserve some store he could say, with a clear conscience, that it was done only in the interests of peace and humanity, and because of doubts of their good faith,--how well grounded the blood shed this day upon the plains of taliquo might testify! his friends, his comrades, were treacherously murdered under the safe-conduct of the cherokee nation. and if he were to die too, he was fully prepared to show with what courage he could do it. his eyes flashed as he spoke; they seemed to transmit a spark across the room to the dull orbs of the interpreter. and what was this? stuart's knowledge of the cherokee language enabled him to discern the fact that after a moment's hesitation quoo-ran-be-qua was clacking out a coherent statement to the effect that the concealment of the powder was captain demeré's work, and wrought unknown to stuart during his absence on his mission to choté, where, as the great chiefs well knew, he was detained several hours. stuart stared in astonishment at the interpreter, who, blandly secure in the conviction that the prisoner did not comprehend the cherokee language, maintained his usual stolid aspect. whether stuart's courage so enforced admiration, or whatever quality had secured for him the regard of the higher grade of indians, the interpreter had sought, by an unrecognized, unrewarded effort, to save the officer's life by a sudden stroke of presence of mind,--a subterfuge which he supposed, in his simplicity, undiscoverable. there were milder countenances now in the circle, and stuart's attention was presently concentrated upon an eager controversy between atta-kulla-kulla and willinawaugh that was curiously enough, at this moment of gravest council, sitting in judgment on the disposal of a human life, a matter of chaffer, of bargain and sale. willinawaugh had already refused a new rifle and a horse--and then two horses besides, and, still untempted, shook his head. and suddenly the interest in the concealment of the powder collapsed, and they were all looking at willinawaugh, who gazed much perplexed down at the ground, all his wrinkles congregated around his eyes, eager to acquire yet loath to trade, while atta-kulla-kulla, keen, astute, subtle, plied him with offers, and tempting modifications of offers, for the cherokees of that date were discriminating jockeys and had some fine horses. the wind came in at the loop-holes and stirred the blood-clotted hair on the prisoner's brow, and the suspension of the mental effort that the examination cost him was for a moment a relief; the shadowy dusk of the ill-lighted room was grateful to his eyes, the heavy, regular throbbing of his head grew less violent. he could even note the incongruity of the situation when he saw that willinawaugh resisted upon the point that the matter was with him a question of character! the chief said he had lost his standing in public estimation because he had allowed the englishman, macleod, and his brother, to deceive him on the pretense of being french,--for although he (willinawaugh) spoke french himself, and that better than some people who had lost their front tooth, he could not understand such french as the two scotchmen spoke, nor, indeed, as some cherokees spoke, with their front tooth out. savanukah, seated on the rug an expression of poignant mortification on his face, his lips fast closed over the missing tooth, only muttered disconsolately, in his mingled french and cherokee jargon, "_c'est dommage! sac-llé bleu! noot-te![j] ugh! en vérité--o-se-u!_"[k] willinawaugh, pausing merely for effect, continued. he himself was not an interpreter, to be sure; he was a cherokee war-captain, with a great reputation to sustain. he had captured the prisoner, and it ill accorded with his honor to yield him to another. "_cho-eh!_"[l] said atta-kulla-kulla, softly. and stuart became aware, with a start that almost dislocated his pinioned arms, that it was the transfer of his custody, the purchase of himself, over which they were bargaining. "_nankke--soutare_,"[m] urged atta-kulla-kulla. again willinawaugh shook his head. was he some slight thing,--_seequa, cheefto_, an opossum, a rabbit? "_sinnawah na wora!_"[n] he cried sonorously. for months, he said, he had besieged that man in his great stronghold of fort loudon. like a panther he had watched it; like a spider he had woven his webs about it; like a wolf by night he had assaulted it; like a hawk he had swooped down upon it and had taken it for the cherokee nation; and it was a small matter if he, who spoke french so well, had not comprehended an englishman who spoke french like an unknown tongue, and had let him pass, being deceived! would the great chief, whose words in whatever language were of paramount importance, accept a money price? as several gold pieces rolled out on the buffalo rug, the wrinkles so gathered around willinawaugh's eyes that those crafty orbs seemed totally eclipsed. he wagged his head to and fro till "him top-feathers" temporarily obliterated the squad of henchmen behind him, in woe that he could not take the money, yet not in indecision. for lo, he said, who had done so much as he, whose prestige had been touched for a trifle, whose best-beloved brother, savanukah, had maligned him--for the sake of an englishman who could not speak french so that it could be understood. he had let that englishman pass--it was a small matter, and if any had sustained harm it was he himself--for the english brother in the french squaw's dress had escaped through his lines, and came near raising the siege, perhaps--because of the french squaw's dress. but he was not there, and he gave the english boy no front tooth! at this reiterated allusion, savanukah's guttural grunt, _o-se-u!_ was almost a groan. "rifle, six horses, seven pieces of gold in ransom," said atta-kulla-kulla, slowly massing his wealth. once more willinawaugh shook his head. his prestige had suffered because of aspersions. yet he had besieged the fort and reduced the two captains and their splendid cannon--this for the cherokee nation! he had followed hard on the march of the garrison, and with oconostota and his force had surrounded them and killed many, and captured the great captain stuart alive!--this for the revenge of the cherokee nation! but the scalp of the great captain stuart, with its long fair hair, like none others, was a trophy for himself--this he should wear at his belt as long as he should live, that when he told how he had wrought for the cherokee nation none should say him nay! oconostota suddenly showed a freshened interest. he turned to atta-kulla-kulla, who sat on his right hand, and in an eager, low voice spoke for a moment; the half-king seeming anxious, doubtful, then nodded in slow and deliberative acquiescence. meantime willinawaugh's words flowed on. and--he lifted his fierce eyes in triumph to the captive's face--for all those weary days of beleaguerment, for every puff of smoke from the shotted guns, for every blaze they belched, for every ball, death freighted, they vomited, for every firelock that spoke from the loop-holes in the midnight attack, would be meted out captain stuart's penalty--in pangs, with knives, with cords, with hot coals, with flames of fire! the time had come to reward his patience! "you have done well," said atta-kulla-kulla, "you should think well on your reward!" and he laid before willinawaugh a fine gold watch--an english hunting watch, with a double case, and the works were running; doubtless, it was another trophy from the slaughtered officers of colonel montgomery's harassed march. willinawaugh was stricken dumb. stuart, in whose heart poor hope, all bruised and bleeding, with wings broken but about to spread anew, astonished, overcome, with some poignant pang of gratitude that the semblance of kindness should be again extended to him by aught on earth, felt a stifling suffocation when oconostota's voice broke in on his behalf, for naught from the crafty cherokee king boded good. the "great warrior" declared that willinawaugh's deeds spoke for themselves--not in french, not in english, but in the cherokee tongue--in flame and in blood, in courage and in victory. the prisoner's scalp was no great matter in the face of the fact of fort loudon. the long fair hair of the english captain to hang at his belt if he liked, but here was fort loudon to swing forever at the silver belt of the tennessee river! he thought the great willinawaugh had a right to choose his reward--the goods or the scalp. the scalp atta-kulla-kulla could not wear, not having taken it. and the great willinawaugh could be present and rejoice when atta-kulla-kulla should choose to burn the captive; for whom he, himself, and atta-kulla-kulla had devised a certain opportunity of usefulness to the cherokee nation before stuart should be called upon to expiate his crimes at the stake to satisfy the vengeance of his conqueror. and who so glad as willinawaugh to lose naught of his satisfaction--neither his material nor immaterial reward? who now so glad to protest that he would waive any personal gratification that stood in the way of utility to the cherokee nation? he had the watch in his hand, dangling by the gold chain and seals; the ticking caught his ear. he held it up close, with an expression of childish delight that metamorphosed his fierce face and seemed actually to freshen the expression of "him top-feathers." in obedience to a motion of atta-kulla-kulla's hand, stuart followed him out to the parade in the red rays of the sinking sun,--how often thence had he watched it go down behind the level ramparts of the cumberland mountains! they passed through the staring motley throng to captain demeré's house which the half-king had chosen for his own quarters. it was a log-cabin, floored, and of two rooms with a roofed but open passage between, not unlike the cabins of the region of the present day. here the cherokee paused, and with a pass or two of the scalping-knife cut the ropes that pinioned stuart, opened the door of demeré's bedroom and with an impassive face sternly motioned him to enter. the door was closed and stuart was alone in the quarters reserved for the chief. it had not yet been invaded by the filthy plundering gangs without, and its order and military neatness and decorum affected his quivering nerves as a sort of solace--as of a recurrence of the sane atmosphere of right reason after a period of turbulent mania. and suddenly his heart was all pierced by grief and a sense of bereavement. he had realized his friend was dead, and he felt that this might fairly be considered the better fate. but somehow the trivial personal belongings so bespoke the vanished presence that he yearned for demeré in his happy release; the shaken nerves could respond to the echo of a voice forever silenced; he could look into vacancy upon a face he was destined to see never again. his jaded faculties, instead of reaching forward to the terrible future, began to turn back vaguely to the details of their long service together; as a reflex of the agitation he had endured he could not, in the surcease of turmoil, compass a quiet mind; he began to experience that poignant anguish of bereavement, self-reproach. he remembered trifling differences they had had in the life they lived here like brothers, and his own part in them gnawed in his consciousness like a grief; he repented him of words long ago forgiven; he thought of personal vexations that he might have sought to smooth away but carelessly left in disregard; and when he lay down in the darkness on the narrow camp-bed with his friend's pillow under his head, demeré's look this morning, of affectionate banter, with which he had turned on the ground as they lay in the bivouac was so present to his mind that the tears which all his pains and griefs were powerless to summon, sprang to his eyes. but the weary physical being sunk to rest, and then in the midst of his somnolent mental impressions was wrought a change. demeré was with him still,--not in the guise of that white, stark face, upturned now to the stars on the plains of taliquo,--but in his serene, staid presence as he lived; together they were at fort loudon, consulting, planning, as in its happier days; now it was the capacity of the spring which they wished to enlarge, and this they had done with blasting-powder; now it was the device to add to the comfort of the garrison by framing the little porches that stood before the doors of the barracks; now it was the erection of an out-work on the side exposed to assault by the river, and they were marking off the ravelin,--corporal o'flynn and a squad, with the tapes,--and directing the fashioning of the gabions, the indians peacefully sitting by the while like some big, unintelligent, woodland animals, while the great, basket-like frames were woven of white oak splints and then filled with the solid earth. he was trying to tell demeré that he was afraid something would happen to that second gun in the barbette battery on the northeast bastion, for the metal always rang with a queer vibration, and he had had a dream that oconostota had overcharged and fired it, and it had exploded; and as demeré was laughing at this folly stuart realized suddenly the fact that the day was coming in to him again there in his friend's place, as it would come no more to demeré, though dawning even now at taliquo plains where he lay. instead of that essential presence, on which stuart had leaned and relied, and which in turn had leaned and relied on him, there was in his mind but a memory, every day to grow dimmer. nevertheless, he rose, refreshed and strengthened with the stimulus of that unreal association, which was yet so like reality, with the comrade of his dreams. the orderly instincts of a soldier, as mechanical as the functions of respiration, enabled him, with the use of fresh linen from his friend's relinquished effects, to obliterate the traces of the experiences of the previous day, and fresh and trim, with that precise military neatness that was so imposing to the poor indian, who could not compass its effect, he went out to meet the half-king with a gait assured and steady, a manner capable and confident, and an air of executive ability, that bade fair for the success of any scheme to which he might lend his aid. now and again he marked a glance of deep appreciation from the subtle atta-kulla-kulla,[13] the result of much cogitation and effort at mental appraisement. he feared that important developments were to ensue, and after breakfast, at which meal he was treated like a guest and an equal, and not in the capacity of slave, as were most captives, his host notified him that his presence would be necessary at a council to be held at choté. too acute, far too acute was atta-kulla-kulla not to recognize and comment upon the different aspect of life at fort loudon. "the red man cannot, without use, become capable of handling the advantages of the white man," he said in excuse of the anarchy everywhere, with all the riot and grotesqueness and discomfort incident to being out of one's sphere. at choté the cherokees would have seemed as easy, as appropriate, as graceful, as native as the deer. and at choté oconostota seemed as native as the fox. there he sat on the great buffalo rugs, even his faculties much more at command in his wonted place, under the dusky red walls of the clay-daubed dome of the council-chamber. and there captain stuart learned the reason of the cherokee king's interference yesterday to postpone his fate. for oconostota had evolved the bold project of the reduction of fort prince george. this would consummate the triumph of the fall of fort loudon, rid the greater portion of the cherokee country of the presence of the english, and, with their strongholds in the hands of the indians, reinforced by a few french gunners, prevent them from ever renewing foothold. the powder left by stuart he had found, in experimenting with the guns, was not enough for a siege, but with the discovery of the ten extra bags, the supply would prove most ample. the ammunition, together with the guns, was to be at once removed and transported thither, laborious though it might prove. stuart attempted to set forth the great difficulties of the undertaking, but was met at every point by the foresight and ingenuity of oconostota, who had considered evidently each detail. it was plain that the project was feasible, for the indian, too lazy in peace to hoe a row of beans, is capable in war of prodigies of valorous industry. stuart began to feel singularly placed, since he did not perceive in this his personal concern, to be thus admitted to a council of war with the enemy. the affability of oconostota he knew was insincere, but being in the cherokee king's power the fraud of his amiability was more acceptable than the ferocity of his candor. "you will accompany the expedition," said the king of the cherokees, suavely. "in what capacity?" stuart asked, also politic, seeking to disguise his anxiety, for any hesitation or refusal would renew his straits of yesterday, atta-kulla-kulla being as eager, as capable, and even more subtle in planning the campaign than oconostota. "you will write the letters to the commandant of fort prince george, summoning him in our names to surrender, and"--with a twinkle of the eye--"advising him in your own name to comply." stuart bowed in bland acquiescence. "and the commandant will find it very easy reading between the lines of any letters i shall write him," he said to himself. nevertheless, he still sought to dissuade them. in ignorance of the state of the defenses at fort prince george, the strength of the works, the supply of ammunition and provisions, the difficulties that might have arisen in communicating with charlestown, he sought to avert the dangers of a siege and a possible ultimate disaster such as had befallen fort loudon. but although he spoke with force and readiness it was very guardedly. "if the great cherokee kings would please to consider the experience which i have had in the management of cannon, i should like to represent that such an attack on fort prince george can but be a duel with artillery. i am not well acquainted with the armament of fort prince george," he declared, "but it may well chance that the cannon, captured by the cherokees at so great a cost, may be disabled under a heavy fire and lost to fort loudon, which would then become mere intrenchments, to be leveled by a single brisk cannonade." atta-kulla-kulla, his quick, keen, fiery face aglow, informed him that they would leave a reserve of cannon at fort loudon, his advice having been to take with them only six of the great guns and two coehorns. stuart was baffled for a moment by the definiteness and the military coherence of these plans. he rallied, however, to say that the gunners of fort prince george were trained men, doubtless, and drilled with frequent target practice. and a commander of skill, such as theirs, was essential to the effectiveness of an aggressive demonstration. a flicker of triumph illuminated atta-kulla-kulla's spirited face. they were provided in this emergency also. he, the great captain stuart, would command the artillery of the expedition, the guns to be served by indians as cannoneers under his direction; nicety of aim was not essential; a few days' practice would suffice, and at short range fort prince george was a large target. for his life stuart could not control his countenance; the color flared to the roots of his hair; his eyes flashed; his hand trembled; he could not find his voice; and yet angry as he was, he was both amazed and daunted. oconostota broke in upon his speechless agitation in a smooth, soothing voice to remind him of the clemency he enjoyed in that his life had been spared, and only yesterday, even at the supreme moment of the discovery of the treachery of his garrison in the concealment of the powder. they had not acquainted willinawaugh with their designs, for oconostota himself would lead the expedition. (stuart as a military man realized a necessity, that sometimes supervenes in more sophisticated organizations, which they felt of curbing the power of a possibly too successful and a too aspiring subordinate.) how generous, declared oconostota, had been the intercession of the noble atta-kulla-kulla,--half-king of the cherokees,--who had given in effect all his wealth to ransom him, a mere _eeankke_, a prisoner, from his warlike captor, the great willinawaugh, that this military service might be rendered in exchange for his life. stuart's eyes turned away; he sought to veil their expression; he looked through the tall narrow door of the red clay walls at the waters of the tennessee river, silver-shotted and blue as ever, still flowing down and down beyond the site of fort loudon--unmindful of its tragic fate, unmindful! the august domes of the great smoky mountains showed now a dull velvet blue against the hard blue of the turquoise sky, and anon drew a silver shimmer of mists about them. chilhowee mountain, richly bronze and green, rose in the middle distance, and he was vaguely reminiscent of the day when he watched the young soldier rocking in his boat on the shallows close to the shore, the red coat giving a bright spot of color to the harmonious duller tones of the landscape, and wondered were it possible among these friendly people that the lad could be in danger of a stealthy rifle shot. now there were no red coats,--nevermore were they to be seen here! between himself and the water he watched only the white swaying of a tall cluster of the great ethereally delicate snowy blossoms, since known as the chilhowee lily. he kept his eyes still averted, his voice deepening with the seriousness of his sentiment as he replied that this was impossible--he could not undertake the command of the cherokee artillery against fort prince george; he was bound by his oath of fidelity which he had sworn to the english government; he could not bear arms against it. a choking chuckle recalled his gaze to the dusky red interior of the council-chamber. oconostota's countenance was distorted with derision, and his twinkling eyes were swimming in the tears of the infrequent laughter of the grave indian--even atta-kulla-kulla's face wore a protesting smile of scorn as of a folly. twice oconostota sought to speak, and he sputtered, and choked, and could not, for his relish of the thought in his mind. then with a deep mock-seriousness he demanded slowly if it were fireproof. and relapsed into his shaking chuckle. "what?" demanded stuart, uncomprehending. "this oath of yours--to the english government. does this fidelity so clothe your body that it will not burn and crisp and crinkle in the anguish as of your hell? does your oath harden your flesh as a rock, that arrows and knives shall not pierce it and sting and ache as they stick there waiting for the slow fires to do their work? will your oath restore sight to your eyes when a red-hot iron has seared them?" he could say no more for the chuckling delight that shook and shook his lean old body. atta-kulla-kulla spoke in reproach. the cherokee kings had offered captain stuart life and practically liberty in exchange for this service. if he denied it and talked of his oath, it was but just that vengeance should take its way. many a cherokee had fallen dead from the fire of his garrison of loudon, both of great guns and small, and their blood called still from the ground. a wise man was captain stuart, and he would choose wisely. he was a hearty man, still young, and in full vigor, and, although his life had been but little worth of late, he was loath to throw it away. he began to temporize, to try to gain time. he sought to talk discontentedly of the project, as if he found it infeasible. the commandant, he said, as if he contemplated him only as the leader of an opposing force, would fight at an infinite advantage within the strong defenses of fort prince george, while he outside, without intrenchments except such hasty works as could be thrown up in a night, and beaten down by the enemy's cannonade in the morning, could but expect to have his guns soon silenced. a regular approach would be impracticable. the indians were not used to fight unscreened. they would never open a parallel under fire, and a vigilant defense would make havoc among the working parties. he noted the effect of the unfamiliar military theories upon the indians, as they both seemed to anxiously canvass them. "you cannot skulk behind a tree with cannon," he continued. "the artillery, to be able to command the fort with its fire, would be within range of the enemy's batteries, and without efficient cover it would be necessary, in serving each piece, for the gunners to be exposed to fire all the time." an interval of deep, pondering silence ensued. at length atta-kulla-kulla said he believed there would be little or no fight on account of the prisoners. "what prisoners?" demanded stuart, shortly. then oconostota explained, with his blandest circumlocutions, that, partly as a check upon his dear brother's good faith, bound as he was by his oath of fidelity to the english government,--and he almost choked with the relish of his derision every time he mentioned it,--and to make sure that he should handle the guns properly, and fire them with due effect,--not aiming them wildly, so that the balls might fly over the fort, or fall short, not spiking the guns, or otherwise demolishing them, all of which his great knowledge of the arm rendered possible, and the ignorance of the poor red man unpreventable, they had determined to take with them the remnant of the garrison, their lives to be pledges of his good conduct and effective marksmanship; and if at last his earnest and sincere efforts should prove unavailing, and the commandant should continue to hold out and refuse to surrender when finally summoned, these, the countrymen and fellow-soldiers of that officer, should be singly tortured and burned before his eyes, within full sight and hearing of fort prince george. as the fiendish ingenuity of this scheme was gradually unfolded, stuart sat stunned. all the anguish he had suffered seemed naught to this prospect. he staggered under the weight of responsibility. the lives of the poor remnant of his garrison,--more, their death by fire and torture,--hung upon such discretion as he could summon to aid his exhausted powers in these repeated and tormented ordeals. he said nothing; he could not see and he did not care for the succession of chuckles in which oconostota was resolved at the delightful spectacle of his dismay. the cherokee had beaten this man of resource at his little game of war, and now had outmaneuvered him at his mastercraft of scheming! footnotes: [footnote j: tooth!] [footnote k: very excellent.] [footnote l: three.] [footnote m: four--six.] [footnote n: the great hawk is at home!] chapter xiii stuart seemed utterly vanquished--his spirit gone. in silence he was conducted back to his quarters in demeré's house at fort loudon. and as there he sat in the spare, clean room, in the single chair it contained, with one elbow on the queer, rough little table, constructed according to a primitive scheme by the post carpenter, he stared forward blankly at the inevitable prospect so close before him. he had not now the solace of solitude in which he might have rallied his faculties. on the buffalo rug on the floor atta-kulla-kulla reclined and smoked his long-stemmed pipe and watched him with impenetrable eyes. once he spoke to him of the preparations making without, selecting the men for the gunners of the expedition. stuart lifted his head abruptly. "i will not go!" he cried in sudden passion. "so help me, god! i will die first!--a thousand deaths. so help me, god!" he lifted his clinched right hand in attestation and shook it wildly in the air. [illustration: "he stared forward blankly at the inevitable prospect."] he had a momentary shame in thus giving way to his surcharged feelings, but as he rose mechanically from his chair his restless eyes, glancing excitedly about the room, surprised an expression of sympathy in the face of the cherokee as he lay coiled up on the rug. "atta-kulla-kulla!" stuart exclaimed impulsively, holding out both arms, "feel for me! think of me! the poor remnant of the garrison! my 'young men'! my own command! i will die first, myself, a thousand deaths!" atta-kulla-kulla began to argue, speaking partly in cherokee and now and again in fragmentary english. neither the one nor the other might be the victim. the commandant at fort prince george would yield under this strong coercion. "never! never!" cried stuart. "his duty is to hold the fort. he will defend it to the last man and the last round of ammunition and the last issuance of rations. for his countrymen to be tortured and burned in his sight and hearing would doubtless give him great pain. but his duty is to his own command, and he will do it." atta-kulla-kulla seemed doubtful. "and then," argued stuart, "would such torturing and burning of the surrendered garrison of fort loudon before the eyes of the garrison of fort prince george be an inducement to them to surrender too, and perhaps meet the same fate? be sure they will sell their lives more dearly! be sure they will have heard of the massacre of the soldiers under the cherokees' pledge of safe-conduct on the plains of taliquo." "_to-e-u-hah!_" atta-kulla-kulla broke out furiously. "_to-e-u-hah!_ it is most true!" his countenance had changed to extreme anger. he launched out into a bitter protest that he had always contemned, and deprecated, and sought to prevent this continual violation of their plighted word and the obligations of their treaties on the part of the cherokee nation. it invariably hampered their efforts afterward, as it was hampering them now. it took from their hand the tool of negotiation, the weapon of the head-men, and left only the tomahawk, the brute force of the tribe. _wahkane, wahkane!_ was it not so when the treaty of lyttleton was broken and montgomery, the terrible, came in his stead? and when the cherokees had driven him out, and had taken their revenge on him for the blood which had been shed in his first foray, of what avail to massacre the garrison evacuating fort loudon, the possession of which had been for so long a coveted boon, and thus preclude a peaceful rendering of fort prince george and the expulsion of all english soldiery from cherokee soil! stuart, cautiously reticent, let him dilate upon all the wrongs wrought in council by the disregard of his advice, only now and again dropping a word as fuel to the flame. cautiously, too, he led to the topic of the regard and the admiration which the acute mind and the more enlightened moral sentiment of this chief had excited in the english authorities, and the service this official esteem would have been to the headstrong nation if they had availed themselves of it. for was not montgomery instructed to offer them terms on _his_ account only? their cruelty atta-kulla-kulla was brought to perceive had despoiled them of the fruits of their victory; they might have, for all their patience and all their valor, and all their statecraft, only a few more scalps here and there; for presently the great english nation would be pressing again from the south, with fort prince george as a base, and the war would be to begin anew. deep into the night atta-kulla-kulla dwelt on the treachery toward him,--for he had known naught of the enterprise of the massacre--that had so metamorphosed victory into disaster. the moonlight was coming in at the window, reminding stuart of that night when he lay at length on the rug and consulted with demeré and anxiously foreboded events, the news of montgomery's departure from the country having fallen upon them like a crushing blow. how prescient of disaster they had felt--but how little they had appraised its force! paler now was the moon, more melancholy, desolate to the last degree as it glimmered on the white-washed walls of the bare, sparely furnished room. his attention had relaxed with fatigue as he still sat with his elbow on the table, his head on his hand, vaguely hearing the indian councillor droning out his griefs of disregarded statesmanship and of the preferable attitude of affairs, so rudely, so disastrously altered. suddenly his tone changed to a personal note. "but it was ill with you, starving with your young men, in this place--long days, heap hungry." "they seem happy days, now," said stuart drearily, rousing himself. "and to-morrow--and yet next day?" asked atta-kulla-kulla. stuart stirred uneasily. "i can only die with what grace and courage i can muster," he said reluctantly. he glanced about him with restless eyes, like a hunted creature. "i cannot escape." he looked up in sudden surprise. the indian was standing now, gazing down at him with a benignity of expression which warranted the character of bold and forceful mind, and broad and even humane disposition, which this cherokee had won of his enemies in the midst of the bloodshed and the treachery and the hideous cruelty of the warfare in which he was so much concerned. "john stuart," he said, "have i not called you my friend? have i not given all i possess of wealth to save your life? do i not value it, and yet it is yours!" stuart had forgotten the chief's words that christmas night at the great gates, but they came back to him as atta-kulla-kulla repeated them, anew. "i know your heart, and i do not always forget! i do not _always_ forget!" in stuart's amazement, in the abrupt reaction, he could hardly master the details of the unfolded plan. the cherokee declared he had made up his mind to a stratagem, such as might baffle even the designs of oconostota. he doubted his own power to protect his prisoner, should the king learn that stuart still refused his services in the expedition to fort prince george. oconostota's heart was set upon the reduction of this stronghold, and so was that of all the cherokee nation. and yet atta-kulla-kulla could but perceive the flagrant futility of the expectation of the surrender of the garrison on the coercion that oconostota had devised, especially as fort prince george was so much nearer than fort loudon to communication with the white settlements. "i contemplate the fact before it happens, they only afterward," he said. on the pretext of diverting stuart's mind after his glut of horrors, and in affording him this recreation to secure an influence over him, eminently in character with the wiles of the cherokee statesman, he gave out that he intended to take his prisoner with him for a few days on a hunting expedition. the deer were now in prime condition, and captain stuart was known by the indians to be specially fond of venison. in the old days at fort loudon they had often taken note of this preference, and stopped there to leave as a gift a choice haunch, or saddle, or to crave the privilege of nailing a gigantic pair of antlers to vie with the others on the walls of the great hall. stuart himself was a famous shot, and was often called by them in compliment _a-wah-ta-how-we_, the "great deer-killer." the project created no surprise, and stuart saw with amazement the door of his prison ajar. one might have thought in such a crisis of deliverance no other consideration could appeal to him. but his attachment to the british interest seems to have been like the marrow in his bones. he demanded of atta-kulla-kulla the privilege of being accompanied by two men of the garrison of his own choice. the chief cast upon him a look of deep reproach. did he fear treachery? had his friend, his brother, deserved this? "i ask much of a friend--nothing of an enemy," declared stuart, bluffly. "you know my heart--trust me." atta-kulla-kulla yielded. if he experienced curiosity, the names of the two men which stuart gave him afforded no clue as to the reason for their selection; one was a gun-smith, an armorer of uncommon skill, and stuart knew that he was capable of dismounting and removing the cannon, without injury, through the tangled wilderness to fort prince george, should coercion overcome his resistance to the demands of the savages; the other, an artillery-man of long experience and much intelligence, himself adequately fitted to take command of the guns of the expedition, with a good chance of a successful issue. the massacre had swept away most of the cannoneers, and stuart was aware that the infantrymen left of the garrison would be hardly more capable of dealing with the problems of gun service than was oconostota, their careless and casual observation being worth little more than his earnest, but dense ignorance. nevertheless, with his exacting insistence on the extreme limit of demand, he begged atta-kulla-kulla, whose patience was wearing dangerously thin, to let him see them, speak to them for one moment. "you can hear all i say--you who understand the english so well." as he stepped into the old exhausted store-room, where the soldiers were herded together, squalid, heart-broken, ill, forlorn, atta-kulla-kulla outside closing the door fast, a quavering cheer went up to greet stuart. for one moment he stood silent while their eyes met--a moment fraught with feeling too deep for words. then his voice rang out and he spoke to the point. he wanted to remind them, he said, how the action of the garrison had forced the surrender and left the officers no choice, no discretion; however the event would have fallen out, it would not have happened thus. "but i did not come here to mock your distress," he protested. "i wish to urge you to rely upon me now. i have hopes of securing the ransom of the garrison by the government,"--again a pitiful cheer,--"and as i may never be allowed to see you again this is my only chance. _be sure of this_,--no man need hope for ransom who affords the cherokees the slightest assistance in any enterprise against fort prince george, or takes up arms at their command." he smiled, and waved his hat in courteous farewell, and stepped backward out of the door, apparently guarded by atta-kulla-kulla, while that quavering huzza went up anew, the very sound almost breaking down his self-control. the next day stuart, accompanied by atta-kulla-kulla, the warrior's wife, his brother, the armorer, and the artillery-man,--the supposititious hunting party,--set gayly and leisurely forth. but once out of reach of espionage they traveled in a northeastern direction with the utmost expedition night and day through the trackless wilderness, guided only by the sun and moon. what terrors of capture, what hardships of fatigue, what anxious doubt and anguish of hope they endured, but added wings to the flight of the unhappy fugitives. nine days and nights they journeyed thus, hardly relaxing a muscle. on the tenth day, having gained the frontiers of virginia, they fortunately fell in with a party of three hundred men, a part of bird's virginia regiment, thrown out for the relief of any soldiers who might be escaping in the direction of that province from fort loudon, for through hamish's dispatches its state of blockade and straits of starvation had become widely bruited abroad. with the succor thus afforded and the terror of capture overpast, the four days' further travel were accomplished in comparative ease, and brought the fugitives to colonel bird's camp, within the boundaries of virginia. here stuart parted from atta-kulla-kulla, with many a protestation and many a regret, and many an urgent prayer that the chief would protect such of the unhappy garrison as were still imprisoned at fort loudon until they could be ransomed, measures for which stuart intended to set on foot immediately. so the half-king of the cherokees went his way back to his native wilds, loaded by stuart with presents and commendations, and in no wise regretting the radical course he had taken.[14] stuart had instantly sent off messengers to apprise the commandant of fort prince george of the threatened attack, and to acquaint the governor of south carolina with the imminence of its danger and the fall of fort loudon, for governor bull had expected virginia to raise the siege of loudon, unaware that that province had dropped all thought of the attempt, finding its means utterly inadequate to march an army thither through those vast and tangled wildernesses carrying the necessary supplies for its own subsistence. provisions for ten weeks were at once thrown into fort prince george, and a report was industriously circulated among the indians that the ground about it on every side had been craftily mined to prevent approach.[15] stuart found that hamish macleod, after performing his mission and setting out for his return to the beleaguered fort with the responsive dispatches, had succumbed to the extreme hardship of those continuous journeys throughout the wild fastnesses, many hundred miles of which were traversed on foot and at full speed under a blazing summer sun, and lay ill of brain-fever at one of the frontier settlements. there stuart saw him--still so delirious that, although recognizing the officer in some sort, he talked wildly of pressing dispatches, of the inattention and callous hearts of officials in high station, of delays and long waitings for audience in official anterooms, of the prospect of any expedition of relief for the fort, of odalie, and red calashes, and savanukah, and rifle-shots, and fifine, and "top-feathers," and sandy--sandy--sandy; always sandy! later, stuart was apprised that the boy was on the way to recovery when he received a coherent letter from hamish, who had learned that stuart was using every endeavor--moving heaven and earth as the phrase went--to compass the ransom of the survivors of the garrison still at fort loudon or the indian villages in its neighborhood. hamish had heard of the fall of the fort and the massacre of the evacuating force, and still staggering under the weight of the blow, he reminded stuart peremptorily enough of the services which odalie had rendered in venturing forth from the walls under the officer's orders, when he dared not seek to induce a man to volunteer nor constrain one to the duty, and to urge upon his consideration the fact that she might be justly esteemed to have earned her ransom and that of her husband and child. hamish had an immediate reply by a sure hand. if it could avail aught to mrs. macleod or any of her household, stuart wrote with an uncharacteristic vehemence of protest, every influence he could exert, every half-penny he possessed, every drop of his blood would be cheerfully devoted to the service, so highly did he rate the lofty courage which had given to fort loudon its only chance of relief, and which under happier auspices would undoubtedly have resulted in raising the siege. whatever might be forgotten, assuredly it would not be the intrepid devotion of the "forlorn hope" of fort loudon. hamish, left to his own not overwise devices, decided to return to the country where he had quitted all that was dear to him, dangerous though that return might be. and, indeed, those wild western woods included the boundaries of all the world to him--elsewhere he felt alone and an alien. it seemed strange to realize that there were other people, other interests, other happenings of moment. he long remembered the sensation, and was wont to tell of it afterward, with which he discovered, camping one night at the foot of a tree--for he journeyed now by easy stages, keeping sedulously from the main trail through the forest--the traces of a previous presence, a bit of writing cut on the bark of the tree. "daniel boon," it ran, "cilled a bar on tree in the year 1760." that momentous year--that crucial time of endeavor and fluctuating hope and despair and death--a hunter here, all unaware of the maelstrom of mental and physical agony away there to the south in the shadow of the same mountain range, was pursuing his quiet sylvan craft, and slaughtering his "bar" and the alphabet with equal calm and aplomb. perhaps it was well for the future career of the adventurous young fellow that he fell in with some french traders, who were traveling with many packhorses well laden, and who designed to establish themselves with their goods at one of the lower towns of the cherokees; they urged that he should attach himself to their march, whether from a humane sense of diminishing his danger, or because of the industry and usefulness and ever ready proffer of aid in the frank, bright, amiable boy, who showed a quality of good breeding quite beyond their custom, yet not unappreciated. they warned him that it would be certain death to him, and perhaps to his captive relatives, should he in a flimsy disguise, which he had fancied adequate, of dyeing his hair a singular yellow and walking with a limp, which he often alertly forgot, venture into the villages of those cherokees by whom he had been so well known, and against whose interest he had been employed in such vigorous and bold aggression. the traders showed some genuine feeling of sympathy and a deep indignation, because of the treachery that had resulted in the massacre of the garrison of fort loudon,--although the english were always the sworn foe of the french. the leader of the party, elderly, of commercial instincts rather than sylvan, albeit a dead shot, and decorated with ear-rings, had a great proclivity toward snuff and tears, and often indulged in both as a luxury when hamish with his simple art sought to portray the characters of the tragedy of the siege; and as the frenchman heard of fifine and odalie, and stuart and demeré, and all their sufferings and courage and devices of despair--"_quelle barbarie!_" he would burst forth, and hamish would greet the phrase with a boyish delight of remembrance. two or three of the party made an incursion into choté when they reached its neighborhood, and returned with the news that the ransom of such of the garrison as were there had taken place, and they had been delivered to the commandant of fort prince george, but certain others had been removed to huwhasee town and among them were the french squaw, the pappoose, and the scotchman. in his simplicity hamish believed them, although monsieur galette sat late, with his delicate sentiments, over the camp-fire that night, and stared at it with red eyes, often suffused with tears, and took snuff after his slovenly fashion until he acquired the aspect of a blackened pointed muzzle, and looked in his elevated susceptibility like some queer unclassified baboon. but at huwhasee town hamish heard naught of those his memory cherished. he was greatly amazed at the courage with which monsieur galette urged upon the head-men that some measures should be taken to induce oconostota to remove that fence, of which they had heard at choté, which had been built of the bones of the massacred garrison, and give them burial from out the affronted gaze of christian people. this was not pleasing, he said, not even to the french. he was evidently growing old and his heart was softening! lured by a vague rumor expressed among the party that those he sought had been removed to a remote indian town on the tsullakee river, hamish broke away from monsieur galette, despite all remonstrances, to seek those he loved in the further west--if slaves, as monsieur galette suggested, he would rather share their slavery than without them enjoy the freedom of the king. and, constrained to receive two snuffy kisses on either cheek, he left monsieur galette shedding his frequent tears to mix with the snuff on his pointed muzzle. and so in company with a french hunter in a canoe, hamish went down the long reaches of the tsullakee river, coming after many days to their destination, to find only disappointment and a gnawing doubt, and a strange, palsying numbness of despair. for the french traders here, reading monsieur galette's letter, looked at one another with grave faces and collogued together, and finally became of the opinion that the members of the family he sought were somewhere--oh, far away!--in the country where now dwelt the expatriated shawnees, and that region, so great an indian traveler as he was must know was inaccessible now in the winter season. it would be well for him to dismiss the matter from his mind, and stay with them for the present; he could engage in the fur trade; his society would be appreciated. with the well-meaning french flattery they protested that he spoke the french language so well--they made him upon his proficiency their felicitations. poor hamish ought to have known from this statement what value to attach to what they said otherwise, conscious as he was how his verbs and pronouns disagreed, and dislocated the sense of his remarks, and popped up and down out of place, like a lot of puppets on a disorganized system of wires. these traders were not snuffy nor lachrymose; they were of a gay disposition and also wore ear-rings--but they all looked sorrowfully at him when he left them, and he thought one was minded to disclose something withheld. and so down and down the tsullakee river he went, and after the junction of the great tributary with the ohio, he plied his paddle against the strong current and with the french hunter came into the placid waters of the beautiful sewanee, or cumberland, flouted by the north wind, his way winding for many miles in densest wintry solitudes. for this was the great hunting-ground of the cherokee nation and absolutely without population. his adventures were few and slight until he fell in with daniel boon, camping that year near the head waters of the sewanee, who listened to his story with grave concern and a sane and effective sympathy. he, too, advised the cessation of these ceaseless wanderings, but he thought stuart's letter evasive, somehow, and counseled the boy to write to him once more, detailing these long searches and their futility. hamish had always realized that stuart's sentiments, although by no means shallow, for he was warmly attached to his friends, were simple, direct, devoid of the subtlety that sometimes characterized his mental processes. life to him was precious, a privilege, and its environment the mere incident. he now replied that he had not dared divulge all the truth while hamish macleod was in the enfeebled condition that follows brain-fever, and had been loath, too, to rob him of hope, only that he might forlornly mourn his nearest and dearest. but since the fact must needs be revealed he could yet say their sorrows were brief. in that drear dawn on the plains of taliquo the mother and child were killed in the same volley of musketry, and afterward, as he ordered from time to time the ranks to close up, he saw sandy, who had been fighting in line with the troops, lying on the ground, quite dead. "you may be sure of this," stuart added; "i took especial note of their fate, having from the first cared much for them all." the terrible certainty wrought a radical change in hamish. from the moment he seemed, instead of the wild, impulsive, affectionate boy, a stern reserved man. in the following year he enlisted in a provincial regiment mustered to join the british regulars sent again by general amherst to the relief of the carolina frontier; for the difficulties in canada being set at rest, troops could be put in the field in the south, and vengeance for the tragedy of fort loudon became a menace to the cherokees, who had grown arrogant and aggressive, stimulated to further cruelties by their triumphs and immunity. nevertheless, atta-kulla-kulla went forth to meet the invaders, and earnestly attempted to negotiate a treaty. it was well understood now, however, that he was in no sense a representative man of his nation, and his mission failed. lieutenant-colonel james grant, on whom colonel montgomery's command had now devolved, at the head of this little army of british regulars and provincials, preceded by a vanguard of ninety indian allies and thirty white settlers, painted and dressed like indians, under command of captain quentin kennedy,--in all about twenty-six hundred men,--continued to advance into the cherokee country. at etchoee, the scene of the final battle of colonel montgomery's campaign in the previous year, they encountered the cherokees in their whole force--the united warriors of all the towns. a furious battle ensued, both sides fighting with prodigies of valor and persistence, that resulted in breaking forever the power of the cherokee nation. three hours the rage of the fight lasted, and then the troops, pushing forward into the country, burned and slew on every side, wasting the growing crops all over the face of the land, and driving the inhabitants from the embers of their towns to the refuge of caves and dens of wild beasts in the mountains. they stayed not their hand till atta-kulla-kulla came again, now to humbly sue for peace and for the preservation of such poor remnant as was left of his people. after this the colonists came more rapidly into the region. a settlement sprang up at watauga, the site of one of hamish's old camps as he had journeyed on his fruitless search for those who had made his home and the wilderness a sort of paradise. but the place, far away from loudon though it was, seemed sad to him. the austere range of mountain domes on the eastern horizon looked down on him with suggestions which they imparted to none others who beheld them. he and they had confidences and a drear interchange of memories and a knowledge of a past that broke the heart already of the future. he was glad to look upon them no more! his mind had turned often to the trivial scenes, the happier times, when, unbereaved of hope, he had hunted with the frenchman on the banks of the beautiful sewanee river. and he welcomed the project of a number of the pioneers to carry their settlement on to the region of the french salt lick, which other hunters had already rendered famous, and with a few of these he made his way thither by land while the rest traveled by water, the way of his old journey in search of his lost happiness. and here he lived and passed his days. he heard from stuart from time to time afterward, but not always with pleasure. it is true that it afforded him a sentiment of deep gratification to learn that the assembly of south carolina had given stuart a vote of thanks for his "courage, good conduct and long perseverance at fort loudon," with a testimonial of fifteen hundred pounds currency, and earnestly recommended him to the royal governor for a position of honor and profit in the service of the province; the office of superintendent of indian affairs for the south having been created, stuart's appointment thereto by the crown was received with the liveliest public satisfaction, it being a position that he was pronounced in every way qualified to fill.[16] for some years this satisfaction continued, failing only when, in the growing differences between the colonists and great britain, stuart, wholly devoted to the royal cause, conceived himself under obligations to carry out the instructions which the british war department sent to him and the four royal governors of the southern provinces to use every endeavor to continue the indians in their adherence to the british standard as allies against all its enemies; even concocting a plan with general gage, governor tonyn, lord william campbell, and other royalists,--which plan happily failed,--to land a british army on the western coast of florida, whence, joined by tories and indians, the united force should fall upon the western frontiers of carolina at the moment of attack on the eastern coast by a british fleet, in the hope that the province thus surrounded would be obliged to sue the royal government for peace. hamish had had some opportunity at fort loudon to observe the tenacity with which stuart at all hazards adhered to his "instructions and the interest of the government," but in this crisis it ceased to appear in the guise of duty. in such a time it seemed to hamish an independent, enlightened judgment partook of the values of a pious patriotism. a permanent breach in their friendship was made when stuart wrote to hamish to call his attention to the fact that the macdonalds of kingsburgh and the macleods and other leal scotch hearts in the southern provinces were fighting under the royal banner. hamish replied succinctly that "on whatever side the macleods fought, with whatever result, be sure the thing would be well done." as if to illustrate the fact, he himself some time afterward set forth with the "mountain men" to march against the royalists under ferguson, and was among the victors in the battle of king's mountain. in the earlier times of the settlement of the state, fraught with troubles with the indians, who, more timorous than formerly, were yet more skulking, hamish was wont to take with hearty good-will to the rifle, the knife, the pistol, and the firebrand. he was with sevier on more than one of those furious forays, when vengeance nerved the hand and hardened the heart, for many of the pioneers avenged the slain of their own household. but as he grew old, the affinity of his hand for the trigger slackened, and he liked only the blaze of the benignant fireside; sometimes he would laugh and shake his gray head and declare that he reminded himself of monsieur galette, with his theories of sweet peace in that fierce land, and his soft heart and his sinewy old hand that could send a bullet so straight from the bore of his flintlock rifle. and so great a favorite did monsieur galette become in hamish's fireside stories, so often clamored for, that he would ask his grandchildren, clustering about him, if they would like him better with a muzzle of snuff and a pair of ear-rings and a tear-discoursing eye, and declare that he must take measures to secure these embellishments. and so, gradually, by slow degrees, he was led on to talk of the past,--of the beautiful carolina girl who had been his brother's wife, of the quaint babble of fifine, of stuart and demeré, of corporal o'flynn, and the big drum-major, and the queer old african cook, and the cat that had been so cherished--but he never, never ventured a word of sandy, to the last day of his life; sandy!--for whom he had had almost a filial veneration blended with the admiring applausive affection of the younger brother for the elder. when he had grown very old--for he died only in 1813--he had a beneficent illusion that might come but to one standing, as could be said, on the borderland of the two worlds. it came in dreams, such perhaps as old men often dream, but his experiences made it the tenderer. sometimes in the golden afternoon of summer, as he sat in placid sleep, with his long, white hair falling about his shoulders, one of his wrinkled, veinous hands lying on the arm of his chair would tremble suddenly and contract with a strong grasp, and he would look up, at naught, with a face of such joyous recognition and tender appeal, that the children, playing about, would pause in their mirth and ask, with awe, what had he seen. and it seemed that he had felt his hand caught with a certain playful clasp such as years ago--more than half a century--odalie was wont to give it, when she had been waiting for him long, and would wait no longer. and looking up, he could see her standing there, waiting still, smiling serenely, joyously as of yore; and so she would stand till the dream vanished in the reality of the children clustering around his knees, besieging him once more for the story of old fort loudon. notes 1 page 8. in addition to luring an enemy within shot by the mimicry of the voice of bird or beast the indians' consummate art of ambuscade enabled them to imitate the footprints of game by affixing the hoofs of deer or buffalo or the paws of bear to their own feet and hands, and thus duplicate the winding progress of these animals for miles with such skill as to deceive not merely the white settlers, new to the country, but indian enemies of other tribes, expert woodmen like themselves. 2 page 18. the name of this famous town is variously given. adair spells it as choàte. bancroft inclines to chotee. bartram has it as chote-great. some of the old maps show it as chotte. modern historians of tennessee, hayward, j. g. m. ramsey, putnam, and others make it chota, but most of the earlier writers concerning this region adopt the french rendering and call it choté; hewatt, however, david ramsey, and others use the _accent grave_, chotè. this town, seldom alluded to without the phrase "old town" or "beloved town," to distinguish it from another indian village of the same name among the lower towns, was a veritable "city of refuge," and the only one of the cherokee nation. a murderer, even if a white man and the victim a cherokee, might live for years here secure from vengeance. although there is an instance known of a malefactor, who sought an asylum here and was prevented from landing, being held down in the tennessee river until drowned, still the rule was inviolable that if the refugee could but gain a footing on the ever-sacred soil, he was as safe as if clinging to the horns of an altar. this fact contributed, with other confirmatory circumstances of usage and tradition, to continue the speculations touching the identity of the american indians with the lost tribes of israel. humboldt says that from the most remote times of the missions the opinion has been entertained that the languages of the american indians and the hebrew display extraordinary analogies. he ascribes this fact to the position of the personal and possessive pronouns at the end of the nouns and verbs, and the numerous tenses of the latter, a characteristic of both the indian and hebrew tongues which naturally struck the attention of the monks. an analogy, however, does not go far to prove an identity of origin. he refers to adair as among travelers "somewhat credulous who have heard the strains of the hebrew hallelujah among the chickasaws and choctaws of north america,"--and he might have added the cherokees also. james adair, however, could hardly be called a traveler. he published in london in 1775 the results of his observation during a residence of forty years as a trader among the chickasaws and neighboring tribes. he adduces many analogies of their languages with the hebrew, and calls attention to many customs for which he seeks to discern precedent in the mosaic dispensation. how much he had read of previous speculations it is impossible to say. he protests that he is but a trader and not "a skillful hebraist," by his vocation obliged to write far from all libraries, literary associations, and conversation with the learned, compelled even to keep his papers secret from the observation of the indians, always very jealous of the enigmatical "black marks" of the traders' correspondence, but he quotes largely from many writers both english and foreign--the reverend mr. thorowgood, don antonio de ulloa, acosta, benzo, etc., and shows considerable aptness of logic in adapting his theories to his investigations into the structure of the indian languages. such nice verbal distinctions, such order and symmetry, such a train of subtle and exact religious terms, he argues, could not be invented by a people so ignorant and illiterate as the modern indian, and contends that they obviously bear all the distinctive marks of a language of culture. he further declares that one of the chickasaw prophets, _the loache_, assured him that they had once had an "old beloved speech," which in the course of time and national degeneration they had lost. in this connection, but entirely apart from all hebraic analogies, one is moved to wonder if there were also among them a reminiscence of an "old beloved character," and if the extraordinary invention of the cherokee character of the "syllabic alphabet" by the indian, guest, early in the present century, partly partakes of the nature of tradition. 3 page 22. the high value which the french government placed on the services of these allies may be inferred from a remark which has come down from a council of state, in reference to their conduct in this battle: "_quoique je n'approuve pas qu'on mange les morts, cependant il ne faut pas quereller avec ces bonnêtes gens pour des bagatelles._" 4 page 38. among others bearing witness to these strange relics, timothy flint says, in his _history and geography of the mississippi valley_: "in this state [tennessee] burying grounds have been found where the skeletons seem all to have been pigmies. the graves in which the bodies were deposited are seldom more than two feet or two feet and a half in length. to obviate the objection that these are all the bodies of children, it is affirmed that the skulls are found to have possessed the _dentes sapientiæ_ and must have belonged to persons of mature age. the two bodies that were found in the vast limestone cavern in tennessee, one of which i saw at lexington, were neither of them more than four feet high; the hair seemed to have been sandy, or inclining to yellow. it is well known that nothing is so uniform in the present indian as his lank, black hair. from the pains taken to preserve the bodies, and the great labor of making the funeral robes in which they were folded, they must have been of the 'blood royal' or personages of consideration in their day." (hayward, in his quaint and rare _natural and aboriginal history of tennessee_, referring to the curious method of interment, in a copperas cave, of two mummies, both of full size, however, arrayed in fabrics of great beauty, evincing much mechanical skill in manufacture, also mentions the hair on the heads of both as long, and of a yellow cast and a fine texture.) webber, in his _romance of natural history_, gives the size of the diminutive sarcophagi of the supposed pygmies found in tennessee as three feet in length by eighteen inches in depth. hayward also mentions the pygmy dwellers of tennessee, and another writer still, describing one of these singular graveyards of the "little people," states that the bones were strong and well formed, and that one of the skeletons had about its neck ninety-four pearls. the painfully prosaic hypothesis of certain craniologists that such relics were only those of children is, of course, rejected by any person possessed of the resources of imagination. 5 page 40. this name is also given in one or two instances as dejean, and several dates both earlier and later have been assigned to the disastrous visit to choté to which reference is here made. 6 page 82. washington readily recognized the futility of the cumbrous regular military methods in a rough, unsettled country. on the forbes expedition, to counteract the french and their indian allies, washington continually sent out small parties of the cherokees under his command. "small parties of indians," said he, "will more effectually harass the enemy by keeping them under continual alarms than any parties of white men can do." however, "with all his efforts," says irving, "he was never able to make the officers of the regular army appreciate the importance of indian allies in these campaigns in the wilderness." but the fact has been taught elsewhere, both earlier and later than washington's day. general gordon, in his journal, says of the soudan: "a heavy lumbering column is nowhere in this land. parties of forty or sixty men moving swiftly about will do more than any column. native allies, above all things, at whatever cost. it is the country of the irregular, not of the regular. i can say i owe the defeats in this country to having artillery with me, which delayed me much, and it was the artillery with hicks which in my opinion did for him." and as if he himself merely turned back a leaf instead of the pages of centuries, he here inserts an extract from herodotus: "cambyses marched against the ethiopians without making any provision for the subsistence of his army or once considering that he was going to carry his arms to the remotest parts of the world, but as a madman ... before the army had passed over a fifth of the way all the provisions were exhausted, and the beasts of burden were eaten.... now if cambyses had then led his army back he would have proved himself a wise man. he, however, went on ... the report was that heaps of sand covered them over, and they disappeared." gordon comments, "hicks' army disappeared. the expedition was made into these lands." 7 page 137. this pride flourished probably too far on the frontier to be deteriorated by the knowledge of the gradual decline in the popularity of the periwig then in progress, for only a few years later the wig-makers of london found it necessary to petition the king, setting forth their distresses occasioned by the perversity of the men of his realm in persisting in wearing their own hair. the most definite outcome of this proceeding was the sprightly travesty of the petition, appearing in the _gentleman's magazine_ on behalf of the carpenters, entreating his majesty to wear a wooden leg himself, and to require this of all his subjects, since otherwise the advent of peace bade fair to ruin the joiner's trade in wooden legs. 8 page 148. the duke of cumberland has never been considered what is prettily called a "lovely character." his temperament, which would not even brook that certain gentlemen, whom he denominated with a profane adjective "old women," should talk to him "about humanity" (and it may be said in passing that these hopeful "old women" were most obviously condemned to disappointment at least), his rigid discipline of his own troops, and his unparalleled brutality to the enemy, leave the devotion exhibited for him by his soldiers to be accounted for only by the admiration which they felt for his personal courage, which was very great, and of which walpole tells a good story about this time,--of course before the days of anæsthetics: "the duke of cumberland is quite recovered after an incision of many inches into his knee. ranby [the surgeon] did not dare to propose that a hero should be tied, but was frightened out of his senses when the hero _would_ hold the candle himself, which none of his generals could bear to do: in the middle of the operation the duke said 'hold!' ranby said, 'for god's sake, sir, let me proceed now--it will be worse to renew it.' the duke repeated, 'i say, hold!' and then calmly bade them give ranby a clean waistcoat and cap; 'for,' said he, 'the poor man has sweated through these.' it was true; but the duke did not utter a groan." 9 page 168. it is with a renewal of confidence in the better aspects of human nature, and the genuineness of such sanctions as control civilized war that we realize that the french and english officers encountering dangers so far transcending legitimate perils as those pervading indian fighting manifested individually, now and again, a true and soldierly sympathy with one another, and sought to protect the helpless in their power, often liberating those exposed to torture at the hands of their savage allies. for the methods of the indians were by no means ameliorated by association with their civilized comrades, and they could scarcely be held subject to any control. washington himself, whose capacity in authority amounted to a special genius, even when only a young provincial officer, could not restrain his indian allies from scalping the slain, and in several instances it required his utmost exertions to prevent a like fate from befalling his own living prisoners. 10 page 217. governor lyttleton on the request of atta-kulla-kulla released oconostota, fiftoe, the chief warrior of keowee town, and the head warrior of estatoe, who the next day surrendered two other indians to be held as substitutes. although it has been generally said that there were twenty-two hostages, only twenty-one seem to have been detained, and it is therefore possible that oconostota was liberated without exchange, on account of his position and influence in the tribe, being always known as the "great warrior." the names of the hostages detained are as follows: chenohe, ousanatanah, tallichama, tallitahe, quarrasatahe, connasaratah, kataetoi, otassite of watogo, ousanoletah of jore, kataletah of cowetche, chisquatalone, skiagusta of sticoe, tanaesto, wohatche, wyejah, oucachistanah, nicolche, tony, toatiahoi, shallisloske, and chistie. 11 page 236. bancroft says this detached force comprised six hundred highlanders and six hundred royal americans. adair says it consisted of twelve hundred highlanders. other historians add to this number a body of grenadiers. hewatt, who writes almost contemporaneously, publishing in 1779, and who was a resident of charlestown, where the force landed and whence it departed, states that it consisted of a battalion of highlanders and four companies of the royal scots, and it was there joined by a company of south carolina volunteers. he further mentions that upon colonel montgomery's return to new york he left four companies of his force in charlestown, upon the urgent request of the governor and assembly, to aid the defense of the carolina frontier, and that these were of the royal regiment under the command of major frederick hamilton. the royal scots, being one of the oldest and most celebrated of military organizations, has the peculiar claim on the consideration of all the world, that having been the body-guard of king louis xi. of france, the renowned scottish archers, it must surely bear on the ancient and illustrious rolls the ever-cherished name of quentin durward, for are we not told that the venerable commander of the guard, lord crawford, entered it there himself? and if it is not now to be seen, why--so much the worse for the ancient and illustrious rolls! 12 page 261. the personal vanity of the cherokees was so great that after discovering the functions of a mirror the men were never without one. even in their most unimpeded war-trim they carried a mirror slung over one shoulder and consulted it from time to time with pleasure doubtless. when the small-pox broke out among them, those whose appearance had suffered from that disease could not endure to survive their disfigurement, and promptly took their own lives, although suicides were buried without the highly esteemed honors usually paid to the dead. 13 page 366. the temperament of atta-kulla-kulla seems far more complex than the simple traits attributed usually to untrained character. apart from his savage craft, courage, and a sort of natural eloquence which he shared with his tribe, the close discernment shown in some of his speeches still extant, his magnanimity, his capacity to receive and assimilate new impressions, his diplomatic talents, all suggest a versatile mind, and he also possessed a caustic wit to which he was wont to give rein touching the oft-broken promises of one of the governors of south carolina, from whom it is related he had received many letters which he said "were not agreeable to the old beloved speech." he kept them regularly piled in a bundle in the order in which he had received them, and often showed them. "'the first,' he used to say, 'contained a _little_ truth,' and he would devise fantastic excuses for the failure of the rest of it, urging the governor's perplexing rush of official business which had occasioned him to forget his strong promises. 'but count,' said he, 'the lying black marks of this one'--and he would descant minutely on every circumstance of it." his patience, he would declare, was exhausted, and he felt that the letters were "nothing but an heap of broad black papers and ought to be burnt in the old year's fire." the old year's fire was a symbol of departed values, the new year's fire being kindled with great ceremony by the cheera-taghe, or prophets, "men of the divine fire." 14 page 386. it is pleasant to know that this strong friendship suffered no diminution by reason of time and distance. bartram relates that when he traveled in the cherokee country in 1773 he met descending the heights a company of indians all well mounted on horses. "i observed a chief at the head of the caravan, and as they came up i turned off from the path to make way in token of respect, which compliment was accepted and gracefully and magnanimously returned, for his highness, with a gracious and cheerful smile, came up to me and clapping his hand on his breast offered it to me, saying, 'i am ata-cul-culla,' and heartily shook hands with me, and asked me if i knew it. i answered that the good spirit who goes before me spoke to me and said 'that is the great ata-cul-culla.'" the chief then asked him if he came direct from charlestown, and if his friend john stuart were well. mr. bartram was able to his great pleasure to reply that he had seen john stuart very recently, and that he was well. 15 page 386. french emissaries were shortly in the vicinity of this fort. at a great meeting of the cherokee nation the indefatigable louis latinac struck a hatchet into a log, crying out, "who will take up this for the king of france?" saloué, the young warrior of estatoe, instantly laid hold of it, exclaiming, "i am for war!" and in indorsement of this compact many tomahawks were brandished, already red with british blood. 16 page 397. as an interesting example of the appropriate and successful method to address barbarous peoples, the historian hewatt gives entire the text of a speech to several tribes of indians which stuart, in his capacity of superintendent of indian affairs for the south, delivered at a general congress at mobile, attended by governor johnstone and many british officers and soldiers. it is strikingly apt, and despite the figurative language for which the indians had so strong a preference, it is direct and simple, bold yet conciliatory, dignified in tone, but with a very engaging air of extreme candor, and it may be that stuart's influence over them lay chiefly in fair and impartial measures and the faithful performance of promises. among the writers of that date he is rarely mentioned without some reference to his mental ability, which seems to have been very marked, or to the exact and strict fidelity with which he followed the letter and spirit of his instructions. a certain fling, however, by one who had wanted the office to which stuart was afterward appointed is so deft a bit of character-drawing in few words that, regardless of its obvious spite, it is worth repeating,--"a haughty person, devoted to parade, and a proud uniform." * * * * * transcriber's note the following change has been made to the text: page 290: "or such people" changed to "of such people". the wiving of lance cleaverage by alice macgowan author of "judith of the cumberlands," "the last word," "huldah," "return," etc. with illustrations in colour by robert edwards g. p. putnam's sons new york and london the knickerbocker press 1909 copyright, 1909 alice macgowan the knickerbocker press, new york to emma bell miles who could without doubt have written much better this story of her own home country the book is affectionately inscribed by the author contents i. a pair of haggards 1 ii. the up-sitting 19 iii. the burying 39 iv. a dance and a serenade 50 v. the asking 70 vi. the wedding 88 vii. lance's laurel 104 viii. the infare 124 ix. the interloper 140 x. poverty pride 154 xi. "long sweetenin'" 168 xii. "what shall he have who killed the deer?" 182 xiii. broken chords 193 xiv. roxy griever's guest 211 xv. a stubborn heart 223 xvi. lance cleaverage's son 237 xvii. the coasts of the island 247 xviii. the hegira 266 xix. callista cleaverage goes home 277 xx. drawn blank 293 xxi. flenton hands 300 xxii. the speech of people 309 xxiii. buck fuson's idea 321 xxiv. silenced 330 xxv. the flight 340 xxvi. roxy griever 345 xxvii. in hiding 357 xxviii. the sheriff scores 371 xxix. the island at last 377 illustrations "i was just a-studyin' on the matter." frontispiece "a face, passion-pale, was raised to him, and eager, tremulous lips met his." 66 "you'll marry us now--or not at all." 98 "he placed the instrument in ola's grasp." 202 "he gazed long at callista's face on the pillow." 246 "he broke off, staring with open mouth." 336 the wiving of lance cleaverage chapter i. a pair of haggards. noon of summer in the highlands of tennessee; the cumberlands, robed in the mid-season's green, flashed here and there with banding and gemming of waters. the two turkey track mountains, big and little, lying side by side and one running so evenly from the other that only the dweller upon them knew where to differentiate, basked in the full glow of a sabbath morning radiance. a young fellow of twenty-three, crossing the crown of a higher hill, tonsured years ago by the axe of some settler, but offering half way up its side resistance of undergrowth and saplings, paused a moment in the open to look down. below him the first church bell had just rung in the little gray structure across the creek. shining above the ocean of woods and the cabin homes that, like islets, dotted the forest at wide intervals, the sabbath sun caught and lightened upon something [2] bright, swung upon the newcomer's back. himself as yet unseen, he gazed down upon this his world, spread map-like below him. he could pick out everybody's home. each one of those cabins wore to-day, from porch floors hollowed with much scouring to inner cupboard niche, an air of sunday expectancy that lacked little of being sanctimonious. only the house-mother remained in charge of each, preparing the sunday company dinner with even more outlay of energy than the preceding six had required. the men had, by common consent, adjourned to spring, barn, the shelter of big trees in the yard; he caught glimpses of the young folks below him on the woods-paths, attired in their brightest frocks and shirts, and whatever finery they could command, sauntering by twos and threes toward preaching. his smiling, impersonal gaze was aware of callista gentry sitting on a rock above the spring, holding a sort of woodland state like a rustic queen. the time of roses was past in this southern land, but every dooryard in the turkey tracks was painted gay with hollyhocks, while in ravine and thicket flamed the late azaleas, ranging from clear pale yellow, through buff and orange, to crimson. these lay piled in a sheaf beside the big gray rock, and the girl who sat there was showing her mates how to trim their hats with them, while several boys looked on and presumably admired. [3] the curious feature of callista gentry's following was, that it included as many young women as young men, and the chariot wheels of her mates looked robbed always, because, inferentially, the man who courted any other would rather have callista gentry if he might. coached and forwarded, exploited and made the most of ever since she could remember; a bright, pretty child, and a dutiful student, during her brief days of country schooling; her mother had from infancy enforced all the rural arts of beauty culture to make her what she was. long home-knitted yarn gloves were worn to protect the shapely hands and whiten them. the grand big mane of ashen-blond hair was washed in fresh-caught rainwater, clipped in the dark of the moon, combed and tended and kept as no one else's hair was. her sunbonnets were never the long-caped ungainly affairs commonly seen; they took on, whether by accident or design one could hardly say, the coquetry of a wood violet half-blown; and when these were not in use, a broad hat shaded the exquisite fairness of the oval cheek. callista had grown up a delicate court lady, smooth and fine to look upon, pink and white and golden, like one of those rare orchids, marvelously veined and featured, known only to the bees of the wood, whose loveliness is always ashiver with peculiar vitality. this sunday morning the lepidopteral flutter of gay calicoes, and the bee-like murmur [4] of young male voices in her court of youths and maidens, carried out well the figure of the rare, moth-bewitching blossom. "i wish't lance cleaverage'd come--then we'd see fun!" cried buck fuson, rising to his knees and gazing across the slope. "i'd ruther hear him and callista fuss as to eat my dinner. them two has the masterest arguments i ever heared outside of a law-court." brown little ola derf, sitting slightly apart from the others braiding pine needles into a ring, looked up suddenly. a woman at the spring below scooping a drink for a fat child, lifted a long drab face and sighted in the same direction. this was the widow griever, elder sister of lance cleaverage. sour censor of public morals that she was, roxy griever considered eighteen-year-old callista the young woman perfect, and found her own brother quite unworthy of the paragon. only the central figure of the group appeared to take no notice, while the girls about her, at the mere mention of lance, all fluttered and resettled themselves with a certain vague air of expectancy. "you boys ought to be ashamed of yo'se'fs," roxy griever reproved. then apart to young fuson, "callista's got more sense than to pay any attention to such a light-headed somebody as that fool brother o' mine. let me tell you, callista gentry has more sense than any of you [5] men persons give her credit for. she's a serious-minded gal. you mary ann marthy, you quit treadin' over yo' sunday shoes." and she raised her small daughter a bit from the pathway and set her down sharply, as though to indicate the correct manner of walking in sunday foot-gear. the infant of the triple name--her uncle lance said she sounded like twins if she didn't look it--put up a mutinous red mouth and lowered from under flaxen brows. "me wants to hear 'em fuss," she muttered as she progressed reluctantly toward the little church on the hill-side. "well, you ain't goin' to hear 'em fuss, and they ain't goin' to fuss, and you couldn't hear 'em if they did," admonished her mother lucidly, accelerating the infant's pace from the rear. "the big spring ain't no place for chillen like you, and old women like me. let the light-minded and the ungodly do about in such ef they will. you and me is goin' into the church house and set thar till preachin'." fathers and mothers were herding their broods of lesser children in, but boys and girls of older growth, young men and women of an age to be thinking of mating, strolled by twos or sat on the bank above the big spring that supplied the baptismal pool of brush arbor church. callista gentry was wearing a new print frock--and looking quite unconscious of the fact. [6] "that ain't no five cent lawn," whispered ola derf enviously, as she eyed it from afar. the derf girl was an outsider at most gatherings, and particularly so at church affairs. everybody knew she came to brush arbor only on a chance of seeing lance cleaverage. "thar comes lance now!" announced fuson, and then winked at his companions. callista never raised her glance, nor did the even tenor of her speech falter, though something told the onlooker that she was aware. a swift slight contraction of plumage like that of a hawk suddenly on the alert, a richer glow on the softly oval cheek, a light in the down-dropped eyes which she jealously hid, a rearrangement, subtle and minute, of her attitude toward the world, showed that she needed no sight nor hearing to advise her of the coming of the lithe young fellow who approached from the ragged second growth of the abandoned hillside clearing. he came straight through, paying no attention to paths--that was lance cleaverage. his step was light and sure, yet it rent and crushed what was in his way. on his back swung the banjo; his soft felt hat was off in his hand; as he moved, the sleeves of his blue hickory shirt fluttered in the breeze that stirred his hair, and he sang to himself as he came. what he sang was not a hymn. his hazel eyes were almost as golden as the tan of his cheek, and there was a spark [7] in the depths of them that matched the audacious carriage of his head. at his advent the widow griever turned and let the fat child find her way alone. "you lance," she began in a scandalized tone, "don't you bring that sinful and ungodly thing into the house of the lord. you know mighty well and good the preacher is about to name you out in meetin'; and here you go on seekin' the ways of the evil one. pack that banjo straight back home this minute." she evidently had as little expectation of lance obeying her as he had of doing so. her words were plainly intended merely to set forth her own position--to clear her skirts of reproach. the young folks about her giggled and looked with open admiration at the youth who dared to bring such a worldly object to sunday preaching. "banjo'll let the preacher alone, if the preacher'll let it alone," smiled lance, unconcernedly pulling the instrument around to get at the strings, and touching them lightly. "you go 'long into the church and get your soul saved for heaven, sis' roxy. i reckon they need representatives of the cleaverage family in both places." "well, that's whar you're a-goin'--er more so," asserted the widow with dignity, as she turned her back once more on the young folks and moved away. [8] lance took the ribbon of his banjo from his neck and flung it over a blossoming azalea bush. "i'll hang my harp on a willer tree, and away to the wars again," he hummed softly just above his breath. "i don't aim to hurt the preacher's feelings. i won't take my banjo into his church--sech doctrine as drumright's is apt to be mighty hard on banjo strings. don't you-all want to have a little dance after the meeting's out--on the threshin'-floor rock up the branch?" the girls looked duly horrified, all but ola derf, who spoke up promptly, "yes--or come a-past our house. pap don't mind a sunday dance. you will come, won't you, lance?" pleadingly. callista gentry did not dance. she had always, in the nature of things, belonged to the class of young people in the mountains who might be expected at any time to "profess" and join the church. the musician laughed teasingly. "i reckon we'd better not," he said finally. "callista's scared. she begged me into bringing my banjo to-day (you don't any of you know the gal like i do), and now she's scared to listen to it." callista barely raised her eyes at this speech, and spared to make any denial. "you-all that wants to dance on a sunday [9] better go 'long there," she said indifferently. "it's mighty near time for preaching to begin, and you've got a right smart walk over to the derf place." dismissing them thus coolly from her world, she addressed herself once more to pinning a bunch of ochre and crimson azaleas into the trimming of her broad hat. "lance," drawled buck fuson, "i hear you' cuttin' timber on yo' land. aimin' to put up a cabin--fixin' to wed?" the newcomer shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply. "when i heared it, i 'lowed callista had named the day," persisted fuson. "have ye, callista?" rilly trigg put in daringly, as neither of the principals seemed disposed to speak. "the names that the days have already got suits me well enough," callista observed drily. "i don't know why i should go namin' ary one of 'em over again." there was a great laugh at this, of which cleaverage appeared entirely oblivious. "yes," he began quietly, when it had subsided, "i'm about to put me up a house--i like to be a-buildin'--a man might as well improve his property. there's one gal that wants me mighty bad, and has wanted me for a long while; sometimes i'm scared she'll get me. reckon i might as well be ready." [10] "ye hear that, callisty?" crowed little rilly trigg. "ye hear that! have ye told him adzackly the kind of house ye want? i 'low ye ort." "put a little yellow side o' that red," advised callista composedly, busying herself wholly with the hat rilly was trimming. "there--don't you think that looks better?" rilly made a face at fuson and cleaverage, and laughed. "no need to ask her which nor whether," said lance nonchalantly. "any place i am is bound to suit callista. i intend that my house shall be the best in the turkey tracks; but if it wasn't she'd never find it out, long as _i_ was there." again there was a chorus of appreciative laughter. "how's that, callista--is it so for a fact?" inquired fuson, eager to see the game go on. callista opened her beautiful eyes wide, and smiled with lazy scorn. "truly, i'm suited with whatever lance cleaverage builds, and wherever and whenever he builds. let it be what it may, it's nothing to me." "you rilly!" called a shrill feminine voice from the direction of the church. "bring the basket." "help me with it, buck," said aurilla, and the two started down the slope together. "now," suggested lance, with an affectation of reluctance, "if the rest of you-all don't mind giving us the place here, i reckon callista's got [11] a heap that she wants to say to me, and she's ashamed to speak out before folks." the mad project of a sunday dance, which nobody but ola derf had entertained for a moment, was thus tacitly dropped. there was a general snickering at lance's impudent assumption. again callista seemed too placidly contemptuous to care to make denial. boys got up from their lounging positions on the grass, girls shook out their skirts, and two and two the young folks began to straggle toward the gray little church. "you're a mighty accommodatin' somebody," observed lance, dropping lightly on the grass at callista's feet. "i have been told by some that you'd make a contentious wife; but looks to me like you're settin' out to be powerful easy goin'. ain't got a word to say about how many rooms in the house, nor whar the shelves is to be, nor nothin'--eh?" reckless of time or place he reached up, put a finger under her chin, and turned her face toward him, puckering his lips meditatively as though he meant to kiss her--or to whistle. he got a swift, stinging slap for his pains, and callista faced around on the rock where she sat to put herself as far from him as might be. "who said anything about wives and husbands?" she demanded. "i was talking about you building on yo' land. hit's nothin' to me. i never expect to live in the houses you build, [12] nor so much as set foot in 'em. when you named that girl that was tryin' to wed you, i shorely thought you must have been meanin' ola derf. as for me, if you heard me talkin' of the house i expected to _live_ in, you'd hear a plenty--because i'm particular. i ain't a-going to put up with no puncheon floor in my best room. hit's got to be boards, and planed at that. i ain't a-goin' to break my back scouring puncheons for no man." lance nodded, with half closed eyes. it was plain he got her message. one guessed that the house would be made to please her, and, too, that he liked her the better for being fastidious. the two were apparently alone together; but neither ola derf nor flenton hands was among the young people moving away down the further slope. lance gazed after their retreating friends and heaved a lugubrious sigh. "well, looks like they've all started off and left me for you and you for me," he commented sadly. "have they?" inquired callista without interest. "they show mighty poor judgment." "same sort of judgment i'm showing, settin' here talking to you, when i might as well spend my time with a good-lookin' gal," retorted lance promptly. "the lord knows you waste yo' time talking to me," callista sent back to him with a musing, [13] unruffled smile on her finely cut lips. "your settin' up to me would sure be foolishness." "settin' up to you?"--lance took his knees into an embrace and looked quizzically at her as she reclined above him, milk-white and pink, blue-eyed and flaxen-haired, a creature to cuddle and kiss one would have said, yet with a gall-bag under her tongue for him always. "me settin' up to you?" he repeated the words with a bubble of apparently unsubduable amusement in his tone. "i reckon you're a-doin' the settin' up; everybody seems to understand it so. i just mentioned that the rest of the folks had left you and me alone together, and i was goin' on to say that i began to suffer in the prospect of offerin' you my company up to the church-house. lord, some gals will make courtin' out of anything!" a subdued snicker sounded from the screen of leafage behind the spring. several young people lingered there for the fun of hearing lance cleaverage and callista gentry fuss. the red began to show itself in the girl's smooth, fair cheeks. she caught her wide hat by its strings and got suddenly to her feet. "well, to tell you the truth, mr. lance cleaverage," she said coldly, "i never took enough notice of you to see was you courtin' me or some other girl; and i'll thank you now to step yourself out of my way and let me get on to the church-house. i've got to lead the tribble, come service time. i [14] can't stand fooling here with you, nor werry my-self to notice are you courting me or somebody else." she held her graceful head very high. if she swung the hat by its strings a thought too rapidly, it was the only sign she gave of any excitement as she gained the path. cleaverage ranged himself beside her, leaving the banjo in the bushes. "all right--all right," he remarked in a pacifying tone. "i'm willin' to walk up to the door with you, if that's what's troublin' you so greatly; but i don't want to go in and sit alongside of you on the middle seats. you take your place on the women's side, like a good gal, and let me have some peace, settin' over with the men." for a moment she was dumb. half a dozen had pushed into view, and were listening to them now. they all understood that lance knew well enough she must sit with the singers, yet his open refusal to accompany her to the middle seats, where the courting couples generally found place, was not the less galling. "tell him you won't never step yo' foot in church beside him, callista," prompted a man's voice, and flenton hands stepped out on the path, twisting a bit of sassafras in his fingers and looking from one to the other with quick shiftings of his gray eyes. lance laughed radiantly but soundlessly, his [15] face and eyes shining with mirthful defiance. the girl looked down and trifled with her hat ribbons. "why don't you say it?" inquired cleaverage at length. hands leaned forward and stared eagerly at her, his mouth a little open and his breath coming quick. he had always been the most pertinacious of callista's followers; an older man than any of the others, he brought to bear on his wooing the persistence and determination of his years. callista just glanced at the younger man, and let her gaze rest on hands. "what's the use of telling him what he already knows mighty well and good?" she said finally. "give me the pleasure of walking up with you this morning, then," hands encroached eagerly. with negligent composure callista looked about her. she was not willing to walk with lance--she doubted if he would ask her again. she was not willing to discredit him and go with hands. she was determined that cleaverage should not walk with another girl. "come on, ola," she coolly addressed the figure plainly to be seen behind hands. "let's you and me hurry over and see what hymns brother drumright is going to use. you sing mighty good counter, and i'd like to have you next to me." ola derf could not refuse. it was almost equal to social rehabilitation to be allowed to walk with callista gentry from the spring to the church, to [16] sit beside her in the singing seats; yet the brown girl cast uneasy glances backward till she saw lance, whistling melodiously, turn to the blooming azalea bush and catch up his banjo from it. she stopped in her tracks, holding callista back. "whar--whar ye gwine, lance?" she inquired anxiously. if cleaverage was not coming to church it would scarcely be worth while for her to torture herself with an hour of old preacher drumright's holding forth. "whar ye gwine?" she reiterated, as the other girl pulled her sleeve and attempted to hurry on. "whar you and callista ca'n't come," returned lance, speaking over his shoulder unceremoniously. "ain't ye gwine to stay to preachin'?" persisted the brown girl. "i--i thought ye was, or i--ain't ye gwine to stay?" "no," drawled cleaverage. "i just brought the banjo to please callista--because i promised her i would, when she begged me to. i had no notion of staying to listen to drumright." "come on--if you're a-coming," callista admonished the derf girl with a little flash of temper which lance did not fail to observe, any more than she missed the chuckle with which he received it. "well, i'm a-goin' with ye," announced ola. she let go callista's arm, and turned back to where lance was taking a shadowy path into the forest. "i told you, gals couldn't come," cleaverage bantered her. but ola persisted. [17] "i can go wherever you can go. lance--wait! wait for me--i'm a-comin'." "callista'll be mad," objected cleaverage. "she begged and begged me, and i wouldn't leave her come along of me; now if i take you, she'll be mad." "like i cared where you went or who went with you!" callista retorted, eyes shining blue fire, head crested. "come on, mr. hands, it's time we were stepping, if we want to get in to go through the hymns." "and you will sit alongside of me?" hands's voice pleaded close to her ear. ola and lance were of the same age; the blond girl, lingering half indignant, could remember how hardy, free little ola derf used to play with the boys, always singling lance cleaverage out as the companion for her truant expeditions. now in mute denial of hands's petition, callista shook her head, and in doing so managed to glance round and get a tormenting glimpse of ola and lance disappearing together between the trees. under the green domes of oak and liriodendron, the latter starred all over now with orange-tawny tulips, she saw them pass. wine of summer was in the veins of the forest. even the sober oaks, wreathed like bacchanals, overflowed with sweetness from their wrappings of wild grape. the two with the banjo took their way down a steep path toward a jade-green pool, a still reach [18] of water arched over by fantastic tangles of laurel and rhododendron, black as the tents of kedar, lighted only by the flash of a water-fall that caught the sun. this was the baptismal place. the daughter of the house of gentry turned her face resolutely toward respectability and the church, albeit there was no joy in the countenance. strung out over a quarter of a mile were courting couples bent toward the same destination. to these young hearts it seemed well worth while to have lain under the heel of winter to attain this marvelous summer morning with its green-clothed forest, its wreathing of blossoms where they passed. clean and cool as a bell's note, the song of a thrush deep in the wood spilled jeweled drops of sound through the trembling branches overhead. a catbird's sonata rippled boldly out upon the very path. a canopy of bloom was woven and flung over the spring by the black, knotty fingers of the laurel. bees tumbled happily in the bosom of the fairest drooping clusters, their hum nearly drowned by the heavy gurgle of the creek water. callista drew in her breath sharply. summer and sun and light and love everywhere--and she was walking up to the church-house with flenton hands, while back on some forest by-path, with music at his finger ends and ola derf beside him, lance cleaverage forgot her with a laugh. chapter ii. the up-sitting. granny yearwood--the grandmother of flenton hands and his sisters--was dead. the work-hardened old body had parted with its flame of life reluctantly; for nearly a year she had been declining toward the end; and during the last months the family had cared for her almost day and night. they were worn out with the toil of it before she herself wore out. but now it was all over. the first outburst of noisy lamentation, which is fairly conventional in the southern mountains, was past. the corpse had been decently composed on a rude plank scaffold, while octavia gentry and roxy griever took charge of the household and began to order things in that curious half-ecclesiastical fashion which follows the footsteps of death. it was near noon, and octavia dished up the dinner, while roxy paid more attention to the impending funeral arrangements. before the meal was over, young people began to come in, though none could quite say how they had received word. the girls made proffer of assistance, and swiftly the table was cleared away, the dishes washed, and the house and surroundings put in immaculate [20] order. work in the fields was stopped, that messengers might be sent, one on horseback to notify distant-dwelling kin, another with a wagon to buy the coffin down in hepzibah, a third afoot to arrange with the strong young men of the family connection about helping to dig the grave. all the flowers in the dooryard were gathered and laid round the corpse. the withered old face was covered with a damp cloth, and then a borrowed sheet was drawn smoothly over the whole mound. the widow griever was so deeply versed in the etiquette of such occasions, and so satisfyingly exacting on all points, as to make an undertaker even more highly superfluous than he would usually have been among those simple folk. what with garments and accessories she had brought from her own scant widow's wardrobe, and articles hastily borrowed from the nearer neighbors, she managed inside of two hours to have little liza and her two sisters--the mother of the family was dead some years ago--clad in black and seated in state inferior only to that of the dead. more flowers were brought by girls and small boys from the neighbors' yards--yellow and purple and red were the colors mostly in bloom now, and those which would have been favored for this occasion. roxy gravely arranged them and set them in place. she had veiled the looking-glass and stopped the clock as soon as she came into the house. [21] "a body cain't be too careful about all these here things," she said with a solemn sniff. "hit's easy at a time like this for something to be did that crosses the luck." women came and went through the open doors, silent almost as the little breeze that played between. everybody wore the same expression of mournful acquiescence in the natural order of things. greetings were exchanged in low tones. callista, carrying a basket of garden asters, came up the front walk, looking openly for her mother, guarding a little warily against flenton hands's approach. some girls hurrying out to seek ferns in the low places of the wood met her, and she turned back with them, joining her activities to theirs and making a wreath of the flowers she had brought. flenton hands was thirty years old. to have arrived at this age unmarried is, in the mountains, in some measure a reproach. true, he aligned himself sharply with the religious element of the community, and this, when youthful masculinity is ever apt to choose the broad way where there is more company, bespoke for him a certain indulgence or toleration that would have been denied a typical old bachelor. he was cantankerous old preacher drumright's right hand at all times, and drumright was safe always to approve him. he was the kind of man who seeks the acquaintance and company of those [22] well-to-do and older than himself, paying a sober court to respectability and money, and thus coming eventually to be rated as one of the elders, while he yet held the dubious position of an unmarried male who shilly-shallied in the matter of wedding. no actual scandal ever attached to flenton hands. if there were improprieties to be debited against him, he kept such matters out of the sight of turkey track people, and only a vague rumor of something discreditable associated itself with his valley connections to warrant young girls in pouting their lips and referring to him as "that old flenton hands"; while their mothers reproved and told them that he was one of the best young men, as well as one of the best matches, in the neighborhood. so far as personal appearance went, he was well enough, yet with a curious suggestion of solidity as though his flesh might have been of oak or iron. the countenance, too, with its round, high cheek-bones, had an unpleasing immobility, resting always in a somewhat slyish cast of expression which the odd slant of the light gray eyes gave to it. for the rest, he was thin-lipped, with thick, straight, dark hair, and an almost urban air of gentlemanliness, an effort at gentility which, in a shorter and more cheerful individual, would have been smug. "flenton's gone for the coffin," sallie blevins [23] said. "he always tends to it when there's anything to do that calls for money to be spent." "i reckon he's got a plenty," supplied little rilly trigg; "but someway i never could like his looks greatly. there, i oughtn't to have said that--and his granny laying dead in the house that-a-way." callista did not add her opinion to this discussion, but finding that she was in no danger of meeting flenton, hurried the others promptly up to the house. as soon as she came in sight, little liza, six feet tall, with a jimber-jaw and bass voice, came and fell upon her neck and wept. little liza hands got her descriptive adjective from being the third of the name. to-day she was especially prominent, because granny yearwood, the first eliza, ninety pounds of fiery energy and ambition, had at last laid down the burden of her days. her daughter, eliza the second, had lain beside her husband, eliphalet hands, in churchyard mold these twenty years; and _her_ big daughter, with the bovine profile, the great voice, and the timid, fluttered soul of a small child, remained in the world, the only eliza hands--yet still little liza to those about her. and for her name's sake, little liza was chief mourner. the hands girls all had a sort of adoring attitude toward callista gentry. flenton wanted her, and they had been trying to get flenton everything he wanted since he was small enough to [24] cry for the moon, and strike at the hand which failed to pluck it down for him. callista had not intended to stay. she was to be over later in the day--or the same night, rather--with the young people who sat up. but little liza managed to detain her on one pretext or another until the coffin arrived and granny was finally placed therein. "just look at them thar shiny trimmin's on that thar coffin," admired little liza, jogging callista's elbow. "that's flent. that's my brother flent. they ain't a thing he grudges to them he loves." callista uttered a soothing and satisfactory reply, and was making her escape, when hands himself overtook her at the door. his features were drawn to an expression of great solemnity, one which suited them ill, for he had the upslanting brow, the pointed face and the narrow eye that, lightened by mirth, may be antic, but without the touch of humor is forbidding and even sinister. "you're not going to leave us, air you?" he inquired in a carefully muffled tone, as though indeed granny was sleeping lightly and might be easily wakened. "mother's going to stay now, and i'm coming back to-night," callista hastened to say. "i'm mighty glad you air," returned flenton, with a heavy sigh. "in these times of affliction, [25] hit's a powerful comfort to me to have you in sight." callista edged closer to the others. she was not unwilling to be seen standing whispering with flenton. he was a good match, a creditable captive of any girl's bow and spear; yet she did not enjoy his love-making, least of all now that it was mingled with this ill-sorted solemnity. "flenton, have they sent word to your uncle billy's folks?" asked octavia gentry, making her appearance in the doorway behind the two. "yes'm," returned flenton, not pleased to be interrupted, yet necessarily civil to the woman whom he hoped to have for a mother-in-law. "and does the bushareses and adam venable and his wife know hit? is mary a-comin'?" she pursued the catalog. "what about the aspel yearwoods out in big buck gap--has anyone went out there? and faithful yearwood, that married preacher crowley--ain't they livin' down in the tatum neighborhood?" "yes'm, they air," confirmed flenton. "cousin ladd 'lowed to send one o' his chaps on a nag to faithful crowley's folks; and ab straley was to let them at big buck gap know." though impatient, he made a decent end. when he looked around, callista had quietly moved away. the day's work was over; men and boys began to arrive at the hands place, some carrying lanterns. [26] from early candle lighting till near the turn of the night the house would be full; then the elders, men and women on whose day labor a family must depend, would begin to slip away, except a few old widowers and bachelors who might remain smoking on the steps outside; and a circle of young folks who would be left sitting in the lamplight and fireshine of the main room. flenton knew of old experience just how the night would go. he longed inexpressibly to be one of those up-sitting young people that he might push his chair close to callista gentry's and whisper to her in the privilege of the hour. yet he was held back by a consideration for his dignity as one of the bereaved. "miz. gentry," said roxy griever, "will you stay and he'p with the supper--they aim to have a reg'lar meal put on the table at about midnight--settin' up with the dead is mighty wearin'." "i 'low the gals would rather tend to that theirselves," deprecated octavia, mildly. "i mind how it was when i was a gal. i never did want some old women pesterin' around at sech a time." she cast a swift glance to where callista sat, her fair head bent, the lamplight upon its bright burden of corn-colored braids, lance cleaverage, his hands in his pockets, standing before the girl regarding her, and evidently about to say something. [27] the widow griever's look followed octavia's to the front room in which half-a-dozen couples had paired off, whispering, giggling a bit if the truth must be told, with an occasional undernote of hysteria in the giggles. "that's jest the reason," she announced, straightening up from the hearth where she had been stirring a vast boiler full of very strong coffee. "the gals that lets tham men have their way is foolish. they'll rue the day they done so. men persons would always have the old folks leave, and the young folks run things to suit theirselves; but i don't believe in sech." on the mental horizon of the widow griever there hovered ever a vast, dun, evil-promising cloud known as "tham men." she never alluded to the opposite sex in any way other than collectively, and named them in this manner, which held in it all of reproach. her father--gentle soul--presented himself to her under the name of poppy, as somewhat set apart from the raging mass of predatory males addressed more or less openly and directly to destruction. poppy and a young brother, sylvanus, though belonging to the vicious sex and thereby under suspicion, were possible; but lance, the lawless and debonair, was not only one of the enemy--he was roxy griever's horrible example. the church-house where "tham men" were kept on the one side so that the gentler half of creation might sit peacefully [28] on the other, was to her thinking the only safe and proper place of public gathering. "i tell you, miz. gentry," she now pursued, her reprehending eye going past the person she answered to fasten itself on lance's lounging figure and note the careless, upward fling of his head, "i tell you that i ain't never been back to the settlement sence i left it a widder. what would i be doin' down thar amongst all tham men? but lance, he goes down, and every time he goes, i think he gits more of the old boy in him, 'caze evil is a-walkin' around at noonday down in tham settlements, and you cain't be safe anywhars." "might just as well quit being scared then," drawled lance's soft voice. he had stepped noiselessly to the door, at callista's suggestion to see if the coffee were ready. "you lance cleaverage!" returned his sister in a carefully suppressed tone that was sufficiently acid to make up for its lack of volume, "i ain't a-goin' to quit bein' scared for yo' say-so. you ought to be ashamed to name such--in the house with the dead this a-way. no, the coffee'll not be ready for somewhile yet. when hit is, you'ns can fetch cheers and he'p yourselves to it. i'm a-goin' to show miz. gentry my gospel quilt that i brung with me to lay over granny." roxanna cleaverage had married rather late in life. girlhood had been but an unsatisfactory season to her; young women in a primitive society [29] are not given much prominence, and roxy had neither beauty nor charm to command what was to be had. lacking these, she made a great point of religion, which led incidentally to her marriage with john griever, an itinerant preacher, and brought her two blissful years and mary ann martha. as the wife of a preacher she had been able to assume some dignity, to instruct, to lay down the law, to keep herself measurably in the public eye. when she was widowed, it was bitter to her to go back to kimbro cleaverage's poor home and drop once more into obscurity. she yearned desperately to wear some mark of distinction, to have at least some semblance of social power. and in direct response to this longing, there came a vision in the night, and roxy rose up and took her bits of quilt pieces and began to fashion a new thing. other women might have the rising sun, the log cabin, the piney-blow, the basket of posies; she had conceived and would execute a master work in the way of quilts, quite outside the line of these. roxy lacked entirely that crude art sense which finds its expression in the mountain woman's beautifully pieced quilt; she only burned to startle admiration, to command respectful attention by some means. the big square of muslin was bought at the expense of considerable pinching and saving, and she began to set upon it those figures which had occupied her [30] mind, her time and her fingers through the years since. clumsily done, with no feeling whatever for form, proportion, or color, she poured into it a passion of desirous energy which yet produced its effect. the quilt was always at hand for such occasions as this, or when the presiding elder came on one of his rare visits. and it was useful to bring out if there were trouble, if someone needed to be overawed or to be threeped down. but that member of the cleaverage clan who in her eyes most needed threeping was proof against the gospel quilt. she had never put it forth for lance's confusion since the day he took such an expressive interest in the undertaking, and advised--in the presence of preacher drumright--the adding of a sightly little border of devils around the semi-sacred square. "a fine row o' davils would help the looks of it mightily, sis' roxy," he had argued. "they're named frequent in the bible, and i'd cut 'em out for you. i would sure enough," he laughed, as she looked heavy reproach at him. "you give me a sharp pair o' shears and i can cut out as fine a lookin' davil as you or anybody need wish for!" after that she let him alone, aware that his more gifted eye criticized her failures, even when he did not seek the circle about the exhibited quilt and wilfully mistake her angels for turkey buzzards. the two older women now passed into that [31] cool, shaded little chamber where lay the dead. the windows were open, and the white curtains blew gustily in the night breeze, making the candle roxy carried flicker. she set it on a high shelf, and got out a thick roll of stuff, unwrapping and spreading forth her contribution to the solemnity of the occasion. "hit's jest the top on it," she communicated in a hoarse whisper. "i hain't got the heart to put it in frames and quilt it, 'caze i keep thinkin' of something else that ort to go on it, time i say i'm done. cur'us that i ain't never showed it to you before." (this was a common formula with the widow, and nobody ever disputed it). "see, that's adam and eve, to begin on," and she indicated a pair of small, archaic figures cut from blue checked gingham, their edges turned neatly in and whipped to the white domestic background--when one thinks of it, a domestic background is fairly proper for adam and eve. "that ginghams they' cut out'n was a piece o' john's shirt--the last one i made him." "tut, tut," responded octavia, making that little clicking sound with the tongue which does duty variously to express sympathy, reprehension, surprise, or deprecation. she regarded the artistic achievement before her with attention and respect. one could readily distinguish eve from adam, because eve was endowed with petticoats, while adam rejoiced in legs. of course eve had [32] feet; but it would have taken someone less well acquainted with the moral character of the widow griever than was octavia gentry to deduce legs from those feet. "what's that thar?" she made the customary inquiry, putting her finger on a twisty bit of polka-dotted calico. "that must be the sarpent." "hit air." roxy returned the expected answer solemnly. the ancient evil was represented as standing sociably on his tail, facing the tempted pair. "my! don't he look feisty?" commented octavia, with courteous admiration. "watch him jest a-lickin' out his tongue in eve's face. lord," she sighed conventionally, "how prone women air to sin!" "women? huh!" snorted mrs. griever. "not nigh so prone as tham men. look-a-here," turning the quilt to get at the tree of good and evil; "look at them thar apples. now i made some of 'em out of red calico, and some out of yellow. do you think i ort to have a few green, miz. gentry? look like green apples is mighty sinful and trouble makin'." "i don't know," octavia debated, as she ran her fingers over a brave attempt at one of the beasts of revelation. "you might add a few green ones. hit does stand to reason that the old boy is in green apples more than in ripe ones; but ef them that eve tempted adam [33] with had been green--do you reckon he'd 'a' bit?" the scandal was such an old one, that roxy was evidently a little irritated at its revival. "well, o' course," she said with some asperity, "a body cain't gainsay what's in the bible; but i have my doubts about that thar apple fuss. hit's men that prints the good book, and does about with it--not women; an' i've always had a feelin' that mo' likely hit was adam got into that apple business first." "well, i don't know," repeated octavia doubtfully. "i always 'lowed the bible was the bible. but what's a-goin' to be here?" pointing to a sizable blank space. "why, that's a part that i ain't got to finish yet," explained roxy. "miz. abner dowst given me the prettiest piece o' goods last time i was at her house, and i been studyin' whether to use hit a-depicturin' the queen of sheba or phar'oh's daughter; and then i thought i'd do better to show up joseph a-dreamin', and the sun and the moon and eleven stars jist over his head--see, they'd set around sorter biassin' this-a-way, betwixt adam-an'-eve and this golden harp. hit's a piece of that dress her gals all had on a-sunday--you know dows the always gits a bolt, and time her and the gals all has a dress out of hit, and him a shirt and the boys a shirt apiece, why the bolt's about gone. well, this time that [34] the'dory may, she axed for something bright, and he was bent on pleasin' her, so he picked for the brightest thing in the store. hit looked sort o' gay a-comin' into church, one behind another; but now hit'll do fine for joseph's coat. ah, law, miz. gentry, hit'll be right here in my quilt long after their dresses is wore out and forgot about." "yes, indeed, hit will that, sister griever," her listener assented, a good deal impressed. "is these sorter round things---" "them's the loaves an' fishes," roxy hastened to elucidate. "they ain't so very well done, ye see. i was a-workin' on them when i hearn that granny yearwood was about to go, an' i hurried 'em up, 'caze i'd promised her that i'd spread the quilt over her when she was laid out. you he'p me with it now, miz. gentry, and we'll fold it back this-a-way so as not to show the part that ain't done." "laws, miz. griever," said octavia, as the great square, with its many small, gaily colored figures, whipped laboriously into place, was spread out between their hands, "i don't see how you ever did think of all them things." "i reckon it comes from havin' a preacher for a mate," returned roxy. "mr. griever, he was always a cotin' scriptur' round the house, and now he's gone i remember his words--and put 'em down on the quilt, as a body may say. i love to have it by me to work on in time of trouble, [35] an' i love to put it on the bed if a preacher sleeps the night at our house. looks like a body ought to have good dreams un'neath the gospel that-a-way. thar, ain't that fixed all right now? cain't we leave here? i 'low them young folks out in the other room might need attention." octavia glanced through the slightly open door and saw that lance and callista had gone into the kitchen alone to look after the supper. they were talking together, and the mother noted hopefully that neither of them was laughing, and that the girl's color had risen, while her eyes looked troubled. "law honey," she said smiling, "sho'ly they can manage for theirselves one while. i'm plumb tired, an' i know good an' well you air. le's sit here a spell whar it's cool an' quiet, an' have a little visit." this was a sort of invitation which roxy griever could not refuse, and the courting couples were spared her surveillance for a little longer. "callista," lance began abruptly, when they were out of earshot of those in the front room, "i raised the roof-beams of my cabin to-day--two big rooms and a porch between, with a cooking place for summer. ain't that about right?" callista looked toward the other room uneasily. she had no audience now--how should she act, how demean herself so as to seem indifferent? lance's undecipherable, clear hazel eyes were on [36] her; they rested carelessly in what seemed a passing glance; yet at the back of that regard looked out a demand which she could scarcely comprehend. "i--i don't know," she faltered. "lance, won't you please lift that there coffee off o' the fire? it's boiled enough." lance bent lithely to the hearth and did her bidding. "i've got me two horses now," he said in the same even undertone. "i matched satan with a little black filly that derf brought over from the far cove neighborhood. they're jest of a size, and they step together like a couple of gals with their arms around each other's waists. derf said the filly was named cindy; but i call her sin--how do you like that?--satan and sin?" "well, i think it sounds right wicked, if you ask me," callista plucked up courage to say. "but i don't reckon you care whether i like it or not." lance shook his head and smiled. "nope," he agreed easily. then he added, "havin' two horses helps out a good deal. i've been doing haulin' on derf's contract. i'll have a right smart of money left, even after my house is all done. there'll be a-plenty laid up by next spring; and i'm goin' to put in the winter clearing land. i reckon we'll be good ready by april." by april! a sweet perturbation took possession [37] of callista's breast. she dared not raise her eyes lest he should read in them what she yet jealously sought to conceal. he was not like the other boys; with all the raillery and badinage that went on between them--famous in their circle; with all the unusual parade, in the open play of courtship, he had never really approached her as a lover, never laid his hand on her in tenderness, nor offered her a caress, save as a public, saucy threat. nor had he asked for her, as the mountain phrase goes; but surely now he meant her to understand that he expected to be married in the spring. if only he would ask her--if only! she had always meant--if she dared--to refuse him--at least the first time; to reluctantly give in under repeated importunities--but that was past. with her heart beating in her throat, she made shift to say, "i hope you'll be better to your horses than most of the men that hauls. i do love a good horse." "you goin' to ride with me to the buryin' tomorrow?" lance inquired casually. "if you want to, we could leave the buryin' ground after the funeral's over and go up lance's laurel, to my place, and on round to your home the long way. i could show you whether i was good to my horses or not." the color glowed softly in callista's cheeks and her veiled eyes were bright. but before she could say yes or no, the widow griever came in. [38] "good land, lance cleaverage!" she began on her usual formula. "why hain't you bidden out all them folks in thar? this here coffee's done, an' a-gittin' cold. the biscuits ain't no better. they got to eat now, 'caze i want 'em to sing a good wake of hymns--i promised granny i'd tend to pickin' 'em out." with a grimace of good-natured acquiescence, lance went to execute his sister's orders. out on the porch a half-dozen young boys had succumbed to drowsiness, one by one, stretched on the boards, taking elbow or saddle for a pillow. the crickets and katydids were loud in the grove. lance passed through the front rooms, speaking to the couples there, and called in those outside. the supper of good warm food, and hot, strong coffee was eaten gratefully. then all went into the front room and the hymns were sung. finally the up-sitting was over, and callista had made no opportunity for further speech with lance. he had not sought one, and chance had not offered it. she regretted a little that she really wanted so much to ride at his side to-morrow. if she did not, she would quite enjoy treating that cavalier invitation as though she had never heard it. but the very thought brought a quick apprehension of failure, and she resolved to be ready and waiting, so that she might seem to be carelessly picked up at the last moment, lest lance himself anticipate her in this game of indifference. [39] chapter iii. the burying. dawn was gray in the sky, a livid light beginning to make itself felt rather than seen above the mountains, while vast gulfs of shadows lingered in their folds, when callista climbed the stairs to a loft room, set apart for the hands girls, and, partially undressing, lay down for a few hours of sleep. her mother and roxy griever had gone home shortly after midnight. coming and going increased with the rising day. roxy griever had now returned, bringing with her a hastily ruffled cap of cheap lace. "sylvane," she called, coming out to the porch where the men were standing about conversing in undertones, "you got to ride over to miz. gentry's and git a black veil and a belt for jane. little liza ain't a-goin' to be able to go to the buryin' at all, and jane has obliged to have a veil and belt, her bein' a mourner that-a-way." already, along the fence there was a string of dingy, unkempt teams and wagons; while in the horse lot were more, those who had come earlier having unhitched. granny yearwood was near ninety--eliza hands had been her youngest--and she was known to the whole region around. [40] roxy stood in the door shading her eyes, picking out this one and that among those in attendance. the gathering looked much like any other, except that one missed the shouts of hail and farewell, the effusive welcoming and hearty speeding of guests. the stir outside waxed. by some subjective movement, callista, sleeping in the loft room, was aware of it, wakened, rose, dressed and made ready herself. "i don't know what we-all ever would a' done without you, honey," little liza told her, gazing across from the bed on which she lay. "looks like to me some folks is born comforters." the pale eyes of the big woman took in callista's sweet, significant beauty, with an appreciation that was hardly vicarious. she did love callista for her brother's sake; and much, too, for her own. "you come up and tell me jest how granny looked before you-all go, won't you?" she urged. "i want to see you before you start, anyhow." callista promised and hurried downstairs. those who had remained over night were standing about a table, eating a hasty breakfast. by eight o'clock the gathering was ready, and the hitching up began. after a great deal of consultation and argument as to where each one should ride, the procession began to arrange itself. there were to be no services at the house, but it was hoped that preacher drumright would be able to [41] meet the funeral party at the burying ground and conduct the ceremonies there--the funeral sermon would be at the church on some later sunday. "who you goin' to ride with, callista?" inquired the widow griever, a weighty frown on her brow. "we got to git this thing all straightenened out so the family an' friends won't be scrouged from they' places, like is mighty apt to happen at a funeral. there is them that's bound to have a ride, whoever gits to go." roxy's quilt had been removed from the coffin and draped over a near-by stand. six bronzed, heavy-breathing, embarrassed looking men were marshalled in by the widow, and instructed how to lift the black-painted pine box, carry it to the waiting buckboard, and place it safely there with one end wedged under the seat. then roxy turned to flenton. "go git ellen and jane," she prompted. he hastened to the house and up stairs, and soon returned with a sister on each arm, black-draped and wailing, clinging to him. he helped them into their seats in his own vehicle. but when ellen made room for him, he drew back and motioned kimbro cleaverage forward. "couldn't you drive, mr. cleaverage?" he said in an undertone. "sylvane can take yo' team, with miz. griever and the chillen; and i've got to go in--" he reddened with embarrassment--"in another place." [42] the crowd was pretty much all in the yard now, clambering into ox-carts and board-seated wagons. roxy griever, with mary ann martha and sylvane, were waiting in kimbro cleaverage's small wagon drawn by an old mule, while half-a-dozen undesired additions were offered to their party. callista looked about her vainly for lance. she had already defended herself two or three times from being thrust into some vehicle and carried away from the possibility of riding with him, when she finally saw him approaching down the road. he was on one black horse and leading another. she could not know that he had been over to derf's that morning to get the filly. "callista," said flenton hands's voice at her shoulder, "little liza sent me down to see would you come up to her right quick. she's mighty bad off." with one last, furtive glance toward the black horse and his rider, callista turned and hurried up to liza. "air they gittin' off," inquired the ailing woman, eagerly lifting her head with its camphor-drenched cloths. "did ellen and jane cry much? looks to me like they wasn't much takin' on--i never heared much. there wasn't nigh the fuss that they was at old enoch dease's buryin'. i wish't to the land i could have been down there--the lord knows i'd 'a' cried. granny ought to be [43] wept for. think o' livin' to be ninety years old--and then havin' to die at last! oh, ain't it awful, callista? how did she look, honey? was vander blackshears here? set right down there on my bed and tell me." one might almost have guessed that the lengthened inquiries were dictated by someone who wanted callista detained. the girl answered them hastily, with her heart galloping, her ears alert for sounds from below. "don't you be uneasy," little liza soothed her. "flenton said he'd wait and take you in his new buggy that he bought when he got the coffin a-yesterday. you'll be the first one to ride in it--ain't that fine? flent's jest that-a-way. he don't grudge anything to them he loves. you hadn't promised somebody else to ride with 'em, had ye, callisty?" she brought the point-blank question out after a little halt, reddening a bit at the boldness of it. plainly this was at another's dictation. callista shook her head. words were beyond her at the moment; for, looking down from the tiny window of the loft room, she saw the procession getting underway, one clumsy vehicle after another falling into line behind the buckboard that was now slowly disappearing beyond the bend of the road. and at the fence. lance cleaverage was helping awkward little ola derf to mount the black filly! [44] "i said granny deserved to be wept for," little liza intoned, as she saw the tears that slipped down callista's pink cheeks. "i didn't know you cared so much about her, honey, but i know you've got a mighty tender heart." "is that all, now, liza? are you all right till the folks get back?" questioned callista. "well, then i'll leave you--they're a-going," and with an effort for composure, she turned and made her way down to flenton hands and the new buggy. her mother was staying to get dinner for everybody--a piece of genuine self-sacrifice, this--and as callista passed her in the kitchen, she made a half-hearted offer to change places. "no, honey," said octavia, resolutely. "you go right along. i don't mind this. i"--she lowered her tone to a whisper of furtive pleasure--"i seen lance bringing up the prettiest little black mare for you to ride." with unwonted demonstrativeness she bent forward and kissed the young, smooth, oval cheek. "we ain't got each other for always," she said gently. "let's be kind and lovin' while we have. go 'long, honey, an' ride with lance. granny yearwood wouldn't begrudge it to ye." flenton met the girl at the door, and walked with her down to the gate. it was an almost shocking breach of etiquette for him to let the entire procession get away without him, yet neither mentioned it. callista's eyes were on two [45] mounted figures that closed the train, and she scarcely spoke as she seated herself in the new vehicle. the graveyard was a stony, briery patch of ground, as desolate a spot as could well be found. in a country where the houses were so scattered that the word "neighborhood" had scarcely any meaning, there was no public sentiment concerning the care of the abandoned god's acre; but each, when a grave was dug in it for one of his clan, resolved on making some effort toward its improvement, and, in the struggle for existence, promptly forgot. it was guarded partly by a rail fence that derf's old piedy, a notorious rogue, could lay down with practised horns any time she liked; and partly by a crooked, crumbling wall of stones, picked up off the land itself and laid there by hands which had long been dust. a wide place it was, for its scanty tenantry, with hollows hidden in liana-woven thickets and straggling knolls yellowed with sedge-grass. as is usual where a hard-wood forest has been cleared, young pines were springing up all over the waste; one could see, between their dark points, the blue rim of the world; for this land lay high, on a sort of divide or shed, where nothing would grow. the unmended road was full of vehicles, the graveyard filling with people, as callista and flenton came up. the ride had been one of [46] discomfort to the girl. she liked to have her conquests to display before others; but she always shrank from being alone with flenton hands, and to-day his insistent love-making had filled her with cold distaste. "and you are certainly the sweetest comforter ever a man had in time of affliction," he told her over and over again, with sanctimonious inflections. "if i had you always by my side, looks like to me the world's sorrows wouldn't have no power on me." it was a relief to her when they reached the fence, and he stepped out to help her down and tie his horse. there had been some uncertainty up to the last as to whether preacher drumright could be got for the occasion, but the sound of his voice from the press of calico-clad and jeans-covered shoulders and backs, reassured flenton. "i'm mighty glad drumright's thar," he said to callista, as he lifted her down. "he'll preach granny's funeral come sunday, he said; but thar ain't anyone can pray like he can. i do love a good servigorous prayer." callista's anxious eyes were searching the animals tethered about for sight of the two black horses that stepped together "like a couple of gals with their arms around each other's waists." at last she found them in the grove, and hastily turned with her escort to go through the gap in the fence to where the preacher was, where yawned [47] the open grave, and stood the coffin. a tangle of dewberry vines, with withering fruit on them, here and there, and beginning even in their mid-summer greenness to show russet and reddened leaves, scrambled all over the poor soil. most of the graves were unmarked, some had a slab or block of wood; only here and there gleamed a small stone. callista passed that of her father, good-looking, ne'er-do-well race gentry, whom the romantic young octavia luster had run away to marry. a honeysuckle vine covered it with a tangle of green, offering now its bunches of fawn and white, heavy-scented blossoms from a closely compacted mound. "i'm a-goin' to have a real monument put up for granny," flenton whispered to her as they went forward together. "i wish't she'd lived to be a hundred, so i could have put that on the stone; but we're mighty proud of her holdin' out to ninety." quite against her will, callista found herself taken up to the front of the gathering, placed between ellen and flenton hands beside the coffin. preacher drumright was speaking with closed eyes; he had embarked on one of those servigorous prayers which hands admired. the two girls, ellen and jane, were sobbing in long, dry gasps. after the prayer came a hymn, the lulls in the service being filled in by the sobs of the hands [48] girls, little responsive moans from some woman in the assembly, and the purr of the wind in the young pines, where scared rabbits were hiding; and by the far, melodious jangle of old piedy's bell--old piedy, dispossessed and driven away. with the appearance of callista and her escort on the scene, a young fellow who had been lying full length on the top of the ruining stone wall tilted his hat quite over his eyes and relaxed a certain watchfulness of demeanor which had till then been apparent in him. when the girl was finally ensconced in the middle of the lamenting hands family, this person leaned down and whispered to ola derf, whose square little back was resting against the wall close beside him, "come on, let's go. haven't you had about enough of this?" "uh-huh," agreed ola in a whisper, "but we mustn't git our horses till the preacher quits prayin'. hit'll make too much noise." again lance relaxed into his quiescent attitude, and had to be roused when the hymn began, with, "he's done finished, lance. do you want to go now?" the wind soothed its world-old, sighing monody in the young pines overhead; beneath the waxing warmth of the morning sun faint whiffs, resinous, pungent, came down from their boughs, to mingle with the perfume from the vagrant honeysuckle that flung a long green arm toward [49] the trunk of one of them. suddenly a woman's tenor, wild and sweet, rose like a winged thing and led all the other voices. "huh-uh," grunted lance, from his sun-warmed couch. "let's wait awhile now." after the hymn, drumright read from the scripture. even his rasping voice could not disguise the immemorial beauty of the sombre hebrew imagery, "or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken." lance drew a long quivering breath. something in the sounds, the hour and the occasion, had appealed to that real lance cleaverage, of which the man ola derf knew was only custodian, to whose imperious needs the obvious lance must always bend. yet, long before poor callista could be released and allowed to ride home, by her own earnest petition, in the buckboard with jane and ellen, the two by the stone wall had found their way across to the black horses in the grove, and were scurrying down the dusty summer road, racing as soon as they were out of sight of the graveyard. [50] chapter iv. a dance and a serenade. the derfs occupied a peculiar position among their turkey track neighbors. they had a considerable tincture of cherokee indian blood, no discredit in the tennessee mountains, or elsewhere for that matter. one branch of the family had received money compensation for their holdings from the government. leola's father had at that time taken possession of an allotment of land in the indian territory. the eldest daughter, iley, married out there, and brought back her indian husband when granny derf, pining for her native mountains, had to be carried home to big turkey track. it was not the blood of another race that set the derfs apart; but it may have been traits which came with the wild strain. there was a good deal of money going among the clan. old man derf was a general trader; also he engaged in tanbark hauling in the season, and some other contracting enterprises such as required the use of ready cash. in the back room of the main house there was quite a miscellaneous stock of provisions, goods, and oddments for sale. derf was more than suspected of being a moonshiner or [51] of dealing with moonshiners. he gave dances or frolics of some sort at his house very frequently, and there was always plenty of whisky. at one time or another the family had lived in the settlement a good deal, and come off rather smudged from their residence in that place. indeed, your true mountaineer believes that sin is of the valley, and looks for no good thing to come out of the low ground. in a simple society, like that of the mountains, the line is drawn with such savage sharpness that the censors hesitate to draw it at all. yet a palpable cloud hung over the derfs. while not completely outcast, they were of so little standing that their house was scarcely a respectable place for a young, unmarried woman to be seen frequently. ola, garrett derf's second daughter, a girl of twenty, and a homely, high-couraged, hard muscled little creature, was permitted in the neighborhood circle of young girls rather on sufferance; but she did not trouble them greatly with her presence, preferring as a rule her own enterprises. lance cleaverage, a free, unfettered spirit, trammeled by no social prejudices, came often to the frolics at derf's. he seldom danced himself, whisky he never touched; but he loved to play for the others, and he got all the stimulation which his temperament and his mood asked out of the crowd, the lights, the music, and some indefinable element into which these fused for him. [52] it was nearly two months after the incident at the church and the funeral of granny yearwood, that ola was redding up and putting to rights for a dance. she had hurried through an early supper; the house was cleared, like the deck of a ship for action, of all furniture that could not be sat upon. what remained--a few chairs and boxes, and the long benches on which, between table and wall, the small fry of the family crowded at meal time--were arranged along the sides of the room out of the way. the girl herself was wearing a deep pink calico dress and a string of imitation coral beads. generally, she gave little thought to her appearance; but everybody believed now that the time was set for the marriage of lance cleaverage and callista gentry; neither of the young people denied it, callista only laughing scornfully, and lance lightly admitting that there was a mighty poor chance for a fellow to get away when a girl like callista made up her mind to wed him. in the face of these things, the little brown girl clad her carefully, laboring with the conscienceless assiduity of nature's self to do her utmost to get her chosen man away from the other woman--to get him for herself. she went out past the wood-pile to view the evening sky anxiously, and seeing only a few cloud-roses blooming in the late light over the hills, came back with satisfaction to attempt once more putting her small brothers and sisters out of the way. [53] a little after dark her guests began to arrive, coming in by ones and twos and threes, some of the boys in mud-splashed working clothes, some in more holiday attire. about moonrise lance strolled down the road, and by way of defending himself from the importunities of ola's conversation, if one might guess, kept his banjo twanging persistently. there was a certain solemnity over the early comers, although derf roared a hearty greeting from his door of the cabin, and occasionally some of the men adjourned to his special room and came out wiping their mouths. "ain't nobody never goin' to dance?" inquired ola impatiently. "here's lance a-playin' and a-playin', and nobody makin' any manner of use of the music." there was nearly ten minutes of hitching and halting, proposals and counter propositions, before a quadrille was started. it was gone through rather perfunctorily, then they all sat down on the boxes and benches and stared into the empty middle of the room. "good land!" cried ola, coming from the other side of the house, "play 'greenbacks', lance--let's dance 'stealing partners'." the new amusement--half dance, half play--proved, as she had guessed, a leaven to the heaviness of the occasion. people began to laugh a little, and speak above their breath. two awkward boys, trying to "shoot dominickers" [54] at the same moment, collided under the arch and went sprawling to the floor. the mishap was greeted with a roar of mirth in which all chill and diffidence were drowned. and now the arrivals from the far cabins were on hand. small children who had been allowed to sit up and look on nodded in corners, or stretched themselves across their fathers' knees and were tumbled just as they were upon a pallet in the loft. the usual contingent of bad little boys collected outside the door and began to shout at the dancers by name, calling out comments on personal peculiarities, or throwing small chips and stones under foot to trip up the unwary. these were finally put down by the strong hand. clapping and stamping increased as the dancers moved more rapidly; calls were shouted; the laughter was continuous. lance cleaverage leaned forward in his place, striking the humming strings with sure, tense fingers, his eyes aglow, and on his mouth a half smile. the fun waxed furious; the figures whirled faster and faster, gathering, disparting, interweaving, swinging and eddying before his eyes. coats were thrown off, the feet thudded out the measure heavily. this was his dissipation, the draught that the mirth of others brewed for him. its fumes were beginning to mount to his brain, when ola's hard brown little hand came down across his strings and stopped [55] the music. there was an instant and indignant outcry and protest. "consarn yo' time, ola! what did you want to do that for?" demanded a tall young fellow who had broken down in the midst of a pigeon wing, as though he drew his inspiration from the banjo and could not move without its sound. "i want to hear buck play on his accordion--and i want lance to dance with me," ola said petulantly. "what's the use of him settin' here all the time playin' for you-all to have fun, and him never gettin' any? come on, lance." ola derf was not used to the consideration generally accorded young women. when she made a request, she deemed it well to see that her requirements were complied with. deftly she lifted the banjo from lance's lap and passed it to someone behind her, who put it on the fireboard. then laying hold of the young man himself, she pulled him out into the middle of the room. "play, buck, play," she admonished fuson, who had his accordion. "you made yo' brags about what fine music you could get out of that thar box,--now give us a sample." buck played. when a dance has swung so far as this one had, nothing can check its rhythmic movement. the notes dragged wheezily from the old accordion answered as well to the gathering's warm, free, fluent mood as the truer harmonies of [56] lance's banjo. hand clasping hand, ola and lance whirled among the others, essaying a simple sort of polka. she was a tireless dancer, and he as light footed as a panther. the two of them began to feel that intoxication of swift movement timed to music which nothing else in life can quite furnish, intensified in the girl by a gripping conviction that this was her hour, and she must make the most of it. she was aflame with it. when buck broke down she instantly proposed a game of thimble. boldly, almost openly, she let herself forfeit a kiss to lance. there was a babble of tongues and laughter, a hubbub of mirth, a crossfiring and confusion of sound and movement which wrought upon the nerves like broken chords, subtle dissonances, in music. buck was trying to play again, some of the boys were patting and stamping, others remonstrating, jeering, making ironic suggestions, when lance, a bit flushed and bright of eye, dropped his arm around the brown girl's waist to take his forfeit. as in duty bound she pulled away from him. he sprang after, caught her by the shoulders, turned her broad little face up to his and kissed her full on the laughing, red mouth. then a miracle! kissing ola derf was not a serious matter; indeed common gossip hinted that it was a thing all too easily accomplished. but tonight the girl was wrought beyond herself--a [57] magnet. and lance's sleeping spirit felt the shock of that kiss. but alas for ola, it was for her rival's behoof the miracle was worked; it was in her rival's cause she had labored, enlisting all her primitive arts, all her ingenuity and resolution! the lights, the music, the movement, the gayety of others, these had, so far, pleased and stimulated lance as they always did. but the unaccustomed warmth and contact of the dance; the daring and abandon of the kissing game afterward; finally the sudden ravisher's clasp and snatched kiss--these set free in him an impulse which had slumbered till now. to this bold, aggressive, wilful nature it was always the high mountain, the long dubious road, the deep waters--never the easy way, the thing at hand; it was ever his own trail--not the path suggested to his feet. and so, in this sudden awakening, he took no account of ola derf, and his whole soul turned toward callista--callista the scornful, whose profile, or the side of whose cheek, he was always seeing; callista who refused to lift her lashes to look at him, and who was ever saying coolly exasperating things in a tone of gentle weariness. if callista would look at him as ola derf had done--if he might catch her thus in his arms--if those lips of hers were offered to his kiss--! without a word of excuse or explanation he dropped the girl's hand as he stood in the ring of [58] players, caught his banjo down from the shelf, and leaving open mouths and staring eyes behind him, strode through the door. a moment later he was footing it out in the moonlight road, walking straight and fast toward the church where protracted meeting was going on, and where he guessed callista would be with her family. a javelin, flame-tipped, had touched him. something new and fiery danced in his veins. he would see her home. they would walk together, far behind the family group, in this wonderful white moonlight. when he reached brush arbor church he avoided the young fellows lounging about the entrance waiting to beau the girls. he moved lightly to a window at the back of the building and looked in. there sat octavia gentry on the women's side, and old ajax, her father-in-law, on the men's. callista he could not find from his coign of vantage. an itinerant exhorter was on his feet, preaching loud, pounding the pulpit, addressing himself now and again to the mourners who knelt about the front bench. lance cautiously put his head in and looked further. somehow he knew, all in a moment, that this was what he had expected--what he had hoped for; callista was at home waiting for him. yet none the less he carefully examined the middle seats where might be found the courting couples. he would not put it beyond his callista to go to church with some [59] other swain and sit there publicly advertising her favor to the interloper. when he was at last satisfied that she was not in the building, he turned as he had turned from ola derf, and made a straight path for himself from brush arbor to the gentry place. scorning the beaten highway of other men's feet, he struck directly into the forest, and through a little grove of second-growth chestnut, with its bunches of silver-gray stems rising slim and white in the light of the moon. moonshine sifting through the leaves changed his work-a-day clothing to the garb of a troubadour. the banjo hung within easy reach of his fingers; he took off his old hat and tucked it under his arm, striking now and again as he went a twanging chord. it was an old story to him, this walking the moonlit wild with his banjo for company. many a time in the year's release, the cool, fragrant, summer-deep forest had called him by its delicate silver nocturnes, its caverns of shadow and milky pools of light, bidden him to a wild spring-running. on such nights his heart could not sleep for song. sometimes, intoxicated with the rhythm, he had swung on and on, crashing through the dew-drenched huckleberry tangles, rocking a little, with eyes half closed, and interspersing the barbaric jangle of his banjo with quaint jodeling and long, falsetto-broken whoops, the heritage that the cherokee left behind him in this land. but [60] now it was no mere physical elation of youth and summer and moonlight. it was the supreme urge of his nature that sent his feet forward steadily, swiftly, as toward a purpose that might not be let or stayed. speed--to callista--that was all. he fell into silence, even the banjo's thrumming hushed to an intense quivering call of broken chords, hardly to be distinguished from the insect cries of love that filled the summer wood about him. all the fathomless gulf of the sky was poured full of the blue-green splendors that flooded the night world of the mountains. drops of dew spilled from leaf to leaf; down in the spring hollow he was spattered to the knees by the thousand soft, reaching fronds of cinnamon fern. wild fragrances splashed him with great waves of sweetness. so the lords of the wild, under pelt and antler, have ever been wont to rove to their wooing; so restless are the wings that flutter among summer branches and under summer moons. between the banjo's murmuring chords, as he neared the gentry clearing, once more a melody began to stray, like smoke which smoulders fitfully and must presently burst into flame.--thrum-dum, thrum-dum, and then the tune's low call. it was a gypsy music, that lured with vistas of unknown road, the glint of water, and the sparkle of the hunter's fire; a wildly sweet note that asked, "how many miles?"--and [61] again, out of colorless drumming, "how many years? . . . how many miles?" . . . a song shadow-like in its come-and-go, rising at intervals to the cry of a passion no mortality has power to tame, and then, ere the ear had fairly caught its message, falling again into dim harmonies as of rain blown through the dark;--a question, and the wordless, haunting refrain for all answer. just above his breath lance voiced the words: "how many years, how many miles, far from the door where my darling smiles? how many miles, how many years. divide our hearts by pain and fears?" the melody sank and trailed, drowned in a cadence of minors that sobbed like the rush of storm. out of this, wild, as the wind's pleading, it rose again; "it may be far, it may be near, the water's wide and the forest drear, but somewhere awaiting, surely i shall find my true love by and bye." the lithe limbs threshed through the dew-drenched, scented undergrowth. the trees grew more openly now; clearing was at hand. "--my true love--by and bye," hummed the light, sweet baritone. callista had petulantly refused to go to church with her mother and grandfather. for no reason which she could assign, she wanted to be alone. [62] then when they were all gone, she wished she had accompanied them. an indefinable disquiet possessed her. she could not stay in the house. candle in hand she sought an outside cabin where stood the loom. climbing to the loft room of this she set her light down and began to search out some quilt pieces, which she figured to herself as the object of her present excursion. though she would have denied it with scorn, the idea of lance cleaverage filled her completely; lance, the man who was preparing to marry her, yet upon whom--of all those who had come near her, in the free, fortuitous commerce of marriageable youth in the mountains--she had, it seemed to her, been able to lay no charm, to exert no influence. he met her; he exchanged cut and thrust with her, and he went his ways after their encounters, neither more nor less than he had been before. he came back seemingly at the dictates of time and chance only, and never hotter nor colder, never hastening to nor avoiding her. a bitterness tinged all her thought... she wondered if she would have seen him had she gone to meeting . . . she reflected jealously that he was much more likely to be at the frolic at derf's. . . . she wished she knew how to dance. all at once, on the vague introspection of her mood, she became aware of the recurrent stroke of a soft musical note--the humming of lance's banjo. crouching rigidly by the little chest that [63] held her quilt scraps, she listened. it was a trick of the imagination--she had thought so much about him that she fancied him near. then, with a sudden heavy beating of the heart, she realized that if he had been at the dance and gone home early he might be passing now on the big road. she smiled at her own folly; this tremulous low call could never be heard across two fields and the door-yard. and it was a banjo . . . it was lance's banjo . . . he was playing whisperingly, too, as he loved to do. then the strings ceased to whisper. clearer came their voice and louder. without thinking to extinguish her candle, she ran to the window and knelt hearkening. she looked down on the moonlit yard. all was silent and homely . . . but that was lance's banjo. even as she came to this decision. lance himself broke through the greenery at the edge of the near field, vaulted a low fence, and emerged into the open. he came on in the soft light, singing a little, apparently to himself. spellbound she listened, gripping the window ledge hard, holding her breath, choking, wondering what this new thing was that had come to her. above him she was set like a saint enshrined, with the moonlight to silver her rapt, shining face, and the glow of the candle behind making a nimbus of her fair hair. yet never at all (or she [64] thought so) did lance look up. light footed, careless of mien, he circled the house once, still humming under his breath, and striking those odd, tentative chords on the banjo. then, abruptly, when she had realized her position and would have hidden herself, or put out the candle which betrayed her, he stopped under her window and with upflung head was smiling straight into her eyes. she rallied her forces and prepared for the duel which always ensued when she and lance met. she would give him as good as he sent. she would tell him that she had stayed away from church for fear she should see him. if he hinted that she had expected this visit, she would--she would say-but this was a new lance cleaverage looking into her eyes--a man callista had never seen before. subtly she knew it, yet scarcely dared trust the knowledge. the young fellow below in the moonlight sent up no challenge to a trial of wits; he offered her no opportunity for sarcastic retort. tossing aside his hat, making ready his banjo, he lifted his head so that the lean, dark young face with its luminous eyes was raised fully to her in the soft radiance, and struck some chords--strange, thrilling, importunate chords--then began to sing. the serenade is a cherished courtship custom of primitive societies. lance cleaverage, the best banjo player in the turkey tracks, with a flexible, [65] vibrant, colorful baritone voice, had often gone serenading with the other boys; but this--tonight--was different. he felt like singing, and singing to callista; for the moment it was his form of expression. what he sang was his own version of an old-world ballad, with his love's name in place of the scottish girl's to whom it was addressed three hundred years ago in the highlands of another hemisphere. unashamed, unafraid--would anything ever make lance either ashamed or afraid?--he stood in the white moonlight and sent forth his passionate, masterful call of love on the wings of song. callista's heart beat wildly against her arms where she rested on the window sill. her lips were apart, and the breath came through them quick and uneven. despite herself, she leaned forward and looked back into the eyes that gazed up at her. was this lance, the indifferent, taunting, insouciant, here under her window alone, looking up so at her--playing, singing, to her? oh, yes, it was lance. he wanted her, said the swift importunate notes of the banjo, the pleading tones of his voice, the bold yet loverlike attitude of the man. he wanted her. well--a flood of tender warmth rose in her--she wanted him! for the first time probably in her life--misshapen, twisted to the expression of the coquette, the high and mighty, scornful miss who finds no lover to her taste--callista was all a woman. the fires [66] of her nature flamed to answer the kindred fire of his. the last, teasing note of the banjo quavered into silence. lance pulled the ribbon over his head, laid the instrument by--without ever taking his eyes from her face--and said, hardly above a whisper, "callista, honey, come down." no retort was ready for him. "i--oh, i can't, lance," was all callista could utter. with a "well, i'm a-comin' up there, then," he sprang into the muscadine vine whose rope-like trunks ran up around the doorway below her. she only caught her breath and watched in desperate anxiety the reckless venture. and when he reached the level of her window, when, swinging insecurely in a loop of the vine, he stretched his arms to her, ready arms answered him and went round his neck. a face passion pale was raised to him, and eager, tremulous lips met his. they drew apart an instant, then callista--overwhelmed, frightened at herself--with a swift movement hid her face on his breast. he bent over her, and laid his dark cheek against hers, that was like a pearl. his arms drew her closer, closer; the two young hearts beat plungingly against each other. the arms that strained callista so hard to lance's breast trembled, and her slender body trembled within them. lance's shining eyes closed. [67] [illustration: "a face passion-pale was raised to him and eager tremulous lips met his."] "callista--honey--darlin'," he whispered brokenly, "you do love me." "oh, lance--oh, lance!" she breathed back. and then his lips went seeking hers once more. she lifted them to him, and the lovers clung long so. the world swung meaninglessly on in space. the two clasped close in each other's arms were so newly, so intensely, blindingly, electrically awake to themselves and to each other, that they were utterly insensible to all else. finally lance raised his head a bit. he drew a long, sobbing breath, and laying his face once more against the girl's murmured with tender fierceness, "an' we ain't going to wait for no spring, neither. you'll wed me to-morrow--well, next week, anyway"--as he felt her start and struggle feebly. "oh, lance--honey--no," she began. but he cut her short with vehement protestations and demands. he covered her face, her hair, her neck with kisses, and then declared again and again, in a voice broken with feeling, that they would be wedded the next week--they wouldn't wait--they wouldn't wait. shaken, amazed by her own emotions, terrified at the rush of his, callista began to plead with him; and when that availed nothing, save to inflame his ardor, her cry was, "yes, lance. yes--all right--we [68] will. we will, lance--whenever you say. but go now, honey, won't you--please? oh, lance! they'll be coming home any minute now. if they was to find you here. lance--won't you go now, please, honey? lance, darlin', please. i'll do just like you say--next week--any time, lance. only go now." there was no sense of denying, or drawing herself back, in callista's utterance. it was only the pleading of maiden terror. when lance acquiesced, when he crushed her to him in farewell, her arms went round him once more, almost convulsively; with an equal ardor, her lips met the fierce, dominating kiss of his. he got down from the window, his head whirling. mechanically he found his banjo, flung the ribbon over his neck and turned the instrument around so that it hung across his shoulders. thus, and with his hat again tucked under his arm, without ever looking back toward the house, he walked swiftly and unsteadily away, once more through the young chestnut wood, with its dapplings of shadow and moonlight. he dipped into the hollow where the spring branch talked to itself all night long in the silence and the darkness under the twisted laurel and rhododendrons; once more he stood on the little tonsured hill above the church. the lights were out; they had all gone home. below him was spread his world; the practised [69] eye of this free night rover could have located every farm and cabin, as it all lay swimming in this wonderful, bewitched half-light. those were his kindred and his people; but he had always been a lonely soul among them. the outposts of levity which he had set about the citadel of his heart had never been passed by any. tonight, with an upheaval like birth or death, he had broken down the barriers and swept another soul in beside him; close--close. he would never be alone again--never again. there would always be callista. in the intoxication, the ravishment of the moment, he made no reckoning with the callista he had heretofore known, the lance that had been; they should be always as now on this night of magic. [70] chapter v. the asking. on the comb of a tall ridge back of the cleaverage place, ola derf caught up with lance at last. "i got to set down awhile till i can ketch my breath," the girl said jerkily. "i reckon i run half a mile hollerin' yo' name every step. lance cleaverage--and you never turned yo' head. i believe in my soul you heared me the first time i called." cleaverage did not take the trouble to affirm or deny. he flung himself back on the fern and pine needles with his hat over his face, and remarking, "wake me up when you get your breath," affected to go to sleep. ola derf was as comfortable a companion as a dog, in that you could talk to her or let her alone, as the humor ran. a cicada's whir overhead swelled to a pulsating screech and died away. the woods here opened into calm and lofty spaces which at a little distance began to be dimmed as with vaporized sapphire--the blue that melted the hills into the sky. his eyes were caught by an indigo-bird in the branches--a [71] drop of color apparently precipitated by this marvel of azure held in solution by the summer air. it was the morning after lance had sung to callista under her window, and his mind was yet swimming in dreams of her. he was roused from these by ola's voice. "lance," she began and broke off. "oh, lance, i want to talk to you about--about--" again her voice lapsed. she could see nothing of his face. his chest rose and fell rhythmically. "lance--air you asleep?" "huh-uh. but if you keep on talkin' right good maybe i'll get to sleep." she paid no attention to the snub, but addressed herself once more to what seemed a difficult bit of conversational tactics. "lance," came the plaint for the third time, "i wanted to name callista gentry to you. i--i--that thar gal don't care the rappin' o' her finger about you, nor any man." cleaverage, with the memory of last night warm at his heart, smiled under his hat brim and made no answer, save a little derisive sound which might have meant denial, indifference, or mere good-humored contempt of ola herself. "oh, yes, i know," ola nodded to her own thought, "they's a heap of 'em lets on not to like the boys; but with callista gentry hit goes to the bone. she don't care for nary soul in this round world but her own pretty self. she 'minds me [72] of a snake--a white snake, if ever there was such a thing. you look at her. you ain't never seen her change color, whatever came or went." the picture evoked of callista's flushed, tender face lying upon his breast made the pulses of the man on the warm pine needles leap. "well," he prompted finally, "what's the trouble? are you a true friend, that doesn't want me to get snake bit?" ola laughed out a short laugh. "no," she said, drearily, "i'm just a fool that's got yo' good at heart, and don't like to see you get a wife that cares nothin' for you. thar--i've said my say. thar's no love in her, and thar's no heart in her. but if a pretty face and high and mighty ways is what takes you, of course you can follow yo' ruthers." "uh-huh," agreed lance, pushing his hat back and sitting up. he cast a laughing, sidelong glance in her direction. "ola," he said softly, "i'm a goin' to let you into a secret. the gals has pestered me all my life long with too much lovin', and my great reason for bein' willin' to have callista gentry is that she seems like you say, sorter offish." to his intense surprise (he had been wont to jest much more hardily with her than this), ola's face flushed suddenly a dark, burning red. she jumped to her feet like a boy. "all right," she said in a throaty tone, her [73] countenance turned away from him. "if that's so, i'm sorry i spoke. tell miz. cleaverage all about it--and all about me and the other gals that run after you so turrible. i don't care." but half way down the ridge her swift, angry, steps began to lag, and a little further on lance overtook her. "they's a-goin' to be a dance at our house a-wednesday," she said in a penitent voice. "you're a-comin', ain't you, lance?" "nope," returned the invited guest briefly. he volunteered no excuse or explanation; and so, when the parting of their ways was reached, she demanded with imploring eyes on his face, "ye ain't mad with me, air ye. lance? why won't you come to my party?" "got somethin' else to do," cleaverage returned nonchalantly. "callista and me is goin' to be married a-wednesday night." ola fell back a step, and clutched the sunbonnet which she carried rolled in her hands. "you're a--w'y, lance--you're jest a foolin'," she faltered. lance shook his head lightly, without a word. "but--why, i was over at gentry's this morning," she exclaimed finally. "nobody thar said anything about it." she still watched his face incredulously. "they shorely would have said somethin', if callista had named the day." [74] "she never named it," said lance easily. "i named it myself, back there on the ridge whilst you was catchin' your breath--or wastin' it. we had allowed that a week from yesterday would do us, but it sort of come over me that wednesday was the right time, and i'm goin' along by there right now to settle it all. reckon if you folks are givin' a dance you won't heed a invite? good-bye," and he turned away on his own trail. swift, unsmiling, preoccupied as a wild thing on its foreordained errand--the hart to the spring, the homing bird--cleaverage made his way to the gentry place. callista felt him coming before he turned into the big road; she saw him while yet the leafage of the door maples would have confused any view less keen. she longed to flee. then in a blissful tremor she could do nothing but remain. octavia gentry, carrying hanks of carpet chain to the dye-pot in the yard, caught sight of him and called out a greeting. "is mr. gentry about the place?" lance asked her, as he lingered a moment with callista's eyes on him from the doorway. "yes, pappy's makin' ready to go down to the settlement, and he ain't been to the field to-day. he's in the house somewhar's. did you want to see him special, lance?" cleaverage made no direct reply; and the widow added, "thar he is, right now," as ajax gentry stepped [75] out into the open passage with a bit of harness in his hand which he was mending. a certain gravity fell on her manner as the two walked toward the house. it went through her mind that cleaverage had never formally asked for callista, and that now he was about to do so. she lifted her head proudly and glanced round at him. lance cleaverage was not only the best match in the whole turkey track region, but he had been the least oncoming of all "sis's love-yers." you never could be sure whether lance wanted the girl or was merely amusing himself; and octavia had always been strongly set upon the match. when they came to the porch edge, lance seated himself upon it and looked past the old man to where callista's flower face was dimly discernible in the entry beyond. "good morning," he said impersonally. "i'm glad to find you at home, mr. gentry. i stopped a-past to name it to you-all that callista and me has made up our minds to be wed a-wednesday evening." there was a soft exclamation from within; but mother and grandfather remained dumb with astonishment. cleaverage glanced round at them with a slight impatience in his hazel eyes that held always the fiery, tawny glint in their depths. he detested having people receive his announcements as though they were astonishing--that is, unless it was his humor to astonish. [76] "well," grandfather gentry began after a time, "ain't this ruther sudden?" "marryin' has to be done all of a sudden," lance remarked without rancor. "i never yet have heard of gettin' married gradual." "why, lance, honey," said the widow in a coaxing tone, "you ain't rightly ready for a wife, air ye? ef you two young folks had named this to me--well, six months ago--i'd 'a' had callista's settin' out in good order. looks like pappy's right, and it is sorter suddent." "what do you say, callista?" inquired the postulant bridegroom without looking up. in the soft dusk of the interior the girl's face was crimson. here came the time when she could no longer pretend to be urged into the marriage by her mother, her grandfather, the course of events; but must say "yes" or "no" openly of her own motion. last night's startling accost yet shook her young heart; the glamour of that hour came back upon her senses. "i say whatever you say, lance," she uttered, scarcely above a whisper. ajax gentry laughed out. "well--i reckon that settles it," he said, jingling his harness and turning to leave. "no--it don't settle nothin'," broke in octavia anxiously. "lance ain't got any land cleared to speak of over on his place, and he ain't put in any crop; how air the both of 'em to live? [77] they'll just about have obliged to stay here with us. you can find work for lance on the farm, cain't ye, pappy?" old ajax measured his prospective grand-son-in-law with a steady eye, and assured himself that there was not room on the farm nor in the house for two masters. he read mastery in every line of face and figure. lance got to his feet so suddenly that he might have been said to leap up. "i've built me a good cabin, and it's all ready. callista and me are goin' into no house but our own," he said brusquely. "ain't that so, callista?" again the girl within the doorway answered in that hushed, almost reluctant voice, "just as you say. lance." and though grandfather laughed, and mother gentry objected and even scolded, that ended the argument. "i'll stop a-past and leave the word at hands's," lance told them as he turned to go. "is there anyone else you'd wish me to bid, mother?" that "mother," uttered in lance's golden tones, went right to the widow's sentimental heart. she would have acceded to anything he had proposed in such a way. old ajax smiled, realizing that lance meant to triumph once for all over flenton hands. as cleaverage walked away, the mother prompted, almost indignantly, [78] "why didn't ye go down to the draw-bars with him, callista? i don't think that's no way to say farewell to a young man when you've just been promised." gentry looked at his daughter-in-law through narrowed eyes, then at callista; his glance followed lance cleaverage's light-footed departure a moment, and then he delivered himself. "i ain't got nothing agin your marryin' lance cleaverage wednesday evening," he said concisely to callista. "i ain't been axed; but ef i had been, my say would still be the same. all i've got to tell you is that thar was never yet a house built of logs or boards or stones that was big enough to hold two families." "why, pap gentry!" exclaimed octavia in a scandalized tone. "this house is certainly callista's home, and i'm sure i love lance as well as i ever could a own son. if they thought well to live here along of us this winter, i know you wouldn't hold to that talk." "i reckon you don't know me so well as ye 'lowed ye did," observed gentry; "for i would--and do. lance cleaverage has took up with the crazy notion of marryin' all in haste. he ain't got no provision for livin' on that place of his. well, i tell you right now, he cain't come and live in my house. no, nor you cain't pack victuals over to 'em to keep 'em up." a coquette according to mountain ideals, carrying [79] her head high with the boys, famous for her bickerings with lance, callista gentry had always been a model at home, quiet, tractable, obedient. but the face she now turned upon her grandfather was that of a young fury. all her cold pride was up in arms. that secret, still spirit of hers, haughty, unbent, unbroken, reared itself to give the old man to understand that she wanted nothing of him from this on. she--lance's wife--the idea of her begging food from grandfather gentry! "if you two'll hush and let me speak," she said in an even tone, "i reckon i'll be able to set grandpappy's mind at rest. you can give me the wedding--i reckon you want to do so much as that for your own good name. but bite or sup i'll never take afterwards in this house. no, i won't. so far from carryin' victuals out of it, you'll see when i come in i'll have somethin' in my hand, grandpap. i invite you and mother right now to take yo' sunday dinners with me when you want to ride as far as the blue spring church. but,"--she went back to it bitterly--"bite or sup in this house neither me nor lance will ever take." then, her eyes bright, her usually pale cheeks flaming, she turned and ran up the steep little stairs to her own room. octavia looked reproach at her father-in-law; but ajax gentry spat scornfully toward the vacant fireplace, and demanded, [80] "now she's a pretty somebody for a man to wed and carry to his home, ain't she? i say, sunday dinners with her! can she mix a decent pone o' corn bread, and bake it without burnin' half her fingers off? she cain't. can she cut out a hickory shirt and make it? she cain't. could she kill a chicken and pick and clean it and cook it--could she do it ef she was a starvin'? she could not. she cain't so much as bile water without burnin' it. she don't know nothin'--nothin' but the road. she's shore a fine bargain for a man to git. to have a passel o' fool boys follerin' after her and co'tin' her, that's all callisty's ever studied about, or all you ever studied about for her." "well, pappy," octavia bridled, considerably stung, "i don't think you' got much room to talk. in yo' young days, from all i ever heared--either from you or from others--you was about as flighty with the gals, and had about as many of 'em follerin' after you, as sis is with the boys." she looked up at her father-in-law where he lounged against the fire-board. grandly tall was old ajax gentry, carrying his seventy years and his crown of silver like an added grace. his blue eye had the cold fire of callista's, and his lean sinewy body, like hers, showed the long, flowing curves of running water. "o-o-o-oh!" he rejoined, with an indescribable lengthened circumflex on the vowel that lent it [81] a world of meaning. "o-o-o-oh! . . . a man! well--that's mighty different. if a feller's got the looks--and the ways--he can fly 'round amongst the gals for a spell whilst he's young and gaily, and it don't do him no harm. there's some that the women still foller after, even when he's wedded and settled down" (ajax smiled reminiscently). "but when a man marries a gal, he wants a _womern_--a womern that'll keep his house, and cook his meals, and raise his chillen right. the kind o' tricks callisty's always pinned her faith to ain't worth shucks in wedded life. ef i was a young feller to-morrow, i wouldn't give a chaw o' tobaccer for a whole church-house full o' gals like callisty, an' i've told you so a-many's the time. yo' maw gentry wasn't none o' that sort--yo' mighty right she wasn't! she could cook and weave and tend a truck patch and raise chickens to beat any womern in the turkey tracks, big _and_ little. i say, sunday dinner with callisty!" he repeated. "them that goes to her for a dinner had better pack their victuals with 'em." octavia gathered up her hanks of carpet-warp and started for the door. "all right, pappy," she said angrily. "all right. i raised the gal best i knowed how. i reckon _you_ think the fault--sence you see so much fault in her--comes from my raisin'; but i know mighty well an' good that the only trouble _i_ ever had with sis, was 'count o' her gentry blood. [82] how you can expect the cookin' o' corn pones and makin' o' hickory shirts from a gal that's always got every man in reach plumb distracted over her, is more'n i can see." octavia went out hastily before her father-in-law could make the ironic reply which she knew to expect; and after a moment or two, ajax himself moved away toward the log stable to begin his harnessing. callista had hurried to her bedroom, slammed the door, and was alone with her own heart. as for lance, walking beneath the chestnuts, he had no wish to have her beside him under the old man's humorous, semi-sarcastic gaze and his prospective mother-in-law's sentimental, examining eye. he wanted her to himself. he thought with a mighty surge of rapture of the approaching time when they could shut out all the world and find once more that island of delight where they should dwell the only created beings. he, to share his honeymoon with the gentry family! he laughed shortly at the thought. it was little liza that opened the hands door to him, and her light eyes softened unwillingly as they beheld his alert figure on the step. little liza was tormented with an incongruously soft heart, painfully accessible to the demands of beauty and charm. "howdy," she said. she had not seen lance cleaverage since the day of the funeral; but she had heard from her brother and her sisters that [83] his behavior on that occasion was unseemly, if not positively disrespectful. lance barely returned her greeting, then he broached his errand. "jane! ellen! oh, flent!" she called distressfully, when she had his news, "come on out. lance cleaverage is here, waitin' to invite you to his weddin'." the two sisters came out on the porch, but flenton did not make his appearance. "howdy, lance. who is it?" inquired ellen hands. "callista gentry hasn't took you, has she?" "well," drawled lance, lifting a laughing eye to the line of big, gray-faced women on the rude, puncheon-floored gallery, "you can make it out best way you find. the weddin' is to be held at the gentry place. if it ain't callista, it's somebody mighty like her." little liza's lip trembled. "you lance cleaverage," she said huskily, "you're a-gettin' the sweetest prettiest thing that ever walked this earth. i do know that there ain't the man livin' that's fit for callisty. i hope to the lord you'll be good to her." again lance regarded the doleful visages before him and laughed. "you-all look like i'd bid you to a funeral rather than to a weddin'," he said, lingering a bit to see if flenton would show himself. [84] hands was just inside the window. he knew well what had been said. nothing could have been less to his taste than the going out to receive such an invitation. "thar--you see now, flent," said little liza tragically, as she encountered her brother when they turned from watching lance away. "you've lost her. oh, law! i always thought if i could call callisty gentry sister, it would make me the happiest critter in the world." "you may have a chance so to call her yet," said hands, who showed any emotion the announcement may have roused in him only by an added tightening of lip and eye. "wednesday ain't come yet--and hit ain't gone." "well, hit'll come and hit'll go," said ellen heavily. "lance cleaverage gits what he starts after, and that's the fact." "yes," agreed little liza, "he shore does. i don't reckon i could have said no to him myself." "lance cleaverage!" echoed her brother. "well, he's born--but he ain't buried. i never did yet give up a thing that i'd set my mind on. i ain't said i've given up callista gentry." the three looked at him rather wildly. talk of this sort is unknown among the mountain people. yet they could but feel the woman's admiration for his masculine high-handedness of speech. at the cleaverage place they were making ready for the noonday meal when lance brought [85] his news home. the table, with its cloth of six flour-sacks sewed end to end, was set in the cool entry. the dutch oven, half buried in ashes, was full of buttermilk-dodgers, keeping hot. at the other side of the broad hearthstone, roxy griever bent above a dinner-pot dishing up white beans and dumplings. beside her mary ann martha held a small yellow bowl and made futile dabs with a spoon she had herself whittled from a bit of shingle, trying to get beans into it. her mother's reproofs dropped upon her tousled and incorrigible head with the regularity of clockwork. "you, mary ann marthy, i do know in my soul you' the worst child the lord ever made: where do you expect to go to when you die? look at that thar good victuals all splattered out in the ashes. that's yo' doin'. you' jest adzackly like yo' uncle lance." then sylvane, who was shaping an axe-helve in the doorway, looked up and said, "here comes lance himself." and kimbro cleaverage pushed another chair towards the table. "well," said the bridegroom expectant, looking about on the shadowed interior of the cabin, dim to his eyes after the glare outside, "i've got a invite for you-all to a weddin'." "not you and callista?" exclaimed sylvane, his boyish face glowing. "oh, lance--she ain't said yes, has she?" [86] "no, buddy," lance flung over his shoulder, and you saw by his smile the strong affection there was between them, "she ain't said yes--but i have. i've set the time for wednesday, and the gentry place is all uptore right now getting ready for it. i reckon"--his eye gleamed with the mischievous afterthought--"i reckon they'll clear the big barn for dancing." as though the word had been a catch released in her mechanism, roxy griever straightened up, spoon in hand, with a snort. "you lance cleaverage--you sinful soul!" she began, pointing her bean spoon at him and thus shedding delightful dribblings of the stew which mary ann martha instantly scraped up, "you air a-gettin' the best girl in the two turkey tracks--and here you take the name of dancin' on yo' sinful lips at the same time!" "i reckon you'll not come if there's goin' to be dancin'," remarked lance, hanging up his hat and seating himself at the table. "i hadn't thought of that. well--we'll have to get along without you." roxy snorted inarticulate reprobation. suddenly she demanded. "sylvane, whar's that branch of leaves i sent you after?" with the words, mary ann martha, unnoticed by her mother, abruptly dropped her shingle spoon, scrambled across sylvane's long legs, and [87] galloped wildly out into the bit of orchard beside the house, her mass of almost white curling hair flying comically about her bobbing head, a picture of energetic terror. her young uncle looked after her, smiling tolerantly, and said nothing. "the flies'll git more of this dinner than we'uns, if we don't have something. why'n't you git me that branch o' leaves, sylvane?" persisted his sister. "well, sis' roxy, i wanted to finish my axe-helve, so i sub-contracted that order o' yourn," answered sylvane, deprecatingly. "sent ma'-an'-marth' out to git a small limb." "for the land's sake! an' her not taller than--" began roxy querulously. but her father put in, with pacific intention, "here's the chap now with her peach-tree branch. come on, pretty; let gran'pappy put it up 'side o' him at the table. now sons, now daughter, air ye ready? this is a bountiful meal; and roxy's cooked it fine as the best; we're mightily favored. we'll ax god's blessing on the food." [88] chapter vi. the wedding. wednesday came, a glamorous day in early september. a breath of autumn had blown upon the mountains in the night, leaving the air inspiring--tingling cool in the shade, tingling hot in the sun. the white clouds were vagabonds of may time, though the birds were already getting together in flocks, chattering, restless for migration. now at night instead of the bright come-and-go of fireflies there was a mild and steady lamping of glowworms in the evening grass. the katydids' chorus had dwindled, giving place to the soft chirr of ground and tree-crickets. there was a pleasant, high-pitched rustle in the stiffening leaves; the dew was heavy in the hollows, gray under the moon. all day the woods were silent, except for the mocking whirr of grasshoppers rising into the sunshine, and an occasional squabble of crows in pursuit of a hawk. wild grapes were ripe--delicious, tart, keen-flavored things. in the pasture hollow a fleece of goldenrod, painted on the purple distance along with the scarlet globes of orchard fruit, was stripped by laughing girls for callista's wedding [89] decorations. yes, summer was definitely departed; a new presence was here, an autumn wind in the treetops, an autumn light on the meadow, an autumn haze on the hills--a fine luminous purple, flecked with lights of rose and gold. the gentry place, with its central house of some pretensions and its numerous outlying cabins, presented on wednesday afternoon something the appearance of a village undergoing sack. open doors and windows, heaps of stuff, or bundles of household gear, or sheaves of garments being carried from place to place, suggested this impression, which seemed further warranted by the female figures emerging suddenly now and again from one cabin or another and fleeing with disheveled hair, wild gestures and incoherent babblings as of terror, to some other refuge. the girls had not come in yet from the pasture with their armloads of goldenrod and wild aster; but all three of the hands sisters--good, faithful souls, neighborhood dependences for extra help at weddings and funerals--were hard at work in the very heart of the turmoil. "liza, have you seed callista anywhar's?" panted octavia gentry, appearing in the main house, laden with a promiscuous assortment of clothing. "yes, i did," rumbled little liza from the chair on which she stood adjusting the top of a window curtain. [90] "i thought i heared lance's banjo awhile ago," added the widow as she folded and disposed of the garments she had brought in, "and then i didn't hear it any more. i have obliged to get hold of callista to tell me whar she wants these things put at." "yes, and you did hear lance cleaverage's banjo," confirmed little liza sadly. "callisty heared it, too. she come a-steppin' down from her room like as if he'd called her, and she's walked herself out of the front door and up the road alongside o' him, and that's why you don't hear the banjo no more." "good land!" cried the mother-in-law that was to be. "i don't know what young folks is thinkin' of--no, i don't. it ain't respectable for a bride and groom to walk side by side on their weddin' day. everybody knows that much. and i've got to have callista here. roxy griever's sent word that she cain't come to the weddin' because its been given out to each and every that they'd be dancin'. i want callista to see lance and have that stopped. hit's jest some o' lance's foolishness. you know in reason its got to be stopped. oh, sylvane!" as a boyish figure appeared in the doorway. "won't you go hunt up callista and tell her i want her? and you tell yo' sister roxy when you go home that there ain't goin' to be any dancin' here tonight. and just carry these here pans out to the springhouse [91] whilst you're about it, sylvane. and if you find ellen hands there tell her to come on in to me, please. i vow, nobody's been for the cows! sylvane, whilst you're out you go up to the milk gap and see are they waitin' thar. let down the draw-bars for 'em if they are." fifteen-year-old sylvalnus cleaverage laughed and turned quickly, lest further directions be given him. "all right," he called back. "i'll 'tend to most of those things--as many of 'em as i can remember." a privileged character, especially among the women, sylvane made willing haste to do octavia's errands. the boy was like his brother lance with the wild tang left out, and feminine eyes followed his young figure as he hurried from spring-house to pasture lot. when he found lance and callista walking hand in hand at the meadow's edge he gave them warning, so that the girl might slip in through the back door, innocently unconscious of any offence against the etiquette of the occasion, and the bridegroom pass on down the big road, undiscovered. "i reckon it's jest as well as 'tis," commented old ajax from the security of the front door-yard, to which he had been swept out and cleaned out in the course of the preparations. "ef octavy had been give a year's warnin', she would have [92] been jest about tearin' up jack this-a-way for the whole time." as evening fell, teams began to arrive, and the nearer neighbors came in on foot, with a bustle of talk and a settling of the children. old kimbro cleaverage brought his daughter, roxy griever, with little polly griever, a relative of roxy's deceased husband, and mary ann martha. "i knowed in reason you wouldn't have dancin' on yo' place," the widow shrilled, as she approached. then as she climbed out over the wheel, she added in a lower tone to little liza hands, who had come out to help her down, "but that thar sinful lance is so pestered by the davil that you never know whar he'll come up next, and i sont miz. gentry the word i did as a warnin'. tham men has to be watched." callista was ready, dressed in a certain white lawn frock--not for worlds would she have admitted that she had made it with secret hopes of this occasion. the helpers were still rushing to and fro, getting the wedding supper on the long tables, contrived by boards over trestles, on the porch and in the big kitchen, when preacher drumright rode sourly up. it was octavia gentry who had been instrumental in bespeaking drumright's services for the marriage, and indeed he was the only preacher in the turkey track neighborhoods at the moment or anywhere nearer than the settlement itself. [93] the church-going element of the region stood before this somewhat cantankerous old man in the attitude of confessed offenders. he was famous for raking the young people over the coals, and he arrogated to himself always the patriarch's privilege of scolding, admonishing, or denouncing, whenever the occasion might seem to him fit. for ten years drumright had longed to get a fair chance at lance cleaverage. ever since the boy--and he was the youngest in the crowd--joined with a half dozen others to break up a brush meeting which drumright was holding, the preacher's grudge had grown. and it did not thrive without food; lance was active in the matter of providing sustenance for the ill opinion of the church party, and he had capped his iniquities by taking his banjo as near the church as the big spring on that sunday in mid-july. drumright had prepared the castigating he meant to administer to lance almost as carefully as he would have gotten ready a sermon. with the advent of the preacher the last frantic preparations were dropped, and it was suddenly discovered that they were not absolutely necessary for the occasion. the guests gathered into the big front room, where the marriage was to be. drumright took his stand behind a small table at its further end; callista came down the stairs, joined lance in the entry, and the two stepped into the room hand in hand. [94] that was a daunting front to address with reproof. people said that they were the handsomest couple that ever stood up together in the two turkey tracks. but after all, it was something more than physical beauty that arrested the eye in that countenance. lance's face was lifted, and his eyes apparently saw not the room, the preacher, nor even the girl whose hand he held. he moved a thing apart, his light, swift step timed to unheard rhythms, a creature swayed by springs which those about him knew not of, addressed to some end which they could not understand. and callista seemed to look only to him, to live only in him. her fair face reflected the strange radiance that was on his dark, intense young visage. it was drumright's custom to make a little talk when about to perform the marriage ceremony, so there was neither surprise nor apprehension as he began to speak. "befo' i can say the words that shall make this here man and this here woman one flesh, i've got a matter to bring up that i think needs namin'." the old voice rasped aggressively, and a little flutter of concern passed over drumright's hearers. "the gentry family air religious, church-goin' people. why callista gentry ain't a perfessin' member in the church this day is more than i can tell you-all here and now. like enough some will say hit is the influence of the man a-standin' [95] beside her; and supposin' this to be so, hit cain't be too soon named out to 'em." if lance heard any word of drumright's harangue, he gave no sign; but callista stirred uneasily, her nostrils flickered, and she glanced from the preacher to her bridegroom. "i wonder in my soul," drumright went on, "that any god-fearin' family would give they' child to a man that has been from his cradle up, as a body may say, the scoffer that you air, lance cleaverage." thus pointedly addressed, a slight start passed through the bridegroom's taut body, and cleaverage turned a half-awakened eye upon the preacher. "are you aimin' to get 'em to stop the marriage?" he inquired bluntly. as he spoke, he dropped callista's hand, caught it once more in the grasp of his other, and put his freed arm strongly about her waist. thus holding her, he turned a little to face her mother and grandfather as well as the preacher. a shock went through, the crowded room; pious horror and amaze on the part of the older people; among the younger folk a twittering tremor not unmixed with delight at the spirit of the bridegroom. you might wince beneath the preacher's castigations; you might privately grumble about them, and even refuse to pay anything toward his up-keep, thereby helping to starve [96] his wife and children; but that you should presume to answer a preacher in the pulpit or elsewhere in the performance of his special office, was a thing inconceivable. the bridegroom's family drew together at one side of the room, kimbro cleaverage, in his decent best, looking half affrightedly at the man who was miscalling his son; roxy griever, divided between her allegiance to the caste of preachers, all and singular, and tribal pride; sylvane clutching his hands into fists, and hoping that buddy would get the better of the argument; while mary ann martha, in the grasp of polly griever, glowered and wondered. "lance cleaverage," returned drumright ponderously, "i respect yo' father, for he's a good man. i respect yo' sister--she's one too; for their sake i come here to perform this marriage, greatly agin my grain." he was taking a long breath, having barely got under way, when lance stopped him with a curt, "well,--are you goin' to do it--or are you not?" people gazed with open mouths and protruding eyes. where were the lightnings of heaven, set apart for the destruction of the impious? drumright himself was momentarily staggered. "er, yes--i am," he said finally, wagging his head in an obstinate, bovine shake. "after i've said my say, i aim to marry ye." [97] the little points of light that always danced deep down in lance cleaverage's eyes, flamed up like clear lamps at this statement. "no, you'll not," he said promptly. "you'll marry us now--or not at all. if i wanted any of your talk, i'd come to your church and get it. i don't want any." all this time his arm had been round callista, the hand closed on her slim waist gently, but with a grip of steel. had she wished to stir from his side, she could scarcely have done so. now he turned toward the door and moved quietly away from the astonished preacher, taking her with him. "whar--whar you goin'?" faltered drumright, dumbfounded. "down to sourwood gap to be wedded," the bridegroom flung back in his face. "squire ashe is up there from hepzibah--he'll marry us without haulin' us over the coals first." and he made his way through the roomful of mute, dazed, unprotesting people. at the door he paused, and, with the air of a man alone with his beloved in desert spaces, bent and murmured something in the ear of his bride, then ran lightly down the steps and out into the dark to where the horses were tethered. he returned quickly, leading his two black ponies. he found that in the few moments of his absence the company had awakened to the enormity [98] of what was going on. there were a half-dozen people round callista, most of them talking. little liza, who evidently believed that the finger of the lord was in it, and that her brother flenton was at last going to get the girl of his choice, clung to callista's hand and wept. flenton himself stood squarely in the bride's path, speaking low and eagerly. at the upper end of the room octavia gentry was almost in hysterics as she labored with the preacher, trying to get him to say that he would marry the pair at once if they would come back. old ajax had retired to his corner by the big fireplace, where he stood smiling furtively, and slowly rubbing a lean, shaven jaw, as he glanced from his daughter-in-law to his granddaughter in leisurely enjoyment. after all, there was much he liked well in callista's chosen. roxana griever had flown to supplement octavia's entreaties with the preacher. kimbro made his way toward the door, evidently with some half-hearted intention of remonstrating with his son. sylvane had slipped out to help lance with the horses--he guessed that his brother never meant to ride away from the gentry place alone. "he ain't fitten for you, callisty," hands was whispering over and over. "he ain't fitten for you. a man that will do you this-a-way on yo' wedding day, what sort o' husband is he goin' to make? here's me, honey, that's loved you all your life, an' been a member o' the church in [99] good standin' sence i was twelve years old. callisty, i'd be plumb proud to lay down for you to walk over. you take me, and we'll have a weddin' here sure enough." [illustration: "you'll marry us now--or not at all."] the words were breathed low into the bride's ear; yet attitude and air were eloquent, and hands's position and intentions were so notorious, that the proposition might as well have been shouted aloud. "lance--you lance! callista, honey!" implored the mother's voice distressfully above the moving heads of the crowd. "you chillen wait till i can get thar. preacher says he'll wed you now. come on back in here." "yes, and when you git that feller back in here a-standin' before preacher drumright to be wedded, you'll toll a wild buck up to a tainted spring," chuckled old ajax gentry. lance only smiled. the lover, all aglow, rejected with contempt this maimed thing they would thrust upon him for a marriage. he was leading callista's horse to the porch edge that she might mount, when he glanced up and found how strongly the pressure was being put upon his girl. the sight arrested his hurrying steps, and turned him instantly into the semblance of an indifferent bystander. "honey, they say a good brother makes a good husband," little liza was booming on in what she fondly believed was a tone audible only to callista. [100] "i tell you flenton is the best brother any gals ever had." cleaverage stood gazing at them with eyes indecipherable, then--turned his back. "and look at lance cleaverage," exhorted little liza, "a drinkin', coon-huntin', banjo playin' feller that don't darken the doors of a church--his own sister cain't never name him without tellin' how wicked he is. let him go, honey--you let him go, an' take flent." lance, standing with his back to them, holding his horses, had begun to whistle. at first the sound was scarcely to be heard above the babel of voices in the lighted room--but it came clearly to callista's ears. flenton's hand reached hers; ellen joined her entreaties to those of little liza. callista, while not a church member, had always aligned herself with the ultra-religious element; she had been the companion and peer of those eminently fitted and ever ready to sit in judgment on the unworthy. now she heard all these joining to condemn lance. the tune outside went seeking softly among the turns and roulades with which lance always embellished a melody. it was the song he had sung under her window. her heart remembered the words. "how many years, how many miles, far from the door where my darling smiles? how many miles, how many years . . . ?" his musing, eyes were on the far line of mountains, velvety black against the luminous blackness of the sky; his gaze rested thoughtfully on a great star that hung shining in the dusk over the horizon's edge. he seemed deaf to the clatter and squabble, blind to the movement in the room behind him. softly he whistled, like a man wandering pensive beside a lonely sea, or in some remote, solitary forest, a man untouched by the more immediate and human things of life. the two horses after snorting and pulling back at first sight of the unaccustomed lights and the noisy voices, put down their noses toward the long, lush dooryard grass. "he ain't lookin' at you. he ain't a-carin'," flenton whispered to her. for the first time callista glanced directly to where her bridegroom stood. his back was to her--yes, his back was to her. and though the little whistle went questing on with its "how many miles--how many years?" even as her eye rested on him he made a leisurely movement toward one of the horses, like a man who might be about to mount. swift as a shadow she slipped through the hands of those around her and down the steps. "lance," she breathed. "lance." then she was in his arms. he had lifted her to the saddle. "good land!" wailed octavia gentry, "if you've [102] got to go, sis, they's no use ruinin' yo' frock. here's your ridin' skirt," and she flourished the long calico garment and struggled to get down to the mounted pair. lance was on the other horse now. he paid no attention to any of them, but let his smiling gaze rove for the last time over the lighted windows, the noisy people, the long tables. "what time will you-all be back?" called the still secretly chuckling old ajax from the doorway, as he saw them depart. "never," answered lance's clear hail. "oh, lance--ain't you a-goin' to come back and have the weddin'?" began octavia. at this the bridegroom turned in his saddle, reining in thoughtfully. he would not accept this mutilated ceremony, yet the wedding of lance cleaverage should not be shorn in the eyes of his neighbors. slowly he wheeled his horse and faced them all once more. "callista and me ain't coming back here," he assured them, without heat, yet with decision. "but i bid you-all to an infare at my house tomorrow night." then once more he wheeled his pony, caught at callista's bridle, and sweeping into the big road, started the two forward at a gallop. his arm was round callista's waist. her head drooped in the relief of a decision arrived at, and a final abandonment to her real feeling that was almost [103] swoon-like, on the conqueror's shoulder. the horses sprang forward as one. "callista--sweetheart," he whispered with his lips against her hair, "we don't want nothin' of them folks back there, do we? we don't want nothin' of anybody in the world. just you and me--you and me." [104] chapter vii. lance's laurel. the inheritance of lance cleaverage came to him from his maternal grandfather. jesse lance had felt it bitterly when his handsome high-spirited youngest daughter ran away with kimbro cleaverage, teacher of a little mountain school, a gentle, unworldly soul who would never get on in life. his small namesake was four years old when grandfather lance, himself a hawkfaced, up-headed man, undisputed master of his own household, keen on the hunting trail, and ready as ever for a fight or a frolic, came past and stopped at the cleaverage farm on the way from his home in the far cove neighborhood down to the settlement to buy mules, and, incidentally, to arrange about his will. he was not advanced in years, and he was in excellent health; but there were a number of married sons and daughters to portion, he had a considerable amount of property, and his wife was ailing. it had been suggested that both should make their wills; so the documents, duly written out, signed and attested, were being carried down to jesse lance's lawyer in hepzibah. [105] he had seen almost nothing of his one-time favorite, melissa, since the marriage twelve years before with cleaverage that so disappointed him; and he had not now expected to remain the night in her house. but the little lance, a small splinter of manhood, at once caught his grandfather's eye. the child stirred jesse lance's curiosity perhaps--or it may have been some deeper feeling. the first collision between these two occurred as the visitor, having dismounted, approached the cleaverage gate. he had his favorite hound with him, and four-year-old lance, leading forth old speaker, his chosen comrade, observed the hair rise on the neck of grandfather's follower, and listened with delight to the rumble of growls the dogs exchanged. "ye better look out. if speaker jumps on yo' dog he'll thest about eat him up," the child warned. the tall man swept his grandson with a dominating gaze that was used to see the people about jesse lance obey. but things that scared other children were apt to evoke little lance's scornful laughter or stir up fight in him. "you call off yo' hound," the newcomer said imperiously. "i don't let my dog fight with every cur he meets." the small boy wheeled--hands in trouser pockets--and gazed with disappointed eyes to where the two canines were making friends. "i wish they would jump on each other; i thest [106] wish't they would," he muttered. "i know speaker could whip." grandfather lance looked with interest at the child. such a boy had he been. this was the spirit he had bequeathed to lance's mother, and which she had wasted when she married a schoolteacher. melissa cleaverage, come down in the world now, paid timid court to her father without much success; but in the middle of the afternoon, her four-year-old son settled the question of the visitor remaining for the night. jesse lance had been across the gulch to look at some wild land which belonged to him, up on the head waters of the creek called lance's laurel, a haggard, noble domain, its lawless acres still tossing an unbroken sea of green tree-tops towards the sky. as he returned to the cleaverage place, he traversed a little woods-path without noticing the small jeans-clad boy who dragged a number of linked objects across the way. "you gran'pap!" came the shrill challenge after him. "you quit a-breakin' up my train." jesse glanced toward the ground and saw a great oak chip dangling by a string against his boot. he turned an impassive countenance, and thrust with his foot to free it from its entanglement. "watch out--you'll break it!" cried the child, running up. then, as a second jerk shook and rattled the dangling bit of wood, "ain't you got [107] no sense?" he roared. "that's the injine to my train that you done stepped on and broke all up, and it cain't go a lick with you, big, lazy loafer, standin' right in the middle of it!" for a moment the fierce baby eyes looked up into eyes as fierce above them. such a glance should have sent any youngster weeping to its mother's skirts; but the tiny man on the woods-path stood his ground, ruffling like a game cock. "uh-huh!" jeered the grandfather, "and who might you be, young feller?" "i'm cap'n of this train," lance flung back at him, scarlet of face, his form rigid, his feet planted wide on the mold of the path. grim amusement showed itself in the elder countenance. yet jesse lance was not used to permitting himself to be defied. not since melissa had run rough-shod over him and held his heart in her little grubby hands, had another been allowed such liberties. "oh, ye air, air ye? well, that's mighty big talk for little breeches," he taunted, to see whether the spirit that looked out at him from his grandson's eyes went deep, or was mere surface bravado. he got his answer. with a roar the baby charged him, gripped the big man around the knees and swung. "git off'n my injine!" he bellowed, contorting his small body to hammer with his toes the offending legs he clung to. "i told you once civil, and [108] you didn't go. i'm cap'n of this train, and i can throw rowdies off when they won't go." the lines of the man's face puckered curiously as he looked down at the small assailant. without another word he freed his foot from the chip-and-string "train," moving circumspectly and with due regard to flimsy couplings. without another word he stepped slowly on, looking across his shoulder once, to note that lance instantly joined his train into shape and, turning his back on his big adversary, promptly forgot all about him. where the woods-path struck the big road, the grandfather stood a long moment and studied his grandson; then he made his way to the house where eleven year-old roxy sat sorting wild greens on the porch edge. "how old is that chap back thar?" he inquired of her brusquely. "brother lance? w'y, he ain't but fo' year old," roxana returned sanctimoniously. "gran'pap, you mustn't hold it agin' him that he's so mean--he's but fo' year old. an' poppy won't never whip him like he ort. if poppy would jest give him a good dosin' of hickory tea, i 'low he'd come of his meanness mighty quick." jesse lance merely grunted in reply to these pious observations, and in his mind there framed itself a codicil to be added to that will. melissa--melissa who married kimbro cleaverage--had been left out of both testaments so far; but she [109] was his favorite child, and it had been in her father's mind to bequeath to her the wild land up in the gap. yet of what use would such a piece of timber be to a woman? and it would be of less account to a man like kimbro cleaverage. they would but sell it for the meagre price someone might offer their necessities now. no, the dauntless captain of the train back there on the path was the one to own the gap hundred. such a man as he promised to become, would subdue that bit of savage nature, and live with and upon it. the lawyer in hepzibah should fix the will that way. susan lance died in her husband's absence; and the pair of mules jesse had bought in the settlement ran away with him on his journey home, pitching themselves, the wagon and driver, all over a cliff and breaking his neck. so it was that the codicil to the will left "to my namesake lance cleaverage, the gap hundred on lance's laurel," not then of as much value as it had now become. high on the side of the slope it lay, as befitted the heritage of a free hunter. the timber on it was straight, tall and clean, mostly good hardwood. here was the head of lance's laurel, a bold spring of pure freestone water bursting out from under a bluff--a naked mass of sandstone which fronted the sky near his boundary-line--in sufficient volume to form with its own waters the upper creek. a mile down, this [110] stream joined itself to burnt cabin laurel, and the two formed big laurel. this water supply, unusually fine even in that well-watered country, added greatly to the value of the tract as a homestead. coal had been found on the other side of the ridge, and lance, who believed in his star, thought it reasonable to expect that coal would be discovered on his own land. meantime, though he had cleared none of it for crops--not even the necessary truck-patch--he made a little opening on a fine, sightly rise, with a more lofty eminence behind it, and set to work building his cabin. scorning the boards from the portable sawmill which would have offered him a flimsy shanty at best, hot in the brief, vivid summer and cold in winter, he marked the best timber for the purpose, and planned a big, two-penned log house, with an open porch between. lance, his father and sylvane, spent more than ten days getting out the trees. it took forty boles to build a single pen ten logs high; and as lance had decided to have the rooms measure fourteen feet inside, each must be cut to fifteen foot length. then, since he was fastidious in the matter of a straight wall, lance himself measured and lined each one and scored it to line, his father coming behind him with a broad-axe and hewing it flat on the two sides, leaving the log perhaps about five inches through, whatever its height might be, and thus securing a flat [111] wall of even thickness. for the kitchen at the back, it was thought good enough to snake the logs up in the round, with the bark all on, and merely skelp them roughly as they were put up one by one. it took only a day to raise the walls of the cabin on lance's laurel, for the owner was tremendously popular, and there was help enough offered in friendly country fashion that day to have raised another pen, had the logs been ready. roxy griever and little polly came across the gulch with dinner for the men; but the best things the laughing jovial party had, lance cooked for them on an open camp-fire. the roof was of hand-rived clapboards which lance and sylvane got out; but all the flooring was of tongued and grooved boards, brought from the hepzibah planing mill, narrow, smooth, well-fitted, well-laid. there were not in all the turkey track neighborhoods such door-and window-frames, nor doors of such quality, all hauled up from the planing mill. when it came to the chimney, lance was the master hand, a mason by trade, and sent for far and near to build chimneys or doctor one which refused to draw. he had chosen the stones from the creek-bed, water-washed, clean, offering traceries of white here and there on their steely, blue-gray surfaces. he debated long over the question of a rounded arch with keystone for the front of [112] his fireplace, as is the manner of all the older chimneys in the mountains; but finally he and sylvane found one day a single straight arch rock so long that it could be laid across the jambs, and this he shaped a bit and hauled up for the purpose. the day he set in the chimney-throat the iron bar from which to hang the kettles, sylvane lay watching him. "now, that's what sis' roxy's been a-wantin' ever sence i can remember," the younger brother commented, as lance manipulated the mortar and set stone upon stone with nice skill. "uh-huh," assented the proprieter of lance's laurel lightly. "she wants it too bad. if she'd just want it easier, maybe she'd get it, one of these days." he laughed drolly down at the boy lying on the grass, and both remembered the long dreary tirades by which poor roxy had tried to get her brother to so amend the home hearth that cooking should be rendered less laborious for her. and it was to this home that lance cleaverage brought his bride. here it was that he hoped to build that true abiding place which such spirits as lance seek, and crave, and seldom find. the hearthstone he had himself laid, the skilfully built chimney, with its dream of callista sitting on one side of the hearth and himself on the other--these were gropings after the answers such as he always asked of life. [113] "this ain't what pap calls a sojourning place--this here's going to be a real home, callista," he said eagerly, as the two young creatures went about it examining their new habitation the next morning. "it'll be cool in the summer, and good and warm in the winter. that chimney'll draw--just look at the fire. i never have built a chimney that smoked." "did you build the chimney, lance?" callista asked him, leaning on his arm. "i did that," he told her. "they're always after me to build other folks' chimneys and lay other people's hearthstones, and i ain't so very keen to do it--and it don't pay much--up here. but my own--one for you and me to sit by--" he broke off and stared down at her, his eyes suddenly full of dreams. oh, the long winter evenings; they two together beside the leaping hearth-fire. they would be as one. surely into this citadel he had builded for his life, the enemy--the olden lonesomeness--could never come. they had their bit of breakfast, and lance was about to go down to the settlement to purchase the wherewithal for the impromptu infare. it was hard to leave her. he went out and fed the black horses and came back to say good-bye once more. his team was his hope of a subsistence, seeing that there was no cleared land to farm. he and they together could earn a living for two or three months yet. after that, there would [114] be small opportunity throughout the winter for teaming. through the summer he had been hauling tan-bark on the contract for old man derf. nearly all of this money he had spent upon the house; and he felt he had now to draw upon what remained--though it was not yet quite due--for the expenses of the infare. callista was down at the hearth as he entered, the tiny blaze in its center warming the whiteness of her throat and chin where she bent to hang a pot on the bar his skill and forethought had placed there for her. something mighty and primal and terribly sweet shook the soul of lance cleaverage as he looked at her kneeling there. she was his--his mate. he would never be alone again. he ran to her and dropped his arm about her. she turned up to him that flushing, tender, responsive countenance which was new to both of them. "hadn't i better buy you a pair of slippers?" he asked her, just for the pleasure of having her answer. "i reckon i don't need 'em, lance," she said soberly, getting to her feet and moving with him toward the door. "if i could dance--or if i ever did dance--i might have need of such." "dance!" echoed her husband with quick tenderness, looking down at her as they paused on the doorstone. "if you was to dance, callista, there wouldn't any of the other gals want to stand up on the floor beside you. i'm goin' to get the slippers." [115] he rode away on his black horse, her fond eyes following him; and the sight of her standing in the door waving her hand was his last vision of home. at the gate, far down the slope, he stopped for some imaginary investigation of his accoutrements, but really to have an excuse to turn and wave to callista, cupping his hands and calling back, "i'm going to bring you the finest pair of slippers i can buy." for in his pocket was one of her shoes, and in his mind the firm intention of getting so light and flexible a pair of slippers that his girl should be coaxed into learning to dance. callista not dance--it was unthinkable! of course she would dance. vaguely his mind formed the picture of her swaying to the rhythm of music. his eyes half closed, he let black satan choose his own gait, as his arms felt somehow the light pressure of her form within them, and he was dancing with callista. on--on--on through the years with callista. she should not grow old and faded and workworn, nor he hardened, commonplace, indifferent. there should be love and tenderness--beauty and music and movement--in their lives. and she should dance for him--with him--callista, who had never yet danced with anyone. early morning shadows lay cool across the road; ground-squirrels frisked among the boulders by [116] the way. the far mountains were of a wonderful morning color, not blue, but a blend of the tint of the golden sun-warmed slopes with that of the air; a color of dream, of high romance--a color of ideals. at one time he was roused from his thoughts by a bee-like drone of voices, accompanied by jangling cowbells. around the turn ahead of him came a herd of spotted yearlings, their shaggy hides clustered with the valley's wayside burrs. they took the road, crowding stupidly against his horse, and shuffled by; then followed two riders, driving the bunch to mountain pastures to find their own living until winter should set in--an old man in a faded hat and shawl, gaunt, humped over his saddle-bow; and his son beside him on a better horse, but colorless of feature as himself. "howdy," said lance, smiling, and they answered him, "howdy." but he was moved to a new pity for these men, whom he did not know, and for all their kind who are born and live, god knew why, without the eagle power of soaring into blue gulfs of dream. he rode with his head high, eye bright, his cheek glowing, his whole body tingling in the exquisite flow of the frost-sweetened morning air upon it. the horse, too, felt the touch of last night's frost, and fretted against the bit until lance, with a shout, let him go. then the road underfoot rushed past with the wind as the two splendid, [117] exultant creatures flew over it, for the moment so far in sympathy that they seemed one. they found themselves reluctantly slowing down at the front fence of the derf place. the pack of hounds burst from under the porch, and ran baying out to meet lance. iley derf's indian husband crouched at the corner of the cabin picking up something, and moved noiselessly away with an armful of wood. the clamor of the hounds brought derf himself out, and lance had a glimpse of women moving about at household work in the cabin. "light--light and come in," garrett derf greeted him. "i hear you and old jeff drumright had it up an' down last night, and that you beat the old hypocrite out." "much obliged, i ain't got time to get down," lance answered, ignoring the rest of derf's speech. "i just stopped as i was passing to get some money." derf's eyes narrowed to slits. he lounged forward, bent and secured a bit of wood from the chip pile and commenced to whittle. such rapid and abrupt negotiations are quite foreign to mountain business ethics, where it takes a half a day to collect a day's wages. "want some money," derf repeated contemplatively. "you mean that thar money for the haulin', i reckon." "yes," returned lance impatiently, "i couldn't very well mean any other." [118] "well, lance, you shorely ain't forgettin' that that thar money ain't due till next month," derf said, setting a foot on the chopping block and proceeding to pick his teeth with the toothpick he had shaped. "the haulin' ain't all done yet." "no, i ain't forgot that; but i knew you had money by you, and i didn't reckon you'd object to paying some of it ahead of time." cleaverage forced himself to speak civilly, though his temper was rising. derf chuckled. "now see here," he shifted the raised foot, and set forth evidently on a long argument. "thar ain't no man livin' that likes to pay money afore hit's due. ef i've got the cash by me, that's my good fortune. ef you want payment ahead of time, it's worth somethin'. what do you aim to take for the debt as it stands, me to pay you today? of course i'm good for it; but this here business is the same as discountin' a note, and that calls for money. what'll you take, lance?" "whatever you'll give me, i reckon," lance came back quickly, with light scorn. "looks like you've got it your own way. what are you offering?" "oh, i ain't offerin' nothin'," derf receded from his proposition. a shrewd enjoyment was evident beneath the surface stupidity and reluctance. "it's you that wants the money. looks like you must want it pretty bad." nothing but the fact that he conceived it [119] necessary to have the funds, kept lance from breaking out wrathfully and leaving his tormentor. "see here, garrett derf," he said at last, divided between scorn and angry dignity, "i made you one offer--and i'd think the meanest man would call it good enough--i'll take what money you choose to give me. now you can say the rest." "see here, lance," echoed derf, grinning, and glancing toward the cabin, "you ort not to trade so careless these days and times. yo're a married man now; you've got to look out for yo' spare cash, or yo' ol' woman'll be in yo' hair. what you needin' all this here money for, anyway?" the day before, derf durst not for his life inquire so closely into lance cleaverage's affairs. now he felt that he held the boy in a cleft stick. something of this lance understood; also, the allusion to callista's right to vise his bargains stung him beyond reason. no doubt he knew at bottom that what he was now engaged on was unfair to her. "if you're going to pay, you'd better be about it," he said to derf. "i've got some buying to do when i get my money, and frazee's store is a right smart ways from here." derf came through the fence and laid a detaining hand on satan's mane, getting nipped at for his pains. "you ain't got the time to go down to the store and buy, and git back home by night," he argued. [120] "better trade with me, lance. i brung up a wagon load of goods last time i was down. i aim to put in shelving and set up regular next month." a quick change went over lance's face. "have you got any women's slippers--that size?" the bridegroom asked eagerly, drawing callista's shoe from his pocket. derf took the shoe in his hand and fingered it, bending so his countenance was concealed. lance became aware of a heaving of the man's shoulders, a gurgling, choking sound that at length resolved itself into a fierily offensive chuckle. "buyin' shoes for her the fust day!" snickered garrett derf. the young fellow bent from his saddle and swooped the bit of foot-gear out of the other's fingers--it looked so much as though he would clout garrett derf on the side of the head with it that the latter dodged hastily. "are you going to trade, or are you not?" he asked with blazing eyes. "i got something else to do besides stand here talking." "i'll give you half," bantered derf, still holding discreetly out of range, but wiping the tears of delicious mirth from the corners of his eyes. "i'll take it," returned lance sharply, thrusting forth his hand. "have you got it with you?" the chance was too good to lose. derf [121] instantly ceased chuckling, reached down in a capacious pocket and hauled up a great wallet, out of which he began to count the money, looking up furtively every moment to see if lance had been only jesting, or if his temper and that reckless spirit of his were sufficiently roused to carry through the outrageous trade. but when the few bills and the bit of silver were ready, lance took them, put them carelessly into his pocket without the usual careful fingering and counting, and wheeled satan toward the road. "ain't you goin' to tell a body 'howdy'?" came a treble hail from the cabin as he did so, and ola derf's small face, still disfigured from her tears of last night, presented itself at the doorway. "lance, wait a minute--i want to speak with you," the girl called; and then she came running down to the fence and out into the road. "was you and pap a-fussin'? ye ain't goin' to be mad with us becaze callista and her folks never was friendly with us, air ye?" she inquired doubtfully, looking up at him with drowned eyes. pity stirred lance's heart. poor little thing, she had always been a friendly soul, since the two were tow-headed tykes of six playing hookey together from the bit of summer school, as devoted as a dog, observant of his mood and careful of all his preferences. it was rare for her to thrust upon him her own distress, or to let him see her other than cheerful, eagerly willing to [122] forward his plans. and he remembered with resentment that both at his own home and callista's after some heated discussion of his proposition to invite the derfs, he had said they could have it their own way, and no invitation had been given. "well, you and me ain't going to fuss, anyhow, are we, ola?" he said heartily. "i bid you to the infare at my house to-night. i was just gettin' the money from your father to buy some things that callista'll need for it." square, stubbed, the little brown girl stood at the roadside shading her gaze with one small, rough hand, looking up at the mounted man with open, unchanged adoration. her eyes--the eyes of an ignorant little half savage--enlightened by love, valued accurately the perfect carriage of his shapely head on the brown throat, the long, tapering line from waist to toe, as he sat at ease in the saddle. who of them all was the least bit like lance, her man of men, with his quizzical smile, his blithe, easy mastery of any situation? "hit's too late now for you to go away down yon to the store, ain't it. lance?" the girl asked him timidly. "don't you want to come in and see the new things pappy brung up from the settlement? i believe in my soul he's got the prettiest dancin' shoes i ever laid my eyes on--but callista don't dance," she amended. [123] lance sighted at the sun. he was entirely too late for a trip to hepzibah--he knew that. the shoe in his pocket nudged him in the side and suggested that this was the place for buying callista's slippers. without more ado he sprang from satan's back, flung the reins over a fence post, and followed ola into the big shed where the goods for the new store were piled heterogeneously on the floor. [124] chapter viii. the infare. when callista's gaze could no longer distinguish lance on satan, when the thick woods had swallowed up his moving figure at last, she turned to make ready the house for the evening. he had lived in the place, off and on, for several weeks, during the long period of finishing up work. every evidence of his occupancy showed him a clever, neat-handed creature. callista was continually finding proof of his daintiness and tidiness. she admired the bits of extra shelving--a little cupboard here or there--a tiny table that let down from the wall by means of a leathern hinge, to rest on its one stout leg--all sorts of receptacles contrived from most unlikely material. throughout the forenoon, the girl worked, using the implements and utensils that his hands had made ready for her, drawing upon the store of girlish possessions which had come over in her trunk the day before, for wherewithal to grace and beautify the place for the evening's festivities. early in the afternoon lance himself came riding slowly in. she had not expected him much before dark, and she ran to meet him with eager welcome. she watched him while he [125] unsaddled and fed his horse, and then the two went gaily into their new home, their arms full of the carefully wrapped purchases he had bought. the pretty slippers were got out, displayed and tried on; the curtains for the front windows were spread forth, and the bright table cover for the little stand; the lamp with its wonderful gay shade was cautiously unpacked and set up, the silverplated spoons counted, almost awesomely. lance had had no dinner, and callista had been so engrossed in her work about the cabin that she had cooked none for herself, stopping only to snatch a bite of the cold food left from breakfast. so now when all had been gone over again and again, admired and delighted in, he put her in a chair and peremptorily bade her, "rest right there whilst i make you some coffee and cook some dinner for the both of us." lance cooked just as he played the banjo, or danced, or hunted possums. callista watched him with joy in the sure lightness of his movements, the satisfactoriness and precision of his results. it was after three o'clock, and they were just finishing their coffee and cornbread, when little polly griever came running in at the door and announced, "cousin lance, a' roxy says tell you ef they's a-goin' to be dancin' here to-night, ne'er a one of us shain't step foot in the house." [126] "you go tell yo' aunt roxy that they's sure goin' to be dancin' in my place this night," lance instructed her, throwing his head back to laugh. "say polly, you tell her i aim to have her do the callin' off--you hear? don't you forget, now. tell her i'm dependin' on her to do the callin' off, and--" "now, lance!" remonstrated callista. her face relaxed into lines of amusement in spite of herself. yet she resolutely assumed a wifely air of reproof that lance found irresistible. "you ought to be ashamed of yourse'f. if you ain't, why, i'm ashamed _for_ you. polly, you go tell miz. griever that they won't be a thing in the world here in my house that she'd object to." "huh! _yo_' house!" interpolated lance, and he made as though he would have kissed her right before polly, whereat her color flamed beautifully and she hastily moved back a bit, in alarm. "you tell yo' aunt roxy, please come on, polly, and to come early," she continued with native tact. "tell her i'll expect her to help me out. why, i don't know how i'd get along without sis' roxy and pappy cleaverage and brother sylvane." polly stood near the door, like a little hardy woods-creature, and rolled her gaze slowly about the interior, noting all the preparations that were on foot. she observed lance shove back a little from the table and reach for his banjo. while [127] callista lingered over her cup of coffee, polly saw, with the tail of her eye, that lance drew a little parcel from his pocket and began to put a new string on the instrument. that settled it; he had spoken the truth: he was going to have dancing there that night. the thin-shanked wiry little thing watched him continually till she caught his eye. then with the freemasonry there always was between lance and youngsters, she raised her brows in an interrogatory grimace while callista's eyes were in her cup. lance grinned and nodded his head vigorously. still polly looked doubtful. lance moved his foot wickedly to emphasize his meaning. polly was convinced. there would be no legitimate coming to the infare--not if she took that word home to aunt roxy. but instead of turning to leave with her message, polly slowly edged into the room. presently lance and callista together cleared the table, making play of it like a pair of children. together they set out the provisions that lance had brought, and began to prepare the supper for the infare. and all the time polly's eyes were upon the good things to eat, the marvelous lamp with its gay shade, the new curtains which they tacked up at the windows, all the wonders and delights that were to be exploited that evening. she had enjoyed herself hugely at the wedding, in spite of the fact that the bridegroom, whom she [128] especially delighted in and admired, left in so unceremonious and theatric a manner early in the evening. if a wedding without lance was like that, what would the infare be in lance's own house? she grappled with the problem of how to escape aunt roxy and get to this festivity. she could only think of one possible method--that was to stay at lance's now she was there. she looked down covertly at her old homespun dress, soiled and torn, her whole person unkempt and untidy. well--she gulped a bit--better this than nothing at all. she would rather appear thus among the guests of the infare than not to be able to appear in any guise; but when she considered her bare feet, she gave up in despair. if she only had her shoes and stockings out of aunt roxy's house, the joys of the infare were as good as hers--let come after what must. gaily lance and callista went forward with their preparations. to their minds, they were the first who had ever felt that pristine rapture of anticipation when two make ready a home. dear children! did not adam, when eve called him to help her with fresh roses for the bower she was decking, know the same? it is as old as paradise, that joy, and as legitimate an asset of happiness to humanity as any left us. suddenly, upon the quiet murmur of their talk, came the sharp slam of the door, and they heard [129] little polly's bare feet go spatting down the trail. "well, hit's time she left," commented callista gently, "if she's goin' to take word to sister roxy." but polly had been stricken with an inspiration. down the steep cut-off which crossed the ravine with lance's laurel brawling in its depth, and led to the cleaverage place, she ran full pelt. it was two miles by the wagon road around the bend; but it was little over a mile down across the gulch, and polly made quick work of the descent, scarcely slacking on the steep climb up again. she galloped like a frightened filly over that bit of path on which the original owner of the gap hundred had met young lance with his chip train nineteen years ago, and burst headlong in upon roxy griever. "a' roxy!" she gasped, "callisty's a-goin' to have preachers at the infare--an'--an'--she wants yo' gospel quilt. pleas'm git it for me quick--callisty's in a bi-i-g hurry." polly's instinct carried true; and the widow griever was borne by the mere wind of her fictitious haste. before she had stopped to consider, roxy found herself taking the gospel quilt out of the chest where it was kept. back in the room where she had been sitting, little polly dived under the bed and secured her shoes, a convenient stocking thrust in the throat of each. with [130] the swiftness and deftness of a squirrel or a possum, she concealed these in her scanty skirts and stood apparently waiting when the widow returned, bundle in hand. but now roxy griever's slow wits had begun to stir. "what preachers is a-comin'?" she inquired sharply. "brother drumright, he's out preachin' on the white oak circuit--an' he wouldn't be thar nohow--a body knows in reason. young shalliday, he--what preachers did callisty say was a-comin'?" "i never hearn rightly jest what ones," stammered polly, making a grab for the quilt and missing it. "but thar's more'n a dozen comin'," she gulped, as she saw her aunt's face darken with incredulity. "you polly griever," began the widow sternly, "you know mighty well-an'-good thar ain't no twelve preachers in this whole deestrick. i'll vow, i cain't think of a single one this side of hepzibah. i believe you're a-lyin' to me. preachers at lance cleaverage's house, and him apt to break out and dance anytime! what did he say--you ain't never told me that yit--what did lance say 'bout the dancin' anyhow?" keen-visaged, alert polly had possessed herself of the precious bundle, and now she hopped discreetly backward, shaking the ragged mane out of her eyes like a wild colt. [131] "w'y, lance, he says he's a-goin' to have dancin', and a plenty of it," she announced with impish gusto--there would never be any hanging for a lamb with polly; she was somewhat of lance's kidney. she backed a pace or two outside the door, stepping as warily as a wildcat might, before she concluded, "an' he 'lowed to have you do the callin' off, a' roxy! he said be shore an' come--that he was a-dependin' on you to call off for 'em to dance!" the widow griever made a dive for the bundle gripped in polly's stringy little arm. but the girl, far too quick for her, backed half way to the gate. she must make a virtue of necessity. "well, you can take that thar quilt over to callisty," she harangued. "i won't deny it to her, and i hope it may do good. if tham men is a-goin' to git up a dance, you tell her she needn't expect to see me nor mine; but the quilt i'll send. you give it to her, and come right straight back to this house. you hear me, you polly griever?--straight back!" the last adjuration was shouted after polly's thudding bare feet as they went flying once more down the short cut into the gulch. "yes'm," came back the faint hail. "i will, a' roxy." deep in the hollow where the waters of laurel gurgled about the roots of the black twisted bushes that gave it its name, where ordinarily a body [132] would be fearfully afraid at such a time--blind man's holiday, and neither dark nor light in the open, while here the shadows lay like pools of ink--polly griever sat herself down in great content to put on her shoes and stockings. she was puffing a little, but the success of her enterprise had so fired her that all thoughts of ha'nts and such-like were banished. she hauled up the home-knit hose over her slim shanks and knobby knees, girding them in place with a gingham string, and hastily laced on her cowhide shoes. being then in full evening dress, she made a more leisurely way up the steep to lance's cabin, prepared to take in and enjoy all the festivities of the occasion. she found the house alight and humming. octavia gentry and old ajax had arrived, and the latter was throned in state as usual by the chimney-side--the evening was cool for september, and the flickering blaze that danced up the broad throat was welcome for its heat as well as for light. the mother-in-law was everywhere, looking at the contrivances for housekeeping, full of fond pride in what she saw, anxious to convince the young people that she did not resent their unceremonious behavior of the night before. she pinched the new window curtains between her fingers, and advised callista to pin newspapers behind them in ordinary times lest the sun fade their colors. she helped at the lighting of the [133] new lamp, and finally settled down in the kitchen among the supper preparations. "looks right funny to be here to an infare this night, when we-all helt the weddin' without you last night," octavia commented amiably. "i did wish the both o' you could have been thar to see the fun. the gals and boys got to playin' games, and sorter turned it into a play-party. look like they hardly could stop theirselves for supper. big as our house is, hit ain't so suited to sech as yourn." again she looked commendingly about her. "i tell you, callista," she said over and over again, "i think yo' lance has showed the most good sense in his building and fixing up of any young man i ever knew." but she need not have troubled greatly; lance had no consciousness of offense in him; and he was busy welcoming guests, going out to help the men unhitch, showing those who had ridden where they might tether their horses; or, if they liked, unsaddle and turn them loose in his brush-fenced horse lot, which was later to be a truck-patch; greeting his father and sylvane, and grinning over the fact that roxy was not with them, while mary ann martha was. "roxana had got it into her head someway that you-all aimed to dance, and come she would not," kimbro said plaintively. "she was bound an' determined that ma'-ann-marth' shouldn't neither," sylvane took up the [134] story. "but the chap helt her breath--didn't ye, pretty?--an' looked like she'd never ketch it again; so sis' roxy give in." "hey, unc' lance's gal!" the bridegroom hailed her, as the fat little bundle was passed down to him from the old buckboard, and instantly caught around his neck, hugging hard, and rooting a delighted face against his cheek. it was nearly eight o'clock when ola derf rode up alone and came in. mountain people are so courteous to each other as to make those who do not understand call them deceitful. ola was received as amiably as such an invader might have been in the best of urban society. she looked with round, avid eyes at everything about her, and finally at the bride, her hostess. "an' you a-wearin' them slippers," she commented. "i told lance i knowed in reason you would." the remark was made in the further room, where the girls were laying off their things and putting them down on that bed where callista, a little bewildered by the unsolicited loan, had spread forth the wonderful gospel quilt. "did you he'p lance to choose callisty's slippers?" asked ellen hands. rilly trigg and little liza stopped in the door to listen. octavia gentry turned from the shelves she was examining. even polly ceased to stare across the open entry into the other room where most of the men were. [135] "yes," said ola, composedly, seating herself on the floor to adjust her own footwear. "he was at our house a-wantin' to buy dancin' slippers for callisty, and 'course he knowed i would understand what was needed. i reckon callisty couldn't tell him, so he brought one of her shoes in his pocket, and axed me. do they fit ye, callisty?" a curious change had come over the bride's face, yet it was calm and even fairly smiling, as she answered indifferently, "no. i wasn't aimin' to wear 'em. i just tried them on. they' too big for me." and she closed the door and went resolutely to a chest in the corner, from which she took her heavy, country-made shoes to replace the slippers lance's love had provided. the derf girl regarded her askance. "ain't you afeared you'll make him mad ef you take 'em off?" she asked finally. "i know he aims to have you dance befo' he's done with it, and you cain't noways dance in them thar things," looking with disfavor at the clumsy shoes. "callista doesn't dance, and she ain't a-goin' to," octavia gentry was beginning with some heat, when her daughter interrupted. "never mind, mother," she said with dignity. "i ain't aimin' to dance, and i reckon you're not. maybe ola's mistaken in regards to lance." [136] the derf girl laughed shortly, deep in her throat. before she could speak, the closed door jarred open, revealing roxy griever, with a stout switch in her hand. "whar's polly," the newcomer inquired wrathfully. "mighty glad to see you, sis' roxy," cried callista, welcoming the diversion, but looking with surprise at her sister-in-law's draggled gingham on which the night dews of laurel gulch lay thick, her grim visage, and her switch. "polly--she was here a minute ago." but polly, wise with the wisdom of her sex, had flown to lance, and now she hid behind him, clinging like a limpet. "come in, sis' roxy. we're proud to see you here," shouted lance, with an impudent disregard of anything amiss, and a new householder's enthusiastic hospitality. "did you send me word that you was a-goin' to have me call off the dances?" the widow demanded in an awful voice. her scrapegrace brother laughed in her face. "that was jest a mighty pore joke, sis' roxy," he explained. "we-all was goin' to play some games, and i know you' a powerful good hand to get us started. come on; fix the boys and gals like they ought to be for that"--he hesitated a little, frowning--"that play we used to have sometimes where they all stand up in couples, and--wait, [137] i'll get my banjo and play a tune and you'll see what i mean." lance had not lived his twenty-three years with his sister roxy to fail now in finding her weak side. she loved lights, a crowd, as he did. true, she wished to harangue the crowd, and the lights must be to reveal her, playing the pictorially pious part; yet a virginia reel, disguised as a game, answered well to give her executive powers scope and swing, and they were in the thick of the fun when the women came from the other room. in the moments of her detention in that room, ola had begun to find whether being bidden to a festivity really made one a guest. rilly trigg whispered apart to callista, and looked out of the corners of her eyes at the newcomer. lance's wife evidently reproved her for doing so, but a smile went with the words. octavia gentry spoke solemnly to the derf girl, asking after the health of her parents in a tone so chilly that the outsider felt herself indefinitely accused. "i don't keer," she muttered to herself rebelliously, "hit's lance's house. lance ain't a-goin to th'ow off on old friends just becaze he's wedded." on the instant she entered the other room, and had sight of her host, flushed, laughing-eyed, his brown curls rumpled, the banjo in his lap, swaying to the rhythm of "greenbacks," as roxy griever struggled to keep the boys and girls in an orderly [138] line while she showed them how to "shake hands acrost-like." the dull little face lighted up. here was something at which ola felt she could help, a ground upon which she was equal to the best of them. "hit's a reel!" she exclaimed joyously. "i'll call off for ye, lance." as though her words had been some sort of evil incantation, the pretty group dissolved instantly. the girls fled giggling and exclaiming; the boys shouldered sheepishly away; only the widow griever remained to confront the spoil-sport with acid visage and swift reproof. roxy wound up the hostilities that ensued by declaring, "you can dance, and brother lance kin, ef them's yo' ruthers; but ye cain't mix me in. that thar was a game i played when i went to the old field hollerin' school. call hit a reel ef ye want to--oh, call hit a reel--shore! but ye cain't put yo' wickedness on me." "yes," returned ola hardily, "i played it at school, too. but it's the virginia reel, and lance said he was goin' to have dancin' here to-night. ain't ye. lance? i brung my slippers." roxy griever turned and flounced out. lance smiled indulgently at ola. his sister's warlike demonstrations amused him mightily and put him in a good humor. "sure," he agreed largely. "you and me will have 'em all dancin' before we're done. i [139] wish't we had preacher drumright here to pat for us." the sedate guests, though they laughed a little, fell away from these two, leaving them standing alone in the centre of the floor, while some of the boys and girls lingered, staring and giggling, wondering what they would do or say next. "'pears like they ain't nobody but you and me to do the dancin'," ola began doubtfully, "an' if you have to play--" she broke off. in the doorway that led to the little back room appeared the solemn countenance of the widow griever. this worthy woman fixed a cold eye upon her brother and beckoned him silently with ghostly finger. "i'll be back in a minute, ola," he told his unwelcome addition to the company, the wedge he had driven into their ranks, and which seemed about to split them asunder. [140] chapter ix. the interloper. lance found his father and octavia gentry awaiting him in the lean-to kitchen, kimbro cleaverage anxious and deprecating. old ajax had dodged the issue, and sylvane was out in the other room trying to get the boys and girls to playing again. but callista was there--not beside her mother--she stood near the door, a little pale and looking anywhere but at her bridegroom. lance cleaverage's eye, half scornful, swept the scattered group and read their attitude aright. "anything the matter with you-all?" he inquired suavely. "yes, they's a-plenty the matter with us, and with all decent and respectable persons here in this house gathered this night," the widow griever began in a high, shaking, unnatural voice. "i reckon all that means ola derf, for short," cut in lance, not choosing to be bored with a lengthy harangue. "yes, it does," roxy told him. "that thar gal would never have been bidden to miz. gentry's house. callisty would never have been called on to even herself with sech, long as she staid [141] under her gran'pappy's roof. and when it comes to what it did out in 'tother room, it's more than callisty that suffers." "suffers!" echoed her brother with a contemptuous grin. "well, if that don't beat my time! i reckon ola derf cain't eat any of you-all. she's just a little old gal, and you're a good-sized crowd of able-bodied folks--what harm can she do you?" "well, lance," began his mother-in-law, with studied moderation, though she was plainly incensed, "i do not think, hit's any way for you to do--evening callista with such folks. she ain't used to it." lance looked to where callista yet held aloof near the door, pale and silent, avoiding his eye. "a man and his wife are one," he said, with less confidence than would have been his earlier in the day. "what's good enough for me is good enough for callista." he got no sign of agreement from his bride--and he had expected it. "son, i think you made a mistake to bid that derf gal here," spoke old kimbro mildly. "but don't you let her start up any foolishness, and we'll all get through without further trouble." "yes," broke in the widow griever's most rasping tones. "she called the game i was a-showin' the boys and gals a virginia reel, an' 'lowed she'd call off for us. call off!" roxy snorted. [142] "a lot of perfessin' christians to dance--dance to ola derf's callin' off!" once more lance's eye swept the circle of hostile, alien faces. his sense of fair play was touched. also, he felt himself pushed outside and set to defending his solitary camp, with the whole front of respectability arrayed against him. this, so far as the others were concerned, was the usual thing; it daunted him not at all. but when he looked to callista, and saw that at the first call she had left him--left him alone--arrayed herself with the enemy--a new, strange, stinging pain went through his spirit. he smiled, while odd lights began to bicker in his eyes. "o-oo-oh," he said in a soft, careless voice, "didn't you-all know that i aim to have dancin'? why, of course i do." and he walked away with head aslant, leaving them dumb. it was but a retort, the usual quick defiance from the lance cleaverage who would not be catechized, reproved; yet when he entered the outer room and found ola drawn over at one side, unfriended, while a knot of whispering girls, quite across the floor from her, cast glances athwart shoulders in her direction, the good will of old comradeship, the anger of the host who sees his guest mistreated, pushed forward his resolution. "i reckon i'd better be goin' home," ola said to the pale callista, who followed her husband [143] from the back room. "looks like i'm in the way here; and mebbe lance ort not to have bid me--hit's yo' house." the bride looked from her bridegroom to the brown girl strangely. in her own fashion, she was as unwilling to be outdone as lance himself. "this here is lance's house," she said coldly. "he bids them that he chooses to it. but i reckon he don't aim to have any dancin'." roxy griever paused in the doorway and peered in. "i reckon the trouble is that none of the folks here know how to dance," ola was saying doubtfully. "let's you and me show 'em, lance. come on." wildly, the sister cast about her for aid. old ajax regarded the scene with the same covert enjoyment he had given another domestic embroglio. her father had slipped through a back door under pretense of seeing to the horse. her glance fell on flenton hands. this was the man for her need. earlier in the evening, when flenton made his appearance in lance cleaverage's house, accompanying his sisters, octavia had murmured, "well, i vow! ef i'd 'a' been him, ox chains and plow lines couldn't have drug me here, after what was said an' done last night." even roxana had wondered at the cold obtuseness that could prompt the acceptance on flent's part of that general [144] invitation lance had flung back over his shoulder to the deserted wedding guests, and looked in vain to see what it was that hands expected to gain by his attitude. there was some whispering and staring among the other guests, but flenton hands was admitted to be "quare," and his connection with the settlement offered a ready means of accounting for his not doing things like other people. now the widow griever felt that providence--it is wonderful how people of her sort find providence ever retained on their own side of the case--had dictated the attendance of this exemplary and godly person, second only in authority concerning church matters to brother drumright. she hastily dragged him aside, pouring out the whole matter, in voluble, hissing whispers, with many backward jerks of the head or thumb toward where ola and lance, in the midst of a group of boys and girls, still laughed and joked. "i don't know as i ort to mix into this here business," hands began cautiously--the man was not altogether a fool. "the way things has turned out, looks like i ain't got no call to interfere." "'course you have," roxy griever told him. "preacher drumright ain't here--ef he was, i'd not even have to name it to him; he'd walk right up to lance cleaverage in a minute--spite o' the way lance done him last night--an' tell [145] him what he ort an' ort not to do. an' yo' the next after preacher drumright. go 'long, flenton. speak to him. mr. gentry won't, an' poppy's done left to git out of hit. poppy never would do what he ort where lance was consarned. he wouldn't give that boy discipline when he could have kivvered him with one hand--an' now look at the fruits of it!" thus urged, flenton made a somewhat laborious progress toward the middle of the room. deep in that curious, indirect, unsound nature of his was the hankering to brave lance cleaverage in his own house, to insult and overcome him there before callista; but the pluck required to undertake the enterprise was not altogether moral courage; in spite of the laws of hospitality, there might be some physical demand in the matter, and this flenton was scarcely prepared to answer. he halted long at his host's shoulder, seeking an opportunity to enter the conversation. ola paid no attention to him; callista stood a little apart from the two, looking down, playing with a fold of her skirt. finally, most of the people in the room noted something strained and peculiar in the situation of affairs, and began to stare and listen. flenton cleared his throat. "brother cleaverage," he essayed in a rather husky voice. lance wheeled upon him with eyes alight. [146] thrusting his hands far down in his pockets, he stared at flenton hands from head to foot. then his glance traveled to the widow behind flenton's shoulder. "we-e-ell, well," he drawled, with a lazy laugh in his voice, "have you and sis' roxy made a match of it? that's the only way you'll ever get to be kin to me, and name me brother, flenton hands." roxy's long drab face crimsoned darkly, and she fluttered in wild embarrassment. hands laughed gratingly, but there was no amusement in the sound. "no," he returned in his best pulpit manner--he was sometimes called upon to officiate at small gatherings when the preacher could not be present--"no, yo' worthy sister an' me hain't had our minds on any such. but we have been talking of a ser'ous matter, brother cleaverage." the form of address slipped out inadvertently, and hands looked uncomfortable. lance shook his head. "i ain't yo' brother," he demurred, with exaggerated patience. "you' gettin' the families all mixed up. hit was callista i married." the boys and girls listening were convulsed with silent mirth. rilly trigg snickered aloud, and little polly ventured to follow along the same line. flenton's pale face reddened faintly. "i know mighty well-an'-good you ain't brother of mine, [147] lance cleaverage," he said doggedly. "ef you was, i'd--i'd--" "say it," prompted lance, standing at ease and surveying his adversary with amusement. "speak out what's in you. you got me right here in my own house where i'd be ashamed to give you yo' dues. now's the time to free yo' mind. i ain't fit to have callista, is that it? she could a' done better--that's what you want to tell me, ain't it?" there was a perfect chorus of approving giggles at this, extending even to the male portion of the company. the tinge of color left flenton's sallow cheeks, and they were paler than usual; but he hung to his purpose. "i've been axed by them that thinks you ought to be dealt with, to reason with you." he finally got well under way. "callista gentry belongs to a perfessin' family--she's all but a church member. you fussed with the preacher last night and tuck her away from in front of him, an' married her before a ongodly justice of the peace, an' now you air makin' motions like you was a-goin' to dance here in her house. yo' sister said that yo' father wouldn't do nothin', and she axed me would i name these things out to you; and i said i would. thar. i've spoke as i was axed. looks like the man that's got callista gentry could afford to behave hisself." [148] with each new accusation, lance's lids had dropped a bit lower over the bright eyes, till now a mere line of fire showed between the lashes, and followed the movement of flenton's heavily-swung shoulders, as he emphasized his words with uncouth shruggings. yet when all was said, only the conclusion seemed to stay in lance's mind. he was asked to do and be much because he had callista. but what of the bride? was not something due from callista because she had him? "'pears to me like you're in a mighty curious place, flenton hands," he began in a silky, musing voice. "ef you was wedded to anybody--jest anybody--i'd shorely keep out o' your way and let you alone. is this yo' business? have i asked yo' ruthers? has callista? i got just the one word to say to you--an' it can't be said here in my house. but it shall be spoken when and where we meet next--you mind that!" a sudden, tense hush fell on the room. did this mean the declaration of war which amounts to a one-man feud in the mountains, and which finally reaches the point where it is kill or be killed on sight? flenton dropped back with a blanched, twisted countenance. he had not bargained for so much. the young host looked around. his company had separated itself swiftly into sheep and goats, the elders and the primmer portion of the young [149] people whispering together apart, while the bolder youthful spirits gathered in a ring about himself and ola derf. one of these, rilly trigg perhaps, took up the banjo and commenced laboriously to pick chords on it. "now, if callisty could only dance, we'd shore see fun," ola derf suggested. lance looked to where his bride stood, aloof, mute, with bitten lip, listening to what her mother whispered in her ear. yes, he was alone once more; she was with the enemy. his glance took the girl in from head to foot. he saw that she had removed his first gift, the slippers. "callista can dance about as much as you can play, rill," he said mockingly. the bride lowered white lids over scornful eyes and turned her back. rilly laid down the banjo. a couple of the boys began to pat. "come on, lance," whispered ola defiantly. "i dare ye to dance. i bet yo' scared to." a dare--it was lance cleaverage's boast that he would never take a dare from the lord almighty. he flung himself lightly into position. "pat for us. buck, cain't you?" he suggested half derisively. then, with a swift, graceful bending of the lithe body, he saluted his partner and began. the derf girl was a muscular little creature; she moved with the tirelessness of a swaying branch in the wind; and lance himself was a [150] wonder, when he felt like dancing. the circle of young people mended itself and grew closer. the two in the middle of the floor advanced toward each other, caught hands, whirled, retreated, and improvised steps to the time of fuson's spatting palms. it was a pretty enough sight, and innocent, except for what had gone before. roxy griever had retired in some disarray, upon lance's sarcastic coupling of her name with that of flenton hands. now, coming into the room with the supposition in her mind that everything was settled in a proper way, she caught sight of the two and stiffened into rigidity. for a moment she stared; then, as the full meaning of the scene burst upon her, she made three long steps to where the youthful polly stood, taking in everything with big, enjoying eyes, seized her by the scant, soiled homespun frock, and hauled her backward from the room, polly clawing, scrabbling, hanging to the door frame as she was snatched through. "poppy," shrilled the widow, in the direction of peaceful old kimbro, using the tone of one who cries fire, "you kin stay ef yo're a mind--an' sylvane can do the same. the best men i ever knowed--'ceptin' preachers--has a hankerin' for sin. ma'y-ann-marth', she's asleep, an' what she don't see cain't hurt her. but as for me, i'm a-goin' to take this here child home [151] where she won't have the likes of that to look at. i feel jest as if it was some ketchin' disease, and the fu'ther you git away from it, the safer you air." the last of these words trailed back from the dark, into which the widow griever and her small, reluctant charge were rapidly receding. kimbro and his son remained, intending to remonstrate with lance when he should have finished his dancing. octavia gentry came and made hasty farewells, hoping thus to stop the performance. callista stood looking quietly past the dancers to some air-drawn point on the wall, and her expression of quiet composure was held by all observers to be remarkable. "oh, no, mother," she said quietly. "you and gran'pappy are never goin' out of my house before you have eat. come taste the coffee for me and see have i got it about right. when i was gettin' my supper for to-night, i found out that there was many a thing you hadn't learned me at home; so you'll have to show me now." with a dignity irreproachable, apparently quite oblivious to the dancers, the patting, the laughing, shouting onlookers, callista smilingly marshalled her forces and put forward her really excellent supper. here her pride matched lance's--and overmatched it. he might dance, he might fling the doing of it in her face and the faces of her kindred; she would show herself [152] unmoved, and mistress of any situation which he could contrive. and the supper was a strong argument. people in all walks of life love to eat; those who danced and those who held dancing sinful, were alike in their appreciation of good victual. it was only a few moments before this counter movement broke up the saltations in the front room and the infare appeared, from an observer's point of view, a great success, as the happy, laughing crowd circled about the long tables, those who had joined to forward the dance coming out looking half sheepish, altogether apologetic and conciliatory. "i'm mighty sorry sis' roxy had to go home," callista said composedly, as she served her father-in-law with a steaming cup of coffee. "i'm goin' to make a little packet of this here cake and the preserves mammy brought over, and send them by you. i want her to taste them." the host was the gayest of the gay. but unobserved, his eye often followed the movements of the bride, and dwelt with a warm glow upon the graceful form in its womanly attitude of serving her guests. she had fairly beaten him on his own ground. a secret pride in her, that she could do it, swelled his breast and ran tingling along his veins. so much for the company at large, for what callista would have called "the speech of people." when the last guest was gone the bride faced the [153] bridegroom alone in the house which had seemed to her so fine. cold, expectant of some apology, offended, bewildered, yet ready to be placated. lance offered no excuses, but plenty of kisses, praise, and an ardor that, while it did not convince, melted and subdued her. the breach was covered temporarily, rather than healed. [154] chapter x. poverty pride. it was inevitable that callista should find promptly how impossible is the attitude of scornful miss to the married wife, particularly when her husband's daily labor must provide the house whose keeping depends upon herself. lance, too, though he continued to give no evidence whatever of penitence, was full of the masterful tenderness whose touch had brought his bride to his arms. the girl was not of a jealous temper; she was not deeply offended at the reckless behavior which had disturbed the infare, any more than she had been at his conduct on the wedding evening. indeed, there was that in callista cleaverage which could take pride in being wife to the man who, challenged, would fling a laughing defiance in the face of all his world. it remained for a very practical question--what might almost be termed an economic one--to wear hard on the bond between them. they had married all in haste while september was still green over the land. the commodious new cabin at the head of lance's laurel was well plenished and its food supplies sufficient during the first few weeks of life there; in fact, lance [155] gave without question whatever callista asked of him--a thing unheard of in their world--and callista's ideas of asking were not small nor was she timid about putting them into practice. the pair of haggards might have seemed, to the casual onlooker, safely settled to calm domestic happiness. day by day the gold and blue of september inclined toward the october purple and scarlet. the air was invigorated by frost. the forest green, reflected in creek-pools, was full of russet and olive, against whose shadowy background here and there a gum or sourwood, earliest to turn of all the trees, blazed like a deep red plume. occasional banners of crimson began to show in the maples and plum colored boughs in sweet-gums. the perfect days of all the year were come. mid-october was wonderfully clear arid sweet up at the head of lance's laurel; the color key became richer, more royal; the sunset rays along the hill-tops a more opulent yellow. it was not till the leaves were sifting down red and yellow over her dooryard, that callista got from lance the full story concerning their resources, and the havoc he had made of them to get ready money from derf. he had been hauling tanbark all this time to pay the unjust debt. when she knew, even her inexperience was staggered--dismayed. so far, she had not gone home, and she shut her lips tight over the [156] resolution not now to do so with a request for that aid which her grandfather had refused in advance. "we'll make out, i reckon," she said to her husband dubiously. "oh, we'll get along all right," returned that hardy adventurer, easily. "we'll scrabble through the winter somehow. in the summer i can always make a-plenty at haulin' or at my trade. i'm goin' to put in the prettiest truck-patch anybody ever saw for you; and then we'll live fat, callista." he added suddenly, "come summer we'll go camping over on the east fork of caney. there's a place over on that east fork that i believe in my soul nobody's been since the indians, till i found it. there's a little rock house and a spring--i'm not going to tell you too much about it till you see it." callista hearkened with vague alarm, and a sort of impatience. "but you'll clear enough ground for a good truck-patch before we go," she put in jealously. "uh-huh," agreed lance without apparently noting what her words were. "i never in my life did see as fine huckleberries as grows down in that little holler," he pursued. "we'll go in huckleberry time." "and maybe i can put some up," said callista, the practical, beginning to take interest in the scheme. [157] "shore," was lance's prompt assent. "i can put up fruit myself--i'll help you." he laughed as he said it; those changeful hazel eyes of his glowed, and he dropped an arm around her in that caressing fashion not common in the mountains, and which ever touched callista's cooler nature like a finger of fire, so that now, almost against her will, she smiled back at him, and returned his kiss fondly. yet she thought he took the situation too lightly. it was not he that would suffer. he was used to living hard and going without. she would be willing to do the same for his sake; but she wanted to have him know it--to have him speak of it and praise her for it. the season wore on with thinning boughs and a thickening carpet beneath. the grass was gone. men riding after valley stock, sent up to fatten on the highlands, searched the mountains all day with dogs and resonant calls. they stopped outside callista's fence to make careful inquiries concerning the welfare or whereabouts of shoats and heifers. "yes, and they've run so much stock up here this year," lance said resentfully when she mentioned it to him, "that there ain't scarcely an acorn or a blade of grass left to help out our'n through the winter. i'm afraid i'm goin' to have to let dan bayliss down in the settlement take sate and sin in his livery stable for their [158] keep. the time's about over for haulin'. i can't afford to have them come up to spring all ga'nted and poorly." days born in rose drifts, buried themselves in gold; groundhogs and all wild creatures of the woods were happy with a plentitude of fare; partridges were calling, "wifey--wifey!" under wayside bushes; the last leaves had their own song of renunuciation as they let go the boughs and floated softly down to join their companions on the earth. one evening, gray and white cirri swirled as if dashed in by a great, careless brush, and the next morning, a dawn strewn with flamingo feathers foretold a rainy time. all that day the weather thickened slowly, the sky became deeply overspread. at first this minor-color key was a relief, a rest, after the blaze of foliage and sun. a rain set in at nightfall, and a wind sprang up in whooping gusts; and on every hearth in the turkey tracks a blaze leaped gloriously, roaring in the chimney's throat, licking lovingly around the kettle. these fires are the courage of the mountain soldier and hunter. only callista, warming her feet by the blaze in the chimney lance had built, thought apprehensively of the time when she should have no horse to ride, so that when she went to meeting, or to her own home, she must foot it through the mud. it was an austere region's brief season of plenty. not yet cold enough to kill hogs, all crops were [159] garnered and stored; there was new sorghum, there were new sweet potatoes, plenty of whippoor-will peas--but callista's cupboard was getting very bare indeed. she looked with dismay toward the months ahead of her. it was in this mood that she welcomed one morning the sight of ellen hands and little liza going past on the road below. "howdy," called ellen, as the bride showed a disposition to come down and talk to them. each woman carried a big, heavy basket woven of white oak splints. little liza held up hers and shook it. "we're on our way to pick peas," she shouted. "don't you want to come and go 'long? bring yo' basket. they' mighty good eating when they' fresh this-a-way." callista would have said no, but she remembered the empty cupboard, and turned back seeking a proper receptacle. at home, they considered field-peas poor food, but beggars must not be choosers. she joined the two at the gate in a moment with a sack tucked under her arm. it was a delightful morning after the rain. she was glad she could come. the peas were better than nothing, and she would get one of the girls to show her about cooking them. "whose field are you going to?" she asked them, carelessly. "why, yo' gran'-pappy's. didn't you know it, callisty?" asked little liza in surprise. "he [160] said he was going to plow under next week, and we was welcome to pick what we could." callista drew back with a burning face. "i--i cain't--" she began faintly. "you-all girls go on. i cain't leave this morning. they's something back home that i have obliged to tend to." she turned and fairly ran from the astonished women. but when her own door was shut behind her, she broke down in tears. a vast, unformulated resentment surged in her heart against her young husband. she would not have forgone anything of that charm in lance which had tamed her proud heart and fired her cold fancy; but she bitterly resented the lack of any practical virtue a more phlegmatic man might have possessed. she shut herself in her own house, half sullenly. not from her should anyone know the poor provider her man was. she had said that she would not go home without a gift in her hand, she had bidden mother and grandfather to take dinner with her--and it appeared horrifyingly likely that there might hardly be dinner for themselves, much less that to offer a guest. well, lance was to blame; let him look to it. it was a man's place to provide; a woman could only serve what was provided. with that she would set to work and clean all the cabin over in furious zeal--forgetting to cook the scanty supper [161] till it was so late that lance, coming home, had to help her with it. things looked their worst when, one morning, little polly griever came running up from the gulch, panting out her good news. "oh, callisty, don't you-all want to come over to our house? the sawgrum-makers is thar, an' poppy cleaverage has got the furnace all finished up, and sylvane and him was a-haulin' in sawgrum from the field yiste'dy all day." sorghum-making is a frolic in the southern mountains, somewhat as the making of cider is further north. "sure we'll come, polly," callista agreed promptly, with visions of the jug of "long sweetening" which she should bring home with her from father cleaverage's and the good dinner they should get that day. "whose outfit did pappy hire?" asked lance from the doorstep where he was working over a bit of rude carpentry. "flenton hands's," returned the child. "a' roxy says flenton drove a awful hard bargain with poppy cleaverage. she says flenton hands is a hard man if he is a perfesser." callista laid down the sunbonnet she had taken up. "i reckon we cain't go," she said in a voice of keen disappointment. anger swelled within, her at kimbro for having dealings with the man against whom lance's challenge was out. [162] "i couldn't 'a' gone anyhow, callista," lance told her. "i have obliged to take sate and sin down to the settlement and see what kind of a trade i can make to winter 'em; but there's no need of your staying home on my accounts." callista looked down at his tousled head and intent face as he worked skilfully. was he so willing to send her where she would meet flenton hands? for a moment she was hurt--then angry. "come on, polly," she said, catching up sunbonnet and basket, and stepping past lance, sweeping his tools all into a heap with her skirts. "i don't know what father cleaverage was thinking of to have flenton on the place after all that's been," callista said more to herself than the child, when they had passed through the gate. her breakfast had been a failure, and she was reflecting with great satisfaction on how good a cook roxy griever was; yet she would have been glad to forbear going to any place where the man her husband had threatened was to be met. polly came close and thrust a brown claw into callista's hand, galloping unevenly and making rather a difficult walking partner, but showing her good will. "hit don't make no differ so long as cousin lance won't be thar," she announced wisely. "cousin lance always did make game of flent. he said that when flent took up a collection in [163] church, he hollered 'amen' awful loud to keep folks from noticin' that he didn't put nothin' in the hat hisse'f. i wish't lance was comin' 'long of us." with this the two of them dipped into the gay, rustling gloom of the autumn-tinted gulch, with lance's laurel reduced to a tiny trickle between clear little pools, gurgling faintly in the bottom. before they came to the cleaverage place they heard the noise of the sorghum making. a team was coming in from the field with a belated load of the stalks, which should have been piled in place yesterday; ellen hands and little liza appeared down the lane carrying between them a jug swung from a stick--everybody that comes to help takes toll. when callista arrived, half-a-dozen were busy over the work; hands feeding the crusher, sylvane waiting on him with bundles of the heavy, rich green stalks, and buck fuson driving the solemn old horse his jogging round, followed by fat little mary ann martha, capering along with a stick in her hand, imitating his every movement and shout. the rollers set on end which crushed the jade-green stalks were simply two peeled hardwood logs. flenton had threatened for years to bring in a steel crusher; but, up to the present, the machine his grandfather made had been found profitable. the absinthe-colored juice ran down its little trough into a barrel, whence it was dipped [164] to the evaporating pan, about which centered the hottest of the fray. in the stone furnace under this great, shallow pan--as long and broad, almost, as a wagon-bed--old kimbro himself was keeping a judgmatic fire going. roxy griever, qualified by experience with soap and apple-butter, circled the fire and kept up a continual skimming of froth from the bubbling juice, while she did not lack for advice to her father concerning his management of the fire. flenton handed over to fuson his work at the crusher, calling polly to mind the horse, and came straight to callista. "i'm mighty proud to see that you don't feel obliged to stay away from a place becaze i'm thar," he said in a lowered tone, and she fancied a flicker of fear in his eyes, as though he questioned whether her husband might be expected to follow. "lance was a-goin' down to the settlement to-day," she said bluntly, "and i'd have been all alone anyhow; so i 'lowed i might as well come over." hands looked relieved. "i hope you ain't a-goin' to hold it against me, callisty," he went on in a hurried half whisper, "that lance is namin' it all around that this here scope o' country ain't big enough to hold him and me." callista shook her fair head in a proud negative. "i've got my doubts of lance ever having said [165] any such," she returned quietly. "yo' name has never been mentioned between us, flent; but if lance has a quarrel, he's mighty apt to go to the person he quarrels with, and not make threats behind they' back. i think little of them that brought you such word as that." "that's just what i say," hands pursued eagerly. "why can't we-all be friends, like we used to be. here's mr. cleaverage that don't hold with no sech," and he turned to include kimbro, who now came up to greet his daughter-in-law. again callista shook her head. "you men'll have to settle them things betwixt yourselves," she said, sure of her ground as a mountain woman. "but, flent, i reckon you'll have to keep in mind that a man and his wife are one." "oh," said hands dropping back a step, "so if lance won't be friendly with me, you won't neither--is that it?" "i should think yo' good sense would show you that that would have to be it," said callista doggedly. she had no wish to appear as one submitting to authority, and yet flenton's evident intention of seeking to find some breach between herself and lance was too offensive to be borne with. "now then, why need we talk of such this morning?" pacified kimbro. "my son lance is a good boy when you take him right. he's got a [166] tender heart. if he ever quarrels too easy, he gets over it easy, as well. flenton, you'll have to tend to the crusher; i got to keep the fire goin' for roxy. "hit 'minds me of that thar lake that it names in the bible, callisty," the widow griever said meditatively, looking at the seething surface as she wielded her long-handled spoon. "and then sometimes i study about that thar fiery furnace and ham, sham _and_ abednego. poppy, looks like to me you ain't got fire enough under this eend." "i've just made it up there," said kimbro mildly. "i go from one end to the other, steady, and that keeps it as near even as human hands air able to." "flenton, he was mighty overreachin' with poppy," the widow lamented. "he's a mighty hard-hearted somebody to deal with, if he is a perfesser, and one that walks the straight an' narrer way. poppy has to furnish all the labor, 'ceptin' flent and buck fuson, and we've got to feed them men and their team, and then they git one third of the molasses. with three meals a day, an' snacks between times to keep up they' stren'th, looks like i never see nobody eat what them two can." the gray little cabin crouched in a corner of the big yard; a shed roof, running down at one side of it, looking comically like a hand raised to shut out [167] the clamor. everybody shouted his opinion at the top of his voice. nobody thought anybody else was doing just what he ought. roxana hurried from group to group of the workers, advising, admonishing, trying to bring some order out of the confusion. and in the midst of it, callista watched the bubbling juice enviously. it seemed everybody had something to harvest, care for and put away, except herself. [168] chapter xi. long sweetenin'. mary ann martha griever was notorious all over the big and little turkey track neighborhoods, as "the worst chap the lord a'mighty ever made and the old davil himself wouldn't have." the mildest dictum pronounced upon her was "spiled rotten." her energy, her unsleeping industry, would have been things to admire and wonder at, had they not been always applied to the futherance of iniquitous ends. to-day she pervaded the sorghum-making, not like a gnat, but like a whole swarm of gnats. providing herself with a weak-backed switch, she followed the movements of fuson, or polly, or sylvane, whichever chanced to be told off to tend the old horse. she pursued the beast with a falsetto screech of peculiar malignance, and tickled his heels with her switch whenever the exigencies of the work forced his stoppage. to the infinite surprise of everybody, notably his owner, the gaunt sorrel, after looking around and twitching his ears and hide as though a particularly troublesome flock of flies were on him, finally heaved up the whole after portion of his anatomy in one elephantine kick, which very [169] nearly cost his small tormentor the entire top of her head. chased away from the horse and the crusher, mary ann martha turned her attention to the furnace, with its more seductive and saccharine activities. the skimming hole on this occasion was not the small, ordinary excavation made for the purpose, but a sizable pit, dug at some previous time for a forgotten use. brush had been thrown into it, vines had grown and tangled over the brush, till it was a miniature jungle or bear-pit. tin cans hid among the leafage, and the steady drip-drip of the skimmings pattered on one of these hollowly. this spot had a peculiar fascination for the child. perched on its edge she thrust forward her face and attempted to lick a branch over which the skimmings had trickled deliciously. the distance was considerable. mary ann martha's tongue was limber and amazingly extensible; her balance excellent; but also she was in unseemly haste for the syrup that stood in great drops just beyond reach. in her contortions, she overbalanced herself and fell shrieking in, going promptly to the bottom, where quite a pool of sticky sour-sweetness had already collected. "the good land!" shouted roxy, passing the ladle of office to callista and reaching down to grab for her offspring. "if they's anything you ort not to be in, of course you're in it. now look at you!" she ejaculated, as she hauled the squalling [170] child out dripping. "you ain't got another frock to yo' name', an' what am i a-goin' to do with you?" mary ann martha showed a blissful indifference to what might be done with her. her howls ceased abruptly. she found her state that agreeable one wherein she was able to lick almost any portion of her anatomy or her costume with satisfaction. "don't want no other frock," she announced briefly, as she sat down in the dust to begin clearing her hands of skimmings, very like a puppy or a kitten. "well, i'm a-goin' to put boy clothes on you," declared the mother. "you act as bad as a boy." and she hustled the protesting delinquent away to execute her threat. five minutes after, burning with wrongs, mary ann martha came stormily forth to rejoin her kind, pent in a tight little jeans suit which had belonged to the babyhood of sylvane, and from which her solid limbs and fat, tubby body seemed fairly exploding. humiliated, alienated, and with her hand against every man, she lowered upon them all from under flaxen brows, with lance's own hazel eyes, darkened almost to black. "you ma'y-ann-marth'," admonished fuson, as the small marauder raided the cooling pans and licked the spoons and testing sticks so soon as they were laid down, "you got to walk mighty keerful [171] around where i'm at, at least in sawgrum-makin' time." mary ann martha held down her head, and muttered. she was ashamed of her trousers as only a mountain-born girl child could be ashamed. "you let them spoons alone, or i'll fling you plumb into the bilin'-pan, whar you'll git a-plenty o' sawgrum," fuson threatened. "you hear now? the last man i he'ped hands make sawgrum for had ten chillen when we begun. they set in to pester me an' old baldy jest like yo' adoin', and when we got done thar was ten kaigs of sawgrum and nary chap on the place. yes, that's right. ef thar wasn't a chap bar'lled up in every kaig we turned out, i don't know sawgrum from good red liquor." inside the house, ellen hands and little liza were delaying over an errand. they had brought a piece of turkey red calico as an offering for the gospel quilt. "don't you trouble to git it out," little liza said, rather wistfully. "i know in reason you've got all on yo' hands you want this mornin'; but when you come to workin' it in, ellen an' me we talked considerable consarning of it, and mebbe we could he'p ye." "callisty's a-skimmin'," announced the widow, running for a hasty glance toward the sorghum-making activities. "hit won't take me mo'n a minute to spread the thing here on the bed, and [172] try this agin it. land! ain't that pretty? red--i always did love red." the cherished square was lifted from its chest, unrolled, and spread upon the four-poster bed in the corner of the living room. "you been a-workin' on it some sence last i seed it," ellen hands remarked with interest. "this here thing with birds a-roostin' on it--i ain't never seed this before." "that thar's jacob's ladder, ellen--don't you see the postes, and the pieces a-goin' acrost?" roxy explained rather hastily. "lord, the trouble i had with them angels. i don't wonder you took 'em for birds. time and again i had a mind to turn 'em into birds. i done fine with noey's dove; see, here 'tis; an' a ark--well, hit ain't no more than a house with a boat un'neath." she pulled the folds about, to get at the period of the deluge. "'course i see now jest what it was intentioned for," ellen professed eagerly. "if i'd looked right good i could 'a' made out the angels goin' up an' down. how"--she hesitated, but the resolve to retrieve herself overcame all timidity--"how nateral them loaves an' fishes does look!" "that thar's the ark," explained the widow, putting her finger on the supposed loaf. there was a moment of depressed silence; then roxy, willing to let bygones be bygones, observed, "over here is the whale and joney." these [173] twin objects were undoubtedly what ellen had taken for the fishes. "ye see i had to make the whale some littler than life," the artist deprecated. "i sort o' drawed him in, as a body may say, 'caze 'course i couldn't git him all on my quilt without. i didn't aim to git joney quite so big, but that thar sprigged percale that he's made outen was so pretty, and the piece i had was just that length, an' i hated to throw away what wouldn't be good for anything, an' i'd already got my whale, so i sort o' len'thened the beast's tail with a few stitches. would you call a whale a beast or a fish?" "well, i should sure call anything that could swaller a man a beast," opined little liza. "an' yit he's sorter built like a fish," suggested ellen. "that's true; an' he lives in the water," admitted her sister. "here's a right good big open place," observed ellen. "ef you was a-goin' to make--whatever--out of that turkey red, hit could come in here." "it could that," said the widow thoughtfully. "did you-all have any idee as to what it would suit best for?" the two looked at each other in embarrassment. as unmarried women, the subject that they had discussed was in some degree questionable. [174] "well, hit's in the bible," ellen began defensively. "an' yit--sis' an' me didn't know whether you'd care to--to give room to sech as the scarlet woman." it was out. the idea evidently fascinated roxy. "that turkey red shore fits the case," she agreed with gusto. "as you say, hit's in the bible. an' yit, anything that's what a body might call ondecent that-a-way--don't ye reckon a person'd be sort o' 'shamed to--i vow! i'll do it." "oh, miz. griever!" exclaimed little liza of comical dismay at the prompt acceptance in their idea. "i believe i wouldn't. there's the crossin' o' the red sea; you could use the turkey red for that jest as easy." but the widow shook her head. "good lands!" she cried, "what you studyin' about, liza? i say, the crossin' o' the red sea! i ain't a-goin' to do no sech a thing. hit'd take me forever to cut out all them chillen of is'rul. and i never in the world would git done makin' egyptians! no, that turkey red goes into a scarlet woman--to reprove sin." "laws, miz. griever," began ellen hands, solemnly, "looks like yo' family ort to be perfectly happy with that thar quilt in the house. i'm mighty shore i would be. i tell you, sech a work as that is worth a woman's while." "there's them that thinks different," responded [175] roxy, with a sort of gloomy yet relishing resentment. "there has been folks lived in this house from the time i started work on it, an' made game of my gospel quilt--made game of it!" "i reckon i know who you mean," nodded ellen. and little liza added, "_she's_ here to-day, ain't she?--god love her sweet soul! but yo' pappy wouldn't bid lance, with buddy here an' all--we know that. they'd be shore to fuss. man persons is that-a-way." "well," ellen hands summed the case up, "ef anybody made game o' that quilt to my face, i'd never forgive 'em." "i never will," agreed roxy. "them that would make game of sech is blasphemious. mebbe hit ain't adzactly the bible, but hit's--" "hit's mo' so," put in ellen swiftly. "the bible is pertected like, but yo' gospel quilt is standin' up alone, as a body may say, and you've got to speak for it. no, ef i was you, and anybody made game of that thar quilt, i never would forgive 'em." outside, callista stood and skimmed and skimmed, from time to time emptying her pan into the skimming-hole, the bland october breeze lifting her fair hair. everything was sour-sweet and sticky from the juice. heaps of pomace were already beginning to pile tall beside the crusher, reeking, odorous, tempting to the old cow, who went protestingly past, and had the bars put up [176] after her. kimbro looked up from his task and spoke to his daughter-in-law. "you look sort o' peaked, callista," he said gently. "air you right well?" "oh yes, father cleaverage," she returned, absently, her eyes on mrs. griever and the hands girls approaching from the house. the unsexed and hostile mary ann martha turned upon the world at large a look of mute defiance, and completed an enterprise which she had set up of laying fresh sorghum stalks side-by-side, pavement-wise, over the skimming-hole. women and children were settling like flies about the pan and its attendant bowls, ladles and testing plates, hoping for a taste of the finished product. the hands girls greeted callista and joined the others. fuson's poor little seventeen-year-old sister-in-law was there with her six months baby, and a child of two. roxy took the skimmer from callista and set to work. sylvane relieved his father at the firing. mary ann martha sidled into the house, whence, a moment later, came a shrill cry in polly's thin little pipe. "aunt roxy! mary ann marthy's in here puttin' molasses all _over_ yo' gospel quilt!" "good land!" snorted roxy, straightening up from her task of skimming. "take the spoon, sylvane." she cast the ladle toward him without much care as to whether the handle or the bowl [177] went first. "looks like i do have the hardest time o' anybody i know," she ejaculated. "you better git here quick, a' roxy," polly urged. "she's just a _wipin_' her spoon on em'." "ain't," protested the infant, appearing suddenly in the doorway, a "trying spoon" in her hand, over which she was running her tongue with gusto. "i thest give a lick o' long-sweetnin' to eads," thus she named the first of womankind. "po' old eads looked so-o-o hongry." "she's done a heap more'n that," polly maintained. mary ann martha's mouth began to work piteously. "give eads some," she pursued in a husky, explanatory voice. "an'--th'--ol' snake licked out his tongue, and i must put a teenchy-weenchy bit on it. 'nen adams, he's mad 'caze he don't git none; an'--mammy," with a burst of tears, "is i thest like my uncle lance?" she had heard this formula of reproof so often; she knew so well that it befitted the gravest crimes. "you air that!" said roxy wrathfully. "you little dickens! i don't know of anybody in this world that would have done sech a trick--but you or lance cleaverage." she wheeled from the furnace toward the house, and set a swift foot in the middle of the sorghum-stalk pavement mary ann martha had laid over the skimming pit. the stalks gave. [178] she attempted to recover herself and have back the foot, but her momentum was too great. on she plunged, pitching and rolling, descending by degrees and with ejaculatory whoops among the sticky sweetness, part of which was still uncomfortably warm. there was a treble chorus of dismay from the women. sylvane leaped to his feet, and ran to the pit's edge. buck fuson held his sides and roared with mirth, and flenton hands stopped the crusher by tying up his horse so that he too, might go to their assistance. "oh land!" gasped the widow, coming to the surface, yellow and gummy of countenance, smudged and smeared, crowned with a tipsy wreath of greenery, like a sorghumnal bacchante. "i believe in my soul that little sinner aimed to do this. she's jest adzactly like her uncle lance--that's what she is! i mind--ow!" the rotten branch under her foot had snapped, letting her down into a squelching pool of skimmings. "take hold of my hand, sis' roxy," cried sylvane. "no, i don't reckon the baby aimed to make trouble; chaps is always doin' things like this, an' meanin' no harm. there--now i've got you." but roxy was a big woman, and the first pull nearly dragged him in. "let me ketch ye round the waist, sylvane!" roared little liza in her fog-horn bass. "ellen, [179] you hold to my coats, and let the others hang on to you, if they have to. thar, now, pull, sylvane; try it agin--now, all of you--pull!" and with a tremendous scrabbling and scrambling, the widow griever "came," hurtling up from her sweet retreat and spattering molasses on her rescuers. over went sylvane and little liza; ellen and slim lula fuson were nearly dragged down by their fall. roxy griever landed on top of the first two, and liberally besmeared them all with sorghum juice before they could be got to their feet. "you let me lay hand on that young 'un," she panted, "and i'll not leave her fitten to do such as this." "never mind, ma'y-ann-marth'," little liza admonished. "you git in and git yo'se'f washed up. for the good land's sake--ef thar don't come miz. gentry an' her pa down the road! mak' 'as'e!" and the sorghum bespattered women hurried toward the house, the widow still fulminating threats, the hands girls giggling a bit. callista, trying to carry forward their part of the work, saw that a team stopped out in front. she was aware of her grandfather on the driver's seat, and her mother climbing down over the wheel. "well, callista," complained the matron, making straight for the side yard and her daughter, "i reckon if i want to see my own child, i can go to [180] the neighbors and see her there. why ain't you been home, honey? pappy axes every morning air you comin', and every night i have to tell him, 'well, mebbe to-morrow.'" callista looked over her mother's shoulder, and fancied that she caught a gleam of grim amusement in old ajax's eye. "i've been mighty busy," she said evasively. "looks like i don't finish one thing before another needs doing. i'm a-comin' one of these days." "so's christmas," jeered her grandfather from the wagon. callista remembered the last time her homecoming had been discussed with him. her color deepened and her eye brightened. "yes, and i'm comin' same as christmas with both hands full of gifts," she called out to him gaily. how dared he look like that--as though he knew all her straits--the shifts to which she was now reduced? there had sounded from the house, on roxy's arrival there, wails of lamentation in mary ann martha's voice--wails so strident and so offensively prolonged as to convince the least discriminating hearer that their author was not being hurt, but was only incensed. now, roxy griever, hastily washed, made her appearance. "i'm mighty proud to have you here to-day, miz. gentry," she said hospitably. "won't you come into the house? have you-all fixed for pumpkin [181] cutting? i just as soon as not come over and he'p you, oncet i git this mis'able sawgrum out of the way." "thank you, miz. griever, i won't go in for a spell yet," octavia said, seating herself on a bench. "no, we ain't had a chance to think o' pumpkin cuttin'. i been dryin' fruit. and pappy 's had everybody on the place busy pickin' field peas." callista harkened restively to this talk of the harvest activities, the season's plenty--she who had nothing to garner, nothing to prepare and put away. she heard her mother's voice running plaintively on. "looks like i got to have somebody with me, since sis is gone. i've been aimin' to git over to the far cove neighborhood where my cousin filson luster lives. i know in reason fil could spare one of his gals, an' i'd do well by her." the words were softly, drawlingly, spoken, yet callista, mechanically working still about the furnace, heard in them the slam of a door. her girlhood home was closed to her. the daughter's place there, which she had held so lightly, would be filled. [182] chapter xii. what shall he have who killed the deer? winter was upon the cabin in the gap. through the long months much bitter knowledge had come to callista. she found that she knew nothing a mountain wife ought to know. finically clean about her housekeeping, she spent days scouring, rubbing, putting to rights and rearranging that which none used, nobody came to see; but she could not cook acceptably, and their scant fare suffered in her inept hands till she nearly starved them both. here, with some show of reason, she blamed her mother. having never seen the time when she could go back to the gentry place with a gift in her hand, she had not been there at all since her marriage. and here she blamed lance. between her incapacity and his earlier recklessness, they were desperately pinched. the season for hauling closed even sooner than he had feared. after it was past, he got a bit of work now and again, often walking long distances to it, since he had been obliged, as he had foreseen, to leave satan and cindy in the settlement; and when the black horses came no more to the log stable behind the [183] cabin, callista accepted it as the first open confession of defeat. lance was one who sought a medicine for his spiritual hurts with as sure an instinct as that by which the animals medicate their bodies, creeping away like them to have the pain and wounding out alone. with the first cold weather he was afoot, his long brown rifle in the hollow of his arm, tramping the ridges for game. the wide, silent spaces spoke restfully to his spirit. half the time he left the cabin ill provided with firewood and other necessities, but he brought back rabbits, quail, an occasional possum--which latter callista despised and refused to cook, even when lance had carefully prepared it, so that the dogs got it for their share. the undercurrent of the material struggle to make a living was always the pitiful duel between these two, who really loved well, and who were striving as much each for the mastery of self, as for the mastery of the other, could they but have realized it. in late november, the days began to break with a thin, piercing sleet in the air, under an even gray sky. on the brown sedge, dry as paper, it whispered, whispered through the clinging white-oak leaves, with a sharp sibilance, as of one who draws breath at the end of a pageant; for the last flickerings of the gold and glory of autumn were gone; the radiance and warmth and beauty of life all circled now around a hearth-stone. [184] "if we get much more weather like this, i'll go out and bring ye in a deer," lance told his callista; "then we'll have fresh meat a-plenty." "well, see that there's firewood enough to cook your deer after you've killed it," callista retorted, resentfully mindful of lance's having forgotten to provide her with sufficient fuel the last time he went on an unsuccessful hunting trip. "you don't roast a deer whole," lance told her tolerantly. "we'll dry some of the meat, and some we'll salt." to callista's exacting, practical nature, this figuring on the disposal of a deer one had not yet killed was exasperating. she wanted lance to know that she lacked many things which she should have had. she wished him plainly to admit that he ought to furnish those things, and that he was sorry he could not. she had a blind feeling that, if he did so, it would in a measure atone. "well, it wouldn't take much wood to cook all the deer you brought home last time," she said with a little bitter half-smile. taunt of taunts--to reproach the unsuccessful hunter with his empty bag! lance was not one to give reasons for his failure, to tell of the long, hard miles he had tramped on an unsuccessful quest. he merely picked up his gun and walked out of the house without looking to right or left, leaving his young wife breathing a little short, but sure of herself. [185] so far as he was concerned, he could find good counsel in the wild to which, he fled. this morning there was come over everything a blind fog, which was gradually thinning a little with the dawn, showing to his eyes, where it lifted, hundreds of little ripples fleeing across the pond from icy verge to verge, with a mist smoking to leeward. the forest swam about him in a milky haze; the trees stood, huge silver feathers, soft gray against the paler sky, their coating not glassy, like real sleet, but a white fringe, a narrow strip of wool, composed of the finest pointed crystals, along every twig. the yard grass, as he crossed it, was a fleece; the weeds by the garden fence, where he vaulted over, a cloud. dulling one sense, the obscuring fog seemed to muffle all others. lance was shut in a little white world of his own, that moved and shifted about him as he went forward. in his heart was the beginning of self-distrust; a very small beginning, which he cried down and would none of; yet the mood sent him seeking a spot he had not seen for months. straight as an arrow he went through the forest, guiding himself by his sense of direction alone, since he could neither see far nor recognize any familiar landmark in its changed guise. an hour after he and callista had parted in the kitchen of his own home, he was before that outside cabin of the gentry place, at whose casement he had first held her in his arms, looking up at the [186] blank square of closed panes. it was so early that none of the household was yet astir. the dogs knew him, and made no clamorous outcry. shut in by the wavering walls of mist which clung and chilled, he stood long beneath her window, staring fixedly up at it. something ominous and symbolic in the change which had come upon the spot since he last stood there, checked the beating of his heart, strive as he might to reject its message. the yard grass, green and lush on that september night, stood stark, dry, white wool; the bullace vine, whose trunk had borne his eager love up to her kiss, gleamed steel-like along its twisted stems; the sill itself was a bar of humid ice. all looked bleak, inhospitable, forbidding; the place was winter-smitten, like--like-some blind rage at the power which makes us other than we would be, which gives us stones for bread, stirred within him. he shivered. she was not there now--she was at home in his house--his wife. what had he come here for? this was a gun in the hollow of his arm--not a banjo; he was out trying to find some wild meat to keep them alive. she was waiting at home to--no, not in the gropings of his own mind, would he complain too bitterly of his bride. heaven knows what the disillusioning was when lance found for the first time that he and callista could seriously quarrel--their old days of what might be termed histrionic bickerings for the amusement of an audience, he had put aside, as of no portent. when he discovered that callista could look at him with actually alien eyes, and say stinging things in an even tone, the boundaries of his island drew in till there was barely room for his own feet amid the wash of estranging waters. but he turned resolutely from the thought. his concern should be all with his own conduct, his own failings. callista must do what she would do--and he would play up to the situation as best he might. somebody moved in the house and called one of the hounds. he laughed at himself a bit drearily, and struck off across the hill, assured in his own mind that he had merely taken this as a short cut to the glen at the head of the gulch, where he hoped to find his deer. the clean winds of heaven soothed the pain that throbbed under his careless bearing. he had not been five hours afoot, he was but just preparing to make his noon halt and eat the bit of cold pone in his pocket, when he was ready to smile whimsically at the ill-made, ill-flavored thing and decide that it would be "just as fillin'," even though callista had not yet learned the bread-maker's art. he must needs consider it rare good luck that he found a deer at all; but it was five miles from home, in the breaks of chestnut creek, that he finally made his kill. he had no horse to carry the bulk of wild meat; and, in his pride refusing to leave a [188] part swung up out of harm's way, he undertook to pack the whole deer home on his shoulder--a piece of exhausting, heart-breaking toil, though the buck was but a half-grown one. he was not willing to risk the loss of a pound. there were no antlers; but he would make callista a pair of moccasins out of the soft-tanned skin. sunday he was due at old man fuson's for a couple of days, to repair a chimney; but, come tuesday or wednesday, he would return and be ready to look after the venison. it ought to keep so long in this cold. callista, pent indoors all day, chained to distasteful tasks for which she was incompetent, had not won to as serene a temper as her mate. she saw him approaching, laden, through the grove, and hurried into the cold, closed far room to be busy about some task so that she need not meet him as he entered. when she emerged, he had skinned the deer and hung up the meat safely between two trees, and was already washed and sitting in the chimney-corner. his clear eyes went swiftly to her face with its coldly down-dropped lids. the man who can bring home a deer and not boast of it has self-control; but when lance noted the line of his wife's lips, he reached for his banjo without a word, and began to hold his communications with it. she knelt at the hearth to continue her supper preparations. for the first time since they had [189] quarreled, she wished that she could make some advance toward a reconciliation. yet there was lance; look at him! head thrown back a little, chin atilt, his eyes almost closed, showing a bright line under the shadowing lash, the firelight played on her husband's face and painted the ghost of a flickering smile about his mouth as he strummed lightly on the strings. was that a countenance asking sympathy, begging for quarter? and listen to the banjo; it was no wistful, questing melody of "how many miles, how many years?" now; a light, jigging dance-tune rippled under his finger ends. callista wondered angrily if he wished he were at derf's. no doubt they would be dancing there to-night, as commonly on saturday. lance, the man who wouldn't take a dare from the lord a'mighty himself, answered her silence with silence, and her unconcern with a forgetfulness so vast as to make her attitude seem actually resentful. by and by she called him to supper, and when he came she refused to eat, dwelling angrily on the thought that he should have regarded her bidding as an overture to peace, and have made some answering movement himself. in short, she was not yet done interrogating this nature, fascinating, complex, inscrutable, to know what was the ultimate point, the place where he would cry "enough!" the next morning saw him leaving early for [190] fuson's, and he went before callista was out of bed. when she rose, she looked remorsefully at the tidy, small preparations for breakfast which he had made. it suddenly came home to her that, for a man in lance's situation, the marrying of a wholly inept wife was daily tragedy. she decided that she would learn, that she would try to do better; and, as a first peace-offering, she hurried out to the grove and possessed herself of lance's venison, that she might cure and prepare it. after she had dragged the big, raw, bloody thing into her immaculate kitchen, she felt a little sense of repulsion at it, yet her good intentions held while she hacked and hewed and salted and pickled, on some vague remembrance of what she had heard her grandfather say concerning the curing of wild meat. it was noon when she went into the other room, leaving the outer door open so that the hound carried away the only portion of the meat which she had left fresh for immediate use. tired, ready to cry, she consoled herself with the reflection that there was plenty remaining; she could freshen a piece of that which she had salted, for lance's supper when he should return. for herself, she felt that she should never want to taste venison again. under her handling the meat deteriorated rapidly, and was in danger of becoming an uneatable mess. at last she turned a weary and disgusted back upon it, and left it soaking in weak [191] brine. ever since saturday night the weather had been softening; it was almost warm when lance came hurrying home tuesday evening, meaning to take care of his prize at once. he arrived at supper time, ate some of callista's bread and drank his coffee eagerly, turning in mute distaste from the hunk of ill-prepared meat upon the table. supper over he hastened out to where he had hung the deer. his wife had a wild impulse to stop him; he might have guessed from the venison she had cooked that the meat was attended to. she resented the dismay in his face when he came back asking: "do you know what's come of that deer? i got jasper fuson to let me off sooner, so's i could make haste and tend to it." the sense of failure closed in on callista intolerably. "i fixed it," she returned without looking up. "all of it?" inquired lance sharply. "fixed it like that, do you mean?" indicating the untouched piece on the platter. "yes," returned callista with secret despair; "all but what the dogs got." "the dogs!" echoed lance. "yes," repeated callista with a sort of stubborn composure. "i [192] left about a third of it fresh whilst i was putting the rest in the brine, and that old hound of yours came in and stole the fresh piece." she looked at his face and then at the meat. "i reckon you think that even a dog wouldn't eat this--the way i've got it." the two young people confronted each other across the ruined food which his skill and labor had provided, her bungling destroyed. the subject for quarrel was a very real one, terrifyingly concrete and pressing. they were afraid of it; nor did they at that moment fail to realize the mighty bond of love which still was strong between them. both would have been glad to make some advance toward peace, some movement of reconciliation; neither knew how to do it. in lance, the torture of the thing expressed itself only in a fiery glance turned upon his wife's handiwork. to callista, this was so intolerable that she laid about her for an adequate retort. "well," she said, affecting a judicial coolness, "it's true i don't know much about taking care of wild meat. we never had such in my home. there was always plenty of chickens and turkeys; and if we put up meat, it was our own shoats and beef." deer are growing scarce in the cumberlands; not in half a dozen cabins throughout the turkey tracks would venison be eaten that season. but lance adduced nothing of this. "i think you might as well let the dogs have the rest of it," he said finally, with a singular gentleness in his tone. then he added with a sudden upswelling of resentment, "give it to 'em if they'll eat it--which i misdoubt they'll never do." [193] chapter xiii. broken chords. after the episode of the ruined venison, callista tried sulking--refusing to speak. but she found in lance a power of silence that so far overmatched her own as to leave her daunted. he returned now from his long expeditions, to hang up his wild meat in the grove, and thereafter to sit bright-eyed and silent across the hearth from her, whistling, under his breath, or strumming lightly on his banjo. callista was a concrete, objective individual, yet she grew to recognize the resources of one who had for his familiars dreams that he could bid to stand at his knee and beguile his leisure or his loneliness. but dreams, so treated, have a trick of strengthening themselves against times of depression, changing their nature, and wringing with cruel fingers the heart which entertains them; so that those who feed the imagination must be willing to endure the strength of its chastisements. yet if lance cleaverage suffered, he kept always a brave front, and took his suffering away from under the eye of his young wife. to do him justice, he had little understanding of his own offences. an ardent huntsman, he had by choice [194] lived hard much of his life, sleeping in the open in all weathers, eating what came to hand. callista's needs he was unfitted to gauge, and she maintained a haughty silence concerning them. since she would not inquire, he told her nothing of having been offered money to play at dances, but began to be sometimes from home at nights, taking his banjo, leaving her alone. an equable tempered, practical woman might have trained him readily to the duties of masculine provider in the primitive household. but beautiful, spoiled callista, burning with wrongs which she was too proud and too angry to voice, eaten with jealousy of those thoughts which comforted him when she refused to speak, always in terror that people would find out how at hap-hazard they lived, how poor and ill-provided they were, and laugh at her choice--callista had her own ideas of discipline. if lance went away and left no firewood cut, she considered it proper to retort by getting no supper and letting him come into a house stone cold. this was a serious matter where a chunk of fire may be sent from neighbor to neighbor to take the place of matches. in this sort the winter wore away. in april there came one of the spring storms that southern mountaineers call "blackberry winter." all the little growing things were checked or killed. a fine, cold rain beat throughout the day around [195] the eaves of the cabin. the wind laid wet, sobbing lips to chink and cranny, and cried to her that she was alone--alone--alone; she, callista, was neglected, deserted, shunned! for lance had a day's work at re-lining fireplaces at squire ashe's place. busy with the truck-patch he had at this late day set about, and which he must both clear and fence, he had somewhat overlooked the wood-pile; and before noon the fuel was exhausted. instead of gathering chips and trash, or raiding the dry spaces under the great pines for cones and crackling twigs,--as any one of her hardy mountain sisters would have done, and then greeted her man at night with a laugh, and a hot supper--callista let the fire go out, and sat brooding. without fire she could cook herself no dinner, and she ate a bit of cold corn-pone, fancying lance at somebody's table--he never told her now where he was going, nor for how long--eating the warm, appetizing food that would be provided. as evening drew on the rain slacked, and a cloud drove down on the mountain-top, forcing an icy, penetrating chill through the very substance of the walls, sending callista to bed to get warm. she wrapped herself in quilts and shivered. it was dark when she heard lance come stumbling in, cross the room, and, without a word, search on the fire-board for matches. "there ain't any," she told him, not moving [196] to get up. "it wouldn't do you any good if there was--there's no wood." he did not answer, but, feeling his way, passed on into the little lean-to kitchen, and callista harkened eagerly, believing that sight of the bowl of meal and the pan of uncooked turnips on the table by the window would bring home to her husband the enormity of her wrongs and his offences. leaning forward she could discern a vaguely illuminated silhouette of him against this window. he appeared to be eating. she guessed that he had peeled a turnip and was making a lunch of that. "would you rather have your victuals raw?" she demanded finally, desperate at his silence. "i reckon i'd better learn your ruthers in the matter." "i'd rather have 'em raw as to have 'em cooked the way you mostly get 'em," came the swift reply in a perfectly colorless tone. "i ain't particularly petted on having my victuals burnt on one side and raw on the other, and i'd rather do my own seasoning--some folks salt things till the devil himself couldn't eat 'em, or leave the salt out, and then wonder that there's complaints." her day of brooding had come to a crisis of choking rage. callista sat up on the edge of the bed and put her thick hair back from her face. "i cook what i'm provided," she said in a cold, [197] even voice. "that is, i cook it when i'm supplied with wood. and i fix your meals the best i know how; but it would take one of the sort you named just then to cook without fire." she had expected that he would go out in the dark and cut firewood for her. as for the matches, starting a flame without them was an easy trick for a hunter like lance. she remembered with a sudden strange pang his once showing her how he could prepare his pile of shredded tinder, fire a blank charge into it, and have a blaze promptly. she heard him fumbling for something on the wall--his gun, of course. but the next instant there came the whine of the banjo; it hummed softly as it struck against the lintel. that was what he was getting--not the gun to light a fire--he was leaving her alone in the cabin! she guessed that he was going over to derf's to play for a dance; and for a strenuous moment she was near to springing after him and begging him to stay with her. but habit prevailed. she huddled, shivering, under her covers and went back to the sullen canker of her own wrongs. she might have had the pick of the countryside, and she had taken up with lance cleaverage. she had married him when and how he said--that was where she made her mistake. she should have told him then--she should have--but, in the midst of all this rush of accusation, she knew well that she [198] took lance when and how she could get him, and at this moment her heart was clamoring to know where he was and what doing. so she lay shivering, cold to the knees, her hands like ice, her teeth locked in a rigor that was as much spiritual as physical, till she could bear it no longer. then she got hesitatingly up from the bed and stood long in the middle of the darkened room, turning her head about as though she could see. she knew where each article of furniture stood. it was her room, her home, hers and lance's. lance had built it; she had somehow failed pitiably, utterly, to make it hers; and she was well aware that she had failed to make it home for him--yet it was all either of them had. back over her mind came memory of their wedding morning, when, his arm about her waist, her head half the time on his shoulder, they had visited every nook of the place and discussed between tender words and kisses all its scant furnishings. then suddenly, without having come to any decision whatever, she found herself out in the cold rain, running through the woods toward the big road and the derf place. down the long slope from the gap she fled, then past the old quarry, past spellman's clearing, and around the spring hollow. she had never set foot on derf land before. through the fine rain callista--spent, gasping, wet and disheveled--at last saw the windows, a luminous haze; [199] caught the sound of stamping, thudding feet, and heard the twang of lance's banjo. she had approached through the grove, and stood at the side fence. the place was so public that its dogs paid little attention to comers and goers. when callista came to herself fully, she realized that it was the bars of the milking place she leaned upon. slowly she withdrew the upper one from its socket, stepped over, then turned and replaced it. with ever-increasing hesitation she faltered toward the house, avoiding the front and approaching the light at the side, where she hoped to be unobserved. shivering, shrinking, her loosened wet hair dragging in against her neck, she stared through the window into the lighted room. they were dancing in there. the sounds she had heard were from lance's banjo indeed, but held in other hands, while lance himself sat at a little table near the hearth, a steaming supper before him, ola derf waiting on him hand and foot, stooping to the coals for fresh supplies of good hot coffee, or smoking, crisp pones. "now you just hush!" she shrilled in response to somebody's importunities, as callista hung listening. "lance cain't play for no dancin' till he gits through his supper. and he's a-goin' to have time to eat, too. you jim, put that banjo down--you cain't play hit. pat for 'em if they're in such a hurry to dance." the aleshine girls from big buck gap, a young [200] widow who lived half way down the side, two cousins of the derf's themselves--these were the women in the room. callista was desperately afraid lest one of the loud-talking, half-intoxicated men in there should come out and discover her; yet she could not drag herself away from sight of lance sitting housed, warm, comforted and fed--a home made for him. something knocked at the door of her heart with a message that this scene carried; but fiercely she barred that door, and set herself to defend her own position. grasping a trunk of muscadine vine, which, when she shivered, shook down icy drops upon her, callista rested long, regarding the scene before her. what should she do? to return to her home and leave her husband there seemed a physical impossibility. to go in and play the high-and-mighty, as she had been wont to do in her free girlhood, to glance over her shoulder with dropped eyelids and inform lance cleaverage that she cared not at all what he did or where he went--this were mere farce; her time for that sort of mumming was past. lance had finished his supper now, and turned from the board. it seemed to callista that he looked well pleased with himself, satisfied, even gay. the sight set her teeth rattling in fresh shivers. still he did not play for the dancers, who continued to make what headway they might to the time of jim's patting. [201] callista saw ola bring the banjo and lay it in lance's lap. then the little brown girl seated herself close beside him. he bent and placed the instrument properly in ola's grasp, disposing the short, stubbed fingers on the strings. in the positive throe of jealousy that this sight brought, callista must needs, for her own self-respect, recall that lance had offered more than once to teach her to play, and that she had refused--and pretty shortly, too--to learn, or to touch the banjo, which she had come to hate with an unreasoning hatred. now the dancers grew tired of jim and his patting, and the call was for music. "see here, lance cleaverage," said buck fuson, "we-all throwed in to get you to play; but we ain't a-goin' to pay the money and have you fool away yo' time with ola." this was the first that callista knew of lance earning money by his banjo-playing. "all right," said cleaverage laconically, not looking up from his instructions. "i've had me a good supper, and i've got a warm place to stay, and that's all i want. go on and dance." he addressed himself singly to ola and her chords, moving her fingers patiently, taking the banjo himself to show her just how the thing was done. she was a dull pupil, but a humbly grateful one; and after a while it seemed to callista that she could no longer bear the sight. she was debating starkly between the desperate course of [202] returning home alone and the yet more desperate enterprise of going in, when a deeper shadow crossed the darkness behind her, and she turned with a smothered scream to find iley derf's indian husband moving impassively through the glow from the window and making his way to the back door. at the sight she wheeled and fled across the yard toward the front gate and the road. she gained that doubtful refuge just as a man on a horse came splattering up out of the muddy little hollow below the derf place. with another cry she flung about and ran from him, stepped on a round stone, and fell. for a moment she crouched, shivering, wet, bruised, trying to get to her feet, the breath sobbing through her parted lips; then somebody set a not-too-gentle grasp on her shoulder, and she looked up to divine in the dimness flenton hands's face above her. there was sufficient light from the noisy cabin behind to allow him to recognize her. "lord god--callista!" he whispered, lifting her to her feet and supporting her with an arm under hers. "what in the world--" "i--i--something scared me," she faltered. "it was that old indian that iley derf married. he came right a-past where i was and, and--he scared me." "whar was you at?" inquired hands blankly. [203] [illustration: "he placed the instrument in ola's grasp."] "in there," returned callista, pointing toward the derf yard, beginning to cry like a child. "i was looking through the window at them dance, and--and that old indian scared me." twang--twang--twang, across the gusty blackness of the night came the jeer of lance's banjo. there was no whisper now of "how many miles--how many years?" but the sharp staccato of "cripple creek," punctuated by the thudding of dancers' feet as they pounded out the time. callista felt her face grow hot in the darkness. she knew that flenton was listening, and that he must guess why she should hang outside the window looking in. "come on," said hands suddenly, almost roughly. "this ain't no fit place for you,--a woman like you,--my god! callista, i'll put you on my horse and take you home." there was a new note in his voice, a new authority in his movements, as he lifted her to the saddle and, plodding beside her in the dark, wet road, made no further offer of question or conversation. in spite of herself, callista felt comforted. she reached up and gathered her hair together, wringing the rain from it and redding it with the great shell comb which always held its abundant coils in place. she could not in reason tell flenton to leave her--she needed him too much. when they turned in at the ill-kept lane which led to lance's cabin. lance's wife caught her breath [204] a little, but said nothing. flenton lifted her gently down at her own door-stone, and, opening the door for her, followed her in and, with a match from his pocket, lit a candle. he looked at the cold ash-heap on the fireless hearth, whistled a bit, and went out. she heard him striking matches somewhere about the wood-pile, and directly after came the sound of an axe. it was not long before he returned, his arms piled high with such bits of dry wood as he could find, split to kindling size. "it looks like it's a shame for me to have you waitin' on me this-a-way," callista began half-heartedly. she had taken counsel with herself, during his absence, and resolved to make some effort to keep up appearances. "hit don't look like anything of the sort," protested flenton hands. "you needed me, and that's all i want to know." he had laid his fire skilfully, and now the blaze began to roar up the big chimney. "my feet ain't been warm this whole blessed day," callista said, almost involuntarily, as she drew nearer the fascinating source of both warmth and light. "my, but that does feel good!" "you pore child!" flent muttered huskily, turning toward her from the hearth where he knelt. "you're e'en about perished." he went out then, only to come hurriedly back, reporting, [205] "i cain't find any wood--whar does lance keep it?" lance's wife hung her head, lips pressed tight together, striving for resolution to answer this with a smooth lie. "he don't go off and leave you in this kind of weather without any wood?" inquired hands hoarsely. "yes--he does," callista choked. and, having opened the bottle a bit, out poured the hot wine of her wrath. all the things that she might have said to her mother had she been on good terms with that lady; the taunts that occurred to her in lance's absence and which she failed to utter to him when he came; these rushed pell-mell into speech. she was white and shaking when she made an end. "there," she said tragically, getting to her feet. "i reckon i had no business to name one word of this to you, flenton; but i'm the most miserable creature that ever lived, i do think; and i ain't got a soul on this earth that cares whether or not about me. and--and--" she broke off, locking her hands tightly and staring down at them. flenton had the sense and the self-control not to approach her, not to introduce too promptly the personal note. "callista," he began cautiously, assuming as nearly as possible the tone of an unbiased friend to [206] both parties, "you ort to quit lance. he ain't doin' you right. there's more than you know of in this business; and whether you stay thar or not, you ort to quit him oncet and go home to yo' folks." callista made an inarticulate sound of denial. "i never will--never in this world!" she burst out. "i might quit lance, but home i'll never go." flenton's pale gray eyes lit up at the suggestion of her words, but she put aside the hand he stretched out toward her. "i've been studying about it all day, and for a good many days before this one," she said with slow bitterness. "lance cleaverage gives me plenty of time to study. if i leave this house, i'm goin' straight to father cleaverage." hands looked disappointed, but he did not fail to press the minor advantage. "if you want to go to-night, callista," he suggested, "i'd be proud to carry you right along on my horse. lance needs a lesson powerful bad. you go with me--" "hush," callista warned him. "i thought i heard somebody coming. thank you, flent. you've been mighty good to me this night. i'll never forget you for it--but i reckon you better go now. when a woman's wedded, she has to be careful about the speech of people; and--i reckon you better go now, flent." [207] the rain had ceased. a wan moon looked out in the western sky and made the wet branches shine with a dim luster. callista stood in the doorway against the broken leap and shine of the firelight. hands went to his horse, and then turned back to look at her. "and you won't go with me?" he repeated once more. "callista, you'd be as safe with me as with your own brother. i've got that respect for you that it don't seem like you're the same as other women. i wish't you'd go, if for nothin' but to learn lance a lesson." the girl in the doorway knew that there was no wood for any more fire than that which now blazed on the hearth behind her; she was aware that there was scarcely food in the house for three days' eating; yet she found courage to shake her head. "thank you kindly, flent," she said with a note of finality in her tone. "i know you mean well, but i cain't go." then she closed the door as though to shut out the temptation, and, dressed as she was, lay down upon the bed and pulled the quilts over her. she listened to the retreating hoofs of flenton's horse, dreading always to hear lance's voice hailing him, telling herself that his presence there at that hour alone with her was all lance's fault, and she had no reason for the shame and fear which possessed her at thought of it. but the [208] hoofs passed quite away, and still lance did not make his appearance. she could not sleep. she judged it was near midnight. pictures of lance teaching ola derf her chords on the banjo flickered before her eyes. pictures of lance dancing with ola as he had at the infare followed. she had a kind of wonder at herself that she was not angrier, that she was only spent and numbed and cowed. then all at once came a light step she knew well, the sudden little harmonious outcry of the banjo as lance set it down to open the door, and lance himself was in the room. she thought she would have spoken to him. she did not know that the indian had gone in and announced her presence outside the window at the derfs. as she raised her head she got his haughty, lifted profile between herself and the light of the now dying fire. she knew that he was aware of her presence; but he looked neither to the right nor to the left; he made no comment on her fire, but strode swiftly through the room, across the open passage, and into the far room. she heard him moving about for a few moments, then everything was silent. all that numbing inertia fell away from her. she sat up on the edge of the bed as she had once before that evening, and her eyes went from side to side of the room, picking out what she wanted to take with her. a few swift movements secured her shawl and sunbonnet. without stealth, yet [209] without noise, she opened the door and stepped forth. she stood in the open threshing-floor porch between the two rooms, a very gulf of shadow, into which watery moonlight struggled from the world outside. a long while she stood so, looking toward the far room, her hands clenched and pressed hard against her breast. those hands were empty. she had shut the door of her girlhood home against herself unless she returned, a gift in them. no--she would not go back there. all at once she became aware of a rhythmic sound, which made itself heard in the utter stillness of the forest night--lance's deep breathing. he slept then; he could go to sleep like that, when she--. callista faltered forward toward the front step; and as she did so, another sound overbore the slighter noise; it was the hoofs of an approaching horse. she checked, turned, flung the sunbonnet from her and dropped the shawl upon it, then, with a quick, light step, crossed the porch and noiselessly pushed open the door of the room in which lance lay. the little pale moon made faint radiance in the room, and by its light she saw her husband lying on that monster spare bed which is the pride of every country housewife. he had folded and put aside the ruffled covers of her contriving, and lay dressed as he was, with only his shoes removed. on tiptoe she drew near and [210] stood looking down at him. they said if you held a looking-glass over a sleeping person's face and asked him a question, he'd tell you the truth. what was it she wanted to know of lance? not whether he loved her or no, though she said to herself a dozen times a day that he cared nothing about her, and had never really cared. the sleeper stirred and turned on his pillow, offering her a broader view of that strangely disconcerting countenance of slumber, as ambiguous well-nigh as the face of death itself. she wheeled and fled noiselessly, as she had come in. the light, approaching horse's hoofs had ceased to sound some moments now. at the gate a mounted figure stood motionless within the shadow of the big pine. she ran down the path to find flenton hands. "i--callista," he faltered in a low voice, "don't be mad. i--looks like i couldn't leave you this-a-way. i was plumb to the corner of our big field, and--i come back." he glanced with uncertainty and apprehension toward the house; then, as he noted her shawl and bonnet, got quickly from the saddle, saying hurriedly, eagerly, "i 'lowed maybe you might change your mind--and i--i come back." "yes," said callista, not looking at him. "i'm ready to go now, flent." [211] chapter xiv. roxy griever's guest. it was a strange day whose gray dawn brought callista to her father-in-law's door. where she had wandered, questioning, debating, agonizing, since she dismissed flenton hands at the corner of old kimbro's lean home pasture, only callista knew. the judas tree down by the spring branch might have told a tale of clutching fingers that reached up to its low boughs, while somebody stood shaking and listening to the sound of the creek that came down the gorge past that home callista was leaving. the mosses between there and the big road could have whispered of swift-passing feet that went restlessly as though driven to and fro over their sodden carpet for hours. the bluff where a trail precariously rounds old flat top kept its secret of a crouching figure that looked out over the gulf, black in the now moonless night, of a sobbing voice that prayed, and accused and questioned incoherently. the household at kimbro cleaverage's rose by candle-light. sylvane, strolling out to the water bucket, barely well awake, caught sight of his sister-in-law at the gate, gave one swift glance at her face as it showed gray through the dim light, [212] wheeled silently and hurried ahead of her into the kitchen to warn his sister not to betray surprise. so she was received with that marvelous, fine courtesy of the mountaineer, which proffers only an unquestioning welcome, demanding no explanations of the strangest coming or of the most unexpected comer. she answered their greeting in a curious, lifeless tone, said only that she was tired, not sick at all, and would like to lie down; and when roxy hastened with her to the bed in the far room and saw her safely bestowed there, the girl sank into almost instant slumber so soon as she had stretched herself out. "she's went to sleep already," whispered roxy to sylvane, stepping back into the kitchen, and, while she quietly carried forward the breakfast preparations, the boy crept up to the loft where mary ann martha and polly slept and whence the little one's boisterous tones began to be heard. later he came down with the two, holding the five-year-old by the hand, imposing quiet upon them both by look and word; maintaining it by constant watchfulness. they ate their breakfast, speaking in subdued voices, mostly of indifferent matters. roxy, who, woman fashion, would have made some comment, inquiry or suggestion, was checked whenever she looked at the faces of her men folk. the meal over, sylvane and her father went out to the day's work. roxy cleared away the dishes and [213] set the house in order, returning every little while to hover doubtfully above that slim form lying so silent and motionless in the bed. she was frightened at the way the girl slept, unaware that callista had not closed her eyes the night before, and that she was worn out, mind and body, with weeks of fretting emotions. the morning came on still, warm and cloudy. there was silence in the forest, the softened loam making no sound under any foot, last year's old leaves too damp to rustle on the oak boughs. it was a day so soundless, stirless, colorless, as to seem unreal, with a haunting sadness in the air like an undefined memory of past existences, a drowsiness of forgotten lands. even the hearth fire faded faint in that toneless day, which had neither sun nor moon nor wind, neither heat nor cold indoors or out. again and again, as the hours wore on, the widow griever stole in and looked upon her sleeping guest with a sort of terror. she sent polly away with mary ann martha to look for posies in the far woods that the house might be quiet. quiet--it was as if the vast emptiness which surrounds the universe had penetrated into the heart of that day, making all objects transparent, weightless, meaningless, without power of motion. she would stand beside the bed, noting the even breathing of the sleeper, then go softly to the door and look out. the trees rose into the stillness and emptiness and [214] spread their branches there, themselves thin shadows of a one-time growth and life. the water of the pond below lay wan and glassy, unstirred by any ripple. the very rocks on its edges appeared devoid of substance. from ten o'clock on seemed one standstill afternoon, lacking sign of life or the passage of time, until the imperceptible approach of dusk and the slow deepening of a night which might to all appearances be the shadow of eternal sleep. kimbro and his son had taken their bit of dinner with them to their work of clearing and brush-burning in a distant field. at dusk they came quietly in to find the supper ready, polly still herding mary ann martha to keep her quiet, roxy griever putting the meal on the table, worried, but saying nothing. on their part, they asked no questions, but each stole an anxious glance at the shut door behind which was the spare bed. as they sat down to eat, roxy said to her father: "i don't hardly know, poppy--she's a-sleepin' yit--been a-sleepin' like that ever sence she laid down thar. do you reckon i ort--" "i'd jest let her sleep, daughter," put in the old man gently. "i reckon hit's the best medicine she can get. the pore child must be sort of wore out." after supper, while roxy, with polly's help, was washing the dishes, kimbro and his younger son held a brief consultation out by the gate, [215] following which the boy moved swiftly off, going up lance's laurel. a little later callista waked briefly. she sat listlessly upon the side of the bed, declining roxy's eager proffer of good warm supper at the table, and took--almost perforce--from the elder woman's hand the cup of coffee and bit of food which roxy brought her. "no, no, nothing more, thank you, sister roxy!" she said hastily, almost recoiling. "that's a-plenty. i ain't hungry--just sort o' tired." and she turned round, stretched herself on the bed once more, and sank back into sleep. the next morning, when the breakfast was ready, although roxy had listened in vain for sounds from the small far room, callista came unexpectedly out, fully dressed. she sat with them at the table, pale, downcast, staring at her plate and crumbling a bit of corn pone, unable to do more than drink a few swallows of coffee. she did not note that sylvane was missing. later the boy came back from lance's laurel, to tell his father and sister that he had spent the night with his brother, that the cabin in the gap was now closed and empty, and lance gone to work at thatcher daggett's sawmill, some twelve miles through the woods, out on north caney creek, where several men of the neighborhood were employed. "that's the reason callista come over here," [216] old kimbro said mildly. "she and lance have had a difference of opinion, hit's likely, about whether or no he should go there. well, i'm sure glad to have her with us. she'd 'a' been right lonesome all to herself." "would you name it to her?" asked the widow anxiously. kimbro shook his head. "don't you name nothin' to the girl, except that she's welcome in this house as long as she cares to stay--and don't say too much about that--she knows it." "lance has fixed it up with old man daggett so that callista can get what she wants from the store--derf's place," put in sylvane. an expression of relief dawned upon roxy's thin, anxious face. the kimbro cleaverages were very poor. truly, callista, the admired, was welcome, yet the seams of their narrow resources would fairly gape with the strain to cover the entertainment of such a guest. if she could get what she wanted from derf's, it would simplify matters greatly. "well, you'll tell her that, won't ye, buddy?" his sister prompted sylvane. he nodded. "i've got some other things to tell her from lance," he said, boyishly secretive. "i'm goin' over to see him at the mill come, sunday, and she can send word by me. i'll be passin' back and forth all the time whilst he's workin' there." [217] but when this easy method of communication was brought to the notice of callista, she made no offer toward using it. it was mid-afternoon of the day following her arrival. the rain was intermitted, not definitely ceased; there would be more of it; but just now the air was warm and the sun brilliant. mountain fashion, the door of the cabin stood wide. mary ann martha had a corn pone, and she took occasional bites from it as she circled the visitor, staring at her with avid, hazel eyes, that troubled callista's calm whenever she caught the fire of them, so like lance's. marauding chickens came across the door-stone and ventured far on the child's trail of crumbs; the light cackle of their whispered duckings, the scratch of their claws on the puncheons, alone broke the stillness. callista sat by the doorway, a dead weight at her heart. the pallor, the weariness of it, were plain in her face. "good land, polly--cain't you take this chap over yon in the woods and lose her?" demanded the widow in final exasperation, as mary ann martha turned suddenly on the chicken that was stalking her, and shooed it, squalling, from the door. "i want to get out my quilt and work on it." all unconscious that these things were done on her behalf, callista saw the unwilling mary ann martha marched away. she beheld the gospel quilt brought out and spread on the widow's knees [218] quite as some chatelaine of old might have produced her tapestry for the diversion of the guest. over the gulf of pain and regret and apprehension--this well of struggling, seething emotion--lightly rippled the surface sounds of life, material talk, bits of gossip, that callista roused herself to harken to and answer. roxy spoke in a solemn, muffled tone, something the voice she would have used if her father or sylvane were dead in the house. she would have been more than human, and less than woman, had she not to some degree relished the situation. she remembered with deep satisfaction that, though she was his own sister, she had always reprehended lance publicly and privately, holding him unfit to mate with this paragon. callista had the sensation of being at her own funeral. she drooped, colorless and inert, in her chair, and stared past everything the room contained, out through the open door and across the far blue rim of hills. "i believe in my soul these here needles sylvane got me is too fine for my cotton," roxy murmured, by way of attracting attention. "i wonder could you thread one for me, callisty? your eyes is younger than mine." callista took the needle and threaded it, handing it back with a sigh. as she did so, her glance encountered roxy's solicitous gaze, then fell to the quilt. "you--you've done a sight of work on that, haven't you, sis' roxy?" she asked gently. [219] the widow nodded. "an' there's a sight more to do," she added. "this is a pretty figure," callista said, pointing at random, but producing a kindly show of interest. roxy brightened. "can you make out what it's meant for?" she inquired eagerly. then, for fear callista should attempt and fail, "i aimed it for a tree of life, with a angel sorter peerched on it, an' one standin' un'neath. but," deprecatingly, "hit looks mo' like a jimpson weed to me. an' pears like i 'don't never have no luck with angels." callista's absent gaze rested upon the unsatisfactory sprigged calico and striped seersucker version of members of the heavenly host. "them jacob's-ladder angels--you hain't never seen them, callisty, sence i sorter tinkered they' wings. look! 'pears to me like it's he'ped 'em powerful. but these--i vow, i don't know what is the matter of 'em, without it's the goods. that thar stuff, is 'most too coarse for angels, i reckon. or it might be the color. 'warshed whiter'n snow--without spot or, stain--' that's what the good book says, whilst all these is spotted and figured. but ye see white on white wouldn't never show. i might 'a' used blue-and-white stripe. and then again, the sayin' is, 'chastised with many stripes'--that'd never be angels, no how." [220] once more callista made an effort to bring her mind to the problem in hand. "the sky is blue," roxy adduced somewhat lamely. "do you reckon blue angels would be more better?" "maybe purple," hesitated the visitor. "the bible names purple a heap in regards to heaven--purple and gold. i've got a piece of purple calico at--at home." her voice trailed and faltered huskily over the words. then she set her lips hard, crested her head in the old fashion, and went on evenly. "i've got a piece of mighty pretty purple, and one as near gold as ever goods was, that you're welcome to, sis' roxy, if--if you or polly would go over and get 'em." again thought of where those treasured rolls of calico were to be found lowered the clear, calm, defiant voice. roxy noted it; but the magnum opus, brought out to cheer and divert callista, had laid its unfailing spell upon the widow; the lust for quilt pieces, rampant in all mountain women, wakened in her, aggravated in her case by the peculiar needs, the more exacting demands of her own superior artistry. "yes--shore, honey; i'll be glad to go any time," she said, "ef you'll jest tell me where to look." so life went on at the kimbro cleaverage place, a curious interlude, and still no word was said to [221] callista of the strangeness of her advent, and no explanation vouchsafed, till on the evening of the third day the girl herself sought her father-in-law and opened the matter haltingly, timidly. they were out at the chip-pile where kimbro was cutting the next day's wood for roxy's use. he dropped his axe to the chopping log and stood leaning on it, peering at her with mild, faded, near-sighted eyes. "well now, callisty," he began gently, "i'm glad you named this to me, becaze i've got a message for you from lance, and i didn't want to speak of it for fear it would seem like hurrying you away, or criticising any of your actions. i want you to know, daughter, that i don't do that. lance is a wild boy, and he's got wild ways. but he has a true heart, honey, and one of these days you'll find it. now, i reckon, you might be having some trouble with him." "a message," repeated callista in a low tone. "is he gone away?" "well, he's out on north caney," old kimbro told her, "a-workin' at thatch daggett's sawmill. lance can make good money whenever he'll work at his own trade, and i doubt not he'll do right well at this sawmill business, too. he hain't got the land cleared over where you-all was livin' that he ought to have, an' i think it's better for you to stay on with us a while--we're sure proud to have you." callista's eyes filled with a sudden rush of tears. [222] kimbro did not explain to her that sylvane had gone to see his brother. he fumbled in his pocket and brought out a little roll of money. "lance sent you this," he said. "he never had time to write any letter. my son lance is a mighty poor correspondent at the best; but he sent you this, and he bade sylvane to tell you that you was to buy what you needed at derf's store, an' that he'd hope to send you money from time to time as you should have use for it." callista looked on the ground and said nothing. and so it was settled. the comfortable, new, well-fitted home at the head of lance's laurel was closed, and callista lived in the shabby, ruinous dwelling of her father-in-law. the help that she could offer in the way of provisions was welcome. to roxy griever, she had always been an ideal, a pattern of perfection, and now they made a sort of queen of her. the widow begrudged her nothing and waited on her hand and foot. polly followed her around and served her eagerly, admiringly; but most astonishing of all, mary ann martha would be good for her, and was ready to do anything to attract her notice. sometimes callista seemed to want the child with her; and sometimes when the little girl looked at her with lance's eyes, and spoke out suddenly in his defiant fashion, callista would wince as though she had been struck at, and send mary ann martha away almost harshly. [223] chapter xv. the stubborn heart. callista never referred to what kimbro cleaverage had told her; but she presently began, of necessity, to buy some things at the store for her own use, where she had formerly purchased only that which would make good her stay with her father-in-law. the wild, cool, shower-dashed, sun-dappled, sweet-scented, growing days of spring followed each other, passing into weeks, months, until midsummer, with its pause in rural life, was come. octavia gentry, who was a little out of health, had sent word again and again that she wanted callista to come home. it was a sunday morning in the deep calm of july when she finally came over herself to the cleaverage place to try to fetch her daughter. the thrush's song that waked callista that morning at sunrise, rang as keenly cool as ever; but the frogs were silenced, and the whirr of the "dry-fly" was heard everywhere instead. gloss of honey-dew was on the oak and hickory leaves, and the blue air veiling the forest shadows spoke of late summer. the morning was languid with heat; the breakfast smoke had risen straight into [224] the dawn, and the day burnt its way forward without dew or breeze; hills velvet-blue, clouds motionless over the motionless tree-tops, toned with mellow atmospheric tints that were yet not the haze that would follow in autumn. one or two neighbors had strolled in, and about mid-forenoon ajax gentry and his daughter-in-law drove up in the buckboard and old kimbro and sylvane went out trying to pretend surprise, yet callista knew all the time that the meeting had been arranged--that her people were expected. "honey!" her mother took her into a reproachful embrace, and then held her back and looked at her, tears streaming down her face, "honey--i've come for you. me and gran'pappy is a-goin' to take you right home with us when we go this evenin'. git your things a-ready. me with but one child on this earth, and her a-lookin' forward to what you air, and to stay with--well, of course, not strangers--but with other folks!" but octavia gentry's pleadings were hushed in her throat--the preacher's tall old gray mule and dilapidated wagon was seen stopping at the gate. he had not been expected, and his arrival brought a sense of apprehension--almost of dismay. every one dreaded lest the dour old man comment openly and bitterly upon the pitiful state of callista's affairs. not often had he been known to spare the "i told you so." drumright had brought his wife and brood of younger children, and from [225] the moment of their advent the house was vocal with them from end to end. elvira drumright inevitably reminded one of a small clucking hen with a train of piping chickens after her. the deep male note was missing in the whiffle of sound that fretted callista's ear; after unhitching the preacher's mule and turning him in the lot, the men had loitered--no doubt because of a lingering dread of the women's activities in the house--to lean against trees and the fences, talking of neighborhood matters. some of the elders sauntered over to inspect a wrongly dished wheel on a new wagon, and talked for twenty minutes of this phenomenon alone. they were joined here by flenton hands, who came riding down the road, and went so wistfully slow as he passed the place that kimbro could not forbear to hail him and bid him light and come in. it was a typical summer sunday at kimbro cleaverage's, and did its part at explaining the always cruelly straitened means of the household. boys were pitching horseshoes in the open space beyond the barn, uncertain whether or not to quit on account of the preacher. the hot, white dust lay in the road; the hot, clear air brooded above the tree-tops. inside the house, the women in the kitchen compared quilt patterns and talked chickens, combining much gossip with the dinner getting. finally it became unbearable to callista to feel that her affairs were being more or less covertly [226] inspected from all the different angles and points of view possible to the visitors. passing through the kitchen, she possessed herself of the water bucket and slipped off down to the far spring. people did not often bring water from this place. its clear, cool trickle had a medicinal tang, and there was red iron-rust around the edges of its basin. she sat down in the spring hollow on the cool moss with big ferns coming up about her. remembrance was strong within her of that black, raw morning in april when she had lingered desperately here, and she looked long at the judas tree beneath which she had stood. the alders raised a tent over the basin, a tenderly shadowed dome, through the midst of which the little-used spring-path made a bright green vista like a pleached alley. and down this way she was presently aware of sylvane walking, his head thrown back, his clear whistle coming to her before she got the sound of his feet. she shivered a little. the tune he whistled had in it reminiscences of lance's "how many years, how many miles?" "you here, callisty?" asked the boy, parting the branches, and finally coming shyly closer to seat himself on the bank below her. "i wanted to get shut of all the folks," she said, her brooding eyes on the ground at her feet. "oh, not you, sylvane--the rest of them talk so much." the boy smiled uncertainly. [227] "well, i--reckon i was aimin' to sorter talk, too, callisty," he began timidly. "i 'lowed to tell you about that place where lance is a-workin'. hit's been some time now, an' i ain't never said nothin' to ye--i didn't want to pester ye." poor sylvane was trying, in the mountain phrase, "to make fine weather, an' hit a-rainin'." she made no movement to hush him, and he even thought she listened with some eagerness. "they," he began with hesitation, watching her face, "they're a-gettin' out railroad ties now. that makes the work mighty heavy. it takes lance and bob and andy to run the mill--and sometimes they have to have help. they've got generally as many as eight or ten loggers and woodsmen. they just get the logs up any way they can. last week lance got his foot hurt in a log bunk that he fixed up on the running gears of two wagons. they wanted me to come and drive. they do a lot of snaking out the logs without any wagon at all. reelfoot dawson is the best teamster they've got. that yoke of steers he has can snake logs out of places where a team of mules or horses couldn't so much as get in." callista sighed and turned impatiently towards her young brother-in-law. "where do the men live?" she asked finally, very low, as though half-unwilling to do so. "well, daggett ain't makin' what he expected to, and first they had to camp and cook and do for [228] theirselves. now they've built shacks--out'n the flawed boards, you know--and all of 'em fetched a quilt or a blanket or such from home, so they can roll up at night on the floor. fletch daggett's wife is cooking for 'em. the day i was there they had white beans and corn bread--and a little coffee. she's a mighty pore cook, and she's got three mighty small chaps under foot." callista's mind went to the new, clean, well-arranged little home on lance's laurel. did old fletch daggett's slovenly, overworked young wife cook any worse than she, callista, had been able to? "it's hot in them board shacks," sylvane went on reflectively; "the hottest place i ever was in. somebody stole lance's comb. there ain't but one wash pan--he goes down to the branch--and he hid his comb. it's a rough place. they fight a good deal." and this was what lance had preferred to her and to the home he had built for her. she fell into such a study over it that sylvane's voice quite startled her when he said, "i--i aimed to ask ye, callisty--did you want me to take word for lance to come home?" "no," she answered him very low. "it ain't my business to bid lance cleaverage come to his own home. don't name it to me again, sylvane, please." the lad regarded her anxiously. more than once [229] he opened his lips to speak, only to close them, again. slowly the red surged up over his tanned young face, until it burned dark crimson to the roots of his brown hair. "i--you--w'y, callisty," he faltered in a choked, husky whisper, his eyes beseeching forgiveness for such an offense against mountaineer reserve and delicacy. her own pale cheeks flushed faintly as she began to see what was in the poor boy's mind; but her eyes did not flinch, while in an agony of sympathy and burning embarrassment he whispered, "after a while--sis' callie--you'll have obliged--after a while you'll surely send such word." there was silence between them for a long minute, then, "i never will," said callista, in a low, dreary, implacable voice. "you can fill my bucket and carry it up for me if you're a mind, sylvane, i'll set here a spell." callista appeared only briefly at the dinner table, where she said little and ate less, soon slipping away again to her retreat by the far spring. after the meal, the dark court-like vista of the entry invited the guests; from thence a murmur of conversation sounded through all the drowsy afternoon,--the slow desultory conversation of mountaineers. even the play of the children was hushed. [230] it was one of the few hot days of the mountain season. all the forest drowsed in a vast sun-dream. the cleaverage place itself, for all its swarming life, seemed asleep too. chickens picked and wallowed in the dust; there were no birds, except a cardinal whistling from the hill. the loosed plow-horses drooped in the stable shadow, listless and _ennuye_, looking as if they would rather be at work. only wandering shotes seemed undisturbed by the broad white glare of the sunlight. octavia gentry went home that day from the cleaverage cabin in tears. she waited long and patiently an opportunity to speak alone with her daughter; but when, toward evening, enormous flowers of cumuli blossomed slowly, augustly, in the west, flushed petal on petal opening, to be pushed back by the next above it, and rolling gently away into shadows delicately gray, she went uneasily out into the yard and called to old ajax. while they were talking a heavier cloud, crowding darkly against the western sun, began to send forth long diapason tones of thunder. drumright got suddenly to his feet and hurried to "ketch out" his mule, while his wife rounded up the children. at noon the heat had been palpitant. now a shadow bore relief over all the land; a breeze flew across the wood, turning up the whitish under sides of the leaves; and before they could get started there was a quick thrill of [231] rain--tepid, perpendicular--and then the sun looking out again within twenty minutes. the shower brought them all indoors. callista came reluctantly from the thicket by the far spring-branch where she had been lingering. octavia made her last appeal publicly, since it might not otherwise be spoken--and was denied. as old ajax helped her into the buckboard, something in her tear-disfigured face seemed to anger him. "well, ye spiled the gal rotten!" he said testily, without introduction or preface, climbing meanwhile to his seat beside her. "ye spiled callisty rotten, that's what ye did! and then ye give her to one of the cussedest highheaded fellers i ever seen--a man that'd as soon take a charge o' buckshot as a dare--a man that'd die before he'd own he's beat. lance cleaverage ain't the meanest man in the world, and callisty would do very well if she could be made to behave; but the two of 'em--" he sighed impatiently, shook his head, and flogged the old horse gently and steadily without in the least affecting its gait. suddenly he spoke out again with a curious air of unwillingness and at much more length than grandfather gentry usually did. "them two was borned and made for each other. ef they can ever fight it out and git to agree, hit'll be one o' the finest matches anybody ever seed. but [232] _whilst_ they're a fightin' it out--huh-uh,"--his face drew into a look of wincing sympathy--"i don't know as i want ary one of 'em under my roof. i used to raise a good deal of cain o' my own--yes, i played the davil a-plenty. i got through with that as best i might. i'm a old man now. i like to see some peace. i did tell you that you could bid callisty come home with us; but she's done told you no--an' i ain't sorry. she's the onliest gran'child i've got left, an'--i think a heap of her. if she was to come on her own motions--that would be different. but having spiled her as you have did, octavy, best is that you should let her and lance alone for a spell." his daughter-in-law looked at him mutely out of her reddened eyes, and the balance of the drive was made in silence. and so the slow summer drew forward, callista in her father-in-law's house, never going back to the cabin at the head of lance's laurel, sending polly or the widow griever to get things which she now and again needed from the place; lance over in the sawmill camp, working brutally hard, faring wretchedly, and eating his heart out with what he hoped was a brave face. sylvane brought him almost weekly news. he understood that callista's foot never crossed the threshold of the home he had built for her. ola derf hinted that the young wife bought recklessly at the store--and got snubbed for her pains. [233] she rode out once or twice to try to get him to come and play for a dance; but he shunned the neighborhood as though pestilence were in it, and gave her short answers. no one else importuned him. lance, the loath, the desired and always invited, found that in his present mood people fell away from him. he was good company for nobody, not even for the rough and ready crowd amongst which he found himself. true, he had lived hard, and been a famous hunter, able to care for himself in any environment; but the squalid surroundings of the sawmill camp were almost as foreign to his fastidious man's way of doing things, as they would have been to a neat woman. so he grew to avoid and to be avoided; to sit at a little distance from his mates in the evening; to drop out of their crude attempts at merrymaking, to hold aloof even from the fighting. he was neither quarrelsome nor gay, but sat brooding, inert yet restless, interrogating the future with an ever sinking heart. here was come a thing into his life at which he could not shrug the shoulder. he could not fling this off lightly with a toss of the head or a defiant, "have it as you please." what was he to do? was he not man enough to rule his domestic affairs? could he not command the events and individuals of his own household by simply being himself? to go to callista and exert authority in words, by overt actions, by use [234] of force--this was not his ideal. it was impossible to him. well, what then? must his child be born under the roof of another? summer wore to autumn with all its solemn grandeur of coloring, all its majestic hush and blue silences over great slopes of tapestried mountains, and still the question was unanswered. callista herself was in the mood when she found it hard to think of anything beyond her own body, the little garment she was fashioning, the day which rounded itself from morning into night again. and now came a new complication. daggett asserted that he had no money to pay. "i'm a-dickerin' with the company," he told his men. "i've got good hopes of sellin' out to 'em. them that stays by me, will get all that's due an' comin'; but i hain't got a cent now; an' a feller that quits me when i cain't he'p myse'f--i'll never trouble to try to pay him." now what to do. credit at the store was all very well for callista's present needs; but lance cleaverage's wife must have a sum of money put at her disposal for the time which was approaching. lance walked from north caney to hepzibah one saturday night to offer satan for sale, and found the black horse lame. the man who had agreed to buy him expressed a willingness to take cindy in his place--the black filly which he had, in the first days of their marriage, given to callista for her own use--presented with sweet [235] words of praise of his bride's beauty and her charming appearance on the horse--a lover's gift, a bridegroom's. yet the money must be had, and the next time sylvane came across to the lumber camp, he carried back with him and put into his young sister-in-law's listless hand the poor price of the little filly. nothing roused callista these days, not even when flenton hands went down to the settlement and bought cindy from the man who had purchased her. that was his account of the transaction, but sylvane said indignantly to his father that he believed flenton hands got that feller to buy lance's filly. flenton rode up on his own rawboned sorrel, leading the little black mare who whinnied and put forward her ears to callista's caresses. "yes, i did--i bought her," he repeated. "i hadn't nary bit of use for such a animal, but i couldn't see yo' horse--yo's, callista--in the hands of a man like snavely." callista held a late apple to the velvety, nuzzling mouth that came searching in her palms for largess. she made no inquiry, and flenton hands went on. "snavely's the meanest man to stock that i ever did see. he overworks and he underfeeds, and he makes up the lack of oats with a hickory--that's what he does. he'd nigh about 'a' killed this little critter, come spring." [236] and still callista had nothing to offer. "how's all your folks, flent?" she said finally. "tol'able--jest tol'able," hands repeated the formula absently. "callisty, ef you'll take the little mare from me as a gift, she's yourn." lance's wife drew back with a burning blush. "take cindy--from you?" she echoed sharply. there rushed over her heart, like an air from a kinder world, memory of that exquisite hour when lance had given cindy to her--lance whose words of tenderness and praise, his kiss, the kindling look of his eye, could so crown and sceptre her he loved. her lips set hard. "i'd be proud to have ye take her," flenton repeated. "thank you--no," returned callista, briefly, haughtily. her small head was crested with the movement that always fascinated the man before her. that unbending pride of hers, to him who had in fact no real self-respect, was inordinately compelling. he had felt sure she would not take the horse, and he was the freer in offering the gift. "well, ef ye won't, ye won't" he said resignedly. "but ef you ever change yo' mind, callisty--remember that cindy and me is both a-waitin' for ye." and with this daring and enigmatic speech, he wheeled the sorrel and rode away, the little black's light feet pattering after the clumsier animal. [237] chapter xvi. lance cleaverage's son. summer lasted far into fall that year, its procession of long, fair, dreamful days like a strand of sumptuous beads. at the last of november came a dash of rain, frost, and again long, warm days, with the mist hanging blue in the valleys as though the camp-fires of autumn smoked in their blaze of scarlet and gold, their shadows of ochre and umber. "but we're goin' to ketch it for this here," roxy griever kept saying pessimistically. "bound to git about so much cold in every year, and ef you have summer time mighty nigh on up to christmas, hit'll freeze yo' toes when it does come." callista held to her resolution to send no message to the sawmill on north caney. but the family had debated the matter, consulting with lance himself, and agreeing to summon him home, if possible, in ample season. at his sister's gloomy weather predictions, sylvane grew uneasy lest the time arrive and lance be storm-stayed in dagget's camp. he almost resolved to go and fetch him at once, and run the chance of good coming from it. but the spell of pleasant weather and a press of work put it out of his mind. then came a [235] day when the sun rose over low-lying clouds into a fleece of cirri that caught aflame with his mounting. the atmosphere thickened slowly hour by hour into a chill mist that, toward evening, became a drizzle. "this here's only the beginning of worse," said kimbro at the supper table. "looks to me like we're done with fall. to-morrow is the first day o' winter--and you'll see it will be winter sure enough." at dawn next morning the wind rose, threshing the woods with whips of stringing rain. stock about the lean little farms began to huddle into shelter. belated workers at tasks which should have been laid by, found it hard to make head against the wild weather. the men at the sawmill kindled a wonderful radiance of hickory fire in the great chimney which lance had built more to relieve his own restlessness than with any thought of their comfort. "why, consarn yo' time!" blev straley deprecated as he edged toward it. "a man cain't set clost enough to that thar fire to spit in hit!" sylvane knew when this day came, that he must go for his brother. about noon the rain ceased, and, with its passing, the wind began to blow harder. at first it leaped in over the hills like a freed spirit, glad and wild, tossing the wet leaves to the flying clouds, laughing in the round face of the hunter's moon which rose that evening full and red. but it grew and grew like the bottle genii drunken [239] with strength; its laughter became a rudeness, its pranks malicious; it was a dancing satyr, roughly-riotous, but still full of living warmth and glee. it shouted down the chimney; it clattered the dry vines by the porch, and wrenched at everything left loose-ended about the place; it whooped and swung through the straining forest. but by night it sank to a whisper, as sylvane finally made his way into the camp. the next morning dawn walked in peace like a conquering spirit across the whiteness of snow, wind-woven overnight into great laps and folds of sculpture. as the day lengthened the cold strengthened. again the wind wakened and now it was a wild sword song in the tree tops. ice glittered under the rays of a sun which warmed nothing. it was a day of silver and steel. the frost bit deep; under the crisping snow the ground rang hard as iron. wagons on the big road could be heard for a mile. as the two brothers passed daggett's cow lot on setting forth, with its one lean heifer standing humped and shivering in the angle of the wall, sylvane spoke. "reckon we'll have pretty hard work gettin' crost the gulch." he glanced at lance's shoes. "this here snow is right wet, too--but hit's a freezin'. maybe we'd better go back an' wait till to-morrow--hit'll be solid by then." "i aimed to go to-day," said lance, quite as if sylvane had not come for him. "i'll stop a-past derf's and get me a pair of shoes, buddy." [240] no more was said, and they fared on. there was no cheerful sound of baying dogs as they passed the wayside cabins. the woods were ghostly still. the birds, the small furry wild creatures crept into burrow and inner fastness, under the impish architecture of the ice and snow. going up past taylor peavey's board shanty, they found that feckless householder outside, grabbling about in the snow for firewood. "my wife, she's down sick in the bed," he told them; "an' i never 'lowed it would come on to be as chilly as what it is; an' her a-lyin' there like she is, she's got both her feet froze tol'able bad." the cleaverage brothers paused in their desperate climb to help haul down a leaning pine tree near the flimsy shack. they left the slack peavy making headway with a dull axe whose strokes followed them hollowly as they once more entered the white mystery and wonder of the forest. arrival at derf's place was almost like finding warmer weather. the half dozen buildings were thick and well tightened, and the piles of firewood heaped handy were like structures themselves. "it's sin that prospers in this world," jeered the gentle sylvane, blue with cold, heartsick as he looked at his brother's set face, poor clothing and broken shoes. lance stepped ahead of the boy, silent but unsubdued, bankrupt of all but the audacious spirit within him. garrett derf admitted them to the store, which [241] was closed on account of the bitter weather that kept everybody housed. but there was a roaring fire in the barrel stove in its midst, and after a time the silent lance approached it warily, putting out first one foot and then the other. derf, in an overcoat, stood across by the rude desk, fiddling somewhat uneasily. "i hain't figured out your account, cleaverage," he observed at last; "but i reckon you hain't much overdrawn. likely you'll be able to even it up befo' spring--ef miz. cleaverage don't buy quite so free as what she has been a-doin'." there was a long, significant silence, the wind crying at the eaves, and bringing down a fine rattle of dry snow to drum on the hollow roof above their heads. at first, neither of the half-perished men looked up, but sylvane instinctively drew a little nearer to his brother. "w'y--w'y, mr. derf," he began, with an indignant tremble in his boyish voice, "i've fetched every order for sis' callie, and packed home every dollar's worth she bought. hit don't look to me like they could amount to as much as lance's wages. lance is obliged to have a pair of shoes." lance cast a fiery, silencing glance at his brother. "i ain't obliged to have anything that ain't comin' to me," he said sharply. "callisty's bought nothin' that wasn't proper. ef she needed what was here--that's all right with me," and he turned and walked steadily from the room. [242] "hey--hold on, you lance cleaverage!" derf called after him. "thar you go--like somebody wasn't a-doin' ye right. i'll trust you for a pair of shoes." in the wide-flung doorway, lance wheeled and looked back at him, a gallant figure against the flash of snow outside--gallant in spite of his broken shoes and the tattered coat on his back. "go on. buddy," he said gently, pointing sylvane past him. then he turned to derf. "you will?" he inquired of the man who, he knew, was trying to rob him. "you'll trust me? well, garrett derf, it'll be a colder day than this when i come to you and ask for trust." and without another word he stepped out into the snow and set his face toward his father's house. he even passed the boy with a kind of smile, and something of the old light squaring of the shoulder. "it ain't so very far now. buddy," he said. sylvane followed doggedly. the last few miles were merely a matter of endurance, the rapid motion serving to keep the warmth of life in their two bodies. octavia gentry, coming to the back door of the cleaverage home, found lance sitting on a little platform there, rubbing his feet with snow, while sylvane crouched on the steps, getting off his own shoes. "i thought i'd be on the safe side," lance said in an unshaken voice. "they might be frost-bit [243] and then they might not. no need to go to the fire with 'em till i can get some feeling in 'em. how"--and now the tones faltered a little--"how is she?" octavia's horrified eyes went from the feet his busy hands were chafing with snow, to his lean, brown, young face, where the skin seemed to cling to the bone, and the eyes were quite too large. "she's doin' well," choked the mother. "the doctor's been gone five hours past. it's a boy, honey. they're both asleep now. oh, my poor lance--my poor lance!" a sudden glow shone in the hazel eyes. lance turned and smiled at her so that the tears ran over her face. he set down the lump of snow he had just taken up in his hand, and rising began to stamp softly. "it's all right, mother," he said, in a tone that was almost gay. "i'm 'feared sylvane's worse off." but it appeared on inquiry that sylvane's shoes had proved almost water tight, and that a brief run in the snow was all he wanted to send him in the house tingling with warmth. roxy griever, hearing the voices, had hurried out. her troubled gaze went over lance's half perished face and body, the whole worn, poor, indomitable aspect of him, even while she greeted him. with an almost frightened look, she turned and ran into the house, crying hastily, [244] "i'll have some hot coffee for you-all boys mighty quick." and when he came limping in, a few minutes later, there was an appetizing steam from the hearth where polly crouched beside mary ann martha, whispering over a tale. dry foot-wear was found for the newcomers, and when they were finally seated in comfort at their food, both women gazed furtively at lance's thin cheeks, the long unshorn curls of his hair, and octavia wept quietly. when he had eaten and sat for a little time by the fire, he caught at his mother-in-law's dress as she went past, and asked with an upward glance that melted her heart, "how soon may i go in thar?" they both glanced toward the door of the spare room. "i reckon you could go in right now, ef you'd be mighty quiet," octavia debated, full of sympathy. "what do you say, miz. griever?" "well, we might take him in for a spell, i reckon," roxy allowed dubiously, more sensible to the importance of the occasion, when men are apt to be hustled about and treated with a lack of consideration they endure at no other time. lance rose instantly; his hand was on the knob of the door before roxy and octavia reached him. when they did so, he turned sharply and cast one swift look across his shoulder. without a word his mother-in-law drew the widow griever back. [245] lance cleaverage entered alone the chamber that contained his wife and son. closing the door softly behind him, he came across the floor, stepping very gently, lest he waken the sleepers in the big four-poster bed. when he stood at last beside the couch and looked down at them, something that had lived strong in him up to this moment died out, and its place was taken by something else, which he had never till then known. he gazed long at callista's face on the pillow. she was very thin, his poor callista; her temples showed the blue veins, the long oval of her cheek was without any bloom. beside her, in the curve of her arm, lay the little bundle of new life. by bending forward, he could get a glimpse of the tiny face, and a sort of shock went through him at the sight. this was his son--lance cleaverage's son! with deft fingers he rolled the sheet away from the baby's countenance, so that he had a view of both, then sinking quietly to his knees, he studied them. here was wife and child. confronting him whose boyish folly had broken up the home on lance's laurel, was the immortal problem of the race. a son--and lance had it in him, when life had sufficiently disciplined that wayward pride of his, to make a good father for a son. long and silently he knelt there, communing with himself concerning this new element thrust into his plan, this candidate for citizenship on that island where [246] he had once figured the bliss of dwelling alone with callista. gropingly he searched for the clue to what his own attitude should now be. he had lived hard and gone footsore for the two of them. that was right, wasn't it? a man must do his part in the world. his own ruthers came after that. he recognized this as the test. before, it had been the girl to be won; the bride, still to be wooed. in outward form these two were already his; could he make and hold them truly his own? could he take them with him to that remote place where his spirit abode so often in loneliness? callista's eyes, wide and clear, opened and fixed themselves on his. for some time she lay looking. she seemed to be adjusting the present situation. then with a little whispered, childish cry, "lance--oh, lance!" she put out feeble arms to him, and he bent his face, tear-wet, to hers. [247] [illustration: "he gazed long at callista's face on the pillow."] chapter xvii. the coasts of the island. lance cleaverage remained at his father's house for a week, saying little, assisting deftly and adequately in the care of callista, wondering always at the marvelous newcomer, and so rulable, so helpful and void of offense, that roxy had her rod broken in her hand, and was forced to an unwilling admiration of him. "looks like sis' callie is about to be the makin' o' lance," she told her father. "i believe in my soul if she was a church member she'd have him convicted of sin at the next quarterly." conviction of sin was always sadly lacking in lance; he was aware that the cards sometimes went against him in the game of life, but to hint that he could himself be blamed with it was to instantly rouse the defiant devil that counseled his soul ill. at the end of the week, there was a little family conference, very sweet and harmonious, with callista lying propped in her bed, the baby beside her, and old kimbro sitting by the fire, while octavia and roxy worked at a little garment which the former had made and brought over, and which did not quite fit the boy. mary ann martha, absolutely good because absolutely [248] happy, lolled luxuriously in her uncle lance's lap, and took the warmth of the fire on her fat legs, while she occasionally rolled a blissful eye toward the face above her, or suddenly shot up a chubby hand to flap against his cheek or chin in a random caress. uncle lance had in her eyes no flaw. others might criticise him, to mary ann martha it was given to see only his perfections. "yes, son," old kimbro concluded what he had been saying, "i surely would go back to daggett's and work out my time. derf can't hold to what he said. i had sylvane bring me every one of those orders before he carried them to the store, and i copied them off in a book. garrett derf will have obliged to back down from that talk he had the day you was there--likely he'll say he was jest a-funnin'. as for thatch daggett, the company is behind him now, and he'll have obliged to pay, come spring. you need the money. you can't do nothin' on your place now. i'd go back and work it out at daggett's." like many another man with the reputation of being impractical, old kimbro's advice on financial matters was always particularly sound. from his warm place by the fire. lance flashed a swift glance across at his wife and child. callista was so absorbed in the baby that she had paid small attention to what her father-in-law was saying. well--and the color deepened on lance's brown cheek--if it was a matter of indifference to her, he [249] would not urge it upon her attention. but sylvane, watching, came to the rescue. "what do you think about it, sis' callie?" he suggested gently. "about what?" inquired callista; and then when she was enlightened, "oh, i reckon father cleaverage knows best. i shouldn't want to move the baby in cold weather. if you're a mind to go over and finish out, lance, i'll be in the house and ready for you, come spring," and she looked kindly at her husband. and so it was settled. lance went back to the gross hardships of the sawmill camp, the ill-cooked food, the overworked little woman in the dingy cabin with the fretting children under foot, the uncongenial companionship of the quarreling men. in early spring he came home, still thin and worn, and even more silent than was his wont. callista had kept her word; she was domiciled in the cabin on lance's laurel, and she had sylvane get her truck patch almost ready. in the well nigh feverish activity of first motherhood, she had learned in these few months to be a really superior housewife, and a master hand at all that a mountain housekeeper should know. roxy griever was but too willing to teach, and callista had needed only to have her energies and attention enlisted. she had a sound, noble physique; maternity had but developed her; and she was very obviously mistress of herself as well as of the [250] house when lance came over from the sawmill cabin to find her there with his son, awaiting him. he stopped a moment on the threshold. his appreciative glance traveled over the neat interior, and he sniffed the odors of a supper preparing. this was a homecoming indeed. here, surely, were the coasts of his island; and callista, bending over his child, drawing the cover around the baby before she turned to greet lance, a figure to comfort a man's heart. "you look fine here," he told her, entering, hanging up his hat, and disposing of the bundles he had been carrying. callista advanced smiling to him and lifted her face to be kissed. self-absorbed, wholly pleased with her house and her baby, and her newly discovered gift for work, and for administration, she never noted the quick, wild question of his eyes, which was as swiftly veiled. "the baby's asleep already," she announced softly. "we got to be right quiet." nodding silently. lance picked up some of the things he had brought, and carried them out to the shed, whence callista, later, summoned him to supper. old kimbro proved to be right. lance, having held by his contract till spring, was able to collect the poor little balance of his wages, and on this they proposed to live while he got the place in the gap in some shape to support them. satan [251] was well now, but it fretted lance unreasonably that he could not buy cindy back from flenton hands. with characteristic insouciance and unusual energy, he set to work on the gigantic task of subduing his large tract of steep, wild, mountain land. no doubt he worked too hard that summer; people of lance's temperament are always working too hard--or not working at all. as for callista, the first eagerness of her mere passion for lance was satisfied. she was no more the warm, tender, young girl, almost pathetically in love,--even though proud and wilful and somewhat spoiled--but the composed, dignified mother of a son and mistress of a home. she had once been too little of a house-mother for her man, and now she was rather too much. yet lance went no more abroad for consolation. after his settlement with derf, he had refused to put foot on their place again. this was not the season for hunting. he comforted himself with his banjo, and enjoyed too, in its own measure, the well-kept home, the excellently prepared food, the placid, calm, good-will of his mate. and the child was callista over again; big blue eyes, a fuzz of pale gold down, and an air of great wisdom and dignity. as he grew able to sit up alone on the floor and manage his own playthings, one saw laughably enough his mother's slant glance of scorn, that which had been considered her affectation of indifference, reproduced in the [252] baby's manner. between mother and son, lance sometimes felt himself reduced to his lowest terms. yet they thrived, for the welfare of a primitive; household still depends more upon the woman than on the man. if lance's restless fancy--that questioning, eager heart of his--lacked something of full satisfaction, his body was well fed, his household comfort was complete, and his material work laid out plainly before him. and lance could work so well and to such good purpose that at midsummer his clearing had assumed very respectable size, and the small crop he had made was laid by. even callista agreed that they might now make the trip lance had proposed more than a year ago, over to the east fork of caney. that camping trip was well thought of. it instantly reversed the family balance, and sent lance's end swinging higher. if callista dominated the house, and her spirit was coming to pervade the farm as well. lance was supreme in this matter of the gipsying excursion. "you needn't bother your head about what to pack," he told her. "i reckon i'll know better than you do what we'll need, exceptin' the things for that young man you make so much of." so callista concerned herself with the baby's outfit and her own, with assurance that her jars were in order, and that she had enough sugar to put up jam. the other berries could be [253] canned without sugar, and sweetened when they came to use them. a joyous bustle of preparation pervaded the place; that play spirit which was necessary to lance cleaverage, and which callista would quite innocently and unconsciously have crushed out of him if she could, was all alert and dancing at the prospect. he came into his wife's kitchen and packed flour and meal, frying pan and dutch oven, with various other small matters necessary, observing as the bacon went in, "we won't need much of that, excepting to fry fish and help out with wild meat. the law's off of pa'tridges in the valley next month, and it's sure off of 'em up here now." callista, sitting on the table, swinging a foot to keep the baby trotted on her knee, looked on smilingly. "when blev straley and his wife camped out and canned blackberries, they hadn't any nag," she commented. "he had to take the things in a wheelbarrow, and it looked like some places he couldn't hardly get acrost; but miranda said she had the best time she ever had in her life." kimbro cleaverage was teaching school over in the far cove. for fifteen years he had taught this little summer school; his pupils now were the children of the first boys and girls who came under his rule. his neighbors held toward the gentle soul a patronizing, almost tolerant attitude. true, he managed the winter school nearer home, having [254] little trouble with the big boys, the bullies, the incorrigibles; while it was well understood that the peaceful, who wanted to learn, could get on powerful fast under his tuition. yet there were those who deprecated the mildness of his sway, and allowed that he was really better suited to the small children, the anxious-faced little boys, too young yet to follow the plow, the small girls who had just finished dropping corn or "suckering the crop." that these dearly loved the master was held to be an unimportant detail, and his aversion to plying the hickory was always cited in regard to lance's misdoings. when his father was away teaching, the management, and all the labor of the wornout little farm fell on sylvane's young shoulders. lance had promised his brother the use of satan for the week when they should be in camp. the boy came over to help them pack. it was a july morning without flaw, blue and green and golden, and brooded upon by the full-hearted peace of ripe summer. bedding and kitchen supplies were put in two big bundles arranged pannier fashion on the black horse, and firmly lashed in place by a pair of plow lines. "why don't you put it up on his back?" callista asked them, coming out with her eight month's old baby, all in order for the journey. "that's to leave place for you to ride part of the time," lance told her. "it's a right smart ways [255] we're going, and that son of yours is tol'able heavy, and half the time you won't let me tote him." so they set off, sylvane walking ahead at satan's bridle, whistling and singing by turns, lance with his banjo on his back, callista at first carrying the boy because he wanted her to, and afterward relinquishing him to lance or sylvane. the route lay over springy leaf-mold, under great trees for the most part, leaving the main road, and taking merely an occasional cattle-path, while always it wound upward. after a time, the timber became more scattered, and from going forward under a leafage that shut out the rising sun, there were patches of open, meadow-like grasses, called by the mountain dweller, balds, interspersed with groups of cedars and oaks. the last mile was up the dry bed of caney, and it consisted of a scramble over great boulders, where only a mountain-bred horse might keep his footing. turning suddenly and scaling a bank that was like a precipice, one came on lance's find, a cup-like hollow between the cleft portions of a mountain peak, where the great gray rocks lay strewn thick, the ferns grew waist high, and the trickling spring-branch was so blue-cold that it made your teeth ache to drink of it even on a summer's day. the three stood for a moment silent, on the edge of the miniature valley, studying its perfections with loving eyes; the mountaineer leads all others [256] in passionate admiration for the beauty of his native highlands. "oh, lance!" callista said at length, very softly. "you never told me it was as sightly as all this." "couldn't," murmured lance, pleased to the soul. "i ain't got the words by me." sylvane helped them unpack, waited for a hasty dinner for himself and satan; then having agreed to return for them at the end of a week, he went back, leading his black horse, looking with boyish envy over his shoulder at the happy little group in the hidden pocket of the hills. when he was out of sight of them, he could still see the blue smoke of their camp fire rising clear and high, and stopping to mount satan, when the trail became fit for it, he hearkened a moment, and thought he heard the sound of the banjo. it was lance who made the camp, deftly, swiftly; callista looked after her baby and explored their new domain, moving about, girlish, light-footed, singing to herself, so that the eyes of the man bending over his task followed her eagerly. two great boulders leaning together made them a rock house. lance soon had a chimney up, of loose stones to be sure, but drawing sufficiently to keep the smoke out of your eyes unless the wind was more perverse than a summer breeze is apt to be. that evening they ate a supper of the cooked food they had brought and rested as the first pair [257] might have done in eden, sleeping soundly on their light, springy couch of tender hemlock tips. but next day lance fished in the little stream and came up with a wonderful catch of tiny silver-sided, rainbow trout, cleaned and laid in a great leaf-cup ready for the frying pan. "lance, oh lance!--ain't it too bad?" callista greeted him from the fire where she had her cornbread nearly ready to accompany his fish. "i believe in my soul we've come clean over here and forgot the salt--the salt! i put some in my meal, or the bread wouldn't be fit to eat. do you reckon the meat fryings will make your fish taste all right? no--of course it won't. i'm mighty sorry. looks like that is certainly the prettiest fish i ever saw in my life, and they're so good right fresh from the water." "it is too bad," agreed lance, with a very sober countenance, going ahead however with his preparations. "'pears as if somebody in this crowd is a pore manager." "it's me. lance," callista hastened to avow, kneeling by their primitive hearthstone to tend her bread. "it was my business to see that the salt was in; but i got so took up with the baby that i left everything to you; and a body can't expect a man--" she broke off; lance, kneeling beside her, engaged in his own enterprise of fish-frying had suddenly turned and kissed her flushed [258] cheek. there was always a sort of embarrassment in this unusual demonstrativeness of her husband's; and yet it subdued her heart as nothing else could, as nothing had ever done. that heart beat swiftly and the long fair lashes lay almost on the glowing cheek above where lance had kissed. a few moments later, when the primitive meal was spread under the open sky, callista tasted her fish. "lance!" she looked at him reproachfully. "you rogue! you had salt along with you all the time! why didn't you tell me, and put my mind at rest?" "i'm not so terrible sure that a restful mind is what's needed in your case," lance teased her. "i thought you looked mighty sweet and sounded mighty sweet, too, when you was a blamin' yourse'f." lance had spoken truly when he praised the huckleberries that grew in the little valley where nobody came to pick them. they stood thick all over its steep, shelving sides, taller bushes than those of the lowland, with great blue berries, tender of skin, sun sweetened, bursting with juice. callista was almost wearisome in her triumph over the fruit. forest fires and drought had made the berry crop nearer home a failure this year; she would be the only woman in the neighborhood with such canned huckleberries to boast of. she picked them tirelessly, making work of her play, callista [259] fashion, spreading her apron under the bush and raking down green ones, leaves and all, into it, then afterward harrying lance into helping her look them over while the baby played near by or slept. this gipsying was not her plan; she had come along in mere complaisance; yet in the simple outdoor life she throve beautifully; her cheeks rounded out, and her temples lost their bleached look; she was the old delicious callista, with an added glow and bloom and softness. it was in the early days of their stay, that lance, with the air of a boy disclosing to some chosen companion a long-cherished treasure, took her by a circuitous way up the steep wall of their little valley, and helping her around a big boulder and through a thicket of laurel, showed her the opening of a cave. man-high the entrance was, with a tiny cup of a spring in its lap; but six or eight feet in there was an abrupt turning so that the cave's extent was entirely hidden. he stood smilingly by, enjoying her astonishment. "why, lance!" she cried. "well, i vow! why, no one in the world would ever suspicion there was a cave here!" the two turned to look back at their camp, only to find themselves wholly screened by the oblique side of the great boulder and the laurel bushes, cut off from sight and sound of all that went on in the little valley. "they sure never would," lance assented. [260] "and i've never told a soul--_but_ sylvane--about the place. i was even kind o' duberous about showing you," and he laughed teasingly. "might need a hide-out some time, that nobody didn't know where to find." there was a phoebe-bird's nest just at the opening of the cave. lance drew callista back, both of them standing half crouched, while the mother, returning home, flitted past them and fed her babies. "mighty late for that business," whispered lance. "second brood, i reckon," callista murmured back. "or maybe got broke up with the first brood," lance added. the little dell was so remote that the birds were less shy than where they have been intruded upon by man and civilization, and the mother betrayed little uneasiness when the two visitors crept closer. "my, ain't it scairy!" callista said, peering beyond into the cave. then, as they descended the bank once more, "hit looked like there might be wildcats in it." "i aimed to explore it this time and get to the end if i could," lance replied. "i was fifteen year old when i found that place, and i used to scheme it out, like a boy will, that if i'd ever go with the jesse james gang, or kill a man, or anything [261] to get the law out after me, i'd hide there; and then, oncet caney was up, all the world couldn't find me." "what'd you eat?" objected practical callista. lance smiled. "i could take care of myself in the woods about as well as any of the critters," he told her. "i reckon i'd have to come and bring you a pone," bantered callista. and they turned and smiled happily into each other's eyes, all in the blue, unclouded summer, with the baby asleep back in the rock house, and the two of them climbing down to him and their gipsy home hand in hand. and now perfect day followed perfect day. the work of the camp was frolic to lance; he did it laughing, as he would have gone through a game, and then tolerantly helped callista with the play of which she made work. the high noon of summer brooded over the mountains, with a wonderful blue haze and a silence that was almost palpable. in their little cup of the hills, there was a hoarded wine of coolness. the drowsy tinkle of the tiny branch that ran from their spring backgrounded the rare sound of their voices. and lance would lie full length on the earth as he loved to do, strumming sometimes on his banjo, drowsing a little, amusing and being amused by the baby. callista, her head bent, her face intent above the work, would be picking over her [262] berries. the boy was intensely, solemnly interested in the banjo; but when its music ceased, he would roll away from his father's arm and creep to his mother's skirts, there to cuddle down and sleep, a dimpled picture of infantile perfection. lance would regard them both from under his lashes. beauty-worshipper that he was, they satisfied every whim and caprice of longing, so far as the eyes spoke. and they were his. callista was his own, she had come with him to the place he found for her; she was an amiable, complying companion. and yet--and yet-the birds were all silent now, except for an occasional chirp or twitter in among the leafage. the little breeze that seemed to live only in their high eyrie went by softly, making its own music. "how many miles, how many years?" but there were no longer miles and years between him and his beloved. no, she was within hand-reach. he could stretch forth his fingers and touch the hem of her skirts. with an impatient sigh he would turn over and take up his banjo. "don't play now, lance--you'll wake the baby," callista would murmur half mechanically, in that hushed tone mothers learn so soon. one day lance snared a couple of partridges, and, cleaning and salting them, roasted them with the feathers on, by daubing each with the stiff, tough blue clay of the region, and burying the balls in the embers. they came out delicious. when [263] the clay coating was broken off, feathers and skin went with it, leaving all the delicate juices of the meat steaming, his helpmate praised his skill generously. "ola derf showed me that trick," lance said, in fairness, clearing a dainty little drumstick with his teeth. "we was fishing over on laurel one day, and we didn't get no fish. so she caught a couple of chickens, and cooked them that-a-way. good, ain't they?" callista nodded. "whose chickens were they--them you and ola derf caught?" she asked, after a moment's silence. lance laughed long and uproariously. "whose chickens?" he repeated. "our'n, i reckon, oncet we'd cooked 'em and et 'em. i never axed 'em their names. they tasted all right. i ain't got no objections to strangers--in chickens that-a-way." "i don't think that was right," callista-told him with great finality. "it's likely some poor old woman had her mouth all fixed for chicken dinner, or was going to have the preacher at her house, and then you and ola stole her chickens and she never knew what became of them. i think it was right mean." "so do i," agreed lance lightly. "that's the reason i enjoyed it. i get mighty tired of bein' good." [264] "you do?" inquired his wife with gay scorn. "i didn't know you'd ever had the chance." yet of this conversation remained the knowledge that such gipsying meals as this had been eaten with ola derf before she and lance cooked for each other. had he found ola an entirely satisfactory companion? evidently not, for he could have had her for the asking. did she, callista, compare in any way unfavorably with the derf girl? such questionings were new to callista, and they were decidedly uncomfortable. she resented them; yet she could not quite put them by. lance was used to sleeping the deep and dreamless slumber of those who labor much in the open air; but on the last night of their stay in the little hollow by the spring, he lay long awake. "callista, air you asleep?" he inquired with caution. "n--no," murmured callista drowsily. "well, somehow i cain't git to sleep," said lance. "i feel like this rock house was goin' to fall down on me. i believe i'd like to take my blanket out there on the grass if you won't be scared to be alone. you could call to me." callista assented, only half awake. once sprawled at ease under the stars, sleep seemed definitely to have forsaken him. he lay and stared up into the velvety blue-black spaces above him. his mind went dreamily over the past few days. how good it had been. and yet--he [265] broke off and ruminated for awhile on whether or no a body should ever cherish a plan for years as he had cherished this plan of camping out some time in the rock house with callista. it seemed to him that if a man had planned a thing for so long, it was better not to bring it to pass, for the reality could never compare favorably with the dream. he sighed impatiently, and turned his face resolutely down against the grass, dew-wet and cool. but there was no sleep for him in the earth, as there had been none in the heavens. before his eyes, quite as real as daylight seeing, came the vision of callista and his boy. there was not such a woman nor such a child in all his knowledge. he had chosen well. idle dreams of callista as a girl among her mates; of callista lying spent and white in her bed with his child, new born, on her arm; of callista kneeling flushed and housewifely by this outdoor hearth to prepare his meal--these strung themselves into an endless, tantalizing line, a shadowy gallery of pictures, a visioned processional, each face in some sort a stranger's. what was it he had thought to compass by coming here with her? why was the realization not enough? through dreams and waking this question followed him, giving him no deep rest; and dawn found him already afoot and busy with the preparations for their return home. [266] chapter xviii. the hegira. callista roused that morning, to see lance moving, light-footed, a shadow between her and the first struggling blaze of the fire he had kindled. with sleepy surprise she noted his activities. when she observed that he was packing her canned fruit, with quick, deft fingers, she inquired, "what you doin' there. lance? no use fixin' them up now. sylvane won't be here till in the morning." lance broke off the low whistling which had wakened her, and turned to regard his wife for a moment before he spoke. "i thought i'd get this packing done," he said non-committally. "if we was to go home to-day i could tote whatever we needed, and buddy could fetch over the heaviest stuff to-morrow." callista dozed a little luxuriously, and woke to a smell of boiling coffee and frying pork. "you've got breakfast enough there for three people," she commented, when she finally drew near the fire. "uh-huh," assented lance. "i 'lowed sylvane might come to-day, place of saturday. anyhow, [267] we'll need something for a bite on the way." and callista realized that her husband was indeed making the final preparations for their return. as they sat down either side the frying pan, and callista lifted the lid from the dutch oven to take the bread out, they became aware of the sound of scrambling hoofs and parting branches. whenever there was high water in caney, this little valley was cut off, it was a retreat unknown, unvisited; the newcomer could be nobody but sylvane. a moment later the boy made his appearance, clambering over the rocks, leading satan by a long line. "i 'lowed you-all wouldn't mind coming back a day sooner," he apologized, as he gratefully seated himself for an addition to his hastily snatched breakfast eaten by candle-light. "they's a feller that the company has sent up to look over lands, and he's a-buyin' mineral rights--or ruther, gettin' options--on everybody's farms. they'll pay big prices, and sis' roxy said i ought to come and tell lance of it." the man listened indifferently, but the woman was all aglow. the touch of practical life had dissolved whatever of the gipsy mood lance's nature had been able to lend hers. she questioned the boy minutely. lance listening with ill-concealed impatience; and when the subject was exhausted, began to ask him with great particularity concerning her truck patch at home and [268] whether spotty, the young cow lance had traded with squire ashe for, was doing well in her milk. in spite of lance's packing, there was much to do before camp could be struck, and on account of the canned fruit they moved so slowly that noon saw them still in the wilderness, dropping down by the stream's side to eat the snack they had brought with them. they went around by father cleaverage's this time, and stopped there, since callista intended to present a few of her cherished huckleberries to roxy, and they reached the cabin at the head of lance's laurel late in the afternoon. for some reason which he could not himself have told you, lance felt strangely wearied and dissatisfied. he looked back to the week past, and admitted that all had gone well; days of fishing and dreaming, evenings under the open sky with the banjo humming, the not unwelcome fire leaping up, and the baby asleep on callista's lap. could a man have asked more? the son of the house had thriven amazingly on it, and this evening he was assuming airs so domineering that his father professed fear of him. "look a here, young feller," lance said, as the big eight-months-old came creeping across the floor and hammered on his knee to be taken up, "you're about to run me out o' the house." he lifted his son on his arm, and, carrying the banjo in the other hand, beyond reach of the clutching, [269] fat fingers, went to the doorstone with them. "oh, you're your mammy over again," he admonished the baby. "you don't own up to me at all. i wisht i had me a nice gal o' your size, that would admit i was her daddy." callista had her supper nearly ready. growing now, with motherhood, intensely material,--or, as lance had more than once jokingly declared, a trifle grasping,--the selling of the land to the company for a big price occupied all her thoughts. "you'll go over to squire ashe's soon in the morning, won't you lance and see about the land?" she questioned. "sylvane said the man was stayin' at ashe's." "i don't know as i want to sell," the owner of jesse lance's gap hundred observed indifferently, running random little chords on his banjo. "i ain't rightly studied about it." "well, i wish you would study about it," urged callista. "i think it's your duty to." "i think it's your duty to, duty to, dute," hummed lance to a twanging accompaniment from the strings. "looks like i've heard them words before somewheres. i'll be blessed if that ain't sis' roxy's tune you've took up, callista!" "your sister does her duty in this world," asserted callista tartly. "it's nothing but the mineral rights, they'll want. all that talk you had this mornin' about the land coming from your [270] gran'pappy, and your not wanting to leave it, is just to--to have your own way." lance raised his eyebrows. "would you say so?" he debated, his voice quiet, but the spark shining deep in his hazel eye. "well now, i'd have said--if you'd axed me--that i've had my own way most generally without resorting to such. i'm ruther expectin' to have my own way from this time out, and take no curious methods of gettin' it." "well, what are you going to do about selling the land?" she persisted. lance lifted the baby's fat hand and pretended to pick the banjo strings with the pointed, inadequate fingers, to the young man's serious enjoyment. callista waited for what she considered a reasonable time, and then prompted. "lance. lance, did you hear me?" "oh, yes, i heared you well enough," lance told her composedly. "i was just a-studyin' on the matter." again silence, punctuated by the aimless twanging of the banjo strings, the little sounds from the summer world without, the quick, light tapping of callista's feet and the little whisper of her skirts as she moved about her task. "well--have you studied?" she inquired abruptly at length. "uh-huh," agreed lance negligently, curling himself down on the doorstone a little further, [271] "an' i'm studyin' yet. ye see that there feller they sent out for an agent met me on the big road one day about a month ago and bantered me to trade. i told him i'd let him know, time i got back." "and you never named it to me!" callista said sharply, pausing, dish in hand by the table side, and staring at her husband with reprehending eyes. "you never said a word to me about it; and you went off on that foolish camping trip! for the good gracious, i don't know what men are made of!" "some are made of one thing, and some of another," allowed lance easily, leaning his head back against the door jamb and half closing his eyes. "before we went away," repeated callista reproachfully. "maybe you've lost your chance." the spur to lance cleaverage, the goad, was ever the hint to go slower; applied recklessly, it was quite sufficient to make him dig heels and toes into the track and refuse to go at all. at callista's suggestion that he had missed his chance, he balked entirely. "well, i don't know as i want to sell," he reiterated. "that's what i told the man--and that's the truth." "of course you want to sell," asserted callista in exasperation, "and you want to sell terrible bad--we all do. nobody in the turkey tracks [272] has got any money. we just live from hand to mouth, and dig what we get out of the ground mighty hard. oh, i wish't i was a man. i'd go straight down to the settlement and sell this land before i came back." a faint color showed itself in her husband's brown cheeks. his lips parted slightly and remained so for a moment before he spoke. "not unless the man you was chanced to be me, you wouldn't sell my land," he said at length, speaking softly, almost dreamily. callista's temper was slow, but it was implacable. she eyed her husband for a moment and turned to begin dishing up her supper. lance lifted his son back once more out of reach of the instrument, set him comfortably against the propped open door, took up the banjo and commenced to play a lively air for the boy's diversion. "flenton hands has sold," callista flung out the words as she bent over the hearth to a pot that stood there. she had the news from roxy griever. "uh-huh," agreed lance indefinitely, and offered no question as to what the lands had brought or whether the deal was actually closed. "sylvane said gran'pappy met him in the big road, and he said that them that didn't sell now, or that just give options, would be sorry afterwards. he thinks the company's mistaken [273] about the coal being on this side o' the ridge, and that they'll soon find it out and quit buying." "that so?" laughed lance. "well, in that case, i sha'n't make no efforts. i'd hate to get anything off the company that wasn't coming to me, and i reckon--" he broke off suddenly. callista had turned to face him, white, angry as he had never seen her before. her blue eyes rounded meaningly to the downy poll of the baby sitting on the floor between them. this was how much he cared for the up-bringing and the future of the child. "lance cleaverage," she said in a low, even tone, "a woman that's married to a man, and lived with him for two years, and got his child to raise, ought to quit him for such a speech as that." this was the ultimate challenge. here was the gage thrown down. she dared him. he leaned forward to lift back the boy, who was clambering once more for the banjo. then he straightened up and looked his callista full in the eye, breathing light and evenly, half smiling, his face strangely luminous. "all right," he said, and his voice rang keen-edged and vibrant. "if them's your ruthers--walk out. what's a'keepin' you? shain't be said i ever hendered a woman that wanted to quit me." very softly, callista set down the plate of bread she held. gazing straight ahead of her, she stood a [274] moment rigid, in a waiting, listening attitude. out of her mood of cold displeasure, of nagging resentment, flamed, at her husband's words, that sudden fire of relentless rage of which callista was capable. her sight cleared, and she became aware of what she was staring at--the wall, with its well-planned shelves of lance's contriving; the beautifully whittled utensils and small, dainty implements of cedar which he had made for her use. slowly her glance swept the circle of the room. evidences of lance's skill and cleverness were everywhere; proofs that he had persistently tamed both to the service of wife and home. yet, at this moment, these things made no appeal. mechanically she inspected her supper table, then turned and moved swiftly across the open passage to the room beyond. promptly, unerringly, she gathered together a bundle of needments for herself and the child, thrust them in a clean flour sack, and swung it across her arm. going back, she found her husband still sprawled in the doorway, his side face held to the darkening interior of the room behind him. banjo on knee, he leaned against the lintel, whistling beneath his breath, his eyes on the far primrose band of light dying down in the west. callista gave no further glance at the home which had been much to her. she averted her gaze stonily from the husband who had once been all. bending, with a single motion she swept [275] the baby up in her arm, raised him to her shoulder and stepped to the open doorway. lance never turned his head or seemed to note her. he made room for her passage without appearing to move a muscle. out she went and down to the gate--a real gate, that swung true and did not drag; lance's planning and handiwork. she unlatched it, passed through, and drew it shut behind her, never looking back. and with scarcely a change of attitude and expression, except that his fingers twitched a bit and the smile on his lean, brown, young face became set and unnatural, he watched her evenly swaying figure pass on down the road. head defiantly erect, eyes strangely bright. lance stared meaninglessly, like a man shot through but not yet crumpling to his fall. the baby fluttered a fat, white, little starfish of a hand over his mother's shoulder and called "bye-by," the sum of all his attainments in the matter of language. the man did not look up. his head was bent now, his gaze had forsaken the slender new moon swinging like a boat in the greenish haze of the western sky, where some smoldering coals of sunset yet sent up gray twilight smoke. callista vanished between the trees. it was dusk, and deeply still. down in the alders, beside the spring branch, the whippoorwills were calling. in the intervals of their far, plaintive importunity, the silence was punctuated lightly [276] by the tiny, summer-evening chirpings in the grass. the moon sank lower, the sunset coals burned into swart cinders; the hosts of the dark marched in upon the still figure on the doorstone where lance crouched motionless, his face drooped almost to the threshold, his arms flung forward till they touched the nodding weeds by the path. so an hour counted itself out, and there was no change in his posture, no lifting of the head. the little moon finally dropped down behind the hills; dew lay thick on the curls beside the great limestone slab. about ten o'clock a cloud blew in through the gap, bearing a tiny shower of summer rain. under the cool pattering that drenched his hair and garments. lance stirred not at all; but all the noises of the july night were hushed by it, and in the chill which followed, he shivered. deep in the night's silent heart, a bird cried out; lance started and raised his face to the darkness with a sort of groan. "and this time she won't come back," he whispered. [277] chapter xix. callista cleaverage goes home. callista reached her grandfather's gate when the old man was just finishing that last pipe he loved to smoke in his big hickory arm chair on the porch before he lay down for his night's rest. in the soft, summer night, beginning to be thick with stars, he was aware that whoever the newcomer was, it was someone well known to the dogs, for the chorus of greetings was distinctly friendly. yet his keen old hunter's ears noticed the surprised yap of a younger hound born since callista left the farm; and when his granddaughter emerged into the light of the doorway, he was scarcely surprised. "good evenin', gran'pappy. where's mother?" callista greeted him. before ajax could answer her, his daughter-in-law came hurrying out crying, "lord love yo' soul, honey! did you git home at last to see yo' mammy that's--" callista silenced her with a raised hand. "w'y, callisty honey," ejaculated mrs. gentry, examining her anxiously, "is anything the matter with lance?" a slight contraction passed across the visitor's [278] face, as they watched it, but she answered coldly, evenly, "i reckon there's nothing more the matter of lance cleaverage than there always has been. i've come home." dead silence followed this statement. then old ajax knocked the ashes out of his pipe and slowly put it in his pocket. "uh-huh," he agreed, "you've come home--and i always knowed you would." octavia turned on him crying in a voice more tremulous with tears than anger, "now, pap gentry--" but callista interposed, with the faintest flicker of her old fire, "let him have his say. i told you-all once, standin' right here on this porch, that i'd never come home to this house with empty hands--that i'd bring something. well, i have. i've brought this child." octavia was striving to take the baby from his mother's arms, to draw callista into the house. at this she began to cry, "make her hush, pap gentry," she pleaded. "don't set there and let my gal talk that-a-way!" but old ajax, remembering the turbulent days of his youth, knowing from his own wild heart in those long past days the anger that burned in callista, and must have way, wisely offered no interference. [279] "i've come home to stay," callista pursued bitterly, "and i've brought my boy. but ye needn't be afraid of seein' us come. sence i lived here i've learned how to work. i can earn my way, and his, too." "callista," sobbed the mother, clinging to her daughter, still seeking to draw her forward, "you're welcome here; and, if anything, the boy is welcomer. we ain't got nobody but you. pappy, make her welcome; tell her that we're proud to have her as long as she's willin' to stay, and--and--" she hesitated desperately--"we'd be proud to have lance, too." she instantly saw her mistake. callista drew herself sharply from her mother's detaining arms and sat down on the porch edge, hushing the child whom their talk had disturbed. presently she said--and her voice sounded low, and cold, and clear, "i have quit lance cleaverage. you needn't name his being anywhere that i'm at." gentry snorted, and heaved himself up in his chair as though to go into the house. "i consider that i had good cause to quit him," callista went on; "but i'm not a-goin' to--" "i don't want to know yo' reasons!" broke in old ajax fiercely. "i say, reason! reason and you ort not to be named in the same day. yo' mammy spiled you rotten--i told her so, a-many's the time--and now them that wishes [280] you well has to look on and see you hit out and smash things." the deep, rumbling old voice sank and quavered toward the end. "i wasn't going to give you any reasons," returned callista contemptuously. "them that i've got are betwixt me and lance--and there they'll always be. i would rather live at home; but i can earn my keep and the chap's anywhere. shall i go--or stay?" the old man put down a shaking hand and laid it on her shoulder--a tremendous demonstration for ajax gentry. "you'll stay, gal," he said in a broken tone. "you'll stay, and welcome. but i want you to know right here and now that i think lance cleaverage is a mighty fine man. you' my gran'child--my onliest one--i set some considerable store by ye myse'f. but there's nothing you've said or done that gives me cause to change my mind about lance." callista rose, still hushing her boy in her arms. "if i'm to live with you-all," she said in a tone of authority which had never been hers in the days of her petted, spoiled girlhood, "i may as well speak out plain and say that i never want to hear the name of cleaverage if i can help it. if you don't agree to that--without any why or wherefore--i'd rather not stay." "oh, honey--oh, honey!" protested octavia [281] tearfully. "gran'pappy and me will do just whatever you say. fetch the baby in the house. god love his little soul, hit's the first time he's ever been inside of these doors--and to think he should come this-a-way!" callista drew back and eyed her mother. "if you're going to go on like that," she said, "i reckon it would be just as well for me to live somewheres else. you won't see me shed a tear. i don't know what there is to cry for. gran'pappy is an old man--he ought to have some peace about him. i won't come in unless you hush." and having laid her will upon them both, callista cleaverage re-entered the dwelling of her girlhood and disposed her sleeping boy on the bed in the fore room. to the mind of man, which looks always to find noise and displacement commensurate with size, there is something appalling about the way in which the great events of life slip smoothly into position, fitting themselves between our days with such nicety as to seem always to have been there. little calamities jar and fret and refuse to be adjusted, but matters of life and death and eternity flow as smoothly as water. callista might have dropped easily into her old place in the home, but the woman who had returned to the gentry roof could never have contented herself in that narrow sphere. strong, [282] efficient, driven to tireless activity by memories which one might guess stung and hurt the mind at leisure, she cleared out the long unused weaving room and set the loom to work. "aunt faithful bushares learned me to weave whilst i was stayin' at miz. griever's, after the baby was born," she told her mother. "i'll finish this rag carpet you've got in the loom, and then i'll be able to earn some ready money. i can weave mighty pretty carpet, and a body can get a plenty of it to do from down in the settlement. they's things i need from the store now and agin, and this boy's got to have something laid by for him, to take care of him as he grows." thus boldly, at the outset--though without mentioning the forbidden name--she made it known to them that she would accept nothing from her husband. octavia gentry was always on the edge of tears when she talked to callista about her plans; at other times, the daughter's presence in the house was cheerful and sustaining. if callista brooded on the shipwreck of her affairs, she asked no sympathy from anyone. indeed, so far from seeking it, she resented bitterly any suggestion of the sort. lance's own family blamed him more than did callista's people. roxy griever, of course, was loud in her denunciations. "hit's jest the trick a body might expect from one of tham men," she commented. "he never [283] was fitten for callisty; and when a feller plumb outmarries hisself, looks like hit makes a fool of him, and he cain't noways behave." old kimbro gazed upon the floor. "i reckon it's my fault, roxana," he said gently. "lance has a strong nature, and he needed better discipline than what i was able to give him. i had my hopes that he'd get it in his marriage, for daughter callista is sure a fine woman; but--well, maybe time'll mend it. i don't give up all hope yet." "miz. gentry sent word that she wanted me to help them through fodder-pullin'," sylvane announced. "if i do, i'm a-goin' to watch my chance to talk to sis' callie. she's always the sweetest thing to me. i'll bet i can get in a good word for buddy." but it was roxy griever who saw callista before sylvane did. octavia, desperately anxious and perturbed, sent word to the widow to drop in as though by accident and spend the day. callista came into the room without knowing who was present. the two women were fluttering about over her baby, exclaiming and admiring. the young mother greeted the visitor with an ordinary manner, which yet was a trifle cold. "the boy's mighty peart," the widow griever said eagerly. "but," examining callista with a somewhat timid eye, "you' lookin' a little puny yo'self. sis' callie." [284] "oh, i'm perfectly well," returned callista sharply. there fell a silence, upon which roxy's voice broke, husky and uncertain. "well, i hope you won't harbor no hard feelin's toward any of lance's kin-folks, for we don't none of us uphold him." at the name a quiver went through callista's frame, the blue eyes fixed on roxy's face flickered a bit in their steady, almost fierce regard. then she bent and picked up her child. "i reckon mother hasn't said anything to you," she explained evenly; "but i have asked each and every in this house not to say--you spoke a name that i won't hear from anybody if i can help it. if you and me are to sit down at the same table, you'll have to promise not to mention that--that person again." then she walked out, leaving the two older women staring at each other, aghast, both of them with tears in their eyes. "but i cain't blame her," roxana hastened to declare. "i know in my soul that everything that's chanced is lance's fault. he always was the meanest little boy, and the worst big boy, and the sinfulest young man, that ever a god-fearin' father had! he never was half way fitten for callista--and i always said so." "oh, miz. griever--hush!" protested octavia. [285] "she'll hear you--sis' ain't but gone in the next room." "well, i hope she may," the widow pursued piously, in a slightly raised tone. "i'd hate mightily to have my sweet sis' callie think that i held with any sech; or that i didn't know what her troubles had been, or didn't feel that she was plumb jestified and adzactly right in all points and in all ways whatever." "m--maybe she is," sniffed soft-hearted octavia; "but i love lance mighty well. right now i could jest break down and bawl when i think o' him there in the cabin all alone by himself, and--" the closing words were lost in the apron she raised to her eyes. if callista heard the controversy, it had an odd effect; for she treated the widow griever with considerable resentment, and, laying a gentle hand on her mother's shoulder, said to her apart: "i don't want to be a torment to you, mammy; but i believe when any of those folks are about i'd better just take the baby and stay in my own house." "but, honey," her mother remonstrated, "pappy gentry's aimin' to have sylvanus here all through fodder-pullin' time. is that a-goin' to trouble you? do you just despise all them that's kin to--would you ruther we didn't have the boy?" callista shook her head. [286] "it ain't for me to say," she repeated stubbornly then, with a sudden rush of tears in her hard eyes, "i do love sylvane. i always did. i couldn't have an own brother i'd think more of. but--well, let him come over here if you want him. i can keep out of his way." the "house" to which callista proposed to retire was the outside cabin, where the loom stood. this she had fitted up for the use of herself and child, as well as a weaving room, saying that the noise might disturb gran'pappy if the baby were in the house all the time. and it was at the threshold of that outside cabin that, only a few days later, sylvane caught his sister-in-law and detained her, the baby on her arm. little ajax reared himself in his mother's hold and plunged at his youthful uncle, so that she had no choice but to turn and speak. "how you come on, sis' callie?" sylvane inquired, after he had tossed the heavy boy up a time or two and finally set him on his shoulder. "tol'able," callista returned briefly. "i've got a lot of weavin' to do and it keeps me in the house pretty steady." "i--was you leavin' in thar becaze i come?" inquired sylvane with a boy's directness. callista shook her head. "didn't i tell you i was mighty busy?" she asked evasively. "you an' me always have been [287] good friends, sylvane, and i aim that we always shall be, if it lies in my power." the young fellow looked up at her where she stood above him in the doorway. "you ain't never a-goin' to fuss with me," he told her bluntly. "besides, me and this chap is so petted on each other that you couldn't keep us apart," and he turned to root a laughing face into the baby's side, greatly to that serious-minded young man's enjoyment. callista smiled down at both of them, and sylvane found something wintry and desolate in the smile. "weavin' is mighty hard work," he broke out impatiently. "even sis' roxy says that, and the lord knows she's ready to kill herself and everybody else around her with workin'. what makes you do so much of it, sis' callie?" callista looked past the two and answered: "sylvane, a woman with a child to support has to work hard here in the turkey tracks. if it wasn't for mommie and gran'pappy i'd go down in the settlement, where i could earn more and earn it easier." "callista--honey," sylvane bent forward and caught her arm. "you ain't got no call to talk that-a-way. lance shore has a right to support his own son--even if you won't take nothin' from him for yo'self." callista removed her gaze from the far sky line [288] and brought it down to her young brother-in-law. now indeed her smile was wintry, even bitter. "the man you named, sylvane," she said explicitly, "has no notion of carin' what becomes of this child. now that you've brought this up, i'll say to you what i haven't said to any other: it was this that caused me to quit lance. you' right, i did leave the house in there for fear you should speak to me--and speak of him. if i could be sure that i'd never hear his name again, i'd be better suited. i reckon you'll have to promise not to bring this up again, or they'll sure get to be hard feelings between you and me." sylvane dropped back with a face of consternation, his hand fell away from her arm. he reached up and drew the boy down, so that the small, fair face was against his breast. "sis' callie," he began incredulously, "i cain't believe it. buddy's got quare ways, but them that loves him can understand. his own son--! why, ef the chap was mine--" he broke off, and stood a moment in silence. "the meanest man there is, looks like to me, ort to be glad to do for his own child." the words were not so strange on the lips of the tall seventeen-year-old boy with the child's eyes, since in mountain communities youths little older are often husbands and fathers. "well, air you going to promise me never to name it again?" demanded callista, an almost [289] querulous edge to her voice. sylvane's resemblance to his brother, some gnawing knowledge of injustice toward the absent lance, wrought upon her mood intolerably. "no, i'll never name buddy to you again," said sylvane soberly. "if you and me ever talks of him, you'll have to mention it first. but if there is anything i can do for you, sis' callie, you know you have but to ask." "i know that, sylvane," callista assured him, with a certain eagerness in her tone. "and they is something--something that i reckon nobody could do as well as you could. i need--i just have obliged to get my things from--from up yon in the gap. would you go fetch 'em for me, brother?" sylvane, after all, was kin to lance. he could not keep down a little thrill of pride, that his brother had thus far forced callista's hand. but he answered gravely--almost sadly, "i'll go this day, if you say so." securing permission from ajax to absent himself, the boy hitched his old mule to the buckboard and hurried off to the home at the head of lance's laurel. whether or not he found all of callista's belongings packed and ready, what was said between the two men, no one knew. he returned near nightfall with callista's trunk and one or two sizable bundles, while spotty meekly led roped to the rear axle of the buckboard. callista [290] helped him into her cabin with the bundles; but when he would have untied spotty she remonstrated. "i surely thought you were fixing to take the cow over to yo' house," she said shortly. "it doesn't belong here." "it was said to be yours," sylvane told her, true to his promise not to mention his brother's name, even inferentially. "i 'lowed that the baby and--and all--would need the milk. reckon you best leave her stay." "no," said callista positively. "the cow's nothing i have any concerns with. maybe sis' roxy could make use of the milk. take her along home, sylvane, or drive her back where she came from--or turn her loose, for all of me." and then sylvane knew whether his brother had failed in care for the child. when callista came in from disposing of this question of the cow, she found her mother standing, inclined, as usual, to be tearful, over the boxes and bundles. coming on one of these latter with a peculiar knot which lance always used, and which he had once taught her the secret of, callista experienced a sick revulsion of feeling. "i wish you'd undo 'em and put 'em away for me. mammy," she said with unusual gentleness. "i think i hear the baby." "all right, honey, go 'long and 'tend to him. i'll see to these," agreed octavia patiently. callista hurried over to the big house where [291] young ajax lay asleep, and, as chance would have it, found indeed that he had wakened. she was hushing him on her knee a few minutes later, when her mother appeared in the doorway, a little money held in her trembling hands, and her eyes now openly overflowing. "that pore boy!" octavia burst out. "look what he sent you. sis! now, he hain't sold anything of his crop--not yet. the good lord only knows whar he come by this; but what he could get his hands on, he's sent you." callista leaped to her feet and ran to the door, pushing her mother aside none too gently, offending ajax greatly by her rough handling of him. "sylvane!" she cried in the direction of the horse lot where sylvane had gone to exchange the harness for a saddle on the mule. "whoo-ee--sylvane!" "i'm a-comin'," sylvane's voice answered, and she turned swiftly to the bed and laid the baby down. "give me that money!" she demanded. "what for?" asked octavia with unexpected spirit, tucking the bills in against her arm and refusing them. "i want to send it back by sylvane." "you ain't a-goin' to do any such thing," octavia declared. "the good lord! to think that i ever raised such a gal as you air!" "give it to me!" callista laid hands upon her [292] mother's arm, wrenching at it. "here's sylvane. give it to me now!" the thud of the mule's hoofs approaching the door came clearly to both of them. callista could even distinguish the little cow's light feet following. the two wrestled and swayed a moment, callista pushing a strong, capable hand into the elbow where the bills and the few coins were held. "take it, then. oh, my lord!" moaned octavia. "i think you're the hard-heartedest somebody i ever knew of. pore lance--pore lance!" sylvane, riding to the door with the rejected cow, received with something of lance's stoic grace the despised money. a thankfulness that his "buddy" was rehabilitated in his eyes made him say, as he stuffed the small wad down in his pocket: "an' i don't take back my word. sis' callie. you wouldn't have these; but whatever i can do is ready and waitin', you know that." and somehow, in the hour of her victory, callista tasted defeat. [293] chapter xx. drawn blank. for a region of dwellers so scattered as those of the turkey tracks, the word neighborhood is a misnomer. where the distances are so great from house to house, where there is no telephone, no milkman on regular rounds, no gossiping servants, one would have said that callista might go home to her grandfather's and live a month without anyone suggesting that there had been a serious rupture between herself and lance. but news of this sort travels in a mysterious way through the singularly intimate life of these thinly settled, isolated highlands. the first comers who saw callista and her baby at the gentry place knew in some curious fashion that she had forsaken lance. perhaps it was her air of permanence in the new home which was her old one; perhaps it was the fact that she had established her little household of two in that outside cabin. however it may be, buck fuson rode straight from the gentry place to derf's with the information--and found it there before him. "iley's man seen her jest at the aidge o' the evenin', streakin' through the woods 'crost the holler with the chap on her hip, and a bundle over [294] her shoulder," garrett derf explained. "them injuns is smart about some things. he said to iley when he come home that lance's squaw had done shook him. well!" gossip is generally personified as an old woman, but the men of a region like the turkey tracks are much thrown back upon it for an interest. "looks like callisty never had been greatly petted on lance," fuson put forward, flinging a leg around the pommel of his saddle and sitting at ease. derf shook his head. "i reckon she's like any other womern," he deprecated, with a sort of passive scorn. "you can spile the best of 'em. when lance come over here the day after him and callisty was wed and sot up housekeepin', and he showed hisse'f plumb crazy to spend money on her, i says to myse'f, says i, 'yes, an' there'll be trouble in that fambly befo' snow flies.'" he nodded with an air of one who utters the final wisdom, and fuson could but agree. "that's a fact," assented buck, as one who knew something of the matter himself. "man can pay out all he's worth, and still not satisfy a woman." "satisfy her!" echoed derf. "don't i tell you that it's the ruination of the best of 'em? they'll ax ye for anything, and then when they git it they'll quit ye, or turn ye out and pop the do' [295] in yo' face. lance was jest that-a-way. he wouldn't take a dare. ef callisty said she wanted the moon, and let on like she thought he was able to git it, he'd say nothin' and try to grab it for her." "ain't that flent hands's hawse?" asked fuson suddenly, as cindy trotted across the small home pasture and came to the fence. "uh-huh," agreed derf, and the two men steadily avoided looking at each other. "flent, he put the nag here with us so as to be handy. him and me's got a trade up for openin' a store in the settlement, him to run that end o' the business and me to run this end. don't know how it'll turn out. he's been a-comin' and a-goin' considerable, and he left the filly with us. says he aims to take her away to-morrow." "alf dease 'lowed to me that lance was sort o' pestered 'count of flent havin' the filly," fuson murmured abstractedly. "said lance wanted him to see could he buy her back. i reckon he couldn't go to hands himself--lance couldn't--way things air; but it seems he axed dease to do it." derf was silent a moment, then, "some says that lance cleaverage is fixin' to sell and go to texas," he opened out categorically. "i've always been good friends with the feller, but i tell you right here and now, i'd be glad to see the last of him. he's got his word out agin [296] flenton hands, and, whenever them two meets, there's liable to be interruptions. i'm a peaceful man, and i aim to keep a peaceful place, and i ain't got any use for sech. i wish't lance would see it that-a-way and move out--i do for a fact." slowly fuson straightened his foot down, sought and found his stirrup; meditatively he switched the mule's withers with the twig he carried, and spoke to the animal, digging a negligent heel into its side, to start it. "well, i must be movin'," he said. derf stood long, leaning on the rail fence, looking absently after the slow pacing mule in the dusty highway. he turned at the sound of ola's steps behind him. she had a halter in her hand and was making for the horse lot. "i hearn what you and buck was talkin' about," she said defiantly. "i'm goin' to ketch me out cindy and ride over to lance's." "oh, ye air, air ye?" demanded her father. "well," with free contempt, "much good may it do ye!" but ola was impervious to his scorn. a stone wall was the only barrier her direct methods recognized. she caught and saddled the filly, brought out her black calico riding skirt, hooked it on over her workaday frock, clambered to cindy's back, and turned her into the little frequented woodsroad down which lance used to come with his banjo to play for the dances. cindy put forward [297] her ears and nickered softly as they neared her old home, and satan, running free in a field of stubble from which lance had gathered the corn, came galloping to the boundary to stretch a friendly nose across to his old companion. ola looked with relief at the black horse. here was assurance that lance was at home. yet, when she got off, tied the filly, and made her way to the cabin, she found it all closed, silent, apparently deserted. in the mountains, nobody raps on a door. ola gave the customary hail, her voice wavering on the "hello!" there was no answer. again she tried, drawing nearer, circling the house, forbearing to touch either of the doors or step on the porch. "hello, lance! hoo-ee--lance!" she ventured finally. "it's ola. i got somethin' to say to you." she stood long after that effort. a wind went by in the oak leaves, whispering to itself derisively. the shabby, stubbed little figure in the dooryard, halting with rusty calico riding skirt dragged about her, choked and shivered. "i know he's in thar," she muttered to herself resentfully, and then marched straight up the steps and shook the door. the rattling of the latch gave her to understand that the bar was dropped. people cannot go outside and bar a door. "lance," she reiterated, "i got somethin' to tell you about cindy." [298] the hound who had accompanied lance and ola on many a stolen hunting trip or fishing excursion roused from his slumbers in the barn and came baying down to greet her. she paid no attention to the dog. "flent he's had the filly at our house for two weeks," she said, addressing the closed and barred door. "he--he's a-aimin' to take her away to-morrow. do you want me to buy her back for you? lance--aw, say, lance--do you? i could." outside were the usual summer sounds, the rattle of the dog's feet on the porch floor as he capered about her. within, hearken as she might, the silence was unbroken, till suddenly across it cut, with a sharp pang of melody, the twanging of banjo strings. ola began to cry. springing forward, she beat fiercely on the door with her palms, then laid hold of its knob once more to rattle it. under her touch it swung wide, revealing an empty room, spotlessly clean, in perfect order, with lance's banjo, yet humming, lying on the floor where it had fallen from its nail. "i know you' in thar," she sobbed, speaking now to the four walls that mocked her with a semblance of welcome. "this here is jest like you. lance cleaverage. this is the way you always treat a friend. you ain't a-lookin', you ain't a-carin'!" her voice broke shrilly on the last words, and, [299] whirling, she sat down on the step, flinging her forehead upon her knees, sobbing, catching her breath, and still accusing. "i don't know why i come here this-a-way, a-hangin' around after you!" she stormed. "hit's jest like it's always been--i cain't he'p myself. the good lord! what's callisty gentry thinkin' of?--her that had you, and wouldn't keep you!" silence. the hound curled down at her feet. cindy, pulling loose from her tether, cropped the roadside grass with steady, even bites. callista's hollyhocks nodded by the doorstone. in the room there callista's hand showed everywhere. the derf girl sobbed herself quiet. "lance," she said heavily at length, getting to her feet, "i'm a-goin' to leave the turkey tracks. you won't see me no more. i"--she stood and listened long--"well, good-bye. lance." she halted down the steps, her glance over her shoulder in the vacant room, so like the empty expressionless face lance used to turn to her and her blandishments. she got to cindy and prepared to mount. again she waited, with her hand caught in the filly's mane; but there came no answer from the doorway, no sound nor movement in the house. she climbed droopingly to the saddle, and took the homeward trail. [300] chapter xxi. flenton hands. lance cleaverage's wife had been many weeks in the home of her grandfather when it was noticed that flenton hands made occasion to come very frequently to the gentry place. ajax was well off, for the mountains, and they had always been hospitable; there was much coming and going about the farm; yet the presence of this visitor could not but be noted. "i reckon you'll have to speak to him. pappy," octavia said finally. "i had it on the end of my tongue to name it to him the other day that hit don't look well for him to come back here a-hangin' around the wife of a man that has threatened him. i know in my soul that lance cleaverage would not want more than a fair excuse to--well, an' i couldn't blame him, neither." it was evident to all that octavia gentry, though now as ever she loved her daughter above everything, could not find it in her soft heart to censure lance. indeed that heart bled for him and the sufferings she felt sure were his. it chanced that ajax spoke to his frequent guest the next day and in the presence of his daughter-in-law. flenton had come on one of his aimless visits; [301] he was sitting on the porch edge, and callista had gathered up her baby and retreated to the weaving room, whence the steady "thump-a-chug! thump-a-chug!" of the loom came across to them. flenton's slaty gray eyes began to wander in the direction of the sounds, and ajax, prompted by anxious looks from octavia, finally addressed him. "flenton," he began, removing his pipe from his lips, and examining its filling as he spoke, "you've come here right smart of late." the visitor looked doubtfully from one to the other. "y-yes, mr. gentry," he allowed uneasily, "i have." "uh-huh," ajax pursued in deep, even tones. "yo're welcome in this house, like any other neighbor, and they ain't a man on top o' the turkey track mountings that can say i ever shut my door in the face of a friend. but--i'll ax you fa'r and open--do you think hit's wise?" again flenton's eyes went rapidly, almost stealthily, from one face to the other. "do i think what's wise?" he finally managed to inquire, with fair composure. "well," said the elder man slowly, "in the first place we'll say that lance cleaverage ain't a feller to fool with. we'll say that, and we'll lay it by and not name him again.". he paused a moment, then went on: "like some several other o' the boys hereabouts, [302] you used to think a heap o' sis before she was wedded. she's quit her man; and do you think hit's wise to visit so much at the house where she's stayin'? this matter consarns me and the girl's mother, too. i take notice all the rest o' the boys lets sis alone. how about you?" this time flent did not turn his head. he stared out over the hills and made no answer for so long that octavia spoke up, a tremor of impatience, or of resentment, in her voice. "now, flent, they's no use o' talkin'; of all of sis's lovyers, you hung on the longest. look like you wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. why, the very night her and lance was married, you done yo' best to step betwixt 'em. and worst is, you don't quit it now that they air wedded." "octavy," demurred old ajax, chafed at seeing a man so bearded by one of the weaker sex, "flenton may have something to say--let him speak for hisself." thus encouraged, hands faced about toward them. "no, i ain't never give up callisty," he said doggedly, "and i ain't never a-goin' to. she's quit her husband." even in his eagerness he did not find it possible to take lance's name on his lips. "she's left that thar feller that never done her right, and never was fit for her, to consarn himself with his own evil works and ways; and she's come home here to you-all; and i don't [303] see what should interfere now between her an' me." octavia's comely face crimsoned angrily. "a married woman--a wife--" she broke out with vehemence. but her father-in-law checked her by a motion of the hand. "yes, callisty's quit lance cleaverage," agreed ajax dryly. "an' she's come home. but i reckon she'll behave herself. leastways, she will while she's in my house." at the seeming implication, octavia's fingers trembled in her lap, and she turned a wounded look upon ajax. "well, pappy! you' no call--" she was beginning, when flenton, with a manner almost fawning, interrupted her. "you don't rightly git my meaning, mr. gentry--nor you, neither, miz. gentry," he said humbly. "i've lived considerable in the settlement. down thar, when married people cain't git along, and quits each other, there's--there's ways--down in the settlement--" he broke off under the disconcerting fire of ajax's eye. "oh--one o' them thar _di_-vo'ces, you mean?" the old man said, strong distaste giving an edge to his deep voice. "well, they ain't a-goin' to be none sech between lance and callisty," octavia protested indignantly. "if that's what you' hangin' around for, you'll [304] have yo' trouble for yo' pains, flenton hands." she got up sharply, went into the house, and shut the door, leaving the two men together. yet when she reviewed her daughter's conduct, her mind, ever alert to the interests of the erring lance, misgave her. callista seemed hard enough and cold enough for anything. octavia heard the two masculine voices, questioning, replying, arguing. she had put herself beyond understanding the words they uttered, but presently feminine curiosity overcame her, and she was stealing back to listen, when, through the small window, she saw flenton hands get heavily to his feet. a moment he stood so, looking down, then, her head close to the sash, she heard him ask, "i've got yo' permission, have i, mr. gentry, to go over thar and name this all out to callisty?" "i don't know as you've got my permission, and i don't forbid ye," ajax gentry said haughtily. "i hold with lettin' every feller go to destruction his own way. he gits thar sooner; and that's whar most of 'em ort to be." "well, you don't say i shain't go and speak to her of it," hands persisted. "i'm a honest man, a perfesser and a church member, and what i do is did open and above-boards. i thank ye kindly for yo' good word." old ajax, who certainly had given no good word, merely grunted as hands made his way swiftly across the grass to the cabin where the loom stood. [305] "don't werry, octavy," he said, not unkindly, as his daughter-in-law's distressed face showed at the window. "shorely sis has got the sense to settle him." callista, hard at work, was aware of her visitor by the darkening of the doorway. she looked up and frowned slightly, but gave no other sign of noting his coming. the baby sat on the floor, playing gravely with a feather which stuck first to one plump little finger end and then another. had flenton hands possessed tact, he might have made an oblique opening toward the mother through the child. as it was, he began in a choked, husky voice, "callisty, honey--" he broke off. the concluding word was said so low that callista could pretend not to have heard it, and she did so. "callisty," he repeated, coming in and leaning tremulously forward on the loom, "i want to have speech with you." "i'm not saying anything against your speakin', am i?" inquired callista. "but i'm right busy now, flenton. it isn't likely that you could have anything important to say to me, and i reckon it'll keep." "you know mighty well and good that what i have to say to you is plenty important," flenton told her, shaken out of his usual half-cringing caution. "callisty, yo' husband has quit ye; [306] he's down in the settlement, and is givin' it out to each and every that he's aimin' to sell to the company and go to texas." he would have continued, but a glance at her face showed him such white rage that he was startled. "i didn't aim to make you mad," he pleaded. "i know you quit lance first--good for nothin' as he was, he'd never have given you up, i reckon, till you shook him." callista set a hand against her bosom as though she forcibly stilled some emotion that forbade speech. finally she managed to say with tolerable composure, "flenton hands, you've named a name to me that i won't hear from anybody's lips if i can help it--least of all from yours. if that's the speech you came to have with me, you better go--you cain't take yourself off too soon." "no," hands clung to his point, "no, callisty, that ain't all i come to say. i want to speak for myse'f." he studied her covertly. he did not dare to mention the divorce which he had assured her grandfather he was ready and anxious to secure for her. "i,"--he was breathing short, and he moistened his lips before he could go on--"i just wanted to say to you, callisty, that thar's them that loves you, and respects and admires you, and thinks the sun rises and sets in you." [307] lance's wife looked down with bitten lip. her full glance studied the cooing child playing on the floor near her feet. "well--and if _that's_ all you came to say, you might have been in better business," she told him coldly. "i reckon i've got a few friends." she chose to ignore the attitude of lover which he had assumed. after a moment's silence flenton began desperately, "yo' grandfather named to me that i ought not to visit at the house like i do without my intentions towards and concerning you was made clear," twisting grandfather gentry's words to a significance that would certainly have amazed the original speaker. "i told him that i was a honest man and a member in good standin' of brush arbor church, and that what i wanted of you was--" he caught the eye of the girl at the loom and broke off. the red was rising in her pale face till she looked like the callista of old. "don't you never say it!" she choked. "don't you come here to me, a wedded wife, doin' for my child, and talk like i was a girl lookin' for a husband. i've got one man. him and me will settle our affairs without help from you. i may not let you nor nobody else, name him to me--but i'll take no such words as this from your mouth." "an' you won't let me come about any more--you won't speak to me?" demanded hands, in alarm. [308] "what is it to me where you come or where you stay?" callista flung back scornfully. "this ain't house of mine---i'm not the one to bid you go or come." and with this very unsatisfactory permission, flenton was obliged to content himself. thereafter he went to the gentry's as often as he dared. he sent little liza when he was afraid to go; and if callista put her foot off the place, she found herself dogged and followed by her unwelcome suitor. [309] chapter xxii. the speech of people. and now gossip began to weave a confusing veil of myth around the deserted man, such as time and idle conjecture spread about a deserted house. one day, visitors to the cabin in the gap would find the place apparently forsaken and untenanted; the next, lance would be seen plodding with bent shoulders at the plow, making ready a patch to plant with turf oats for winter pasture, lifting his head to answer nobody's hail, barely returning a greeting. it was evident that in his times of activity he worked with a fury of energy at the carrying forward of the farm labor, the improvements he and callista had planned in the home. plainly these were dropped as suddenly as entered upon when his mood veered, and he shut himself up in the cabin, or was out with his rifle on the distant peaks of white oak, in the ravines of possum mountain, or beating the breaks of west caney. he made more than one trip to the settlement, too, where he was known to be trying to get dan bayliss to buy back cindy for him. always a neat creature, careful of his personal appearance, a certain indefinite forlornness came to show itself upon him now--a touch of [310] the wild. he was thin, often unshaven, and his hair straggled long on his coat collar. but the soul that looked out of lance's eyes, a bayed, tormented thing, was yet unsubdued. no doubt he was aghast at the whole situation; but willing to abase himself or cry "enough," he was not. ola derf, true to her word, left the turkey tracks the day after her unsuccessful attempt at an interview with lance. when it came to be said that he had sold to the coal company, not only the mineral rights of his land but the acres themselves, and that he was going west, rumor of course coupled the two names in that prospective hegira. there were those who would fain have brought this word to callista, hoping thereby to have something to report; but the blue fire of callista's eye, the cutting edge of her quiet voice, the carriage of that fair head of hers, warned such in time, and they came away without having opened the subject. it was preacher drumright who officially took the matter up, and set out, as he himself stated, "to have the rights of it." his advent at the gentry place greatly fluttered octavia, who knew well what to expect, and had grown to dread her daughter's inflexible temper. the inevitable chickens were chased and caught; callista set to work preparing the usual preacher's dinner. ajax was fence mending in a far field; octavia entertained the guest in the open porch, since, [311] though it was now mid-october, the day was sunny, and your mountaineer cares little for chill in the air. drumright's sharp old eyes followed the graceful figure in its journeyings from table to hearth-stone; they stared thoughtfully at the bright, bent head, relieved against the darkness of the cavernous black chimney. finally he spoke out, cutting across some mild commonplace of octavia's. "callisty, come here," he ordered brusquely. the young woman put a last shovelful of coals back on the lid of the dutch oven whose browning contents she had just been inspecting, and then came composedly out, wiping her hands on her apron, to stand before the preacher quite as she used when a little girl. "i hear you've quit yo' husband--is that so?" drumright demanded baldly. callista kept her profile to him and looked absently away toward the distant round of yellow old bald, just visible against an unclouded sky. the color never varied on the fair cheek, and the breath which stirred her blue cotton bodice was light and even. when she did not reply, the old man ruffled a bit, and prompted her. "i ax you, is it true?" she drew up her shoulders in the very faintest possible shrug, as of one who releases a subject scarce worth consideration. "you said you'd heard," she returned indifferently. [312] "i reckon you can follow your ruthers about believing." drumright's long, rugged face crimsoned with rising rage. his lean, knotted hands twitched as he started forward in his seat. he could have slapped the delicate, unmoved, disdainful face before him. "to yo' preacher, that's nothin' less than a insult," he stated, looking from one woman to the other. "well, sis won't let nobody name this to her," octavia broke in hurriedly. "an' i ort to have warned you--" "warned me!" snorted the preacher. "callisty won't let this and that be named! well, if she was my gal, she'd git some things named to her good and plenty." callista bent to pick up, from the porch floor, an acorn that had fallen with a sharp rap from the great oak over their heads; she tossed it lightly out into the grass, then she made as though to return to her cooking. "hold on!" drumright admonished her. "i ain't through with you yet. this here mammy o' yourn sp'iled you till them that ort to give you good advice is scared to come within reach. but i ain't scared. i've got a word to say. this man cleaverage has got property--and a right smart. hit's been told all around that he's sold out to the coal company and is goin' west with--well, [313] they say he's goin' west. now, havin' a livin' wife and a infant child, he cain't make no good deed without you sign; and what i want to know is, has he axed you to sign sech? ef he has, i hope you had the sense to refuse. ef he comes to you with any sech, i want you to send for me to deal with him--you hear? send for me." the rasping voice paused. drumright was by no means through with his harangue, but he stopped a moment to arrange his ideas. he dwelt with genuine comfort on the thought of being called in to have it out once for all with lance cleaverage. then callista's voice sounded, clear and quiet. "mr. drumright," she said, "if you're never sent for till i do the sending, you'll stay away from this house the rest of yo' days. i'm a servant here, a-workin' for my livin' and the livin' of my child. them that my grandfather and my mother bids to this house, i cook for and wait on; but speak to you again i never will. mammy, the dinner's ready; if you don't mind putting it on the table, i'll go out and see is the baby waked up." with this she stepped lightly down and walked across to her own cabin. drumright turned furiously upon octavia. she, at least, was a member of his church, and bound to take his tongue-lashings meekly. what he found to say was not new to her, and she accepted [314] it with tears of humiliation; but when he wound up with declaring that she had brought all this about by giving her daughter to an abandoned character, even she plucked up spirit to reply. "you may be adzactly right in all you say," she told the harsh, meddlesome old man; "but i've got the first thing to see about lance cleaverage that i couldn't forgive. what him and sis fell out about i don't know, and she won't tell me; but as to blamin' it all on lance, that i'll never do." then she dished up and set before her irate guest a dinner which might have soothed a more perverse temper. ajax gentry came in from his fence mending, and, with the advent of the man, drumright's tone and manner softened. he made no further reference to callista's personal affairs, nor to the castigation she ought to receive. the two old men sat eating and talking--the slow grave talk of the mountaineer--about crops and elections and religion. callista did not come back from the little cabin, whence presently the sound of her loom made itself heard. at this point drumright ventured a guarded suggestion to his host, in the matter of her affairs. he was met with a civil but comprehensive negative. "no, sir, i shall not make nor meddle," grandfather gentry told the preacher, as he stood finally at the roadside, looking up at that worthy mounted on his mule for departure. "callista is [315] my only grandchild, and i've always thought a heap of her. she is welcome in my house. if she had done worse, i should still be willing to roof her; but i reckon it's best to tell you here and now, mr. drumright, that i have no quarrel with lance cleaverage, and no cause to meddle in his affairs. i take him to be a good deal like i was at his age--sort o' uneasy when folks come pesterin' around asking questions--and i don't choose to be one of them that goes to him that-a-way." the season wore on toward winter. there was frost, and after it a time of exquisite, mist-haunted indian summer, the clean, wooded cumberland highlands swimming in a dream of purple haze, that sense of waiting and listening brooding over all. then again the days were cold enough to make the fire welcome, even at noon, and callista piled the hearth in her outside cabin room and set the baby to play before it. she had run down to the chip pile for an apronful of trash to build the blaze higher (the vigorous, capable young creature made light work, these days, of getting her own fuel), when she was aware of two people mounted on one mule stopping at the gate. she paused a moment, shading her eyes with her hand, while rilly trigg slid down and buck fuson swung himself leisurely to earth. above the irregular line of the brown-gold trees, beginning to be dingy with the late storms, the [316] sky was high, cloudless, purple-blue. the sweet, keen air lifted callista's bright hair and tossed it about her face. "howdy, callisty. me and buck jest stopped apast to say good-bye," rilly announced, joining her beside the chopping block, and bending to fill her own hands with the great hickory chips. "and where was you and buck a-goin'?" smiled callista, after she had greeted the young fellow, who tied his mule and came following the girl over to her. "buck and me was wedded this morning." rilly made her announcement with a mantling color, as they all turned in at the cabin door. "we're goin' down to hepzibah for a spell. looks like a man cain't git nothin' to do here, and buck's found work in the settlement." callista looked at them with a steady smile. "i hope you-all will be mighty happy," she said in a low tone. rilly, suddenly overtaken by the embarrassment of making such an announcement to callista in her present situation, sat down on the floor beside the baby and began to hug him ecstatically. "ain't he the sweetest thing?" she cried over and over again. "he ain't forgot me. he ain't a bit afraid of me. last time him an' me was together i had to make up with him mighty careful. i reckon he sees more strangers and more comin' and goin' over here." [317] callista's beautiful mouth set itself in firm lines as she took her chair beside the hearth, motioning buck to one opposite. rilly glanced nervously from one to the other, and again looked embarrassed. "derf, he's opened his store down in the settlement," she returned hastily to her own affairs, for the sake of saying something, "and he offered buck a job with him; but i jest cain't stand that old flent hands, and so i told buck."' "what has flenton got to do with it?" inquired callista in a perfunctory tone. "why, him an' derf's went partners," buck explained. "didn't you know about it? flent's to run the town store, an' derf this'n up here." rumor in the turkey tracks now declared with a fair degree of boldness that flenton hands was getting, or was to get, for callista a divorce from her husband, and that then they would be married and live in the settlement. lance's wife looked her visitor very coolly in the face as she answered, "i certainly know nothing of flenton hands's comings or goings. the man made himself mighty unpleasant here. hit's not my house, and not for me to say who shall be bidden into it; but i did finally ax gran'pappy would he speak to flent hands and tell him please not to visit us any more. i hate to do an old neighbor that-a-way," she added, "but looks like there are some things that cain't be passed over." [318] a swift glance of satisfaction flashed between the newly wedded pair. rilly rose and went timidly to callista, putting a hesitant arm about the other's neck. "we come a-past yo' house this morning, callisty, honey," she whispered, her cheek against the older girl's. "i--buck an' me wanted to see him; and we hoped--we thort--" not unkindly callista pushed the clinging arm away and looked straight into rilly's eyes, overflowing with tears. "you're not thinkin' what you say, rilly," she told the girl, almost sharply. "you never come a-past no house of mine. you are in the only house i've got on earth right now, and this belongs to grandfather gentry. i stay here on sufferance, and work for what i get. i've got no home but this." "oh, callisty--you're so hard-hearted!" rilly protested. "we come a-past, and he was thar, an' he never hid from us, like he does from most, nor shet the do' in our faces. he let us set on the porch a spell. oh, honey, he looks mighty porely. ain't you never scared about what he might do? heap o' folks tells tales about him now; but he came out jest as kind--jest like he used to be--oh, callisty!" callista's face was very pale; it looked pinched; she sat staring straight ahead of her, with the air of one who endures the babble of a forward child. [319] "rilly," she said finally, when the other had made an end, "you've named something that i don't allow anybody to name in my hearing. if you and me are going to be friends, you've said your last word about it to me." "well,--i have, then," returned the visitor half angrily. she searched in a small bag she carried hung on her arm and brought out something. "i've said my last word, then," she repeated. "but--i brung you this." "this" proved to be a late rose marked by frost, its crimson petals smitten almost to black at their edges. callista knew where it had grown, she recalled the day that she and her bridegroom had planted it. the root came from father cleaverage's place; lance had brought it to her; and he had helped her well, and watered the little bush afterward. rilly cast the blossom toward her with a gesture half despair, half reproach. it lodged in her clasped hands a moment, and she looked down at it there. memory of that october day, the tossing wind that blew her hair in her eyes, the familiar little details of the dooryard, lance with his mattock and spade, the laughter and simple speech, the bits of foolish jest and words of tenderness--these took her by the throat and made her dumb. she knew that now the cabin which fronted that dooryard was desolate. she could not refuse to see lance's solitary figure moving from house to [320] fence to greet these two. somehow she guessed that it was he who had plucked the rose and given it to the girl--that would be like lance. the blossom slipped from her fingers and dropped to the floor. young ajax, cruising about seeking loot, discovered it with a crow of rapture, seized upon it and began, baby fashion, to pull it to pieces. the three watched with fascinated eyes as the fat little fingers rent away crimson petal after petal, till all the floor was strewn with their half withered brightness. "well," said rilly, discouraged, getting to her feet, "i reckon you an' me may as well be goin', buck." [321] chapter xxiii. buck fuson's idea. down in hepzibah, flenton hands and derf had rented a store building close under the shadow of the court house. furtive grins were exchanged among those who knew; since it was expected that, the derf store on little turkey track mountain being a depot for wildcat whiskey, the derf hands store in the settlement would be a station along the line of that underground railway always necessary for the distribution of the illicit product. at last flenton hands seemed about to give some shape to that cloud of detraction which, with certain of his neighbors, had always hung over his name. as the separation between lance cleaverage and his wife continued, and appeared likely to be permanent; as hands felt himself in so far justified in his hopes concerning callista, his terror of the man whose word was out against him increased and became fairly morbid. this it was which drove him to hepzibah, where the strong arm of the law could reach, where there were such things as peace warrants, and where fortunately, just at present, lott beason, the newly elected sheriff, was his distant cousin and [322] an old business partner, who still owed him money. to sheriff beason, then, hands went, with the statement that he would like to be a constable, so that, as an officer of the law, any attack lance made on him might appear at its gravest. "constable," debated beason. "that ain't so everlastin' easy; but i can swear you in as one of my deputies, and a deputy sheriff can pack a gun--you git you a good pistol, flent, and don't be ketched without it. yes, you might as well have a peace warrant out against the feller, too. i tell you, down in the settlement here we don't put up with such. you stay pretty close to town for a spell, flent. hit's the safest place." hands got out his peace warrant, he armed himself with a pistol, as is right and proper for an officer of the law. he followed beason's final suggestion as well, and stayed pretty close to town. lance cleaverage was far away on little turkey track mountain. the sense of security which hands drew from all these precautions loosened his tongue. wincing at remembrance of his former terror, he boasted of the favor with which cleaverage's wife regarded him; he let pass uncontradicted the statement that he had broken up that family, and added the information that he was going to get a divorce for callista and marry her. [323] buck fuson, working in the woolen mill, had rented a tiny shack where the newly married pair were keeping house. one evening when he came home, orilla met him with a rather startling story. she had been down to derf's store to buy molasses and bacon for supper. "they was all in the back end of the room behind the boxes and the piles of things, buck," she told her husband. "the old injun, he waited on me; and when he went back with my bucket, injun-like, he never give them the word as to who nor what was a-listenin', and they just kept on talkin' re-dic'lous. flenton was a-braggin', an' after what callista's said to me and you, i knowed good an' well that every word he spoke was a lie. emmet provine bantered him to sell him that cindy filly that lance used to own, an' give to callista. an' flent said no, he wouldn't sell her for nothin'; he was a-goin' to keep the filly an' git the woman, too. he let on like he was shore goin' to marry callista--talked like they wasn't sech a man as lance cleaverage in the world. then derf peeked around and ketched sight of me, and they all hushed. but i heard what i heard." buck ate awhile in silence and with a somewhat troubled countenance. "i reckon i've got to send word to lance," he said finally, looking up. "lance cleaverage never was one of the loud-talkin', quarrelin' [324] kind; but he sure don't know what it is to be scared; and i'm sartain he would take it kindly to be told of this." "an' yit i don't know," rilly debated timidly from across the table. "looks like you men are always killin' each other up for nothin' at all. 'course, ef i thought flent would be the one to git hurt--but like as not it would be lance. no, honey, i wouldn't send him no word." "you don't need to," smiled buck rather grimly. "i have my doubts whether he'd take the word from a gal o' yo' size; but i'm sure a-goin' to lay for him or sylvane and tell 'em what i know. i'd thank anybody to do the same by me." during the rest of the meal buck seemed to be in deep thought; rilly watched him anxiously. it was the next saturday afternoon that lance was down doing some trading. about dusk fuson, coming home from his work, found him on the street corner preparing to get his wagon from the public yard and make a night ride up the mountain. in these days lance made most of his journeyings after dark, shunning the faces of his neighbors. "i was sorter watchin' for ye, lance," said his friend. "i wanted to talk to ye--to tell ye somethin'." lance shot a swift glance at fuson; but he answered promptly, and with seeming indifference: [325] "all right, buck; come on down to dowst's with me." they walked side by side down to the tiny, dingy, deserted office of the wagon yard. here a small stove, crammed with the soft coal of the region till the molten, smoky stuff dripped from the sagging corners of the gaping door to its firebox, made the room so intolerably warm that the window was left open. on a high desk rudely constructed of plank, an ill-tended kerosene lamp flared and generated evil odors. from nails upon the wall hung harness and whips, horse blankets, and one or two articles of male wearing-apparel. a dog-eared calendar over the desk gave the day of the month to the blacksmith when he was forced at long last to make out bills. alone together, safe from interruptions, the two young fellows faced each other for a moment in constrained silence. then, hastily, awkwardly, halting and hesitating for a word now and again. buck gave the information which he thought was due. "now, that's what was said," he finally made an end when he had repeated all that rilly heard, and all that he himself had since gathered from various sources, of flenton hands's boasting concerning callista cleaverage. something agonized in lance's gaze, something which looked out desperately interrogating, brought buck to himself with a gasp. [326] "rilly and me knowed every word was lies," he hastened to add. "we come a-past the gentry place to see callisty as we was on our way down here--you remember, lance, that day we was at yo' house. flenton hands was named betwixt us, and callisty she said that she didn't know nothing about the man nor his doings. she said she'd went to her gran'pappy and axed him to warn flent off the place, becaze she wouldn't have the sort of talk be held." noting the sudden relief which showed in lance's countenance, fuson added, half doubtfully, "'course you might pay no attention to it, seein' it's all lies." the quiet lance flashed a sword-like look at him that was a revelation. "oh, no," he said. "the thing has got to be stopped. the only question is, how soon and how best can i get at flenton hands and stop it?" "lance," began the other with some hesitation, "i'm a-livin' right here in the settlement, and aim so to do from this on. if you can git through without bringin' my name in, i'd be obliged to you. if you need me, i'm ready. if you don't need me, it'll save hard feelin's with the man that keeps the store i trade at, and with all his kin and followin'." "all right," agreed lance briefly. "i won't give any names--there's no need to." [327] "well, i been a studyin' on this thing right smart, and i had sorter worked it out in my mind for you to hear the talk yo'self--just happen in and hear mr. hands. don't you reckon that'd be the best way?" suggested fuson. "yes--good as any," assented lance. "i'm not lookin' for much trouble with flent hands. here, jimmy," he called to the sleepy boy who came yawning in, "you take my black horse out of the wagon, and put a saddle on him--you've got one here, haven't you? put a saddle and a riding bridle on him, and tie him in the vacant lot across from derf & hands's store about half-past eight o'clock. i'll bring the saddle back when i'm through with it." "all right," jimmy roused himself to assure lance. "i'll have sate thar on time. pap's got a saddle an' bridle o' yo' brother taylor's here, fuson. lance can take 'em back." as the two friends came out shoulder to shoulder, buck said quietly, "derf, he's got it in for you, too." lance nodded. "derf ain't never forgive me because he robbed me of money," he added, well aware that his indifference to ola had given the father perhaps greater offence. they walked for a little time in silence; then fuson said a little wistfully, "i 'lowed i ort to tell you." [328] "hit was what a friend should do," lance agreed with him, putting out a hand. presently the other spoke again, out of the dark. "i wish't thar was time to git word to sylvane and your father," he hesitated. "looks like we've got too few on our side." "huh-uh, buck," came back lance's quiet, positive tones. "this thing is between me and flent. there it'll stay, and there we'll settle it. i'm not saying that i don't think pappy and sylvane would stand by me. they would. my father is one of the best men that god ever made, and he's a religious man; but i know how he'd feel about such as this--i don't need to go ask him. the most i hate in it is that it's bound to bring sorrow to him, whichever way it turns. he's mighty tender hearted." fuson debated a moment, but finally forbore to mention having sent word to sylvane, and being in hourly expectation of the lad's coming. they went to fuson's home for a belated supper. rilly found them preoccupied and unusually silent. with big, frightened eyes she waited on them, serving her best, noting that they paid little attention to anything saving the strong cups of coffee provided. the young host glanced from time to time uneasily through the window, and when the meal was over got up, and, telling his wife that they were going down town for a [329] spell, followed his guest out into the dark. rilly ran after them to the door of the little shanty, and stood breathing unevenly and staring in the direction of their retreating footsteps. "i hope to the lord they don't nothing awful happen," she muttered over and over with chattering teeth. "i wonder will buck be keerful. i wish't they was something i could do. i wish't i could go along. oh, women do shore have a hard time in this world!" and she retired, shivering, to her bright little kitchen, where the lamp flared and the disordered table mutely suggested her clearing and washing the dishes. [330] chapter xxiv. silenced. up the street tramped the two young fellows, lance silent, pulling his hat down over his face, fuson whistling in an absent, tuneless fashion. when they came to the store, buck paused and gave the instructions. "i'll go in. you walk a-past two or three times, and when you see me standin' with my back to you and my hands behind me, that'll mean that flenton's thar and the talk started. hit'll be yo' time to come in." lance nodded without a word. he passed the lighted doorway. beyond it was a butcher shop--for days after he could remember the odor of raw meat from the place, the sight of the carcasses hung up in the frosty winter air. at the corner he turned and walked back. there was no sign of fuson as he glanced swiftly into the store. on the other side of the way was the vacant lot where he had instructed the boy from the wagon-yard to tie satan. lance took the precaution to go down in the shadows and see if the black horse had arrived. he found his mount, the bridle rein looped over a bit of scrubby bush. he examined the saddle and [331] equipments, and found all as it should be. when he came back to the store door and once more glanced in, he descried fuson's figure, standing, hands behind the back, in the aisle between the counters. quietly, neither hiding nor displaying himself, lance entered and made his way down the long room toward the far lighted end. after dark, trade in the main portion of the store was practically dead, and only one smoky lamp on the counter illuminated the entrance. in the rear, half-a-dozen men were grouped around a big, rust-red barrel stove, talking. the whole place back there reeked with the odors of whiskey, of the fiery, colorless applejack that comes down from the mountains, kerosene and molasses, with a softening blend from the calico, jeans and unbleached cottons heaped on the counters, narrowing in the approach to this retreat. he paused beside a tall pile of outing flannel, putting up one hand against the rounded edges of their bolts. fuson, glancing over his shoulder, was aware of the figure in the shadow, and at once spoke in a slightly raised voice. "flent, i hear you've sold yo' filly." "well, then, you hearn a lie," returned flenton hands's tones drawlingly. "i hain't sold that filly, and i'm not aimin' to. that thar nag belongs to my wife." he laughed uproariously at his own jest, and [332] some of the other men laughed too. greene stribling, down from big turkey track to do a bit of trading, had sold a shoat. instead of getting the coffee and calico and long sweetening it should have purchased, and carrying them, with the remaining money, up to his toil-worn mother and younger brothers and sisters, he had bought a jug of the derf & hands wildcat whiskey; and having borrowed the small tin cup from beside the water bucket, he was standing treat to the crowd. "fust time i ever heared you had an old woman," derf said, accepting the cup from the assiduous stribling. it was evident, now that lance had a view of the faces, that this was a flenton hands nobody on turkey track mountain ever met. he had, as it were, come out into the open. certainly he was not drunk; it would have taken a very considerable amount of stimulant to intoxicate that heavy, dense spirit and mentality; but there was color in his cheek, a glint of courage in his pale eye, a warming and freeing of the whole personality, that bore witness to what he had been drinking. "i reckon you mean the wife that you're a-_goin_' to have," put in fuson. "hit's a good thing to git the pesky old stags like you married off. they have the name of breakin' up families. bein' a settled man myself in these days, i ain't got no use for such." [333] hands turned on him eagerly. "well, i have shore broke up one family," he declared. "i am a church member and a man that keeps the law; but that thar is a thing i'm not ashamed of." "yet i reckon you ain't a-braggin' about it," suggested buck. "i don't know as i'm braggin' about it, but i shore ain't denyin' it," maintained hands. "i'm ready to tell any person that will listen at me that me an' callista gentry aims--" "i'm a-listenin'," said a quiet voice from the shadows, and lance stepped into the circle, clear-eyed, alert, but without any air of having come to quarrel. for a moment flenton quailed. then he looked about him. this was not the wild turkey tracks. he was down in the settlement. there was law and order here. he had a peace warrant out against this man cleaverage. he glanced across at his cousin, the sheriff. beason would back him. why, he was a deputy sheriff himself, and the feeling of the gun in his pocket reassured him. lance stood at ease, composed, but definitely changed from the light-footed lance who had come swinging buoyantly down over the little hill that sunday morning two years ago. something told hands that the other was unarmed. "now see here, cleaverage," he began, wagging [334] his head and backing off a little, "i don't want to hurt your feelin's. i may have said to friends, and it may have got round to you, that the part you had did by--that the part you had did was not to your credit. she--" he hesitated. there was silence, and no one stirred. he went on. "she's a-workin' for her livin', and a-workin' mighty hard. she's a-supportin' the child. divo'ces can be had for such as that--you know they can." "that isn't what i heard you say--what you said you would tell anyone that'd listen," argued lance, his eyes fixed unwaveringly upon the other. "you've got to take back all that other talk, here before them you said it to. hit's a pack o' lies. i'm goin' to make you take it back, and beg pardon for it on your knees, flenton hands--on your knees, do you hear me?" the circle of men widened, each retiring inconspicuously, with apprehensive glance toward a clear exit for himself. the two opponents were left in the center of the floor, confronted, their faces glared upon by lamp-shine and the light from the open door of the stove; drawn by passionate hate, and with a creeping terror much more dangerous beginning to show itself in the countenance of the older man. "you wasn't never fitten for her," hands [335] cried out finally, his voice rising almost to falsetto with excitement. "she's glad to be shut of you." then like a fellow making a desperate leap, half in fright, half in bravado, "when her and me is wedded--" he broke off, staring with open mouth. lance had scarcely moved at all, yet the crouching posture of his figure had something deadly in it. flenton's clumsy right hand went back toward the pocket where that gun lay. with the motion, lance left the floor like a missile, springing at his adversary and pinning his arms down to his sides. it was done in silence. "hold on thar!" cried derf in alarm. "you-all boys better not git to fightin' in my store. sheriff!--hey, you, beason!--why don't you arrest that feller?" the two wrestled mutely in that constricted place. hands struggling to get his pistol out, lance merely restraining him. beason came forward, watching his chance and grabbing for cleaverage. he finally caught lance's arm, and his jerk tore loose the young fellow's grip on flenton hands. swiftly lance turned, and with a swinging blow freed himself, sending the unprepared sheriff to the floor. as he flung his head up again, he had sight of hands with a half-drawn weapon. flenton backed away and stumbled against the stove. the great iron barrel trembled--toppled--heaved, crashing over, sending [336] forth an outgush of incandescent coals, its pipe coming down with a mighty, hollow rattle and a profuse peppering of soot. the strangling smoke was everywhere. "name o' god, boys!" yelled derf, climbing to the counter, to get at a bunch of great shovels that hung on the wall above; "you'll set this place afire! flent, you fool, we ain't got a dollar of insurance!" at the moment lance closed with his man, locked him in a grip like a vise, went down with him, and rolled among the glowing cinders, conscious of a sudden burning pang along the left arm which was under him. fuson, watching hands strain and writhe to draw the pistol, and lance's effort to prevent him, saw that it was going against his friend. he thrust the haft of a knife into lance's right hand. the men were jumping about ineffectually, coughing and choking with the sulphurous fumes, divided between the fascination of that struggle on the floor, and the half-hearted effort to upend the stove by means of a piece of plank. the corner of a cracker box began to blaze. "lord god a'mighty!" derf was protesting, threshing at the burning goods, "we'll be plumb ruined!" fuson ran for the water bucket. some fool dashed a cup of whiskey on the coals, and in the ghastly light of the blue blaze. lance cleaverage, staggering up, saw a dead man at his feet. [337] [illustration: "he broke off, staring with open mouth."] he was not conscious that he had struck at all with the knife, yet there it was in his hand, red. the sleeve was half burned off his left arm, and still smoking. it was dark away from the fire. beason, stunned, was getting to his feet and hallooing, "hold cleaverage! somebody hold cleaverage! he's killed flent." and then lance felt the shoving of a palm against his shoulder. buck was pushing him quietly away, down between the lines of piled commodities. they were running together toward satan. back in the room they could hear the sheriff yelling for lights. "i thought i might just as well knock them lamps over for good measure," fuson muttered as they ran. "here's your horse--my pistol's in that holster, lance. air ye hurt?" "no," lance returned. "nothin' but my arm. i reckon i burnt it a little. it's only the left one. thank you. buck. you've been a true friend to me this night." and he was away, down the bit of lamplit street that ran so quickly into country road, past outlying cabins already dark, till he struck the first rise of turkey track and slacked rein. a moment he turned, looking over his shoulder at the lights. upon the instant the court house bell back there broke out in loud, frightened clamor. [338] "clang! clang! clang!" somebody was pulling wildly on the rope to call out the little volunteer fire company. he heard cries, shouts, and then the long wavering halloo that shakes the heart of the village dweller. "fire! fire! fire!" derf's store must be blazing. he wondered dully if they had dragged flenton's body away from the flames. hearkening, he suffered satan to breathe a bit on the rise that would take him to the great boulder where the roads branched, one going up little turkey track, the other leading aside direct to the big turkey track neighborhood. suddenly he stiffened in his saddle, cut short a groan wrenched from him by his injury, and listened strainingly. above the now diminishing noise from the village, he distinguished the sound of hoofs that galloped hard, growing louder with each moment,--the feet of one who pursued him. looping the bridle rein over the pommel of his saddle horn, he got at the pistol buck had provided, and thereafter rode warily but as rapidly as he dared, looking back to catch the first glimpse of the shape or shapes which might be following. he had just rounded the turn at the fork of the way, when somebody burst into it close at hand, coming through the short cut by cawthorne's gulch, and he thought he heard his name called. [339] to be taken now, to be dragged back to the jail, and, if not set upon and lynched by the beason-hands following, to rot there till such time as they chose to try him, and possibly pay for his act of wild justice with his own life, this was a vista intolerable to lance cleaverage. raising the weapon he fired at his pursuer. "oh, don't!" wailed the unseen; and the next moment sylvane leaped from the mule he rode, ran forward and caught at satan's mane, panting, "lance--lance! i was a-goin' to you as fast as i could. i struck down thar 'bout the time you must have left. i come dry valley way. is it--have you--" at the sound of sylvane's voice, the heritage of cain came home to lance cleaverage. a great upwelling black horror of himself flowed in on the fugitive. to what had he sunk! a murderer fleeing for his life, in his panic terror of pursuit menacing his own brother who came to help and succor! "oh, buddy--buddy--buddy!" he cried, doubling forward over the pommel of his saddle, clutching sylvane's shoulder, and closing his eyes to shut out the face of the dead man which swam before them in that quivering blue light. [340] chapter xxv. the flight. the dark hours of that january night saw the two brothers riding hard up into the mountains toward that tiny cleft in the peaks above east caney where lance now remembered the cave that he had once said should shelter him in case he ever killed a man. sylvane had much of lance's pride and courage, with little of his dash and perversity. had the peril been his own, one might have guessed that he would meet it with the gentle stoicism old kimbro showed. but that buddy should be in peril, fleeing for his life! the boy's universe reeled around him, confusion reigned where he should have been efficient and orderly; and when they stopped at the cabin in the gap for supplies, what with the agony of lance's burn and the disarray of his brother's whole mentality, they made sad work of it. something to eat, something to keep warm with, something to dress the hurt--these were the things the boy tried to remember, and forgot, and could not find, when he fancied the galloping hoofs of pursuers with every gust that shook the big trees in the dooryard. he got for the dressing of the arm only a roll [341] of new cloth, rough and unsuitable; while a few extra garments, a blanket, meat, meal, salt, a cooking vessel and some white beans made up the rest of his packet. he came out at the last carrying lance's banjo and put it on top of the supplies. "'way up yon they'll be nobody to hear you, and i reckon it might take off the edge of the lonesomeness," he half apologized when lance looked curiously at it in the light of the lantern his brother held. the owner of the banjo made no movement to take it and swing it upon his back, neither did he decline it; but indifferently sylvane was allowed to bring the once cherished possession along. through the cold, naked woods, they pushed to east caney. the creek was up. it was three o'clock, nearly four hours before the wintry dawn might be expected; yet a late moon had risen sufficiently to show them the swollen torrent. these mountain streams, fed by the snows of the higher ranges, clear, cold, boulder checked and fretted, sometimes rise in a night to a fury of destruction, scouring away whole areas from one bank or another. to-night caney, great with the snows from both of the twin peaks above it which a january thaw had sent down, made traveling in its bed a matter of life and death. yet the boys must attempt it. once [342] behind that barrier of roaring water, lance would be safe. true, mountain streams often subside as abruptly as they rise, so that no one could tell how long this particular safety would last. "i reckon we can git through better 'n the nags," sylvane said dubiously, as they divided the pack between them, and started out on the desperate enterprise of leaping from boulder to boulder through the swirling waters. they lost one bundle in the struggle, and they came through fearfully exhausted. lance with that left arm one surface of exquisite torture, his countenance pinched and his jaw set, his eyes burning in the white face that his brother could dimly discern. but they did get through, and came drenched, dripping, shuddering with cold, into the little valley. the last time lance had seen the place it was brimmed with the wine of summer, green, full of elusive forest scents, bird-haunted, drowsing under july sides, and the most beautiful creatures it held in its sweet shelter were callista and her child. now his desolate gaze searched its dim obscurity for the black loom of the rock house that had given its roof to their happy gipsying. the blanket and clothing had gone down roaring caney; but the banjo, carried carefully on sylvane's shoulders, whined against the bare twigs of the judas tree he was passing under, whimpered something in its twanging undertone that [343] demanded awfully of lance, "how many miles--how many years?" without waiting for his brother, and the lantern which the boy was relighting, he dashed down the slope, past the stark, empty rock house--swerving a little like a man going wide of an open grave--and gained the steep pathway to the cave, where sylvane, panting after, overtook him. "i'm obliged to get a fire for you, and see can i tie up that there arm," the boy declared pitifully. "lance, i'm that sorry i lost your blanket and clothes that i don't know what to do!" and his voice trembled. "it don't make any difference about me," lance said wearily. "i'd like for you to be dry and warm before you start back--but there's no time. you got to get away from here as quick as you can. if we leave the horses tied down there, and anybody sees 'em--you've got to get away quick, buddy." "where'd i better take sate?" asked sylvane, as he had asked before. "i've been studyin' about that," lance told him. "they're bound to know i'm in the mountains. we can't get rid of the nag, and if he goes to our house it will seem no more than natural. best just take him home and put him in the stable." sylvane had gathered pitch pine for light and [344] heat. he made a roaring fire and then attempted an awkward dressing of the injured arm. the rough cloths hurt. there was no liniment, not even flour to lay on the burn. lance locked his teeth in agony and bore it till time seemed to press. "go on, buddy," he urged. "when you can get to me with anything, do it. when you can't--i'll make out, somehow." "the good god knows i hate to leave you like this," the lad repeated, as he made his final preparations for departure. "pappy or me will be here inside of two days and bring you news, and something to keep warm with, and something to eat. lance, please lemme leave ye my coat--" "no, no, sylvane, you'd nigh about freeze without it a-ridin' home. it's not cold in the cave here. you go on now, buddy--that's a good boy." and blindly the younger lad turned and crept down the bank. [345] chapter xxvi. roxy griever. it was nearly noon when sylvane, reaching home by an obscure, roundabout trail, half perished from the cold, scouting the place long and fearfully before he dared enter, found that sheriff beason with a posse had been at his father's house, searched it, and gone. at the door his sister roxy met him, clutching his arm, staring over his shoulder with fear-dilated eyes, and whispering huskily, "whar is he? whar's lance?" the boy shook his head, pulling the drenched hat from his curls, and moving toward the hearth-stone where his father sat bowed over. "he's safe," the words came finally in a half-reluctant tone. new lines of resolution and manhood's bitter knowledge had been graving themselves on sylvane's face the past twenty-four hours. "i helped him to whar they cain't find him nor take him. let that be enough." "no--but it ain't enough," his sister rebelled. "here's beason has swore him in a posse of six, and he's out a-rakin' the mountings after lance. six men." roxy's face was gray. "they've started, have they?" said sylvane in [346] the voice of exhaustion. "well, what you don't know they cain't find out from you, sis' roxy. and i best not tell you whar lance is hid." "sylvane!" the woman's tone was sharp with suffering, rather than anger. "do you think i'd tell on my own brother? tham men might cut me into inch pieces and get nothin' from me. you don't know me, boy. i'd think little of puttin' one of 'em out of the way! thar was women in the bible done sech--and was praised for hit. i want to know whar lance is at," she choked, "and whether he's hurt, and what he's got for to comfort him--pore soul!" "hush, daughter," counselled kimbro gently. "sylvanus is right. people do sometimes betray what they aim to cover up. if i can guess whar my son is--and i reckon i could--that's one thing; but for any of us to be told, ain't safe." silently, almost sullenly, roxy hunted out dry clothes for sylvane, the boy sitting near his father, telling kimbro in a few brief sentences lance's version of the night's happenings, the old man nodding his head without a word of comment. she set food on the table and sylvane drew up to eat. "i want to go whar my unc' lance is at," whispered mary ann martha, suddenly pushing a tow head up under sylvane's arm and nearly causing him to overturn his coffee. "i'm a-goin' to he'p him fight." [347] sylvane lifted the child into his lap, and began to feed her with bits from his plate. "its unc' lance is all right, pretty," he said absently. "unc' sylvane and gran'pappy'll look after him. that's men's work. it help its mammy to keep the house, and soon unc' lance is goin' to be back and play the banjo for it." all day, that strange, brief, silent sunday in february, roxy strove to have the secret of lance's hiding place from her younger brother. again and again she turned from what she was doing to demand it of him; more than once she quit abruptly her labors about the house, to go and hunt him up, to ask him sometimes half-angrily, sometimes cajolingly, pleadingly, almost with tears. the boy withstood the fire of her importunities as best he could. he answered her in as few words as might be. without harshness, but only doggedly, he still responded in the negative, and always with mildness and a sort of regret. as it drew toward dusk, roxy's face began to harden into grim lines, and she went about her preparations for supper with a gleaming eye. her father, who had walked to a far pasture to salt cattle, came in, and sat with mary ann martha on his knee by the fireplace. roxy looked in at the door. mutely, with only a backward jerk of the head, she called them to their [348] meal. as the child was following, her mother detained her and, giving no explanation, went with her into the far room. a moment later she came to the men sitting at the table. "well, there's yo' supper," she said resentfully to sylvane, "sence you 'low that's all i'm fitten to do. ye can put the things away yo'selves, i reckon. i'm a-goin' on a arrant." and with the chubby mary ann martha bundled heavily in shawls, silent as a small mummy, and plainly under the hypnotism of impressive instructions from her mother, she turned and went from the room, and they heard the front door close softly after her. the men looked at each other uneasily, but there seemed nothing to be done. outside, roxy stooped and spoke again to the child. she straightened up and peered long about her, listening intently, then moved obliquely among the yard shrubbery down to the gate. crossing the road in the deep shade of cedar trees, she struck direct for the gentry place, going by woods-paths that had so often known lance's feet. when the short, fat little legs that trotted beside her in silence grew weary, she carried mary ann martha pick-a-back, and always she was whispering to her. "we're injuns now, ma'y-ann-marth'. mammy's a squaw, and you' a little papoose, out a-scoutin' to see can we find unc' lance; or head [349] off them that's a-aimin' to do him mischief. don't it make no noise." when, in turn, roxy herself was too tired to carry her daughter longer, she broke a thick willow switch beside a spring branch, and encouraged the little girl to ride a stick horse. "but remember we' injuns, honey," she whispered. "injuns don't make no noise nor let they' nags make none." in this wise they came to the edge of the timber and surveyed the opening where lay the gentry farm. here roxy left the child, motionless as a little image in her swaddling of thick shawls--stationing her in the grove of young chestnuts from which lance had emerged the night he came singing to callista's window--while she scouted with infinite pains the entire circuit of the clearing. she encountered nobody, and heard nothing; yet surely the house where lance cleaverage's wife and child were would be subject to espionage. the clear stars hung above the bleak treetops, and by their dim light she could just make out the various buildings, trees and bushes. once more carrying mary ann martha, she moved down to the corner of a small out-building. here she gave her last instructions to the child. "now, ma'y-ann-marth', you go right up that line of bushes, on the shady side, to yo' aunt callisty's house; and don't you speak a word [350] to anybody but her. you say to her that they's somebody--mind, honey, _somebody_, don't you name who--that wants speech with her, a-waitin' out here by the chicken-house. tell her to slip down here longside o' them same bushes. can mammy's gal say all that and say it right?" and she looked anxiously into mary ann martha's solemn little face. the child nodded her head vigorously, and a moment later the shapeless small figure started worming its way up along the obscuring row of bushes. finally she stopped on the doorstone of that cabin where she could hear the "thump-a-chug" of callista's loom. she well remembered that the last time she was over here her aunt callie had entertained her in that building, refusing to come out and see her mother. unacquainted with any such ceremonial as knocking, incapable of achieving the customary "hello," she planted herself on the doorstep and remarked gruffly, "huh!" the sound did not amount to much as a hail or an alarum, yet it reached the ear of the woman who sat at the loom inside working, with what strange thoughts as her companions it were hard to guess. somehow, it was now known all over both turkey track neighborhoods that lance had killed his man and fled, and that the sheriff and posse were out after him. the face that [351] bent over the web of rag carpet was sharpened and bleached by this knowledge. the blue eyes gleamed bright with it. when that curious, gruff little "huh" came to her ears, callista stopped her work like a shot and stood long hearkening. "hit was nothing," she told herself, half-scornfully. "i'm just scared, and listenin' for something." she started the treadle again, and the noise of the batten once more checked the silence into a rhythmic measure. but the dogs had become aware of an intruder. rousing from their snug quarters under the porch of the big log house, they came baying across the frozen ground. at their outburst of clamor, almost with one motion, callista stopped the loom a second time, turned out her lamp, and was at the door, drawing it open with a swift, yet cautious movement. there in the vague starlight was mary ann martha backed up against it, shaking a small and inadequate stick at the approaching pack. swiftly callista caught the little thing and pulled her inside, closed the door and dropped the bar across. she stooped to the child in the uncertain shine of the fire, questioning in amazement, "why, mary ann martha! how on earth did you get here--all alone--at night this-a-way?" "thest walked," returned the ambassador briefly. "aunt callie," she embarked promptly [352] and sturdily upon her narrative, "they's somebody down at the corner of the chicken-house that wants to have speech with you. don't you tell nobody, and you thest come along o' me and be injuns, and don't make no noise, an' slip down thar in the shadder o' the bubby bushes, like i done, so nobody cain't see." faithful to her trust, mary ann martha the outrageous, the terror of little turkey track, had delivered the entire message without an error. callista's mind was a turmoil of wild surmise. who could the "somebody" waiting for her out there be--somebody who arranged all these precautions with such care and exactness? she gave but one glance at the sleeping baby on her bed, caught a heavy shawl from its peg, and, winding it about her head and shoulders, slipped soundlessly from the door, holding mary ann martha's hand. not a word was spoken between them. when they finally entered the area darkened by the chicken-house, callista started and her eyes widened mutely at the touch of a hand on her arm. "h-ssh--callisty!" came roxy griever's thin, scared tones, just above a whisper. "god knows who might be a-watchin' and a-listenin'." callista faced about on the older woman staring with sharp inquiry at her in the gloom. lance's wife found it hard to guess what attitude would be her sister-in-law's now. [353] "callisty, honey," began the griever woman with a sort of wheedling, "i ain't a-goin' to ax one thing of you. hit's but natural that you don't want to hear mention of my brother's name at this time; but, honey. pappy and sylvane has got him hid out somewhars, and they won't tell me whar. i know in reason it's the place you and him camped last summer. couldn't you lead to it?" it seemed for a moment as though callista would spring at her sister-in-law; then she said in a low, distinct voice, "well, roxy griever, what sort of woman are you, anyhow?" roxy studied the horrified countenance turned toward her as well as she could in the half light. she was thick-witted, but eventually she understood. "you callisty gentry!" she ejaculated with a note of passive savagery. "do you think i'd lead the law to buddy? what i want to know is whar he's at and how bad hurt is he? tham men won't trust me, but i 'lowed you'd think enough of the father of yo' child to give me the directions so i could git to him. he's got to have good vittles, and someone to--he's got to have care. l--l"--her mouth quivered so that she could scarce go on--"lance ain't like some folks--he could jest die for want of somebody to tend on him. don't i know?" a tremor shook [354] her. "i mind after ma was gone, and sylvane was a baby, an' lance he cried bekaze i--oh, my god, callisty! tell me whar he's at. i got to git to him. don't be so hard-hearted, honey. i know hit seemed like lance was a sinner--oftentimes; but the good god hisself did love sinners when he was here on earth. hit says so in the book. he used to git out an' hunt 'em up. oh! oh! oh!" flinging an arm against the trunk of a sapling, roxy griever hid her face upon it and began to weep. mary ann martha stood the sight and sound as long as she could, and then added her shrill pipe of woe. "sssh! hush; both of you, for mercy's sake!" besought callista. "stay here just a minute, roxy. i'm going back to the house to get--well, i know about what he'll need. then i have to tell mother to look after the baby." "air you goin' with me? oh, callisty, air you goin' with me now?" the widow quavered. "no," answered callista. "i'm going alone. grandfather can let me have a horse, or not, as he's a mind. if i can't get it from him, i'll slip back with you and see what sylvane and father cleaverage can do for me. i'm the one to go and look after lance." roxy and the child waited in stoic silence while callista returned cautiously to the main house. there was some quiet moving about from one [355] building to another, a stir over at the log stable, and in an incredibly brief time callista came to them riding on her grandfather's horse and leading the mule, saddled, for the other two. "we'll go a-past yo' house--hit's as near as any way," was all she said. once at the cleaverage place, lance's wife was persuaded to accept sylvane's company for the night journey, though she peremptorily--almost impatiently--refused any addition to her ample provision for lance's comfort. but when the two, all ready to leave, stood reconnoitering in the dark outside the house to see that the coast was clear before starting, roxy came trembling out with a package which she thrust into her brother's hand. "thar," she whispered, "take it to him. i only wish't i'd 'a' got it in the frames and quilted it, so that it might have been some use keepin' him warm." "it--it ain't yo' gospel quilt, sis' roxy, is it?" sylvane inquired, fumbling with doubtful inquiry at the roll in his hands. "hit air," returned his sister, the dignity of a high resolve in her brief response. "why, daughter, i think i wouldn't send that," kimbro deprecated, drawing close in the obscurity. "of course it's a mighty improvin' thing, but i doubt if lance has the opportunities to take care of it that a body ought to have to [356] handle such. don't send it, roxana. without doubt it would do him good, if he was whar he could make use of it." roxy did not move to receive the bundle which her brother hesitatingly offered back to her. "i know hit ain't much account," she said disconsolately. "but i 'lowed hit might make him--maybe he'd laugh at it, and hit would cheer him up a leetle. he used to laugh powerful at some of 'em. i've put in my good shears and that turkey-red calicker, and you tell him, sylvane, that i want him to cut me out them little davils he was a-talkin' about, as many of 'em as hit'll make." she looked pathetically from one to the other. "there ain't nothin' like gittin' a man person that's in trouble intrusted in something. you git him intrusted in cuttin' out davils for my gospel quilt, won't you, sylvane, honey?--or you do it, sis' callie. maybe hit might make him laugh--po' buddy, away off to hisself in some old hideout, an' nary soul to--to--an' the sheriff chasin' him like he's a wolf!" and callista, wiser than the men, knowing that the gospel quilt would take its own message to lance, stretched out a hand for the package. [357] chapter xxvii. in hiding. in the skull-shaped pocket--which was the inner chamber of the cave where lance lay, was neither light nor life. they were the bare ribs of the mountain that arched above him in that place, blackish, misshapen, grisly in an unchanging chill. the continual dripping which would have seemed music if he had come upon it in a summer's noon, vexed him now, and took on tones that he wished to forget. sylvane had provided him pitch pine to burn, because it would give more light, and there was a crevice which would lead the smoke away; but he fretfully told himself that the resinous sticks made the place smell like a tar kiln, and put out his fire rather than endure it. then in the blank darkness his burned arm pained him intolerably, and presently he crept forth into the entrance which held the tiny spring to steep the cloths in water, hoping to assuage the hurt. day filled this outer chamber with a blue twilight, while round the turn was always black obscurity. summer spread upon it each year a carpet of the finest ferns; now the delicate fronds [358] lay shriveled and yellow on the inky mold; only a few tiny bladderworts remained in the shelter of the remote crevices. in spite of the raw cold he lingered by the little basin, his lifted eye encountering the bird's nest he and callista had found there in july, full then of warmth and young life and faithful love. it was beneath a breadth never penetrated by the drip. he studied the little abandoned home of the phoebe, built there of moss and leaves plastered together against the rock with clay. he noted absently how beside it remained a portion from the building of the previous year; and by looking closer in the half light he made out at least five rims of mud, from which the nests of five preceding spring-times had crumbled away. then, a caged, fevered animal, he went back into the cave and lay down. it was not freezing cold there--such a place is much like a cellar, warmer than the outside air in winter, as it is cooler in summer--but the sensation of being buried came to wear upon the spirit of the fugitive, and he was fain to creep nearer to glimpses of the sky, out once more into the vestibule of his prison. there were bits of life here, too, humble, and--as his own had come to be--furtive. plastered upon the limestone walls were the homes of countless mud wasps, and the bell-shaped tents of the rock spiders. around the edges the dry sand of its floor was pitted with the [359] insect traps of the ant-lion, that creature at the mouth of whose tiny burrow a prehistoric lance cleaverage--a lance whose tousled head would scarce have reached above this man's knee--used to call long and patiently, "doodle-bug, doodle-bug, come up and get some bread!" as though recalling the childhood of another, he could see that valiant small man, masterfully at home in his world, arrogantly sure of himself, coming to--this. the rock vole, whitish-gray, rat-like, most distinctive of all the small, subterranean life of the cave, peered out at him and reminded him where he lay, and for what reason. in suffering, half delirious, those earlier hours went by. he had never contemplated killing flenton hands. there was none of the bully in lance cleaverage, iron as his nerves were, high as his courage. he had gone purposely unarmed to the quarrel, regarding flenton contemptuously as a coward; believing that he could make the man publicly eat his words and apologize for them. but this open humiliation was as far as his intentions went. the poet in him, the lance of the island, recoiled desperately from memory of that dead face, the eyes closed, the mouth crookedly a-gape, the ghastly light from the flaming alcohol wavering upon it. so greatly was he wrought upon by his situation and his hurts, that by the second night his [360] anguish of mind and body had only sunk from that first fierce clamor to a dull ache, which was almost harder to bear, and which kept sleep from him quite as effectually. he scarcely ate at all of the food sylvane had left; but drank thirstily at the little spring every hour of the twenty-four. in this sort the time had passed, and now sunday and sunday night were gone; the morning of the second day was here. the thought of callista haunted him continually. what, at such a juncture, would be her attitude? one of reprehension, certainly; but if he knew that mind of hers at all, there would be no hostility. her pride would lead her to offer, perhaps, some assistance to the man whose name she bore. and then suddenly he was aware of a figure in the mouth of the cave, and callista's voice whispering, "lance--lance!" he stumbled to his feet and went gropingly forward, encountering with his right hand--held out as a sort of shield to the burned arm--the bundle she carried,--the great hunter's quilt, wool-padded and well-nigh waterproof, the pair of homespun blankets, and, riding upon them, a basket of cooked food,--while from the other hand swung a tin pail. she was laden like a strong man. "who's with you--who packed all this?"--he made his first inquiry quite as though he had [361] expected her. there was no word of surprise or gratitude. "sylvane," she answered in the same hushed tone. "i aimed to come alone, but he wouldn't let me. we made it since midnight. he left me yon side the creek, so as to make haste home. he'll be burning brush in the nigh field on the big road where everybody can see him all day. come night, he'll be back for me. what you got it all dark here for, lance? i'll make ye a fire that won't smoke." she felt the earth, to be sure that it was dry, and then, with brusque kindness, refusing all aid from him, flung down her burden. she carried quilt and blankets in and spread a comfortable pallet of them. "you go back inside where it's not so cold," she commanded briefly. "i'll bring some chestnut chunks and make you a good fire. go back. lance." he turned obediently. did memory come to either of the chill, inhospitable hearth she had once refused to tend? she was swift and efficient in her preparations, breaking an armful of dry chestnut limbs and twigs for a clean, smokeless fire; and when that was sending forth its flood of clear, hot radiance, she knelt down and dressed his hurt with the liniment and soft old cloths she had provided. "brother sylvane said he'd be at the creek [362] about nine o'clock to-night for me," she told lance, as she deftly arranged a sling by means of a bandana. "we got to be right careful about comin' here, now that caney's goin' down. wish't it had stayed up, like sylvane said it was when you-all came." lance stared at her with the ghost of a laugh in his eyes. "you never could have got through it in this world, callista," he said softly. "it was all buddy and me could do. we was wet to the skin and nigh drowned." "oh, yes i could," callista assured him with that new, womanly authoritativeness which seemed now to make him her own, rather than set him outside her caring, as it had once done. "i'd 'a' found a way to get through to you. if you have to hide out long, i'm goin' to fix it so that i can be nearer you and do for you. does that arm feel better now?" there was a large, maternal tenderness about her which appealed powerfully to lance, upon whose boyhood fretful, chiding roxy had tended. she seemed a refuge, a comforter indeed. his haggard gaze still on her face, he answered in a half-voice that the arm did feel better. the food she warmed for him, the coffee that was heated and served steaming, these gave him courage as nothing yet had. he fairly choked, and a mist swam before his eyes, when she [363] suddenly held the fragrant, inspiring beverage to his lips. her voice drove away at once the haunting noises of the wind howling up the breaks of the creek, the insistent drip-drip of the water; her presence shut out the vast, oppressive loneliness of the place; her bright warm color shone in that dark against which the mere blaze of the pine knots had been so feeble; sounds of her living presence vanquished the silence that had weighed heavier on his spirit than all the rocks in the bluff. the dome of that stone skull at once became a round, cozy cup of sheltered warmth and kindly human cheer; as much a home, there in the heart of the wilderness, as the phoebe's nest had ever been. for the first time the grim fact that had sent him into hiding, the horrid tragedy, seemed to blur a bit in its outlines. callista made a trip down the bank to the floor of the valley, and brought up from where she had left them a small kettle and a frying pan. "i'll cook you a fine dinner," she said in a cheery, practical tone, speaking as though she were in her own kitchen. she maintained an absolutely commonplace note. neither of them mentioned flenton hands nor the reason for lance's present predicament. "that stuff i brought ready cooked made a pretty good breakfast snack; but when i get me plenty of clean coals here, we'll have some good hot sweet potatoes and bacon. i'm right hungry myself." [364] lance sighed. "i reckon i'm as much perished for sleep as for victuals," he told her heavily. "after buddy left me, i tried to get dry; but we'd missed out most of the things we ought to have got when we come a-past the place, and lost the rest in the creek; i hadn't scarcely anything to change with. look like i couldn't get to sleep. then all day yesterday i thought i'd catch a nap; but my arm sort o' bothered me some, and--well, the water drip-drip-drippin' out there pestered me. it seemed i must sleep when night come again; but i don't think i had to exceed two hours of rest." callista glanced keenly sidewise at him where he lay inert. the weeks of their separation were now running into months. what these had done to lance grieved her generosity and flattered her pride. always lean and bright eyed, there was now a painful appearance about the extreme fleshlessness of jaw and temple, the over-brilliance of the eye in its deeply hollowed orbit. sight of what he had suffered for her and by her softened callista's voice to tenderness when she spoke. "we'll fix it for you to rest after dinner," she told him positively. "i can set out at the mouth of the cave, so you will be easy in your mind; then you'll get some good sleep." lance accepted this as indicating that she was [365] very willing to be rid of him and his talk. it was what might be expected. he asked her a question or two and relapsed into silence. presently, noticing that his eyes were not closed, she gave him some additional news. "the baby's about to walk," she said. "he's a-pullin' up by the chairs all the time, and he can go from one person to another, if they'll hold out they' hands." a swift contraction passed over lance's features at the picture her words called up. "haven't got him named yet?" he suggested huskily. the color flared warm on callista's face as she bent to the fire. "i--why--gran'pappy's an old man, and i'm the onliest grandchild he's got. he always was powerful kind to me; and the baby--why, he just--" "you've called the boy ajax," supplied lance, in that tired voice which now was his. "that's a good name." while she cooked the "fine dinner" their talk blew idly across the surface of deeps which both dreaded. "pore roxy!" lance said musingly. "hit was mighty kind of her to send me her gospel quilt." from her work at the fire callista answered him. [366] "your sister roxy thinks a heap o' you, lance; you needn't never to doubt it. course she does, or she wouldn't always have been pickin' at you." lance lay tensely quiescent a moment, then he questioned softly, "is that a sign?" callista glanced at him a bit startled; but the long lashes veiled his eyes, and the face was indecipherable. "roxy was bound and determined to come here in my place," she observed. "i reckon i'd never 'a' got the word where you was hid out if it hadn't 'a' been for her. sylvane wouldn't tell her, and she come to me about it. sis' roxy has a kind heart under her sharp speech." from beneath those shadowing lashes lance looked long and curiously at her, but made no response. after the meal was served and eaten with a sort of subdued enjoyment, they continued silent, glancing furtively at each other, callista a bit uneasy, and most urgent that he should try to rest. when she rose and went lightly about little homely tasks, her husband's eyes followed her every movement. something he wanted to say--the sum of all those days of black loneliness and nights of brooding in the gap cabin after she left him there--stuck in his throat and held him silent. a tiny creature, probably the rock vole, [367] nosing about in the obscurity which hid the rear of the cave, dislodged something which fell with a sudden pang of musical sound across the aching silence, to be followed by tiny squeakings and scuttlings. callista turned, her hand raised to her lip, and stared into the darkness whence the airy chord spoke to her. lance looked up and caught the shine of the firelight on her white cheek, her bright hair, lighting a spark in the eye which was averted from him. "it's my old banjo," he said nervelessly. "go get it, callista, and break it up and put it on the fire." she seemed to hear only the opening words of his command, and moved quietly into the shadows behind them, groped for the instrument, found and brought it forward in her hand. "break it 'crost your knee, and then burn it," lance prompted her. she looked at him with a curious round of the eye, a swift surprise that was almost terror. the banjo, lacking a string and with the remaining four sagging woefully, yet spoke its querulous little protest in her fingers. this was the voice that had cried under her window. here was the singer of "how many miles, how many years?" and she was bidden to break it and cast it to the flames. this had been lance's joy of life, the expression of moods outside her understanding and sympathy. she caught the shining [368] thing to her as though she defended it from some menace, cherishing it in a kindly grasp. "oh, no," she answered softly. "no, lance. i couldn't burn it up. it's--the banjo is the most harmless thing in the world. why should i be mad at it?" "you used to be," said lance simply. "i--" he hesitated, then finished with a sort of haste--"i always was a fool about it. i think you'd better put it in the fire." reverently she touched the strings, struggling with something too big for expression. "i'll never harm it," she told him. "if i thought you would, i'd take it back with me and keep it till--till you could come and play it again. you just don't feel like yourself now." his arm dropped to the rock beside him. his face, turned away from her, was laid sidewise upon it. she guessed that he feigned sleep. she had forgiven the banjo. she spoke of his homecoming. she would accept him. she would hold nothing against him! . . . yet, somehow, he could not find in his sore heart the joy and gratitude which should have answered to this state of affairs. he ought to be thankful. it was more than he deserved. yet--to be forgiven, to be accepted--when had lance cleaverage ever desired such boons? when all was cleared away with efficient, skillful swiftness, callista left her patient lying [369] quiescent, and went to the cave, wrapping herself in one of the homespun blankets and sitting where she could look out and see the valley. after a time inaction became irksome, and she went down to gather more chestnut wood for his fire. this she piled in the vestibule, laying it down lightly for fear of disturbing the sleeper. the afternoon wore on. once she looked around the turn, but the fire had declined, and she could make out nothing save a bulk of shadow where lance lay. stealing in, she laid on more wood. the next time she went out the sun was sunk behind the western ranges, and twilight, coming fast, warned her that she must presently get back to her tryst with sylvane. returning with the last load of fuel, she found the inner chamber of the cave full of the broken brightness that came from a branch of pine she had ventured to put in place, seeing that the smoke so completely took care of itself. her husband still lay with his head on his arm. she would not wake him. doubtfully she regarded the prostrate figure, then knelt a moment at his side and whispered, "lance. lance, i have obliged to go now. either sylvane or me--or both of us--will be here a-wednesday night about moonrise. if anything happens that we can't come wednesday, we'll be here the next night." she waited a moment. getting no response, she murmured, [370] "good-by, lance." the tone was kind, even tender. yet the man, whose closed lids covered waking eyes, felt no impulse to let her know that he heard, no desire to respond to her farewell. [371] chapter xxviii. the sheriff scores. lance cleaverage lay in the cavern above the east fork of caney for nearly two weeks. the search for him was persistent, even savage, the reason given being that he had attempted the life of an officer of the law. flenton hands had been taken to the house of his kinsman the sheriff, and the bulletins sent out from his bedside were not encouraging; yet lance's people clung to such hope as they might from the fact that the man was not yet dead. "no, flent ain't gone yet," beason would rumble out when questioned on the subject, "but he's mighty low--mighty low. he's liable to drop off any time; and who'd take lance cleaverage then, i'd like to know? not me. no, nor not any man i've met, so far. the thing for us to do is to git that thar wild hawk of a feller while they's nothing agin him more than assault with intent to kill, or some such. when he smells hemp in the business, he's goin' to make it too dangerous for anybody to go after him, and his folks'll git him out o' them mountains and plumb away to texas, or californy." this it was which, urging haste, gave the hunt [372] its flavor of savagery. the empty cabin at the head of lance's laurel had been ransacked again and again; it was known to be watched day and night; the espionage on the house of kimbro cleaverage and that of the gentrys was almost as close. but callista and sylvane continually evaded it at night, and kept the fugitive in his cave well provided. in spite of their care, lance pined visibly. his arm was almost healed; he suffered from no definite bodily ailment, save a low, fretting fever; but his manner was one of heavy languor, broken by random breaths of surface irritability. then came a saturday night when beason's men, watching a trail, surprised and took sylvane laden with food and necessaries plainly intended for the man in hiding. they rose up from behind some rocks by the roadside and had the boy in their clutches almost before he knew to be alarmed. it was a raw, gray february evening, drawing in sullenly to night, with a spit of rain in the air, freezing as it fell, stinging the cheek like a whip-lash, numbing toes and fingers. the boy looked desolately up the long road which he had intended to forsake for a safer trail at the next turning. he glanced at his laden mule, and answered at random the volleyed questions flung at him. finally beason, heavy, black-bearded, saturnine, silenced them all and opened out, with the dignity of his office, [373] "now see here, sylvanus cleaverage, these gentlemen with me is sworn officers of the law. we know whar you're a-goin' at, and who you're a-goin' to. they's no use to dodge." "i ain't a-dodgin'," retorted sylvane, and in the tilt of his head against the weak light of the western sky one got his full resemblance to lance. "if you know so mighty well and good right where i was a-goin' at, go thar yo'self," he concluded, desperate, at the end of everything. "what you pesterin' me about it for? with your kind leave i'll turn around and walk myself back home." "no you won't," beason countered. "ain't i told you that we're all officers of the law, and i'm sheriff of this here county, and i aim to do my duty as sworn to perform it? what you got to do is to jest move along in the--in the direction you was a-goin', and lead us to lance cleaver-age. you do that, or you'll wish you had." it was a lack of tact to threaten even this younger one of the cleaverage boys. "i'll never do yo' biddin'," sylvane told him with positiveness, "not this side of the grave. as for makin' me wish i had, you can kill me, but that won't get buddy for you. he's whar you can't take him. you'll never find him; an' if you did, no ten men could take him whar he's at. an' if i was killed and put out of the way, there's them that would still feed him and carry him the news." [374] "the good god a'mighty! who wants to kill you, you fool boy?" demanded beason testily. "there's been too much killin' did; that's the trouble." "oh--flent's dead then?" inquired sylvane on a falling note, searching the faces before him in the dusk. "will you lead us to whar lance is at, or will you not?" demanded beason monotonously, dropping the flimsy pretense that they had any knowledge of the fugitive's hiding place. "i'll go with you to pappy," sylvane compromised. "whatever pappy says will be right." so they all turned and went together to the old cleaverage place, the boy on his laden mule riding in their midst. they found kimbro at home sick. he got up, trembling, from his bed and dressed himself. "gentlemen," he said to them, appearing in their midst, humbled, broken, but still self-respecting, "i wish my son lance would surrender himself up to the law--yes, i do. his health is giving way under what he has to endure. but lead you to him i will not, without i first get his consent to do so. if you have a mind to stay here--and if you will give me yo' word of honor not to foller nor watch me, sheriff beason--i will go myself and see what he has to say; and i'll come back and tell you." beason held a prolonged whispered consultation [375] with his three men. at the end of it he turned and said to the father half surlily, "go ahead, i give you my word to neither foller nor watch." the men sprawled themselves about roxy griever's hearthstone, warming luxuriously, dreading to go forth again into the raw february weather. roxy followed her father to the door. "pappy," she pleaded, clinging to his arm. "hit'll be the death of you to go abroad this-a-way, sick like you air, and all." "no, roxana--no, daughter," kimbro replied, drawing her gently out to the porch, whence they could see sylvane getting a saddle on to satan. "i feel as though i might be greatly benefited if only this matter of lance's can be fixed up. i consider that they trust me more than another when they consent to let me go this way." roxy's eye rolled toward the doorway and dwelt upon the officers of the law who were to remain her guests till her father's return. across her mind came dim visions of heroic biblical women who had offered deadly hospitality to such. step by step she followed kimbro to the gate, whispering, "don't you git lance to give himself up, pappy--don't do it. you tell him sylvane is a-goin' to fetch extra ammunition from hepzibah, and if he can hold out till spring, these fellers [376] is bound to git tired and turn loose the job. he can slip away then; or they'll be wore out, an' ready to make some sort o' terms with the boy." "daughter," said the old man, softly, "your brother would be dead before spring." "well, he'll shore die," cried the poor woman, in a sort of piercing whisper, "ef they take him down to jail in the settlement. pappy, you know lance ain't never goin' to live--_in the jail!_" and kimbro left her sobbing at the gate, as he rode away on the black horse, his frail, drooping figure a pathetic contrast to the young animal's mettlesome eagerness. [377] chapter xxix. the island at last. after his father left him, lance slept, the sleep of a condemned and shriven man, long and deep and dreamless, the first sound rest his tortured nerves and flagging powers had known since the night in hepzibah. kimbro cleaverage--following sylvane's directions--had come without difficulty to his son's cave hide-out, arriving at about eleven o'clock. he found lance sitting wakeful by the fire, the gay folds of the gospel quilt over his knees, played upon by the shimmer and shine of the leaping blaze. the young man's fever-bright gaze was directed with absorbed attention toward his work. he was delicately snipping loose ends with the shears, while a threaded needle was stuck in the lapel of his coat. he had taken the scarlet calico and cut from it a series of tiny greek crosses, beautifully exact and deftly grouped and related so as to form a border around the entire square. with that sense of decorative effect which was denied his sister, he had set these so that the interplay of red and white pleased the eye, and almost redeemed the archaic absurdities of the quilt itself. skilled with the needle as a woman, he had [378] basted the last cross in place when his father entered. the talk which followed, there in that subterranean atmosphere that is neither out-nor in-door, neither dark nor light, was long and earnest. kimbro spoke freely, and there was always that in his father which took lance by the throat. perhaps it was the entire lack of accusation; perhaps something in the old man's personality that appealed with its tale of struggle and failure, its frank revelation of patiently borne defeat. "i'll go right back with you, pappy, if you say so," lance murmured huskily at the last, looking up into the gray old face above him like the child he had used to be. "as well now as any time." "no, son," said kimbro slowly. his heart ached with the cry, "the lord knows there ain't no such hurry--there'll be time enough afterward!" but his habit of gentle stoicism prevailed, and he only paused a little, then added, "i reckon we better not do that--i reckon we couldn't very well. i rode the black nag pretty hard coming up. the going's heavy. he couldn't carry us both back, not in any sort of time; and nary one of us is fit to make it afoot. no, i'll take the word to beason, and him and his men will likely stay at our house till in the morning--poor roxy! sylvane'll ride the mule up here tol'able early, and lead your horse. you go straight home. [379] beason and his men can come for you to your house. will that suit?" "hit'll suit" lance answered. there was along silence between the two. then the old man moved to the cave's mouth. "farewell," he said, and stood hesitating, his back to his son. lance followed his father a few halting paces, carrying a chunk of fire, lighting the old man down the bank. "farewell, pappy," he echoed. "all right, son," came back the faint hail, then after a moment's silence kimbro's voice added, "thank you for sending this word by me. farewell," and there was the sound of his footsteps moving on down the little valley. probably six hours later, lance wakened and lay looking at the embers; he reached out a languid hand to push a brand in place. presently he rose and built up the smoldering fire, and thereafter sat beside it, head on hand, his hollow eyes studying the coals. his father was gone back to notify the sheriff. well, that was right--a man must answer for the thing he did; and they said that flenton hands was dead. he was not consciously glad of this--nor regretful; he was only very weary, spent and at the end of everything. how could he have done otherwise than he had done? and yet--and yet-his mind went back the long way to his wooing [380] of callista. what a flowery path it was to lead to such a bleak conclusion! then once more his thought veered, like the light shifting smoke above the fire, to hands. they'd hardly hang him for the killing. it was not a murder. there were those who would testify as to what his provocation had been. but it would mean his days shut away from the sun; a disgraced name to hand down to his boy. for no reason which he could have given, the sound of a banjo whispered in his memory, "how many miles, how many years?" ah, the miles and the years then! callista would be free--and that would be right, too. he had no call to cling to her and claim her. she had never been his, never--never--never! an inconsequent vision of her face lying on his breast the night he had climbed the wild grapevine to her window came mockingly back to tantalize him. he stirred uneasily, and reached to lay another chunk in place, mutely answering the recollection back again--she had never been his. then suddenly his head lifted with a start; there was the noise of a rolling stone outside, a thrashing of the bushes, a rush of hurrying feet, and even before he could spring up callista was in the cave. but not any callista lance had ever known; not the scornful beauty who throned herself among her mates and accepted the homage of mankind as her due; not the flushed, tremulous callista of that [381] never-to-be-forgotten night at the window. this was not the young wife of the earlier married days--least of all the mother of his son, or the kindly friend, the stanch partner, who had tended on and served him here in the cave. this was a strange, fierce, half-distraught, shining-eyed callista, a fit adventurer, if she list, to put forth toward his island. a little dark shawl was tied over her bright head; but from under its confining edges the fair locks, usually so ordered and placid, streamed loosely around the face which looked out white and fearful. her dress was soaked about the edges and all up one side. it was stained with earth, there, too, ripped loose from the waist, and torn till it hung in long, streaming shreads. a deep scratch across her cheek bled unheeded, and a flying strand of hair had glued fast in it. her shaking hands were bleeding too, and grimed with woods mold, her finger nails were packed with it, where she had fallen again and again and scrambled up. she walked staggeringly and breathed in gasps. "they--" she panted, then took two or three laboring breaths before she could go on. "they told me at father cleaverage's that they was goin' to send here and fetch you in--is that so?" "i reckon they are," the man beside the fire assented nervelessly. a wild look lightened over her face. she came stumblingly up to him. "lance!" she choked. "did you sure enough [382] _send_ that word by your father to the sheriff?--did you _say_ you'd give up and go in--did you?" "yes," he returned somberly. "i did, callista. that's all that was left me." "my god!" she breathed. "and i couldn't believe it--not a word of it. but i just slipped out and come. i've got gran'pappy's horse maje and the mandy mule tied down in the bushes below there, and--" cleaverage glanced about him and, rising, began to roll together the blankets of his bed. "yes," he repeated, in a sort of automatic fashion. "pappy left me before midnight, and he was riding satan. i reckon i ought to be moving right soon now. it must be sun-up outside, ain't it?" she looked at him with desperate doubt. "lance!" she demanded, clutching his arm with her trembling hand. "what made you send father cleaverage with such word as that?--and never let me know!--oh, lance, what did you do it for? bring them things and come on down quick. there may be time yet." he stared at her dumbly questioning for a moment. long misery had made his wits slow. he plainly hesitated between thinking her the emissary sent from home for him and the understanding that she wanted him to escape. "time?" he repeated. "do you mean--?" [383] her lips shaped "yes," her eyes fastened upon his face. he took it very quietly. slowly he shook his head. "i ain't got any right to do that," he said. "i've given my word to pappy. they'd hold him for it. and if i did go, i'd be running and hiding the balance o' my days. you and the boy would be lost to me--same as you will be as it is. and--and you wouldn't be free. i done the thing. let me take my punishment like a man, callista. oh, for god's sake," he cried out with a sudden sharp cry, "let me do something like a man! i've played the fool boy long enough." he dropped back into a sitting posture beside the fire. callista had never released his arm. it was plain that his attitude frightened her more terribly than any violence of resistance would have done. she bent over him now in the tremulous intensity of her purpose, whispering, the low pleading of her voice still interrupted with little gasps. "you're broke down living this-a-way. lance. you don't know your own mind--you ain't fit to speak for yourself." "oh, callista," said lance's quiet tones, "i'm a sight fitter to speak for myself now than i ever was before in my life. i've got it to do." up to this time, the trouble between these two had continued to be a lovers' quarrel. leaving [384] lance alone in the house he had builded for her, throwing back into his face such help as he would have followed her with, callista had but triumphed as she used to when they bickered before an audience of their mates. angry as she actually was when she broke with him, there could not fail, also, to be a cruel satisfaction in the knowledge of how she put him from his ordinary, how she changed the course of his life, and knew him her pining lover, the man who could not sleep o' nights for thought of her. perhaps, when his pride was broken, and he came suing to her, personally, she would go home with him and patch the matter up with patronage and forgiveness. from the first this expected consummation had been vaguely shadowed in her mind back of all she did or refused to do. here and now was the matter sharply taken out of her hands. lance turned his back on her. he reckoned without her. he promised to others that which would set him at once and permanently beyond her recall. with an impassioned gesture, she flung herself down on her knees before him where he sat. her arms went around him, her face was pressed against him. "no, no. lance," she implored. "you might speak for yourself--but who's to speak for me? what'll i do when they take you from me? i'd sooner hide like a wild varmint all my days. i'd sooner--oh, come on and go with me, lance. i'll run with you as long as we both live." [385] "that wouldn't be a fit life for you and the baby," lance told her. "the baby!" replied callista, almost scornfully. "i didn't aim to take him along. it's you and me, lance--you and me." gazing up at him, she saw the look in her husband's face; she saw that his thoughts were clearing, and that the resolute, formulated negative was coming. "oh, don't say it, lance!" she cried, her arms tightening convulsively around his body, the tears streaming down her lifted face, washing away the blood. a great coughing sob shook her from head to foot. "oh, lance, don't--don't do it! i know--" she hastened pitifully--"i know i haven't got any rights. i know i've wore out your love. but oh, please, honey, come with me and let's run." through the man's dazed senses the truth had made its way at last. he sat wonder-smitten. the weeping woman on her knees before him looking up into his face, with eyes from which the veil of pride and indifference was rent away, eyes out of which the sheer, hungry, unashamed adoration gazed. "lance," she began at last, in a voice that was scarce more than a breath, a mere shadow of sound, "i've never told you. look like i always waited for you to say. but since--long ago--ever since you and me was boy and girl--and [386] girl together--they was never anybody for me but you--you, dear. they's nothing you could do or be that would make it different. i--my heart--if they take you away from me, lance, darlin', they might just as well kill me." lance reached around and got the two hands that were clinging to him so frantically. he held them, one over the other, in his own and, bending his head, kissed them again and again. he touched the loose hair about her forehead, then mutely laid his lips against its fairness. he lifted his head and looked long into her eyes with a look which she could not understand. "you--you're a-comin', lance?" she breathed. he shook his head ever so little. "callista," he said very softly, and the name was a caress,-"mine--my girl--my callista, you're a-goin' to help me do the right thing." she started back a little; she caught her breath, and her blue eyes dilated upon him. "the right thing," her husband repeated, with something that was almost a smile on his lips. "and that's to ride over home and give myself up. god bless you, dear, i can do it now with a quiet mind. oh, callista--callista--i'm happier this minute than i ever was before in my life! whatever comes, i can face it now." callista crouched with parted lips and desperate eyes. about them there was silence, broken only by the tiny sibilations of the fire, the hushed voice [387] of the night wind muttering in the outer chamber of the cave, as the air sighs through the open lips of a sea-shell. her ear was against his breast; with a sort of creeping terror she heard the even beating of his heart. he could say such words quietly! an awful sense of powerlessness gripped her. lance was arbiter of his own fate. if he chose, he could do this thing. she was like one who waits, the flood at her lips, while the inevitable death rises slowly to engulf. then it was as if the waters closed above her. with a whispered cry she settled forward against him, and rested so, held close in his embrace. little shivers went over her lax body. she uttered brief, broken murmurs. down and down she sank in the arms that clasped her. lance bent his head to hear. "well--if ye won't go with me," she was saying, "i'll go with you. i'll go wherever they take you. what you suffer, i'll suffer, lance; because the fault was mine--oh, the fault was mine!" "we ain't got no time to talk about faults, honey," he said to her, slipping a caressing hand beneath her cheek, lifting the bent face, kissing her again and again, offering that demonstrative love for which callista thirsted, which she had no initiative herself to proffer. "i'll not let you miscall my girl. i wouldn't have a hair of her head different. come on, darlin', i've got to make good my word." [388] strangely stilled as to her grief, callista rose. she moved silently about the cave and, without any further word of remonstrance, helped him gather his belongings together and make them ready. lance himself was like a man for whom a new day has dawned. he was almost gay when they turned to take their farewell of the place that had been his home for weeks. when they stepped forth, they found the sun fully risen upon a morning fair and promising. callista looked long at the rock-house as, carrying their bundles, they passed it on the way to their mounts. "and i had you for my own--all my own--and nobody to hinder--while we lived there," she said, speaking in a slow, wondering tone. "oh, lord! foolish people have to learn hard when 'tis that they're blessed." lance's free arm went around her slight body and drew her close to his side as they walked. when they reached the animals, he loaded the bedding and other things carefully upon them, then turned to her. "sweetheart," he said, with that strange deep glow in his eyes, "folks that love each other like we do are blessed all the time, whether they're free and together--or separated--or in jail. they're blessed whether they're above ground or below it." he kissed her and lifted her lightly to maje's back and they rode away. as they followed down caney and struck [389] eastward toward the cleaverage place, the morning drew on, sweet and towardly. for all the cold, there was an under-note of spring in the air. february felt the stirring of the year which had turned in its sleep. they rode together, hand in hand, where the trail permitted, both remembering--lance with an added light in his eyes and a meaning smile, callista with a sudden burst of tears--that other ride they had taken together. lance's arm around her, her head on his shoulder, when they went down to squire ashe's to be married. they traveled thus, in silence or with few words spoken, for nearly two hours. their best road home would take them past the old cleaverage place, and within a mile of the house. as they drew near this point something stirred down deep under lance's quiet. his breath quickened, his face set in sharp lines. he suddenly strained callista to him in a grasp that hurt, then released her, touched the patient maje with his heel and pushed ahead at a good gait. callista, watching him, followed drooping and mute. moving so, swiftly and in single file they reached the place whence they could see the chimney of the kimbro cleaverage house through the trees, and were aware of a woman on a black horse, a child carried carefully in her arms, coming toward them. callista lifted her hanging head and looked wonderingly around her husband. [390] "why, i do believe that's ola derf on cindy!" she said heavily. "is it? no, i reckon not." since the day on which ola had bidden her strange reproachful adieu to lance's empty room, no one had seen her on turkey track, though it was reported that she was staying with kin no further away than hepzibah. "it is ola," said callista, as the rider of the black filly came nearer. "and she--she's got my baby! o lord! what now?" for a moment the astonishment of it dulled the agony of rebellion which once more surged in callista's soul as she looked at that chimney through the trees and knew that there by its hearthstone were the sheriff and his men ready to take lance from her. "i come a-past the gentry place and stopped to git the boy," ola called, as soon as she could make them hear. it occurred to callista that this girl, too, supposed that lance would try to escape, and that they would wish to take the baby with them. "sheriff beason and his men are in yon," lance told ola, glancing in the direction of his father's house. "i'm going to my own place to give myself up--they're coming up there for me." ola nodded, without making any immediate reply. she looked with curious questioning from husband to wife, shifting the baby to her hip. [391] "my, but he's solid," she said enviously, the aboriginal mother-woman showing strong in her ugly little brown face. "i'll take him," callista murmured, putting out her arms almost mechanically. but ola made no movement to hand over the baby. she yet sat her horse, glancing from one countenance to the other. "i've been a-stayin' down in hepzibah," she observed abruptly. "my man, he's about to be out of the pen, and him and flent hands had dealings that--well, that's what charlie was sent up for." "your man?" echoed callista; and lance smiled as she had not seen him for long. "yes, charlie massengale, my man," ola repeated. "heap o' folks around here didn't know i had one. we was wedded in the territory when i was fo'teen, and he got into trouble in the settlement--this here trouble that flent was mixed up in--and pappy 'lowed that as long as 'yo' old man was in the pen you better not name anything about him.'" she was smoothing the baby's garments, making ready, with evident reluctance, to surrender him to them. ajax the second shouted inarticulately at his mother, but kept a fairly apprehensive eye upon the man who rode beside her. "well, young feller," said ola finally, lifting the baby and holding him toward his parents, "i [392] reckon i've got to give you up, jest like i had to give up yo' pappy afore ye." she laughed a little hardily, and looked with a sort of dubious defiance at callista, who paid no attention, but pushed her mule close in beside cindy. "they say that flenton hands is--is--did you go to flenton's funeral, ola?" asked callista fearfully, as the women negotiated the exchange of the baby. ola laughed again, and more loudly. "i say funeral!" she exclaimed. "flenton hands has got a powerful lot more davilment to do in this world before they put him un'neath the ground. i--pappy--they--well, you know i was down there when this all happened, and somehow, i thest got the notion in my head that flent wasn't so mighty awful bad hurt; and when i heared how beason was a-carryin' on, i went to their house to see flent. i named to him that charlie's time was 'bout to be up an' he'd be out, and that what charlie had stood for him was a plenty. i axed him didn't he want to send a writin' up to beason and stop this foolishness up here on turkey track, and after i'd talked to him for a little spell he 'lowed he did." callista, hearkening in silence, caught the child in so strained a grasp that he made a little outcry, half scared, half offended. ola pulled from the bosom of her dress a letter which she flung over to [393] lance with the uncouth yet generous gesture of a savage. "'course flent could hang on and make you a little trouble--but he ain't a-goin' to," she said sturdily. "i reckon he's called off his dogs in that writin'. hit's to dan beason." with the words she wheeled her horse and would have gone, but callista, at the imminent risk of dropping ajax, caught at cindy's bridle rein. "i've got a heap to thank you for, ola derf," she said in a voice shaken with deep feeling. "you ain't got a thing in the world to thank me for, callista gentry," declared the little brown girl, and drew her black brows at lance's wife. but callista's whole nature melted into grateful love. "where you goin' now?" she asked wistfully. "looks like you and me ought to be better friends than we ever have been." ola considered the proposition, and shook her head. "i reckon not," she said finally. "i'm a-goin' down to nashville right soon. charlie will want me to be right thar when he gits out. he's not the worst man in the world, ef he ain't--" she turned a sudden swimming look on the pair with their child. "good-by," she ended abruptly, and signaling cindy with her heel, loped off down the road. the hounds at the kimbro cleaverage place [394] were evidently away on hunting enterprises of their own. lance and his wife rode to the gate without challenge, dismounted, tethered the animals, and omitting the customary halloo, opened the door upon the family seated at a late breakfast. for a moment nobody in the room stirred or spoke. the sheriff paused with a morsel checked on its way to his open mouth. roxy griever, coffee-pot in hand, stopped between fireplace and table. sylvane, who had half risen at the sound of steps, remained as he was, staring, while old kimbro's eyes reached the newcomer with pathetic entreaty in their depths. ma'y-ann-marth' broke the spell by rushing at her uncle lance and butting into his knees, shouting welcome. then sylvane hastily leaped up and ran to his brother's side, as though to share as nearly as might be that which must now befall. the men on beason's either hand nudged him and whispered. "do it quick," roxy heard one mutter. "better get the handcuffs on him," admonished the other. "he's a slippery cuss." roxy cast a look of helpless fury at the officers of the law, and mechanically advanced to fill their cups once more--gladly would she have poured to them henbane, plague, the venom of adders. beason jammed into his mouth the bite he had started to take, and speaking around it in a voice of somewhat impaired dignity, began his solemn recitative, [395] "lance cleaverage, i arrest you in the name of the law--" "hold on a minute," suggested lance, mildly, bending to pick up ma'y-ann-marth' (both of the deputies ducked as his head went down); "i've got a letter for you, daniel beason." he tossed the envelope to the sheriff across the little girl's flaxen head. "read it before you make your arrest. read it out, or to yourself." "flent ain't dead!" cried roxy, with a woman's instinctive piercing to the heart of the matter. they all remained gazing at beason while he tore open and laboriously deciphered the communication. his face fell almost comically. "no, he ain't dead--an' he ain't a-goin' to die," blustered the sheriff, trying to cover his own pre-knowledge of the fact. "well, he's made a fool of me one time too many. when i go back to hepzibah, i'll settle this here business with mr. flenton hands, that thinks he can sick the law on people and call it off, same as you would a hound dog. ouch! the good lord, woman! you needn't scald a body." for in her blissful relief, roxy had swung the spout of the coffee-pot a wide circle, which sprayed the boiling fluid liberally over the sheriff's thumb. he regarded her frowningly, the member in his mouth, as she set the pot down ruthlessly on her cherished tablecloth of floursacks and ran to add herself to the group about her returned brother. [396] the deputies got to their feet and came over to shake hands, muttering broken phrases concerning the law, and always having entertained the utmost good will toward their quarry. even beason, nursing his painful thumb, finally offered a surly paw. only old kimbro wheeled from the table and sat with bent head, his working face turned toward the hearthstone, tears running unchecked, unheeded, down the cheeks that had never been thus wet in the days of his most poignant sorrow. "no, thank you kindly. sis' roxy," lance refused his sister's invitation when she would have forced him and callista into places at the table. "we'll be movin' along home." his tones dwelt fondly on the word. "neither callista nor me is rightly hungry yet; we'll take our first meal at our own place to-day." it was bare branches they rode under going home to the cabin in the gap; but the sap had started at the roots. winter had done his worst; his bolt was sped; spring was on the way. fire was kindled once more on the cold hearth, a splendid banner of flame wrapping the hickory logs, and lance sat before it with his son on his knees, warming the small rosy feet chilled from the long ride. for a moment he caught and held both restless, dimpled little members in one sinewy brown hand, marveling at them, thrilling to the touch of their velvet softness. outside, a cardinal's note came persistently [397] from the stream's edge, a gallant call. high over the cumberlands arched the blue, dappled with white cloud. it was a rarely beautiful day, such as nearly every february brings a few of in that region. on every rocky hillside farm of the mountain country harness and implements were being dragged forth and inspected against the beginning of the year's work. winter's prisoners were everywhere rejoicing in the prospect of release. doors were left open; girls called from outside announcing finds of early blossoms; the piping voices of children at play came shrill and keen on the cool, sunlit air. within callista's dusk kitchen, the firelight set moving ruddy shine and shadow on the brown walls. midway one of these she had hung up the banjo, having carried it home across her shoulders. its sheepskin round showed a misty moon within the gleam of metal band where the blaze struck out a sparkling crescent to rim one side. it made no question now of "how many miles, how many years?" for the answer was come. later lance would take it down and string it afresh, and the little feet that kicked their pink heels against his knee, their fat toes curling ecstatically in the heat of the fire, would dance to its strumming. even callista would learn the delight of measuring her step by its music. but now it was mute. there was no need of its voice in the harmony that was here. and when callista, in the pauses of her [398] homely task of dinner making, knelt beside the pair at the fire and encircled them both with her arms, lance knew that he had at last brought home his own to his island. an island! it stretched away before the eye of his spirit, a continent, a world, a universe! the confines of that airy domain where he had dwelt alone and uncompanioned, were suddenly wide enough to take in all mankind, though they held just now only the trinity of home--father, mother, and child. [illustration: "'warn't you-uns apologizin' ter me fur not bein' a nephew?'"] the phantoms of the foot-bridge and other stories by charles egbert craddock author of "in the 'stranger people's' country" etc. illustrated new york harper & brothers publishers 1895 copyright, 1895, by harper & brothers _all rights reserved._ contents the phantoms of the foot-bridge his "day in court" 'way down in lonesome cove the moonshiners at hoho-hebee falls the riddle of the rocks illustrations "'warn't you-uns apologizin' ter me fur not bein' a nephew?'" the phantom of the foot-bridge old joel quimbey "'why'n't ye gin dad them messages?'" "she flung her apron over her head" "he stole noiselessly in the soft snow" old quimbey and his grandson "yet this was christmas eve" "he had had an active day, inducing a keen thirst" "'look out! somebody's thar!'" "she smiled upon the baby" the blacksmith's shop "the tables of the law" "'what word did he send ter--_me_?'" the phantoms of the foot-bridge across the narrow gorge the little foot-bridge stretched--a brace of logs, the upper surface hewn, and a slight hand-rail formed of a cedar pole. a flimsy structure, one might think, looking down at the dark and rocky depths beneath, through which flowed the mountain stream, swift and strong, but it was doubtless substantial enough for all ordinary usage, and certainly sufficient for the imponderable and elusive travellers who by common report frequented it. "we ain't likely ter meet nobody. few folks kem this way nowadays, 'thout it air jes' ter ford the creek down along hyar a piece, sence harnts an' sech onlikely critters hev been viewed a-crossin' the foot-bredge. an' it hev got the name o' bein' toler'ble onlucky, too," said roxby. his interlocutor drew back slightly. he had his own reasons to recoil from the subject of death. for him it was invested with a more immediate terror than is usual to many of the living, with that flattering persuasion of immortality in every strong pulsation repudiating all possibility of cessation. then, lifting his gloomy, long-lashed eyes to the bridge far up the stream, he asked, "whose 'harnts'?" his voice had a low, repressed cadence, as of one who speaks seldom, grave, even melancholy, and little indicative of the averse interest that had kindled in his sombre eyes. in comparison the drawl of the mountaineer, who had found him heavy company by the way, seemed imbued with an abnormal vivacity, and keyed a tone or two higher than was its wont. "thar ain't a few," he replied, with a sudden glow of the pride of the cicerone. "thar's a graveyard t'other side o' the gorge, an' not more than a haffen-mile off, an' a cornsider'ble passel o' folks hev been buried thar off an' on, an' the foot-bredge ain't in nowise ill-convenient ter them." thus demonstrating the spectral resources of the locality, he rode his horse well into the stream as he spoke, and dropped the reins that the animal's impatient lips might reach the water. he sat facing the foot-bridge, flecked with the alternate shifting of the sunshine and the shadows of the tremulous firs that grew on either side of the high banks on the ever-ascending slope, thus arching both above and below the haunted bridge. his companion had joined him in the centre of the stream; but while the horses drank, the stranger's eyes were persistently bent on the concentric circles of the water that the movement of the animals had set astir in the current, as if he feared that too close or curious a gaze might discern some pilgrim, whom he cared not to see, traversing that shadowy quivering foot-bridge. he was mounted on a strong, handsome chestnut, as marked a contrast to his guide's lank and trace-galled sorrel as were the two riders. a slender gloved hand had fallen with the reins to the pommel of the saddle. his soft felt hat, like a sombrero, shadowed his clear-cut face. he was carefully shaven, save for a long drooping dark mustache and imperial. his suit of dark cloth was much concealed by a black cloak, one end of which thrown back across his shoulder showed a bright blue lining, the color giving a sudden heightening touch to his attire, as if he were "in costume." it was a fleeting fashion of the day, but it added a certain picturesqueness to a horseman, and seemed far enough from the times that produced the square-tailed frock-coat which the mountaineer wore, constructed of brown jeans, the skirts of which stood stiffly out on each side of the saddle, and gave him, with his broad-brimmed hat, a certain quakerish aspect. "i dun'no' why folks be so 'feared of 'em," roxby remarked, speculatively. "the dead ain't so oncommon, nohow. them ez hev been in the war, like you an' me done, oughter be in an' 'bout used ter corpses--though i never seen none o' 'em afoot agin. lookin' at a smit field o' battle, arter the rage is jes' passed, oughter gin a body a realizin' sense how easy the sperit kin flee, an' what pore vessels fur holdin' the spark o' life human clay be." simeon roxby had a keen, not unkindly face, and he had that look of extreme intelligence which is entirely distinct from intellectuality, and which one sometimes sees in a minor degree in a very clever dog or a fine horse. one might rely on him to understand instinctively everything one might say to him, even in its subtler æsthetic values, although he had consciously learned little. he was of the endowed natures to whom much is given, rather than of those who are set to acquire. he had many lines in his face--even his simple life had gone hard with him, its sorrows unassuaged by its simplicity. his hair was grizzled, and hung long and straight on his collar. he wore a grizzled beard cut broad and short. his boots had big spurs, although the lank old sorrel had never felt them. he sat his horse like the cavalryman he had been for four years of hard riding and raiding, but his face had a certain gentleness that accented the quaker-like suggestion of his garb, a look of communing with the higher things. "i never blamed 'em," he went on, evidently reverting to the spectres of the bridge--"i never blamed 'em for comin' back wunst in a while. it 'pears ter me 'twould take me a long time ter git familiar with heaven, an' sociable with them ez hev gone before. an', my lord, jes' think what the good green yearth is! leastwise the mountings. i ain't settin' store on the valley lands i seen whenst i went ter the wars. i kin remember yit what them streets in the valley towns smelt like." he lifted his head, drawing a long breath to inhale the exquisite fragrance of the fir, the freshness of the pellucid water, the aroma of the autumn wind, blowing through the sere leaves still clinging red and yellow to the boughs of the forest. "naw, i ain't blamin' 'em, though i don't hanker ter view 'em," he resumed. "one of 'em i wouldn't be afeard of, though. i feel mighty sorry fur her. the old folks used ter tell about her. a young 'oman she war, a-crossin' this bredge with her child in her arms. she war young, an' mus' have been keerless, i reckon; though ez 'twar her fust baby, she moughtn't hev been practised in holdin' it an' sech, an' somehows it slipped through her arms an' fell inter the ruver, an' war killed in a minit, dashin' agin the rocks. she jes' stood fur a second a-screamin' like a wild painter, an' jumped off'n the bredge arter it. she got it agin; for when they dragged her body out'n the ruver she hed it in her arms too tight fur even death ter onloose. an' thar they air together in the buryin'-ground." he gave a nod toward the slope of the mountain that intercepted the melancholy view of the graveyard. "got it yit!" he continued; "bekase" (he lowered his voice) "on windy nights, whenst the moon is on the wane, she is viewed kerryin' the baby along the bredge--kerryin' it clear over, _safe an' sound_, like she thought she oughter done, i reckon, in that one minute, whilst she stood an' screamed an' surveyed what she hed done. that child would hev been nigh ter my age ef he hed lived." only the sunbeams wavered athwart the bridge now as the firs swayed above, giving glimpses of the sky, and their fibrous shadows flickered back and forth. the wild mountain stream flashed white between the brown bowlders, and plunged down the gorge in a succession of cascades, each seeming more transparently green and amber and brown than the other. the chestnut horse gazed meditatively at these limpid out-gushings, having drunk his fill; then thought better of his moderation, and once more thrust his head down to the water. the hand of his rider, which had made a motion to gather up the reins, dropped leniently on his neck, as simeon roxby spoke again: "several--several others hev been viewed, actin' accordin' ter thar motions in life. now thar war a peddler--some say he slipped one icy evenin', 'bout dusk in winter--some say evil ones waylaid him fur his gear an' his goods in his pack, but the settlemint mostly believes he war alone whenst he fell. his pack 'pears ter be full still, they say--but ye air 'bleeged ter know he hev hed ter set that pack down fur good 'fore this time. we kin take nuthin' out'n this world, no matter what kind o' a line o' goods we kerry in life. heaven's no place fur tradin', i understan', an' i _do_ wonder sometimes how in the worl' them merchants an' sech in the valley towns air goin' ter entertain tharse'fs in the happy land o'canaan. it's goin' ter be sorter bleak fur them, sure's ye air born." with a look of freshened recollection, he suddenly drew a plug of tobacco from his pocket, and he talked on even as he gnawed a piece from it. "durin' the war a cavalry-man got shot out hyar whilst runnin' 'crost that thar foot-bredge. thar hed been a scrimmage an' his horse war kilt, an' he tuk ter the bresh on foot, hopin' ter hide in the laurel. but ez he war crossin' the foot-bredge some o' the pursuin' party war fordin' the ruver over thar, an' thinkin' he'd make out ter escape they fired on him, jes' ez the feller tried ter surrender. he turned this way an' flung up both arms--but thar's mighty leetle truce in a pistol-ball. that minute it tuk him right through the brain. seems toler'ble long range fur a pistol, don't it? he kin be viewed now most enny moonlight night out hyar on the foot-bredge, throwin' up both hands in sign of surrender." the wild-geese were a-wing on the way southward. looking up to that narrow section of the blue sky which the incision of the gorge into the very depths of the woods made visible, he could see the tiny files deploying along the azure or the flecking cirrus, and hear the vague clangor of their leader's cry. he lifted his head to mechanically follow their flight. then, as his eyes came back to earth, they rested again on the old bridge. "strange enough," he said, suddenly, "the skerriest tale i hev ever hearn 'bout that thar old bredge is one that my niece set a-goin'. she _seen_ the harnt _herself_, an' it shakes me wuss 'n the idee o' all the rest." his companion's gloomy gaze was lifted for a moment with an expression of inquiry from the slowly widening circles of the water about the horse's head as he drank. but roxby's eyes, with a certain gleam of excitement, a superstitious dilation, still dwelt upon the bridge at the end of the upward vista. he went on merely from the impetus of the subject. "yes, sir--she _seen_ it a-pacin' of its sorrowful way acrost that bredge, same ez the t'others of the percession o' harnts. 'twar my niece, mill'cent--brother's darter--by name, mill'cent roxby. waal, mill'cent an' a lot o' young fools o' her age--little over fryin' size--they 'tended camp-meetin' down hyar on tomahawk creek--'tain't so long ago--along with the old folks. an' 'bout twenty went huddled up tergether in a road-wagin. an', lo! the wagin it bruk down on the way home, an' what with proppin' it up on a crotch, they made out ter reach the cross-roads over yander at the notch, an' thar the sober old folks called a halt, an' hed the wagin mended at the blacksmith-shop. waal, it tuk some two hours, fur pete rodd ain't a-goin' ter hurry hisself--in my opinion the angel gabriel will hev ter blow his bugle oftener'n wunst at the last day 'fore pete rodd makes up his mind ter rise from the dead an' answer the roll-call--an' this hyar young lot sorter found it tiresome waitin' on thar elders' solemn company. the old folks, whilst waitin', set outside on the porches of the houses at the settlemint, an' repeated some o' the sermons they hed hearn at camp, an' more'n one raised a hyme chune. an' the young fry--they hed hed a steady diet o' sermons an' hyme chunes fur fower days--they tuk ter stragglin' off down the road, two an' two, like the same sorter idjits the world over, leavin' word with the old folks that the wagin would overtake 'em an' pick 'em up on the road when it passed. waal, they walked several mile, an' time they got ter the crest o' the hill over yander the moon hed riz, an' they could look down an' see the mist in the valley. the moon war bright in the buryin'-groun' when they passed it, an' the head-boards stood up white an' stiff, an' a light frost hed fell on the mounds, an' they showed plain, an' shone sorter lonesome an' cold. the young folks begun ter look behind em' fur the wagin. some said--i b'lieve 'twar em'ry keenan--they could read the names on the boards plain, 'twar so light, the moon bein' nigh the full: but em'ry never read nuthin' at night by the moon in his life; he ain't enny too capable o' wrastlin' with the alphabet with a strong daytime on his book ter light him ter knowledge. an' the shadows war black an' still, an' all the yearth looked ez ef nuthin' lived nor ever would agin, an' they hearn a wolf howl. waal, that disaccommodated the gals mightily, an' they hed a heap more interes' in that old wagin, all smellin' rank with wagin-grease an' tar, than they did in thar lovyers; an' they hed ruther hev hearn that old botch of a wheel that pete rodd hed set onto it comin' a-creakin' an' a-complainin' along the road than the sweetest words them boys war able ter make up or remember. so they stood thar in the road--a-stare-gazin' them head-boards, like they expected every grave ter open an' the reveilly ter sound--a-waitin' ter be overtook by the wagin, a-listenin', but hearin' nuthin' in the silence o' the frost--not a dead leaf a-twirlin', nor a frozen blade o' grass astir. an' then two or three o' the gals 'lowed they hed ruther walk back ter meet the wagin, an' whenst the boys 'lowed ter go on--nuthin' war likely ter ketch 'em--one of 'em bust out a-cryin'. waal, thar war the eend o' that much! so the gay party set out on the back track, a-keepin' step ter sobs an' sniffles, an' that's how kem _they_ seen no harnt. but mill'cent an' three or four o' the t'others 'lowed they'd go on. they warn't two mile from home, an' full five from the cross-roads. so em'ry keenan--he hev been waitin' on her sence the year one--so he put his skeer in his pocket an' kem along with her, a-shakin' in his shoes, i'll be bound! so down the hill in the frosty moonlight them few kem--purty nigh beat out, i reckon, mill'cent war, what with the sermonizin' an' the hyme-singin' an' hevin' ter look continual at the sheep's-eyes o' em'ry keenan--he wears my patience ter the bone! so she concluded ter take the short-cut. an' em'ry he agreed. so they tuk the lead, the rest a followin', an' kem down thar through all that black growth"--he lifted his arm and pointed at the great slope, dense with fir and pine and the heavy underbrush--"keepin' the bridle-path--easy enough even at night, fur the bresh is so thick they couldn't lose thar way. but the moonlight war mightily slivered up, fallin' through the needles of the pines an' the skeins of dead vines, an' looked bleached and onnatural, an' holped the dark mighty leetle. an' they seen the water a-shinin' an' a-plungin' down the gorge, an' the glistenin' of the frost on the floor o' the bredge. thar war a few icicles on the hand-rail, an' the branches o' the firs hung ez still ez death; only that cold, racin', shoutin', jouncin' water moved. jes ez they got toler'ble nigh the foot-bredge a sudden cloud kem over the face o' the sky. thar warn't no wind on the yearth, but up above the air war a-stirrin'. an' em'ry he 'lowed mill'cent shouldn't cross the foot-bredge whilst the light warn't clar--i wonder the critter hed that much sense! an' she jes' drapped down on that rock thar ter rest"--he pointed up the slope to a great fragment that had broken off from the ledges and lay near the bank: the bulk of the mass was overgrown with moss and lichen, but the jagged edges of the recent fracture gleamed white and crystalline among the brown and olive-green shadows about it. a tree was close beside it. "agin that thar pine trunk em'ry he stood an' leaned. the rest war behind, a-comin' down the hill. an' all of a suddenty a light fell on the furder eend o' the foot-bredge--a waverin' light, mighty white an' misty in the darksomeness. mill'cent 'lowed ez fust she thunk it war the moon. an' lookin' up, she seen the cloud; it held the moon close kivered. an' lookin' down, she seen the light war movin'--movin' from the furder eend o' the bredge, straight acrost it. sometimes a hand war held afore it, ez ef ter shield it from the draught, an' then mill'cent 'seen twar a candle, an' the white in the mistiness war a 'oman wearin' white an' carryin' it. lookin' ter right an' then ter lef' the 'oman kem, with now her right hand shieldin' the candle she held, an' now layin' it on the hand-rail. the candle shone on the water, fur it didn't flare, an' when the 'oman held her hand before it the light made a bright spot on the foot-bredge an' in the dark air about her, an' on the fir branches over her head. an' a thin mist seemed to hang about her white frock, but not over her face, fur when she reached the middle o' the foot-bredge she laid her hand agin on the rail, an' in the clear light o' the candle mill'cent seen the harnt's face. an' thar she beheld her own face; _her own face_ she looked upon ez she waited thar under the tree watchin' the foot-bredge; _her own face_ pale an' troubled; her own self dressed in white, crossin' the foot-bredge, an' lightin' her steps with a corpse's candle." he drew up the reins abruptly. he seemed in sudden haste to go. [illustration: the phantom of the foot-bridge] his companion looked with deepening interest at the bridge, although he followed his guide's surging pathway to the opposite bank. as the two dripping horses struggled up the steep incline he asked, "did the man with her see the manifestation also?" "he _'lows_ he did," responded roxby, equivocally. "but when mill'cent fust got so she could tell it, 'peared ter me ez em'ry keenan fund it ez much news ez the rest o' we-uns. mill'cent jes' drapped stone-dead, accordin' ter all accounts, an' he an' the t'other young folks flung water in her face till she kem out'n her faint; an' jes' then they hearn the wagin a-rattlin' along the road, an' they stopped it an' fetched her home in it. she never told the tale till she war home, an' it skeered me an' my mother powerful, fur mill'cent is all the kin we hev got. mill'cent is gran'daddy an' gran'mammy, sons an' daughters, uncles an' aunts, cousins, nieces, an' nephews, all in one. the only thing i ain't pervided with is a nephew-in-law, an' i don't need him. leastwise i ain't lookin' fur em'ry keenan jes' at present." the pace was brisker when the two horses, bending their strength sturdily to the task, had pressed up the massive slope from the deep cleft of the gorge. as the road curved about the outer verge of the mountain, the valley far beneath came into view, with intersecting valleys and transverse ranges, dense with the growths of primeval wildernesses, and rugged with the tilted strata of great upheavals, and with chasms cut in the solid rock by centuries of erosion, traces of some remote cataclysmal period, registering thus its throes and turmoils. the blue sky, seen beyond a gaunt profile of one of the farther summits that defined its craggy serrated edge against the ultimate distances of the western heavens, seemed of a singularly suave tint, incongruous with the savagery of the scene, which clouds and portents of storm might better have befitted. the little graveyard, which john dundas discerned with recognizing eyes, albeit they had never before rested upon it, was revealed suddenly, lying high on the opposite side of the gorge. no frost glimmered now on the lowly mounds; the flickering autumnal sunshine loitered unafraid among them, according to its languid wont for many a year. shadows of the gray unpainted head-boards lay on the withered grass, brown and crisp, with never a cicada left to break the deathlike silence. a tuft of red leaves, vagrant in the wind, had been caught on one of the primitive monuments, and swayed there with a decorative effect. the enclosure seemed, to unaccustomed eyes, of small compass, and few the denizens who had found shelter here and a resting-place, but it numbered all the dead of the country-side for many a mile and many a year, and somehow the loneliness was assuaged to a degree by the reflection that they had known each other in life, unlike the great herds of cities, and that it was a common fate which the neighbors, huddled together, encountered in company. it had no discordant effect in the pervasive sense of gloom, of mighty antagonistic forces with which the scene was replete; it fostered a realization of the pitiable minuteness and helplessness of human nature in the midst of the vastness of inanimate nature and the evidences of infinite lengths of forgotten time, of the long reaches of unimagined history, eventful, fateful, which the landscape at once suggested and revealed and concealed. like the sudden flippant clatter of castanets in the pause of some solemn funeral music was the impression given by the first glimpse along the winding woodland way of a great flimsy white building, with its many pillars, its piazzas, its "observatory," its band-stand, its garish intimations of the giddy, gay world of a summer hotel. but, alack! it, too, had its surfeit of woe. "the guerrillas an' bushwhackers tuk it out on the old hotel, sure!" observed sim roxby, by way of introduction. "thar warn't much fightin' hyar-abouts, an' few sure-enough soldiers ever kem along. but wunst in a while a band o' guerrillas went through like a suddint wind-storm, an' i tell ye they made things whurl while they war about it. they made a sorter barracks o' the old place. looks some like lightning hed struck it." he had reined up his horse about one hundred yards in front of the edifice, where the weed-grown gravelled drive--carefully tended ten years agone--had diverged from the straight avenue of poplars, sweeping in a circle around to the broad flight of steps. "though," he qualified abruptly, as if a sudden thought had struck him, "ef ye air countin' on buyin' it, a leetle money spent ter keerful purpose will go a long way toward makin' it ez good ez new." his companion did not reply, and for the first time roxby cast upon him a covert glance charged with the curiosity which would have been earlier and more easily aroused in another man by the manner of the stranger. a letter--infrequent missive in his experience--had come from an ancient companion-in-arms, his former colonel, requesting him in behalf of a friend of the old commander to repair to the railway station, thirty miles distant, to meet and guide this prospective purchaser of the old hotel to the site of the property. and now as roxby looked at him the suspicion which his kind heart had not been quick to entertain was seized upon by his alert brain. "the cunnel's been fooled somehows," he said to himself. for the look with which john dundas contemplated the place was not the gaze of him concerned with possible investment--with the problems of repair, the details of the glazier and the painter and the plasterer. the mind was evidently neither braced for resistance nor resigned to despair, as behooves one smitten by the foreknowledge of the certainty of the excess of the expenditures over the estimates. only with pensive, listless melancholy, void of any intention, his eyes traversed the long rows of open doors, riven by rude hands from their locks, swinging helplessly to and fro in the wind, and giving to the deserted and desolate old place a spurious air of motion and life. many of the shutters had been wrenched from their hinges, and lay rotting on the floors. the ball-room windows caught on their shattered glass the reflection of the clouds, and it seemed as if here and there a wan face looked through at the riders wending along the weed-grown path. where so many faces had been what wonder that a similitude should linger in the loneliness! the pallid face seemed to draw back as they glanced up while slowly pacing around the drive. a rabbit sitting motionless on the front piazza did not draw back, although observing them with sedate eyes as he poised himself upright on his haunches, with his listless fore-paws suspended in the air, and it occurred to dundas that he was probably unfamiliar with the presence of human beings, and had never heard the crack of a gun. a great swirl of swallows came soaring out of the big kitchen chimneys and circled in the sky, darting down again and again upward. through an open passage was a glimpse of a quadrangle, with its weed-grown spaces and litter of yellow leaves. a tawny streak, a red fox, sped through it as dundas looked. a half-moon, all a-tilt, hung above it. he saw the glimmer through the bare boughs of the leafless locust-trees here and there still standing, although outside on the lawn many a stump bore token how ruthlessly the bushwhackers had furnished their fires. "that thar moon's a-hangin' fur rain," said the mountaineer, commenting upon the aspect of the luminary, which he, too, had noticed as they passed. "i ain't s'prised none ef we hev fallin' weather agin 'fore day, an' the man--by name morgan holden--that hev charge o' the hotel property can't git back fur a week an' better." a vague wonder to find himself so suspicious flitted through his mind, with the thought that perhaps the colonel might have reckoned on this delay. "surely the ruvers down yander at knoxville mus' be a-boomin', with all this wet weather," he said to himself. then aloud: "morgan holden he went ter colbury ter 'tend ter some business in court, an' the ruvers hev riz so that, what with the bredges bein' washed away an' the fords so onsartain an' tricky, he'll stay till the ruver falls. he don't know ye war kemin', ye see. the mail-rider hev quit, 'count o' the rise in the ruver, an' thar's no way ter git word ter him. still, ef ye air minded ter wait, i'll be powerful obligated fur yer comp'ny down ter my house till the ruver falls an' holden he gits back." the stranger murmured his obligations, but his eyes dwelt lingeringly upon the old hotel, with its flapping doors and its shattered windows. through the recurrent vistas of these, placed opposite in the rooms, came again broken glimpses of the grassy space within the quadrangle, with its leafless locust-trees, first of all to yield their foliage to the autumn wind, where a tiny owl was shrilling stridulously under the lonely red sky and the melancholy moon. "hed ye 'lowed ter put up at the old hotel?" asked roxby, some inherent quickness supplying the lack of a definite answer. for the first time the stranger turned upon him a look more expressive than the casual fragmentary attention with which he had half heeded, half ignored his talk since their first encounter at the railway station. "a simple fellow, but good as gold," was the phrase with which simeon roxby had been commended as guide and in some sort guard. "not so simple, perhaps," the sophisticated man thought as their eyes met. not so simple but that the truth must serve. "the colonel suggested that it might be best," he replied, more alert to the present moment than his languid preoccupation had heretofore permitted. the answer was good as far as it went. a few days spent in the old hostelry certainly would serve well to acquaint the prospective purchaser with its actual condition and the measures and means needed for its repair; but as sim roxby stood there, with the cry of the owl shrilling in the desert air, the lonely red sky, the ominous tilted moon, the doors drearily flapping to and fro as the wind stole into the forlorn and empty place and sped back affrighted, he marvelled at the refuge contemplated. "i believe there is some of the furniture here yet. we could contrive to set up a bed from what is left. the colonel could make it all right with holden, and i could stay a day or two, as we originally planned." "ye-es. i don't mind holden: a man ain't much in charge of a place ez ain't got a lock or a key ter bless itself with, an' takes the owel an' the fox an' the gopher fur boarders; but, ennyhow, kem with me home ter supper. mill'cent will hev it ready by now ennyhows, an' ye need suthin' hearty an' hot ter stiffen ye up ter move inter sech quarters ez these." dundas hesitated, but the mountaineer had already taken assent for granted, and pushed his horse into a sharp trot. evidently a refusal was not in order. dundas pressed forward, and they rode together along the winding way past the ten-pin alley, its long low roof half hidden in the encroaching undergrowth springing up apace beneath the great trees; past the stables; past a line of summer cottages, strangely staring of aspect out of the yawning doors and windows, giving, instead of an impression of vacancy, a sense of covert watching, of secret occupancy. if one's glances were only quick enough, were there not faces pressed to those shattered panes--scarcely seen--swiftly withdrawn? he was in a desert; he had hardly been so utterly alone in all his life; yet he bore through the empty place a feeling of espionage, and ever and anon he glanced keenly at the overgrown lawns, with their deepening drifts of autumn leaves, at the staring windows and flaring doors, which emitted sometimes sudden creaking wails in the silence, as if he sought to assure himself of the vacancy of which his mind took cognizance and yet all his senses denied. little of his sentiment, although sedulously cloaked, was lost on sim roxby; and he was aware, too, in some subtle way, of the relief his guest experienced when they plunged into the darkening forest and left the forlorn place behind them. the clearing in which it was situated seemed an oasis of light in the desert of night in which the rest of the world lay. from the obscurity of the forest dundas saw, through the vistas of the giant trees, the clustering cottages, the great hotel, gables and chimneys and tower, stark and distinct as in some weird dream-light in the midst of the encircling gloom. the after-glow of sunset was still aflare on the western windows; the whole empty place was alight with a reminiscence of its old aspect--its old gay life. who knows what memories were a-stalk there--what semblance of former times? what might not the darkness foster, the impunity of desertion, the associations that inhabited the place with almost the strength of human occupancy itself? who knows--who knows? he remembered the scene afterward, the impression he received. and from this, he thought, arose his regret for his decision to take up here his abiding-place. the forest shut out the illumined landscape, and the night seemed indeed at hand; the gigantic boles of the trees loomed through the encompassing gloom, that was yet a semi-transparent medium, like some dark but clear fluid through which objects were dimly visible, albeit tinged with its own sombre hue. the lank, rawboned sorrel had set a sharp pace, to which the chestnut, after momentary lagging, as if weary with the day's travel, responded briskly. he had received in some way intimations that his companion's corn-crib was near at hand, and if he had not deduced from these premises the probability of sharing his fare, his mental processes served him quite as well as reason, and brought him to the same result. on and on they sped, neck and neck, through the darkening woods; fire flashed now and again from their iron-shod hoofs; often a splash and a shower of drops told of a swift dashing through the mud-holes that recent rains had fostered in the shallows. the dank odor of dripping boughs came on the clear air. once the chestnut shied from a sudden strange shining point springing up in the darkness close at hand, which the country-bred horse discriminated as fox-fire, and kept steadily on, unmindful of the rotting log where it glowed. far in advance, in the dank depths of the woods, a will-o'-the-wisp danced and flickered and lured the traveller's eye. the stranger was not sure of the different quality of another light, appearing down a vista as the road turned, until the sorrel, making a tremendous spurt, headed for it, uttering a joyous neigh at the sight. the deep-voiced barking of hounds rose melodiously on the silence, and as the horses burst out of the woods into a small clearing, dundas beheld in the brighter light a half-dozen of the animals nimbly afoot in the road, one springing over the fence, another in the act of climbing, his fore-paws on the topmost rail, his long neck stretched, and his head turning about in attitudes of observation. he evidently wished to assure himself whether the excitement of his friends was warranted by the facts before he troubled himself to vault over the fence. three or four still lingered near the door of a log-cabin, fawning about a girl who stood on the porch. her pose was alert, expectant; a fire in the dooryard, where the domestic manufacture of soap had been in progress, cast a red flare on the house, its appurtenances, the great dark forest looming all around, and, more than the glow of the hearth within, lighted up the central figure of the scene. she was tall, straight, and strong; a wealth of fair hair was clustered in a knot at the back of her head, and fleecy tendrils fell over her brow; on it was perched a soldier's cap; and certainly more gallant and fearless eyes had never looked out from under the straight, stiff brim. her chin, firm, round, dimpled, was uplifted as she raised her head, descrying the horsemen's approach. she wore a full dark-red skirt, a dark brown waist, and around her neck was twisted a gray cotton kerchief, faded to a pale ashen hue, the neutrality of which somehow aided the delicate brilliancy of the blended roseate and pearly tints of her face. was this the seer of ghosts--dundas marvelled--this the millicent whose pallid and troubled phantom already paced the foot-bridge? he did not realize that he had drawn up his horse suddenly at the sight of her, nor did he notice that his host had dismounted, until roxby was at the chestnut's head, ready to lead the animal to supper in the barn. his evident surprise, his preoccupation, were not lost upon roxby, however. his hand hesitated on the girth of the chestnut's saddle when he stood between the two horses in the barn. he had half intended to disregard the stranger's declination of his invitation, and stable the creature. then he shook his head slowly; the mystery that hung about the new-comer was not reassuring. "a heap o' wuthless cattle 'mongst them valley men," he said; for the war had been in some sort an education to his simplicity. "let him stay whar the cunnel expected him ter stay. i ain't wantin' no stranger a-hangin' round about mill'cent, nohow. em'ry keenan ain't a pattern o' perfection, but i be toler'ble well acquainted with the cut o' his foolishness, an' i know his daddy an' mammy, an' both sets o' gran'daddies an' gran'mammies, an' i could tell ye exac'ly which one the critter got his nose an' his mouth from, an' them lean sheep's-eyes o' his'n, an' nigh every tone o' his voice. em'ry never thunk afore ez i set store on bein' acquainted with him. he 'lowed i knowed him _too_ well." he laughed as he glanced through the open door into the darkening landscape. horizontal gray clouds were slipping fast across the pearly spaces of the sky. the yellow stubble gleamed among the brown earth of the farther field, still striped with its furrows. the black forest encircled the little cleared space, and a wind was astir among the tree-tops. a white star gleamed through the broken clapboards of the roof, the fire still flared under the soap-kettle in the dooryard, and the silence was suddenly smitten by a high cracked old voice, which told him that his mother had perceived the dismounted stranger at the gate, and was graciously welcoming him. she had come to the door, where the girl still stood, but half withdrawn in the shadow. dundas silently bowed as he passed her, following his aged hostess into the low room, all bedight with the firelight of a huge chimney-place, and comfortable with the realization of a journey's end. the wilderness might stretch its weary miles around, the weird wind wander in the solitudes, the star look coldly on unmoved by aught it beheld, the moon show sad portents, but at the door they all failed, for here waited rest and peace and human companionship and the sense of home. "take a cheer, stranger, an' make yerself at home. powerful glad ter see ye--war 'feard night would overtake ye. ye fund the water toler'ble high in all the creeks an' sech, i reckon, an' fords shifty an' onsartain. yes, sir. fall rains kem on earlier'n common, an' more'n we need. wisht we could divide it with that thar drought we had in the summer. craps war cut toler'ble short, sir--toler'ble short." mrs. roxby's spectacles beamed upon him with an expression of the utmost benignity as the firelight played on the lenses, but her eyes peering over them seemed endowed in some sort with independence of outlook. it was as if from behind some bland mask a critical observation was poised for unbiased judgment. he felt in some degree under surveillance. but when a light step heralded an approach he looked up, regardless of the betrayal of interest, and bent a steady gaze upon millicent as she paused in the doorway. and as she stood there, distinct in the firelight and outlined against the black background of the night, she seemed some modern half-military ideal of diana, with her two gaunt hounds beside her, the rest of the pack vaguely glimpsed at her heels outside, the perfect outline and chiselling of her features, her fine, strong, supple figure, the look of steady courage in her eyes, and the soldier's cap on her fair hair. her face so impressed itself upon his mind that he seemed to have seen her often. it was some resemblance to a picture of a vivandière, doubtless, in a foreign gallery--he could not say when or where; a remnant of a tourist's overcrowded impressions; a half-realized reminiscence, he thought, with an uneasy sense of recognition. "hello, mill'cent! home agin!" roxby cried, in cheery greeting as he entered at the back door opposite. "what sorter topknot is that ye got on?" he demanded, looking jocosely at her head-gear. the girl put up her hand with an expression of horror. a deep red flush dyed her cheek as she touched the cap. "i forgot 'twar thar," she murmured, contritely. then, with a sudden rush of anger as she tore it off: "'twar granny's fault. she axed me ter put it on, so ez ter see which one i looked most like." "stranger," quavered the old woman, with a painful break in her voice, "i los' fower sons in the war, an' mill'cent hev got the fambly favor." "ye _mought_ hev let me know ez i war a-perlitin' round in this hyar men's gear yit," the girl muttered, as she hung the cap on a prong of the deer antlers on which rested the rifle of the master of the house. roxby's face had clouded at the mention of the four sons who had gone out from the mountains never to return, leaving to their mother's aching heart only the vague comfort of an elusive resemblance in a girl's face; but as he noted millicent's pettish manner, and divined her mortification because of her unseemly head-gear in the stranger's presence, he addressed her again in that jocose tone without which he seldom spoke to her. "warn't you-uns apologizin' ter me t'other day fur not bein' a nephew 'stiddier a niece? looked sorter like a nephew ter-night." she shook her head, covered now only with its own charming tresses waving in thick undulations to the coil at the nape of her neck--a trifle dishevelled from the rude haste with which the cap had been torn off. roxby had seated himself, and with his elbows on his knees he looked up at her with a teasing jocularity, such as one might assume toward a child. "_ye war_," he declared, with affected solemnity--"ye war 'pologizin' fur not bein' a nephew, an' 'lowed ef ye war a nephew we could go a-huntin' tergether, an' ye could holp me in all my quar'ls an' fights. i been aging some lately, an' ef i war ter go ter the settlemint an' git inter a fight i mought not be able ter hold my own. think what 'twould be ter a pore old man ter hev a dutiful nephew step up an'"--he doubled his fists and squared off--"jes' let daylight through some o' them cusses. an' didn't _ye say_"--he dropped his belligerent attitude and pointed an insistent finger at her, as if to fix the matter in her recollection--"ef ye war a nephew 'stiddier a niece ye could fire a gun 'thout shettin' yer eyes? an' i told ye then ez that would mend yer aim mightily. i told ye that i'd be powerful mortified ef i hed a nephew ez hed ter shet his eyes ter keep the noise out'n his ears whenst he fired a rifle. the tale would go mighty hard with me at the settlemint." the girl's eyes glowed upon him with the fixity and the lustre of those of a child who is entertained and absorbed by an elder's jovial wiles. a flash of laughter broke over her face, and the low, gurgling, half-dreamy sound was pleasant to hear. she was evidently no more than a child to these bereft old people, and by them cherished as naught else on earth. "an' didn't _i_ tell _you-uns_," he went on, affecting to warm to the discussion, and in reality oblivious of the presence of the guest--"didn't i tell ye ez how ef ye war a nephew 'stiddier a niece ye wouldn't hev sech cattle ez em'ry keenan a-danglin' round underfoot, like a puppy ye can't gin away, an' that _won't_ git lost, an' ye ain't got the heart ter kill?" the girl's lip suddenly curled with scorn. "yer nephew would be obligated ter make a ch'ice fur marryin' 'mongst these hyar mounting gals--parmely lepstone, or belindy m'ria matthews, or one o' the windrow gals. waal, sir, i'd ruther be yer niece--even ef em'ry keenan _air_ like a puppy underfoot, that ye can't gin away, an' won't git lost, an' ye ain't got the heart ter kill." she laughed again, showing her white teeth. she evidently relished the description of the persistent adherence of poor emory keenan. "but which one o' these hyar gals would ye recommend ter yer nephew ter marry--ef ye hed a nephew?" she looked at him with flashing eyes, conscious of having propounded a poser. he hesitated for a moment. then--"i'm surrounded," he said, with a laugh. "ez i couldn't find a wife fur myself, i can't ondertake ter recommend one ter my nephew. mighty fine boy he'd hev been, an' saaft-spoken an' perlite ter aged men--not sassy an' makin' game o' old uncles like a niece. mighty fine boy!" "ye air welcome ter him," she said, with a simulation of scorn, as she turned away to the table. whether it were the military cap she had worn, or the fancied resemblance to the young soldiers, never to grow old, who had gone forth from this humble abode to return no more, there was still to the guest's mind the suggestion of the vivandière about her as she set the table and spread upon it the simple fare. to and from the fireplace she was followed by two or three of the younger dogs, their callowness expressed in their lack of manners and perfervid interest in the approaching meal. this induced their brief journeys back and forth, albeit embarrassed by their physical conformation, short turns on four legs not being apparently the easy thing it would seem from so much youthful suppleness. the dignity of the elder hounds did not suffer them to move, but they looked on from erect postures about the hearth with glistening eyes and slobbering jaws. ever and anon the deep blue eyes of millicent were lifted to the outer gloom, as if she took note of its sinister aspect. she showed scant interest in the stranger, whose gaze seldom left her as he sat beside the fire. he was a handsome man, his face and figure illumined by the firelight, and it might have been that he felt a certain pique, an unaccustomed slight, in that his presence was so indifferent an element in the estimation of any young and comely specimen of the feminine sex. certainly he had rarely encountered such absolute preoccupation as her smiling far-away look betokened as she went back and forth with her young canine friends at her heels, or stood at the table deftly slicing the salt-rising bread, the dogs poised skilfully upon their hind-legs to better view the appetizing performance; whenever she turned her face toward them they laid their heads languishingly askew, as if to remind her that supper could not be more fitly bestowed than on them. one, to steady himself, placed unobserved his fore-paw on the edge of the table, his well-padded toes leaving a vague imprint as of fingers upon the coarse white cloth; but john dundas was a sportsman, and could the better relax an exacting nicety where so pleasant-featured and affable a beggar was concerned. he forgot the turmoils of his own troubles as he gazed at millicent, the dreary aspect of the solitudes without, the exile from his accustomed sphere of culture and comfort, the poverty and coarseness of her surroundings. he was sorry that he had declined a longer lease of roxby's hospitality, and it was in his mind to reconsider when it should be again proffered. her attitude, her gesture, her face, her environment, all appealed to his sense of beauty, his interest, his curiosity, as little ever had done heretofore. slice after slice of the firm fragrant bread was deftly cut and laid on the plate, as again and again she lifted her eyes with a look that might seem to expect to rest on summer in the full flush of a june noontide without, rather than on the wan, wintry night sky and the plundered, quaking woods, while the robber wind sped on his raids hither and thither so swiftly that none might follow, so stealthily that none might hinder. a sudden radiance broke upon her face, a sudden shadow fell on the firelit floor, and there was entering at the doorway a tall, lithe young mountaineer, whose first glance, animated with a responsive brightness, was for the girl, but whose punctilious greeting was addressed to the old woman. "howdy, mis' roxby--howdy? air yer rheumatics mendin' enny?" he demanded, with the condolent suavity of the would-be son-in-law, or grandson-in-law, as the case may be. and he hung with a transfixed interest upon her reply, prolix and discursive according to the wont of those who cultivate "rheumatics," as if each separate twinge racked his own sympathetic and filial sensibilities. not until the tale was ended did he set his gun against the wall and advance to the seat which roxby had indicated with the end of the stick he was whittling. he observed the stranger with only slight interest, till dundas drew up his chair opposite at the table. there the light from the tallow dip, guttering in the centre, fell upon his handsome face and eyes, his carefully tended beard and hair, his immaculate cuffs and delicate hand, the seal-ring on his taper finger. "like a gal, by gum!" thought emory keenan. "rings on his fingers--yit six feet high!" he looked at his elders, marvelling that they so hospitably repressed the disgust which this effeminate adornment must occasion, forgetting that it was possible that they did not even observe it. in the gala-days of the old hotel, before the war, they had seen much "finicking finery" in garb and equipage and habits affected by the _jeunesse dorée_ who frequented the place in those halcyon times, and were accustomed to such details. it might be that they and millicent approved such flimsy daintiness. he began to fume inwardly with a sense of inferiority in her estimation. one of his fingers had been frosted last winter, and with the first twinge of cold weather it was beginning to look very red and sad and clumsy, as if it had just remembered its ancient woe; he glanced from it once more at the delicate ringed hand of the stranger. dundas was looking up with a slow, deferential, decorous smile that nevertheless lightened and transfigured his expression. it seemed somehow communicated to millicent's face as she looked down at him from beneath her white eyelids and long, thick, dark lashes, for she was standing beside him, handing him the plate of bread. then, still smiling, she passed noiselessly on to the others. emory was indeed clumsy, for he had stretched his hand downward to offer a morsel to a friend of his under the table--he was on terms of exceeding amity with the four-footed members of the house hold--and in his absorption not withdrawing it as swiftly as one accustomed to canine manners should do, he had his frosted finger well mumbled before he could, as it were, repossess himself of it. "i wonder what they charge fur iron over yander at the settlemint, em'ry?" observed sim roxby presently. "dun'no', sir," responded emory, glumly, his sullen black eyes full of smouldering fire--"hevin' no call ter know, ez i ain't no blacksmith." "i war jes' wonderin' ef tenpenny nails didn't cost toler'ble high ez reg'lar feed," observed roxby, gravely. but his mother laughed out with a gleeful cracked treble, always a ready sequence of her son's rustic sallies. "he got ye that time, em'ry," she cried. a forced smile crossed emory's face. he tossed back his tangled dark hair with a gasp that was like the snort of an unruly horse submitting to the inevitable, but with restive projects in his brain. "i let the dog hyar ketch my finger whilst feedin' him," he said. his plausible excuse for the tenpenny expression was complete; but he added, his darker mood recurring instantly, "an', mis' roxby, i hev put a stop ter them ez hev tuk ter callin' me em'ly, i hev." the old woman looked up, her small wrinkled mouth round and amazed. "_i_ never called ye emily," she declared. swift repentance seized him. "naw, 'm," he said, with hurried propitiation. "i 'lowed ye did." "i didn't," said the old woman. "but ef i war ter find it toothsome ter call ye 'emily,' i dun'no' how ye air goin' ter pervent it. ye can't go gunnin' fur me, like ye done fur the men at the mill, fur callin' ye 'emily.'" "law, mis' roxby!" he could only exclaim, in his horror and contrition at this picture he had thus conjured up. "ye air welcome ter call me ennything ye air a mind ter," he protested. and then he gasped once more. the eyes of the guest, contemptuous, amused, seeing through him, were fixed upon him. and he himself had furnished the lily-handed stranger with the information that he had been stigmatized "em'ly" in the banter of his associates, until he had taken up arms, as it were, to repress this derision. "it takes powerful little ter put ye down, em'ry," said roxby, with rallying laughter. "mam hev sent ye skedaddlin' in no time at all. i don't b'lieve the lord made woman out'n the man's rib. he made her out'n the man's backbone; fur the man ain't hed none ter speak of sence." millicent, with a low gurgle of laughter, sat down beside emory at the table, and fixed her eyes, softly lighted with mirth, upon him. the others too had laughed, the stranger with a flattering intonation, but young keenan looked at her with a dumb appealing humility that did not altogether fail of its effect, for she busied herself to help his plate with an air of proprietorship as if he were a child, and returned it with a smile very radiant and sufficient at close range. she then addressed herself to her own meal. the young dogs under the table ceased to beg, and gambolled and gnawed and tugged at her stout little shoes, the sound of their callow mirthful growls rising occasionally above the talk. sometimes she rose again to wait on the table, when they came leaping out after her, jumping and catching at her skirts, now and then casting themselves on the ground prone before her feet, and rolling over and over in the sheer joy of existence. the stranger took little part in the talk at the table. never a question was asked him as to his mission in the mountains, or the length of his stay, his vocation, or his home. that extreme courtesy of the mountaineers, exemplified in their singular abstinence from any expressions of curiosity, accepted such account of himself as he had volunteered, and asked for no more. in the face of this standard of manners any inquisitiveness on his part, such as might have elicited points of interest for his merely momentary entertainment, was tabooed. nevertheless, silent though he was for the most part, the relish with which he listened, his half-covert interest in the girl, his quick observation of the others, the sudden very apparent enlivening of his mental atmosphere, betokened that his quarters were not displeasing to him. it seemed only a short time before the meal was ended and the circle all, save millicent, with pipes alight before the fire again. the dogs, well fed, had ranged themselves on the glowing hearth, lying prone on the hot stones; one old hound, however, who conserved the air of listening to the conversation, sat upright and nodded from time to time, now and again losing his balance and tipping forward in a truly human fashion, then gazing round on the circle with an open luminous eye, as who should say he had not slept. it was all very cheerful within, but outside the wind still blared mournfully. once more dundas was sorry that he had declined the invitation to remain, and it was with a somewhat tentative intention that he made a motion to return to the hotel. but his host seemed to regard his resolution as final, and rose with a regret, not an insistence. the two women stared in silent amazement at the mere idea of his camping out, as it were, in the old hotel. the ascendency of masculine government here, notwithstanding roxby's assertion that eve was made of adam's backbone, was very apparent in their mute acquiescence and the alacrity with which they began to collect various articles, according to his directions, to make the stranger's stay more comfortable. "em'ry kin go along an' holp," he said, heartlessly; for poor emory's joy in perceiving that the guest was not a fixture, and that his presence was not to be an embargo on any word between himself and millicent during the entire evening, was pitiably manifest. but the situation was still not without its comforts, since dundas was to go too. hence he was not poor company when once in the saddle, and was civil to a degree of which his former dismayed surliness had given no promise. night had become a definite element. the twilight had fled. above their heads, as they galloped through the dank woods, the bare boughs of the trees clashed together--so high above their heads that to the town man, unaccustomed to these great growths, the sound seemed not of the vicinage, but unfamiliar, uncanny, and more than once he checked his horse to listen. as they approached the mountain's verge and overlooked the valley and beheld the sky, the sense of the predominance of darkness was redoubled. the ranges gloomed against the clearer spaces, but a cloud, deep gray with curling white edges, was coming up from the west, with an invisible convoy of vague films, beneath which the stars, glimmering white points, disappeared one by one. the swift motion of this aerial fleet sailing with the wind might be inferred from the seemingly hurried pace of the moon making hard for the west. still bright was the illumined segment, but despite its glitter the shadowy space of the full disk was distinctly visible, its dusky field spangled with myriads of minute, dully golden points. down, down it took its way in haste--in disordered fright, it seemed, as if it had no heart to witness the storm which the wind and the clouds foreboded--to fairer skies somewhere behind those western mountains. soon even its vague light would encroach no more upon the darkness. the great hotel would be invisible, annihilated as it were in the gloom, and not even thus dimly exist, glimmering, alone, forlorn, so incongruous to the wilderness that it seemed even now some mere figment of the brain, as the two horsemen came with a freshened burst of speed along the deserted avenue and reined up beside a small gate at the side. "no use ter ride all the way around," observed emory keenan. "mought jes ez well 'light an' hitch hyar." the moon gave him the escort of a great grotesque shadow as he threw himself from his horse and passed the reins over a decrepit hitching-post near at hand. then he essayed the latch of the small gate. he glanced up at dundas, the moonlight in his dark eyes, with a smile as it resisted his strength. he was a fairly good-looking fellow when rid of the self-consciousness of jealousy. his eyes, mouth, chin, and nose, acquired from reliable and recognizable sources, were good features, and statuesque in their immobility beneath the drooping curves of his broad soft hat. he was tall, with the slenderness of youth, despite his evident weight and strength. he was long-waisted and lithe and small of girth, with broad square shoulders, whose play of muscles as he strove with the gate was not altogether concealed by the butternut jeans coat belted in with his pistols by a broad leathern belt. his boots reached high on his long legs, and jingled with a pair of huge cavalry spurs. his stalwart strength seemed as if it must break the obdurate gate rather than open it, but finally, with a rasping creak, dismally loud in the silence, it swung slowly back. the young mountaineer stood gazing for a moment at the red rust on the hinges. "how long sence this gate must hev been opened afore?" he said, again looking up at dundas with a smile. somehow the words struck a chill to the stranger's heart. the sense of the loneliness of the place, of isolation, filled him with a sort of awe. the night-bound wilderness itself was not more daunting than these solitary tiers of piazzas, these vacant series of rooms and corridors, all instinct with vanished human presence, all alert with echoes of human voices. a step, a laugh, a rustle of garments--he could have sworn he heard them at any open doorway as he followed his guide along the dim moonlit piazza, with its pillars duplicated at regular intervals by the shadows on the floor. how their tread echoed down these lonely ways! from the opposite side of the house he heard keenan's spurs jangling, his soldierly stride sounding back as if their entrance had roused barracks. he winced once to see his own shadow with its stealthier movement. it seemed painfully furtive. for the first time during the evening his jaded mind, that had instinctively sought the solace of contemplating trifles, reverted to its own tormented processes. "am i not hiding?" he said to himself, in a sort of sarcastic pity of his plight. the idea seemed never to enter the mind of the transparent keenan. he laughed out gayly as they turned into the weed-grown quadrangle, and the red fox that dundas had earlier observed slipped past him with affrighted speed and dashed among the shadows of the dense shrubbery of the old lawn without. again and again the sound rang back from wall to wall, first with the jollity of seeming imitation, then with an appalled effect sinking to silence, and suddenly rising again in a grewsome _staccato_ that suggested some terrible unearthly laughter, and bore but scant resemblance to the hearty mirth which had evoked it. keenan paused and looked back with friendly gleaming eyes. "oughter been a leetle handier with these hyar consarns," he said, touching the pistols in his belt. it vaguely occurred to dundas that the young man went strangely heavily armed for an evening visit at a neighbor's house. but it was a lawless country and lawless times, and the sub-current of suggestion did not definitely fix itself in his mind until he remembered it later. he was looking into each vacant open doorway, seeing the still moonlight starkly white upon the floor; the cobwebbed and broken window-panes, through which a section of leafless trees beyond was visible; bits of furniture here and there, broken by the vandalism of the guerillas. now and then a scurrying movement told of a gopher, hiding too, and on one mantel-piece, the black fireplace yawning below, sat a tiny tawny-tinted owl, whose motionless bead-like eyes met his with a stare of stolid surprise. after he had passed, its sudden ill-omened cry set the silence to shuddering. keenan, leading the way, paused in displeasure. "i wisht i hed viewed that critter," he said, glumly. "i'd hev purvented that screechin' ter call the devil, sure. it's jes a certain sign o' death." he was about to turn, to wreak his vengeance, perchance. but the bird, sufficiently fortunate itself, whatever woe it presaged for others, suddenly took its awkward flight through sheen and shadow across the quadrangle, and when they heard its cry again it came from some remote section of the building, with a doleful echo as a refrain. the circumstance was soon forgotten by keenan. he seemed a happy, mercurial, lucid nature, and he began presently to dwell with interest on the availability of the old music-stand in the centre of the square as a manger. "hyar," he said, striking the rotten old structure with a heavy hand, which sent a quiver and a thrill through all the timbers--"hyar's whar the guerillas always hitched thar beastises. thar feed an' forage war piled up thar on the fiddlers' seats. ye can't do no better'n ter pattern arter them, till ye git ready ter hev fiddlers an' sech a-sawin' away in hyar agin." and he sauntered away from the little pavilion, followed by dundas, who had not accepted his suggestion of a room on the first floor as being less liable to leakage, but finally made choice of an inner apartment in the second story. he looked hard at keenan, when he stood in the doorway surveying the selection. the room opened into a cross-hall which gave upon a broad piazza that was latticed; tiny squares of moonlight were all sharply drawn on the floor, and, seen through a vista of gray shadow, seemed truly of a gilded lustre. from the windows of this room on a court-yard no light could be visible to any passer-by without. another door gave on an inner gallery, and through its floor a staircase came up from the quadrangle close to the threshold. dundas wondered if these features were of possible significance in keenan's estimation. the young mountaineer turned suddenly, and snatching up a handful of slats broken from the shutters, remarked: "let's see how the chimbly draws--that's the main p'int." there was no defect in the chimney's constitution. it drew admirably, and with the white and red flames dancing in the fireplace, two or three chairs, more or less disabled, a table, and an upholstered lounge gathered at random from the rooms near at hand, the possibility of sojourning comfortably for a few days in the deserted hostelry seemed amply assured. once more dundas gazed fixedly at the face of the young mountaineer, who still bent on one knee on the hearth, watching with smiling eyes the triumphs of his fire-making. it seemed to him afterwards that his judgment was strangely at fault; he perceived naught of import in the shallow brightness of the young man's eyes, like the polished surface of jet; in the instability of his jealousy, his anger; in his hap-hazard, mercurial temperament. once he might have noted how flat were the spaces beneath the eyes, how few were the lines that defined the lid, the socket, the curve of the cheekbone, the bridge of the nose, and how expressionless. it was doubtless the warmth and glow of the fire, the clinging desire of companionship, the earnest determination to be content, pathetic in one who had but little reason for optimism, that caused him to ignore the vacillating glancing moods that successively swayed keenan, strong while they lasted, but with scanty augury because of their evanescence. he was like some newly discovered property in physics of untried potentialities, of which nothing is ascertained but its uncertainties. and yet he seemed to dundas a simple country fellow, good-natured in the main, unsuspicious, and helpful. so, giving a long sigh of relief and fatigue, dundas sank down in one of the large arm-chairs that had once done duty for the summer loungers on the piazza. in the light of the fire emory was once more looking at him. a certain air of distinction, a grace and ease of movement, an indescribable quality of bearing which he could not discriminate, yet which he instinctively recognized as superior, offended him in some sort. he noticed again the ring on the stranger's hand as he drew off his glove. gloves! emory keenan would as soon have thought of wearing a petticoat. once more the fear that these effeminate graces found favor in millicent's estimation smote upon his heart. it made the surface of his opaque eyes glisten as dundas rose and took up a pipe and tobacco pouch which he had laid on the mantel-piece, his full height and fine figure shown in the changed posture. "ez tall ez me, ef not taller, an', by gum! a good thirty pound heavier," emory reflected, with a growing dismay that he had not those stalwart claims to precedence in height and weight as an offset to the smoother fascinations of the stranger's polish. he had risen hastily to his feet. he would not linger to smoke fraternally over the fire, and thus cement friendly relations. "i guided him hyar, like old sim roxby axed me ter do, an' that's all. i ain't keerin' ef i never lay eyes on him again," he said to himself. "going?" said dundas, pleasantly, noticing the motion. "you'll look in again, won't you?" "wunst in a while, i reckon," drawled keenan, a trifle thrown off his balance by this courtesy. he paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder for a moment at the illumined room, then stepped out into the night, leaving the tenant of the lonely old house filling his pipe by the fire. his tread rang along the deserted gallery, and sudden echoes came tramping down the vacant halls as if many a denizen of the once populous place was once more astir within its walls. long after dundas had heard him spring from the lower piazza to the ground, and the rusty gate clang behind him, vague footfalls were audible far away, and were still again, and once more a pattering tread in some gaunt and empty apartment near at hand, faint and fainter yet, till he hardly knew whether it were the reverberations of sound or fancy that held his senses in thrall. and when all was still and silent at last he felt less solitary than when these elusive tokens of human presence were astir. late, late he sat over the dwindling embers. his mind, no longer diverted by the events of the day, recurred with melancholy persistence to a theme which even they, although fraught with novelty and presage of danger, had not altogether crowded out. and as the sense of peril dulled, the craft of sophistry grew clumsy. remorse laid hold upon him in these dim watches of the night. self-reproach had found him out here, defenceless so far from the specious wiles and ways of men. all the line of provocations seemed slight, seemed naught, as he reviewed them and balanced them against a human life. true, it was not in some mad quarrel that his skill had taken it and had served to keep his own--a duel, a fair fight, strictly regular according to the code of "honorable men" for ages past--and he sought to argue that it was doubtless but the morbid sense of the wild fastnesses without, the illimitable vastness of the black night, the unutterable indurability of nature to the influences of civilization, which made it taste like murder. he had brought away even from the scene of action, to which he had gone with decorous deliberation--his worldly affairs arranged for the possibility of death, his will made, his volition surrendered, and his sacred honor in the hands of his seconds--a humiliating recollection of the sudden revulsion of the aspect of all things; the criminal sense of haste with which he was hurried away after that first straight shot; the agitation, nay, the fright of his seconds; their eagerness to be swiftly rid of him, their insistence that he should go away for a time, get out of the country, out of the embarrassing purview of the law, which was prone to regard the matter as he himself saw it now, and which had an ugly trick of calling things by their right names in the sincere phraseology of an indictment. and thus it was that he was here, remote from all the usual lines of flight, with his affectation of being a possible purchaser for the old hotel, far from the railroad, the telegraph, even the postal service. some time--soon, indeed, it might be, when the first flush of excitement and indignation should be overpast, and the law, like a barking dog that will not bite, should have noisily exhausted the gamut of its devoirs--he would go back and live according to his habit in his wonted place, as did other men whom he had known to be "called out," and who had survived their opponents. meantime he heard the ash crumble; he saw the lighted room wane from glancing yellow to a dull steady red, and so to dusky brown; he marked the wind rise, and die away, and come again, banging the doors of the empty rooms, and setting timbers all strangely to creaking as under sudden trampling feet; then lift into the air with a rustling sound like the stir of garments and the flutter of wings, calling out weirdly in the great voids of the upper atmosphere. he had welcomed the sense of fatigue earlier in the evening, for it promised sleep. now it had slipped away from him. he was strong and young, and the burning sensation that the frosty air had left on his face was the only token of the long journey. it seemed as if he would never sleep again as he lay on the lounge watching the gray ash gradually overgrow the embers, till presently only a vague dull glow gave intimation of the position of the hearth in the room. and then, bereft of this dim sense of companionship, he stared wide-eyed in the darkness, feeling the only creature alive and awake in all the world. no; the fox was suddenly barking within the quadrangle--a strangely wild and alien tone. and presently he heard the animal trot past his door on the piazza, the cushioned footfalls like those of a swift dog. he thought with a certain anxiety of the tawny tiny owl that had sat like a stuffed ornament on the mantel-piece of a neighboring room, and he listened with a quaking vicarious presentiment of woe for the sounds of capture and despair. he was sensible of waiting and hoping for the fox's bootless return, when he suddenly lost consciousness. how long he slept he did not know, but it seemed only a momentary respite from the torture of memory, when, still in the darkness, thousands of tremulous penetrating sounds were astir, and with a great start he recognized the rain on the roof. it was coming down in steady torrents that made the house rock before the tumult of his plunging heart was still, and he was longing again for the forgetfulness of sleep. in vain. the hours dragged by; the windows slowly, slowly defined their dull gray squares against the dull gray day dawning without. the walls that had been left with only the first dark coat of plaster, awaiting another season for the final decoration, showed their drapings of cobweb, and the names and pencilled scribblings with which the fancy of transient bushwhackers had chosen to deface them. the locust-trees within the quadrangle drearily tossed their branches to and fro in the wind, the bark very black and distinct against the persistent gray lines of rain and the white walls of the galleried buildings opposite; the gutters were brimming, roaring along like miniature torrents; nowhere was the fox or the owl to be seen. somehow their presence would have been a relief--the sight of any living thing reassuring. as he walked slowly along the deserted piazzas, in turning sudden corners, again and again he paused, expecting that something, some one, was approaching to meet him. when at last he mounted his horse, that had neighed gleefully to see him, and rode away through the avenue and along the empty ways among the untenanted summer cottages, all the drearier and more forlorn because of the rain, he felt as if he had left an aberration, some hideous dream, behind, instead of the stark reality of the gaunt and vacant and dilapidated old house. the transition to the glow and cheer of sim roxby's fireside was like a rescue, a restoration. the smiling welcome in the women's eyes, their soft drawling voices, with mellifluous intonations that gave a value to each commonplace simple word, braced his nerves like a tonic. it might have been only the contrast with the recollections of the night, with the prospect visible through the open door--the serried lines of rain dropping aslant from the gray sky and elusively outlined against the dark masses of leafless woods that encircled the clearing; the dooryard half submerged with puddles of a clay-brown tint, embossed always with myriads of protruding drops of rain, for however they melted away the downpour renewed them, and to the eye they were stationary, albeit pervaded with a continual tremor--but somehow he was cognizant of a certain coddling tenderness in the old woman's manner that might have been relished by a petted child, an unaffected friendliness in the girl's clear eyes. they made him sit close to the great wood fire; the blue and yellow flames gushed out from the piles of hickory logs, and the bed of coals gleamed at red and white heat beneath. they took his hat to carefully dry it, and they spread out his cloak on two chairs at one side of the room, where it dismally dripped. when he ventured to sneeze, mrs. roxby compounded and administered a "yerb tea," a sovereign remedy against colds, which he tasted on compulsion and in great doubt, and swallowed with alacrity and confidence, finding its basis the easily recognizable "toddy." he had little knowledge how white and troubled his face had looked as he came in from the gray day, how strongly marked were those lines of sharp mental distress, how piteously apparent was his mute appeal for sympathy and comfort. "mill'cent," said the old woman in the shed-room, as they washed and wiped the dishes after the cozy breakfast of venison and corn-dodgers and honey and milk, "that thar man hev run agin the law, sure's ye air born." millicent turned her reflective fair face, that seemed whiter and more delicate in the damp dark day, and looked doubtfully out over the fields, where the water ran in steely lines in the furrows. "mus' hev been by accident or suthin'. _he_ ain't no hardened sinner." "shucks!" the old woman commented upon her reluctant acquiescence. "i ain't keerin' for the law! 'tain't none o' my job. the tomfool men make an' break it. ennybody ez hev seen this war air obleeged to take note o' the wickedness o' men in gineral. this hyer man air a sorter pitiful sinner, an' he hev got a look in his eyes that plumb teches my heart. i 'ain't got no call ter know nuthin' 'bout the law, bein' a 'oman an' naterally ignorunt. i dun'no' ez he hev run agin it." "mus' hev been by accident," said millicent, dreamily, still gazing over the sodden fields. the suspicion did nothing to diminish his comfort or their cordiality. the morning dragged by without change in the outer aspects. the noontide dinner came and went without roxby's return, for the report of the washing away of a bridge some miles distant down the river had early called him out to the scene of the disaster, to verify in his own interests the rumor, since he had expected to haul his wheat to the settlement the ensuing day. the afternoon found the desultory talk still in progress about the fire, the old woman alternately carding cotton and nodding in her chair in the corner; the dogs eying the stranger, listening much of the time with the air of children taking instruction, only occasionally wandering out-of-doors, the floor here and there bearing the damp imprint of their feet; and millicent on her knees in the other corner, the firelight on her bright hair, her delicate cheek, her quickly glancing eyes, as she deftly moulded bullets. "uncle sim hed ter s'render his shootin'-irons," she explained, "an' he 'ain't got no ca'tridge-loadin' ones lef'. so he makes out with his old muzzle-loadin' rifle that he hed afore the war, an' i moulds his bullets for him rainy days." as she held up a moulded ball and dexterously clipped off the surplus lead, the gesture was so culinary in its delicacy that one of the dogs in front of the fire extended his head, making a long neck, with a tentative sniff and a glistening gluttonous eye. "ef i swallered enny mo' lead, i wouldn't take it hot, towse," she said, holding out the bullet for canine inspection. "'tain't healthy!" but the dog, perceiving the nature of the commodity, drew back with a look of deep reproach, rose precipitately, and with a drooping tail went out skulkingly into the wet gray day. "towse can't abide a bullet," she observed, "nor nuthin' 'bout a gun. he got shot wunst a-huntin', an' he never furgot it. jes show him a gun an' he ain't nowhar ter be seen--like he war cotch up in the clouds." "good watch-dog, i suppose," suggested dundas, striving to enter into the spirit of her talk. "naw; too sp'ilt for a gyard-dog--granny coddled him so whenst he got shot. he's jest vally'ble fur his conversation, i reckon," she continued, with a smile in her eyes. "i dun'no' what else, but he is toler'ble good company." the other dogs pressed about her, the heads of the great hounds as high as her own as she sat among them on the floor. with bright eyes and knitted brows they followed the motions of pouring in the melted metal, the lifting of the bullets from the mould, the clipping off of the surplus lead, and the flash of the keen knife. outside the sad light waned; the wind sighed and sighed; the dreary rain fell; the trees clashed their boughs dolorously together, and their turbulence deadened the sound of galloping horses. as dundas sat and gazed at the girl's intent head, with its fleecy tendrils and its massive coil, the great hounds beside her, all emblazoned by the firelight upon the brown wall near by, with the vast fireplace at hand, the whole less like reality than some artist's pictured fancy, he knew naught of a sudden entrance, until she moved, breaking the spell, and looked up to meet the displeasure in roxby's eyes and the dark scowl on emory keenan's face. * * * * * that night the wind shifted to the north. morning found the chilled world still, ice where the water had lodged, all the trees incased in glittering garb that followed the symmetry alike of every bough and the tiniest twig, and made splendid the splintered remnants of the lightning-riven. the fields were laced across from furrow to furrow, in which the frozen water still stood gleaming, with white arabesques which had known a more humble identity as stubble and crab-grass; the sky was slate-colored, and from its sad tint this white splendor gained added values of contrast. when the sun should shine abroad much of the effect would be lost in the too dazzling glister; but the sun did not shine. all day the gray mood held unchanged. night was imperceptibly sifting down upon all this whiteness, that seemed as if it would not be obscured, as if it held within itself some property of luminosity, when millicent, a white apron tied over her golden head, improvising a hood, its superfluous fulness gathered in many folds and pleats around her neck, fichu-wise, stood beside the ice-draped fodder-stack and essayed with half-numbed hands to insert a tallow dip into the socket of a lantern, all incrusted and clumsy with previous drippings. "i dun'no' whether i be a-goin' ter need this hyar consarn whilst milkin' or no," she observed, half to herself, half to emory, who, chewing a straw, somewhat surlily had followed her out for a word apart. "the dusk 'pears slow ter-night, but spot's mighty late comin' home, an' old sue air fractious an' contrairy-minded, and feels mighty anxious an' oneasy 'boutn her calf, that's ez tall ez she is nowadays, an' don't keer no mo' 'bout her mammy 'n a half-grown human does. i tell her she oughtn't ter be mad with me, but with the way she brung up her chile, ez won't notice her now." she looked up with a laugh, her eyes and teeth gleaming; her golden hair still showed its color beneath the spotless whiteness of her voluminous headgear, and the clear tints of her complexion seemed all the more delicate and fresh in the snowy pallor of the surroundings and the grayness of the evening. "i reckon i'd better take it along," and once more she addressed herself to the effort to insert the dip into the lantern. emory hardly heard. his pulse was quick. his eye glittered. he breathed hard as, with both hands in his pockets, he came close to her. "mill'cent," he said, "i told ye the t'other day ez ye thunk a heap too much o' that thar stranger--" "an' i tole ye, bubby, that i didn't think nuthin' o' nobody but you-uns," she interrupted, with an effort to placate his jealousy. the little jocularity which she affected dwindled and died before the steady glow of his gaze, and she falteringly looked at him, her unguided hands futilely fumbling with the lantern. "ye can't fool me," he stoutly asseverated. "ye think mo' o' him 'n o' me, kase ye 'low he air rich, an' book-larned, an' smooth-fingered, an' finified ez a gal, an' goin' ter buy the hotel. i say, _hotel_! now _i'll_ tell ye what he is--i'll tell ye! he's a criminal. he's runnin' from the law. he's hidin' in the old hotel that he's purtendin' ter buy." she stared wide-eyed and pallid, breathless and waiting. he interpreted her expression as doubt, denial. "it's gospel sure," he cried. "fur this very evenin' i met a gang o' men an' the sheriff's deputy down yander by the sulphur spring 'bout sundown, an' he 'lowed ez they war a-sarchin' fur a criminal ez war skulkin' round hyarabout lately--ez they wanted a man fur hevin' c'mitted murder." "but ye didn't accuse _him_, surely; ye hed no right ter s'picion _him_. uncle sim! oh, my lord! ye surely wouldn't! oh, uncle sim!" her tremulous words broke into a quavering cry as she caught his arm convulsively, for his face confirmed her fears. she thrust him wildly away, and started toward the house. "ye needn't go tattlin' on me," he said, roughly pushing her aside. "i'll tell mr. roxby myself. i ain't 'shamed o' what i done. i'll tell him. i'll tell him myself." and animated with this intention to forestall her disclosure, his long strides bore him swiftly past and into the house. it seemed to him that he lingered there only a moment or two, for roxby was not at the cabin, and he said nothing of the quarrel to the old woman. already his heart had revolted against his treachery, and then there came to him the further reflection that he did not know enough to justify suspicion. was not the stranger furnished with the fullest credentials--a letter to roxby from the colonel? perhaps he had allowed his jealousy to endanger the man, to place him in jeopardy even of his life should he resist arrest. keenan tarried at the house merely long enough to devise a plausible excuse for his sudden excited entrance, and then took his way back to the barnyard. it was vacant. the cows still stood lowing at the bars; the sheep cowered together in their shed; the great whitened cone of the fodder-stack gleamed icily in the purple air; beside it lay the lantern where millicent had cast it aside. she was gone! he would not believe it till he had run to the barn, calling her name in the shadowy place, while the horse at his manger left his corn to look over the walls of his stall with inquisitive surprised eyes, luminous in the dusk. he searched the hen-house, where the fowls on their perches crowded close because of the chill of the evening. he even ran to the bars and looked down across the narrow ravine to which the clearing sloped. beyond the chasm-like gorge he saw presently on the high ascent opposite footprints that had broken the light frost-like coating of ice on the dead leaves and moss--climbing footprints, swift, disordered. he looked back again at the lantern where millicent had flung it in her haste. her mission was plain now. she had gone to warn dundas. she had taken a direct line through the woods. she hoped to forestall the deputy sheriff and his posse, following the circuitous mountain road. keenan's lip curled in triumph. his heart burned hot with scornful anger and contempt of the futility of her effort. "they're there afore she started!" he said, looking up at the aspects of the hour shown by the sky, and judging of the interval since the encounter by the spring. through a rift in the gray cloud a star looked down with an icy scintillation and disappeared again. he heard a branch in the woods snap beneath the weight of ice. a light sprang into the window of the cabin hard by, and came in a great gush of orange-tinted glow out into the snowy bleak wintry space. he suddenly leaped over the fence and ran like a deer through the woods. millicent too had been swift. he had thought to overtake her before he emerged from the woods into the more open space where the hotel stood. in this quarter the cloud-break had been greater. toward the west a fading amber glow still lingered in long horizontal bars upon the opaque gray sky. the white mountains opposite were hung with purple shadows borrowed from a glimpse of sunset somewhere far away over the valley of east tennessee; one distant lofty range was drawn in elusive snowy suggestions, rather than lines, against a green space of intense yet pale tint. the moon, now nearing the full, hung over the wooded valley, and aided the ice and the crust of snow to show its bleak, wan, wintry aspect; a tiny spark glowed in its depths from some open door of an isolated home. over it all a mist was rising from the east, drawing its fleecy but opaque curtain. already it had climbed the mountain-side and advanced, windless, soundless, overwhelming, annihilating all before and beneath it. the old hotel had disappeared, save that here and there a gaunt gable protruded and was withdrawn, showed once more, and once more was submerged. a horse's head suddenly looking out of the enveloping mist close to his shoulder gave him the first intimation of the arrival, the secret silent waiting, of those whom he had directed hither. that the saddles were empty he saw a moment later. the animals stood together in a row, hitched to the rack. no disturbance sounded from the silent building. the event was in abeyance. the fugitive in hiding was doubtless at ease, unsuspecting, while the noiseless search of the officers for his quarters was under way. with a thrill of excitement keenan crept stealthily through an open passage and into the old grass-grown spaces of the quadrangle. night possessed the place, but the cloud seemed denser than the darkness. he was somehow sensible of its convolutions as he stood against the wall and strained his eyes into the dusk. suddenly it was penetrated by a milky-white glimmer, a glimmer duplicated at equidistant points, each fading as its successor sprang into brilliance. the next moment he understood its significance. it had come from the blurred windows of the old ball-room. millicent had lighted her candle as she searched for the fugitive's quarters; she was passing down the length of the old house on the second story, and suddenly she emerged upon the gallery. she shielded the feeble flicker with her hand; her white-hooded head gleamed as with an aureola as the divergent rays rested on the opaque mist; and now and again she clutched the baluster and walked with tremulous care, for the flooring was rotten here and there, and ready to crumble away. her face was pallid, troubled; and dundas, who had been warned by the tramp of horses and the tread of men, and who had descended the stairs, revolver in hand, ready to slip away if he might under cover of the mist, paused appalled, gazing across the quadrangle as on an apparition--the sight so familiar to his senses, so strange to his experience. he saw in an abrupt shifting of the mist that there were other figures skulking in doorways, watching her progress. the next moment she leaned forward to clutch the baluster, and the light of the candle fell full on emory keenan, lurking in the open passage. a sudden sharp cry of "surrender!" the young mountaineer, confused, swiftly drew his pistol. others were swifter still. a sharp report rang out into the chill crisp air, rousing all the affrighted echoes--a few faltering steps, a heavy fall, and for a long time emory keenan's life-blood stained the floor of the promenade. even when it had faded, the rustic gossips came often and gazed at the spot with morbid interest, until, a decade later, an enterprising proprietor removed the floor and altered the shape of that section of the building out of recognition. the escape of dundas was easily effected. the deputy sheriff, confronted with the problem of satisfactorily accounting for the death of a man who had committed no offence against public polity, was no longer formidable. his errand had been the arrest of a horse-thief, well-known to him, and he had no interest in pursuing a fugitive, however obnoxious to the law, whose personal description was so different from that of the object of his search. time restored to dundas his former place in life and the esteem of his fellow-citizens. his stay in the mountains was an episode which he will not often recall, but sometimes volition fails, and he marvels at the strange fulfilment of the girl's vision; he winces to think that her solicitude for his safety should have cost her her lover; he wonders whether she yet lives, and whether that tender troubled phantom, on nights when the wind is still and the moon is low and the mists rise, again joins the strange, elusive, woful company crossing the quaking foot-bridge. his "day in court" it had been a hard winter along the slopes of the great smoky mountains, and still the towering treeless domes were covered with snow, and the vagrant winds were abroad, rioting among the clifty heights where they held their tryst, or raiding down into the sheltered depths of the cove, where they seldom intruded. nevertheless, on this turbulent rush was borne in the fair spring of the year. the fragrance of the budding wild-cherry was to be discerned amidst the keen slanting javelins of the rain. a cognition of the renewal and the expanding of the forces of nature pervaded the senses as distinctly as if one might hear the grass growing, or feel along the chill currents of the air the vernal pulses thrill. night after night in the rifts of the breaking clouds close to the horizon was glimpsed the stately sidereal virgo, prefiguring and promising the harvest, holding in her hand a gleaming ear of corn. but it was not the constellation which the tumultuous torrent at the mountain's base reflected in a starry glitter. from the hill-side above a light cast its broken image among the ripples, as it shone for an instant through the bosky laurel, white, stellular, splendid--only a tallow dip suddenly placed in the window of a log-cabin, and as suddenly withdrawn. for a gruff voice within growled out a remonstrance: "what ye doin' that fur, steve? hev that thar candle got enny call ter bide in that thar winder?" the interior, contrary to the customary aspect of the humble homes of the region, was in great disarray. cooking utensils stood uncleaned about the hearth; dishes and bowls of earthen-ware were assembled upon the table in such numbers as to suggest that several meals had been eaten without the ceremony of laying the cloth anew, and that in default of washing the crockery it had been re-enforced from the shelf so far as the limited store might admit. saddles and spinning-wheels, an ox-yoke and trace-chains, reels and wash-tubs, were incongruously pushed together in the corners. only one of the three men in the room made any effort to reduce the confusion to order. this was the square-faced, black-bearded, thick-set young fellow who took the candle from the window, and now advanced with it toward the hearth, holding it at an angle that caused the flame to swiftly melt the tallow, which dripped generously upon the floor. "i hev seen eveliny do it," he said, excitedly justifying himself. "i noticed her sot the candle in the winder jes' las' night arter supper." he glanced about uncertainly, and his patience seemed to give way suddenly. "dad-burn the old candle! i dunno _whar_ ter set it," he cried, desperately, as he flung it from him, and it fell upon the floor close to the wall. the dogs lifted their heads to look, and one soft-stepping old hound got up with the nimbleness of expectation, and, with a prescient gratitude astir in his tail, went and sniffed at it. his aspect drooped suddenly, and he looked around in reproach at stephen quimbey, as if suspecting a practical joke. but there was no merriment in the young mountaineer's face. he threw himself into his chair with a heavy sigh, and desisted for a time from the unaccustomed duty of clearing away the dishes after supper. "an' 'ain't ye got the gumption ter sense what eveliny sot the candle in the winder fur?" his brother timothy demanded, abruptly--"ez a sign ter that thar durned abs'lom kittredge." the other two men turned their heads and looked at the speaker with a poignant intensity of interest. "i 'lowed ez much when i seen that light ez i war a-kemin' home las' night," he continued; "it shined spang down the slope acrost the ruver an' through all the laurel; it looked plumb like a star that hed fell ter yearth in that pitch-black night. i dunno how i s'picioned it, but ez i stood thar an' gazed i knowed somebody war a-standin' an' gazin' too on the foot-bredge a mite ahead o' me. i couldn't see him, an' he couldn't turn back an' pass me, the bredge bein' too narrer. he war jes obligated ter go on. i hearn him breathe quick; then--pit-pat, pit-pat, ez he walked straight toward that light. an' he be 'bleeged ter hev hearn me, fur arter i crost i stopped. nuthin'. jes' a whisper o' wind, an' jes' a swishin' from the ruver. i knowed then he hed turned off inter the laurel. an' i went on, a-whistlin' ter make him 'low ez i never s'picioned nuthin'. an' i kem inter the house an' tole dad ez he'd better be a-lookin' arter eveliny, fur i b'lieved she war a-settin' her head ter run away an' marry abs'lom kittredge." "waal, i ain't right up an' down sati'fied we oughter done what we done," exclaimed stephen, fretfully. "it don't 'pear edzacly right fur three men ter fire on one." old joel quimbey, in his arm-chair in the chimney-corner, suddenly lifted his head--a thin head with fine white hair, short and sparse, upon it. his thin, lined face was clear-cut, with a pointed chin and an aquiline nose. he maintained an air of indignant and rebellious grief, and had hitherto sat silent, a gnarled and knotted hand on either arm of his chair. his eyes gleamed keenly from under his heavy brows as he turned his face upon his sons. "how could we know thar warn't but one, eh?" he had not been a candidate for justice of the peace for nothing; he had absorbed something of the methods and spirit of the law through sheer propinquity to the office. "we-uns wouldn't be persumed ter _know_." and he ungrudgingly gave himself all the benefit of the doubt that the law accords. "that's a true word!" exclaimed stephen, quick to console his conscience. "jes' look at the fac's, now. we-uns in a plumb black midnight hear a man a-gittin' over our fence; we git our rifles; a-peekin' through the chinkin' we ketch a glimge o' him--" "ha!" cried out timothy, with savage satisfaction, "we seen him by the light she set ter lead him on!" [illustration: "old joel quimbey"] he was tall and lank, with a delicately hooked nose, high cheek-bones, fierce dark eyes, and dark eyebrows, which were continually elevated, corrugating his forehead. his hair was black, short and straight, and he was clad in brown jeans, as were the others, with great cowhide boots reaching to the knee. he fixed his fiery intent gaze on his brother as the slower stephen continued, "an' so we blaze away--" "an' one durned fool's so onlucky ez ter hit him an' not kill him," growled timothy, again interrupting. "an' so whilst eveliny runs out a-screamin', 'he's dead! he's dead!--ye hev shot him dead!' we-uns make no doubt but he _is_ dead, an' load up agin, lest his frien's mought rush in on we-uns whilst we hedn't no use o' our shootin'-irons. an' suddint--ye can't hear nuthin' but jes' a owel hootin' in the woods, or old pa'son bates's dogs a-howlin' acrost the cove. an' we go out with a lantern, an' thar's jes' a pool o' blood in the dooryard, an' bloody tracks down ter the laurel." "eveliny gone!" cried the old man, smiting his hands together; "my leetle darter! the only one ez never gin me enny trouble. i couldn't hev made out ter put up with this hyar worl' no longer when my wife died ef it hedn't been fur eveliny. boys war wild an' mischeevious, an' folks outside don't keer nuthin' 'bout ye--ef they _war_ ter 'lect ye ter office 'twould be ter keep some other feller from hevin' it, 'kase they 'spise him more'n ye. an' hyar she's runned off an' married old tom kittredge's gran'son, josiah kittredge's son--when our folks 'ain't spoke ter none o' 'em fur fifty year--josiah kittredge's son--ha! ha! ha!" he laughed aloud in tuneless scorn of himself and of this freak of froward destiny and then fell to wringing his hands and calling upon evelina. the flare from the great chimney place genially played over the huddled confusion of the room and the brown logs of the wall, where the gigantic shadows of the three men mimicked their every gesture with grotesque exaggeration. the rainbow yarn on the warping bars, the strings of red-pepper hanging from the ceiling, the burnished metallic flash from the guns on their racks of deer antlers, served as incidents in the monotony of the alternate yellow flicker and brown shadow. deep under the blaze the red coals pulsated, and in the farthest vistas of the fire quivered a white heat. "old tom kittredge," the father resumed, after a time, "he jes' branded yer gran'dad's cattle with his mark; he jes' cheated yer gran'dad, my dad, out'n six head o' cattle." "but then," said the warlike timothy, not willing to lose sight of reprisal even in vague reminiscence, "he hed only one hand ter rob with arter that, fur i hev hearn ez how when gran'dad got through with him the doctor hed ter take his arm off." "sartainly, sartainly," admitted the old man, in quiet assent "an' josiah kittredge he put out the eyes of a horse critter o' mine right thar at the court-house door--" "waal, arterward, we-uns fired his house over his head," put in tim. "an' josiah kittredge an' me," the old man went on, "we-uns clinched every time we met in this mortal life. every time i go past the graveyard whar he be buried i kin feel his fingers on my throat. he had a nervy grip, but no variation; he always tuk holt the same way." "'pears like ter me ez 'twar a fust-rate time ter fetch out the rifles again," remarked tim, "this mornin', when old pa'son bates kem up hyar an' 'lowed ez he hed married eveliny ter abs'lom kittredge on his death-bed; 'so be, pa'son,' i say. an' he tuk off his hat an' say, 'thank the lord, this will heal the breach an' make ye frien's!' an' i say, 'edzacly, pa'son, ef it _air_ abs'lom's death-bed; but them kittredges air so smilin' an' deceivin' i be powerful feared he'll cheat the king o' terrors himself. i'll forgive 'em ennything--_over his grave_.'" "pa'son war tuk toler'ble suddint in his temper," said the literal steve. "i hearn him call yer talk onchristian, cussed sentiments, ez he put out." "ye mus' keep up a christian sperit, boys; that's the main thing," said the old man, who was esteemed very religious, and a pious mentor in his own family. he gazed meditatively into the fire. "what ailed eveliny ter git so tuk up with this hyar abs'lom? what made her like him?" he propounded. "his big eyes, edzacly like a buck's, an' his long yaller hair," sneered the discerning timothy, with the valid scorn of a big ugly man for a slim pretty one. "'twar jes 'count o' his long yaller hair his mother called him abs'lom. he war named pete or bob, i disremember what--suthin' common--till his hair got so long an' curly, an' he sot out ter be so plumb all-fired beautiful, an' his mother named him agin; this time abs'lom, arter the king's son, 'count o' his yaller hair." "git hung by his hair some o' these days in the woods, like him the bible tells about; that happened ter the sure-enough abs'lom," suggested stephen, hopefully. "naw, sir," said tim; "when abs'lom kittredge gits hung it'll be with suthin' stronger'n hair; he'll stretch hemp." he exchanged a glance of triumphant prediction with his brother, and anon gazed ruefully into the fire. "ye talk like ez ef he war goin' ter live, boys," said old joel quimbey, irritably. "pa'son 'lowed he war powerful low." "pa'son said he'd never hev got home alive 'thout she'd holped him," said stephen. "she jes' tuk him an' drug him plumb ter the bars, though i don't see how she done it, slim leetle critter ez she be; an' thar she holped him git on his beastis; an' then--i declar' i feel ez ef i could kill her fur a-demeanin' of herself so--she led that thar horse, him a-ridin' an' a-leanin' on the neck o' the beastis, two mile up the mountain, through the night." "waal, let her bide thar. i'll look on her face no mo'," declared the old man, his toothless jaw shaking. "kittredge she be now, an' none o' the name kin come a-nigh me. how be i ever a-goin' 'bout 'mongst the folks at the settlement agin with my darter married ter a kittredge? how josiah an' his dad mus' be a-grinnin' in thar graves at me this night! an' i 'low they hev got suthin' ter grin about." and suddenly his grim face relaxed, and once more he began to smite his hands together and to call aloud for evelina. timothy could offer no consolation, but stared dismally into the fire, and stephen rose with a sigh and addressed himself to pushing the spinning-wheels and tubs and tables into the opposite corner of the room, in the hope of solving the enigma of its wonted order. * * * * * it seemed to evelina afterward that when she climbed the rugged ways of the mountain slope in that momentous night she left forever in the depths of the cove that free and careless young identity which she had been. she did not accurately discriminate the moment in which she began to realize that she was among her hereditary enemies, encompassed by a hatred nourished to full proportions and to a savage strength long before she drew her first breath. the fact only gradually claimed its share in her consciousness as the tension of anxiety for absalom's sake relaxed, for the young mountaineer's strength and vitality were promptly reasserted, and he rallied from the wound and his pallid and forlorn estate with the recuperative power of the primitive man. by degrees she came to expect the covert unfriendly glances his brother cast upon her, the lowering averted mien of her sister-in-law, and now and again she surprised a long, lingering, curious gaze in his mother's eyes. they were all kittredges! and she wondered how she could ever have dreamed that she might live happily among them--one of them, for her name was theirs. and then perhaps the young husband would stroll languidly in, with his long hair curling on his blue jeans coat-collar, and an assured smile in his dark brown eyes, and some lazy jest on his lips, certain of a welcoming laugh, for he had been so near to death that they all had a sense of acquisition in that he had been led back. for his sake they had said little; his mother would busy herself in brewing his "yerb" tea, and his brother would offer to saddle the mare if he felt that he could ride, and they would all be very friendly together; and his alien wife would presently slip out unnoticed into the "gyarden spot," where the rows of vegetables grew as they did in the cove, turning upon her the same neighborly looks they wore of yore, and showing not a strange leaf among them. the sunshine wrapped itself in its old fine gilded gossamer haze and drowsed upon the verdant slopes; the green jewelled "juny-bugs" whirred in the soft air; the mould was as richly brown as in joel quimbey's own enclosure; the flag-lilies bloomed beside the onion bed; and the woolly green leaves of the sage wore their old delicate tint and gave out a familiar odor. among this quaint company of the garden borders she spent much of her time, now hoeing in a desultory fashion, now leaning on the long handle of the implement and looking away upon the far reaches of the purple mountains. as they stretched to vague distances they became blue, and farther on the great azure domes merged into a still more tender hue, and this in turn melted into a soft indeterminate tint that embellished the faint horizon. her dreaming eyes would grow bright and wistful; her rich brown curling hair, set free by the yellow sun-bonnet that slipped off her head and upon her shoulders, would airily float backward in the wind; there was a lithe grace in the slender figure, albeit clad in a yellow homespun of a deep dye, and the faded purplish neckerchief was caught about a throat fairer even than the fair face, which was delicately flushed. absalom's mother, standing beside peter, the eldest son, in the doorway, watched her long one day. "it all kem about from that thar bran dance," said peter, a homely man, with a sterling, narrow-minded wife and an ascetic sense of religion. "thar satan waits, an' he gits nimbler every time ye shake yer foot. the fiddler gin out the figger ter change partners, an' this hyar gal war dancin' opposite abs'lom, ez hed never looked nigh her till that day. the gal didn't know _what_ ter do; she jes' stood still; but abs'lom he jes' danced up ter her ez keerless an' gay ez he always war, jes' like she war ennybody else, an' when he held out his han' she gin him hern, all a-trembly, an' lookin' up at him, plumb skeered ter death, her eyes all wide an' sorter wishful, like some wild thing trapped in the woods. an' then the durned fiddler, moved by the devil, i'll be bound, plumb furgot ter change 'em back. so they danced haff'n the day tergether. an' arter that they war forever a-stealin' off an' accidentally meetin' at the spring, an' whenst he war a-huntin' or she drivin' up the cow, an' a-courtin' ginerally, till they war promised ter marry." "'twarn't the bran dance; 'twar suthin' ez fleetin' an' ez useless," said his mother, standing in the door and gazing at the unconscious girl, who was leaning upon the hoe, half in the shadow of the blooming laurel that crowded about the enclosure and bent over the rail fence, and half in the burnished sunshine; "she's plumb beautiful--thar's the snare ez tangled abs'lom's steps. i never 'lowed ter see the day ez could show enny comfort fur his dad bein' dead, but we hev been spared some o' the tallest cavortin' that ever war seen sence the big smoky war built. sometimes it plumb skeers me ter think ez we-uns hev got a quimbey abidin' up hyar along o' we-uns in _his_ house an' a-callin' o' herse'f kittredge. i looks ter see him a-stalkin' roun' hyar some night, too outdone an' aggervated ter rest in his grave." but the nights continued spectreless and peaceful on the great smoky, and the same serene stars shone above the mountain as over the cove. evelina could watch here, as often before, the rising moon ascending through a rugged gap in the range, suffusing the dusky purple slopes and the black crags on either hand with a pensive glamour, and revealing the river below by the amber reflection its light evoked. she often sat on the step of the porch, her elbow on her knees, her chin in her hand, following with her shining eyes the pearly white mists loitering among the ranges. hear! a dog barks in the cove, a cock crows, a horn is wound, far, far away; it echoes faintly. and once more only the sounds of the night--that vague stir in the windless woods, as if the forest breathes, the far-away tinkle of water hidden in the darkness--and the moon is among the summits. the men remained within, for absalom avoided the chill night air, and crouched over the smouldering fire. peter's wife sedulously held aloof from the ostracized quimbey woman. but her mother-in-law had fallen into the habit of sitting upon the porch these moonlit nights. the sparse, newly-leafed hop and gourd vines clambering to its roof were all delicately imaged on the floor, and the old woman's clumsy figure, her grotesque sun-bonnet, her awkward arm-chair, were faithfully reproduced in her shadow on the log wall of the cabin--even to the up-curling smoke from her pipe. once she suddenly took the stem from her mouth. "eveliny," she said, "'pears like ter me ye talk mighty little. thar ain't no use in gittin' tongue-tied up hyar on the mounting." evelina started and raised her eyes, dilated with a stare of amazement at this unexpected overture. "i ain't keerin'," said the old woman, recklessly, to herself, although consciously recreant to the traditions of the family, and sacrificing with a pang her distorted sense of loyalty and duty to her kindlier impulse. "i warn't born a kittredge nohow." "yes,'m," said evelina, meekly; "but i don't feel much like talkin' noways; i never talked much, bein' nobody but men-folks ter our house. i'd ruther hear ye talk 'n talk myself." "listen at ye now! the headin' young folks o' this kentry 'll never rest till they make thar elders shoulder _all_ the burdens. an' what air ye wantin' a pore ole 'oman like me ter talk about?" evelina hesitated a moment, then looked up, with a face radiant in the moonbeams. "tell all 'bout abs'lom--afore i ever seen him." his mother laughed. "ye air a powerful fool, eveliny." the girl laughed a little, too. "i dunno ez i want ter be no wiser," she said. but one was his wife, and the other was his mother, and as they talked of him daily and long, the bond between them was complete. * * * * * "i hev got 'em both plumb fooled," the handsome absalom boasted at the settlement, when the gossips wondered once more, as they had often done, that there should be such unity of interest between old joel quimbey's daughter and old josiah kittredge's widow. as time went on many rumors of great peace on the mountain-side came to the father's ears, and he grew more testy daily as he grew visibly older. these rumors multiplied with the discovery that they were as wormwood and gall to him. not that he wished his daughter to be unhappy, but the joy which was his grief and humiliation was needlessly flaunted into his face; the idlers about the county town had invariably a new budget of details, being supplied, somewhat maliciously, it must be confessed, by the kittredges themselves. the ceremony of planting one foot on the neck of the vanquished was in their minds one of the essential concomitants of victory. the bold absalom, not thoroughly known to either of the women who adored him, was ingenious in expedients, and had applied the knowledge gleaned from his wife's reminiscences of her home, her father, and her brothers to more accurately aim his darts. sometimes old quimbey would fairly flee the town, and betake himself in a towering rage to his deserted hearth, to brood futilely over the ashes, and devise impotent schemes of vengeance. he often wondered afterward in dreary retrospection how he had survived that first troublous year after his daughter's elopement, when he was so lonely, so heavy-hearted at home, so harried and angered abroad. his comforts, it is true, were amply insured: a widowed sister had come to preside over his household--a deaf old woman, who had much to be thankful for in her infirmity, for joel quimbey in his youth, before he acquired religion, had been known as a singularly profane man--"a mos' survigrus cusser"--and something of his old proficiency had returned to him. perhaps public sympathy for his troubles strengthened his hold upon the regard of the community. for it was in the second year of evelina's marriage, in the splendid midsummer, when all the gifts of nature climax to a gorgeous perfection, and candidates become incumbents, that he unexpectedly attained the great ambition of his life. he was said to have made the race for justice of the peace from sheer force of habit, but by some unexplained freak of popularity the oft-defeated candidate was successful by a large majority at the august election. "laws-a-massy, boys," he said, tremulously, to his triumphant sons, when the result was announced, the excited flush on his thin old face suffusing his hollow veinous temples, and rising into his fine white hair, "how glad eveliny would hev been ef--ef--" he was about to say if she had lived, for he often spoke of her as if she were dead. he turned suddenly back, and began to eagerly absorb the details of the race, as if he had often before been elected, with calm superiority canvassing the relative strength, or rather the relative weakness, of the defeated aspirants. he could scarcely have measured the joy which the news gave to evelina. she was eminently susceptible of the elation of pride, the fervid glow of success, but her tender heart melted in sympathetic divination of all that this was to him who had sought it so long, and so unabashed by defeat. she pined to see his triumph in his eyes, to hear it in his voice. she wondered--nay, she knew that he longed to tell it to her. as the year rolled around again to summer, and she heard from time to time of his quarterly visits to the town as a member of the worshipful quarterly county court, she began to hope that, softened by his prosperity, lifted so high by his honors above all the cavillings of the kittredges, he might be more leniently disposed toward her, might pity her, might even go so far as to forgive. but none of her filial messages reached her father's fiery old heart. "ye'll be sure, abs'lom, ef ye see joe boyd in town, ye'll tell him ter gin dad my respec's, an' the word ez how the baby air a-thrivin', an' i wants ter fotch him ter see the fambly at home, ef they'll lemme." then she would watch absalom with all the confidence of happy anticipation, as he rode off down the mountain with his hair flaunting, and his spurs jingling, and his shy young horse curveting. but no word ever came in response; and sometimes she would take the child in her arms and carry him down a path, worn smooth by her own feet, to a jagged shoulder thrust out by the mountain where all the slopes fell away, and a crag beetled over the depths of the cove. thence she could discern certain vague lines marking the enclosure, and a tiny cluster of foliage hardly recognizable as the orchard, in the midst of which the cabin nestled. she could not distinguish them, but she knew that the cows were coming to be milked, lowing and clanking their bells tunefully, fording the river that had the sunset emblazoned upon it, or standing flank deep amidst its ripples, the chickens might be going to roost among the althea bushes; the lazy old dogs were astir on the porch. she could picture her brothers at work about the barn; most often a white-haired man who walked with a stick--alack! she did not fancy how feebly, nor that his white hair had grown long and venerable, and tossed in the breeze. "ef he would jes lemme kem fur one haff'n hour!" she would cry. but all her griefs were bewept on the crag, that there might be no tears to distress the tenderhearted absalom when she should return to the house. the election of squire quimbey was a sad blow to the arrogant spirit of the kittredges. they had easily accustomed themselves to ascendency, and they hotly resented the fact that fate had forborne the opportunity to hit joel quimbey when he was down. they had used their utmost influence to defeat him in the race, and had openly avowed their desire to see him bite the dust. the inimical feeling between the families culminated one rainy autumnal day in the town where the quarterly county court was in session. a fire had been kindled in the great rusty stove, and crackled away with grudging merriment inside, imparting no sentiment of cheer to the gaunt bare room, with its dusty window-panes streaked with rain, its shutters drearily flapping in the wind, and the floor bearing the imprint of many boots burdened with the red clay of the region. the sound of slow strolling feet in the brick-paved hall was monotonous and somnolent. squire quimbey sat in his place among the justices. despite his pride of office, he had not the heart for business that might formerly have been his. more than once his attention wandered. he looked absently out of the nearest window at the neighboring dwelling--a little frame-house with a green yard; a well-sweep was defined against the gray sky, and about the curb a file of geese followed with swaying gait the wise old gander. "what a hand for fow-_els_ eveliny war!" he muttered to himself; "an' she hed luck with sech critters." he used the obituary tense, for evelina had in some sort passed away. he rubbed his hand across his corrugated brow, and suddenly he became aware that her husband was in the room, speaking to the chairman of the county court, and claiming a certificate in the sum of two dollars each for the scalps of one wolf, "an' one painter," he continued, laying the small furry repulsive objects upon the desk, "an' one dollar fur the skelp of one wild-cat." he was ready to take his oath that these animals were killed by him running at large in this county. he had stooped a little in making the transfer. he came suddenly to his full height, and stood with one hand in his leather belt, the other shouldering his rifle. the old man scanned him curiously. the crude light from the long windows was full upon his tall slim figure; his yellow hair curled down upon the collar of his blue jeans coat; his great miry boots were drawn high over the trousers to the knee; his pensive deer-like eyes brightened with a touch of arrogance and enmity as, turning slowly to see who was present, his glance encountered his father-in-law's fiery gaze. "mr. cheerman! mr. cheerman!" exclaimed the old man, tremulously, "lemme examinate that thar wild-cat skelp. thanky, sir; thanky, sir; i wanter see ef 'tain't off'n the head o' some old tame tomcat. an' this air a painter's"--affecting to scan it by the window--"two ears 'cordin' to law; yes, sir, two; and this"--his keen old face had all the white light of the sad gray day on its bleaching hair and its many lines, and his eager old hands trembled with the excitement of the significant satire he enacted--"an' this air a wolf's, ye say? yes; it's a kittredge's; same thing, mr. cheerman, by a diff'ent name; nuthin' in the code 'bout'n a premium fur a kittredge's skelp; but same natur'; coward, bully, thief--_thief_!" the words in the high cracked voice rang from the bare walls and bare floors as he tossed the scalps from him, and sat down, laughing silently in painful, mirthless fashion, his toothless jaw quivering, and his shaking hands groping for the arms of his chair. "who says a kittredge air a thief says a lie!" cried out the young man, recovering from his tense surprise. "i don't keer how old he be," he stipulated--for he had not thought to see her father so aged--"he lies." the old man fixed him with a steady gaze and a sudden alternation of calmness. "ye air a kittredge; ye stole my daughter from me." "i never. she kem of her own accord." "damn ye!" the old man retorted to the unwelcome truth. there was nothing else for him to say. "damn the whole tribe of ye; everything that goes by the accursed name of kittredge, that's got a drop o' yer blood, or a bone o' yer bones, or a puff o' yer breath--" "squair! squair!" interposed an officious old colleague, taking him by the elbow, "jes' quiet down now; ye air a-cussin' yer own gran'son." "so be! so be!" cried the old man, in a frenzy of rage. "damn 'em all--all the kittredge tribe!" he gasped for breath; his lips still moved speechlessly as he fell back in his chair. kittredge let his gun slip from his shoulder, the butt ringing heavily as it struck upon the floor. "i ain't a-goin' ter take sech ez that off'n ye, old man," he cried, pallid with fury, for be it remembered this grandson was that august institution, a first baby. "he sha'n't sit up thar an' cuss the baby, mr. cheerman." he appealed to the presiding justice, holding up his right arm as tremulous as old quimbey's own. "i want the law! i ain't a-goin' ter tech a old man like him, an' my wife's father, so i ax in the name o' peace fur the law. don't deny it"--with a warning glance--"'kase i ain't school-larned, an' dunno how ter get it. don't ye deny me the law! i _know_ the law don't 'low a magistrate an' a jestice ter cuss in his high office, in the presence of the county court. i want the law! i want the law!" the chairman of the court, who had risen in his excitement, turning eagerly first to one and then to the other of the speakers, striving to silence the colloquy, and in the sudden surprise of it at a momentary loss how to take action, sat down abruptly, and with a face of consternation. profanity seemed to him so usual and necessary an incident of conversation that it had never occurred to him until this moment that by some strange aberration from the rational estimate of essentials it was entered in the code as a violation of law. he would fain have overlooked it, but the room was crowded with spectators. the chairman would be a candidate for re-election as justice of the peace at the expiration of his term. and after all what was old quimbey to him, or he to old quimbey, that, with practically the whole town looking on, he should destroy his political prospects and disregard the dignity of his office. he had a certain twinge of conscience, and a recollection of the choice and fluent oaths of his own repertory, but as he turned over the pages of the code in search of the section he deftly argued that they were uttered in his own presence as a person, not as a justice. and so for the first time old joel quimbey appeared as a law-breaker, and was duly fined by the worshipful county court fifty cents for each oath, that being the price at which the state rates the expensive and impious luxury of swearing in the hearing of a justice of the peace, and which in its discretion the court saw fit to adopt in this instance. the old man offered no remonstrance; he said not a word in his own defence. he silently drew out his worn wallet, with much contortion of his thin old anatomy in getting to his pocket, and paid his fines on the spot. absalom had already left the room, the clerk having made out the certificates, the chairman of the court casting the scalps into the open door of the stove, that they might be consumed by fire according to law. the young mountaineer wore a heavy frown, and his heart was ill at ease. he sought some satisfaction in the evident opinion of the crowd which now streamed out, for the excitements within were over, that he had done a fine thing; a very clever thought, they considered it, to demand the law of mr. chairman, that one of their worships should be dragged from the bench and arraigned before the quarterly county court of which he was a member. the result gave general satisfaction, although there were those who found fault with the court's moderation, and complained that the least possible cognizance had been taken of the offence. "ho! ho! ho!" laughed an old codger in the street. "i jes knowed that hurt old joel quimbey wuss 'n ef a body hed druv a knife through him; he's been so proud o' bein' jestice 'mongst his betters, an' bein' 'lected at las', many times ez he hev run. waal, abs'lom, ye hev proved thar's law fur jestices too. i tell ye ye hev got sense in yer skull-i-bone." but absalom hung his head before these congratulations; he found no relish in the old man's humbled pride. yet had he not cursed the baby, lumping him among the kittredges? absalom went about for a time, with a hopeful anxiety in his eyes, searching for one of the younger quimbeys, in order to involve him in a fight that might have a provocation and a result more to his mind. somehow the recollection of the quivering and aged figure of his wife's father, of the smitten look on his old face, of his abashed and humbled demeanor before the court, was a reproach to him, vivid and continuously present with his repetitious thoughts forever re-enacting the scene. his hands trembled; he wanted to lay hold on a younger man, to replace this æsthetic revenge with a quarrel more wholesome in the estimation of his own conscience. but the quimbey sons were not in town to-day. he could only stroll about and hear himself praised for this thing that he had done, and wonder how he should meet evelina with his conscience thus arrayed against himself for her father's sake. "plumb turned quimbey, i swear," he said, in helpless reproach to this independent and coercive moral force within. his dejection, he supposed, had reached its lowest limits, when a rumor pervaded the town, so wild that he thought it could be only fantasy. it proved to be fact. joel quimbey, aggrieved, humbled, and indignant, had resigned his office, and as absalom rode out of town toward the mountains, he saw the old man in his crumpled brown jeans suit, mounted on his white mare, jogging down the red clay road, his head bowed before the slanting lines of rain, on his way to his cheerless fireside. he turned off presently, for the road to the levels of the cove was not the shorter cut that absalom travelled to the mountains. but all the way the young man fancied that he saw from time to time, as the bridle-path curved in the intricacies of the laurel, the bowed old figure among the mists, jogging along, his proud head and his stiff neck bent to the slanting rain and the buffets of his unkind fate. and yet, pressing the young horse to overtake him, absalom could find naught but the fleecy mists drifting down the bridle-path as the wind might will, or lurking in the darkling nooks of the laurel when the wind would. * * * * * the sun was shining on the mountains, and absalom went up from the sad gray rain and through the gloomy clouds of autumn hanging over the cove into a soft brilliant upper atmosphere--a generous after-thought of summer--and the warm brightness of evelina's smile. she stood in the doorway as she saw him dismounting, with her finger on her lips, for the baby was sleeping: he put much of his time into that occupation. the tiny gourds hung yellow among the vines that clambered over the roof of the porch, and a brave jack-bean--a friend of the sheltering eaves--made shift to bloom purple and white, though others of the kind hung crisp and sere, and rattled their dry bones in every gust. the "gyarden spot" at the side of the house was full of brown and withered skeletons of the summer growths; among the crisp blades of the indian-corn a sibilant voice was forever whispering; down the tawny-colored vistas the pumpkins glowed. the sky was blue; the yellow hickory flaming against it and hanging over the roof of the cabin was a fine color to see. the red sour-wood tree in the fence corner shook out a myriad of white tassels; the rolling tumult of the gray clouds below thickened, and he could hear the rain a-falling--falling into the dreary depths of the cove. all this for him: why should he disquiet himself for the storm that burst upon others? evelina seemed a part of the brightness; her dark eyes so softly alight, her curving red lips, the faint flush in her cheeks, her rich brown hair, and the purplish kerchief about the neck of her yellow dress. once more she looked smilingly at him, and shook her head and laid her finger on her lip. "i oughter been sati'fied with all i got, stiddier hectorin' other folks till they 'ain't got no heart ter hold on ter what they been at sech trouble ter git," he said, as he turned out the horse and strode gloomily toward the house with the saddle over his arm. "hev ennybody been spiteful ter you-uns ter-day?" she asked, in an almost maternal solicitude, and with a flash of partisan anger in her eyes. "git out'n my road, eveliny," he said, fretfully, pushing by, and throwing the saddle on the floor. there was no one in the room but the occupant of the rude box on rockers which served as cradle. absalom had a swift, prescient fear. "she'll git it all out'n me ef i don't look sharp," he said to himself. then aloud, "whar's mam?" he demanded, flinging himself into a chair and looking loweringly about. "topknot hev jes kem off'n her nest with fourteen deedies, an' she an' 'melia hev gone ter the barn ter see 'bout'n 'em." "whar's pete?" "a-huntin'." a pause. the fire smouldered audibly; a hickory-nut fell with a sharp thwack on the clapboards of the roof, and rolled down and bounded to the ground. suddenly: "i seen yer dad ter-day," he began, without coercion. "he gin me a cussin', in the court-room, 'fore all the folks. he cussed all the kittredges, _all_ o' 'em; him too"--he glanced in the direction of the cradle--"cussed 'em black an' blue, an' called me a _thief_ fur marryin' ye an kerry-in' ye off." her face turned scarlet, then pale. she sat down, her trembling hands reaching out to rock the cradle, as if the youthful kittredge might be disturbed by the malediction hurled upon his tribe. but he slept sturdily on. "waal, now," she said, making a great effort at self-control, "ye oughtn't ter mind it. ye know he war powerful tried. i never purtended ter be ez sweet an' pritty ez the baby air, but how would you-uns feel ef somebody ye despised war ter kem hyar an' tote him off from we-uns forever?" "i'd cut thar hearts out," he said, with prompt barbarity. "thar, now!" exclaimed his wife, in triumphant logic. he gloomily eyed the smouldering coals. he was beginning to understand the paternal sentiment. by his own heart he was learning the heart of his wife's father. "i'd chop 'em inter minch-meat," he continued, carrying his just reprisals a step further. "waal, don't do it right now," said his wife, trying to laugh, yet vaguely frightened by his vehemence. "eveliny," he cried, springing to his feet, "i be a-goin' ter tell ye all 'bout'n it. i jes called on the cheerman fur the law agin him." "agin _dad_!--the law!" her voice dropped as she contemplated aghast this terrible uncomprehended force brought to oppress old joel quimbey; she felt a sudden poignant pang for his forlorn and lonely estate. "never mind, never mind, eveliny," absalom said, hastily, repenting of his frantic candor and seeking to soothe her. "i _will_ mind," she said, sternly. "what hev ye done ter dad?" "nuthin'," he replied, sulkily--"nuthin'." "ye needn't try ter fool me, abs'lom kittredge. ef ye ain't minded ter tell me, i'll foot it down ter town an' find out. what did the law do ter him?" "jes fined him," he said, striving to make light of it. "an' ye done that fur--_spite_!" she cried. "a-settin' the law ter chouse a old man out'n money, fur gittin' mad an' sayin' ye stole his only darter. oh, i'll answer fur him"--she too had risen; her hand trembled on the back of the chair, but her face was scornfully smiling--"he don't mind the _money_; he'll never git you-uns _fined_ ter pay back the gredge. he don't take his wrath out on folkses' _wallets_; he grips thar throats, or teches the trigger o' his rifle. laws-a-massy! takin' out yer gredge that-a-way! it's _ye_ poorer fur them dollars, abs'lom--'tain't him." she laughed satirically, and turned to rock the cradle. "what d'ye want me ter do? fight a old man?" he exclaimed, angrily. she kept silence, only looking at him with a flushed cheek and a scornful laughing eye. he went on, resentfully: "i ain't 'shamed," he stoutly asserted. "nobody 'lowed i oughter be. it's him, plumb bowed down with shame." "the shoe's on the t'other foot," she cried. "it's ye that oughter be 'shamed, an' ef ye ain't, it's more shame ter ye. what hev he got ter be 'shamed of?" "'kase," he retorted, "he war fetched up afore a court on a crim'nal offence--a-cussin' afore the court! ye may think it's no shame, but he do; he war so 'shamed he gin up his office ez jestice o' the peace, what he hev run fur four or five times, an' always got beat 'ceptin' wunst." "dad!" but for the whisper she seemed turning to stone; her dilated eyes were fixed as she stared into his face. "an' i seen him a-ridin' off from town in the rain arterward, his head hangin' plumb down ter the saddle-bow." her amazed eyes were still fastened upon his face, but her hand no longer trembled on the back of the chair. he suddenly held out his own hand to her, his sympathy and regret returning as he recalled the picture of the lonely wayfarer in the rain that had touched him so. "oh, eveliny!" he cried, "i never war so beset an' sorry an'--" she struck his hand down; her eyes blazed. her aspect was all instinct with anger. "i do declar' i'll never furgive ye--ter spite him so--an' kem an' tell _me_! an' shame him so ez he can't hold his place--an' kem an' tell _me_! an' bow him down so ez he can't show his face whar he hev been so respected by all--an' kem an' tell _me_! an' all fur spite, fur he hev got nuthin' ye want now. an' i gin him up an' lef him lonely, an' all fur you-uns. ye air mean, abs'lom kittredge, an' i'm the mos' fursaken fool on the face o' the yearth!" he tried to speak, but she held up her hand in expostulation. "nare word--fur i won't answer. i do declar' i'll never speak ter ye agin ez long ez i live." he flung away with a laugh and a jeer. "that's right," he said, encouragingly; "plenty o' men would be powerful glad ef thar wives would take pattern by that." he caught up his hat and strode out of the room. he busied himself in stabling his horse, and in looking after the stock. he could hear the women's voices from the loft of the barn as they disputed about the best methods of tending the newly hatched chickens, that had chipped the shell so late in the fall as to be embarrassed by the frosts and the coming cold weather. the last bee had ceased to drone about the great crimson prince's-feather by the door-step, worn purplish through long flaunting, and gone to seed. the clouds were creeping up and up the slope, and others were journeying hither from over the mountains. a sense of moisture was in the air, although a great column of dust sprang up from the dry corn-field, with panic-stricken suggestions, and went whirling away, carrying off withered blades in the rush. the first drops of rain were pattering, with a resonant timbre in the midst, when pete came home with a newly killed deer on his horse, and the women, with fluttering skirts and sun-bonnets, ran swiftly across from the barn to the back door of the shed-room. then the heavy downpour made the cabin rock. "why, eveliny an' the baby oughtn't ter be out in this hyar rain--they'll be drenched," said the old woman, when they were all safely housed except the two. "whar be she?" "a-foolin' in the gyarden spot a-getherin' seed an' sech, like she always be," said the sister-in-law, tartly. absalom ran out into the rain without his hat, his heart in the clutch of a prescient terror. no; the summer was over for the garden as well as for him; all forlorn and rifled, its few swaying shrubs tossed wildly about, a mockery of the grace and bloom that had once embellished it. his wet hair streaming backward in the wind caught on the laurel boughs as he went down and down the tangled path that her homesick feet had worn to the crag which overlooked the cove. not there! he stood, himself enveloped in the mist, and gazed blankly into the folds of the dun-colored clouds that with tumultuous involutions surged above the valley and baffled his vision. he realized it with a sinking heart. she was gone. * * * * * that afternoon--it was close upon nightfall--stephen quimbey, letting down the bars for the cows, noticed through the slanting lines of rain, serried against the masses of sober-hued vapors which hid the great mountain towering above the cove, a woman crossing the foot-bridge. he turned and lifted down another bar, and then looked again. something was familiar in her aspect, certainly. he stood gravely staring. her sun-bonnet had fallen back upon her shoulders, and was hanging loosely there by the strings tied beneath her chin; her brown hair, dishevelled by the storm, tossed back and forth in heavy wave-less locks, wet through and through. when the wind freshened they lashed, thong-like, her pallid oval face; more than once she put up her hand and tried to gather them together, or to press them back--only one hand, for she clasped a heavy bundle in her arms, and as she toiled along slowly up the rocky slope, stephen suddenly held his palm above his eyes. the recognition was becoming definite, and yet he could scarcely believe his senses: was it indeed evelina, wind-tossed, tempest-beaten, and with as many tears as rain-drops on her pale cheek? evelina, forlorn and sorry, and with swollen sad dark eyes, and listless exhausted step--here again at the bars, where she had not stood since she dragged her wounded lover thence on that eventful night two years and more ago. resentment for the domestic treachery was uppermost in his mind, and he demanded surlily, when she had advanced within the sound of his words, "what hev ye kem hyar fur?" "ter stay," she responded, briefly. his hand in an uncertain gesture laid hold upon his tuft of beard. "fur good?" he faltered, amazed. she nodded silently. he stooped to lift down the lowest bar that she might pass. suddenly the bundle she clasped gave a dexterous twist; a small head, with yellow downy hair, was thrust forth; a pair of fawn-like eyes fixed an inquiring stare upon him; the pink face distended with a grin, to which the two small teeth in the red mouth, otherwise empty, lent a singularly merry expression; and with a manner that was a challenge to pursuit, the head disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared, tucked with affected shyness under evelina's arm. she left stephen standing with the bar in his hand, staring blankly after her, and ran into the cabin. her father had no questions to ask--nor she. as he caught her in his arms he gave a great cry of joy that rang through the house, and brought timothy from the barn, in astonishment, to the scene. "eveliny's _home_!" he cried out to tim, who, with the ox-yoke in his hand, paused in the doorway. "kem ter stay! eveliny's _home_! i knowed she'd kem back to her old daddy. eveliny's kem ter stay fur good." "they tole me they'd hectored ye plumb out'n the town an' out'n yer office. they hed the insurance ter tell _me_ that word!" she cried, sobbing on his breast. "what d'ye reckon i keer fur enny jestice's cheer when i hev got ye agin ter set alongside o' me by the fire?" he exclaimed, his cracked old voice shrill with triumphant gladness. he pushed her into her rocking-chair in the chimney-corner, and laughed again with the supreme pleasure of the moment, although she had leaned her head against the logs of the wall, and was sobbing aloud with the contending emotions that tore her heart. "didn't ye ever want ter kem afore, eveliny?" he demanded. "i hev been a-pinin' fur a glimge o' ye." he was in his own place now, his hands trembling as they lay on the arms of his chair, a pathetic reproach was in his voice. "though old folks oughtn't ter expec' too much o' young ones, ez be all tuk up naterally with tharse'fs," he added, bravely. he would not let his past lonely griefs mar the bright present. "old folks air mos'ly cumberers--mos'ly cumberers o' the yearth, ennyhow." her weeping had ceased; she was looking at him with dismayed surprise in her eyes, still lustrous with unshed tears. "why, dad i sent ye a hundred messages ef i mought kem. i tole abs'lom ter tell joe boyd--bein' as ye liked joe--i wanted ter see ye." she leaned forward and looked up at him with frowning intensity. "they never gin ye that word?" he laughed aloud in sorry scorn. "we can't teach our chil'n nuthin'," he philosophized. "they hev got ter hurt tharse'fs with all the thorns an' the stings o' the yearth. our sperience with the sharp things an' bitter ones don't do them no sarvice. naw, leetle darter--naw! ye mought ez well gin a message o' kindness ter a wolf, an' expec' him ter kerry it ter some lonesome, helpless thing a-wounded by the way-side, ez gin it ter a kittredge." "i never will speak ter one o' 'em agin ez long ez i live," she cried, with a fresh gust of tears. "waal," exclaimed the old man, reassuringly, and chirping high, "hyar we all be agin, jes' the same ez we war afore. don't cry, eveliny; it's jes' the same." a sudden babbling intruded upon the conversation. the youthful kittredge, as he sat upon the wide flat stones of the hearth, was as unwelcome here in the cove as a quimbey had been in the cabin on the mountain. the great hickory fire called for his unmixed approval, coming in, as he had done, from the gray wet day. he shuffled his bare pink feet--exceedingly elastic and agile members they seemed to be, and he had a remarkable "purchase" upon their use--and brought them smartly down upon their heels as if this were one of the accepted gestures of applause. then he looked up at the dark frowning faces of his mother's brothers, and gurgled with laughter, showing the fascinating spectacle of his two front teeth. perhaps it was the only kittredge eye that they were not willing to meet. they solemnly gazed beyond him and into the fire, ignoring his very existence. he sustained the slight with an admirable cheerfulness, and babbled and sputtered and flounced about with his hands. he grew pinker in the generous firelight, and he looked very fat as he sat in a heap on the floor. he seemed to have threads tightly tied about his bolster-shaped limbs in places where elder people prefer joints--in his ankles and wrists and elbows--for his arms were bare, and although his frock of pink calico hung decorously high on one shoulder, it drooped quite off from the other, showing a sturdy chest. his mother took slight notice of him; she was beginning to look about the room with a certain critical disfavor at the different arrangement of the household furniture adopted by her father's deaf and widowed old sister who presided here now, and who, it chanced, had been called away by the illness of a relative. evelina got up presently, and shifted the position of the spinning-wheels, placing the flax-wheel where the large wheel had been. she then pushed out the table from the corner. "what ailed her ter sot it hyar?" she grumbled, in a disaffected undertone, and shoved it to the centre of the floor, where it had always stood during her own sway. she cast a discerning glance up among the strings of herbs and peppers hanging from above, and examined the shelves where the simple stores for table use were arranged in earthen-ware bowls or gourds--all with an air of vague dissatisfaction. she presently stepped into the shed-room, and there looked over the piles of quilts. they were in order, certainly, but placed in a different method from her own; another woman's hand had been at work, and she was jealous of its very touch among these familiar old things to which she seemed positively akin. "i wonder how i made out ter bide so long on the mounting," she said; and with the recollection of the long-haired absalom there was another gush of tears and sobs, which she stifled as she could in one of the old quilts that held many of her own stitches and was soothing to touch. the infantile kittredge, who was evidently not born to blush unseen, seemed to realize that he had failed to attract the attention of the three absorbed quimbeys who sat about the fire. he blithely addressed himself to another effort. he suddenly whisked himself over on all-fours, and with a certain ursine aspect went nimbly across the hearth, still holding up his downy yellow head, his pink face agrin, and alluringly displaying his two facetious teeth. he caught the rung of tim's chair, and lifted himself tremulously to an upright posture. and then it became evident that he was about to give an exhibition of the thrilling feat of walking around a chair. with a truly kittredge perversity he had selected the one that had the savage timothy seated in it. for an instant the dark-browed face scowled down into his unaffrighted eyes: it seemed as if tim might kick him into the fire. the next moment he had set out to circumnavigate, as it were. what a prodigious force he expended upon it! how he gurgled and grinned and twisted his head to observe the effect upon the men, all sedulously gazing into the fire! how he bounced, and anon how he sank with sudden genuflections! how limber his feet seemed, and what free agents! surely he never intended to put them down at that extravagant angle. more than once one foot was placed on top of the other--an attitude that impeded locomotion and resulted in his sitting down in an involuntary manner and with some emphasis. with an appalling temerity he clutched tim's great miry boots to help him up and on his way round. occasionally he swayed to and fro, with his teeth on exhibition, laughing and babbling and shrilly exclaiming, inarticulately bragging of his agile prowess, as if he were able to defy all the quimbeys, who would not notice him. and when it was all over he went in his wriggling ursine gait back to the hearth-stone, and there he was sitting, demurely enough, and as if he had never moved, when his mother returned and found him. there was no indication that he had attracted a moment's attention. she looked gravely down at him; then took her chair. a pair of blue yarn socks was in her hand. "i never see sech darnin' ez aunt sairy ann do fur ye, dad; i hev jes tuk my shears an' cut this heel smang out, an' i be goin' ter do it over." she slipped a tiny gourd into the heel, and began to draw the slow threads to and fro across it. the blaze, red and yellow, and with elusive purple gleams, leaped up the chimney. the sap was still in the wood; it sang a summer-tide song. but an autumn wind was blowing shrilly down the chimney; one could hear the sibilant rush of the dead leaves on the blast. the window and the door shook, and were still, and once more rattled as if a hand were on the latch. suddenly--"ever weigh him?" her father asked. she sat upright with a nervous start. it was a moment before she understood that it was of the kittredge scion he spoke. with his high cracked laugh the old man leaned over, his outspread hand hovering about the plump baby, uncertain where, in so much soft fatness, it might be practicable to clutch him. there were some large horn buttons on the back of his frock, a half-dozen of which, gathered together, afforded a grasp. he lifted the child by them, laughing in undisguised pleasure to feel the substantial strain upon the garment. "toler'ble survigrus," he declared, with his high chirp. his daughter suddenly sprang up with a pallid face and a pointing hand. "the winder!" she huskily cried--"suthin's at the winder!" but when they looked they saw only the dark square of tiny panes, with the fireside scene genially reflected on it. and then she fell to declaring that she had been dreaming, and besought them not to take down their guns nor to search, and would not be still until they had all seemed to concede the point; it was she who fastened the doors and shutters, and she did not lie down to rest till they were all asleep and hours had passed. none of them doubted that it was absalom's face that she had seen at the window, where the light had once lured him before, and she knew that she had dreamed no dream like this. * * * * * it soon became evident that whenever joe boyd was intrusted with a message he would find means to deliver it. for upon him presently devolved the difficult duties of ambassador. the first time that his honest square face appeared at the rail fence, and the sound of his voice roused evelina as she stood feeding the poultry close by, she returned his question with a counter-question hard to answer. "i hev been up the mounting," he said, smiling, as he hooked his arms over the rail fence. "abs'lom he say he wanter know when ye'll git yer visit out an' kem home." she leaned her elbow against the ash-hopper, balancing the wooden bowl of corn-meal batter on its edge and trembling a little; the geese and chickens and turkeys crowded, a noisy rout, about her feet. "joe," she said, irrelevantly, "ye air one o' the few men on this yearth ez ain't a liar." he stared at her gravely for a moment, then burst into a forced laugh. "ho! ho! i tell a bushel o' 'em a day, eveliny!" he wagged his head in an anxious affectation of mirth. "why'n't ye gin dad them messages ez abs'lom gin ye from me?" joe received this in blank amaze; then, with sudden comprehension, his lower jaw dropped. he looked at her with a plea for pity in his eyes. and yet his ready tact strove to reassert itself. "i mus' hev furgot 'em," he faltered. "did abs'lom ever gin 'em ter ye?" she persisted. "_ef he did_, i mus' hev furgot 'em," he repeated, crestfallen and hopeless. she laughed and turned jauntily away, once more throwing the corn-meal batter to the greedily jostling poultry. "tell abs'lom i hev f'und him out," she said. "he can't sot me agin dad no sech way. this be my home, an' hyar i be goin' ter 'bide." and so she left the good joe boyd hooked on by the elbows to the fence. the quimbeys, who had heard this conversation from within, derived from it no small elation. "she hev gin 'em the go-by fur good," timothy said, confidently, to his father, who laughed in triumph, and pulled calmly at his pipe, and looked ten years younger. but steve was surlily anxious. "i'd place heap mo' dependence in eveliny ef she didn't hev this hyar way o' cryin' all the time. she 'lows she's glad she kem--_so glad_ she hev lef' abs'lom fur good an' all--an' then she busts out a-cryin' agin. i ain't able ter argufy on sech." "shucks! wimmen air always a-cryin', an' they don't mean _nuthin_' by it," exclaimed the old man, in the plenitude of his wisdom. "it air jes' one o' thar most contrarious ways. i hev seen 'em set down an' cry fur joy an' pleasure." [illustration: "'why'n't ye gin dad them messages?'"] but steve was doubtful. "it be a powerful low-sperited gift fur them ez hev ter 'bide along of 'em. eveliny never useter be tearful in nowise. now she cries a heap mo' 'n that thar shoat"--his lips curled in contempt as he glanced toward the door, through which was visible a small rotund figure in pink calico, seated upon the lowest log of the wood-pile--"ez she fotched down hyar with her. _he_ never hev hed a reg'lar blate but two or three times sence he hev been hyar, an' them war when that thar old tur-rkey gobbler teetered up ter him an' tuk his corn-dodger that he war a-eatin' on plumb out'n his hand. _he_ hed suthin' to holler fur--hed los' his breakfus." "don't he 'pear ter you-uns to be powerful peegeon-toed?" asked tim, anxiously, turning to his father. "the gawbbler?" faltered the amazed old man. "naw; him, _him_--_kittredge_," said tim, jerking his big thumb in the direction of the small boy. "law-dy gawd a'mighty! _naw! naw!_" the grandfather indignantly repudiated the imputation of the infirmity. one would have imagined that he would deem it meet that a kittredge should be pigeon-toed. "it's jes the way _all_ babies hev got a-walkin'; he ain't right handy yit with his feet--jes a-beginnin' ter walk, an' sech. peegeon-toed! i say it, ye fool!" he cast a glance of contempt on his eldest-born, and arrogantly puffed his pipe. again joe boyd came, and yet again. he brought messages contrite and promissory from absalom; he brought commands stern and insistent. he came into the house at last, and sat and talked at the fireside in the presence of the men of the family, who bore themselves in a manner calculated to impress the kittredge emissary with their triumph and contempt for his mission, although they studiously kept silence, leaving it to evelina to answer. at last the old man, leaning forward, tapped joe on the knee. "see hyar, joe. ye hev always been a good frien' o' mine. this hyar man he stole my darter from me, an' whenst she wanted ter be frien's, an' not let her old dad die unforgivin', he wouldn't let her send the word ter me. an' then he sot himself ter spite an' hector me, an' fairly run me out'n the town, an' harried me out'n my office, an' when she f'und out--she wouldn't take my word fur it--the deceivin' natur' o' the kittredge tribe, she hed hed enough o' 'em. i hev let ye argufy 'bout'n it; ye hev hed yer fill of words. an' now i be tired out. ye ain't 'lowin' she'll ever go back ter her husband, air ye?" joe dolorously shook his head. "waal, ef ever ye kem hyar talkin' 'bout'n it agin, i'll be 'bleeged ter take down my rifle ter ye." joe gazed, unmoved, into the fire. "an' that would be mighty hard on me, joe, 'kase ye be so pop'lar 'mongst all, i dunno _what_ the kentry-side would do ter me ef i war ter put a bullet inter ye. ye air a young man, joe. ye oughter spare a old man sech a danger ez that." and so it happened that joe boyd's offices as mediator ceased. a week went by in silence and without result. evelina's tears seemed to keep count of the minutes. the brothers indignantly noted it, and even the old man was roused from the placid securities of his theories concerning lachrymose womankind, and remonstrated sometimes, and sometimes grew angry and exhorted her to go back. what did it matter to her how her father was treated? he was a cumberer of the ground, and many people besides her husband had thought he had no right to sit in a justice's chair. and then she would burst into tears once more, and declare again that she would never go back. the only thoroughly cheerful soul about the place was the intruding kittredge. he sat continuously--for the weather was fine--on the lowest log of the wood-pile, and swung his bare pink feet among the chips and bark, and seemed to have given up all ambition to walk. occasionally red and yellow leaves whisked past his astonished eyes, although these were few now, for november was on the wane. he babbled to the chickens, who pecked about him with as much indifference as if he were made of wood. his two teeth came glittering out whenever the rooster crowed, and his gleeful laugh--he rejoiced so in this handsomely endowed bird--could be heard to the barn. the dogs seemed never to have known that he was a kittredge, and wagged their tails at the very sound of his voice, and seized surreptitious opportunities to lick his face. of all his underfoot world only the gobbler awed him into gravity and silence; he would gaze in dismay as the marauding fowl irresolutely approached from around the wood-pile, with long neck out-stretched and undulating gait, applying first one eye and then the other to the pink hands, for the gobbler seemed to consider them a perpetual repository of corn-dodgers, which indeed they were. then the head and the wabbling red wattles would dart forth with a sudden peck, and the shriek that ensued proved that nothing could be much amiss with the kittredge lungs. one fine day he sat thus in the red november sunset. the sky, seen through the interlacing black boughs above his head, was all amber and crimson, save for a wide space of pure and pallid green, against which the purplish-garnet wintry mountains darkly gloomed. beyond the rail fence the avenues of the bare woods were carpeted with the sere yellowish leaves that gave back the sunlight with a responsive illuminating effect, and thus the sylvan vistas glowed. the long slanting beams elongated his squatty little shadow till it was hardly a caricature. he heard the cow lowing as she came to be milked, fording the river where the clouds were so splendidly reflected. the chickens were going to roost. the odor of the wood, the newly-hewn chips, imparted a fresh and fragrant aroma to the air. he had found among them a sweet-gum ball and a pine cone, and was applying them to the invariable test of taste. suddenly he dropped them with a nervous start, his lips trembled, his lower jaw fell, he was aware of a stealthy approach. something was creeping behind the wood-pile. he hardly had time to bethink himself of his enemy the gobbler when he was clutched under the arm, swung through the air with a swiftness that caused the scream to evaporate in his throat, and the next moment he looked quakingly up into his father's face with unrecognizing eyes; for he had forgotten absalom in these few weeks. he squirmed and wriggled as he was held on the pommel of the saddle, winking and catching his breath and spluttering, as preliminary proceedings to an outcry. there was a sudden sound of heavily shod feet running across the puncheon floor within, a wild, incoherent exclamation smote the air, an interval of significant silence ensued. "get up!" cried absalom, not waiting for tim's rifle, but spurring the young horse, and putting him at the fence. the animal rose with the elasticity and lightness of an uprearing ocean wave. the baby once more twisted his soft neck, and looked anxiously into the rider's face. this was not the gobbler. the gobbler did not ride horseback. then the affinity of the male infant for the noble equine animal suddenly overbore all else. in elation he smote with his soft pink hand the glossy arched neck before him. "dul-lup!" he arrogantly echoed absalom's words. and thus father and son at a single bound disappeared into woods, and so out of sight. * * * * * the savage tim was leaning upon his rifle in the doorway, his eyes dilated, his breath short, his whole frame trembling with excitement, as the other men, alarmed by evelina's screams, rushed down from the barn. "what ails ye, tim? why'n't ye fire?" demanded his father. tim turned an agitated, baffled look upon him. "i--i mought hev hit the baby," he faltered. "hain't ye got no aim, ye durned sinner?" asked stephen, furiously. "bullet mought hev gone through him and struck inter the baby," expostulated tim. "an' then agin it moughtn't!" cried stephen. "lawd, ef _i_ hed hed the chance!" "ye wouldn't hev done no differ," declared tim. "hyar!" steve caught his brother's gun and presented it to tim's lips. "suck the bar'l. it's 'bout all ye air good fur." the horses had been turned out. by the time they were caught and saddled pursuit was evidently hopeless. the men strode in one by one, dashing the saddles and bridles on the floor, and finding in angry expletives a vent for their grief. and indeed it might have seemed that the quimbeys must have long sought a choice kittredge infant for adoption, so far did their bewailings discount rachel's mourning. "don't cry, eveliny," they said, ever and anon. "we-uns'll git him back fur ye." but she had not shed a tear. she sat speechless, motionless, as if turned to stone. "laws-a-massy, child, ef ye would jes hev b'lieved _me_ 'bout'n them kittredges--abs'lom in partic'lar--ye'd be happy an' free now," said the old man, his imagination somewhat extending his experience, for he had had no knowledge of his son-in-law until their relationship began. the evening wore drearily on. now and then the men roused themselves, and with lowering faces discussed the opportunities of reprisal, and the best means of rescuing the child. and whether they schemed to burn the kittredge cabin, or to arm themselves, burst in upon their enemies, shooting and killing all who resisted, evelina said nothing, but stared into the fire with unnaturally dilated eyes, her white lined face all drawn and somehow unrecognizable. "never mind," her father said at intervals, taking her cold hand, "we-uns 'll git him back, eveliny. the lord hed a mother wunst, an' i'll be bound he keeps a special pity for a woman an' her child." "oh, great gosh! who'd hev dreamt we'd hev missed him so!" cried tim, shifting his position, and slipping his left arm over the back of his chair. "jes ter think o' the leetle size o' him, an' the great big gap he hev lef' roun' this hyar ha'th-stone!" "an' yit he jes sot underfoot, 'mongst the cat an' the dogs, jes ez humble!" said stephen. "i'd git him back even ef he warn't no kin ter me, eveliny," declared tim, and he spoke advisedly, remembering that the youth was a kittredge. still evelina said not a word. all that night she silently walked the puncheon floor, while the rest of the household slept. the dogs, in vague disturbance, because of the unprecedented vigil and stir in the midnight, wheezed uneasily from time to time, and crept restlessly about under the cabin, now and again thumping their backs or heads against the floor; but at last they betook themselves to slumber. the hickory logs broke in twain as they burned, and fell on either side, and presently there was only the dull red glow of the embers on her pale face, and the room was full of brown shadows, motionless, now that the flames flared no more. once when the red glow, growing ever dimmer, seemed almost submerged beneath the gray ashes, she paused and stirred the coals. the renewed glimmer showed a fixed expression in her eyes, becoming momently more resolute. at intervals she knelt at the window and placed her hands about her face to shut out the light from the hearth, and looked out upon the night. how the chill stars loitered! how the dawn delayed! the great mountain gloomed darkling above the cove. the waning moon, all melancholy and mystic, swung in the purple sky. the bare, stark boughs of the trees gave out here and there a glimmer of hoar-frost. there was no wind; when she heard the dry leaves whisk she caught a sudden glimpse of a fox that, with his crafty shadow pursuing him, leaped upon the wood-pile, nimbly ran along its length, and so, noiselessly, away--while the dogs snored beneath the house. a cock crew from the chicken-roost; the mountain echoed the resonant strain. she saw a mist come stealing softly along a precipitous gorge; the gauzy web hung shimmering in the moon; presently the trees were invisible; anon they showed rigid among the soft enmeshment of the vapor, and again were lost to view. she rose; there was a new energy in her step; she walked quickly across the floor and unbarred the door. the little cabin on the mountain was lost among the clouds. it was not yet day, but the old woman, with that proclivity to early rising characteristic of advancing years, was already astir. it was in the principal room of the cabin that she slept, and it contained another bed, in which, placed crosswise, were five billet-shaped objects under the quilts, which when awake identified themselves as peter kittredge's children. she had dressed and uncovered the embers, and put on a few of the chips which had been spread out on the hearth to dry, and had sat down in the chimney corner. a timid blaze began to steal up, and again was quenched, and only the smoke ascended in its form; then the light flickered out once more, casting a gigantic shadow of her sun-bonnet--for she had donned it thus early--half upon the brown and yellow daubed wall, and half upon the dark ceiling, making a specious stir amidst the peltry and strings of pop-corn hanging motionless thence. she sighed heavily once or twice, and with an aged manner, and leaned her elbows on her knees and gazed contemplatively at the fire. all at once the ashes were whisked about the hearth as in a sudden draught, and then were still. in momentary surprise she pushed her chair back, hesitated, then replaced it, and calmly settled again her elbows on her knees. suddenly once more a whisking of the ashes; a cold shiver ran through her, and she turned to see a hand fumbling at the batten shutter close by. she stared for a moment as if paralyzed; her spectacles fell to the floor from her nerveless hand, shattering the lenses on the hearth. she rose trembling to her feet, and her lips parted as if to cry out. they emitted no sound, and she turned with a terrified fascination and looked back. the shutter had opened, there was no glass, the small square of the window showed the nebulous gray mist without, and defined upon it was evelina's head, her dark hair streaming over the red shawl held about it, her fair oval face pallid and pensive, and with a great wistfulness upon it; her lustrous dark eyes glittered. "mother," her red lips quivered out. the old crone recognized no treachery in her heart. she laid a warning finger upon her lips. all the men were asleep. evelina stretched out her yearning arms. "gin him ter me!" "naw, naw, eveliny," huskily whispered absalom's mother. "ye oughter kem hyar an' 'bide with yer husband--ye know ye ought." evelina still held out her insistent arms. "gin him ter me!" she pleaded. the old woman shook her head sternly. "ye kem in, an' 'bide whar ye b'long." evelina took a step nearer the window. she laid her hand on the sill. "spos'n 'twar abs'lom whenst he war a baby," she said, her eyes softly brightening, "an' another woman hed him an' kep' him, 'kase ye an' his dad fell out--would ye hev 'lowed she war right ter treat ye like ye treat me--whenst abs'lom war a baby?" once more she held out her arms. there was a step in the inner shed-room; then silence. "ye hain't got no excuse," the soft voice urged; "ye know jes how i feel, how ye'd hev felt, whenst abs'lom war a baby." the shawl had fallen back from her tender face; her eyes glowed, her cheek was softly flushed. a sudden terror thrilled through her as she again heard the heavy step approaching in the shed-room. "whenst abs'lom war a baby," she reiterated, her whole pleading heart in the tones. a sudden radiance seemed to illumine the sad, dun-colored folds of the encompassing cloud; her face shone with a transfiguring happiness, for the hustling old crone had handed out to her a warm, somnolent bundle, and the shutter closed upon the mists with a bang. "the wind's riz powerful suddint," peter said, noticing the noise as he came stumbling in, rubbing his eyes. he went and fastened the shutter, while his mother tremulously mended the fire. the absence of the baby was not noticed for some time, and when the father's hasty and angry questions elicited the reluctant facts, the outcry for his loss was hardly less bitter among the kittredges than among the quimbeys. the fugitives were shielded from capture by the enveloping mist, and when absalom returned from the search he could do naught but indignantly upbraid his mother. she was terrified by her own deed, and cowered under absalom's wrath. it was in a moral collapse, she felt, that she could have done this thing. she flung her apron over her head, and sat still and silent--a monumental figure--among them. once, roused by absalom's reproaches, she made some effort to defend and exculpate herself, speaking from behind the enveloping apron. "i ain't born no kittredge nohow," she irrelevantly asseverated, "an' i never war. an' when eveliny axed me how i'd hev liked ter hev another 'oman take abs'lom whenst he war a baby, i couldn't hold out no longer." "shucks!" cried absalom, unfilially; "ye'd a heap better be a-studyin' 'bout'n my good now 'n whenst i war a baby--a-givin' away _my_ child ter them quimbeys; a-h'istin' him out'n the winder!" she was glad to retort that he was "impident," and to take refuge in an aggrieved silence, as many another mother has done when outmatched by logic. after this there was more cheerfulness in her hidden face than might have been argued from her port of important sorrow. "bes' ter hev no jawin', though," she said to herself, as she sat thus inscrutably veiled. and deep in her repentant heart she was contradictorily glad that evelina and the baby were safe together down in the cove. * * * * * old joel quimbey, putting on his spectacles, with a look of keenest curiosity, to read a paper which the deputy-sheriff of the county presented when he drew rein by the wood-pile one afternoon some three weeks later, had some difficulty in identifying a certain elnathan daniel kittredge specified therein. he took off his spectacles, rubbed them smartly, and put them on again. the writing was unchanged. surely it must mean the baby. that was the only kittredge whose body they could be summoned to produce on the 24th of december before the judge of the circuit court, now in session. he turned the paper about and looked at it, his natural interest as a man augmented by his recognition as an ex-magistrate of its high important legal character. [illustration: "she flung her apron over her head"] "eveliny," he quavered, at once flattered and furious, "dad-burned ef abs'lom hain't gone an' got out a _habeas corpus_ fur the baby!" the phrase had a sound so deadly that there was much ado to satisfactorily explain the writ and its functions to evelina, who had felt at ease again since the baby was at home, and so effectually guarded that to kidnap him was necessarily to murder two or three of the vigilant and stalwart quimbey men. so much joy did it afford the old man to air his learning and consult his code--a relic of his justiceship--that he belittled the danger of losing the said elnathan daniel kittredge in the interest with which he looked forward to the day for him to be produced before the court. there was a gathering of the clans on that day. quimbeys and kittredges who had not visited the town for twenty years were jogging thither betimes that morning on the red clay roads, all unimpeded by the deep mud which, frozen into stiff ruts and ridges here and there, made the way hazardous to the running-gear. the lagging winter had come, and the ground was half covered with a light fall of snow. the windows of the court-house were white with frost; the weighted doors clanged continuously. an old codger, slowly ascending the steps, and pushing into the semi-obscurity of the hall, paused as the door slammed behind him, stared at the sheriff in surprise, then fixed him with a bantering leer. the light that slanted through the open court-room door fell upon the official's burly figure, his long red beard, his big broad-brimmed hat pushed back from his laughing red face, consciously ludicrous and abashed just now. "hev ye made a find?" demanded the new-comer. for in the strong arms of the law sat, bolt-upright, elnathan daniel kittredge, his yellow head actively turning about, his face decorated with a grin, and on most congenial terms with the sheriff. "they're lawin' 'bout'n him in thar"--the sheriff jerked his thumb toward the door. "_habeas corpus_ perceedin's. dunno ez i ever see a friskier leetle cuss. durned ef i 'ain't got a good mind ter run off with him myself." the said elnathan daniel kittredge once more squirmed round and settled himself comfortably in the hollow of the sheriff's elbow, who marvelled to find himself so deft in holding him, for it was twenty years since his son--a gawky youth who now affected the company at the saloon, and was none too filial--was the age and about the build of this infant kittredge. "they hed a reg'lar scrimmage hyar in the hall--them fool men--quimbey an' kittredge. old man quimbey said suthin' ter abs'lom kittredge--i dunno what all. abs'lom never jawed back none. he jes made a dart an' snatched this hyar leetle critter out'n his mother's arms, stiddier waitin' fur the law, what he summonsed himself. blest ef i didn't hev ter hold my revolver ter his head, an' then crack him over the knuckles, ter make him let go the child. i didn't want ter arrest him--mighty clever boy, abs'lom kittredge! i promised that young woman i'd keep holt o' the child till the law gins its say-so. i feel sorry fur her; she's been through a heap." "waal, ye look mighty pritty, totin' him around hyar," his friend encouraged him with a grin. "i'll say that fur ye--ye look mighty pritty." and in fact the merriment in the hall at the sheriff's expense began to grow so exhilarating as to make him feel that the proceedings within were too interesting to lose. his broad red face with its big red beard reappeared in the doorway--slightly embarrassed because of the sprightly manners of his charge, who challenged to mirth every eye that glanced at him by his toothful grin and his gurgles and bounces; he was evidently enjoying the excitement and his conspicuous position. he manfully gnawed at his corn-dodger from time to time, and from the manner in which he fraternized with his new acquaintance, the sheriff, he seemed old enough to dispense with maternal care, and, but for his incomplete methods of locomotion, able to knock about town with the boys. the quimbeys took note of his mature demeanor with sinking hearts; they looked anxiously at the judge, wondering if he had ever before seen such precocity--anything so young to be so old: "he 'ain't never afore 'peared so survigrus--so _durned_ survigrus ez he do ter-day," they whispered to each other. "yes, sir," his father was saying, on examination, "year old. eats anything he kin git--cabbage an' fat meat an' anything. _could_ walk if he wanted ter. but he 'ain't been raised right"--he glanced at his wife to observe the effect of this statement. he felt a pang as he noted her pensive, downcast face, all tremulous and agitated, overwhelmed as she was by the crowd and the infinite moment of the decision. but absalom, too, had his griefs, and they expressed themselves perversely. "he hev been pompered an' fattened by bein' let ter eat an' sleep so much, till he be so heavy ter his self he don't wanter take the trouble ter git about. he _could_ walk ennywhar. he's plumb survigrus." and as if in confirmation, the youthful kittredge lifted his voice to display his lung power. he hilariously babbled, and suddenly roared out a stentorian whoop, elicited by nothing in particular, then caught the sheriff's beard, and buried in it his conscious pink face. the judge looked gravely up over his spectacles. he had a bronzed complexion, a serious, pondering expression, a bald head, and a gray beard. he wore a black broadcloth suit, somewhat old-fashioned in cut, and his black velvet waist-coat had suffered an eruption of tiny red satin spots. he had great respect for judicial decorums, and no kittredge, however youthful, or survigrus, or exalted in importance by _habeas corpus_ proceedings, could "holler" unmolested where he presided. "mr. sheriff," he said, solemnly, "remove that child from the presence of the court." and the said elnathan daniel kittredge went out gleefully kicking in the arms of the law. the hundred or so grinning faces in the court-room relapsed quickly into gravity and excited interest. the rows of jeans-clad countrymen seated upon the long benches on either side of the bar leaned forward with intent attitudes. for this was a rich feast of local gossip, such as had not been so bountifully spread within their recollection. all the ancient quimbey and kittredge feuds contrived to be detailed anew in offering to the judge reasons why father or mother was the more fit custodian of the child in litigation. as absalom sat listening to all this, his eyes were suddenly arrested by his wife's face--half draped it was, half shadowed by her sun-bonnet, its fine and delicate profile distinctly outlined against the crystalline and frosted pane of the window near which she sat. the snow without threw a white reflection upon it; its rich coloring in contrast was the more intense; it was very pensive, with the heavy lids drooping over the lustrous eyes, and with a pathetic appeal in its expression. and suddenly his thoughts wandered far afield. he wondered that it had come to this; that she could have misunderstood him so; that he had thought her hard and perverse and unforgiving. his heart was all at once melting within him; somehow he was reminded how slight a thing she was, and how strong was the power that nerved her slender hand to drag his heavy weight, in his dead and helpless unconsciousness, down to the bars and into the safety of the sheltering laurel that night, when he lay wounded and bleeding under the lighted window of the cabin in the cove. a deep tenderness, an irresistible yearning had come upon him; he was about to rise, he was about to speak he knew not what, when suddenly her face was irradiated as one who sees a blessed vision; a happy light sprang into her eyes; her lips curved with a smile; the quick tears dropped one by one on her hands, nervously clasping and unclasping each other. he was bewildered for a moment. then he heard peter gruffly growling a half-whispered curse, and the voice of the judge, in the exercise of his discretion, methodically droning out his reasons for leaving so young a child in the custody of its mother, disregarding the paramount rights of the father. the judge concluded by dispassionately recommending the young couple to betake themselves home, and to try to live in peace together, or, at any rate, like sane people. then he thrust his spectacles up on his forehead, drew a long sigh of dismissal, and said, with a freshened look of interest, "mr. clerk, call the next case." the quimbey and kittredge factions poured into the hall; what cared they for the disputed claims of jenkins _versus_ jones? the lovers of sensation cherished a hope that there might be a lawless effort to rescue the infant kittredge from the custody to which he had been committed by the court. the quimbeys watchfully kept about him in a close squad, his pink sun-bonnet, in which his head was eclipsed, visible among their brawny jeans shoulders, as his mother carried him in her arms. the sheriff looked smilingly after him from the court-house steps, then inhaled a long breath, and began to roar out to the icy air the name of a witness wanted within. instead of a gate there was a flight of steps on each side of the fence, surmounted by a small platform. evelina suddenly shrank back as she stood on the platform, for beside the fence absalom was waiting. timothy hastily vaulted over the fence, drew his "shooting-iron" from his boot-leg, and cocked it with a metallic click, sharp and peremptory in the keen wintry air. for a moment absalom said not a word. he looked up at evelina with as much reproach as bitterness in his dark eyes. they were bright with the anger that fired his blood; it was hot in his bronzed cheek; it quivered in his hands. the dry and cold atmosphere amplified the graces of his long curling yellow hair that she and his mother loved. his hat was pushed back from his face. he had not spoken to her since the day of his ill-starred confidence, but he would not be denied now. "ye'll repent it," he said, threateningly. "i'll take special pains fur that." she bestowed on him one defiant glance, and laughed--a bitter little laugh. "ye air ekal ter it; ye have a special gift fur makin' folks repent they ever seen ye." "the jedge jes gin him ter ye 'kase ye made him out sech a fibble little pusson," he sneered. "but it's jes fur a time." she held the baby closer. he busied himself in taking off his sun-bonnet and putting it on hind part before, gurgling with smothered laughter to find himself thus queerly masked, and he made futile efforts to play "peep-eye" with anybody jovially disposed in the crowd. but they were all gravely absorbed in the conjugal quarrel at which they were privileged to assist. "it's jes fur a time," he reiterated. "wait an' see!" she retorted, triumphantly. "i won't wait," he declared, goaded; "i'll take him yit; an' when i do i'll clar out'n the state o' tennessee--see ef i don't!" she turned white and trembled. "ye dassent," she cried out shrilly. "ye'll be 'feared o' the law." "wait an' see!" he mockingly echoed her words, and turned in his old confident manner, and strode out of the crowd. faint and trembling, she crept into the old canvas-covered wagon, and as it jogged along down the road stiff with its frozen ruts and ever nearing the mountains, she clasped the cheerful kittredge with a yearning sense of loss, and declared that the judge had made him no safer than before. it was in vain that her father, speaking from the legal lore of the code, detailed the contempt of court that the kittredges would commit should they undertake to interfere with the judicial decision--it might be even considered kidnapping. "but what good would that do me--an' the baby whisked plumb out'n the state? ef abs'lom ain't 'feared o' tim's rifle, what's he goin' ter keer fur the pore jedge with nare weepon but his leetle contempt o' court--ter jail abs'lom, ef he kin make out ter ketch him!" she leaned against the swaying hoop of the cover of the wagon and burst into tears. "oh, none o' ye'll do nuthin' fur me!" she exclaimed, in frantic reproach. "nuthin'!" "ye talk like 'twar we-uns ez made up sech foolishness ez _habeas corpus_ out'n our own heads," said timothy. "i 'ain't never looked ter the law fur pertection. hyar's the pertecter." he touched the trigger of his rifle and glanced reassuringly at his sister as he sat beside her on the plank laid as a seat from side to side of the wagon. she calmed herself for a moment; then suddenly looked aghast at the rifle, and with some occult and hideous thought, burst anew into tears. "waal, sir," exclaimed stephen, outdone, "what with all this hyar daily weepin' an' nightly mournin', i 'ain't got spunk enough lef' ter stan' up agin the leetlest kittredge a-goin'. i ain't man enough ter sight a rifle. kittredges kin kem enny time an' take my hide, horns, an' tallow ef they air minded so ter do." "i 'lowed i hearn suthin' a-gallopin' down the road," said tim, abruptly. her tears suddenly ceased. she clutched the baby closer, and turned and lifted the flap of the white curtain at the back of the wagon, and looked out with a wild and terror-stricken eye. the red clay road stretched curveless, a long way visible and vacant. the black bare trees stood shivering in the chilly blast on either side; among them was an occasional clump of funereal cedars. away off the brown wooded hills rose; snow lay in thin crust-like patches here and there, and again the earth wore the pallid gray of the crab-grass or the ochreous red of the gully-washed clay. "i don't see nuthin'," she said, in the bated voice of affrighted suspense. while she still looked out flakes suddenly began to fly, hardly falling at first, but poised tentatively, fluctuating athwart the scene, presently thickening, quickening, obscuring it all, isolating the woods with an added sense of solitude since the sight of the world and the sound of it were so speedily annulled. even the creak of the wagon-wheels was muffled. through the semicircular aperture in the front of the wagon-cover the horns of the oxen were dimly seen amidst the serried flakes; the snow whitened the backs of the beasts and added its burden to their yoke. once as they jogged on she fancied again that she heard hoof-beats--this time a long way ahead, thundering over a little bridge high above a swirling torrent, that reverberated with a hollow tone to the faintest footfall. "jes somebody ez hev passed we-uns, takin' the short-cut by the bridle-path," she ruminated. no pursuer, evidently. everything was deeply submerged in the snow before they reached the dark little cabin nestling in the cove. motionless and dreary it was; not even a blue and gauzy wreath curled out of the chimney, for the fire had died on the hearth in their absence. no living creature was to be seen. the fowls were huddled together in the hen-house, and the dogs had accompanied the family to town, trotting beneath the wagon with lolling tongues and smoking breath; when they nimbly climbed the fence their circular footprints were the first traces to mar the level expanse of the door-yard. the bare limbs of the trees were laden; the cedars bore great flower-like tufts amidst the interlacing fibrous foliage. the eaves were heavily thatched; the drifts lay in the fence corners. [illustration: "he stole noiselessly in the soft snow"] everything was covered except, indeed, one side of the fodder-stack that stood close to the barn. evelina, going out to milk the cow, gazed at it for a moment in surprise. the snow had slipped down from it, and lay in rolls and piles about the base, intermixed with the sere husks and blades that seemed torn out of the great cone. "waal, sir, spot mus' hev been hongry fur true, ter kem a-foragin' this wise. looks ez ef she hev been fairly a-burrowin'." she turned and glanced over her shoulder at tracks in the snow--shapeless holes, and filling fast--which she did not doubt were the footprints of the big red cow, standing half in and half out of the wide door, slowly chewing her cud, her breath visibly curling out on the chill air, her great lips opening to emit a muttered low. she moved forward suddenly into the shelter as evelina started anew toward it, holding the piggin in one hand and clasping the baby in the other arm. evelina noted the sound of her brothers' two axes, busy at the wood-pile, their regular cleavage splitting the air with a sharp stroke and bringing a crystalline shivering echo from the icy mountain. she did not see the crouching figure that came cautiously burrowing out from the stack. absalom rose to his full height, looking keenly about him the while, and stole noiselessly in the soft snow to the stable, and peered in through a crevice in the wall. evelina had placed the piggin upon the straw-covered ground, and stood among the horned cattle and the huddling sheep, her soft melancholy face half shaded by the red shawl thrown over her head and shoulders. a tress of her brown hair escaped and curled about her white neck, and hung down over the bosom of her dark-blue homespun dress. against her shoulder the dun-colored cow rubbed her horned head. the baby was in a pensive mood, and scarcely babbled. the reflection of the snow was on his face, heightening the exquisite purity of the tints of his infantile complexion. his gentle, fawn-like eyes were full of soft and lustrous languors. his long lashes drooped over them now, and again were lifted. his short down of yellow hair glimmered golden against the red shawl over his mother's shoulders. one of the beasts sank slowly upon the ground--a tired creature doubtless, and night was at hand; then another, and still another. their posture reminded absalom, as he looked, that this was christmas eve, and of the old superstition that the cattle of the barns spend the night upon their knees, in memory of the wondrous presence that once graced their lowly place. the boughs rattled suddenly in the chill blast above his head; the drifts fell about him. he glanced up mechanically to see in the zenith a star of gracious glister, tremulous and tender, in the rifts of the breaking clouds. "i wonder ef it air the same star o' bethlehem?" he said, thinking of the great sidereal torch heralding the light of the world. he had a vague sense that this star has never set, however the wandering planets may come and go in their wide journeys as the seasons roll. he looked again into the glooming place, at the mother and her child, remembering that the lord of heaven and earth had once lain in a manger, and clung to a humble earthly mother. the man shook with a sudden affright. he had intended to wrest the child from her grasp, and mount and ride away; he was roused from his reverie by the thrusting upon him of his opportunity, facilitated a hundredfold. evelina had evidently forgotten something. she hesitated for a moment; then put the baby down upon a great pile of straw among the horned creatures, and, catching her shawl about her head, ran swiftly to the house. absalom moved mechanically into the doorway. the child, still pensive and silent, and looking tenderly infantile, lay upon the straw. a sudden pang of pity for her pierced his heart: how her own would be desolated! his horse, hitched in a clump of cedars, awaited him ten steps away. it was his only chance--his last chance. and he had been hardly entreated. the child's eyes rested, startled and dilated, upon him; he must be quick. the next instant he turned suddenly, ran hastily through the snow, crashed among the cedars, mounted his horse, and galloped away. it was only a moment that evelina expected to be at the house, but the gourd of salt which she sought was not in its place. she hurried out with it at last, unprescient of any danger until all at once she saw the footprints of a man in the snow, otherwise untrodden, about the fodder-stack. she still heard the two axes at the wood-pile. her father, she knew, was at the house. a smothered scream escaped her lips. the steps had evidently gone into the stable, and had come out thence. her faltering strength could scarcely support her to the door. and then she saw lying in the straw elnathan daniel, beginning to babble and gurgle again, and to grow very pink with joy over a new toy--a man's glove, a red woollen glove, accidentally dropped in the straw. she caught it from his hands, and turned it about curiously. she had knit it herself--for absalom! when she came into the house, beaming with joy, the baby holding the glove in his hands, the men listened to her in dumfounded amaze, and with significant side glances at each other. "he wouldn't take the baby whenst he hed the chance, 'kase he knowed 'twould hurt me so. an' he never wanted ter torment me--i reckon he never _did_ mean ter torment me. an' he did 'low wunst he war sorry he spited dad. oh! i hev been a heap too quick an' spiteful myself. i hev been so terrible wrong! look a-hyar; he lef this glove ter show me he hed been hyar, an' could hev tuk the baby ef he hed hed the heart ter do it. oh! i'm goin' right up the mounting an' tell him how sorry i be." "toler'ble cheap!" grumbled stephen--"one old glove. an' he'll git elnathan daniel an' ye too. a smart fox he be." they could not dissuade her. and after a time it came to pass that the quimbey and kittredge feuds were healed, for how could the heart of a grandfather withstand a toddling spectacle in pink calico that ran away one day some two years later, in company with an adventurous dog, and came down the mountain to the cabin in the cove, squeezing through the fence rails after the manner of his underfoot world, proceeding thence to the house, where he made himself very merry and very welcome? and when tim mounted his horse and rode up the mountain with the youngster on the pommel of the saddle, lest evelina should be out of her mind with fright because of his absence, how should he and old mrs. kittredge differ in their respective opinions of his vigorous growth, and grace of countenance, and peartness of manner? on the strength of this concurrence tim was induced to "'light an' hitch," and he even sat on the cabin porch and talked over the crops with absalom, who, the next time he went to town, stopped at the cabin in the cove to bring word how elnathan daniel was "thrivin'." the path that evelina had worn to the crag in those first homesick days on the mountain rapidly extended itself into the cove, and widened and grew smooth, as the grandfather went up and the grandson came down. [illustration: old quimbey and his grandson] 'way down in lonesome cove one memorable night in lonesome cove the ranger of the county entered upon a momentous crisis in his life. what hour it was he could hardly have said, for the primitive household reckoned time by the sun when it shone, by the domestic routine when no better might be. it was late. the old crone in the chimney-corner nodded over her knitting. in the trundle-bed at the farther end of the shadowy room were transverse billows under the quilts, which intimated that the small children were numerous enough for the necessity of sleeping crosswise. he had smoked out many pipes, and at last knocked the cinder from the bowl. the great hickory logs had burned asunder and fallen from the stones that served as andirons. he began to slowly cover the embers with ashes, that the fire might keep till morning. his wife, a faded woman, grown early old, was bringing the stone jar of yeast to place close by the hearth, that it might not "take a chill" in some sudden change of the night. it was heavy, and she bent in carrying it. awkward, and perhaps nervous, she brought it sharply against the shovel in his hands. the clash roused the old crone in the corner. she recognized the situation instantly, and the features that sleep had relaxed into inexpressiveness took on a weary apprehension, which they wore like a habit. the man barely raised his surly black eyes, but his wife drew back humbly with a mutter of apology. the next moment the shovel was almost thrust out of his grasp. a tiny barefooted girl, in a straight unbleached cotton night-gown and a quaint little cotton night-cap, cavalierly pushed him aside, that she might cover in the hot ashes a burly sweet-potato, destined to slowly roast by morning. a long and careful job she made of it, and unconcernedly kept him waiting while she pottered back and forth about the hearth. she looked up once with an authoritative eye, and he hastily helped to adjust the potato with the end of the shovel. and then he glanced at her, incongruously enough, as if waiting for her autocratic nod of approval. she gravely accorded it, and pattered nimbly across the puncheon floor to the bed. "now," he drawled, in gruff accents, "ef you-uns hev all had yer fill o' foolin' with this hyar fire, i'll kiver it, like i hev started out ter do." at this moment there was a loud trampling upon the porch without. the batten door shook violently. the ranger sprang up. as he frowned the hair on his scalp, drawn forward, seemed to rise like bristles. "dad-burn that thar fresky filly!" he cried, angrily. "jes' brung her noisy bones up on that thar porch agin, an' her huffs will bust spang through the planks o' the floor the fust thing ye know." the narrow aperture, as he held the door ajar, showed outlined against the darkness the graceful head of a young mare, and once more hoof-beats resounded on the rotten planks of the porch. clouds were adrift in the sky. no star gleamed in the wide space high above the sombre mountains. on every side they encompassed lonesome cove, which seemed to have importunately thrust itself into the darkling solemnities of their intimacy. all at once the ranger let the door fly from his hand, and stood gazing in blank amazement. for there was a strange motion in the void vastnesses of the wilderness. they were creeping into view. how, he could not say, but the summit of the great mountain opposite was marvellously distinct against the sky. he saw the naked, gaunt, december woods. he saw the grim, gray crags. and yet lonesome cove below and the spurs on the other side were all benighted. a pale, flickering light was dawning in the clouds; it brightened, faded, glowed again, and their sad, gray folds assumed a vivid vermilion reflection, for there was a fire in the forest below. only these reactions of color on the clouds betokened its presence and its progress. sometimes a fluctuation of orange crossed them, then a glancing line of blue, and once more that living red hue which only a pulsating flame can bestow. "air it the comin' o' the jedgmint day, tobe?" asked his wife, in a meek whisper. "i'd be afraid so if i war ez big a sinner ez you-uns," he returned. "the woods air afire," the old woman declared, in a shrill voice. "they be a-soakin' with las' night's rain," he retorted, gruffly. the mare was standing near the porch. suddenly he mounted her and rode hastily off, without a word of his intention to the staring women in the doorway. he left freedom of speech behind him. "take yer bones along, then, ye tongue-tied catamount!" his wife's mother apostrophized him, with all the acrimony of long repression. "got no mo' politeness 'n a settin' hen," she muttered, as she turned back into the room. the young woman lingered wistfully. "i wisht he wouldn't go a-ridin' off that thar way 'thout lettin' we-uns know whar he air bound fur, an' when he'll kem back. he mought git hurt some ways roun' that thar fire--git overtook by it, mebbe." "ef he war roasted 'twould be mighty peaceful round in lonesome," the old crone exclaimed, rancorously. her daughter stood for a moment with the bar of the door in her hand, still gazing out at the flare in the sky. the unwonted emotion had conjured a change in the stereotyped patience in her face--even anxiety, even the acuteness of fear, seemed a less pathetic expression than that meek monotony bespeaking a broken spirit. as she lifted her eyes to the mountain one might wonder to see that they were so blue. in the many haggard lines drawn upon her face the effect of the straight lineaments was lost; but just now, embellished with a flush, she looked young--as young as her years. as she buttoned the door and put up the bar her mother's attention was caught by the change. peering at her critically, and shading her eyes with her hand from the uncertain flicker of the tallow dip, she broke out, passionately: "wa'al, 'genie, who would ever hev thought ez yer cake would be _all_ dough? sech a laffin', plump, spry gal ez ye useter be--fur all the worl' like a fresky young deer! an' sech a pack o' men ez ye hed the choice amongst! an' ter pick out tobe gryce an' marry him, an' kem 'way down hyar ter live along o' him in lonesome cove!" she chuckled aloud, not that she relished her mirth, but the harlequinade of fate constrained a laugh for its antics. the words recalled the past to eugenia; it rose visibly before her. she had had scant leisure to reflect that her life might have been ordered differently. in her widening eyes were new depths, a vague terror, a wild speculation, all struck aghast by its own temerity. "ye never said nuthin ter hender," she faltered. "i never knowed tobe, sca'cely. how's ennybody goin' ter know a man ez lived 'way off down hyar in lonesome cove?" her mother retorted, acridly, on the defensive. "he never courted _me_, nohows. all the word he gin me war, 'howdy,' an' i gin him no less." there was a pause. eugenia knelt on the hearth. she placed together the broken chunks, and fanned the flames with a turkey wing. "i won't kiver the fire yit," she said, thoughtfully. "he mought be chilled when he gits home." the feathery flakes of the ashes flew; they caught here and there in her brown hair. the blaze flared up, and flickered over her flushed, pensive face, and glowed in her large and brilliant eyes. "tobe said 'howdy,'" her mother bickered on. "i knowed by that ez he hed the gift o' speech, but he spent no mo' words on me." then, suddenly, with a change of tone: "i war a fool, though, ter gin my cornsent ter yer marryin' him, bein' ez ye war the only child i hed, an' i knowed i'd hev ter live with ye 'way down hyar in lonesome cove. i wish now ez ye bed abided by yer fust choice, an' married luke todd." eugenia looked up with a gathering frown. "i hev no call ter spen' words 'bout luke todd," she said, with dignity, "ez me an' him are both married ter other folks." "i never said ye hed," hastily replied the old woman, rebuked and embarrassed. presently, however, her vagrant speculation went recklessly on. "though ez ter luke's marryin', 'tain't wuth while ter set store on sech. the gal he found over thar in big fox valley favors ye ez close ez two black-eyed peas. that's why he married her. she looks precisely like ye useter look. an' she laffs the same. an' i reckon _she_ 'ain't hed no call ter quit laffin', 'kase he air a powerful easy-goin' man. leastways, he useter be when we-uns knowed him." "that ain't no sign," said eugenia. "a saafter-spoken body i never seen than tobe war when he fust kem a-courtin' round the settlemint." "sech ez that ain't goin' ter las' noways," dryly remarked the philosopher of the chimney-corner. this might seem rather a reflection upon the courting gentry in general than a personal observation. but eugenia's consciousness lent it point. "laws-a-massy," she said, "tobe ain't so rampagious, nohows, ez folks make him out. he air toler'ble peaceable, cornsiderin' ez nobody hev ever hed grit enough ter make a stand agin him, 'thout 'twar the cunnel thar." she glanced around at the little girl's face framed in the frill of her night-cap, and peaceful and infantile as it lay on the pillow. "whenst the cunnel war born," eugenia went on, languidly reminiscent, "tobe war powerful outed 'kase she war a gal. i reckon ye 'members ez how he said he hed no use for sech cattle ez that. an' when she tuk sick he 'lowed he seen no differ. 'jes ez well die ez live,' he said. an' bein' ailin', the cunnel tuk it inter her head ter holler. sech hollerin' we-uns hed never hearn with none o' the t'other chil'ren. the boys war nowhar. but a-fust it never 'sturbed tobe. he jes spoke out same ez he useter do at the t'others, 'shet up, ye pop-eyed buzzard!' wa'al, sir, the cunnel jes blinked at him, an' braced herself ez stiff, an' _yelled_! i 'lowed 'twould take off the roof. an' tobe said he'd wring her neck ef she warn't so mewlin'-lookin' an' peakèd. an' he tuk her up an' walked across the floor with her, an' she shet up; an' he walked back agin, an' she stayed shet up. ef he sot down fur a minit, she yelled so ez ye'd think ye'd be deef fur life, an' ye 'most hoped ye would be. so tobe war obleeged ter tote her agin ter git shet o' the noise. he got started on that thar 'forced march,' ez he calls it, an' he never could git off'n it. trot he must when the cunnel pleased. he 'lowed she reminded him o' that thar old cunnel that he sarved under in the wars. ef it killed the regiment, he got thar on time. sence then the cunnel jes gins tobe her orders, an' he moseys ter do 'em quick, jes like he war obleeged ter obey. i b'lieve he air, somehows." "wa'al, some day," said the disaffected old woman, assuming a port of prophetic wisdom, "tobe will find a differ. thar ain't no man so headin' ez don't git treated with perslimness by somebody some time. i knowed a man wunst ez owned fower horses an' cattle-critters quarryspondin', an' he couldn't prove ez he war too old ter be summonsed ter work on the road, an' war fined by the overseer 'cordin' ter law. tobe will git his wheel scotched yit, sure ez ye air born. somebody besides the cunnel will skeer up grit enough ter make a stand agin him. i dunno how other men kin sleep o' night, knowin' how he be always darin' folks ter differ with him, an' how brigaty he be. the bible 'pears ter me ter hev tobe in special mind when it gits ter mournin' 'bout'n the stiff-necked ones." * * * * * the spirited young mare that the ranger rode strove to assert herself against him now and then, as she went at a breakneck speed along the sandy bridle-path through the woods. how was she to know that the white-wanded young willow by the way-side was not some spiritual manifestation as it suddenly materialized in a broken beam from a rift in the clouds? but as she reared and plunged she felt his heavy hand and his heavy heel, and so forward again at a steady pace. the forests served to screen the strange light in the sky, and the lonely road was dark, save where the moonbeam was splintered and the mists loitered. presently there were cinders flying in the breeze, a smell of smoke pervaded the air, and the ranger forgot to curse the mare when she stumbled. "i wonder," he muttered, "what them no 'count half-livers o' town folks hev hed the shiftlessness ter let ketch afire thar!" as he neared the brink of the mountain he saw a dense column of smoke against the sky, and a break in the woods showed the little town--the few log houses, the "gyarden spots" about them, and in the centre of the square a great mass of coals, a flame flickering here and there, and two gaunt and tottering chimneys where once the court-house had stood. at some distance--for the heat was still intense--were grouped the slouching, spiritless figures of the mountaineers. on the porches of the houses, plainly visible in the unwonted red glow, were knots of women and children--ever and anon a brat in the scantiest of raiment ran nimbly in and out. the clouds still borrowed the light from below, and the solemn, leafless woods on one side were outlined distinctly against the reflection in the sky. the flare showed, too, the abrupt precipice on the other side, the abysmal gloom of the valley, the austere summit-line of the mountain beyond, and gave the dark mysteries of the night a sombre revelation, as in visible blackness it filled the illimitable space. the little mare was badly blown as the ranger sprang to the ground. he himself was panting with amazement and eagerness. "the stray-book!" he cried. "whar's the stray-book?" one by one the slow group turned, all looking at him with a peering expression as he loomed distorted through the shimmer of the heat above the bed of live coals and the hovering smoke. "whar's the stray-book?" he reiterated, imperiously. "whar's the court-house, i reckon ye mean to say," replied the sheriff--a burly mountaineer in brown jeans and high boots, on which the spurs jingled; for in his excitement he had put them on as mechanically as his clothes, as if they were an essential part of his attire. "naw, i _ain't_ meanin' ter say whar's the court-house," said the ranger, coming up close, with the red glow of the fire on his face, and his eyes flashing under the broad brim of his wool hat. he had a threatening aspect, and his elongated shadow, following him and repeating the menace of his attitude, seemed to back him up. "ye air sech a triflin', slack-twisted tribe hyar in town, ez ennybody would know ef a spark cotched fire ter suthin, ye'd set an' suck yer paws, an' eye it till it bodaciously burnt up the court-house--sech a dad-burned lazy set o' half-livers ye be! i never axed 'bout'n the court-house. i want ter know whar's that thar stray-book," he concluded, inconsequently. "tobe gryce, ye air fairly demented," exclaimed the register--a chin-whiskered, grizzled old fellow, sitting on a stump and hugging his knee with a desolate, bereaved look--"talkin' 'bout the _stray-book_, an' all the records gone! what will folks do 'bout thar deeds, an' mortgages, an' sech? an' that thar keerful index ez i had made--ez straight ez a string--all cinders!" he shook his head, mourning alike for the party of the first part and the party of the second part, and the vestiges of all that they had agreed together. "an' ye ter kem mopin' hyar this time o' night arter the _stray-book_," said the sheriff. "shucks!" and he turned aside and spat disdainfully on the ground. "i want that thar stray-book!" cried gryce, indignantly. "ain't nobody seen it?" then realizing the futility of the question, he yielded to a fresh burst of anger, and turned upon the bereaved register. "an' did ye jes set thar an' say, 'good mister fire, don't burn the records; what'll folks do 'bout thar deeds an' sech?' an' hold them claws o' yourn, an' see the court-house burn up, with that thar stray-book in it?" half a dozen men spoke up. "the fire tuk inside, an' the court-house war haffen gone 'fore 'twar seen," said one, in sulky extenuation. "leave tobe be--let him jaw!" said another, cavalierly. "tobe 'pears ter be sp'ilin' fur a fight," said a third, impersonally, as if to direct the attention of any belligerent in the group to the opportunity. the register had an expression of slow cunning as he cast a glance up at the overbearing ranger. "what ailed the stray-book ter bide hyar in the court-house all night, tobe? couldn't ye gin it house-room? thar warn't no special need fur it to be hyar." tobe gryce's face showed that for once he was at a loss. he glowered down at the register and said nothing. "ez ter me," resumed that worthy, "by the law o' the land my books war obligated ter be thar." he quoted, mournfully, "'shall at all times be and remain in his office.'" he gathered up his knee again and subsided into silence. all the freakish spirits of the air were a-loose in the wind. in fitful gusts they rushed up the gorge, then suddenly the boughs would fall still again, and one could hear the eerie rout a-rioting far off down the valley. now and then the glow of the fire would deepen, the coals tremble, and with a gleaming, fibrous swirl, like a garment of flames, a sudden animation would sweep over it, as if an apparition had passed, leaving a line of flying sparks to mark its trail. "i'm goin' home," drawled tobe gryce, presently. "i don't keer a frog's toe-nail ef the whole settlemint burns bodaciously up; 'tain't nuthin ter me. i hev never hankered ter live in towns an' git tuk up with town ways, an' set an' view the court-house like the apple o' my eye. we-uns don't ketch fire down in the cove, though mebbe we ain't so peart ez folks ez herd tergether like sheep an' sech." the footfalls of the little black mare annotated the silence of the place as he rode away into the darkling woods. the groups gradually disappeared from the porches. the few voices that sounded at long intervals were low and drowsy. the red fire smouldered in the centre of the place, and sometimes about it appeared so doubtful a shadow that it could hardly argue substance. far away a dog barked, and then all was still. presently the great mountains loom aggressively along the horizon. the black abysses, the valleys and coves, show duncolored verges and grow gradually distinct, and on the slopes the ash and the pine and the oak are all lustrous with a silver rime. the mists are rising, the wind springs up anew, the clouds set sail, and a beam slants high. * * * * * "what i want ter know," said a mountaineer newly arrived on the scene, sitting on the verge of the precipice, and dangling his long legs over the depths beneath, "air how do folks ez live 'way down in lonesome cove, an' who nobody knowed nuthin about noways, ever git 'lected ranger o' the county, ennyhow. i ain't s'prised none ter hear 'bout tobe gryce's goin's-on hyar las' night. i hev looked fur more'n that." "wa'al, i'll tell ye," replied the register. "nuthin' but favoritism in the county court. ranger air 'lected by the jestices. ye know," he added, vainglorious of his own tenure of office by the acclaiming voice of the sovereign people, "ranger ain't 'lected, like the register, by pop'lar vote." a slow smoke still wreathed upward from the charred ruins of the court-house. gossiping groups stood here and there, mostly the jeans-clad mountaineers, but there were a few who wore "store clothes," being lawyers from more sophisticated regions of the circuit. court had been in session the previous day. the jury, serving in a criminal case--still strictly segregated, and in charge of an officer--were walking about wearily in double file, waiting with what patience they might their formal discharge. the sheriff's dog, a great yellow cur, trotted in the rear. when the officer was first elected, this animal, observing the change in his master's habits, deduced his own conclusions. he seemed to think the court-house belonged to the sheriff, and thence-forward guarded the door with snaps and growls; being a formidable brute, his idiosyncrasies invested the getting into and getting out of law with abnormal difficulties. now, as he followed the disconsolate jury, he bore the vigilant mien with which he formerly drove up the cows, and if a juror loitered or stepped aside from the path, the dog made a slow detour as if to round him in, and the melancholy cortége wandered on as before. more than one looked wistfully at the group on the crag, for it was distinguished by that sprightly interest which scandal excites so readily. "ter my way of thinkin'," drawled sam peters, swinging his feet over the giddy depths of the valley, "tobe ain't sech ez oughter be set over the county ez a ranger, noways. 'pears not ter me, an' i hev been keepin' my eye on him mighty sharp." a shadow fell among the group, and a man sat down on a bowlder hard by. he, too, had just arrived, being lured to the town by the news of the fire. his slide had been left at the verge of the clearing, and one of the oxen had already lain down; the other, although hampered by the yoke thus diagonally displaced, stood meditatively gazing at the distant blue mountains. their master nodded a slow, grave salutation to the group, produced a plug of tobacco, gnawed a fragment from it, and restored it to his pocket. he had a pensive face, with an expression which in a man of wider culture we should discriminate as denoting sensibility. he had long yellow hair that hung down to his shoulders, and a tangled yellow beard. there was something at once wistful and searching in his gray eyes, dull enough, too, at times. he lifted them heavily, and they had a drooping lid and lash. there seemed an odd incongruity between this sensitive, weary face and his stalwart physique. he was tall and well proportioned. a leather belt girded his brown jeans coat. his great cowhide boots were drawn to the knee over his trousers. his pose, as he leaned on the rock, had a muscular picturesqueness. "who be ye a-talkin' about?" he drawled. peters relished his opportunity. he laughed in a distorted fashion, his pipe-stem held between his teeth. "_you-uns_ ain't wantin' ter swop lies 'bout sech ez him, luke! we war a-talkin' 'bout tobe gryce." the color flared into the new-comer's face. a sudden animation fired his eye. "tobe gryce air jes the man i'm always wantin' ter hear a word about. jes perceed with yer rat-killin'. i'm with ye." and luke todd placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward with an air of attention. peters looked at him, hardly comprehending this ebullition. it was not what he had expected to elicit. no one laughed. his fleer was wide of the mark. "wa'al"--he made another effort--"tobe, we war jes sayin', ain't fitten fur ter be ranger o' the county. he be ez peart in gittin' ter own other folkses' stray cattle ez he war in courtin' other folkses' sweetheart, an', ef the truth mus' be knowed, in marryin' her." he suddenly twisted round, in some danger of falling from his perch. "i want ter ax one o' them thar big-headed lawyers a question on a p'int o' law," he broke off, abruptly. "what be tobe gryce a-doin' of now?" asked luke todd, with eager interest in the subject. "wa'al," resumed peters, nowise loath to return to the gossip, "tobe, ye see, air the ranger o' this hyar county, an' by law all the stray horses ez air tuk up by folks hev ter be reported ter him, an' appraised by two householders, an' swore to afore the magistrate an' be advertised by the ranger, an' ef they ain't claimed 'fore twelve months, the taker-up kin pay into the county treasury one-haffen the appraisement an' hev the critter fur his'n. an' the owner can't prove it away arter that." "thanky," said luke todd, dryly. "s'pose ye teach yer gran'mammy ter suck aigs. i knowed all that afore." peters was abashed, and with some difficulty collected himself. "an' i knowed ye knowed it, luke," he hastily conceded. "but hyar be what i'm a-lookin' at--the law 'ain't got no pervision fur a stray horse ez kem of a dark night, 'thout nobody's percuremint, ter the ranger's own house. now, the p'int o' law ez i wanted ter ax the lawyers 'bout air this--kin the ranger be the ranger an' the taker-up too?" he turned his eyes upon the great landscape lying beneath, flooded with the chill matutinal sunshine, and flecked here and there with the elusive shadows of the fleecy drifting clouds. far away the long horizontal lines of the wooded spurs, converging on either side of the valley and rising one behind the other, wore a subdued azure, all unlike the burning blue of summer, and lay along the calm, passionless sky, that itself was of a dim, repressed tone. on the slopes nearer, the leafless boughs, massed together, had purplish-garnet depths of color wherever the sunshine struck aslant, and showed richly against the faintly tinted horizon. here and there among the boldly jutting gray crags hung an evergreen-vine, and from a gorge on the opposite mountain gleamed a continuous flash, like the waving of a silver plume, where a cataract sprang down the rocks. in the depths of the valley, a field in which crab-grass had grown in the place of the harvested wheat showed a tiny square of palest yellow, and beside it a red clay road, running over a hill, was visible. above all a hawk was flying. "afore the winter fairly set in las' year," peters resumed, presently, "a stray kem ter tobe's house. he 'lowed ter me ez he fund her a-standin' by the fodder-stack a-pullin' off'n it. an' he 'quired round, an' he never hearn o' no owner. i reckon he never axed outside o' lonesome," he added, cynically. he puffed industriously at his pipe for a few moments; then continued: "wa'al, he 'lowed he couldn't feed the critter fur fun. an' he couldn't work her till she war appraised an' sech, that bein' agin the law fur strays. so he jes ondertook ter be ranger an' taker-up too--the bangedest consarn in the kentry! ef the leetle mare hed been wall-eyed, or lame, or ennything, he wouldn't hev wanted ter be ranger an' taker-up too. but she air the peartest little beastis--she war jes bridle-wise when she fust kem--young an' spry!" luke todd was about to ask a question, but peters, disregarding him, persisted: "wa'al, tobe tuk up the beastis, an' i reckon he reported her ter hisself, bein' the ranger--the critter makes me laff--an' he hed that thar old haffen-blind uncle o' his'n an' perkins bates, ez be never sober, ter appraise the vally o' the mare, an' i s'pose he delivered thar certificate ter hisself, an' i reckon he tuk oath that she kem 'thout his procure_mint_ ter his place, in the presence o' the ranger." "i reckon thar ain't no law agin the ranger's bein' a ranger an' a taker-up too," put in one of the bystanders. "'tain't like a sher'ff's buyin' at his own sale. an' he hed ter pay haffen her vally into the treasury o' the county arter twelve months, ef the owner never proved her away." "thar ain't no sign he ever paid a cent," said peters, with a malicious grin, pointing at the charred remains of the court-house, "an' the treasurer air jes dead." "wa'al, tobe hed ter make a report ter the jedge o' the county court every six months." "the papers of his office air cinders," retorted peters. "wa'al, then," argued the optimist, "the stray-book will show ez she war reported an' sech." "the ranger took mighty partic'lar pains ter hev his stray-book in that thar court-house when 'twar burnt." there was a long pause while the party sat ruminating upon the suspicions thus suggested. luke todd heard them, not without a thrill of satisfaction. he found them easy to adopt. and he, too, had a disposition to theorize. "it takes a mighty mean man ter steal a horse," he said. "stealin' a horse air powerful close ter murder. folkses' lives fairly depend on a horse ter work thar corn an' sech, an' make a support fur em. i hev knowed folks ter kem mighty close ter starvin' through hevin thar horse stole. why, even that thar leetle filly of our'n, though she hedn't been fairly bruk ter the plough, war mightily missed. we-uns hed ter make out with the old sorrel, ez air nigh fourteen year old, ter work the crap, an' we war powerful disapp'inted. but we ain't never fund no trace o' the filly sence she war tolled off one night las' fall a year ago." the hawk floating above the valley and its winged shadow disappeared together in the dense glooms of a deep gorge. luke todd watched them as they vanished. suddenly he lifted his eyes. they were wide with a new speculation. an angry flare blazed in them. "what sort'n beastis is this hyar mare ez the ranger tuk up?" he asked. peters looked at him, hardly comprehending his tremor of excitement. "seems sorter sizable," he replied, sibilantly, sucking his pipe-stem. todd nodded meditatively several times, leaning his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on the landscape. "hev she got enny partic'lar marks, ez ye knows on?" he drawled. "wa'al, she be ez black ez a crow, with the nigh fore-foot white. an' she hev got a white star spang in the middle o' her forehead, an' the left side o' her nose is white too." todd rose suddenly to his feet. "by gum!" he cried, with a burst of passion, "she air _my_ filly! an' 'twar that thar durned horse-thief of a ranger ez tolled her off!" * * * * * deep among the wooded spurs lonesome cove nestles, sequestered from the world. naught emigrates thence except an importunate stream that forces its way through a rocky gap, and so to freedom beyond. no stranger intrudes; only the moon looks in once in a while. the roaming wind may explore its solitudes; and it is but the vertical sunbeams that strike to the heart of the little basin, because of the massive mountains that wall it round and serve to isolate it. so nearly do they meet at the gap that one great assertive crag, beetling far above, intercepts the view of the wide landscape beyond, leaving its substituted profile jaggedly serrating the changing sky. above it, when the weather is fair, appear vague blue lines, distant mountain summits, cloud strata, visions. below its jutting verge may be caught glimpses of the widening valley without. but pre-eminent, gaunt, sombre, it sternly dominates "lonesome," and is the salient feature of the little world it limits. tobe gryce's house, gray, weather-beaten, moss-grown, had in comparison an ephemeral, modern aspect. for a hundred years its inmates had come and gone and lived and died. they took no heed of the crag, but never a sound was lost upon it. their drawling iterative speech the iterative echoes conned. the ringing blast of a horn set astir some phantom chase in the air. when the cows came lowing home, there were lowing herds in viewless company. even if one of the children sat on a rotting log crooning a vague, fragmentary ditty, some faint-voiced spirit in the rock would sing. lonesome cove?--home of invisible throngs! as the ranger trotted down the winding road, multitudinous hoof-beats, as of a troop of cavalry, heralded his approach to the little girl who stood on the porch of the log-cabin and watched for him. "hy're, cunnel!" he cried, cordially. but the little "colonel" took no heed. she looked beyond him at the vague blue mountains, against which the great grim rock was heavily imposed, every ledge, every waving dead crisp weed, distinct. he noticed the smoke curling briskly up in the sunshine from the clay and stick chimney. he strode past her into the house, as eugenia, with all semblance of youth faded from her countenance, haggard and hollow-eyed in the morning light, was hurrying the corn-dodgers and venison steak on the table. perhaps he did not appreciate that the women were pining with curiosity, for he vouchsafed no word of the excitements in the little town; and he himself was ill at ease. "what ails the cunnel, 'genie?" he asked, presently, glancing up sharply from under his hat brim, and speaking with his mouth full. "the cat 'pears ter hev got her tongue," said eugenia, intending that the "colonel" should hear, and perhaps profit. "she ain't able ter talk none this mornin'." the little body cast so frowning a glance upon them as she stood in the doorway that her expression was but slightly less lowering than her father's. it was an incongruous demonstration, with her infantile features, her little yellow head, and the slight physical force she represented. she wore a blue cotton frock, fastened up the back with great horn buttons; she had on shoes laced with leather strings; one of her blue woollen stockings fell over her ankle, disclosing the pinkest of plump calves; the other stocking was held in place by an unabashed cotton string. she had a light in her dark eyes and a color in her cheek, and albeit so slight a thing, she wielded a strong coercion. "laws-a-massy, cunnel!" said tobe, in a harried manner, "couldn't ye find me nowhar? i'm powerful sorry. i couldn't git back hyar no sooner." but not in this wise was she to be placated. she fixed her eyes upon him, but made no sign. he suddenly rose from his half-finished breakfast. "look-a-hyar, cunnel," he cried, joyously, "don't ye want ter ride the filly?--ye knew ye hanker ter ride the filly." even then she tried to frown, but the bliss of the prospect overbore her. her cheek and chin dimpled, and there was a gurgling display of two rows of jagged little teeth as the doughty "colonel" was swung to his shoulder and he stepped out of the door. he laughed as he stood by the glossy black mare and lifted the child to the saddle. the animal arched her neck and turned her head and gazed back at him curiously. "hold on tight, cunnel," he said as he looked up at her, his face strangely softened almost beyond recognition. and she gurgled and laughed and screamed with delight as he began to slowly lead the mare along. the "colonel" had the gift of continuance. some time elapsed before she exhausted the joys of exaltation. more than once she absolutely refused to dismount. tobe patiently led the beast up and down, and the "colonel" rode in state. it was only when the sun had grown high, and occasionally she was fain to lift her chubby hands to her eyes, imperiling her safety on the saddle, that he ventured to seriously remonstrate, and finally she permitted herself to be assisted to the ground. when, with the little girl at his heels, he reached the porch, he took off his hat, and wiped the perspiration from his brow with his great brown hand. "i tell ye, jouncin' round arter the cunnel air powerful hot work," he declared. the next moment he paused. his wife had come to the door, and there was a strange expression of alarm among the anxious lines of her face. "tobe," she said, in a bated voice, "who war them men?" he stared at her, whirled about, surveyed the vacant landscape, and once more turned dumfounded toward her. "what men?" he asked. "them men ez acted so cur'ous," she said. "i couldn't see thar faces plain, an' i dunno who they war." "whar war they?" and he looked over his shoulder once more. "yander along the ledges of the big rock. thar war two of 'em, hidin' ahint that thar jagged aidge. an' ef yer back war turned they'd peep out at ye an' the cunnel ridin'. but whenst ye would face round agin, they'd drap down ahint the aidge o' the rock. i 'lowed wunst ez i'd holler ter ye, but i war feared ye moughtn't keer ter know." her voice fell in its deprecatory cadence. he stood in silent perplexity. "ye air a fool, 'genie, an' ye never seen nuthin'. nobody hev got enny call ter spy on me." he stepped in-doors, took down his rifle from the rack, and went out frowning into the sunlight. the suggestion of mystery angered him. he had a vague sense of impending danger. as he made his way along the slope toward the great beetling crag all his faculties were on the alert. he saw naught unusual when he stood upon its dark-seamed summit, and he went cautiously to the verge and looked down at the many ledges. they jutted out at irregular intervals, the first only six feet below, and all accessible enough to an expert climber. a bush grew in a niche. an empty nest, riddled by the wind, hung dishevelled from a twig. coarse withered grass tufted the crevices. far below he saw the depths of the cove--the tops of the leafless trees, and, glimpsed through the interlacing boughs, the rush of a mountain rill, and a white flash as a sunbeam slanted on the foam. he was turning away, all incredulous, when with a sudden start he looked back. on one of the ledges was a slight depression. it was filled with sand and earth. imprinted upon it was the shape of a man's foot. the ranger paused and gazed fixedly at it. "wa'al, by the lord!" he exclaimed, under his breath. presently, "but they hev no call!" he argued. then once more, softly, "by the lord!" the mystery baffled him. more than once that day he went up to the crag and stood and stared futilely at the footprint. conjecture had license and limitations, too. as the hours wore on he became harassed by the sense of espionage. he was a bold man before the foes he knew, but this idea of inimical lurking, of furtive scrutiny for unknown purposes, preyed upon him. he brooded over it as he sat idle by the fire. once he went to the door and stared speculatively at the great profile of the cliff. the sky above it was all a lustrous amber, for the early sunset of the shortest days of the year was at hand. the mountains, seen partly above and partly below it, wore a glamourous purple. there were clouds, and from their rifts long divergent lines of light slanted down upon the valley, distinct among their shadows. the sun was not visible--only in the western heavens was a half-veiled effulgence too dazzlingly white to be gazed upon. the ranger shaded his eyes with his hand. no motion, no sound; for the first time in his life the unutterable loneliness of the place impressed him. "'genie," he said, suddenly, looking over his shoulder within the cabin, "be you-uns _sure_ ez they war--_folks_?" "i dunno what you mean," she faltered, her eyes dilated. "they _looked_ like folks." "i reckon they war," he said, reassuring himself. "the lord knows i hope they war." * * * * * that night the wind rose. the stars all seemed to have burst from their moorings, and were wildly adrift in the sky. there was a broken tumult of billowy clouds, and the moon tossed hopelessly amongst them, a lunar wreck, sometimes on her beam ends, sometimes half submerged, once more gallantly struggling to the surface, and again sunk. the bare boughs of the trees beat together in a dirge-like monotone. now and again a leaf went sibilantly whistling past. the wild commotion of the heavens and earth was visible, for the night was not dark. the ranger, standing within the rude stable of unhewn logs, all undaubed, noted how pale were the horizontal bars of gray light alternating with the black logs of the wall. he was giving the mare a feed of corn, but he had not brought his lantern, as was his custom. that mysterious espionage had in some sort shaken his courage, and he felt the obscurity a shield. he had brought, instead, his rifle. the equine form was barely visible among the glooms. now and then, as the mare noisily munched, she lifted a hoof and struck it upon the ground with a dull thud. how the gusts outside were swirling up the gorge! the pines swayed and sighed. again the boughs of the chestnut-oak above the roof crashed together. did a fitful blast stir the door? he lifted his eyes mechanically. a cold thrill ran through every fibre. for there, close by the door, somebody--something--was peering through the space between the logs of the wall. the face was invisible, but the shape of a man's head was distinctly defined. he realized that it was no supernatural manifestation when a husky voice began to call the mare, in a hoarse whisper, "cobe! cobe! cobe!" with a galvanic start he was about to spring forward to hold the door. a hand from without was laid upon it. he placed the muzzle of his gun between the logs, a jet of red light was suddenly projected into the darkness, the mare was rearing and plunging violently, the little shanty was surcharged with roar and reverberation, and far and wide the crags and chasms echoed the report of the rifle. there was a vague clamor outside, an oath, a cry of pain. hasty footfalls sounded among the dead leaves and died in the distance. when the ranger ventured out he saw the door of his house wide open, and the firelight flickering out among the leafless bushes. his wife met him halfway down the hill. "air ye hurt, tobe?" she cried. "did yer gun go off suddint?" "mighty suddint," he replied, savagely. "ye didn't fire it a-purpose?" she faltered. "edzactly so," he declared. "ye never hurt nobody, did ye, tobe?" she had turned very pale. "i 'lowed it couldn't be the wind ez i hearn a-hollerin'." "i hopes an' prays i hurt 'em," he said, as he replaced the rifle in the rack. he was shaking the other hand, which had been jarred in some way by the hasty discharge of the weapon. "some dad-burned horse-thief war arter the mare. jedgin' from the sound o' thar runnin', 'peared like to me ez thar mought be two o' 'em." the next day the mare disappeared from the stable. yet she could not be far off, for tobe was about the house most of the time, and when he and the "colonel" came in-doors in the evening the little girl held in her hand a half-munched ear of corn, evidently abstracted from the mare's supper. "whar be the filly hid, tobe?" eugenia asked, curiosity overpowering her. "ax me no questions an' i'll tell ye no lies," he replied, gruffly. in the morning there was a fall of snow, and she had some doubt whether her mother, who had gone several days before to a neighbor's on the summit of the range, would return; but presently the creak of unoiled axles heralded the approach of a wagon, and soon the old woman, bundled in shawls, was sitting by the fire. she wore heavy woollen socks over her shoes as protection against the snow. the incompatibility of the shape of the hose with the human foot was rather marked, and as they were somewhat inelastic as well, there was a muscular struggle to get them off only exceeded by the effort which had been required to get them on. she shook her head again and again, with a red face, as she bent over the socks, but plainly more than this discomfort vexed her. "laws-a-massy, 'genie! i hearn a awful tale over yander 'mongst them jenkins folks. ye oughter hev married luke todd, an' so i tole ye an' fairly beset ye ter do ten year ago. _he_ keered fur ye. an' tobe--shucks! wa'al, laws-a-massy, child! i hearn a awful tale 'bout tobe up yander at jenkinses'." eugenia colored. "folks hed better take keer how they talk 'bout tobe," she said, with a touch of pride. "they be powerful keerful ter do it out'n rifle range." with one more mighty tug the sock came off, the red face was lifted, and mrs. pearce shook her head ruefully. "the bible say 'words air foolishness.' ye dunno what ye air talkin' 'bout, child." with this melancholy preamble she detailed the gossip that had arisen at the county town and pervaded the country-side. eugenia commented, denied, flashed into rage, then lapsed into silence. although it did not constrain credulity, there was something that made her afraid when her mother said: "ye hed better not be talkin' 'bout rifle range so brash, 'genie, nohows. they 'lowed ez luke todd an' sam peters kem hyar--'twar jes night before las'--aimin' ter take the mare away 'thout no words an' no lawin', 'kase they didn't want ter wait. luke hed got a chance ter view the mare, an' knowed ez she war his'n. an' tobe war hid in the dark beside the mare, an' fired at 'em, an' the rifle-ball tuk sam right through the beam o' his arm. i reckon, though, ez that warn't true, else ye would hev knowed it." she looked up anxiously over her spectacles at her daughter. "i hearn tobe shoot," faltered eugenia. "i seen blood on the leaves." "laws-a-massy!" exclaimed the old woman, irritably. "i be fairly feared ter bide hyar; 'twouldn't s'prise me none ef they kem hyar an' hauled tobe out an' lynched him an' sech, an' who knows who mought git hurt in the scrimmage?" they both fell silent as the ranger strode in. they would need a braver heart than either bore to reveal to him the suspicions of horse-stealing sown broadcast over the mountain. eugenia felt that this in itself was coercive evidence of his innocence. who dared so much as say a word to his face? the weight of the secret asserted itself, however. as she went about her accustomed tasks, all bereft of their wonted interest, vapid and burdensome, she carried so woe-begone a face that it caught his attention, and he demanded, angrily, "what ails ye ter look so durned peakèd?" this did not abide long in his memory, however, and it cost her a pang to see him so unconscious. she went out upon the porch late that afternoon to judge of the weather. snow was falling again. the distant summits had disappeared. the mountains near at hand loomed through the myriads of serried white flakes. a crow flew across the cove in its midst. it heavily thatched the cabin, and tufts dislodged by the opening of the door fell down upon her hair. drifts lay about the porch. each rail of the fence was laden. the ground, the rocks, were deeply covered. she reflected with satisfaction that the red splotch of blood on the dead leaves was no longer visible. then a sudden idea struck her that took her breath away. she came in, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, with an excited dubitation. her husband commented on the change. "ye air a powerful cur'ous critter, 'genie," he said: "a while ago ye looked some fower or five hundred year old--now ye favors yerself when i fust kem a-courtin' round the settlemint." she hardly knew whether the dull stir in her heart were pleasure or pain. her eyes filled with tears, and the irradiated iris shone through them with a liquid lustre. she could not speak. her mother took ephemeral advantage of his softening mood. "ye useter be mighty perlite and saaft-spoken in them days, tobe," she ventured. "i hed ter be," he admitted, frankly, "'kase thar war sech a many o' them mealy-mouthed cusses a-waitin' on 'genie. the kentry 'peared ter me ter bristle with luke todd; he 'minded me o' brumsaidge--_everywhar_ ye seen his yaller head, ez homely an' ez onwelcome." "i never wunst gin luke a thought arter ye tuk ter comin' round the settlemint," eugenia said, softly. "i wisht i hed knowed that then," he replied; "else i wouldn't hev been so all-fired oneasy an' beset. i wasted mo' time a-studyin' 'bout ye an' luke todd 'n ye war both wuth, an' went 'thout my vittles an' sot up o' nights. ef i hed spent that time a-moanin' fur my sins an' settin' my soul at peace, i'd be 'quirin' roun' the throne o' grace now! young folks air powerful fursaken fools." somehow her heart was warmer for this allusion. she was more hopeful. her resolve grew stronger and stronger as she sat and knitted, and looked at the fire and saw among the coals all her old life at the settlement newly aglow. she was remembering now that luke todd had been as wax in her hands. she recalled that when she was married there was a gleeful "sayin'" going the rounds of the mountain that he had taken to the woods with grief, and he was heard of no more for weeks. the gossips relished his despair as the corollary of the happy bridal. he had had no reproaches for her. he had only looked the other way when they met, and she had not spoken to him since. "he set store by my word in them days," she said to herself, her lips vaguely moving. "i misdoubts ef he hev furgot." all through the long hours of the winter night she silently canvassed her plan. the house was still noiseless and dark when she softly opened the door and softly closed it behind her. it had ceased to snow, and the sky had cleared. the trees, all the limbs whitened, were outlined distinctly upon it, and through the boughs overhead a brilliant star, aloof and splendid, looked coldly down. along dark spaces orion had drawn his glittering blade. above the snowy mountains a melancholy waning moon was swinging. the valley was full of mist, white and shining where the light fell upon it, a vaporous purple where the shadows held sway. so still it was! the only motion in all the world the throbbing stars and her palpitating heart. so solemnly silent! it was a relief, as she trudged on and on, to note a gradual change; to watch the sky withdraw, seeming fainter; to see the moon grow filmy, like some figment of the frost; to mark the gray mist steal on apace, wrap mountain, valley, and heaven with mystic folds, shut out all vision of things familiar. through it only the sense of dawn could creep. * * * * * she recognized the locality; her breath was short; her step quickened. she appeared, like an apparition out of the mists, close to a fence, and peered through the snow-laden rails. a sudden pang pierced her heart. for there, within the enclosure, milking the cow, she saw, all blooming in the snow--herself; the azalea-like girl she had been! she had not known how dear to her was that bright young identity she remembered. she had not realized how far it had gone from her. she felt a forlorn changeling looking upon her own estranged estate. a faint cry escaped her. the cow, with lifted head and a muttered low of surprise, moved out of reach of the milker, who, half kneeling upon the ground, stared with wide blue eyes at her ghost in the mist. there was a pause. it was only a moment before eugenia spoke; it seemed years, so charged it was with retrospect. "i kem over hyar ter hev a word with ye," she said. at the sound of a human voice luke todd's wife struggled to her feet. she held the piggin with one arm encircled about it, and with the other hand she clutched the plaid shawl around her throat. her bright hair was tossed by the rising wind. "i 'lowed i'd find ye hyar a-milkin' 'bout now." the homely allusion reassured the younger woman. "i hev ter begin toler'ble early," she said. "spot gins 'bout a gallon a milkin' now." spot's calf, which subsisted on what was left over, seemed to find it cruel that delay should be added to his hardships, and he lifted up his voice in a plaintive remonstrance. this reminded mrs. todd of his existence; she turned and let down the bars that served to exclude him. the stranger was staring at her very hard. somehow she quailed under that look. though it was fixed upon her in unvarying intensity, it had a strange impersonality. this woman was not seeing her, despite that wide, wistful, yearning gaze; she was thinking of something else, seeing some one else. and suddenly luke todd's wife began to stare at the visitor very hard, and to think of something that was not before her. "i be the ranger's wife," said eugenia. "i kem over hyar ter tell ye he never tuk yer black mare nowise but honest, bein' the ranger." she found it difficult to say more. under that speculative, unseeing look she too faltered. "they tell me ez luke todd air powerful outed 'bout'n it. an' i 'lowed ef he knowed from me ez 'twar tuk fair, he'd b'lieve me." she hesitated. her courage was flagging; her hope had fled. the eyes of the man's wife burned upon her face. "we-uns useter be toler'ble well 'quainted 'fore he ever seen ye, an' i 'lowed he'd b'lieve my word," eugenia continued. another silence. the sun was rising; long liquescent lines of light of purest amber-color were streaming through the snowy woods; the shadows of the fence rails alternated with bars of dazzling glister; elusive prismatic gleams of rose and lilac and blue shimmered on every slope--thus the winter flowered. tiny snow-birds were hopping about; a great dog came down from the little snow-thatched cabin, and was stretching himself elastically and yawning most portentously. "an' i 'lowed i'd see ye an' git you-uns ter tell him that word from me, an' then he'd b'lieve it," said eugenia. the younger woman nodded mechanically, still gazing at her. and was this her mission! somehow it had lost its urgency. where was its potency, her enthusiasm? eugenia realized that her feet were wet, her skirts draggled; that she was chilled to the bone and trembling violently. she looked about her doubtfully. then her eyes came back to the face of the woman before her. "ye'll tell him, i s'pose?" once more luke todd's wife nodded mechanically, still staring. there was nothing further to be said. a vacant interval ensued. then, "i 'lowed i'd tell ye," eugenia reiterated, vaguely, and turned away, vanishing with the vanishing mists. luke todd's wife stood gazing at the fence through which the apparition had peered. she could see yet her own face there, grown old and worn. the dog wagged his tail and pressed against her, looking up and claiming her notice. once more he stretched himself elastically and yawned widely, with shrill variations of tone. the calf was frisking about in awkward bovine elation, and now and then the cow affectionately licked its coat with the air of making its toilet. an assertive chanticleer was proclaiming the dawn within the hen-house, whence came too an impatient clamor, for the door, which served to exclude any marauding fox, was still closed upon the imprisoned poultry. still she looked steadily at the fence where the ranger's wife had stood. "that thar woman favors me," she said, presently. and suddenly she burst into tears. perhaps it was well that eugenia could not see luke todd's expression as his wife recounted the scene. she gave it truly, but without, alas! the glamour of sympathy. "she 'lowed ez ye'd b'lieve her, bein' ez ye useter be 'quainted." his face flushed. "wa'al, sir! the insurance o' that thar woman!" he exclaimed. "i war 'quainted with her; i war mighty well 'quainted with her." he had a casual remembrance of those days when "he tuk ter the woods ter wear out his grief." "she never gin me no promise, but me an' her war courtin' some. sech dependence ez i put on her war mightily wasted. i dunno what ails the critter ter 'low ez i set store by her word." poor eugenia! there is nothing so dead as ashes. his flame had clean burned out. so far afield were all his thoughts that he stood amazed when his wife, with a sudden burst of tears, declared passionately that she knew it--she saw it--she favored eugenia gryce. she had found out that he had married her because she looked like another woman. "'genie gryce hev got powerful little ter do ter kem a-jouncin' through the snow over hyar ter try ter set ye an' me agin one another," he exclaimed, angrily. "stealin' the filly ain't enough ter sati'fy her!" his wife was in some sort mollified. she sought to reassure herself. "air we-uns of a favor?" "i dunno," he replied, sulkily. "i 'ain't seen the critter fur nigh on ter ten year. i hev furgot the looks of her. 'pears like ter me," he went on, ruminating, "ez 'twar in my mind when i fust seen ye ez thar war a favor 'twixt ye. but i misdoubts now. do she 'low ez i hev hed nuthin ter study 'bout sence?" perhaps eugenia is not the only woman who overrates the strength of a sentimental attachment. a gloomy intuition of failure kept her company all the lengthening way home. the chill splendors of the wintry day grated upon her dreary mood. how should she care for the depth and richness of the blue deepening toward the zenith in those vast skies? what was it to her that the dead vines, climbing the grim rugged crags, were laden with tufts and corollated shapes wherever these fantasies of flowers might cling, or that the snow flashed with crystalline scintillations? she only knew that they glimmered and dazzled upon the tears in her eyes, and she was moved to shed them afresh. she did not wonder whether her venture had resulted amiss. she only wondered that she had tried aught. and she was humbled. when she reached lonesome cove she found the piggin where she had hid it, and milked the cow in haste. it was no great task, for the animal was going dry. "their'n gins a gallon a milkin'," she said, in rueful comparison. as she came up the slope with the piggin on her head, her husband was looking down from the porch with a lowering brow. "why n't ye spen' the day a-milkin' the cow?" he drawled. "dawdlin' yander in the cow-pen till this time in the mornin'! an' ter-morrer's chrismus!" the word smote upon her weary heart with a dull pain. she had no cultured phrase to characterize the sensation as a presentiment, but she was conscious of the prophetic process. to-night "all the mounting" would be riotous with that dubious hilarity known as "chrismus in the bones," and there was no telling what might come from the combined orgy and an inflamed public spirit. she remembered the familiar doom of the mountain horse-thief, the men lurking on the cliff, the inimical feeling against the ranger. she furtively watched him with forebodings as he came and went at intervals throughout the day. dusk had fallen when he suddenly looked in and beckoned to the "colonel," who required him to take her with him whenever he fed the mare. "let me tie this hyar comforter over the cunnel's head," eugenia said, as he bundled the child in a shawl and lifted her in his arms. "'tain't no use," he declared. "the cunnel ain't travellin' fur." she heard him step from the creaking porch. she heard the dreary wind without. within, the clumsy shadows of the warping-bars, the spinning-wheel, and the churn were dancing in the firelight on the wall. the supper was cooking on the live coals. the children, popping corn in the ashes, were laughing; as her eye fell upon the "colonel's" vacant little chair her mind returned to the child's excursion with her father, and again she wondered futilely where the mare could be hid. the next moment she was heartily glad that she did not know. it was like the fulfillment of some dreadful dream when the door opened. a man entered softly, slowly; the flickering fire showed his shadow--was it?--nay, another man, and still another, and another. the old crone in the corner sprang up, screaming in a shrill, tremulous, cracked voice. for they were masked. over the face of each dangled a bit of homespun, with great empty sockets through which eyes vaguely glanced. even the coarse fibre of the intruders responded to that quavering, thrilling appeal. one spoke instantly: "laws-a-massy! mis' pearce, don't ye feel interrupted none--nor mis' gryce nuther. we-uns ain't harmful noways--jes want ter know whar that thar black mare hev disappeared to. she ain't in the barn." he turned his great eye-sockets on eugenia. the plaid homespun mask dangling about his face was grotesquely incongruous with his intent, serious gaze. "i dunno," she faltered; "i dunno." she had caught at the spinning-wheel for support. the fire crackled. the baby was counting aloud the grains of corn popping from the ashes. "six, two, free," he babbled. the kettle merrily sang. the man still stared silently at the ranger's wife. the expression in his eyes changed suddenly. he chuckled derisively. the others echoed his mocking mirth. "ha! ha! ha!" they laughed aloud; and the eye-sockets in the homespun masks all glared significantly at each other. even the dog detected something sinister in this laughter. he had been sniffing about the heels of the strangers; he bristled now, showed his teeth, and growled. the spokesman hastily kicked him in the ribs, and the animal fled yelping to the farther side of the fireplace behind the baby, where he stood and barked defiance. the rafters rang with the sound. some one on the porch without spoke to the leader in a low voice. this man, who seemed to have a desire to conceal his identity which could not be served by a mask, held the door with one hand that the wind might not blow it wide open. the draught fanned the fire. once the great bowing, waving white blaze sent a long, quivering line of light through the narrow aperture, and eugenia saw the dark lurking figure outside. he had one arm in a sling. she needed no confirmation to assure her that this was sam peters, whom her husband had shot at the stable door. the leader instantly accepted his suggestion. "wa'al, mis' gryce, i reckon ye dunno whar tobe be, nuther?" "naw, i dunno," she said, in a tremor. the homespun mask swayed with the distortions of his face as he sneered: "ye mean ter say ye don't 'low ter tell us." "i dunno whar he be." her voice had sunk to a whisper. another exchange of glances. "wa'al, ma'am, jes gin us the favor of a light by yer fire, an' we-uns 'll find him." he stepped swiftly forward, thrust a pine torch into the coals, and with it all whitely flaring ran out into the night; the others followed his example; and the terror-stricken women, hastily barring up the door, peered after them through the little batten shutter of the window. * * * * * the torches were already scattered about the slopes of lonesome cove like a fallen constellation. what shafts of white light they cast upon the snow in the midst of the dense blackness of the night! somehow they seemed endowed with volition, as they moved hither and thither, for their brilliancy almost cancelled the figures of the men that bore them--only an occasional erratic shapeless shadow was visible. now and then a flare pierced the icicle-tipped holly bushes, and again there was a fibrous glimmer in the fringed pines. the search was terribly silent. the snow deadened the tread. only the wind was loud among the muffled trees, and sometimes a dull thud sounded when the weight of snow fell from the evergreen laurel as the men thrashed through its dense growth. they separated after a time, and only here and there an isolated stellular light illumined the snow, and conjured white mystic circles into the wide spaces of the darkness. the effort flagged at last, and its futility sharpened the sense of injury in luke todd's heart. he was alone now, close upon the great rock, and looking at its jagged ledges all cloaked with snow. above those soft white outlines drawn against the deep clear sky the frosty stars scintillated. beneath were the abysmal depths of the valley masked by the darkness. his pride was touched. in the old quarrel his revenge had been hampered, for it was the girl's privilege to choose, and she had chosen. he cared nothing for that now, but he felt it indeed a reproach to tamely let this man take his horse when he had all the mountain at his back. there was a sharp humiliation in his position. he felt the pressure of public opinion. "dad-burn him!" he exclaimed. "ef i kin make out ter git a glimge o' him, i'll shoot him dead--dead!" he leaned the rifle against the rock. it struck upon a ledge. a metallic vibration rang out. again and again the sound was repeated--now loud, still clanging; now faint, but clear; now soft and away to a doubtful murmur which he hardly was sure that he heard. never before had he known such an echo. and suddenly he recollected that this was the great "talking rock," famed beyond the limits of lonesome. it had traditions as well as echoes. he remembered vaguely that beneath this cliff there was said to be a cave which was utilized in the manufacture of saltpetre for gunpowder in the war of 1812. as he looked down the slope below he thought the snow seemed broken--by footprints, was it? with the expectation of a discovery strong upon him, he crept along a wide ledge of the crag, now and then stumbling and sending an avalanche of snow and ice and stones thundering to the foot of the cliff. he missed his way more than once. then he would turn about, laboriously retracing his steps, and try another level of the ledges. suddenly before him was the dark opening he sought. no creature had lately been here. it was filled with growing bushes and dead leaves and brambles. looking again down upon the slope beneath, he felt very sure that he saw footprints. "the old folks useter 'low ez thar war two openings ter this hyar cave," he said. "tobe gryce mought hev hid hyar through a opening down yander on the slope. but _i'll_ go the way ez i hev hearn tell on, an' peek in, an' ef i kin git a glimge o' him, i'll make him tell me whar that thar filly air, or i'll let daylight through him, sure!" he paused only to bend aside the brambles, then he crept in and took his way along a low, narrow passage. it had many windings, but was without intersections or intricacy. he heard his own steps echoed like a pursuing footfall. his labored breathing returned in sighs from the inanimate rocks. it was an uncanny place, with strange, sepulchral, solemn effects. he shivered with the cold. a draught stole in from some secret crevice known only to the wild mountain winds. the torch flared, crouched before the gust, flared again, then darkness. he hesitated, took one step forward, and suddenly--a miracle! a soft aureola with gleaming radiations, a low, shadowy chamber, a beast feeding from a manger, and within it a child's golden head. his heart gave a great throb. somehow he was smitten to his knees. christmas eve! he remembered the day with a rush of emotion. he stared again at the vouchsafed vision. he rubbed his eyes. it had changed. only hallucination caused by an abrupt transition from darkness to light; only the most mundane facts of the old troughs and ash-hoppers, relics of the industry that had served the hideous carnage of battle; only the yellow head of the ranger's brat, who had climbed into one of them, from which the mare was calmly munching her corn. yet this was christmas eve. and the child did lie in a manger. perhaps it was well for him that his ignorant faith could accept the illusion as a vision charged with all the benignities of peace on earth, good-will toward men. with a keen thrill in his heart, on his knees he drew the charge from his rifle, and flung it down a rift in the rocks. "chrismus eve," he murmured. [illustration: "yet this was christmas eve"] he leaned his empty weapon against the wall, and strode out to the little girl who was perched up on the trough. "chrismus gift, cunnel!" he cried, cheerily. "ter-morrer's chrismus." the echoes caught the word. in vibratory jubilance they repeated it. "chrismus!" rang from the roof, scintillating with calc-spar; "chrismus!" sounded from the colonnade of stalactites that hung down to meet the uprising stalagmites; "chrismus!" repeated the walls incrusted with roses that, shut in from the light and the fresh air of heaven, bloomed forever in the stone. was ever chorus so sweet as this? it reached tobe gryce, who stood at his improvised corn-bin. with a bundle of fodder still in his arms he stepped forward. there beside the little colonel and the black mare he beheld a man seated upon an inverted half-bushel measure, peacefully lighting his pipe with a bunch of straws which he kindled at the lantern on the ash-hopper. the ranger's black eyes were wide with wonder at this intrusion, and angrily flashed. he connected it at once with the attack on the stable. the hair on his low forehead rose bristlingly as he frowned. yet he realized with a quaking heart that he was helpless. he, although the crack shot of the county, would not have fired while the colonel was within two yards of his mark for the state of tennessee. he stood his ground with stolid courage--a target. then, with a start of surprise, he perceived that the intruder was unarmed. twenty feet away his rifle stood against the wall. tobe gryce was strangely shaken. he experienced a sudden revolt of credulity. this was surely a dream. "ain't that thar luke todd? why air ye a-waitin' thar?" he called out in a husky undertone. todd glanced up, and took his pipe from his mouth; it was now fairly alight. "kase it be chrismus eve, tobe," he said, gravely. the ranger stared for a moment; then came forward and gave the fodder to the mare, pausing now and then and looking with oblique distrust down upon luke todd as he smoked his pipe. "i want ter tell ye, tobe, ez some o' the mounting boys air a-sarchin fur ye outside." "who air they?" asked the ranger, calmly. his tone was so natural, his manner so unsuspecting, that a new doubt began to stir in luke todd's mind. "what ails ye ter keep the mare down hyar, tobe?" he asked, suddenly. "'pears like ter me ez that be powerful comical." "kase," said tobe, reasonably, "some durned horse-thieves kem arter her one night. i fired at 'em. i hain't hearn on 'em sence. an' so i jes hid the mare." todd was puzzled. he shifted his pipe in his mouth. finally he said: "some folks 'lowed ez ye hed no right ter take up that mare, bein' ez ye war the ranger." tobe gryce whirled round abruptly. "what war i a-goin' ter do, then? feed the critter fur nuthin till the triflin' scamp ez owned her kem arter her? i couldn't work her 'thout takin' her up an' hevin her appraised. thar's a law agin sech. an' i couldn't git somebody ter toll her off an' take her up. that ain't fair. what ought i ter hev done?" "wa'al," said luke, drifting into argument, "the town-folks 'low ez ye hev got nuthin ter prove it by, the stray-book an' records bein' burnt. the town-folks 'low ez ye can't prove by writin' an' sech ez ye ever tried ter find the owner." "the town-folks air fairly sodden in foolishness," exclaimed the ranger, indignantly. he drew from his ample pocket a roll of ragged newspapers, and pointed with his great thumb at a paragraph. and luke todd read by the light of the lantern the advertisement and description of the estray printed according to law in the nearest newspaper. the newspaper was so infrequent a factor in the lives of the mountain gossips that this refutation of their theory had never occurred to them. the sheet was trembling in luke todd's hand; his eyes filled. the cavern with its black distances, its walls close at hand sparkling with delicate points of whitest light; the yellow flare of the lantern; the grotesque shadows on the ground; the fair little girl with her golden hair; the sleek black mare; the burly figure of the ranger--all the scene swayed before him. he remembered the gracious vision that had saluted him; he shuddered at the crime from which he was rescued. pity him because he knew naught of the science of optics; of the bewildering effects of a sudden burst of light upon the delicate mechanism of the eye; of the vagaries of illusion. "tobe," he said, in a solemn voice--all the echoes were bated to awed whispers--"i hev been gin ter view a vision this night, bein' 'twar chrismus eve. an' now i want ter shake hands on it fur peace." then he told the whole story, regardless of the ranger's demonstrations, albeit they were sometimes violent enough. tobe sprang up with a snort of rage, his eyes flashing, his thick tongue stumbling with the curses crowding upon it, when he realized the suspicions rife against him at the county town. but he stood with his clinched hand slowly relaxing, and with the vague expression which one wears who looks into the past, as he listened to the recital of eugenia's pilgrimage in the snowy wintry dawn. "mighty few folks hev got a wife ez set store by 'em like that," luke remarked, impersonally. the ranger's rejoinder seemed irrelevant. "'genie be a-goin' ter see a powerful differ arter this," he said, and fell to musing. snow, fatigue, and futility destroyed the ardor of the lynching party after a time, and they dispersed to their homes. little was said of this expedition afterward, and it became quite impossible to find a man who would admit having joined it. for the story went the rounds of the mountain that there had been a mistake as to unfair dealing on the part of the ranger, and luke todd was quite content to accept from the county treasury half the sum of the mare's appraisement--with the deduction of the stipulated per cent.--which tobe gryce had paid, the receipt for which he produced. the gossips complained, however, that after all this was settled according to law, tobe wouldn't keep the mare, and insisted that luke should return to him the money he had paid into the treasury, half her value, "bein' so brigaty he wouldn't own luke todd's beast. an' luke agreed ter so do; but he didn't want ter be outdone, so fur the keep o' the filly he gin the cunnel a heifer. an' tobe war mighty nigh tickled ter death fur the cunnel ter hev a cow o' her own." and now when december skies darken above lonesome cove, and the snow in dizzying whirls sifts softly down, and the gaunt brown leafless heights are clothed with white as with a garment, and the wind whistles and shouts shrilly, and above the great crag loom the distant mountains, and below are glimpsed the long stretches of the valley, the two men remember the vision that illumined the cavernous solitudes that night, and bless the gracious power that sent salvation 'way down to lonesome cove, and cherish peace and good-will for the sake of a little child that lay in a manger. the moonshiners at hoho-hebee falls i if the mission of the little school-house in holly cove was to impress upon the youthful mind a comprehension and appreciation of the eternal verities of nature, its site could hardly have been better chosen. all along the eastern horizon deployed the endless files of the great smoky mountains--blue and sunlit, with now and again the apparition of an unfamiliar peak, hovering like a straggler in the far-distant rear, and made visible for the nonce by some exceptional clarification of the atmosphere; or lowering, gray, stern; or with ranks of clouds hanging on their flanks, while all the artillery of heaven whirled about them, and the whole world quaked beneath the flash and roar of its volleys. the seasons successively painted the great landscape--spring, with its timorous touch, its illumined haze, its tender, tentative green and gray and yellow; summer, with its flush of completion, its deep, luscious, definite verdure, and the golden richness of fruition; autumn, with a full brush and all chromatic splendors; winter, in melancholy sepia tones, black and brown and many sad variations of the pallors of white. so high was the little structure on the side of a transverse ridge that it commanded a vast field of sky above the wooded ranges; and in the immediate foreground, down between the slopes which were cleft to the heart, was the river, resplendent with the reflected moods of the heavens. in this deep gorge the winds and the pines chanted like a greek chorus; the waves continuously murmured an intricate rune, as if conning it by frequent repetition; a bird would call out from the upper air some joyous apothegm in a language which no creature of the earth has learned enough of happiness to translate. but the precepts which prevailed in the little school-house were to the effect that rivers, except as they flowed as they listed to confusing points of the compass, rising among names difficult to remember, and emptying into the least anticipated body of water, were chiefly to be avoided for their proclivity to drown small boys intent on swimming or angling. mountains, aside from the desirability of their recognition as forming one of the divisions of land somewhat easily distinguishable by the more erudite youth from plains, valleys, and capes, were full of crags and chasms, rattlesnakes and vegetable poisons, and a further familiarity with them was liable to result in the total loss of the adventurous--to see friends, family, and home no more. these dicta, promulgated from the professorial chair, served to keep the small body of callow humanity, with whose instruction abner sage was intrusted by the state, well within call and out of harm's way during the short recesses, while under his guidance they toddled along the rough road that leads up the steeps to knowledge. but one there was who either bore a charmed life or possessed an unequalled craft in successfully defying danger; who fished and swam with impunity; who was ragged and torn from much climbing of crags; whose freckled face bore frequent red tokens of an indiscriminate sampling of berries. it is too much to say that abner sage would have been glad to have his warnings made terrible by some bodily disaster to the juvenile dare-devil of the school, but leander yerby's disobedient incredulity as to the terrors that menaced him, and his triumphant immunity, fostered a certain grudge against him. covert though it was, unrecognized even by sage himself, it was very definitely apparent to tyler sudley when sometimes, often, indeed, on his way home from hunting, he would pause at the school-house window, pulling open the shutter from the outside, and gravely watch his protégé, who stood spelling at the head of the class. for leander yerby's exploits were not altogether those of a physical prowess. he was a mighty wrestler with the multiplication table. he had met and overthrown the nine line in single-handed combat. he had attained unto some interesting knowledge of the earth on which he lived, and could fluently bound countries with neatness and precision, and was on terms of intimacy with sundry seas, volcanoes, islands, and other sizable objects. the glib certainty of his contemptuous familiarity with the alphabet and its untoward combinations, as he flung off words in four syllables in his impudent chirping treble, seemed something uncanny, almost appalling, to tyler sudley, who could not have done the like to save his stalwart life. he would stare dumfounded at the erudite personage at the head of the class; leander's bare feet were always carefully adjusted to a crack between the puncheons of the floor, literally "toeing the mark"; his broad trousers, frayed out liberally at the hem, revealed his skinny and scarred little ankles, for his out-door adventures were not without a record upon the more impressionable portions of his anatomy; his waistband was drawn high up under his shoulder-blades and his ribs, and girt over the shoulders of his unbleached cotton shirt by braces, which all his learning did not prevent him from calling "galluses"; his cut, scratched, calloused hands were held stiffly down at the side seams in his nether garments in strict accordance with the regulations. but rules could not control the twinkle in his big blue eyes, the mingled effrontery and affection on his freckled face as he perceived the on-looking visitor, nor hinder the wink, the swiftly thrust-out tongue, as swiftly withdrawn, the egregious display of two rows of dishevelled jagged squirrel teeth, when once more, with an offhand toss of his tangled brown hair, he nimbly spelled a long twisted-tailed word, and leered capably at the grave intent face framed in the window. "why, abner!" tyler sudley would break out, addressing the teacher, all unmindful of scholastic etiquette, a flush of pleasure rising to his swarthy cheek as he thrust back his wide black hat on his long dark hair and turned his candid gray eyes, all aglow, upon the cadaverous, ascetic preceptor, "ain't lee-yander a-gittin' on powerful, _powerful_ fas' with his book?" "not in enny ways so special," sage would reply in cavalier discouragement, his disaffected gaze resting upon the champion scholar, who stood elated, confident, needing no commendation to assure him of his pre-eminence; "but he air disobejient, an' turr'ble, turr'ble bad." the nonchalance with which leander yerby hearkened to this criticism intimated a persuasion that there were many obedient people in this world, but few who could so disport themselves in the intricacies of the english language; and sudley, as he plodded homeward with his rifle on his shoulder, his dog running on in advance, and leander pattering along behind, was often moved to add the weight of his admonition to the teacher's reproof. "lee-yander," he would gently drawl, "ye mustn't be so bad, honey; ye _mustn't_ be so turr'ble bad." "naw, ma'am, i won't," leander would cheerily pipe out, and so the procession would wend its way along. for he still confused the gender in titles of respect, and from force of habit he continued to do so in addressing tyler sudley for many a year after he had learned better. these lapses were pathetic rather than ridiculous in the hunter's ears. it was he who had taught leander every observance of verbal humility toward his wife, in the forlorn hope of propitiating her in the interest of the child, who, however, with his quick understanding that the words sought to do honor and express respect, had of his own accord transferred them to his one true friend in the household. the only friend he had in the world, sudley often felt, with a sigh over the happy child's forlorn estate. and, with the morbid sensitiveness peculiar to a tender conscience, he winced under the knowledge that it was he who, through wrongheadedness or wrongheartedness, had contrived to make all the world besides the boy's enemy. both wrongheaded and wronghearted he was, he sometimes told himself. for even now it still seemed to him that he had not judged amiss, that only the perversity of fate had thwarted him. was it so fantastically improbable, so hopeless a solace that he had planned, that he should have thought his wife might take comfort for the death of their own child in making for its sake a home for another, orphaned, forlorn, a burden, and a glad riddance to those into whose grudging charge it had been thrown? this bounty of hope and affection and comfort had seemed to him a free gift from the dead baby's hands, who had no need of it since coming into its infinite heritage of immortality, to the living waif, to whom it was like life itself, since it held all the essential values of existence. the idea smote him like an inspiration. he had ridden twenty miles in a snowy night to beg the unwelcome mite from the custody of its father's half-brothers, who were on the eve of moving to a neighboring county with all their kin and belongings. tyler sudley was a slow man, and tenacious of impressions. he could remember every detail of the events as they had happened--the palpable surprise, the moment of hesitation, the feint of denial which successively ensued on his arrival. it mattered not what the season or the hour--he could behold at will the wintry dawn, the deserted cabin, the glow of embers dying on the hearth within; the white-covered wagon slowly a-creak along the frozen road beneath the gaunt, bare, overhanging trees, the pots and pans as they swung at the rear, the bucket for water swaying beneath, the mounted men beside it, the few head of swine and cattle driven before them. years had passed, but he could feel anew the vague stir of the living bundle which he held on the pommel of his saddle, the sudden twist it gave to bring its inquiring, apprehensive eyes, so large in its thin, lank-jawed, piteous little countenance, to bear on his face, as if it understood its transfer of custody, and trembled lest a worse thing befall it. one of the women stopped the wagon and ran back to pin about its neck an additional wrapping, an old red-flannel petticoat, lest it should suffer in its long, cold ride. his heart glowed with vicarious gratitude for her forethought, and he shook her hand warmly and wished her well, and hoped that she might prosper in her new home, and stood still to watch the white wagon out of sight in the avenue of the snow-laden trees, above which the moon was visible, a-journeying too, swinging down the western sky. laurelia sudley sat in stunned amazement when, half-frozen, but triumphant and flushed and full of his story, he burst into the warm home atmosphere, and put the animated bundle down upon the hearth-stone in front of the glowing fire. for one moment she met its forlorn gaze out of its peakèd and pinched little face with a vague hesitation in her own worn, tremulous, sorrow-stricken eyes. then she burst into a tumult of tears, upbraiding her husband that he could think that another child could take the place of her dead child--all the dearer because it was dead; that she could play the traitor to its memory and forget her sacred grief; that she could do aught as long as she should live but sit her down to bewail her loss, every tear a tribute, every pang its inalienable right, her whole smitten existence a testimony to her love. it was in vain that he expostulated. the idea of substitution had never entered his mind. but he was ignorant, and clumsy of speech, and unaccustomed to analyze his motives. he could not put into words his feeling that to do for the welfare of this orphaned and unwelcome little creature all that they would have done for their own was in some sort a memorial to him, and brought them nearer to him--that she might find in it a satisfaction, an occupation--that it might serve to fill her empty life, her empty arms. but no! she thought, and the neighbors thought, and after a time tyler sudley came to think also, that he had failed in the essential duty to the dead--that of affectionate remembrance; that he was recreant, strangely callous. they all said that he had seemed to esteem one baby as good as another, and that he was surprised that his wife was not consoled for the loss of her own child because he took it into his head to go and toll off the yerby baby from his father's half-brothers "ez war movin' away an' war glad enough ter get rid o' one head o' human stock ter kerry, though, _bein' human_, they oughter been ashamed ter gin him away like a puppy-dog, or an extry cat, all hands consarned." from the standpoint she had taken laurelia had never wavered. it was an added and a continual reproach to her husband that all the labor and care of the ill-advised acquisition fell to her share. she it was who must feed and clothe and tend the gaunt little usurper; he needs must be accorded all the infantile prerogatives, and he exacted much time and attention. despite the grudging spirit in which her care was given she failed in no essential, and presently the interloper was no longer gaunt or pallid or apprehensive, but grew pink and cherubic of build, and arrogant of mind. he had no sensitive sub-current of suspicion as to his welcome; he filled the house with his gay babbling, and if no maternal chirpings encouraged the development of his ideas and his powers of speech, his cheerful spirits seemed strong enough to thrive on their own stalwart endowments. his hair began to curl, and a neighbor, remarking on it to laurelia, and forgetting for the moment his parentage, said, in admiring glee, twining the soft tendrils over her finger, that mrs. sudley had never before had a child so well-favored as this one. from this time forth was infused a certain rancor into his foster-mother's spirit toward him. her sense of martyrdom was complete when another infant was born and died, leaving her bereaved once more to watch this stranger grow up in her house, strong and hearty, and handsomer than any child of hers had been. the mountain gossips had their own estimate of her attitude. "i ain't denyin' but what she hed nat'ral feelin' fur her own chil'ren, bein' dead," said the dame who had made the unfortunate remark about the curling hair, "but laurelia sudley war always a contrary-minded, lackadaisical kind o' gal afore she war married, sorter set in opposition, an' now ez she ain't purty like she useter was, through cryin' her eyes out, an' gittin' sallow-complected an' bony, i kin notice her contrariousness more. ef tyler hedn't brung that chile home, like ez not she'd hev sot her heart on borryin' one herself from somebody. lee-yander ain't in nowise abused, ez i kin see--ain't acquainted with the rod, like the bible say he oughter be, an' ennybody kin see ez laurelia don't like the name he gin her, yit she puts up with it. she larnt him ter call ty 'cap'n,' bein' she's sorter proud of it, 'kase ty war a cap'n of a critter company in the war: 'twarn't sech a mighty matter nohow; he jes got ter be cap'n through the other off'cers bein' killed off. an' the leetle boy got it twisted somehows, an' calls _her_ 'cap'n' an' ty 'neighbor,' from hearin' old man jeemes, ez comes in constant, givin' him that old-fashioned name. 'cap'n' 'bout fits laurelia, though, an' that's a fac'." laurelia's melancholy ascendency in the household was very complete. it was characterized by no turbulence, no rages, no long-drawn argument or objurgation; it expressed itself only in a settled spirit of disaffection, a pervasive suggestion of martyrdom, silence or sighs, or sometimes a depressing singing of hymn tunes. for her husband had long ago ceased to remonstrate, or to seek to justify himself. it was with a spirit of making amends that he hastened to concede every point of question, to defer to her preference in all matters, and laurelia's sway grew more and more absolute as the years wore on. leander yerby could remember no other surroundings than the ascetic atmosphere of his home. it had done naught apparently to quell the innate cheerfulness of his spirit. he evidently took note, however, of the different standpoint of the "captain" and his "neighbor," for although he was instant in the little manifestations of respect toward her which he had been taught, his childish craft could not conceal their spuriousness. "that thar boy treats me ez ef i war a plumb idjit," laurelia said one day, moved to her infrequent anger. "tells me, 'yes, ma'am, cap'n,' an' 'naw, ma'am, cap'n,' jes ter quiet me--like folks useter do ter old ed'ard green, ez war in his dotage--an' then goes along an' does the very thing i tell him not ter do." sudley looked up as he sat smoking his pipe by the fire, a shade of constraint in his manner, and a contraction of anxiety in his slow, dark eyes, never quite absent when she spoke to him aside of leander. she paused, setting her gaunt arms akimbo, and wearing the manner of one whose kindly patience is beyond limit abused. "kems in hyar, he do, a-totin' a fiddle. an' i says, 'lee-yander yerby, don't ye know that thar thing's the devil's snare?' 'naw, ma'am, cap'n,' he says, grinnin' like a imp; 'it's _my_ snare, fur i hev bought it from peter teazely fur two rabbits what i cotch in my trap, an' my big red rooster, an' a bag o' seed pop-corn, an' the only hat i hev got in the worl'.' an' with that the consarn gin sech a yawp, it plumb went through my haid. an' then the critter jes tuk ter a-bowin' it back an' forth, a-playin' 'the chicken in the bread-trough' like demented, a-dancin' off on fust one foot an' then on t'other till the puncheons shuck. an' i druv him out the house. i won't stan' none o' satan's devices hyar! i tole him he couldn't fetch that fiddle hyar whenst he kems home ter-night, an' i be a-goin' ter make him a sun-bonnet or a nightcap ter wear stiddier his hat that he traded off." she paused. her husband had risen, the glow of his pipe fading in his unheeding hand, his excited eyes fixed upon her. "laurely," he exclaimed, "ye ain't meanin' ez that thar leetle critter could play a chune fust off on a fiddle 'thout no larnin'!" she nodded her head in reluctant admission. he opened his mouth once or twice, emitting no sound. she saw how his elation, his spirit of commendation, his pride, set at naught her displeasure, albeit in self-defence, perchance, he dared not say a word. with an eye alight and an absorbed face, he laid his pipe on the mantel-piece, and silently took his way out of the house in search of the youthful musician. easily found! the racked and tortured echoes were all aquake within half a mile of the spot where, bareheaded, heedless of the threatened ignominy alike of sun-bonnet or nightcap, leander sat in the flickering sunshine and shadow upon a rock beside the spring, and blissfully experimented with all the capacities of catgut to produce sound. "listen, neighbor!" he cried out, descrying tyler sudley, who, indeed, could do naught else--"_listen_! ye won't hear much better fiddlin' this side o' kingdom come!" and with glad assurance he capered up and down, the bow elongating the sound to a cadence of frenzied glee, as his arms sought to accommodate the nimbler motions of his legs. thus it was the mountaineers later said that leander fell into bad company. for, the fiddle being forbidden in the sober laurelia's house, he must needs go elsewhere to show his gift and his growing skill, and he found a welcome fast enough. before he had advanced beyond his stripling youth, his untutored facility had gained a rude mastery over the instrument; he played with a sort of fascination and spontaneity that endeared his art to his uncritical audiences, and his endowment was held as something wonderful. and now it was that laurelia, hearing him, far away in the open air, play once a plaintive, melodic strain, fugue-like with the elfin echoes, felt a strange soothing in the sound, found tears in her eyes, not all of pain but of sad pleasure, and assumed thenceforth something of the port of a connoisseur. she said she "couldn't abide a fiddle jes sawed helter-skelter by them ez hedn't larned, but ter play saaft an' slow an' solemn, and no dancin' chune, no frolic song--she warn't set agin that at all." and she desired of leander a repetition of this sunset motive that evening when he had come home late, and she discovered him hiding the obnoxious instrument under the porch. but in vain. he did not remember it. it was some vague impulse, as unconsciously voiced as the dreaming bird's song in the sudden half-awake intervals of the night. over and again, as he stood by the porch, the violin in his arms, he touched the strings tentatively, as if, perchance, being so alive, they might of their own motion recall the strain that had so lately thrilled along them. he had grown tall and slender. he wore boots to his knees now, and pridefully carried a "shootin'-iron" in one of the long legs--to his great discomfort. the freckles of his early days were merged into the warm uniform tint of his tanned complexion. his brown hair still curled; his shirt-collar fell away from his throat, round and full and white--the singer's throat--as he threw his head backward and cast his large roving eyes searchingly along the sky, as if the missing strain had wings. the inspiration returned no more, and laurelia experienced a sense of loss. "some time, lee-yander, ef ye war ter kem acrost that chune agin, try ter set it in yer remembrance, an' play it whenst ye kem home," she said, wistfully, at last, as if this errant melody were afloat somewhere in the vague realms of sound, where one native to those haunts might hope to encounter it anew. "yes, ma'am, cap'n, i will," he said, with his facile assent. but his tone expressed slight intention, and his indifference bespoke a too great wealth of "chunes"; he could feel no lack in some unremembered combination, sport of the moment, when another strain would come at will, as sweet perchance, and new. she winced as from undeserved reproach when presently leander's proclivities for the society of the gay young blades about the countryside, sometimes reputed "evil men," were attributed to this exile of the violin from the hearth-stone. she roused herself to disputation, to indignant repudiation. "they talk ez ef it war _me_ ez led the drinkin', an' the gamin', an' the dancin', and sech, ez goes on in the cove, 'kase whenst lee-yander war about fryin' size i wouldn't abide ter hev him a-sawin' away on the fiddle in the house enough ter make me deef fur life. at fust the racket of it even skeered towse so he wouldn't come out from under the house fur two days an' better; he jes sot under thar an' growled, an' shivered, an' showed his teeth ef ennybody spoke ter him. nobody don't like lee-yander's performin' better'n i do whenst he plays them saaft, slippin'-away, slow medjures, ez sound plumb religious--ef 'twarn't a sin ter say so. naw, sir, ef ennybody hev sot lee-yander on ter evil ways 'twarn't me. my conscience be clear." nevertheless she was grievously ill at ease when one day there rode up to the fence a tall, gaunt, ill-favored man, whose long, lean, sallow countenance, of a pharisaic cast, was vaguely familiar to her, as one recognizes real lineaments in the contortions of a caricature or the bewilderments of a dream. she felt as if in some long-previous existence she had seen this man as he dismounted at the gate and came up the path with his saddle-bags over his arm. but it was not until he mustered an unready, unwilling smile, that had of good-will and geniality so slight an intimation that it was like a spasmodic grimace, did she perceive how time had deepened tendencies to traits, how the inmost thought and the secret sentiment had been chiselled into the face in the betrayals of the sculpture of fifteen years. "nehemiah yerby!" she exclaimed. "i would hev knowed ye in the happy land o' canaan." "let's pray we may all meet thar, sister sudley," he responded. "let's pray that the good time may find none of us unprofitable servants." mrs. sudley experienced a sudden recoil. not that she did not echo his wish, but somehow his manner savored of an exclusive arrogation of piety and a suggestion of reproach. "that's my prayer," she retorted, aggressively. "day an' night, that's my prayer." "yes'm, fur us an' our households, sister sudley--we mus' think o' them c'mitted ter our charge." she strove to fling off the sense of guilt that oppressed her, the mental attitude of arraignment. he was a young man when he journeyed away in that snowy dawn. she did not know what changes had come in his experience. perchance his effervescent piety was only a habit of speech, and had no significance as far as she was concerned. the suspicion, however, tamed her in some sort. she attempted no retort. with a mechanical, reluctant smile, ill adjusted to her sorrow-lined face, she made an effort to assume that the greeting had been but the conventional phrasings of the day. "kem in, kem in, nehemiah; tyler will be glad ter see ye, an' i reckon ye will be powerful interested ter view how lee-yander hev growed an' prospered." she felt as if she were in some terrible dream as she beheld him slowly wag his head from side to side. he had followed her into the large main room of the cabin, and had laid his saddle-bags down by the side of the chair in which he had seated himself, his elbows on his knees, his hands held out to the flickering blaze in the deep chimney-place, his eyes significantly narrowing as he gazed upon it. "naw, sister sudley," he wagged his head more mournfully still. "i kin but grieve ter hear how my nevy lee-yander hev 'prospered,' ez ye call it, an' i be s'prised ye should gin it such a name. oh-h-h, sister sudley!" in prolonged and dreary vocative, "i 'lowed ye war a godly woman. i knowed yer name 'mongst the church-goers an' the church-members." a faint flush sprang into her delicate faded cheek; a halo encircled this repute of sanctity, she felt with quivering premonition that it was about to be urged as a testimony against her. "elsewise i wouldn't hev gin my cornsent ter hev lef' the leetle lam', lee-yander, in yer fold. precious, precious leetle lam'!" poor laurelia! were it not that she had a sense of fault under the scathing arraignment of her motives, her work, and its result, although she scarcely saw how she was to blame, that she had equally with him esteemed leander's standpoint iniquitous, she might have made a better fight in her own interest. why she did not renounce the true culprit as one on whom all godly teachings were wasted, and, adopting the indisputable vantage-ground of heredity, carry the war into the enemy's country, ascribing leander's shortcomings to his yerby blood, and with stern and superior joy proclaiming that he was neither kith nor kin of hers, she wondered afterward, for this valid ground of defence did not occur to her then. in these long mourning years she had grown dull; her mental processes were either a sad introspection or reminiscence. now she could only take into account her sacrifices of feeling, of time, of care; the illnesses she had nursed, the garments that she had made and mended--ah, how many! laid votive on the altar of leander's vigor and his agility, for as he scrambled about the crags he seemed, she was wont to say, to climb straight out of them. the recollection of all this--the lesser and unspiritual maternal values, perchance, but essential--surged over her with bitterness; she lost her poise, and fell a-bickering. "'precious leetle lam','" she repeated, scornfully. "precious he mus' hev been! fur when ye lef' him he hedn't a whole gyarmint ter his back, an' none but them that kivered him." nehemiah yerby changed color slightly as the taunt struck home, but he was skilled in the more æsthetic methods of argument. "we war pore--mighty pore indeed, sister sudley." now, consciously in the wrong, sister sudley, with true feminine inconsistency, felt better. she retorted with bravado. "needle an' thread ain't 'spensive nowhar ez i knows on, an' the gov'mint hev sot no tax on saaft home-made soap, so far ez hearn from." she briskly placed her chair, a rude rocker, the seat formed of a taut-stretched piece of ox-hide, beside the fire, and took up her knitting. a sock for leander it was--one of many of all sizes. she remembered the first that she had measured for the bare pink toes which he had brought there, forlorn candidates for the comfortable integuments in which they were presently encased, and how she had morbidly felt that every stitch she took was a renunciation of her own children, since a stranger was honored in their place. the tears came into her eyes. it was only this afternoon that she had experienced a pang of self-reproach to realize how near happiness she was--as near as her temperament could approach. but somehow the air was so soft; she could see from where she sat how the white velvet buds of the aspen-trees in the dooryard had lengthened into long, cream-tinted, furry tassels; the maples on the mountain-side lifted their red flowering boughs against the delicate blue sky; the grass was so green; the golden candlesticks bunched along the margin of the path to the rickety gate were all a-blossoming. the sweet appeal of spring had never been more insistent, more coercive. somehow peace, and a placid content, seemed as essential incidents in the inner life as the growth of the grass anew, the bursting of the bud, or the soft awakening of the zephyr. even within the house, the languors of the fire drowsing on the hearth, the broad bar of sunshine across the puncheon floor, so slowly creeping away, the sense of the vernal lengthening of the pensive afternoon, the ever-flitting shadow of the wren building under the eaves, and its iterative gladsome song breaking the fireside stillness, partook of the serene beatitude of the season and the hour. the visitor's drawling voice rose again, and she was not now constrained to reproach herself that she was too happy. "yes'm, pore though we war then--an' we couldn't look forward ter the lord's prosperin' us some sence--we never would hev lef' the precious leetle lam'"--his voice dwelt with unvanquished emphasis upon the obnoxious words--"'mongst enny but them persumed ter be godly folks. tyler war a toler'ble good soldier in the war, an' hed a good name in the church, but _ye_ war persumed to be a plumb special christian with no pledjure in this worl'." laurelia winced anew. this repute of special sanctity was the pride of her ascetic soul. few of the graces of life or of the spirit had she coveted, but her pre-eminence as a religionist she had fostered and cherished, and now through her own deeds of charity it seemed about to be wrested from her. "lee-yander yerby hev larnt nuthin' but good in this house, an' all my neighbors will tell you the same word. the cove 'lows i hev been _too_ strict." nehemiah was glancing composedly about the room. "that thar 'pears ter be a fiddle on the wall, ain't it, mis' sudley?" he said, with an incidental air and the manner of changing the subject. alack, for the æsthetic perversion! since the playing of those melancholy minor strains in that red sunset so long ago, which had touched so responsive a chord in laurelia's grief-worn heart, the crazy old fiddle had been naturalized, as it were, and had exchanged its domicile under the porch for a position on the wall. it was boldly visible, and apparently no more ashamed of itself than was the big earthen jar half full of cream, which was placed close to the fireplace on the hearth in the hope that its contents might become sour enough by to-morrow to be churned. laurelia looked up with a start at the instrument, red and lustrous against the brown log wall, its bow poised jauntily above it, and some glistening yellow reflection from the sun on the floor playing among the strings, elusive, soundless fantasies. her lower jaw dropped. she was driven to her last defences, and sore beset. "it air a fiddle," she said, slowly, at last, and with an air of conscientious admission, as if she had had half a mind to deny it. "a fiddle the thing air." then, as she collected her thoughts, "brother pete vickers 'lows ez he sees no special sin in playin' the fiddle. he 'lows ez in some kentries--i disremember whar--they plays on 'em in church, quirin' an' hymn chunes an' sech." her voice faltered a little; she had never thought to quote this fantasy in her own defence, for she secretly believed that old man vickers must have been humbugged by some worldly brother skilled in drawing the long bow himself. nehemiah yerby seemed specially endowed with a conscience for the guidance of other people, so quick was he to descry and pounce upon their shortcomings. if one's sins are sure to find one out, there is little doubt but that brother nehemiah would be on the ground first. "air you-uns a-settin' under the preachin' o' brother peter vickers?" he demanded in a sepulchral voice. "naw, naw," she was glad to reply. "'twar onderstood ez brother vickers wanted a call ter the church in the cove, bein' ez his relations live hyar-abouts, an' he kem up an' preached a time or two. but he didn't git no call. the brethren 'lowed brother vickers war too slack in his idees o' religion. some said his hell warn't half hot enough. thar air some powerful sinners in the cove, an' nuthin' but good live coals an' a liquid blazin' fire air a-goin' ter deter them from the evil o' thar ways. so brother vickers went back the road he kem." she knit off her needle while, with his head still bent forward, nehemiah yerby sourly eyed her, feeling himself a loser with brother vickers, in that he did not have the reverend man's incumbency as a grievance. "he 'pears ter me ter see mo' pleasure in religion 'n penance, ennyhow," he observed, bitterly. "an' the lord knows the bes' of us air sinners." "an' he laughs loud an' frequent--mightily like a sinner," she agreed. "an' whenst he prays, he prays loud an' hearty, like he jes expected ter git what he axed fur sure's shootin'. some o' the bretherin' sorter taxed him with his sperits, an' he 'lowed he couldn't holp but be cheerful whenst he hed the lord's word fur it ez all things work tergether fur good. an' he laffed same ez ef they hedn't spoke ter him serious." "look at that, now!" exclaimed nehemiah. "an' that thar man ez good ez dead with the heart-disease." laurelia's eyes were suddenly arrested by his keen, pinched, lined face. what there was in it to admonish her she could hardly have said, nor how it served to tutor her innocent craft. "i ain't so sure 'bout brother vickers bein' so wrong," she said, slowly. "he 'lowed ter me ez i hed spent too much o' my life a-sorrowin', 'stiddier a-praisin' the lord for his mercies." her face twitched suddenly; she could not yet look upon her bereavements as mercies. "he 'lowed i would hev been a happier an' a better 'oman ef i hed took the evil ez good from the lord's hand, fur in his sendin' it's the same. an' i know that air a true word. an' that's what makes me 'low what he said war true 'bout'n that fiddle; that i ought never ter hev pervented the boy from playin' 'round home an' sech, an' 'twarn't no sin but powerful comfortable an' pleasurable ter set roun' of a cold winter night an' hear him play them slow, sweet, dyin'-away chunes--" she dropped her hands, and gazed with the rapt eyes of remembrance through the window at the sunset clouds which, gathering red and purple and gold on the mountain's brow, were reflected roseate and amethyst and amber at the mountain's base on the steely surface of the river. "brother vickers 'lowed he never hearn sech in all his life. it brung the tears ter his eyes--it surely did." "he'd a heap better be weepin' fur them black sheep o' his congregation an' fur lee-yander's shortcomin's, fur ez fur ez i kin hear he air about ez black a sheep ez most pastors want ter wrestle with fur the turnin' away from thar sins. yes'm, sister sudley, that's jes what p'inted out my jewty plain afore my eyes, an' i riz up an' kem ter be instant in a-doin' of it. 'i'll not leave my own nevy in the tents o' sin,' i sez. 'i hev chil'n o' my own, hearty feeders an' hard on shoe-leather, ter support, but i'll not grudge my brother's son a home.' yes, laurely sudley, i hev kem ter kerry him back with me. yer jewty ain't been done by him, an' i'll leave him a dweller in the tents o' sin no longer." his enthusiasm had carried him too far. laurelia's face, which at first seemed turning to stone as she gradually apprehended his meaning and his mission, changed from motionless white to a tremulous scarlet while he spoke, and when he ceased she retorted herself as one of the ungodly. "ye mus' be mighty ambitious ter kerry away a skin full o' broken bones! jes let tyler sudley hear ez ye called his house the tents o' the ungodly, an' that ye kem hyar a-faultin' me, an' tellin' me ez i 'ain't done my jewty ennywhar or ennyhow!" she exclaimed, with a pride which, as a pious saint, she had never expected to feel in her husband's reputation as a high-tempered man and a "mighty handy fighter," and with implicit reliance upon both endowments in her quarrel. "only in a speritchual sense, sister sudley," nehemiah gasped, as he made haste to qualify his asseveration. "i only charge you with havin' sp'iled the boy; ye hev sp'iled him through kindness ter him, an' not _ye_ so much ez ty. ty never hed so much ez a dog that would mind him! his dog wouldn't answer call nor whistle 'thout he war so disposed. _i_ never faulted ye, sister sudley; 'twar jes ty i faulted. i know ty." he knew, too, that it was safer to call ty and his doings in question, big and formidable and belligerent though he was, than his meek-mannered, melancholy, forlorn, and diminutive wife. nehemiah rose up and walked back and forth for a moment with an excited face and a bent back, and a sort of rabbit-like action. "now, i put it to you, sister sudley, air ty a-makin' that thar boy plough ter-day--jes _be-you-ti-ful_ field weather!" sister sudley, victorious, having regained her normal position by one single natural impulse of self-assertion, not as a religionist, but as tyler sudley's wife, and hence entitled to all the show of respect which that fact unaided could command, sat looking at him with a changed face--a face that seemed twenty years younger; it had the expression it wore before it had grown pinched and ascetic and insistently sorrowful; one might guess how she had looked when tyler sudley first went up the mountain "a-courtin'." she sought to assume no other stand-point. here she was intrenched. she shook her head in negation. the affair was none of hers. ty sudley could take ample care of it. nehemiah gave a little skip that might suggest a degree of triumph. "aha, not ploughin'! but _ty_ is ploughin'. i seen him in the field. an' lee-yander ain't ploughin'! an' how did i know? ez i war a-ridin' along through the woods this mornin' i kem acrost a striplin' lad a-walkin' through the undergrowth ez onconsarned ez a killdee an' ez nimble. an' under his chin war a fiddle, an' his head war craned down ter it." he mimicked the attitude as he stood on the hearth. "he never looked up wunst. away he walked, light ez a plover, an' _a-ping_, _pang_, _ping_, _pang_," in a high falsetto, "went that fiddle! i war plumb 'shamed fur the critters in the woods ter view sech idle sinfulness, a ole ow_el_, a-blinkin' down out'n a hollow tree, kem ter see what _ping_, _pang_, _ping_, _pang_ meant, an' thar war a rabbit settin' up on two legs in the bresh, an' a few stray razor-back hawgs; i tell ye i war mortified 'fore even sech citizens ez them, an' a lazy, impident-lookin' dog ez followed him." "how did ye know 'twar lee-yander?" demanded mrs. sudley, recognizing the description perfectly, but after judicial methods requiring strict proof. "oh-h! by the fambly favor," protested the gaunt and hard-featured nehemiah, capably. "i knowed the yerby eye." "he hev got his mother's eyes." mrs. sudley had certainly changed her stand-point with a vengeance. "he hev got his mother's _be-you-ti-ful_ _blue_ eyes and her curling, silken brown hair--sorter red; little yerby in _that_, mebbe; but sech eyes, an' sech lashes, an' sech fine curling hair ez none o' yer fambly ever hed, or ever will." "mebbe so. i never seen him more'n a minit. but he might ez well hev a _be-you-ti-ful_ curlin' nose, like the elephint in the show, for all the use he air, or i be afeard air ever likely ter be." * * * * * tyler sudley's face turned gray, despite his belligerent efficiencies, when his wife, hearing the clank of the ox-yoke as it was flung down in the shed outside, divined the home-coming of the ploughman and his team, and slipped out to the barn with her news. she realized, with a strange enlightenment as to her own mental processes, what angry jealousy the look on his face would have roused in her only so short a time ago--jealousy for the sake of her own children, that any loss, any grief, should be poignant and pierce his heart save for them. now she was sorry for him; she felt with him. but as he continued silent, and only stared at her dumfounded and piteous, she grew frightened--she knew not of what. "shucks, ty!" she exclaimed, catching him by the sleeve with the impulse to rouse him, to awaken him, as it were, to his own old familiar identity; "ye ain't 'feared o' that thar snaggle-toothed skeer-crow in yander; he would be plumb comical ef he didn't look so mean-natured an' sech a hypercrite." he gazed at her, his eyes eloquent with pain. "laurely!" he gasped, "this hyar thing plumb knocks me down; it jes takes the breath o' life out'n me!" she hesitated for a moment. any anxiety, any trouble, seemed so incongruous with the sweet spring-tide peace in the air, that one did not readily take it home to heart. hope was in the atmosphere like an essential element; one might call it oxygen or caloric or vitality, according to the tendency of mind and the habit of speech. but the heart knew it, and the pulses beat strongly responsive to it. faith ruled the world. some tiny bulbous thing at her feet that had impeded her step caught her attention. it was coming up from the black earth, and the buried darkness, and the chill winter's torpor, with all the impulses of confidence in the light without, and the warmth of the sun, and the fresh showers that were aggregating in the clouds somewhere for its nurture--a blind inanimate thing like that! but tyler sudley felt none of it; the blow had fallen upon him, stunning him. he stood silent, looking gropingly into the purple dusk, veined with silver glintings of the moon, as if he sought to view in the future some event which he dreaded, and yet shrank to see. she had rarely played the consoler, so heavily had she and all her griefs leaned on his supporting arm. it was powerless now. she perceived this, all dismayed at the responsibility that had fallen upon her. she made an effort to rally his courage. she had more faith in it than in her own. "'feard o' _him_!" she exclaimed, with a sharp tonic note of satire. "kem in an' view him." "laurely," he quavered, "i oughter hev got it down in writin' from him; i oughter made him sign papers agreein' fur me ter keep the boy till he growed ter be his own man." she, too, grew pale. "ye ain't meanin' ter let him take the boy sure enough!" she gasped. "i moughtn't be able ter holp it; i dun'no' how the law stands. he air kin ter lee-yander, an' mebbe hev got the bes' right ter him." she shivered slightly; the dew was falling, and all the budding herbage was glossed with a silver glister. the shadows were sparse. the white branches of the aspens cast only the symmetrical outline of the tree form on the illumined grass, and seemed scarcely less bare than in winter, but on one swaying bough the mocking-bird sang all the joyous prophecies of the spring to the great silver moon that made his gladsome day so long. she was quick to notice the sudden cessation of his song, the alert, downward poise of his beautiful head, his tense critical attitude. a mimicking whistle rose on the air, now soft, now keen, with swift changes and intricate successions of tones, ending in a brilliant borrowed roulade, delivered with a wonderful velocity and _élan_. the long tail feathers, all standing stiffly upward, once more drooped; the mocking-bird turned his head from side to side, then lifting his full throat he poured forth again his incomparable, superb, infinitely versatile melody, fixing his glittering eye on the moon, and heeding the futilely ambitious worldling no more. the mimicking sound heralded the approach of leander. laurelia's heart, full of bitterness for his sake, throbbed tenderly for him. ah, what was to be his fate! what unkind lot did the future hold for him in the clutches of a man like this! suddenly she was pitying his mother--her own children, how safe! she winced to tell him what had happened, but she it was who, bracing her nerves, made the disclosure, for sudley remained silent, the end of the ox-yoke in his trembling hands, his head bare to the moon and the dew, his face grown lined and old. leander stood staring at her out of his moonlit blue eyes, his hat far back on the brown curls she had so vaunted, damp and crisp and clinging, the low limp collar of his unbleached shirt showing his round full throat, one hand resting on the high curb of the well, the other holding a great brown gourd full of the clear water which he had busied himself in securing while she sought to prepare him to hear the worst. his lips, like a bent bow as she thought, were red and still moist as he now and then took the gourd from them, and held it motionless in the interest of her narration, that indeed touched him so nearly. then, as she made point after point clear to his comprehension, he would once more lift the gourd and drink deeply, for he had had an active day, inducing a keen thirst. she had been preparing herself for the piteous spectacle of his frantic fright, his futile reliance on them who had always befriended him, his callow forlorn helplessness, his tears, his reproaches; she dreaded them. he was silent for a reflective moment when she had paused. "but what's he want with me, cap'n?" he suddenly demanded. "mought know i warn't industrious in the field, ez he seen me off a-fiddlin' in the woods whilst neighbor war a-ploughin'." [illustration: "he had had an active day, inducing a keen thirst"] "mebbe he 'lows he mought _make_ ye industrious an' git cornsider'ble work out'n ye," she faltered, flinching for him. after another refreshing gulp from the gourd he canvassed this dispassionately. "say his own chil'n air 'hearty feeders an' hard on shoe-leather?' takes a good deal o' goadin' ter git ploughin' enough fur the wuth o' feed out'n a toler'ble beastis like old blaze-face thar, don't it, neighbor?--an' how is it a-goin' ter be with a human ez mebbe will hold back an' air sot agin ploughin' ennyhow, an' air sorter idle by profession? 'twould gin him a heap o' trouble--more'n the ploughin' an' sech would be wuth--a heap o' trouble." once more he bowed his head to the gourd. "he 'lowed ye shouldn't dwell no mo' in the tents o' sin. he seen the fiddle, lee; it's all complicated with the fiddle," she quavered, very near tears of vexation. he lifted a smiling moonlit face; his half-suppressed laugh echoed gurglingly in the gourd. "cap'n," he said, reassuringly, "jes let's hear uncle nehemiah talk some mo', an' ef i can't see no mo' likely work fur me 'n ploughin', i'll think myself mighty safe." they felt like three conspirators as after supper they drew their chairs around the fire with the unsuspicious uncle nehemiah. however, nehemiah yerby could hardly be esteemed unsuspicious in any point of view, so full of vigilant craft was his intention in every anticipation, so slyly sanctimonious was his long countenance. there could hardly have been a greater contrast than tyler sudley's aspect presented. his candid face seemed a mirror for his thought; he had had scant experience in deception, and he proved a most unlikely novice in the art. his features were heavy and set; his manner was brooding and depressed; he did not alertly follow the conversation; on the contrary, he seemed oblivious of it as his full dark eyes rested absently on the fire. more than once he passed his hand across them with a troubled, harassed manner, and he sighed heavily. for which his co-conspirators could have fallen upon him. how could he be so dull, so forgetful of all save the fear of separation from the boy whom he had reared, whom he loved as his own son; how could he fail to know that a jaunty, assured mien might best serve his interests until at any rate the blow had fallen; why should he wear the insignia of defeat before the strength of his claim was tested? assuredly his manner was calculated to greatly reinforce nehemiah yerby's confidence, and to assist in eliminating difficulties in the urging of his superior rights and the carrying out of his scheme. mrs. sudley's heart sank as she caught a significant gleam from the boy's eyes; he too appreciated this disastrous policy, this virtual surrender before a blow was struck. "an' ty ain't afeard o' bars," she silently commented, "nor wolves, nor wind, nor lightning, nor man in enny kind o' a free fight; but bekase he dun'no' how the _law_ stands, an' air afeard the law _mought_ be able ter take lee-yander, he jes sets thar ez pitiful ez a lost kid, fairly ready ter blate aloud." she descried the covert triumph twinkling among the sparse light lashes and "crow-feet" about nehemiah's eyes as he droned on an ever-lengthening account of his experiences since leaving the county. "it's a mighty satisfyin' thing ter be well off in yearthly goods an' chattels," said laurelia, with sudden inspiration. "ty, thar, is in debt." for uncle nehemiah had been dwelling unctuously upon the extent to which it had pleased the lord to prosper him. his countenance fell suddenly. his discomfiture in her unexpected disclosure was twofold, in that it furnished a reason for tyler's evident depression of spirits, demolishing the augury that his manner had afforded as to the success of the guest's mission, and furthermore, to nehemiah's trafficking soul, it suggested that a money consideration might be exacted to mollify the rigors of parting. for nehemiah yerby had risen to the dignities, solvencies, and responsibilities of opening a store at the cross-roads in kildeer county. it was a new and darling enterprise with him, and his mind and speech could not long be wiled away from the subject. this abrupt interjection of a new element into his cogitations gave him pause, and he did not observe the sudden rousing of tyler sudley from his revery, and the glance of indignant reproach which he cast on his wife. no man, however meek, or however bowed down with sorrow, will bear unmoved a gratuitous mention of his debts; it seems to wound him with all the rancor of insult, and to enrage him with the hopelessness of adequate retort or reprisal. it is an indignity, like taunting a ghost with cock-crow, or exhorting a clergyman to repentance. he flung himself all at once into the conversation, to bar and baffle any renewed allusion to that subject, and it was accident rather than intention which made him grasp nehemiah in the vise of a quandary also. "ye say ye got a store an' a stock o' truck, nehemiah. air ye ekal ter keepin' store an' sech?" he demanded, speculatively, with an inquiring and doubtful corrugation of his brows, from which a restive lock of hair was flung backward like the toss of a horse's mane. "i reckon so," nehemiah sparely responded, blinking at him across the fireplace. "an' ye say ye hev applied fur the place o' postmaster?" tyler prosed on. "all that takes a power o' knowledge--readin' an' writin' an' cipherin' an' sech. how air ye expectin' to hold out, 'kase i know ye never hed no mo' larnin' than me, an' i war acquainted with ye till ye war thirty years old an' better?" the tenor of this discourse did not comport with his customary suavity and tactful courtesy toward a guest, but he was much harassed and had lost his balance. he had a vague idea that mrs. sudley hung upon the flank of the conversation with a complete summary of amounts, dates, and names of creditors, and he sought to balk this in its inception. moreover, his forbearance with nehemiah, with his presence, his personality, his mission, had begun to wane. bitter reflections might suffice to fill the time were he suffered to be silent; but since a part in the conversation had been made necessary, he had for it no honeyed words. "i'd make about ez fit a postmaster, i know, ez that thar old ow_el_ a-hootin' out yander. i could look smart an' sober like him, but that's 'bout all the fur my school-larnin' kerried me, an' yourn didn't reach ter the nex' mile-post--an' that i know." nehemiah's thin lips seemed dry. more than once his tongue appeared along their verges as he nervously moistened them. his small eyes had brightened with an excited look, but he spoke very slowly, and to laurelia it seemed guardedly. "i tuk ter my book arterward, brother sudley. i applied myself ter larnin' vigorous. bein' ez i seen the lord's hand war liberal with the gifts o' this worl', i wanted ter stir myself ter desarve the good things." sudley brought down the fore-legs of his chair to the floor with a thump. despite his anxiety a slow light of ridicule began to kindle on his face; his curling lip showed his strong white teeth. "waal, by gum! ye mus' hev been a sight ter be seen! ye, forty or fifty years old, a-settin' on the same seat with the chil'n at the deestric' school, an' a-competin' with the leetle tadpoles fur 'baker an' shady' an sech!" he was about to break forth with a guffaw of great relish when nehemiah spoke hastily, forestalling the laughter. "naw; abner sage war thar fur a good while las' winter a-visitin' his sister, an' he kem an' gin me lessons an' set me copies thar at my house, an' i larnt a heap." leander lifted his head suddenly. the amount of progress possible to this desultory and limited application he understood only too well. he had not learned so much himself to be unaware how much in time and labor learning costs. the others perceived no incongruity. sudley's face was florid with pride and pleasure, and his wife's reflected the glow. "ab sage at the cross-roads! then he mus' hev tole ye 'bout lee-yander hyar, an' his larnin'. ab tole, i know." nehemiah drew his breath in quickly. his twinkling eyes sent out the keenest glance of suspicion, but the gay, affectionate, vaunting laugh, as tyler sudley turned around and clapped the boy a ringing blow on his slender shoulder, expressed only the plenitude of his simple vainglory. "lee-yander hyar _knows it all_!" he boasted. "old ab himself don't know no mo'! i'll be bound old ab went a-braggin'--hey, lee-yander?" but the boy shrank away a trifle, and his smile was mechanical as he silently eyed his relative. "ab 'lowed he war tur'ble disobejient," said nehemiah, after a pause, and cautiously allowing himself to follow in the talk, "an' gi'n over ter playin' the fiddle." he hesitated for a moment, longing to stigmatize its ungodliness; but the recollection of tyler sudley's uncertain temper decided him, and he left it unmolested. "but ab 'lowed ye war middlin' quick at figgers, lee-yander--middlin' quick at figgers!" leander, still silent and listening, flushed slightly. this measured praise was an offence to him; but he looked up brightly and obediently when his uncle wagged an uncouthly sportive head (nehemiah's anatomy lent itself to the gay and graceful with much reluctance), thrust his hands into his pockets, and, tilting himself back in his chair, continued: "i'll try ye, sonny--i'll try ye. how much air nine times seven?--nine times seven?" "forty-two!" replied the boy, with a bright, docile countenance fixed upon his relative. there was a pause. "right!" exclaimed nehemiah, to the relief of sudley and his wife, who had trembled during the pause, for it seemed so threatening. they smiled at each other, unconscious that the examination meant aught more serious than a display of their prodigy's learning. "an', now, how much air twelve times eight?" demanded nehemiah. "sixty-six!" came the answer, quick as lightning. "right, sir, every time!" cried nehemiah with a glow of genuine exultation, as he brought down the fore-legs of the chair to the floor, and the two sudleys laughed aloud with pleasure. leander saw them all distorted and grimacing while the room swam round. the scheme was clear enough to him now. the illiterate nehemiah, whose worldly prosperity had outstripped his mental qualifications, had bethought himself of filling the breach with his nephew, given away as surplusage in his burdensome infancy, but transformed into a unique utility under the tutelage of abner sage. it was his boasting of his froward pupil, doubtless, that had suggested the idea, and leander understood now that he was to do the work of the store and the post-office under the nominal incumbency of this unlettered lout. had the whole transaction been open and acknowledged, leander would have had scant appetite for the work under this master; but he revolted at the flimsy, contemptible sham; he bitterly resented the innuendoes against the piety of the sudleys, not that he cared for piety, save in the abstract; he was daunted by the brutal ignorance, the doltish inefficiency of the imposture that had so readily accepted his patently false answers to the simple questions. he had a sort of crude reverence for education, and it had seemed to him a very serious matter to take such liberties with the multiplication table. he valued, too, with a boy's stalwart vanity, his reputation for great learning, and he would not have lightly jeopardized it did he not esteem the crisis momentous. he knew not what he feared. the fraud of the intention, the groundless claim to knowledge, made nehemiah's scheme seem multifariously guilty in some sort; while tyler sudley and his wife, albeit no wiser mathematically, had all the sanctions of probity in their calm, unpretending ignorance. "ef cap'n or neighbor wanted ter run a post-office on my larnin', or ter keep store, they'd be welcome; but i won't play stalkin'-horse fur that thar man's still-hunt, sure ez shootin'," he said to himself. the attention which he bent upon the conversation thenceforth was an observation of its effect rather than its matter. he saw that he was alone in his discovery. neither sudley nor his wife had perceived any connection between the store, the prospective post-office, and the desire of the illiterate would-be postmaster to have his erudite nephew restored to his care. it may be that the methods of his "neighbor" and the "captain" in the rearing of leander, the one with unbridled leniency, the other with spurious severity and affected indifference, had combined to foster self-reliance and decision of character, or it may be that these qualities were inherent traits. at all events, he encountered the emergency without an instant's hesitation. he felt no need of counsel. he had no doubts. he carried to his pallet in the roof-room no vacillations and no problems. his resolve was taken. for a time, as he listened to the movements below-stairs, the sound of voices still rose, drowsy as the hour waxed late; the light that flickered through the cracks in the puncheon flooring gradually dulled, and presently a harsh grating noise acquainted him with the fact that sudley was shovelling the ashes over the embers; then the tent-like attic was illumined only by the moonlight admitted through the little square window at the gable end--so silent, so still, it seemed that it too slept like the silent house. the winds slumbered amidst the mute woods; a bank of cloud that he could see from his lowly couch lay in the south becalmed. the bird's song had ceased. it seemed to him as he lifted himself on his elbow that he had never known the world so hushed. the rustle of the quilt of gay glazed calico was of note in the quietude; the impact of his bare foot on the floor was hardly a sound, rather an annotation of his weight and his movement; yet in default of all else the sense of hearing marked it. his scheme seemed impracticable as for an instant he wavered at the head of the ladder that served as a stairway; the next moment his foot was upon the rungs, his light, lithe figure slipping down it like a shadow. the room below, all eclipsed in a brown and dusky-red medium, the compromise between light and darkness that the presence of the embers fostered, was vaguely revealed to him. he was hardly sure whether he saw the furniture all in place, or whether he knew its arrangement so well that he seemed to see. suddenly, as he laid his hand on the violin on the wall, it became visible, its dark red wood richly glowing against the brown logs and the tawny clay daubing. a tiny white flame had shot up in the midst of the gray ashes, as he stood with the cherished object in his cautious hand, his excited eyes, dilated and expectant, searching the room apprehensively, while a vague thrill of a murmur issued from the instrument, as if the spirit of music within it had been wakened by his touch--too vague, too faintly elusive for the dormant and somewhat dull perceptions of nehemiah yerby, calmly slumbering in state in the best room. the faint jet of flame was withdrawn in the ashes as suddenly as it had shot forth, and in the ensuing darkness, deeper for the contrast with that momentary illumination, it was not even a shadow that deftly mounted the ladder again and emerged into the sheeny twilight of the moonlit roof-room. leander was somehow withheld for a moment motionless at the window; it may have been by compunction; it may have been by regret, if it be possible to the very young to definitely feel either. there was an intimation of pensive farewell in his large illumined eyes as they rested on the circle of familiar things about him--the budding trees, the well, with its great angular sweep against the sky, the still sward, the rail-fences glistening with the dew, the river with the moonlight in a silver blazonry on its lustrous dark surface, the encompassing shadows of the gloomy mountains. there was no sound, not even among the rippling shallows; he could hear naught but the pain of parting throbbing in his heart, and from the violin a faint continuous susurrus, as if it murmured half-asleep memories of the melodies that had thrilled its waking moments. it necessitated careful handling as he deftly let himself out of the window, the bow held in his mouth, the instrument in one arm, while the other hand clutched the boughs of a great holly-tree close beside the house. it was only the moonlight on those smooth, lustrous leaves, but it seemed as if smiling white faces looked suddenly down from among the shadows: at this lonely hour, with none awake to see, what strange things may there not be astir in the world, what unmeasured, unknown forces, sometimes felt through the dulling sleep of mortals, and then called dreams! as he stood breathless upon the ground the wind awoke. he heard it race around the corner of the house, bending the lilac bushes, and then it softly buffeted him full in the face and twirled his hat on the ground. as he stooped to pick it up he heard whispers and laughter in the lustrous boughs of the holly, and the gleaming faces shifted with the shadows. he looked fearfully over his shoulder; the rising wind might waken some one of the household. his "neighbor" was, he knew, solicitous about the weather, and suspicious of its intentions lest it not hold fine till all the oats be sown. a pang wrung his heart; he remembered the long line of seasons when, planting corn in the pleasant spring days, his "neighbor" had opened the furrow with the plough, and the "captain" had followed, dropping the grains, and he had brought up the rear with his hoe, covering them over, while the clouds floated high in the air, and the mild sun shone, and the wind kept the shadows a-flicker, and the blackbird and the crow, complacently and craftily watching them from afar, seemed the only possible threatening of evil in all the world. he hastened to stiffen his resolve. he had need of it. tyler sudley had said that he did not know how the law stood, and for himself, he was not willing to risk his liberty on it. he gazed apprehensively upon the little batten shutter of the window of the room where nehemiah yerby slept, expecting to see it slowly swing open and disclose him there. it did not stir, and gathering resolution from the terrors that had beset him when he fancied his opportunity threatened, he ran like a frightened deer fleetly down the road, and plunged into the dense forest. the wind kept him company, rollicking, quickening, coming and going in fitful gusts. he heard it die away, but now and again it was rustling among a double file of beech-trees all up the mountain-side. he saw the commotion in their midst, the effect of swift movement as the scant foliage fluttered, then the white branches of the trees all a-swaying like glistening arms flung upward, as if some bevy of dryads sped up the hill in elusive rout through the fastnesses. * * * * * the next day ushered in a tumult and excitement unparalleled in the history of the little log-cabin. when leander's absence was discovered, and inquiry of the few neighbors and search of the vicinity proved fruitless, the fact of his flight and its motive were persistently forced upon nehemiah yerby's reluctant perceptions, with the destruction of his cherished scheme as a necessary sequence. with some wild craving for vengeance he sought to implicate sudley as accessory to the mysterious disappearance. he found some small measure of solace in stumping up and down the floor before the hearth, furiously railing at the absent host, for sudley had not yet relinquished the bootless quest, and indignantly upbraiding the forlorn, white-faced, grief-stricken laurelia, who sat silent and stony, her faded eyes on the fire, heedless of his words. she held in her lap sundry closely-rolled knitted balls--the boy's socks that she had so carefully made and darned. a pile of his clothing lay at her feet. he had carried nothing but his fiddle and the clothes he stood in, and if she had had more tears she could have wept for his improvidence, for the prospective tatters and rents that must needs befall him in that unknown patchless life to which he had betaken himself. nehemiah yerby argued that it was sudley who had prompted the whole thing; he had put the boy up to it, for leander was not so lacking in feeling as to flee from his own blood-relation. but he would set the law to spy them out. he would be back again, and soon. he may have thought better of this presently, for he was in great haste to be gone when tyler sudley returned, and to his amazement in a counterpart frame of mind, charging nehemiah with the responsibility of the disaster. it was strange to laurelia that she, who habitually strove to fix her mind on religious things, should so relish the aspect of ty sudley in his secular rage on this occasion. "ye let we-uns hev him whilst so leetle an' helpless, but now that he air so fine growed an' robustious ye want ter git some work out'n him, an' he hev runned away an' tuk ter the woods tarrified by the very sight of ye," he averred. "he'll never kem back; no, he'll never kem back; fur he'll 'low ez ye would kem an' take him home with you; an' now the lord only knows whar he is, an' what will become of him." his anger and his tumultuous grief, his wild, irrepressible anxiety for leander's safety, convinced the crafty nehemiah that he was no party to the boy's scheme. sudley's sorrow was not of the kind that renders the temper pliable, and when nehemiah sought to point a moral in the absence of the violin, and for the first time in sudley's presence protested that he desired to save leander from that device of the devil, the master of the house shook his inhospitable fist very close indeed to his guest's nose, and yerby was glad enough to follow that feature unimpaired out to his horse at the bars, saying little more. he aired his views, however, at each house where he made it convenient to stop on his way home, and took what comfort there might be in the rôle of martyr. leander was unpopular in several localities, and was esteemed a poor specimen of the skill of the sudleys in rearing children. he had been pampered and spoiled, according to general report, and more than one of his successive interlocutors were polite enough to opine that the change to nehemiah's charge would have been a beneficent opportunity for much-needed discipline. nehemiah was not devoid of some skill in interrogatory. he contrived to elicit speculations without giving an intimation of unduly valuing the answer. "he's 'mongst the moonshiners, i reckon," was the universal surmise. "he'll be hid mighty safe 'mongst them." for where the still might be, or who was engaged in the illicit business, was even a greater mystery than leander's refuge. nothing more definite could be elicited than a vague rumor that some such work was in progress somewhere along the many windings of hide-and-seek creek. nehemiah yerby had never been attached to temperance principles, and, commercially speaking, he had thought it possible that whiskey on which no tax had been paid might be more profitably dispensed at his store than that sold under the sanctions of the government. these considerations, however, were as naught in view of the paralysis which his interests and schemes had suffered in leander's flight. he dwelt with dismay upon the possibility that he might secure the postmastership without the capable assistant whose services were essential. in this perverse sequence of events disaster to his application was more to be desired than success. he foresaw himself browbeaten, humiliated, detected, a butt for the ridicule of the community, his pretensions in the dust, his pitiful imposture unmasked. and beyond these æsthetic misfortunes, the substantial emoluments of "keepin' store," with a gallant sufficiency of arithmetic to regulate prices and profits, were vanishing like the elusive matutinal haze before the noontide sun. nehemiah yerby groaned aloud, for the financial stress upon his spirit was very like physical pain. and in this inauspicious moment he bethought himself of the penalties of violating the internal revenue laws of the united states. now it has been held by those initiated into such mysteries that there is scant affinity between whiskey and water. nevertheless, in this connection, nehemiah yerby developed an absorbing interest in the watercourses of the coves and adjacent mountains, especially their more remote and sequestered tributaries. he shortly made occasion to meet the county surveyor and ply him with questions touching the topography of the vicinity, cloaking the real motive under the pretence of an interest in water-power sufficient and permanent enough for the sawing of lumber, and professing to contemplate the erection of a saw-mill at the most eligible point. the surveyor had his especial vanity, and it was expressed in his frequent boast that he carried a complete map of the county graven upon his brain; he was wont to esteem it a gracious opportunity when a casual question in a group of loungers enabled him to display his familiarity with every portion of his rugged and mountainous region, which was indeed astonishing, even taking into consideration his incumbency for a number of terms, aided by a strong head for locality. nehemiah yerby's scheme was incalculably favored by this circumstance, but he found it unexpectedly difficult to support the figment which he had propounded as to his intentions. fiction is one of the fine arts, and a mere amateur like nehemiah is apt to fail in point of consistency. he was inattentive while the surveyor dilated on the probable value, the accessibility, and the relative height of the "fall" of the various sites, and their available water-power, and he put irrelevant queries concerning ineligible streams in other localities. no man comfortably mounted upon his hobby relishes an interruption. the surveyor would stop with a sort of bovine surprise, and break out in irritable parenthesis. "that branch on the t'other side o' panther ridge? why, man alive, that thread o' water wouldn't turn a spider web." nehemiah, quaking under the glance of his keen questioning eye, would once more lapse into silence, while the surveyor, loving to do what he could do well, was lured on in his favorite subject by the renewed appearance of receptivity in his listener. "waal, ez i war a-sayin', i know every furlong o' the creeks once down in the cove, an' all their meanderings, an' the best part o' them in the hills amongst the laurel and the wildernesses. but now the ways of sech a stream ez hide-an'-seek creek are past finding out. it's a 'sinking creek,' you know; goes along with a good volume and a swift current for a while to the west, then disappears into the earth, an' ain't seen fur five mile, then comes out agin running due north, makes a tremenjious jump--the hoho-hebee falls--then pops into the ground agin, an' ain't seen no more forever," he concluded, dramatically. "how d'ye know it's the same creek?" demanded nehemiah, sceptically, and with a wrinkling brow. "by settin' somethin' afloat on it before it sinks into the ground--a piece of marked bark or a shingle or the like--an' finding it agin after the stream comes out of the caves," promptly replied the man of the compass, with a triumphant snap of the eye, as if he entertained a certain pride in the vagaries of his untamed mountain friend. "nobody knows how often it disappears, nor where it rises, nor where it goes at last. it's got dozens of fust-rate millin' sites, but then it's too fur off fur you ter think about." "oh no 'tain't!" exclaimed nehemiah, suddenly. the surveyor stared. "why, you ain't thinkin' 'bout movin' up inter the wilderness ter live, an' ye jes applied fur the post-office down at the cross-roads? ye can't run the post-office thar an' a saw-mill thirty mile away at the same time." nehemiah was visibly disconcerted. his wrinkled face showed the flush of discomfiture, but his craft rallied to the emergency. "moughtn't git the post-office, arter all's come an' gone. nothin' is sartin in this vale o' tears." "an' ye air goin' ter take ter the woods ef ye don't?" demanded the surveyor, incredulously. "thought ye war goin' ter keep store?" "waal, i dun'no'; jes talkin' round," said nehemiah, posed beyond recuperation. "i mus' be a-joggin', ennyhow. time's a-wastin'." as he made off hastily in the direction of his house, for this conversation had taken place at the blacksmith's shop at the cross-roads, the surveyor gazed after him much mystified. "what is that old fox slyin' round after? he ain't studyin' 'bout no saw-mill, inquirin' round about all the out-o'-the-way water-power in the kentry fifty mile from where he b'longs. he's a heap likelier to be goin' ter start a wild cat still in them wild places--git his whiskey cheap ter sell in his store." he shook his head sagely once for all, for the surveyor's mind was of the type prompt in reaching conclusions, and he was difficult to divert from his convictions. a feature of the development of craft to a certain degree is the persuasion that this endowment is not shared. a fine world it would be if the nehemiah yerbys were as clever as they think themselves, and their neighbors as dull. he readily convinced himself that he had given no intimation that his objects and motives were other than he professed, and with unimpaired energy he went to work upon the lines which he had marked out for himself. a fine chase hide-and-seek creek led him, to be sure, and it tried his enthusiasms to the uttermost. what affinity this brawling vagrant had for the briers and the rocks and the tangled fastnesses! seldom, indeed, could he press in to its banks and look down upon its dimpled, laughing, heedless face without the sacrifice of fragments of flesh and garments left impaled upon the sharp spikes of the budding shrubs. often it so intrenched itself amidst the dense woods, and the rocks and chasms of its craggy banks, that approach was impossible, and he followed it for miles only by the sound of its wild, sweet, woodland voice. and this, too, was of a wayward fancy; now, in turbulent glee among the rocks, riotously chanting aloud, challenging the echoes, and waking far and near the forest quiet; and again it was merely a low, restful murmur, intimating deep, serene pools and a dallying of the currents, lapsed in the fulness of content. then nehemiah yerby would be beset with fears that he would lose this whisper, and his progress was slight; he would pause to listen, hearing nothing; would turn to right, to left; would take his way back through the labyrinth of the laurel to catch a thread of sound, a mere crystalline tremor, and once more follow this transient lure. as the stream came down a gorge at a swifter pace and in a succession of leaps--a glassy cataract visible here and there, airily sporting with rainbows, affiliating with ferns and moss and marshy growths, the bounding spray glittering in the sunshine--it flung forth continuously tinkling harmonies in clear crystal tones, so penetrating, so definitely melodic, that more than once, as he paced along on his jaded horse, he heard in their midst, without disassociating the sounds, the _ping, pang, ping, pang_, of the violin he so condemned. he drew up at last, and strained his ear to listen. it did not become more distinct, always intermingled with the recurrent rhythm of the falling water, but always vibrating in subdued throbbings, now more acute, now less, as the undiscriminated melody ascended or descended the scale. it came from the earth, of this he was sure, and thus he was reminded anew of the caves which hide-and-seek creek threaded in its long course. there was some opening near by, doubtless, that led to subterranean passages, dry enough here, since it was the stream's whim to flow in the open sunshine instead of underground. he would have given much to search for it had he dared. his leathery, lean, loose cheek had a glow of excitement upon it; his small eyes glistened; for the first time in his life, possibly, he looked young. but he did not doubt that this was the stronghold of the illicit distillers, of whom one heard so much in the cove and saw so little. a lapse of caution, an inconsiderate movement, and he might be captured and dealt with as a spy and informer. nevertheless his discovery was of scant value unless he utilized it further. he had always believed that his nephew had fled to the secret haunts of the moonshiners. now he only knew it the more surely; and what did this avail him, and how aid in the capture of the recusant clerk and assistant postmaster? he hesitated a moment; then fixing the spot in his mind by the falling of a broad crystal sheet of water from a ledge some forty feet high, by a rotting log at its base that seemed to rise continually, although the moving cataract appeared motionless, by certain trees and their relative position, and the blue peaks on a distant skyey background of a faint cameo yellow, he slowly turned his horse's rein and took his way out of danger. it was chiefly some demonstration on the animal's part that he had feared. a snort, a hoof-beat, a whinny would betray him, and very liable was the animal to any of these expressions. one realizes how unnecessary is speech for the exposition of opinion when brought into contradictory relations with the horse which one rides or drives. all day had this animal snorted his doubts of his master's sanity; all day had he protested against these aimless, fruitless rambles; all day had he held back with a high head and a hard mouth, while whip and spur pressed him through laurel almost impenetrable, and through crevices of crags almost impassable. for were there not all the fair roads of the county to pace and gallop upon if one must needs be out and jogging! unseen objects, vaguely discerned to be moving in the undergrowth affrighted the old plough-horse of the levels--infinitely reassured and whinnying with joyful relief when the head of horned cattle showed presently as the cause of the commotion. he would have given much a hundred times that day, and he almost said so a hundred times, too, to be at home, with the old bull-tongue plough behind him, running the straight rational furrow in the good bare open field, so mellow for corn, lying in the sunshine, inviting planting. "ef i git ye home wunst more, i'll be bound i'll leave ye thar," nehemiah said, ungratefully, as they wended their way along; for without the horse he could not have traversed the long distances of his search, however unwillingly the aid was given. he annotated his displeasure by a kick in the ribs; and when the old equine farmer perceived that they were absolutely bound binward, and that their aberrations were over for the present, he struck a sharp gait that would have done honor to his youthful days, for he had worn out several pairs of legs in nehemiah's fields, and was often spoken of as being upon the last of those useful extremities. he stolidly shook his head, which he thought so much better than his master's, and bedtime found them twenty miles away and at home. nehemiah felt scant fatigue. he was elated with his project. he scented success in the air. it smelled like the season. it too was suffused with the urgent pungency of the rising sap, with the fragrance of the wild-cherry, with the vinous promise of the orchard, with the richness of the mould, with the vagrant perfume of the early flowers. he lighted a tallow dip, and he sat him down with writing materials at the bare table to indite a letter while all his household slept. the windows stood open to the dark night, and spring hovered about outside, and lounged with her elbows on the sill, and looked in. he constantly saw something pale and elusive against the blackness, for there was no moon, but he thought it only the timid irradiation with which his tallow dip suffused the blossoming wands of an azalea, growing lithe and tall hard by. with this witness only he wrote the letter--an anonymous letter, and therefore he was indifferent to the inadequacies of his penmanship and his spelling. he labored heavily in its composition, now and then perpetrating portentous blots. he grew warm, although the fire that had served to cook supper had long languished under the bank of ashes. the tallow dip seemed full of caloric, and melted rapidly in pendulous drippings. he now and again mopped his red face, usually so bloodless, with his big bandanna handkerchief, while all the zephyrs were fanning the flying tresses of spring at the window, and the soft, sweet, delicately attuned vernal chorus of the marshes were tentatively running over _sotto voce_ their allotted melodies for the season. oh, it was a fine night outside, and why should a moth, soft-winged and cream-tinted and silken-textured, come whisking in from the dark, as silently as a spirit, to supervise nehemiah yerby's letter, and travel up and down the page all befouled with the ink? and as he sought to save the sense of those significant sentences from its trailing silken draperies, why should it rise suddenly, circling again and again about the candle, pass through the flame, and fall in quivering agonies once more upon the page? he looked at it, dead now, with satisfaction. it had come so very near ruining his letter--an important letter, describing the lair of the illicit distillers to a deputy marshal of the revenue force, who was known to be in a neighboring town. he had good reason to withhold his signature, for the name of the informer in the ruthless vengeance of the region would be as much as his life was worth. the moth had not spoiled the letter--the laborious letter; he was so glad of that! he saw no analogies, he received not even a subtle warning, as he sealed and addressed the envelope and affixed the postage-stamp. then he snuffed out the candle with great satisfaction. the next morning the missive was posted, and all nehemiah yerby's plans took a new lease of life. the information he had given would result in an immediate raid upon the place. leander would be captured among the moonshiners, but his youth and his uncle's representations--for he would give the officers an inkling of the true state of the case--would doubtless insure the boy's release, and his restoration to those attractive commercial prospects which had been devised for him. ii the ordering of events is an intricate process, and to its successful exploitation a certain degree of sagacious prescience is a prerequisite, as well as a thorough mastery of the lessons of experience. for a day or so all went well in the inner consciousness of nehemiah yerby. the letter had satisfied his restless craving for some action toward the consummation of his ambition, and he had not the foresight to realize how soon the necessity of following it up would supervene. he first grew uneasy lest his letter had not reached its destination; then, when the illimitable field of speculation was thus opened out, he developed an ingenuity of imagination in projecting possible disaster. day after day passed, and he heard naught of his cherished scheme. the revenuers--craven wretches he deemed them, and he ground his teeth with rage because of their seeming cowardice in their duty, since their duty could serve his interests--might not have felt exactly disposed to risk their lives in these sweet spring days, when perhaps even a man whose life belongs to the government might be presumed to take some pleasure in it, by attempting to raid the den of a gang of moonshiners on the scanty faith of an informer's word, tenuous guaranty at best, and now couched in an anonymous letter, itself synonym for a lie. oh, what fine eulogies rose in his mind upon the manly virtue of courage! how enthusing it is at all times to contemplate the courage of others!--and how safe! then a revulsion of belief ensued, and he began to fear that they might already have descended upon their quarry, and with all their captives have returned to the county town by the road by which they came--nearer than the route through the cross-roads, though far more rugged. why had not this possibility before occurred to him! he had so often prefigured their triumphant advent into the hamlet with all their guarded and shackled prisoners, the callow leander in the midst, and his own gracefully enacted rôle of virtuous, grief-stricken, pleading relative, that it seemed a recollection--something that had really happened--rather than the figment of anticipation. but no word, no breath of intimation, had ruffled the serenity of the cross-roads. the calm, still, yellow sunshine day by day suffused the land like the benignities of a dream--almost too good to be true. every man with the heart of a farmer within him was at the plough-handles, and making the most of the fair weather. the cloudless sky and the auspicious forecast of fine days still to come did more to prove to the farmer the existence of an all-wise, overruling providence than all the polemics of the world might accomplish. the furrows multiplied everywhere save in nehemiah's own fields, where he often stood so long in the turn-row that the old horse would desist from twisting his head backward in surprise, and start at last of his own motion, dragging the plough, the share still unanchored in the ground, half across the field before he could be stopped. the vagaries of these "lands" that the absent-minded nehemiah laid off attracted some attention. "what ails yer furrows ter run so crooked, nehemiah?" observed a passer-by, a neighbor who had been to the blacksmith-shop to get his plough-point sharpened; he looked over the fence critically. "yer eyesight mus' be failin' some." "i dun'no'," rejoined nehemiah, hastily. then reverting to his own absorption. "war it you-uns ez i hearn say thar war word kem ter the cross-roads 'bout some revenuers raidin' 'round somewhar in the woods?" the look of surprise cast upon him seemed to his alert anxiety to betoken suspicion. "laws-a-massy, naw!" exclaimed his interlocutor. "ye air the fust one that hev named sech ez that in these diggin's, fur i'd hev hearn tell on it, sure, ef thar hed been enny sech word goin' the rounds." nehemiah recoiled into silence, and presently his neighbor went whistling on his way. he stood motionless for a time, until the man was well out of sight, then he began to hastily unhitch the plough-gear. his resolution was taken. he could wait no longer. for aught he knew the raiders might have come and gone, and be now a hundred miles away with their prisoners to stand their trial in the federal court. his schemes might have all gone amiss, leaving him in naught the gainer. he could rest in uncertainty no more. he feared to venture further questions when no rumor stirred the air. they rendered him doubly liable to suspicion--to the law-abiding as a possible moonshiner, to any sympathizer with the distillers as a probable informer. he determined to visit the spot, and there judge how the enterprise had fared. when next he heard that fine sylvan symphony of the sound of the falling water--the tinkling bell-like tremors of its lighter tones mingling with the sonorous, continuous, deeper theme rising from its weight and volume and movement; with the surging of the wind in the pines; with the occasional cry of a wild bird deep in the new verdure of the forests striking through the whole with a brilliant, incidental, detached effect--no faint vibration was in its midst of the violin's string, listen as he might. more than once he sought to assure himself that he heard it, but his fancy failed to respond to his bidding, although again and again he took up his position where it had before struck his ear. the wild minstrelsy of the woods felt no lack, and stream and wind and harping pine and vagrant bird lifted their voices in their wonted strains. he could hardly accept the fact; he would verify anew the landmarks he had made and again return to the spot, his hat in his hand, his head bent low, his face lined with anxiety and suspense. no sound, no word, no intimation of human presence. the moonshiners were doubtless all gone long ago, betrayed into captivity, and leander with them. he had so hardened his heart toward his recalcitrant young kinsman and his sudley friends, he felt so entirely that in being among the moonshiners leander had met only his deserts in coming to the bar of federal justice, that he would have experienced scant sorrow if the nephew had not carried off with his own personality his uncle's book-keeper and postmaster's clerk. and so--alas, for leander! as he meditated on the untoward manner in which he had overshot his target, this marksman of fate forgot the caution which had distinguished his approach, for hitherto it had been as heedful as if he fully believed the lion still in his den. he slowly patrolled the bank below the broad, thin, crystal sheet, seeing naught but its rainbow hovering elusively in the sun, and its green and white skein-like draperies pendulous before the great dark arch over which the cataract fell. the log caught among the rocks in the spray at the base was still there, seeming always to rise while the restless water seemed motionless. no trace that human beings had ever invaded these solitudes could he discover. no vague, faint suggestion of the well-hidden lair of the moonshiners did the wild covert show forth. "the revenuers war smarter'n me; i'll say that fur 'em," he muttered at last as he came to a stand-still, his chin in his hand, his perplexed eyes on the ground. and suddenly--a footprint on a marshy spot; only the heel of a boot, for the craggy ledges hid all the ground but this, a mere sediment of sand in a tiny hollow in the rock from which the water had evaporated. it was a key to the mystery. instantly the rugged edges of the cliff took on the similitude of a path. once furnished with this idea, he could perceive adequate footing all adown the precipitous way. he was not young; his habits had been inactive, and were older even than his age. he could not account for it afterward, but he followed for a few paces this suggestion of a path down the precipitous sides of the stream. he had a sort of triumph in finding it so practicable, and he essayed it still farther, although the sound of the water had grown tumultuous at closer approach, and seemed to foster a sort of responsive turmoil of the senses; he felt his head whirl as he looked at the bounding, frothing spray, then at the long swirls of the current at the base of the fall as they swept on their way down the gorge. as he sought to lift his fascinated eyes, the smooth glitter of the crystal sheet of falling water so close before him dazzled his sight. he wondered afterward how his confused senses and trembling limbs sustained him along the narrow, rugged path, here and there covered with oozing green moss, and slippery with the continual moisture. it evidently was wending to a ledge. all at once the contour of the place was plain to him; the ledge led behind the cataract that fell from the beetling heights above. and within were doubtless further recesses, where perchance the moonshiners had worked their still. as he reached the ledge he could see behind the falling water and into the great concave space which it screened beneath the beetling cliff. it was as he had expected--an arched portal of jagged brown rocks, all dripping with moisture and oozing moss, behind the semi-translucent green-and-white drapery of the cascade. but he had not expected to see, standing quietly in the great vaulted entrance, a man with his left hand on a pistol in his belt, the mate of which his more formidable right hand held up with a steady finger on the trigger. this much nehemiah beheld, and naught else, for the glittering profile of the falls, visible now only aslant, the dark, cool recess beyond, that menacing motionless figure at the vanishing-point of the perspective, all blended together in an indistinguishable whirl as his senses reeled. he barely retained consciousness enough to throw up both his hands in token of complete submission. and then for a moment he knew no more. he was still leaning motionless against the wall of rock when he became aware that the man was sternly beckoning to him to continue his approach. his dumb lips moved mechanically in response, but any sound must needs have been futile indeed in the pervasive roar of the waters. he felt that he had hardly strength for another step along the precipitous way, but there is much tonic influence in a beckoning revolver, and few men are so weak as to be unable to obey its behests. poor nehemiah tottered along as behooved him, leaving all the world, liberty, volition, behind him as the descending sheet of water fell between him and the rest of life and shut him off. "that's it, my leetle man! i thought you could make it!" were the first words he could distinguish as he joined the mountaineer beneath the crag. nehemiah yerby had never before seen this man. that in itself was alarming, since in the scanty population of the region few of its denizens are unknown to each other, at least by sight. the tone of satire, the gleam of enjoyment in his keen blue eye, were not reassuring to the object of his ridicule. he was tall and somewhat portly, and he had a bluff and offhand manner, which, however, served not so much to intimate his good-will toward you as his abounding good-humor with himself. he was a man of most arbitrary temper, one could readily judge, not only from his own aspect and manner, but from the docile, reliant, approving cast of countenance of his reserve force--a half-dozen men, who were somewhat in the background, lounging on the rocks about a huge copper still. they wore an attentive aspect, but offered to take no active part in the scene enacted before them. one of them--even at this crucial moment yerby noticed it with a pang of regretful despair--held noiseless on his knee a violin, and more than once addressed himself seriously to rubbing rosin over the bow. there was scant music in his face--a square physiognomy, with thick features, and a shock of hay-colored hair striped somewhat with an effect of darker shades like a weathering stack. he handled the bow with a blunt, clumsy hand that augured little of delicate skill, and he seemed from his diligence to think that rosin is what makes a fiddle play. he was evidently one of those unhappy creatures furnished with some vague inner attraction to the charms of music, with no gift, no sentiment, no discrimination. something faintly sonorous there was in his soul, and it vibrated to the twanging of the strings. he was far less alert to the conversation than the others, whose listening attitudes attested their appreciation of the importance of the moment. "waal," observed the moonshiner, impatiently, eying the tremulous and tongue-tied yerby, "hev ye fund what ye war a-huntin' fur?" so tenacious of impressions was nehemiah that it was the violin in those alien hands which still focussed his attention as he stared gaspingly about. leander was not here; probably had never been here; and the twanging of those strings had lured him to his fate. well might he contemn the festive malevolence of the violin's influence! his letter had failed; no raider had intimidated these bluff, unafraid, burly law-breakers, and he had put his life in jeopardy in his persistent prosecution of his scheme. he gasped again at the thought. "_waal_," said the moonshiner, evidently a man of short patience, and with a definite air of spurring on the visitor's account of himself, "we 'ain't been lookin' fur any spy lately, but i'm 'lowin' ez we hev fund him." his fear thus put into words so served to realize to yerby his immediate danger that it stood him in the stead of courage, of brains, of invention; his flaccid muscles were suddenly again under control; he wreathed his features with his smug artificial smile, that was like a grimace in its best estate, and now hardly seemed more than a contortion. but beauty in any sense was not what the observer was prepared to expect in nehemiah, and the moonshiner seemed to accept the smile at its face value, and to respect its intention. "spies don't kem climbin' down that thar path o' yourn in full view through the water"--for the landscape was as visible through the thin falling sheet as if it had been the slightly corrugated glass of a window--"do they?" yerby asked, with a jocose intonation. "that thar shootin'-iron o' yourn liked ter hev skeered me ter death whenst i fust seen it." his interlocutor pondered on this answer for a moment. he had an adviser among his corps whose opinion he evidently valued; he exchanged a quick glance with one of the men who was but dimly visible in the shadows beyond the still, where there seemed to be a series of troughs leading a rill of running water down from some farther spring and through the tub in which the spiral worm was coiled. this man had a keen, white, lean face, with an ascetic, abstemious expression, and he looked less like a distiller than some sort of divine--some rustic pietist, with strange theories and unhappy speculations and unsettled mind. it was a face of subtle influences, and the very sight of it roused in nehemiah a more heedful fear than the "shootin'-iron" in the bluff moonshiner's hand had induced. he was silent, while the other resumed the office of spokesman. "ye ain't 'quainted hyar"--he waved his hand with the pistol in it around at the circle of uncowering men, although the mere movement made nehemiah cringe with the thought that an accidental discharge might as effectually settle his case as premeditated and deliberate murder. "ye dun'no' none o' us. what air ye a-doin' hyar?" "why, that thar war the very trouble," yerby hastily explained. "_i didn't know none o' ye!_ i hed hearn ez thar war a still somewhars on hide-an'-seek creek"--once more there ensued a swift exchange of glances among the party--"but nobody knew who run it nor whar 'twar. an' one day, consider'ble time ago, i war a-passin' nigh 'bouts an' i hearn that fiddle, an' that revealed the spot ter me. an' i kem ter-day 'lowin' ye an' me could strike a trade." once more the bluff man of force turned an anxious look of inquiry to the pale, thoughtful face in the brown and dark green shadows beyond the copper gleam of the still. if policy had required that nehemiah should be despatched, his was the hand to do the deed, and his the stomach to support his conscience afterward. but his brain revolted from the discriminating analysis of nehemiah's discourse and a decision on its merits. "trade fur what?" he demanded at last, on his own responsibility, for no aid had radiated from the face which his looks had interrogated. "fur whiskey, o' course." nehemiah made the final plunge boldly. "i be goin' ter open a store at the cross-roads, an' i 'lowed i could git cheaper whiskey untaxed than taxed. i 'lowed ye wouldn't make it ef ye didn't expec' ter sell it. i didn't know none o' you-uns, an' none o' yer customers. an' ez i expec' ter git mo' profit on sellin' whiskey 'n ennything else in the store, i jes took foot in hand an' kem ter see 'boutn it mysef. i never 'lowed, though, ez it mought look cur'ous ter you-uns, or like a spy, ter kem ez bold ez brass down the path in full sight." the logic of the seeming security of his approach, and the apparent value of his scheme, had their full weight. he saw credulity gradually overpowering doubt and distrust, and his heart grew light with relief. even their cautious demur, intimating a reserve of opinion to the effect that they would think about it, did not daunt him now. he believed, in the simplicity of his faith in his own craft, now once more in the ascendant, that if they should accept his proposition he would be free to go without further complication of his relations with wild-cat whiskey. he could not sufficiently applaud his wits for the happy termination of the adventure to which they had led him. he had gone no further in the matter than he had always intended. brush whiskey was the commodity that addressed itself most to his sense of speculation. for this he had always expected to ferret out some way of safely negotiating. he had gone no further than he should have done, at all events, a little later. he even began mentally to "figger on the price" down to which he should be able to bring the distillers, as he accepted a proffered seat in the circle about the still. he could neither divide nor multiply by fractions, and it is not too much to say that he might have been throttled on the spot if the moonshiners could have had a mental vision of the liberties the stalwart integers were taking with their price-current, so to speak, and the preternatural discount that was making so free with their profits. so absorbed in this pleasing intellectual exercise was nehemiah that he did not observe that any one had left the coterie; but when a stir without on the rocks intimated an approach he was suddenly ill at ease, and this discomfort increased when the new-comer proved to be a man who knew him. "waal, nehemiah yerby!" he exclaimed, shaking his friend's hand, "i never knowed you-uns ter be consarned in sech ez moonshinin'. i hev been a-neighborin' isham hyar," he laid his heavy hand on the tall moonshiner's shoulder, "fur ten year an' better, but i won't hev nuthin' ter do with bresh whiskey or aidin' or abettin' in illicit 'stillin'. i like isham, an' isham he likes me, an' we hev jes agreed ter disagree." nehemiah dared not protest nor seek to explain. he could invent no story that would not give the lie direct to his representations to the moonshiners. he felt that their eyes were upon him. he could only hope that his silence did not seem to them like denial--and yet was not tantamount to confession in the esteem of his upbraider. "yes, sir," his interlocutor continued, "it's a mighty bad government ter run agin." then he turned to the moonshiner, evidently taking up the business that had brought him here. "lemme see what sorter brand ye hev registered fur yer cattle, isham." yerby's heart sank when the suspicion percolated through his brain that this man had been induced to come here for the purpose of recognizing him. more fixed in this opinion was he when no description of the brand of the cattle could be found, and the visitor finally went away, his errand bootless. from time to time during the afternoon other men went out and returned with recruits on various pretexts, all of which nehemiah believed masked the marshalling of witnesses to incriminate him as one of themselves, in order to better secure his constancy to the common interests, and in case he was playing false to put others into possession of the facts as to the identity of the informer. his liability to the law for aiding and abetting in moonshining was very complete before the day darkened, and his jeopardy as to the information he had given made him shake in his shoes. for at any moment, he reflected, in despair, the laggard raiders might swoop down upon them, and the choice of rôles offered to him was to seem to them a moonshiner, or to the moonshiners an informer. the first was far the safer, for the clutches of the law were indeed feeble as contrasted with the popular fury that would pursue him unwearied for years until its vengeance was accomplished. from the one, escape was to the last degree improbable; from the other, impossible. any pretext to seek to quit the place before the definite arrangements of his negotiation were consummated seemed even to him, despite his eagerness to be off, too tenuous, too transparent, to be essayed, although he devised several as he sat meditative and silent amongst the group about the still. the prospect grew less and less inviting as the lingering day waned, and the evening shadows, dank and chill, perceptibly approached. the brown and green recesses of the grotto were at once murkier, and yet more distinctly visible, for the glow of the fire, flickering through the crevices of the metal door of the furnace, had begun to assert its luminous quality, which was hardly perceptible in the full light of day, and brought out the depth of the shadows. the figures and faces of the moonshiners showed against the deepening gloom. the sunset clouds were still red without; a vague roseate suffusion was visible through the falling water. the sun itself had not yet sunk, for an oblique and almost level ray, piercing the cataract, painted a series of faint prismatic tints on one side of the rugged arch. but while the outer world was still in touch with the clear-eyed day, night was presently here, with mystery and doubt and dark presage. the voice of hoho-hebee falls seemed to him louder, full of strange, uncomprehended meanings, and insistent iteration. vague echoes were elicited. sometimes in a seeming pause he could catch their lisping sibilant tones repeating, repeating--what? as the darkness encroached yet more heavily upon the cataract, the sense of its unseen motion so close at hand oppressed his very soul; it gave an idea of the swift gathering of shifting invisible multitudes, coming and going--who could say whence or whither? so did this impression master his nerves that he was glad indeed when the furnace door was opened for fuel, and he could see only the inanimate, ever-descending sheet of water--the reverse interior aspect of hoho-hebee falls--all suffused with the uncanny tawny light, but showing white and green tints like its diurnal outer aspect, instead of the colorless outlines, resembling a drawing of a cataract, which the cave knew by day. he did not pause to wonder whether the sudden transient illumination was visible without, or how it might mystify the untutored denizens of the woods, bear, or deer, or wolf, perceiving it aglow in the midst of the waters like a great topaz, and anon lost in the gloom. he pined to see it; the momentary cessation of darkness, of the effect of the sounds, so strange in the obscurity, and of the chill, pervasive mystery of the invisible, was so grateful that its influence was tonic to his nerves, and he came to watch for its occasion and to welcome it. he did not grudge it even when it gave the opportunity for a close, unfriendly, calculating scrutiny of his face by the latest comer to the still. this was the neighboring miller, also liable to the revenue laws, the distillers being valued patrons of the mill, and since he ground the corn for the mash he thereby aided and abetted in the illicit manufacture of the whiskey. his life was more out in the world than that of his underground _confrères_, and perhaps, as he had a thriving legitimate business, and did not live by brush whiskey, he had more to lose by detection than they, and deprecated even more any unnecessary risk. he evidently took great umbrage at the introduction of nehemiah amongst them. "oh yes," he observed, in response to the cordial greeting which he met; "an' i'm glad ter see ye all too. i'm powerful glad ter kem ter the still enny time. it's ekal ter goin' ter the settlemint, or plumb ter town on a county court day. ye see _everybody_, an' hear _all_ the news, an' meet up with _interestin' strangers_. i tell ye, now, the mill's plumb lonesome compared ter the still, an' the mill's always hed the name of a place whar a heap o' cronies gathered ter swap lies, an' sech." the irony of this description of the social delights and hospitable accessibilities of a place esteemed the very stronghold of secrecy itself--the liberty of every man in it jeopardized by the slightest lapse of vigilance or judgment--was very readily to be appreciated by the group, who were invited by this fair show of words to look down the vista of the future to possible years of captivity in the jails of far-away states as federal prisoners. the men gazed heavily and anxiously from one to another as the visitor sank down on the rocks in a relaxed attitude, his elbow on a higher ledge behind him, supporting his head on his hand; his other hand was on his hip, his arm stiffly akimbo, while he looked with an expression of lowering exasperation at yerby. it was impossible to distinguish the color of his garb, so dusted with flour was he from head to foot; but his long boots drawn over his trousers to the knee, and his great spurs, and a brace of pistols in his belt, seemed incongruous accessories to the habiliments of a miller. his large, dark hat was thrust far back on his head; his hair, rising straight in a sort of elastic wave from his brow, was powdered white; the effect of his florid color and his dark eyes was accented by the contrast; his pointed beard revealed its natural tints because of his habit of frequently brushing his hand over it, and was distinctly red. he was lithe and lean and nervous, and had the impatient temper characteristic of mercurial natures. it mattered not to him what was the coercion of the circumstances which had led to the reception of the stranger here, nor what was the will of the majority; he disapproved of the step; he feared it; he esteemed it a grievance done him in his absence; and he could not conceal his feelings nor wait a more fitting time to express them in private. his irritation and objection evidently caused some solicitude amongst the others. he was important to them, and they deprecated his displeasure. isham beaton listened to the half-covert sneers of his words with perturbation plainly depicted on his face, and the man whom nehemiah had at first noticed as one whose character seemed that of adviser, and whose opinion was valued, now spoke for the first time. he handed over a broken-nosed pitcher with the remark, "try the flavor of this hyar whiskey, alfred; 'pears like ter me the bes' we-uns hev ever hed." his voice was singularly smooth; it had all the qualities of culture; every syllable, every lapse of his rude dialect, was as distinct as if he had been taught to speak in this way; his tones were low and even, and modulated to suave cadences; the ear experienced a sense of relief after the loud, strident voice of the miller, poignantly penetrating and pitched high. "naw, hilary, i don't want nuthin' ter drink. 'bleeged ter ye, but i ain't wantin' nuthin' ter drink," reiterated the miller, plaintively. isham beaton cast a glance of alarm at the dimly seen, monastic face of his adviser in the gloom. it was unchanged. its pallor and its keen outline enabled its expression to be discerned as he himself went through the motions of sampling the rejected liquor, shook his head discerningly, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and deposited the pitcher near by on a shelf of the rock. a pause ensued. nehemiah, with every desire to be agreeable, hardly knew how to commend himself to the irate miller, who would have none of his very existence. no one could more eagerly desire him to be away than he himself. but his absence would not satisfy the miller; nothing less than that the intruder should never have been here. every perceptible lapse of the moonshiners into anxiety, every recurrent intimation of their most pertinent reason for this anxiety, set nehemiah a-shaking in his shoes. should it be esteemed the greatest good to the greatest number to make safely away with him, his fate would forever remain unknown, so cautious had he been to leave no trace by which he might be followed. he gazed with deprecating urbanity, and with his lips distended into a propitiating smile, at the troubled face powdered so white and with its lowering eyes so dark and petulant. he noted that the small-talk amongst the others, mere unindividualized lumpish fellows with scant voice in the government of their common enterprise, had ceased, and that they no longer busied themselves with the necessary work about the still, nor with the snickering interludes and horse-play with which they were wont to beguile their labors. they had all seated themselves, and were looking from one to the other of the more important members of the guild with an air which betokened the momentary expectation of a crisis. the only exception was the man who had the violin; with the persistent, untimely industry of incapacity, he twanged the strings, and tuned and retuned the instrument, each time producing a result more astonishingly off the key than before. he was evidently unaware of this till some one with senses ajar would suggest that all was not as it should be in the drunken reeling catch he sought to play, when he would desist in surprise, and once more diligently rub the bow with rosin, as if that mended the matter. the miller's lowering eyes rested on his shadowy outline as he sat thus engaged, for a moment, and then he broke out suddenly: "yes, this hyar still is the place fur news, an' the place ter look out fur what ye don't expec' ter happen. it's powerful pleasant ter be a-meetin' of folks hyar--this hyar stranger this evenin'"--his gleaming teeth in the semi-obscurity notified yerby that a smile of spurious politeness was bent upon him, and he made haste to grin very widely in response--"an' that thar fiddle 'minds me o' how onexpected 'twar whenst i met up with lee-yander hyar--'pears ter me, bob, ez ye air goin' ter diddle the life out'n his fiddle--an' hilary jes begged an' beseeched me ter take the boy with me ter help 'round the mill, ez he war a-runnin' away. ye want me ter 'commodate this stranger too, ez mebbe air runnin' from them ez wants him, hey hilary?" the grin was petrified on nehemiah's face. he felt his blood rush quickly to his head in the excitement of the moment. so here was the bird very close at hand! and here was his enterprise complete and successful. he could go away after the cowardly caution of the moonshiners should have expended itself in dallying and delay, with his negotiation for the "wild-cat" ended, and his accomplished young relative in charge. he drew himself erect with a sense of power. the moonshiners, the miller, would not dare to make an objection. he knew too much! he knew far too much! the door of the furnace was suddenly flung ajar, but he was too much absorbed to perceive the change that came upon the keen face of hilary tarbetts, who knelt beside it, as the guest's portentous triumphant smile was fully revealed. yerby did not lose, however, the glance of reproach which the moonshiner cast upon the miller, nor the miller's air at once triumphant, ashamed, and regretful. he had in petulant pique disclosed the circumstance which he had pledged himself not to disclose. "this man's name is yerby too," hilary said, significantly, gazing steadily at the miller. the miller looked dumfounded for a moment. he stared from one to the other in silence. his conscious expression changed to obvious discomfiture. he had expected no such result as this. he had merely given way to a momentary spite in the disclosure, thinking it entirely insignificant, only calculated to slightly annoy hilary, who had made the affair his own. he would not in any essential have thwarted his comrade's plans intentionally, nor in his habitual adherence to the principles of fair play would he have assisted in the boy's capture. he drew himself up from his relaxed posture; his spurred feet shuffled heavily on the stone floor of the grotto. a bright red spot appeared on each cheek; his eyes had become anxious and subdued in the quick shiftings of temper common to the red-haired gentry; his face of helpless appeal was bent on hilary tarbetts, as if relying on his resources to mend the matter; but ever and anon he turned his eyes, animated with a suspicious dislike, on yerby, who, however, could have snapped his fingers in the faces of them all, so confident, so hilariously triumphant was he. "yerby, i b'lieve ye said yer name war, an' so did peter green," said tarbetts, still kneeling by the open furnace door, his pale cheek reddening in the glow of the fire. thus reminded of the testimony of his acquaintance, yerby did not venture to repudiate his cognomen. "an' what did ye kem hyar fur?" blustered the miller. "a-sarchin' fur the boy?" yerby's lips had parted to acknowledge this fact, but tarbetts suddenly anticipated his response, and answered for him: "oh no, alfred. nobody ain't sech a fool ez ter kem hyar ter this hyar still, a stranger an' mebbe suspected ez a spy, ter hunt up stray children, an' git thar heads shot off, or mebbe drownded in a mighty handy water-fall, or sech. this hyar man air one o' we-uns. he air a-tradin' fur our liquor, an' he'll kerry a barrel away whenst he goes." yerby winced at the suggestion conveyed so definitely in this crafty speech; he was glad when the door of the furnace closed, so that his face might not tell too much of the shifting thoughts and fears that possessed him. the miller's fickle mind wavered once more. if yerby had not come for the boy, he himself had done no damage in disclosing leander's whereabouts. once more his quickly illumined anger was kindled against tarbetts, who had caused him a passing but poignant self-reproach. "waal, then, hilary," he demanded, "what air ye a-raisin' sech a row fur? lee-yander ain't noways so special precious ez i knows on. toler'ble lazy an' triflin', an' mightily gi'n over ter moonin' over a readin'-book he hev got. that thar mill war a-grindin' o' nuthin' at all more'n haffen ter-day, through me bein' a-nappin', and lee-yander plumb demented by his book so ez he furgot ter pour enny grist inter the hopper. shucks! his kin is welcome ter enny sech critter ez that, though i ain't denyin' ez he'd be toler'ble spry ef he could keep his nose out'n his book," he qualified, relenting, "or his fiddle out'n his hands. i made him leave his fiddle hyar ter the still, an' i be goin' ter hide his book." "no need," thought nehemiah, scornfully. book and scholar and it might be fiddle too, so indulgent had the prospect of success made him, would by to-morrow be on the return route to the cross-roads. he even ventured to differ with the overbearing miller. "i dun'no' 'bout that; books an' edication in gin'ral air toler'ble useful wunst in a while;" he was thinking of the dark art of dividing and multiplying by fractions. "the yerbys hev always hed the name o' bein' quick at thar book." now the democratic sentiment in this country is bred in the bone, and few of its denizens have so diluted it with christian grace as to willingly acknowledge a superior. in such a coterie as this "eating humble-pie" is done only at the muzzle of a "shootin'-iron." "never hearn afore ez enny o' the yerbys knowed b from bull-foot," remarked one of the unindividualized lumpish moonshiners, shadowy, indistinguishable in the circle about the rotund figure of the still. he yet retained acrid recollections of unavailing struggles with the alphabet, and was secretly of the opinion that education was a painful thing, and, like the yellow-fever or other deadly disease, not worth having. nevertheless, since it was valued by others, the yerbys should scathless make no unfounded claims. "ef the truth war knowed, nare one of 'em afore could tell a book from a bear-trap." nehemiah's flush the darkness concealed; he moistened his thin lips, and then gave a little cackling laugh, as if he regarded this as pleasantry. but the demolition of the literary pretensions of his family once begun went bravely on. "abner sage larnt this hyar boy all he knows," another voice took up the testimony. "ab 'lows ez his mother war quick at school, but his dad--law! i knowed ebenezer yerby! he war a frien'ly sorter cuss, good-nachured an' kind-spoken, but ye could put all the larnin' he hed in the corner o' yer eye." "an' lee-yander don't favor none o' ye," observed another of the undiscriminated, unimportant members of the group, who seemed to the groping scrutiny of nehemiah to be only endowed with sufficient identity to do the rough work of the still, and to become liable to the federal law. "thar's hil'ry--he seen it right off. hil'ry he tuk a look at lee-yander whenst he wanted ter kem an' work along o' we-uns, 'kase his folks wanted ter take him away from the sudleys. hil'ry opened the furnace door--jes so; an' he cotch the boy by the arm"--the great brawny fellow, unconsciously dramatic, suited the action to the word, his face and figure illumined by the sudden red glow--"an' hil'ry, he say, 'naw, by god--ye hev got yer mother's eyes in yer head, an' i'll swear ye sha'n't larn ter be a sot!' an' that's how kem hil'ry made alf bixby take lee-yander ter work in the mill. ef ennybody tuk arter him he war convenient ter disappear down hyar with we-uns. so he went ter the mill." "an' i wisht i hed put him in the hopper an' ground him up," said the miller, in a blood-curdling tone, but with a look of plaintive anxiety in his eyes. "he hev made a heap o' trouble 'twixt hil'ry an' me fust an' last. whar's hil'ry disappeared to, ennyways?" for the flare from the furnace showed that this leading spirit amongst the moonshiners had gone softly out. nehemiah, whose courage was dissipated by some subtle influence of his presence, now made bold to ask, "an' what made him ter set store on lee-yander's mother's eyes?" his tone was as bluffly sarcastic as he dared. "shucks--ye mus' hev hearn that old tale," said the miller, cavalierly. "this hyar malviny hixon--ez lived down in tanglefoot cove then--her an' hil'ry war promised ter marry, but the revenuers captured him--he war a-runnin' a still in tanglefoot then--an' they kep' him in jail somewhar in the north fur five year. waal, she waited toler'ble constant fur two or three year, but ebenezer yerby he kem a-visitin' his kin down in tanglefoot cove, an' she an' him met at a bran dance, an' the fust thing i hearn they war married, an' 'fore hil'ry got back she war dead an' buried, an' so war ebenezer." there was a pause while the flames roared in the furnace, and the falling water desperately dashed upon the rocks, and its tumultuous voice continuously pervaded the silent void wildernesses without, and the sibilant undertone, the lisping whisperings, smote the senses anew. "he met up with cornsider'ble changes fur five year," remarked one of the men, regarding the matter in its chronological aspect. nehemiah said nothing. he had heard the story before, but it had been forgotten. a worldly mind like his is not apt to burden itself with the sentimental details of an antenuptial romance of the woman whom his half-brother had married many years ago. a persuasion that it was somewhat unduly long-lived impressed others of the party. "it's plumb cur'us hil'ry ain't never furgot her," observed one of them. "he hev never married at all. my wife says it's jes contrariousness. ef malviny hed been his wife an' died, he'd hev married agin 'fore the year war out. an' i tell my wife that he'd hev been better acquainted with her then, an' would hev fund out ez no woman war wuth mournin' 'bout fur nigh twenty year. my wife says she can't make out ez how hil'ry 'ain't got pride enough not ter furgive her fur givin' him the mitten like she done. an' i tell my wife that holdin' a gredge agin a woman fur bein' fickle is like holdin' a gredge agin her fur bein' a woman." he paused with an air, perceived somehow in the brown dusk, of having made a very neat point. a stir of assent was vaguely suggested when some chivalric impulse roused a champion at the farther side of the worm, whose voice rang out brusquely: "jes listen at tom! a body ter hear them tales he tells 'bout argufyin' with his wife would 'low he war a mighty smart, apt man, an' the pore foolish 'oman skeercely hed a sensible word ter bless herself with. when everybody that knows tom knows he sings mighty small round home. ye stopped too soon, tom. tell what yer wife said to that." tom's embarrassed feet shuffled heavily on the rocks, apparently in search of subterfuge. the dazzling glintings from the crevices of the furnace door showed here and there gleaming teeth broadly agrin. "jes called me a fool in gineral," admitted the man skilled in argument. "an' didn't she 'low ez men folks war fickle too, an' remind ye o' yer young days whenst ye went a-courtin' hyar an' thar, an' tell over a string o' gals' names till she sounded like an off'cer callin' the roll?" "ye-es," admitted tom, thrown off his balance by this preternatural insight, "but all them gals war a-tryin' ter marry me--not me tryin' ter marry them." there was a guffaw at this modest assertion, but the disaffected miller's tones dominated the rude merriment. "whenst a feller takes ter drink folks kin spell out a heap o' reasons but the true one--an' that's 'kase he likes it. hil'ry 'ain't never named that 'oman's name ter me, an' i hev knowed him ez well ez ennybody hyar. jes t'other day whenst that boy kem, bein' foolish an' maudlin, he seen suthin' oncommon in lee-yander's eyes--they'll be mighty oncommon ef he keeps on readin' his tomfool book, ez he knows by heart, by the firelight when it's dim. ef folks air so sot agin strong drink, let 'em drink less tharsefs. hear brother peter vickers preach agin liquor, an' ye'd know ez all wine-bibbers air bound fur hell." "but the bible don't name 'whiskey' once," said the man called tom, in an argumentative tone. "low wines i'll gin ye up;" he made the discrimination in accents betokening much reasonable admission; "but nare time does the bible name whiskey, nor yit peach brandy, nor apple-jack." "nor cider nor beer," put in an unexpected recruit from the darkness. the miller was silent for a moment, and gave token of succumbing to this unexpected polemic strength. then, taking thought and courage together, "ye can't say the bible ain't down on 'strong drink'?" there was no answer from the vanquished, and he went on in the overwhelming miller's voice: "hil'ry hed better be purtectin' hisself from strong drink, 'stiddier the boy--by makin' him stay up thar at the mill whar he knows thar's no drinkin' goin' on--ez will git chances at it other ways, ef not through him, in the long life he hev got ter live. the las' time the revenuers got hil'ry 'twar through bein' ez drunk ez a fraish-biled owl. it makes me powerful oneasy whenever i know ye air all drunk an' a-gallopadin' down hyar, an' no mo' able to act reasonable in case o' need an' purtect yersefs agin spies an' revenuers an' sech 'n nuthin' in this worl'. the las' raid, ye 'member, we hed the still over yander;" he jerked his thumb in the direction present to his thoughts, but unseen by his coadjutors; "a man war wounded, an' we dun'no' but what killed in the scuffle, an' it mought be a hangin' matter ter git caught now. ye oughter keep sober; an' ye know, isham, ye oughter keep hil'ry sober. i dun'no' why ye can't. i never could abide the nasty stuff--it's enough ter turn a bullfrog's stomach. whiskey is good ter sell--not ter drink. let them consarned idjits in the flat woods buy it, an' drink it. whiskey is good ter sell--not ter drink." this peculiar temperance argument was received in thoughtful silence, the reason of all the mountaineers commending it, while certain of them knew themselves and were known to be incapable of profiting by it. nehemiah had scant interest in this conversation. he was conscious of the strain on his attention as he followed it, that every point of the situation should be noted, and its utility canvassed at a leisure moment. he marked the allusion to the man supposed to have been killed in the skirmish with the raiders, and he appraised its value as coercion in any altercation that he might have in seeking to take leander from his present guardians. but he felt in elation that this was likely to be of the slightest; the miller evidently found himself hampered rather than helped by the employment of the boy; and as to the moonshiner's sentimental partisanship, for the sake of an old attachment to the dead-and-gone mountain girl, there was hardly anything in the universe so tenuous as to bear comparison with its fragility. "a few drinks ahead," he said to himself, with a sneer, "an' he won't remember who malviny hixon was, ef thar is ennything in the old tale--which it's more'n apt thar ain't." he began, after the fashion of successful people, to cavil because his success was not more complete. how the time was wasting here in this uncomfortable interlude! why could he not have discovered leander's whereabouts earlier, and by now be jogging along the road home with the boy by his side? why had he not bethought himself of the mill in the first instance--that focus of gossip where all the news of the countryside is mysteriously garnered and thence dispensed bounteously to all comers? it was useless, as he fretted and chafed at these untoward omissions, to urge in his own behalf that he did not know of the existence of the mill, and that the miller, being an ungenial and choleric man, might have perversely lent himself to resisting his demand for the custody of the young runaway. no, he told himself emphatically, and with good logic, too, the miller's acrimony rose from the fact of a stranger's discovery of the still and the danger of his introduction into its charmed circle. and that reflection reminded him anew of his own danger here--not from the lawless denizens of the place, but from the forces which he himself had evoked, and again he glanced out toward the water-fall as fearful of the raiders as any moonshiner of them all. but what sudden glory was on the waters, mystic, white, an opaque brilliance upon the swirling foam and the bounding spray, a crystalline glitter upon the smooth expanse of the swift cataract! the moon was in the sky, and its light, with noiseless tread, sought out strange, lonely places, and illusions were astir in the solitudes. pensive peace, thoughts too subtle for speech to shape, spiritual yearnings, were familiars of the hour and of this melancholy splendor; but he knew none of them, and the sight gave him no joy. he only thought that this was a night for the saddle, for the quiet invasion of the woods, when the few dwellers by the way-side were lost in slumber. he trembled anew at the thought of the raiders whom he himself had summoned; he forgot his curses on their laggard service; he upbraided himself again that he had not earlier made shift to depart by some means--by any means--before the night came with this great emblazoning bold-faced moon that but prolonged the day; and he started to his feet with a galvanic jerk and a sharp exclamation when swift steps were heard on the rocks outside, and a man with the lightness of a deer sprang down the ledges and into the great arched opening of the place. "'tain't nobody but hil'ry," observed isham beaton, half in reproach, half in reassurance. the pervasive light without dissipated in some degree the gloom within the grotto; a sort of gray visibility was on the appurtenances and the figures about the still, not strong enough to suggest color, but giving contour. his fright had been marked, he knew; a sort of surprised reflectiveness was in the manner of several of the moonshiners, and nehemiah, with his ready fears, fancied that this inopportune show of terror had revived their suspicions of him. it required some effort to steady his nerves after this, and when footfalls were again audible outside, and all the denizens of the place sat calmly smoking their pipes without so much as a movement toward investigating the sound, he, knowing whose steps he had invited thither, had great ado with the coward within to keep still, as if he had no more reason to fear an approach than they. a great jargon in the tone of ecstasy broke suddenly on the air upon this new entrance, shattering what little composure nehemiah had been able to muster; a wide-mouthed exaggeration of welcome in superlative phrases and ready chorus. swiftly turning, he saw nothing for a moment, for he looked at the height which a man's head might reach, and the new-comer measured hardly two feet in stature, waddled with a very uncertain gait, and although he bore himself with manifest complacence, he had evidently heard the like before, as he was jovially hailed by every ingratiating epithet presumed to be acceptable to his infant mind. he was attended by a tall, gaunt boy of fifteen, barefooted, with snaggled teeth and a shock of tow hair, wearing a shirt of unbleached cotton, and a pair of trousers supported by a single suspender drawn across a sharp, protuberant shoulder-blade behind and a very narrow chest in front. but his face was proud and happy and gleeful, as if he occupied some post of honor and worldly emolument in attending upon the waddling wonder on the floor in front of him, instead of being assigned the ungrateful task of seeing to it that a very ugly baby closely related to him did not, with the wiliness and ingenuity of infant nature, invent some method of making away with himself. for he _was_ an ugly baby as he stood revealed in the flare of the furnace door, thrown open that his admirers and friends might feast their eyes upon him. his short wisps of red hair stood straight up in front; his cheeks were puffy and round, but very rosy; his eyes were small and dark, but blandly roguish; his mouth was wide and damp, and had in it a small selection of sample teeth, as it were; he wore a blue checked homespun dress garnished down the back with big horn buttons, sparsely set on; he clasped his chubby hands upon a somewhat pompous stomach; he sidled first to the right, then to the left, in doubt as to which of the various invitations he should accept. "kem hyar, snooks!" "right hyar, toodles!" "me hyar, monkey doodle!" "hurrah fur the leetle-est moonshiner on record!" resounded fulsomely about him. many were the compliments showered upon him, and if his flatterers told lies, they had told more wicked ones. the pipes all went out, and the broken-nosed pitcher languished in disuse as he trotted from one pair of outstretched arms to another to give an exhibition of his progress in the noble art of locomotion; and if he now and again sat down, unexpectedly to himself and to the spectator, he was promptly put upon his feet again with spurious applause and encouragement. he gave an exhibition of his dancing--a funny little shuffle of exceeding temerity, considering the facilities at his command for that agile amusement, but he was made reckless by praise--and they all lied valiantly in chorus. he repeated all the words he knew, which were few, and for the most part unintelligible, crowed like a cock, barked like a dog, mewed like a cat, and finally went away, his red cheeks yet more ruddily aglow, grave and excited and with quickly beating pulses, like one who has achieved some great public success and led captive the hearts of thousands. the turmoils of his visit and his departure were great indeed. it all irked nehemiah yerby, who had scant toleration of infancy and little perception of the jocosity of the aspect of callow human nature, and it seemed strange to him that these men, all with their liberty, even their existence, jeopardized upon the chances that a moment might bring forth, could so relax their sense of danger, so disregard the mandates of stolid common-sense, and give themselves over to the puerile beguilements of the visitor. the little animal was the son of one of them, he knew, but he hardly guessed whom until he marked the paternal pride and content that had made unwontedly placid the brow of the irate miller while the ovation was in progress. nehemiah greatly preferred the adult specimen of the race, and looked upon youth as an infirmity which would mend only with time. he was easily confused by a stir; the gurglings, the ticklings, the loud laughter both in the deep bass of the hosts and the keen treble of the guest had a befuddling effect upon him; his powers of observation were numbed. as the great, burly forms shifted to and fro, resuming their former places, the red light from the open door of the furnace illumining their laughing, bearded countenances, casting a roseate suffusion upon the white turmoils of the cataract, and showing the rugged interior of the place with its damp and dripping ledges, he saw for the first time among them leander's slight figure and smiling face; the violin was in his hand, one end resting on a rock as he tightened a string; his eyes were bent upon the instrument, while his every motion was earnestly watched by the would-be fiddler. nehemiah started hastily to his feet. he had not expected that the boy would see him here. to share with one of his own household a secret like this of aiding in illicit distilling was more than his hardihood could well contemplate. as once more the contemned "ping-pang" of the process of tuning fell upon the air, leander chanced to lift his eyes. they smilingly swept the circle until they rested upon his uncle. they suddenly dilated with astonishment, and the violin fell from his nerveless hand upon the floor. the surprise, the fear, the repulsion his face expressed suddenly emboldened nehemiah. the boy evidently had not been prepared for the encounter with his relative here. its only significance to his mind was the imminence of capture and of being constrained to accompany his uncle home. he cast a glance of indignant reproach upon hilary tarbetts, who was not even looking at him. the moonshiner stood filling his pipe with tobacco, and as he deftly extracted a coal from the furnace to set it alight, he shut the door with a clash, and for a moment the whole place sunk into invisibility, the vague radiance vouchsafed to the recesses of the grotto by the moonbeams on the water without annihilated for the time by the contrast with the red furnace glare. nehemiah had a swift fear that in this sudden eclipse leander might slip softly out and thus be again lost to him, but as the dull gray light gradually reasserted itself, and the figures and surroundings emerged from the gloom, resuming shape and consistency, he saw leander still standing where he had disappeared in the darkness; he could even distinguish his pale face and lustrous eyes. leander at least had no intention to shirk explanations. "why, uncle nehemiah!" he said, his boyish voice ringing out tense and excited above the tones of the men, once more absorbed in their wonted interests. a sudden silence ensued amongst them. "what air ye a-doin' hyar?" "waal, ah, lee-yander, boy--" nehemiah hesitated. a half-suppressed chuckle among the men, whom he had observed to be addicted to horse-play, attested their relish of the situation. ridicule is always of unfriendly intimations, and the sound served to put nehemiah on his guard anew. he noticed that the glow in hilary's pipe was still and dull: the smoker did not even draw his breath as he looked and listened. yerby did not dare avow the true purpose of his presence after his representations to the moonshiners, and yet he could not, he would not in set phrase align himself with the illicit vocation. the boy was too young, too irresponsible, too inimical to his uncle, he reflected in a sudden panic, to be intrusted with this secret. if in his hap-hazard, callow folly he should turn informer, he was almost too young to be amenable to the popular sense of justice. he might, too, by some accident rather than intention, divulge the important knowledge so unsuitable to his years and his capacity for guarding it. he began to share the miller's aversion to the introduction of outsiders to the still. he felt a glow of indignation, as if he had always been a party in interest, that the common safety should not be more jealously guarded. the danger which leander's youth and inexperience threatened had not been so apparent to him when he first heard that the boy had been here, and the menace was merely for the others. as he felt the young fellow's eyes upon him he recalled the effusive piety of his conversation at tyler sudley's house, his animadversions on violin-playing and liquor-drinking, and brother peter vickers's mild and merciful attitude toward sinners in those unspiced sermons of his, that held out such affluence of hope to the repentant rather than to the self-righteous. the blood surged unseen into nehemiah's face. for shame, for very shame he could not confess himself one with these outcasts. he made a feint of searching in the semi-obscurity for the rickety chair on which he had been seated, and resumed his former attitude as leander's voice once more rang out: "what air ye a-doin' hyar, uncle nehemiah?" "jes a-visitin', sonny; jes a-visitin'." there was a momentary pause, and the felicity of the answer was demonstrated by another chuckle from the group. his senses, alert to the emergency, discriminated a difference in the tone. this time the laugh was with him rather than at him. he noted, too, leander's dumfounded pause, and the suggestion of discomfiture in the boy's lustrous eyes, still widely fixed upon him. as leander stooped to pick up the violin he remarked with an incidental accent, and evidently in default of retort, "i be powerful s'prised ter view ye hyar." nehemiah smarted under the sense of unmerited reproach; so definitely aware was he of being out of the character which he had assumed and worn until it seemed even to him his own, that he felt as if he were constrained to some ghastly masquerade. even the society of the moonshiners as their guest was a reproach to one who had always piously, and in such involuted and redundant verbiage, spurned the ways and haunts of the evil-doer. according to the dictates of policy he should have rested content with his advantage over the silenced lad. but his sense of injury engendered a desire of reprisal, and he impulsively carried the war into the enemy's country. "i ain't in no ways s'prised ter view you-uns hyar, lee-yander," he said. "from the ways, lee-yander, ez ye hev been brung up by them slack-twisted sudleys--ungodly folks 'ceptin' what little regeneration they kin git from the sermons of brother peter vickers, who air onsartain in his mind whether folks ez ain't church-members air goin' ter be damned or no--i ain't s'prised none ter view ye hyar." he suddenly remembered poor laurelia's arrogations of special piety, and it was with exceeding ill will that he added: "an' mis' sudley in partic'lar. ty ain't no great shakes ez a shoutin' christian. i dun'no' ez i ever hearn him shout once, but his wife air one o' the reg'lar, mournful, unrejicing members, always questioning the decrees of providence, an' what ain't no nigher salvation, ef the truth war knowed, 'n a sinner with the throne o' grace yit ter find." leander had not picked up the violin; this disquisition had arrested his hand until his intention was forgotten. he came slowly to the perpendicular, and his eyes gleamed in the dusk. a vibration of anger was in his voice as he retorted: "mebbe so--mebbe they air sinners; but they'd look powerful comical 'visitin' hyar!" "ty sudley ain't one o' the drinkin' kind," interpolated the miller, who evidently had the makings of a temperance man. "he never sot foot hyar in his life." "them ez kem a-visitin' hyar," blustered the boy, full of the significance of his observations and experience, "air either wantin' a drink or two 'thout payin' fur it, or else air tradin' fur liquor ter sell, an' that's the same ez moonshinin' in the law." there was a roar of delight from the circle of lumpish figures about the still which told the boy that he had hit very near to the mark. nehemiah hardly waited for it to subside before he made an effort to divert leander's attention. "an' what air _you-uns_ doin' hyar?" he demanded. "tit for tat." "why," bluffly declared leander, "i be a-runnin' away from you-uns. an' i 'lowed the still war one place whar i'd be sure o' not meetin' ye. not ez i hev got ennything agin moonshinin' nuther," he added, hastily, mindful of a seeming reflection on his refuge. "moonshinin' _is business_, though the united states don't seem ter know it. but i hev hearn ye carry on so pious 'bout not lookin' on the wine whenst it be red, that i 'lowed ye wouldn't like ter look on the still whenst--whenst it's yaller." he pointed with a burst of callow merriment at the big copper vessel, and once more the easily excited mirth of the circle burst forth irrepressibly. encouraged by this applause, leander resumed: "why, _i_ even turns my back on the still myself out'n respec' ter the family--cap'n an' neighbor bein' so set agin liquor. cap'n's ekal ter preachin' on it ef ennything onexpected war ter happen ter brother vickers. an' when i _hev_ ter view it, i look at it sorter cross-eyed." the flickering line of light from the crevice of the furnace door showed that he was squinting frightfully, with the much-admired eyes his mother had bequeathed to him, at the rotund shadow, with the yellow gleams of the metal barely suggested in the brown dusk. "so i tuk ter workin' at the mill. an' _i_ hev got nuthin' ter do with the still." there was a pause. then, with a strained tone of appeal in his voice, for a future with uncle nehemiah had seemed very terrible to him, "so ye warn't a-sarchin' hyar fur me, war ye, uncle nehemiah?" nehemiah was at a loss. there is a peculiar glutinous quality in the resolve of a certain type of character which is not allied to steadfastness of purpose, nor has it the enlightened persistence of obstinacy. in view of his earlier account of his purpose he could not avow his errand; it bereft him of naught to disavow it, for uncle nehemiah was one of those gifted people who, in common parlance, do not mind what they say. yet his reluctance to assure leander that he was not the quarry that had led him into these wilds so mastered him, the spurious relinquishment had so the aspect of renunciation, that he hesitated, started to speak, again hesitated, so palpably that hilary tarbetts felt impelled to take a hand in the game. "why don't ye sati'fy the boy, yerby?" he said, brusquely. he took his pipe out of his mouth and turned to leander. "naw, bub. he's jes tradin' fur bresh whiskey, that's all; he's sorter skeery 'bout bein' a wild-catter, an' he didn't want ye ter know it." the point of red light, the glow of his pipe, the only exponent of his presence in the dusky recess where he sat, shifted with a quick, decisive motion as he restored it to his lips. the blood rushed to nehemiah's head; he was dizzy for a moment; he heard his heart thump heavily; he saw, or he fancied he saw, the luminous distention of leander's eyes as this goliath of his battles was thus delivered into his hands. to meet him here proved nothing; the law was not violated by nehemiah in the mere knowledge that illicit whiskey was in process of manufacture; a dozen different errands might have brought him. but this statement put a sword, as it were, into the boy's hands, and he dared not deny it. "'pears ter me," he blurted out at last, "ez ye air powerful slack with yer jaw." "lee-yander ain't," coolly returned tarbetts. "he knows all thar is ter know 'bout we-uns--an' why air ye not ter share our per'ls?" "i ain't likely ter tell," leander jocosely reassured him. "but i can't help thinkin' how it would rejice that good christian 'oman, cap'n sudley, ez war made ter set on sech a low stool 'bout my pore old fiddle." and thus reminded of the instrument, he picked it up, and once more, with the bow held aloft in his hand, he dexterously twanged the strings, and with his deft fingers rapidly and discriminatingly turned the screws, this one up and that one down. the earnest would-be musician, who had languished while the discussion was in progress, now plucked up a freshened interest, and begged that the furnace door might be set ajar to enable him to watch the process of tuning and perchance to detect its subtle secret. no objection was made, for the still was nearly empty, and arrangements tending to replenishment were beginning to be inaugurated by several of the men, who were examining the mash in tubs in the further recesses of the place. they were lighted by a lantern which, swinging to and fro as they moved, sometimes so swiftly as to induce a temporary fluctuation threatening eclipse, suggested in the dusk the erratic orbit of an abnormally magnified fire-fly. it barely glimmered, the dullest point of white light, when the rich flare from the opening door of the furnace gushed forth and the whole rugged interior was illumined with its color. the inadequate moonlight fell away; the chastened white splendor on the foam of the cataract, the crystalline glitter, timorously and elusively shifting, were annihilated; the swiftly descending water showed from within only a continuously moving glow of yellow light, all the brighter from the dark-seeming background of the world glimpsed without. a wind had risen, unfelt in these recesses and on the weighty volume of the main sheet of falling water, but at its verge the fitful gusts diverted its downward course, tossing slender jets aslant, and sending now and again a shower of spray into the cavern. nehemiah remembered his rheumatism with a shiver. the shadows of the men, instead of an unintelligible comminglement with the dusk, were now sharp and distinct, and the light grotesquely duplicated them till the cave seemed full of beings who were not there a moment before--strange gnomes, clumsy and burly, slow of movement, but swift and mysterious of appearance and disappearance. the beetling ledges here and there imprinted strong black similitudes of their jagged contours on the floor; with the glowing, weird illumination the place seemed far more uncanny than before, and leander, with his face pensive once more in response to the gentle strains slowly elicited by the bow trembling with responsive ecstasy, his large eyes full of dreamy lights, his curling hair falling about his cheek as it rested upon the violin, his figure, tall and slender and of an adolescent grace, might have suggested to the imagination a reminiscence of orpheus in hades. they all listened in languid pleasure, without the effort to appraise the music or to compare it with other performances--the bane of more cultured audiences; only the ardent amateur, seated close at hand on a bowlder, watched the bowing with a scrutiny which betokened earnest anxiety that no mechanical trick might elude him. the miller's half-grown son, whose ear for any fine distinctions in sound might be presumed to have been destroyed by the clamors of the mill, sat a trifle in the background, and sawed away on an imaginary violin with many flourishes and all the exaggerations of mimicry; he thus furnished the zest of burlesque relished by the devotees of horse-play and simple jests, and was altogether unaware that he had a caricature in his shadow just behind him, and was doing double duty in making both leander and himself ridiculous. sometimes he paused in excess of interest when the music elicited an amusement more to his mind than the long-drawn, pathetic cadences which the violinist so much affected. for in sudden changes of mood and in effective contrast the tones came showering forth in keen, quick staccato, every one as round and distinct as a globule, but as unindividualized in the swift exuberance of the whole as a drop in a summer's rain; the bow was but a glancing line of light in its rapidity, and the bounding movement of the theme set many a foot astir marking time. at last one young fellow, an artist too in his way, laid aside his pipe and came out to dance. a queer _pas seul_ it might have been esteemed, but he was light and agile and not ungraceful, and he danced with an air of elation--albeit with a grave face--which added to the enjoyment of the spectator, for it seemed so slight an effort. he was long-winded, and was still bounding about in the double-shuffle and the pigeon-wing, his shadow on the wall nimbly following every motion, when the violin's cadence quavered off in a discordant wail, and leander, the bow pointed at the water-fall, exclaimed: "look out! somebody's thar! out thar on the rocks!" it was upon the instant, with the evident intention of a surprise, that a dozen armed men rushed precipitately into the place. nehemiah, his head awhirl, hardly distinguished the events as they were confusedly enacted before him. there were loud, excited calls, unintelligible, mouthing back in the turbulent echoes of the place, the repeated word "surrender!" alone conveying meaning to his mind. the sharp, succinct note of a pistol-shot was a short answer. some quick hand closed the door of the furnace and threw the place into protective gloom. he was vaguely aware that a prolonged struggle that took place amongst a group of men near him was the effort of the intruders to reopen it. all unavailing. he presently saw figures drawing back to the doorway out of the _mêlée_, for moonshiner and raider were alike indistinguishable, and he became aware that both parties were equally desirous to gain the outer air. once more pistol-shots--outside this time--then a tumult of frenzied voices. struck by a pistol-ball, tarbetts had fallen from the ledge under the weight of the cataract and into the deep abysses below. the raiders were swiftly getting to saddle again. now and then a crack mountain shot drew a bead upon them from the bushes; but mists were gathering, the moon was uncertain, and the flickering beams deflected the aim. two or three of the horses lay dead on the river-bank, and others carried double, ridden by men with riddled hats. they were in full retreat, for the catastrophe on the ledge of the cliff struck dismay to their hearts. had the man been shot, according to the expectation of those who resist arrest, this would be merely the logical sequence of events. but to be hurled from a crag into a cataract savored of atrocity, and they dreaded the reprisals of capture. [illustration: "'look out! somebody's thar!'"] it was soon over. the whole occurrence, charged with all the definitiveness of fate, was scant ten minutes in transition. a laggard hoof-beat, a faint echo amidst the silent gathering of the moonlit mists, and the loud plaint of hoho-hebee falls were the only sounds that caught nehemiah's anxious ear when he crept out from behind the empty barrels and tremulously took his way along the solitary ledges, ever and anon looking askance at his shadow, that more than once startled him with a sense of unwelcome companionship. the mists, ever thickening, received him into their midst. however threatening to the retreat of the raiders, they were friendly to him. once, indeed, they parted, showing through the gauzy involutions of their illumined folds the pale moon high in the sky, and close at hand a horse's head just above his own, with wild, dilated eyes and quivering nostrils. its effect was as detached as if it were only drawn upon a canvas; the mists rolled over anew, and but that he heard the subdued voice of the rider urging the animal on, and the thud of the hoofs farther away, he might have thought this straggler from the revenue party some wild illusion born of his terrors. the fate of hilary tarbetts remained a mystery. when the stream was dragged for his body it was deemed strange that it should not be found, since the bowlders that lay all adown the rocky gorge so interrupted the sweep of the current that so heavy a weight seemed likely to be caught amongst them. others commented on the strength and great momentum of the flow, and for this reason it was thought that in some dark underground channel of hide-and-seek creek the moonshiner had found his sepulchre. a story of his capture was circulated after a time; it was supposed that he dived and swam ashore after his fall, and that the raiders overtook him on their retreat, and that he was now immured, a federal prisoner. the still and all the effects of the brush-whiskey trade disappeared as mysteriously, and doubtless this silent flitting gave rise to the hopeful rumor that tarbetts had been seen alive and well since that fateful night, and that in some farther recesses of the wilderness, undiscovered by the law, he and like comrades continue their chosen vocation. however that may be, the vicinity of hoho-hebee falls, always a lonely place, is now even a deeper solitude. the beavers, unmolested, haunt the ledges; along their precipitous ways the deer come down to drink; on bright days the rainbow hovers about the falls; on bright nights they glimmer in the moon; but never again have they glowed with the shoaling orange light of the furnace, intensifying to the deep tawny tints of its hot heart, like the rich glamours of some great topaz. this alien glow it was thought had betrayed the place to the raiders, and nehemiah's instrumentality was never discovered. the post-office appointment was bestowed upon his rival for the position, and it was thought somewhat strange that he should endure the defeat with such exemplary resignation. no one seemed to connect his candidacy with his bootless search for his nephew. when leander chanced to be mentioned, however, he observed with some rancor that he reckoned it was just as well he didn't come up with lee-yander; there was generally mighty little good in a runaway boy, and lee-yander had the name of being disobejent an' turr'ble bad. leander found a warm welcome at home. his violin had been broken in the _mêlée_, and the miller, though ardently urged, never could remember the spot where he had hidden the book--such havoc had the confusion of that momentous night wrought in his mental processes. therefore, unhampered by music or literature, leander addressed himself to the plough-handles, and together that season he and "neighbor" made the best crop of their lives. laurelia sighed for the violin and leander's music, though, as she always made haste to say, some pious people misdoubted whether it were not a sinful pastime. on such occasions it went hard with leander not to divulge his late experiences and the connection of the pious uncle nehemiah therewith. but he always remembered in time laurelia's disability to receive confidences, being a woman, and consequently unable to keep a secret, and he desisted. one day, however, when he and ty sudley, ploughing the corn, now knee-high, were pausing to rest in the turn-row, a few furrows apart, in an ebullition of filial feeling he told all that had befallen him in his absence. ty sudley, divided between wrath toward nehemiah and quaking anxiety for the dangers that leander had been constrained to run--_ex post facto_ tremors, but none the less acute--felt moved now and then to complacence in his prodigy. "so 'twar _you-uns_ ez war smart enough ter slam the furnace door an' throw the whole place inter darkness! that saved them moonshiners and raiders from killin' each other. it saved a deal o' bloodshed--ez sure ez shootin'. 'twar mighty smart in ye. but"--suddenly bethinking himself of sundry unfilial gibes at uncle nehemiah and the facetious account of his plight--"lee-yander, ye mustn't be so turr'ble bad, sonny; ye _mustn't_ be so _turr'ble_ bad." "naw, ma'am, neighbor, i won't," leander protested. and he went on following the plough down the furrow and singing loud and clear. the riddle of the rocks upon the steep slope of a certain "bald" among the great smoky mountains there lie, just at the verge of the strange stunted woods from which the treeless dome emerges to touch the clouds, two great tilted blocks of sandstone. they are of marked regularity of shape, as square as if hewn with a chisel. both are splintered and fissured; one is broken in twain. no other rock is near. the earth in which they are embedded is the rich black soil not unfrequently found upon the summits. nevertheless no great significance might seem to attach to their isolation--an outcropping of ledges, perhaps; a fracture of the freeze; a trace of ancient denudation by the waters of the spring in the gap, flowing now down the trough of the gorge in a silvery braid of currents, and with a murmur that is earnest of a song. it may have been some distortion of the story heard only from the lips of the circuit rider, some fantasy of tradition invested with the urgency of fact, but roger purdee could not remember the time when he did not believe that these were the stone tables of the law that moses flung down from the mountain-top in his wrath. in the dense ignorance of the mountaineer, and his secluded life, he knew of no foreign countries, no land holier than the land of his home. there was no incongruity to his mind that it should have been in the solemn silence and austere solitude of the "bald," in the magnificent ascendency of the great smoky, that the law-giver had met the lord and spoken with him. often as he lay at length on the strange barren place, veiled with the clouds that frequented it, a sudden sunburst in their midst would suggest anew what supernal splendors had once been here vouchsafed to the faltering eye of man. the illusion had come to be very dear to him; in this insistent localization of his faith it was all very near. and so he would go down to the slope below, among the weird, stunted trees, and look once more upon the broken tables, and ponder upon the strange signs written by time thereon. the insistent fall of the rain, the incisive blasts of the wind, coming again and again, though the centuries went, were registered here in mystic runes. the surface had weathered to a whitish-gray, but still in tiny depressions its pristine dark color showed in rugose characters. a splintered fissure held delicate fucoid impressions in fine script full of meaning. a series of worm-holes traced erratic hieroglyphics across a scaling corner; all the varied texts were illuminated by quartzose particles glittering in the sun, and here and there fine green grains of glauconite. he knew no names like these, and naught of meteorological potency. he had studied no other rock. his casual notice had been arrested nowhere by similar signs. under the influence of his ignorant superstition, his cherished illusion, the lonely wilderness, what wonder that, as he pondered upon the rocks, strange mysteries seemed revealed to him? he found significance in these cabalistic scriptures--nay, he read inspired words! with the ramrod of his gun he sought to follow the fine tracings of the letters writ by the finger of the lord on the stone tables that moses flung down from the mountain-top in his wrath. with a devout thankfulness purdee realized that he owned the land where they lay. it was worth, perhaps, a few cents an acre; it was utterly untillable, almost inaccessible, and his gratulation owed its fervor only to its spiritual values. he was an idle and shiftless fellow, and had known no glow of acquisition, no other pride of possession. he herded cattle much of the time in the summer, and he hunted in the winter--wolves chiefly, their hair being long and finer at this season, and the smaller furry gentry; for he dealt in peltry. and so, despite the vastness of the mountain wilds, he often came and knelt beside the rocks with his rifle in his hand, and sought anew to decipher the mystic legends. his face, bending over the tables of the law with the earnest research of a student, with the chastened subduement of devotion, with all the calm sentiments of reverie, lacked something of its normal aspect. when a sudden stir of the leaves or the breaking of a twig recalled him to the world, and he would lift his head, it might hardly seem the same face, so heavy was the lower jaw, so insistent and coercive his eye. but if he took off his hat to place therein his cotton bandana handkerchief or (if he were in luck and burdened with game) the scalp of a wild-cat--valuable for the bounty offered by the state--he showed a broad, massive forehead that added the complement of expression, and suggested a doubt if it were ferocity his countenance bespoke or force. his long black hair hung to his shoulders, and he wore a tangled black beard; his deep-set dark blue eyes were kindled with the fires of imagination. he was tall, and of a commanding presence but for his stoop and his slouch. his garments seemed a trifle less well ordered than those of his class, and bore here and there the traces of the blood of beasts; on his trousers were grass stains deeply grounded, for he knelt often to get a shot, and in meditation beside the rocks. he spent little time otherwise upon his knees, and perhaps it was some intuition of this fact that roused the wrath of certain brethren of the camp-meeting when he suddenly appeared among them, arrogating to himself peculiar spiritual experiences, proclaiming that his mind had been opened to strange lore, repeating thrilling, quickening words that he declared he had read on the dead rocks whereon were graven the commandments of the lord. the tumultuous tide of his rude eloquence, his wild imagery, his ecstasy of faith, rolled over the assembly and awoke it anew to enthusiasms. much that he said was accepted by the more intelligent ministers who led the meeting as figurative, as the finer fervors of truth, and they felt the responsive glow of emotion and quiver of sympathy. he intended it in its simple, literal significance. and to the more local members of the congregation the fact was patent. "sech a pack o' lies hev seldom been tole in the hearin' o' almighty gawd," said job grinnell, a few days after the breaking up of camp. he was rehearsing the proceedings at the meeting partly for the joy of hearing himself talk, and partly at the instance of his wife, who had been prevented from attending by the inopportune illness of one of the children. "ez i loant my ear ter the words o' that thar brazen buzzard i eyed him constant. fur i looked ter see the jedgmint o' the lord descend upon him like s'phira an' an'ias." "_who?_" asked his wife, pausing in her task of picking up chips. he had spoken of them so familiarly that one might imagine they lived close by in the cove. "an'ias an' s'phira--them in the bible ez war streck by lightnin' fur lyin'," he explained. "i 'member _her_," she said. "s'phia, i calls her." "waal, a'gusta, _s'phira_ do me jes ez well," he said, with the momentary sulkiness of one corrected. "thar war a man along, though. an' 'pears ter me thar war powerful leetle jestice in thar takin' off, ef roger purdee be 'lowed ter stan' up thar in the face o' the meetin' an' lie so ez no yearthly critter in the worl' could b'lieve him--'ceptin' brother jacob page, ez 'peared plumb out'n his head with religion, an' got ter shoutin' when this purdee tuk ter tellin' the law he read on them rocks--moses' tables, folks calls 'em--up yander in the mounting." he nodded upward toward the great looming range above them. his house was on a spur of the mountain, overshadowed by it; shielded. it was to him the almoner of fate. one by one it doled out the days, dawning from its summit; and thence, too, came the darkness and the glooms of night. one by one it liberated from the enmeshments of its tangled wooded heights the constellations to gladden the eye and lure the fancy. its largess of silver torrents flung down its slopes made fertile the little fields, and bestowed a lilting song on the silence, and took a turn at the mill-wheel, and did not disdain the thirst of the humble cattle. it gave pasturage in summer, and shelter from the winds of the winter. it was the assertive feature of his life; he could hardly have imagined existence without "the mounting." "tole what he read on them rocks--yes, sir, ez glib ez swallerin' a persimmon. 'twarn't the reg'lar ten comman'ments--some cur'ous new texts--jes a-rollin' 'em out ez sanctified ez ef he hed been called ter preach the gospel! an' thar war brother eden bates a-answerin' 'amen' ter every one. an' brother jacob page: 'glory, brother! ye hev received the outpourin' of the sperit! shake hands, brother!' an' sech ez that. ter hev hearn the commotion they raised about that thar derned lyin' sinner ye'd hev 'lowed the meetin' war held ter glorify him stiddier the lord." job grinnell himself was a most notorious christian. renown, however, with him could never be a superfluity, or even a sufficiency, and he grudged the fame that these strange spiritual utterances were acquiring. he had long enjoyed the distinction of being considered a miraculous convert; his rescue from the wily enticements of satan had been celebrated with much shaking and clapping of hands, and cries of "glory," and muscular ecstasy. his religious experiences thenceforth, his vacillations of hope and despair, had been often elaborated amongst the brethren. but his was a conventional soul; its expression was in the formulas and platitudes of the camp-meeting. they sank into oblivion in the excitement attendant upon purdee's wild utterances from the mystic script of the rocks. as grinnell talked, he often paused in his work to imitate the gesticulatory enthusiasms of the saints at the camp-meeting. he was a thickset fellow of only medium height, and was called, somewhat invidiously, "a chunky man." his face was broad, prosaic, good-natured, incapable of any fine gradations of expression. it indicated an elementary rage or a sluggish placidity. he had a ragged beard of a reddish hue, and hair a shade lighter. he wore blue jeans trousers and an unbleached cotton shirt, and the whole system depended on one suspender. he was engaged in skimming a great kettle of boiling sorghum with a perforated gourd, which caught the scum and strained the liquor. the process was primitive, instead of the usual sorghum boiler and furnace, the kettle was propped upon stones laid together so as to concentrate the heat of the fire. his wife was continually feeding the flames with chips which she brought in her apron from the wood-pile. her countenance was half hidden in her faded pink sun-bonnet, which, however, did not obscure an expression responsive to that on the man's face. she did not grudge purdee the salvation he had found; she only grudged him the prestige he had derived from its unique method. "why can't the critter elude satan with less n'ise?" she asked, acrimoniously. "edzackly," her husband chimed in. now and then both turned a supervisory glance at the sorghum mill down the slope at some little distance, and close to the river. it had been a long day for the old white mare, still trudging round and round the mill; perhaps a long day as well for the two half-grown boys, one of whom fed the machine, thrusting into it a stalk at a time, while the other brought in his arms fresh supplies from the great pile of sorghum cane hard by. all the door-yard of the little log cabin was bedaubed with the scum of the sorghum which job grinnell flung from his perforated gourd upon the ground. the idle dogs--and there were many--would find, when at last disposed to move, a clog upon their nimble feet. they often sat down with a wrinkling of brows and a puzzled expression of muzzle to investigate their gelatinous paws with their tongues, not without certain indications of pleasure, for the sorghum was very sweet; some of them, that had acquired the taste for it from imitating the children, openly begged. one, a gaunt hound, hardly seemed so idle; he had a purpose in life, if it might not be called a profession. he lay at length, his paws stretched out before him, his head upon them; his big brown eyes were closed only at intervals; ever and again they opened watchfully at the movement of a small child, ten months old, perhaps, dressed in pink calico, who sat in the shadow formed by the protruding clay and stick chimney, and played by bouncing up and down and waving her fat hands, which seemed a perpetual joy and delight of possession to her. take her altogether, she was a person of prepossessing appearance, despite her frank display of toothless gums, and around her wide mouth the unseemly traces of sorghum. she had the plumpest graces of dimples in every direction, big blue eyes with long lashes, the whitest possible skin, and an extraordinary pair of pink feet, which she rubbed together in moments of joy as if she had mistaken them for her hands. although she sputtered a good deal, she had a charming, unaffected laugh, with the giggle attachment natural to the young of her sex. suddenly there sounded an echo of it, as it were--a shrill, nervous little whinny; the boys whirled round to see whence it came. the persistent rasping noise of the sorghum mill and the bubbling of the caldron had prevented them from hearing an approach. there, quite close at hand, peering through the rails of the fence, was a little girl of seven or eight years of age. "i wanter kem in an' see you-uns's baby!" she exclaimed, in a high, shrill voice. "i want to pat it on the head." she was a forlorn little specimen, very thin and sharp-featured. her homespun dress was short enough to show how fragile were the long lean legs that supported her. the curtain of her sun-bonnet, which was evidently made for a much larger person, hung down nearly to the hem of her skirt; as she turned and glanced anxiously down the road, evidently suspecting a pursuer, she looked like an erratic sun-bonnet out for a stroll on a pair of borrowed legs. she turned again suddenly and applied her thin, freckled little face to the crack between the rails. she smiled upon the baby, who smiled in response, and gave a little bounce that might be accounted a courtesy. the younger of the boys left the cane pile and ran up to his brother at the mill, which was close to the fence. "don't ye let her do it," he said, venomously. "that thar gal is one of the purdee fambly. i know her. don't let her in." and he ran back to the cane. grinnell had seemed pleased by this homage at the shrine of the family idol; but at the very mention of the "purdee fambly" his face hardened, an angry light sprang into his eyes, and his gesture in skimming with the perforated gourd the scum from the boiling sorghum was as energetic as if with the action he were dashing the "purdee fambly" from off the face of the earth. it was an ancient feud; his grandfather and some contemporary purdee had fallen out about the ownership of certain vagrant cattle; there had been blows and bloodshed, other members of the connection had been dragged into the controversy; summary reprisals were followed by counter-reprisals. barns were mysteriously fired, hen-roosts robbed, horses unaccountably lamed, sheep feloniously sheared by unknown parties; the feeling widened and deepened, and had been handed down to the present generation with now and then a fresh provocation, on the part of one or the other, to renew and continue the rankling old grudges. [illustration: "she smiled upon the baby"] and here stood the hereditary enemy, wanting to pat their baby on the head. "naw, sir, ye won't!" exclaimed the boy at the mill, greatly incensed at the boldness of this proposition, glaring at the lean, tender, wistful little face between the rails of the fence. but the baby, who had not sense enough to know anything about hereditary enemies, bounced and laughed and gurgled and sputtered with glee, and waved her hands, and had never looked fatter or more beguiling. "i jes wanter pat it wunst," sighed the hereditary enemy, with a lithe writhing of her thin little anatomy in the anguish of denial--"_jes wunst!_" "naw, sir!" exclaimed the youthful grinnell, more insistently than before. he did not continue, for suddenly there came running down the road a boy of his own size, out of breath, and red and angry--the pursuer, evidently, that the hereditary enemy had feared, for she crouched up against the fence with a whimper. "kem along away from thar, ye miser'ble little stack o' bones!" he cried, seizing his sister by one hand and giving her a jerk--"a-foolin' round them grinnells' fence an' a-hankerin' arter thar old baby!" he felt that the pride of the purdee family was involved in this admission of envy. "i jes wanter pat it on the head _wunst_," she sighed. "waal, ye won't now," said the grinnell boys in chorus. the purdee grasp was gentler on the little girl's arm. this was due not to fraternal feeling so much as to loyalty to the clan; "stack o' bones" though she was, they were purdee bones. "kem along," ab purdee exhorted her. "a baby ain't nuthin' extry, nohow"--he glanced scoffingly at the infantile grinnell. "the mountings air fairly a-roamin' with 'em." "we-uns 'ain't got none at our house," whined the sun-bonnet, droopingly, moving off slowly on its legs, which, indeed, seemed borrowed, so unsteady and loath to go they were. the grinnell boys laughed aloud, jeeringly and ostentatiously, and the purdee blood was moved to retort: "we-uns don't want none sech ez that. nary tooth in her head!" and indeed the widely stretched babbling lips displayed a vast vacuity of gum. job grinnell, who had listened with an attentive ear to the talk of the children, had nevertheless continued his constant skimming of the scum. now he rose from his bent posture, tossed the scum upon the ground, and with the perforated gourd in his hand turned and looked at his wife. augusta had dropped her apron and chips, and stood with folded arms across her breast, her face wearing an expression of exasperated expectancy. the grinnell boys were humbled and abashed. the wicked scion of the purdee house, joying to note how true his shaft had sped, was again fitting his bow. "an' ez bald-headed ez the mounting." the baby had a big precedent, but although no peculiar shame attaches to the bare pinnacle of the summit, she--despite the difference in size and age--was expected to show up more fully furnished, and in keeping with the rule of humanity and the gentilities of life. no teeth, no hair, no sign of any: the fact that she was so backward was a sore point with all the family. job grinnell suddenly dropped the perforated gourd, and started down toward the fence. the acrimony of the old feud was as a trait bred in the bone. such hatred as was inherent in him was evoked by his religious jealousies, and the pious sense that he was following the traditions of his elders and upholding the family honor blended in gentlest satisfaction with his personal animosity toward roger purdee as he noticed the boy edging off from the fence to a safe distance. he eyed him derisively for a moment. "kin ye kerry a message straight?" the boy looked up with an expression of sullen acquiescence, but said nothing. "ax yer dad--an' ye kin tell him the word kems from me--whether he hev read sech ez this on the lawgiver's stone tables yander in the mounting: 'an' ye shall claim sech ez be yourn, an' yer neighbor's belongings shall ye in no wise boastfully medjure fur yourn, nor look upon it fur covetiousness, nor yit git up a big name in the kentry fur ownin' sech ez be another's.'" he laughed silently--a twinkling, wrinkling demonstration over all his broad face--a laugh that was younger than the man, and would have befitted a square-faced boy. the youthful purdee, expectant of a cuffing, stood his ground more doubtfully still under the insidious thrusts of this strange weapon, sarcasm. he knew that they were intended to hurt; he was wounded primarily in the intention, but the exact lesion he could not locate. he could meet a threat with a bold face, and return a blow with the best. but he was mortified in this failure of understanding, and perplexity cowed him as contention could not. he hung his head with its sullen questioning eyes, and he found great solace in a jagged bit of cloth on the torn bosom of his shirt, which he could turn in his embarrassed fingers. "whar be yer dad?" grinnell asked. "up yander in the mounting," replied the subdued purdee. "a-readin' of mighty s'prisin' matter writ on the rocks o' the yearth!" exclaimed grinnell, with a laugh. "waal, jes keep that sayin' o' mine in yer head, an' tell him when he kems home. an' look a-hyar, ef enny mo' o' his stray shoats kem about hyar, i'll snip thar ears an' gin 'em my mark." the youth of the purdee clan meditated on this for a moment. he could not remember that they had missed any shoats. then the full meaning of the phrase dawned upon him--it was he and the wiry little sister thus demeaned with a porcine appellation, and whose ears were threatened. he looked up at the fence, the little low house, the barn close by, the sorghum mill, the drying leaves of tobacco on the scaffold, the saltatory baby; his eyes filled with helpless tears, that could not conceal the burning hatred he was born to bear them all. he was hot and cold by turns; he stood staring, silent and defiant, motionless, sullen. he heard the melodic measure of the river, with its crystalline, keen vibrations against the rocks; the munching teeth of the old mare--allowed to come to a stand-still that the noise of the sorghum mill might not impinge upon the privileges of the quarrel; and the high, ecstatic whinny of the little sister waiting on the opposite bank of the river, having crossed the foot-bridge. there the grinnell baby had chanced to spy her, and had bounced and grinned and sputtered affably. it was she who had made all the trouble yearning after the grinnell baby. he would not stay, however, to be ignominiously beaten, for grinnell had turned away, and was looking about the ground as if in search of a thick stick. he accounted himself no craven, thus numerically at a disadvantage, to turn shortly about, take his way down the rocky slope, cross the foot-bridge, jerk the little girl by one hand and lead her whimpering off, while the round-eyed grinnell baby stared gravely after her with inconceivable emotions. these presently resulted in rendering her cross; she whined a little and rubbed her eyes, and, smarting from her own ill-treatment of them, gave a sharp yelp of dismay. the old dog arose and went and sat close by her, eying her solemnly and wagging his tail, as if begging her to observe how content he was. his dignity was somewhat impaired by sudden abrupt snaps at flies, which caused her to wink, stare, and be silent in astonishment. "waal, job grinnell," exclaimed augusta, as her husband came back and took the perforated gourd from her hand--for she had been skimming the sorghum in his absence--"ye air the longest-tongued man, ter be so short-legged, i ever see!" he looked a trifle discomfited. he had deported himself with unwonted decision, conscious that augusta was looking on, and in truth somewhat supported by the expectation of her approval. "what ails ye ter say words ye can't abide by--ye 'low ye 'pear so graceful on the back track?" she asked. he bent over the sorghum, silently skimming. his composure was somewhat ruffled, and in throwing away the scum his gesture was of negligent and discursive aim; the boiling fluid bespattered the foot of one of the omnipresent dogs, whose shrieks rent the sky and whose activity on three legs amazed the earth. he ran yelping to mrs. grinnell, nearly overturning her in his turbulent demand for sympathy; then scampered across to the boys, who readily enough stopped their work to examine the wounded member and condole with its wheezing proprietor. "what ye mean, a'gusta?" grinnell said at length. "kase i 'lowed i'd cut thar ears? i ain't foolin'. kem meddlin' about remarkin' on our chill'n agin, i'll show 'em." augusta looked at him in exasperation. "i ain't keerin' ef all the purdees war deef," she remarked, inhumanly, "but what war them words ye sent fur a message ter purdee?--'bout pridin' on what ain't theirn." grinnell in his turn looked at her--but dubiously. however much a man is under the domination of his wife, he is seldom wholly frank. it is in this wise that his individuality is preserved to him. "i war jes wantin' ter know ef them words war on the rocks," he said with a disingenuousness worthy of a higher culture. she received this with distrust. "i kin tell ye now--they ain't," she said, discriminatingly; "purdee's words don't sound like _them_." "waal, now, what's the differ?" he demanded, with an indignation natural enough to aspiring humanity detecting a slur upon one's literary style. "waal--" she paused as she knelt down to feed the fire, holding the fragrant chips in her hand; the flame flickered out and lighted up her reflective eyes while she endeavored to express the distinction she felt: "purdee's words don't sound ter me like the words of a man sech ez men be." grinnell wrinkled his brows, trying to follow her here. "they sound ter me like the words spoke in a dream--the pernouncings of a vision." mrs. grinnell fancied that she too had a gift of biblical phraseology. "they sound ter me like things i hearn whenst i war a-hungered arter righteousness an' seekin' religion, an' bided alone in the wilderness a-waitin' o' the sperit." "'gusta!" suddenly exclaimed her husband, with the cadence of amazed conviction, "ye b'lieve the lie o' that critter, an' that he reads the words o' the lord on the rock!" she looked up a little startled. she had been unconscious of the circuitous approaches of credence, and shared his astonishment in the conclusion. "waal, sir!" he said, more hurt and cast down than one would have deemed possible. "i'm willin' ter hev it so. i'm jes nuthin' but a sinner an' a fool, ripenin' fur damnation, an' he air a saint o' the yearth!" now such sayings as this were frequent upon job grinnell's tongue. he did not believe them; their utility was in their challenge to contradiction. thus they often promoted an increased cordiality of the domestic relations and an accession of self-esteem. augusta, however, was tired; the boiling sorghum and the september sun were debilitating in their effects. there was something in the scene with the youthful purdee that grated upon her half-developed sensibilities. the baby was whimpering outright, and the cow was lowing at the bars. she gave her irritation the luxury of withholding the salve to grinnell's wounded vanity. she said nothing. the tribute to purdee went for what it was worth, and he was forced to swallow the humble-pie he had taken into his mouth, albeit it stuck in his throat. a shadow seemed to have fallen into the moral atmosphere as the gentle dusk came early on. one had a sense as if bereft, remembering that so short a time ago at this hour the sun was still high, and that the full-pulsed summer day throbbed to a climax of color and bloom and redundant life. now, the scent of harvests was on the air; in the stubble of the sorghum patch she saw a quail's brood more than half-grown, now afoot, and again taking to wing with a loud whirring sound. the perfume of ripening muscadines came from the bank of the river. the papaws hung globular among the leaves of the bushes, and the persimmons were reddening. the vermilion sun was low in the sky above the purpling mountains; the stream had changed from a crystalline brown to red, to gold, and now it was beginning to be purple and silver. and this reminded her that the full-moon was up, and she turned to look at it--so pearly and luminous above the jagged ridge-pole of the dark little house on the rise. the sky about it was blue, refining into an exquisitely delicate and ethereal neutrality near the horizon. the baby had fallen asleep, with its bald head on the old dog's shoulder. after the supper was over, the sorghum fire still burned beneath the great kettle, for the syrup was not yet made, and sorghum-boiling is an industry that cannot be intermitted. the fire in the midst of the gentle shadow and sheen of the night had a certain profane, discordant effect. pete's ill-defined figure slouching over it while he skimmed the syrup was grimly suggestive of the distillations of strange elixirs and unhallowed liquors, and his simple face, lighted by a sudden darting red flame, had unrecognizable significance and was of sinister intent. for pete was detailed to attend to the boiling; the grinding was done, and the old white mare stood still in the midst of the sorghum stubble and the moonlight, as motionless and white as if she were carved in marble. job grinnell sat and smoked on the porch. presently he got up suddenly, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and looked at it carefully before he stuck it into his pocket. he went, without a word, down the rocky slope, past the old drowsing mare, and across the foot-bridge. two or three of the dogs, watching him as he reappeared on the opposite bank, affected a mistake in identity. they growled, then barked outright, and at last ran down and climbed the fence and bounded about it, baying the vista where he had vanished, until the sleepy old mare turned her head and gazed in mild surprise at them. augusta sat alone on the step of the porch. she had various regrets in her mind, incipient even before he had quite gone, and now defining themselves momently with added poignancy. a woman who, in her retirement at home, charges herself with the control of a man's conduct abroad, is never likely to be devoid of speculation upon probable disasters to ensue upon any abatement of the activities of her discretion. she was sorry that she had allowed so trifling a matter to mar the serenity of the family; her conscience upbraided her that she had not besought him to avoid the blacksmith's shop, where certain men of the neighborhood were wont to congregate and drink deep into the night. above all, her mind went back to the enigmatical message, and she wondered that she could have been so forgetful as to fail to urge him to forbear angering purdee, for this would have a cumulative effect upon all the rancors of the old quarrels, and inaugurate perhaps a new series of reprisals. "i ain't afeard o' no purdee ez ever stepped," she said to herself, defining her position. "but i'm fur peace. an' ef the purdees will leave we-uns be, i ain't a-goin' ter meddle along o' them." she remembered an old barn-burning, in the days when she and her husband were newly married, at his father's house. she looked up at the barn hard by, on a line with the dwelling, with that tenderness which one feels for a thing, not because of its value, but for the sake of possession, for the kinship with the objects that belong to the home. a cat was sitting high in a crevice in the logs where the daubing had fallen out; the moon glittered in its great yellow eyes. a frog was leaping along the open space about the rude step at augusta's feet. a clump of mullein leaves, silvered by the light, spangled by the dew, hid him presently. what an elusive glistening gauze hung over the valley far below, where the sense of distance was limited by the sense of sight!--for it was here only that the night, though so brilliant, must attest the incomparable lucidity of daylight. she could not even distinguish, amidst those soft sheens of the moon and the dew, the lombardy poplar that grew above the door of old squire grove's house down in the cove; in the daytime it was visible like a tiny finger pointing upward. how drowsy was the sound of the katydid, now loudening, now falling, now fainting away! and the tree-toad shrilled in the dog-wood tree. the frogs, too, by the river in iterative fugue sent forth a song as suggestive of the margins as the scent of the fern, and the mint, and the fragrant weeds. a convulsive start! she did not know that she slept until she was again awake. the moon had travelled many a mile along the highways of the skies. it hung over the purple mountains, over the farthest valley. the cicada had grown dumb. the stars were few and faint. the air was chill. she started to her feet; her garments were heavy with dew. the fire beneath the sorghum kettle had died to a coal, flaring or fading as the faint fluctuations of the wind might will. near it pete slumbered where he too had sat down to rest. and job--job had never returned. * * * * * he had found it a lightsome enough scene at the blacksmith's shop, where it was understood that the neighboring politicians collogued at times, or brethren in the church discussed matters of discipline or more spiritual affairs. in which of these interests a certain corpulent jug was most active it would be difficult perhaps to accurately judge. the great barn-like doors were flung wide open, and there was a group of men half within the shelter and half without; the shoeing-stool, a broken plough, an empty keg, a log, and a rickety chair sufficed to seat the company. the moonlight falling into the door showed the great slouching, darkling figures, the anvil, the fire of the forge (a dim ashy coal), and the shadowy hood merging indistinguishably into the deep duskiness of the interior. in contrast, the scene glimpsed through the low window at the back of the shop had a certain vivid illuminated effect. a spider web, revealing its geometric perfection, hung half across one corner of the rude casement; the moonbeams without were individualized in fine filar delicacy, like the ravellings of a silver skein. the boughs of a tree which grew on a slope close below almost touched the lintel; the leaves seemed a translucent green; a bird slept on a twig, its head beneath its wing. [illustration: the blacksmith's shop] back of the cabin, which was situated on a limited terrace, the great altitudes of the mountain rose into the infinity of the night. the drawling conversation was beset, as it were, by faint fleckings of sound, lightly drawn from a crazy old fiddle under the chin of a gaunt, yellow-haired young giant, one ephraim blinks, who lolled on a log, and who by these vague harmonies unconsciously gave to the talk of his comrades a certain theatrical effect. grinnell slouched up and sat down among them, responding with a nod to the unceremonious "hy're, job?" of the blacksmith, who seemed thus to do the abbreviated honors of the occasion. the others did not so formally notice his coming. the subject of conversation was the same that had pervaded his own thoughts. he was irritated to observe how purdee had usurped public attention, and yet he himself listened with keenest interest. "waal," said the ponderous blacksmith, "i kin onderstan' mighty well ez moses would hev been mighty mad ter see them folks a-worshippin' o' a calf--senseless critters they be! 'twarn't no use flingin' down them rocks, though, an' gittin' 'em bruk. sandstone ain't like metal; ye can't heat it an' draw it down an' weld it agin." his round black head shone in the moonlight, glistening because of his habit of plunging it, by way of making his toilet, into the barrel of water where he tempered his steel. he crossed his huge folded bare arms over his breast, and leaned back against the door on two legs of the rickety chair. "naw, sir," another chimed in. "he mought hev knowed he'd jes hev ter go ter quarryin' agin." "they air always a-crackin' up them folks in the bible ez sech powerful wise men," said another, whose untrained mind evidently held the germs of advanced thinking. "'pears ter me ez some of 'em conducted tharselves ez foolish ez enny folks i know--this hyar very moses one o' 'em. throwin' down them rocks 'minds me o' old man pinner's tantrums. sher'ff kem ter his house 'bout a jedgmint debt, an' levied on his craps. an' arter he war gone old man tuk a axe an' gashed bodaciously inter the loom an' hacked it up. ez ef that war goin' ter do enny good! his wife war the mos' outed woman i ever see. they 'ain't got nare nother loom nuther, an' hain't hearn no advices from the lord." the violinist paused in his playing. "they 'lowed moses war a meek man too," he said. "he killed a man with a brick-badge an' buried him in the sand. mighty meek ways"--with a satirical grimace. the others, divining that this was urged in justification and precedent for devious modern ways that were not meek, did not pursue this branch of the subject. "s'prised me some," remarked the advanced thinker, "ter hear ez them tables o' stone war up on the bald o' the mounting thar. i hed drawed the idee ez 'twar in some other kentry somewhar--i dunno--" he stopped blankly. he could not formulate his geographical ignorance. "an' i never knowed," he resumed, presently, "ez thar war enough gold in tennessee ter make a gold calf; they fund gold hyar, but 'twar mighty leetle." "mebbe 'twar a mighty leetle calf," suggested the blacksmith. "mebbe so," assented the other. "mebbe 'twar a silver one," speculated a third; "plenty o' silver they 'low thar air in the mountings." the violinist spoke up suddenly. "git one o' them injuns over yander ter quallatown right seasonable drunk, an' he'll tell ye a power o' places whar the old folks said thar war silver." he bowed his chin once more upon the instrument, and again the slow drawling conversation proceeded to soft music. "ef ye'll b'lieve me," said the advanced thinker, "i never war so conflusticated in my life ez i war when he stood up in meetin' an' told 'bout'n the tables o' the law bein' on the bald! i 'lowed 'twar somewhar 'mongst some sort'n people named 'gyptians." "mebbe some o' them injuns air named 'gyptians," suggested spears, the blacksmith. "naw, sir," spoke up the fiddler, who had been to quallatown, and was the ethnographic authority of the meeting. "tennessee injuns be named cher'kee, an' chick'saw, an' creeks." there was a silence. the moonlight sifted through the dark little shanty of a shop; the fretting and foaming of a mountain stream arose from far down the steep slope, where there was a series of cascades, a fine water-power, utilized by a mill. the sudden raucous note of a night-hawk jarred upon the air, and a shadow on silent wings sped past. the road was dusty in front of the shop, and for a space there was no shade. into the full radiance of the moonlight a rabbit bounded along, rising erect with a most human look of affright in its great shining eyes as it tremulously gazed at the motionless figures. it too was motionless for a moment. the young musician made a lunge at it with his bow; it sprang away with a violent start--its elongated grotesque shadow bounding kangaroo-like beside it--into the soft gloom of the bushes. there was no other traveller along the road, and the talk was renewed without further interruption. "waal, sir, ef 'twarn't fur the testimony o' the words he reads ez air graven on them rocks, i couldn't git my cornsent ter b'lieve ez moses ever war in tennessee," said the advanced thinker. "i ain't ondertakin' ter say what state he settled in, but i 'lowed 'twarn't hyar. it mus' hev been, though, 'count o' the scripture on them broken tables." "i never knowed a meetin' woke ter sech a pint o' holiness. the saints jes rampaged around till it fairly sounded like the cavortin's o' the ungodly," a retrospective voice chimed in. "i raised thirty-two hyme chunes," said the musician, who had a great gift in quiring, and was the famed possessor of a robust tenor voice. "a leetle mo' gloryin' aroun' an' i'd hev kem ter the eend o' my row, an' hev hed ter begin over agin." he spoke with acrimony, reviewing the jeopardy in which his _répertoire_ had been placed. "waal," said the blacksmith, passing his hand over his black head, as sleek and shining as a beaver's, "i'm a-goin' up ter the bald o' the mounting some day soon, ef so be i kin make out ter shoe that mare o' mine"--for the blacksmith's mount was always barefoot--"i'm afeard ter trest her unshod on them slippery slopes; i want ter read some o' them sayin's on the stone tables myself. i likes ter git a tex' or the eend o' a hyme set a-goin' in my head--seems somehow ter teach itself ter the anvil, an' then it jes says it back an' forth all day. yestiddy i never seen its beat--'christ--war--born--in--bethlehem.' the anvil jes rang with that ez ef the actial metal hed the gift o' prayer an' praise." "waal, sir," exclaimed job grinnell, who had been having frequent colloquies aside with the companionable jug, "ye mought jes ez well save yer shoes an' let yer mare go barefoot. thar ain't nare sign o' a word writ on them rocks." they all sat staring at him. even the singing, long-drawn vibrations of the violin were still. "by hokey!" exclaimed the young musician, "i'll take purdee's word ez soon ez yourn." the whiskey which grinnell had drunk had rendered him more plastic still to jealousy. the day was not so long past when purdee's oath would have been esteemed a poor dependence against the word of so zealous a brother as he--a pillar in the church, a shining light of the congregation. he noted the significant fact that it behooved him to justify himself; it irked him that this was exacted as a tribute to purdee's newly acquired sanctity. "purdee's jes a-lyin' an' a-foolin' ye," he declared. "ever been up on the bald?" they had lived in its shadow all their lives. even by the circuitous mountain ways it was not more than five miles from where they sat. but none had chanced to have a call to go, and it was to them as a foreign land to be explored. "waal, i hev, time an' agin," said grinnell. "i dunno who gin them rocks the name of moses' tables o' the law. moses must hev hed a powerful block an' tackle ter lift sech tremenjious rocks. i hev known 'em named sech fur many a year. but i seen 'em not three weeks ago, an' thar ain't nare word writ on 'em. thar's the mounting; thar's the rocks; ye kin go an' stare-gaze 'em an' sati'fy yerse'fs." whether it were by reason of the cumulative influences of the continual references to the jug, or of that sense of reviviscence, that more alert energy, which the cool southern nights always impart after the sultry summer days, the suggestion that they should go now and solve the mystery, and meet the dawn upon the summit of the bald, found instant acceptance, which it might not have secured in the stolid daylight. the moon, splendid, a lustrous white encircled by a great halo of translucent green, swung high above the duskily purple mountains. below in the valleys its progress was followed by an opalescent gossamer presence that was like the overflowing fulness, the surplusage, of light rather than mist. the shadows of the great trees were interlaced with dazzling silver gleams. the night was almost as bright as the day, but cool and dank, full of sylvan fragrance and restful silence and a romantic liberty. the blacksmith carried his rifle, for wolves were often abroad in the wilderness. two or three others were similarly armed; the advanced thinker had a hunting-knife, job grinnell a pistol that went by the name of "shootin'-iron." the musician carried no weapon. "i ain't 'feared o' no wolf," he said; "i'll play 'em a chune." he went on in the vanguard, his tousled yellow hair idealized with many a shimmer in the moonlight as it hung curling down on his blue jeans coat, his cheek laid softly on the violin, the bow glancing back and forth as if strung with moonbeams as he played. the men woke the solemn silences with their loud mirthful voices; they startled precipitate echoes; they fell into disputes and wrangled loudly, and would have turned back if sure of the way home, but job grinnell led steadily on, and they were fain to follow. they lagged to look at a spot where some man, unheeded even by tradition, had dug his heart's grave in a vain search for precious metal. a deep excavation in the midst of the wilderness told the story; how long ago it was might be guessed from the age of a stalwart oak that had sunk roots into its depths; the shadows were heavy about it; a sense of despair brooded in the loneliness. and so up and up the endless ascent; sometimes great chasms were at one side, stretching further and further, and crowding the narrow path--the herder's trail--against the sheer ascent, till it seemed that the treacherous mountains were yawning to engulf them. the air was growing colder, but was exquisitely clear and exhilarating; the great dewy ferns flung silvery fronds athwart the way; vines in stupendous lengths swung from the tops of gigantic trees to the roots. hark! among them birds chirp; a matutinal impulse seems astir in the woods; the moon is undimmed; the stars faint only because of her splendors; but one can feel that the earth has roused itself to a sense of a new day. and there, with such feathery flashes of white foam, such brilliant straight lengths of translucent water, such a leaping grace of impetuous motion, the currents of the mountain stream, like the arrows of diana, shoot down the slopes. and now a vague mist is among the trees, and when it clears away they seem shrunken, as under a spell, to half their size. they grow smaller and smaller still, oak and chestnut and beech, but dwarfed and gnarled like some old orchard. and suddenly they cease, and the vast grassy dome uprises against the sky, in which the moon is paling into a dull similitude of itself; no longer wondrous, transcendent, but like some lily of opaque whiteness, fair and fading. beneath is a purple, deeply serious, and sombre earth, to which mists minister, silent and solemn; myriads of mountains loom on every hand; the half-seen mysteries of the river, which, charged with the red clay of its banks, is of a tawny color, gleams as it winds in and out among the white vapors that reach in fantastic forms from heaven above to the valley below. there is a certain relief in the mist--it veils the infinities of the scene, on which the mind can lay but a trembling hold. "folks tell all sort'n cur'ous tales 'bout'n this hyar spot," said job grinnell, his square face, his red hair hanging about his ears, and his ragged red beard visible in the dull light of the coming day. "i hev hearn folks 'low ez a pa'tridge up hyar will look ez big ez a dominicky rooster. an' ef ye listens ye kin hear words from somewhar. an' sometimes in the cattle-herdin' season the beastises will kem an' crowd tergether, an' stan' on the bald in the moonlight all night." "i dunno," said the advanced thinker, "ez i be s'prised enny ef purdee, ez be huntin' up hyar so constant, hev got sorter teched in the head, ter take up sech a cur'ous notion 'bout'n them rocks." he glanced along the slope at the spot, visible now, where moses flung the stone tables and they broke in twain. and there, standing beside them, was a man of great height, dressed in blue jeans, his broad-brimmed hat pushed from his brow, and his meditative dark eyes fixed upon the rocks; a deer, all gray and antlered, lay dead at his feet, and his rifle rested on the ground as he leaned on the muzzle. a glance was interchanged between the others. their intention, the promptings of curiosity, had flagged during the long tramp and the gradual waning of the influence of the jug. the coincidence of meeting purdee here revived their interest. grinnell, remembering the ancient feud, held back, being unlikely to elicit purdee's views in the face of their contradiction. the blacksmith and the young fiddler took their way down toward him. he looked up with a start, seeing them at some little distance. his full, contemplative eyes rested upon them for a moment almost devoid of questioning. it was not the face of a man who finds himself confronted with the discovery of his duplicity and his hypocrisy. there was a strange doubt stirring in the blacksmith's heart. as he approached he looked upon the storied rocks with a sort of solemn awe, as if they had indeed been given by the hand of the lord to his servant, who broke them here in his wrath. he knew that the step of the musician slackened as he followed. what holy mysteries were they not rushing in upon? he spoke in a bated voice. "roger," he said, "we'uns hearn ye tell 'bout the scriptures graven on these hyar tables ez moses flung down, an' we'uns 'lowed we'uns would kem an' read some fur ourselves." purdee did not speak nor hesitate; he moved aside that the blacksmith might stand where he had been--as it were at the foot of the page. but what transcendent glories thronged the heavens--what august splendors of dawn! had the sun ever before risen like this, with the sky an emblazonment of red, of gold, of darting gleams of light; with the mountains most royally purple or most radiantly blue; with the prismatic mists in flight; with the slow climax of the dazzling sphere ascending to dominate it all? the blacksmith knelt down to read. the musician, his silent violin under his chin, leaned over his comrade's shoulder. the hunter stood still, expectant. alas! the corrugations of time, the fissile results of the frost; the wavering line of ripple-marks of seas that shall ebb no more; growth of lichen; an army of ants in full march; a passion-flower trailing from a crevice, its purple blooms lying upon the gray stone near where it is stamped with the fossil imprint of a sea-weed, faded long ago and forgotten. or is it, alas! for the eyes that can see only this? [illustration: "the tables of the law"] the blacksmith looked up with a twinkling leer; the violinist recovered his full height, and drew the bow dashingly across the strings; then let his arm fall. "roger," the blacksmith said, "dad-burned ef i kin read ennything hyar." the young musician looked over his brawny shoulder in silence. "whar d'ye make out enny letters, roger?" persisted spears. purdee leaned over and eagerly pointed with his ramrod to a curious corrugation of the surface of the rock. again the blacksmith bent down; the musician craned forward, his yellow hair hanging about his bronzed face. "i hev been toler'ble well acquainted with the alphabit," said spears, "fur goin' on thirty year an' better, an' i'll swar ter heaven thar ain't nare sign of a letter thar." purdee stared at him in wild-eyed amazement for a moment. then he flung himself upon his knees beside the great rock, and guiding his ramrod over the surface, he exclaimed, "hyar, spears; right hyar!" the blacksmith was all incredulous as he lent himself to a new posture, and leaned forward to look with the languid indulgence of one who will not again entertain doubt. "nare a, nor b, nor c, nor none o' the fambly," he declared. "these hyar rocks ain't no moses' tables sure enough; moses never war in tennessee. they be jes like enny other rock, an' thar ain't a word o' writin' on 'em." he looked up with a curious questioning at purdee's face--a strange face for a man detected in a falsehood, a trick. the deep-set eyes were wide as if straining for perception denied them. despite the chill, rare air, great drops had started on his brow, and were falling upon his beard, and upon his hands. these strong hands were quivering; they hovered above the signs on the rocks. the mystic letters, the inspired words, where were they? grope as he might, he could not find them. alas! doubt and denial had climbed the mountain--the awful limitations of the more finite human creature--and his inspiration and the finer enthusiasms of the truth were dead. dead with a throe that was almost like a literal death. this--on this he had lived; the ether of ecstasy was the breath of his life. he clutched at the stained red handkerchief knotted about his throat as if he were suffocating; he tore it open as he swayed backward on his knees. he did not hear--or he did not heed--the laugh among the little crowd on the bald--satirical, rallying, zestful. he was deaf to the strains of the violin, jeeringly and jerkingly playing a foolish tune. it was growing fainter, for they had all turned about to betake themselves once more to the world below. he could have seen, had he cared to see, their bearded grinning faces peering through the stunted trees, as descending they came near the spot where he had lavished the spiritual graces of his feeling, his enthusiasm, his devotion, his earnest reaching for something higher, for something holy, which had refreshed his famished soul; had given to its dumbness words; had erased the values of the years, of the nations; had made him friends with moses on the "bald"; had revealed to him the finger of the lord on the stone. he took no heed of his gestures, of which, indeed, he was unconscious. they were fine dramatically, and of great power, as he alternately rose to his full height, beating his breast in despair, and again sank upon his knees, with a pondering brow and a searching eye, and a hovering, trembling hand, striving to find the clew he had lost. they might have impressed a more appreciative audience, but not one more entertained than the cluster of men who looked and paused and leered in amusement at one another, and thrust out satirical tongues. long after they had disappeared, the strains of the violin could be heard, filling the solemn, stricken, strangely stunted woods with a grotesquely merry presence, hilarious and jeering. * * * * * purdee found it possible to survive the destruction of illusions. most of us do. it wrought in him, however, the saturnine changes natural upon the relinquishment of a dear and dead fantasy. this ethereal entity is a more essential component of happiness than one might imagine from the extreme tenuity of the conditions of its existence. purdee's fantasy may have been a poor thing, but, although he could calmly enough close its eyes, and straighten its limbs, and bury it decently from out the offended view of fact, he felt that he should mourn it in his heart as long as he should live. and he was bereaved. there is a certain stage in every sorrow when it rejects sympathy. purdee, always taciturn, grave, uncommunicative, was invested with an austere aloofness, and was hardly to be approached as he sat, silent and absent, brooding over the fire at his own home. when roused by some circumstance of the domestic routine, and it became apparent that his mood was not sullenness or anger, but simple and complete introversion, it added a dignity and suggested a remoteness that were yet less reassuring. his son, who stood in awe of him--not because of paternal severity, but because no boy could refrain from a worshipping respect for so miraculous a shot, a woodsman so subtly equipped with all elusive sylvan instincts and knowledge--forbore to break upon his meditations by the delivery of grinnell's message. nevertheless the consciousness of withholding it weighed heavily upon him. he only pretermitted it for a time, until a more receptive state of mind should warrant it. day by day, however, he looked with eagerness when he came into the cabin in the evening to ascertain if his father were still seated in the chimney-corner silently smoking his pipe. purdee had seldom remained at home so long at a time, and the boy had a daily fear that the gun on the primitive rack of deer antlers would be missing, and word left in the family that he had taken the trail up the mountain, and would return "'cordin' ter luck with the varmints." and thus job grinnell's enigmatical message, that had the ring of defiance, might remain indefinitely postponed. abner had not realized how long a time it had been delayed, until one evening at the wood-pile, in tossing off a great stick to hew into lengths for the chimney-place, he noticed that thin ice had formed in the moss and the dank cool shadows of the interstices. "i tell ye now, winter air a-comin'," he observed. he stood leaning on his axe-handle and looking down upon the scene so far below; for purdee's house was perched half-way up on the mountain-side, and he could see over the world how it fared as the sun went down. far away upon the levels of the valley of east tennessee a golden haze glittered resplendent, lying close upon an irradiated earth, and ever brightening toward the horizon, and it seemed as if the sun in sinking might hope to fall in fairer spheres than the skies he had left, for they were of a dun-color and an opaque consistency. only one horizontal rift gave glimpses of a dazzling ochreous tint of indescribable brilliancy, from the focus of which the divergent light was shed upon the western limits of the land. chilhowee, near at hand, was dark enough--a purplish garnet hue; but the scarlet of the sour-wood gleamed in the cove; the hickory still flared gallantly yellow; the receding ranges to the north and south were blue and more faintly azure. the little log cabin stood with small fields about it, for purdee barely subsisted on the fruits of the soil, and did not seek to profit. it had only one room, with a loft above; the barn was a makeshift of poles, badly chinked, and showing through the crevices what scanty store there was of corn and pumpkins. a black-and-white work-ox, that had evidently no deficiency of ribs, stood outside of the fence and gazed, a forlorn tantalus, at these unattainable dainties; now and then a muttered low escaped his lips. nobody noticed him or sympathized with him, except perhaps the little girl, who had come out in her sun-bonnet to help her brother bring in the fuel. he gruffly accepted her company, a little ashamed of her because she was a girl; since, however, there was no other boy by to laugh, he permitted her the delusion that she was of assistance. as he paused to rest he reiterated, "winter air a-comin', i tell ye." "d'ye reckon, ab," she asked, in her high, thin little voice, her hands full of chips and the basket at her feet, "ez grinnell's baby knows chris'mus air a-comin'?" he glowered at her as he leaned on the axe. "i reckon grinnell's old baby dunno b from bull-foot," he declared, gruffly. the recollection of the message came over him. he had a pang of regret, remembering all the old grudges against the grinnells. they were re-enforced by this irrepressible yearning after their baby, this admission that they had aught which was not essentially despicable. nevertheless, he suddenly saw a reason for the grinnell baby's existence; he loaded up both arms with the sticks of wood, and, followed by the peripatetic sun-bonnet, conscientiously weighed down with one billet, he strode into the house, and let his burden fall with a mighty clatter in the corner of the chimney. the sun-bonnet staggered up and threw her stick on the top of the pile of wood. purdee, sitting silently smoking, glanced up at the noise. abner took advantage of the momentary notice to claim, too, the attention of his mother. "i wish ye'd make eunice quit talkin' 'bout the grinnell's old baby, like she war actially demented--uglies' bald-headed, slab-sided, slobbery old baby i ever see--nare tooth in its head! i do despise them grinnells." as he anticipated, his father spoke suddenly: "ye jes keep away from thar," he said, sternly. "i trest them folks no furder 'n a rattlesnake." "_i_ ain't consortin' along o' 'em," declared the boy. "but i actially hed ter take eunice by the scalp o' her head an' lug her off one day when she hung on thar fence a-stare-gazin' grinnell's baby like 'twar fitten ter eat." the child's mother, a cadaverous, pale woman, was listlessly stringing the warping-bars with hanks of variegated yarn. the grandmother, who conserved a much more active and youthful interest in life, took down a brown gourd used as a scrap-basket that was on a protruding lath of the clay-and-stick chimney, and hunted among the scraps of homespun and bits of yarn stowed within it. the room was much like the gourd in its aged brown tint; its indigenous aspect, as if it had not been made with hands, but was some spontaneous production of the soil; with its bits of bright color--the peppers hanging from the rafters, the rainbow-hued yarn festooning the warping-bars, the red coals of the fire, the blue and yellow ware ranged on the shelf, the brown puncheon floor and walls and ceiling and chimney--it might have seemed the interior of a similar gourd of gigantic proportions. she dressed a twig from the pile of wood in a gay scrap of cloth, casting glances the while at the little girl, and handed it to her. "i hain't never seen ez good a baby ez this," she said, with the convincing coercive mendacity of a grandmother. the little girl accepted it humbly; it was a good baby doubtless of its sort, but it was not alive, which could not be denied of the grinnell baby, grinnell though it was. "an' job grinnell he kem down ter the fence, an' 'lowed he'd slit our ears, an' named us shoats," continued her brother. purdee lifted his head. "an' sent a word ter dad," said the boy, tremulously. "what word did he send ter--_me_?" cried purdee. the boy quailed to tell him. "he tole me ter ax ye ef ye ever read sech ez this on moses' tables in the mountings--'an' ye shell claim sech ez be yer own, an' yer neighbors' belongings shell ye in no wise boastfully medjure fur yourn, nor look upon it fur covetiousness, nor yit git a big name up in the kentry fur ownin' sech ez be another's,'" faltered the sturdy abner. the next moment he felt an infinite relief. he suddenly recognized the fact that he had been chiefly restrained from repeating the words by an unrealized terror lest they prove true--lest something his father claimed was not his, indeed. [illustration: "'what word did he send ter--_me_?'"] but the expression of anger on purdee's face was merged first in blank astonishment, then in perplexed cogitation, then in renewed and overpowering amazement. the wife turned from the warping-bars with a vague stare of surprise, one hand poised uncertainly upon a peg of the frame, the other holding a hank of "spun truck." the grandmother looked over her spectacles with eyes sharp enough to seem subsidized to see through the mystery. "in the name o' reason and religion, roger purdee," she adjured him, "what air that thar perverted philistine talkin' 'bout?" "it air more'n i kin jedge of," said purdee, still vainly cogitating. he sat for a time silent, his dark eyes bent on the fire, his broad, high forehead covered by his hat pulled down over it, his long, tangled, dark locks hanging on his collar. suddenly he rose, took down his gun, and started toward the door. "roger," cried his wife, shrilly, "i'd leave the critter be. lord knows thar's been enough blood spilt an' good shelter burned along o' them purdees' an' grinnells' quar'ls in times gone. laws-a-massy!"--she wrung her hands, all hampered though they were in the "spun truck"--"i'd ruther be a sheep 'thout a soul, an' live in peace." "a sca'ce ch'ice," commented her mother. "sheep's got ter be butchered. i'd ruther be the butcher, myself--healthier." purdee was gone. he had glanced absently at his wife as if he hardly heard. he waited till she paused; then, without answer, he stepped hastily out of the door and walked away. * * * * * the cronies at the blacksmith's shop latterly gathered within the great flaring door, for the frost lay on the dead leaves without, the stars scintillated with chill suggestions, and the wind was abroad on nights like these. on shrill pipes it played; so weird, so wild, so prophetic were its tones that it found only a shrinking in the heart of him whose ear it constrained to listen. the sound of the torrent far below was accelerated to an agitated, tumultuous plaint, all unknown when its pulses were bated by summer languors. the moon was in the turmoil of the clouds, which, routed in some wild combat with the winds, were streaming westward. and although the rigors of the winter were in abeyance, and the late purple aster called the christmas-flower bloomed in the sheltered grass at the door, the forge fire, flaring or dully glowing, overhung with its dusky hood, was a friendly thing to see, and in its vague illumination the rude interior of the shanty--the walls, the implements of the trade, the bearded faces grouped about, the shadowy figures seated on whatever might serve, a block of wood, the shoeing-stool, a plough, or perched on the anvil--became visible to roger purdee from far down the road as he approached. even the head of a horse could be seen thrust in at the window, while the brute, hitched outside, beguiled the dreary waiting by watching with a luminous, intelligent eye the gossips within, as if he understood the drawling colloquy. they were suffering some dearth of timely topics, supplying the deficiency with reminiscences more or less stale, and had expected no such sensation as they experienced when a long shadow fell athwart the doorway,--the broad aperture glimmering a silvery gray contrasted with the brown duskiness of the interior and the purple darkness of the distance; the forge fire showed purdee's tall figure leaning on the door-frame, and lighted up his serious face beneath his great broad-brimmed hat, his intent, earnest eyes, his tangled black beard and locks. he gave no greeting, and silence fell upon them as his searching gaze scanned them one by one. "whar's job grinnell?" he demanded, abruptly. there was a shuffling of feet, as if those members most experienced relief from the constraint that silence had imposed upon the party. a vibration from the violin--a sigh as if the instrument had been suddenly moved rather than a touch upon the strings--intimated that the young musician was astir. but it was spears, the blacksmith, who spoke. "kem in, roger," he called out, cordially, as he rose, his massive figure and his sleek head showing in the dull red light on the other side of the anvil, his bare arms folded across his chest. "naw, job ain't hyar; hain't been hyar for a right smart while." there was a suggestion of disappointment in the attitude of the motionless figure at the door. the deeply earnest, pondering face, visible albeit the red light from the forge-fire was so dull, was keenly watched. for the inquiry was fraught with peculiar meaning to those cognizant of the long and bitter feud. "i ax," said purdee, presently, "kase grinnell sent me a mighty cur'ous word the t'other day." he lifted his head. "hev enny o' you-uns hearn him 'low lately ez i claim ennything ez ain't mine?" there was silence for a moment. then the forge was suddenly throbbing with the zigzagging of the bow of the violin jauntily dandering along the strings. his keen sensibility apprehended the sudden jocosity as a jeer, but before he could say aught the blacksmith had undertaken to reply. "waal, purdee, ef ye hedn't axed me, i warn't layin' off ter say nuthin 'bout'n it. 'tain't no consarn o' mine ez i knows on. but sence ye _hev_ axed me, i hold my jaw fur the fear o' no man. the words ain't writ ez i be feared ter pernounce. an' ez all the kentry hev hearn 'bout'n it 'ceptin' you-uns, i dunno ez i hev enny call ter hold my jaw. the lord 'ain't set no seal on my lips ez i knows on." "naw, sir!" said purdee, his great eyes glooming through the dusk and flashing with impatience. "he 'ain't set no seal on yer lips, ter jedge by the way ye wallop yer tongue about inside o' 'em with fool words. whyn't ye bite off what ye air tryin' ter chaw?" "waal, then," said the admonished orator, bluntly, "grinnell 'lows ye don't own that thar lan' around them rocks on the bald, no more'n ye read enny writin' on 'em." "not them rocks!" cried purdee, standing suddenly erect--"the tables o' the law, writ with the finger o' the lord--an' moses flung 'em down thar an' bruk 'em. all the kentry knows they air moses' tables. an' the groun' whar they lie air mine." "'tain't, grinnell say 'tain't." "naw, sir," chimed in the young musician, his violin silent. "job grinnell declars he owns it hisself, an' ef he war willin' ter stan' the expense he'd set up his rights, but the lan' ain't wuth it. he 'lows his line runs spang over them rocks, an' a heap furder." purdee was silent; one or two of the gossips laughed jeeringly; he had been proved a liar once. it was well that he did not deny; he was put to open shame among them. "an' grinnell say," continued blinks, "ez ye hev gone an' tole big tales 'mongst the brethren fur ownin' sech ez ain't yourn, an' readin' of s'prisin' sayin's on the rocks." he bent his head to a series of laughing harmonics, and when he raised it, hearing no retort, the silvery gray square of the door was empty. he saw the moon glimmer on the clumps of grass outside where the christmas-flower bloomed. the group sat staring in amaze; the blacksmith strode to the door and looked out, himself a massive, dark silhouette upon the shimmering neutrality of the background. there was no figure in sight; no faint foot-fall was audible, no rustle of the sere leaves; only the voice of the mountain torrent, far below, challenged the stillness with its insistent cry. he looked back for a moment, with a vague, strange doubt if he had seen aught, heard aught, in the scene just past. "hain't purdee been hyar?" he asked, passing his hand across his eyes. the sense of having dreamed was so strong upon him that he stretched his arms and yawned. the gleaming teeth of the grouped shadows demonstrated the merriment evoked by the query. the chuckle was arrested midway. "ye 'pear ter 'low ez suthin' hev happened ter purdee, an' that thar war his harnt," suggested one. the bold young musician laid down his violin suddenly. the instrument struck upon a keg of nails, and gave out an abrupt, discordant jangle, startling to the nerves. "shet up, ye durned squeech-owl!" he exclaimed, irritably. then, lowering his voice, he asked: "didn't they 'low down yander in the cove ez widder peters, the day her husband war killed by the landslide up in the mounting, heard a hoe a-scrapin' mightily on the gravel in the gyarden-spot, an' went ter the door, an' seen him thar a-workin', an' axed him when he kem home? an' he never lifted his head, but hoed on. an' she went down thar 'mongst the corn, an' she couldn't find nobody. an' jes then the johns boys rid up an' 'lowed ez jim peters war dead, an' hed been fund in the mounting, an' they war a-fetchin' of him then." the horse's head within the window nodded violently among the shadows, and the stones rolled beneath his hoof as he pawed the ground. "mis' peters she knowed suthin' were a-goin' ter happen when she seen that harnt a-hoein'." "i reckon she did," said the blacksmith, stretching himself, his nerves still under the delusion of recent awakening. "jim never hoed none when he war alive. she mought hev knowed he war dead ef she seen him hoein'." "waal, sir," exclaimed the violinist, "i'm a-goin' up yander ter purdee's ter-morrer ter find out what he died of, an' when." that he was alive was proved the next day, to the astonishment of the smith and his friends. the forge was the voting-place of the district, and there, while the fire was flaring, the bellows blowing, the anvil ringing, the echo vibrating, now loud, now faint, with the antiphonal chant of the hammer and the sledge, a notice was posted to inform the adjacent owners that roger purdee's land, held under an original grant from the state, would be processioned according to law some twenty days after date, and the boundaries thereof defined and established. the fac-simile of the notice, too, was posted on the court-house door in the county town twenty miles away, for there were those who journeyed so far to see it. "i wonder," said the blacksmith, as he stood in the unfamiliar street and gazed at it, his big arms, usually bare, now hampered with his coat sleeves and folded upon his chest--"i wonder ef he footed it all the way ter town at the gait he tuk when he lit out from the forge?" it was a momentous day when the county surveyor planted his jacob's-staff upon the state line on the summit of the bald. his sworn chain-bearers, two tall young fellows clad in jeans, with broad-brimmed wool hats, their heavy boots drawn high over their trousers, stood ready and waiting, with the sticks and clanking chain, on the margin of the ice-cold spring gushing out on this bleak height, and signifying more than a fountain in the wilderness, since it served to define the southeast corner of purdee's land. the two enemies were perceptibly conscious of each other. grinnell's broad face and small eyes laden with fat lids were persistently averted. purdee often glanced toward him gloweringly, his head held, nevertheless, a little askance, as if he rejected the very sight. there was the fire of a desperate intention in his eyes. looking at his face, shaded by his broad-brimmed hat, one could hardly have doubted now whether it expressed most ferocity or force. his breath came quick--the bated breath of a man who watches and waits for a supreme moment. his blue jeans coat was buttoned close about his sun-burned throat, where the stained red handkerchief was knotted. he wore a belt with his powder-horn and bullet-pouch, and carried his rifle on his shoulder; the hand that held it trembled, and he tried to quell the quiver. "i'll prove it fust, an' kill him arterward--kill him arterward," he muttered. in the other hand he held a yellowed old paper. now and then he bent his earnest dark eyes upon the grant, made many a year ago by the state of tennessee to his grandfather; for there had been no subsequent conveyances. the blacksmith had come begirt with his leather apron, his shirt-sleeves rolled up, and with his hammer in his hand, an inopportune customer having jeopardized his chance of sharing in the sensation of the day. the other neighbors all wore their coats closely buttoned. blinks carried his violin hung upon his back; the sharp timbre of the wind, cutting through the leafless boughs of the stunted woods, had a kindred fibrous resonance. clouds hung low far beneath them; here and there, as they looked, the trees on the slopes showed above and again below the masses of clinging vapors. sometimes close at hand a peak would reveal itself, asserting the solemn vicinage of the place, then draw its veil slowly about it, and stand invisible and in austere silence. the surveyor, a stalwart figure, his closely buttoned coat giving him a military aspect, looked disconsolately downward. "i hoped i'd die before this," he remarked. "i'm equal to getting over anything in nature that's flat or oblique, but the vertical beats me." he bent to take sight for a moment, the group silently watching him. suddenly he came to the perpendicular, and strode off down the rugged slope over gullies and bowlders, through rills and briery tangles, his eyes distended and eager as if he were led into the sylvan depths by the lure of a vision. the chain-bearers followed, continually bending and rising, the recurrent genuflections resembling the fervors of some religious rite. the chain rustled sibilantly among the dead leaves, and was ever and anon drawn out to its extremest length. then the dull clank of the links was silent. "stick!" called out the young mountaineer in the rear. "stuck!" responded his comrade ahead. and once more the writhing and jingling among the withered leaves. the surveyor strode on, turning his face neither to the right nor to the left, with his jacob's-staff held upright before him. the other men trooped along scatteringly, dodging under the low boughs of the stunted trees. they pressed hastily together when the great square rocks--moses' tables of the law--came into view, lying where it was said the man of god flung them upon the sere slope below, both splintered and fissured, and one broken in twain. the surveyor was bearing straight down upon them. the men running on either side could not determine whether the line would fall within the spot or just beyond. they broke into wild exclamations. "ye may hammer me out ez flat ez a skene," cried the blacksmith, "ef i don't b'lieve ez purdee hev got 'em." "naw, sir, naw!" cried another fervent amateur; "thar's the north. i jes now viewed grinnell's dad's deed; the line ondertakes ter run with purdee's line; he hev got seven hunderd poles ter the north; ef they air a-goin' ter the north, them tables o' the law air grinnell's." a wild chorus ensued. "naw!" "yes!" "thar they go!" "a-bearin' off that-a-way!" "beats my time!" as they stumbled and scuttled alongside the acolytes of the compass, who bowed down and rose up at every length of the chain. suddenly a cry from the chain-bearers. "out!" stillness ensued. the surveyor stopped to register the "out." it was a moment of thrilling suspense; the rocks lay only a few chains further; grinnell, into whose confidence doubt had begun to be instilled, said to himself, all a-tremble, that he would hardly have staked his veracity, his standing with the brethren, if he had realized that it was so close a matter as this. he had long known that his father owned the greater part of the unproductive wilderness lying between the two ravines; the land was almost worthless by reason of the steep slants which rendered it utterly untillable. he was sure that by the terms of his deed, which his father had from its vendor, squire bates, his line included the moses' tables on which purdee had built so fallacious a repute of holiness. he looked once more at the paper--"thence from crystal spring with purdee's line north seven hundred poles to a stake in the middle of the river." purdee too was all a-quiver with eagerness. he had not beheld those rocks since that terrible day when all the fine values of his gifted vision had been withdrawn from him, and he could read no more with eyes blinded by the limitations of what other men could see--the infinitely petty purlieus of the average sense. he had a vague idea that should they say this was his land where those strange rocks lay, he would see again, he would read undreamed-of words, writ with a pen of fire. he started toward them, and then with a conscious effort he held back. the surveyor took no heed of the sentiments involved in processioning purdee's land. he stood leaning on his jacob's-staff, as interesting to him as moses' rocks, and in his view infinitely more useful, and wiped his brow, and looked about, and yawned. to him it was merely the surveying for a foolish cause of a very impracticable and steep tract of land, and the only reason it should be countenanced by heaven or earth was the fees involved. and this was what he saw at the end of purdee's line. suddenly he took up his jacob's-staff and marched on with a long stride, bearing straight down upon the rocks. the whole _cortége_ started anew--the genuflecting chain-bearers, the dodging, scrambling, running spectators. on one of the strange stunted leafless trees a colony of vagrant crows had perched, eerie enough to seem the denizens of those weird forests; they broke into raucous laughter--haw! haw! haw!--rising to a wild commotion of harsh, derisive discord as the men once more gave vent to loud, excited cries. for the surveyor, stalking ahead, had passed beyond the great tables of the law; the chain-bearers were drawing purdee's line on the other side of them, and they had fallen, if ever they fell here from moses' hand and broke in twain, upon purdee's land, granted to his ancestor by the state of tennessee. he could not speak for joy, for pride. his dark eyes were illumined by a glancing, amber light. he took off his hat and smoothed with his rough hand his long black hair, falling from his massive forehead. he leaned against one of the stunted oaks, shouldering his rifle that he had loaded for grinnell--he could hardly believe this, although he remembered it. he did not want to shoot grinnell; he would not waste the good lead! and indeed grinnell had much ado to defend himself against the sneers and rebukes with which the party beguiled the way through the wintry woods. "ter go a-claimin' another man's land, an' put him ter the expense o' processionin' it, an' git his line run!" exclaimed the blacksmith, indignantly. "an' ye 'ain't got nare sign o' a show at moses' tables!" "i dunno how this hyar line air a-runnin'," declared grinnell, sorely beset. "i don't b'lieve it air a-runnin' north." the surveyor was hard by. he had planted his staff again, and was once more taking his bearings. he looked up for a second. "north_west_," he said. grinnell stared for a moment; then strode up to the surveyor, and pointed with his stubby finger at a word on his deed. the official looked with interest at it; he held up suddenly purdee's grant and read aloud, "from crystal spring seven hundred poles north_west_ to a stake in the middle of the river." he examined, too, the original plat of survey which he had taken to guide him, and also the plat made when squire bates sold to grinnell's father; "north_west_" they all agreed. there was evidently a clerical error on the part of the scrivener who had written grinnell's deed. in a moment the harassed man saw that through the processioning of purdee's land he had lost heavily in the extent of his supposed possessions. he it was who had claimed what was rightfully another's. and because of the charge purdee was the richer by a huge slice of mountain land--how large he could not say, as he ruefully followed the line of survey. but for this discovery the interest of processioning purdee's land would have subsided with the determination of the ownership of the limited environment of the stone tables of the law. now, as they followed the ever-diverging line to the northwest, the group was pervaded by a subdued and tremulous excitement, in which even the surveyor shared. two or three whispered apart now and then, and grinnell, struggling to suppress his dismay, was keenly conscious of the glances that sought him again and again in the effort to judge how he was taking it. only purdee himself was withdrawn from the interest that swayed them all. he had loitered at first, dallying with a temptation to slip silently from the party and retrace his way to the tables and ascertain, perchance, if some vestige of that mystic scripture might not reveal itself to him anew, or if it had been only some morbid fancy, some futile influence of solitude, some fevered condition of the blood or the brain, that had traced on the stone those gracious words, the mere echo of which--his stuttered, vague recollections--had roused the camp-meeting to fervid enthusiasms undreamed of before. and then he put from him the project--some other time, perhaps, for doubts lurked in his heart, hesitation chilled his resolve--some other time, when his companions and their prosaic influence were all far away. he was roused abruptly, as he stalked along, to the perception of the deepening excitement among them. they had emerged from the dense growths of the mountain to the lower slope, where pastures and fields--whence the grain had been harvested--and a garden and a dwelling, with barns and fences, lay before them all. and as purdee stopped and stared, the realization of a certain significant fact struck him so suddenly that it seemed to take his breath away. that divergent line stretching to the northwest had left within his boundaries the land on which his enemy had built his home. he looked; then he smote his thigh and laughed aloud. the rocks on the river-bank caught the sound, and echoed it again and again, till the air seemed full of derisive voices. under their stings of jeering clamor, and under the anguish of the calamity which his reeling senses could scarcely measure, job grinnell's composure suddenly gave way. he threw up his arms and called upon heaven; he turned and glared furiously at his enemy. then, as purdee's laughter still jarred the air, he drew a "shooting-iron" from his pocket. the blacksmith closed with him, struggling to disarm him. the weapon was discharged in the turmoil, the ball glancing away in the first quiver of sunshine that had reached the earth to-day, and falling spent across the river. grinnell wrested himself from the restraining grasp, and rushed down the slope to his gate to hide himself from the gaze of the world--his world, that little group. then remembering that it was no longer his gate, he turned from it in an agony of loathing. and knowing that earth held no shelter for him but the sufferance of another man's roof, he plunged into the leafless woods as if he heavily dragged himself by a power which warred within him with other strong motives, and disappeared among the myriads of holly bushes all aglow with their red berries. the spectators still followed the surveyor and his jacob's-staff, but purdee lingered. he walked around the fence with a fierce, gloating eye, a panther-like, loping tread, as a beast might patrol a fold before he plunders it. all the venom of the old feud had risen to the opportunity. here was his enemy at his mercy. he knew that it was less than seven years since the enclosures had been made, acres and acres of tillable land cleared, the houses built--all achieved which converted the worthlessness of a wilderness into the sterling values of a farm. he--he, roger purdee--was a rich man for the "mountings," joining his little to this competence. all the cruelties, all the insults, all the traditions of the old vendetta came thronging into his mind, as distinctly presented as if they were a series of hideous pictures; for he was not used to think in detail, but in the full portrayal of scenes. the purdee wrongs were all avenged. this result was so complete, so baffling, so ruinous temporally, so humiliating spiritually! it was the fullest replication of revenge for all that had challenged it. "how uncle ezra would hev rej'iced ter hev lived ter see this day!" he thought, with a pious regret that the dead might not know. the next moment his attention was suddenly attracted by a movement in the door-yard. a woman had been hanging out clothes to dry, and she turned to go in, without seeing the striding figure patrolling the enclosure. a baby--a small bundle of a red dress--was seated on the pile of sorghum-cane where the mill had worked in the autumn; the stalks were broken, and flimsy with frost and decay, and washed by the rains to a pallid hue, yet more marked in contrast with the brown ground. the baby's dress made a bright bit of color amidst the dreary tones. as purdee caught sight of it he remembered that this was "grinnell's old baby," who had been the cause of the renewal of the ancient quarrel, which had resulted so benignantly for him. "i owe you a good turn, sis," he murmured, satirically, glaring at the child as the unconscious mother lifted her to go in the house. the baby, looking over the maternal shoulder, encountered the stern eyes staring at her. she stared gravely too. then with a bounce and a gurgle she beamed upon him from out the retirement of her flapping sun-bonnet; she smiled radiantly, and finally laughed outright, and waved her hands and again bounced beguilingly, and thus toothlessly coquetting, disappeared within the door. before purdee reached home, flakes of snow, the first of the season, were whirling through the gray dusk noiselessly, ceaselessly, always falling, yet never seeming to fall, rather to restlessly pervade the air with a vacillating alienation from all the laws of gravitation. elusive fascinations of thought were liberated with the shining crystalline aerial pulsation; some mysterious attraction dwelt down long vistas amongst the bare trees; their fine fibrous grace of branch and twig was accented by the snow, which lay upon them with exquisite lightness, despite the aggregated bulk, not the densely packed effect which the boughs would show to-morrow. the crags were crowned; their grim faces looked frowningly out like a warrior's from beneath a wreath. nowhere could the brown ground be seen; already the pine boughs bent, the needles failing to pierce the drifts. on the banks of the stream, on the slopes of the mountain, in wildest jungles, in the niches and crevices of bare cliffs, the holly-berries glowed red in the midst of the ever-green snow-laden leaves and ice-barbed twigs. when his house at last came into view, the roof was deeply covered; the dizzying whirl had followed every line of the rail-fence; scurrying away along the furthest zigzags there was a vanishing glimpse of a squirrel; the boles of the trees were embedded in drifts; the chickens had gone to roost; the sheep were huddling in the broad door of the rude stable; he saw their heads lifted against the dark background within, where the ox was vaguely glimpsed. he caught their mild glance despite the snow that in-starred with its ever-shifting crystals the dark space of the aperture, and intervened as a veil. they suddenly reminded him of the season--that it was christmas eve; of the sheep which so many years ago beheld the angel of the lord and the glory of the great light that shone about the shepherds abiding in the fields. did they follow, he wondered, the shepherds who went to seek for christ? ah, as he paused meditatively beside the rail-fence--what matter how long ago it was, how far away!--he saw those sheep lying about the fields under the vast midnight sky. they lift their sleepy heads. dawn? not yet, surely; and they lay them down again. and one must bleat aloud, turning to see the quickening sky; and one, woolly, white, white as snow, with eyes illumined by the heralding heavens, struggles to its feet, and another, and the flock is astir; and the shepherds, drowsing doubtless, are awakened to good tidings of great joy. what a night that was!--this night--christmas eve. he wondered he had not thought of it before. and the light still shines, and the angel waits, and the eternal hosts proclaim peace on earth, good-will toward men, and summon us all to go and follow the shepherds and see--what? a little child cradled in a manger. the mountaineer, leaning on his gun by the rail-fence, looked through the driving snow with the lights of divination kindling in his eyes, seeing it all, feeling its meaning as never before. christ came thus, he knew, for a purpose. he could have come in the chariots of the sun or on the wings of the wind. but he was cradled as a little child, that men might revere humanity for the sake of him who had graced it; that they, thinking on him, might be good to one another and to all little children. as he burst into the door of his house the elations of his high religious mood were rudely dispelled by shrill cries of congratulation from his wife and her mother. for the news had preceded him. ephraim blinks with his fiddle had stopped there on his way to play at some neighboring merry-making, and had acquainted them with the result of processioning purdee's land. "we'll go down thar an' live!" cried his wife, with a gush of joyful tears. "arter all our scratchin' along like ten-toed chickens all this time, we'll hev comfort an' plenty! we'll live in grinnell's good house! but ter think o' our trials, an' how pore we hev been!" "this air the purdees' day!" cried the grandmother, her face flushed with the semblance of youth. "arter all ez hev kem an' gone, the jedgmint o' the lord hev descended on grinnell, an' he air cast out. an' his fields, an' house, an' bin, an' barn, air purdee's!" the fire flared and faded; shadows of the night gloomed thick in the room--this night of nights that bestowed so much, that imposed so much on man and on his fellow-man! "ain't the grinnell baby got _no_ home?" whimpered the hereditary enemy. the mountaineer remembered the lord of heaven and earth cradled, a little child, in the manger. he remembered, too, the humble child smiling its guileless good-will at the fence. he broke out suddenly. "how kem the fields purdee's," he cried, leaning his back against the door and striking the puncheon floor with the butt of the gun till it rang again and again, "or the house, or the bin, or the barn? did he plant 'em? did he build 'em? who made 'em his'n?" "the law!" exclaimed both women in a breath. "thar ain't no law in heaven or yearth ez kin gin an honest man what ain't his'n by rights," he declared. an insistent feminine clamor arose, protesting the sovereign power of the law. he quaked for a moment; dominant though he was in his own house, he could not face them, but he could flee. he suddenly stepped out of the door, and when they opened it and looked after him in the snowy dusk and the whitened woods, he was gone. and popular opinion coincided with them when it became known that he had formally relinquished his right to that portion of the land improved by grinnell. he said to the old squire who drew up the quit-claim deed, which he executed that christmas eve, that he was not willing to profit by his enemy's mistake, and thus the consideration expressed in the conveyance was the value of the land, considered not as a farm, but as so many acres of wilderness before an axe was laid to the trunk of a tree or the soil upturned by a plough. it was the minimum of value, and grinnell came cheaply off. the blacksmith, the mountain fiddler, and the advanced thinker, who had been active in the survey, balked of the expected excitement attendant upon the ousting of grinnell, and some sensational culmination of the ancient feud, were not in sympathy with the pacific result, and spoke as if they had given themselves to unrequited labors. "thar ain't no way o' settlin' what that thar critter purdee owns 'ceptin' ez consarns moses' tables o' the law. he clings ter them," they said, in conclave about the forge fire when the big doors were closed and the snow, banking up the crevices, kept out the wind. "there ain't no use in percessionin' purdee's land." and indeed purdee's possessions were wider far than even that divergent line which the county surveyor ran out might seem to warrant; for on the mountain-tops largest realms of solemn thought were open to him. he levied tribute upon the liberties of an enthused imagination. he exulted in the freedom of the expanding spaces of a spiritual perception of the spiritual things. when the snow slipped away from the tables of the law, the man who had read strange scripture engraven thereon took his way one day, doubtful, but faltering with hope, up and up to the vast dome of the mountain, and knelt beside the rocks to see if perchance he might trace anew those mystic runes which he once had some fine instinct to decipher. and as he pondered long he found, or thought he found, here a familiar character, and there a slowly developing word, and anon--did he see it aright?--a phrase; and suddenly it was discovered to him that, whether their origin were a sacred mystery or the fantastic scroll-work of time as the rock weathered, high thoughts, evoking thrilling emotions, bear scant import to one who apprehends only in mental acceptance. and he realized that the multiform texts which he had read in the fine and curious script were but paraphrases of the simple mandate to be good to one another for the sake of that holy child cradled in manger, and to all little children. the end in the "stranger people's" country. by charles egbert craddock. illustrated. post 8vo, cloth, ornamental, $1 50. in this strong story miss murfree has shown better art than in any of her other long novels. it is a romance of the tennessee mountains, told with singular effect. the mystery and the picturesqueness of it make it notable. we have enjoyed it, and we recommend it to those who are hungry and thirsty for a genuinely entertaining story.--_independent_, n. y. miss murfree has never had a more fascinating field for a story.... she continues to be a romancist of strong imagination and sustained dramatic power.--_literary world_, boston. the extraordinary freshness and reality of the picture of the hill-people's life in the mountainous regions of tennessee make this one of the most readable of the many readable american stories which abound just now.--_saturday review_, london. a brilliant story, full of power, remarkably picturesque and vigorous in the telling.... the author writes in the spirit of a thorough literary artist, and this book in plot, character, drawing, vividness, and interest is an advance even on the admirable stories that brought her into notice and established her reputation.--_saturday evening gazette_, boston. the author delineates the natural scenery of the region with graphic power, and the actors in her stories are drawn to the life. this book is equal to any of its predecessors in dramatic power.--_observer_, n. y. this is, perhaps, the best story which miss murfree has published.... though miss murfree's pen has described the wonderful mountain scenery over and over again in her previous volumes, yet here are found new, fresh touches that are charmingly beautiful, strange, and weird.--_zion's herald_, boston. published by harper & brothers, new york _for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by the publishers, postage prepaid, to any part of the united states, canada, or mexico, on receipt of the price._ r. d. blackmore's novels. perlycross. a novel. 12mo, cloth, ornamental, $1 75. told with delicate and delightful art. its pictures of rural english scenes and characters will woo and solace the reader.... it is charming company in charming surroundings. its pathos, its humor, and its array of natural incidents are all satisfying. one must feel thankful for so finished and exquisite a story.... not often do we find a more impressive piece of work.--_n. y. sun._ springhaven. illustrated. 12mo, cloth, $1 50; 4to, paper, 25 cents. lorna doone. illustrated. 12mo, cloth, $1 00; 8vo, paper, 40 cents. kit and kitty. 12mo, cloth, $1 25; paper, 35 cents christowell. 4to, paper, 20 cents. cradock nowell. 8vo, paper, 60 cents. erema; or, my father's sin. 8vo, paper, 50 cents. mary anerley. 16mo, cloth, $1 00; 4to, paper, 15 cents. tommy upmore. 16mo, cloth, 50 cents; paper, 35 cts.; 4to, paper, 20 cents. his tales, all of them, are pre-eminently meritorious. they are remarkable for their careful elaboration, the conscientious finish of their workmanship, their affluence of striking dramatic and narrative incident, their close observation and general interpretation of nature, their profusion of picturesque description, and their quiet and sustained humor.--_christian intelligencer_, n. y. published by harper & brothers, new york. _the above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by the publishers, postage prepaid, to any part of the united states, canada, or mexico, on receipt of the price._ by george du maurier trilby. a novel. illustrated by the author. post 8vo, cloth, ornamental, $1 75; three-quarter calf, $3 50; three-quarter crushed levant, $4 50. certainly, if it were not for its predecessor, we should assign to "trilby" a place in fiction absolutely companionless.... it is one of the most unconventional and charming of novels.--_saturday review_, london. it is a charming story told with exquisite grace and tenderness.--_n. y. tribune_. mr. du maurier has written his tale with such originality, unconventionality, and eloquence, such rollicking humor and tender pathos, and delightful play of every lively fancy, all running so briskly in exquisite english and with such vivid dramatic picturing, that it is only comparable ... to the freshness and beauty of a spring morning at the end of a dragging winter.... it is a thoroughly unique story.--_n. y. sun_. peter ibbetson. with an introduction by his cousin, lady * * * * * ("madge plunket"). edited and illustrated by george du maurier. post 8vo, cloth, ornamental, $1 50. that it is one of the most remarkable books that have appeared for a long time is, however, indisputable.--_n. y. tribune_. there are no suggestions of mediocrity. the pathos is true, the irony delicate, the satire severe when its subject is unworthy, the comedy sparkling, and the tragedy, as we have said, inevitable. one or two more such books, and the fame of the artist would be dim beside that of the novelist.--_n. y. evening post_. published by harper & brothers, new york. _the above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by the publishers, postage prepaid, to any part of the united states, canada, or mexico, on receipt of the price._ by mary e. wilkins. pembroke. a novel. illustrated. 16mo, cloth, ornamental, $1 50. jane field. a novel. illustrated. 16mo, cloth, ornamental, $1 25. young lucretia, and other stories. illustrated. post 8vo, cloth, ornamental, $1 25. a new england nun, and other stories. l6mo, cloth, ornamental, $1 25. a humble romance, and other stories. 16mo, cloth, ornamental, $1 25. giles corey, yeoman. illustrated. 32mo, cloth, ornamental, 50 cents. we have long admired miss wilkins as one of the most powerful, original, and profound writers of america; but we are bound to say that "pembroke" is entitled to a higher distinction than the critics have awarded to miss wilkins's earlier productions. as a picture of new england life and character, as a story of such surpassing interest that he who begins is compelled to finish it, as a work of art without a fault or a deficiency, we cannot see how it could possibly be improved.--_n.y. sun_. the simplicity, purity, and quaintness of these stories set them apart in a niche of distinction where they have no rivals.--_literary world_, boston. nowhere are there to be found such faithful, delicately drawn, sympathetic, tenderly humorous pictures.--_n. y. tribune_. the charm of miss wilkins's stories is in her intimate acquaintance and comprehension of humble life, and the sweet human interest she feels and makes her readers partake of, in the simple, common, homely people she draws.--_springfield republican_. published by harper & brothers, new york. _the above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by the publishers, postage prepaid, to any part of the united states, canada, or mexico, on receipt of the price_. [illustration: rev. w. g. brownlow.] americanism contrasted with foreignism, romanism, and bogus democracy, in the light of reason, history, and scripture; in which certain demagogues in tennessee, and elsewhere, are shown up in their true colors. by william g. brownlow, editor of "brownlow's knoxville whig." "----go to your bloody rites again: preach--perpetuate damnation in your den; then let your altars, ye blasphemers, peal with thanks to heaven, that let you loose again, to practice deeds with torturing fire and steel, no eye may search, no tongue may challenge or reveal!" thomas campbell. nashville, tenn.: published for the author. 1856. entered, according to act of congress, in the year 1856, by william g. brownlow, in the clerk's office of the district court for the middle district of tennessee. dedication. to the young men of america. young gentlemen:--almighty god has conferred on you the peculiar honor and the eminent responsibility of preserving and perpetuating the liberties of this country, both civil and religious. that the american people are on the eve of an eventful period, will not be doubted by any sane man, who can discern the "signs of the times." indeed, it is an every-day remark, that, as a nation, we are in the midst of a crisis. if, however, a crisis ever did exist in the affairs of this nation, since its independence was first achieved, which called upon the native and legal voters of the country to watch with sleepless vigilance over their blood-bought liberties, that crisis must be dated in the year of our lord, one thousand eight hundred and fifty-six! the great commonwealth of humanity, in behalf of the momentous interests of truth, liberty, and religion, calls upon the present generation of young men, who will have the issues of a coming revolution to meet, to qualify themselves for the task. there never was a time known, since the dark days of the revolution, when the civil and religious liberties of this country were so much endangered as at the present time. this danger we are threatened with from _foreign influence_, and the rapid strides of _romanism_, to which we may add _native treachery_, connived at, as they are, by certain leading demagogues of the country, and a powerful and influential political party, falsely called _democrats_, who seek the foreign and catholic vote, and are willing to obtain it at the expense of liberty, and the sacrifice of the protestant religion! the great criminal of the nineteenth century, the papal hierarchy, is now on trial before the bar of public opinion, having been arraigned by the american party. you are called on to decide, young men, as you wield the balance of power, whether this criminal, arraigned for treason against god, and hostility to the human race, deserves the execrations of all honest and patriotic men, and avenging judgments of a righteous god! in order to decide this grave question, young _gentlemen of the nineteenth century_, you are to consider the inevitable tendency of the principles of the church of rome--the actual results of these tendencies as embodied in history--the indictment brought in by the american party, and the testimony of the witnesses. when you have intelligently considered the part the self-styled _democratic party_ has acted in this infamous drama, you will feel it to be your duty to indict the corporation claiming the right to be called the great democratic party, as _accessory_ to the treason, crimes, and infamy, of the aforesaid papal hierarchy! to you, then, gentlemen, is this brief work most affectionately inscribed by the author. preface. for the last twenty-five years, the writer of this work has employed much of his time in the reading and study of the controversy between roman catholics and protestants. and those who have been subscribers to the paper he has edited and published for the last seventeen years, will bear him witness that he has kept up a fierce and unceasing fire against that dangerous and immoral _corporation_, claiming the right to be called the holy catholic church. this he has done, and still continues to do, because he believes firmly that the system of popery, as taught in the standards of the church of rome, as enforced by her bishops and priests, and as believed and practised by the great body of romanists, both in europe and america, is at war with the true religion taught in the bible, and is injurious to the public and private morals of the civilized world; and, if unchecked, will overturn the civil and religious liberties of the united states. such, he believes, is its tendency and the design of its leaders. popery is deceitful in its character; and the design of this brief work is, in part, to drag it forward into the light of the middle of the nineteenth century, to strip the flimsy vizor off its face, and to bring it, with all its abuses, corruptions, and hypocritical protestant advocates, before the bar of enlightened public opinion, for judgment in the case. roman catholics misrepresent their own creed, their church, and its corrupt institutions. the most revolting, wicked, and immoral features of their _holy and immutable system_, are kept out of sight by its corrupt clergy, and jesuitical teachers; while, with a purpose to _deceive_, a _protestant sense_ is attached to most of their doctrines and peculiarities. by this vile means, they designedly _misrepresent themselves_, and impose on the public, by inducing charitable and uninformed persons to believe that they are not as profligate as they are represented to be. this game has been played with a bold hand in _knoxville_, for the last twelve months, and it is being played in every city and town in the south and west, where romanism is being planted. one object, then, of this _epitomized_ work, setting forth the boastings, threats, and disclosures of leading catholic organs and bishops, as to their real principles and designs upon this country, suffered to go forth in their more excited moments, or unguarded hours, is, to spread before the people, in a cheap form, true popery, and to strip it of its _protestant garb_, which it has for the time being assumed. an additional reason for bringing out this publication, at this particular time, is, to expose a corrupt bargain entered into by the leaders of the catholic church, and the leaders of a corrupt and designing political party, falsely called the democratic party. one of the most alarming "signs of the times" is, that while protestant ministers, of different persuasions, only two brief years ago, could preach with power and eloquence against the dogmas and corrupting tendencies of _romanism_, and pass out of the doors of their churches, receiving the compliments and extravagant praises of their entire congregations, let one of them now dare to hold up this corporation as a dangerous foreign enemy--let him warn his charge against the influence of popery, or but only designate the catholic hierarchy as the "man of sin" described in the scriptures, and one half of his congregation are grossly insulted: they charge him with meddling in politics; and, by way of resentment, they will either not hear him again, or they will starve him out, by refusing to contribute to his support! the hypocritical and profligate portion of the methodist, presbyterian, baptist, and episcopal membership in this country, are not so much misled by popery, as they are influenced by _party politics_, and are in love with the _loose moral code_ of romanism. it lays no restraints on their lusts, and gives a loose rein to all their unsanctified passions and desires. backslidden, unconverted, or unprincipled members of protestant churches, find in popery a _sympathizing irreligion_, adapted to their vicious lives; and hence they fall in with its disgusting superstitions and insulting claims. they are, therefore, ensnared with the delusions of popery, of _choice_. in other words, popery is a system of mere human policy; altogether of foreign origin; foreign in its support; importing foreign vassals and paupers by multiplied thousands; and sending into every state and territory in this union, a most baneful foreign and anti-republican influence. its old _goutified_, immoral, and drunken pope, his bishops and priests, are _politicians_; men of the world, earthly, sensual, and devilish, and mere men of pleasure. associated with them for the purpose, in great state and national contests, of securing the catholic vote, are the worst class of american politicians, designing demagogues, selfish office-seekers, and bad men, calling themselves _democrats_ and "old-line whigs!" these politicians know that popery, as a system, is in the hands of a foreign despotism, precisely what the koran is in the hands of the grand turk and his partisans. but corrupt and ambitious politicians in this country, are willing to act the part of traitors to our laws and constitution, for the sake of profitable offices; and they are willing to sacrifice the protestant religion, on the ancient and profligate altar at rome, if they may but rise to distinction on its ruins! the great democratic party of this country, which has degenerated into a _semi-papal organization_, for the base purposes of power and plunder, now fully partakes of the intolerant spirit of rome, and is acting it out in all the departments of our state and general governments. what romanism has been to the old world, this papal and anti-american organization seeks and promises to be to this country. what is popery in roman catholic europe? it is as intolerant in politics as in religion: it taxes and oppresses the subjects and citizens of every country; it interdicts nations; dethrones governors, chief magistrates, and kings; dissolves civil governments; suspends commerce; annuls civil laws; and, to gratify its unsanctified lust of ambition, it has overrun whole nations with bloodshed, and thrown them into confusion. so it is with this "_bogus_" democracy: it wages a war of extermination against the freedom of the press, and against the liberty of speech, the rights of human conscience, and the liberties of man: hence its indiscriminate proscription of all who dare to unite with the american party, or openly espouse their cause. popery aims at universal power over the bodies and souls of all men; and history proclaims that its weapons have been dungeons, racks, chains, fire, and sword! the _bastard_ democracy of the present age has united with the prelates, priests, monks, and nuns of romanism, and is daily affiliating with hundreds of thousands of the very off-scourings of the european catholic population--stimulating them to deeds of violence, and to the shedding of blood! to-day, they sustain a _baker_ in the foul murder of a _poole_, in new york, because he was a member of the so-called know-nothing party, which had just routed, in an election, this foreign locofoco party! to-morrow, we find this same vile party, its editors and orators, sustaining a foreign catholic mob in louisville, ky.; and the members of the same party, in surrounding states, exulting over the murder of protestant americans! and in the next breath, as it were, we find these sons of belial, falsely called _democrats_, after reaching the power they lusted after in philadelphia, sending up shouts over the lawless deeds of a foreign catholic riot, which made the ears of every american citizen to tingle! under the guidance of an all-wise providence, the protector of our republic, and of the protestant religion, it is in the power of the free and independent voters of these united states to cause this enemy's long "_arm to be clean dried up, and his right eye to be utterly darkened_," by elevating to the two first offices within the gift of the world, millard fillmore and andrew j. donelson! i am, candid reader, your fellow-citizen, w. g. brownlow. knoxville, july, 1856. americanism contrasted with foreignism, romanism, and bogus democracy. introductory chapter. the creed of the american party--the platform misrepresented by mr. watkins--official vote on the adoption of the new platform--what the abolitionists and democrats say of the platform--seceders from the nominating convention, and their address. lord byron, just as the war of greece approached, said: "it is not one man, nor a million, but the _spirit of liberty_ which must be spread;" and, carrying out the same bold idea of liberty, he continues, "it is time to act;" or, in the language of the know nothing salutation, "it is time for work;" for "what signifies _self_, if a single spark of that genius of liberty worthy of the past, can be bequeathed unquenchably to the future?" in the language of a fair poetess: --"our country is a whole, of which we all are parts; nor should a citizen regard his interests as distinct from hers: no hopes or fears should touch his patriot soul, but what affects her honor or her shame." the civilization--the nationality--the institutions, civil and religious--and the mission of the united states, are all eminently american. mental light and personal independence, constitutional union, national supremacy, submission to law and rules of order, homogeneous population, and instinctive patriotism, are all vital elements of american liberty, nationality, and upward and onward progress. foreign immigration, foreign catholic influence, and sectional factions nourished by them--and breeding demagogues in the name of _democracy_, by a prostitution of the elective franchise--have already corrupted our nationality, degraded our councils, both state and national, weakened the bonds of union, disturbed our country's peace, and awakened apprehensions of insecurity and _progressive deterioration_, threatening ultimate ruin! to rescue and restore american institutions--to maintain american nationality, and to secure american birthrights, is the mission and the sole purpose of the american party--composed of conservative, patriotic, protestant, union-loving, native-born citizens of every section, and of every christian denomination--self-sacrificing patriots, who prefer their country, and the religion of their fathers, and of the bible, to a factious name, a plundering political organization, and an infamous papal hierarchy! the paramount and ultimate object of our american organization is to save and exalt the union, and to preserve and perpetuate the rights and blessings of the protestant religion. we contend that american principles should mould american policy; that american mind should rule american destiny; that all sectional parties, such as a party _north_, or a party _south_, should be renounced; that all sectional agitations, such as are kept up by abolitionists, free soilers, and black republicans, should be resisted; that congress should never agitate the subject of domestic slavery, in any form or for any purpose, but leave it where the constitution fixes it; that as the destiny of the country depends on the mind of the country, intelligence should rule; that the ballot-box should be purified, and corrupt romanism and foreign influence checked; that any allegiance "to any foreign prince, potentate, or power"--to any power, regal or pontifical, should be rebuked as the most fatal canker of the germ of american independence; that every citizen should be encouraged to exercise freely his own conscience; and that the popular mind should be enlightened, and the popular heart rectified, by proper and universal christian education. this is the essence of the american creed; and when methodized into a political decalogue, it constitutes the _ten commandments_ of the american party. in this connection, and at this point, we will give the much-abused platform of the american party, adopted at the session of the national council, february 21, 1856. examine the platform, and answer to your conscience the question: what true american head can disapprove--what pure american heart can revolt? can men taking their stand on this platform be the enemies of civil and religious liberties? can either civil or religious liberties rest secure on any other grounds? and must not those "bogus" democrats and anti-americans, therefore, who wage war against this citadel of american birthrights, act as enemies to the federal constitution, enemies to the union, to the mental independence of american citizens--enemies to the protestant religion, and enemies, consequently, "to civil and religious liberty?" platform of the american party. 1st. an humble acknowledgment to the supreme being for his protecting care vouchsafed to our fathers in their successful revolutionary struggle, and hitherto manifested to us, their descendants, in the preservation of the liberties, the independence, and the union of these states. 2d. the perpetuation of the federal union, as the palladium of our civil and religious liberties, and the only sure bulwark of american independence. 3d. _americans must rule america_, and to this end, _native_-born citizens should be selected for all state, federal, and municipal offices, or government employment, in preference to all others: nevertheless, 4th. persons born of american parents residing temporarily abroad, should be entitled to all the rights of native-born citizens; but, 5th. no person should be selected for political station, (whether of native or foreign birth,) who recognizes any allegiance or obligation of any description, to any foreign prince, potentate, or power, or who refuses to recognize the federal and state constitutions (each within its sphere) as paramount to all other laws, as rules of political action. 6th. the unqualified recognition and maintenance of the reserved rights of the several states, and the cultivation of harmony and fraternal good-will between the citizens of the several states; and to this end, non-interference by congress with questions appertaining solely to the individual states, and non-intervention by each state with the affairs of any other state. 7th. the recognition of the right of the native-born and naturalized citizens of the united states, permanently residing in any territory thereof, to frame their constitution and laws, and to regulate their domestic and social affairs in their own mode, subject only to the provisions of the federal constitution, with the privilege of admission into the union whenever they have the requisite population for one representative in congress. _provided always_, that none but those who are citizens of the united states, under the constitution and laws thereof, and who have a fixed residence in any such territory, ought to participate in the formation of the constitution, or in the enactment of laws for said territory or state. 8th. an enforcement of the principle that no state or territory ought to admit others than citizens of the united states to the right of suffrage, or of holding political office. 9th. a change in the laws of naturalization, making a continued residence of twenty-one years, of all not hereinbefore provided for, an indispensable requisite for citizenship hereafter, and excluding all paupers, and persons convicted of crime, from landing upon our shores; but no interference with the vested rights of foreigners. 10th. opposition to any union between church and state: no interference with religious faith or worship, and no test-oaths for office. 11th. free and thorough investigation into any and all alleged abuses of public functionaries, and a strict economy in public expenditures. 12th. the maintenance and enforcement of all laws constitutionally enacted, until said laws shall be repealed, or shall be declared null and void by competent judicial authority. 13th. opposition to the reckless and unwise policy of the present administration in the general management of our national affairs, and more especially as shown in removing "americans" (by designation) and conservatives in principle, from office, and placing foreigners and ultraists in their places: as shown in a truckling subserviency to the stronger, and an insolent and cowardly bravado toward the weaker powers: as shown in reã¶pening sectional agitation, by the repeal of the missouri compromise: as shown in granting to unnaturalized foreigners the right of suffrage in kansas and nebraska: as shown in its vacillating course on the kansas and nebraska question: as shown in the corruptions which pervade some of the departments of the government: as shown in disgracing meritorious naval officers through prejudice or caprice; and as shown in the blundering mismanagement of our foreign relations. 14th. therefore, to remedy existing evils, and prevent the disastrous consequences otherwise resulting therefrom, we would build up the "american party" upon the principles hereinbefore stated. 15th. that each state council shall have authority to amend their several constitutions, so as to abolish the several degrees, and institute a pledge of honor, instead of other obligations, for fellowship and admission into the party. 16th. a free and open discussion of all political principles embraced in our platform. the hon. mr. watkins, a renegade from the american ranks, in east tennessee, delivered a speech in congress on the 6th of may, 1856; which speech we find reported in the _washington union_--a speech which betrays an utter ignorance of the point he undertook to discuss. it is due to _his betrayed constituents_ that we should expose his ignorance, and the blundering fallacy of his attempts to justify his turning _locofoco cataline judas sag-nicht_! he says, as reported by his political organ-grinder: "but, sir, the platform recently adopted by the philadelphia convention cannot receive my approbation. i cannot support mr. fillmore, or any other distinguished whig, upon that platform. the only solitary plank in the philadelphia platform of june, 1855, was the twelfth section--that section which denied to congress the right to interfere with slavery in the territories, declaring the doctrine of non-intervention, and of popular sovereignty in the territories. but, sir, that plank in the platform was stricken out by the convention recently held, and the sixth resolution of the platform then adopted substituted in its place. and what does that resolution endorse? is there any non-intervention in the sixth resolution of the philadelphia platform? is there any denial of the right of congress to interfere upon the subject of slavery in the sixth resolution of the philadelphia platform? certainly not." in lieu of the _june_ platform, we have this _february_ platform. the june platform contained _no such denial to congress_, as is here alleged by mr. watkins, of the right to interfere with slavery in the territories! and it is marvellous, indeed, that a grave member of congress should undertake to discuss platforms, which he had either never read, or the purport of which, if he had ever read them, he had either wholly forgotten, or lacked the sense to comprehend! the twelfth section of the june platform says: "and expressly _pretermitting any expression of opinion_ upon the power of congress to establish or prohibit slavery in any territory, it is the sense of this national council, that congress ought not to legislate upon the subject of slavery within the territories of the united states." thus, instead of _denying_ to congress the right to interfere with slavery in the territories, as erroneously and recklessly charged by this new-born democrat, all opinion on that subject was "_expressly pretermitted_" in the june platform! mr. watkins was in such a hurry to join the forney, pierce, and catholic democracy, that he did not stop to examine even the platform which most disgusted him! but this is not the worst blunder which he committed in that speech. he turned to the new platform, and asked, with an air of triumph: "is there any non-intervention in the sixth resolution of the (new) philadelphia platform? is there any denial of the right of congress to interfere with the subject of slavery in the sixth resolution of the (new) philadelphia platform?" and he answers, "_certainly not!_" the ignorant man, it would seem, only read as far as to the sixth section of the new platform; and even _that_ section contains a direct affirmative answer to his question; which, in order to place the american party in a false position, he answers, "_certainly not!_" now, we ask such as may have noticed his _misrepresentations_, to read a _little further on_, at least to the end of the 7th section of this new platform, and see where it leaves mr. watkins! turn back to the 7th section, and it will be seen that this section, instead of "_pretermitting any opinion_" on the question, announces the doctrine that the citizens of the united states permanently residing in the territories, have a "_right_" to frame their constitution and laws, and to regulate their domestic affairs in their own mode, subject only to the provisions of the federal constitution! the _new york evening post_, a pierce and foreign democratic organ, thus alludes to the action of the convention which nominated fillmore and donelson:- "the 12th section of the june platform, it is true, had been abrogated; but it had been replaced by another, meaning precisely the same thing!" the _cincinnati gazette_, an abolition, anti-american foreign sheet, came out in opposition to the american nominees, in its issue of feb. 29th, 1856, on account of the _pro-slavery_ character of the new platform. the gazette says:- "we are glad that the action of the convention _proved so decided as to leave no doubt as to the character of the platform_. the latter is clearly and decidedly pro-slavery and nebraska, _and in this respect corresponds precisely with the_ principles of the pierce democracy! _fillmore and donelson_ are therefore presented to the american people as candidates for the presidency and vice presidency, on a thorough and decided nebraska pro-slavery platform, and the citizens of northern states are asked to vote for them!" the _new york tribune_, whose editor was a prominent member of the pittsburgh black republican convention, and who is violent in his opposition to fillmore and donelson, says: "the object of the know nothings has dwindled down to this--to defeat the republican party! that is to say, this is the object of those who have managed the philadelphia convention, and nominated mr. fillmore. i have diligently inquired for a member who voted for _banks_ for speaker, and now supports _fillmore_; but up to this time--more than three days after the nomination--i have not heard of one. that sort must be scarce!" the following is the official vote on the adoption of the new platform by the national council, which met four days previous to the nominating convention: new hampshire--_nays_--messrs. colby and emery. massachusetts--_yeas_--messrs. ely, weith, brewster, robinson, and arnold. _nays_--messrs. richmond, wheelwright, temple, thurston, sumner, allen, sawin, and hawkes. connecticut--_nays_--messrs. sperry, dunbar, peck, booth, holley, and perkins. rhode island--_yeas_--messrs. chase and knight. _nays_--messrs. simons and nightingale. new york--_yeas_--messrs. walker, oakley, morgan, woodward, reynolds, chester, owens, sanders, whiston, nichols, van dusen, westbrook, parsons, picket, campbell, lowell, sammons, oakes, seymour, squire, cooper, burr, bennett, marvine, midler, stephens, johnson, wetmore, hammond, and s. seymour. _nay_--mr. barker. delaware--_yeas_--messrs. clement and smithers. maryland--_yeas_--messrs. codet, alexander, winchester, stephens, and wilmot. _nays_--messrs. purnell, ricaud, pinkney, and kramer. virginia--_nays_--messrs. bolling, mchugh, cochran, boteler, preston, and maupin. florida--_yea_--mr. call. new jersey--_yeas_--messrs. deshler, weeks, lyon, and mcclellan. pennsylvania--_yeas_--messrs. freeman, nelclede, gossler, smith, gillinham, hammond, wood, gilford, pyle, farrand, and williamson. _nays_--messrs. johnson, sewell, jones, parker, heistand, kase, kinkaid, coffee, carlisle, crovode, edie, sewell, and power. louisiana--_yeas_--messrs. lathrop and elam. _nays_--messrs. harman and hardy. california--_yeas_--messrs. wood and stanley. arkansas--_yea_--mr. logan. _nay_--mr. fowler. tennessee--_yeas_--messrs. brownlow, bankhead, zollicoffer, burton, campbell, donelson, harris, bilbo, and beloat. _nays_--messrs. nelson, reedy, and picket. kentucky--_yeas_--messrs. stowers, campbell, raphael, todd, clay, goodloe, and bartlett. _nays_--messrs. shanklin, jones, carpenter, gist, and underwood. ohio--_yeas_--messrs. white, nash, simpson, and lippett. _nays_--messrs. gabriel, olds, ford, barker, potter, stanbaugh, rodgers, spooner, hodges, kyle, lees, swigart, allison, fishback, thomas, corwine, chapman, ayres, and johnson. indiana--_yeas_--messrs. sheets and phelps. _nay_--mr. meredith. missouri--_yeas_--messrs. edward, fletcher, and hockaday. _nay_--mr. breckenridge. michigan--_yea_--mr. wood. wisconsin--_yeas_--messrs. lockwood, cook, chandler, and gillies. district of columbia--_yeas_--messrs. ellis and evans. illinois--_yeas_--messrs. danenhower and allen. _nays_--messrs. jennings and gear. iowa--_nays_--messrs. webster and thorrington. _yeas_--108. _nays_--77. we will close this chapter by giving the delegates who seceded from the nominating convention, with the address published by them on the occasion. that recession was a more inconsiderable affair than has been represented by the foreign party of this country. the author of this work was the chairman of the large committee on credentials, and reported two hundred and seventy-seven delegates, which report was received without opposition, as to numbers. of these, _forty-two_ only seceded, viz.: 13 out of 28 from ohio; _one_ of two from new hampshire; 6--all--from connecticut; 2 out of 13 from massachusetts; _one_ out of 3 from illinois; 7 out of 27 from pennsylvania; _one_ out of 4 from rhode island; 5--all--from michigan; 5--all--from wisconsin; _one_--all--from iowa; 42 out of 277--not a _sixth_, and but little over a _seventh_ of the whole! address. the seceders or "bolters" made the following address, to which they appended their states and names. what they say of the _louisiana_ delegates, we have explained in another portion of this work: "the undersigned, delegates to the nominating convention now in session at philadelphia, find themselves compelled to dissent from the principles avowed by that body; and holding opinions, as they do, that the restoration of the missouri compromise, as demanded by a majority of the whole people, is a redress of an undeniable wrong, and the execution of it, in spirit at least, indispensable to the repose of the country, they have regarded the refusal of that convention to recognize the well-defined opinion of the country, and of the americans of the free states, upon this question, as a denial of their rights and a rebuke to their sentiments; and they hold that the admission into the national council and nominating convention, of delegates from louisiana, representing a roman catholic constituency, absolved every true american from all obligations to sustain the action of either of the said bodies. "they have therefore withdrawn from the nominating convention, refusing to participate in the proposed nomination, and now address themselves to the americans of the country, and especially of the states they represent, to justify and approve of their action; and to the end that a nomination conforming to the overruling sentiment of the country in the great issue may be regularly and auspiciously made, the undersigned propose to the americans in all the states to assemble in their several state organizations, and elect delegates to a convention to meet in the city of new york, on thursday, the 12th day of june next, for the purpose of nominating candidates for president and vice president of the united states." ohio--thos. h. ford, j. h. baker, b. s. kyle, w. h. c. mitchell, e. t. sturtevant, o. t. fishback, jacob ebbert, wm. b. allison, h. c. hodges, l. h. olds, w. b. chapman, thos. mcyees, charles nichols. new hampshire--anthony colby. connecticut--lucius g. peck, jas. e. dunham, hezekiah griswold, austin baldwin, edmund perkins, david booth. massachusetts--wild. s. thurston, z. r. pangborn. illinois--henry s. jennings. pennsylvania--wm. f. johnston, s. c. kase, r. m. riddle, t. j. coffey, john williamson, j. harrison, s. ewell. rhode island--e. j. nightingale. michigan--s. t. lyon, w. fuller, w. s. wood, p. p. meddler, j. hamilton. wisconsin--d. a. gillis, john lockwood, robt. chandler, g. burdick, c. w. cook. iowa--l. h. webster. the election of banks--the slavery question. one of the issues in the presidential contest now going on, is the _slavery question_. a. o. p. x. y. z. nicholson, of the washington union, who canvassed this state in opposition to scott, and shed his _crocodile_ tears before every crowd he addressed, because so good a man as fillmore, who had stood firm for the _rights of the south_, had been set aside by an ungrateful convention at baltimore, to give place to scott, the favorite of _seward_--this miserable hypocrite, we say, now comes out and says, "fillmore's abolitionism will suit the north." the central democratic committee for east tennessee, in a call for a district convention at clinton, in may last, through the _knoxville standard_, conclude said call in this language: "the time has again arrived when the national democracy must rally to their country's call and preserve the constitution as it is in its purity, and perpetuate the union of the states from the rain which the _black republican party of the north_, aided by their know-nothing allies of the south, would bring upon them. by order of the "central committee." the _sag-nicht convention_ held at somerville, on thursday the 8th of may, and which selected d. m. currin as their electoral candidate, adopted the following resolution: "_resolved_, that we have been appointed by the democracy of this electoral district to organize to fight, in the coming presidential election, the black republicans and know-nothings. _resolved_, that we _can_ beat them, and we _will_ do it. _resolved_, that we will cordially receive the _co-operation of all old-line whigs_ who will assist us in carrying out these resolutions." now, the charge is here made that the know-nothings of the south are the allies of the black republicans of the north. this is the impression intended to be made, first by these _concealed calumniators_ at knoxville, and afterwards by the _open and avowed slanderers_ of the same party at somerville! with such _wholesale lying_ as is displayed in both of these cases, we have but little patience: we only give their language, to show their recklessness in making such an issue. and although this foreign party claim to be the guardians of southern interests, we propose to show, before we conclude this chapter, that they are themselves the "allies of the black republicans of the north," and are giving them more "aid and comfort" than all the other parties in the country! francis p. blair, former editor of gen. jackson's organ at washington, was the president of the black republican convention at pittsburg, in february last! _john m. niles_; democratic senator in congress, was president of the black republican convention held in connecticut! in the pittsburg convention, over which blair presided, preston king, abijah mann, david wilmot, and jacob brinkerhoff, old-line democrats, figured conspicuously. for two long and cold winter months, the democrats, both north and south, voted for _richardson_, of illinois, for speaker, a violent _anti-slavery man_, whose speeches _against_ slavery, and in _favor_ of abolitionism, were matters of record in the congressional globe, and were delivered on the floor of congress so late as 1850! the _immortal_ 75 democrats did not cease to vote for this man _richardson_, until gen. zollicoffer, of tennessee, read his speeches upon him, in the presence of his friends! on the 2d of february, samuel a. smith, of tennessee, a democratic representative in congress, _renewed_ his motion to adopt the plurality rule. his proposition, which it was evident would elect _banks_, was carried by black republican votes, who went for it in a body. this would still not have elected _banks_, but for the fact that the following _democrats_ voted for the odious plurality rule: _clingman_, _herbert_, _hickman_, _jewett_, _kelley_, _barclay_, _bayard_, _wells_, _williams_, and samuel a. smith! mr. clarke was the only american who voted for the odious rule! mr. carlile, a national american, of virginia, before the vote was taken upon this plurality rule, offered the following substitute for it: "_resolved_, that the hon. wm. aiken, a representative from the state of south carolina, be, and he is hereby declared speaker of the thirty-fourth congress." gov. aiken is a sound southern democrat--never was any thing else--but col. smith _objected_, and demanded the _previous question_, which cut off mr. carlile's resolution, and which was to prevent its adoption! the candidate of the democratic party, at that time, mr. orr, immediately _withdrew in favor of_ gov. aiken, upon the introduction of mr. carlile's resolution; and to _prevent aiken's election_, samuel a. smith cut off said resolution by a call of the previous question! banks was elected by _one_ vote, and this could not be accomplished until seven democrats got _behind the bar_, and refused to vote at all! these were hickman, parker, and barclay, of pennsylvania; craig, of north carolina; taylor, of louisiana; richardson, of illinois; and seward, of georgia! any _two_ of these _southern_ democrats could have made aiken speaker, but they did not want him--they knew banks to be a _democrat_, if he were a black republican--and to elect him, they believed would give them the strength of that odious party in the coming contest. we have before us the _washington union_ of sept. 27th, 1853, giving, editorially, a glowing account of the massachusetts democratic state convention, reporting the speech of nathaniel p. banks, of waltham, concluding that report in these words: "mr. banks emphatically and decidedly, on his own part, and on that of the _democrats of massachusetts_, disclaimed the truth of the rumors in certain newspapers that an arrangement had been entered into with another political party in the commonwealth concerning the distribution of state offices. it was his and this convention's and all true democrats' desire, belief, and determination, that henry w. bishop should be elected governor of massachusetts, and that the other democratic state officers should also be elected. he was not afraid of defeat, and less afraid of _whig success_, which, to judge by its recent effects, was simply equivalent to a defeat. [applause.]" it may be said, and doubtless will be, that _banks_ has allied himself with the republicans. but banks says he has _always been a democrat_, and that he was _nominated as a democrat in his district_. and certain it is, that he was elected speaker by democrats, under the _compulsion_ of an odious plurality rule, and the _gag_ of the previous question! it will be said, and said truthfully too, that six americans from the north voted for mr. fuller, of pennsylvania. so they did; and in doing so, they voted for a sound national and conservative man. but did this justify _southern_ democrats in _dodging_ the question, and thereby electing a black republican speaker? gov. aiken was the candidate of the _seven_ democrats--he was not the candidate of the _six_ americans! democracy, moreover, had refused to vote for an american under any circumstances, and had, on the first day of the meeting of congress, passed a resolution insulting the whole american party, in caucus! we would have seen them banished to the farthest verge of astronomical imagination, before we would have voted for any man that favored that insulting resolution! in 1847, by a _unanimous vote_, both branches of the legislature of new hampshire adopted resolutions denunciatory of the institution of slavery, and approving of the wilmot proviso. these resolutions were reported to the house, by the representative from hillsboro, the native town of _gen. pierce_, and were in the _handwriting_ of pierce! on the 2d of october, 1847, the democratic soft-shells, who are now the supporters of pierce's administration, and fill the offices he has to dispose of in new york, held a state convention, and declared their "_uncompromising hostility to slavery_" in a string of resolutions they adopted and ordered to be published. on the 16th of february, 1848, a democratic state convention for new york convened at utica, to appoint delegates to the national convention to nominate candidates for president and vice president, at which a string of anti-southern resolutions were adopted, denouncing "_slavery_ or _involuntary servitude_," as repugnant to the genius of republicanism. on the 18th of july, 1848, the democratic soft-shells held a mass-meeting in the park of new york, and, by way of making perfect their organization against general cass, declared, by resolutions, their "_uncompromising hostility to slavery or involuntary servitude!_" on the 13th of september, 1848, a democratic mass-meeting convened at buffalo, in new york, and, in a general abolition jubilee, adopted resolutions condemning and denouncing the institution of slavery! in 1852, while the contest was going on between pierce and scott, the _washington union_ said, editorially: "the free-soil democratic leaders of the north, are a regular portion of the democratic party; and general pierce, if elected, will make no distinction between them and the rest of the democracy in the distribution of official patronage, and in the selection of agents for administering the government!" the black republicans recently held a meeting in new york, at which _benjamin f. butler_, of "pious memory," and van buren swartwout notoriety, presided! on his right hand sat, as vice president of the meeting, _moses h. grinnell_, one of the democratic "pipe-layers" of 1840, whom this van buren attorney-general butler made efforts to send to the state prison! another vice president, gravely looking on, and arranged in dignified grandeur upon the stand, was john w. edmonds, ex-"blanket contractor" in a large swindle, and a practical spiritual-rapper! a third and last vice president was the notorious _dr. townsend_, the sarsaparilla man, who has not yet wound up his controversy with a man of the same name, as to who is the greatest rascal in the way of manufacturing this medicine! among the other officers, secretaries, and prominent men in the meeting, was _c. a. dana_, of the tribune office, a _fourierist_, who, at a public meeting on a former occasion, toasted "horace greeley, charles fourier, and jesus christ!" prominent in the meeting was _c. a. stetson_, of the astor house, an _amalgamationist_. henry j. raymond, the abolition editor of the times, and _rudolph garrigue_, a noisy german abolitionist, looked and acted as though they believed the salvation of the union depended upon the success of the republicans! a fellow who made frequent motions, an irishman by the name of _mcmorrow_, had served an apprenticeship of twelve months in the state prison, for breaking open a store after night! the principal speaker, who spoke for two hours on the subject of slavery, was the notorious _bingham_, an itinerant abolitionist from ohio. it was a queer medley of men, parties, principles, and characters--two-thirds of all the active partisans in the meeting having held offices in the ranks of democracy! and still, that party boasts of its northern wing being sound upon the slavery question. and here is the resolution of the 8th of january _democratic_ convention in ohio, appointing delegates to the cincinnati pow-wow: "_resolved_, that the people of ohio now, as they have always done, look upon slavery as an evil, and unfavorable to the development of the spirit and practical benefits of free institutions; and that, entertaining these sentiments, they will at all times feel it to be their duty to use all power clearly given by the terms of the national compact, to prevent its increase, to mitigate, _and finally eradicate the evil_." to show, just here, where tennessee democrats stand upon the infamous wilmot proviso question, we give the following extract from a recent number of the _nashville patriot_: james k. polk, who, in 1847, approved the oregon bill, which contained this odious and unconstitutional clause: next in order is cave johnson, now president of the bank of tennessee, who voted for the same bill which mr. polk sanctioned: next we have aaron v. brown, an aspirant before the cincinnati convention, who did likewise: then comes julius w. blackwell, a star whose light has been quenched in obscurity, but who voted with his colleagues for the oregon bill in '47: next in the procession of southern men "dangerous to the south" is barclay martin, president pierce's u. s. mail agent, who cast a similar vote: following him we have lucien b. chase, author of the history of the polk administration, at present a resident of new york city, but at the time he exhibited himself as "a dangerous man to the south," a representative in congress from this state: he is succeeded by fred. p. stanton, for ten years a democratic congressman from the memphis district: he voted for the oregon bill, with the wilmot proviso annexed: behind him in the march is alvan cullom, a democratic congressman, who has squatted on the _other_ side of one of his native mountains in the fourth district, and been quiescent for some years: he was one of the tennessee "dangerous men:" he voted twice for the wilmot proviso: in the same category is george w. jones, in the language of another, the "goose which cackles at the door of the treasury vault:" notorious as a southern supporter of the squatter sovereignty doctrine, with two votes on record in favor of the wilmot proviso. he may be reckoned as _very_ "dangerous to the south:" last, but not least in this dread array of "dangerous men," is andrew johnson, the present governor of tennessee, and cincinnati aspirant: he voted _three_ times for the wilmot proviso, and so doubtful are his doctrines on the slavery question, that many slaveholding members of his own party regard him as _extremely_ "dangerous to the south." by the way, in 1842, this same _gov. johnson_ was a senator in our state legislature, and introduced the following _abolition_ resolutions, commonly called his _white basis system_: "_resolved, by the general assembly of the state of tennessee_, that the basis to be observed in laying the state off into congressional districts shall be the voting population, without any regard to three-fifths of the negro population. "_resolved_, that the 120,083 qualified voters shall be divided by eleven, and that each eleventh of the 120,083 of qualified voters shall be entitled to elect one member in the congress of the united states, or so near as may be practicable without a division of counties." the position of gov. johnson is this: he wishes the state entitled to her slave representation _as a state_, but _in her own borders_ the representative districts are to be made according to her white population! in other words, he desires the state to retain her _ten_ congressmen, representing both her white and slave population, but wishes them appointed throughout the state without regard to the slave population: so that the county containing ten thousand white inhabitants, and double that number of slaves, should be entitled to no more representation than the county containing _ten_ thousand white inhabitants and no slaves! we heard johnson last summer, in his debate with gentry, in campbell county, contend that the county of campbell should have the same representation in congress as the county of shelby, which he stated had fifteen thousand negroes! he appealed to the prejudices and passions of the poor--inquired of the hard working-men of that county how they liked to see their wives and daughters _offset_, in enumerating the strength of the county, by the "_greasy negro wenches of shelby, davidson, fayette, sumner and rutherford counties_." he made a real, stirring abolition appeal to the poor, and non-slaveholding portion of the crowd, which was in the proportion of _ten to one_ of that county, to array them against the rich, and especially against the owners of large numbers of slaves. he told them that these negro wenches belonged to the lordly slaveholders of middle and west tennessee, and that as our constitution now is, these wenches were placed on an _equality_ with the fair daughters and virtuous wives of laboring men. on this ground he advocated his infamous amendment to the constitution, which would incorporate his "white basis" scheme! this is a rank abolition measure, and fraught with more danger to the south than any thing proposed by the whole brood of abolitionists, free soilers, and black republicans at the north. already the south is weak enough, and not at all able to vote with the north in our national legislature. the effect of this scheme is to deprive the south of one-third of her strength in congress. not only is this the effect, but it is the design of the mover. we hold that johnson is a free soiler, and has been for years. it is stated by his northern democratic friends, that when he quit congress, he came home to run for governor--with a determination, if defeated, to remove to some of the northwestern states, and take a new start! had he been defeated by maj. henry in 1853, he would now be a black republican in one of the free states, running for office! and yet the propagator of this infamous abolition doctrine of a "white basis" representation--this demagogue who arrays the poor against slaveholders, is the man for the ultra guardians of the slave interests of the south! a man who would not own negroes when he could, but loaned his money out at interest, and left his wife and daughters to do their own work--a man who is at heart and in his doctrines a rank free soiler--a man who has only remained in the south to _experiment_ upon office-seeking! this is the man that georgia, alabama, virginia, mississippi, and carolinas, rejoiced to see elected governor of a southern slave state! it was seeing the position of johnson on this question that induced the "_democratic herald_" in ohio, in june, 1855, thus to notice our race for governor: "tennessee.--an animated contest is going on in this good old democratic state for governor, and the largest crowds flock to hear the candidates that ever attended political meetings since the hero of new orleans used to address the masses in person. the present incumbent, andrew johnson, is the democratic candidate, and a _mr. gentry_, a _pro-slavery_ renegade from the federal whig ranks, is the opposing candidate, brought out by a know nothing conclave. this man is on the stump abusing the catholics, and denouncing them for their tyranny, while he openly advocates the _slavery doctrines of southern niggerdom_! on the other hand, his competitor, gov. johnson, well and favorably known to our leading democrats of ohio, has no sympathies with slavery, and is the advocate of such amendments to the federal constitution as will give all power to the people, and effectually put down the institution of slavery!" now, this showing up of democracy, on the slavery question, may look _shabby_ to many ultra southern men, and it may induce them to charge that the democratic party are _inconsistent_. we defend them against the charge of _inconsistency_, and maintain that what would be called _inconsistency_ here, is nothing but _democracy_. for instance, a. o. p. q. x. y. z. nicholson, the editor of the great official organ of democracy at washington, said, editorially, and "by authority," so late as 1855: "it is no part of the creed of a democrat, as such, to advocate or oppose the extension of slavery. he may do the one or the other, in the exercise of his rights as a citizen, and not offend against his democratic fealty!" precisely so! a man may advocate the _abolition_ of slavery where it exists; he may, as a black republican, arm himself with sharpe's rifle, and go into kansas, and shoot down pro-slavery men, and still be a consistent democrat, if he vote for the party, and stand by the nominees of the party conventions! hence, all the factions at home and from abroad--all religions--all the ends and odds of god's creation are now associated together, and are battling in the same unholy cause, in the name of _democracy_! and further to exhibit the inconsistency of this democratic and foreign party, it will be recollected that, in 1844, they nominated silas wright, of new york, for vice-president, to run on the ticket with col. polk--a position he declined, because he would not agree to be _second best_ on the ticket. in a letter to james h. titus, esq., bearing date april 15, 1847, mr. wright says: "if the question had been propounded to me at any period of my public life, shall the arms of the union be employed to conquer, or the money of the union be used to purchase territory now constitutionally free, for the purpose of planting slavery upon it, i should have answered, no! and this answer to this question is the wilmot proviso, as i understand it. _i am surprised that any one should suppose me capable of entertaining any other opinion, or giving any other answer as to such a proposition._" now, if silas wright, one of the great "northern lights" of democracy, held these sentiments in 1847, what must they have been in 1844, when that party sought to elevate him to the second office within the gift of the nation? but we are just reminded of what is said in "the law and the prophets," that is to say, "_it is no part of the creed of a democrat_, as such, _to advocate or oppose the extension of slavery!_" what a party! [from the knoxville whig for sept. 22, 1855.] to rev. a. b. longstreet, professor of methodism, romanism, and locofocoism. reverend sir:--i see a _pastoral address_ of yours, to "methodist know-nothing preachers," going the rounds of the locofoco foreign sag nicht papers of the south, occupying from four to six columns, according to the dimensions of the papers copying. i have waded through your learned address, and find it to be one of more ponderous magnitude than the report made to the british house of commons, by lord north, on a subject of far greater interest! and as i am one of the class of men you address, notwithstanding your great advantage over me in point of age and experience; and as no one has made a _formal_ response to your _pious warnings_, it will not be deemed insolent in me to take you up. my first acquaintance with you was in 1847, at an annual meeting of the georgia conference, held in madison; and although the impressions made upon my mind by you, on that occasion, were any thing but favorable to you, as a man, still, i am capable, as i believe, of doing you justice. i supposed you then to be the rise of sixty years, certainly in your _dotage_ and among the _vainest_ old gentlemen i had ever met with. you obtained leave, as i understand, by your own seeking, to deliver a lecture to the conference, upon the subject of _correctly reading and pronouncing the scriptures_. i was in attendance, and listened to you with all the attention and impartiality i was capable of exercising. i thought it a little _presumptuous_ for any one man to assume to teach more than one hundred able ministers how to read and pronounce the inspired writings; and the more so, when i knew that several of the number were presidents and professors in different male and female colleges, and that many others of them were graduates of the best literary institutions in the south. still, my apology for you was, that you was a vain old gentleman, and that to listen to you, respectfully, was to obey the divine teaching of one who has taught us to "bear the infirmities of the weak." your _samples_, both of reading and pronunciation, were amusing and novel to me. and so far as i could gather the prevailing sentiment, it was, that to adopt your style would render the reading of the scriptures perfectly ridiculous. in your address to "methodist know-nothing preachers," i discover that you are still the man you were at madison, in 1847: you have a great deal to say about _yourself_, and make free use of the personal pronoun i! _i_ advise--_i_ believe--_i_ am satisfied--_i_ will not agree--_i_ warn and caution--_i_ fear, or _i_ apprehend, etc. to parse the different sentences in your partisan harangue syntactically, little else is necessary but to understand the _first person singular_, and to repeat the rule as often as it occurs: a peculiarity which characterizes every paragraph in your labored address. beside, the frequent use of the pronouns _i_, _me_, _my_, _mine_, etc., too frequently occur to be worth estimating. and it will be seen, upon examination, that not merely the verbiage, but the sentiment, is thus egotistic throughout, exhibiting a degree of arrogance and self-importance, only to be met with in a _clerical locofoco_, used by bad men for ignoble purposes. to carry out the idea of your _vanity_, you say in the winding up of your address: "and now, brethren, have _i_ or mr. wesley hit upon one good reason why you should not have joined the know-nothings? if either of _us_ have, then _i_ beseech you to come from among them. if _we_ have not, there is yet another in reserve which, if it does not prevail will show--or prove to my satisfaction at least--that if _an angel from heaven_ were to denounce your order, you would cleave to it still." any other man but yourself would, from considerations of _modesty_, have given john wesley the preference, in this connection, and come in as _second best_. but no, you are _first in place_, and, in your own estimation, in _importance_ likewise, as a religious teacher. i have no doubt you consider yourself a much greater man than john wesley ever was; and in proof of this, i need only cite what you have said in reference to mr. wesley's opposition to romanism: "even good old john wesley caught the spirit of the times, and wrote that letter, from which it appears he thought if the catholics got into power, they would abuse protestants. what abuse they could have heaped on them, greater than they heaped on catholics, short of cutting their throats, i cannot conceive." the only superior you acknowledge is cardinal wiseman, a bigoted roman catholic, and you seem to knock under to him quite reluctantly, and not without informing the public that you have been a laborious student for forty years, and "_a profound thinker_." here is your praise: "i have been a pretty severe student for near forty years, and a laborious, if not _profound thinker_ for a long time; but when i compare myself in intellectual stature with that man, i shrink in my own estimation to the insignificance of a mite." so much by way of noticing vanity. you are a literary and theological star of the first magnitude! you are an encyclopedia of the learning, science, patriotism, and religion of the country! sir, if you possessed a little more _sheep-faced modesty_, and could exhibit a little less of _lion-headed impudence_ than you do, you would be a much more useful, not to say successful minister of the new testament! sir, you have taken the field in opposition to know-nothingism, _professedly_ through your deep and abiding concern for christianity, and the interests of methodism. you say: "you cannot surely be so weak as to suppose you can crush romanism by know-nothing agencies; but you have almost ruined methodism by them already. "now the ruler of this nation is spoken evil of by your party continually, and therefore, in the judgment of wesley, i might stand up in the pulpit and defend him." the truth is, you are influenced alone by partisan political feelings; and occupying a position in a mississippi college, in the midst of fire-eating disunion progressive democracy, you desire to please them, rather than serve the interests of your country or church. to take the stump, or the pulpit, in defence of _frank pierce_ and his corrupt administration, would be a pleasant talk to you, who have been, all your life-time, an inveterate locofoco in politics, and "a profound thinker" in favor of its iniquitous measures and principles. in your early political training, you have been swayed by interest and popular favor, and in most cases at the expense of truth, just as you now are, in your mad vindication of romanism. a tool for others to work with, till you have found yourself in a condition to use such tools as you yourself have been, you are now a trimmer and weathercock, leading on men of less sense than yourself, to such distinction as interest and ambition may dictate! sir, you take the ground, throughout, that there is no danger of catholics in this country, and that they do not seek to establish their religion. here is a specimen of your logic: "thank god no religious sect can tyrannize over another in this country, so long as they all respect the federal constitution. until we see, then, the catholics treating that instrument with disrespect, it is madness to entertain fears of them and worse than madness to form combinations against them." now, sir, the foregoing statement is untrue, and in making it you could not have been sincere. you are a man of too much sense, and of too much information, to believe what you are wickedly trying to palm upon others. brownson's quarterly review, the most able, as well as the most authentic organ of catholicism in the united states, employs the following language to the american people--mark it: "_are your free institutions infallible?_ are they founded on _divine right_? this you deny. is not the proper question for you to discuss, then, _not_ whether the papacy be or be not compatible with republican government, but whether _it be or be not founded in divine right_? if the papacy be founded in divine right, it is supreme over whatever is founded only in human right, and then your institutions should be made to harmonize with it: not it with your institutions!!! the real question, then, is not the compatibility or the incompatibility of the catholic church with _democratic institutions_, but, is the _catholic church the church of god_? "settle this question first. but in point of fact, _democracy is a mischievous dream, wherever the catholic church does not predominate_, to inspire the people with reverence, and to teach and accustom them to obedience to authority." here is still plainer language from the roman catholic bishop of st. louis: "heresy and unbelief are crimes; and in christian countries, as in italy and spain, for instance, where all the people are catholics, and where the catholic religion is an essential part of the law of the land, they are punished as other crimes." here is what the _boston pilot_ says, a catholic paper of high standing: "_no good government can exist_ without religion, and there can be no religion without an _inquisition_, which is wisely designed for the promotion and protection of the _true faith_." here is the _shepherd of the valley_, published under the eye and with the approbation of the bishop of st. louis: "the church is, of necessity, intolerant. heresy she endures when and where she _must_; but she hates it, and directs all her energies to its destruction. if catholics ever gain an immense numerical majority, religious freedom in this country is _at an end_: so say our enemies--_so say we_." and here is what the _rambler_ says, a devoted catholic periodical, high in the confidence of the bishops and priests of that church: "you ask if he (the pope) were lord in the land, and you were in the minority, if not in numbers, yet in power, what would he do to you? that, we say, would entirely depend on circumstances. if it would benefit the cause of catholicism, he would tolerate you--if expedient, he would imprison you, banish you, fine you, probably he might even hang you; but, be assured of one thing, he would never tolerate you for the sake of the 'glorious principles' of civil and religious liberty." i could give other quotations of this character, which have met your eye long since, but i forbear, as they would extend my letter beyond the limit i have prescribed for myself. these are the publications which, in part at least, have given rise to the know-nothing organization, so cordially hated by you. you say there is no danger of injury to our institutions from the rapid strides of romanism. allow me to ask your attention to the following remarkable political prediction by the duke of richmond, late governor-general of canada, and a british noble, who declared himself hostile to the united states on all occasions. speaking of our government, this deadly enemy said: "it will be destroyed; it ought not, it will not be permitted to exist." "the curse of the french revolution, and subsequent wars and commotions in europe, are to be attributed to its example; and so long as it exists, no prince will be safe upon his throne; and the _sovereigns of europe are aware of it_; and they have _determined upon its destruction, and have come to an understanding upon this subject, and have decided on the means to accomplish it_; and they will eventually succeed by subversion _rather than conquest_." "all the low and surplus population of the different nations of europe will be carried into that country. it is and will be a receptacle for the bad and disaffected population of europe, when they are not wanted for soldiers, or to supply the navies; _and the governments of europe will favor such a course_. this will create a surplus and majority of low population, who are so very easily excited; and they will _bring with them their principles_; and in nine cases out of ten adhere to their ancient and former governments, laws, manners, customs, and religion; and will transmit them to their posterity; and in many cases propagate them among the natives. these men will become citizens, and, by the constitution and laws, will be invested with the right of suffrage." "hence, _discord_, _dissension_, _anarchy and civil war will ensue_; and some popular individual will assume the government, and restore order, and the sovereigns of europe, the emigrants, and many of the natives will sustain him." "the church of rome has a design upon that country; and it will in time be the established religion, and will aid in the destruction of that republic." "i have _conversed with many of the sovereigns and princes of europe, and they have unanimously expressed these opinions relative to the government of the united states, and their determination to subvert it_." but, sir, after eulogizing catholics for their devotion to religious toleration in this country, you make two assertions, touching the methodist church, for which i wish to arraign you, and for which the authorities of said church ought to arraign you, under that section of our discipline which forbids _railing out against our doctrines and discipline_. you say: "and if i were to take the stump against you, i would say to the honest yeomanry of the country. 'good people, if you think your liberties will be _any safer in the hands of methodists than catholics, you are vastly mistaken_.' "i would add, in humiliation but in candor, 'you have ten thousand times more to fear, just at this time, from methodists, than catholics; simply because the first are more numerous than the last, because the first are actually in the field for office, while the last are not.'" if you have this opinion of the methodist church, you cannot be an honest man and remain within her jurisdiction. you ought to leave her communion forthwith, and go over to rome; and in doing this, you would _not have far to go_! occupying the position you do, and holding the sentiments you do, i would not send a child to any school or college over which you might preside. nor do i think any protestant parent or guardian ought to patronize any school under your care. your influence, whatever you may possess, is against the protestant faith, and in favor of catholicism. in a word, you are a dangerous man in a republican government. upon the subject of religious toleration by the catholics, you seem to have fallen into the same error adopted by the hon. mr. stephens, of georgia--a man for whom you have great regard now, but who, in the days of _clay whiggery_, was a stench in your locofoco nostrils! mr. stephens made the assertion, in a public speech in augusta, that "the catholic colony of maryland, under lord baltimore, was the first to _establish_ the principle of free toleration in religious worship." the colony of maryland was a catholic colony, and the "toleration act" was written by lord baltimore himself. that act is dated 21st april, 1649, when lord baltimore was in the zenith of his glory. here is the language of that "act" of religious toleration: "denying the holy _trinity_ is to be punished with _death_, and confiscation of land and goods to the lord proprietary, (lord baltimore himself!). persons using any reproachful words concerning the blessed virgin mary, or the holy apostles or evangelists, to be fined â£5, or in default of payment to be publicly whipped and _imprisoned, at the pleasure_ of his lordship, (lord baltimore himself!) or of his lieutenant-general." _see laws of maryland, at large, by t. bacon_, a. d. 1765. 16 and 17 _cecilius's lord baltimore_. god deliver us from such toleration! _death_ was the penalty for expressing certain religious opinions, not acceptable to lord baltimore and the holy catholic church! fines and _whipping at the post_ was the penalty for speaking against the image-worship of the catholic church. but i need not pursue this subject further: the _onus propandi_ is on your side. speaking of mr. wesley, you say: "if wesley were alive, what would he think of your midnight plots, and open tirades against papists? but a letter of his has been going the rounds of the newspapers, which the know nothings obviously think gives the sanction of that good man to their movement. not so. mr. wesley was not the man to write as inconsistently as their version of this letter makes him write." why, sir, mr. wesley goes much further in his political opposition to roman catholics than the american party have ever proposed to go. the american party say only that they will not vote for catholics, or put them in office, because their principles are antagonistic to the spirit of republican institutions. mr. wesley lays down the comprehensive, but _true doctrine_, in this very letter, that "_no government not roman catholic ought to tolerate men of the roman catholic persuasion_." and to show how fully and clearly he sustains this position, i quote from his letter at length. you will find the letter in vol. 5, page 817, of wesley's miscellaneous works, dated january 12th, 1780. it was originally addressed to the dublin freeman's journal. here is what mr. wesley says, in the very letter you seek to _deny out of_: "i consider not whether the romish religion is true or false: build nothing on one or the other supposition. therefore, away with all your common-place declamation about intolerance and persecution for religion! suppose every word of pope pius's creed to be true! suppose the council of trent to have been infallible; yet i insist upon it that no government not roman catholic ought to tolerate men of the roman catholic persuasion. "i prove this by a plain argument--let him answer it that can--that no roman catholic does or can give security for his allegiance or peaceable behavior. i prove it thus: it is a roman catholic maxim, established not by private men, but by public council, that 'no faith is to be kept with heretics.' this has been openly avowed by the council of constance; but it has never been openly disclaimed. whether private persons avow or disavow it, it is a fixed maxim of the church of rome. but as long as it is so, nothing can be more plain than that the members of that church can give no reasonable security to any government for their allegiance and peaceable behavior. therefore, they ought not to be tolerated by any government, protestant, mohammedan, or pagan. you say, 'nay, but they take an oath of allegiance.' true, five hundred oaths; but the maxim, 'no faith is to be kept with heretics,' sweeps them all away as a spider's web. so that still no governors that are not roman catholics can have any security of their allegiance. "again, those who acknowledge the spiritual power of the pope can give no security of their allegiance to any government; but all roman catholics acknowledge this: therefore they can give no security for their allegiance. the power of granting pardons for all sins--past, present, and to come--is, and has been for many centuries, one branch of his spiritual power. but those who acknowledge him to have this spiritual power can give no security for their allegiance, since they believe the pope can pardon rebellion, high treason, and all other sins whatever. the power of dispensing with any promise, oath, or vow, is another branch of the spiritual power of the pope: all who acknowledge his spiritual power must acknowledge this. but whoever acknowledges the dispensing power of the pope, can give no security for his allegiance to any government. oaths and promises are none: they are as light as air--a dispensation makes them null and void. nay, not only the pope, but even a priest has power to pardon sins! this is an essential doctrine of the church of rome. but they that acknowledge this, cannot possibly give any security for their allegiance to any government. oaths are no security at all; for the priest can pardon both perjury and high treason. setting their religion aside, it is plain that, upon principles of reason, no government ought to tolerate men who cannot give any security to that government for their allegiance and peaceful behavior. but this, no romanist can do; not only while he holds that 'no faith is to be kept with heretics,' but so long as he acknowledges either priestly absolution, or the spiritual power of the pope. "if any one pleases to answer this, and set his name, i shall probably reply. but the productions of anonymous writers i do not promise to take any notice of. "i am, sir, your humble servant, "john wesley. "city road, january 12, 1780." but, sir, you know as well as any living man that the history of the church, from the days of the first pope down to the iniquitous reign of pius ix., sustains mr. wesley in his views on this subject, and justifies the steps taken by the american party. notwithstanding the oft-repeated profession of catholic liberality and romish toleration, so triumphantly paraded by you, and other interested aspirants and unprincipled demagogues, the catholic church has invariably shown herself to be destitute of both, whenever she had the opportunity of using them. sir, _intolerance_ is an element of her faith, and _persecution_ a specimen of her piety; and no man knows it better than you do. in taking upon herself the obligation of "true obedience to the pope," the catholic church imposes upon herself a task that proves beyond all doubt she cannot, under any circumstances, remain faithful to that obligation, and yet maintain "allegiance" to such a government as ours! sir, i have no patience with a protestant minister who stands forth as the apologist of catholicism; nor have i any confidence in one who does it, provided he is a man of _intelligence_, as i admit you to be. the only excuse i can render for your strange and inconsistent conduct is, that you are in your dotage; that you are a violent old partisan; and that you are the tool of designing demagogues, infamous disunionists, and unmitigated repudiators. i shall not be at all surprised to hear that you have apostatized from the methodist church, and gone over to the roman catholics. i learn from the little rock gazette, a democratic paper, that but the other day, gov. e. n. carway, of arkansas, a member of the methodist church, had actually apostatized from methodism, and the protestant faith, and united with the roman catholics. and what makes his defection from the faith of his fathers still more notorious, his organ is down upon the protestant clergy in bitter and unrelenting denunciations! i believe that _you_ are preparing to go over to the roman catholics; and to justify your change, when the time comes, you now assert, "in humiliation but in candor," you say, that the people "have _ten thousand times more_ to fear from methodists than from catholics." if you believe this, you ought to leave the methodist church _instantly_, even without the formalities of a withdrawal or expulsion--even though you should be denied admittance into the catholic church! i deny that we have "_ten thousand times more to fear_" from the _devil_ than we have from the catholics; and according to your argument, _the methodists are worse than the devil_! this, their most bitter revilers and enemies do not believe; and for obvious reasons. the methodist church has no st. bartholomew's day, with its rivers of blood staining her garments: she never indiscriminately slaughtered the albigenses, or waldenses, or huguenots: she never established an infernal inquisition: she never lit up the fires of smithfield: never burned the holy bible, and prohibited, upon pain of eternal death, the printing and circulating of god's word; and last, but not least, she has not sought to keep the people in ignorance. wherever methodism has been planted, the people have become great and happy. if you please, wherever _protestantism_ has prevailed, the people have been prosperous and happy. but look to old spain, italy, the german confederacies, sardinia, naples, austria, belgium, portugal, bavaria, baden, south america, and mexico, where romanism is the established religion, and the places of her influence are a hissing and a by-word in the eyes of the civilized world! protestantism has done more for the world in the last hundred years than the roman catholic church has for the _eighteen hundred years_! sir, the puritans, of new england; the hollanders, of new york; the quakers, lutherans, and german reformed, of pennsylvania; the baptists, of rhode island; the episcopalians and presbyterians, of virginia; the lutherans and followers of wesley and whitefield, of georgia; the huguenots and episcopalians, of the carolinas; and the seceders in several of the states, who were the religious pioneers of these states, were all protestants and know nothings; and if they were living, they would be ashamed of you and your teachings. they selected this wilderness country as their home, in order that they might enjoy those religious privileges from which they had been debarred in the old world, by the very church and people you are seeking to vindicate. but you will say, as you have done in substance, that this is no longer the characteristic of romanism. why is it not? has she ever changed for the better? when did she renounce her doctrines and practices? never! rome is the same tyrannical system now, where she has the power, that she ever has been, and for ever must be. wo to this land of ours, if ever rome gets the ascendancy here! her creed is the same here and now, in this respect, that it has everywhere been, and must always be. it is her boast that she is always right, and knows no change. she practices her unholy inquisitorial and jesuitical doctrines in this country, as far as she can and dare act them out. her whole system is adverse to our republican institutions and she hesitates not to declare it. she has publicly burned our bible in different states in this union, and recently, in new york and pennsylvania. archbishop hughes, the head of the catholic church in this country, has taken an oath, administered by the pope of rome, of which this is a part: "heretics, schismatics, and rebels to our said lord (the pope) or his aforesaid successors, i will, to my utmost power, _persecute and wage war with_." the church of rome declares all who are not its members to be heretics. it is painful, in view of all these things, to see an old protestant minister, whose head has been withered by the frosts of seventy winters, openly in the field advocating a church whose bishops, priests, and members are "drunken with the blood of saints." there is but one remaining feature of your singular address to know nothing methodist preachers to be replied to, and i am through. you assail the new party on the score of its _secrecy_, and of its _concealment_ of its acts from the public. had this objection come from any one but a methodist preacher, and a known advocate of _class-meetings being held with closed doors_, i would now dispose of it without occupying as much space as i shall do in my concluding remarks! notwithstanding all the _secrecy_ in the new order of know nothings has been set aside by the act of the national council which created it; and notwithstanding our members tell all about their councils, where and when they meet, and our orators read out and publish to the world our obligations, rules, and principles, it is still objected that ours is a secret order, liable to be used for bad purposes; that we travel about with dark lanterns; that our proceedings are not restrained by the wholesome check of public opinion! now, this, the great objection to our order, comes from men who belong to lodges of free masons and odd fellows, and who have taken all the _binding_ oaths attached to the different _degrees_ of these respective orders! the same objection is urged against the american party, by men who belong to the order of sons of temperance, who have deemed a _rigid secret organization_ necessary to combat successfully a _domestic_ evil! it is urged in bitterness against the order, by demagogues and partisans, who have acted for years with the _secret political conclaves_ of their respective parties, who have held their meetings with _closed doors_--kept their _places_ of meeting a profound secret--and when they have adjourned, they have enjoined _secrecy_ upon all present! last, but not least, this _secret feature_ is urged against the american organization by the vile apologists for the catholic church, and its corrupt priesthood and membership, in this country. these demagogues know that the roman catholic church is a _secret society_, directed by a talented, designing, and villainous hierarchy--absolutely controlled by an _anti_-republican priesthood, to a degree which has never been exercised by any political party in the known world! the _confessional_ is a secret tribunal, before which every member of that church is required to make known, not only _immoral_ actions, but every thought and purpose of the heart, and upon pain of incurring the anathema of the church, which is equivalent to a sentence of eternal damnation! the corrupt order of jesuits, the infamous society of san fedesti, and the infinitely infernal society of irish ribbon men--these are all oath-bound societies of the catholic church, connected directly with the horrid operations of the "_holy inquisition_." now, i put the question to any man of reason and common sense, if roman catholics and their _patriotic democratic_ admirers and advocates, in this country, are not the last men on earth who should object to the _secret_ doings of the order of know nothings, even if their secrecy were kept up? every roman catholic in the known world is under the absolute control of a secret society, by considerations not only of a _temporal_, but of an eternal weight! but i am not done with these _democratic_ opposers of secrecy. the convention which formed the constitution of the united states, sat in the old state house in philadelphia, _with closed doors, from the 25th of may to the 17th of september_, wanting only eight days of four months. that body of men had a doorkeeper and sergeant-at-arms, both under oath, to keep their doors barred, and all their proceedings a secret. so says mr. jefferson's biography! and such men as washington, adams, jefferson, madison, franklin, harrison, hancock, hopkins, and others, composed that body! during the war of the revolution, general washington, generals lee, wayne, marion, and others, organized a _secret american society_, with its branches extending from north to south, having their _passwords_, _signs_, and _grips_, and writing to each other in figures, and "an unknown tongue," as the know nothings have been doing, and all, too, with a view to oppose foreign intrigues and oppressions! it is as well known as any political truth, that general washington, at the time of his death, was the _president_ of the cincinnati society, a secret political society, in which, we see it stated on unquestionable authority, no man was eligible to membership unless he was a _native american_. the _columbian order_, known as the "_tammany society_," was a secret political society, and highly influential, and maintains its existence to this day, and without danger to the liberties of the country. gen. sam houston publishes to the world that himself and gen. jackson were members of this society. what say the _anti_-americans to all these facts? do they believe that gen. washington, or jackson, would have united with any association or order not purely american? would either have entered into any political league, when _secrecy_ was enjoined, if he had not approved of the principle of secrecy in political associations? never! from the characters of washington and jackson--the sacrifices they made for their country, united with their fervid patriotism, and their known preference for every thing _american_, i do not doubt for one moment, that if they were both now living, they would unite with the veritable order of know nothings! i believe the hand of god to be in this very movement, and as much in the _secrecy_ of it, in the outset, as in any other feature. i regard the movement as one growing out of a great crisis in the affairs of our country, and a precursor of a sound, healthful, and vigorous nationality, and which will ultimately prevent the liberties of this country from being destroyed, by the machinations of such demagogues and factionists as now seek to _excuse_ romanism, and fellowship foreign pauperism. secret societies are only dangerous to despots and tyrants, and history shows that these above all others have made war upon them. they have denounced and proscribed masonry in every quarter of the globe, where they have had the power. the pope, with the aid of his cardinals, has crushed the ancient order of free masons in his dominions. there is not a masonic lodge in italy. in our own country, not a single catholic is to be found associated with the order of free masons; and why? masonry is founded upon the bible, and requires the reading of the protestant bible in all its lodges, and this don't suit romanism. we state these general and historical facts, without knowing any thing of our own knowledge of masonry. in the young and growing city of knoxville, it is within our own knowledge, that many of the irish catholics attached themselves to the order of the sons of temperance, with a view, as they said, of throwing around them the wholesome restraints of the order. on the first visit of a priest to the city, commonly called "father brown," these irish catholics began to drop off one by one, until not one of them is now in the order, and most of those who were, are daily seen drunk in our streets. indeed, some of them in withdrawing had the candor to acknowledge that the priest required them to do so! and why? because, in all the divisions of the sons of temperance here, we have the protestant scriptures read, and have protestant prayers offered up. this don't suit the church of rome! i have the honor to be, very truly and frankly, w. g. brownlow. to the right reverend aaron v. brown, m. s. sir:--i have received by mail a pamphlet copy of your "letter to the bishops, elders, and _other_ ministers, itinerant and _local_, of the methodist episcopal church south," covering twenty-eight octavo pages. i thank you for a copy of your _pastoral_ address; and i am happy to be able to _infer_ from its teachings that you have made a profession of religion, before taking upon yourself "holy orders." i suppose the _time_ of your conversion, you date back to the memorable period when you "saw sights" on mount pisgah, and had conferred on you the degree of _modern seer_, and entered upon the duties of "high priest" of democracy! as i am one of the parties addressed, and the customs of the church and the country require a response to so grave a document, i have felt it incumbent upon me to perform the task. i may style this the _last_ epistle of aaron, the priest, and illustrious chief of foreign catholic sag nicht locofocoism! my first impulses were, upon reading your address, to call for your _credentials_, and to examine into your _authority_ for assuming to dictate to the entire ministry of the southern portion of the methodist church. you must either enter the ecclesiastical ring under the _imposition of the hands_ of bishop soule or _andy johnson_. if bishop soule ordained you for the ministry, and set you apart as the lieutenant-general of the methodist episcopal church south, the presumption is that he examined you on doctrinal points, and upon all questions affecting the government of the church, as was his duty, and is our custom, and that he found you orthodox! it follows, as a matter of course, that you renounced your heresy you advocated in the hartford convention, held at nashville, and that you obtained forgiveness for that and numerous other "sins of omission and commission"--aye, for the whole catalogue of your inward and outward iniquities, which so _eminently_ disqualified you for the work of the ministry! but if _andy johnson_ ordained you for the work, of which there is no sort of doubt, the church south, through me, protests against your authority, and utterly refuses to submit to your teachings. our church does not agree with johnson on the "white basis" issue, or the great question of slavery; and in proof of this, i cite to the fact of her separation from the north, in 1844, upon this very question. she has within her bounds of communion, rich men and poor, educated and uneducated, and is unwilling to unite with him in arraying the poor against the rich, or the unlearned against the learned. nor does our church believe that jesus christ was a locofoco, as johnson asserts in his inaugural, and held that christianity and democracy, in converging lines, led to the foot of jacob's ladder, and thence to heaven, _via_ mount pisgah, from whose lofty summit you first beheld the promised land! it therefore follows, that, in presenting yourself as a spiritual leader in the church, called to the work, as you have been, by _andy johnson_, your case is fully met by a quotation from job: "now there was a day when the sons of god came to present themselves before the lord, and _satan_ came also among them." a second passage, from the book of jeremiah, meets your case, and leaves no doubt that the inspired prophet had you in his eye: "we have heard the pride of moab, (he is exceedingly proud,) his loftiness, and his _arrogance_, and his pride, and his haughtiness of heart. "i know his wrath, saith the lord; but it shall not be so; his _lies_ shall not so effect it." to be candid with you, gov. brown, i regard your address, under all the circumstances, as a display of the most brazen-faced assurance and the most unmitigated impudence i ever met with in my life! i have known for years that you were capable of great presumption, but in this insolent and dictatorial address you surpass _yourself_--you positively out-herod herod! in the whole history of the country, and of parties, i venture the assertion, that a parallel piece of impudence, and downright bold-faced assurance, cannot be pointed to, as the act of any partisan. it is really past all belief, if i had not your production before me. but more of this hereafter. copies of your pamphlet were distributed through the aisles and seats of the annual conference room in nashville, and have been sent all over the south, to members of other conferences. your _proof-sheet_ was seen ten days before the meeting of the middle tennessee conference, and your "work of faith and labor of love" was ready for distribution when the conference first convened, but you held it back till the conference was ready to adjourn, and to a period so late, that a reply, if one had been deemed necessary, could not be made. this was _cowardly_, and in keeping with your political tactics and code of morals. in saying that this was in keeping with your code of morals, i allude to the _woodberry affair_. i shall now take up your address, governor, and wade through its twenty-eight pages of double-distilled sag nichtism, sublimated impudence, and concealed advocacy of _romanism_, mixed up with contradictions, false assertions, and glaring absurdities, as it is, from beginning to end. in the opening paragraph, you predicate your right to instruct the "bishops, elders, and other ministers" of the entire church, south, upon the real or assumed fact, that you are "the son of a now sainted father, who for forty years ministered at your altars, the co-laborer of that noble band of christian ministers, who, under asbury and coke, founded your church in america!" alas, that any "sainted father" should be represented by so degenerate a son--an irreligious son--not a member of any church--but having the hardihood, in the face of those who know the facts, to disguise himself in the priestly robes of a "sainted father"--like an ass in a lion's skin, to _bray out_ against better men than himself, or, like a wolf in sheep's clothing, to _steal into the fold_, where that father was accustomed to minister in holy things, and with soft and honeyed words, and hypocritical teachings, and satan-like misrepresentations, seek whom he may devour! you tell the "bishops, elders, and other ministers," that you really "approve" their "creed," and, what is still more soul-cheering, you have "witnessed their growth and progress for years, with the highest satisfaction." this is very _condescending_ in the "son of a now sainted father!" it is quite flattering! but these "bishops, elders, and other ministers," would receive all this with a greater degree of allowance, if they did not believe that your generous patronage, so lavishly bestowed upon them and their "creed," was prompted by a principle of which _selfishness_ is the soul! they believe, and so express themselves in conversation, that your forced smile of approbation, your reluctant eulogy, have both been wrung from you, because you are a sycophantic partisan suitor for patronage, in the way of votes for your party. these clergymen whom you address, think it a great pity that the "son of a now sainted father" should exhibit so much "satisfaction" at witnessing their prosperity, in _theory_, and manifest not one particle in _practice_. they think that you would be in your proper place, to be found among the _mourners_, instead of the _teachers_ in their church; and that it is high time, considering your age in life, and the extent of your iniquities, that you should be found upon your knees, in an altar full of fresh straw, at an old-fashioned camp-meeting, asking the pious to pray for you, and god, for the sake of the forty years labors of "a now sainted father," to have mercy upon you, and save your sinful old soul from that death that never dies. why, sir, the devil himself would blush to perpetrate such an act of arrogance as you have done, in thus volunteering your advice to the "bishops, elders, and other ministers," of the methodist church. an old political party hack, who is not now, and never was, a member of any church--an intriguing old sinner, who never even attends church, and who, in this respect, shows that he neither fears god, respects the christian sabbath, nor "approves the creed" of any orthodox denomination, to be lecturing a numerous body of clergymen, as to what they ought or ought not to do, it is the culmination of all that is called effrontery! the "bishops, elders, and other ministers" of the methodist church, wish the _evidence_ of your conversion to god, before they consent to obey you, as "having the rule over them." your approval of their "creed," and the "satisfaction" with which you have witnessed their progress, is not sufficient to satisfy their doubting minds, as long as you continue to ride into nashville on sabbath, and retail political slang at the inn, or read sag nicht papers at the _union office_, to the neglect of the house of god, and the evil example set before young men, against the statute in such cases made and provided! we must, as ministers, hear you relate your experience, in a regular class-meeting. nay, more, knowing your _raising_, and your ability to "deceive, even the very elect," we must see you down upon your marrow-bones, surrounded by noisy and zealous officials, pounding you on the back, and exclaiming, as in the days of your "sainted father," _pray on, aaron_! we must hear you _groan_--we must see your sinful old bosom _heave_--we must witness the falling of _big tears_, as you publicly confess and manfully repent of your misdeeds--of the whole catalogue, of all the inward and outward iniquities of your past life--your sins of omission and commission, which god knows are more numerous than the hairs upon your old sinful head! i say we must see all this, and even more, before we can have faith in your teachings, as big as even a grain of mustard seed! but you are the "son of a now sainted father"--you derive great "satisfaction" from the "growth and progress" of methodism--you "approve" the methodist "creed"--and hence, a glorious future awaits the methodist church: _provided_ always, that her "bishops, elders, and other ministers" hearken to and obey your teachings, a thing they are very certain not to do, in the matter under consideration. it is a melancholy fact, that many of the sons of methodist, and other ministers, are very wicked and unpromising men; and it is equally true, and certainly notorious, that where they turn out to be sinners, they are sinners above all offenders, dwelling either at jerusalem or elsewhere! i have no hesitancy in pronouncing you as _hard a case_, in a moral point of view, as ever came before the church, and the only appropriate reply her ecclesiastical dignitaries can make to your address, is to appoint a day of fasting and prayer to god, for your conversion, to be observed throughout her borders. i now, as the appointed organ of the church, set apart the first day of january, 1856, and i pray you, as one desiring the salvation of your soul, to be in the spirit and in a proper frame of mind on that day! humble yourself before god--tell him that you were in error in stealing the livery of heaven to serve the devil in! tell him that you are an old worn-out political hack--that you have grown gray in the service of sin--that during the whole of a somewhat eventful life, your labors have been in the dirtiest pools of party politics--that you have been insincere and unscrupulous in all your teachings and acts--that you stand before the people of tennessee publicly branded by _eight_ respectable and reliable citizens of wilson county, as a _falsifier_ in the know nothing controversy of the past summer--and that you are sorry for having come forth steeped to the nose and chin in political profligacy, to lecture grave clergymen upon subjects you ought to set at their feet and learn lessons about! tell your god, what he doubtless knows, that though the "son of a now sainted father," you are as full of devils as ever mary magdalene was--that like the "imps of sin," in milton, these "yelp all around" you--that this is no reflection upon a "now sainted father," whose seeming neglect of your early training grew out of his continual absence from home, as is the case with most methodist preachers,--aye, tell your god, that once out of this scrape, you will never be caught in another of the kind! you say, "from the foundation of our government, it has been a conceded and settled doctrine, that the various religious denominations should not, as such, intermeddle with the political contests of the day. no instance is now remembered where they have done so!" this is a remarkable sentence, and partakes of the nature of your wilson county assertions! the history of the church, and of the world, contradicts every word of the foregoing, and demonstrates that the "settled doctrine" of the catholic church, has ever been, as it still is, to "intermeddle with the political contests of the day." i will trouble you with two instances in which "religious denominations, as such," have been guilty of what you deny. the albany (n. y.) state register, a paper which usually does not say what it cannot maintain, states that archbishop hughes has issued a mandate, _commanding_ all catholics in the albany district, in the exciting state election now coming off, to cast their votes for mr. crosby for the senate. but roman catholics, you falsely tell us, never "intermeddle with the political contests of the day:" o no! the other "instance now remembered," is the one in which you were a candidate for a seat in the legislature of tennessee, in the county of giles: this was, according to my recollection, in 1831, or a quarter of a century ago. at that time, there was a small manual labor school in giles, which had been incorporated by the legislature, and at the head of which was a _presbyterian_. the gentleman who ran against you, if not a member of the presbyterian church, "approved" their "creed," and "witnessed their growth and progress for years with the highest satisfaction." _you_ charged upon the stump that the presbyterians were seeking to establish their religion by law, to unite church and state--appealed to the methodist and baptist to put them down by electing you, with a promise that you would check their march by counter-legislation--and you were elected upon this issue. at the same time, as the oldest inhabitants of giles know, there were not fifty presbyterians in the county! but "no instance is remembered" in which one sect has intermeddled with another--o no! you say: "in the mutations of parties in this country, a new one has lately arisen, to which, i apprehend, more of the methodist ministers have attached themselves, at least in the state of tennessee, than might have been expected. this party, known as the know nothings, is so _peculiar_ in its organization, that it seems strange to me that any minister or professor of religion should be willing longer to continue in it." your apprehensions are well-founded, when you suppose that a very large proportion of the methodist ministers in tennessee are either members of this new party or sympathize with it. and, sir, more of the ministers of other denominations than you seem to be aware of, have either attached themselves to this party, "in the mutations of parties," or act with it, and endorse its aims and objects, than you have yet dreamed of! and "it seems strange" to these ministers, and thousands of the purest and best laymen in the protestant ranks, "that any minister or professor of religion should be willing longer" to oppose the principles of this party, or array themselves under the black flag of papal rome, and of the pauper emigrants with whom she is flooding our land! but, sir, the object of your address is, to persuade if you can, and if not, _to drive_, by motives of fear, the clergy of the methodist church from their position on this great american and protestant question. alas, how little does the "son of a sainted father" understand the material he attempts to work upon! methodist ministers are free men, the equals of other moral and upright men in heroic virtues, and far in advance of that of politicians in tennessee who believe parties in religion, as in politics, are only "held together by the cohesive power of public plunder," and who assume to direct public opinion from a principle, of which _selfishness_ is the alpha and omega, the beginning and the end! sir, the violence, bitterness, and the very inflammatory tone, not to say language, of your gallatin, lebanon, and columbia speeches, are enough, it seems to me, to _nauseate_ every good and conservative citizen, and to disgust every "bishop, elder, and other ministers, itinerant and local, of the methodist episcopal church, south." even in this address, you insult these ministers on every page. i see not how any preacher, with a true protestant and american heart in him, can read this address of yours through, without rising up from his seat and saying: "i have voted with this anti-protestant and anti-american party for the last time." in warning methodist ministers to withdraw their sanction and approbation of know nothingism, you say: "i therefore call upon them this day to come out of these lodges, and never return to them: at all events, never return to them until all _secrecy_, all their bits of red paper, (indicating _blood_, even by the selection of color,) all their signs and signals, are utterly abolished and dispensed with. i call upon them to do this, and to do it forthwith--by their hopes of heaven--by their obedience to the word of god--by their allegiance to the constitution and laws of their country--to come out from any party which has adopted a mode and plan of organization so fatal to the peace of society, and the progress of true religion." what egotism! _you_ call upon them! you make a freer use of the personal pronoun _i_, than even old parson longstreet, the know nothing slayer of mississippi. to parse your different sentences syntactically, nothing else is necessary but to understand the first person singular, and to repeat the rule. not only your verbiage but your sentiment is thus egotistic throughout! your appeal to the ministers to come out of this organization, on the ground of its _secrecy_, is a species of demagoguism, the more disgusting when it is considered that you are a _free mason_, and have, by all the arts and blandishment of your nature, sought to induce ministers to go into that organization. but, then, there is no violation of law or the constitution in _masonry_--"fatal to the peace of society and to the progress of true religion"--no, nothing! understand me: i am not opposed to masonry. on this subject of the romish creed, which you excuse, and even _advocate_, you admit that there are "_alleged_ abuses," which have prompted the protestant churches to unite themselves with this new order! then you insultingly tell these churches this tale: "but they ought to have remembered, that even a virtuous indignation can never justify _proscription and persecution_: these bring no remedy to the real or supposed evils, but are sure to increase and aggravate them. these errors in faith, and abominations in practice, if they really exist, were known to the wesleys, and cokes, and asburys, who founded your church: to the lees, the bruces, the capers, the logan douglasses, the summerfields, and the bascoms, who subsequently extended and adorned it. but they never proposed to kindle, in this enlightened age of christianity, the consuming fires of religious persecution." now, sir, every distinguished "founder" of the methodist church you have named, from wesley to bascom, has written and preached against the "errors in faith, and abominations in practice," of the romish church, and they each and all have taken this very ground upon the religious issues. i have heard _three_ of these men preach, and i am familiar with the writings of the rest, and know whereof i speak. you _intentionally_ deceive and misrepresent the american party, when you charge that they seek to proscribe one class of our citizens--that they desire to interfere with the rights of conscience--and to say _how_ men should worship god. why don't you inform your readers that archbishop hughes, and other catholic bishops, were the first to introduce religion into political discussion in this country? this would not suit your purposes--it suits your objects, taste, and inclination better, to slander the american party by wholesale, and to charge upon its members the atrocities committed by your foreign and pauper allies. we only choose to vote against them, and to vote for american-born citizens and protestants: which is as much our _right_, as it is the right of these foreign catholics to vote against and proscribe american protestants. for this, you and your villainous associates exhaust the whole vocabulary of billingsgate upon the american party. what is their offence? why, they simply place certain questions before persons desiring to act with them, which they think, at least, may affect the national welfare, and before the people of the union, and ask their opinion of these questions at the ballot-box. the american party has always denied, and i again reiterate the denial, that we do, at all proscribe, or in any way interfere with, any class of our foreign citizens, save that we propose to send _convicts_ from european prisons back to their own native and infamous dens, as fast as they land here--but these are not _citizens_ of ours. i appeal to our platform, and our book of constitutions, and i offer to any man a handsome reward--any man who will produce in either a statement containing the proscription you falsely charge against us. i now say, gov. brown, either do this, or cease your empty vaporing against the _proscriptive_ features of our system, as you are pleased to style it. you declaim most lustily in favor of religious liberty for catholics, which you know we do not propose as a party to interfere with; and this you plead for at the altar of methodist "bishops, elders, and other ministers," who know there is no religious liberty for protestants where catholics have the power to prevent it! you plead in the most plaintive tones for the rights of foreign catholics to be sworn into good citizens in less than _one year_ after they land here, but do not seem to remember the american protestant wives and children, who have to subsist on charity during our severe winters, in consequence of their husbands and fathers being elbowed out of employment by the competition of foreign pauper laborers! sir, the american party, if in power, would put a stop to that proscription from office that has always characterized the party with which you act, and which has made the present administration so very and so justly odious to the country. proscription, indeed! was there ever such _glaring_ and _actual_ proscription for the sake of religious and political creeds committed as by the present administration? the infamous sag nicht party with which you act, and of which you are a leader and a high priest, though the "son of a now sainted father," has applied the political guillotine to almost every man in office who has dared to differ with them in their high estimate of foreign paupers and catholic vagabonds, in many instances turning out native-born protestants, and filling their places with foreign catholics. and yet, with a degree of effrontery that throws the devil far into the shade, you turn round and charge the american party with proscription, and ask the "bishops, elders, and other ministers," of the methodist church, "by their hopes of heaven--by their obedience to the word of god--and by their allegiance to the constitution and laws of their country," to come out from a party so proscriptive! why, sir, you out-herod old herod himself! your teachings contrasted with your practice, would cause a crimsoned negative to settle on the cheeks of old pilate! and still you are the "son of a now sainted father"--you "approve" the "creed" of methodism, and have "witnessed its growth and prosperity for years, with the highest satisfaction!" you quote from the declaration of independence, to show that toleration should be extended to catholics and foreigners, and then insultingly add, as if you supposed no methodist minister had ever perused the writings of mr. jefferson: "these are the words of mr. jefferson, but the immortal sentiment springs directly from the word of the living and true god. no: persecution at the stake, or by exclusion of catholics from office, is not the weapon to be wielded by the protestant churches." _you_ know that the notes of warning given to his countrymen by the sage of monticello, and the great apostle of american democracy, are in harmony with the doctrines of the know nothing party. but you choose to conceal this fact from the "bishops, elders, and other ministers" of the methodist church, in the vain hope that their numerous pressing and official engagements will not allow them time to look up the documents. in mr. jefferson's notes on virginia, written in 1781, and published in 1794, pages 124-5, i find the following _know nothing doctrine_: "but are there no inconveniences to be thrown into the scale against the advantage expected from a multiplication of numbers by the importation of foreigners? it is for the happiness of those united in society to harmonize, as much as possible, in matters which they must of necessity transact together. civil government being the sole object of forming societies, its administration must be conducted by common consent. every species of government has specific principles. ours, perhaps, are more peculiar than those of any other in the universe. it is a composition of the freest principles of the english constitution, with others derived from natural right and natural reason. to these nothing can be more opposed than the maxims of absolute monarchs. yet _from such we are to expect the greatest number of immigrants_. they will bring with them the _principles of the government they leave, imbibed in early youth_: or, if able to throw them off, it will be in exchange for an _unbounded licentiousness, passing, as is usual, from one extreme to another. it would be a miracle were they to stop precisely at the point of temperate liberty_. these principles, with their language, they will transmit to their children. in proportion with their numbers, they will share with us the legislation. they will infuse into it their spirit, warp and bias its directions, and render it a heterogeneous, incoherent, distracted mass. _i may appeal to experience during the present contest for a verification of these conjectures._ but if they be not certain in event, are they not possible? are they not probable? is it not safer to wait with patience twenty-seven years and three months longer for the attainment of every degree of population desired or expected? may not our government be more homogeneous, more peaceable, more durable?" again, mr. jefferson, whilst our minister to the court of st. cloud, addressed a letter to john jay, dated november 14, 1788, in which he uses this language: "with respect to the _consular_ appointments, it is a duty on me to add some observations, which my situation here has enabled me to make. i think it was in the spring of 1784, that congress (harassed by multiplied applications from foreigners, of whom nothing was known but on their information, or on that of others as unknown as themselves) came to the resolution that the interest of america would not permit the naming of any person, not a citizen, to the office of consul, or agent, or commissary. _native citizens, on several valuable accounts, are preferable to aliens, or citizens alien-born._ native citizens possess our language, know our laws, customs and commerce, have general acquaintance in the united states, give better satisfaction, _and are more to be relied on in a point of fidelity_. to avail ourselves of our native citizens, it appears to me advisable to _declare, by standing law_, that no person but a native citizen shall be capable of the office of consul. this was the rule of 1784, restraining the office of consul to native citizens." in 1797, mr. jefferson drafted a petition to the legislature of virginia, on behalf of the citizens of amherst, albemarle, fluvana, and gouchland bounties, in which he uses the following language: "your petitioners further submit to the two houses of assembly, whether the safety of the citizens of this commonwealth, in their persons, their property, their laws and government, does not require that the capacity to act in the important office of _juror, grand or petty, civil or criminal_, should not be restrained in future to native citizens, or such as were citizens at the date of the treaty of peace which closed our revolutionary war; and whether ignorance of our laws, and natural partiality to the countries of their birth, are not reasonable causes for declaring this to be one of their rights incommunicable in future to adopted citizens."--_jefferson's writings, vol. ix., page 453._ now, sir, answer me in candor, are you not ashamed of having quoted mr. jefferson, and of having so basely misrepresented his position on this great american question? did not mr. jefferson propose to carry his opposition to foreigners much farther than the american party now do? but, you vile old demagogue, though "son of a now sainted father," i am determined you shall not escape the indignant powers of those "bishops, elders, and other ministers," whom you have wickedly sought to deceive. it is known to you, and to the world, in what veneration all american democrats hold the virginia resolutions of 1798 and '99, and the fame of mr. madison, who was the ruling spirit of that session of the legislature. that legislature passed the following resolution, which you may find by consulting henning's statutes at large, vol. 2, new series, page 194: "that the general assembly, nevertheless, concurring in opinion with the legislature of massachusetts that every constitutional barrier should be opposed to the introduction of foreign influence into our national councils,--_resolved_, that the constitution ought to be so amended that _no foreigner, who shall have acquired the right, under our constitution and laws, at the time of making the amendment, shall hereafter be eligible to the office of senator or representative_, in congress of the united states, nor to _any office in the judiciary or executive_. agreed to by the senate, jan. 16, 1799." i shall next consider two extracts from your address, under one general head, relating to the _temporal_ power of the pope. you say: "but the genius of sophistry may fly to the rescue of know-nothingism, by pretending that it is not on account of _his religion_ that the catholic is to be excluded from office, but because he is subjected, not merely to the spiritual but the _temporal dominion_ or jurisdiction of the pope. no error has been wider spread than this." again: "a late distinguished senator from georgia, (mr. berrien,) in a recent address to the public, has copied a letter of mr. wesley, which may require a few observations. that letter was dated in january, 1780. all its conclusions were founded on the assumed and popular opinion of that day, that the pope _did_ claim a civil jurisdiction beyond his own dominions--that he _could_ absolve the subjects of other governments from their oaths of allegiance, and _that there was_ a principle in one of the tenets of that church, that catholics were justified in not keeping faith with heretics. against these assumed and popular opinions, the catholics of england in that day, as they now do in this country, were solemnly protesting." this is a modest way of giving mr. wesley the _lie_, but it is nevertheless quite _direct_, and is the more surprising, as it comes from the "son of a now sainted father," who was a follower of wesley, a "co-laborer of that noble band of christian ministers" he was instrumental in starting out into the world--aye, the son of a "father who, for forty years, ministered at the altars" this same wesley erected! in holding up john wesley as the _vile calumniator_ of the catholic church in england, it is well enough, governor, to be modest about it, and cautious in the selection of your words, as you are addressing a class of men who believe in john wesley, as a faithful man of god, and one incapable of misrepresenting the catholics of england, the pope of rome, or any other sect or individual! john wesley ministered at the sacred altars of religion for more than sixty years; he had with him the power of god, and the witness that he pleased him; and the last words he uttered, with his hands clasped, and his eyes raised toward heaven, were these: "_the best of all is, god is with us!_" and yet the sons and grandsons in the gospel, of this venerated and sainted man of god, are insulted in tennessee, by being told by an _impertinent old sinner_, and a _vile old party hack_, that he was a liar, while living, and the _slanderer of the catholic church_, now that he is no more! if mr. wesley "_assumed_" falsehoods in reference to the romish church in england, he either did it in _ignorance_, or with _a guilty knowledge_ of the fact. he was a man of too much learning and information for his friends to get him out of such an indictment under a plea of ignorance. he is therefore, though dead, a wilful liar, according to "ex-gov. a. v. brown," for the governor goes on to argue the cause against him, and, on page 19 of his address, quotes _catholic_ authority to _prove_ him a liar! shame on the "son of a now sainted father," and on the _holy seer of pisgah_! o! aaron, thou priest of corrupt democracy, you need not endeavor to gull "bishops, elders, and other ministers," with your _whining cant_, while you thus traduce their great spiritual head, who, under god, taught them the lessons of salvation! gov. brown, go with me, as one of the admirers of john wesley, to the humble dwellings of the miners of cornwall, to the homely tents of the colliers of kingswood and newcastle, and to the equally humble workshops of the manufacturers of yorkshire, in england, who are rejoicing in god their saviour that a wesley was ever born into the world, and ask them if they believe him capable of slandering the catholics! go with me among the backwoodsmen of north america, and examine them in their lone tents--go among the honest and virtuous settlers on our western frontiers, amid the interminable forests of the far off west, whose thousands are brought into the fold of christ, through the instrumentality of wesleyan ministers, and ask them if they think the founder of their church was _a wilful liar_! go with me to the rich pastures and luxuriant harvest-fields of your own native middle tennessee: enter the neat cottages and stately mansions of that glorious division of our state, and ask the intelligent and educated females, who are rejoicing in god, in hope of future and eternal life, through the prayers and sermons of wesleyan ministers, as instruments in the hands of god, if they believe the founder of their church was _a wicked calumniator_! go to the islands of the sea, to the burning sands of africa, and ask the benighted converts from heathenism, through the instrumentality of wesleyan ministers, if they believe the venerable founder of their church was a man of truth! enter the dwellings of the rich and fashionable planters of the south--ride around their sugar and cotton plantations, among the sable sons and daughters of africa, and witness the blessed fruits of the pious life, christian integrity, and triumphant death of john wesley! come over to east tennessee, governor, and enter the log-cabins of the virtuous, happy peasantry of the "hill country," and ask them whether they believe mr. wesley or your catholic authorities, touching the temporal power of the pope of rome! alas! gov. brown, the reformation dawned with luther in germany, but the sun of its glory rose with methodism in england; the first streaks of _protestant_ light were seen on the horizon of the sixteenth century, but the meridian sun of the reformation dawned in all his brightness on the wesleys and whitefield! but america has been the land of the glory and triumph of the doctrines of the man you labor to convict of the awful sin of lying! but you deny that the pope of rome, in _temporal_ matters, claims what mr. wesley attributed to him in the letter copied by senator berrien. you also deny that the popes claim and have exercised the right to interfere with matters of government, and the right to absolve their followers in other countries, and under other governments, from their allegiance to such rulers and governments. i will proceed to vindicate mr. wesley, and, by the proof, saddle the lie on you! whilst john was king of england, he had the "magna charta," the great charter securing, among other things, the right of trial by jury, wrung from him at the point of the bayonet. this great charter was annulled by pope innocent. here is the proof: "while the king was employed in the siege of rochester, he received the pleasing intelligence, that according to his request the charter had been annulled by the pontiff. innocent, enumerating the grounds of his judgment, insists strongly on the violence employed by the barons. if they really felt themselves aggrieved, they ought, he observes, to have accepted the offer of redress by due course of law. they had preferred, however, to break the oath of fealty, which they had taken, and had appointed themselves judges to sit upon their lord. they knew, moreover, that john had enrolled himself among the crusaders; and yet they had not scrupled to violate the privileges which all christian nations had granted to the champions of the cross. lastly, england was become the fief of the holy see; and they could not be ignorant that if the king had the will, he had not at least the power, to give away the rights of the crown, without the consent of his feudal superior. he was therefore bound to annul the concessions which had been extorted from john, as having been obtained in contempt of the holy see, to the degradation of royalty, the disgrace of the nation, and to the impediment of the crusade. at the same time he wrote to the barons, re-stating his reasons, exhorting them to submit, requesting them to lay their claims before him in the council to be held at rome; and promising that he would induce the king to consent to whatever might be deemed just or reasonable, to take care that all grievances should be abolished, that the crown should be content with its just rights, and the clergy and people should enjoy their ancient liberties."--_lingard's history of england_, vol. ii., page 71. will it be said that this was not interfering with _temporal_ matters? will it be said that the right of trial by jury was a _spiritual_ matter? will it be said that the tyranny of king john, and his oppressions, of which the barons justly complained, were _spiritual_ matters? no sensible advocate of romanism will say this! the next instance of an interference by the pope in temporal affairs, to which i shall call your attention, governor, is his excommunication of elizabeth, queen of england. she was immediately preceded on that throne by her sister mary, who was a catholic. for no other reason than that elizabeth was a _protestant_, and would not submit her rights and kingdom to the control of the pope, pius v. thundered forth at her devoted head the following anathema, from his throne at the vatican, situated at the foot of one of the seven hills upon which rome is built: excommunication and deposition of queen elizabeth of england. "pius, etc., for a future memorial of the matter. he that reigneth on high, to whom is given all power in heaven and on earth, committed one holy, catholic and apostolic church, _out of which there is no salvation_, to one alone upon the earth, peter the prince of the apostles, and to peter's successor, the bishop of rome, to be governed in _fulness of power_. him alone he made prince over all people, and all kingdoms, to pluck up, destroy, scatter, consume, plant and build, etc. but the number of the ungodly hath gotten such power, that there is now no place left in the whole world which they have not essayed to corrupt with their most wicked doctrines. amongst others, elizabeth, _the pretended queen of england, a slave of wickedness_, lending thereunto her helping hand, with whom, as in a sanctuary, the most pernicious of all men have found a refuge; this very woman having seized upon the kingdom, and monstrously usurping the place of the supreme head of the church in all england, and the chief authority and jurisdiction thereof, hath again brought back the same kingdom to miserable destruction, which was then newly reduced to the faith, and to good order. for having by strong hand inhibited the true religion, which mary, the lawful queen, of famous memory, had, by the help of this see, restored, after it had been formerly overthrown by king henry viii., a revolter therefrom, and following and embracing the errors of _heretics_, she hath removed the royal council, consisting of the english nobility, and filled it with obscure men, being heretics; hath oppressed the embracers of the roman faith, hath placed impious preachers, ministers of iniquity, and abolished the sacrifice of the mass, prayers, fastings, distinction of meats, a single life, and the rites and ceremonies; hath commanded books to be read in the whole realm, containing manifest heresy, etc. she hath not only contemned the godly requests and admonitions of princes concerning her healing and conversion, but also bath not so much as permitted the nuncios of the see to cross the seas into england, etc. we do, therefore, out of the fulness of our apostolic power, declare the aforesaid elizabeth, being heretic, and a favorer of heretics, and her adherents in the matter aforesaid, to have incurred the sentence of anathema, and to be cut off from the unity of the body of christ. and, moreover, we do declare her to be deprived of her pretended title to the kingdom aforesaid, and of all dominion, dignity, and privilege whatsoever; and also the nobility, subjects, and people of the said kingdom, and all others which have in any sort sworn unto her, to be for ever absolved from any such oath, and all manner of duty or dominion, allegiance and obedience; as we also do, by the authority of these presents, absolve them, and do deprive the same elizabeth of her pretended title to the kingdom, and all other things aforesaid. and we do command and interdict all and every one of the noblemen, subjects, people, and others aforesaid, that they presume not to obey her, or her admonitions, mandates, and laws; and those who shall do the contrary, we do innodate with the like sentence of anathema. "given at st. peter's at rome, in the year 1569, and the fifth of our pontificate."--_dowling's history of romanism_, p. 564. one more: sixtus v. thunders his bull of excommunication at this same queen of england--incites philip of catholic spain to make war against her country--and graciously _gives_ the british isles to philip! here is the bull of pope sixtus: "we, sixtus the fifth, the universal shepherd of the flock of christ, the supreme chief, to whom the government of the whole world appertains, considering that the people of england and ireland, after having been so long celebrated for their virtues, their religion, and their submission to our see, have become putrid members, infected, and capable of corrupting the whole christian body, and on account of their subjection to the impious, tyrannical, and sanguinary government of elizabeth, the bastard queen, and by the influence of her adherents, who equal her in wickedness; and who refuse, like her, to recognize the power of the roman church: regarding that henry viii. formerly, for motives of debauchery, commenced all these disorders by revolting against the submission which he owed to the pope, the sole and true sovereign of england; considering that the usurper elizabeth has followed the path of this infamous king, we declare that there exists but one mode of remedying these evils, of restoring peace, tranquillity, and union to christendom, of re-establishing religion, and of leading back the people to obedience to us, which is, to depose from the throne that execrable elizabeth, who falsely arrogates to herself the title of queen of the british isles. being then inspired by the holy spirit for the general good of the church, we renew, by the virtue of our apostolic power, the sentence pronounced by our predecessor, pius the fifth and gregory the thirteenth, against the modern jezebel: we proclaim her deprived of her royal authority, of the rights, titles, or pretensions to which she may lay claim over the kingdoms of ireland and england, affirming that she possesses them unlawfully and by usurpation. we relieve all her subjects from the oaths they may have taken to her, and we prohibit them from rendering any kind of service to this execrable woman; it is our will, that she be driven from door to door like one possessed of a devil, and that all human aid be refused her; we declare, moreover, that foreigners or englishmen are permitted, as a meritorious work, to seize the person of elizabeth and surrender her, living or dead, to the tribunals of the inquisition. we promise to those who shall accomplish this glorious mission, infinite recompenses, not only in the life eternal, but even in this world. finally, we grant plenary indulgence to the faithful who shall willingly unite with the catholic army which is going to combat the impious elizabeth, under the orders of our dear son philip the second, to whom we give the british isles in full sovereignty, as a recompense for the zeal he has always shown toward our see, and for the particular affection he has shown for the catholics of the low country."--_de cormenin's history of the popes_, p. 262. here is what macaulay, a reliable historian, says of the baneful effects of romanism: "from the time when the barbarians overran the western empire to the time of the revival of letters, the influence of the church of rome has been generally favorable to science, to civilization, and to good government. but, during the last three centuries, to stunt the growth of the human mind has been her chief object. throughout christendom, whatever advance has been made in knowledge, in freedom, in wealth, and in the arts of life, has been made in spite of her, and has everywhere been in inverse proportion to her power. the loveliest and most fertile provinces of europe have, under her rule, been sunk into poverty, in political servitude, and in intellectual torpor, while protestant countries, once proverbial for sterility and barbarism, have been turned, by skill and industry, into gardens, and can boast of a long list of heroes and statesmen, philosophers and poets. whoever, knowing what italy and scotland naturally are, and what four hundred years ago they naturally were, shall now compare the country round rome with the country round edinburgh, will be able to form some judgment of the tendency of papal domination. the descent of spain, once the first among monarchies, to the lowest depths of degradation, the elevation of holland, in spite of many natural disadvantages, to a position such as no commonwealth so small has ever reached, teach the same lesson. whoever passes, in germany, from a roman catholic to a protestant principality, in switzerland from a roman catholic to a protestant canton, in ireland from a roman catholic to a protestant county, finds that he has passed from a lower to a higher grade of civilization. on the other side of the atlantic the same law prevails. the protestants of the united states have left far behind the roman catholics of mexico, peru, and brazil. the roman catholics of lower canada remain inert, while the whole continent round them is in a ferment with protestant activity and enterprise."--_macaulay's history of england_, vol. i., p. 37. i must be permitted to add, just here, that in 1848, when the people of france expelled louis philippe from the throne in paris, and established a republic, the present old drunken, goutified debauchee, pope pius ix., hurled at the french nation a fearful bull of excommunication, and denied them the right of revolution! was this interfering in temporal matters? but no longer ago than the year 1854, this same old vagabond, pope pius, issued orders absolving his followers from all allegiance to the sardinian government, because that government chose to abolish the infamous monasteries, which had been so long supported at the expense of an oppressed people! was this not interfering in temporal matters? i could multiply authorities, governor, to an indefinite extent, sustaining mr. wesley's views, and falsifying all you say, but this would swell my reply beyond what i intended in the outset. let me call your attention to brownson's review, for july, 1853, where you will find all this power, and even more, claimed for the pope, over temporal sovereigns and their subjects, the world over! this _review_ is the acknowledged organ of _archbishop hughes_, the head and front of the catholic church in north america. you state that our declaration of independence absolved from every possible obligation to the pope in temporal matters. your language is: "the moment it was read and proclaimed from old independence hall in philadelphia, obedience in temporal matters, if it ever existed, ceased for ever, as to every native-born son in america." you further add that the constitution of the united states set aside all temporal power of the pope in this country, and that if any doubts remain, the finishing touch is given by the following oath of naturalization, taken by our naturalized citizens: "i do solemnly swear that i will support the constitution of the united states, and that i do _absolutely and entirely_ renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, or state, or sovereignty _whatever_." sir, do you suppose that the "bishops, elders, and other ministers," whom you have the impudence to address, are all fools? do you suppose they are men of no reading or information? if they know any thing, they certainly know that the oath of naturalization they, the catholics, take, weighs no more with them than a feather. a catholic can evade the force of any oath, by a _mental reservation_. here is what sanchez says, the very highest catholic authority, whose teaching, including this interpretation of oaths, has been endorsed by the council of trent: "it is lawful to use _ambiguous terms_ to give the impression a different sense from that which you understand yourself. a person may take an oath that he has not done such a thing, though in fact he has, by saying to himself it was not done on a certain day, or before he was born, or by concealing any other similar circumstances; which gives another meaning to it. this is extremely convenient, and always very just, when necessary to your health, honor, or prosperity." in addition to this, let me tell you, if you never before knew the fact, that judge gaston, a distinguished jurist, and a gentleman of excellent character, though a rigid roman catholic, of north carolina, was appointed to a seat upon the supreme bench of that state. the constitution of that state, unlike those of almost all other states, requires every judge to take an oath, among other things, that he believes in the truth of the protestant religion. mr. gaston asked time to think over the matter--he repaired to the archbishop at baltimore, doubtless obtained a dispensation--wrote back to raleigh from there, that he would take the oath--returned, and in due time solemnly swore that _he believed in the truth of the protestant religion_. he died in raleigh, one of the judges of the supreme court--but lived and died a roman catholic! during the past month, in this city, w. g. mcadoo, the attorney general for this judicial circuit, had some irish catholics brought before the grand jury, to testify in cases of unlawful gaming and the retailing of ardent spirits. the clerk swore them on a common english testament, and they returned to the jury room, and testified that they knew of no cases! the attorney for the commonwealth then procured the _catholic douay bible_, with a large _cross_ upon its outside, swore them upon this--sent them in, and they _disgorged_, telling of various cases, and enabling the jury to find bills against even some of their own folks! an oath, then, is nothing with strict roman catholics, who believe their priests can absolve them from the obligations of any and all oaths. for notwithstanding your denial of the fact, it is notoriously true, that the members of the catholic church believe their priesthood to exercise, by divine right, the power to fix and determine their eternal destiny. nay, every roman catholic in the known world is under the absolute control of the catholic priesthood, by considerations not only of a temporal, but an eternal weight. this is what gives their priesthood such power and influence in elections; an influence they are using in every state, against the american party. and it is this faculty of concentration, this political influence, this power of the priesthood to control the catholic community, and cause a vast multitude of ignorant foreigners to vote as a _unit_, and thus control the will of the american people, that has engendered this opposition to the catholic church. it is this aggressive policy and corrupting tendency of the romish church; this organized and concentrated political power of a distinct class of men; foreign by birth; inferior in intelligence and virtue to the american people, and not their religion and form of worship, objectionable as these are known to be, which have called forth the opposition of the american party to the catholic church. but, sir, you occupy several pages in copying and commenting upon the several oaths administered to the members of the american party--oaths which, as you tell us, are revolting in their character, and lead to the indiscriminate proscription of all foreigners. i meet all your conjectures and wild speculations in reference to these several oaths and obligations, by saying, just here, that i have taken them all, and that they express my sentiments and feelings to the very letter; and i am willing, for the remainder of my days, to go before an acting justice of the peace, for the county of knox, and have all three of these oaths administered every monday morning, upon the "holy bible and cross." you have failed, in your zeal to advocate romanism and oppose the american party, to tell the "bishops, elders, and other ministers," whom you address, that we resort to our oaths and obligations to combat successfully the most powerful oath-bound organization the world ever knew. the oath of every _roman catholic bishop_ and _archbishop_ binds him to absolute and unquestioned obedience, not only to the present pope but to his successors, "canonically coming in," and to "oppose and persecute" all who do not submit to his authority! the oath of every _priest_ binds him to the church of rome "as the chief head and matron above all pretended churches throughout the whole earth," and to "further her interests more than his own earthly good." the oath of the _jesuit_ binds him to the pope, as "christ's vicar-general," by "all the saints and hosts of heaven," and to "denounce and disown any allegiance as due to protestants, or obedience to any of their inferior magistrates or officers." the oath of the _san fedisti_, a secret order established by the papal government in 1821, binds them to sustain "the papal altar and throne, and to exterminate heretics, without pity for the cries of children, or of men and women." the oath of the _irish ribbon men_, an order established by the papal government, and introduced into this country by _bedini_, the pope's nuncio, but a few years ago, binds him "to extirpate all heretics, and all the protestants, and to walk in their blood to the knees." is it not time to take the alarm, governor, and to combine to resist all these secret oath-bound associations, which now threaten us with the loss of all that freemen and protestant christians hold dear on earth? it is a matter of utter astonishment to find a great political party in this country, most of whom are native-born protestants, taking sides with a foreign church, whose designs against this country, according to the avowals of the duke of richmond, lately governor-general of canada, are of the most wicked and fearful character! speaking of this government, the duke said in a public address, on our northern border: "it will be destroyed: it ought not, and will not be permitted to exist. the curse of the french revolution, and subsequent wars and commotions in europe, are to be attributed to its example; and so long as it exists, no prince will be safe upon his throne; and _the sovereigns of europe are aware of it_, and they have _determined upon its destruction, and have come to an understanding upon this subject, and have decided on the means to accomplish it_; and they will eventually succeed, by subversion _rather than conquest_. all the low and surplus population of the different nations of europe will be carried into that country. it is and will be a receptacle for the bad and disaffected population of europe, when they are not wanted for soldiers, or to supply the navies; _and the governments of europe will favor such a course_. this will create a surplus and majority of low population, who are so very easily excited; and they will bring with them their principles, and in nine cases out of ten adhere to their ancient and former governments, laws, manners, customs, and religion, and will transmit them to their posterity; and in many cases propagate them among the natives. these men will become citizens, and by the constitution and laws will be invested with the right of suffrage. hence, discord, dissension, anarchy, and civil war will ensue; and some popular individual will assume the government, and restore order, and the sovereigns of europe, the emigrants, and many of the natives, will sustain him. the church of rome has a design upon that country; and it will in time be the established religion, and will aid in the destruction of that republic. _i have conversed with many of the sovereigns and princes of europe; and they have unanimously expressed these opinions relative to the government of the united states, and their determination to subvert it._" the monarchs of europe, says the duke of richmond, will aid in sending us a surplus of "low, excitable, bad, and disaffected men," who will bring with them their principles, and will adhere to their foreign notions of government, laws, manners, customs, and religion--and that religion catholic; and yet _you_, the "son of a now sainted father," of protestant raising, have the brazen effrontery to call upon the "bishops, elders, and other ministers" of an american protestant church to aid you, your corrupt party, and the monarchs of europe, in destroying both our government and church! sir, it is passing strange that protestant christians and their children should be found side by side with you, bishop hughes, gov. johnson, and the thousands of bad men who are seeking to build up a roman hierarchy in this free country of ours! what do you promise the country and yourselves, if romanism proves successful in this contest? the history of the past informs us that rome has slain 1,000,000 of albigenses and waldenses; 1,500,000 jews, in spain; 3,000,000 moors, in spain. france will never forget st. bartholomew's night, when 100,000 souls perished in paris alone! the blood of protestants has fertilized the soil of england, germany, and ireland. i mean by this, that enough of protestant blood has been shed to _enrich_ all the poor lands of england, germany, and ireland, if it were properly distributed. in all, the authentic records of the romish church show, (and of this she makes her boast,) that she has put to death sixty-eight millions of human beings, for no other offence than that of being _protestants_ in their religious faith! average each person slain at four gallons of blood, and medical writers say a healthy person yields more, and it makes two hundred and seventy-two millions of gallons!--enough to overflow the banks of the mississippi, and destroy all the cotton and sugar plantations in mississippi and louisiana! but you argue, in your blasphemous publication, that this is no longer a characteristic of the romish hierarchy. why is it not? has she ever changed for the better? when did she ever renounce these doctrines and practices? never, no, never! hers is the same tyrannical system now--where she has the power--that it always has been, and always must be, in the very nature of things! it is her boast, and the boast of her standard authors, that she is always right, and knows no change! and wo to this land of ours, if ever rome gets the ascendancy here! her whole system is adverse to our republican institutions, and she hesitates not to declare it! _brownson_ says in his review: "let us dare to assert the truth in the face of the _lying world_, and, instead of pleading for our church at the bar of the state, _summon the state itself to plead at the bar of the church, its divinely constituted judge_." no wonder, sir, that the american people are aroused! such bold and startling avowals are calculated to arouse and unite the somewhat divided bands of protestant christians; to wake up a host of luthers, calvins, cranmers, and wesleys; to bind together "the heretics condemned in a mass." the very latest thing i have seen is the "pastoral letter" of the bishops of the province of st. louis, just issued. that document explicitly says: "we maintain the superiority of the _spiritual_ over the _temporal_ order. we maintain that the temporal ruler is _bound_ to conform his enactments to the divine law. we maintain that the church is the supreme judge of all questions concerning faith and morals; and that in the determination of such question, the _roman pontiff, vicar of jesus christ_, constitutes a tribunal from which there is no appeal; and to whose award all the children of the church must yield obedience." now, sir, after this authoritative and official announcement, i don't want to see any more of your wire-drawn distinctions between spiritual and temporal allegiance to the pope. these bishops say that both are alike binding. nor do i want to see any more of your malignant efforts to fix the _lie_ upon mr. wesley, for affirming in europe, during the past century, what the bishops of the united states have announced, in a pastoral address, in the present day! pope pius ix. has, by a special act, made the virgin mary the special patron of these united states; but the protestants of this country have also made a decree, and that decree is, that jesus christ, and not the virgin mary, shall be the patron of these united states. and i am happy to have it in my power to inform you, notwithstanding the influence of your address, that the "bishops, elders, and other ministers" of the methodist church, both north and south, are ready to make a common, determined, prayerful effort to save our native land from the threatened slavery of submission to the decisions of the council of trent, and the equally corrupt conventions of progressive democracy! assuming what is notoriously _false_--that the know nothings are in favor of all measures fatal to the south, and destructive to the constitution--you ask on page 25 of your _infinitely infernal_ address: "what if a proposition be pending to repeal the fugitive slave law--the kansas and nebraska law--the rejection of a state asking admission into the union, because its constitution may tolerate slavery?" you know, sir, that the 12th plank in the philadelphia platform of the american party is a safer guaranty upon this slavery question, and the perpetuity of existing laws, than is to be found anywhere in the creeds of political parties. here it is in full: "the american party having arisen upon the ruins, and in spite of the opposition of the whig and democratic parties, can not be held in any manner responsible for the obnoxious acts or violated pledges of either; and the systematic agitation of the slavery question by those parties having elevated sectional hostility into a positive element of political power, and brought our institutions into peril, it has therefore become the imperative duty of the american party to interpose, for the purpose of giving peace to the country, and perpetuity to the union. and as experience has shown it impossible to reconcile opinions so extreme as those which separate the disputants, and as there can be no dishonor in submitting to the laws, the national council has deemed it the best guaranty of common justice and of future peace, to abide by and maintain the existing laws upon the subject of slavery, as a final and conclusive settlement of that subject in spirit and in substance. "and regarding it the highest duty to avow their opinions upon a subject so important, in distinct and unequivocal terms, it is hereby declared as the sense of this national council, that congress possesses no power, under the constitution, to legislate upon the subject of slavery in the states where it does or may exist, or to exclude any state from admission into the union, because its constitution does or does not recognize the institution of slavery as a part of its social system; and expressly pretermitting any expression of opinion upon the power of congress to establish or prohibit slavery in any territory, it is the sense of the national council that congress ought not to legislate upon the subject of slavery within the territories of the united states, and that any interference by congress with slavery as it exists in the district of columbia, would be a violation of the spirit and intention of the compact by which the state of maryland ceded the district to the united states, and a breach of the national faith." in the "wild hunt" for territory by the progressive democracy, and their efforts to settle our western lands with foreigners who are to a man free soilers and abolitionists, the south has more to fear than from all other considerations. what is gov. johnson's iniquitous homestead bill, but a bid for foreigners? he proposes to give to the heads of families one hundred and sixty acres of land, thus _hiring_ all the convicts and paupers of europe to come and settle in our western states and territories! sir, but let your progressive, sublimated, double-distilled, converging-lines, johnsonian democracy bring into this union one million of spanish papists--black, brown, sorrel, and tawny--under the guise of acquiring cuba for the south: let them bring eight hundred thousand french and english papists, under the name of acquiring canada for the north: let them bring two millions of mexican papists--brown, tawny, red and black, being a mixture of all colors and all nations--under the specious pretence of "extending the area of freedom"--let all this be done--and your party, made up of native traitors, and foreign vagabonds, and catholic paupers, are aiming at it--let it be done, i say, and farewell to liberty, and all that is sacred in this country! with five millions of papists in our midst--four millions and a half being of foreign birth, and four millions speaking a foreign language--all taught from infancy to hate and detest protestantism as a crime--an american party would become an absolute political necessity. well do the free soil papers comprehend this matter. hear the infamous but influential _chicago tribune_, one of your douglass organs--one of your foreign catholic organs. i quote from the paper itself: "it is now a well-attested fact, that atchison is a member of the superior order of the spangled banner, or know nothings, and that his infernal villainy in kansas has been carried on under the protection and patronage of the lodges in western missouri. this is a matter that all men in the north should understand, that northern voters may be exceedingly cautious how they give countenance or support to an order that, in any of its phases or localities, is capable of producing such results. it is further said, that the members of that kansas legislature, now outraging all sense of right and justice by their devilish enactments, are the chosen men of the affiliated know nothings in missouri and kansas, who back then up in whatever thing they do. atchison and his gang are the friends of the order, and through it and southern know nothing support they are sure that their efforts to establish a despotism in the territory, if necessary, at the point of the bayonet, will be successful. these facts account for many things heretofore inexplicable, and they develop the true reason of the hostility of the border-ruffians to the foreign immigration that would, under other circumstances, people that vast and fertile country west of the missouri." thus it appears that a host of _lousy_ foreigners, fresh from the emigrant ships, in which they are brought over to this country as _ballast_--having the right to vote conferred upon them by an infamous _progressive_ democratic feature in the kansas bill, were expected to get the control of affairs in kansas. it further appears, however, that senator atchison and his pro-slavery associates supposed that, though fresh from their farms, and crossing the line of their state into the new territory, they too had the right to vote without being _naturalized_ in kansas. hence, in the estimation of this sag nicht organ at chicago, a great outrage is committed upon germany, ireland, and italy! sir, you need not lay the flattering unction to your soul, that you can drive the clergy generally from the noble stand they have taken upon this great question. nor need you suppose, for one moment, that the american party are conquered, though defeated in several states in the recent elections. the party will remain true to its ends. though it fail to command office, it cannot fail to exercise large power. office is not always strength; but sometimes, nay, frequently, as in the case of the present administration, weakness, as time will prove! the aim of the american party is, by fair party means, to correct a great social evil and political wrong; and if they cannot do that, to mitigate the evil and the wrong; if they cannot do that, to prevent its _further increase_; and if neither can be done, why, then i confess to you, the party will have failed. but, sir, if such a failure take place, rest assured that the "bishops, elders, and other ministers" of the methodist church, south, will not help to bring about such a failure! we can afford to let such minions of party as you are, rave and rant, and publish their expositions, and issue their warnings to churches: they will all serve to swell our ranks. all true american hearts, not chained to the car of party, or bound down by the cords of plunder, think alike upon the great questions that have called the american party into existence. little do we regard the slanders of the pensioners of party. let their speeches and publications teem with wholesale slanders of our creed: the political jockeyism of these thimble-riggers, as in your own case, is too apparent! from maine to the shores of the pacific the country is convulsed with intense excitement upon this subject. shall americans govern themselves, or shall foreigners, unacquainted with our laws, and brought up under monarchical governments, rule? shall those who are temporally and spiritually subject to a foreign prince be our legislators, post-masters, foreign ministers, and military leaders, and change our laws as they are directed by the pope of rome? such results the american party have set out to prevent. the present excitement will not cease; true americans and protestants will labor and pray until our distracted country shall be redeemed from the influence of civil and ecclesiastical tyranny. now, governor, i have noticed all your charges, arguments, and appeals, but one, and that is the allegation that methodist clerical know nothings are _conspirators_. your argument is--and i wish to represent you correctly--"the offence of conspiracy is not confined to the prejudicing of a particular individual; it may be to injure public trade, to affect public health, or to _violate public policy_." you cite blackstone's commentary, and other english law books, to satisfy the clergy as to the _law of conspiracy_. this done, you overwhelm them with this sage and logical conclusion: "the gist of the offence of conspiracy consists in a confederacy to do an _unlawful act_, and the offence is complete when the confederacy is made." i will concede, for the sake of the argument, that this is sound law, and that yours is a logical deduction. nay, i will concede more--i grant that it is an unlawful act for native americans, and protestant christians, whether ministers or laymen, to resolve, or swear, as we know nothings have all done, that we will not vote for catholics and foreigners for public offices! i take the ground you do, that a man's vote is not his own, and that it is only to be disposed of by the leaders of the party with which he may act! and now, if you and i, both great men, and _doctors of law_, are correct in laying down the law, and the _privilege of voters in this free country_, what an infamous body of conspirators the democrats are, and have always been! for a quarter of a century, they have conspired to keep the whigs out of office--have succeeded in doing so most of that time--and have kept thousands of them who are poor from becoming rich! more recently, they have conspired with abolitionists, free soilers, fourierites, spiritualists, roman catholics, irish, french, and german paupers, and all manner of european convicts, to keep the american party out of office, and have succeeded in virginia, north carolina, georgia, alabama, pennsylvania, ohio, illinois, texas, and other states--thereby depriving the americans of "lots" of money and honors, both of which they need, and both of which are their _birthrights_! the "bishops, elders, and other ministers," whom you address, in opposition to the great sin of _conspiracy_, would more cheerfully unite with you to enforce law and order, and to prosecute offenders, but for the fact that the _abolition wing of your party_ once conspired against them, to deprive their wives, children, widows, and orphans, of their lawful portion of the great book concern in new york, and they were compelled to punish the conspirators, at great expense, however, in the district and supreme courts of the united states! but, sir, upon the subject of _oaths_, you are eloquent, apt in your quotations of scripture, and evince great learning in the legal profession! you charge that "know nothingism is both unchristian and unlawful, because of its _oaths_, which have no scripture warrant for their administration!" one of your quotations from the bible is this: "swear not at all: neither by heaven, for it is god's throne: nor by the earth, for it is his footstool." your mind has undergone a great change upon the subject of _oaths_ and _hard swearing_, since the 21st of june, 1845, when you delivered your celebrated "mount pisgah" speech at athens. you then advised the people of the state to administer "horrible oaths," and to swear by the "_heavens_," aye, "god's throne." but then you were a know nothing. here is what you say in your _revised_ copy of that memorable speech: "go up with me in imagination and stand for awhile on some lofty summit of the rocky mountains. let us take one ravishing view of this broad land of liberty. turn your face toward the gulf of mexico: what do you behold? instead of one lone star faintly shining in the far distant south, a whole galaxy of stars of the first magnitude are bursting on your vision and shining with a bright and glorious effulgence. now turn with me to the west--the mighty west--where the setting sun dips her disk in the western ocean. look away down through the misty distance to the shores of the pacific, with all its bays, and harbors, and rivers. cast your eyes as far as the russian possessions, in latitude fifty-four degrees and forty minutes. what a new world lies before you! how many magnificent states to be the future homes of the sons and daughters of freedom! but you have not gazed on half this glorious country. turn now your face to the east, where the morning sun first shines on this land of liberty. away yonder, you see the immortal old thirteen, who achieved our independence; nearer to us lie the twelve or fifteen states of the great valley of the mississippi, stretching and reposing like so many giants in their slumbers. o! now i see your heart is full--it can take in no more. who now feels like he was a party man, or a southern man, or a northern man? who does not feel that he is an american, and thankful to heaven that his lot was cast in such a goodly land? when did mental vision ever rest on such a scene? moses, when standing on the top of mount pisgah, looking over on the promised land, gazed not on a scene half so lovely. o! let us this day _vow_ that whatever else we may do, by whatever name we may be called, we will never surrender one square acre of this goodly heritage to the dictation of any king or potentate on earth. swear it! swear it! my countrymen, and let heaven record the vow for ever!" in conclusion, governor, suffer a few words of advice, and i will bring this letter, already too long, to a close. you are advanced in years, nay, you have grown gray in the service of sin, and political intrigues; and at most you have not long to live. cease your political aspirations, and turn your attention to future and eternal things! you have been a member of our state legislature; subsequently, a member of congress; and more recently the governor of our state; honors and stations, to say the least of it, equal to your merits and talents! as a true "son of a now sainted father," from whom you have been separated for many years, so demean yourself in future, that you may not be separated, world without end! humble yourself before god; confess your numerous sins; and instead of lecturing god's ministers upon the subject of party politics, ask them, with tears in your eyes, to pray for you! exercise a living faith in christ, who came down from heaven, and made upon the cross a full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction, for the sins of the whole world. thus obtaining forgiveness, cease your sunday discussions on political subjects; attend at the house of god, and set an example to other ungodly sag nichts, and lead a new and different life! very respectfully, your obedient servant, w. g. brownlow, _a local methodist minister._ governor johnson and editor eastman. on the 9th of october, 1855, and while the legislature was in session at nashville, we delivered a speech to an immense crowd on the public square; which, after certain preliminary remarks, we will give to the public, just as it was spoken. the reason why the call was made on us to deliver the speech was, that we had, the previous weeks, delivered the same, in _substance_, at shelbyville and clarksville, and the american party at nashville hearing of it, and approving what was said, desired us to repeat it; and, to be candid, we desired to repeat it there and then! mr. wise, of virginia, gained great notoriety, in the spring of 1855, by his abuse and blackguardism, heaped upon the american party. he was successful; and johnson, of tennessee, whose ambition was to gain a more infamous notoriety, profiting by the example of wise, plunged into the lowest depths of billingsgate, and piled his vulgar epithets upon the party _indiscriminately_. wise, then, like all inventors and originators, has had numerous _imitators_, and among the most successful of these are johnson, of tennessee; stephens, of georgia; and clingman, of north carolina. but as an adept in low billingsgate slang, coarse blackguardism, and as a slanderer and maligner of better men than himself, johnson has excelled his patron, wise, and left far in the shades of the distant caverns of abuse, both stephens and clingman! to prepare the public mind for the degree of severity we used in reference to the governor of the state, we will introduce as many as _five_ different extracts from his speeches, in his late canvass for governor, at murfreesboro' and manchester; as reported by his partisan organ, the _nashville union_, and his _pliant tool_, its abolition editor, _e. g. eastman_: "the devil, his satanic majesty, the prince of darkness, who presides over the secret conclave held in pandemonium, makes war upon all branches of christ's church. the know nothings advocate and defend none, but make war upon one of the churches, and thus far become the allies of the prince of darkness."--[speech of andrew johnson, at murfreesboro'. "a denomination like this, to set up as the guardians of the religion and morals of the country! a denomination bound together by secret and terrible oaths: the first of which, on the very initiation, fixes and requires them to carry a lie in their mouths."--[speech of andrew johnson, at murfreesboro'. "show me the dimensions of a know nothing, and i will show you a huge reptile, upon whose neck the foot of every honest man ought to be placed."--[speech of andrew johnson, at manchester. "they are like the hyena, and come from their lair after midnight to prey upon human carcasses."--[speech of andrew johnson, at manchester. "i would as soon be found in the clan of john a. murrell as in a know nothing council."--[speech of andrew johnson, at manchester. the _blackguard_ and _calumniator_ using this language, was elected by a majority of two thousand votes: that majority being cast by _foreigners and illegal voters_; and consequently, his competitor, col. gentry--than whom there is not a more talented, patriotic, and honorable gentleman in tennessee--was fairly and justly elected. this, then, is the language used by the governor of tennessee, _towards a majority of the legal voters of the state_! under these circumstances, we made the speech that follows, to an immense crowd on the square: the correspondence preceding which, will explain itself: nashville, oct. 10th, 1855. w. g. brownlow, esq.: _dear sir_:--the undersigned, having heard your speech on the square, last night, respectfully request that you embody the substance of the same, and publish it in the knoxville whig. the desire to see it in print is very general; and those who heard it approved its severity, without it were such as were bitter against the american party. your friends, charles g. smith, john morrison, f. m. burton, robt. s. northcutt, saml. davis. nashville, oct. 13th, 1855. messrs. smith, morrison, and others: _gentlemen_:--your note requesting me to publish the substance of my remarks on the square, last tuesday night, has been received, and i would have replied sooner, but for my absence at shelbyville. i have now made the same speech at clarksville, nashville, and shelbyville; and my only regrets are, that my engagements prevent me from delivering the same speech at every point in this state, where gov. johnson held me up as the "high priest of the order," and argued therefrom the _want of respectability_ for the order. in addition to your request, i have had verbal applications from many gentlemen to publish my remarks--gentlemen who have been mild and moderate throughout their political course. i shall, therefore, comply with your request and theirs, at my earliest convenience. i hold that no man's position in life should shield him from the rebukes he may merit by his bad conduct; and as for the present governor of tennessee, his wholesale abuse of the american party, towards whose members, without a single exception, he has indulged in language which ought not to be tolerated within the precincts of billingsgate, no epithet is too low, too degrading, or disgraceful, to pay him back in. respectfully, &c., w. g. brownlow. fellow-citizens:--the occasion which has called you together to-night, is the special appointment of our young friend, mr. crowe, to whose eloquence we have all listened with pleasure. i have made no appointment to speak here; nor have i prompted the loud and long calls made upon me, this evening, by this large nashville audience. i shall speak to you; but not upon the _issues_ of the late canvass, nor upon those of the approaching canvass of 1856. i will discuss _andrew johnson_ and _e. g. eastman_; and if they are in the assembly, i hope they will come forward and take seats on this stand, that i may have the pleasure of looking them full in the face, as i denounce them in unmeasured terms: which is my purpose to-night, let the consequences be what they may! on a memorable night in august, after it was understood that _andrew johnson_ was reã«lected to the office of governor, a procession was formed in knoxville, composed of the worst materials in that young and growing city--such as drunken, red-mouthed irishmen, lousy germans, and insolent negroes, with three or four men of respectable pretensions thrown in, to exercise a controlling influence over these bad materials. this riotous mob halted in front of my dwelling, in east knoxville, and _groaned_ and _sang_ for my especial benefit: all which was natural enough--as they had triumphed over me in the election of a governor. i took no offence at their rejoicing over the election of gov. johnson, as i told them; and for the reason, that i knew them to be of that class of men who would _actually need the exercise of the pardoning power_, at the hands of the present governor, to release them from the penitentiary, before his present term of service would expire! from my humble dwelling, this _beautiful_ procession marched to the coleman house, on gay street, yelling like devils, and insulting the inmates of every house they passed. "huzza for _andy mcjohnson_!" exclaimed one. "three cheers for _andy o'johnson_!" exclaimed another. while, to cap the climax--"well done, my _johnsing_ and the _white bastard_," (meaning _basis_,) exclaimed a drunken negro! halting in front of the coleman house, the governor elect mounted a goods box, and under feelings of great excitement, hatred, and malice, delivered a speech abusive of the whole american party, excepting none, in coarse, bitter language, in a style peculiarly his own--adapted alone to the foul precincts of billingsgate--rounding his periods with a diabolical and infernal _grin_, alone suited to a display of oratory by a land pirate! i reported this slanderous speech--not in as offensive style--as it was delivered; for his _looks_ and _grins_ no man can report on paper. i also wrote the substance of what he said to major donelson, in a letter, of which i shall have something more to say before i leave this stand. just here, i will repeat what the governor did say, and what i reported him to have said in my paper. i wish this large audience to hear me distinctly, and to recollect the points i make; for i shall wind up on the governor and his miserable tool, _eastman_, with a degree of severity you have not been accustomed to, but which shall be warranted by the facts in each case. gov. johnson said this new party of self-styled americans professed to have organized with a view to purify and reform the old political parties. a beautiful set, said he, to reform! the order of know nothings was composed of the worst men in the whig and democratic parties. as a _sample_ of these men, he pointed out _andrew j. donelson_, by name--exclaiming as often as twice, _who is andrew j. donelson?_ he is a soured, office-seeking, disappointed politician, who has been kicked out of the democratic party. to illustrate his views more fully, he told the crowd to imagine a large gang of _counterfeiters_ out there! and an equally large gang of _horse-thieves_ out yonder! take from these two companies the worst men in their ranks, form a third party of these, and you have a representation of this know nothing party. this was a beautiful party to propose reform, or to speak of other parties being corrupt! he was interrupted repeatedly; and i think i may safely say, among hands, they gave him the d----d lie fifty times! james m. davis, a respectable mechanic, asked him if he would say that to major donelson's face? he replied, that he heard the hissing of an adder, or a goose, and went through with certain stereotyped phrases you have all heard from his lips. this call upon him by mr. davis was not named in my newspaper report, nor in my letter to major donelson. indeed, i did not anticipate a denial of his abuse. now, fellow-citizens, it was in this connection, as well as in the most offensive language, that gov. johnson introduced the name of andrew j. donelson, repeating it more than once, emphasizing upon it, and repeating it with scorn and bitterness. this is the report, _in substance_, i made of his speech through my paper, and in a letter i addressed to major donelson. and to the truth of my report, there are one hundred respectable gentlemen in knoxville who will make oath upon the holy bible. there are now a half-dozen respectable gentlemen in this crowd who were in the street at knoxville on that occasion, and heard every word the governor said, and will sustain me in my account of it. among these i will name messrs. white and armstrong, members of the house, senator rogers, col. james c. luttrell, and mr. fleming, the editor of the knoxville register. well, gentlemen--and i am proud to have an opportunity of vindicating myself before so large a nashville audience as this is--i say major donelson came to nashville, after receiving intelligence of the abuse of the governor, and was seen walking these streets with a _large and homely stick_ in his hand, looking _grum_, as any gentleman would do under the circumstances. the friends of gov. johnson seeing what would likely be the result of this affair, asked for, and very properly obtained that letter, with a view to laying it before their slanderous and abusive executive officer, that he might _lie out of what he said_ about an honorable and brave man; and thereby avoid the disgrace of a cudgelling! did he lie out of the scrape? he did: aye, he _ingloriously lied out_ of what he had said--leaving major donelson no ground for any difficulty with him: although the major had a right to suppose that any man base enough to make such charges, would have no hesitancy in lying out of his disreputable and cowardly abuse. i therefore pronounce your governor, here upon his own dunghill, an unmitigated liar and calumniator, and a villainous coward, wanting the _nerve_ to stand up to his abuse of better men than himself! but it will be said that the governor _proves_ me a liar, by a citizen of nashville, who was present at knoxville and heard his speech. that is so, but i prove both him and his witness liars, by a multitude of witnesses who were also present, and who are gentlemen of the first standing. but who is it that testifies that i have lied? it is _e. g. eastman_, the editor of the sag nicht organ in this city. and who is _e. g. eastman_? he is a dirty, lying, and unscrupulous abolitionist, from massachusetts, who once conducted an abolitionist paper either in that state, or the state of new hampshire. he was brought out to this state to lie for the unscrupulous leaders of his party. he is paid for _telling_ and _writing_ falsehoods, and would, if the interests of his party required it, and a consideration were paid him in hand, _swear lies_ as readily as he would write them down for publication. he is a poor devil, as void of truth and honor as he has shown himself to be of courage and resentment. he edits a low, dirty, scurrilous sheet; and, like his master, gov. johnson, never could elevate himself above the level of a common blackguard. no epithet is too low, too degrading, or disgraceful to be applied to the members of the american party, by either of these billingsgate graduates. decent men shun coming in contact with either of them, as they would avoid a night-cart, or other vehicle of filth. as some fish thrive only in dirty water, so the nashville union and american would not exist a week out of the atmosphere of slang and vituperation. a fit organ, this, for all who arrange themselves under the dark piratical flag of andrew johnson and his progressive democracy. i am the more specific in reference to _eastman_, because i understand he is in this assembly! but, fellow-citizens, i am not yet through with this knoxville speech of the governor. maj. donelson visited knoxville, one month after this slanderous speech was made against him; he visited there upon the invitation of the american party, to address a mass meeting. i waited upon maj. donelson, upon his arrival, and found him at the house of doct. curry. i told the major that i was tired of having questions of veracity between me and governors and ex-governors of tennessee, and that i desired that others should state to him what had been said by the governor. accordingly, different gentlemen, citizens of character, informed him that they were in the crowd and heard johnson, and that he did say all that was attributed to him, both in the letter he had received from me, and in the two knoxville papers. consequently, when maj. donelson made his speech next day, he denounced the governor as a miserable calumniator, and refuted his villainous charges, in a manner becoming the occasion, and with a frankness which carried with it a conviction of its truth, and gave satisfaction to his numerous friends. and now, gentlemen, i take occasion to state, that there is no longer an adjourned question of veracity between me and johnson and eastman. the issue is between johnson and eastman, on the one hand, and various respectable gentlemen of knoxville, on the other hand. either the governor and his man friday have basely lied, or a number of the citizens of knoxville and vicinity, have testified to what is false. i assert, once more, that the governor and his dirty editor have lied out of the villainous abuse the former heaped upon better men than himself. and if their friends are willing to see them remain under the charge, the american party are satisfied with the settlement of the question. fellow-citizens, while i am on the stand, i will notice some other points personal to myself. and before i enter upon these, i will call your attention to the wholesale abuse of the governor, of some thirty-five or forty thousand voters in tennessee. in his murfreesboro' speech, he asserted that "_the devil, his satanic majesty, presides over all the secret conclaves_" held by the know nothings, and that "_they are the allies of the prince of darkness_." i quote from his printed speeches from memory, but it will be found that i quote correctly. in that same speech, he asserts that all know nothings are "_bound by terrible oaths to fix and carry a lie in their mouths_!" in his manchester speech, i believe it was, he called all members of the new party "_hyenas_," and "_huge reptiles, upon whose neck the feet of all honest men ought to be placed_." and in this same speech he says he "would as soon be found in a clan of john a. murrell's men, as in a know nothing council!" what an imputation upon nearly one half of the legal voters of tennessee! he has used the most odious terms his _limited_ knowledge of the english language would enable him to employ, to deride, defame, insult, and blackguard every man who has joined the new party, or dares to act with them in politics. in the plenitude of his bitter and supercilious arrogance, andrew johnson has indulged in language against the entire american party, which would not be tolerated within the precincts of billingsgate, or the lowest fish-market in london. and from johnson to shelby counties, during the entire summer, this low-flung and ill-bred scoundrel, pursued this same strain of vulgar and disgusting abuse. and whether speaking of the most enlightened statesman, the purest patriot, or the most pious clergyman, he pursued the same strain of abuse. with him, a vile demagogue, whose daily employment is to administer to the very worst appetites of mankind, no virtue, no honor, no truth, exists anywhere, but in the breasts of such as are either corrupt enough or fool enough to follow him, and a few malignant falsifiers who worship at his shrine. he is a wretched and vile caterer to the morbid foreign and catholic appetite of this country. "it is a dirty bird that fouls its own nest," says the proverb; and it applies to this man johnson with as much force as to the dirtiest of the feathered tribe. "where is the wretch, so lost, so dead, who never to himself hath said, this is my _own_, my native land!" he now disgraces the executive chair of this gallant state. most of god's creatures, human and brute, have an attachment to "home, sweet home;" but here is a contemptible and selfish demagogue who discards all such feelings, and would transfer his country and home to strangers and outlaws, to european paupers and criminals, if he could thereby receive a temporary election, or receive a pocket-full of money. for such a wretch i have no sympathy, and no feelings but those of scorn and contempt, and hence it is that i speak of him in such terms. on every stump in tennessee, he held me up as "the high priest of the order," representing col. gentry as _my_ candidate. since i came to middle tennessee, i have been informed that he pointed to the fancied fact that i was the head of the order, as an evidence of _its utter want of respectability_. turning up his nose, and grinning significantly, he would inquire, _who is william g. brownlow?_ now, gentlemen, since he makes this issue of _respectability_ with me, i will accept it. since he throws down the glove, i will take it up, and i will show you that he is the last man on god's green earth to call in question the respectability of other men, or their families! it would be both cruel and unbecoming in me to speak of what the dishonest and villainous relatives of gov. johnson have done, if he conducted himself prudently, and did not abuse others with such great profusion. i am not aware of any relative of mine ever having been hung, sent to the penitentiary, or being placed in the stocks. i have no doubt that persons related to me, directly or remotely, have deserved such a fate long since. there is not a man in this vast assembly who can say, and tell the truth, that he has no mean kin. can gov. johnson say so? rather, can he say he has any other kind? he is a member of a numerous family of johnsons, in north carolina, who are generally thieves and liars; and though he is the best one of the family i have ever met with, i unhesitatingly affirm, to-night, that there are better men than andrew johnson in our penitentiary! his relatives in the old north state, have stood in the stocks for crimes they have committed. and his _own born cousin_, madison johnson, was hung in raleigh, for murder and robbery! i told him of this years ago, in jonesboro', and he denied it, and put me to the trouble of procuring the testimony of gov. john m. morehead to prove it! the governor was petitioned to pardon madison johnson, and declined, as he knew he suffered justly. this explains why this _scape-gallows_ has been so bitter against whig and know nothing governors. they have been so unfeeling, as to suffer his dear relatives to _pull hemp without foothold_, when a jury of twelve honest men have said that they deserved death! is he not one of the last men living to talk about a want of respectability on the part of any one? certainly he is! well, gentlemen, johnson is again the governor of tennessee; but if he could be mortified, he would have the mortification to know that he is the governor with a majority of the _legal native votes of the state_ cast in opposition to him. we all committed one capital blunder in the late canvass, and that alone defeated gentry, and elected johnson. we copied from the book of pardons a list of forty-seven names of culprits pardoned out of our state prison by johnson--some for negro-stealing, some for counterfeiting, house-breaking, rape, and other _democratic_ measures--more pardons than all his "illustrious predecessors" ever granted. in copying this list, we said to the voters of the state that johnson had spoken his honest sentiments when he said he preferred being among a clan of murrell men, to being found in a know nothing council; and in the same breath we assured them that if gentry was elected, he would let all such rascals stay in prison as long as the courts of the country decreed they should. and while thousands of honorable, high-minded men voted for johnson, under the lash of party, or because they were blinded by his glaring demerits, it is not to be disguised that all the _petit larceny_ and _penitentiary men_ in the state voted for him. there never was a time in tennessee when there were not five thousand voters who either _had been stealing_, or _intended to steal_! these would naturally look to where they would find a friend, in the event of their being overtaken by justice. in the person of andrew johnson, they felt assured of "a friend indeed, because a friend in _need_." he had publicly told them that he preferred the company of murrell men to the society of the most respectable lawyers, doctors, preachers, farmers, and mechanics in the state, who met in certain councils. the fact of his turning so many murrell men out of the state prison, and of his having been _raised up in such society_, left no doubt of the sincerity of his profession! in conclusion, fellow-citizens, if gov. johnson cannot lawfully canvass the state a _third_ time for the office he now fills, i hope the legislature will legalize such a race by a special act, and i propose to be the candidate against him. i will show the people of the state in his presence, from the same stand, who are murrell men, and who are not able to look honest men in the face! if i have said any thing to-night offensive to your governor, or any of his friends or understrappers in this city, they know where to find me. when i am not on the streets, i can be found at no. 43, on the lower floor of sam scott's city hotel, opposite the ladies' parlor. i shall remain here for the next ten days only, and whatever punishment any one may wish to inflict upon me, it must be done in that time. i say this, not because i seek a difficulty, but because i don't intend it shall be said that i made this speech and took to flight! i thank you, gentlemen, for the patience with which you have heard me in a matter personal to myself, and i hope you are prepared to acquit me of lying in the donelson case, although gov. johnson and editor eastman bear testimony against me. i thank you, and now bid you good night! * * * * * we beg leave to add, that in march, 1842, andrew johnson laid hold of us in a speech in blountville, when we were in jonesborough, distant twenty miles. he held up a picture or drawing of us, and accompanied it with many abusive remarks. in turn, we held him up in the whig of the 29th of the same month, and gave his _pedigree_ in full, and with it a _representation of his cousin madison johnson, under the gallows_ in raleigh! the first monday in april following, johnson spoke in jonesborough, and denied _most solemnly that he ever had a relative by the name of madison johnson--denied that a man of that name had ever been hung in raleigh--and asserted that the man hung there in 1841 was by the name of scott--a nephew, he said, of general winfield scott!_ this bold denial, made in the presence of a large and anxious crowd, overwhelmed us _for the time being_, as johnson was raised in the vicinity of raleigh, and had learned his trade there. he was supposed to know, and for the moment we were branded with falsehood. to aid him in his war upon us, the "_jonesborough sentinel_," johnson's organ, came out upon us, and noticed his denial of our charge and his speech, in an article of which the following is an extract: "brownlow said, some time back, that col. johnson had a cousin hung in north carolina. the colonel developed the fact the day he used up or skinned brownlow alive in jonesborough, _that instead of its being his cousin, it was the nephew of gen. winfield scott_, now a _quasi_ coon candidate for the presidency. brownlow _is so silent_!" after this, the sentinel noticed us again, and this notice drew out weston r. gales, the then editor of the raleigh register, in the following: editorial compliments. "we find the following editorial in the 'jonesboro' (tenn.) sentinel,' a locofoco print, in relation to the editor of the 'jonesboro whig:' "brownlow made an awkward attempt last week to caricature a person who was hung some years ago in north carolina, whom he termed the cousin of col. johnson. but it turns out to have been the nephew of gen. winfield scott, a distinguished coon leader. poor brownlow!--it ought to be his time next. wonder how many hen-roosts he robbed last summer?" "we have nothing to do with whose time it is to be hung next, nor with the number of hen-roosts robbed, nor by whom robbed, but we will take occasion to correct the 'sentinel' as to the person hung here 'some years ago.' "in the spring of 1841, a man named madison johnson was hung in this place for the murder of henry beasley, but we were not aware that he was any relation of col. johnson, if it be meant thereby col. r. m. johnson, of kentucky. he was, however, connected with a. johnson, the candidate for congress in the jonesboro' district, madison and he being first cousins. "the last man hung in this place by the name of scott, was mason scott, in 1820, and if the 'sentinel' means to reflect upon the whig party by saying he was a nephew of gen. winfield scott, a 'distinguished coon leader,' we are willing for him to indulge in such misstatements. "if the 'sentinel' had taken the trouble to consult mr. a. johnson on the subject, he would have satisfied him of the facts, as he was in this city about the time madison was executed." it will be seen, that while johnson was uttering his _solemn but false denial_ at jonesborough, he _knew he was lying_, for he was in raleigh "_about the time madison was executed!_" but we told our friends to hold on, to have patience, and to give us time, and we would make good our charge. accordingly, in the same issue in which we brought out this extract from the raleigh register, we published the following letter from gov. morehead, in answer to one we had written him: raleigh, 24th april, 1843. [executive office.] "dear sir--i have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of yours of the 14th inst., requesting me to inform you what was the name of the man hung in raleigh in the spring of 1841. "his name was madison johnson. his case was taken to the supreme court, and you will find it reported, december term, 1840, vol. 1st, page 354, iredell's reports. "he was hung for the murder of henry beasley. a strong effort was made to procure a pardon for him; but believing his case a clear murder, i refused to grant it. "the only man named scott that was ever convicted of murder at this place, was mason scott, in 1820. "you will find his case reported in the reports of the supreme court, january term, 1820, 1st stark's reports, page 24. "i am not aware that any other man named scott was ever convicted of a capital offence in this county. "i have the honor to be "your most ob't serv't, "j. m. morehead." "rev. w. g. brownlow." in conclusion, after this letter appeared, and johnson was elected, he sent an appointment to raleigh, for a speech--attended there, and blackguarded and vilified "morehead and brownlow" for two hours. he made the _letter_ of morehead the pretext for his abuse, but the real cause was the governor's refusal to _pardon his cousin_. johnson was there to procure his pardon, and brought every appliance to bear within his power, but the north carolina governor was inflexible in the discharge of his sworn duty! we do not make the point against johnson that he has _mean kin_, only so far as it may _offset_ his abuse of others, for who of us are without mean kinsfolks? but our point is, his _deliberate lying_ before a jonesboro' audience! from the knoxville whig of dec. 1, 1855.] governor johnson's thanksgiving day. as the sixth of the present month has been set apart by our governor, to be observed as a day of prayer and thanksgiving to almighty god for his numerous and unmerited mercies conferred upon the people of our state and nation; and as it is desirable that the different sects shall act in concert on the occasion, and at least pray "with the understanding," that is to say, _appropriately_, we have been at the trouble to prepare a form of prayer for the occasion. this we do in no irreverend spirit, but in all candor and sincerity, after this wise: almighty and everlasting god, in whom we live, and move, and have our being: we, thy needy creatures, render thee our humble praises, for thy preservation of us from the beginning of our lives to this day of public thanksgiving, and especially for having delivered us from all the dangers and afflictions of the year about to close. by thy knowledge, most gracious god, the depths were broken up during the past seed-time and harvest, and the rains descended: while by night the clouds distilled the gentle dew, filling our barns with plenty: thus crowning the year with thy goodness, in the increase of the ground, and the gathering in of the fruits thereof. and we beseech thee, o most merciful father, give us a just sense of this great mercy: such as may appear in our lives, by an humble, holy, and obedient walking before thee all our days! to thy watchful providence, o most merciful god, we are indebted for all our mercies, and not any works or merit of ours; for many of us entered into the scramble to elevate to the executive chair of the state the present incumbent, with a perfect knowledge that he had abused thy son, jesus christ, our lord, on the floor of our state senate, as a swindler, advocating unlawful interest: we knew that he had voted in congress against offering prayers to thee: we knew that he had opposed the temperance cause, which is the cause of god and of all mankind: we knew that he had vilified the protestant religion, and slandered the protestant clergy, defending and eulogizing the corruptions of the roman catholic church, throughout the length and breadth of our state; yet such was the force of party ties, o most mighty god, that we went into the support of our infidel governor blind, and, by our zeal in his behalf, gave the lie to our professions of piety, rendered ourselves hateful in the eyes of all honest and consistent men, meriting a degree of punishment we have never received! we do most heartily repent, o merciful god, for these shameful sins: we humble ourselves in lowest depths of humility, and ask forgiveness of a god whom we have justly provoked to anger, and the forgiveness of our insulted brethren, whom we have wickedly blackguarded, to the great injury of the cause of christ! o most merciful god, who art of purer eyes than to behold iniquity, turn not a deaf ear to our supplications on this day, because the day has been set apart by a governor who really does not subscribe to the christian religion; does not attend divine service; who swears profanely; and has insulted heaven and outraged the feelings of all pious christians, by teaching the blasphemous sentiment that christianity is of no higher or holier origin than his democracy! have mercy, our father and god, upon that portion of this congregation who have endeavored to find peace to their souls by travelling along the "converging lines" of a spurious democracy, in search of the foot of "jacob's ladder," and give them repentance and better minds! and do thou, o god of pity, show all such, that instead of ascending to heaven on an imaginary "ladder," they are chained fast to the locomotive of hell, with the devil for their chief engineer, the pope of rome as conductor, and an ungodly governor as breakman; and that, at more than railroad speed, they are driving on to where they are to be eternally punished by him whom thou hast appointed the judge of quick and dead, thy son jesus christ, our lord. amen! [from the knoxville whig of may 24, 1856.] the foreign spirit illustrated. the following correspondence will explain itself, whilst it will serve to show the spirit which governs this bogus foreign catholic democracy: richmond, april 21, 1856. rev. and dear sir:--it cannot be unkind in me, though personally unknown to you, to address you on a subject in which our peace as citizens is alike concerned. i see in the fincastle democrat of 18th inst. what purports to be a review of an article of yours in the knoxville whig of 5th inst., in which i suppose, from the remarks contained in the democrat, i have been very, _very_ severely handled by you, for an offence i never committed. you will allow me to say, sir, that i have no recollection of ever writing or speaking a disrespectful word of you in all my life, but, on the contrary, have frequently spoken approvingly of much you have written. such being the fact, you will not be surprised to learn how deeply i regret that the purest innocence on my part has failed to be a protection against personal abuse. that you have been misled by some person, is to my mind very plain, and if, through the influence of another, you have inflicted a wound upon one that never harmed you, nor ever designed to harm you, is it not within the range of a generous nature--of an honest man--to repair the injury by at once giving up to the injured party the name of the deceiver, or publish him to the world as authority for the assault, and let him assume its responsibilities? in a change of circumstances, i should feel bound, by the honor of a man, to do that much, and in my present relation to the case i ask nothing more. it is perhaps due to you to be informed, that i have not seen your article, nor do i know a word it contains, and it is due to myself to say that i knew nothing of the article in the democrat assailing you, till i saw it in print some hundred of miles from home, where i have not yet arrived after an absence of nearly two months. on the subject of dues, i may add that it is due to the public that the name of the deceiver be given them. i of course suppose him to be a man of great personal courage, ready to assume all his own responsibilities. in conclusion, permit me to say, that any effort on your part to aid in concealing the hand that uses the dagger in the dark, will detract largely from the estimate i have placed upon your character, as a man without hesitation or fear, when the claims of justice are presented. my address is fincastle, botetourt co., va., and i am very respectfully, s. d. hopkins. * * * * * knoxville, may 21st, 1856. rev. s. d. hopkins: sir--through the weakness, mismanagement, and culpable remissness of the contemptible jesuit now at the head of the post office department, and his numerous lackeys--all of whom you sustain in their politics--a letter written by you one month ago was received a few days since, while i was absent at a know nothing convention, aiding my political brethren in placing before the people of this congressional district an electoral candidate, to aid in the great christian and patriotic work of overthrowing the corrupt, profligate, unprincipled, foreign catholic bogus democratic party, of which _you_ are a member, and in the service of which you are an editor! but my delay in replying to your letter shall be atoned for in the _length_ and _plainness_ of my reply. it is true, sir, that i published an editorial in my paper, of some severity against you; but the article was in _reply_ to a low, cowardly, and abusive editorial against me in the "fincastle democrat," of which you are the editor. and "you will allow me to say, sir," that at the time this attack was made upon me in _your_ paper, i never had said a word about you or your paper in my life, either "good, bad, or indifferent;" and "if through the influence of another you have inflicted a wound upon one that never harmed you, is it not within the range of a generous nature--of an honest man"--to repair the injury by taking back the article, and apologizing through the same medium for the injury? if, however, you believe you have not "been misled by some person," and have done me no more than justice in that abusive article, hold on to it. having made oath that the horse is _fifteen feet high_, allow of no correction! in all frankness, you must permit me to say, that i believe you expected to find in the office on your return to fincastle, a letter from me demanding your authority for admitting into your paper such an article against me, who, as you very well knew, up to that hour had never said one word, publicly or privately, against you or your paper. i think you concluded to _take the start of me_, and thus to _forestall_ me, by writing from richmond some twenty-four hours before you would arrive at home! in your paper of the 18th of april, issued only three days before this letter was written at richmond, an editorial of half a column appears, in which _your_ paper styles me a "notorious blackguard"--a "bullying blackguard"--an "unwanted and lying man"--who "is mean enough to lie, cheat, or even steal"--a man "wearing the garb of righteousness to serve the devil in;" and in the same article, the case of a locofoco editor, who was involved in a shooting scrape on account of his attack upon a lady, is actually attributed to me! although you are a reverend methodist preacher, and a grave and dignified steam doctor, conducting one of the organs of the foreign and anti-american party in virginia, you must pardon me for saying, as i now do, that in calling upon me for my authority for what i had said in reply to the unmitigated abuse of _your_ paper, you have proven to my mind, that if you do not possess the cool and collected impudence of the _devil_, you are at least possessed of the lion-headed impudence of an unprincipled sag nicht partisan, hired to do the dirty work of an equally unprincipled and dirty organization! but it is due to the history of this controversy that i should say, this second attack upon me sets forth that you are from home, and that "the _junior_ is responsible for the article." this might be credited, if, on your return home, you had protested against such abuse, but it seems from your silence to have met with your heart's approval, and gave "general satisfaction," at least to _you_! it is true that you were absent at the time of both these publications, but it does not follow, as a matter of course, that you were not the veritable author, and that they did not find their way to the "democrat" office at the same time and in the same way that your "baltimore correspondence" got there. the "junior," as he styles himself, claims the fraternity; and were it not that he is too well known in fincastle for any sane man to believe that _he_ wrote the articles, he might have the credit (if credit there be attached to it) of so low, malicious, and lying articles. but he is known in fincastle to be a brainless man, and to be incapable of writing a paragraph on any subject. he is known to have no use of language, and to be incapable of applying epithets to any one. so that, if _you_ did not write these articles, they were manufactured at "irish corner," in fincastle, your "junior" not being able to do it, for the reason that he is wholly incapable. my opinion is, that the articles were manufactured by the "great mogul" of the anti-american party in your town, and if he will only avow himself the author, i will make some disclosures upon him that will make him wish himself back in "swate ireland," where he "lives, and moves, and has his being;" no disclosures are necessary--his books, and his person, damn him to everlasting infamy. he has the filthiest-looking mouth, and the most offensive breath, of any man in the valley of virginia. no man who knows him will meet him square on the pavement, or place himself in a position, if it can be avoided, of meeting a breeze from that great reservoir of all nastiness, his mouth! it is really a wonder how any human being can live, and emit all the time a stream of such overwhelming and uninterrupted stench! you must permit me to christen this man as the but-cut of original sin, and the upper-crust of all nastiness! it may not set well upon your stomach, that being a "minister of the gospel, and having the care of souls," i should seem not to place implicit confidence in your denial of any participation in this unprovoked war upon me. i will be candid with you, and though it is possible for me to be mistaken in my views, still, if i am, i am honestly deceived. i have no confidence in the moral honesty and christian integrity of any protestant preacher, of any denomination, in this country, who openly arrays himself against the american party, and takes the side of the catholics, foreigners, and self-styled democrats associated with them. nor will i hear one such preach or pray, if i know him to be such, and can get out of his hearing. the growing light and improvements of this age forbid that an intelligent and pious man and minister should identify himself with that party. and the fiery genius, corrupting tendencies, and uncompromising intolerance of that party, are rapidly driving good and true men out of the party. there never was a time since the division of parties in this country, when i had so little confidence in what is called the democratic party as at present; and as at present organized and constituted, i believe it to be the most corrupt organization. it is made up of the odds and ends of all factions and parties on the continent, and is one of the most anomalous combinations of fanaticism, idolatry, prostitution, crime, and absurdities conceivable! the _isms_ composing the party of which you are a member, are: abolitionism; free-soilism; agrarianism; fourieritism; millerism; radicalism; woman's rightsism; mobism; mormonism; spiritualism; locofocoism; higher-lawism; foreign pauperism; anti-americanism; roman catholicism; deism, and modern sag nichtism! all this tide of fanaticism and error, originating north of mason and dixon's line, went for pierce in the last presidential contest: they are with that party now, against the american party; and it is bad company in which to find a protestant minister! yet, miserable protestants hesitate not to commend these enemies of the natural rights of man, and of the christian religion, as being just as good christians as their neighbors! "oh! judgment, thou hast fled to brutish beasts; and men have not their reason!" but, doctor, why were you at baltimore? why, sir, during the past year, you and other conscientious methodists took it into your heads to arraign a young man who was travelling your circuit, mr. hall, and, for the church's good, to have him expelled, whose great sin was that he was a _know-nothing_, or sympathized with the order! the authorities of the church, after a patient hearing of the whole case, pro and con, acquitted the young man. you followed him up to the annual conference, as the representative of and attorney for sag nichtism. the conference acquitted the young preacher again, and sent him to an enlightened circuit in maryland. this so offended you, and your patriotic, not to say _pious_ associates, that, for the church's good, they resigned their stewardship in the church, and were so offended at the course of the presiding elder, _rev. m. goheen_, than whom there is not a more modest, unassuming, conservative christian gentleman in the valley of virginia, that, at a recent quarterly meeting there, they refused to attend church, or to hear him preach. this is just the spirit that actuates your party, everywhere. you demand of me the name or names of such person or persons as have given me information in reference to you. reconsider this demand, if you please, and ask yourself if, under all the circumstances, it is not a cool piece of impudence. i have published nothing about you upon the authority of others, but upon my own authority and responsibility. you _suspect_ some of your neighbors for writing to me, and hence you make this demand. it is true, i have friends in fincastle, and some of these write to me, and when i publish any thing about you, or any one of your associates, and give these friends of mine as authority, i will give you their names, if called upon to do so; or i will assume the responsibility myself. what i have said in reply to the wicked, slanderous, and cowardly assault upon me, in the dirty paper controlled by you, i have said upon my own responsibilities, as a man, and as a member of the same church to which you belong; and whether my "peace as a citizen" is preserved or destroyed, i am not the man to be intimidated or driven from my position. my failure to give you the names of any citizens of your vicinity, who may have written me private letters, relating to your war upon young hall, the circuit preacher, "will detract largely from the estimate you have placed upon my character." this i am sorry to hear, as i do not wish to fall below the "estimate" placed upon my character in the two issues of your paper, now before me! this would be reaching "a lower deep," as the poet classically styles it! now, sir, i have a letter from a town in virginia, not far distant from fincastle, written by a gentleman of as "great personal courage" as you or myself, who states, that a gentleman who was present at the trial of rev. mr. hall, heard you make the assertion, on that occasion, that you alone were responsible for all the editorials that appeared in the "democrat," and that the "junior" partner was not! if you think proper to make an issue with this gentleman, you can have his name! i am, dr. hopkins, your humble servant, w. g. brownlow, _editor of the knoxville whig._ [from the knoxville whig.] to stephen tribble. villainous sir:--letters from my friends in the west inform me that you are making a full team in the service of the devil, locofocoism, and crime, in portions of missouri and kentucky! you have recently held forth in charleston, a pleasant post-village, the capital of mississippi county, missouri, about six miles south-west of the "father of waters!" in that town you undertook to inform the good people, the circuit judge being present, _who i am_, and to demonstrate that i am not entitled to credit in any thing i say! you claimed to have once lived in east tennessee--to know the people and the country--and to have known william t. senter and james y. crawford, two other methodist preachers, whose _pedigrees_ you pretend to give! mr. senter was an able man--a moral and upright man--and a whig representative in congress, from the district you represented _in the jail of sullivan county_, for a long time previous to your being _branded in the hand and on the cheeks_, for manslaughter, the particulars of which i will remind you of before i close this familiar letter! mr. senter could have gone to congress longer, but voluntarily retired. mr. crawford was a brother-in-law to mr. senter, and was a preacher of respectable talents, and in good standing in his church. they are both in their graves, beyond the reach of your malice, where the sound of your infamous voice, and the words of your lying tongue, can never penetrate their ears! but i am still above ground, daily kicking, and making war upon the locofoco paupers and foreign catholics, as well as native traitors, with whom you are associated, and with whom you act in politics. i acknowledge myself to be game for you to hunt down! you are now a _campbellite preacher_ as well as a _sag nicht missionary_; and the garb of religion you wear, gives a degree of weight to your falsehoods and slanders, among strangers, that they otherwise would not have. the idea of "_stev tribble_," who ingloriously fled from this country for crimes he could not meet in open court, being a preacher, and itinerating through the west, "in search of the lost sheep of the house of israel," is so ridiculous, as scarcely to be believed at all, although there is no doubt but what he has been regularly installed in kentucky, and now has the "care of souls." why, you unmitigated old villain, your whole career, from your "youth up," has been one of crime and revolting blackguardism. while a boy and a young man, where hoss's school was taught in washington county, your vulgar conversation, immoral practices, indecent habits, and blackguardism, disgusted the entire neighborhood, and rendered you so odious that no decent family would board you! all the waters of the far-famed _jordan_, in the palmiest days of that bold stream, were not sufficient to wash your sins away! if the lord bishop of london were to _immerse_ you as often as "seventy times seven," in the waters of "bold jordan," and in the name of the holy trinity, you would still remain what you were when you fled from this country to avoid the extreme penalty of the law--one of the greatest scoundrels for whom christ died! yourself and half-brother _havron_ were confined in blountville jail, for the murder of _william humphreys_, a promising young man, whom you brutally assaulted and murdered in open daylight in the streets of kingsport, in sullivan county, and without provocation! _you_ were tried and convicted of _manslaughter_, and branded in the _hand_ and on the _cheek_. after being branded, you _bit the letters out of your hand_, and _clawed them out of your face_, but the _scars_ are to be seen in both. indeed, i have been written to, to know why these scars are on your face! i take this method of answering those inquiries; and publishing them in my "whig," which has a circulation of 5,000, and our "campaigner," which circulates 7,000 copies, i shall be able to introduce you to as many persons as may have heard you preach my funeral. while in the blountville jail, with your half-brother, havron, whose blow killed humphreys, after you had weakened him, you caught hold of the jailor, montgomery irvin, and held him in a scuffle, when he entered the room with your dinner, until havron made his escape. havron would have pulled hemp, had he not escaped; and had our penitentiary system existed at that time, you would have been sentenced for life! but you would not have remained there longer than the past summer, as we have a governor who pardons out all such men, and has more sympathies for them than any other executive officer in the nation. you have a half-brother who is a sag nicht member of our legislature, and a great friend and supporter of our governor and his foreign associates, and he could have turned you out and procured for you an office if you had remained. but then you followed the teachings of "the spirit" of sag nichtism, in leaving between two days, and emigrating to kentucky, as many precious souls would never have "heard the word," or had their sin washed away, but for you! in an unmentionable and disgraceful enterprise, you became possessed of a _broken leg_, and were mean enough to abscond without paying the bill of your physician, dr. patton, whose unremitting attention saved you from your grave, and from the clutches of the devil, sooner than the old fellow was prepared for your reception! if you had the honor of a first class thief, you would pay this medical bill out of the proceeds of the first public collection you take up, either in missouri or kentucky. and if you suffer it to go unpaid until your infinitely infernal career is wound up, the day of judgment will disclose the manner of your breaking your leg! if i were you, i would sooner pay this bill now, than to be asked in the great day how my leg was broken! disgraced as you are, unprincipled and villainous, you have gone into kentucky, taken upon yourself "holy orders," and married a wife, imposing most shamefully upon the family into which you married. the woman you have thus imposed upon, would be justifiable now, in the eyes of both god and man, in forsaking you and applying for a divorce. and no court or jury would refuse her application, when made acquainted with your character. it is a remarkable fact--one that i desire to call, not so much to your notice, as to the notice of the public generally--that while all the members of this foreign democratic party are by no means villains, destitute of principle; yet, all the assassins, cut-throats, thieves, and hypocrites in the country have crowded into the ranks of that party! fawned upon, fostered and pampered by the villainous leaders, demagogues, and tricksters of the party, who need the services of all such scavengers, you are encouraged to act with them. these leaders, who are really no better than you are, _generously_ admit you to a fellowship, and _courteously_ acknowledge all such abandoned rascals to be their equals! such men, to a great extent, now constitute the free-democracy of the country--they desecrate the ballot-box--disgust decent men wherever they come in contact with them--blaspheme the name of god--and swear that they will either rule or ruin the country! but, sir, it was said of a certain man in the scriptures, that he was a "sinner above all the sinners that dwell in jerusalem." so it may in perfect truth be said of you, that you are a scoundrel above all the scoundrels in the hateful ranks of sag nichtism. you deserve, for your depraved course of life, a greater punishment than you have received or are likely to receive in this life. the guilt of foul calumny, of the most black and odious kind, attaches to every sentence uttered by your lying tongue. guilt, the offspring of fiend-like malice, shamefully false, deeply corrupt, and badly matured: perfidy, dishonesty, and rank poison--hot incense of murder, theft, inhuman spoliation, and deep, dark forebodings of damnation have been rooted and grounded in your heart, for lo! these many years! dark despair, endless death, inexpressible misery, manifold, and worse than death, follow in the ghastly train of your crimes, and riot in your corrupt bosom, as with infernal drunkenness of delight! the record of your deep depravity, of your utter want of principle, and of your ten thousand villainous exploits, is _stereotyped_ upon the burning sands of eternity, and stamped on the imperishable walls of the _rotunda_ of the devil's hell, to which you are driving at railroad speed! in upper east tennessee, where you are known, it would disgrace an _algerine bandit_ to sit and hear you pretend to preach! _you_ pretend to preach christ and him crucified, and _immerse_ persons in the name of the trinity! shrouded in the _sackcloth and ashes_ of disgrace, enclosed in a _vault_ filled to the brim with _buried and putrefied venality_, and steeped to the very nose and chin in crime, how dare you attempt to preach! i repeat, you vile slanderer of the living and the dead, that, in justice to the cause of god and of civilization, i will keep spread the unfurled banner of your infamy on every breeze, and cause it to float in the atmosphere of every state in this union, until your very _name_ becomes a mockery and a by-word! and i call upon the people of kentucky and missouri to ring the loud knell of your infamy, from steep to steep, and from valley to valley, until their swelling sounds are heard in startling echoes, mingling with the rush of the criminal's torrent, and the mighty cataract's earthquake-voice! w. g. brownlow, _editor of the knoxville whig._ june 7th, 1856. an expose of roman catholicism. the following articles, setting forth the designs and tendency of romanism in the united states, appeared in the "knoxville whig" of may and june, 1856, and will speak for themselves. the writer has opposed the papal hierarchy for twenty years; and in a series of articles, now filed in a number of the "jonesborough whig," published _sixteen years ago_, he _predicted_ that the very state of things we are now realizing would come upon us as soon as the year 1860, and that the party calling itself by the revered name of _democrat_, would identify itself with political romanism! the catholic question.--no. i. the american party and the religious test--the louisiana delegation and the gallican catholics--the vote of the philadelphia convention to admit the louisiana delegates--the american councils in louisiana--catholics proper cannot be true citizens of a republic. it is sometimes said by the anties, that the american party, at their late philadelphia convention, dismissed the catholic question from their platform, and that they admitted into their council a catholic delegation from louisiana. we were in that convention, from the hour of its opening until its final close, and we deny both statements. the fifth and tenth sections of the platform adopted at philadelphia, and for which we voted, are in the following words, and they express all our platform says upon that subject: 5th. no person should be selected for political station, (whether of native or foreign birth,) who recognizes any allegiance or obligation of any description to any foreign prince, potentate, or power, or who refuses to recognize the federal and state constitutions (each within its sphere) as paramount to all other laws, as rules of political action. 10th. opposition to any union between church and state; no interference with religious faith or worship, and no tests oaths for office. the american party was against political romanism--against all who acknowledge any allegiance to a foreign prince, potentate, or power; or who acknowledge any authority on earth, higher and more binding than the constitutions of our states, and general government. and those who are familiar with the temporal assumptions of popery, and the political intrigues of the order of jesuits, can have no other feelings than those of disgust, upon hearing the locofoco demagogues of the country cry out against the american party for their opposition to the poor catholics! against popes confined to _rome_, we make no war; but against popes usurping civil and spiritual authority, in america, we protest most solemnly, and intend to make war, unrelenting and unceasing war! the louisiana delegation, five in number, were _two_ methodist--_one_ old school presbyterian--one episcopalian--and the other, mr. eustes, a member of congress, not a member of any church. those gentlemen presented their credentials for admission, and they were objected to, because roman catholics were admitted into the order by the louisiana state council. a warm debate ensued, on a motion to admit the delegation, on their credentials, which finally prevailed, by yeas 67, nays 50, many of the members having left for their lodgings, because of the lateness of the hour, and of their fatigue. _we_ were in favor of their admission, and so was mr. nelson, of east tennessee, and we both claim to be _ultra_ protestant, if the reader please. the "catholicism" of louisiana, we wish it borne in mind--that is the gallican wing of the church--is a very different species of "catholicism" from that of our irish and german hierarchy taught in this country, under the training of archbishop hughes and monseigneur bedini, the pope's villainous nuncio. the french gallican church has so little respect for the pope of rome, that when the king of sardinia was in paris, less than twelve months ago, though he was under the interdict of a papal bull of excommunication from pius ix., the gallican archbishops of pius, and other priests associated with them, visited him regularly, and tendered him unbounded courtesies and honors. the gallican wing of the catholic church of france is liberal, as well as hostile to the insulting claims and pretensions of the pope. but it is diluted still more with liberality, and with opposition to these claims of the pope, among the french creoles of louisiana. most of them, though roman catholics by name, from being educated in the forms of the roman church, have just about as much respect for rome, and confidence in the pope, as we have, and god knows that is very little. they denounce papal bulls, interdicts, and nuncios. they throw off all temporal and spiritual allegiance to the pope--the civil authorities of the united states with them are supreme--they are american born--and hence, our platform does not exclude them, and consequently they were admitted at philadelphia, or, which is the same, their representatives. in 1652, under louis xiv., the gallican clergy met in paris, and adopted the following point: "that the pope has no power, of _divine right_, to interfere with the temporal affairs of independent states." thus, the catholics of louisiana rejecting the doctrine of the temporal power of the pope, are not proscribed by the american party. they constitute a sound portion of the american party. mr. lathrop, a presbyterian elder, and a delegate from louisiana, read to the convention from the ritual of the subordinate organizations of the american party of louisiana, and showed that, while it admitted those to membership who professed the roman catholic religion, it required of them the denial of allegiance to any temporal authority not cognizable in the state and united states constitutions; and from each secured a pledge, upon oath, that they would not divulge the secrets of the order! he defended the louisiana catholics, as being true americans, recognizing no civil or spiritual power in their priests, and resisting every attempt, whether by a bishop or priest, to interfere with the institutions of our country. he cited cases which had occurred in louisiana, of controversies between the clergy and laity, for the control of church property, and the decisions of courts over which gallican catholic judges presided, in favor of titles and control vesting in trustees, the laity. he showed that the native catholics of louisiana were the friends of common schools, and the advocates of popular education. he proclaimed aloud that the native catholics of his state recognized no persons as proper depositaries of office, who acknowledged an allegiance to any person, civil or ecclesiastical, superior to that of the laws and constitution of our country. he proclaimed that the nuncios of the pope of rome hated these louisiana catholics, with a more perfect hatred than they did the "apostle heretics" called protestants! this speech was received with unbounded applause, the question was called, and, as we have before stated, it was sanctioned, very properly too, by a vote of 67 to 50! the american party not only advocate religious toleration, but religious liberty, which is a very different thing. toleration is not the word in our vocabulary--it does not express enough, because it implies the right to _permit_ or _prohibit_. we contend for liberty, the meaning of which is, that men are not responsible _to each other, to popes, bishops, or priests_, for their religious opinions or practices, and that consequently religion is not a subject of toleration. the catholics, proper, have taken an oath of allegiance to the pope of rome, a "foreign prince, potentate, and power," and their obligations to him are higher, more sacred, and more binding, than any obligations they can take upon them to support the laws and constitution of this country. these are the men that we refuse to vote for, or put in office. they are not and cannot be true americans. the oaths of the priests bind them to war upon all protestant sects, and upon all republican powers of government. these oaths bind them to the foot of the papal throne; and with these oaths upon their souls, they cannot be true citizens of this republic without perjury. and if guilty of perjury, the state prison should be their residence. in our next, we shall consider this subject more at length, in connection with the oath of allegiance to our country, and the catholic evasion of that oath. the catholic question--no. 2. ambiguous terms in swearing--the case of judge gaston--temporal power of the pope--catholic authorities in europe--the spirit of the catholic press in america! we are told by the democratic sympathizers with the catholics, that all catholic emigrants to this country take an oath of allegiance to the united states upon becoming naturalized. yes, they do, and the oath after it is taken, has no more weight with them, than has a regular-built know nothing speech. here is a paragraph from sanchez, the highest authority in the catholic church, pope pius only excepted. this writer, "by authority," shows how this oath of allegiance is evaded by a mental reservation: "it is lawful to use ambiguous terms to give the impression a different sense from that which you understand yourself. a person may take an oath that he has not done such a thing, though in fact he has, by saying to himself it was not done on a certain day, or before he was born, or by any other similar circumstances, which gives another meaning to it. this is extremely convenient, and always very just, when necessary to your health, honor or prosperity." here, then, we have it from the highest catholic authority, that catholics are absolved from all allegiance to this government, because they take the oath of allegiance without committing perjury, by the holy process of a mental reservation--the use of "ambiguous terms," setting forth one thing while they swear another! we have no doubt that chief justice taney, a devoted catholic of baltimore, and now at the head of the supreme court of the united states, took his oath of office requiring him to support the constitution, with this same mental reservation. we have no doubt that those catholic judges upon the federal bench in several states in the union, and those catholic attorney generals, appointed to office by mr. pierce, so understood their oaths of office, and of allegiance! and the practice of post-master general campbell, a bigoted catholic, and a member of the order of jesuits, proves that he so understood his oath to support the constitution. as true catholics, they are bound to swear with this mental reservation, because they could not owe allegiance to a government of "heretics," such as they believe ours to be. as catholics, they are bound to overthrow our constitution, and aid in the destruction of our government. it is a matter of history that when the legislature of north carolina elected judge gaston to the supreme bench in that state, he hesitated as to whether he would take the oath or not. and why? he was, although an able man, and in all the private relations of life a most excellent man, a decided and devoted roman catholic. this is not all. the oath of a judge in that state, which is not common in other states, requires the man taking it to avow his belief in the protestant religion. judge gaston asked for a few days to consider--he went instantly to baltimore, as was believed, to consult the catholic bishop, who then resided there--obtained a dispensation, as was supposed--wrote back that he would accept the office--returned, was qualified, and to the day of his death was on the bench! this affair illustrates romanism. and what rome was, she is, and always will be. can rome change? can the ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots? here is what philopater, an approved catholic authority of the first grade, says, touching the principle in controversy: "all theologians and ecclesiastical lawyers affirm that every christian government, as soon as it openly abandons the _romish faith_, is instantly degraded from all power and dignity: all the subjects are absolved from the oath of fidelity and obedience which they have taken, and they may and ought, if they have the power, to drive such government from every christian state, as an apostate, heretic, and deserter from jesus christ. this certain and indubitable decision of all the most learned men is perfectly conformed to the most apostolic doctrines." our locofoco advocates of romanism deny that the pope lays claim to the supremacy charged by the american party. on this point, we desire that the catholics may speak for themselves. one of their standard writers, farraris, in his ecclesiastical dictionary, a work endorsed by their council of bishops and cardinals, under the article headed "pope," uses this emphatic and expressive language: "the pope is of such dignity and highness, that he is not simply man, but, as it were, god, and the vicar of god. hence the pope is such supreme and sovereign dignity, that, properly speaking, he is not merely constituted in dignity, but is rather placed on the very summit of dignities. hence, also, the pope is rather father of fathers, and he alone can use this name, because he only can be called father of fathers: since he possesses the primacy over all, is truly greater than all, and the greatest of all. he is called most holy, because he is presumed to be such. on account of the excellency of his supreme dignity, he is called bishop of bishops, ordinary of ordinaries, universal bishop of the church, bishop of diocesan, of the whole world, divine monarch, supreme emperor, and king of kings." peter dens, of maynooth college notoriety, whose "theology" is the highest catholic authority known this side of the vatican at rome, gives entire the bull of pope sixtus v. against the king of navarre and the prince of conde, whom he styles the _sons of wrath_. in this bull, issued in the year 1585, he says: "the authority given to saint peter and his successors, by the immense power of the eternal king, _excels all the power of earthly kings and princes_. it passeth uncontrollable sentence upon them all. and if it find any of them resisting god's obedience, it takes more severe vengeance on them, casting them down from their thrones, however powerful they may be, and tumbling them down to the lowest parts of the earth, as the ministers of aspiring lucifer." here is what _daniel o'connell_ said so late as 1843, and he was a true catholic and a true exponent of this faith: "you should do all in your power to carry out the intentions of his holiness the pope. where you have the electoral franchise, give your votes to none but those who will assist you in so holy a struggle. "i declare my most unequivocal submission to the head of the church, and to the hierarchy in its different orders. if the bishop makes a declaration on this bill, i never would be heard speaking against it, but would submit at once unequivocally to that decision. they have only to decide, and i close my mouth: they have only to determine, and i obey. i wish it to be understood that _such is the duty of all catholics_."--_daniel o'connell_, 1843. here comes one of the pope's organs in france: "a heretic, examined and convicted by the church, used to be delivered over to the secular power and punished with death. nothing has ever appeared to us more necessary. more than one hundred thousand persons perished in consequence of the heresy of wickliffe; a still greater number for that of john huss; and it would not be possible to calculate the bloodshed caused by luther; and it is not yet over."--_paris univers._ "as for myself, what i regret, i frankly own, is that they did not burn john huss sooner, and that they did not likewise burn luther; this happened because there was not found some prince sufficiently politic to stir up a crusade against protestants."--_paris univers._ but here is the pope himself arguing with the authorities already quoted: "the absurd or erroneous doctrines or ravings in defence of liberty of conscience, is a most pestilential error--a pest, of all others, most to be dreaded in a state."--_encyclical letter of pope pius ix., aug._ 15, 1852. now, let us hear their organs in our own country: "heresy and unbelief are crimes, and in christian countries, like italy and spain for instance, where all the people are catholics, and where the christian religion is an essential part of the law of the land, they are punished as other crimes."--_r. c. archbishop of st. louis._ "for our own part, we take this opportunity of expressing our hearty delight at the suppression of the protestant chapel at rome. this may be thought intolerant, but when, we would ask, _did we ever profess to be tolerant of protestantism_, or favor the doctrine that protestantism _ought to be tolerated_? on the contrary, we hate protestantism--we detest it with our whole heart and soul, and we pray that our aversion to it may never decrease. we hold it meet that in the eternal city no worship repugnant to _god_ should be tolerated, and we are sincerely glad that the enemies of truth are no longer allowed to meet together in the capital of the christian world."--_pittsburg catholic visitor_, 1848. "no good government can exist without religion; and there can be no religion without an _inquisition_, which is wisely designed for the promotion and protection of the true faith."--_boston pilot._ "you ask, if he (the pope) were lord in the land, and you were in a minority, if not in numbers, yet in power, what would he do to you? that, we say, would entirely depend on circumstances. if it would _benefit the cause of catholicism_, he would tolerate you--if expedient, he would imprison you--banish you--possibly, _hang you_--but be assured of one thing, he would never tolerate you for the sake of the _'glorious principles' of civil and religious liberty._"--_rambler._ "protestantism of every form has not and never can have any rights where catholicity is triumphant."--_brownson's quarterly review._ "let us dare to assert the truth in the face of the lying world, and, instead of pleading for our church at the bar of the state, _summon the state itself to plead at the bar of the church, its divinely constituted judge_."--_ibid._ "i never think of publishing any thing in regard to the church without submitting my articles to the bishop for inspection, approval, and endorsement."--_ibid._ in view of the foregoing, and other facts and arguments which we will hereafter present, we cannot be mistaken in our views of roman catholicism. we cannot tamely surrender our dearest rights as protestants, without a struggle. we cannot cry peace, peace, when there is no peace! "protestantism, of every kind, catholicity inserts in her catalogue of moral sins; she endures it when and where she must; but she hates it, and directs all her energies to effect its destruction."--_st. louis shepherd of the valley._ "religious liberty, in the sense of a liberty possessed by every man to choose his religion, is one of the most wretched delusions ever foisted on this age by the father of deceit."--_the rambler_, 1853. "the church is of necessity intolerant. heresy she endures when and where she must, but she hates it, and directs all her energies to its destruction. if catholics ever gain an immense numerical majority in this country, religious freedom is at an end. so say our enemies. so say we."--_shepherd of the valley._ "the liberty of heresy and unbelief is not a right.... all the rights the sects have, or can have, are derived from the state, and rest on expediency. as they have, in their character of sects hostile to the true religion, no rights under the law of nature or the law of god, they are neither wronged nor deprived of liberty, if the state refuses to grant them any rights at all."--_brownson's review, oct., 1853_, p. 456. "the sorriest sight to us is a catholic throwing up his cap, and shouting, 'all hail, democracy!'"--_ibid, october, 1852_, pp. 554-8. "we think the 'masses' were never less happy, less respectable, and less respected, than they have been since the reformation, and particularly within the last fifty or one hundred years, since lord brougham caught the mania of teaching them to read and communicate the disease to a large proportion of the english nation; of which, in spite of all our talk, we are often the servile imitators."--_shepherd of the valley, oct. 22, 1853._ the catholic question--no. 3. the catholic church supreme over all authorities--meddling in political contests--brownson's review and the boston pilot reflecting the sentiments of that church--protestants advocating romanism--the nashville union in 1835. the anti-american, foreign-loving, catholic admirers of the locofoco school of politics, everywhere seek to frighten native protestant citizens with the bugbear cry of religious proscription. but let americans and protestants watch with increased vigilance both the roman and locofoco jesuits around them. to call the damnable and accursed system of political intrigue practised for past centuries by the roman church by the term _religion_, is a solemn mockery of the hallowed word. religion teaches love and obedience to god, and the legally constituted authorities of the country. romanism teaches fear of and obedience to a crowned potentate called the pope, and opposition to all protestant governments, as worthy to be cast down to hell! the one tends to free and ennoble the soul: the other to enslave and debauch every faculty of man's nature which likens him to the almighty! the one is republican: the other is barbaric, and at war with every principle of free government! the american party does oppose and denounce romanism _as a political system at war_ with american institutions; and we here ask candid men to weigh the evidence we shall adduce to sustain this charge. we shall quote none other than roman catholic authority--the organs of romanism--so as out of their own mouths to condemn them. brownson's review is the accredited organ of romanism in the united states. he ostentatiously parades the names of the archbishops and bishops on the cover of his review, to give it the stamp of authority, and asserts in the work: "i never think of publishing any thing in regard to the church without submitting my articles to the bishop for inspection, approval, and endorsement." let us then look to his pages for an exposition of the doctrines of his church. in the january number for 1853, he says: "for every catholic at least, the church is the supreme judge of the extent and limits of her power. she can be judged by no one; and this of itself implies her absolute supremacy, and that the temporal order must receive its laws from her." the uniform practice of the church of rome has been, and still is, to assert her power--not in _words_, but in _deeds_--to give or take away crowns--to depose ungodly rulers, and to absolve their subjects from their "horrible" oaths of allegiance! again, in the july number for 1853, brownson says: "the church is supreme, and you have no power except what you hold in subordination to her, either in spirituals or in temporals.... you no more have political than ecclesiastical independence. the church alone, under god, is independent, and she defines both your powers and hers." "they have heard it said from their youth up that the church has nothing to do with politics; that she has received no mission in regard to the political order." "in opposing the nonjuring bishops and priests, they believed they were only asserting their national rights as men, or as the state, and were merely resisting the unwarrantable assumption of the spiritual power. if they had been distinctly taught that the political authority is always subordinate to the spiritual, and had grown up in the doctrine that the nation is not competent to define, in relation to the ecclesiastical power, its own rights--that the church defines both its powers and her own, and that though the nation may be, and ought to be, independent in relation to other nations, it has, and can have, no independence in the face of the church, the kingdom of god on earth: they would have seen at a glance that support of the civil authority against the spiritual, no matter in what manner, was the renunciation of their faith as catholics, and the actual or virtual assertion of the supremacy of the temporal power." in the same number, page 301, he says: "she (the church) has the right to judge who has, or has not, according to the law of god, the right to reign: whether the prince has, by his infidelity, his misdeeds, his tyranny and oppression, forfeited his trust, and lost his right to the allegiance of his subjects; and therefore whether they are still held to their allegiance, or are released from it by the law of god. if she have the right to judge, she has the right to pronounce judgment, and order its execution: therefore to pronounce sentence of deposition upon the prince who has forfeited his right to reign, and to declare his subjects absolved from their allegiance to him, and free to elect themselves a new sovereign." we might multiply authorities of this kind on this point, to an almost indefinite extent, from the debate between bishop hughes and mr. breckenridge, and the controversy between hughes and erastus brooks, but it is wholly unnecessary. as early as 1844, the catholics took their stand as a body in the arena of political strife; and the illustrious clay and the virtuous frelinghuysen were the victims of their particular hostility. mr. frelinghuysen was the president of the board of foreign missions, and this was made the _excuse_ for the bitter animosity of the catholic press, and of the clergy and membership of the catholic sect, against mr. clay. brownson, in his july number for 1844, in the very heat of the contest, thus assailed mr. clay: "he is ambitious, but short-sighted. he is abashed by no inconsistency, disturbed by no contradiction, and can defend, with a firm countenance, without the least misgiving, what everybody but himself sees to be a political fallacy or logical absurdity.... he is no more disturbed by being convinced of moral insensibility, than intellectual absurdity.... a man of rare abilities, but apparently void of both moral and intellectual conscience.... he is, therefore, a man whom no power under that of the almighty can restrain; he must needs be the most dangerous man to be placed at the head of affairs it is possible to conceive." the boston pilot, another catholic organ, published under the eye of the bishop, discloses _the same plot_, in its issue for the 31st of october, 1844, only six days before the election! here is what this organ said: "we say to all men in the united states, entitled to be naturalized, become citizens while you can--let nothing delay you for an hour--let no hindrance, short of mortal disease, banish you from the ballot-box. to those who are citizens, we say, vote your principles, whatever they may be--never desert them--do not be wheedled or terrified--but vote quietly, and unobtrusively. leave to others the noisy warfare of words. let your opinions be proved by your deliberate and determined action. we recommend you to no party; we condemn no candidate but one, and he is theodore frelinghuysen. we have nothing to say to him as a whig--we have nothing to say to mr. clay or any other whig, as such--but to the president of the american board of foreign missions, the friend and patron of the kirks and cones, we have much to say. we hate his intolerance--we dislike his associates--and shudder at the blackness and bitterness of that school of sectarians to which he belongs, and amongst whom he is regarded as an authority." protestants! do you hear that? old line whigs! do you hear that? if so, do you think that americans are warring upon civil and religious liberty, when they take an oath that they will rebuke such infamous sentiments? these appeals of brownson, hughes, and the pilot, had the effect to defeat the clay ticket in new york, and that state lost him his election. the catholics were all at the polls, and voted for polk and dallas. on the 9th of november, 1844, frelinghuysen wrote to mr. clay as follows: "more than 3,000, it is confidently said, have been naturalized in this city (new york) alone since the first of october. it is an alarming fact that this foreign vote has decided the great questions of american policy, and contracted a nation's gratitude." and after they achieved the victory of 1844, brownson came out with this avowal: "heretofore we have taken our politics from one or another of the parties which divide the country, and have suffered the enemies of our religion to impose their political doctrine upon us; but it is time for us to begin to teach the country itself those moral and political doctrines which flow from the teachings of our own church. we are at home here, wherever we may have been born; this is our country, and as it is to become thoroughly catholic, we have a deeper interest in public affairs than any other of our citizens. the sects are only for a day; the church for ever." when gen. cass made his speech in the senate, in 1852, in favor of free worship and the rights of conscience for americans abroad, reflecting on the catholics by name, brownson came out in his october number, and said: "we are glad to see gen. cass laid on the shelf, for we can never support a man who turns radical in his old age." in the same number, brownson continues: "the sorriest sight to us is a catholic throwing up his cap and shouting, 'all hail, democracy!'" this too at the very time he was supporting the democratic party in the presidential contest! he would sooner have heard the cry, "all hail, catholicism!" and he was only using democracy as an instrument to advance his primary wish! we offer no comments on the foregoing extracts, of our own, but leave every reader to judge for himself. the price of liberty is eternal vigilance. we apply the remark to religious as well as civil liberty. all we ask of the people is to be vigilant. do not support men at the ballot-box who are in league with these enemies of our republic, and of the protestant religion! behold the enemy is at our gates! a foreign priest has been lecturing here in knoxville, within the last ten days, avowing sentiments similar to these, and claiming that this country would ultimately become a catholic country! the crisis is approaching! rouse up, americans, and hasten to your country's salvation! not a moment is to be lost! god and our country, must be the watchword of every christian and patriot, of every political party in the land. america expects us all to do our duty! and is there no cause for alarm? eighteen months ago, a protestant minister, baptist, methodist, or presbyterian, might expose romanism, and warn his congregation against its corrupting influences, for hours at a time--come down out of his pulpit, and his congregation would, without distinction of party, say, "well done, good and faithful servant!" but let him now dare _allude_ to romanism--he offends one-half of his congregation--he is _preaching_ politics--they will hear him no more; or forsooth, which is more common, they will withhold his support and starve him out! are not these signs alarming? but here in tennessee, _protestant_ tennessee, on the 15th of may, 1855, the _nashville daily union_, the organ of the self-styled democratic party, came out at the capital of the state with this daring broadside against the protestant clergy and their religion: "a church that can boast of an existence of thirteen centuries--passing through all the various vicissitudes of her eventful career unscathed, can certainly show, with all her atrocious barbarity, many bright spots which may be placed in favorable contrast with the protestant church, with its thousand and one wrangling sects. men are beginning to see through the transparent gauze that veils this know-nothing movement. they are beginning to ask 'what has protestantism done for the world? what has she done to alleviate and elevate the down-trodden? is the race any better off for having accepted her faith? these reverend hypocrites--these scribes and pharisees, are treading on a terrible volcano. they will find their treasonable schemes and infernal plotting against the liberties of man tried and condemned by the pure light of god's own truth and love, which shines and throbs in every pulsation of humanity's heart. if protestantism prove recreant to her high trust, she will have to pass the ordeal of enlightened public opinion and be consigned to her merited obscurity. "popery, with all its crimes against god and man, adapts itself to the times and to the circumstances, and thus saves itself from being absorbed in the mass of conflicting elements." the catholic question--no. 4. a catholic priest the minister from the rivas-walker government--nicaragua, texas, and gen. jackson--bishop hughes and orestes brownson--buchanan bidding for the catholic vote--a. h. stephens, of georgia--lord baltimore and religious toleration. three months ago, parker h. french arrived in washington, as the representative of the walker government of nicaragua--an american-born citizen and a protestant--but the government declined to recognize him, upon the ground that walker's government was not established even _de facto_. since then, our government has recognized walker's government, and endorsed his war upon costa rica, although the former objection of our government lies with as much force against such recognition now as it did three months ago. that the approach of the cincinnati convention, and the importance of conciliating the "young american" wing, and the filibustering division of the democratic party, had great influence in producing this recognition, there can be no sort of doubt. but a still more palpable reason why this government gave its sanction to the rivas-walker government is, that padre vijil, the second minister sent here, is a roman catholic priest, and a shrewd spaniard--better understands the influences that prevail at washington. when we remember that a roman catholic, and a member of the order of jesuits, is a member of pierce's cabinet, the postmaster-general--and when we remember that democracy now, without the catholic-foreign vote, is almost a nullity in the united states, we have a clear solution of this preference given the spanish priest, padre vijil, over the american citizen, but a few weeks afterwards! as a sign of the times, the fact is one worthy of note. it shows, at least, that when protestantism cannot prevail with the administration of pierce, roman catholicism can; and that hence, when we proclaim the power of the pope, even in america, we but utter demonstrable facts. romanism is even carrying democracy from all its old wayside land-marks. in december, 1836, gen. jackson sent a special message to the senate of the united states, in relation to a proposition to recognize the new government of texas, and he gave reasons _against_ it, which are exactly applicable to this rivas-walker affair: "upon the issue," he says, "of this threatened invasion by mexico, the independence of texas may be considered as suspended; and were there nothing peculiar in the relative situation of the united states and texas, our acknowledgments of its independence at such a crisis could scarcely be considered as consistent _with that prudent reserve with which we have heretofore held ourselves bound to treat all similar questions_." the existing government of nicaragua is in a far more critical condition now than that of texas was in 1836, when gen. jackson went on to say: "it becomes us to beware of a too early movement, as it might subject us, however unjustly, to the imputation of seeking to establish the claim of our neighbors to a territory, with a view to its subsequent acquisition by ourselves. prudence, therefore, seems to dictate that we should still stand aloof, and maintain our present attitude, if not until mexico itself, or one of the great foreign powers, shall recognize the independence of the new government, at least until the lapse of time or the course of events shall have proved, beyond cavil or dispute, the ability of the people of that country to maintain their separate sovereignty, and to uphold the government constituted by them. neither of the contending parties can justly complain of this course. by pursuing it, we are but carrying out the long-established policy of our government--a policy which has secured to us respect and influence abroad, and inspired confidence at home." but romanism is rapidly leading democracy to the devil! archbishop hughes--the head and front of the papal hierarchy in this country--has openly declared the grand aim and object of the catholic church is "to make rome the district of columbia for the whole world!" this same archbishop is now engaged in raising an immense fund, for the avowed purpose of establishing a college in rome, for the education of a high order of priests and jesuits for the united states; the roman pontiff deeming the education of priests defective if obtained in this land of liberty! this same archbishop hughes has now actively enlisted for the presidential contest, for 1856, in order, to use his own language, "to break the spinal cord of the american party." the irish catholic vote is to be fused with the black republicans in the north, to prevent the success of the fillmore ticket, and the irish and german catholic vote is to be cast for democracy in the south and north-west--the archbishop stipulating for special legislation for rome, and for promoting this mammoth college! orestes brownson, a leading catholic authority, and the editor of archbishop hughes's organ--one of the most zealous as well as able advocates of romanism in america--declares: "the pope is my interpreter of the constitution of the united states!" the supreme court at washington is subordinate to the vatican, situated at the foot of one of the seven hills upon which rome is built! through the influence of the _jesuit_ who is a member of pierce's cabinet, the papal nuncio, who was sent from rome two years ago, clothed with _foreign_ authority, was received by our government at washington, and sent around the lakes to the north-west at government expense; and allowed to adjudicate upon a secular question affecting territorial jurisdiction in the great state of new york! mr. buchanan, one of the several candidates before the cincinnati convention for the presidential nomination, said, in a public speech in baltimore, just before the meeting of that convention, _by way of bidding for the catholic vote_: "in the age of religious bigotry and intolerance, lord baltimore was the first legislator who proclaimed the sacred rights of conscience, and established for the government of his colony the principle, not merely of toleration, but perfect religious freedom and equality among all sects of christians." lord baltimore was a catholic; and with a view to enlist the same influence, hon. alexander h. stephens, of georgia, sent forth a published speech last summer, from which we make the following extract: "the catholic colony of maryland, organized under the auspices of lord baltimore, was the first to establish the principle of free toleration in religious worship on this continent. "the colony of maryland afforded protection to _all_ persecuted sects." now, in order to judge of mr. buchanan's "_perfect religious freedom and equality_," and mr. stephens's "_principle of free toleration_," let us examine an act passed april 21, 1649, when lord baltimore was in the zenith of his power: "denying the holy _trinity_ is to be punished with _death_, and confiscation of land and goods to the lord proprietary (lord baltimore himself!) persons using any reproachful words concerning the blessed virgin mary, or the holy apostles or evangelists, to be fined â£5, or in default of payment to be publicly whipped and _imprisoned, at the pleasure of_ his lordship, (lord baltimore himself!) or of his lieutenant-general." _see laws of maryland at large, by t. bacon, a. d. 1765._ _16 and 17 cecilius's lord baltimore_. s. f. streeter, esq., of baltimore, is the author of a work entitled "_maryland two hundred years ago_." in this work, at page 26, mr. streeter says: "the policy of lord baltimore, in regard to religious matters in his colony, has, in some particulars at least, been misapprehended and therefore misstated. the assertion has long passed uncontradicted, that toleration was promised to the colonists in the first conditions of plantation; that the rights of conscience were recognized in a law passed by the first assembly held in the colony; and that the principal officers from the year 1636 or '37, bound themselves by on oath not to molest on account of his religion any one professing to believe in jesus christ. i can find _no authority_ for _any_ of these statements. lord baltimore's first and earlier conditions of plantation breathe not a word on the subject of religion: no act recognizing the principle of toleration was passed in the first or in any following assembly, until fifteen years after the first settlement, at which time (1649) a protestant had been appointed governor, and a majority of the burgesses were of the same faith; and when, _for the first time_, a clause involving a promise not to molest any person professing to believe in jesus christ, the words "and particularly a roman catholic," were inserted by the direction of lord baltimore in the official oath." mcmahon, the tried friend of lord baltimore, speaking on this same subject, says: "the proprietary dominion (lord b.'s) had never known that hour, (when there was opportunity to persecute.) the protestant religion was the established religion of the mother country, and any effort on the part of the proprietary (lord b.) to oppress its followers would have _drawn down destruction on his government_. the _great body_ of the colonists were themselves protestants, and, by their _number_ and their participation in the government, they were fully equal to their own protection, and _too powerful_ for the proprietaries in the event of an open collision." thus it will be seen that in maryland, as everywhere else, in all past ages, so far as toleration is concerned, it was granted _to_ catholics--never _by_ them. the catholic question--no. 5. popish aims at supremacy--avowals by distinguished catholics--the order of jesuits--startling disclosures and authentic references!--the strength of romanism in the united states! the romish hierarchy aims at supremacy in the church and the state. it is nothing more nor less than a great _political_ system, arrogating to itself the right to sway the spiritual and temporal concerns of men--a right it claims to have derived from god, and that therefore the romish church is above all, and may rule all. hence the conspiracy against our government emanating from the vatican, and planned by the pope, his cardinals and bishops, in the late grand council at rome! they there and then resolved on affecting the objects of the _leopold foundation_, established in vienna, may 13, 1829, to support catholic missionaries in the united states. every member of this society--and its branches are numerous, being scattered over the whole earth--agrees to offer prayers daily to _st. leopold_, and every week to contribute as much as a _crucifix_. the valley of the mississippi has been surveyed and mapped by the jesuits, under the directions of the vatican, and popish cardinals in europe are boasting of the certainty of their subjecting this land of freedom at no distant day to papal supremacy! rev. dr. james, an eminent clergyman of england, says: "the church of rome has determined to compensate herself for her losses in the old world, by her conquest in the new." hence, too, a papal editor in europe conducting a catholic organ, and advising vigorous measures for the extension of papal power, says: "we must make haste--the moments are precious--america may become the centre of civilization." the rev. dr. reze, of detroit, a priest of distinction, who is now in custody at rome, a few years since, writing from michigan to his master, the pope, says: "we shall see the truth triumph--the temple of idols overthrown--the seat of falsehood brought to silence--and all the united states embraced in the same faith of that catholic church, wherein dwell truth and temporal happiness." a catholic priest in indiana told a protestant minister, an able methodist clergyman, in a controversy, "the time will come when catholics will make protestants wade knee-deep in blood in the valley of the mississippi!" bishop england, one of their master-spirits in this country, in a letter to the pope written from charleston, and which was so good that his holiness caused it to be published, said: "within thirty years, the protestant heresy will come to an end. if we can secure the west and south, we will take care of new england." this same dignitary said to his brethren at vienna in that memorable letter, by way of advice and encouragement: "all that is necessary is money and priests, to subjugate the mock liberties of america." the jesuits profess to be a more devoted branch of the pope's army than any other order. the abbe de pradt, formerly roman archbishop at malines, calls them "the pope's zealous militia:" another correctly calls them "the pope's body-guard, organized for the express purpose of defending the papal see, and undertaking a spiritual crusade against heretics." pius vii., in his bull of august 7, 1814, reã«stablishing the order, which clement xiv. had suppressed, says: "we would be guilty of a great crime," if, amid the dangers threatening the papal interests, and "if, placed in the barque of peter, tossed and assailed by continual storms, we refused to employ the vigorous and experienced rowers who volunteer their services in order to break the waves of a sea which threatens every moment shipwreck and death." the presumption is, that "these vigorous and experienced rowers who thus volunteer their services," have some moving principle, some hidden spring, which moves with that oneness and constancy under all discouragements. the watch does not show the spring that sets it in motion: who that looks at its face and observes the movement of the hands will doubt that it is there, and that they move in proportion to the strength or weakness of that spring? the old romans used to swear their soldiers: the roman church swears even her private members. read the following from the creed: "i solemnly promise, vow, and _swear_ true obedience to the roman bishop," &c. "this true catholic faith, out of which there is no salvation, &c.--i promise, vow, and _swear_ most constantly to hold and profess the same, whole and entire, with god's assistance, to the end of my life, and procure, as far as lies in my power, that the same shall be held, taught, and preached by all who are under me," &c. "i also profess and undoubtedly receive all other things delivered, defined, and declared by the sacred canons and general councils, and particularly by the holy council of trent; and, likewise, i also condemn, reject, and anathematize all things contrary thereto, and all heresies whatsoever, condemned, rejected, and anathematized by the church." the jesuits are more strict, subservient, devoted to the vatican, than any other wing of the catholic church. in the second volume of the constitutions of the jesuits, under the heading of _obedience to superiors_, is written: "you shall always see jesus christ in the general." "you shall obey him in every thing. your obedience shall be boundless in the execution, in the will and understanding. you shall persuade yourselves that god speaks in his mouth: that when he orders, god himself orders. you shall execute his command immediately, with joy and with steadiness." "you shall be in his hands a dead body, which he will govern, move, place, displace, according to his will." under these teachings, says arnauld, a student in a college of jesuits stated, on hearing of the implicit obedience of another: "i would have done still more. were god to order me, through the voice of my superior, to put to death father, mother, children, brothers, and sisters, i would do it with an eye as tearless and a heart as calm as if i were seated at the banquet of the paschal lamb." andrew b. cross, of baltimore, in a recent publication, says: "as early as 1624, the university of paris charged them with being governed by 'secret laws.' in 1649, palafox, bishop of angelopolis, in his letter to innocent x., accuses them of having 'a secret constitution, hidden privileges, and concealed laws of their own.'" what will our democratic protestant opposers of know nothing _secret lodges_ say to this? what will our democratic advocates of popery say to the principles of such an organization, and to its "horrible oaths?" but hear the roman catholic king of portugal, in his manifesto to his bishops, in 1759, only ninety-seven years ago: "in order to form the union, the consistency, and the strength of the society, there should be a government not only monarchical, but so sovereign, so absolute, so despotic, that even the provincials themselves should not have it in their power, by any act of theirs, to resist or retard the execution of the orders of the general. by this legislative, inviolable and despotic power; by the profound devotedness of the subjects of this company to mysterious laws with which they are not themselves acquainted; by the blind and passive obedience with which they are compelled to execute, without hesitation or reply, whatever their superiors command," &c. but our democratic anti-know nothings not only object to our having formerly kept our ritual concealed, but especially to our denial of the existence of our organization. let them procure a copy of the secret instructions of the jesuits, styled "_secreta monita_," and in the preface they will find these _lovely_ words: "the greatest care imaginable must be also taken that these instructions do not fall into the hands of strangers, &c.; if they should, _let it be positively denied that these are the principles of the society_," &c. but again: "auquetil, in the fourth volume, page 333, of his history of france, gives an account of the celebrated case of the bankruptcy of the rev. father jesuit la valette, the jesuit agent, for three million francs. their ships had been taken by the english; the bankers in marseilles, who had accepted bills of exchange to the amount of one and a half millions, required prompt payment. they wrote to de sacy, the general procurator of the missions; he wrote to the general at rome, but the general died at the same time; and before a new general could be elected, and an order sent to pay the money, the fathers had become bankrupt, and suits were instituted. after delay and manoeuvre on their part, the case came on unexpectedly in 1760. all the jesuits were accused. they tried to lay the guilt upon la valette, but the bankers charged that all the jesuits were under the general, and la valette was only agent. in this sad condition they proposed to prove, according to their constitutions, that as a society their body possessed nothing, that all belonged to each college-house, convent, &c. the proposal of the jesuits was accepted. on the 8th of may, 1761, after trial, the parliament condemned the general and all the society to pay bills, costs, damages, &c., which they did without selling any of their property. "it was in this evil hour to the jesuits that their constitutions, which had been acted upon for two hundred years in secret, were brought to light. rules and constitutions maybe in existence and acted upon, when it would be impossible to obtain a copy from any one who was sufficiently advanced in the order to be trusted with a copy." it will astonish american protestants to be told how numerous, influential, and strong the catholics are in this land of liberty! they have 7 archbishops, 40 bishops, 1704 priests, 1824 churches, 21 colleges, 37 ecclesiastical institutions for the education of priests and jesuits, 117 female academies, all of which are, in reality, _convents_. nuns, priests, and jesuits are the professors, teachers, and matrons; and, strange to say, _protestant_ young ladies are their chief supporters! the romish hierarchy is far more numerous in _protestant_ america, than in any catholic country on earth. their strength in america equals what it is in ireland, scotland, and england combined! how extensive is this religious organization in our land: how subtle! its ramifications are all so many _arteries_, which receive their life's blood from the heart at rome, and return it there by its regular palpitations! it is now concentrating its _arteries_ at washington city, and is promised "aid and comfort" from the great democratic party--a party fast becoming the foe of true liberty, and of the evangelical protestant faith. the catholic question--no. 6. the oath of a bishop--oath of a priest--oath of a jesuit--oath of a san fedisti--oath of an irish ribbon-man--the romish curse! in this chapter we will exhibit the "_horrible oaths_" of the various grades of catholics, from a _bishop_ down to a _private member_--even to the "irish ribbon-men," thousands of whom swarm the united states. to these we will add the oath of the "order of san fedisti," an infamous secret society established in italy, and introduced for the first time into this country by that prince of murderers, _bedini_, the pope's nuncio; who was honored with a steamer at the expense of our government, pierce at its head, to sail round our northern lakes, organizing these infamous societies. last of all, we give the romish curse, which is in full force and power in all catholic countries, and is even pronounced publicly in our large cities, upon renegades from the catholic faith. these oaths will be found commencing on page 42 of "a treatise of the pope's supremacy. by rev. isaac barrow, d. d. second american edition, 1844." by this author, the latin is given and then translated. the same, in part, will be found in the debate between mr. breckenridge, of the presbyterian church, and archbishop hughes, and by the latter publicly acknowledged to be genuine, before a baltimore audience who heard the discussion! but these particular forms of oaths in question, which reckless catholics and unprincipled democrats deny, were published in england by archbishop usher, whose correctness and reliability is equal to that of any man. these oaths will be found in a volume entitled "foxes and firebrands," from a collection of papers by archbishop usher, and it is there stated that "it remains on record at paris, among the society of jesus," and was drawn up in that form to urban viii., in 1642, when he revived the bull of pious v., which had slumbered seventy-three years. these oaths, as published, contain nothing which is not taught by popes and councils, priests and jesuits. examine these _oaths_, and this _curse_, and answer us the question, can men taking them, and subscribing to their doctrines, make citizens of this republic? oath of the bishops. "i, g. n., elect of the church of n., from henceforth will be _faithful_ and obedient to st. peter the apostle, and to the holy roman church, and to our lord, the lord n. pope n., and to his successors canonically coming in. i will neither advise, consent, nor do any thing that they may lose life or member, or that their persons may be seized or hands anywise laid upon them, or any injuries offered to them, under any pretence whatsoever. the counsel which they shall intrust me withal by themselves, their messengers, or letters, i will not knowingly reveal to any to their prejudice. i will help them to defend and keep the roman papacy and the royalties of st. peter, saving my order against all men. the legate of the apostolic see, going and coming, i will honorably treat, and help in his necessities. the rights, honors, privileges, and authority of the holy roman church, of our lord the pope, and his aforesaid successors, i will endeavor to preserve, defend, increase, and advance. i will not be in any council, action, or treaty, in which shall be plotted against our said lord and the said roman church, any thing to the hurt or prejudice of their persons, right, honor, state, or power; and if i shall know any such thing to be treated or agitated by any whomsoever, i will hinder it all that i can; and as soon as i can, will signify it to our said lord, or to some other, by whom it may come to his knowledge. the rules of the holy fathers, the apostolic decrees, ordinances, or disposals, reservations, provisions, and mandates, i will observe with all my might, and cause by others. heretics, schismatics, and rebels to our said lord, or his aforesaid successors, i will to the utmost of my power persecute and oppose. i will come to a council when i am called, unless i am hindered by a canonical impediment. i will, by myself in person, visit the threshold of the apostles every three years; and give an account to our lord, and his aforesaid successors, of all my pastoral office, and of all things anywise belonging to the state of my church, to the discipline of my clergy and people, and, lastly, to the salvation of souls committed to my trust; and will, in like manner, humbly receive and diligently execute the apostolic commands. and if i be detained by a lawful impediment, i will perform all things aforesaid by a certain messenger hereto specially empowered, a member of my chapter or some other in ecclesiastical dignity, or else having a parsonage; or in default of these, by a priest of the diocese; or in default of one of the clergy, (of the diocese,) by some other secular or regular priest of approved integrity and religion, fully instructed in all things above mentioned. and such impediment i will make out by lawful proofs, to be transmitted by the aforesaid messenger to the cardinal proponent of the holy roman church, in the congregation of the sacred council. the possessions belonging to my table, i will neither sell nor give away, mortgage nor grant anew in fee, nor anywise alienate, no, not even with consent of the chapter of my church, without consulting the roman pontiff. and if i shall make any alienation, i will thereby incur the penalties contained in a certain constitution put forth about this matter. "so help me god, and these holy gospels of god." oath of the priests. "i, a. b., do acknowledge the ecclesiastical power of his holiness; and the mother church of rome, as the chief head and matron above all pretended churches throughout the whole earth; and that my zeal shall be for st. peter and his successors, as the founder of the true and ancient catholic faith, against all heretical kings, princes, states, or powers repugnant to the same; and although i, a. b., may follow, in case of persecution or otherwise, to be heretically despised, yet in soul and conscience i shall hold, aid, and succor the mother church of rome, as the true, ancient, and apostolic church. i, a. b., further do declare not to act or control any matter or thing prejudicial unto her, in her sacred orders, doctrines, tenets, or commands, without leave of its supreme power or its authority, under her appointed; and being so permitted, then to act and further her interests more than my own earthly good and earthly pleasure, as she and her head, his holiness, and his successors have, or ought to have, the supremacy over all kings, princes, estates, or powers whatsoever, either to deprive them of their crowns, sceptres, powers, privileges, realms, countries, or governments, or to set up others in lieu thereof; they dissenting from the mother church and her commands." oath of the jesuits "i, a. b., now in the presence of almighty god, the blessed virgin mary, the blessed michael the archangel, the blessed st. john the baptist, the holy apostles st. peter and st. paul, and all the saints and hosts of heaven, and to you my ghostly father, do declare from my heart, without mental reservation, that his holiness pope ---is christ's vicar general, and is the true and only head of the catholic or universal church throughout the earth; and by the virtue of the keys of binding and loosing, given to his holiness by my saviour jesus christ, he hath power to depose heretical kings, princes, states, commonwealths, and governments, all being illegal without his sacred confirmation, and that they may safely be destroyed: therefore, to the utmost of my power, i shall and will defend this doctrine, and his holiness' rights and customs, against all usurpers of the heretical (or protestant) authority whatsoever; especially against the now pretended authority and church of england, and all adherents, in regard that they and she be usurpal and heretical, opposing the sacred mother church of rome, i do renounce and disown any allegiance as due to protestants, or obedience to any of their inferior magistrates or officers, i do further declare the doctrine of the church of england, the calvinists, huguenots, and of others of the name protestants, to be damnable, and that they themselves are damned, and to be damned, that will not forsake the same. i do further declare, that i will help, assist, and advise all or any of his holiness' agents, in any place wherever i shall be, in england, scotland, and ireland, or in any other territory or kingdom i shall come to, and do my utmost to extirpate the heretical protestant's doctrine, and to destroy all their pretended powers, regal or otherwise. i do further promise and declare, that notwithstanding i am dispensed with, to assume any religion heretical, for the propagating of the mother church's interest, to keep secret and private all her agents' counsels, from time to time, as they intrust me, and not to divulge, directly or indirectly, by word, writing, or circumstance, whatever, but to execute all that shall be proposed, given in charge, or discovered unto me, by you my ghostly father, or any of this sacred convent. all which, i, a. b., do swear, by the blessed sacrament i am now to receive, to perform, and on my part to keep inviolable; and do call all the heavenly and glorious host of heaven to witness these my real intentions to keep this, my oath. in testimony hereof, i take this most holy and blessed sacrament of the eucharist, and witness the same further with my hand and seal, in the face of this holy convent this day--an. dom., etc." oath of the san fedisti. "i, son of the holy faith, no. --, promise and swear to sustain the altar and the papal throne, to exterminate heretics, liberals, and all enemies of the church, without pity for the cries of children, or of men and women. so help me god." oath of the irish ribbon-men. "i, patrick mckenna, swear by saints peter and paul, and by the blessed virgin mary, to be always faithful to the society (of ribbon-men); to keep and conceal all the secrets, and its words of order; to be always ready to execute the commands of my superior officers, and, as far as it shall lie in my power, to extirpate all heretics, and all the protestants, and to walk in their blood to the knee! may the virgin mary and all saints help me! to-day, the 2d of july, 1852. "pat. mckenna, _from tydavenet_." the following are the curses pronounced by the papal church against all who leave it for any evangelical church: the romish curse. "by the authority of god almighty, the father, son, and holy ghost, and the undefiled virgin mary, mother and patroness of our saviour, and of all celestial virtues, angels, archangels, thrones, dominions, powers, cherubim, and seraphim; and of all the holy patriarchs, prophets, and of all the apostles and evangelists, of the holy innocents, who in the sight of the holy lamb are found worthy to sing the new song of the holy martyrs and holy confessors, and of all the holy virgins, and of all saints together with the holy elect of god; may he, ----, be damned. we excommunicate and anathematize him from the threshold of the holy church of god almighty. we sequester him, that lie may be tormented, disposed, and be delivered over with dathan and abiram, and with those who say unto the lord: 'depart from us, we desire none of thy ways:' as a fire is quenched with water, so let the light of him be put out for evermore, unless he shall repent him and make satisfaction. amen! "may the father, who creates man, curse him! may the son, who suffered for us, curse him! may the holy ghost, who is poured out in baptism, curse him! may the holy cross, which christ, for our salvation, triumphing over his enemies, ascended, curse him! "may the holy mary, ever virgin and mother of god, curse him! may st. michael, the advocate of the holy souls, curse him! may all the angels, principalities, and powers, and all heavenly armies, curse him! may the glorious band of the patriarchs and prophets curse him! "may st. john the precursor, and st. john the baptist, and st. peter, and st. paul, and st. andrew, and all other of christ's apostles together, curse him! and may all the rest of the disciples and evangelists, who, by their preaching converted the universe, and the holy and wonderful company of martyrs and confessors, who by their works are found pleasing to god almighty, curse him! may the holy choir of the holy virgins, who for the honor of christ have despised the things of the world, damn him! may all the saints from the beginning of the world to everlasting ages, who are found to be beloved of god, damn him! "may he be damned wherever he be, whether in the house, or in the alley, or in the water, or in the church! may he be cursed in living and dying! "may he be cursed in eating and drinking, in being hungry, in being thirsty, in fasting, and sleeping, in slumbering, and in sitting, in living, in working, in resting, and * * * and in blood-letting. "may he be cursed in all the faculties of his body! "may he be cursed inwardly and outwardly! may he be cursed in his hair; cursed be he in his brains, and in his vertex, in his temples, in his eyebrows, in his cheeks, in his jaw-bones, in his nostrils, in his teeth and grinders, in his lips, in his shoulders, in his arms, in his fingers! "may he be damned in his mouth, in his breast, in his heart, and purtenances, down to the very stomach! "may he be cursed in his reins and his groins; in his thighs, in his genitals, and in his hips, and in his knees, his legs, and his feet, and toe-nails! "may he be cursed in all his joints, and articulation of the members; from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet may there be no soundness! "may the son of the living god, with all the glory of his majesty, curse him! and may heaven, with all the powers that move therein, rise up against him, and curse and damn him; unless he repent and make satisfaction! amen! so be it. be it so. amen!" now, we ask all candid men whose eyes have not been blinded by the dust of popery and democracy, can a bishop or priest, a jesuit or catholic, with these oaths upon their souls, be true american citizens? not without the guilt of perjury, as black as the altar of a roman confessional! and if guilty of such perjury, the penitentiary should be their canonical residence for life! strange to say, however, the chief justice of the united states, roger b. taney, is a roman catholic! gen. pierce's postmaster-general, james campbell, is both a roman catholic, and a member of the order of jesuits, having taken this very oath! roman catholics are now on the federal bench in the united states: roman catholics fill the offices of attorneys-general; roman catholics represent this government abroad; and roman catholics fill post-offices, land-offices, and a variety of offices at home, out of which protestants were driven by pierce's administration, to make room for them! letter from thomas a. r. nelson, esq. this gentleman, an able lawyer of east tennessee, a member of the presbyterian church, and a member of the american party, was nominated an elector for the state of tennessee at large, by the american state convention at nashville, in february last. though an ardent american--a great friend of _mr. fillmore_--and a member of the late philadelphia convention, and aided in the nomination of _maj. donelson_, he has been reluctantly compelled to decline the position of elector. under date of may 30, 1856, he addressed a letter of nine columns, of great force and ability, to _messrs. a. w. johnson, robert c. foster, 3d., john h. callender, william n. bilbo, sam'l. pritchett, and e. d. farnsworth, state executive committee of the american party, nashville, tennessee_, declining the position. although we regret his inability to serve, as do the whole party in this state, yet, if his letter could be placed in the hands of every voter in the state, we would be willing to risk the contest without further discussion. such is our estimate of this document. for the benefit of "old line whigs," and such democrats as are disposed to excuse and apologise for romanism, we give the four concluding columns of this letter. the five preceding columns are mainly occupied with an outline and defence of the action of the philadelphia nominating convention, and a discussion of the slavery question--questions we had discussed in this work before this document came to hand. mr. nelson concludes thus: "the foreigners and catholics were directly appealed to in the presidential elections of 1848 and 1852. who does not remember that, immediately preceding the election in 1844, fraudulent naturalization papers were manufactured in new york? who has forgotten the plaquemines fraud in louisiana? who has not heard of the abuse of mr. frelinghuysen for no other cause than that he was the president of the american bible society? "but, without dwelling upon other illustrations, look to the democratic platform of 1852, and read the 8th section of the third resolution, which is in the following words: "'that the liberal principles embodied by jefferson in the declaration of independence and sanctioned in the constitution, which makes ours the land of liberty and the asylum of the oppressed of every nation, have ever been cardinal principles in the democratic faith, and every attempt to abridge the present privilege of becoming citizens and the owners of soil among us, ought to be resisted with the same spirit which swept the alien and sedition laws from our statute books.' "during the last election in tennessee, it was often said by democrats that they were just as much opposed to the immigration of foreign criminals and paupers as members of the american party, but would not attach themselves to the latter because of their objections to its organization. but the democratic platform of 1852 contains no exception against criminals and paupers. the naturalization laws have, in practice, been found inadequate to their exclusion, and the platform, in effect, avows unqualified adherence to them without _abridgement_ or modification. "these laws are, in substance, declared to have '_ever been cardinal principles_ in the democratic faith.' by its own avowal, the democratic party is responsible for giving encouragement to the whole policy of foreign immigration. if that policy has flooded the country with criminals and paupers; if it has produced riots and bloodshed in our large cities; if it has endangered the religious as well as the civil liberty of protestants; if it has swelled the ranks of abolition and fanned the flame of agitation--the democratic party, by its own avowal, is amenable at the bar of public opinion for these astounding and deplorable results. reckless of consequences, it has persevered in a system hazardous to the stability of our institutions, because that system has annually swelled the number of its adherents, and increased the chances of its perpetual ascendency. "without adverting to the census tables, or repeating those familiar facts connected with the statistics of immigration which have been so extensively published, it is sufficient to observe that, under this continued patronage of the democratic party, the immigration of foreigners has increased from a few thousands, twenty years ago, to nearly half a million in 1854. "but the democratic party cannot justly claim the exclusive honor of projecting or carrying out the system. more than twenty years ago, the duke of richmond declared, in substance, that he had conversed with most of the sovereigns and princes of europe; that they were jealous of the influence of our republican institutions upon their own government; that they did not expect to conquer us as a nation, but designed the subversion of our government by the introduction of the low and surplus population of europe among us; that 'discord, dissension, anarchy, and civil war would ensue, and some popular individual would assume the government and restore order, and the sovereigns of europe, the emigrants, and many of the natives, would sustain him.' he also said, in speaking of the united states, that 'the church of rome has a design upon that country, and it will, in time, be the established religion, and will aid in the destruction of that republic.' "these statements of the duke of richmond are abundantly corroborated by other declarations, as well as the most undeniable facts which have occurred since their promulgation. "i have in my possession, among various others, two small books published by 'the american and foreign christian union,' 156 chambers street, new york, the one entitled 'foreign conspiracy,' the other, 'startling facts,' both of which, as i infer from their contents, were written in the year 1834, long before the american party had an existence. the work entitled 'foreign conspiracy' is composed of a series of articles originally published, over the signature of brutus, in the new york observer. they now appear with the name of the author, samuel f. b. morse. his object in writing the work was to arouse public attention to the efforts then being made in europe to propagate the catholic religion in the united states, and to show its danger to our republican institutions. he traces the origin of the leopold foundation in austria, under the especial patronage of the emperor at vienna on the 12th may, 1829, and shows that one of its leading objects was 'to promote the greater activity of catholic missions in america.' "the letter of prince _metternich_ to bishop fenwich, of cincinnati, under date, vienna, april 27, 1830, is set out at length; and, in that letter, the prince informs the bishop, among other things, that the emperor 'allows his people to contribute to the support of the catholic church in america.' numerous quotations are made from the letters of foreign bishops in the united states to their patrons at home, and, among the rest, on page 85, is the following statement, made by one of them, in regard to the people of the united states: 'we entreat all european christians to unite in prayer to god for the conversion of these unhappy heathen and obstinate heretics.' but, forbearing to multiply quotations from this little work, admirable in most of its positions, my main object, in citing it, was to make the following extract, from page 15 of the preface, taken by the author from the lectures of the celebrated frederick schlegel, delivered at vienna in 1828, where that distinguished foreigner says, 'the true nursery of all these destructive principles, the revolutionary school for france and the rest of europe, has been north america. thence the evil has spread over many other lands, either by national contagion or by arbitrary communication;' and also the following quotation, from page 118 of mr. morse's book: 'austria, one of the holy alliance of sovereigns, leagued against the liberties of the world, has the superintendence _of the operations of popery in this country_.' "in the tract entitled 'startling facts for american protestants,' written in the year 1834, by rev. herman norton, corresponding secretary of the american protestant society, from pages 27 to 39, an account is given of a london pamphlet entitled 'new plan of emigration,' the production of a roman catholic gentleman, a london banker; in which a project for occupying the north western states with the roman catholic population of europe, is unfolded, together with _a map of the country_, and, among other things, it is said, on page 29: 'the first settlements should be made in those fertile prairie districts situated on the southern sides of the canadian lakes, _where slavery is unknown_. on page 28, the objects of this society, as set forth in this pamphlet, are stated to be, "'1. to provide the means for colonizing the surplus roman catholic population of europe in our western states. "'2. to do this in such a way as to create a large demand for articles of british manufacture. "'3. _to make romanism the predominant religion of this country._' "the census tables will show that, since these plans were set on foot, in england and in europe, to break down our government, there has been an astonishing increase in the foreign immigration to this country. great as it was prior to the revolutions in europe in 1848, it has been amazingly augmented since that time. millions of foreign money have been collected in europe and expended since the organization of the society for the propagation of the faith, at lyons in france, about the year 1822, in the united states. while an austrian emperor has had the charge, in a good degree, of the propagation of the catholic religion in the united states, the public authorities in various parts of europe have defrayed the expenses of their criminals and paupers to this country, as was clearly shown by congressional investigations. "what do these facts prove? why, that the declaration of the duke of richmond, that the crowned heads of europe intended to subvert our government, was true. what more do they prove? why, that the effort to establish the catholic religion in this country has, for more than twenty years, been conducted with steady perseverance, until the catholics, who, in 1850, were more numerous, as the census compendium shows, than any one denomination of methodists, are now no doubt stronger than all the methodists put together, and stronger than any other denomination of protestants. "while these publications have been before the american people for more than twenty years, democratic leaders have received, with open arms, the swarms of foreigners who have settled upon our shores. what care _they_ for the slavery question, when they have seen this foreign immigration, according to the plan concerted in england, settling in the non-slaveholding states, and every year increasing the abolition power? what care they for the protestant religion, if the catholics can only give them the numerical strength at the ballot-box? what regard have _they_ for the preservation of our liberties, when european despots are seeking to undermine them, if those despots only send such myrmidons as will shout hosannas to democracy and drive from the polls peaceful american citizens who oppose them? is the preservation of the union a matter of any consequence to them? do they not in vision behold its scattered fragments and contemplate new confederacies, with hosts of new offices and millions of spoil? "can any one doubt that the democratic party is in league with all the dangerous elements that have disturbed and are continuing to disturb our once peaceful and happy country, and that they stickle at nothing when votes are at stake? "look to their conduct in running mr. polk as a tariff man in the north, and an anti-tariff man in the south! look to the two lives of cass. look to their equivocal position as to slavery and the union. look to their appeals to foreigners and catholics by name in the elections of 1844 and 1852, and probably in 1848. look to their alliance with free germans and fourierites, free soilers and secessionists. and, above all, look to the miserable cant with which they raise the hue and cry of persecution in favor of the catholics, and, indirectly, deny to protestant ministers the right to make war upon a huge corporation, calling itself a church, dealing in human souls, reeking with the blood of martyrs, and begrimed with more than ten centuries of oppression. "no wonder that they have vilified and denounced the american party with every term of opprobrium that our vocabulary can furnish. no wonder they talk of dark lanterns and secret oaths and midnight assemblies. no wonder that they strive to frighten their followers with the notion that the american party is a raw-head and bloody bones, which should be shunned and avoided. for, if honest men of that party will only take the trouble to shake off the control of their leaders: to think, examine, to read, reflect, and act for themselves, there are thousands of democrats in the south who would scorn, like the american party, an alliance with abolitionists, and there are tens of thousands of protestant union-loving democrats everywhere, who have only confided in, to be deceived and betrayed by, their leaders, and, if they discover, as it is hoped they will, that they have brought them to the crumbling verge of an awful precipice, they have patriotism enough and protestantism enough to break away from them rather than make the awful plunge. "i regret that i am admonished by the length to which i have extended this communication, that i cannot now discuss the catholic question, as i had hoped to do at the outset, and i shall present only a few disjointed remarks in connection with it. "the american party does not seek to impose any religious test such as prevailed in the reign of charles ii., when two thousand non-conformist ministers were driven from their pulpits, or such, as in the same reign, was imposed upon roman catholics and continued from 1673 to 1828. the american party does not propose that any religious test, of any kind, shall be imposed by law, upon any person whatever, but it does seek to organize a public sentiment on the catholic question, just in the same mode that, in times past, parties have sought to organize public sentiment upon the tariff question--the bank question--the internal improvement question--the temperance question, and every other question which has been the subject of difference. if it is lawful to say, i will not vote for you because you are a whig, it is equally lawful to say--i will not vote for you because you are a foreigner. if it is lawful to say, i will not vote for you because you are a democrat, it is equally lawful to say, i will not vote for you because you are a catholic. "neither does the american party propose, in the slightest degree, to interfere with any of the rights secured to roman catholics, in common with others, by the constitution. if they choose to worship a great doll as the virgin mary--to burn tall wax-candles in daylight--to pray to god in an unknown tongue--to believe that a simple wafer is the actual body, and common wine the very blood of our saviour--to enforce the celibacy of the clergy--to worship the host--to believe that old toe-nails and pieces of wood are precious relics--to prevent their people from reading the bible--to refuse to send their children to protestant schools--to retain the confessional and the nunnery--to pin their faith to unauthenticated traditions--to assert that theirs is the only true church, and to perpetrate a thousand ridiculous mummeries--the members of the american party with one accord will say, molest them not, disturb them not, trouble them not; the religious privileges of this country are as free to them as they are to us, and we will not, by law or by violence, interrupt or interfere with them in the slightest degree. but knowing that the catholic church was for a thousand years allied to the state; that it claimed dominion, in temporal as well as spiritual affairs, over the kings of the earth; that it regards the pope as the vicegerent of the almighty; that he wears the tiara as the symbol of his power in heaven, earth, and hell; that romanists treat all other professions as heretics; that its archbishops, bishops and priests are sworn to persecute all who differ with them; that the persecuting spirit of that church has been displayed, for centuries, in the most odious acts of cruelty as well as the most despotic tyranny that ever cursed the earth; that fire and faggot, confiscation and torture have been its favorite weapons; that no age, or sex or condition has been exempt from its inhuman butcheries and demoniac lusts; that it exterminated the albigenses and waldenses; that it caused the gutters of paris to run with human blood on st. bartholomew's day; that it lighted the fires of smithfield; that through the instrumentality of tyrconnel and catholic and irish rappadees, it perpetrated the inhuman atrocities of the irish massacres; that, it drove the huguenots from france, and the puritans from england; that it has delighted in the chains and dungeons of the inquisition, and shouted, with fiendish exultation, at the cries and groans of the victims in the _auto da fe_; that no republican government has ever flourished under its sway; that it regards ignorance as the mother of devotion, and denies the obligation of an oath; that it gave rise to the order of jesuits, the most detestable sect that the earth has ever seen; that, in the midst of the blaze of the nineteenth century, it has burned the bible in america and imprisoned men and women in europe for no other offence than that of reading it; that, abusing the freedom of the press and speech secured in the united states, it unblushingly avows that all protestantism is heresy--that it is a crime--and punished in _christian countries like spain and italy_ as a crime; that it has banished the bible from protestant schools, when under its control; that it has intermeddled in political elections, and is struggling for political power; that it wears a mask and claims to be harmless in this country for present effect, although it has never renounced one of its dogmas in any authoritative mode; that it is typified, in the bible, as the man of sin and the great whore of babylon; that it comes to us as an angel of light, but is allied with the prince of darkness: knowing all these things, and believing that the roman catholic church, now that it is covered with the broad wings of modern democracy, partakes of its meat and is pampered by its patronage, is, infinitely, the most dangerous political power with which the people of the united states have ever been compelled to grapple, the american party invites all who love national liberty more than democracy; who prefer civil and religious freedom to the spoils of office; who revere the memory of tyndale, luther, and calvin; of cranmer, latimer, and ridley; of the seven bishops; of fox; of the puritan fathers; of wesley and hall; of the reformers and protestants of every name, and, more than all, of our revolutionary ancestors, to burst the fetters of party and come to the rescue of their bleeding country, bleeding at every pore from wounds inflicted by democratic hands, amidst the jeers of european despots, the shouts of foreigners in our midst, and the taunts and sneers of catholics and jesuits all around us! "let not protestant ministers be intimidated by the impudent assaults of a venal press, or the fierce denunciations of infuriated politicians, from doing their whole duty in the pulpit and at the polls. no presbyterian has ever denied to a methodist the right to question his religious faith, and no methodist will dispute the right of other denominations to impugn his creed. methodists have assailed the presbyterian doctrine of election. presbyterians, in turn, have assailed their ideas of perfection and falling from grace. both have controverted the baptists' views of immersion, and all have denied the episcopalians' doctrine of _apostolic succession_. these and many other points of difference have, from the foundation of our government, often been the subjects of earnest, protracted, and excited discussion; but when did any american protestant ever deny to another american protestant the constitutional right to differ with him in opinion, and to express that difference through the press, in the pulpit, or any other constitutional mode? yet, it has been reserved for democratic presses to attempt, for electioneering purposes, to curb the free spirit of protestant ministers: to denounce them as "reverend hypocrites;" and, when beholding at home and abroad, on the land and on the sea, among christians and pagans, in the halls of legislation, in churches and schools, in free speech, and in a free press, and in ten thousand other forms, the magnificent and glorious results of the reformation, to ask, with impudent assurance, 'what has protestantism done for the world?' not satisfied with the storm of execration which such an infamous interrogatory produced, the nashville union and american, the leading democratic paper in tennessee, in a very abusive article entitled '_what has it accomplished?_' under date of april 26, 1856, thus speaks, among other things, of what he styles 'the know nothing organization:' "'_it has done more than this: it has gone into the church and_ converted the pulpit into a political rostrum--_it has turned the attention of the ministry from_ the peaceful paths of christianity to the arena of political turmoil--_it has pulled down the banner of the cross, and placed in its stead_ the red flag of intolerance and proscription.' "while protestant ministers, in the enjoyment of the rights secured to them by the constitution, have, as before stated, often engaged in controversies with each other as to their differences in matters of church government and speculative faith, they have, with one accord, from the foundation of the government, preached and published their views against the roman catholic church--which arrogates a superiority over them all, and stigmatizes them as sects--long before the american party ever had an existence. but because, in the course of events, it has become necessary for politicians to inquire what effect an acknowledgment of the temporal supremacy of the pope may have upon our free institutions, the democratic party--if it is to be judged of by its organ--would gag the protestant clergy, deny to them a right which they have always exercised, and, if they dare to oppose the colossal strides of rome, denounce them as having converted the pulpit into a _political rostrum_,' and as having raised '_the red flag of intolerance and proscription_.' "it is not for me to prescribe, nor do i desire to dictate the duty of protestant ministers; but if, in the combined efforts which the catholics have been making under the patronage of european despots and noblemen, and the encouragement of democratic demagogues in our own country, they see that this tremendous corporation has planted its footsteps in all our large cities--is possessing itself of the north-west and the mississippi valley--and is encircling them, as it were, with a wall of fire: if they see that the newspapers and periodicals of that corporation have published doctrines in this free country which they would scarcely avow in the roman catholic countries of europe: if, in one word, they believe that they are to be persecuted and exterminated by catholics, or take care of themselves before it is too late--then protestant ministers, agreeing as they do in all great doctrines, and differing only as to those which are not absolutely essential, will cease to disagree among themselves, at least until after they avert a common danger, and will rally as a band of brethren to resist, in such mode as they may deem proper, the encroachments and the insults of rome, and all her satellites and allies. "if i do not greatly err in the estimate which i place upon the protestant clergymen of america, the democratic party and the catholics will discover, sooner or later, that the same spirit which caused the protestant fathers to brave the perils of the boot and the stake: to stand, without flinching, before such miscreant judges as _jeffreys_ and _scroggs_: to yield two thousand pulpits and look beggary and starvation in the face, rather than compromise with conscience; and, above all, to risk the untried dangers of the ocean and settle among savages--will nobly animate their descendants, and they will act in a manner worthy of themselves and of the great cause which is intrusted to their keeping. "never was a more unfounded charge made against any party than that of _proscription_ against the american party. it is only the political feature--the allegiance to the pope of rome--which we have felt called upon especially to oppose: leaving it to protestant ministers to expose, if they choose, the absurdity of catholic theological tenets. "it is a historical fact that the romish clergy of france in 1682, under the lead of louis xiv., made a declaration that 'kings and sovereigns are not subject to any ecclesiastical power by the order of god in temporal things, and their subjects cannot be released from the obedience which they owe them, nor absolved from their oath of allegiance.' the doctrine of this declaration is called indifferently 'the gallican, or the french, or the cis-alpine doctrine. that of the court of rome is called the italian, or trans-alpine doctrine." "under the solemn assurance of the louisiana delegation that the native catholics of louisiana do not acknowledge the temporal supremacy of the pope, they were admitted to representation in the american council and convention, and this fact abundantly proves that there is no desire to _persecute_ catholics for their religion, but only a determination to resist their political doctrine, which, although denied by mr. chandler in congress, has been incontrovertibly established by the history of that church for ages, the avowals of mr. brownson, the rebuke of mr. chandler by the dublin tablet, and other overwhelming proofs. "in concluding this letter, it would, perhaps, be proper to dwell upon the claims of messrs. fillmore and donelson to the support of the american people of all parties; but their characters are so well known, and i have already so extended my remarks, that i deem it unnecessary to observe any thing more than that mr. fillmore, by the faithful discharge of his duty, won the most cordial approbation of his political enemies as well as political friends, and had the confidence of the whole country when he retired from office, and has done nothing since to destroy it; while maj. donelson, as our minister to texas, to prussia, and to denmark, sustained the dignity of our country and acquitted himself with honor--denounced the unhallowed proceedings of the southern convention--struggled manfully, as the democratic editor of the washington union, in behalf of the compromise, and never withdrew from it until may, 1852, when, so far as i understand his course from his public acts, being unwilling to 'blow hot and cold' on the slavery question, and to aid the democratic party in wearing a northern and a southern face, he indignantly retired from it, and subsequently attached himself to the american party in the hope that it could carry on his most cherished object--the preservation of the union. "the object of selecting an old-line whig and an old-line democrat, was to nail to the counter the charge that the american party is the whig party in disguise, and to induce, if possible, conservative men of both the old parties to unite and rescue the country from democratic misrule. "hundreds, thousands of democrats in tennessee, acting upon their own impulses and without concert with their leaders, attached themselves to the american party, but under the abuse of the leaders withdrew from it. although, personally, i have no claims upon the democracy, and have been always opposed to that party, yet i would respectfully observe that first impressions are often the best, and if such democrats will take the trouble faithfully and honestly to examine the questions of the day for themselves, uninfluenced by the dictation of party leaders on either side, they will, doubtless, find many and cogent reasons to return to their first love. "but to such of the old-line whigs as have not already gone over to the democratic party, i do feel that i have the right through this or any other medium to address a few words. it is well known that i have been a whig from my boyhood, and until i attached myself to the american party about twelve months ago; and that, in some form or other, i have labored in behalf of the whig cause from my youth up--in good report and evil report, in prosperity and in adversity, and without fee or reward. and, with great deference to the opinions of others, i would inquire what has any old-line whig to gain, either for his country or himself, by listening to the seductive flatteries of democracy, as he looks upon the dismembered fragments of the whig party, or sits, like marius, amid the ruins of carthage? what party is it that has brought about the desolation you behold? to whose strategy was it owing that the once impregnable city was betrayed and surrounded, and its lofty battlements levelled with the dust? what foul coalition circumvented you, and whose pestilential breath is now whispering in your ear? has that party against which you have fought for twenty years--which you have regarded as essentially corrupt and dangerous to the union--all at once, and by some magical and unknown process, been cleansed of its impurities, and does it stand before you clothed in a white and spotless robe? what are some of the reasons why you opposed it? "it denounced proscription for opinion's sake before it came into power, but kept the guillotine in continual motion afterwards. it rebuked any interference with the freedom of elections, and then denied its doctrine, and sought in countless ways to control them. it charged the administration of john quincy adams with reckless extravagance, and has expended as much, or nearly as much, of the public treasure in one year as he did in the course of his administration. it was favorable to _a_ bank, a judicious tariff, and internal improvements by the general government, but has crushed beneath its iron heel the whole american system. it promised a gold and silver currency, and told the farmers that they and their wives should have 'long silken purses, through the interstices of which the yellow gold would shine and glitter,' but has given us instead more than thirteen hundred state bonds, with a capital of more than three hundred millions. it has united the purse and the sword by means of its odious sub-treasury. it trampled beneath its feet the broad seal of the state of new jersey, and encouraged dorr's rebellion. "it annexed texas and california, and has strengthened the abolition power. it sustains the frequent use of the veto, and under the name of democracy delights in the exercise of monarchical prerogative. it proclaimed in 1844 and 1845, that not a thimblefull of blood would be shed by any war growing out of the annexation of texas, when that war sacrificed thousands of lives, and has cost us millions in money and land. it boasted, in regard to the oregon question, that we must have '54â° 40â´ or fight,' but swallowed its own words, and in later times has attempted to retrieve its courage by the sublime and magnificent bombardment of greytown! it ordered general taylor into the heart of the mexican country with a feeble force, and when his victories had won the grateful plaudits of his countrymen, it had the unparalleled meanness, while he was still fighting our battles, to censure the capitulation of monterey. it had the baseness to call general scott from the head of a victorious army, and to attempt to disgrace him in the eyes of his own country and the world. it denounced judge white as a renegade, general harrison as a coward, mr. clay as a blackguard, and general scott as a fool. and, without repeating what has been already urged in regard to its attitude upon the slavery question and the other topics that have been discussed, i submit to the old-line whigs that there is no principle which the democratic party sincerely holds in common with them, and that they should unite with us in the effort to man the ship of state with officers and men devoted to the constitution and true to the union, in the hope that it may be rescued from the whirlpools and breakers among which it has been so recklessly conducted. "having expressed myself with the independence which should characterize a freeman, i cannot expect that a party which has dealt in the most unmitigated denunciation of wiser and better men than myself, will permit my observations to pass with impunity, but i shall be amply compensated for their abuse if abler tongues and pens will improve upon these hurried remarks, and teach our democratic traducers that they cannot continue, without just retaliation, their unjustifiable assaults upon the american party. "yours respectfully, "thos. a. r. nelson." proscribing foreigners--foreign immigration--foreign paupers and criminals--foreigners elected gen. pierce--opinions of great men. the issue which most disturbs the sag-nicht foreign catholic locofoco dry-rot _patriots_, of the present day, in connection with the principles of the american party, is their _proscription_ of foreign-born citizens. if the reader will turn back to the philadelphia platform, and consult the 3d, 4th, 5th, and 9th sections of that instrument, it will be seen that the american party really proscribe only those who are proscribed by the _constitution of the united states_, and the laws defining the rights of foreign-born citizens. the american party demand the enactment of laws upon this subject more _definite_, and in accordance with the provisions of the constitution. the only _positive_ work which the constitution does, in regard to foreigners, is to _proscribe_. it contains but five clauses touching the subject: four of these are prohibitory, and the other is simply _permissive_. there is no guaranteeing clause whatever. we must be pardoned for recalling the very language of the constitution--for in this _progressive_ age, our "young american" generation is fast losing sight of the plainest features of that document: which, with fillibustering, fire-eating agitators, is _old fogyism_! let the constitution speak for itself: section 5, article ii. of the constitution says: "no person, except a natural-born citizen, or a citizen of the united states at the time of the adoption of this constitution, shall be eligible to the office of president." that is proscription. section 3, article xii., says: "no person constitutionally ineligible to the office of president shall be eligible to the office of vice-president of the united states." that is proscription. section 8, article i., says: "no person shall be a senator who shall not have attained the age of thirty years, and been nine years a citizen of these united states." that is proscription. section 2, article i., says: "no person shall be a representative who shall not have attained the age of twenty-five years, and been seven years a citizen." this is proscription. these are the disabilities imposed upon foreigners after they have been made citizens. but, more than this, the constitution leaves it discretionary whether to make them citizens at all. it simply confers the power--_simply permits_. here is the remaining clause, to which we have alluded: section 8, article i., says: "congress shall have power to establish a uniform rule of naturalization, and uniform laws on the subject of bankruptcies throughout the united states." but let us notice the matter of foreign emigration to this country. in that fragment of a nation, composed of three and a quarter millions, which accomplished the american revolution, there were in the united colonies, in the year 1775, just 20,000 more foreigners than now come into this country in six months! the progress of emigration into this country, as shown from the state department at washington, is after this fashion: in the year 1852, 375,000 in the year 1853, 368,000 in the year 1854, the returns of the first six months warrant the estimate for the entire year of 500,000 --------the aggregate, for the first four and a half years of this decennial term, is 1,801,000 there is no reason for believing that the vast immigration of this year will diminish. in fact, there is no limit to its rate of progress but the means of conveyance. now, then, we have upon this basis an aggregate for the six years and a half intervening between this period and 1860, of 3,250,000 --------making for the current ten years, the astounding aggregate of 5,051,000 let americans charge continually that the righteous ground upon which it plants itself is, that americans shall rule america. let them point the voters of the country to solid facts, from which there is no escape. tell them that the emigration to this country, according to the census records at washington, was: from 1790 to 1810 120,000 " 1810 to 1820 114,000 " 1820 to 1830 203,979 " 1830 to 1840 778,500 " 1840 to 1850 1,542,850 --and that statistics show that during the present decade, from 1850 to 1860, in regularly increasing ratio, nearly four millions of aliens will probably be poured in upon us. point to the fact, that from this immigration spring nearly four-fifths of the beggary, two-thirds of the pauperism, and more than three-fifths of the crime of our country; that more than half the public charities, more than half the prisons and alms-houses, more than half the police and the cost of administering criminal justice, are for foreigners,--and let the demand be made, that national and state legislation shall interfere, to direct, ameliorate, and control these elements, so far as it may be done within the limits of the constitution. let americans everywhere, and at all times, charge home and force upon the attention of the people the alarming fact that if immigration continues at the above rates, in thirty years from this time the population of this country will exceed that of france, england, spain, portugal, sweden, and switzerland, all combined; that in fifteen years the foreign will outnumber the native population; that in 1854 the number of foreign immigrants was 500,000, of which 307,639 arrived at the port of new york; that the white population of north carolina is only a little over 500,000--so that enough come to settle a state as populous as north carolina in a year. set forth the statistical facts, as shown by the last census, that the immigration of 1854 was more than equal to the white population of either one of eighteen states of this union; and in proof, point them to the following startling facts: a. table comparing the white population of the states therein enumerated, with the foreign immigration of 1854, and showing the excess of foreign immigrants for this year above the respective population of the several states. white population. excess of states. immigrants. arkansas 162,189 337,811 alabama 426,514 73,486 california 91,635 418,365 south carolina 274,563 226,437 connecticut 363,099 136,901 delaware 71,169 328,831 florida 47,203 452,717 iowa 191,881 308,119 louisiana 225,491 374,509 maryland 417,943 82,057 michigan 395,071 104,929 mississippi 295,718 204,282 new hampshire 317,456 182,514 new jersey 465,509 34,491 rhode island 143,875 356,125 texas 154,034 345,946 vermont 213,402 186,598 wisconsin 304,756 195,244 analyze this table, and show from it that the foreign immigration of 1854 was sufficient to have settled three states equal to arkansas, three equal to iowa, three equal to texas, two to louisiana, four to rhode island, five to california, seven to delaware, or ten to florida; so that under the principle of the kansas and nebraska act, while immigrants continue pouring in upon us at the present rate, we may have within one year ten new states applying for admission into the union, entitled to their twenty senators in the united states senate; and yet this would be but the senatorial representation of 500,000 foreigners. let the light of truth be heard upon the great question of immigration, and let the people see that if the ratio of immigration continues as it has been since 1850, during the ten years from 1850 to 1860 there will have come four millions of foreigners into this country--enough to settle eighty states equal to florida, thirty-two equal to rhode island, sixteen equal to louisiana, or eight equal to maryland, north carolina, south carolina, georgia, michigan, mississippi, vermont, alabama, new hampshire, or new jersey. so the senatorial representation of foreigners may reach one hundred and sixty members in the united states senate, and cannot be less than twenty in a body composed of but sixty-two members representing thirty-one states. united states coast survey--foreignism and nativeism. the reader will find below a list of the names of the employees in the coast survey, classified according to birth, and their respective salaries: natives. salary. | foreigners. salary. | e. nutty $1,200 | j. e. hilgard $2,200 j. t. hoover 600 | s. e. werner 1,419 j. h. toomer 519 | c. a. schott 1,500 j. e. blackenship 500 | j. main 1,100 r. freeman 350 | g. rumpf 1,000 h. mitchell 1,000 | j. weisner 900 h. heaton 700 | l. f. pourtales 1,500 r. s. avery 660 | s. hein 2,500 j. kincheloe 339 | j. welch 1,565 g. c. blanchard 339 | a. brschke 1,408 r. e. evans 339 | ---balback 639 r. l. hawkins 1,200 | ---lendenkehl 782 w. mcpherson 700 | w. p. schultz 704 w. m. c. fairfax 1,800 | g. mccoy 2,000 m. j. mcclery 1,600 | a. rolle 1,700 ---poterfield 1,000 | g. b. metzenroth 1,095 l. williams 860 | j. c. koudnip 939 john key 782 | j. rutherdall 526 ---martin 751 | j. barrett 375 b. hooe 419 | j. vierbunchen 1,095 f. fairfax 500 | p. vierbunchen 281 h. mccormick 156 | t. hunt 704 e. wharton 1,100 | j. missenson 626 j. knight 1,700 | r. schelpass 469 f. dankworth 1,700 | c. ramkin 313 j. v. n. throop 1,252 | f. white 960 r. knight 939 | d. flyn 600 c. a. knight 626 | t. kinney 525 g. mathiot 1,800 | c. kraft 420 s. harris 519 | b. neff 526 s. d. o'brien 1,059 | a. maedell 1,095 a. geatman 704 | ------h. tine 626 | $31,867 c. b. snow 1,000 | j. smith 593 | g. hitz 313 | j. cronion 519 | a. w. russell 1,300 | ---tansill 660 | v. e. king 720 | f. holden 500 | j. mitchell 331 | w. bright 216 | ------| $24,429 | the whole number of natives, 43; number of foreigners, 31. amount paid natives, $24,429; amount paid foreigners, $31,867. the average salary of the natives is $568 12 per year; of the foreigners, $1,029 98 per year--nearly double that of the natives. is not this _favoritism_ to the foreigner, and _discrimination_ against the native? the disbursing officer, s. hein, receives $2,500. the result of the last presidential election was controlled by _foreign votes_, beyond all question. look at the figures--see how they foot up--and see that the country is controlled by foreigners: electoral foreign foreign pierce's vote for states. population. vote. majority. pierce. new york, 655,224 93,317 27,201 35 pennsylvania, 303,105 43,300 19,446 27 maryland, 51,011 7,287 4,945 8 louisiana, 67,308 9,615 1,392 6 missouri, 76,570 10,938 7,698 9 illinois, 111,860 15,980 15,653 11 ohio, 218,099 31,157 16,694 23 wisconsin, 110,471 15,781 11,418 5 iowa, 20,968 2,995 1,180 4 rhode island, 23,832 3,404 1,109 4 connecticut, 38,374 5,482 2,870 6 delaware, 5,243 749 25 3 new jersey, 59,804 8,543 5,749 7 california, 21,628 10,000 5,694 4 ------- ------ ------ --- 258,548 120,094 152 recapitulation. pierce's vote, 1,602,663 scott's vote, 1,385,990 -------- 216,673 foreign vote, 367,320 pierce's majority, 216,673 -------- 150,647 the foreign vote exceeded pierce's majority over scott, 150,647 votes. it is thus demonstrated that in each of these fourteen states the foreign vote was larger than the majority given for general pierce; and it is also demonstrated that the aggregate foreign vote of these fourteen states is more than twice the whole number of general pierce's majorities in said states. if even one-half of the foreign vote had been given to general scott, he would have been elected instead of general pierce! the following new york city statistics set forth the amount of _crime_ committed in that city for six months ending in june, 1855: "it appears that the number of arrests made during that time were 25,110. of these, no less than 9,755 were for intoxication and disorderly conduct combined; and 7,025 for crimes that had their origin in the dram-shops, to wit: "assault and battery, disorderly conduct, vagrancy, &c. the greatest number of arrests were in june, showing that during the hot weather, as is generally the case, more liquor was drank. the birth-place of the criminals, for two months, was as follows: united states, 1,750 ireland, 5,117 germany, 1,010 all other places, 4,847 "it needs no argument to prove if there had been no intoxicating liquor sold in that city, a large portion of the crimes and the misery resulting therefrom would have been prevented." more instructive statistics.--the jersey city sentinel of the 22d ult. publishes statistics of crime and pauperism in jersey city and hudson county, as follows: "number of inhabitants in jersey city, 21,000, viz.: natives, 13,000; irish, 5,000; other foreigners, 4,000. number of persons who have been confined in the city prison, 4,100, viz.: natives, 75; irish, 3,550; other foreigners, 475. number of persons confined in the county jail at present, 68, viz.: natives, 2; irish, 58: other foreigners, 8. of 188 persons who have been inmates of the almshouse, none have been natives, and no foreigners except irish. of 723 who received aid from the poor-master, 2 were natives, and 721 were irish." we will now submit, as authorities, some names which ought to have weight with the american people, and which demonstrate, beyond all contradiction, that we have had "know nothings" in our country in former days, if they were not called by that name! here are the words and sentiments of these "dark-lantern patriots:" "against the insidious wiles of foreign influence, (i conjure you to believe me, fellow-citizens,) the jealousy of a free people ought to be constantly awake. it is one of the most baneful foes of a republican government."--washington. "i hope we may find some hope in future of shielding ourselves from foreign influence, in whatever form it may be attempted. i wish there were an ocean of fire between this and the old world."--jefferson. "foreign influence is a grecian horse to the republic: we cannot be too careful to exclude its entrance."--madison. "there is an imperative necessity for reforming the naturalization laws of the united states."--daniel webster. "it is high time we should become a little more americanized, and instead of feeding the paupers and laborers of england, feed our own; or else, in a short time, by our present policy, we shall become paupers ourselves."--andrew jackson. "i agree with the father of his country, that we should guard with a jealousy becoming a free people, our institutions, against the insidious wiles of foreign influence."--henry clay. "our naturalization laws are unquestionably defective, or our alms-houses would not now be filled with paupers. of the 134,000 paupers in the united states, 68,000 are foreigners, and 66,000 natives. the annals of crime have swelled as the jails of europe have poured their contents into the country, and the felon convict, reeking from a murder in europe, or who has had the fortune to escape punishment for any other crime abroad, easily gains naturalization here, by spending a part of five years within the limits of the united states. our country has become a botany bay, into which europe annually discharges her criminals of every description."--john m. clayton, united states senator. forty years ago, this subject came up in the congress of the united states, and that far-seeing statesman and patriot, john randolph, of virginia, made a speech, from which we take the following extract: "how long the country would endure this foreign yoke in its most odious and disgusting form he could not tell, but this he would say, that if we were to be dictated to and ruled by foreigners, he would much rather be ruled by a british parliament than by british subjects here. should he be told that those men fought in the war of the revolution, he would answer, that those who did so were not included by him in the class he adverted to. that was a civil war, and they and we were at its commencement alike british subjects. native britons, therefore, then taking arms on our side, gave them the same rights as those who were born in this country, and his motion could be easily modified so as to provide for any that might be of this description, but no such modification, he was sure, would be found necessary, for this plain reason, to wit: "where were the soldiers of the revolution who were not natives? they were either already retired or else retiring to that great reckoning where discounts were not allowed. if the honorable gentleman (opposing the proposition) would point his finger to any such kind of person now living, he would agree to his being made an exception to the amendment. it was time that the american people should have a character of their own, and where would they find it? in new england and in virginia only, because they were a homogeneous race--a peculiar people. they never yet appointed foreigners to sit in that house (of congress) for them, or to fill their high offices. in both states this was their policy: it was not found in, nor was it owing to their paper constitutions, but what was better, it was interwoven in the frame of their thoughts and sentiments, in their steady habits, in their principles from the cradle--a much more solid security than could be found in any abracadabra which constitution-mongers could scrawl upon paper. "it might be indiscreet in him to say it, for, to say the truth, he had as little of that rascally virtue, prudence, he apprehended, as any man, and could as little conceal what he felt as affect what he did not feel. he knew it was not the way for him to conciliate the manufacturing body, yet he would say that he wished with all his heart that his bootmaker, his hatter, and other manufacturers, would rather stay in great britain, under their own laws, than come here to make laws for us, and leave us to import our covering. we must have our clothing home-made, (said he,) but i would much rather have my workmen home-made, and import my clothing. was it best to have our own unpolluted republic peopled with its own pure _native_ republicans, or erect another sheffield, another manchester, and another birmingham, upon the banks of the schuylkill, the delaware, and the brandywine, or have a host of luddites amongst us--wretches from whom every vestige of the human creation seemed to be effaced? would they wish to have their elections on that floor decided by a rabble? what was the ruin of old rome? why, their opening their gates and letting in the rabble of the whole world to be their legislators!" "if (said he) you wish to preserve among your fellow-citizens that exalted sense of freedom which gave birth to the revolution--if you wish to keep alive among them the spirit of '76, you must endeavor to stop this flood of immigration! you must teach the people of europe that if they do come here, all they must hope to receive is protection--but that they must have no share in the government. from such men a temporary party may receive precarious aid, but the country cannot be safe nor the people happy where they are introduced into government, or meddle with public concerns in any great degree." * * * * * "this (said mr. randolph) is a favorable time to make a stand against this evil (immigration,) and if not _this_ session, he hoped that in the _next_ there would be a revisal of the naturalization laws." a few short epistles from the pen of gen. washington, and we will close this chapter. these we take from the "papers of washington by sparks." george washington, justly styled the "father of his country," was a great and good man--a primitive know nothing--a praying protestant--and withal, the man who was "first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen." here are the honest sentiments of this man: to richard henry lee. "morristown, may 17, 1777. "dear sir:--i take the liberty to ask you what congress expects i am to do with the many foreigners they have at different times promoted to the rank of field-officers, and, by the last resolve, two to that of colonels.... these men have no attachment nor ties to the country, further than interest binds them. our officers think it exceedingly hard, after they have toiled in this service and have sustained many losses, to have strangers put over them, whose merit, perhaps, is not equal to their own, but whose effrontery will take no denial.... it is by the zeal and activity of our own people that the cause must be supported, and not by a few hungry adventurers.... "i am, &c., "g. washington." [vol. iv., p. 423.] * * * * * to the same. "middlebrook, june 1, 1777. "you will, before this can reach you, have seen monsieur ducoudray. what his real expectations are, i do not know; but i fear, if his appointment is equal to what i have been told is his expectation, it will be attended with unhappy consequences. _to say nothing of the policy of intrusting a department, on the execution of which the salvation of the army depends, to a foreigner who has no other tie to bind him to the interests of this country than honor_, i would beg leave to observe that by putting mr. d. at the head of the artillery, you will lose a very valuable officer in general knox, who is a man of great military reading, sound judgment, and clear conceptions, who will resign if any one is put over him.... i am, &c., "g. washington." [vol. iv., p. 446.] * * * * * to gouverneur morris, esq. "white plains, july 24, 1778. "dear sir:--the design of this is to touch cursorily upon a subject of very great importance to the well-being of these states: much more so than will appear at first view. i mean _the appointment of so many foreigners to offices of high rank and trust in our service_. "the lavish manner in which rank has hitherto been bestowed on these gentlemen, will certainly be productive of one or the other of these two evils--_either to make us despicable in the eyes of europe, or become a means of pouring them in upon us like a torrent, and adding to our present burden_. "but it is neither the expense nor trouble of them that i dread: there is an evil more extensive in its nature and fatal in its consequences to be apprehended, and that is the driving of all our own officers out of the service, and throwing not only our army but our military councils entirely into the hands of foreigners. "the officers, my dear sir, on whom you must depend for the defence of this cause, distinguished by length of service, their connections, property, and military merit, will not submit much, if any longer, to the unnatural promotion of men over them who have nothing more than a little plausibility, unbounded pride and ambition, and a perseverance in application not to be resisted but by uncommon firmness, to support their pretensions: men who, in the first instance, tell you they wish for nothing more than the honor of serving in so glorious a cause as volunteers, the next day solicit rank without pay, the day following want money advanced to them, and in the course of a week want further promotion, and are not satisfied with any thing you can do for them. the expediency and the policy of the measure remain to be considered, and whether it is consistent with justice or prudence to promote these military fortune-hunters at the hazard of your army. "baron steuben, i now find, is also wanting to quit his inspectorship for a command in the line. this will be productive of much discontent to the brigadiers. in a word, although i think the baron an excellent officer, _i do most devoutly wish that we had not a single foreigner among us, except the marquis de lafayette_, who acts upon very different principles from those which govern the rest. adieu. "i am most sincerely yours, "g. washington." [vol. vi., p. 13.] * * * * * to john adams, vice-president of the united states. "philadelphia, nov. 27, 1794. "dear sir:--... my opinion with respect to immigration is, that except of useful mechanics and some particular description of men or professions, there is no need of encouragement. i am, &c., "g. washington." [vol. xi., p. 1.] * * * * * to j. q. adams, american minister at berlin. "mount vernon, jan. 20, 1799. "sir:--... you know, my good sir, that it is not the policy of this country to employ aliens where it can well be avoided, either in the civil or military walks of life.... there is a species of self-importance in all foreign officers that cannot be gratified without doing injustice to meritorious characters among our own countrymen, who conceive, and justly, where there is no great preponderancy of experience or merit, that they are entitled to the occupancy of all offices in the gift of their government. "i am, &c., "g. washington." [vol. xi., p. 392.] * * * * * same date, to a foreigner applying for office. "dear sir:--... it does not accord with the policy of this government to bestow offices, civil or military, upon foreigners, to the exclusion of our own citizens. yours, &c., "g. washington." [vol. xi., p. 392.] * * * * * instructions of the secretary of war to the inspector-general. "war department, feb. 4, 1799. "... for the cavalry, for the regulations restrict the recruiting officers to engage none _except natives_ for this corps, and those only as from their known character and fidelity may be trusted." [from the knoxville whig for march, 1856.] who is millard fillmore? a brief history of the american nominee for the presidency is this: he was born in the year 1800, in cayuga county, new york, and is now fifty-six years of age. his father was then, as he now is, a farmer, in moderate circumstances; and now lives in the county of erie, a short distance from buffalo. the limited means of the family prevented the old gentleman from giving his son millard any other or better education than was obtained in the imperfect common schools of that age. in his sixteenth year, mr. fillmore was placed with a merchant tailor near his home to learn that business. he remained four years in his apprenticeship, during which time he had access to a small library, improving the advantages it offered by perusing all the books therein contained. judge wood, of cayuga county, pleased with his intellectual advancement, urged him to study the profession of the law; and as his poverty was the only obstacle in his way, judge wood advanced him the necessary means, relying upon his making a lawyer, and being able by the practice of the profession to refund the money again. with a portion of this money young fillmore bought his unexpired time, which was for the winter, and he pursued his legal studies with energy and success, in the office of the noble judge. in 1822, he removed to buffalo, where he was admitted to the bar. his object in removing to buffalo was to complete his studies and to obtain a license. this accomplished, he removed to aurora, not far from where his parents resided, and there commenced the practice of his profession. the confidence of his neighbors in his integrity and abilities was such that he found himself in the midst of a lucrative practice at once. in 1826, he was married to miss powers, the daughter of a clergyman in the village of aurora, and this excellent woman lived to see him elected vice-president of the united states. in 1829, mr. fillmore was elected from the county in which he married and where his parents lived to the general assembly of new york, and for three years continued a member of this body, distinguishing himself by his energy, tact, and wisdom in legislation. through his energy and speeches, _imprisonment for debt_ was abolished, and this so increased his popularity throughout the state, that it was apparent that he could be elected to any office in the gift of the people of that state. in 1829, he was admitted a counsellor in the supreme court of new york, and in 1832 he removed to buffalo, where he settled permanently and enlarged his practice as an attorney. in 1832, he was elected a representative in the 23d congress, in which he served with industry and credit to himself and his district. at the end of his term he renewed the practice of the law, of choice, but, in 1836, was prevailed on to again serve his district in congress; and in the celebrated new jersey contested elections, distinguished himself. he was chosen to the next congress by the largest majority ever given to any man in the district; and as chairman of the committee on ways and means, acquired a reputation that any man might be proud of. at the close of the 27th congress, his friends were anxious for his continuance in public life, but he declined. and in his address to his constituents, dated at washington, july 11th, 1842, he says: "pardon the personal vanity, though it be a weakness, that induces me to recur for a moment to the cherished recollections of your early friendship and abiding confidence. i cannot give vent to the feelings of my heart without it. it is now nearly fourteen years since you did me the unsolicited honor to nominate me to represent you in the state legislature. seven times have i received renewed evidence of your confidence by as many elections, and, at the expiration of my present term, i shall have served you three years in the state and eight years in the national councils. i cannot recall the thousand acts of generous devotion from so many friends, without feeling the deepest emotions of gratitude. i came among you a poor and friendless boy. you kindly took me by the hand and gave me your confidence and support. you have conferred upon me distinction and honors, for which i could make no adequate return, but by honest and untiring effort faithfully to discharge the high trust which you confided to my keeping. if my humble efforts have met your approbation, i freely admit, next to the approval of my own conscience, it is the highest reward which i could receive for days of unceasing toil and nights of sleepless anxiety. i profess not to be above or below the common frailties of our nature. i will therefore not disguise the fact, that i was highly gratified at my first election to congress; yet i can truly say that my utmost ambition has been gratified. i aspire to nothing more, and shall retire from the exciting scenes of political strife to the quiet employments of my family and fireside, with still more satisfaction than i felt when first elevated to distinguished station." during this same year he returned to the practice of his profession, and, in 1844, the whig state convention of new york put him in nomination for the office of governor, in opposition to silas wright. this was the only conflict in which he ever suffered defeat, and the race was close. in 1847, without seeking or desiring the highly responsible office, he was elected comptroller of the finances of the state, and removed to albany, where he discharged the duties of the office with great credit to himself and usefulness to the state, resigning the office in february, 1849, to enter upon the duties of the office of vice-president, to which he had been called by the election in 1848. gen. taylor dying, he became president, and every patriot in the land remembers and admires the history of his administration. gen. cass and other distinguished democrats said his career had been one of genuine patriotism, honor, and usefulness; and gov. wise, upon the stump in virginia, characterized it as "washington-like;" while the democratic papers and orators, from maine to california, declared that he ought to have been nominated in lieu of gen. scott, because he was one of the best men in america. he is now in europe, familiarizing himself with the workings of the despotic governments of that country. before leaving, almost one year ago, he told his friends, in answer to questions relating to the presidency, not to start any newspapers for his benefit--not to publish any documents--not to make any speeches, or even electioneer--and added, that if the american people nominated him, of their own free will and accord, he would accept their nomination, and if elected, he would serve them to the best of his abilities. his nomination, therefore, under the circumstances, is a great honor, and shows the implicit confidence the real people have in the integrity, patriotism, and qualifications of the man. that he will go into the presidential chair almost by acclamation, we have not the shadow of doubt. as to mr. fillmore's chances, we consider them excellent, and growing brighter every day. the indications are now very clear that he will obtain a _plurality_, if not a _majority_ vote, in most of the northern states; and under the most unfavorable circumstances, he will be sure to divide the electoral vote of the south, so as to carry more states than mr. buchanan. virginia, south carolina, mississippi, and alabama, are the only four states we concede to the cincinnati nominee and _one_ of these, we confidently expect to carry. georgia and arkansas we set down as doubtful, and we contend that buchanan can't get either of them without a severe struggle. we then make this estimate, and claim as certain for fillmore and donelson the following states, viz.: massachusetts 13 rhode island 4 new york 35 new jersey 7 pennsylvania 27 maryland 8 kentucky 12 tennessee 12 north carolina 10 louisiana 6 missouri 9 california 4 delaware 3 florida 3 this makes a total of 157--_eleven,_ more than is necessary to an election. this is not an extravagant, but a very fair estimate. the friends of the american ticket have a right to feel encouraged. with proper exertions our ticket will carry. let every american consider himself a sentinel upon the watch-tower--let every friend of the party do his duty, and the result will not be doubtful. and let all who believe that "americans ought to rule america," take courage--"the skies are bright and brightening." as it regards mr. fillmore's americanism, _that_ is settled--he has been a protestant american _fifteen years in advance_ of the party, as it now exists. the hon. j. t. headley, secretary of state of new york, delivered a speech at the capital of his state, march 7th, 1856, in which he spoke of mr. fillmore in the following language: "now, in the first place, he was an american years before those who denounce him ever thought of americanism. the police constable of newburg elected last year on the american ticket, told me, that years ago, when that well-known conflict occurred between the citizens of buffalo and the foreign population, that a combination was formed called the "_american league_." the members of this league entered into _a solemn compact to stand together and fight together for the rights of americans_. this constable was at the time an humble mechanic in buffalo, and he said that _he constantly met mr. fillmore (who was a member of that league with him) at the council room_. thus you see that those who would arrogate to themselves the title of americans, and yet carp at mr. fillmore as wanting in american sentiment, are really recent volunteers compared with him. mr. fillmore carried his american principles still farther and became (so an officer in the same order informs me) _a member of the united americans_. he has always been a true american, _he is now, and ever will be_, and is worthy to move at the head of the glorious column over which floats the flag bearing the inscription, 'americans shall rule america.'" after the defeat of mr. clay, in 1844, mr. fillmore addressed him this noble _american_ letter: "buffalo, nov. 14, 1844. "my dear sir:--i have thought for three or four days that i would write to you, but really i am unmanned. i have no courage or resolution. all is gone. the last hope, which hung first upon the city of new york, and then upon virginia, is finally dissipated, and i see nothing but despair depicted upon every countenance. "for myself, i have no regrets. i was nominated for governor much against my will, and though not insensible to the pride of success, yet i feel a kind of relief at being defeated. but not so for you or the nation. every consideration of justice, every feeling of gratitude conspired in the minds of honest men to insure your election, and though always doubtful of my own success, i could never doubt yours, till the painful conviction was forced upon me. "the abolitionists and _foreign catholics have defeated us in this state_. i will not trust myself to speak of the vile hypocrisy of the leading abolitionists now. doubtless many acted honestly and ignorantly in what they did. but it is clear that birney and his associates sold themselves to locofocoism, and they will doubtless receive their reward. "_our opponents, by pointing to the native americans and to mr. frelinghuysen, drove the foreign catholics from us and defeated us in this state._ "but it is vain to look at the causes by which this infamous result has been produced. it is enough to say that all is gone. i must confess that nothing has happened to shake my confidence in our ability to sustain a free government so much as this. "millard fillmore." but here is one other letter, written to isaac newton, just before mr. fillmore left the united states for europe. a more patriotic letter, breathing more of the genuine american spirit, we have never met with: "buffalo, n. y., jan. 3, 1855. "respected friend isaac newton:--it would give me great pleasure to accept your kind invitation to visit philadelphia, if it were possible to make my visit private, and limit it to a few personal friends whom i should be most happy to see; but i know that this would be out of my power, and i am therefore reluctantly compelled to decline your invitation, as i have done others to new york and boston, for the same reason. "i return you many thanks for your information on the subject of politics. i am always happy to hear what is going forward, but, independent of the fact that i feel myself withdrawn from the political arena, i have been too much depressed in spirit to take an active part in the late elections. i contented myself with giving a silent vote for mr. ullman, for governor. "while, however, i am an inactive observer of public events, i am by no means an indifferent one, and i may say to you in the frankness of private friendship, that i have for a long time looked with dread and apprehension at the corrupting influence which the contest for the foreign vote is exerting upon our elections. this seems to result from its being banded together, and subject to the control of a few interested and selfish leaders. hence it has been a subject of bargain and sale, and each of the great political parties of the country have been bidding to obtain it, and, as usual in all such contests, the party which is most corrupt is most successful. the consequence is, that it is fast demoralizing the whole country; corrupting the very fountains of political power; and converting the ballot-box--that great palladium of our liberty--into an unmeaning mockery, where the rights of native-born citizens are voted away by those who blindly follow their mercenary and selfish leaders. the evidence of this is found not merely in the shameless chaffering for the foreign vote at every election, but in the large disproportion of offices which are now held by foreigners at home and abroad, as compared with our native citizens. where is the true-hearted american whose cheek does not tingle with shame and mortification to see our highest and most coveted foreign missions filled by men of foreign birth to the exclusion of native-born? such appointments are a humiliating confession to the crowned heads of europe that a republican soil does not produce sufficient talent to represent a republican nation at a monarchical court. i confess that it seems to me--with all due respect to others--that, as a general rule, our country should be governed by american-born citizens. let us give to the oppressed of every country an asylum and a home in our happy land, give to all the benefits of equal laws, and equal protection; but let us at the same time cherish, as the apple of our eye, the great principles of constitutional liberty, which few who have not had the good fortune to be reared in a free country know how to appreciate and still less how to preserve. "washington, in that inestimable legacy which he left to his country--his farewell address--has wisely warned us to beware of foreign influence as the most baneful foe of a republican government. he saw it to be sure in a different light from that in which it now presents itself; but he knew it would approach us in all forms, and hence he cautioned us against the _insidious wiles of its influence_. therefore, as well for our own sakes, to whom this invaluable inheritance of self-government has been left by our forefathers, as for the sake of unborn millions who are to inherit this land--foreign and native--let us take warning of the father of his country, and do what we can justly to preserve our institutions from corruption and our country from dishonor, but let this be done by the people themselves in their sovereign capacity by making a proper discrimination in the selection of officers, and not by depriving any individual--native or foreign-born--of any constitutional or legal right to which he is entitled. "these are my sentiments in brief; and although i have sometimes almost despaired of my country when i have witnessed the rapid strides of corruption, yet i think i perceive a gleam of hope in the future, and i now feel confident, that when the great mass of intelligence in this enlightened country is once fully aroused, and the danger manifested, it will fearlessly apply the remedy, and bring back the government to the pure days of washington's administration. finally, let us adopt the old roman motto, '_never despair of the republic._' let us do our duty, and trust in that providence which has so signally watched over and preserved us for the result. but i have said more than i intended, and much more than i should have said to any one but a trusted friend, as i have no desire to mingle in political strife. "remember me kindly to your family, and believe me truly your friend, "millard fillmore." in march, 1851, lewis cass, than whom there is not a more devoted partisan in the democratic ranks, delivered a speech on the floor of the united states senate, in the course of which he paid the following just compliment to mr. fillmore's integrity, and to his efficiency in "_pacifying the country_," while he was president. we quote from the congressional globe, and hold it up as a withering rebuke to those "lesser lights" of democracy, who are now defaming this pure and patriotic statesman: "the administration has placed itself high in the great work of _pacifying the country_, and they received the meed of approbation from political friends and political foes. _i partake of the same sentiment._ i do them justice. but i am a democrat, and, god willing, i mean to die one. this is a whig administration, but there is no reason i should not do them justice; and i do it with pleasure, in this great matter of _the salvation of this country_--if i may say so. i have done so; shall continue to do so, whatever sneers their papers may contain; for i do it not for their sake, but _for the sake of their country_." the _democratic review_--the highest democratic authority in the united states--for december, 1855, commenting upon the compromise measures of 1850, thus spoke of mr. fillmore, in a moment of candor, long before mr. fillmore was nominated by the american party for the presidency: "momentous events were transpiring. the agitation of the question of slavery was paramount in the public mind. in this crisis, it was well that so reliable a man as mr. fillmore was found in the presidential chair. the safety and perpetuity of the union were threatened. already had fanaticism raised its hydra-head. schemes and 'isms' leaped from a thousand ambuscades. the enemies of the union started forth on every side--abolitionism here; secessionism there; acquisition and filibusterism elsewhere. these were the formidable elements of misrule with which the executive had to cope. how well he met, and how entirely he for the time overcame these enemies of the peace of the republic, we leave the historian to relate; but our retrospect would be incomplete and disingenuous, did we not accord the meed of praise justly due to high moral excellence and intellectual and administrative honesty and talent, as developed in the administration of mr. fillmore." since the foregoing was prepared for the press, mr. fillmore's letter of acceptance has come to hand, greatly to the annoyance of the democratic and anti-american fuglemen and politicians. we congratulate the country upon the patriotic, national, and _truly american_ spirit which pervades this chaste and well-written document. it is just what we expected from _one of the very first men in the nation_. his reference to his past course as a guaranty for the future is well-timed. _sectional_ legislation he is opposed to; and sectional agitation he will use his influence to suppress. we ask every man into whose hands this work shall fall, to read this admirable letter for himself: it is worthy of the man and the times; nay, it is the letter of a patriot and a statesman- "who for his country feels alone, and loves her weal, beyond his own." [copy.] philadelphia, feb. 26th, 1856. _to the hon. millard fillmore_: sir:--the national convention of the american party, which has just closed its session in this city, has unanimously chosen you as the candidate for the presidency of the united states in the election to be held in november next. it has associated with you andrew jackson donelson, esq., of tennessee, as the candidate for the vice-presidency. the convention has charged the undersigned with the agreeable duty of communicating these proceedings to you, and of asking your acceptance of a nomination which will receive not only the cordial support of the great national party in whose name it is made, but the approbation also of large numbers of other enlightened friends of the constitution and the union, who will rejoice in the opportunity to testify their grateful appreciation of your faithful service in the past, and their confidence in your experience and integrity for the guidance of the future. the undersigned take advantage of this occasion to tender to you the expression of their own gratification in the proceedings of the convention, and to assure you of the high consideration with which they are yours, &c. alexander h. h. stuart, andrew stewart, erastus brooks, e. b. bartlett, wm. j. eames, ephraim marsh. _committee, &c._ paris, may 21st, 1856. gentlemen:--i have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your letter informing me that the national convention of the american party, which had just closed its session at philadelphia, had unanimously presented my name for the presidency of the united states, and associated with it that of andrew jackson donelson for the vice-presidency. this unexpected communication met me at venice on my return from italy, and the duplicate, mailed thirteen days later, was received on my arrival in this city last evening. this must account for my apparent neglect in giving a more prompt reply. you will pardon me for saying that when my administration closed in 1853, i considered my political life as a public man at an end, and thenceforth i was only anxious to discharge my duty as a private citizen. hence i have taken no active part in politics. but i have by no means been an indifferent spectator of passing events; nor have i hesitated to express my opinion on all political subjects when asked; nor to give my vote and private influence for those men and measures i thought best calculated to promote the prosperity and glory of our common country. beyond this i deemed it improper for me to interfere. but this unsolicited and unexpected nomination has imposed upon me a new duty, from which i cannot shrink; and therefore, approving, as i do, of the general objects of the party which has honored me with its confidence, i cheerfully accept its nomination, without waiting to inquire of its prospects of success or defeat. it is sufficient for me to know that by so doing i yield to the wishes of a large portion of my fellow-citizens in every part of the union, who, like myself, are sincerely anxious to see the administration of our government restored to that original simplicity and purity which marked the first years of its existence; and, if possible, to quiet that alarming sectional agitation, which, while it delights the monarchists of europe, causes every true friend of our own country to mourn. having the experience of past service in the administration of the government, i may be permitted to refer to that as the exponent of the future, and to say, should the choice of the convention be sanctioned by the people, i shall, with the same scrupulous regard for the rights of every section of the union which then influenced my conduct, endeavor to perform every duty confided by the constitution and laws to the executive. as the proceedings of this convention have marked a new era in the history of the country, by bringing a new political organization into the approaching presidential canvass, i take the occasion to reaffirm my full confidence in the patriotic purposes of that organization, which i regard as springing out of a public necessity, forced upon the country, to a large extent, by unfortunate sectional divisions, and the dangerous tendency of those divisions towards disunion. it alone, in my opinion, of all the political agencies now existing, is possessed of the power to silence this violent and disastrous agitation, and to restore harmony by its own example of moderation and forbearance. it has a claim, therefore, in my judgment, upon every earnest friend of the integrity of the union. so estimating this party, both in its present position and future destiny, i freely adopt its great leading principles as announced in the recent declaration of the national council at philadelphia, a copy of which you were so kind as to enclose me, holding them to be just and liberal to every true interest of the country, and wisely adapted to the establishment and support of an enlightened, safe, and effective american policy, in full accord with the ideas and the hopes of the fathers of our republic. i expect shortly to sail for america; and, with the blessings of divine providence, hope soon to tread my native soil. my opportunity of comparing my own country and the condition of its people with those of europe, has only served to increase my admiration and love for our own blessed land of liberty, and i shall return to it without even a desire ever to cross the atlantic again. i beg of you, gentlemen, to accept my thanks for the very flattering manner in which you have been pleased to communicate the results of the action of that enlightened and patriotic body of men who composed the late convention, and to be assured that i am, with profound respect and esteem, your friend and fellow-citizen, millard fillmore. messrs. alex. h. h. stuart, andrew stewart, erastus brooks, e. b. bartlett, wm. j. eames, ephraim marsh, _committee_. who is andrew j. donelson? this gentleman being now the nominee of the american party for the office of vice-president, naturally attracts much of public attention; and as a matter to be looked for, and not at all to be regretted, draws down upon him great abuse and slander from the hireling editors of the corrupt party opposing him. we will let a neighbor of major donelson, who has had access to his papers, and who has prepared and published in the _nashville banner_ a sketch of his life, answer the question propounded at the head of this chapter: "mr. donelson is the second son of samuel donelson, deceased, who was the brother of the late mrs. jackson. his eldest brother died in 1817, soon after the creek war, in which he participated as a soldier under general jackson. his death was announced to mr. donelson by general jackson in the following terms: 'whilst we regret his loss, he has left us the endearing recollection that there was not a stain upon his character. he has performed his duty here below, and has taken his flight to realms above, as unspotted as an angel. what a lesson he has given us! how delightful to dwell upon the idea that he has walked in the paths of virtue during his whole life, without a blemish on his character, and that all his friends may recount his acts with pride and pleasure!' the younger brother is still living in the paternal mansion, and was a member of the last legislature of tennessee. the mother of these children afterwards married mr. james sanders, of sumner county, tennessee, and is still enjoying good health. she is the only daughter of gen. daniel smith, who was one of the surveyors of the line between virginia and north carolina, and succeeded gen. jackson in the senate of the united states. "general smith had an important agency in shaping the early history of tennessee--having represented a portion of the people in the north carolina legislature, and in the convention which ratified the constitution of the united states. he was also secretary of the territory, and a member of the convention of 1796. he was a native of virginia, and emigrated to tennessee soon after he had surveyed the line between that state and north carolina, having, while in the execution of that service, seen the fine lands in middle tennessee. he settled the lands upon which his grandson, henry smith, now resides; and built the mansion, which is still there, at a period when the men engaged in quarrying the rock had to be guarded from the attacks of the indians. "the father of samuel donelson, col. john donelson, was also a native of virginia, and at onetime a representative of one of her oldest counties, pittsylvania, in the house of burgesses. he possessed in an eminent degree the respect of the provincial governor of that commonwealth, from whom he received the appointment of indian commissioner about the year 1770; and it is to his bold and enterprising spirit that we are in a great measure indebted for the indian treaties which extended the settlements of virginia through kentucky to the ohio river. he left port patrick henry in 1779, descending the tennessee river with all his family, in boats built on the holston, and came up the cumberland in those boats as high as the clover bottom, encountering incredible toils and dangers. three years afterwards, in 1793, in conjunction with col. martin, he concluded an indian treaty, by which the settlements on the cumberland river were greatly benefited; but he had, previously to his departure from virginia, under a contract with georgia, explored the country, and run the line between that state and north carolina, as far west as the mississippi river. after settling his family near the present site of the hermitage, he was killed by the indians, on a journey to kentucky, near the big barren river, at the advanced age of 75. "samuel donelson was a lawyer by profession, and the intimate friend and associate of gen. jackson, after whom he named his son andrew, who was born on the 25th of august, 1800. on the second marriage of his mother, this son was taken into the family of the general, who became his guardian and patron; and he remained the most of his time with him until he was prepared to enter the cumberland college. after finishing his studies at this school, gen. jackson obtained for him a cadet's warrant, which enabled him to enter the military academy at west point, in 1816. he was one of the first class which was graduated under the superintendence of col. thayer--finishing the course of studies in three, instead of four years; as is customary. throughout his service at west point, he was distinguished for his proficiency in mathematics, and for the facility with which he mastered all the studies which appertain to military science. no higher proof need be adduced of this fact, than the position assigned to him by the board of examiners and visitors, when he graduated. he was placed no. 2, in a class of great merit, notwithstanding he had the studies of two years to pass through in one year, and was recommended to the department of war for a commission in the engineer corps--a compliment accorded only to the most distinguished of the class. "after obtaining his commission, mr. donelson was ordered to the western frontier to build a fort; but before he reached this destination, the war department, on the application of gen. jackson, allowed him to accept the appointment of aide-de-camp in the staff of the general. in this capacity he attended the general when he took possession of the floridas, and remained with him until the latter resigned his commission in the army. "at this period, mr. donelson seeing no prospect for rapid promotion in the corps of engineers, and sharing the conviction then so prevalent in the army, that the conclusion of the war with england had shut the door for a long time to come against those military enterprises which are so tempting to the officer and soldier, and feeling also that he could be more useful in the pursuits of civil life, turned his attention to the study of law. he accordingly resigned his commission; and after attending the course of law lectures in the transylvania university, then under the presidency of dr. holly, he received his license, and appeared at the nashville bar in 1823, having formed a partnership with mr. duncan. circumstances, however, soon occurred, which withdrew him in a great degree from the practice. general jackson was again in the field as a candidate for the presidency, and needed the services of a confidential friend to aid him in repelling the bitter assaults which were made upon his character and services. animated by a deep sense of gratitude, no duty could be more pleasing to mr. donelson than that of contributing his labor to advance the great popular movement which aimed, by the elevation of his benefactor and friend, to promote the highest interests of the country. he therefore cheerfully entered again into the general's family, and travelled with him to washington city after the elections in 1824. those elections devolved the choice of president upon the house of representatives. mr. adams was the successful candidate, although gen. jackson had a much larger popular vote, and was evidently the favorite of the people. "as is well known to the country, the result of that election gave increased force to the sentiment which had placed gen. jackson in nomination. the efforts of his friends throughout the union became more active, and were never abated until the decision of the house of representatives in 1824 was reversed, and gen. jackson placed in the presidential chair. during these four years, mr. donelson, who had married in 1824, settled upon his plantation adjoining the hermitage, and continued there to promote the cause he had espoused so warmly in the beginning. "when the elections of 1828 were over, gen. jackson insisted upon the acceptance by mr. donelson of the post of private secretary. mr. d. accordingly set out with him in the winter of 1828 for the city of washington, taking with him his wife, whom he had married in 1824. this lady was the youngest daughter of capt. john donelson, and was invited by gen. jackson to do the honors of the white house--a position which she held throughout the greater portion of his presidency. "it was in this capacity that mr. donelson endeared himself still more than ever to the hero of the hermitage. he spent the prime of his life, from 1828 to 1836, in his service, and he felt himself amply rewarded by the knowledge he thus acquired of public men and measures. "at the close of gen. jackson's presidency, mr. donelson declined to take office under mr. van buren, being anxious for a respite from public affairs, and to enjoy the pleasures of his farm; upon which he remained until he was called unexpectedly to take a part in the negotiation which brought texas into our union. it was upon this theatre that he displayed the judgment and tact which brought him prominently before the country as a man that understood the public interests, and knew how to take care of them. "the commission appointing mr. donelson minister to texas is dated the 16th of september, 1844. mr. calhoun, then secretary of state, in the letter enclosing the commission, says: "'the state of things in texas is such as to require that the place (charge d'affaires) should be filled without delay, and to select him who, under all circumstances, may be thought best calculated to bring to a successful decision the great question of annexation pending before the two countries. after full deliberation, you have been selected as that individual; and i do trust, my dear sir, that you will not decline the appointment, however great may be the personal sacrifice of accepting. that great question must be decided in the next three or four months; and whether it shall be favorable or not, will depend on him who shall fill the mission now tendered you. i need not tell you how much depends on its decision for weal or woe to our country, and perhaps the whole continent. it is sufficient to say that, viewed in all its consequences, it is one of the first magnitude; and that it gives an importance to the mission at this time, that raises it to the level with the highest in the gift of the government. "assuming, therefore, that you will not decline the appointment, unless some insuperable difficulty should interpose, and in order to avoid delay, a commission is herewith transmitted, without the formality of waiting your acceptance, with all the necessary papers.'" president polk, after this, confided an important and most critical foreign negotiation to major donelson; and his estimate of the prudence, discretion, and ability with which major donelson discharged his trust, appears from a letter to major d. from the hon. john y. mason, president polk's secretary of war, dated august 7th, 1845. from that letter, complimentary from beginning to end, we copy only this portion: "the services which you have rendered your country in the delicate negotiations intrusted to you, are justly appreciated. _your prudence, discretion, and ability have inspired the president with a confidence which would make him feel much more at ease if that delicate task could be in your hands._ "it gives me great pleasure to assure you that _the publication of your official correspondence will give you a most enviable reputation for the highest qualities of a statesman and diplomatist_. "the president unites in the kindest regards, with your friend, "j. y. mason." president pierce's opinion of major donelson may be learned from the following letter, written by him to the major when the latter was the editor of the _washington union_, the national organ of the democratic party: "concord, may 30, 1851. "my dear sir: i rejoice that the leading organ of our party is now under your control, and regard the change as most auspicious at this juncture. there is a great battle before us--a battle for the union--a battle for the ascendency of the principles, the maintenance of which so nobly signalized the administration of general jackson. the tone, vigor, and statesmanlike grasp _which you have brought to the columns of the union are not merely important, they are_ absolutely indispensable _in this crisis_. "with great respect, your friend and servant, "frank. pierce." the following article is from the _nashville union_, of october 15, 1844, the tennessee organ of democracy, published within a few miles of where major donelson lives, and has passed most of his life. this article shows what opinion was entertained of him before he became a _know-nothing_: "the diplomatic agency of this government in texas is, at this moment, the most important mission abroad; although it ranks with those of the second class, its high and important duties require the talents of one every way qualified for the first foreign mission on the globe. "_we congratulate the administration on having been able to secure the services of one so eminently qualified in all respects for the station, whose thorough knowledge of the relations subsisting between the two countries, and whose intimate acquaintance with the prominent statesmen of this and that government, will place him in the enjoyment of advantages which cannot fail to secure to us the most desirable results._ "major donelson leaves his plantation near the hermitage to-day--proceeding overland to the mississippi river on his way to the texan capital--and we cannot but participate in the painful emotions with which the word 'farewell' will be exchanged between himself and his venerable patron, friend, and relative, 'the sage of the hermitage.' "in view of the advanced age of general jackson, it is more than probable that they may never meet again. a relationship next to that of father and son, if, indeed, it be not equally near and dear, will be severed perhaps for ever. and we feel assured that nothing short of a sense of duty to his country could have induced an acceptance of the mission. nor, for this patriotic reason, would the aged veteran advise him to decline it. "major d. leaves a host of good and true friends, who will continue to have an abiding solicitude for his health and happiness, and for his early and complete success in 'extending the area of freedom.'" mr. clayton, secretary of state under gen. taylor, wrote to major donelson, announcing the expiration of the diplomatic relations between the united states and germany, (where the major was stationed,) and closed with the following complimentary expressions: "i am directed by the president to express to you his entire approbation of your conduct, and i cannot take leave of you in your public character without adding my testimony to that of the president to the ability and faithfulness with which you have discharged the arduous and delicate duties which your mission imposed upon you. "john m. clayton." the democratic party having always boasted that gen. jackson was unsurpassed in his keen and unerring insight into the characters of men, we must be permitted to call their attention to a clause in the _last will and testament_ of gen. jackson, as recorded in the county of davidson. this clause sets forth the estimate placed upon mr. donelson by the old general, after this fashion: "hermitage, june 7, 1843. ... "i bequeath to my well-beloved nephew, andrew j. donelson, son of samuel donelson, deceased, the elegant sword presented to me by the state of tennessee, with this injunction, that he fail not to use it when necessary in support and protection of our glorious union, and for the protection of the constitutional rights of our beloved country, should they be assailed by foreign enemies or _domestic traitors_. this, from the great change in my worldly affairs of late, is, with my blessing, all that i can bequeath him, doing justice to those creditors to whom i am responsible. this bequest is made as a memento of the high regard, affection, and esteem i bear for him as a _high-minded, honest, and honorable man_." and now, to show that gen. jackson had not changed his opinion of the major, we give about the last epistle he ever wrote to him, as it bears date but a few days previous to his death: "hermitage, may 24, 1845. "my dear andrew: i received last night your affectionate letter of the 15th inst., with the enclosed for your dear elizabeth, which i sent forthwith, and your kind letter of the 13th this morning. your family were here yesterday. all well, but looking out for you hourly. i assured elizabeth that you could not leave your mission before the texan congress acted upon the subject with which you were charged. i shall admonish her to be patient and await your return, which will be the moment your honor and duty will permit. * * * * * "my dear andrew:--what may be my fate god only knows. i am greatly afflicted--suffer much, and it will be almost a miracle if i shall survive my present attack. i am swollen from the toes to the crown of the head, and in bandages to my hips. "how far my god may think proper to bear me up under my weight of afflictions, he only knows. but, my dear major, live or die, you have my blessing and prayers for your welfare and happiness in this world, and that we may meet in a blissful immortality. "your affectionate uncle, "andrew jackson." while editor of the _washington union_, major donelson frankly admitted, in his account of the election in tennessee, between gov. campbell and gen. trousdale, that the latter owed his defeat to his opposition to the compromise measures, and his sympathies with the disunionists. in the _hartford_ convention held in nashville, the major appeared in person, and denounced the whole concern as a blow at the union, and its prime movers and advocates as _traitors to their country and to the constitution_. these _secession_ democrats, headed by a. v. brown, eastman & co., are uncompromising in their hatred of the major, and they never will forgive him, while he remains true to the union of these states, and the constitution as it is, which will be to the latest hour of his earthly existence! had he never opposed the _treasonable_ designs of the nashville convention--and had he not advocated the doctrines of the american party, these same men would now be loud in his praise, as the relative, the political student, and the _successor_ of the sage of the hermitage! [from the knoxville whig of june 14, 1856.] buchanan nominated at cincinnati.--dispersion of falstaff's army! the cincinnati anti-american, anti-protestant, foreign catholic, locofoco pow wow, has met--transacted its appropriate business--nominated old federal james buchanan, of pennsylvania, for the presidency, and robert c. breckenridge, of kentucky, for the vice presidency--and dispersed: dealing largely in the old game of _brag_, as to the _nationality_, _soundness_, and _ability_ of their ticket; when it is notorious, that they have at the head of their ticket one of the most vulnerable men in the nation; an old political hack, who has been "every thing by turns and nothing long;" advocating and opposing all the leading measures which have agitated the country for the last forty years, as we shall show in the sequel! they had an awful time at cincinnati! they organized by calling to the chair, temporarily, the notorious _sam'l. medary_, the abolition editor of the ohio statesman. either the anti-slavery forces were in the majority, or the "odds and ends" of all parties represented in the convention desired to conciliate the abolition and black republican wings of their _foreign corporation_! the missouri delegation were refused their seats, and they openly rebelled, forcing their way into the convention with _clubs_, knocking down and cruelly mangling the head and shoulders of the poor doorkeeper! from this, it would seem that they were doing business with _closed doors_! wonder if they had a _password_! had they "signs and grips," other than those by which they made themselves known to the _doorkeeper_? did they carry with them "dark-lanterns?" not they--they are opposed to all _secrecy_--they are opposed to all disorderly conduct--they are the "harmonious democracy," and labor alone for the good of the country, and of posterity! what a farce their cincinnati convention was! and what hypocrites they are! but two full sets of delegates appeared from new york, and claimed their seats; these were _hards_ and _softs_--pierce and _anti_-pierce--nebraska and _anti_-nebraska--pro-slavery and _anti_-slavery, _filibustering foreign catholic democrats_! being unable to agree among themselves, and the convention not wishing to _offend_ either of these wings of the "great harmonious democratic party," they rejected both delegations! this was having a bad effect, as a portion of each delegation was out of doors cursing the majority, and making threats as to what they would do. so the convention reconsidered their cases, and admitted both delegations to seats. they then progressed "harmoniously," much after the style of a rickety old cart on a hill-side, drawn by a balky horse, whose driver curses him when at fault, and curses him when faultless. frequently the scenes of confusion and excitement were alike disgusting and alarming. the friends of douglass, pierce, and buchanan, were alike bitter, and each disposed to ruin the party if they should fail to get their man nominated. the anti-slavery portion of the convention were much incensed against the south for the "_lam-basting_" given to _senator sumner_ by _representative brooks_, for words spoken in debate. one of buchanan's men boasted that the assault of brooks on sumner had gained _twenty_ votes for "old buck!" and others of the buchanan wing, out of doors, were stating that they had reliable evidence that "old buck" did not approve the assault, while pierce and douglass did! we have no doubt that this sort of influence, added to buchanan's _known hostility to slavery_, secured for him the nomination. and, as if desirous to atone for the sin against the south of nominating an old _anti-slavery federalist_, they came into a southern state, kentucky, and selected a young and inexperienced politician, mr. robert c. breckenridge, for the vice presidency. as breckenridge is brave, and has challenged his man for a _duel_, they can now turn about and appeal to the church-going folks to sustain their ticket _for what_ they implored them to repudiate the whig ticket in 1844! besides, breckenridge _approves_ the basting of sumner by brooks, and this will _offset_ buchanan's opposition to that _southern democratic measure_! breckenridge has another virtue, which aided in securing his nomination. though the nephew of those _able know-nothing presbyterian preachers_ of that state, he has the independence to come out in opposition to them, and the insulting claims set up by _protestants generally_, and to advocate and defend the roman catholics. the "rich and racy" scenes that came off in the convention, we will leave our several friends from nashville, who were there as reporters in the convention for the american papers, to set forth. with more truth than poetry, the "unterrified democracy" convened at cincinnati can say, "our army swore terribly in flanders!" and how could it have been otherwise? the convention was large--composed of several hundred delegates, drawn together from all sections of the country, east, west, north, and south--"held together by the cohesive power of public plunder"--and representing every variety and shade of opinion known and held under the much abused but comprehensive name of democracy! nor was the moral and personal character of the convention less mixed and many-colored than was its politics. in looking over the proceedings of this coalition and combination of bogus democrats, foreign pauper advocates, and anti-protestant lovers of religious liberty, we have looked in vain for the names of distinguished tennesseeans, who ought to have been second best, to say the least of it, in the ballots for a nomination! it was that aaron v. brown, "the son of a now sainted father," was put in nomination for the office of vice president, by a mr. brown, supposed to be his nephew; but making no run at all, he was taken off the track instantly--rubbed down and salted away! but andrew johnson, who was to have been nominated for the first office within the gift of the american people and no mistake, (!) was not even named, and some say he was not even thought of for the position. we had supposed that there existed among the leaders of the self-styled democracy, a determination to doom to utter extinction the light that has guided the children of political reform in tennessee, and throughout the known world, and now we know it! the opposers of intellectual emancipation, of "jacob's ladder democracy," so superior to christianity, have triumphed at cincinnati, and trampled under foot, with impunity, the soul-stirring doctrine of "converging lines." the next steps with these "enemies of righteousness" will be the rack, the gibbet, and a second edition of the infernal inquisition! will the friends of the "white basis" governor of tennessee tamely surrender their dearest rights to these cincinnati _crusaders_, without a single struggle? will they allow the saddle of federal domination to be quietly thrown on their backs? ye greene county delegates forbid it! but johnson is doomed to an inglorious retirement from public life. he can console himself with the reflection, that rank only degrades--wealth only impoverishes--ornaments but disfigure him! the man who discovered that the bogus democracy of the nineteenth century leads fallen sinful man to the throne of god, needs no office to elevate him. these johnson democrats enjoy the pure religion of democracy--a religion which enters the closet--pours forth its supplications in private, feeds the poor, clothes the naked--inflames not the prejudices of protestant sects--is modest and unassuming in its demeanor--is charitable and kind to the persecuted and pious catholics--bears with the infirmities of foreign paupers--is not ambitious and designing, seeking to accomplish vast schemes by doubtful means! while old federal buck was nominated on the seventeenth ballot, after much excitement, wrangling and abuse, young breckenridge, whose only merit is his having challenged the hon. francis b. cutting, of new york, to fight a duel, two years ago, was nominated on the second ballot. the ballot for a candidate for the vice presidency resulted as follows: john c. breckenridge, of kentucky, 55 john a. quitman, of mississippi, 59 linn boyd, of kentucky, 33 benjamin fitzpatrick, of alabama, 11 aaron v. brown, of tennessee, 29 herschel v. johnson, of georgia, 31 thomas j. rusk, of texas, 2 wm h. polk, of tennessee, 5 j. c. dobbin, of north carolina, 13 a second ballot was entered into, when hon. john c. breckenridge, of kentucky, was unanimously chosen. tennessee, in voting for a presidential candidate, voted six times for pierce, and eight times for douglass, and never came over to old federal buck until they could do nothing for pierce or douglass. buck seems to have been a fill for tennessee! but now, the tennessee democracy say: "with hounds and horn, at rosy morn, we _bucks_ a hunting go!" well, we americans will get after old buck's venison too, and between this and november next, many will be the steak we shall eat out of his old federal carcass. it is venison worthy of the chase, for ----"finer or fatter ne'er roamed in the forest, or smoked in a platter." so- "hi, ho, chevy, hark away, hark away, tantivy, here rests the burthen of my song, this _time_ a stag must die." but democracy have commenced their old game of brag, by puffing their ticket as a national and conservative ticket, the very thing they denied. now let us look into the soundness and nationality of the head of the ticket. we have before us a copy of a work published in 1839, by robert mayo, m. d., entitled, "political sketches of eight years in washington, in four parts." this work has gone through various editions, having been published by fielding lucas, jr., of baltimore; garret anderson, of washington; j. r. smith, of richmond; carey, hart & co., of philadelphia, and by others in new york and boston. on page 38 of this work, which mr. buchanan has never contradicted, he is reported to have denounced the visions, patronage, and corruptions of the democratic administrations, while he, buchanan, was a member of the old federal party. on page 6 of this work, in the preface, the author says, in speaking of buchanan before he turned democrat: "the declarations of some of these new disciples of democracy in past times are striking enough. mr. buchanan of pennsylvania, while he acted in his true character, declared that if he had a drop of democratic blood in his veins, he would let it out! he put his royal declaration on paper, and it has risen up against him." a recent brief memoir of mr. buchanan, put forth in pennsylvania, states that he was elected to the legislature in 1815, where he distinguished himself by those exhibitions of intellect which gave promise of future eminence. the lancaster _register_, published in the immediate vicinity of mr. buchanan's residence, asks _by whom_ was he elected? and thus supplies the record for 1815: assembly. for james buchanan, federal 3051 " molton o. rogers, democrat 2502 the memoir sets forth that mr. buchanan was elected to congress in 1820, and that he retained his position in that body for ten years, voluntarily retiring. the lancaster _register_ inquires if he were elected as a _democrat_, and answers the inquiry by the following historical facts: congress. 1820--james buchanan, federal 4642 " jacob hibsman, democrat 3666 1822--james buchanan, federal 2153 " jacob hibsman, democrat 1940 1824--james buchanan, federal 3560 " samuel houston, democrat 3046 1826--james buchanan, federal 2760 " dr. john mccamant, democrat 2307 1828--james buchanan, jackson 5203 " william hiester, adams 3904 the lancaster _register_ then pursues its criticism as follows: "on the 4th of july, 1815, mr. buchanan, when he was a candidate for assembly on the _federal ticket_, delivered 'an oration' in lancaster, in which he showed his _love_ of federalism and _hatred_ of democracy, by attacking the administration of james madison. he said: "'time will not allow me to enumerate all the other evils and wicked projects of the democratic administration.' "and again, in the same oration, he said: "'what must be our opinion of an opposition whose passions were so dark and malignant as to be gratified in endeavoring to blast the character and imbitter the old age of washington? after thus persecuting the saviour of his country, _how can the democratic party dare to call themselves his disciples_?'" and who does not recollect, in tennessee, with what force and effect james c. jones used to point out james buchanan as one of the _rank old federalists_ who had come over to the democratic ranks, and was battling with _col. polk_, side by side, while he was consuming half his time in abuse of the federal party? when the democratic candidate for congress in this district, julius w. blackwell, charged _federalism_ upon the whig party, who does not recollect with what effect and spirit john h. crozier ran over the list of odious old federalists, then fighting under the democratic flag, among them naming out james buchanan? and will not the files of the knoxville post, edited by capt. james williams, show how he held up james buchanan and others as an _old federalist of the first water_? on the subject of _slavery_ the memoir is not definite, and the lancaster register comes to its aid by publishing the following proceedings of a public meeting held in that city on the 23d of november, 1819: "whereas, the people of this state, pursuing the maxims and animated by the beneficence of the great founder of pennsylvania, first gave effect to the gradual abolition of slavery by a national act, which has not only rescued the unhappy and helpless african within their territory from the demoralizing influence of slavery, but ameliorating his state and condition throughout europe and america; and whereas, it would illy comport with those humane and christian efforts to be silent spectators when this great cause of humanity is about to be agitated in congress, by fixing the destiny of the new domains of the united states: therefore, "_resolved_, that the representatives in congress from this district be and they are hereby most earnestly requested to use their utmost endeavors, as members of the national legislature, to prevent the existence of slavery in any of the territories or new states which may be created by congress. "_resolved_, as the opinion of this meeting, that as the legislature of this state will shortly be in session, it will be highly deserving of their wisdom and patriotism to take into their early and most serious consideration the propriety of instructing our representatives in the national legislature to use the most zealous and strenuous exertions to inhibit the existence of slavery in any of the territories or states which may hereafter be created by congress; and that the members of assembly from this county be requested to embrace the earliest opportunity of bringing this subject before both houses of the legislature. "_resolved_, that, in the opinion of this meeting, the members of congress who at the last session sustained the cause of justice, humanity, and patriotism, in opposing the introduction of slavery into the state then endeavored to be formed out of the missouri territory, are entitled to the warmest thanks of every friend of humanity. "_resolved_, that the proceedings of this meeting be published in the newspapers in this city. "james hopkins, wm. jenkins, james buchanan." "the foregoing resolutions being read were unanimously adopted, after which the meeting adjourned. (signed) walter franklin, ch'n. "attest--wm. jenkins, sec'y." the "perry county democratic press," for april 9th, 1856, an able paper published at bloomfield in pennsylvania, shows up the _federal anti-slavery, anti-democratic, turn-coat character_ of mr. buchanan, after this fashion: james buchanan's somersets. "no man in the united states has turned his political coat as often as james buchanan. he has espoused the principles of every party that has had an existence since the memorable hartford convention, and has been on all sides of political questions. "a brief reference to his history will establish conclusively our assertions." his federalism. "he entered political life in 1814 as a rank federalist, and by the federal party he was elected to the legislature of the state. he was re-elected in 1815, defeating molton c. rogers, the democratic candidate, and afterwards one of the supreme judges of the state. "in 1820, he was the federal candidate for congress, and was elected over jacob hibsman, the democratic candidate, by 976 majority. in 1822, he was reã«lected over the same man by 813 majority. in 1824, he was the federal candidate for congress, and elected over samuel houston, the democratic candidate, by 519 votes. in 1826, he was re-elected over dr. john mccamant, the democratic candidate, by 453 votes. his majorities were becoming less each time, and in order to satisfy his federal friends of his fidelity to the party, he had to declare that 'if he had a drop of democratic blood in his veins, he would open them and let it out.'" he becomes a democrat. "two years after this, he changed his coat and became a full-blooded democrat, and ran for congress as the democratic candidate, and was elected by virtue of general jackson's popularity. he was afraid to run a second term, and he declined." his ten cent speech. "in 1843, in the united states senate, he made a speech advocating the principle that ten cents is a sufficient compensation for a day's labor. hence he is called 'ten cent jimmy.' "in 1845, he became secretary of state under polk's administration, and consented to give away about half of the territory of oregon to the british government, after he had proven that they had not a spark of title to it. "he extolled the federal administration of john adams, and endorsed the abominable alien and sedition laws of the federal reign of terror. he bitterly denounced the administration of that pure democrat, james madison, and ridiculed what he termed the follies of thomas jefferson." his slavery somersets. "in 1819, at a meeting in lancaster, he reported resolutions favoring resistance to the extension of slavery and the admission of the state of missouri as a slave state. "in 1847, he wrote to the democracy of berks county, saying that the missouri compromise had given peace to the country, and that instead of repealing it he was in favor of its extension and maintenance. "in 1850, in a letter to col. forney, he rejoiced over the settlement of the slavery agitation by the passage of the compromise measures during fillmore's administration, and hoped that before a dissolution of the union he might be gathered to his fathers, and never be permitted to witness the sad catastrophe. "in 1852, he wrote to mr. leake, of virginia, concerning fillmore's compromise measures of 1850, which had been passed by congress, and said, 'that the volcano has been extinguished, and the man who would apply the firebrand to the combustible materials still remaining, will produce an eruption that will overwhelm the constitution and the union." buchanan's last somerset. "on the 28th of december, 1855, about three months ago, mr. buchanan, in a letter to john slidell, of louisiana, says: 'the missouri compromise is gone, and gone for ever. it has departed. the time for it has passed away, and the best, nay, the only mode now left of _putting down_ the fanatical and reckless spirit of the north is to adhere to the existing settlement without the slightest thought or appearance of wavering, and without regarding any storm which may be raised against it." here, then, is an authentic record--if the reader please, a gilt-frame pennsylvania looking-glass, in which the democracy of the south who admire the nominee of the late cincinnati convention can _see him as he is_! heretofore, to use the language of holy writ, they have seen him "through a glass darkly, but now face to face." here they see him standing erect upon the floor of the united states senate, in all the pride of that _aristocracy_ which has characterized his course in life, and giving vent to the old and bitter feelings of the _royalists_ in pennsylvania, by advocating the _oppressive british doctrine_, that ten cents per day _is enough for a poor white man as a day-laborer_! and here, too, our hard-fisted working-men, north and south, can see what sort of a man the democracy are asking them to vote for for the presidency! in his fourth of july oration in 1815, delivered in the hearing of an immense crowd, and afterwards published in all the leading papers of pennsylvania, mr. buchanan came out as a _know-nothing_, which he has now to repudiate in stepping upon the _anti-american catholic platform_ prepared for him at cincinnati! here is what he said in that celebrated oration: "the greater part of those foreigners who would not be thus affected by it, have long been the warmest friends of the party. they had been _one of the great means of elevating the present ruling_ (democratic) party, and it would have been ungrateful for that party to have abandoned them. to secure this foreign feeling has been the labor of their leaders for more than twenty years, and well have they been paid for their trouble, for it has been one of the principal causes of introducing and continuing them in power. immediately before the war this foreign influence had completely embodied itself with the majority, particularly in the west, and its voice was heard so loud at the seat of government, that president madison was obliged either to yield to its dictates or retire from office. the choice was easily made by a man who preferred his private interests to the public good, and therefore hurried us into a war for which we were utterly unprepared." and then again: "we ought to use every honest exertion to turn out of power those weak and wicked men whose wild and visionary theories have been tested and found wanting. above all, we ought to drive from our shores foreign influence, and cherish american feeling. foreign influence has been in every age the curse of republics--its jaundiced eye sees every thing in false colors--the thick atmosphere of prejudice by which it is ever surrounded, excluding from its sight the light of reason. let us then learn wisdom from experience, and for ever banish this fiend from our country." and here is what jackson thought of buchanan. the democratic washington correspondent of the new york evening post, who was favorable to the nomination of pierce, makes this statement--a statement we have often heard before, and never heard contradicted: "on the night before leaving nashville to occupy the white house, mr. polk, in company with gen. robert armstrong, called at the hermitage to procure some advice from the old hero as to the selection of his cabinet. jackson strongly urged the president-elect to give no place in it to buchanan, as he could not be relied upon. it so happened that polk had already determined to make that very appointment, having probably offered the situation to the statesman of pennsylvania. this fact induced gen. armstrong subsequently to tell jackson that he had given polk a rather hard rub, as buchanan had already been selected for secretary of state. 'i can't help it,' said the old man: 'i felt it my duty to warn him against mr. buchanan, whether it was agreeable or not. mr. polk will find buchanan an unreliable man. i know him well, and mr. polk will yet admit the correctness of my prediction.' "it was the last visit ever made by mr. polk to the old hero when this unavailing remonstrance was delivered, but the new president, long before the end of his administration, had reason to acknowledge its propriety and justice, and in the diary kept by him during that period may still be read a most emphatic declaration of his distrust of mr. buchanan. every one is aware of two marked instances in which, as secretary of state, the latter failed to support the policy of the administration, viz., on the question of the tariff of 1846, and the requisition of the ten regiments voted by congress for the mexican war. on both of these measures he was known to be opposed to the wishes of mr. polk." _mr. charles irving_, the democratic editor of the lynchburg republican, and a delegate at richmond in the state convention, thus disposes of mr. buchanan in a long and able letter, dated may 7th, 1856: "if silence during the battle constitutes a claim for office, how can the south expect northern statesmen to uphold her banner, when abolitionists are seeking to tear it to tatters? if an ability to get free-soil votes makes a candidate available, and that species of availability is recognized as a merit at the south, northern statesmen should court free-soilers, and not struggle with them, if they wish to be presidents. such availability may be very desirable to those who wish success alone, but those who look to the interests of the country may well be excused if they prefer a different standard. i certainly _prefer_ that the south shall prefer the selection, not only of a sound man, but that she shall vote for the nomination of no man upon any such ground of availability. the coming election must settle the slavery agitation. i do not wish a single free-soiler to vote the democratic ticket, nor will i willingly afford them the slightest excuse for so doing. a prominent north-west democrat told me to-day, that the nomination of mr. buchanan would enable trumbull, wentworth, and other free-soilers to come back into the party. i am not anxious to get back such characters. these are some reasons for not preferring mr. buchanan. "but there is still another reason. that reason is in his record. to carry the entire south, we must have not only a sound man, but one who is above impeachment--whose record is as stainless as the principles he advocates. is such the case with mr. buchanan? let the record answer. "on the 27th of december, 1837, mr. calhoun submitted to the senate that celebrated series of resolutions, the great objects of which were to set forth with precision and force the constitutional rights of the slaveholding states, and to attract to their support an enlightened public opinion against the attacks of northern fanaticism. the second resolution was in these words: (calhoun's works, volume 3, page 140.) "'_resolved_, that in delegating a portion of their powers to be exercised by the federal government, the states retained severally the exclusive and sole right over their own domestic institutions and police, and are alone responsible for them, and that any intermeddling of any one or more states, or a combination of their citizens, with the domestic institutions and police of the others, on any ground or under any pretext whatever, political, moral, or religious, with a view to their alteration or subversion, is an assumption of superiority not warranted by the constitution, insulting to the states interfered with, tending to endanger their domestic peace and tranquillity, subversive of the objects for which the constitution was formed, and, by necessary consequence, tending to weaken and destroy the union itself.' "mr. morris of ohio, who was then the only avowed abolitionist in the senate, moved to strike out the words 'moral and religious.' had the motion prevailed, the effect would have been to encourage agitation in the form in which it would be most likely to be fatal to the south. it would have been a direct encouragement to the abolitionized clergy of the north to take the very course which was taken by the 'three thousand and fifty divines' who, in 1854, sacrilegiously assumed, 'in the name of almighty god, and in his presence,' to denounce the repeal of the missouri compromise as 'a violation of plighted faith and a breach of a national compact.' subsequent events have abundantly attested the truth of what mr. calhoun said, when arguing against the motion, 'that the whole spirit of the resolution hinged upon that word _religious_.' "the vote taken on mr. morris's amendment stood as follows: (congressional globe, volume 6, page 74.) "yeas--messrs. bayard, buchanan, clayton, davis, mckeon, morris, prentiss, robbins, ruggles, smyth of indiana, southward, swift, tipton, and webster--14. "nays--messrs. allen, black, brown, calhoun, clay of alabama, clay of kentucky, cuthbert, fulton, hubbard, king, knight, linn, lumpkin, lyon, nicholas, niles, norvell, pierce, preston, rives, roane, robinson, sevier, smyth of connecticut, strange, walker, wall, white, williams, wright, and young--31. "the fifth resolution to which mr. calhoun here referred, and which he justly regarded as the most important of all, and struggled most perseveringly to have passed without amendment, was strictly as follows: "'resolved, that the intermeddling of any state or states, or their citizens, to abolish slavery in this district, or in any of the territories, on the ground, or under the pretext, that it is immoral or sinful, or the passage of any act or measure of congress, with that view, would be a direct and dangerous attack on the institutions of all the slaveholding states.' "this resolution covered the whole premises. it met the issue boldly and fully. no southern democrat can hesitate to say that it embodied a great truth, to which events have borne emphatic testimony. mr. clay, of kentucky, moved to strike it out, and insert the following as a substitute: "'resolved, that when the district of columbia was ceded by the states of virginia and maryland to the united states, domestic slavery existed in both of those states, including the ceded territory; and that, as it still continues in both of them, it could not be abolished within the district without a violation of that good faith which was implied in the cession, and in the acceptance of the territory, nor unless compensation were made for the slaves, without a manifest infringement of an amendment of the constitution of the united states, nor without exciting a degree of just alarm and apprehension in the states recognizing slavery, far transcending, in mischievous tendency, any possible benefit which would be accomplished by the abolition.' (congressional globe, vol. 6, page 58.) "the utter insufficiency of this temporizing amendment scarcely need be pointed out. objectionable as it was in conceding to congress the constitutional power to abolish slavery in the district of columbia, and declaring against the exercise of that power only on the ground of inexpediency, it was still more so in this, that it made no reference whatever to the territories of the united states. the passage of mr. calhoun's resolution would have committed the senate, not only against the abolition of slavery in the district of columbia, but against the application of the wilmot proviso and kindred measures to the territories. mr. clay's amendment was entirely silent on the subject. it is true, that in another resolution which he proposed to have adopted as an additional amendment, it was declared that the abolition of slavery in the territory of florida would be highly inexpedient, for the principal reason 'that it would be in violation of a solemn compromise made at a memorable and critical period in the history of this country, by which, while slavery was prohibited north, it was admitted south of the line of thirty-six degrees thirty minutes north latitude.' the defect in the first amendment can hardly be considered by southern men as remedied by another which recognized the binding force of the missouri compromise. "on the question to strike out mr. calhoun's resolution, and insert mr. clay's as an amendment, after it had been modified by striking out the part relating to compensation for slaves, the vote stood--yeas 19, nays 18. (congressional globe, vol. 6, page 62.) _mr. buchanan's name stands recorded in the affirmative._ "on a subsequent occasion, mr. calhoun, with a view to infuse vitality into mr. clay's amendment, moved to insert that any attempt of congress to abolish slavery in the territories, 'would be a dangerous attack upon the states in which slavery exists.' mr. buchanan opposed the amendment, and it was in reply to his speech that mr. calhoun made the remarks which may be found in the third volume of his works, pages 194 to 196, and which he commenced by saying that 'the remarks of the senator from pennsylvania were of such a character that he could not permit them to pass in silence.' "from these votes, and this language of mr. buchanan, it is clear: "1st. that he was not opposed to the _religious_ agitation of the slavery question--a species of agitation which mr. calhoun justly regarded as more fatal than any other. "2d. that he recognized the constitutional power of congress to abolish slavery in the district of columbia, opposing its existence only on the ground of its inexpediency--a proposition which the position of mr. van buren shows affords no reliable protection to southern institutions. "3d. that he refused to commit himself fully on the great question as to the power of congress over the territories of the united states, and as far as he did go, evidently left it to be understood that the abolition of slavery by congress in those territories would be no attack on the states in which it exists.' "if his opinions, in these respects, have undergone any material change, the country has not yet been authoritatively apprised of the fact. the reflections cast by him on the institution of slavery, in one of his speeches in england, and the studied design he has manifested to keep aloof from the excitement growing out of the repeal of the missouri compromise, are not well calculated to inspire confidence, that if his views have undergone any change, it has been a change for the better." after thus disposing of the _slavery issue_, _mr. irving_ thus turns to the _tariff question_: "so much for the slavery issue. how does mr. buchanan stand upon the tariff? will the sentinel say that he is sound, or justify his 'low wages' speech? how does he stand upon the french spoliation bill, which president polk and president pierce vetoed? everybody knows that he was in favor of it. how does he stand upon the pacific railroad? he declared himself in favor of an appropriation of public money to build it, as is notorious. in fact, is there a single federal measure except that of the united states bank, upon which he is not recorded against democratic principles? how can we hope to carry the united south with such a record? will southern democrats overlook this record? will northern nebraska men overlook this ignoring of pierce and douglass? is there no danger that in admitting the abolitionist trumbull, we may not dishearten the gallant douglass? is there no fear that in reinstating the free-soil hickman, who is in favor of reeder, we may not palsy the arm of richardson? in fine, is there no fear that in hoping for free-soil aid, we may not lose the few real friends the south has in the north? it is evident to the commonest understanding, that the first step of northern black republicanism is to kill off all those influential men at the north, like pierce or douglass, who have actively participated in the fight for our rights. is not the south aiding them in this first step, when it not only ignores its own sons, but also ignores, upon the ground of availability, those northern men identified with the late kansas-nebraska bill? this is a question the south would do well to ponder. if mr. buchanan is to be nominated, and pierce and douglass in the north ignored, let the responsibility rest elsewhere than upon the state of virginia. he may be, and probably is sound, but these are times when more than ordinary caution is necessary. it may become the duty of the south to support him. when that time arrives i can discharge the duty; but i do think that the reasons above stated exempt me from any blame for not advocating him until that responsibility devolves upon me. very respectfully, chas. irving. the southern dough-faces of the foreign catholic party pretend to hold mr. fillmore responsible for a letter he wrote more than twenty years ago, in which he answers certain interrogatories in reference to slavery, _affirmatively_, and in opposition to the extension of slavery! the _latest_ record of buchanan is in 1844, and proves him to be an abolitionist of the blackest dye. about the last speech he ever made in congress, was in opposition to slavery, in secret session of the senate, just before mr. polk, in opposition to the wishes of gen. jackson, gave him a seat in his cabinet. this speech will be found in the congressional globe for 1844, an extract from which is in these _explicit_ and _memorable_ words: "in arriving at the conclusion to support this treaty, i had to encounter _but one serious obstacle_, and that was the question of slavery. whilst i have ever maintained, and ever shall maintain, in their full force and vigor, the constitutional rights of the southern states over their slave property, i yet feel a strong repugnance by any act of mine to extend the limits of the union over a new slaveholding territory. after mature reflection, however, i overcame these scruples, and now believe that the acquisition of texas will be the means of limiting, not enlarging, the dominion of slavery. "in the government of the world, providence generally produces great changes by gradual means. there is nothing rash in the counsels of the almighty. may not, then, the acquisition of texas be the means of gradually drawing the slaves far to the south to a climate more congenial to their nature; and may they not finally pass off into mexico, and there mingle with a race where no prejudice exists against their color? the mexican nation is composed of spaniards, indians, and negroes, blended together in every variety, who would receive our slaves on terms of perfect social equality. to this condition they never can be admitted in the united states. "that the acquisition of texas would ere long convert maryland, virginia, kentucky, missouri, and probably others of the more northern slave states, into free states, i entertain not a doubt.... "but should texas be annexed to the union, causes will be brought into operation which must inevitably remove slavery from what may be called the farming states. from the best information, it is no longer profitable to raise wheat, rye, and corn, by slave labor. where these articles are the only staples of agriculture, in the pointed and expressive language of randolph, if the slave does not run away from his master, the master must run away from the slave. the slave will naturally be removed from such a country, where his labor is scarcely adequate to his own support, to a region where he can not only maintain himself, but yield large profits to his master. texas will open an outlet; and slavery itself may thus finally pass the del norte, and be lost in mexico. one thing is certain, the present number of slaves cannot be increased by the annexation of texas. "i have never apprehended the preponderance of the slave states in the councils of the nation. such a fear has always appeared to me visionary. but those who entertain such apprehensions need not be alarmed by the acquisition of texas. more than one-half of its territory is wholly unfit for the slave labor; and, therefore, in the nature of things must be free. mr. clay, in his letter of the 17th of april last, on the subject of annexation, states that, according to his information- "'the territory of texas is susceptible of a division into five states of convenient size and form. of these, two only would be adapted to those peculiar institutions (slavery) to which i have referred; and the other three, lying west and north of san antonio, being only adapted to farming and grazing purposes, from the nature of their soil, climate, and productions, would not admit of these institutions. in the end, therefore, there would be two slave and three free states probably added to the union.' "and here permit me to observe, that there is one defect in the treaty which ought to be amended if we all did not know that it is destined to be rejected. the treaty itself ought to determine how many free and how many slave states should be made out of this territory." on the 11th of april, 1826, james buchanan, who is now being supported by _southern slaveholders_, made a speech in congress, _eleven years after_ his fourth of july oration, from which the following is taken: "permit me here, mr. chairman, for a moment, to speak upon a subject to which i have never before adverted upon this floor, and to which, i trust, i may never again have occasion to advert. i mean the subject of slavery. i believe it to be a great political and a great moral evil. i thank god, my lot has been cast in a state where it does not exist.... it has been a curse entailed upon us by that nation which makes it a subject of reproach to our institutions." (see gales and seaton's register of debates, page 2180, vol. ii., part 2.) more buchanan antecedents. when a "_uniform bankrupt law_" was enacted by congress, after the election of general harrison, there were on the files of the judiciary committee of the senate _fifty-one petitions_, praying for the passage of such a law. twenty-nine of these were from new york, five from new jersey, three from ohio, two from indiana, two from massachusetts, and _one_ from each of the states of tennessee and mississippi. there were _twenty-five_ other petitions praying for "_a general bankrupt law_;" _fifteen_ of which were from new york, and eight from pennsylvania; and how will the democracy like to see it hereafter proven that buchanan presented these petitions, and voted for the law? if it shall turn out that "old buck" did really go for the "odious bankrupt law," let his friends defend him on the ground that his _state_ desired it, and had always favored the measure! in the house of representatives, in congress, january 3, 1815, _mr. ingersoll_, a notorious democrat from pennsylvania, and a _boy tory_ of the war of the revolution, from the committee on the judiciary, reported a bill to establish _a uniform law of bankruptcy throughout the united states_! if these facts should not turn out to be a sufficient justification of _mr. buchanan's course_, provided he went for this bankrupt law, let his friends present these facts, and show that he was in good old federal democratic _company_: number 1. on the 5th of september, 1837, mr. van buren's _democratic_ secretary of the treasury made a report to congress, praying the passage of a _uniform bankrupt law_, which was referred to the committee on the judiciary. number 2. on the 13th day of january, 1840, _mr. norvell_, a democratic senator from michigan, moved that the judiciary be instructed to inquire into the expediency of reporting a bill for the establishment of a _general bankrupt law_. number 3. on the 22d of april, 1840, _garret d. wall_, a flaming democratic senator in congress, reported certain amendments to a bankrupt law, from a minority of the committee; which were referred to the senate's select committee, and reported by mr. wall, and passed--21 to 19--and sent to the house. number 4. in the senate, july 23, 1841, _mr. nicholson_, a democratic senator from tennessee, delivered an able speech in favor of a uniform system of bankruptcy, and moved to amend the bill then pending, by inserting "banks and other corporations;" which motion was lost by a vote of 34 to 16. number 5. that great light of democracy, _col. richard m. johnson_, late vice-president of the united states, wrote and spoke in favor of a general bankrupt law. in a letter of his, now before us, dated washington, january 18, 1841, he says, speaking of such a law: "_my opinion is that it will redound to the honor of our country._" but we will do mr. buchanan justice, by stating that he said he would vote _against_ the bankrupt law of 1840, because he did not like its features. when mr. webster spoke in favor of the law, and of the character of the _petitioners_, many of whom presented their petitions through mr. buchanan, the latter spoke on the 24th of february, 1840; and, to satisfy mr. webster and others that he was not opposed to the _principle_ in former days, stated, "_he came to the other house of congress, many years since_, a friend of a bankrupt law. the subject was before the house when he entered the body twenty years ago." he added, "he was _open to conviction_, and might change his purpose!" thus, it will be seen that mr. buchanan, in this, as in every thing else, _was on both sides_! and how does it look in a presidential candidate, to have supported a _general bankrupt law_ for the relief of _rich, extravagant, and aristocratic_ gentlemen, and then to turn round and advocate "ten cents per day" for poor folks and laboring men? it will look rather bad; but, then, sag nicht democracy can go any thing! this old "ten cents per day" champion of democracy advocated, in so many words, the reduction of all paper money prices to the real cuba standard of solid money! we take extracts from his speech, which will be found in the appendix to the congressional globe, page 135: "in germany, where the currency is purely metallic, and the cost of every thing is reduced to a hard money standard, a piece of broadcloth can be manufactured for fifty dollars; the manufacture of which in our country, from the expansion of paper currency, would cost one hundred dollars. what is the consequence? the foreign french and german manufacturer imports this cloth into our country, and sells it for a hundred. does not every person perceive that the redundancy of our currency is equal to a premium of one hundred per cent. in favor of the manufacturer?" "no tariff of protection, unless it amounted to prohibition, could counteract this advantage in favor of foreign manufactures. i would to heaven that i could arouse the attention of every manufacturer of the nation to this important subject." "what is the reason that, with all these advantages, and with the protective duties which our laws afford to the domestic manufacturer of cotton, we cannot obtain exclusive possession of the home market, and successfully contend for the markets of the world? it is simply because we manufacture at the nominal prices of our inflated currency, and are compelled to sell at the real prices of other nations. reduce our nominal standard of prices throughout the world, and you cover our country with blessings and benefits." * * * * * "the comparative low prices of france and germany have afforded such a stimulus to their manufactures, that they are now rapidly extending themselves, and would obtain possession, in no small degree, even of the english home market, if it were not for their protecting duties. while british manufactures are now languishing, those of the continent are springing into a healthy and vigorous existence." how will the _free trade democracy_ of the south relish these "protecting duties" of an old federal politician? they are about as consistent in their support of the cincinnati nominee as "clay whigs" are, when they know that buchanan was the only man living who had it in his power to do clay justice, in reference to the "bargain and intrigue" calumny, and obstinately refused! clay and buchanan. in 1825, mr. buchanan, then a member of the house, entered the room of mr. clay, who was at the time in company with his only messmate, hon. r. p. letcher, also a member of the house, and since governor of kentucky. buchanan introduced the subject of the approaching presidential election, letcher witnessing what was said; and after that, when mr. clay was hotly assailed with the charge of "bargain, intrigue, and corruption," notified mr. buchanan of his intention to publish the conversation, but was induced, by the _earnest entreaties of buchanan_, to forbear. and mr. clay died with a letter in his possession, from buchanan, which, if published, as it should be, would place buchanan without the pale of democracy, and disgrace him in the eyes of all honorable men. _that_ letter, too, would explain why gen. jackson had no confidence in him, and was opposed to his taking a seat in polk's cabinet. let it come! _keep it before the people_, that it was the vote of james buchanan which, in the senate, in 1832, secured the passage of the "black tariff," so offensive to the "free trade" democracy of tennessee, south carolina, and other southern states, and which gov. jones threw up to col. polk with so much effect in their race of 1843! _keep it before the people_, that the cincinnati platform unblushingly affirms that "the constitution does not confer upon the federal government authority to assume the debts of the several states, contracted for local internal improvements, or for other state purposes;" while the democratic members of congress annually violate this principle by voting away hundreds of acres of public lands to the states, for purposes of railroads and other improvements. _keep it before the people_, that the same platform hypocritically asserts, that "it is the duty of every branch of our government to enforce and practice the most rigid economy in conducting our public affairs;" when the expenditures of pierce's administration are twenty millions per annum over that of millard fillmore! _keep it before the people_, that the 8th of the series in this platform declares, that "the attempt to abridge the privilege of becoming citizens and owners of soil amongst us ought to be resisted with the same spirit which swept the alien and sedition laws from our statute book:" and then the hypocritical builders of the platform turned about and nominated james buchanan, who commenced public life as the advocate of the "alien and sedition laws," and sustained, in and out of congress, the federal party, who passed these laws. _keep it before the people_, that the cincinnati platform, which prates so loudly about the privilege of becoming "owners of the soil," and which rebukes all efforts to amend our naturalization laws as oppressive to foreigners, nominated a man for the presidency who spoke publicly in this language: "above all, we ought to drive from our shores foreign influence, which has been in every age the curse of republics!" _keep it before the people_, that this cincinnati platform pledges itself to the "acts known as the compromise measures," and then resolves "to resist all attempts at renewing, in congress or out of it, the agitation of slavery;" while the second best nags before the convention were douglass and pierce, who brought forward the bill repealing the missouri compromise line, and opening up anew the slavery agitation, while pierce signed the bill and adopted it as an administration measure! _keep it before the people_, that this same platform asserts, as an indispensable article of the democratic faith, that "the proceeds of the public lands ought to be sacredly applied to the national objects specified in the constitution;" and yet a majority of the democracy, in one branch of congress, unhesitatingly voted for a bill introduced by robert m. t. hunter, a leader of "the most straitest sect" of democratic pharisees, which proposed to give away the whole body of the public lands to squatters, at the nominal price of ninepence an acre, and at five years' credit! _keep it before the people_, that this same platform deprecates a policy which legislates for the few at the expense of the many; yet its builders nominated a man for the presidency who has avowed himself on the floor of the senate in favor of reducing the wages of poor white men to the cuban standard of ten cents per day! _keep it before the people_, that this cincinnati platform utterly fails to come up to that high southern standard, which the country looked for from a party so lavish of promises, and that it has deliberately and completely shirked the slavery issue, the only apology for which is found in their having nominated an old anti-slavery federalist. _keep it before the people_, that james buchanan was opposed to the war of 1812, but is in favor of the next war--while a federalist he was conservative in his views, but is now square upon a filibustering platform--his nomination, an overture to the sumner wing of democracy, is the very nomination for the nullifiers, fire-eaters, and disunionists of the south--that while we cry north, shout south, every faction is united. the cincinnati vice presidential candidate. _john c. breckenridge_, of kentucky, is now the democratic candidate for the vice presidency; and in our devotion to the _head_ of the ticket, we do not wish to neglect the _tail_. mr. breckenridge is a good speaker, and is about as good a selection as his party could make. he has not been long enough in public life to attain any experience as a statesman, nor has he been guilty of any great indiscretion in his short congressional career. he will be unable to carry kentucky for his party, though he has some elements of strength. standing out in violent opposition to his relatives upon the _know nothing_ issues, he will be acceptable to all foreigners, and the catholics in particular! being on the very best of terms with _cassius m. clay_, and voting with the emancipationists of kentucky, he will be rather acceptable to the anti-slavery men than otherwise! he was a zealous supporter of the bill in congress appropriating a million or two dollars to works of internal improvement, which was _vetoed_ by pierce. that bill provided $50,000 for the improvement of the kentucky river, to which he urged an amendment insisting on $150,000. this will give him strength with the democracy of the north and north-west, who advocated the doctrine of internal improvements by the general government! on may 20th, 1856, the _charleston mercury_ came out advising the south as to the selection of candidates, which advice, if adhered to, would prove ruinous alike to buchanan and breckenridge. a brief extract from that article is in these words: "a man unsound on slavery, free trade, and internal improvements, or whose opinions are shrouded in treacherous ambiguity--such a man, be he black republican or democrat, is unworthy of her support. to vote for either, is to give away her influence, to be used against her. it is to stultify principle, and be the instrument of her own undoing." this doctrine would get very much in the way of such men as _toombs and stephens_, of georgia, and other anti-internal improvement democrats, but they can excuse breckenridge on the ground that he acquiesced in the veto of pierce, and was possibly only trying to make a little capital at home, which is common with democracy. besides, mr. breckenridge being raised a _clay whig_, and representing the ashland district as a democrat, should be allowed to pass over the _jordan_ of democracy by degrees! his name can be used advantageously in this contest in another respect. while mr. buchanan was mr. clay's most vindictive enemy, traducer, and calumniator, mr. breckenridge can be held up to the clay whigs, as having announced to the house of representatives the death of mr. clay, in language and sentiments branding buchanan as a malignant slanderer, without mentioning his name, by the character he gave to clay! closing his eulogy upon mr. clay in these words, mr. breckenridge evidently looked with the eye of prophecy at the slanders of buchanan, the recollection of which would "cluster" around his grave:- "every memorial of such a man will possess a meaning and value to his countrymen. his tomb will be a hallowed spot. great memories will cluster there, and his countrymen as they visit it may well exclaim: "such graves as his are pilgrim shrines- shrines to no creed or code confined; the delphian vales, the palestines, the meccas of the mind." if we mistake not, this young breckenridge is the nephew of the rev. john breckenridge, formerly of baltimore, and pastor of the presbyterian church. if so, he is the nephew of the rev. robert breckenridge, the talented and staunch advocate of the american party. the venerable uncle of this young man, whilst pastor of the church in baltimore, was a most formidable opponent of the roman catholic religion, and is the man who conducted the debate with archbishop hughes, in 1836, which we now have before us, in a large volume of 550 pages. of course _bishop hughes_ will require the young man to repudiate his uncle's views and charges in opposition to the papal religion; and this, we should think, he will do for the sake of the catholic vote in america! from the knoxville whig of june 14, 1856. progressive democracy--its legitimate fruits. the following important document we take from the national intelligencer, of january 22, 1851. it was signed and published by gentlemen irrespective of parties--forty-four senators and representatives in congress. it will be a _curiosity_ to those of our readers who may have forgotten its well-timed and patriotic pledges. how unfortunate it has been for the country, and especially the public tranquillity, that the determination and counsels of these men were, in an evil hour, departed from, and flagrantly violated by the demagogues of the self-styled democratic party! to the violation of this solemn pledge by the repeal of the missouri compromise line, and the reã¶pening of the slavery agitation by the introduction of the kansas-nebraska bill, intended to elevate that miserable little demagogue, _stephen a. douglass_, to the presidency, we are indebted for all the scenes of bloodshed in kansas, to the angry slavery discussions in congress, and the disgraceful scenes of riot being almost daily enacted there! several copies of the following declaration were circulated in congress, and obtained a number of signatures in both halls; but no other list was ever published, that we know of, besides this, which, it will be seen, was headed by the illustrious henry clay: "the undersigned, members of the thirty-first congress of the united states, believing that a renewal of sectional controversy upon the subject of slavery would be both dangerous to the union and destructive of its objects; and seeing no mode by which such controversy can be avoided, except by a strict adherence to the settlement thereof effected by the compromise acts passed at the last session of congress, do hereby declare their intention to maintain the said settlement inviolate, and to resist all attempts to repeal or alter the acts aforesaid, unless by the general consent of the friends of the measure, and to remedy such evils, if any, as time and experience may develop. and, for the purpose of making this resolution effective, they further declare that they will not support for the office of president, vice-president, senator, or representative in congress, or as a member of a state legislature, any man, of whatever party, who is not known to be opposed to the disturbance of the settlement aforesaid, and to the renewal, in any form, of agitation upon the subject of slavery. "henry clay, c. s. morehead, robt. l. rose, w. c. dawson, thos. j. rusk, jere. clemens, james cooper, thos. c. pratt, wm. m. gwin, samuel a. elliot, david outlaw, o. h. williams, j. philips phoenix, a. m. schemerhorn, jno. r. thurman, d. a. bokee, geo. r. andrews, w. p. mangum, jeremiah morton, r. i. bowie, e. c. cabell, alex. evans, howell cobb, h. s. foote, wm. duer, jas. brooks, a. h. stephens, r. toombs, m. p. gentry, h. w. hilliard, f. e. mclean, a. g. watkins, h. a. bullard, t. s. haywood, a. h. shephard, daniel breck, jas. l. johnson, j. b. thompson, j. m. anderson, john b. kerr, j. p. caldwell, ed. deberry, h. marshall, allen f. owen." the _rowdyism_ and _treachery_ of democracy never intended to abide by this pledge--and hence their "disturbance of the settlement aforesaid," by opening up anew this villainous "agitation upon the subject of slavery." this violation of a solemn pledge has introduced into kansas civil war, caused bloodshed, the shooting down of men in cold blood, and overrun that country with contending parties, called "_friends of freedom_" and "_border ruffians_," armed with sharpe's rifles, colt's revolvers, bowie-knives, and clubs, mixed with bibles! all this really affords an illustration of the domineering insolence of democratic abolitionism--an element in our federal government which will stop at no extremity of violence, in order to subdue the people of the slave states, and force them into a miserable subservience to its fanatical dominion. and it is worthy of note, that the shooting of sheriff jones and others in kansas, occurred immediately after the arrival of the _new haven emigrant rifle company_! this, too, calls to mind forcibly the very delectable _conversational speechifying_ that took place at the new haven rifle meeting, among the pious villains who figured most conspicuously. as it is short, we give it entire: rev. mr. dutton (pastor of the church.)--one of the deacons of this church, mr. harvey hall, is going out with the company to kansas, and i, as his pastor, desire to present him a bible and a sharpe's rifle. (great applause.) e. p. pie.--i will give one. stephen d. purdee.--i will give one for myself, and also another one for my wife. mr. beecher.--i like to see that--it is a bold stroke both right and left. (great laughter.) charles ives.--put me down for three. thomas r. trowbridge.--put me down for four. (continued laughter.) dr. j. i. howe.--i will subscribe for one. a gentleman said that miss mary dutton would give one. dr. stephen g. hubbard.--one. mr. beecher here stated that if twenty-five could be raised on the spot, he would pledge twenty-five more from the church at plymouth--fifty being a sufficient number for the whole supply. (clapping of hands all over the house.) prof. silliman now left mr. beecher to speak for the bid, and sat down to enjoy the occasion. mr. killem.--i give one. mr. beecher.--_killem_--that's a significant name in connection with a good sharpe's rifle. (laughter.) after this, this clerical vagabond, beecher, blessed the weapons, and encouraged the party to go forth and "do or die" in the sublime "cause of nigger freedom!" in all human probability, sweet mary dutton's rifle may have sped the ball that pierced the side of sheriff jones, the officer of the law, while in the honest discharge of a sworn duty! subsequent murders, where pro-slavery men were shot down with these rifles, we attribute to the _omen_ that beecher found in his name "_killem_"--it is a significant name in connection with sharpe's rifle. the real assassins shoot down their men, and with their _rifles_ and _bibles_ flee; but _she_ who unfrocked herself by furnishing a rifle, and _he_ who gave and blessed the weapon of death, are here to accept the thanks of their admirers and partisans. let sweet mary and her _beloved_ pastor be crowned with wreaths of deadly night-shade, and consigned to one cell in sing sing prison! but the success of ruffianism in kansas, in the hands of those vile abolition democrats, has emboldened members of the same party to introduce it in the federal capital. but the other day, mr. sumner, of massachusetts, made, in his place in the u. s. senate, one of the most incendiary and inflammatory speeches ever uttered on the floor of either house of congress! the vocabulary of billingsgate was exhausted in denouncing all who dared to justify the institution of slavery--using, over and over again, such terms as "hireling, picked from the drunken spew of an uneasy civilization in the form of men," &c. the language made use of was disgraceful to the vile abolitionist himself, and to the senate, of which he never ought to have been a member. there was no limit to the personal abuse in which the villainous senator indulged, no restraint to the vile epithets coined in his insane head; and the very natural consequence was, a personal chastisement of mr. sumner, in the senate chamber, by mr. brooks, a representative from south carolina, and a relative of judge butler, the gentleman abused in his absence, which, for its severity, never was equalled in washington. mr. sumner was the aggressor, because he poured out the vials of his wrath upon not only judge butler, a distinguished senator, but upon the whole state of south carolina. we do not justify the selection of a _time_ and _place_ by _mr. brooks_, for punishing this massachusetts abolitionist; but we should despise the son of south carolina who could hear his native state arraigned in such temper and language, without feeling intensely, and _manifesting_ that feeling at a proper time and place. indeed, it would be strange if a south carolinian did not resent the arrogant, insulting, and contemptuous tone which mr. sumner saw fit to indulge in towards south carolina in general, and her senator in particular! we know judge butler--we have seen him on the bench, in the discharge of the duties of a circuit-judge--we have seen and heard him in the senate chamber, where he has served for years, with credit to himself and honor to his state. he is an accomplished man, and a most amiable and honorable gentleman. his character is unblemished; he stands deservedly high; he is a gentleman of urbane and courteous demeanor, and is beloved, esteemed, and respected, by all _gentlemen_ who know him or associate with him. besides, he is an old man, gray-haired, and palsied; and, whether present or absent, deserved to be treated as a gentleman. northern men may not expect to vilify the south in this way, without having to atone for it. men who profess to belong to the peace party, ought not to employ language that will provoke a fight, and then shield themselves behind their non-resistant defences. they voluntarily put themselves upon the platform of _resistance_--they pass insults, and they must submit to the consequences. we have just finished the perusal of a case in ã�sop's fables, exactly in point. it is the case of a _trumpeter_ taken prisoner in battle. he claimed exemption from the common fate of prisoners of war, in ancient times, on the ground that he carried no weapons, and was, in fact, a non-combatant, belonging to the peace party! "non-combatant, the devil!" exclaimed the opposing party, pointing to his trumpet, as preparations were being made to put him to death, "why, sir, you hold in your hands the very instrument which incites our foes to tenfold furies against us!" but this fight between the parties has to come, and it should begin at washington, and if not in the halls of congress, at least in the _streets_ of the federal city. let the battle be fought there, and not in _kansas_, and let it fall upon the villainous agitators of the slavery question, and the _democratic_ disturbers of the compromises of the constitution. let it come _now_, that it may be fought out and settled, and not left to _posterity_, to curse and crush the rising generation! mr. brooks is a democrat, and an anti-know nothing. mr. sumner is a democrat--was elected by the votes of the democrats, over that noble and dignified whig, mr. winthrop, and his election was hailed throughout the union as a democratic triumph! massachusetts, irrespective of parties, seems to have taken great offence at this occurrence, and to have held indignation meetings, and was to have had _legislative_ action upon the subject. we tell massachusetts that she is alone to blame, for sending such a man to the united states senate. there was a great debate in the senate twenty-five years ago, in which daniel webster and gov. hayne met each other and grappled like giants, as they were. the state of south carolina, in that day, though represented by an able, patriotic, and great man, came off _second best_. the senator from massachusetts, of that day, was an able statesman, a constitutional lawyer of unsurpassed abilities, and, withal, a cautious gentleman, and rose above the low blackguardism of a sumner and a wilson. when _taunted_ by the senator from south carolina with _federalism_, and opposition to some of the features of the war of 1812, the great webster presented massachusetts before the senate and the union, in such a manner that men of all sections bowed down and worshipped her. standing erect with the flash of his eagle eye, he exclaimed, "there is boston, and concord, and lexington, and bunker hill"--let them testify to the loyalty of massachusetts to this glorious union! not only did mr. webster come out of that controversy with south carolina with the admiration of every man in the country, but with the respect and admiration of calhoun, hayne, mcduffie, and all the high-toned statesmen of the south. and why? because he was not a sumner, a wilson, or an _abolition blackguard_. times have changed--a different man takes the place of a webster, with only the memory of an insulting speech and a broken head! let massachusetts send men to the united states senate who can and will demean themselves like gentlemen, and gentlemen from the south will appreciate them, while they differ honestly with them on great questions. what wonderful _progress_ democracy is making in the country! _first_, democracy quarrelled and jowered over the election of a speaker two months, and finally, by the introduction of the _plurality rule_, caused banks, a black republican, to be elected. and as if determined to atone for this wear of time and money, they have brought about a series of fights, which, before they are disposed of, will cost the government half a million of dollars! _first_ then, william smith, an ex-governor of the state of virginia, and member of the house of representatives, assailed and beat the editor of the _evening star_, in december last, in the street. _second_, albert rusk, a member of the house of representatives from arkansas, assailed and beat the editor of the new york _tribune_ in the grounds of the capitol, immediately after leaving the house of representatives. _third_, philip t. herbert, of alabama, a member of congress from california, shot down and killed an irish catholic waiter at willard's, and is now under bonds to appear before the court and await his trial for such crime as they may adjudge him to have committed. _fourth_, preston s. brooks, a member of the house of representatives from south carolina, assails and beats unmercifully a senator from massachusetts, when occupying his seat in the senate of the united states. _fifth_, mr. bright knocked down the doorkeeper, for an inconsiderable offence. here, then, we have five breaches of the peace in five months, by democrats upon democrats, although the "boston pilot," a catholic organ, falsely charges that some of the parties making these assaults are "know nothings." we congratulate the democratic party upon the progress of its leading members! they are sinking by swift descent into barbarism, and bringing the country to ruin. and in keeping with all this, they have tried to nominate for the vice-presidency a man who openly proposed in congress the repeal of our neutrality laws, so as to bring a general fight! it will not do to say that _sumner_ is not of the democratic party, because he is a regular-built free-soiler and black republican: the washington _union_ settled this point in 1852, when it uttered these memorable words: "the free-soil democratic leaders of the north are a regular portion of the democratic party, and general pierce, if elected, will make no distinction between them and the rest of the democracy in the distribution of official patronage, and in the selection of agents for administering the government." the rules of the senate forbid personalities in debate, and it was the sworn duty of its locofoco president, mr. bright, to have called mr. sumner to order for his abuse of judge butler. but as far back as thirty years ago, under the auspices of john c. calhoun as presiding officer, a decision was made to the effect that the presiding officer of the senate was neither bound nor had he the power to call senators to order! that power, according to his decision, belonged wholly to the senate itself----thus delivering over the minority of that body to "the tender mercies" of the majority! the object of mr. calhoun at the time was to play into the hands of a combination which had been formed to break down the administration of john quincy adams, and to cripple henry clay. the instrument used was the sarcastic, irritating, and personal rhetoric of john randolph, then a member of the senate. to this end, randolph was suffered to deliver in the senate a long succession of tirades, disgraceful to the senate, abusive of new england and of henry clay. here is a specimen of randolph's abuse, which led to a duel between him and mr. clay: "this man, (mankind, i crave pardon,) this worm, (little animals, forgive the insult,) was raised to a higher life than he was born to, for he was raised to the society of blackguards. some fortune--kind to him, cruel to us--has tossed him to the secretaryship of state. contempt has the property of descending, but stops far short of him. she would die before she would reach him: he dwells below her fall. i would hate him, if i did not despise him. it is not what he is, but where he is, that puts my thoughts into action. the alphabet which writes the name of thersites, blackguard, squalidity, refuses her letters for him. that mind which thinks on what it cannot express, can scarcely think on him. an hyperbole for meanness would be an ellipsis for clay." this was pleasing to mr. calhoun and the dominant party in the senate, and his decision which tolerated it never was questioned by any authoritative precedent, until millard fillmore was elected vice-president. with characteristic independence, he determined that a precedent so unreasonable and absurd should not be binding on him as the presiding officer of the senate. he therefore, on assuming the duties of his office, delivered an address to the senate, in which he informed that body that he considered it his sworn duty to preserve decorum, and would _reverse_ the rule which had so long prevailed, that senators were not to be called to order for words spoken in debate! the senate ordered this address to be entered at large on their journals, as an evidence of their endorsement of its doctrines; and there it is now, recorded evidence of the patriotism, high sense of decorum, and senatorial dignity of that great and good man, millard fillmore. strength of parties in tennessee. official votes of the state. the following tables exhibit the official vote of tennessee for president in 1852, for governor in 1853, and for governor in 1855, as compared at the capital of the state, and will be valuable as a table for reference. in the last contest, when the _know nothing issues_ were fully made, causing all the _latent blackguardism in the democratic ranks to be fully developed_, it will be seen that _andrew johnson_ received 67,499 votes, and _meredith p. gentry_ 65,342, leaving johnson a majority of 2,157, a falling off of 104 votes from his majority over _maj. henry_ two years before that. it will also be perceived that the vote of the state at this last election is an increase of 8,260 over the vote two years previous. of this increase, _col. gentry_ gets 4,182, his vote exceeding _maj. henry's_ by that much, while johnson's increase upon his own vote two years previous was 4,078. it is a moderate calculation to say that johnson received at least two thousand _foreign and illegal votes_; while we are within bounds when we say that at least 5,000 old-line whigs refused to vote for _col. gentry_--demonstrating beyond all doubt that a majority of the legal voters of the state were opposed to johnson and his party. in the contest now being waged, _fillmore and donelson_ will carry the state by a majority ranging from _three_ to _five_ thousand votes, despite the low billingsgate slang and vile blackguardism that may be heaped upon them and their supporters. and as this calculation is made in _june_, five months in advance of the election, we must ask those into whose hands this work shall fall without the limits of tennessee, to bear it in mind, and when they get the returns in november, to give us credit for our sagacity or our want of sagacity! the contest will be fierce and bitter, exceeding any former political battle witnessed in the state. if the orators and editors of the self-styled democratic party have not greatly reformed in the space of one year, but little argument will be adduced, but little gentlemanly courtesy manifested; and instead of facts, figures and arguments, bitter invective, low blackguardism, and billingsgate abuse of secret organizations, dark lanterns, and protestant clergymen, will be the order of the day. in this _congenial_ work, all the conglomeration of ignorant men, foreign paupers, and fag-ends and factions, styling themselves _democrats_, will engage! but to the official vote of the state: _popular vote of tennessee--official._ east tennessee. 1852. 1853. 1855. counties. scott. pierce. henry. johnson. gentry. johnson. anderson 602 267 648 379 772 333 bledsoe 464 209 469 303 404 361 blount 827 566 1146 734 1069 789 bradley 547 778 562 1085 644 1021 campbell 313 251 356 445 507 383 carter 585 139 721 294 768 238 claiborne 503 519 620 707 756 744 cooke 743 196 867 383 929 422 grainger 852 477 998 767 1327 621 greene 780 1301 902 1915 989 1985 hawkins 778 831 805 1180 887 1158 hamilton 774 648 786 972 966 1044 hancock 241 336 221 532 264 589 jefferson 1168 307 1396 639 1697 444 johnson 365 93 392 184 400 215 knox 1863 565 2279 770 2560 695 mcminn 796 866 799 965 909 953 meigs 141 442 118 561 97 588 marion 453 292 476 357 554 468 monroe 805 847 739 900 851 1005 morgan 240 222 229 260 219 358 polk 272 470 249 527 385 676 rhea 300 307 270 358 298 415 roane 820 678 912 755 1002 769 sevier 621 80 824 133 964 120 scott 199 127 186 182 121 259 sullivan 260 1114 361 1407 601 1403 washington 565 853 967 1069 847 1338 ----- ----- ----- ----- 19,298 18,763 21,787 19,394 middle tennessee. counties. scott. pierce. henry. johnson. gentry. johnson. bedford 1390 1356 1359 1257 1630 1293 cannon 453 727 445 803 458 859 coffee 205 722 274 824 294 880 davidson 2617 2058 2597 1963 3132 1783 de kalb 559 588 632 610 560 738 dickson 323 607 357 743 388 745 fentress 153 411 166 504 129 616 franklin 330 1133 356 1224 394 1302 giles 1303 1447 1301 1468 1312 1439 grundy 44 327 58 374 22 425 hardin 643 808 671 827 745 775 hickman 241 839 263 812 223 1053 humphreys 263 471 341 501 354 543 jackson 1170 803 1154 995 1122 1131 lawrence 547 583 523 731 524 845 lewis 43 186 66 182 34 243 lincoln 606 2297 617 2322 402 2521 maury 1324 1799 1238 1731 1444 1793 montgomery 1260 993 1309 1004 1502 881 marshall 666 1340 671 1282 678 1310 macon 617 374 553 341 540 424 overton 345 1039 431 1282 290 1528 robertson 1013 769 1183 763 1256 804 rutherford 1495 1313 1407 1243 1435 1288 smith 1742 520 1735 546 1572 644 stewart 533 725 479 718 563 785 sumner 825 1563 806 1425 780 1740 van buren 107 165 110 205 90 228 warren 344 922 402 1093 393 1153 wayne 666 380 709 430 687 535 white 949 518 974 634 978 694 williamson 1583 763 1502 710 1621 688 wilson 2248 923 2241 995 2290 937 ----- ----- ----- ----- 26,930 30,550 27,842 32,623 west tennessee. counties. scott. pierce. henry. johnson. gentry. johnson. benton 340 485 393 465 475 453 carroll 1498 649 1469 663 1567 694 decatur 400 315 408 285 353 429 dyer 508 411 476 373 442 483 fayette 1006 1034 1011 1006 1151 940 gibson 1570 901 1514 1024 1618 1213 hardeman 717 1024 651 1025 619 1123 henderson 1193 511 1301 593 1230 734 henry 899 1516 891 1496 871 1738 haywood 790 732 726 785 803 762 lauderdale 330 277 319 252 354 297 mcnairy 921 872 1016 984 915 1059 madison 1426 819 1261 795 1448 788 obion 431 644 547 792 407 865 perry 325 314 387 329 320 450 shelby 1824 1628 1545 1435 1831 1477 tipton 357 565 284 527 424 566 weakley 783 1149 733 1279 885 1411 ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- 58,802 57,123 14,932 14,108 15,713 15,482 57,123 -----scott's majority, 1,679 east tennessee, 19,298 18,763 21,787 19,394 middle tennessee, 26,930 30,550 27,842 32,623 ----- ----- ----- ----- 61,160 63,421 65,342 67,499 61,160 65,342 ----- ----- johnson's majority 2,261 2,157 _fillmore and donelson electoral ticket._ as a matter of reference, and that none may mistake the american ticket on the day of the election, we give it as agreed upon and matured by our party: for the state. hon. neill s. brown, of davidson. horace maynard, of knox. for the districts. 1st district--n. g. taylor, of carter. 2d " moses white, of knox. 3d " reese b. brabson, of hamilton. 4th " w. p. hickerson, of coffee. 5th " robert hatton, of wilson. 6th " w. h. wisener, of bedford. 7th " c. c. crowe, of giles. 8th " j. m. quarles, of montgomery. 9th " isaac r. hawkins, of carroll. 10th " joseph r. mosby, of fayette. this is an able ticket, and greatly superior to the opposing ticket, as our readers will bear us witness when they hear the parties in debate. most of these gentlemen have consented to serve on the ticket at great personal sacrifices; and like their chief, mr. fillmore, they have undertaken to serve their party and country "without waiting to inquire of its prospects of success or defeat." and all the reward they seek is to be able to conduct the struggle to a victorious consummation in tennessee, and this we feel confident they will do. the battle in tennessee will be hotly contested, but it is by no means doubtful. tennessee for the last twenty years, and in five preceding presidential contests, has refused to range herself under the black banner of locofocoism; and now that that banner is doubly infamous by being raised and cheered by catholics, foreigners, and paupers of every clime, it is fair to presume she will spurn the flag! the black republican nominees. the black republican party, in their recent convention at philadelphia, have nominated john charles fremont, of california, for the presidency, and ex-senator william l. dayton, of new jersey, for the vice presidency! this man fremont is no statesman--has no experience in political life--has not the first qualification for this eminent and responsible station--and his nomination has not been made upon any plausible pretext whatever. he is an engineer by profession--once penetrated with his companions to the pacific coast, across the rocky mountains--is the son-in-law of _tom benton_--is a free trade locofoco, and an avowed free soiler. the following letter addressed by fremont to the great tabernacle abolition meeting in new york, last spring, is full and explicit, and defines his position on the slavery question: "new york, april 29, 1856. "gentlemen: i have to thank you for the honor of an invitation to a meeting this evening at the broadway tabernacle, and regret that other engagements have interfered to prevent my being present. "i heartily concur in all movements which have for their object 'to repair the mischiefs arising from the violation of good faith in the repeal of the missouri compromise.' i am opposed to slavery in the abstract and upon principle, sustained and made habitual by long-settled convictions. "while i feel inflexible in the belief that it ought not to be interfered with where it exists under the shield of state sovereignty, i am as inflexibly opposed to its extension on this continent beyond its present limits. "with the assurance of regard for yourselves, "i am very respectfully yours, "j. c. fremont." "messrs. j. d. morgan and others." in addition to this, fremont is the representative of _aggression_: he is a _filibuster_, and the exponent of a civilization above all constitutions, and all laws. the fact that seward, chase, giddings, and such men--able anti-slavery men, and experienced politicians, were passed over, is proof that they were not governed by _principle_, but seek to shift the issue, and to make it personal and sectional. take into the account, moreover, the fact that dayton, a man of moderate talents, is a sort of _protective tariff locofoco_, the advocate of foreign pauper labor, and the largest liberty for _catholics_, and it gives to the ticket a considerable degree of interest. the leading men in the convention were reckless and unprincipled demagogues, of the locofoco school of politics, including the british free trade policy, filibusterism, etc., whose only aim is place and plunder. their free-soil principles, outside of their radical purposes, are scarcely skin deep! by many well-informed men, no doubts are entertained now, that the nomination of fremont and dayton has been the result of an intrigue between seward and archbishop hughes; and from a resolution of their platform, as reported by the committee on resolutions, we attach credit to this inference. it will bring the buchanan party at the north to terms, as they are likely to be the only sufferers from this ticket. it will be managed in future alone with an eye to the _aid_ of buchanan! we take the following notice of fremont from the charleston (s. c.) standard, and consider it every way reliable: "mr. fremont will be destined to play a distinguished part in the drama, and his history and character therefore will, doubtless, become subjects of considerable importance. he is generally regarded as a native of charleston, but of this we have occasion to doubt. many gentlemen here, who knew him in early life, concur in saying that he was born in savannah. up to within a short time prior to his birth, his mother was a resident of norfolk, in virginia, and it is generally asserted that his parents resided in savannah before they became settled in charleston; however this may have been, it is at least conceded that he first came into notice in this city. his prospects here were not particularly promising, but he attracted the attention of some philanthropic gentlemen, who provided the means for his entrance and instruction in the charleston college. his progress there was not remarkable, and when his class graduated he was not considered entitled to a diploma. he was afterwards recommended as a proper person to take charge of the night-school of the apprentices' library association; but, though his attainments were sufficient, and his address particularly acceptable to the directors of that institution, he was not as attentive as he might have been, and the school fell through. he afterwards procured, through mr. poinsett, a situation as instructor of junior officers on board a vessel of war bound to the pacific, and in this condition is said to have acquitted himself well. he afterwards acquired some knowledge of civil engineering, and filling unimportant positions in connection with one and another public work, was at length brought to notice and distinction by his connection with mr. nicholet in his survey of the mississippi valley, and from that marched steadily on to the rocky mountains, and a renown that has placed his name before the country. "from the records of his early life, it would seem that he had talent, and was quite addicted to naval reading, but was wayward, and if not indolent, was inefficient in the tasks undertaken at the instance of other people, and up to the time of his entrance upon his duties as instructor in the naval school, had hardly made up his mind whether he would be a man of character or a blackguard. he was fond of dress, however, and the records of the court still show that he wore a suit of clothes which he was afterwards compelled to declare on oath his inability to pay for, in order to avoid inconvenient restrictions upon his personal liberty; but chance gave a proper direction to his abilities; he had the latent energy of character to act up to his opportunities, and he has really presented a career which any one might regard with satisfaction. it is certainly to be regretted that he should lend himself to the uses of a party so reckless and subversive, not only of the union but of the rights of that section to which, if capable of sentiments of patriotism, he might be supposed to feel attachment; but the prospect of the presidency would be a sore trial to the probity of most men, and we find nothing in the antecedents of mr. fremont to cause a feeling of disappointment that he should yield to the allurements of power. "he is commended for his attentions to his mother, and they were certainly exemplary. she was poor, and after he determined to behave himself and work like a man, he made her as entirely comfortable as there was the reason to believe his circumstances permitted." postscript.--mr. fremont turns out to be a roman catholic, and to have been raised one, and this explains the readiness of bishop hughes to abandon buchanan, and go over to fremont. it also explains why it is that so many _german catholic papers_ are coming out for fremont, in the large cities, and in the north-western states. in 1850, fremont held a seat in the united states senate, for the space of about three months, and during that time sought to introduce a catholic priest to open their services with prayers, and was successful to some extent. he also attended service at the catholic church. the _washington star_, of the 19th june, 1856, gives the following exposition of facts, in reference to fremont and his religion: "a sort of a catholic.--we take it for granted that among the informal pledges extracted by delegations in george law's convention, from col. fremont, there was not one against the catholic church; insomuch as, up to the recent birth of his aspirations for the presidency, he always passed in washington for a good enough outside roman catholic; that being the church in which he was reared. he was married in this city, it will be remembered, by father van horseigh, a clergyman of his church--not of that of his wife's family." the republicans sought to incorporate into their platform a plank in opposition to the _religious proscription_ of the american party, so as to suit the taste of romanists generally; but thaddeus stevens, who knows pennsylvania as well as any man living, implored them not to do so, and stated that such a course, with fremont as their nominee, would lose them pennsylvania by 50,000 votes! it turns out, however, that fremont, as the anti-american, anti-protestant candidate, with mr. dayton on the ticket, equally anti-american, and devoted to romanism, will sweep the catholic vote in the united states. catholics may favor buchanan in such southern states as do not run a fremont ticket, but in all the northern and north-western states, the fremont ticket will ruin the buchanan ticket. this question, taken in connection with the slavery issue, and the filibustering issue, narrows the contest down to one between fillmore and fremont. buchanan is defeated, and the southern fire-eaters see and feel it! the _atlanta_ (ga.) _intelligencer_ comes out and states, that if buchanan can't be elected, it prefers fremont to fillmore! and the south carolina and mississippi disunionists openly avow, that they wish this to be the last contest of the kind. they are for buchanan or fremont, over fillmore, because they believe the election of either will have the glorious effect to bring about a dissolution of the union! in the same breath they admit that fillmore will labor to perpetuate the union, and that his election will have the effect to prolong its existence a few brief years! southern men, and northern men, union men, and national, conservative men, of all parties, can now see _where_ we are driving to, and _who_ they should support for the presidency. let them guard against these demons of popery--these incarnate fiends of the free soil faith--these fanatics of a sectional cast--these slimy vultures of secession--these bogus democrats--and these infinitely infernal traitors to the constitution and the union! "col. fremont was educated in and graduated from st. mary's college, in baltimore, a roman catholic institution. he was brought up in the catholic faith, and is a catholic. he married a daughter of col. benton. miss benton was a presbyterian. they were married by a clergyman of that denomination; but a catholic priest made a fuss about it as being null, void, and heretical, and the ceremony was re-performed by him!"--_auburn american._ the _american_ might have added, that fremont is the son of a _catholic frenchman_, the son of a _catholic mother_, and was reared under catholic influence. nay, fremont educates his children at the roman catholic institution at georgetown, in the district of columbia! the placing of such a candidate before the public, seems especially designed to defy public sentiment, and mock the protestant american feeling of the country! we had expected the catholics, with bishop hughes at their head, in a few years more, to come out openly, and run a catholic for the presidency, but we had not supposed them bold enough to attempt it in 1856. to show beyond all doubt that the nomination of fremont was the result of a coalition between seward and hughes, more in reference to the _catholic question_ than the _slavery issue_, we present the record of fremont in the united states senate--his _ultra-pro-slavery course_--his voting against justice to the colonization society, and _seven hundred and fifty_ captured slaves--his opposition to the abolition of slavery in the district of columbia! he is extreme southern and pro-slavery. john c. fremont held a seat in the united states senate, in 1850, for the space of a few months. during that time he made no speeches; indeed, he has scarcely ever been known to utter any sentiments, or sanction any opinions. yet his votes, as a member of the senate, did make for him a record; and it is this record that will stare him in the face as long as he lives--a record in direct conflict with his present professions and position before the country: look at it!--john c. fremont's statesmanship. [from the congressional globe--vol. 21, part 2d, p. 1803, etc.] "in senate of united states, sept. 11, 1850. "mr. underwood, of kentucky, called up the bill for the relief of the american colonization society. the slaves that were recaptured on the barque pons were turned over to the colonization society, by the authority of the united states, sent to liberia, and there kept at the expense of the society for one or two years. most of them were children of twelve, fifteen, and sixteen years of age. the society thinks that the expense of feeding, clothing, and educating these people, which was thus devolved on them by the action of the government, ought to be repaid them. it was certainly an expense incurred by the society, through the action of the government in throwing these young negroes upon them for maintenance, instead of taking them, as the government was bound to do by law, and providing for them. that is the nature of the claim. they simply ask that so much shall be paid them as the society, from its own experience, pays in reference to its own emigrants. the claim was reported upon favorably two years ago. a similar report has again been made; and as the necessities of the society require that they should have the money, i hope, said mr. u., the senate will consent to take up the bill. the senate agreed to take up the bill, and proceeded to consider it as in committee of the whole. "mr. turney asked for the reading of the report of the committee. "the secretary read the report accordingly. it sets forth that a liberal construction of the act of congress of march 3d, 1819, would require that the government should provide for the support of these recaptured africans, for a reasonable time after they had been landed in liberia, and that it is beneath the dignity of the government to devolve this duty upon the society. the petition of the executive committee of the society which the committee incorporated in their report, states that on the 16th of december, 1845, the united states ship yorktown, commodore bell, landed at monrovia, in liberia, from the slaver pons, seven hundred and fifty recaptured africans, in a naked, starving, and dying condition, all of them excepting twenty-one being under the age of twenty-one. the united states made no provision for their support after they were landed.... "the services of providing for the destitute negroes were not required to be performed by the society under their constitution, but the alternative was to leave these recaptured africans to starve and die, and the society therefore cheerfully took charge of them, relying upon the government of the united states to refund the cost to them." the question was discussed at length as to whether the united states would pay these just and legal demands; and on the vote being taken for the engrossment of the bill to a third reading, mr. fremont's name is found recorded in the negative--as follows: "yeas--messrs. badger, baldwin, bell, chase, clayton, davis of mass., dayton, dodge of wis., dodge of iowa, douglass, ewing, felch, greene, hale, hamlin, jones, mangum, pearce, pratt, seward, shields, smith, spruance, sturgeon, underwood, wales, walker, whitcomb, and winthrop--29. "nays--messrs. atchison, barnwell, benton, butler, dawson, dickinson, downs, fremont, hunter, king, mason, rusk, sebastian, soule, turner, and yulee--16." look again!--on the 18th day of september, 1850, the bill to prevent persons from enticing away slaves from the district of columbia was under consideration, and john p. hale "moved that it be committed to the committee on the district of columbia, with instructions _to so amend it as to_ abolish slavery in the district of columbia." on the vote being taken, fremont's name was recorded in the negative. (see cong. globe, 31st congress, part 2, p. 1859.) such is mr. fremont's _record of statesmanship_. it shows his nomination by the "_republicans_" to have been a hollow mockery--"a dishonest farce,"--an insult to the intelligence of the american people. we shall hereafter pursue the record of this "remarkable man." bishop hughes and wm. h. seward have been, for years, intimate personal and political friends. it is a part of the political history of new york, that seward is alone indebted to hughes for his reelection to the united states senate. they are both now united in the support of fremont, and they procured his nomination over judge mclean, a pure and patriotic man--for many years a _methodist class-leader_, and an officer of a _protestant bible society_. the coalition between hughes, seward and fremont, is complete, and the evidence of the foul coalition and conspiracy will appear in full, in a few days, but not in time for us to get it into this work. we are right glad of it, as it narrows the contest down to one between fillmore and fremont, and especially at the north. in some of the northern states, it is now conclusive that a _buchanan_ ticket will not be run, while in every northern state where such a ticket is run, it will be with no hope of success! hughes and seward will induce several states to drop buchanan, and unite on fremont, by _bargaining_ with them, and obligating themselves to give the democracy half of the spoils. already several _southern_ democratic papers are saying, that if they can't elect buchanan, they prefer fremont to fillmore! this ought to open the eyes of all true patriots. old line whigs, and the motives governing some of them! in this free country of ours, gentlemen have a right to support any presidential or other ticket they may choose to support; and where they are governed by pure motives in differing from a majority of their neighbors and old political associates, no one has a right to complain. some few gentlemen, known as "old line whigs," will not come into the support of the american ticket, but will even support the democratic ticket; and do it from an honest (though mistaken) belief that they can most effectually serve the interests of the country by this course. with such, we shall be the last man to raise a quarrel--claiming the right to do as we please in matters of the sort. but there are some men in the ranks of the enemy now, who are governed by very different motives; and as these are quoted against the american party, or, as their refusal to act with the party is a matter of _boasting_ in the democratic ranks, it is due to the cause of truth, and of the country, that they should be understood, that their efforts may be _appreciated_. without intending to be tedious, we name james c. jones, of tennessee, as at the head of the list of _old liners_, whose devotion to the _south_, and love of _liberty_, prevent him from supporting fillmore and donelson. this is the veriest _stuff_ in the political world! gov. jones cannot excuse the matter of his opposition to millard fillmore upon the grounds he rests the case, in his circular addressed to his constituents. the true secret of the matter must come to light, that old whigs and new whigs, americans and democrats, may appreciate his motives. last fall, at the fair in jackson, in west tennessee, in the house and at the bedside of andrew guthrie, on being inquired of as to his future course, the governor became very much excited, and roundly asserted, that if the american party nominated _fillmore_, he should go against him. ==> _because fillmore, in his appointment of persons to office in tennessee, did not consult him, but in many cases appointed his personal enemies!_ mark, he did not pause to inquire _who_ might be the opposing candidate to mr. fillmore. he was not then, as he is not now, governed by any _principle_ in the matter, but by _passion_. he is _against mr. fillmore_, under all circumstances, no matter who may oppose him! and why? because mr. fillmore did not suffer him to put his numerous _active friends_ into fat offices under the general government; to many of whom he had made pledges while he was struggling for a seat in the united states senate--where he ought never to have gone, and where the better portion of those who aided in his election now regret having sent him! but it is true, fillmore and his cabinet did refuse the extravagant demands made for office by the governor; and in no single instance did they appoint men to office from tennessee without consultation with bell, gentry, and williams; all three of whom were offensive to _jones_. they had proven themselves to be worthy of consultation; the governor had not! this accounts, moreover, for the efforts of jones at baltimore to defeat the nomination of fillmore, and to procure the nomination of scott--efforts which, unfortunately for the country, were but too successful! when the american party was organized in tennessee, jones had no objection to the creed, and would have fallen into the ranks, but then he beheld _gentry_ and _brownlow_ in the party--men whom he despised above all others. he tried to prevent the nomination of gentry for governor by letter-writing, and by seeking to get up a _whig_ convention. failing in these schemes, he threw himself into the arena, and _secretly_ damaged gentry all he could, and played into the hands of johnson, who was only elected by a majority of some _two thousand votes_! we are not informed as to the course gov. jones will pursue in this contest, further than this, he will go against fillmore. we predict that he will support buchanan. _pride of character_ may keep him from it--if he have any of that commodity left, after his five years' residence at washington! the platform upon which buchanan has been placed by the cincinnati convention, is a reiteration of violent and undying hostility to every measure of public policy that was advocated by henry clay and the old whig party. jones still _professes_ an equally undying devotion to clay and his principles. moreover, jones has, on every stump in tennessee, held up buchanan as a _rank old federalist_, a pennsylvania _abolitionist_, and as the _wicked traducer_, _violent calumniator_, and _malignant persecutor_ of henry clay--even attributing his promotion to the secretaryship of state, by mr. polk, to his _infamous agency_ in fastening upon mr. clay the foul charge of "bargain, intrigue, and corruption." we confess that we are at a loss to see how jones can fall into the support of buchanan. the _nomination_ of the man is a direct insult to old clay whigs! albert g. watkins, the representative in congress from the first congressional district of tennessee, has gone over to democracy, placing his change upon the ground of his _great concern for the south_! we take it that he will support buchanan without hesitancy. this would place watkins before the country in his true colors, and reflect the likeness of the man with _daguerreotype_ accuracy!! with such a platform, and such a candidate on it, watkins would have the appearance of a man walking in one direction, with his head turned completely around, and his face looking the other way! the incongruity of the platform, and the peculiar reputation of buchanan for political inconsistency, are alike adapted to the history and incidents of watkins's late canvass for congress! the plain truth is, that the man so completely destroyed himself, and was so ruinously exposed by his competitor, col. taylor, whom he beat only some two hundred votes, (and that by means that make his seat in congress one of _thorns_,) that he could but go over to locofocoism. and although he has, in former days, held up buchanan on the stump as an old federalist, and as the reviler and persecutor of henry clay, he can advocate him now with a better grace than he can look his know nothing constituents in the face! we cannot say of this man as pope said of craggs: "broke no promise, served no private end, gained no title, and who lost no friend." william g. swan, of knoxville, is next on the list of "old line whigs" who have gone over to the foreign catholic democratic party, and of whose conversion the democrats at a distance boast. here they do not brag; but on the other hand, some of the leaders, whose names we can supply, authorize us to state that they do not want him, and will not receive him. this man was twice beaten for the legislature in this county--never elected by the people to any position outside of knoxville--and became soured at the whig party. he went for _johnson and sag nichtism_ last summer, and his loss is not regretted by the american party in this county. but john h. crozier, of knoxville, has gone over to "old buck" and his admirers; and this is claimed as a change! this little man, _supremely selfish_, was turned out of congress five years ago, by josiah m. anderson, with the people at his back, for _taking too much mileage_, by several hundred dollars per session, for four years! he afterwards desired the whig party to run him for governor; but they were not willing to undertake the _load_. he became soured, and last summer paid a visit to some of the counties below, to avoid, as was believed, voting for gentry for governor, and sneed for congress. he was formerly very bitter in his opposition to democracy; and on many a stump has he denounced _buchanan_, and all others concerned in the "bargain and intrigue" slander of clay, besides holding up "buck" as a blue-light federalist! at a recent buchanan ratification meeting in knoxville, he made a bitter speech against the american party! these two men, swan and crozier, were active in getting up an organization against us, in 1849, by heading a company which purchased the "_register establishment_," of this city, at the head of which they placed one _john miller m'kee_, behind whom they and others concealed themselves and wrote violent and abusive articles, through a controversy of two years. driving the whole of them to the wall, as we did, in the controversy, they determined to _mob and tear down our office_; and with a view to this, those concerned deposited their _guns_, and other "implements of husbandry," in the law office jointly occupied by these two men, who have operated as _twin brothers_ for several years--each sympathizing with the other in his political defeats! those concerned were deterred from this contemplated and well-arranged assault upon our office, by col. luttrell, the comptroller of the state, and other gentlemen of nerve, arming themselves with shot-guns, pistols, and hatchets, and taking their stand at our office! nothing daunted by this defeat, these _gallant_ lawyers, and _generous_--not to say _brave_--opponents betook themselves to the county of anderson, in this judicial circuit, and with great difficulty got up an indictment against us, under an old statute, forgotten by gentlemen of the bar, for _advertising a baltimore lottery scheme_; when they themselves, and their relatives, were dealing in the _art union lottery_ in this city! they were most signally defeated in that indictment; and, together with the two williamses, brothers-in-law of crozier, sought to drive the business men of the place, and others, from advertising in our paper, or subscribing for it. failing in this, they sought to prevent us from getting the government advertising under fillmore's administration; and in this they failed, though this is the ground of their hostility to fillmore and his cabinet, as well as to john bell, m. p. gentry, and c. h. williams. the _register_ fell through--was sold under the hammer for _twenty-two hundred dollars_--mckee ran away--and the company have had about five thousand dollars to pay for him, which hurts prodigiously! our whig has steadily increased in favor with the people, and its circulation is now the rise of five thousand--being the largest circulation that any political or other journal ever attained in east tennessee! indeed, no political weekly in tennessee now has, or ever did have, a circulation equal to "brownlow's knoxville whig." a young man calling himself _luther patterson_, has been conducting a foreign sag nicht sheet at kingston, called the "gazetteer," and which has gone by the board for the want of patronage. this little eight by ten sheet has been editorially, and by means of anonymous communications, assaulting the writer of this work, and the editor of the _register_, mr. fleming. patterson paid a recent visit to this place; at which time fleming met with him on the street, and publicly chastised him, applying the toe of a stiff boot to the _west end_ of his person, with some force. patterson turned about and boasted in his paper that he had the best of the fight. our paper and fleming's corrected this false version of the affair, and gave the facts; whereupon patterson sued out a writ in the circuit court for fleming, for damages done to his person in said rencontre, laying his damages at $5,000! shortly after this he instituted a civil action against the publishers of the paper we edit, and another against us for the article we wrote against him; and these suits are now pending. these two _gallant_ attorneys, as we are informed, are employed as counsel by patterson--a young man who has no visible means of paying lawyers, but the _eagerness_ of these gentlemen to get after us would lead them to "work for nothing and find themselves." in addition to their several civil suits against several of us, they have sent their man before the grand jury of knox county, and made a presentment against us for having _out-wrote_ their sag nicht editor! the object of these suits against the editors and publishers of the american papers here, is to _gag_ them, or to check their influence in this contest. but they have mistaken their men. like other vipers, they will find, before these matters end, that they bite a file--a file of good _american_ steel, and tempered to that degree of hardness that all their malignity, intense and active as it is known to be, will not be able to prevail against it! when we came to this city of knoxville, in 1849, we sold our office at jonesborough, at private sale, to pay a _security debt_, and purchased a new press and materials on a credit. these we sent on to the care of williams & co., the brothers-in-law of crozier, who kept about the only commission and forwarding house in knoxville. we were detained at jonesborough four weeks by close confinement to our bed; and our materials arriving here, these "old line whigs," who had always professed friendship toward us, refused to give them house-room; and had not james w. nelson and others stepped forward and paid the charges, and procured a house for them, the steamboat captain would have sold them out for the carriage! these _magnanimous_ gentlemen, members of the learned profession of the law, next contrived, through certain influences they brought to bear, to turn us out of the only office we could rent in the city, and thus they drove us _without the limits of the corporation_, and compelled us to erect a temporary office upon our own lot, which we had bought on a credit. they were now at the end of their row. one was a candidate for congress, the other for a seat in the legislature. we pitched into both, and they were both defeated; but we do not claim that it was through our influence. like cardinal wolsey, however, they both had to bid "farewell, a long farewell, to all their greatness." from the pinnacle of congressional and legislative honors, they have been precipitated to the shades of private life, and to political obscurity. their chief ambition now is, to play "fantastic tricks" in courts of justice, and before grand jurors, in the way of annoying those they have neither the _manliness_ nor _courage_ to call to an account upon their own hooks! the established usage of _gentlemen_, when offended by a newspaper editor, is to exact personal satisfaction. to acknowledge that you are personally aggrieved, and then to retort in tricks behind the offender's back, or words behind your privileges at the bar, is to acknowledge that one is either a _fool_ or a _coward_--perhaps both. a chief object in this crusade against us is to gag us during this campaign, and kill us off from the stump and the press; but they have certainly studied our character to but little purpose. and whatever line of policy their prompters and associates of the locofoco school may urge upon them, let them be assured that they cannot muzzle criticism of their personal or political delinquencies. it is a sacred duty to unmask the _renegade_, to expose the _traitor_, and to hold up the _demagogue_ to public reprobation. that duty will be performed freely and fearlessly, by the author of this work, come weal or come woe. if these two "knights of the rueful countenance" kill and eat a dozen know nothings, we know one member of the order they will not affright into silence. for their cowardly assaults and their officious intermeddlings they may bare their backs to the lash. we will be with them to the bitter end, and will only forsake them in the _gethsemane_ of their retreat! had we come here with press and type, in 1849, and agreed to be controlled by these men and their particular friends, we could have been _the_ man for the times. had we stooped to flirt and coquette and fawn and dance around these men, we could have had their endorsement, their influence, and their money, to any reasonable extent. but we neither sought their friendship, nor coveted their adulations. we claim to have been made of such inflexible materials, as not readily to go through the transmutations necessary to secure the kind regards of these men. we are no office-seeker, and desire no reward beyond the consciousness of having performed our duty, and of having served our country to the best of our ability. we take this occasion to repeat what we have heretofore said in our journal, that nearly every prominent man in the country, calling himself an "old line whig," and now opposed to fillmore and donelson, is influenced by personal grievances, or a desire to get office--matters with which the people have not the slightest concern. their opposition to the american ticket proceeds from personal hostility, either to the candidates, some of the electoral candidates, or certain prominent advocates of the ticket, and from no less unworthy motives. of course there are exceptions to this rule. the idea of an old clay whig supporting the buchanan ticket is both absurd and ridiculous. to say nothing of the foul and malignant charge of "bargain, intrigue, and corruption," buchanan labored to fasten upon clay, the platform upon which the cincinnati convention has placed buchanan repudiates every principle clay contended for, and held as sacred to the day of his death. on the contrary, the american party has not ignored one political tenet held by the whig party, but has added new ones; none of which are at war with the creed of clay, or the constitution of our country! to make short work of a long story, no man who ever was a _true whig_, and acted with that party _from principle_, can consistently go over to the _bogus_ democracy of this day, and vote for buchanan and breckenridge! talk about a clay whig turning sag nicht! what an idea! what principle does this foreign democratic party hold, that an old line whig, or a conservative man, north or south, does not disapprove? what principles have they ever held, the evil effects of which are not now standing out in bold relief as a monument of their shame, and to which they have added the unpardonable sin of making war upon native american protestants? in conclusion, the reader will please allow a few remarks personal to the writer, and he is done--leaving the public to make their own comments, and their own disposition of both this book and its author. our life has been a public life--our cause a public cause. we have our faults, as most men have; and we have committed some errors, as most men have. our few acts of goodness and virtue, if any, we leave others to hunt up; our faults are subjects of criticism, and are viewed with a _jaundiced eye_ by our opponents. through a course of _eighteen years_ of editorial invective, (whether right or wrong,) we claim to have been actuated by none other than the best of motives. we have never been prompted by ambition, malice, or a desire to make money. our voice, which has echoed over many hills and through many valleys, has never been heard in extenuation of guilt; has never been heard to plead the cause of the gambler, the swearer, the drunkard, the robber, or the assassin. wherever vice has lifted its "seven heads and ten horns"--wherever fraud has showed its thieving hand--wherever gambling has displayed its rotten heart--wherever demagogues have sought to impose on the honest people--there have we tried to be conspicuous; not as their aider and abettor, but as their scourge, their accuser, and their unrelenting foe. and among this class of men are our most bitter foes. what friends we have are to be found at the fireside of virtue--among sober, sedate, and thinking men, and among the brave and honorable. we have never been the slave or sycophant of any man or party, as our immense band of subscribers, numbering thousands, will bear us witness. and now, americans, while we look forward to the future with pleasing anticipations--while we rejoice in prospect of the final triumph of wisdom, of reason, and of virtue, over audacious ignorance, palpable corruption, canting hypocrisy, and caballing democracy--god forbid that we should indulge the vain idea that we have nothing to do! let every friend of american rights and protestant liberties take a bold, a decided stand, vowing most solemnly that he will have no fellowship at the ballot-box with the friends of that unpitying monster, a democratic papal hierarchy! be active, be vigilant, and persevering, and the day is ultimately ours! "strike till the last armed foe expires; strike for your altars and your fires; strike for the green graves of your sires, god, and your native land!" to stephen tribble--letter no. 2. sir:--on the night of the 9th of june, 1856, you held forth in the court-house in charleston, mo., taking myself, _rev. josiah mccrary_, the methodist stationed preacher of that town, and methodists generally, for your text. it would seem that the _touch_ i gave you, and a letter of mine read before a large congregation in charleston, on sabbath evening, june 8th, _have fully developed all the latent blackguardism of your early training and corrupt nature_! i will now place the record of your _infamy_ before the world in such a permanent form, and circulate it so extensively, that your low billingsgate and vile blackguardism can never harm any man or sect. i will make such a showing of you that no persons of refined feelings or of any pride of character will hear you preach or entertain you in future! i will remind many readers of the showing up of your infamous character and conduct, by the editor of the louisville journal, ten or twelve years ago, and of the exposure of your villainous conduct by the _rev. mr. mcnutt_, of kentucky, through the nashville advocate, some eight or nine years ago. i will only add the following article from my paper of the 21st june, 1856, as it completes your record, so far as tennessee is concerned. i will only add, that you were driven out of mcminn county in east tennessee, where you were preaching, lying, and drinking whiskey, years ago. there and then, too, the records of the sullivan county affair, certified to by the clerk, were produced against you! but to the article from my late paper: stephen tribble again. this old hypocrite and scoundrel has been denying in the pulpit that he was ever convicted of manslaughter or branded! it turns out, also, that the old villain once joined the american party in west tennessee! and last, but not least, it seems that he was turned out of both the methodist and presbyterian churches before he became a campbellite preacher. a pretty disciple to be abusing honest men! but to the law and to the testimony: "roane county, june 3d, 1856. "sir:--in your issue of the 14th of may, you notice _stephen tribble_, and ask for information concerning him. he came to the lower end of roane county from one of the upper counties of east tennessee, and passed himself for an arian preacher. i objected to his preaching in a meeting-house, and came near getting myself into a scrape. about that time a gentleman came from our upper country, and said he had seen his father apply the branding-iron to tribble, and the smoke rose ten feet high! i then began to play on a harp of one string against him, and that was _a tribble_, whereupon he left between two days for kentucky! he was once expelled from the methodist church, and afterwards he was expelled from the presbyterian church. if tribble disputes what i say, all i ask is a chance to prove it. i live ten miles south of kingston, near barnardsville. yours truly, "john blair." * * * * * "paris, tenn., june 6th, 1856. "dear sir:--i see in a late issue of yours that you are after a reverend wolf, stephen tribble. i am personally acquainted with him, as i lived in sullivan county when he was in the blountville jail. i have heard him preach here, and deny from the stand ever having been in jail, when he and i had talked the whole matter over the day before. he is now about forty-eight years of age--has a scar on his cheek. he preached here monthly in 1846, and here it was that he joined the american party. he now resides either in graves or fulton county, kentucky. one of his brothers told me last week that he now preaches at one point in kentucky, and the rest of his time in missouri. one of their preachers told me that he gets drunk and cuts up largely. yours, with respect, "a. j. hicks." to the foregoing letters we add a certified copy of the records of the circuit court of sullivan county, and after this we shall leave this _old clerical debauchee_ to preach for such sag nichts as may feel edified by his ministry: "monday, sept. 24, 1827. "state of tennessee, first circuit, sullivan county court: met according to adjournment. present, honorable samuel powell, judge, &c." "friday, sept. 28, 1827. "state _vs._ stephen tribble and john tribble. "in this cause, the jury having retired yesterday to consider of their verdict, under the care of an officer, and the same jury, to wit: james steele, wm. morgan, joshua miller, john thomas, wm. hashman, john wassum, thomas brown, stephen b. cawood, john k. arnold, thomas fain, william hughes, and william h. biggs, returning to the bar, do say, they find the defendants not guilty of the murder, but they find them guilty of manslaughter as charged in the bill of indictment. whereupon the defendants moved the court for a rule to show cause why a new trial should be had, which rule is granted, and on argument said rule is discharged. it is therefore considered by the court that for such offence the said defendants be imprisoned for the term of four calendar months: that they be branded with the letter m in the brawn of the thumbs of their left hands on to-morrow morning, and that they pay the costs of this suit or remain in custody until the same is paid." * * * * * "state of tennessee, sullivan county. "i, jno. w. cox, clerk of the circuit court of sullivan county, do hereby certify that the foregoing is a full, true, and perfect copy of the final judgment in the case of state _vs._ stephen tribble and john tribble, as appears of record in my office. "given under my hand at this office, the 10th of june, 1856. "jno. w. cox, clerk, "by a. j. cox, dep. clerk." in conclusion, _stephen_, i take my leave of you now, having introduced you to the 5,000 subscribers to the whig, the 7,500 subscribers to our campaign paper, and the _tens of thousands of readers_ of this book--a work which will exist and be referred to when i am in my grave, and you are in the hot embraces of the devil! you will at least agree with me that _that_ was an evil hour for you when you travelled out of your way to assail me before a strange audience in missouri. i am, &c., w. g. brownlow. knoxville, june 23d, 1856. a sermon on slavery. delivered by the undersigned in temperance hall in knoxville, on sabbath, 8th of june, 1856, to a large and attentive audience, composed of citizens and strangers--some from the north and some from the south--occupying one hour and a quarter in the delivery. it is published as it was delivered, without an omission or an alteration. respectfully, &c., w. g. brownlow. text.--"let as many servants as are under the yoke count their own masters worthy of all honor, that the name of god and his doctrine be not blasphemed."--1 tim. vi. 1. whoever reflects upon the nature of man, will find him to be almost entirely the creature of circumstances: his habits and sentiments are, in a great measure, the growth of adventitious circumstances and causes; hence the endless variety and condition of our species. that race of men in our country known as abolitionists, free-soilers, or black republicans, look upon any deviation from the constant round in which _they_ have been spinning out the thread of their existence as a departure from nature's great system; and, from a known principle of our nature, the first impulse of these fanatics is to condemn. it is thus that the man born and matured in a free state looks upon slavery as unnatural and horrible, and in violation of every law of justice or humanity! and it is not uncommon to hear bigots of this character, in their churches at the north, imploring the divine wrath to shower down the consuming fires of heaven on that great sodom and gomorrah of the new world, all that section of country south of mason and dixon's line, where this unjust practice prevails. when an unprejudiced and candid mind examines into the past condition of our race, and learns the fact which history develops, as the inquirer will, that a majority of mankind were _slaves_, he will be driven to the melancholy reflection, that the world, when first peopled by god himself, was not a world of freemen, but of _slaves_! slavery was really established and sanctioned by divine authority among even god's chosen people, the favored children of israel. abraham, the founder of this interesting nation, and the chosen servant of the most high, was the owner of more slaves than any cotton-planter in south carolina or mississippi. that magnificent shrine, the gorgeous temple of solomon, commenced and completed under the pious promptings of religion and ancient free-masonry, was reared alone by the hands of slaves! egypt's venerable and enduring pyramids were reared by the hands of slaves! involuntary servitude, reduced to a science, existed in ancient assyria and babylon. the ten tribes of israel were carried off to assyria by shalmanezer, and the two strong tribes of judah were subsequently carried in triumph by nebuchadnezzar to end their days in babylon as slaves, and to labor to adorn the city. ancient phoenicia and carthage were literally overrun with slavery, because the slave population outnumbered the free and the owners of slaves! the greeks and trojans, at the siege of troy, were attended with large numbers of their slaves. athens, and sparta, and thebes--indeed, the whole grecian and roman worlds--had more slaves than freemen. and in those ages which succeeded the extinction of the roman empire in the west, slaves were the most numerous class. even in the days of civilization and christian light which revolutionized governments, laboring serfs and abject slaves were distributed throughout eastern europe, and a portion of western asia--conclusively showing that slavery existed over these boundless regions. in china, the worst forms of slavery have existed since its earliest history. and when we turn to africa, we find slavery, in all its most horrid forms, existing throughout its whole extent, the slaves outnumbering the freemen at least three to one. looking, then, to the whole world, we may with confidence assert, that slavery in its worst forms subdues by far the largest portion of the human race! now, the inquiry is, how has slavery risen and thus spread over our whole earth? we answer, by the _laws of war_, _the state of property_, _the feebleness of governments_, the thirst for _bargain and sale_, the _increase of crime_, and last, but not least, _by and with the consent and approbation of deity_! these remarks may suffice by way of an introduction, and they will serve to indicate the course we intend to pursue, if the announcement of the text has not already done that. _let as many servants as are under the yoke count their own masters worthy of all honor_, &c. the word here rendered _servants_ means slaves, converted to the christian faith; and the word rendered _yoke_ signifies the _state of slavery_ in which christ and the apostles found the world involved when the christian church was first organized. by the word rendered _masters_ we are to understand the heathen masters of those christianized slaves. even these, in such circumstances, and under such domination, are commanded to treat their masters with all honor and respect, that the name of god, by which they were called, and the doctrine of god, to wit, christianity, which they had professed, might not be blasphemed, might not be evil spoken of in consequence of their improper conduct. civil rights are never abolished by any communication from god's spirit; and those fiery bigots at the north who propose to abolish the institution of slavery in this country are not following the dictates of god's spirit or law. the civil state in which a man was before his conversion, is not altered by that conversion; nor does the grace of god absolve him from any claims which the state, his neighbor, or lawful owner may have had on him. all these outward things continue unaltered: hence, if a man be under the sentence of death for murder, and god see fit to convert him, he is not released from suffering the extreme penalty of the law! the church of christ, when originally constituted, claimed no right, _as an ecclesiastical organization_, to interfere in any way with the civil government. this was the principle upon which the church was founded, as announced by its immortal head. when christ was doomed by a cruel roman law to its most ignominious condemnation, he did not so much as resist it, because _it was law_, nor did he complain of it as oppressive. "then pilate entered into the judgment-hall again, and called jesus, and said unto him, art thou the king of the jews?... jesus answered, my kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight, that i should not be delivered to the jews; but now is my kingdom not from hence.... to this end was i born, and for this cause came i into the world, that i should bear witness unto the truth."--john xviii. 33-37. when christ came into the world on the business of his mission, he found the jewish people subject to the dominion of the roman kingdom; and in no instance did he counsel the jews to rebellion, or incite them to throw off the roman yoke, as do the vagabond philanthropists of the north in reference to the existing laws of the united states upon the subject of slavery. christ was, by lineal descent, "the king of the jews," but he did not assert his temporal power, but actually refused to be crowned in that right. under the roman law, human liberty was held by no more certain tenure than the whim of the sovereign power, protected by no definite constitution. slavery constituted the most powerful and essential element of the government, and that slavery was of the most cruel character, and gave to the master absolute discretion over the lives of the slaves. notwithstanding all this, christ did not make war upon the existing government, nor denounce the rulers for conferring such powers, although he looked upon cruel legislation in the light in which the character of his mission required. and although the _church itself_ was not what it should have been, in no instance did christ ever denounce _that_. the only denunciations the saviour ever uttered, were those against the doctors and lawyers, ministers and expounders of the jewish code of ecclesiastical law. but allow us to present the case of the apostle paul, as proof more palpable and overwhelming, on this very point. he had been falsely accused, cruelly imprisoned, and tyrannically arraigned; and that, too, before a licentious governor, an unjust and dissipated ruler, and an unprincipled infidel. the roman law in force at the time arrested the freedom of speech, denied the rights of conscience, and even forbade the free expression of opinion in all matters conflicting with the provisions of the laws of the roman government. in his defence before felix, paul never so much as speaks of roman law, though well acquainted with it, but "he reasoned of _righteousness_, and _temperance_, and the _judgment to come_." here was a suitable occasion to condemn the regulations and to question the authority of the villainous statutes of rome; but instead of this, paul plead his rights _under_ the unjust regulations of the law. he charged felix with _official_ delinquency, with _personal_ crime, and, as a _man_, he held him up to public scorn, and threatened him with the vengeance of god! he appealed _to the law_, and justified himself _by the law_. he claimed the rights of a "_roman citizen_"--demanded the protection due to a roman citizen--and he scorned to find fault with the law, cruel and unjust as he knew it to be. and the consequence was, that the licentious infidel who ruled, "_trembled_." the views we have here presented are not at all new, but have been uniformly acted upon by evangelical christians, in all ages of the world. since the days of st. paul and simon peter, no reformer has appeared who was more violent than that good and great man, martin luther. john calvin possessed a revolutionary spirit--he fought every thing he believed to be wrong--he was unyielding in his disposition, and unmitigated in his severity. yet neither of these great men ever made war upon the existing laws of their respective countries. john wesley was the great reformer of the past century--he reformed the whole ecclesiastical machinery of the modern church of christ; and his doctrines, and manner of conducting revivals, are leading elements of american christianity. but mr. wesley never made war upon the english government, under which he lived and died. on the other hand, it is a matter of serious complaint among sectarians not friendly to the spread of methodism, that wesley wrote elaborately against the war of the revolution. he was devoted to law and order, and he deemed it a religious duty to oppose all resistance to existing laws. in his troubles at savannah, georgia, like paul before the licentious governor, he appealed _to the law_, and sought by every means in his power to be tried _under_ the law, asking only the privilege of being heard in his own defence! and it was, in all the instances we have mentioned, "_that the name of god and his doctrine be not blasphemed_," to quote the expressive language of the text, that existing laws have been adhered to by the propagators of gospel truth. the essential principles of the great moral law delivered to moses by god himself, are set forth in what is called the tenth commandment, in the 20th chapter of exodus: "thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his _man-servant_, nor his _maid servant_, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbor's." now, the only true interpretation of this portion of the word of god is, that the species of property mentioned are _lawful_, and that all men are forbid to disturb others in the lawful enjoyment of their property. "man-servants and maid-servants" are distinctly _consecrated as property_, and guaranteed to man for his exclusive benefit--proof irresistible that slavery was thus ordained by god himself. we have seen learned dissertations from the pens of abolitionists, saying, that the term "servant," and not "slave," is used here. to this we reply, that both the hebrew and greek words translated "servant," mean also "slave," and are more frequently used in this sense than in the former. besides, the hebrew scriptures teach us, that god especially authorized his peculiar people to _purchase_ "bondmen for ever;" and if to be in _bondage for ever_ does not constitute _slavery_, we yield the point. the visionary notions of piety and philanthropy entertained by many men at the north, lead them to resist the _fugitive slave law_ of this government, and even to _violate the tenth commandment_, by stealing our "men-servants and maid-servants," and running them into what they call free territory. nay, the _villainous piety_ of some leads them to contribute _sharpe's rifles_ and _holy bibles_, to send the _uncircumcised philistines_ of new england into kansas and nebraska, to shoot down the christian owners of slaves, and then to perform religious ceremonies over their dead bodies! clergymen lay aside their bibles at the north, and females, as in the case of that model beauty, _harriet beecher stowe_, unsex themselves to carry on this horrid and slanderous warfare against slaveholders of the south! and english travellers, steeped to the nose and chin in prejudices against this government and our institutions, have written books upon the subject. the halls, hamiltons, trollopes, and miss martineaus, _et ed omne genus_, all have misrepresented us! these english writers all denounce slavery, and eulogize _democracy_; as if an englishman could be a democrat, in the modern, vulgar sense of the term, and be a consistent man! but we do not propose, in this brief discourse, to enter into any defence of the african slave trade. although the evils of it are greatly exaggerated, its evils and cruelties, its barbarities, are not justified by the most ultra slaveholders of this age. the vile traffic was abolished by the united states, even before the british parliament prohibited it. all the powers in the world have subsequently prohibited this trade--some of the more influential and powerful of them declaring it _piracy_, and covering the african seas with armed vessels to prevent it! this trade, which seems so shocking to the feelings of mankind, dates its origin as far back as the year 1442. antony gonzales, a portuguese mariner, while exploring the coast of africa, was the first to steal some _moors_, and was subsequently forced by prince henry of portugal to carry them back to africa. in the year 1502, the spaniards began to steal negroes, and employ them in the mines of hispaniola, cuba, and jamaica. in 1517, the emperor charles v. granted a _patent_ to certain privileged persons, _to steal exclusively_ a supply of 4,000 negroes annually, for these islands! african slaves were first imported into america in 1620, a century after their introduction into the west indies. the first cargo, of twenty africans, by a dutch vessel, was brought up the james river, into virginia, and sold out as slaves. england then being the most commercial of european nations, engrossed the trade; and from 1680 to 1780, there were imported into the british possessions alone, two millions of slaves--making an average annual importation of more than 20,000! and the annual importation into america has transcended 50,000! the states of this union, north of mason and dixon's line, commonly called the new england states, were never, to any great extent, _slaveholding_; their virtuous and pious minds were chiefly exercised in _slave-stealing_ and _slave-selling_! to old england our new england states owe their knowledge of the art of slave-stealing; and to new england these southern states are wholly indebted for their slaves. they stole the african from his native land, and sold him into bondage for the sake of gain. they kept but few of their captives among themselves, because it was not profitable to use negro labor in the cold and sterile regions of new england. and when they enacted laws in the new england states abolishing slavery, they brought their negroes into the south and sold them before their laws could go into operation! this is the true history of slavery in new england. they stole and sold property which it was not profitable to keep, and for which they now refuse all warranty. and what few american ships are in the trade now, at the peril of piracy, are new england ships. the pious and religious portion of new england abolitionists, we take it, are the better portion, and in these we have no sort of confidence. take, for example, the case of that great man, and powerful pulpit orator, stephen olin, who came into georgia, and was introduced into the ministry by bishop andrew and his friends, and by this means married a lady owning a number of slaves. he sold them all for the money, pocketed the money, and returned to his congenial north; and when bishop andrew was arraigned before the general conference of 1844, because he had married a widow lady owning a few slaves, this man olin appeared on the floor, and spoke and voted against the bishop! dr. olin had washed his hands of the sin of slavery--had his money out at interest--and he was ready to plead for the rights of the poor african! may we not exclaim, "lord, what is man?" we are acquainted with many of the leading abolitionists of the north connected with the methodist church; and although we suppose they are about as good as the abolitionists of other denominations we have no confidence in them. the most of them would enter their fine churches on the sabbath, preach for hours against the sin of slavery, shed their tears over the oppressions of the "servile progeny of ham," in these southern states; and on the next day, in a purely business transaction, behind a counter, or in the settlement of an account, cheat a southern slave out of the _pewter_ that ornaments the head of his cane! there is much in the political papers of the country calculated, if not intended, to fan a flame of intense warfare upon the subject of slavery, which can result in no possible good to any one. those politicians who are exciting the whole country, and fanning society into a livid consuming flame, particularly at the north, have no sympathies for the black man, and care nothing for his comfort. they only seek their own glory. this political disquiet and commotion is giving birth to new and loftier schemes of agitation and disunion, among the vile abolitionists of the country, and to bold and hazardous enterprises in the states and territories. and many of our southern altars smoke with the vile incense of abolitionism. we have scores of abolitionists in the south, in disguise--designing men--some filling our pulpits--some occupying high positions in our colleges--some editing political and religious papers--some selling goods--and some following one calling and some another, who, though among us, are not of us, southern men may rest assured! we endorse, without reserve, that much-abused sentiment of a distinguished south carolina statesmen, now no more, that "slavery is the corner-stone of our republican edifice;" while we repudiate, as ridiculously absurd, that much-lauded, but nowhere-accredited dogma of mr. jefferson, that "all men are born equal." god never intended to make the _butcher_ a judge, nor the _baker_ a president, but to protect them according to their claims as butcher and baker. pope has beautifully expressed this sentiment, where he has said: "order is heaven's first law, and this confessed, _some are_, and _must be_, greater than the rest." we have gone among the free negroes at the north--we have visited their miserable dwellings in philadelphia, new york, boston, and other points; and, in every instance, we have found them more miserable and destitute, as a whole, than the slave population of the south. in our southern states, where negroes have been set at liberty, in nine cases out of ten their conditions have been made worse; while the most wretched, indolent, immoral, and dishonest class of persons to be found in the southern states, are _free persons of color_. the freedom of negroes in even the northern states, is, in all respects, only an empty name. the citizen negro does not vote, and takes good care not to do so. the law does not interdict him this privilege, but if he attempt to avail himself of the privilege, he is apprehensive of "apostolic blows and kicks," which the pious abolitionists will administer to him. all the social advantages, all the respectable employments, all the honors, and even the pleasures of life, are denied the free negroes of the north, by citizens full of sympathy for the down-trodden african! the negro cannot get into an omnibus, cannot enter a bar-room frequented by whites, nor a church, nor a theatre; nor can he enter the cabin of a steamboat, in one of the northern rivers or lakes, or enter a first class passenger car on one of their railroads. they are not suffered to enter a stage-coach with whites, but are forced upon the deck, whether it shall rain or shine--whether it be hot or cold. industry is closed to them, and they are forced to live as _servants_ in hotels, or adopt the professions of barber, or boot-black, or open oysters in saloons, or sell villainous liquors to the lower classes of german and irish emigrants, who throng our large cities and towns. the negroes even have their _own streets_, and their own low-down kennels; they have their hospitals, their churches, their cars, upon which are written in large letters, "for colored people!" finally, they are forced to have their own _grave-yards_--the _yellow_ remains of northern abolitionists, and pious white men, refusing to mingle with the bleeching bones of the dead negro! while, in the south, they crowd the galleries and back seats in our churches, travel in our passenger cars, and even _loan their money_ to our white men at interest! such is an outline of the contrast between free negroes at the north, and slaves at the south. let us turn again to the holy scriptures, and see whether or not they sustain or condemn the institution of slavery. the opposers of slavery profess to be governed alone by the teachings of the bible, in their war upon this institution. it is vain to look to christ or any of his apostles to justify the blasphemous perversions of the word of god, continually paraded before the world by these graceless agitators. although slavery in its most revolting forms was everywhere visible around them, no visionary notions of piety or schemes of philanthropy ever tempted either christ or one of his apostles to gainsay the law, even to mitigate the cruel severity of the slavery system then existing. on the contrary, finding slavery _established by law_, as well as an _inevitable and necessary consequence_, growing out of the condition of human society, their efforts were to sustain the institution. hence, st. paul actually apprehended a "_fugitive slave_," and sent him back to his lawful owner and earthly master! having already appealed to the authority of the old testament scriptures, we turn to that of the new, where we learn that slavery existed in the earliest days of the christian church, and that both _masters_ and _slaves_ were members of the same christian congregations. slavery was an institution of the state in the roman empire, as it is in the southern states of this confederacy, and the apostles did not feel at liberty to denounce it, if, indeed, they felt the least opposition to it--a thing we deny. but, before we appeal to the irresistible authority of the new testament, we will submit a few only of a great many passages from the old testament--not having quoted as extensively as may have been deemed necessary: "and he said, i _am_ abraham's servant."--gen. xxiv. 34. "and there was of the house of saul a _servant_, whose name was ziba; and when they had called him unto david, the king said unto him, art thou ziba? and he said, _thy servant is he_."--2 sam. ix. 2. "then the king called to ziba, saul's _servant_, and said unto him, i have given unto thy _master's_ son all that pertained to saul, and to all his house."--verse 9th. "thou, therefore, and thy sons, and thy _servants_, shall till the land for him, and thou shalt bring in _the fruits_, that thy _master's_ son may have food to eat, &c. now ziba had fifteen sons and twenty servants."--verse 10th. "i got me _servants_ and maidens, and had _servants born in my house_; also, i had great possessions of great and small cattle, above all that were in jerusalem before me."--eccles. ii. 7. "and he said, hagar, sarai's maid, whence camest thou? and she said, i flee from the face of my _mistress_ sarai."--gen. xvi. 8. "and the angel of the lord said unto her, _return to thy mistress_, and submit thyself to her hands."--verse 9th. the only comments we have to offer upon these passages are, first, one individual acknowledges himself the owner of twenty slaves! another was raising slaves, and having them born in his house!! and last, but not least, the angel of god ordered the fugitive slave to return to her lawful owner!! high authority, this, for apprehending runaway slaves! in reference to bad servants, we read in prov. xxix. 19: "a servant will not be corrected by _words_; for though he understand, he will not answer." the scriptures look to the correction of servants, and really enjoin it, as they do in the case of children. we esteem it the duty of christian masters to feed and clothe well, and in cases of disobedience to _whip well_. in the book of joel, iii. 8, the _slave trade_ is recognized as of divine authority: "and i will sell your sons and your daughters into the land of the children of judah, and they shall sell them to the sabeans, to a people far off; for the lord hath spoken it!" "let every man abide in the same calling wherein he was called. art thou called, being _a servant_? care not for it; but if thou mayest be made free, use it rather. for he that is called in the lord, being _a servant_, is the lord's freeman; likewise also he that is called, being free, is christ's servant."--1 cor. vii. 20-22. "_servants_, be obedient to them that are your _masters according to the flesh_, with fear and trembling, in singleness of your heart, as unto christ. not with eye-service, as men-pleasers; but as the servants of christ, doing the will of god from the heart. with good-will doing service, as to the lord, and not to men: knowing that whatsoever good thing any man doeth, the same shall he receive of the lord, whether he be bond or free. and, _ye masters_, do the same things unto them, forbearing threatening: knowing that your master also is in heaven: neither is there respect of persons with him."--eph. vi. 5-9. "_servants_, obey in all things your _masters according to the flesh_: not with eye-service, as men-pleasers; but in singleness of heart, fearing god. and whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the lord, and not unto men: knowing that of the lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance; for ye serve the lord christ."--col. iii. 22-25. "_masters_, give unto _your servants_ that which is just and equal: knowing that ye also have a master in heaven."--col. iv. 1. "let as many _servants as are under the yoke_ count their _own masters_ worthy of all honor, that the name of god and his doctrine be not blasphemed. and they that have _believing masters_, let them not despise them, because they are brethren; but rather do them service, because they are faithful and beloved, partakers of the benefit. these things teach and exhort."--1 tim. vi. 1, 2. "exhort _servants_ to be obedient unto their _own masters_, and to please them well in all things; not answering again; not purloining, but showing all good fidelity; that they may adorn the doctrine of god our saviour in all things."--titus ii. 9, 10. "_servants_, be subject to _your masters_ with all fear; not only to the good and gentle, but also to the froward. for this is thankworthy, if a man for conscience toward god endure grief, suffering wrongfully."--1 peter ii. 18, 19. we have but a single word of comment to offer upon these passages of scripture. the original words used by the greek writers, both sacred and profane, to express slave; the most abject condition of slavery; to express the absolute owner of a slave, and the absolute control of a slave, are the strongest that the language affords, and are used in the passages here quoted. if the apostles understood the common use of words, and desired to convey these ideas, and to recognize the relations of master and servant, they would, naturally enough, employ the very words used. to say that they did not know the primary meaning and _usus loquendi_ of the original words, is paying them a compliment we wish not to participate in! and to show that we are not singular in our views of the meaning expressed in the passages quoted, showing that they express in the one case slaves, and in the other masters or owners, actually holding them as property, under the sanction of the laws of the state, we quote from the following authorities: that great commentator, dr. adam clarke, on 1 cor. vii. 21, says: "art thou converted to christ while thou art a slave--the property of another person, and bought with his money? _care not for it._" the learned dr. neander, in his work entitled "planting and training of the church," in referring to _onesimus_, mentioned in the epistle to philemon, says of him: "it does not appear to be surprising that a _runaway slave_ should betake himself at once to rome." to the foregoing might be added other authorities of equal weight and importance. it is a well-known historical fact, that slaveholders were admitted into the apostolic churches; nor would this assumed position of the advocates of slavery be at all denied by any intelligent and well-read men at the north, but for the fact that they think such an admission would decide the question against abolitionists. we have given much attention to this subject within ten years past, and we feel no sort of delicacy in expressing our views and convictions, as revolting as they may be to northern men and free-soilers, even among us. we believe that the primitive christians held slaves in bondage, and that the apostles favored slavery, by admitting slaveholders into the church, and by promoting them to official stations in the church. and why do we believe all this? because we are sustained in these positions by uninterrupted historical testimony! well, for the information of abolitionists and other anti-slavery men dispersed throughout the south, we assume that the fact of the apostles admitting into church fellowship slaveholders, and promoting them to positions of honor and trust, shows that the simple relation of master and slave was no bar to church-membership. masters and slaves, in the days of the apostles, were admitted into the church as brethren: they partook in common of the benefits of the church: they held to the same religious principles: they squared their lives by the same rule of conduct: acknowledged the same obligations one to another; and worshipped at the same altar. this was true of the first and succeeding centuries, when the relations of master and slave, and the practice of the church in reference thereto, were very much like they are in the southern states of our union at present. but to the proof that slaveholders were admitted into the apostolic churches: 1. historians all agree that slavery existed, and was general throughout the roman empire, at the time the apostolic churches were instituted. we have at our command the authorities to prove this, but to quote from them would swell this discourse beyond what we have intended. we will cite the authorities only; and anti-slavery men who deny our position can examine our authorities. see gibbon's "decline and fall of the roman empire," vol. i. see "inquiry into roman slavery, by wm. blair," edinburgh edition of 1833. see vol. iv. of "lardner's works," page 213. see vol. i. of "dr. robertson's works," london edition. other authorities might be given, but these are sufficient, as they show that slavery was a civil institution of the state; that the roman laws regarded slaves as _property_, at the disposal of their masters; that these slaves, whether white or colored, had no civil existence or rights, and contended for none; and that there were _three slaves to one citizen_--showing something of a similarity between the roman empire and our southern states! gibbon says that slavery existed in "every province and every family," and that they were bought and sold according to their capacities for usefulness, and the demand for laborers--selling at hundreds of dollars, and from that down to the price of a beast of burden! now, it is notorious that the gospel made considerable progress among the citizens of the roman empire; and, as nearly every family owned slaves, it is certain that slaveholders were converted and admitted into the church. it will not do to say that the poor, including the slaves, were alone converted to god, because the apostles make frequent allusions to the receiving into the church of intelligent, learned, and opulent persons. the learned dr. mosheim, in his church history, vol. i., relating to the _first three centuries_, settles this question most effectually. he says: "the apostles, in their writings, prescribe rules for the conduct of the rich as well as the poor, for _masters_ as well as _servants_--a convincing proof that among the members of the church planted by them were to be found persons of opulence and masters of families. st. paul and st. peter admonished christian women not to study the adorning of themselves with pearls, with gold and silver, or costly array. 1 tim. ii. 9: 1 peter iii. 3. it is, therefore, plain that there must have been women possessed of wealth adequate to the purchase of bodily ornaments of great price. from 1 tim. vi. 20, and col. ii. 8, it is manifest that among the first converts to christianity there were men of learning and philosophers; for, if the wise and the learned had unanimously rejected the christian religion, what occasion could there have been for this caution? 1 cor. i. 26 unquestionably carries with it the plainest intimation that persons of rank or power were not wholly wanting in that assembly. indeed, lists of the names of various illustrious persons who embraced christianity, in its weak and infantile state, are given by blondel, p. 235 de episcopis et presbyteris: also by wetstein, in his preface to origen's dia. con. mar., p. 13." a few reflections, by way of concluding, and we are through with our discourse, already extended beyond the limits we had prescribed: _first._--there is not a single passage in the new testament, nor a single act in the records of the church, during her early history, for even centuries, containing any direct, professed, or intended denunciation of slavery. but the apostles found the institution existing, under the authority and sanction of law; and, in their labors among the people, masters and slaves bowed at the same altar, communed at the some table, and were taken into the church together; while they exhorted the one to treat the other as became the gospel, and the other to obedience and honesty, that their religious professions might not be evil spoken of! _secondly._--the early church not only admitted the existence of slavery, but in various ways, by her teachings and discipline, expressed her approbation of it, enforcing the observance of certain fugitive slave laws which had been enacted by the state. and, in the various acts of the church, from the times of the apostles downward through several centuries, she enacted laws and adopted regulations touching the duties of masters and slaves, _as such_. this, in our humble judgment, amounts to a justification and defence of the institution of slavery. _thirdly._--our investigations of this subject have led us regularly, gradually, certainly, to the conclusion that god intended the relation of master and slave to exist. hence, when god opened the way for the organization of the church, the apostles and first teachers of christianity found slavery _incorporated with every department of society_; and, in the adoption of rules for the government of the members of the church, they provided for the rights of owners, and the wants of slaves. _fourthly._--slavery, in the age of the apostles, had so penetrated society, and was so intimately interwoven with it, that a religion preaching freedom to the slave would have arrayed against it the civil authorities, armed against itself the whole power of the state, and destroyed the usefulness of its preachers. st. paul knew this, and did not assail the institution of slavery, but labored to get both masters and slaves to heaven, as all ministers should do in our day. _fifthly._--slavery having existed ever since the first organization of the church, the scriptures clearly teach that it will exist even to the end of time. rev. vi. 12-17 points to "the day of judgment," "the last day," "the great day," and the condition of the human race at that time, as well as the classes of persons to be judged, rewarded, and punished! a portion of this text reads, "and the kings of the earth, and the great men, and the rich men, and the chief captains, and the mighty men, and every bondman, and every freeman," etc., will be there; evidently implying that slavery will exist, and that the relations of master and slave will be recognized, to the end of time! cudjo's cave. by j. t. trowbridge author of "neighbor jackwood," "the drummer boy," etc. boston: j. e. tilton and company. 1864. entered, according to act of congress, in the year 1863, by j. t. trowbridge, in the clerk's office of the district court of the district of massachusetts. electrotyped and printed by the boston stereotype foundry, 4 spring lane. contents. i. the schoolmaster in trouble ii. penn and the ruffians iii. the secret cellar iv. the search for the missing v. carl and his friends vi. a strange coat for a quaker vii. the two guests viii. the rover ix. toby's patient has a caller x. the widow's green chest xi. southern hospitality xii. chivalrous proceedings xiii. the old clergyman's nightgown has an adventure xiv. a man's story xv. an anti-slavery document on black parchment xvi. in the cave and on the mountain xvii. penn's foot knocks down a musket xviii. condemned to death xix. the escape xx. under the bridge xxi. the return into danger xxii. stackridge's coat and hat get arrested xxiii. the flight of the prisoners xxiv. the dead rebel's musket xxv. black and white xxvi. why augustus did not propose xxvii. the men with the dark lantern xxviii. beauty and the beast xxix. in the burning woods xxx. refuge xxxi. lysander takes possession xxxii. toby's reward xxxiii. carl makes an engagement xxxiv. captain lysander's joke xxxv. the moonlight expedition xxxvi. carl finds a geological specimen xxxvii. carl keeps his engagement xxxviii. love in the wilderness xxxix. a council of war xl. the wonders of the cave xli. prometheus bound xlii. prometheus unbound xliii. the combat xliv. how augustus finally proposed xlv. master and slave change places xlvi. the traitor xlvii. bread on the waters xlviii. conclusion l'envoy cudjo's cave. i. _the schoolmaster in trouble._ carl crept stealthily up the bank, and, peering through the window, saw the master writing at his desk. in his neat quaker garb, his slender form bent over his task, his calm young face dimly seen in profile, there he sat. the room was growing dark; the glow of a march sunset was fading fast from the paper on which the swift pen traced these words:-"tennessee is getting too hot for me. my school is nearly broken up, and my farther stay here is becoming not only useless, but dangerous. there are many loyal men in the neighborhood, but they are overawed by the reckless violence of the secessionists. mobs sanctioned by self-styled vigilance committees override all law and order. as i write, i can hear the yells of a drunken rabble before my school-house door. i am an especial object of hatred to them on account of my northern birth and principles. they have warned me to leave the state, they have threatened me with southern vengeance, but thus far i have escaped injury. how long this reign of terror is to last, or what is to be the end----" a rap on the window drew the writer's attention, and, looking up, he saw, against the twilight sky, the broad german face of the boy carl darkening the pane. he stepped to raise the sash. "what is it, carl?" the lad glanced quickly around, first over one shoulder, then the other, and said, in a hoarse whisper,-"shpeak wery low!" "was it you that rapped before?" "i have rapped tree times, not loud, pecause i vas afraid the men would hear." "what men are they?" "the wigilance committee's men! they have some tar in a kettle. they have made a fire unter it, and i hear some of 'em say, 'run, boys, and pring some fedders.'" "tar and feathers!" the young man grew pale. "they have threatened it, but they will not dare!" "they vill dare do anything; but you shall prewent 'em! see vat i have prought you!" carl opened his jacket, and showed the handle of a revolver. "stackridge sent it." "hide it! hide it!" said the master, quickly. "he offered it to me himself. i told him i could not take it." "he said, may be when you smell tar and see fedders, you vill change your mind," answered carl. the schoolmaster smiled. the pallor of fear which had surprised him for an instant, had vanished. "i believe in a different creed from mr. stackridge's, honest man as he is. i shall not resist evil, but overcome evil with good, if i can; if i cannot, i shall suffer it." "you show you vill shoot some of 'em, and they vill let you go," said carl, not understanding the nobler doctrine. "shooting vill do some of them willains some good!" his placid blue eyes kindling, as if he would like to do a little of the shooting. "you take it?" "no," said the young man, firmly. "such weapons are not for me." "wery vell!" carl buttoned his jacket over the revolver. "then you come mit me, if you please. get out of the vinder and run. that is pest, i suppose." "no, no, my lad. i may as well meet these men first as last." "then i vill go and pring help!" suddenly exclaimed, the boy; and away he scampered across the fields, leaving the young man alone in the darkening school-room. it was not a very pleasant situation to be in, you may well believe. as he closed the sash, a faint odor of tar was wafted in on the evening breeze. the voices of the ruffians at the door grew louder and more menacing. he knew they were only waiting for the tar to heat, for the shadows of night to thicken, and for him to make his appearance. he returned to his desk, but it was now too dark to write. he could barely see to sign his name and superscribe the envelope. this done, he buttoned his straight-fitting brown coat, put on his modest hat, and stood pondering in his mind what he should do. a young man scarcely twenty years old, reared in the quiet atmosphere of a community of friends, and as unaccustomed, hitherto, to scenes of strife and violence as the most innocent child,--such was penn hapgood, teacher of the "academy" (as the school was proudly named) in curryville. this was the first great trial of his faith and courage. he had not taken carl's advice, and run, because he did not believe that he could escape the danger in that way. and as for fighting, that was not in his heart any more than it was in his creed. but to say he did not dread to meet his foes at the door, that he felt no fear, would be speaking falsely. he was afraid. his entire nature, delicate body and still more delicate soul, shrank from the ordeal. he went to the outer door, and laid his hand on the bolt, but could not, for a long time, summon resolution to open it. as he hesitated, there came a loud thump on one of the panels which nearly crushed it in, and filled the hollow building with ominous echoes. "make ready in thar, you hound of a abolitionist!" shouted a brutal voice; "we're about ready fur ye!" penn's hand drew back. i dare say it trembled, i dare say his face turned white again, as he felt the danger so near. how could he confront, with his sensitive spirit, those merciless, coarse men? "i'll wait a little," he thought within himself. "perhaps carl _will_ bring help." there were good sturdy unionists in the place, men who, unlike the pennsylvania schoolmaster, believed in opposing evil with evil, force by force. only last night, one of them entered this very school-room, bolted the door carefully, and sat down to unfold to the young master a scheme for resisting the plans of the secessionists. it was a league for circumventing treason; for keeping tennessee in the union; for preserving their homes and families from the horrors of the impending civil war. the conspirators had arms concealed; they met in secret places; they were watching for the hour to strike. would the schoolmaster join them? strange to say, they believed in him as a man who had abilities as a leader, "an undeveloped fighting man"--he, penn hapgood, the quaker! penn smiled, as he declined the farmer's offer of a commission in the secret militia, and refused to accept the weapon of self-defence which the same earnest unionist had proffered him again, through carl, the german boy, this night. penn thought of these men now, and hoped that carl would haste and bring them to the rescue. then immediately he blushed at his own cowardly inconsistency; for something in his heart said that he ought not to wish others to do for him what he had conscientious scruples against doing for himself. "i'll go out!" he said, sternly, to his trembling heart. but he would first make a reconnoissance through the keyhole. he looked, and saw one ruffian stirring the fire under the tar kettle, another displaying a rope, and two others alternately drinking from a bottle. he started back, as the thundering on the panel was repeated, and the same voice roared out, "you kin be takin' off them clo'es of yourn; the tar is about het!" "i'll wait a few minutes longer for carl!" said penn to himself, with a long breath. unfortunately, carl was not just now in a situation to render much assistance. although he had arrived unseen at the window, he did not retire undiscovered. he had run but a short distance when a gruff voice ordered him to stop. he had a way, however, of misunderstanding english when he chose, and interpreted the command to mean, run faster. receiving it in that sense, he obeyed. somebody behind him began to run too. in short, it was a chase; and carl, glancing backwards, saw long-legged silas ropes, one of the ringleaders of the mob, taking appalling strides after him, across the open field. there were some woods about a quarter of a mile away, and carl made for them, trusting to their shelter and the shades of night to favor his escape. he was fifteen years old, strong, and an excellent runner. he did not again look behind to see if silas was gaining on him, but attended strictly to his own business, which was, to get into the thickets as soon as possible. his success seemed almost certain; a few rods more, and the undergrowth would be reached; and he was congratulating himself on having thus led away from the schoolmaster one of his most desperate enemies, when he rushed suddenly almost into the arms of two men,--or rather, into a feather-bed, which they were fetching by the corner of the wood lot. "ketch that dutchman!" roared silas. and they "ketched" him. "what's the dutchman done?" said one of the men, throwing himself lazily on the feather-bed, while his companion held carl for his pursuer. "i don't know," said carl, opening his eyes with placid wonder. "i tought he vas vanting to run a race mit me." "a race, you fool!" said silas, seizing and shaking him. "didn't you hear me tell ye to stop?" "did you say _shtop_?" asked carl, with a broad smile. "it ish wery queer! ven it sounded so much as if you said _shtep_! so i _shtepped_ just as fast as i could." "what was you thar at the winder fur?" "vot vinder?" said carl. "of the academy," said silas. "o! to pe sure! i vas there," said carl. "pecause i left my books in there last week, and i vas going to get 'em. but i saw somebody in the house, and i vas afraid." "wasn't it the schoolmaster?" "i shouldn't be wery much surprised if it vas the schoolmaster," said carl, with blooming simplicity. "you lying rascal! what did you say to him through the winder?" carl looked all around with an expression of mild wonder, as if expecting somebody else to answer. "why don't you speak?" and silas gave his arm a fierce wrench. "vat did you say?" "i said, you lying rascal!----" "that is not my name," said carl, "and i tought you vas shpeaking to somebody else. i tought you vas conwersing mit this man," pointing at the fellow on the bed. "dan pepperill!" said silas, turning angrily on the recumbent figure, "what are you stretching your lazy bones thar fur? we're waiting fur them feathers, and you'll git a coat yourself, if you don't show a little more of the sperrit of a gentleman! you don't act as if your heart was in this yer act of dooty we're performin', any more'n as if you was a northern mudsill yourself!" "wal, the truth is," said dan pepperill, reluctantly getting up from the bed, and preparing to shoulder it, "the schoolmaster has allus treated me well, and though i hate his principles,----" "you don't hate his principles, neither! you're more'n half a abolitionist yourself! and i swear to gosh," said silas, "if you don't do your part now----" "i will! i'm a-going to!" said dan, with something like a groan. "though, as i said, he has allus used me well----" "shet up!" silas administered a kick, which dan adroitly caught in the bed. mr. ropes got his foot embarrassed in the feathers, lost his balance, and fell. dan, either by mistake or design, fell also, tumbling the bed in a smothering mass over the screaming mouth and coarse red nose of the prostrate silas. the third man, who was guarding carl, began to laugh. carl laughed too, as if it was the greatest joke in the world; to enhance the fun of which, he gave his man a sudden push forwards, tripped him as he went, and so flung him headlong upon the struggling heap. this pleasant feat accomplished, he turned to run; but changed his mind almost instantly; and, instead of plunging into the undergrowth, threw himself upon the accumulating pile. there he scrambled, and kicked, with his heels in the air, and rolled over the topmost man, who rolled over mr. pepperill, who rolled over the feather-bed, which rolled again over mr. ropes, in a most lively and edifying manner. at this interesting juncture carl's reason for changing his mind and remaining, became manifest. two more of the chivalry from the tar kettle came rushing to the spot, and would speedily have seized him had he attempted to get off. so he staid, thinking he might be helping the master in this way as well as any other. and now the miscellaneous heap of legs and feathers began to resolve itself into its original elements. first carl was pulled off by one of the new comers; then dan and the man carl had sent to comfort him fell to blows, clinched each other, and rolled upon the earth; and lastly, mr. silas ropes arose, choked with passion and feathers, from under the rent and bursting bed. the two squabbling men were also quickly on their feet, mr. pepperill proving too much for his antagonist. "what did you pitch into me fur?" demanded silas, threatening his friend dan. "what did gad pitch into me fur?" said the irate dan, shaking his fist at gad. "what did you push and jump on to me fur?" said gad, clutching carl, who was still laughing. thus the wrath of the whole party was turned against the boy. "pless me!" said he, staring innocently, "i tought it vas all for shport!" the furious mr. ropes was about to convince him, by some violent act, of his mistake, when cries from the direction of the school-house called his attention. "see what's there, boys!" said silas. "durn me," said mr. pepperill, looking across the field as he brushed the feathers from his clothes, "if it ain't the master himself!" in fact, penn had by this time summoned courage to slip back the bolt, throw open the school-house door, and come out. the gentlemen who were heating the tar and drinking from the bottle were taken by surprise. they had not expected that the fellow would come out at all, but wait to be dragged out. their natural conclusion was, that he was armed; for he appeared with as calm and determined a front as if he had been perfectly safe from injury himself, while it was in his power to do them some fatal mischief. they could not understand how the mere consciousness of his own uprightness, and a sense of reliance on the arm of eternal justice, could inspire a man with courage to face so many. "my friends," said penn, as they beset him with threats and blasphemy, "i have never injured one of you, and you will not harm me." and as if some deity held an invisible shield above him, he passed by; and they, in their astonishment, durst not even lay their hands upon him. "i've hearn tell he was a quaker, and wouldn't fight," muttered one; "but i see a revolver under his coat!" "where's sile? where's sile ropes?" cried others, who, though themselves unwilling to assume the responsibility of seizing the young master, would have been glad to see silas attempt it. great was the joy of carl when he saw mr. hapgood walking through the guard of ruffians untouched. but, a moment after, he uttered an involuntary groan of despair. it was penn's custom to cross the fields in going from the academy to the house where he boarded, and his path wound by the edge of the woods, where silas and his accomplices were at this moment gathering up the spilt feathers. "all right!" said mr. ropes, crouching down in order to remain concealed from penn's view. "this is as comf'table a place to do our dooty by him as any to be found. keep dark, boys, and let him come!" ii. _penn and the ruffians_. penn traversed the field, followed by the gang from the school-house. as he approached the woods, silas and his friends rose up before him. he was thus surrounded. "thought you'd come and meet us half way, did ye?" said mr. ropes, striding across his path. "very accommodating in you, to be shore!" and he laughed a brutal laugh, which was echoed by all his friends except dan. "i have not come to meet you," replied penn, "but i am going about my own private business, and wish to pass on." "wal, you can't pass on till we've settled a small account with you that's been standing a little too long a'ready. bring that tar, some on ye! come, pepperill! show your sperrit!" this pepperill was a ragged, lank, starved-looking man, whose appearance was on this occasion rendered ludicrous by the feathers sticking all over him, and by an expression of dejection which _would_ draw down the corners of his miserable mouth and roll up his piteous eyes, notwithstanding his efforts to appear, what silas termed, "sperrited." "you, too, among my enemies, daniel!" said penn, reproachfully. it was a look of grief, not of anger, which he turned on the wretched man. poor pepperill could not stand it. "i own, i own," he stammered forth, a picture of mingled fear and contrition, "you've allus used me well, mr. hapgood,--but," he hastened to add, with a scared glance at silas, "i hate your principles!" "look here, dan pepperill!" remarked mr. ropes, with grim significance, "you better shet your yaup, and be a bringin' that ar kittle!" dan groaned, and departed. penn smiled bitterly. "i have always used him well; and this is the return i get!" he thought of another evening, but little more than a week since, when, passing by this very path, he heard a deeper groan than that which the wretch had just uttered. he turned aside into the edge of the woods, and there beheld an object to excite at once his laughter and compassion. what he saw was this. dan pepperill, astride a rail; his hands tied together above it, and his feet similarly bound beneath. the rail had been taken from a fence a mile away, and he had been carried all that distance on the shoulders of some of these very men. they had taken turns with him, and when, tired at last, had placed the rail in the crotches of two convenient saplings, and there left him. the crotch in front was considerably higher than that behind, which circumstance gave him the appearance of clinging to the back of an animal in the act of rearing frightfully, and exposed a delicate part of his apparel that had been sadly rent by contact with splinters. and there the wretch was clinging and groaning when penn came up. "for the love of the lord!" said dan, "take me down!" "why, what is the matter? how came you here?" "i'm a dead man; that's the matter! i've been wipped to death, and then rode on a rail; that's the way i come here!" "whipped! what for?" said penn, losing no time in cutting the sufferer's bonds. "ye see," said dan, when taken down and laid upon the ground, "the patrolmen found combs's boy pete out t'other night without a pass, and took him and tied him to a tree, and licked him." the "boy pete" was a negro man upwards of fifty years old, owned by the said combs. "wal, ye see, jest cause i found him, and took him home with me, and washed his back fur him, and bound cotton on to it, and kep' him over night, and gin him a good breakfast, and a drink o' suthin' strong in the morning, and then went home with him, and talked with his master so'st he wouldn't git another licking,--just for that, sile ropes and his gang took me and served me wus'n ever they served him!" and the broken-spirited man cried like a child at the recollection of his injuries. he was one of the "white trash" of the south, whom even the negroes belonging to good families look down upon; a weak, degraded, kind-hearted man, whose offence was not simply that he had shown mercy to the "boy pete," after his flogging, but that he associated on familiar terms with such negroes as were not too proud to cultivate his acquaintance, and secretly sold them whiskey. after repeated warnings, he had been flogged, and treated to a ride on a three-cornered rail, and hung up to reflect upon his ungentlemanly conduct and its sad consequences. at sight of him, penn, who knew nothing of his selling whiskey to the blacks, or of any other offence against the laws or prejudices of the community, than that of befriending a beaten and bleeding slave, felt his indignation roused and his sympathies excited. "it's a dreadful state of society in which such outrages are tolerated!" he exclaimed. "_i_ say, dreadful!" sobbed mr. pepperill. "the good samaritan himself would be in danger of a beating here!" said penn. "i don't know what good smart 'un you mean," replied the weeping dan, whose knowledge of scripture was extremely limited, "but i bet he'd git some, ef he didn't keep his eyes peeled!" and he wiped his nose with his sleeve. penn smiled at the man's ignorance, and said, as he lifted him up,-"friend daniel, do you know that it is partly your own fault that this deplorable state of things exists?" "how's it my fault, i'd like to know?" whimpered daniel. "come, i'll help thee home, and tell thee what i mean, by the way," said penn, using the idiom of his sect, into which familiar manner of speech he naturally fell when talking confidentially with any one. "i am stiff as any old spavined hoss!" whined the poor fellow, straightening his legs, and attempting to walk. penn helped him home as he promised, and comforted him, and said to him many things, which he little supposed were destined to be brought against him so soon, and by this very daniel pepperill. this was the way of it. when it was known that penn had befriended the friend of the blacks, silas ropes paid dan a second visit, and by threats of vengeance, on the one hand, and promises of forgiveness and treatment "like a gentleman," on the other, extorted from him a confession of all penn had said and done. "now, dan," said mr. ropes, patronizingly, "i'll tell ye what you do. you jine with us, and show yourself a man of sperrit, a payin' off this yer abolitionist for his outrageous interference in our affairs." "sile," interrupted dan, earnestly, "what 'ge mean i'm to do? turn agin' him?" "exactly," replied mr. ropes. "sile," said dan, excitedly, "i be durned if i do!" "then, i swear to gosh!" said sile, spitting a great stream of tobacco juice across mrs. pepperill's not very clean floor, "you'll have a dose yourself before another sun, which like as not'll be your last!" this terrible menace produced its desired effect; and the unwilling dan was here, this night, one of penn's persecutors, in consequence. it was not enough that he had shown his "sperrit" by fetching the victim's own bed from his boarding-house, telling his landlady, the worthy mrs. sprowl, that sile said she must "charge it to her abolition boarder." he must now show still more "sperrit" by bringing the tar. a well-worn broom had been borrowed of mrs. pepperill, by those who knew best how the tar in such cases should be applied: the handle of this was thrust by one of the men, named griffin, through the bail of the kettle, and dan was ordered to "ketch holt o' t'other eend," and help carry. dan "ketched holt" accordingly. but never was kettle so heavy as that; its miserable weight made him groan at every step. suddenly the broom-handle slipped from his hand, and down it went. no doubt his laudable object was to spill the tar, in order to gain time for his benefactor, and perhaps postpone the tarring and feathering altogether. but griffin grasped the kettle in time to prevent its upsetting, and the next instant flourished the club over dan's head. "i didn't mean tu! it slipped!" shrieked the terrified wretch. after which he durst no more attempt to thwart the chivalrous designs of his friends, but carried the tar like a gentleman. "this way!" said silas, getting the escaped feathers into a pile with his foot. "thar! set it down. now, sir," throwing away his own coat, "peel off them clo'es o' yourn, mr. schoolmaster, mighty quick, if you don't want 'em peeled off fur ye!" penn gave no sign of compliance, but fixed his eye steadfastly upon mr. ropes. "i insist," said he,--for he had already made the request while the men were bringing the tar,--"on knowing what i have done to merit this treatment." "wal, that i don't mind tellin' ye," said silas, "for we've all night for this yer little job before us. dan pepperill, stand up here!" dan came forward, appearing extremely low-spirited and weak in the knees. "is it you, daniel, who are to bear witness against me?" said penn, in a voice of singular gentleness, which chimed in like a sweet and solemn bell after the harsh clangor of silas's ruffian tones. dan rolled up his eyes, hugged his tattered elbows, and gave a dismal groan. "come!" said silas, bestowing a slap on his back which nearly knocked him down, "straighten them knees o' yourn, and be a man. yes, mr. schoolmaster, dan is a-going to bear witness agin' you. he has turned from the error of his ways, and now his noble southern heart is a-burnin' to take vengeance on all the enemies of his beloved country. ain't it, dan?--say yes," he hissed in his ear, giving him a second slap, "or else--you know!" "o lord, yes!" ejaculated dan, with a start of terror. "what mr. ropes says is perfectly--perfectly--jes' so!" "your heart is a-burnin', ain't it?" said silas. "ye--yes! i be durned if it ain't!" said dan. "this man," continued ropes, who prided himself on being a great orator, with power to "fire the southern heart," and never neglected an occasion to show himself off in that capacity,--"this individgle ye see afore ye, gentlemen,"--once more hitting dan, this time with the toe of his boot, gently, to indicate the subject of his remarks,--"was lately as low-minded a peep as ever you see. he had no more conscience than to 'sociate with niggers, and sell 'em liquor, and even give 'em liquor when they couldn't pay fur't; and you all know how he degraded himself by takin' combs's pete into his house and doin' for him arter he'd been very properly licked by the patrol. all which, i am happy to say, the deluded man sincerely repents of, and promises to behave more like a gentleman in futur'. don't you, dan?" as dan, attempting to speak, only gasped, ropes administered a sharp poke in his ribs, whispering fiercely,-"say you do, mighty quick, or i'll----!" "o! i repents! i--i be durned if i don't!" said dan. "and now, as to you!" silas turned on the schoolmaster. "your offence in gineral is bein' a northern abolitionist. besides which, your offences in partic'ler is these. not contented with teachin' the academy, which was well enough, since it is necessary that a few should have larnin', so the may know how to govern the rest,--not contented with that, you must run the thing into the ground, by settin' up a evenin' school, and offerin' to larn readin', writin', and 'rithmetic, free gratis, to whosomever wanted to 'tend. which is contrary to the sperrit of our institootions, as you have been warned more 'n oncet. that's charge number two. charge number three is, that you stand up for the old rotten union, and tell folks, every chance you git, that secession, that noble right of southerners, is a villanous scheme, that'll ruin the south, if persisted in, and plunge the whole nation into war. your very words, i believe. can you deny it?" "certainly, i have said something very much like that, and it is my honest conviction," replied penn, firmly. "gentlemen, take notice!" said mr. ropes. "we will now pass on to charge number four, and be brief, for the tar is a-coolin'. suthin' like eight days ago, when the afore-mentioned dan pepperill was in the waller of his degradation, some noble-souled sons of the sunny south"--the orator smiled with pleasant significance--"lifted him up, and hung him up to air, in the crotches of two trees, jest by the edge of the woods here, and went home to supper, intending to come back and finish the purifying process begun with him later in the evenin'. but what did you do, mr. schoolmaster, but come along and take him down, prematoorely, and go to corruptin' him agin with your vile northern principles! didn't he, dan?" "i--i dun know" faltered dan. "yes, you do know, too! didn't he corrupt you?" these words being accompanied by a severe hint from sile's boot, mr. pepperill remembered that penn _did_ corrupt him. "and if i hadn't took ye in season, you'd have returned to your base-born mire, wouldn't you?" "i suppose i would," the miserable dan admitted. "wal! now!"--sile spread his palm over the tar to see if it retained its temperature,--"hurry up, dan, and tell us all this northern agitator said to you that night." "o lord!" groaned pepperill, "my memory is so short!" "bring that rope, boys! and give him suthin' to stretch it!" said silas, growing impatient. dan, knowing that stretching his memory in the manner threatened, implied that his neck was to be stretched along with it, made haste to remember. "my friends," said penn, interrupting the poor man's forced and disconnected testimony, "let me spare him the pain of bearing witness against me. i recall perfectly well every thing i said to him that night. i said it was a shame that such outrages as had been committed on him should be tolerated in a civilized society. i told him it was partly his own fault that such a state of things existed. i said, 'it is owing to the ignorance and degradation of you poor whites that a barbarous system is allowed to flourish and tyrannize over you.' i said----" but here penn was interrupted by a violent outcry, the majority of the persons present coming under the head of "poor whites." "let him go on! let him perceed!" said silas. "what did you mean by 'barbarous system'?" "i meant," replied penn, all fear vanishing in the glow of righteous indignation which filled him,--"i meant the system which makes it a crime to teach a man to read--a punishable offence to befriend the poor and down-trodden, or to bind up wounds. a system which makes it dangerous for one to utter his honest opinions, even in private, to a person towards whom he is at the same time showing the mercy which others have denied him." he looked at dan, who groaned. "a system----" "wal, i reckon that'll do fur one spell," broke in silas ropes. "you've said more 'n enough to convict you, and to earn a halter 'stead of a mild coat of tar and feathers." "i am well aware," said penn, "that i can expect no mercy at your hands; so i thought i might as well be plain with you." "and plain enough you've been, i swear to gosh!" said silas. "boys, strip him!" "wait a moment!" said penn, putting them off with a gesture which they mistook for an appeal to some deadly weapon in his pocket. "what i have said has been to free my mind, and to save daniel trouble. now, allow me to speak a few words in my own defence. i have committed no crime against your laws; if i have, why not let the laws punish me?" "we take the laws into our hands sech times as these," said the man called gad. "you're an abolitionist, and that's enough," said another. "if i do not believe slavery to be a good thing, it is not my fault; i cannot help my belief. but one thing i will declare. i have never interfered with your institution in any way at all dangerous to you, or injurious to your slaves. i have not rendered them discontented, but, whenever i have had occasion, i have counselled them to be patient and faithful to their masters. i came among you a very peaceable man, a simple schoolmaster, and i have tried to do good to everybody, and harm to no one. with this motive i opened an evening school for poor whites. how many men here have any education? how many can read and write? not many, i am sure." "what's the odds, so long as they're men of the true sperrit?" interrupted silas ropes. "i can read for one; and as for the rest, what good would it do 'em to be edecated? 'twould only make 'em jes' sech low, sneakin', thievin' white slaves, like the greasy mechanics at the north." "the white slaves are not at the north," said penn. "education alone makes free men. if you, who threaten me with violence here to-night, had the common school education of the north, you would not be engaged in such business; you would be ashamed of assaulting a peaceable man on account of his opinions; you would know that the man who comes to teach you is your best friend. if you were not ignorant men, you, who do not own slaves, would know that slavery is the worst enemy of your prosperity, and you would not be made its willing tools." the firm dignity of the youth, assisted by the illusion that prevailed concerning a revolver in his pocket, had kept his foes at bay, and gained him a hearing. he now attempted to pass on, when the man gad, stepping behind him, raised the broom-handle, and dealt him a stunning blow on the back of the head. "down with him!" "strip him!" "give him a thrashing first!" "hang him!" and the ruffians threw themselves furiously upon the fallen man. "whar's that dutch boy?" cried silas. "i meant he should help dan lay on the tar." but carl was nowhere to be seen, having taken advantage of the confusion and darkness to escape into the woods. iii. _the secret cellar._ no sooner did the lad feel himself safe from pursuit, than he made his way out of the woods again, and ran with all speed to mr. stackridge's house. to his dismay he learned that that stanch unionist was absent from home. "is he in the willage?" said the breathless carl. "i reckon he is," said the farmer's wife; adding in a whisper,--for she guessed the nature of carl's business,--"inquire for him down to barber jim's." and she told him what to say to the barber. barber jim was a colored man, who had demonstrated the ability of the african to take care of himself, by purchasing first his own freedom of his mistress, buying his wife and children afterwards, and then accumulating a property as much more valuable than all silas ropes and his poor white minions possessed, as his mind was superior to their combined intelligence. jim had accomplished this by uniting with industrious habits a natural shrewdness, which enabled him to make the most of his labor and of his means. he owned the most flourishing barber-shop in the place, and kept in connection with it (i am sorry to say) a bar, at which he dealt out to his customers some very bad liquors at very good prices. had jim been a white man, he would not, of course, have stooped to make money by any such low business as rum-selling--o, no! but being only a "nigger," what else could you expect of him? well, on this very evening jim's place began to be thronged almost before it was dark. a few came in to be shaved, while many more passed through the shop into the little bar-room beyond. what was curious, some went in who appeared never to come out again; mr. stackridge among the number. it was not to get shaved, nor yet to get tipsy, that this man visited jim's premises. the moment they were alone together in the bar-room, he gave the proprietor a knowing wink. "many there?" "i reckon about a dozen," said jim. "go in?" stackridge nodded; and with a grin jim opened a private door communicating with some back stairs, down which his visitor went groping his way in the dark. customers came and went; now and then one disappeared similarly down the back stairs; many remained in the barber's shop to smoke, and discuss in loud tones the exciting question of the day--secession; when, lastly, a boy of fifteen came rushing in. his face was flushed with running, and he was quite out of breath. "what's wanting, carl?" said the barber. "a shave?" this was one of jim's jokes, at which his customers laughed, to the boy's confusion, for his cheeks were as smooth as a peach. "i vants to find mishter stackridge," said the lad. "he ain't here," said jim, looking around the room. "it is something wery partic'lar. one of his pigs have got choked mit a cob, and he must go home and unchoke him." this was what carl had been directed by the farmer's wife to say to the barber, in case he should profess ignorance concerning her husband. "pity about the pig," said jim. "mabby stackridge'll be in bime-by. any thing else i can do for ye?" carl stepped up to the barber, and said in a hoarse whisper, loud enough to be heard by every body,-"a mug of peer, if you pleashe." "i got some that'll make a dutchman's head hum!" said jim, leading the way into the little grog room. "that's villars's dutch boy," said one of the smokers in the barber-shop. "beats all nater, how these dutch will swill down any thing in the shape of beer!" this elegant observation may have had a grain of truth in it, as we who have teutonic friends may have reason to know. however, the man had mistaken the boy this time. "it is not the peer i vants, it is mr. stackridge," whispered carl, when alone with the proprietor. jim regarded him doubtfully a moment, then said, "i reckon i shall have to open a cask in the suller. you jest tend bar for me while i am gone." he descended the stairs, closing the door after him. carl, who thought of the schoolmaster in the hands of the mob, felt his heart swell and burn with anxiety at each moment's delay. jim did not keep him long waiting. "this way, carl, if you want some of the right sort," said the negro from the stairs. carl went down in the darkness, jim taking his hand to guide him. they entered a cellar, crowded with casks and boxes, where there was a dim lamp burning; but no human being was visible, until suddenly out of a low, dark passage, between some barrels, a stooping figure emerged, giving carl a momentary start of alarm. "what's the trouble, carl?" "o! mishter stackridge! is it you?" said carl, as the figure stood erect in the dim light,--sallow, bony, grim, attired in coarse clothes. "the schoolmaster--that is the trouble!" and he hastily related what he had seen. "wouldn't take the pistol? the fool!" muttered the farmer. "but i'll see what i can do for him." he grasped the boy's collar, and said in a suppressed but terribly earnest voice, "swear never to breathe a word of what i'm going to show you!" "i shwear!" said carl. "come!" stackridge took him by the wrist, and drew him after him into the passage. it was utterly dark, and carl had to stoop in order to avoid hitting his head. as they approached the end of it, he could distinguish the sound of voices,--one louder than the rest giving the word of command. "_order--arms!_" the farmer knocked on the head of a cask, which rolled aside, and opened the way into a cellar beyond, under an old storehouse, which was likewise a part of barber jim's property. the second cellar was much larger and better lighted than the first, and rendered picturesque by heavy festoons of cobwebs hanging from the dark beams above. the rays of the lamps flashed upon gun-barrels, and cast against the damp and mouldy walls gigantic shadows of groups of men. some were conversing, others were practising the soldiers' drill. "neighbors!" said stackridge, in a voice which commanded instant attention, and drew around him and carl an eager group. "it's just as i told you,--ropes and his gang are lynching hapgood!" "it's the fellow's own fault," said a stern, dark man, the same who had been drilling the men. "he should have taken care of himself." "young hapgood's a decent sort of cuss," said another whom carl knew,--a farmer named withers,--"and i like him. i believe he means well; but he ain't one of us." "i've been deceived in him," said a third. "he always minded his own business, and kept so quiet about our institutions, i never suspected he was anti-slavery till i talked with him t'other day about joining us--then he out with it." "he thinks we're all wrong," said a bigoted pro-slavery man named deslow. "he says slavery's the cause of the war, and it's absurd in us to go in for the union and slavery too!" for these men, though loyal to the government, and bitterly opposed to secession, were nearly all slaveholders or believers in slavery. "may be the fellow ain't far wrong there," said he who had been drilling his comrades. "i think myself slavery's the cause of the war, and that's what puts us in such a hard place. the time may come when we will have to take a different stand--go the whole figure with the free north, or drift with the cotton states. but that time hain't come yet." "but the time _has_ come," said stackridge, impatiently, "to do something for hapgood, if we intend to help him at all. while we are talking, he may be hanging." "and what can we do?" retorted the other. "we can't make a move for him without showing our hand, and it ain't time for that yet." "true enough, captain grudd," said stackridge. "but three or four of us, with our revolvers, can happen that way, and take him out of the hands of ropes and his cowardly crew without much difficulty. i, for one, am going." "hapgood don't even believe in fighting!" observed deslow, with immense disgust; "and blast me if i am going to fight _for_ him!" carl was almost driven to despair by the indifference of these men and the time wasted in discussion. he could have hugged the grim and bony stackridge when he saw him make a decided move at last. three others volunteered to accompany them. the cask was once more rolled away from the entrance, and one by one they crept quickly through the passage into the first cellar. stackridge preceded the rest, to see that the way was clear. there was no one at the bar; the door leading into the shop was closed; and carl, following the four men, passed out by a long entry communicating with the street, the door of which was thrown open to the public on occasions when there was a great rush to jim's bar, but which was fastened this night by a latch that could be lifted only from the inside. iv. _a search for the missing._ the academy was situated in a retired spot, half a mile out of the village. stackridge and his party were soon pushing rapidly towards it along the dark, unfrequented road. carl ran on before, leading the way to the scene of the lynching. the place was deserted and silent. only the cold wind swept the bleak wood-side, making melancholy moans among the trees. overhead shone the stars, lighting dimly the desolation of the ground. "now, where's yer tar-and-feathering party?" said stackridge. "see here, dutchy! ye hain't been foolin' us, have ye?" "i vish it vas notting but fooling!" said carl, full of distress, fearing the worst. "we have come too late. the willains have took him off." "feathers, men!" muttered stackridge, picking up something from beneath his feet. "the boy's right! now, which way have they gone?--that's the question." "hark!" said carl. "i see a man!" indeed, just then a dim figure arose from the earth, and appeared slowly and painfully moving away. "hold on there!" cried stackridge. "needn't be afeared of us. we're your friends." the figure stopped, uttering a deep groan. "is it you, hapgood?" "no," answered the most miserable voice in the world. "it's me." "who's _me_?" "pepperill--dan pepperill; ye know me, don't ye, stackridge?" "you? you scoundrel!" said the farmer. "what have ye been doing to the schoolmaster? answer me this minute, or i'll----" "o, don't, don't!" implored the wretch. "i'll answer, i'll tell every thing, only give me a chance!" "be quick, then, and tell no lies!" the poor man looked around at his captors in the starlight, stooping dejectedly, and rubbing his bent knees. "i ain't to blame--i'll tell ye that to begin with. i've been jest knocked about, from post to pillar, and from pillar to post, till i don't know who's my friends and who ain't. i reckon more ain't than is!" added he, dismally. "that's neither here nor there!" said stackridge. "where's hapgood? that's what i want to know." "ye see," said dan, endeavoring to collect his wits (you would have thought they were in his kneepans, and he was industriously rubbing them up), "ropes sent me to tote the kittle home, and when i got back here, i be durned if they wasn't all gone, schoolmaster and all." "but what had they done to him?" "i don't know, i'm shore! that's what i was a comin' back fur to see. he let me down when i was hung up on the rail, and helped me home; and so i says to myself, says i, 'why shouldn't i do as much by him?' so i come back, and found him gone." "what was in the kittle?" stackridge took him by the throat. "o, don't go fur to layin' it to me, and i'll tell ye! thar'd been tar in the kittle! it had been used to give him a coat. that's the fact, durn me if it ain't! they put it on with the broom--my broom--they made me bring my own broom, that's the everlastin' truth! made me do it myself, and spile my wife's best broom into the bargain!" and pepperill sobbed. "you put on the tar?" "don't kill me, and i'll own up! i did put on some on't, that's a fact. ropes would a' killed me if i hadn't, and now you kill me fur doin' of it. he did knock me down, 'cause he said i didn't rub it on hard enough; and arter that he rubbed it himself." "what next, you scoundrel?" "next, they rolled him in the feathers, and sent me, as i told ye, to tote the kittle home. now don't, don't go fur to hang me, mr. stackridge! help me, men! help me, withers,--devit! for he means to be the death of me, i'm shore!" indeed, stackridge was in a tremendous passion, and would, no doubt, have done the man some serious injury but for the timely interposition of carl. "o, you're a good boy, carl!" cried dan, in an exstasy of terror and gratitude. "you know they druv me to it, don't ye? you know i wouldn't have gone fur to do it no how, if 't hadn't been to save my life. and as fur rubbing on the tar, i know'd they'd rub harder 'n i did; so i took holt, if only to do it more soft and gentle-like." carl testified to dan's apparent unwillingness to participate in the outrage; and stackridge, finding that nothing more could be got out of the terror-stricken wretch, flung him off in great rage and disgust. "we must find what they have done with hapgood," he said. "we're losing time here. we'll go to his boarding-place first." as pepperill fell backwards upon some stones, and lay there helplessly, carl ran to him to learn if he was hurt. "wal, i be hurt some," murmured dan; "a good deal in my back, and a durned sight more in my feelin's. as if i wan't sufferin' a'ready the pangs of death--wus'n death!--a thinkin' about the master, and what's been done to him, arter he'd been so kind to me--and thinkin' he'd think i'm the ongratefulest cuss out of the bad place!--and then to have it all laid on to me by stackridge and the rest! that's the stun that hurts me wust of any!" carl thought, if that was all, he could not assist him much; and he ran on after the men, leaving pepperill snivelling like a whipped schoolboy on the stones. penn's landlady, the worthy mrs. sprowl, lived in a lonesome house that stood far back in the fields, at least a dozen rods from the road. she was a widow, whose daughters were either married or dead, and whose only son was a rover, having been guilty of some crime that rendered it unsafe for him to visit his bereaved parent. penn had chosen her house for his home, partly because she needed some such assistance in gaining a living, but chiefly, i think, because she did not own slaves. the other inmates of her solitary abode were two large, ferocious dogs, which she kept for the sake of their company and protection. but this night the house looked as if forsaken even by these. it was utterly dark and silent. when stackridge shook the door, however, the illusion was dispelled by two fierce growls that resounded within. "hello! mrs. sprowl!" shouted the farmer, shaking the door again, and knocking violently. "let me in!" at that the growling broke into savage barks, which made stackridge lay his hand on the revolver carl had returned to him. a window was then cautiously opened, and a bit of night-cap exposed. "if it's you agin," said a shrill feminine voice, "i warn you to be gone! if you think i can't set the dogs on to you, because you've slep' in my house so long, you're very much mistaken. they'll tear you as they would a pa'tridge! go away, go away, i tell ye; you've been the ruin of me, and i ain't a-going to resk my life a-harboring of you any longer." "mrs. sprowl!" answered the stern voice of the farmer. "dear me! ain't it the schoolmaster?" cried the astonished lady. "i thought it was him come back agin to force his way into my house, after i've twice forbid him!" "why forbid him?" "is it you, mr. stackridge? then i'll be free, and tell ye. i've been informed he's a dangerous man. i've been warned to shet my doors agin' him, if i wouldn't have my house pulled down on to my head." "who warned you?" "silas ropes, this very night. he come to me, and says, says he, 'we've gin your abolition boarder a coat, which you must charge to his account;' for you see," added the head at the window, pathetically, "they took the bed he has slep' on, right out of my house, and i don't s'pose i shall see ary feather of that bed ever agin! live goose's feathers they was too! and a poor lone widder that could ill afford it!" "where is the master?" "wal, after ropes and his friends was gone, he comes too, an awful lookin' object as ever you see! 'mrs. sprowl,' says he, 'don't be scared; it's only me; won't ye let me in?' for ye see, i'd shet the house agin' him in season, detarmined so dangerous a character should never darken my doors agin." "and he was naked!" "i 'spose he was, all but the feathers, and suthin' or other he seemed to have flung over him." "such a night as this!" exclaimed stackridge. "you're a heartless jade, mrs. sprowl!--i don't wonder the fellow hates slavery," he muttered to himself, "when it makes ruffians of the men and monsters even of the women!--which way did he go?" "that's more'n i can tell!" answered the lady, sharply. "it's none o' my business where he goes, if he don't come here! that i won't have, call me what names you please!" and she shut the window. "hang the critter! after all hapgood has done for her!" said the indignant stackridge,--for it was well-known that she was indebted to the gentle and generous penn for many benefits. "but it's no use to stand here. we'll go to my house, men,--may be he's there." v. _carl and his friends._ carl minnevich was the son of a german, who, in company with a brother, had come to america a few years before, and settled in tennessee. there the minneviches purchased a farm, and were beginning to prosper in their new home, when carl's father suddenly died. the boy had lost his mother on the voyage to america. he was now an orphan, destined to experience all the humiliation, dependence, and wrong, which ever an orphan knew. immediately the sole proprietorship of the farm, which had been bought by both, was assumed by the surviving brother. this man had a selfish, ill-tempered wife, and a family of great boys. minnevich himself was naturally a good, honest man; but frau minnevich wanted the entire property for her own children, hated carl because he was in the way, and treated him with cruelty. his big cousins followed their mother's example, and bullied him. how to obtain protection or redress he knew not. he was a stranger, speaking a strange tongue, in the land of his father's adoption. ah, how often then did he think of the happy fatherland, before that luckless voyage was undertaken, when he still had his mother, and his friends, and all his little playfellows, whom he could never see more! so matters went on for a year or two, until the boy's grievances grew intolerable, and he one day took it into his head to please frau minnevich for once in his life, if never again. in the night time he made up a little bundle of his clothes, threw it out of the window, got out himself after it, climbed down upon the roof of the shed, jumped to the ground, and trudged away in the early morning starlight, a wanderer. it has been necessary to touch upon this point in carl's history, in order to explain why it was he ever afterwards felt such deep gratitude towards those who befriended him in the hour of his need. for many days and nights he wandered among the hills of tennessee, looking in vain for work, and begging his bread. sometimes he almost wished himself a slave-boy, for then he would have had a home at least, if only a wretched cabin, and friends, if only negroes,--those oppressed, beaten, bought-and-sold, yet patient and cheerful people, whose lot seemed, after all, so much happier than his own. carl had a large, warm heart, and he longed with infinite longing for somebody to love him and treat him kindly. at last, as he was sitting one cold evening by the road-side, weary, hungry, despondent, not knowing where he was to find his supper, and seeing nothing else for him to do but to lie down under some bush, there to shiver and starve till morning, a voice of unwonted kindness accosted him. "my poor boy, you seem to be in trouble; can i help you?" poor carl burst into tears. it was the voice of penn hapgood; and in its tones were sympathy, comfort, hope. penn took him by the arm, and lifted him up, and carried his bundle for him, talking to him all the time so like a gentle and loving brother, that carl said in the depths of his soul that he would some day repay him, if he lived; and he prayed god secretly that he might live, and be able some day to repay him for those sweet and gracious words. penn never quitted him until he had found him a home; neither after that did he forget him. he took him into his school, gave him his tuition, and befriended him in a hundred little ways beside. and now the time had arrived when penn himself stood in need of friends. the evening came, and carl was missing from his new home. "whar's dat ar boy took hisself to, i'd like to know!" scolded old toby. "i'll clar away de table, and he'll lose his supper, if he stays anoder minute! debil take me, if i don't!" he had made the same threat a dozen times, and still he kept carl's potatoes hot for him, and the table waiting. for the old negro, though he loved dearly to show his importance by making a good deal of bluster about his work, had really one of the kindest hearts in the world, and was as devoted to the boy he scolded as any indulgent old grandmother. "the 'debil' will take you, sure enough, i'm afraid, toby, if you appeal to him so often," said a mildly reproving voice. it was mr. villars, the old worn-out clergyman; a man of seventy winters, pale, white-haired, blind, feeble of body, yet strong and serene of soul. he came softly, groping his way into the kitchen, in order to put his feet to toby's fire. "laws, massa," said old toby, grinning, "debil knows i ain't in 'arnest! he knows better'n to take me at my word, for i speaks his name widout no kind o' respec', allus, i does. hyar's yer ol' easy char fur ye, mass' villars. now you jes' make yerself comf'table." and he cleared a place on the stove-hearth for the old man's feet. "thank you, toby." with his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, his hands folded thoughtfully before his breast, and his beautiful old face smiling the kindness which his blind eyes could not _look_, mr. villars sat by the fire. "where is carl to-night, toby?" "dat ar's de question; dat's de pint, massa. mos' i can say is, he ain't whar he ought to be, a eatin' ob his supper. chocolate's all a bilin' away to nuffin! ketch dis chile tryin' to keep tings hot for his supper anoder time!" and toby added, in a whisper expressive of great astonishment at himself, "what i eber took dat ar boy to keep fur's one ob de mysteries!" for toby, though only a servant (indeed, he had formerly been a slave in the family), had had his own way so long in every thing that concerned the management of the household, that he had come to believe himself the proprietor, not only of the house and land, and poultry and pigs, but of the family itself. he owned "ol' mass villars," and an exceedingly precious piece of property he considered him, especially since he had become blind. he was likewise (in his own exalted imagination) sole inheritor and guardian-in-chief of "miss jinny," mr. villars's youngest daughter, child of his old age, of whom mrs. villars said, on her death-bed, "take always good care of my darling, dear toby!"--an injunction which the negro regarded as a sort of last will and testament bequeathing the girl to him beyond mortal question. there was, in fact, but one member of the household he did not exclusively claim. this was the married daughter, salina, whose life had been embittered by a truant husband,--no other, in fact, than the erring son of the worthy mrs. sprowl. the day when the infatuated girl made a marriage so much beneath the family dignity, toby, in great grief and indignation, gave her up. "i washes my hands ob her! she ain't no more a chile ob mine!" said the old servant, passionately weeping, as if the washing of his hands was to be literal, and no other fluid would serve his dark purpose but tears. and when, after sprowl's desertion of her, she returned, humiliated and disgraced, to her father's house,--that is to say, toby's house,--toby had compassion on her, and took her in, but never set up any claim to her again. "where is carl? hasn't carl come yet?" asked a sweet but very anxious voice. and virginia, the youngest daughter, stood in the kitchen door. "he hain't come yet, miss jinny; dat ar a fact!" said toby. "'pears like somefin's hap'en'd to dat ar boy. i neber knowed him stay out so, when dar's any eatin' gwine on,--for he's a master hand for his supper, dat boy ar! laws, i hain't forgot how he laid in de vittles de fust night massa penn fetched him hyar! he was right hungry, he was, and he took holt powerful! 'i neber can keep dat ar boy in de world,' says i; 'he'll eat me clar out o' house an' home!' says i. but, arter all, it done my ol' heart good to see him put in, ebery ting 'peared to taste so d'effle good to him!" and toby chuckled at the reminiscence. "my daughter," said mr. villars, softly. she was already standing behind his chair, and her trembling little hands were smoothing his brow, and her earnest face was looking pale and abstracted over him. he could not see her face, but he knew by her touch that the tender act was done some how mechanically to-night, and that she was thinking of other things. she started as he spoke, and, bending over him, kissed his white forehead. "i suspect," he went on, "that you know more of carl than we do. has he gone on some errand of yours?" "i will tell you, father!" it seemed as if her feelings had been long repressed, and it was a relief for her to speak at last. "carl came to me, and said there was some mischief intended towards penn. this was long before dark. and he asked permission to go and see what it was. i said, 'go, but come right back, if there is no danger.' he went, and i have not seen him since." "is this so? why didn't you tell me before?" "because, father, i did not wish to make you anxious. but now, if you will let toby go----" "i'll go myself!" said the old man, starting up. "my staff, toby! when i was out, i heard voices in the direction of the school-house,--i felt then a presentiment that something was happening to penn. i can control the mob,--i can save him, if it is not too late." he grasped the staff toby put into his hand. "o, father!" said the agitated girl; "are you able?" "able, child? you shall see how strong i am when our friend is in danger." "let me go, then, and guide you!" she exclaimed, glad he was so resolved, yet unwilling to trust him out of her sight. "no, daughter. toby will be eyes for me. yet i scarcely need even him. i can find my way as well as he can in the dark." the negro opened the door, and was leading out the blind old minister, when the light from within fell upon a singular object approaching the house. it started back again, like some guilty thing; but toby had seen it. toby uttered a shriek. "de debil! de debil hisself, massa!" and he pulled the old man back hurriedly into the house. "the devil, toby? what do you mean?" demanded mr. villars. "o, laws, bress ye, massa, ye hain't got no eyes, and ye can't see!" said toby, shutting the door in his fright, and rolling his eyes wildly. "it's de bery debil! he's come for dis niggah dis time, sartin'. cos i, cos i 'pealed to him, as you said, massa! cos i's got de habit ob speakin' his name widout no kind o' respec'!" and he stood bracing himself, with his back against the door, as if determined that not even that powerful individual himself should get in. "you poor old simpleton!" said mr. villars, "there is no fiend except in your own imagination. open the door!" "no, no, massa! he's dar! he's dar! he'll cotch old toby, shore!" and the terrified black held the latch and pushed with all his might. "what did he see, virginia?" "i don't know, father! there was certainly somebody, or something,--i could not distinguish what." "it's what i tell ye!" gibbered toby. "i seed de great coarse har on his speckled legs, and de wings on his back, and a right smart bag in his hand to put dis niggah in!" "it might have been carl," said virginia. "no, no! carl don't hab sech legs as dem ar! carl don't hab sech great big large ears as dem ar! o good lord! good lord!" the negro's voice sank to a terrified whisper, "he's a-knockin' for me now!" "it's a very gentle rap for the devil," said mr. villars, who could not but be amused, notwithstanding the strange interruption of his purpose, and toby's vexatious obstinacy in holding the door. "it's some stranger; let him in!" "no, no, no!" gasped the negro. "i won't say nuffin, and you tell him i ain't to home! say i'se clar'd out, lef', gone you do'no' whar!" "toby!" was called from without. "dat's his voice! dat ar's his voice!" said toby. and in his desperate pushing, he pushed his feet from under him, and fell at full length along the floor. "it's the voice of penn hapgood!" exclaimed the old minister. "arise, quick, toby, and open!" toby rubbed his head and looked bewildered. "are ye sartin ob dat, massa? bress me, i breeve you're right, for oncet! it _ar_ mass' penn's voice, shore enough!" he opened the door, but started back again with another shriek, convinced for an instant that it was, after all, the devil, who had artfully borrowed penn's voice to deceive him. but no! it was penn himself, his hat and clothes in his hand, smeared with black tar and covered with feathers from head to foot; not even his features spared, nor yet his hair; on his cheeks great clumps of gray goose plumes, suggestive of diabolical ears, and with no other covering but this to shield him from the night wind, save the emptied bed-tick, which he had drawn over his shoulders, and which toby had mistaken for satanic wings. vi. _a strange coat for a quaker._ now, virginia villars was the very last person by whom penn would have wished to be seen. he was well aware how utterly grotesque and ludicrous he must appear. but he was not in a condition to be very fastidious on this point. stunned by blows, stripped of his clothing (which could not be put on again, for reasons), cruelly suffering from the violence done him, exposed to the cold, excluded from mrs. sprowl's virtuous abode, he had no choice but to seek the protection of those whom he believed to be his truest friends. in the little sitting-room of the blind old minister he had always been gladly welcomed. such minds as his were rare in curryville. his purity of thought, his christian charity, his ardent love of justice, and (quite as much as any thing) his delight in the free and friendly discussion of principles, whether moral, political, or theological, made him a great favorite with the lonely old man. his coming made the winter evenings bloom. then the aged clergyman, deprived of sight, bereft of the companionship of books, and of the varied consolations of an active life, felt his heart warmed and his brain enlivened by the wine of conversation. he and penn, to be sure, did not always agree. especially on the subject of _non-resistance_ they had many warm and well-contested arguments; the young quaker manifesting, by his zeal in the controversy, that he had an abundance of "fight" in him without knowing it. nor to mr. villars alone did penn's visits bring pleasure. they delighted equally young carl and old toby. and virginia? why, being altogether devoted to her blind parent, for whose happiness she could never do enough, she was, of course, enchanted with the attentions she saw penn pay _him_. that was all; at least, the dear girl thought that was all. as for salina, forsaken spouse of the gay lysander sprowl, she too, after sulkily brooding over her misfortunes all day, was glad enough to have any intelligent person come in and break the monotony of her sad life in the evening. such were penn's relations with the family to whom alone he durst apply for refuge in his distress. others might indeed have ventured to shelter him; but they, like stackridge, were hated unionists, and any mercy shown to him would have brought evil upon themselves. mr. villars, however, blind and venerated old man, had sufficient influence over the people, penn believed, to serve as a protection to his household even with him in it. so hither he came--how unwillingly let the proud and sensitive judge. for penn, though belonging to the meekest of sects, was of a soul by nature aspiring and proud. he had the good sense to know that the outrage committed on him was in reality no disgrace, except to those guilty of perpetrating it. yet no one likes to appear ridiculous. and the man of elevated spirit instinctively shrinks from making known his misfortunes even to his best friends; he is ashamed of that for which he is in no sense to blame, and he would rather suffer heroically in secret, than become an object of pity. most of all, as i have said, penn dreaded the pure virginia's eyes. mr. villars could not see him, and for salina he did not care much--singularly enough, for she alone was of an acrid and sarcastic temper. what he devoutly desired was, to creep quietly to the kitchen door, call out carl if he was there, or secretly make known his condition to old toby, and thus obtain admission to the house, seclusion, and assistance, without letting virginia, or her father even, know of his presence. how this honest wish was thwarted we have seen. when the door was first opened, he had turned to fly. but that was cowardly; so he returned, and knocked, and called the negro by name, to reassure him. and the door was once more opened, and virginia saw him--recognized him--knew in an instant what brutal deed had been done, and covered her eyes instinctively to shut out the hideous sight. but it was no time to indulge in feelings of false modesty, if she felt any. it was no time to be weak, or foolish, or frightened, or ashamed. "it is penn!" she exclaimed in a burst of indignation and grief. "toby! toby! you great stupid----! what are you staring for? take him in! why don't you? o, father!" and she threw herself on the old man's bosom, and hid her face. "what has happened to penn?" asked the old man. "i have been tarred-and-feathered," answered penn, entering, and closing the door behind him. "and i have been shut out of mrs. sprowl's house. this is my excuse for coming here. i must go somewhere, you know!" "and where but here?" answered the old man. he had suppressed an outburst of feeling, and now stood calm, compassionating, extending his hands,--his staff fallen upon the floor. "i feared it might come to this! terrible times are upon us, and you are only one of the first to suffer. you did well to come to us. are you hurt?" "i hardly know," replied penn. "i beg of you, don't be alarmed or troubled. i hope you will excuse me. i know i am a fearful object to look at, and did not intend to be seen." he stood holding the bed-tick over him, and his clothes before him, to conceal as much as possible his hideous guise, suffering, in that moment of pause, unutterable things. was ever a hero of romance in such a dismal plight? surely no writer of fiction would venture to show his hero in so ridiculous and damaging an aspect. but this is not altogether a romance, and i must relate facts as they occurred. "do not be sorry that i have seen you," said virginia, lifting her face again, flashing with tears. "i see in this shameful disguise only the shame of those who have so cruelly treated you! toby will help you. and there is carl at last!" she retreated from the room by one door just as carl and stackridge entered by the other. poor penn! gentle and shrinking penn! it was painful enough for him to meet even these coarser eyes, friendly though they were. the shock upon his system had been terrible; and now, his strength and resolution giving way, his bewildered senses began to reel, and he swooned in the farmer's arms. vii. _the two guests._ virginia entered the sitting-room--the same where so many happy evenings had been enjoyed by the little family, in the society of him who now lay bruised, disfigured, and insensible in toby's kitchen. she walked to and fro, she gazed from the windows out into the darkness, she threw herself on the lounge, scarce able to control the feelings of pity and indignation that agitated her. for almost the first time in her life she was fired with vindictiveness; she burned to see some swift and terrible retribution overtake the perpetrators of this atrocious deed. mr. villars soon came out to her. she hastened to lead him to a seat. "how is he?--much injured?" she asked. "he has been brutally used," said the old man. "but he is now in good hands. where is salina?" "i don't know. i had been to look for her, when i came and found you in the kitchen. i think she must have gone out." "gone out, to-night? that is very strange!" the old man mused. "she will have to be told that penn is in the house. but i think the knowledge of the fact ought to go no farther. mr. stackridge is of the same opinion. now that they have begun to persecute him, they will never cease, so long as he remains alive within their reach." "and we must conceal him?" "yes, until this storm blows over, or he can be safely got out of the state." "there is salina now!" exclaimed the girl, hearing footsteps approach the piazza. "if it is, she is not alone," said the old man, whose blindness had rendered his hearing acute. "it is a man's step. don't be agitated, my child. much depends on our calmness and self-possession now. if it is a visitor, you must admit him, and appear as hospitable as usual." it was a visitor, and he came alone--a young fellow of dashy appearance, handsome black hair and whiskers, and very black eyes. "mr. bythewood, father," said virginia, showing him immediately into the sitting-room. "i entreat you, do not rise!" said mr. bythewood, with exceeding affability, hastening to prevent that act of politeness on the part of the blind old man. "did you not bring my daughter with you?" asked mr. villars. "your daughter is here, sir;" and he of the handsome whiskers gave virginia a most captivating bow and smile. "he means my sister," said virginia. "she has gone out, and we are feeling somewhat anxious about her." she thought it best to say thus much, in order that, should the visitor perceive any strangeness or abstraction on her part, he might think it was caused by solicitude for the absent salina. "nothing can have happened to her, certainly," remarked mr. bythewood, seating himself in an attitude of luxurious ease, approaching almost to indolent recklessness. "we are the most chivalrous people in the world. there is no people, i think, on the face of the globe, among whom the innocent and defenceless are so perfectly secure." virginia thought of the hapless victim of the mob in the kitchen yonder, and smiled politely. "i have no very great fears for her safety," said the old man. "yet i have felt some anxiety to know the meaning of the noises i heard in the direction of the academy, an hour ago." bythewood laughed, and stroked his glossy mustache. "i don't know, sir. i reckon, however, that the yankee schoolmaster has been favored with a little demonstration of southern sentiment." "how! not mobbed?" "call it what you please, sir," said bythewood, with an air of pleasantry. "i think our people have been roused at last; and if so, they have probably given him a lesson he will never forget." "what do you mean by 'our people'?" the old man gravely inquired. "he means," said virginia, with quiet but cutting irony, "the most chivalrous people in the world! among whom the innocent and defenceless are more secure than any where else on the globe!" "precisely," said mr. bythewood, with a placid smile. "but among whom obnoxious persons, dangerous to our institutions, cannot be tolerated. as for this affair,"--carelessly, as if what had happened to penn was of no particular consequence to anybody present, least of all to him,--"i don't know anything about it. of course, i would never go near a popular demonstration of the kind. i don't say i approve of it, and i don't say i disapprove of it. these are no ordinary times, mr. villars. the south is already plunged into a revolution." "indeed, i fear so!" "fear so? i glory that it is so! we are about to build up the most magnificent empire on which the sun has ever shone!" "cemented with the blood of our own brethren!" said the old man, solemnly. "there may be a little bloodshed, but not much. the yankees won't fight. they are not a military people. their armies will scatter before us like chaff before the wind. i know you don't think as i do. i respect the lingering attachment you feel for the old union--it is very natural," said bythewood, indulgently. the old man smiled. his eyes were closed, and his hands were folded before him near his breast, in his favorite attitude. and he answered,-"you are very tolerant towards me, my young friend. it is because you consider me old, and helpless, and perhaps a little childish, no doubt. but hear my words. you are going to build up a magnificent empire, founded on--slavery. but i tell you, the ruin and desolation of our dear country--that will be your empire. and as for the institution you mean to perpetuate and strengthen, it will be crushed to atoms between the upper and nether millstones of the war you are bringing upon the nation." he spoke with the power of deep and earnest conviction, and the complacent bythewood was for a moment abashed. "i was well aware of your opinions," he remarked, rallying presently. "it is useless for us to argue the point. and virginia, i conceive, does not like politics. will you favor us with a song, virginia?" "with pleasure, if you wish it," said virginia, with perfect civility, although a close observer might have seen how repulsive to her was the presence of this handsome, but selfish and unprincipled man. he was their guest; and she had been bred to habits of generous and self-sacrificing hospitality. however detested a visitor, he must be politely entertained. on this occasion, she led the way to the parlor, where the piano was,--all the more readily, perhaps, because it was still farther removed from the kitchen. bythewood followed, supporting, with an ostentatious show of solicitude, the steps of the feeble old man. bythewood named the pieces he wished her to sing, and bent graciously over the piano to turn the music-leaves for her, and applauded with enthusiasm. and so she entertained him. and all the while were passing around them scenes so very different! there was penn, heroically stifling the groans of a wounded spirit, within sound of her sweet voice, and bythewood so utterly ignorant of his presence there! a little farther off, and just outside the house, a young woman was even then parting, with whispers and mystery, from an adventurous rover. still a little farther, in barber jim's back room, silas ropes was treating his accomplices; and while these drank and blasphemed, close by, in the secret cellar, stackridge's companions were practising the soldier's drill. salina parted from the rover, and came into the house while virginia was singing, throwing her bonnet negligently back, as she sat down. "why, salina! where have you been?" said virginia, finishing a strain, and turning eagerly on the piano stool. "we have been wondering what had become of you!" "you need never wonder about me," said salina, coldly. "i must go out and walk, even if i don't have time till after dark." she drummed upon the carpet with her foot, while her upper lip twitched nervously. it was a rather short lip, and she had an unconscious habit of hitching up one corner of it, still more closely, with a spiteful and impatient expression. aside from this labial peculiarity (and perhaps the disproportionate prominence of a very large white forehead), her features were pretty enough, although they lacked the charming freshness of her younger sister's. virginia knew well that the pretence of not getting time for her walk till after dark was absurd, but, perceiving the unhappy mood she was in, forbore to say so. and she resumed her task of entertaining bythewood. viii. _the rover._ meanwhile the nocturnal acquaintance from whom salina had parted took a last look at the house, and shook his envious head darkly at the room where the light and the music were; then, thrusting his hands into his pockets, with a swaggering air, went plodding on his lonely way across the fields, in the starlight. the direction he took was that from which penn had arrived; and in the course of twenty minutes he approached the door of the solitary house with the dark windows and the dogs within. he walked all around, and seeing no light, nor any indication of life, drew near, and rapped softly on a pane. the dogs were roused in an instant, and barked furiously. nothing daunted, he waited for a lull in the storm he had raised, and rapped again. "who's there?" creaked the stridulous voice of good mrs. sprowl. "_you know!_" said the rover, in a suppressed, confidential tone. "one who has a right." now, the excellent relict of the late lamented sprowl reflected, naturally, that, if anybody had a right there, it was he who paid her for his board in advance. "you, agin, after all, is it!" she exclaimed, angrily. "couldn't you find nowhere else to go to? but if you imagine i've thought better on't, and will let you in, you're grandly mistaken! go away this instant, or i'll let the dogs out!" "let 'em out, and be----!" no matter about the last word of the rover's defiant answer. it was a very irritating word to the temper of the good mrs. sprowl. this was the first time (she thought) she had ever heard the mild and benignant schoolmaster swear; but she was not much surprised, believing that it was scarcely in the power of man to endure what he had that night endured, and not swear. "look out for yourself then, you sir! for i shall take you at your word!" and there was a sound of slipping bolts, followed by the careful opening of the door. out bounced the dogs, and leaped upon the intruder; but, instead of tearing him to pieces, they fell to caressing him in the most vivacious and triumphant manner. "down, brag! off, grip! curse you!" and he kicked them till they yelped, for their too fond welcome. "how dare you, sir, use my dogs so!" screamed the lady within, enraged to think they had permitted that miserable schoolmaster to get the better of them. "i'll kick them, and you too, for this trick!" muttered the man. "i'll learn ye to shut me out, and make a row, when i'm coming to see you at the risk of my----" she cut him short, with a cry of amazement. "lysander! is it you!" "hold your noise!" said lysander, pressing into the house. "call my name again, and i'll choke you! where's your schoolmaster? won't he hear?" "dear me! if it don't beat everything!" said mrs. sprowl in palpitating accents. "don't you know i took you for the master!" "no, i didn't know it. this looks more like a welcome, though!" lysander began to be mollified. "there, there! don't smother a fellow! one kiss is as good as fifty. the master is out, then? anybody in the house?" "no, i'm so thankful! it seems quite providential! o, dearie, dearie, sonny dearie! i'm so glad to see you agin!" "come! none of your sonny dearies! it makes me sick! strike a light, and get me some supper, can't you?" "yes, my boy, with all my heart! this is the happiest day i've seen----" "ah, what's happened to-day?" said lysander, treating with levity his mother's blissful confession. "i mean, this night! to have you back again! how could i mistake you for that dreadful schoolmaster!" here her trembling fingers struck a match. "draw the curtains," said lysander, hastily executing his own order, as the blue sputter kindled up into a flame that lighted the room. "it ain't quite time for me to be seen here yet." "where did you come from? what are you here for? o, my dear, dear lysie!" (she gazed at him affectionately), "you ain't in no great danger, be you?" "that depends. soon as tennessee secedes, i shall be safe enough. i'm going to have a commission in the confederate army, and that'll be protection from anything that might happen on account of old scores. i'm going to raise a company in this very place, and let the law touch me if it can!" he tossed his cap into a corner, and sprawled upon a chair before the stove, at which his devoted mother was already blowing her breath away in the endeavor to kindle a blaze. she stopped blowing to gape at his good news, turning up at him her low, skinny forehead, narrow nose, and close-set, winking eyes. "there! i declare!" said she. "i knowed my boy would come back to me some day a gentleman!" "a gentleman? i'm bound to be that!" said the man, with a braggart laugh and swagger. "i tell ye, mar, we're going to have the greatest confederacy ever was!" "do tell if we be!" said the edified "mar." "six months from now, you'll see the yankees grovelling at our feet, begging for admission along with us. we'll have washington, and all of the north we want, and defy the world!" "i want to know now!" said mrs. sprowl, overcome with admiration. "the slave-trade will be reopened, yankee ships will bring us cargoes of splendid niggers, not a man in the south but'll be able to own three or four, they'll be so cheap, and we'll be so rich, you see," said lysander. "you don't say, re'lly!" "that's the programme, mar! you'll see it all with your own eyes in six months." "why, then, why _shouldn't_ the south secede!" replied "mar," hastening to put on the tea-kettle, and then to mix up a corn dodger for her son's supper. "i'm sure, we ought all on us to have our servants, and live without work; and i knowed all the time there was another side to what penn hapgood preaches (for he's dead set agin' secession), though i couldn't answer him as _you_ could, lysie dear!" "wal, never mind all that, but hurry up the grub!" said "lysie dear," putting sticks in the stove. "i hain't had a mouthful since breakfast." "you hain't seen _her_, of course," observed mrs. sprowl, mysteriously. "her? who?" "salina!" in a whisper, as if to be overheard by a mouse in the wall would have been fatal. "wal, i have seen _her_, i reckon! not an hour ago. by appointment. i wrote her i was coming, got a woman to direct the letter, and had a long talk with her to-night. what i want just now is, a little money, and she's got to raise it for me, and what she can't raise i shall look to you for." "o dear me! don't say money to me!" exclaimed the widow, alarmed. "partic'larly now i've lost my best feather-bed and my boarder!" "what is it about your boarder? out with it, and stop this hinting around!" thus prompted, mrs. sprowl, who had indeed been waiting for the opportunity, related all she knew of what had happened to penn. lysander kindled up with interest as she proceeded, and finally broke forth with a startling oath. "and i can tell you where he has gone!" he said. "he's gone to the house i can't get into for love nor money! she refused me admission to-night--refused me money! but he is taken in, and their money will be lavished on him!" "but how do you know, my son,----" "how do i know he's there? because, when i was with her in the orchard, we saw an object--she said it was some old nigger to see toby--go into the kitchen. then in a little while a man--it must have been stackridge, if you say he was looking for him--went in with carl, and didn't come out again, as i could see. i staid till the light from the kitchen went up into the bedroom, in the corner of the house this way. there's yer boarder, mar, i'll bet my life! but he won't be there long, i can tell ye!" laughed lysander, maliciously. ix. _toby's patient has a caller._ mr. bythewood had now taken his departure; salina had been intrusted with the secret; and penn had been put to bed (as the rover correctly surmised) in the corner bedchamber. he had been diligently plucked; as much of the tar had been removed as could be easily taken off by methods known to stackridge and toby, and his wounds had been dressed. and there he lay, at last, in the soothing linen, exhausted and suffering, yet somehow happy, thinking with gratitude of the friends god had given him in his sore need. "bress your heart, dear young massa!" said old toby, standing by the bed (for he would not sit down), and regarding him with an unlimited variety of winks, and nods, and grins, expressive of satisfaction with his work; "ye're jest as comf'table now as am possible under de sarcumstances. if dar's anyting in dis yer world ye wants now, say de word, and ol' toby'll jump at de chance to fetch 'em fur ye." "there is nothing i want now, good toby, but that you and carl should rest. you have done everything you can--and far more than i deserve. i will try to thank you when i am stronger." "can't tink ob quittin' ye dis yer night, nohow, massa! mr. stackridge he's gone; carl he can go to bed,--he ain't no 'count here, no way. but i'se took de job o' gitt'n you well, mass' penn, and i'se gwine to put it frew 'pon honor,--do it up han'some!" and notwithstanding penn's remonstrances, the faithful black absolutely refused to leave him. indeed, the most he could be prevailed upon to do for his own comfort, was to bring his blanket into the room, and promise that he would lie down upon it when he felt sleepy. whether he kept his word or not, i cannot say; but there was no time during the night when, if penn happened to stir uneasily, he did not see the earnest, tender, cheerful black face at his pillow in an instant, and hear the affectionate voice softly inquire,-"what can i do fur ye, massa? ain't dar nuffin ol' toby can be a doin' fur ye, jes' to pass away de time?" sometimes it was water penn wanted; but it did him really more good to witness the delight it gave toby to wait upon him, than to drink the coolest and most delicious draught fresh from the well. at length penn began to feel hot and stifled. "what have you hung over the window, toby?" "dat ar? 'pears like dat ar's my blanket, sar. ye see, 'twouldn't do, nohow, to let nary a chink o' light be seen from tudder side, 'cause dat 'ud make folks s'pec' sumfin', dis yer time o' night. so i jes' sticks up my ol' blanket--'pears like i can sleep a heap better on de bar floor!" "but i must have some fresh air, you dear old hypocrite!" said penn, deeply touched, for he knew that the african had deprived himself of his blanket because he did not wish to disturb him by leaving the room for another. "i'll fix him! ill fix him!" said toby. and he seemed raised to the very summit of happiness on discovering that there was something, requiring the exercise of his ingenuity, still to be done for his patient. after that penn slept a little. "tank de good lord," said the old negro the next morning, "you're lookin' as chirk as can be! i'se a right smart hand fur to be nussin' ob de sick; and sakes! how i likes it! i'se gwine to hab you well, sar, 'fore eber a soul knows you'se in de house." yet toby's words expressed a great deal more confidence than he felt; for, though he had little apprehension of penn's retreat being discovered, he saw how weak and feverish he was, and feared the necessity of sending for a doctor. penn now insisted strongly that the old servant should not neglect his other duties for him. "now you jes' be easy in yer mind on dat pint! dar's carl, tends to out-door 'rangements, and i'se got him larnt so's't he's bery good, bery good indeed, to look arter my cow, and my pigs, and sech like chores, when i'se got more 'portant tings on hand myself. and dar's miss jinny, she's glad enough to git de breakfust herself dis mornin'; only jes' i kind o' keeps an eye on her, so she shan't do nuffin wrong. she an' massa villars come to 'quire bery partic'lar 'bout you, 'fore you was awake, sar." these simple words seemed to flood penn's heart with gratitude. toby withdrew, but presently returned, bringing a salver. "nuffin but a little broff, massa. and a toasted cracker." "o, you are too kind, toby! really, i can't eat this morning." "can't eat, sar? i declar, now!" (in a whisper), "how disappinted she'll be!" "who will be disappointed?" "who? miss jinny, to be sure! she made de broff wid her own hands. under my d'rections, ob course! but she would make 'em herself, and took a heap ob pains to hab 'em good, and put in de salt wid her own purty fingers, and looked as rosy a stirrin' and toastin' ober de fire as eber you see an angel, sar!" for some reason penn began to think better of the broth, and, to toby's infinite satisfaction, he consented to eat a little. toby soon had him bolstered up in bed, and held the salver before him, and looked a perfect picture of epicurean enjoyment, just from seeing his patient eat. "it is delicious!" said penn; at which brief eulogium the whole rich, exuberant, tropical soul of the unselfish african seemed to expand and blossom forth with joy. "i shall be sure to get well and strong soon, under such treatment. you must let carl go to mrs. sprowl's and fetch my clothes; i shall want some of them when i get up." "bress you, sar! you forgets nobody ain't to know whar you be! mass' villars he say so. you jes' lef' de clo'es alone, yit awhile. wouldn't hab dat ar widder sprowl find out you'se in dis yer house, not if you'd gib me----" rap, rap, at the chamber door; two light, hurried knocks. "miss jinny herself!" said old toby, forgetting mrs. sprowl in an instant. and setting down the salver, he ran to the door. penn heard quick whispers of consultation; then toby came back, his eyes rolling and his ivory shining with a ludicrous expression of wrath and amazement. "it's de bery ol' hag herself! speak de debil's name and he's allus at de door!" "who? mrs. sprowl?" "yes, sar! and i wish she was furder, sar! she's a 'quirin' fur you,--says she knows you'se in de house, and it's bery 'portant she must see ye. but, tank de lord, massa!" chuckled the old negro, "carl's forgot his english, and don't know nuffin what she wants! he, he, he! or if she makes him und'stan' one ting, den he talks dutch, and _she_ don't und'stan.' and so dey'se habin' it, fust one, den tudder, while miss jinny she hears 'em and comes fur to let us know. but how de ol' critter eber found you out, dat am one ob de mysteries!" "she merely guesses i am here," said penn. "i'm only afraid carl will overdo his part, and confirm her suspicions." "'sh!" hissed toby in sudden alarm. "she's a comin! she's a comin' right up to dis yer door!" and he flew to fasten it. he had scarcely done so when a hand tried the latch, and a voice called,-"come! ye needn't, none of ye, try to impose on me! i know you're in this very room, penn hapgood, and you'll let me in, old friends so, i'm shore! i've bothered long enough with that stupid dutch boy, and now virginny wants to keep me, and talk with me; but i've nothing to do with nobody in this house but _you_!" mrs. sprowl had not been on amicable terms with her daughter-in-law's family since salina and her husband separated; and this last declaration she made loud enough for all in the house to hear. penn motioned for toby to open the door, believing it the better way to admit the lady and conciliate her. but toby shook his head--and his fist with grim defiance. "wal!" said mrs. sprowl, "you can do as you please about lettin' a body in; but i'll give ye to understand one thing--i don't stir a foot from this door till it's opened. and if you want it kept secret that you're here, it'll be a great deal better for you, penn hapgood, to let me in, than to keep me standin' or settin' all day on the stairs." the idea of a long siege struck toby with dismay. he hesitated; but penn spoke. "i am very weak, and very ill, madam. but i have learned what it is to be driven from a door that should be opened to welcome me; and i am not willing, under any circumstances, to treat another as you last night treated me." this was spoken to the lady's face; for toby, seeing that concealment was at an end, had slipped the bolt, and she had come in. "wal! now! mr. hapgood!" she began, with a simper, which betrayed a little contrition and a good deal of crafty selfishness,--"you mustn't go to bein' too hard on me for that. consider that i'm a poor widder, and my life war threatened, and i _had_ to do as i did." "well, well," said penn, "i certainly forgive you. give her a chair, toby." toby placed the chair, and widow sprowl sat down. "i couldn't be easy--old friends so--till i had come over to see how you be," she said, folding her hands, and regarding penn with a solemn pucker of solicitude. "i know, 'twas a dreadful thing; but it's some comfort to think it's nothing i'm any ways to blame fur. it's hard enough for me to lose a boarder, jest at this time,--say nothing about a friend that's been jest like one of my own family, and that i've cooked, and washed, and ironed fur, as if he war my own son!" and mrs. sprowl wiped her eyes, while she carefully watched the effect of her words. "i acknowledge, you have cooked, washed, and ironed for me very faithfully," said penn. "and i thought," said she,--"old friends so,--may be you wouldn't mind making me a present of the trifle you've paid over and above what's due for your board; for i'm a poor widder, as you know, and my only son is a wanderer on the face of the 'arth." penn readily consented to make the present--perhaps reflecting that it would be equally impossible for him ever to board it out, or get her to return the money. "then there's that old cloak of yourn," said mrs. sprowl, sympathizingly. "i believe you partly promised it to me, didn't you? i can manage to get me a cape out on't." "yes, yes," said penn, "you can have the cloak;" while toby glared with rage behind her chair. "and i considered 'twouldn't be no more'n fair that you should pay for the----i don't see how in the world i can afford to lose it, bein' a poor widder, and live geeses' feathers at that, and my only son----" she hid her face in her apron, overcome with emotion. "what am i to pay for?" asked penn. "fur, you know," she said, "i never would have parted with it fur any money, and it will take at least ten dollars to replace it, which is hard, bein' a poor widder, and as strong a linen tick as ever you see, that i made myself, and that my blessed husband died on, and helped me pick the geese with his own hands; and i never thought, when i took you to board, that ever _that_ bed would be sacrificed by it,--for 'twas on your account, you are ware, it was took last night and done for." "and you think i ought to pay for the bed!" said penn, as much astonished as if silas ropes had sent in his bill, "to 1 coat tar and feathers, $10.00." "they said i must look to you," whined the visitor; "and if you don't pay fur't, i don't know who will, i'm shore! for none of them have sot at my board, and drinked of my coffee, and e't of my good corn dodgers, and slep' in my best bed, all for four dollars fifty a week, washing and ironing throwed in, and a poor widder at that!" "mrs. sprowl," said penn, laughing, ill as he was, "have the kindness not to tell any one that i am here, and as soon as i am able to do so, i will pay you for your excellent feather-bed." "thank you,--very good in you, i'm shore!" said the worthy creature, brightening. "and if there's anything else among your things you can spare." "i'll see! i'll see!" said penn, wearily. "leave me now, do!" "but if you had a few dollars, this morning, towards the bed," she insisted, "for my son----" she almost betrayed herself; being about to say that lysander had arrived, and must have money; but she coughed, and added, in a changed voice, "is a wanderer on the face of the 'arth." penn, however, reflecting that she would have more encouragement to keep his secret if he held the reward in reserve, replied, that he could not possibly spare any money before collecting what was due him from the trustees of the academy. her countenance fell on hearing this; and, reluctantly abandoning the object of her mission, she took her leave, and went home to her hopeful son. x. _the widow's green chest._ mr. villars had spoken truly when he said penn's persecutors would not rest here. in fact, mr. ropes, and three of his accomplices, were even now on the way to mrs. sprowl's abode, to make inquiries concerning the schoolmaster. that lone creature had scarcely reached her own door when she saw them coming. now, though penn was not in the house, her son was. great, therefore, was her trepidation at the sight of visitors; and she evinced such eagerness to assure them that the object of their pursuit was not there, and appeared altogether so frightened and guilty, that ropes winked knowingly at his companions, and said,-"he's here, boys, safe enough." so they forced their way into the house; her increased tremor and confusion serving only to confirm them in their suspicions. "not that we doubt your word in the least, mrs. sprowl,"--ropes smiled sarcastically. "but of course you can't object to our searching the premises, for we're in the performance of a solemn dooty. any whiskey in the house, widder?" the obliging lady went to find a bottle. she was gone so long, however, that the visitors became impatient. ropes accordingly stationed two of his men at the doors, and with the third went in pursuit of mrs. sprowl, whom they met coming down stairs. "keep your liquor up there, do ye?" said ropes, significantly. "i--i thought--" mrs. sprowl gasped for breath before she could proceed--"the master had some in his room. but i can't find it. you are at liberty to--to look in his room, if you wants to." "wal, it's our dooty to, i suppose. meantime, you can be bringing the whiskey. give some to the boys outside, then bring the bottle up to us. that's the way, gad," said silas, as she unwillingly obeyed; "allus be perlite to the sex, ye know." "sartin! allus!" said gad. it was evident these men fancied themselves polite. "but he ain't here," said silas, just glancing into penn's room, "or else she wouldn't have been so willing for us to search. le's begin at the top of the house, and look along down." they entered a low-roofed, empty garret. "as we can't perceed without the whiskey, we'll wait here. meantime, i'll tell you what you wanted to know." they sat down on a little old green chest, and ropes, producing a plug of tobacco, gave his friend a bite, and took a bite himself. "what i'm going to say is in perfect confidence, between friends;" chewing and crossing his legs. gad chewed, and crossed his legs, and said, "o, of course! in perfect confidence!" "wal, then, i'll tell ye whar the money fur our job comes from. it comes from gus bythewood." "sho!" said gad, looking surprised at silas. "fact!" said silas, looking wise at gad. "but what's he so dead set agin' the master fur?" "i'll tell ye, gad." and mr. ropes rested a finger confidingly on his friend's knee. "fur as i kin jedge, gus has a sneakin' notion arter that youngest villars gal; virginny, ye know." "don't blame him!" chuckled gad. "but ye see, thar's that hapgood; he's a great favoryte with the villarses, and gus nat'rally wants to git him out of the way. it won't do, though, for him to have it known he has any thing to do with our operations. he pays us, and backs us up with plenty of cash if we get into trouble; but he keeps dark, you understand." "the master ought to be hung for his abolitionism!" said gad, by way of self-excuse for being made a jealous man's tool. "that ar's jest my sentiment," replied silas. "but then he's allus been a peaceable sort of chap, and held his tongue; so he might have been let alone some time yet, if it hadn't been for----what in time!" ropes started, and changed color, glancing first at gad, then down at the chest. "he's in it!" whispered gad. both jumped up, and, facing about, looked at the green lid, and at each other. the chest was so small it had not occurred to them that a man could get into it. lysander had got into it, however, and there he lay, so cramped, and stifled, and compressed, that he could not endure the torture without an effort to ease it by moving a little. he had stirred; then all was still again. "think he's heerd us?" said silas. "must have heerd something," said gad. "then he's as good as a dead man!" silas drew his pistol, resolved to sacrifice the schoolmaster on the altar of secrecy. but as he was about to fire into the chest at a venture (for your cowardly assassin does not like to face his victim), the lid flew open, the chivalry stepped hastily back, and up rose out of the chest--not the schoolmaster, but--lysander sprowl. silas had struck his head against a rafter, and was quite bewildered for a moment by the shock, the multitude of meteors that rushed across his firmament, and the sudden apparition. gad, at the same time, stood ready to take a plunge down the stairs in case the schoolmaster should show fight. "gentlemen," said the "wanderer on the face of the 'arth," straightening his limbs, and saluting with a reckless air, "i hope i see ye well. never mind about shooting an old friend, sile ropes. i reckon we're about even; and i'll keep your secret, if you'll keep mine." "that's fair," said ropes, recovering from the falling stars, and putting up his weapon. "lysander, how are ye? good joke, ain't it?" and they shook hands all around. "but whar's the schoolmaster?" and silas rubbed his head. "i know all about the schoolmaster," said lysander, stepping out of the chest; "he ain't in this house, but i know just where he is. and i reckon 'twill be for the interest of me and gus bythewood if we can have a little talk together, tell him. if he's got money to spare, that'll be to my advantage; and what i know will be to his advantage." so saying, lysander closed the chest, and coolly invited the chivalry to resume their seats. they did so, much to the amazement of mrs. sprowl, who came up stairs with the whiskey, and found the "wanderer on the face of the 'arth" conversing in the most amicable manner with gad and silas. xi. _southern hospitality._ if what silas ropes had said of his patron, augustus bythewood, was true, great must have been the chagrin of that chivalrous young gentleman when an interview was brought about between him and lysander, and he learned that penn, instead of being driven from the state, had found refuge in the family of mr. villars--that he was there even at the moment when he made his delightful little evening call, and was entertained so charmingly by virginia. bythewood gave sprowl money, and sprowl gave bythewood information and advice. it was in accordance with the programme decided upon by these two worthies, that mr. ropes at the head of his gang presented himself the next night at mr. villars's door. virginia, by her father's direction, admitted them. they crowded into the sitting-room, where the old man rose to receive them, with his usual urbanity. "virginia, have chairs brought for all our friends. i cannot see to recognize them individually, but i salute them all." "no matter about the cheers," said silas. "we can do our business standing. sorry to trouble you with it, sir, but it's jest this. we understand you're harboring a yankee abolitionist, and we've called to remind you that sech things can't be allowed in a well-regulated community." the old man, holding himself still erect with punctilious politeness,--for his guests were not seated,--and smiling with grand and venerable aspect, made reply in tones full of dignity and sweetness: "my friends, i am an old man; i am a native of virginia, and a citizen of tennessee; and all my life long i have been accustomed to regard the laws of hospitality as sacred." "my sentiments exactly. i won't hear a word said agin' southern horsepitality, or southern perliteness." mr. ropes illustrated his remark by spitting copious tobacco-juice on the floor. "horsepitality i look upon as one of the stable institootions of our country." "no doubt it is so," said mr. villars, smiling at the unintentional pun. "that's one thing," added silas; "but harboring a abolitionist is another. that's the question we've jest took the liberty to call and have a little quiet talk about, to-night." "sit down, dear father, do!" entreated virginia, remaining at his side in spite of her dread and abhorrence of these men. holding his hand, and regarding him with pale and anxious looks, she endeavored with gentle force to get him into his chair. "my father is very feeble," she said, appealing to silas, "and i beg you will have some consideration for him." "sartin, sartin," said silas. "keep yer settin', keep yer settin', mr. villars." but the old man still remained upon his feet,--his tall, spare form, bent with age, his long, thin locks of white hair, and his wan, sightless, calm, and beautiful countenance presenting a wonderful contrast to the blooming figure at his side. it was a picture which might well command the respectful attention of silas and his compeers. "my friends," he said, with a grave smile, "we men of the south are rather boastful of our hospitality. but true hospitality consists in something besides eating and drinking with those whose companionship is a sufficient recompense for all that we do for them. it clothes the naked, feeds the hungry, shelters the distressed. with the arabs, even an enemy is sacred who happens to be a guest. shall an old virginian think less of the honor of his house than an arab?" silas looked abashed, silenced for a moment by these noble words, and the venerable and majestic mien of the blind old clergyman. it would not do, however, to give up his mission so; and after coughing, turning his quid, and spitting again, he replied,-"that'll do very well to talk, mr. villars. but come to the pint. you've got a yankee abolitionist in your house--that you won't deny." "i have in my house," said the old man, "a person whose life is in danger from injuries received at your hands last night. he came to us in a condition which, i should have thought, would excite the pity of the hardest heart. whether or not he is a yankee abolitionist, i never inquired. it was enough for me that he was a fellow-creature in distress. he is well known in this community, where he has never been guilty of wrong towards any one; and, even if he were a dangerous person, he is not now in a condition to do mischief. gentlemen, my guest is very ill with a fever." "can't help that; you must git red of him," said silas. "i'm a talking now for your own good as much as any body's, mr. villars. you're a man we all respect; but already you've made yourself a object of suspicion, by standing up fur the old rotten union." "when i can no longer befriend my guests, or stand up for my country, then i shall have lived long enough!" said the old man, with impressive earnestness. "the old union," said gad, coming to the aid of silas, "is played out. we couldn't have our rights, and so we secede." "what rights couldn't you have under the government left to us by washington?" "that had become corrupted," said mr. ropes. "how corrupted, my friend?" "by the infernal anti-slavery element!" "you forget," said mr. villars, "that washington, jefferson, and indeed all the wisest and best men who assisted to frame the government under which we have been so prospered, were anti-slavery men." "wal, i know, some on 'em hadn't got enlightened on the subject," mr. ropes admitted. "and do you know that if a stranger, endowed with all the virtues of those patriots, should come among you and preach the political doctrines of washington and jefferson, you would serve him as you served penn hapgood last night?" "shouldn't wonder the least mite if we should!" silas grinned. "but that's nothing to the purpose. we claim the right to carry our slaves into the territories, and lincoln's party is pledged to keep 'em out, and that's cause enough for secession." "how many slaves do you own, mr. ropes?" mr. villars, still leaning on his daughter's arm, smiled as he put this mild question. "i--wal--truth is, i don't own nary slave myself--wish i did!" said silas. "how many friends have you with you?" "'lev'n," said gad, rapidly counting his companions. "well, of the eleven, how many own slaves?" "i do!" "i do!" spoke up two eager voices. "how many slaves do you own?" "i've got as right smart a little nigger boy as there is anywheres in tennessee!" said the first, proudly. "how old is he?" "he'll be nine year' old next grass, i reckon." "well, how many negroes has your friend?" "i've got one old woman, sir." "how old is she?" "wal, plaguy nigh a hunderd,--old bess, you know her." "yes, i know old bess; and an excellent creature she is. so it seems that you eleven men own two slaves. and these you wish to take into some of the territories, i suppose." the men looked foolish, and were obliged to own that they had never dreamed of conveying either the nine-year-old lad or the female centenarian out of the state of tennessee. "then what is the grievance you complain of?" asked the old man. they could not name any. "o, now, my friends, look you here! i believe in the right of revolution when a government oppresses a people beyond endurance. but in this case it appears, by your own showing, that not one of you has suffered any wrong, and that this is not a revolution in behalf of the poor and oppressed. if anybody is to be benefited by it, it is a few rich owners of slaves, who are prosperous enough already, and have really no cause of complaint. it is a revolution precipitated by political leaders, who wish to be rulers; and what grieves me at the heart is, that the poor and ignorant are thus permitting themselves to be made the tools of this tyranny, which will soon prove more despotic than it was possible for the dear old government ever to become. god bless my country! god bless my poor distracted country!" as he finished speaking, the old man sank down overcome with emotion upon his chair, clasping his daughter's hand, while tears ran down his cheeks. his argument was so unanswerable that nothing was left for silas but to get angry. "i see you're not only a unionist, but more'n half a yankee abolitionist yourself! we didn't come here to listen to any sech incendiary talk. kick out the schoolmaster, if you wouldn't git into trouble,--i warn you! that's the business we've come to see to, and you must tend to't." "pity him--spare him!" cried virginia, shielding her aged father as ropes approached him. "he cannot turn a sick man out of his house, you know he cannot!" "you're partic'larly interested in the young man, hey?" said ropes, grinning insolently. "i am interested that no harm comes either to my father or to his guests," said the girl. "go, i implore you! as soon as mr. hapgood is able to leave us, he will do so,--he will have no wish to stay,--this i promise you." "i'll give him three days to quit the country," said silas. "only three days. he'd better be dead than found here at the end of that time. gentlemen, we've performed this yer painful dooty; now le's adjourn to barber jim's and take a drink." with these words mr. ropes retired. while, however, he was treating his men to whiskey and cigars with augustus bythewood's money, advanced for the purpose, one of the eleven, separating himself from the rest, hurried back to the minister's house. he had taken part in the patriotic proceedings of his friends with great reluctance, as appeared from the manner in which he shrank from view in corners and behind the backs of his comrades, and drew down his woe-begone mouth, and rolled up his dismal eyes, during the entire interview. and he had returned now, at the risk of his life, to do penn a service. he crept to the kitchen door, and knocked softly. carl opened it. there stood the wretched figure, terrified, panting for breath. "vat is it?" said carl. "i've come fur to tell ye!" said the man, glancing timidly around into the darkness to see if he was followed. "they mean to kill him! they told you they'd give him three days, but they won't. i heard them saying so among themselves. they may be back this very night, for they'll all git drunk, and nothing will stop 'em then." carl stared, as these hoarsely whispered words were poured forth rapidly by the frightened man at the door. "come in, and shpeak to mishter willars." "no, no! i'll be killed if i'm found here!" but carl, sturdy and resolute, had no idea of permitting him to deliver so hasty and alarming a message without subjecting him to a cross-examination. he had already got him by the collar, and now he dragged him into the house, the man not daring to resist for fear of outcry and exposure. "what is it?" asked mr. villars. "a wisitor!" said carl. and he repeated dan's statement, while dan was recovering his breath. "is this true, mr. pepperill?" asked the old man, deeply concerned. "yes, i be durned if it ain't!" said dan. virginia clung to her father's chair, white with apprehension. toby was also present, having left his patient an instant to run down stairs, and learn what was the cause of this fresh disturbance. "he's a lyin' to ye, mass' villars; he's a lyin' to ye! white trash can't tell de troof if dey tries! don't ye breeve a word he says, massa." yet it was evident from the consternation the old negro's face betrayed that he believed dan's story,--or at least feared it would prove true if he did not make haste and deny it stoutly; for toby, like many persons with whiter skins, always felt on such occasions a vague faith that if he could get the bad news sufficiently denounced and discredited in season, all would be well. as if simply setting our minds against the truth would defeat it! "but they spoke of fittin' yer neck to a noose too!" "mine? ah, if nobody but myself was in danger, i should be well content! what do you think we ought to do, mr. pepperill?" "the master has done me a good turn, and i'll do him one, if i swing fur't!" said dan, straightening himself with sudden courage. "get him out 'fore they suspect what you're at, and i'll take him to my house and hide him, i be durned if i won't!" "it is a kind offer, and i thank you," said the old man. "but how can i resolve to send a guest from my house in this way? not to save my own life would i do it!" "but to save his, father!" "it is only of him i am thinking, my child. would it be safe to move him, toby?" "safe to move massa penn!" ejaculated the old negro, choking with wrath and grief. "neber tink o' sech a ting, massa! he'd die, shore, widout i should go 'long wid him, and tote him in my ol' arms on a fedder-bed jes' like i would a leetle baby, and den stay and nuss him arter i got him dar. for dem 'ar white trash, what ye s'pose day knows 'bout takin' keer ob a sick gemman like him? it's a bery 'tic'lar case. he's got de delirimum a comin' on him now, and i can't be away from him a minute. i mus' go back to him dis bery minute!" and toby departed, having suddenly conceived an idea of his own for hiding penn in the barn until the danger was over. he had been absent from the room but a moment, however, when those remaining in it heard a wild outcry, and presently the old negro reappeared, inspired with superstitious terror, his eyes starting from their sockets, his tongue paralyzed. "what's the matter, toby?" cried virginia, perceiving that something really alarming had happened. the negro tried to speak, but his throat only gurgled incoherently, while the whites of his eyes kept rolling up like saucers. "penn--has anything happened to penn?" said mr. villars. "o, debil, debil, lord bress us!" gibbered toby. "dead?" cried virginia. "gone! gone, missis!" struck with consternation, but refusing to believe the words of the bewildered black, virginia flew to the sick man's chamber. then she understood the full meaning of toby's words. penn was not in his bed, nor in the room, nor anywhere in the house. he had disappeared suddenly, strangely, totally. xii. _chivalrous proceedings._ thus the question of what should be done with his guest, which mr. villars knew not how to decide, had been decided for him. great was the mystery. there was the bed precisely as penn had left it a minute since. there was the candle dimly burning. the medicines remained just where toby had placed them, on the table under the mirror. but the patient had vanished. what had become of him? it was believed that he was too ill to leave his bed without assistance. and, even though he had been strong, it was by no means probable that one so uniformly discreet in his conduct, and ever so regardful of the feelings of others, would have quitted the house in this abrupt and inexplicable manner. in vain the premises were searched. not a trace of him could be anywhere discovered. neither were there any indications of a struggle. yet it was toby's firm conviction that the ruffians had entered the house, and seized him; that pepperill was in the plot, the object of whose visit was merely a diversion, while ropes and the rest accomplished the abduction. this could not, of course, have been done without the aid of magic and the devil; but toby believed in magic and the devil. the fact that dan had taken advantage of the confusion to escape, appeared to the ethiopian mind conclusive. nor was the negro alone in his bewilderment. carl was utterly confounded. the old clergyman, usually so calm, was deeply troubled; while virginia herself, pierced with the keenest solicitude, could scarce keep her mind free from horrible and superstitious doubts. the doors between the sitting-room and back stairs were all wide open, and it seemed impossible that any one could have come in or gone out that way without being observed. on the other hand, to have reached the front stairs penn must have passed through salina's room. but salina, who was in her room at the time, averred that she had not been disturbed, even by a sound. "he has got out the vinder," said carl. but the window was fifteen feet from the ground. thus all reasonable conjecture failed, and it seemed necessary to accept toby's theory of the ruffians, magic, and the devil. only one thing was certain: penn was gone. and, as if to add to the extreme and painful perplexity of his friends, the clothes, which had been stripped from him by the lynchers, which he had brought away in his hands, and which had been hung up in his room by toby, were left hanging there still, untouched. the family had not recovered from the dismay his disappearance occasioned, when they had cause to rejoice that he was gone. ropes and his crew returned, as pepperill had predicted. they were intoxicated and bloodthirsty. they had brought a rope, with which to hang their victim before the old clergyman's door. they were furious on finding he had eluded them, and searched the house with oaths and uproar. virginia, on her knees, clung to her father, praying that he might not be harmed, and that penn, whom all had been so anxious just now to find, might be safe from discovery. exasperated by their unsuccessful search, the villains hesitated about laying violent hands on the blind old man, and concluded to wreak their vengeance on toby. that he was a freed negro, was alone a sufficient offence in their eyes to merit a whipping. but he had done more; he had been devoted to the schoolmaster, and they believed he had concealed him. so they seized him, dragged him from the house, bared his back, and tied him to a tree. as long as the mob had confined itself to searching the premises, mr. villars had held his peace. but the moment his faithful old servant was in danger, he roused himself. he rushed to the door, bareheaded, his white hair flowing, his staff in his hand. both his children accompanied him,--salina, who was really not void of affection, appearing scarcely less anxious and indignant than her sister. there, in the light of a wood-pile to which fire had been set, stood the old negro, naked to the waist, lashed fast to the trunk, writhing with pain and terror; his brutal tormentors grouped around him in the glare of the flames, preparing, with laughter, oaths, and much loose, leisurely swaggering, to flay his flesh with rods. "my friends!" cried the old clergyman, with an energy that startled them, "what are you about to do?" "we're gwine to sarve this nigger," said the man gad, "jest as every free nigger'll git sarved that's found in the state three months from now." "free niggers is a nuisance," added ropes, now very drunk, and very much inclined to make a speech on a barrel which his friends rolled out for him. "a nuisance!" he repeated, with a hiccough, steadying himself on his rostrum by holding a branch of the tree. "and let me say to you, feller-patriots, that one of the glorious fruits of secession is, that every free nigger in the state will either be sold for a slave, or druv out, or hung up. i tell you, gentlemen, we're a goin' to have our own way in these matters, spite of all the ministers in creation!" the men cheered, and one of them struck toby a couple of preliminary blows, just to try his hand, and to add the poor old negro's howls to the chorus. "no doubt,"--the old clergyman's voice rose above the tumult,--"you will have your way for a season. you will commit injustice with a high hand. you will glut your cruelty upon the defenceless and oppressed. but, as there is a god in heaven,"--he lifted up his blind white face, and with his trembling hands shook his staff on high, like a prophet foretelling woe,--"as there is a god of justice and mercy who beholds this wickedness,--just so sure the hour of your retribution will come! so sure the treason you are breathing, and the despotism you are inaugurating, will prove a snare and a destruction to yourselves! unbind that man! leave my house in peace! go home, and learn to practise a little of the mercy of which you will yourselves soon stand in need." his venerable aspect, and the power and authority of his words, awed even that drunken crew. but silas, vain of his oratorical powers, was enraged that anybody should dispute his influence with the crowd. holding the branch with one hand, and gesticulating violently with the other, he exclaimed,-"who is boss here? who ye goin' to mind? that old traitor, or me? i say, lick the nigger! we're a goin' to have our way now, and we're a goin' to have our way to the end of the 'arth, sure as i am a gentleman standing on this yer barrel!" to emphasize his declaration, he stamped with his foot; the head of the cask flew in, and down went orator, cask, and all, in a fashion rendered all the more ridiculous by the climax of oratory it illustrated. "just so sure will your hollow and inhuman schemes fail from under your feet!" exclaimed mr. villars, as soon as he learned what had happened. "so surely and so suddenly will you fall." this incident occurred as toby's flogging was about to begin in earnest. virginia had instinctively covered her eyes to shut out the terrible sight, her ears to shut out the sounds of the beating and the poor old fellow's groans. luckily, silas had fallen partly in the barrel, and partly across the sharp edge of it, and being too tipsy to help himself, had been seriously hurt, and was now helpless. the ruffians hastened to extricate him, and raise him up. carl, who, with an open knife concealed in his sleeve, had been waiting for an opportunity, darted at the tree, cut the negro's bonds in a twinkling, and set him free. both took to their heels without an instant's delay. but the trick was discovered. they were pursued immediately. carl was lively on his legs, as we know; but poor old toby, never a good runner, and now stiff and decrepit with age, was no match even for the slowest of their pursuers. they ran straight into the orchard, hoping to lose themselves among the shadows. the glare of the burning wood-pile flickered but faintly and unsteadily among the trees. carl might easily have escaped; but he thought only of toby, and kept faithfully at his side, assisting him, urging him. a fence was near--if they could only reach that! but toby was wheezing terribly, and the hand of the foremost ruffian was already extended to seize him. "jump the vence over!" was carl's parting injunction to the old negro, who made a last desperate effort to accomplish the feat; while carl, turning sharp about, tripped the foot of him of the extended hand, and sent him headlong. the second pursuer he grappled, and both rolled upon the ground together. favored by this diversion, toby reached the fence, climbed it, and without looking how, he leaped, jumped down upon--a human figure, stretched there upon the ground! notwithstanding his own danger, toby thought of his patient, and stopped. "is it you, massa?" the man rose slowly to his feet. it was not penn; it was, on the contrary, the worst of penn's enemies, who had stationed himself here, in order to observe, unseen, and from a safe distance, the operations of silas ropes and his band of patriots. "o, massa bythewood!" ejaculated toby, inspired with sudden joy and hope; "help a poor old niggah! help! de villarses will remember it ob ye de longest day you live, if you on'y will." "why, what's the matter, toby?" said augustus, full of rage at having been thus discovered, yet assuming a gracious and patronizing manner. toby did not make a very coherent reply; but probably the young gentleman was already sufficiently aware of what was going on. he had no especial regard for toby, yet his credit with virginia and her father was to be sustained. and so toby was saved. augustus met and rebuked his pursuers, released carl, who was suffering at the hands of his antagonist, and led the way back to the house. there he expressed to mr. villars and his daughters the utmost regret and indignation for what had occurred, and took mr. ropes aside to remonstrate with him for such violent proceedings. his influence over that fallen orator was extraordinary. ropes excused himself on the plea of his patriotic zeal, and called off his men. "how fortunate," said augustus, conducting the old man, with an excessive show of deference and politeness, back into the sitting-room,--"how extremely fortunate that i happened to be walking this way! i trust no serious harm has been done, my dear virginia?" bythewood no doubt thought himself entitled to use this affectionate term, after the service he had rendered the family. after he was gone, toby, having recovered from his fright and the fatigue of running, and got his clothes on again, rushed into the presence of his master and the young ladies. "i've seed mass' penn!" he said. "arter bythewood done got up from under de fence whar i jumped on him, i seed anoder man a crawlin' away on his hands and knees jest a little ways off. 'twas mass' penn! i know 'twas mass' penn." but toby was mistaken. the second figure he had seen was mr. lysander sprowl, now the confidential adviser and secret companion of augustus. xiii. _the old clergyman's nightgown has an adventure._ where, then, all this time, was penn? he was himself almost as profoundly ignorant on that subject as anybody. for two or three hours he had been lost to himself no less than to his friends. when he recovered his consciousness he found that he was lying on the ground, in the open air, in what seemed a barren field, covered with rocks and stunted shrubs. how he came there he did not know. he had nothing on but his night-dress,--a loan from the old clergyman,--besides a blanket wrapped about him. his feet were bare, and he now perceived that they were painfully aching. almost too weak to lift a hand to his head, he yet tried to sit up and look around him. all was darkness; not a sign of human habitation, not a twinkling light was visible. the cold night wind swept over him, sighing drearily among the leafless bushes. chilled, shivering, his temples throbbing, his brain sick and giddy, he sat down again upon the rocks, so ill and suffering that he could scarcely feel astonishment at his situation, or care whether he lived or died. where had he been during those hours of oblivion? he seemed to have slept, and to have had terrible dreams. could he have remembered these dreams, it seemed to him that the whole mystery of his removal to this desolate spot would be explained. and he knew that it required but an effort of his will to remember them. but his soul was too weak: he could not make the effort. to get upon his feet and walk was impossible. what, then, was left him but to perish here, alone, uncared for, unconsoled by a word of love from any human being? death he would have welcomed as a relief from his sufferings. yet when he thought of his home far away, in the peaceful community of friends, of his parents and sisters now anxiously expecting his return,--and again when he remembered the hospitable roof under which he lay, so tenderly nursed, but a little while ago, and thought of the blind old clergyman, of virginia fresh as a rose, of kind-hearted carl, and the affectionate old negro,--he was stung with the desire to live, and he called feebly,-"toby! toby!" was his cry heard? surely, there were footsteps on the rocks! and was not that a human form moving dimly between him and the sky? it passed on, and was lost in the shadows of the pines. was it some animal, or only a phantom of his feverish brain? "toby!" he called again, exerting all his force. but only the wailing wind answered him, and, overcome by the effort, he sunk into a swoon. in that swoon it seemed to him that toby had heard his voice, and that he came to him. hands, gentle human hands, groped on him, felt the blanket, felt his bare feet, and his head, pillowed on stones. then there seemed to be two tobys, one good and the other evil, holding a strange consultation over him, which he heard as in a dream. "we can't leave him dying here!" said the good toby. "what dat to me, if him die, or whar him die?" said the other toby. "straight har!" he seemed to be feeling penn's locks, in order to ascertain to which race he belonged. "dat's nuff fur me! lef him be, i tell ye, and come 'long!" "straight hair or curly, it's all the same," said toby the good. "take hold here; we must save him!" "hyah-yah! ye don't cotch dis niggah!" chuckled toby the bad, maliciously. "nuff more ob his kind, in all conscience! reckon we kin spar' much as one! hyah-yah!" something like a quarrel ensued, the result of which was, that toby the good finally prevailed upon toby the malevolent to assist him. then penn was dreamily aware of being lifted in the strong arms of this double individual, and borne away, over rocks, and among thickets, along the mountain side; until even this misty ray of consciousness deserted him, and he fell into a stupor like death. and what was this he saw on awaking? had he really died, and was this unearthly place a vestibule of the infernal regions? days and nights of anguish, burning, and delirium, relieved at intervals by the same death-like stupor, had passed over him; and here he lay at length, exhausted, the terrible fever conquered, and his soul looking feebly forth and taking note of things. and strange enough things appeared to him! he was in an apartment of prodigious and uncouth architecture, dimly lighted from one side by some opening invisible to him, and by a blazing fire in a little fireplace built on the broad stone floor. the fireplace was without chimney, but a steady draught of air, from the side where the opening seemed to be, swept the smoke away into sombre recesses, where it mingled with the shadows of the place, and was lost in gloom which even the glare of the flames failed to illumine. such a cavernous room penn seemed to have seen in his dreams. the same irregular, rocky roof started up from the wall by his bed, and stretched away into vague and obscure distance. all was familiar to him, but all was somehow mixed up with frightful fantasies which had vanished with the fever that had so recently left him. the awful shapes, the struggles of demoniac men, the processions of strange and beautiful forms, which had visited him in his delirious visions,--all these were airy nothings; but the cave was real. here he lay, on a rude bed constructed of four logs, forming the ends and sides, with canvas stretched across them, and secured with nails. under him was a mattress of moss, over him a blanket like that which he remembered to have had wrapped about him last night in the field. last night! poor penn was deeply perplexed when he endeavored to remember whether his mysterious awaking in the open air occurred last night, or many nights ago. he moved his head feebly to look for toby. which toby? for all through his sufferings the same two tobys, one good and the other evil, who had taken him from the field, had appeared still to attend him, and he now more than half expected to see the faithful old negro duplicated, and waiting upon him with two bodies and four hands. but neither the better nor even the worse half of that double being was near him now. penn was alone, in that subterranean solitude. there burned the fire, the shadows flickered, the smoke floated away into the depths of the dark cavern, in such loneliness and silence as he had never experienced before. he would have thought himself in some grotto of the gnomes, or some awful cell of enchantment, whose supernatural fire never went out, and whose smoke rolled away into darkness the same perpetually,--but for the sound of the crackling flames, and the sight of piles of wood on the floor, so strongly suggestive of human agency. on one side was what appeared to be an artificial chamber built of stones, its door open towards the fire. ranged about the cave, in something like regular order, were several massy blocks of different sizes, like the stools of a family of giants. but where were the giants? ah, here came toby at last, or, at any rate, the twin of him. he approached from the side where the daylight shone, bearing an armful of sticks, and whistling a low tune. with his broad back turned towards penn, he crouched before the fire, which he poked and scolded with malicious energy, his grotesque and gigantic shadow projected on the wall of the cave. "burn, ye debil! k-r-r-r! sputter! snap! git mad, why don't ye?" then throwing himself back upon a heap of skins, with his heels at the fire, and his long arms swinging over his head, in a savage and picturesque attitude, he burst into a shout, like the cry of a wild beast. this he repeated several times, appearing to take delight in hearing the echoes resound through the cavern. then he began to sing, keeping time with his feet, and pausing after each strain of his wild melody to hear it die away in the hollow depths of the cave. "de glory ob de lord, it am comin', it am comin', de glory ob de lord, let it come! de angel ob de lord, hear his trumpet, hear his trumpet, de angel ob de lord, he ar come!" at the last words, "_he ar come!_" a shadow darkened the entrance, and penn looked, almost expecting to see a literal fulfilment of the prophecy. a form of imposing stature appeared. it was that of a negro upwards of six feet in height, magnificently proportioned, straight as a pillar, and black as ebony. he wore a dress of skins, carried a gun in his hand, and had an opossum slung over his shoulder. "hush your noise!" he said to the singer, in a tone of authority. "haven't i told you not to _wake him_?" "no fear o' dat!" chuckled the other. "him's past dat! ki! how fat he ar!" seizing the opossum, and beginning to dress him on the spot. "past waking! i tell you he's asleep, and every thing depends on his waking up right. but you set up a howl that would disturb the dead!" "howl! dat's what ye call singin'; me singin', pomp." "well, keep your singing to yourself till he is able to stand it, you unfeeling, ungrateful fellow!" "what dat ye call dis nigger?" cried the singer, jumping up in a passion, with his blood-stained knife in his hand. "ongrateful! say dat ar agin, will ye?" "yes, cudjo, as often as you please," said pomp, calmly placing his gun in the artificial chamber. "you are an unfeeling, ungrateful fellow." he turned, and stood regarding him with a proud, lofty, compassionating smile. cudjo's anger cooled at once. penn had already recognized in them the twin tobys of his dreams. and what a contrast between the two! there was toby the good, otherwise called pomp, dignified, erect, of noble features; while before him cringed and grimaced toby the malign, alias cudjo, ugly, deformed, with immensely long arms, short bow legs resembling a parenthesis, a body like a frog's, and the countenance of an ape. "you know," said pomp, "you would have left this man to die there on the rocks, if it hadn't been for me." "gorry! why not?" said cudjo. "what's use ob all dis trouble on his 'count?" "he has had trouble enough on our account," said pomp. "on our 'count? hiyah-yah!" laughed cudjo, getting down on his knees over the opossum; "how ye make dat out, by?" "pay attention, cudjo, while i tell ye," said pomp, stooping, and laying his finger on the deformed shoulder. cudjo looked up, with his hands and knife still in the opossum's flesh. "this is the way of it, as i heard last night from pepperill himself, who got into trouble, as you know, by befriending old pete after his licking. and you know, don't you, how pete came by his licking?" "bein' out nights, totin' our meal and taters to de mountains,--dough i reckon de patrol didn't know nuffin' 'bout dat ar, or him wouldn't got off so easy!" said cudjo. "well, it was by befriending pepperill, who had befriended pete, who brings us meal and potatoes, that this man got the ill will of those villains. do you understand?" "say 'em over agin, pomp. how, now? lef me see! dat ar's old pete," sticking up a finger to represent him. "dat ar's pepperill," sticking up a thumb. "now, yonder is dis yer man, and here am we. now, how is it, pomp?" pomp repeated his statement, and cudjo, pointing to his long, black finger when pete was alluded to, and tapping his thumb when pepperill was mentioned, succeeded in understanding that it was indirectly in consequence of kindness shown to himself that penn had come to grief. "dat so, pomp?" he said, seriously, in a changed voice. "den 'pears like dar's two white men me don't wish dead as dis yer possom! pepperills one, and him's tudder." pomp, having made this explanation, walked softly to the bedside. he had not before perceived that penn, lying so still there, was awake. his features lighted up with intelligence and sympathy on making the discovery, and finding him free from feverish symptoms. "well, how are you getting on, sir?" he said, feeling penn's pulse, and seating himself on one of the giant's stools near the bedstead. "where am i?" was penn's first anxious question. "i fancy you don't know very well where you are, sir," said the negro, with a smile; "and you don't know me either, do you?" "i think--you are my preserver--are you not?" "that's a subject we will not talk about just now, sir; for you must keep very quiet." "i know," said penn, not to be put off so, "i owe my life to you!" "dat's so! dat ar am a fac'!" cried cudjo, approaching, and wrapping the warm opossum skin about his naked arm as he spoke. "gorry! me sech a brute, me war for leavin' ye dar in de lot. but, pomp, him wouldn't; so we toted you hyar, and him's doctored you right smart eber sence. he ar a great doctor, pomp ar! yah!" and cudjo laughed, showing two tremendous rows of ivory glittering from ear to ear; capering, swinging the opossum skin over his head, and, on the whole, looking far more like a demon of the cave than a human being. "go about your business, cudjo!" said pomp. "you mustn't mind his freaks, sir," turning to penn. "you are a great deal better; and now, if you will only remain quiet and easy in your mind, there's no doubt but you will get along." many questions concerning himself and his friends came crowding to penn's lips; but the negro, with firm and gentle authority, silenced him. "by and by, sir, i will tell you everything you wish to know. but you must rest now, while i see to making you a suitable broth." and nothing was left for penn but to obey. xiv. _a man's story._ three days longer penn lay there on his rude bed in the cave, helpless still, and still in ignorance. pomp repeatedly assured him that all was well, and that he had no cause for anxiety, but refused to enlighten him. the negro's demeanor was well calculated to inspire calmness and trust. there was something truly grand and majestic, not only in his person, but in his character also. he was a superb man. penn was never weary of watching him. he thought him the most perfect specimen of a gentleman he had ever seen; always cheerful, always courteous, always comporting himself with the ease of an equal in the presence of his guest. his strength was enormous. he lifted penn in his arms as if he had been an infant. but his grace was no less than his vigor. he was, in short, a lion of a man. cudjo was more like an ape. his gibberings, his grimaces, his antics, his delight in mischief, excited in the mind of the convalescent almost as much surprise as the other's princely deportment. for hours together he would lie watching those two wonderfully contrasted beings. petulant and malicious as cudjo appeared, he was completely under the control of his noble companion, who would often stand looking down at his tricks and deformity, with composedly folded arms and an air of patient indulgence and compassion beautiful to witness. meanwhile penn gradually regained his strength, so that on the fourth day pomp permitted him to talk a little. "tell me first about my friends," said penn. "are they well? do they know where i am?" "i hope not, sir," said the negro, with a significant smile, seating himself on the giant's stool. "i trust that no one knows where you are." "what, then, must they think?" said penn. "how did i leave them?" "that is what they are very much perplexed to find out, sir." "you have heard from them, then?" "o, yes; we have a way of getting news of people down there. toby has nearly gone distracted on your account. he is positive that you are dead, for he believes you could never have got well out of his hands." "and miss--mr. villars----?" "they have been so much disturbed about you, that i would have been glad to inform them of your safety, if i could. but not even they must know of this place." "where am i, then?" "you are, as you perceive, in a cave. but i suppose you know so little how you came here that you would find some difficulty in tracing your way to us again?" this was spoken interrogatively, with an intelligent smile. "i am so ignorant of the place," said penn, "that it may be in the planet mars, for aught i know." "that is well! now, sir," continued the negro, "since you have several times expressed your obligations to us for preserving your life, i wish to ask one favor in return. it is this. you are welcome to remain here as long as you find your stay beneficial; but when you conclude to go, we desire the privilege of conducting you away. that is not an unreasonable request?" "far from it. and i pledge you my word to make no movement without your sanction, and to keep your secret sacredly. but tell me--will you not?--how you came to inhabit this dreadful place?" "dreadful? there are worse places, my friend, than this. is it gloomy? the house of bondage is gloomier. is it damp? it is not with the cruel sweat and blood of the slave's brow and back. is it cold? the hearts of our tyrants are colder." "i understand you," said penn, whose suspicion was thus confirmed that these men were fugitives. "and i am deeply interested in you. how long have you lived here?" "would you like to hear something of my story?" said the negro, the expression of his eyes growing deep and stern,--his black, closely curling beard stirring with a proud smile that curved his lips. "perhaps it will amuse you." "amuse me? no!" said penn. "i know by your looks that it will not amuse: it will absorb me!" "well, then," said pomp, bearing his head upon his massy and flexible neck of polished ebony like a king, yet speaking in tones very gentle and low,--and he had a most mellow, musical, deep voice,--"you are talking with one who was born a slave." "you know what i think of that!" said penn. "even such a birth could not debase the manhood of one like you." "it might have done so under different circumstances. but i was so fortunate as to be brought up by a young master who was only too kind and indulgent to me, considering my station. we were playmates when children; and we were scarcely less intimate when we had both grown up to be men. he went to paris to study medicine, and took me with him. i passed for his body servant, but i was rather his friend. he never took any important step in life without consulting me; and i am happy to know," added pomp, with grand simplicity, "that my counsel was always good. he acknowledged as much on his death-bed. 'if i had taken your advice oftener,' said he, 'it would have been better for me. i always meant to reward you. you are to have your freedom--your freedom, my dear boy!'" the negro knitted his brows, his breath came thick, and there was a strange moisture in his eye. "i loved my master," he continued, with simple pathos. "and when i saw him troubled on my account, when he ought to have been thinking of his own soul, i begged him not to let a thought of me give him any uneasiness. my free papers had not been made out, and he was for sending at once for a notary. but his younger brother was with him--he who was to be his heir. 'don't vex yourself about pomp, edwin,' said he. 'i will see that justice is done him.' "'ah, thank you, brother!' said edwin. 'you will set him free, and give him a few hundred dollars to begin life with. promise that, and i will rest in peace.' for you must know edwin had neither wife nor child, and i was the only person dependent on his bounty. he was not rich; he had spent a good part of his fortune abroad, and had but recently established himself in a successful practice in montgomery. yet he left enough so that his brother could have well afforded to give me my freedom, and a thousand dollars." "and did he not promise to do so?" "he promised readily enough. and so my master died, and was buried, and i--had another master. for a few days nothing was said about free papers; and i had been too much absorbed in grief for the only man i loved to think much about them. but when the estate was settled up, and my new master was preparing to return to his home here in tennessee, i grew uneasy. "'master,' said i, taking off my hat to him one morning, 'there is nothing more i can do for him who is gone; so i am thinking i would like to be for myself now, if you please.' "'for yourself, you black rascal?' said my new master, laughing in my face. "i wasn't used to being spoken to in that way, and it cut. but i kept down that which swelled up in here"--pomp laid his hand on his heart--"and reminded him, respectfully as i could, of the doctor's last words about me, and of his promise. "'you fool!' said he, 'do you think i was in earnest?' "'if you were not,' said i, 'the doctor was.' "'and do you think,' said he, 'that i am to be bound by the last words of a man too far gone to know his own mind in the matter?' "'he always meant i should have my freedom,' i answered him, 'and always said so.' "'then why didn't he give it to you before, instead of requiring me to make such a sacrifice? come, come, pomp!' he patted my shoulder; 'you are altogether too valuable a nigger to throw away. why, people say you know almost as much about medicine as my brother did. you'll be an invaluable fellow to have on a plantation; you can doctor the field hands, and, may be, if you behave yourself, get a chance to prescribe for the family. come, my boy, you musn't get foolish ideas of freedom into your head; they're what spoil a nigger, and they'll have to be whipped out of you, which would be too bad for a fine, handsome darkey like you.' "he patted my shoulder again, and looked as pleasant and flattering as if i had been a child to be coaxed,--i, as much a man, every bit, as he!" said pomp, with a gleam of pride. "i could have torn him like a tiger for his insolence, his heartless injustice. but i repressed myself; i knew nothing was to be gained by violence. "'master,' said i, 'what you say is no doubt very flattering. but i want what my master gave me--what you promised that i should have--i shall be contented with nothing else.' "'what! you persist?' he said, kindling up. 'let me tell you now, pomp, once for all, you'll have to be contented with a good deal less; and never mention the word "freedom" to me again if you would keep that precious hide of yours whole!' "i saw he meant it, and that there was no help for me. despair and fury were in me. then, for the only time in my life, i felt what it was to wish to murder a man. i could have smitten the life out of that smiling, handsome face of his! thank god i was kept from that. i concealed what was burning within. then first i learned to pray,--i learned to trust in god. and so better thoughts came to me; and i said, 'if he uses me well, i will serve him; if not, i will run for my life.' "well, he brought me here to tennessee. here he was managing his aunt's estate, which she, soon dying, bequeathed to him. up to this time i had got on very well; but he never liked me; he often said i knew too much, and was too proud. he was determined to humiliate me; so one day he said to me, 'pomp, that nance has been acting ugly of late, and you permit her.' i was a sort of overseer, you see. 'now i'll tell you what i am going to have done. nance is going to be whipped, and you are the fellow that's going to whip her.' "'pardon, master,' said i, 'that's what i never did--to whip a woman.' "'then it's time for you to begin. i've had enough of your fine manners, pomp, and now you have got to come down a little.' "'i will do any thing you please to serve your interests, sir,' said i. 'but whip a woman i never can, and never will. that's so, master.' "'you villain!' he shouted, seizing a riding whip, 'i'll teach you to defy my authority to my face!' and he sprang at me, furious with rage. "'take care, sir!' i said, stepping back. ''twill be better for both of us for you not to strike me!' "'what! you threaten, you villain?' "'i do not threaten, sir; but i say what i say. it will be better for both of us. you will never strike me twice. i tell you that.' "i reckon he saw something dangerous in me, as i said this, for, instead of striking, he immediately called for help. 'sam! harry! nap! bind this devil! be quick!' "'they won't do it!' said i. 'woe to the man that lays a finger on me, be he master or be he slave!' "'i'll see about that!' said he, running into the house. he came out again in a minute with his rifle. i was standing there still, the boys all keeping a safe distance, not one daring to touch me. "'master,' said i, 'hear one word. i am perfectly willing to die. long enough you have robbed me of my liberty, and now you are welcome to what is less precious--my poor life. but for your own sake, for your dead brother's sake, let me warn you to beware what you do.' "i suppose the allusion to his injustice towards me maddened him. he levelled his piece, and pulled the trigger. luckily the percussion was damp,--or else i should not be talking with you now. his aim was straight at my head. i did not give him time for a second attempt. i was on him in an instant. i beat him down, i trampled him with rage. i snatched his gun from him, and lifted it to smash his skull. just then a voice cried, 'don't, pomp! don't kill master!' "it was nance, pleading for the man who would have had her whipped. i couldn't stand that. her mercy made me merciful. 'good by, boys!' i said. they were all standing around, motionless with terror. 'good by, nance! i am off; live or die, i quit this man's service forever!' "so i left him," said pomp, "and ran for the woods. i was soon ranging these mountains, free, a wild man whom not even their blood-hounds could catch. i took the gun with me--a good one: here it is." he removed the rifle from its crevice in the rocks. "do you know that name? it is that of its former owner--the man who called himself my master. do you think it was taking too much from one who would have robbed me of my soul?" he held the stock over the bed, so that penn could make out the lettering. delicately engraved on a surface of inlaid silver, was the well-known name,- "_augustus bythewood._" xv. _an anti-slavery document on black parchment._ penn was not surprised at this discovery. he had already recognized in pomp the hero of a story which he had heard before. "but all this happened before i came to tennessee, did it not? have you lived in this cave ever since?" "it is three years since i took to the mountains. but i have spent but a little of that time here. sometimes, for weeks together, i am away, tramping the hills, exploring the forests, sleeping on the ground in the open air, living on fish, game, and fruits. that is in the summer time. winters i burrow here." "if you are so independent in your movements, why have you never escaped to the north?" "would i be any better off there? does not the color of a negro's skin, even in your free states, render him an object of suspicion and hatred? what chance is there for a man like me?" "little--very true!" said penn, sadly, contemplating the form of the powerful and intelligent black, and thinking with indignation and shame of the prejudice which excludes men of his race from the privileges of free men, even in the free north. "these crags," said the african, "do not look scornfully upon me because of the color of my skin. the watercourses sing for me their gladdest songs, black as i am. and the serious trees seem to love me, even as i love them. it is a savage, lonely, but not unhappy life i lead--far better for a man like me than servitude here, or degradation at the north. i have one faithful human friend at least. cudjo, cunning and capricious as he seems, is capable of genuine devotion." "have you two been together long?" "one day, a few weeks after i took to the mountains, i was watching for an animal which i heard rustling the foliage of a tree that grows up out of a chasm. i held my gun ready to fire, when i perceived that my animal was something human. it climbed the tree, ran out on one of the branches, leaped, like a squirrel, to some bushes that grew in the wall of the chasm, and soon pulled itself up to the top. then i saw that it was a man--and a black man. he came towards the spot where i was concealed, sauntering along, chewing now and then a leaf, and muttering to himself; appearing as happy as a savage in his native woods, and perfectly unconscious of being observed. suddenly i rose up, levelling my gun. he uttered a yell of terror, and started to cast himself again into the chasm. but with a threat i prevented him, and he threw himself at my feet, begging me to grant him his life, and not to take him back to his master. "'who is your master?' said i. "'job coombs was my master,' said he, 'but i left him.' "'you are cudjo, then!' said i,--for i had heard of him. he ran away from a tolerably good master on account of unmercifully cruel treatment from the overseer. but as he had been frightfully cut up the night before he disappeared, it was generally believed he had crawled into a hole in the rocks somewhere, and died, and been eaten by buzzards. but it seems that he had been concealed and cured by an old slave on the plantation named pete." "coombs's pete!" exclaimed penn. "you have good cause to remember the name!" said pomp. "as soon as cudjo was well enough to tramp, he took to the mountains. it was a couple of years afterwards that i met him. we soon came to an understanding, and he conducted me to his cave. here he lived. he has always kept up a communication with some of his friends--especially with old pete, who often brings us provisions to a certain place, and supplies us with ammunition. we give him game and skins, which he disposes of when he can, generally to such men as pepperill. he was going to pepperill's house, after meeting cudjo, that night when the patrolmen discovered and whipped him. that led to pepperill's punishment, and that led to your being here." "does old pete visit you since?" "no, but he has sent us a message, and i have seen pepperill." "not here!" "nobody ever comes here, sir. we have a place where we meet our friends; and as for pepperill, i went to his house." "that was bold in you!" "bold?" the negro smiled. "what will you say then when i tell you i have been in bythewood's house, since i left him? i wanted my medicine-case, and the bullet-moulds that belong with the rifle. i entered his room, where he was asleep. i stood for a long time and looked at him by the moonlight. it was well for him he didn't wake!" said pomp, with a dancing light in his eye. "he did not; he slept well! having got what i wanted, i came away; but i had changed knives with him, and left mine sticking in the bedstead over his head, so that he might know i had been there, and not accuse any one else of the theft." "the sight of that knife must have given him a shudder, when he woke, and saw who had been there, and remembered his wrongs towards you!" said penn. "well it might!" said pomp. "come here, cudjo." cudjo had just entered the cave, bringing some partridges which he had caught in traps. "it's allus 'cudjo! cudjo do dis! cudjo do dat!' what ye want o' cudjo?" pomp paid no heed to the ill-natured response, but said calmly, addressing penn,-"i have told you my reasons for escaping out of slavery: now i will show you cudjo's." the back of the deformed was stripped bare. penn uttered a groan of horror at the sight. "dem's what ye call lickins!" said cudjo, with a hideous grin over his shoulder. "dat ar am de oberseer's work." "good heaven!" said penn, sick at the sight of the scars. "i can't endure it! take him away!" "don't be 'fraid!" said cudjo. "feel of 'em, sar!" and taking penn's hand, he seemed to experience a vindictive joy in passing it over his lash-furrowed flesh. "not much skin dar, hey? rough streaks along dar, hey? needn't pull your hand away dat fashion, and shet yer eyes, and look so white! it's all ober now. what if you'd seen dat back when 'twas fust cut up? or de mornin' arter? shouldn't blame ye, if 't had made ye sick den!" "but what had you done to merit such cruelty?" exclaimed penn, relieved when the back was covered. "what me done? de oberseer didn't hap'm to like me; dat's what me done. but he did hap'm to like my gal; dat's more what me done! so he cut me up wid his own hand,--said me sassy, and wouldn't work. coombs, him's a good man 'nuff,--neber found no fault 'long wid him; but debil take dat ar silas ropes!" "silas ropes!" "him was coombs's oberseer dem times," said cudjo. "him gi' me de lickins; him got my gal--me owe him for dat!" and, with a ferocious grimace, clinching his hands together as if he felt his enemy's throat, he gave a yell of rage which resounded through the cavern. "go about your work, cudjo," said pomp. "what do you think of that back, sir?" "it is the most powerful anti-slavery document i ever saw!" said penn. "he is a native african," said pomp. "he was brought to this country a young barbarian; and he has barely got civilized--hardly got christianized yet! i will make him tell you more of his history some day. then you will no longer wonder that his lessons in christian love have not made a saint of him! now you must rest, while i help him get dinner." the manner of cooking practised in the cave was exceedingly primitive. the partridges broiled over the fire, the potatoes roasted in the ashes, and the corn-cake baked in a kettle, the meal was prepared. the artificial chamber was cudjo's pantry. one of the giant's stools, having a broad, flat surface, served as a table. on this were placed two or three pewter plates, and as many odd cups and saucers. cudjo had an old coffee-pot, in which he made strong black coffee. he could afford, however, neither sugar nor milk. penn's wants were first attended to. he picked the bones of a partridge lying in bed, and thought he had never tasted sweeter meat. "with how few things men can live, and be comfortable! and what simple fare suffices for a healthy appetite!" he said to himself, watching pomp and cudjo at their dinner. pomp did not even drink coffee, but quenched his thirst with cold water dipped from a pool in the cave. xvi. _in the cave and on the mountain._ that afternoon, as penn was alone, the mystery of his removal from mr. villars's house was suddenly revealed to him. "i remember it very distinctly now," he said to pomp, who presently came in and sat by his bed. "ropes and his crew had been to the house for me. sick and delirious as i was, i knew the danger to my friends, and it seemed to me that i _must_ leave the house. so i watched my opportunity, and when toby left me for a minute, i darted through his room over the kitchen, climbed down from the window to the roof of the shed, and from there descended by an apple tree to the ground. this is the dream i have been trying to recall. it is all clear to me now. but i do not remember any thing more. the delirium must have given me preternatural strength, if i walked all the distance to the spot where you found me." "that you did walk it, your bruised and bleeding feet were a sufficient evidence," said the negro. "you had just such delirious attacks afterwards, when it was as much as cudjo and i wanted to do to hold you." "and the blanket--it is toby's blanket, which i caught up as i fled," added penn. he now became extremely anxious to communicate with his friends, to explain his conduct to them, and let them know of his safety. besides, he was now getting sufficiently strong to sit up a little, and other clothing was necessary than the old minister's nightgown and toby's blanket. "i have been thinking it all over," said pomp, "and have concluded to pay your friends a visit." "no, no, my dear sir!" exclaimed penn, with gratitude. "i can't let you incur any such danger on my account. i can never repay you for half you have done for me already!" and he pressed the negro's hand as no white man had ever pressed it since the death of his good master, dr. bythewood. pomp was deeply affected. his great chest heaved, and his powerful features were charged with emotion. "the risk will not be great," said he. "i will take cudjo with me, and between us we will manage to bring off your clothes." at night the two blacks departed, leaving penn alone in the fire-lit cave, waiting for their return, picturing to himself all the difficulties of their adventure, and thinking with warm gratitude and admiration of pomp, whose noble nature not even slavery could corrupt, whose benevolent heart not even wrong could embitter. it was late in the evening when the two messengers arrived at mr. villars's house. all was dark and still about the premises. but one light was visible, and that was in the room over the kitchen. "that is toby's room," said pomp. "stay here, cudjo, while i give him a call." "stay yuself," said cudjo, "and lef dis chil' go. me know toby; you don't." so pomp remained on the watch while cudjo climbed the tree by which penn had descended, scrambled up over the shed-roof, reached the window, opened it, and thrust in his head. toby, who was just going to bed, heard the movement, saw the frightful apparition, and with a shriek dove under the bed-clothes, where he lay in an agony of fear, completely hidden from sight, while cudjo, grinning maliciously, climbed into the room. "see hyar, ye fool! none ob dat! none ob your playin' possum wid me!" said the visitor, rolling toby over, while toby held the clothes tighter and tighter, as if to show a lock of wool or the tip of an ear would have been fatal. "me's cudjo! don't ye know cudjo? me come for de gemman's clo'es!" "hey? dat you, cudjo?" said toby, venturing at length to peep out. "wha--wha--what de debil you want hyar?" "de gemman sent me. dis yer letter's for your massy." "de gemman?" cried toby, jumping up. "not mass' penn? not mass' hapgood?" immense was his astonishment on being assured that penn was alive, recovering, and in need of garments. carl, who had been awakened in the next room by the noise, now came in to see what was the matter. he recognized penn's handwriting on the note, and immediately hastened with it to virginia's room. a minute after she was reading it to her father at his bedside. it was written with a pencil on a leaf torn from a little blank book in which pomp kept a sort of diary; but never had gilt-edged or perfumed billet afforded the blind old minister and his daughter such unalloyed delight. it was long past midnight when pomp and cudjo returned to the cave, bringing with them not only penn's garments, but a goodly stock of provisions, which cudjo had hinted to toby would be acceptable, and, more precious still, a letter from mr. villars, written by his daughter's own hand. penn now began to sit up a little every day. gloomy as the cave was, it was not an unwholesome abode even for an invalid. the atmosphere was pure, cool, and bracing; the temperature uniform. nor did penn suffer inconvenience from dampness; though often, in the deep stillness of the night, he could hear the far-off, faint, and melancholy murmur of dropping water in the hollow recesses of the cavern beyond. one day, as soon as he was well enough for the undertaking, pomp ordered cudjo to light torches and show them the hidden wonders of his habitation. cudjo was delighted with the honor. he ran on before, waving the flaring pine knots over his head, and shouting. penn's astonishment was profound. keen as had been his curiosity as to what was beyond the shadowy walls the fire dimly revealed, he had formed no conception of the extent and sublimity of the various galleries, chambers, glittering vaults, and falling waters, embosomed there in the mountain. "dis yer all my own house!" cudjo kept repeating, with fantastic grimaces of satisfaction. "me found him all my own self. nobody war eber hyar afore me; pomp am de next; and you's de on'y white man eber seen dis yer cave." it grew light as they proceeded, cudjo's torch paled, and the waters of a subterranean stream they were following caught gleams of the struggling day from another opening beyond. climbing over fragments of huge tumbled rocks, and up an earthy bank, penn found himself in the bottom of an immense chasm. it had apparently been formed by the sinking down of the roof of the cave, with a tremendous superincumbent weight of forest trees. there, on an island, so to speak, in the midst of the subterranean darkness, they were growing still, their lofty tops barely reaching the level of the mountain above. "it was out of this sink i saw the wild beast climbing, that turned out to be cudjo," said pomp. "dat ar am de tree," said cudjo. "no oder way but dat ar to get up out ob dis yer hole." "what a terrible place!" said penn, little thinking at the time how much more terrible it was soon to become as a scene of deadly human conflict. beyond the chasm the stream flowed on into still more remote parts of the cave. but penn had seen enough for one day, and the torch-bearing cudjo guided them back to the spot from which they had started. penn had now completely won the confidence of the blacks, who no longer placed any restrictions on his movements. it had been their original purpose never to suffer him to leave the cave without being blindfolded. but now, having shown him one opening, they freely permitted him to pass out by the other. this was that by which he had been brought in, and which was used by the blacks themselves on all ordinary occasions. it was a mere fissure in the mountain, hidden from external view by thickets. above rose steep ledges of rocks, thickly covered with earth and bushes. below yawned an immense ravine, far down in the cool, dark depths of which a little streamlet flowed. pomp piloted his guest through the thickets, and along a narrow shelf, from which the ascent to the barren ledges was easy. upon these they sat down. it was a beautiful april day. this was penn's first visit to the upper world since he was brought to the cave. the scene filled him with rapture; the loveliness of earth and sky intoxicated him. here he was among the rugged ranges of the cumberland mountains, in the heart of tennessee. on either hand they rolled away in tremendous billows of forest-crowned rocks. the ravines in their sides opened into little valleys, and these spread out into a broad and magnificent intervale, checkered with farms, streaked with roads, and dotted with dwellings. spring seemed to have come in a night. it was chill march weather when penn left the world, which was now warm with sweet south winds, and green with april verdure. "how beautiful, how beautiful!" said he, receiving, with the susceptibility of a convalescent, the exquisite impression made upon the senses by every sight and sound and odor. "o! and to think that all this divine loveliness is marred by the passions of men! up here, what glory, what peace! down yonder, what hatred, violence, and sin! no wonder, pomp, you love the mountains so!" "it is doubtful if they leave the mountains in peace much longer," said pomp. he had heard the night before that fighting had begun at charleston, and the news had stirred his soul. "the country is all alive with excitement, and the waves of its fury will reach us here before long. take this glass, sir: you can see soldiers marching through the streets." "they are marching past my school-house!" said penn. he became very thoughtful. he knew that they were soldiers recruited in the cause of rebellion, although tennessee had not yet seceded,--although the people had voted in february against secession: a dishonest governor, and a dishonest legislature, aided by reckless demagogues everywhere, being resolved upon precipitating the state into revolution, by fraud and force,--if not with the consent of the people, then without it. "i had hoped the storm would soon blow over, and that it would be safe for me to go peaceably about my business." "the storm," said pomp, his soul dilating, his features kindling with a wild joy, "is hardly begun yet! the great problem of this age, in this country, is going to be solved in blood! this continent is going to shake with such a convulsion as was never before. it is going to shake till the last chain of the slave is shaken off, and the sin is punished, and god says, 'it is enough!'" he spoke with such thrilling earnestness that penn regarded him in astonishment. "what makes you think so, pomp?" "that i can't tell. the feeling rises up here,"--the negro laid his hand upon his massive chest,--"and that is all i know. it is strong as my life--it fills and burns me like fire! the day of deliverance for my race is at hand. that is the meaning of those soldiers down there, arming for they know not what." xvii. _penn's foot knocks down a musket._ weeks passed. but now every day brought to penn increasing anxiety of mind with regard to his situation. his abhorrence of war was as strong as ever; and his great principle of non-resistance had scarcely been shaken. but how was he to avoid participating in scenes of violence if he remained in tennessee? and how was his escape from the state to be effected? "you are welcome to a home with us as long as you will stay," said pomp. "i shall miss you--even cudjo will hate to see you go." penn thanked him, fully appreciating their kindness; but his heart was yearning for other things. day after day he lingered still, however. the difficulties in the way of escape thickened, instead of diminishing. in february, as i have said, the people had voted against secession. not content with this, the governor called an extra session of the legislature, which proceeded to carry the state out of the union by fraud. on the sixth of may an ordinance of separation was passed, to be submitted to the vote of the people on the eighth of june. but without waiting for the will of the people to be made manifest, the authors of this treason went on to act precisely as if the state had seceded. a league was formed with the confederate states, the control of all the troops raised in tennessee was given to davis, and troops from the cotton states were rushed in to make good the work thus begun. the june election, which took place under this reign of terror, resulted as was to have been expected. rebel soldiers guarded the polls. few dared to vote openly the union ticket; while those who deposited a close ticket were "spotted." thus timid men were frightened from the ballot-box; while soldiers from the cotton states voted in their places. then, as it was charged, there were the grossest frauds in counting the votes. and so tennessee "seceded." the state authorities had also achieved a politic stroke by disarming the people. every owner of a gun was compelled to deliver it up, or pay a heavy fine. the arms thus secured went to equip the troops raised for the confederacy; while the union cause was left crippled and defenceless. many firelocks were of course kept concealed: some were taken to pieces, and the pieces scattered,--the barrel here, the stock there, and the lock in still another place,--to come together again only at the will of the owner: but, as a general thing, the loyalists could not be said to have arms. it was in those times that the precaution of stackridge and his fellow-patriots was justified. the secrecy with which they had conducted their night-meetings and drills, though seemingly unnecessary at first, saved them from much inconvenience when the full tide of persecution set in. they were suspected indeed, and it was believed they had arms; but they still met in safety, and the place where their arms were deposited remained undiscovered. all this time, penn had no money with which to defray the expenses of travel. when his school was broken up, several hundred dollars were due him for his services. this sum the trustees of the academy placed to his credit in the curryville bank; but, in consequence of a recent enactment, designed to rob and annoy loyal men, he could not draw the money without appearing personally, and first taking the oath of allegiance to the confederate government. this, of course, was out of the question. meanwhile he learned to rough it on the mountain with the fugitives. pomp taught him the use of the rifle, and he was soon able to shoot, dress, and cook his own dinner. he grew robust with the exercise and exposure. but every day his longing eyes turned towards the valley where the friends were whom he loved, and whom he resolved at all hazards to visit again, if for the last time. at length, one morning at breakfast, he informed pomp and cudjo of his intention to leave them,--to return secretly to the village, place himself under the protection of certain unionists he knew, and attempt, with their assistance, to make his way out of the state. "why go down there at all?" said pomp. "if you are determined to leave us, let me be your guide. i will take you over the mountains into kentucky, where you will be safe. it will be a long, hard journey; but you are strong now; we will take it leisurely, killing our game by the way." "you are very kind--and----" penn blushed and stammered. the truth was, he was willing to risk his life to see virginia once more; and the thought of quitting the state without bidding her good by was intolerable to him. "and what?" said pomp, smiling intelligently. "and i may possibly be glad to accept your proposal. but i am determined to try the other way first." both pomp and cudjo endeavored to dissuade him from the undertaking, but in vain. that evening he took his departure. the blacks accompanied him to the foot of the mountain. notwithstanding the friendship and gratitude he had all along felt towards them, he had not foreseen how painful would be the separation from them. "i never quitted friends more reluctantly!" he said, choked with his emotion. "never, never shall i forget you--never shall i forget those rambles on the mountains, those days and nights in the cave! let me hope we shall meet again, when i can make you some return for your kindness." "we may meet again, and sooner than you suppose," said pomp. "if you find escape too difficult, be sure and come back to us. ah, i seem to foresee that you will come back!" with this prediction ringing in his ears, and filling him with vague forebodings, penn went his way; while the negroes, having shaken hands with him in sorrowful silence, returned to their savage mountain home, which had never looked so lonely to them as now, since their beloved and gentle guest had departed. the night was not dark, and penn, having been guided to a bridle-path that led to the town, experienced no difficulty in finding his way on alone. he approached the minister's house from the fields. although late in the evening, the windows were still lighted. he was surprised to see men walking to and fro by the house, and to hear their footsteps on the piazza floor. he drew near enough to discern that they carried muskets. then the truth flashed upon him: they were soldiers guarding the house. whether they were there to protect the venerable unionist from mob-violence, or to prevent his escape, penn could only conjecture. in either case it would have been extremely indiscreet for him to enter the house. bitter disappointment filled him, mingled with apprehensions for the safety of his friends, and remorse at the thought that he himself had, although unintentionally, been instrumental in drawing down upon them the vengeance of the secessionists. penn next thought of stackridge. it was indeed upon that sturdy patriot that he relied chiefly for aid in leaving the state. he took a last, lingering look at the minister's house,--the windows whose cheerful light had so often greeted him on his way thither, in those delightful winter evenings which were gone, never to return,--the soldiers on the piazza, symbolizing the reign of terror that had commenced,--and with a deep inward prayer that god would shield with his all-powerful hand the beleaguered family, he once more crossed the fields. by a circuitous route he came in sight of stackridge's house. there were lights there also, although it must have been now near midnight. and as penn discerned them, he became aware of loud voices engaged in angry altercation around the farmer's door. it was no time for him to approach. he stole away as noiselessly as he had come. in the still, quiet night he paused, asking himself what he should do. the academy was not far off. he remembered that he had left there, among other things, a pocket bible, a gift from his sister, which he wished to preserve. perhaps it was there still; perhaps he could get in and recover it. at all events, he had plenty of leisure on his hands, and could afford to make the trial. he heard the mounted patrol pass by, and waited for the sound of hoofs to die in the distance. then cautiously he drew near the gloomy and silent school-house. not doubting but the door was locked,--for he still had the key with him which he had turned for the last time when he walked out in defiance of the lynchers,--he resolved not to unlock it, but to keep in the rear of the building, and enter, if possible, by a window. the window was unfastened, as it had ever remained since he had opened it, on that memorable occasion, to communicate with carl. softly he raised the sash, and softly he crept in. his foot, however, struck an object on the desk, and swept it down. it fell with a loud, rattling sound upon the floor. it was a musket; the owner of which bounded up on the instant from a bench where he was lying, and seized penn by the leg. the school-house had been turned into a barrack-room for recruits, and the late master found that he had descended upon a squad of confederate soldiers. lights were struck, and the sleepy sentinels, rubbing their eyes open, recognized, struggling in the arms of their companion, the unfortunate young quaker. "i knowed 'twas him! i knowed 'twas him!" cried his overjoyed captor, who proved to be no other than silas ropes's worthy friend gad. "i heern him gittin' inter the winder, but i kept dark till he knocked my gun down; then i grabbed him! he's a traitor, and this time will meet a traitor's doom!" "my friends," said penn, recovering from the agitation of his first surprise and struggle, "i am in your power. it is perhaps the best thing that could happen to me; for i have committed no crime, and i cannot doubt but that i shall receive justice all the sooner for this accident. you need not take the trouble to bind me; i shall not attempt to escape." his captors, however, among whom he recognized with some uneasiness more than one of those who had been engaged in lynching him, persisted in binding him upon a bench, in no very comfortable position, and then set a guard over him for the remainder of the night. xviii. _condemned to death._ early the next morning virginia villars overheard the soldiers conversing on the piazza. the mention of a certain name arrested her attention. she listened: what they said terrified her. penn hapgood had been apprehended during the night, and his trial by drum-head court-martial was at that moment proceeding. "mr. pepperill!" she called, in a scarcely audible whisper; and, looking around, daniel saw her alarmed face at the window. daniel was one of the soldiers who had been detailed to guard the house. strongly against his will, he had been compelled to enlist, in order to avoid the persecutions of his secession neighbors. such was already becoming the fate of many whose hearts were not in the cause, whose sympathies were all with the government against which they were forced to rebel. "what, marm?" said pepperill, meekly. "is it true what that man is saying?" "about the schoolmaster? i--i'm afeard it ar true! they've cotched him, marm, and there's men that's swore the death of him, marm." virginia flew to inform her father. the old man rose up instantly, forgetting his blindness, forgetting his own feebleness, and the danger into which he would have rushed, to go and plead penn's cause. fortunately, perhaps, for him, the guard crossed their muskets before him, refusing to let him pass. their orders were, not only to defend the house, but also to prevent his leaving it. "then i will go alone!" said carl, who was to have been his guide. and scarcely waiting to receive instructions from virginia and her father, he ran out, slipping between the soldiers, who had no orders to detain any person but the minister, and ran to the academy. the mockery of a trial was over. the prisoner had been condemned. the penalty pronounced against him was death. already the noose was dangling from a tree, and some soldiers were bringing from the school-house a table to serve as a scaffold. silas ropes, who had a feather stuck in his cap, and wore an old rusty scabbard at his side, and flourished a sword, enjoying the title of "lieutenant," obtained for him through bythewood's influence; lysander sprowl, who had been honored with a captaincy from the same source, and who, though a forger, and late a fugitive from justice, now boldly defied the power of the civil authorities to arrest him, trusting to that atrocious policy of the confederate government which virtually proclaimed to the robber and murderer, "become, now, a traitor to your country, and all other crimes shall be forgiven you;"--these, and other persons of like character, appeared chiefly active in penn's case. that they had no right whatever to constitute themselves a court-martial, and bring him to trial, they knew perfectly well. they had not waited even for a shadow of authority from their commanding officer. what they were about to do was nothing more nor less than murder. penn, with his hands tied behind him, and surrounded by a violent rabble, some armed, and others unarmed, was already mounted upon the table, when carl arrived, and attempted to force his way through the crowd. "feller-citizens and soldiers!" cried lieutenant ropes, standing on a chair beside the scaffold, "this here man has jest been proved to be a traitor and a spy, and he is about to expatiate his guilt on the gallus." two men then mounted the table, passed the noose over penn's neck, drew it close, and leaped down again. "now," said ropes, "if you've got any confession to make 'fore the table is jerked out from under ye, you can ease your mind. only le' me suggest, if you don't mean to confess, you'd better hold yer tongue." penn, pale, but perfectly self-possessed, expecting no mercy, no reprieve, made answer in a clear, strong voice,-"i can't confess, for i am not guilty. i die an innocent man. i appeal to heaven, before whose bar we must all appear, for the justice you deny me." in his shirt sleeves, his head uncovered, his feet bare, his naked throat enclosed by the murderous cord, his hands bound behind him, he stood awaiting his fate. carl in the mean time struggled in vain to break through the ring of soldiers that surrounded the extemporized scaffold,--screamed in vain to obtain a hearing. "let him go, and you may hang me in his place!" the soldiers answered with a brutal laugh,--as if there would be any satisfaction in hanging him! but the offer of self-sacrifice on the part of the devoted carl touched one heart, at least. penn, who had maintained a firm demeanor up to this time, was almost unmanned by it. "god bless you, dear carl! remember that i loved you. be always honest and upright; then, if you die the victim of wrong, it will be your oppressors, not you, who will be most unhappy. good by, dear carl. bear my farewell to those we love. don't stay and see me die, i entreat you!" yet carl staid, sobbing with grief and rage. "why don't you hurry up this business?" cried lysander sprowl, angrily, coming out of the school-house. "somebody tie a handkerchief over his eyes, and get through some time to-day." "all right, cap'm," said ropes. "make ready now, boys, and take away this table in a hurry, when i give the word." "hold on, there! what's going on?" cried an unexpected voice, and a recruiting officer from the village made his appearance, riding up on a white horse. the summary proceedings were stayed, and the case explained. the man listened with an air of grim official importance, his coarse red countenance betraying not a gleam of sympathy with the prisoner. yet being the superior in rank to any officer present (silas called him "kunnel"), besides being the only one of them all who had been regularly commissioned by the confederate government, this man held penn's fate in his hands. "hanging's too good for such scoundrels!" he said, frowning at the prisoner. "as for this particular case, there's only one thing to be said: his life shall be spared on only one condition." carl's heart almost stood still, in his eagerness to listen. even penn felt a faint--a very faint--pulse of hope in his breast. the "kunnel" went on. "let him take his choice--either to hang, or enlist. what do you say, youngster? which do you prefer--the death of a traitor, or the glorious career of a soldier in the confederate army?" "it is impossible for me, sir," said penn, in a voice of deep feeling and unalterable conviction--"it is impossible for me to bear arms against my country!" "but the confederate states shall be your country, and a country to be proud of!" said the man. "i am a citizen of the united states; to the united states i owe allegiance," said penn. "so far from being a traitor, i am willing to die rather than appear one." "then you won't enlist?" "no, sir." "not even to save your life?" "not even to save my life!" "then," growled the man, turning away, "if you will be such a fool, i've nothing more to say." so it only remained for penn to submit quietly to his fate. the executioners laid hold of the table, and waited for the order to remove it. but just then carl, breaking through the crowd, threw himself before the officer's horse. "o, colonel derring! hear me--von vord!" "von vord!" repeated the officer, with a coarse laugh, mocking him. "what's that, you dutchman?" "you vill let him go, and i shall wolunteer in his place!" said carl. "you!" the officer regarded him critically. carl, though so young, was very sturdy. "you offer yourself as a substitute, eh, if i will spare his life?" "carl!" cried penn, "i forbid you! you shall not commit that sin for me! better a thousand times that i should die than that you should be a rebel in arms against your country." "i have no country," answered carl, ingeniously excusing himself. "i am vot this man says, a tuchman. i vill enlisht mit him, and he vill shpare your life." "boy, it's a bargain," said colonel derring, whose passion for obtaining recruits overruled every other consideration. "cut that fellow's cords, lieutenant, and let him go. come along with me, dutchy." ropes obeyed, and penn, bewildered, almost stunned, by the sudden change in his destiny, saw himself released, and beheld, as in a dream, poor carl marching off as his substitute to the recruiting station. "now let me give you one word of advice," said captain sprowl in his ear. "don't let another night find you within twenty miles of that halter there, if you wouldn't have your neck in it again." "will you give me a safe conduct?" said penn, who thought the advice excellent, and would have been only too glad to act upon it. "i've no authority," said sprowl. "you must take care of yourself." penn looked around upon the ferocious, disappointed faces watching him, and felt that he might about as well have been despatched in the first place, as to be let loose in the midst of such a pack of wolves thirsting for his blood. he did not despair, however, but, putting on his clothes, determined to make one final and desperate effort to escape. xix. _the escape._ walking off quickly across the field towards mrs. sprowl's house, he turned suddenly aside from the path and plunged into the woods. he soon perceived that he was followed. a man--only one--came through the undergrowth. penn stopped. "god forgive me!" he said within himself; "but this is more than human nature can bear!" he had been, as it were, smitten on one cheek and on the other also: it was time to smite back. he picked up a club: his nerves became like steel as he grasped it: his eyes flashed fire. the man advanced; he was unarmed. suddenly penn dropped his club, and uttered a cry of joy. it was his friend stackridge. "what! the quaker will fight?" said the farmer, with a grim smile. "that shows," said penn, bursting into tears as he wrung the farmer's hand, "that i have been driven nearly insane!" "it shows that some of the insanity has been driven out of you!" replied stackridge, beginning to have hopes of him. "if you had taken my pistol and used it freely in the first place, or at least shown a good will to use it, you'd have proved yourself a good deal more of a man in my estimation, and been quite as well off." "perhaps," murmured penn, convinced that this passive submission to martyrdom was but a sorry part to play. "but now to business," said stackridge. "you must get away as quickly and secretly as possible, unless you mean to stay and fight it out. i am here to help you. i have a horse in the woods here, at your disposal. i thought there might be such a thing as your slipping through their hands, and so i took this precaution. i will show you a bridle-road that will take you to the house of a friend of mine, who is a hearty unionist. you can leave my horse with him. he will help you on to the house of some friend of his, who will do the same, and so you will manage to get out of the state. i advise you to travel by night, as a general thing; but just now it seems necessary that you should see a little hard riding by daylight. you'll find some luncheon in the saddlebags. when you get into some pretty thick woods, leave the road, and find a good place to tie up till night; then go on cautiously to my friend's house. i'll give you full directions, while we're finding the horse." they made haste to the spot where the animal was tied. "he has been well fed," said the farmer. "you will water him at the first brook you cross, and let him browse when you stop. now just trade that coat for one that will make you look a little less like a quaker schoolmaster." he had brought one of his own coats, which he made penn put on, and then exchanged hats with him. penn was admirably disguised. brief, then, were the thanks he uttered from his overflowing heart, short the leave-takings. he was mounted. stackridge led the horse through the bushes to the bridle-path. "now, don't let the grass grow under your feet till you are at least five miles away. if you meet anybody, get along without words if you can; if you can't, let words come to blows as quick as you please, and then put faith in dobbin's heels." again, for the last time, he made penn the offer of a pistol. there was no leisure for idle arguments on the subject. the weapon was accepted. the two wrung each other's hands in silence: there were tears in the eyes of both. then stackridge gave dobbin a resounding slap, and the horse bounded away, bearing his rider swiftly out of sight in the woods. all this had passed so rapidly that penn had scarcely time to think of any thing but the necessity of immediate flight. but during that solitary ride through the forest he had ample leisure for reflection. he thought of the mountain cave, whose gloomy but quiet shelter, whose dark but nevertheless humane and hospitable inmates he seemed to have quitted weeks ago, so crowded with experiences had been the few hours since last he shook pomp and cudjo by the hand. he thought of virginia and her father, to visit whom for perhaps the last time he had incurred the risk of descending into the valley; whom now he felt, with a strangely swelling heart, that he might never see again. and he thought with grief, pity, and remorse of carl, a rebel now for his sake. these things, and many more, agitated him as he spurred the farmer's horse along the narrow, shaded, lonesome path. he met an old man on horseback, with a bright-faced girl riding behind him on the crupper, who bade him a pleasant good morning, and pursued their way. next came some boys driving mules laden with sacks of corn. at last penn saw two men in butternut suits with muskets on their shoulders. he knew by their looks that they were secessionists hastening to join their friends in town. they regarded him suspiciously as he came galloping up. penn perceived that some off-hand word was necessary in passing them. "hurry on with those guns!" he cried; "they are wanted!" and he dashed away, as if his sole business was to hurry up guns for the confederate cause. he met with no other adventure that day. he followed stackridge's directions implicitly, and at evening, leaving his horse tied in the woods, approached on foot the house to which he had been sent. he was cordially received by the same old man whom he had seen riding to town in the morning with a bright-faced girl clinging behind him. at a hint from stackridge the man had hastily ridden home again, passing penn at noon while he lay hidden in the woods; and here he was, honest, friendly, vigilant, to receive and protect his guest. "you did well," he said, "to turn off up the mountain; for i am not the only man that passed you there. you have been pursued. three persons have gone on after you. i met them as i was going into town; they inquired of me if i had seen you, and when i got home i found they had passed here in search of you. they have not yet gone back." this was unpleasant news. yet penn was soon convinced that he had been extremely fortunate in thus throwing his pursuers off his track. it was far better that they should have gone on before him, than that they should be following close upon his heels. he staid with the farmer all night, and departed with him early the next morning to pursue his journey. it was not safe for him to keep the road, for he might at any moment meet his pursuers returning; accordingly, the old man showed him a circuitous route along the base of the mountains, which could be travelled only on foot, and by daylight. "here i leave you," said his kind old guide, when they had reached the banks of a mountain stream. "follow this run, and it will take you around to the road, about a mile this side of my brother's house. there's a bridge near which you can wait, when you get to it. if your pursuers go back past my house, then i will harness up and drive on to the bridge, and water my horse there. you will see me, and get in to ride, and i will take you to my brother's, and make some arrangement for helping you on still farther to night." so they parted; the lonely fugitive feeling that the kindness of a few such men, scattered like salt through the state, was enough to redeem it from the fate of sodom, which otherwise, by its barbarism and injustice, it would have seemed to deserve. following the stream in its windings through a wilderness of thickets and rocks, he reached the bridge about the middle of the afternoon. his progress had been leisurely. the day was warm, bright, and tranquil. the stream poured over ledges, or gushed among mossy stones, or tumbled down jagged rocks in flashing cascades. its music filled him with memories of home, with love that swelled his heart to tears, with longings for peace and rest. its coolness and beauty made a little sabbath in his soul, a pause of holy calm, in the midst of the fear and tumult that lay before and behind him. during that long, solitary ramble he had pondered much the great question which had of late agitated his mind--the question which, in peaceful days, he had thought settled with his own conscience forever. but days of stern experience play sad havoc with theories not founded in experience. in all the ordinary emergencies of life penn had found the doctrine of non-resistance to evil, of overcoming evil with good, beautiful and sublime. but had he not the morning before given way to a natural impulse, when he seized a club, firmly resolved to oppose force with force? the recollection of that incident had led him into a singular train of reasoning. "i know," he said, "that it is still the highest doctrine. but am i equal to it? can i, under all circumstances, live up to it? i have seen something of the power and recklessness of the faction that would destroy my country. would i wish to see my country submit? never! such submission would be the most unchristian thing it could do. it would be the abandonment of the cause of liberty; it would be to deliver up the whole land to the blighting despotism of slavery; it would postpone the millennium i hope for thousands of years. i see no other way than that the nation must resist; and what i would have the nation do i should be prepared, if called upon, to do myself. if this government were a christian government i would have it use only christian weapons, and no doubt those would be effectual for its preservation. but there never was a christian government yet, and probably there will not be for an age or two. governments are all founded on human policy, selfishness, and force. or if _i_ was entirely a christian, then _i_ would have no temptation, and no right, to use any but spiritual weapons. but until i attain to these, may i not use such weapons as i have?" these thoughts revolved slowly and somewhat confusedly in the young man's mind, when an incident occurred to bring form, sharply and suddenly, out of that chaos. he had reached the bridge. he looked up and down the road, and saw no human being. it was hardly time to expect the farmer yet; so he climbed down upon some dry stones in the bed of the stream, where he could watch for his coming, and be at the same time hidden from view and sheltered from the sun. he had not been long in that situation when he heard the sounds of hoofs. it was not his white-haired farmer whom he saw approaching, but two men on horseback. they were coming from the same direction in which he was looking for the old man. as they drew near, he discovered that one was a negro. the face of the other he recognized shortly afterwards. it was that of mr. augustus bythewood, who was evidently taking advantage of the fine weather to make a little journey, accompanied by a black servant. penn's heart contracted within him as he thought of his friend pomp, and of the wrongs he had suffered at this man's hands. he thought of his own safety too, and crept under the bridge. he had time, however, before he disappeared, to catch a glimpse of three other horsemen coming from the north. his heart beat fast, for he knew in an instant that these were his pursuers returning. he had already prepared for himself a good hiding-place, in a cavity between the two logs that supported the bridge. upon the butment, close under the trembling planks, he lay, when bythewood and his man rode over. the dust rattled upon him through the cracks, and sifted down into the stream. the thundering and shaking of the planks ceased, but he listened in vain to hear the hoofs of the two horses clattering off in the distance. to his alarm he perceived that bythewood and his man had halted on the other side of the bridge, and were going to water their horses in the bed of the stream. clashing and rattling down the steep, stony banks, and plashing into the water, came the foam-streaked animals. the negro rode one, and led the other by the bridle. there he sat in the saddle, watching the eager drinking of the thirsty beasts, and pulling up their heads occasionally to prevent them from swallowing too fast or too much; all in full sight of the concealed schoolmaster. bythewood, after dismounting, also walked down to the edge of the stream in full view. such was the situation when the three horsemen from the north arrived. they all rode their animals down the bank into the water. penn had not been mistaken as to their character and business. two of them were the men who had adjusted the noose to his neck the day before. the third was no less a personage than captain lysander sprowl. penn lay breathless and trembling in his hiding-place; for those men were but a few yards from him, and all in such plain view that it seemed inevitable but they must discover him. "what luck?" said bythewood, carelessly, seating himself on a rock and lighting a cigar. "the rascal has given us the slip," said lysander, from his horse. "i believe we have passed him, and so, on our way back, we'll search the house of every man suspected of union sentiments. he started off with stackridge's horse, and we tracked him easy at first, but to-day we haven't once heard of him." "it's my opinion he don't intend to leave the state," said bythewood, coolly smoking. "sam, walk those horses up and down the road till i call you: i want a little private talk with the captain." the captain's attendants likewise took the hint, reined their horses up out of the water, rode over the shaking bridge and penn's head under it, and proceeded to search the next house for him, while sprowl was conversing with augustus. "let's go over the other side," said bythewood, "where we can be in the shade. the sun is powerful hot." they accordingly walked over penn's head a moment later, climbed down the same rocks he had descended, picked their way along the dry stones to the bridge, and took their seats in its shadow beneath him, and so near that he could easily have reached over and taken the captain's cap from his head! xx. _under the bridge._ "the colonel wasn't aware of your sentiments," said sprowl, "or he wouldn't have let him off for fifty substitutes." "or if you and ropes," retorted bythewood, "had only put through the job with the celerity i had a right to expect of you, he would have been strung up before the colonel had a chance to interfere." and he puffed impatiently a cloud of smoke, whose fragrance was wafted to the nostrils of the listener under the planks. "well," said lysander, accepting a cigar from his friend, "if he gets out of the state,"--biting off the end of it,--"and never shows himself here again,"--rubbing a match on the stones,--"you ought to be satisfied. if he stays, or comes back,"--smoking,--"then we'll just finish the little job we begun." penn lay still as death. what his thoughts were i will not attempt to say; but it must have given him a curious sensation to hear the question of his life or death thus coolly discussed by his would-be assassins over their cigars. "where are you bound?" asked lysander. "o, a little pleasure excursion," said bythewood. "there's to be some lively work at home this evening, and i thought i'd better be away." "what's going on?" "the colonel is going to make some arrests. about fifteen or twenty union-shriekers will find themselves snapped up before they think of it. stackridge among the first. 'twas he, confound him! that helped the schoolmaster off." "has the colonel orders to make the arrests?" "no, but he takes the responsibility. it's a military necessity, and the government will bear him out in it. every man that has been known to drill in the union club, and has refused to deliver up his arms, must be secured. there's no other way of putting down these dangerous fellows," said augustus, running his jewelled fingers through his curls. "but why do you prefer to be away when the fun is going on?" "there may be somebody's name in the list on whose behalf i might be expected to intercede." "not old villars!" exclaimed lysander. "yes, old villars!" laughed augustus,--"if by that lively epithet you mean to designate your venerable father-in-law." "by george, though, gus! ain't it almost too bad? what will folks say?" "little care i! old and blind as he is, he is really one of the most dangerous enemies to our cause. his influence is great with a certain class, and he never misses an opportunity to denounce secession. that he openly talks treason, and harbors and encourages traitors arming against the confederate government, is cause sufficient for arresting him with the others." "really," said sprowl, chuckling as he thought of it, "'twill be better for our plans to have him out of the way." "yes," said bythewood; "the girls will need protectors, and your wife will welcome you back again." "and virginia," added sprowl, "will perhaps look a little more favorably on a rich, handsome, influential fellow like you! i see! i see!" there was another who saw too,--a sudden flash of light, as it were, revealing to penn all the heartless, scheming villany of the friendly-seeming augustus. he grasped the stackridge pistol; his eyes, glaring in the dark, were fixed in righteous fury on the elegant curly head. "if i am discovered, i will surely shoot him!" he said within himself. "the old man," suggested sprowl, "won't live long in jail." "very well," said bythewood. "if the girls come to terms, why, we will secure their everlasting gratitude by helping him out. if they won't, we will merely promise to do everything we can for him--and do nothing." "and the property?" said lysander, somewhat anxiously. "you shall have what you can get of it,--i don't care for the property!" replied bythewood, with haughty contempt. "i believe the old man, foreseeing these troubles, has been converting his available means into ohio railroad stock. if so, there won't be much for you to lay hold of until we have whipped the north." "that we'll do fast enough," said lysander, confidently. "well, i must be travelling," said augustus. "and i must be looking for that miserable schoolmaster." so saying the young men arose from their cool seats on the stones,--lysander placing his hand, to steady himself, on the edge of the butment within an inch of penn's leg. darkness, however, favored the fugitive; and they passed out from the shadow of the bridge without suspecting that they had held confidential discourse within arms' length of the man they were seeking to destroy. they ascended the bank, mounted their horses, and took leave of each other,--bythewood and his black man riding north, while sprowl hastened to rejoin his companions in the search for the schoolmaster. xxi. _the return into danger._ trembling with excitement penn got down from the butment, and peering over the bank, saw his enemies in the distance. what was to be done? had he thought only of his own safety, his way would have been clear. but could he abandon his friends? forsake virginia and her father when the toils of villany were tightening around them? leave stackridge and his compatriots to their fate, when it might be in his power to forewarn and save them? how he, alone, suspected, pursued, and sorely in need of assistance himself, was to render assistance to others, he did not know. he did not pause to consider. he put his faith in the overruling providence of god. "with god's aid," he said, "i will save them or sacrifice myself." as for fighting, should fighting prove necessary, his mind was made up. the conversation of the villains under the bridge had settled that question. instead, therefore, of waiting for the friend who was to help him on his journey, he leaped up from under the bridge, and set out at a fast walk to follow his pursuers back to town. he had travelled but a mile or two when he saw the farmer driving towards him in a wagon. "are you lost? are you crazy?" cried the astonished old man. "you are going in the wrong direction! the men have been to my house, searched it, and passed on. get in! get in!" "i will," said penn; "but, mr. ellerton, you must turn back." he briefly related his adventure under the bridge. the old man listened with increasing amazement. "you are right! you are right!" he said. "we must get word to stackridge, somehow!" and turning his wagon about, he drove back over the road as fast as his horse could carry them. it was sunset when they reached his house. there they unharnessed his horse and saddled him. the old man mounted. "i'll do my best," he said, "to see stackridge, or some of them, in season. if i fail, may be you will succeed. but you'd better keep in the woods till dark." ellerton rode off at a fast trot. penn hastened to the woods, where stackridge's horse was still concealed. the animal had been recently fed and watered, and was ready for a hard ride. the bridle was soon on his head, and penn on his back, and he was making his way through the woods again towards home. as soon as it was dark, penn came out into the open road; nor did he turn aside into the bridle-path when he reached it, because he wished to avoid travelling in company with ellerton, who was to take that route. he also supposed that sprowl's party would be returning that way. in this he was mistaken. riding at a gallop through the darkness, his heart beating anxiously as the first twinkling lights of the town began to appear, he suddenly became aware of three horsemen riding but a short distance before him. they had evidently been drinking something stronger than water at the house of some good secessionist on the road, perhaps to console themselves for the loss of the schoolmaster,--for these were the excellent friends who were so eager to meet with him again! they were merry and talkative, and penn, not ambitious of cultivating their acquaintance, checked his horse. it was too late. they had already perceived his approach, and hailed him. what should he do? to wheel about and flee would certainly excite their suspicions; they would be sure to pursue him; and though he might escape, his arrival in town would be thus perhaps fatally delayed. the arrests might be even at that moment taking place. he reflected, "there are but three of them; i may fight my way through, if it comes to that." accordingly he rode boldly up to the assassins, and in a counterfeit voice, answered their hail. he was but little known to either of them, and there was a chance that, in the darkness, they might fail to recognize him. "where you from?" demanded sprowl. "from a little this side of bald mountain," said penn,--which was true enough. "where bound?" "can't you see for yourself?" said penn, assuming a reckless, independent air. "i am following my horse's nose, and that is going pretty straight into curryville." "glad of your company," said sprowl, riding gayly alongside. "what's your business in town, stranger?" "well," replied penn, "i don't mind telling you that my business is to see if i and my horse can find something to do for old tennessee." "ah! cavalry?" suggested lysander, well pleased. "i should prefer cavalry service to any other," answered penn. "there's where you right," said sprowl; and he proceeded to enlighten penn on the prospects of raising a cavalry company in curryville. "did you meet any person on the road, travelling north?" "what sort of a person?" "a young feller, rather slim, brown hair, blue eyes, with a half-hung look, a perfect specimen of a sneaking abolition schoolmaster." "i--i don't remember meeting any such a person," said penn, as if consulting his memory. "i met _two_ men, though, this side of old bald. one of them was a rather gentlemanly-looking fellow; but i think his hair was black and curly." "the schoolmaster's har is wavy, and purty dark, i call it," said one of sprowl's companions. "he must have been the man!" said lysander, suddenly stopping his horse. "what sort of a chap was with him? did he look like a union-shrieker?" "now i think of it," said penn, "if that man wasn't a unionist at heart, i am greatly mistaken. his sympathies are with the lincolnites, i know by his looks!" he neglected to add, however, that the man was black. sprowl was excited. "it was some tory, piloting the schoolmaster! boys, we must wheel about! it never'll do for us to go home as long as we can hear of him alive in the state. remember the pay promised, if we catch him." "luck to you!" cried penn, riding on, while sprowl turned back in ludicrous pursuit of his own worthy friend, mr. augustus bythewood, and his negro man sam. penn lost no time laughing at the joke. his heart was too full of trouble for that. it had seemed to him, at each moment of delay, that the blind old minister was even then being torn from his home--that he could hear virginia's sobs of distress and cries for help. he urged his horse into a gallop once more, and struck into a path across the fields. he rode to the edge of the orchard, dismounted, tied the horse, and hastened on foot to the house. the guard was gone from the piazza, and all seemed quiet about the premises. the kitchen was dark. he advanced quickly, but noiselessly, to the door. it was open. he went in. "toby!" no answer. "carl! carl!" he called in a louder voice. no carl replied. then he remembered--what it seemed so strange that he could even for an instant forget--that carl was in the rebel ranks, for his sake. he had seen a light in the sitting-room. he found the door, and knocked. no answer came. he opened it softly, and entered. there burned the lamp on the table--there stood the vacant chairs--he was alone in the deserted room. "virginia!" he started at his own voice, which sounded, in the hollow apartment, like the whisper of a ghost. he was proceeding still farther, wondering at the stillness, terrified by his own forebodings, feeling in his appalled heart the contrast between this night, and this strange, furtive visit, and the happy nights, and the many happy visits, he had made to his dear friends there only a few short months before,--pausing to assure himself that he was not walking in a dream,--when he heard a footstep, a flutter, and saw, spring towards him through the door, pale as an apparition, virginia. speechless with emotion, she could not utter his name, but she testified the joy with which she welcomed him by throwing herself, not into his arms, but upon them, as he extended his hands to greet her. "what has happened?" said penn. "o, my father!" said the girl. and she bowed her face upon his arm, clinging to him as if he were her brother, her only support. "where is he?" asked penn, alarmed, and trembling with sympathy for that delicate, agitated, fair young creature, whom sorrow had so changed since he saw her last. "they have taken him--the soldiers!" she said. and by these words penn knew that he had come too late. xxii. _stackridge's coat and hat get arrested._ the outrage had been committed not more than twenty minutes before. toby had followed his old master, to see what was to be done with him, and virginia and her sister were in the street before the house, awaiting the negro's return, when penn arrived. "you could have done no good, even if you had come sooner," said virginia. "there is but one man who could have prevented this cruelty." "why not send for him?" "alas! he left town this very day. he is a secessionist; but he has great influence, and appears very friendly to us." penn started, and looked at her keenly. "his name?" "augustus bythewood." penn recoiled. "what's the matter?" "virginia, that man is thy worst enemy? i did not tell thee how i learned that the arrests were to be made. but i will!" and he told her all. "o," said she, "if i had only believed what my heart has always said of that man, and trusted less to my eyes and ears, he would never have deceived me! if he, then, is an enemy, what hope is there? o, my father!" "do not despair!" answered penn, as cheerfully as he could. "something may be done. stackridge and his friends may have escaped. i will go and see if i can hear any thing of them. have faith in our heavenly father, my poor girl! be patient! be strong! all, i am sure, will yet be well." "but you too are in danger! you must not go!" she exclaimed, instinctively detaining him. "i am in greater danger here, perhaps, than elsewhere." "true, true! go to your negro friends in the mountain--there is yet time! go!" and she hurriedly pushed him from her. "when i find that nothing can be done for thy father, then i will return to pomp and cudjo--not before." and he glided out of the back door just as salina entered from the street. he left the horse where he had tied him, and hastened on foot to stackridge's house. he approached with great caution. there was a light burning in the house, as on other summer evenings at that hour. the negroes--for stackridge was a slaveholder--had retired to their quarters. there were no indications of any disturbance having taken place. penn reconnoitred carefully, and, perceiving no one astir about the premises, advanced towards the door. "halt!" shouted a voice of authority. and immediately two men jumped out from the well-curb, within which they had been concealed. others at the same time rushed to the spot from dark corners, where they had lain in wait. almost in an instant, and before he could recover from his astonishment, penn found himself surrounded. "you are our prisoner, mr. stackridge!" and half a dozen bayonets converged at the focus of his breast. the young man comprehended the situation in a moment. stackridge had not been arrested; he was absent from home; these ambushed soldiers had been awaiting his return; and they had mistaken the schoolmaster for the farmer. the night was just light enough to enable them to recognize the coat and hat which had been stackridge's, and which penn still wore as a disguise. features they could not discern so easily. the prisoner made no resistance, for that would have been useless; no outcry, for that would have revealed to them their mistake. he submitted without a word; and they marched him away, just as his supposed wife and children flew to the door, calling frantically, "father! father!" and lamenting his misfortune. by proclaiming his own identity, the prisoner would have gained nothing, probably, but a halter on the spot. on the other hand, by accepting the part forced upon him, he was at least gaining time. it might be, too, that he was rendering an important service to the real stackridge by thus withdrawing the soldiers from their ambush, and giving him an opportunity to reach home and learn the danger he had escaped. these considerations passed rapidly through his mind. he slouched his hat over his eyes, and marched with sullen, stubborn mien. in this manner he was taken to the village, and conducted to an old storehouse, which had lately been turned into a guard-house by the confederate authorities. there was a great crowd around the dimly-lighted door, and other prisoners, similarly escorted, were going in. amid the press and hurry, penn passed the sentinels still unrecognized. he immediately found himself wedged in between the wall and a number of tennessee union men, some terrified into silence, others enraged and defiant, but all captives like himself. in the farther end of the room, at a desk behind the counter, with candles at each side, sat the confederate colonel to whom penn owed his life. he seemed to be receiving the reports of those who had conducted the arrests, and to be examining the prisoners. beside him sat his aids and clerks. before him penn knew that he must soon appear. he was in darkness and disguise as yet, but he could not long avoid facing the light and the eyes of those who knew him well. what, then, would be his fate? would he be retained a prisoner, like the rest, or delivered over to the mob that sought his life? he had time to decide upon a course which he hoped might gain him some favor. taking advantage of the shadow and confusion in which he was, he slipped off his disguise, and, elbowing his way through the crowd of prisoners, appeared, hat in hand and coat on arm, before the interior guard, and demanded to speak with the commanding officer. "sir, who are you?" said the colonel, failing, at first, to recognize him. upon which mr. ropes, who was at his side, swore a great oath that it was the schoolmaster himself. "but i have had no report of his arrest," cried the colonel. "how came you here, sir?" "i wish to place myself under your protection," said penn. "you received a substitute in my place, and ordered me to be set at liberty. but your commands have been disregarded; i have been hunted for two days; and men, calling themselves confederate soldiers, are still pursuing me. under these circumstances i have thought it best to appeal to you, relying upon your honor as a gentleman and an officer." "but how came you here? who brought in this fellow?" nobody could answer that question, although the leader of the party that had brought him in was at the very moment on the spot, waiting to make his report of stackridge's arrest. as soon, therefore, as penn could gain a hearing, he continued. "i came in, sir, with a crowd of soldiers and prisoners, none of whom recognized me. the sentinels no doubt supposed i was arrested, and so let me pass." "well, sir, you have done a bold thing, and perhaps the best thing for you. since you have voluntarily delivered yourself up, i shall feel bound to protect you. but i have only one of two alternatives to offer you--the same i offer to each of these worthy gentlemen here, giving them their choice. take the oath of allegiance to the confederate government, and volunteer; that is one condition." "i am a northern man," replied penn, "and owe allegiance to the united states; so that condition it is impossible for me to accept." "very well; i'll give you time to think of it. in the mean while, my only means of affording the protection you demand will be to retain you a prisoner. guard, take this man below." not another word was said; and, indeed, penn had already gained more than he hoped for, with the eyes of lieutenant ropes glaring on him so murderously. he was conducted to a stairway that led to the cellar, and ordered to descend. he obeyed, marching down between two soldiers on guard at the door, and two more at the foot of the stairs. it was a lugubrious subterranean apartment, lighted by a single lantern suspended from a beam. by its dim rays he discovered the figures of half a dozen fellow-prisoners; and, in the midst of the group, he recognized one, the sight of whom caused him to forget all his own misfortunes in an instant. "my dear mr. villars! i have found you at last!" he exclaimed, grasping the old clergyman's hand. "penn, is it you?" said the blind old man. he was seated on a dry goods box. trembling and feeble, he arose to greet his young friend, with a noble courtesy very beautiful and touching under the circumstances. "i cannot tell thee," said penn, in a choked voice, "how grieved i am to see thee here!" "and grieved am i that you should see me here!" mr. villars replied. "i hoped you were a hundred miles away. i was never sorry to have your company till now! how does it happen?" penn made him sit down again, giving him stackridge's coat for a cushion, and related briefly his adventures. "it is very singular," said the old man, thoughtfully. "it seems almost providential that you are here." "i think it is so," said penn. "i think i am here because i may be of service to you." "ah!" replied the old man, with a tender smile, "my life is of but little value compared with yours. i am a worn-out servant; my day of usefulness is past; i am ready to go home. i do not speak repiningly," he added. "if i can serve my country or my god by suffering--if nothing remains for me but that--then i will cheerfully suffer. our heavenly father orders all things; and i am content. all will be well with us, if we are obedient children; all will yet be well with our poor country, if it is true to itself and to him." "o, do not say thy day of usefulness is past, as long as thou canst speak such words!" said penn, deeply moved. "thank god, i have faith! even in this darkest hour of my life and of my country, i think i have more faith than ever. and i have love, too--love even for those violent men who have thrown us into this dungeon. they know not what they do. they act in ignorance and passion. they seek to destroy our dear old government; but they will only destroy what they are striving so madly to build up." "yes," said one of the prisoners, "the institution will be ruined by those very men! they are worse than the abolitionists themselves; and i hate 'em worse!" "hate their errors, captain grudd, hate their crimes, but hate no man," mr. villars softly replied. "and you would have us submit to them?" "submit, when you can do no better. but even for their sakes, even for the love of them, my friend, resist their crimes when you can. no man will stand by and see a maniac murder his wife and children. it will be better for the poor maddened wretch himself to prevent him; don't you think so, penn?" "i do," said penn, who knew that the argument was meant for himself, not for the rest. "i am thoroughly convinced. you were always right on that subject; and i was always wrong." "i perceive," said the old man, "that you have had experience. it is not i that have convinced you; it is the logic of events." one by one, the prisoners from above followed penn down the dismal stairs. only now and then a fainthearted unionist consented to regain his liberty by taking the oath of allegiance, and "volunteering." at length the room above was cleared, and no more prisoners arrived. penn, who had kept anxious watch for his friend stackridge, was congratulating himself upon the perfect success of his stratagem, when the corporal who had brought him in came rushing down the stairs, accompanied by lieutenant ropes. "stackridge!" he called, searching among the prisoners; "is medad stackridge here?" no man had seen him. "then i tell you," said the corporal to silas, "he is hid somewhere up stairs, or else he has escaped; for i can swear i arrested him." "i can swear you was drunk," said silas, much disgusted. "you have let the wust man of the lot slip through your fingers; for it's certain he ain't here." penn trembled for a minute. but both ropes and the corporal passed him without a suspicion of what was agitating him; and he felt immensely relieved when they returned up the stairs, and the mystery remained unexplained. the prisoners in the cellar were about twelve in number. nearly all were sturdy, earnest men. penn noticed that they were not cast down by their misfortunes, but that they whispered among themselves, exchanging glances of intelligence and defiance. at length captain grudd came to him, and taking him aside, said,-"well, professor, what do you think of the situation?" "we seem to be at the mercy of the villains," replied penn. "not so much at their mercy either, if we choose to be men! what we want to know is, will you join us? and if there should be a little fighting to do, will you help do it?" penn grasped his hand. "show me that we have any chance of escape, and i am with you!" "i thought you would come to it at last!" grudd smiled grimly. "what we want, to begin with, is a few handy weapons. but we have all been disarmed. have you anything? i noticed they did not search you, probably because you came voluntarily and gave yourself up." "i have stackridge's pistol. it is in the coat mr. villars is sitting on." grudd's eyes lighted up at this unexpected good news. "it will come in play! we must shoot or strangle these fellows, and have their guns,"--with a glance at the soldiers on guard. "but the room up stairs is full of soldiers, and there is a strong guard posted outside, probably surrounding the building." "we will have as little to do with them as possible. young man, i have a secret for you. do you know whose property this is?" "barber jim's, i believe." "and do you know there's a secret passage from this cellar into the cellar under jim's shop? it was dug by jim himself, as a hiding-place for his wife and children. he had bought them, but the heirs of their former owner had set up a claim to them. after that matter was settled, he showed stackridge the place; and that's the way we came to make use of it. we stored our guns in the passage, and came through into this cellar at night to consult and drill. the store being shut, and the windows all fastened and boarded up, made a quiet place of it. as good luck would have it, the night before the military took possession, jim warned us, and we carefully put back every stone in the wall, and left. but some of our guns are still in the passage, if they have not been discovered. we have only to open the wall again to get at them. but before that can be done, the guard must be disposed of." penn, who had listened with intense interest to this recital, drew a long breath. "is the passage behind the spot where mr. villars is sitting?" "within three feet of the box." "then i fear it is discovered. i heard a noise behind that wall not ten minutes ago." grudd started. "are you sure?" "quite sure." "it must be jim himself; or else we have been betrayed." "was the secret known to many?" "to all our club, and one besides," said grudd, frowning anxiously. "stackridge made a mistake; i told him so!" "how?" "we were drilling here that night when dutch carl came to tell us you were in danger. stackridge said he knew the boy, and would trust him. so he brought him in here. and carl is now a rebel volunteer." "with him your secret is safe!" penn hastened to assure the captain. "stackridge was right. carl----" he paused suddenly, looking at the stairs. even while the boy's name was on his lips, the boy himself was entering the cellar. he carried a musket. he wore the confederate uniform. he was accompanied by gad and an officer. they had come to relieve the guard. the men who had previously been on duty at the foot of the stairs retired with the officer, and gad and carl remained in their place. penn at the sight was filled with painful solicitude. to have seen his young friend and pupil shoulder a confederate musket, knowing that it was the love of him that made him a rebel, would alone have been grief enough. how much worse, then, to see him placed here in a position where it might be necessary, in grudd's opinion, to "shoot or strangle" him! but having once exchanged glances with the boy, penn's mind was set at rest. "he has kept your secret," he said to grudd. "he is very shrewd; and if we need help, he will help us." but the noise penn had heard behind the wall was troubling the captain. they retired to that part of the cellar. they had been there but a short time when a very distinct knock was heard on the stones. it sounded like a signal. grudd responded, striking the wall with his heel as he leaned his back against it. then followed a low whistle in the passage. the captain's dark features lighted up. "we are safe!" he whispered in penn's ear. "it is stackridge himself!" xxiii. _the flight of the prisoners._ then commenced strategy. the prisoners gathered in a group before the closed passage, and talked loud, while grudd established a communication with stackridge. in the course of an hour a single stone in the wall had been removed. through the aperture thus formed a bottle was introduced. this grudd pretended afterwards to take from his pocket; and having (apparently) drank, he offered it to his friends. all drank, or appeared to drink, in a manner that provoked gad's thirst. he vowed that it was too bad that anything good should moisten the lips of tory prisoners while a soldier like him went thirsty. "i never saw the time, gad," said the captain, "when i wouldn't share a bottle with you, and i will now." gad held his gun with one hand and grasped the bottle with the other. penn seized the moment when his eyes were directed upwards at the cobweb festoons that adorned the cellar, and the sound of gurgling was in his throat, to whisper in carl's ear,-"appear to drink, and by and by pass the bottle up stairs." carl understood the game in an instant. "here, you fish!" he said, in the midst of gad's potation. "leafe a little trop for me, vill you?" it was some time before the torrent in gad's throat ceased its murmuring, and he removed his eyes from the cobwebs. then, smacking his lips, and remarking that it was the right sort of stuff, he passed the bottle to carl. "who's the fish this time?" said he, enviously, after carl had made believe swallow for a few seconds. he snatched the bottle, and was drinking as before, when the guard above, hearing what passed, called for a taste. "you shust vait a minute till gad trinks it all up, then you shall pe velcome to vot ish left," said carl. and, possessing himself of the bottle, he handed it up to his comrades. all the soldiers above were asleep except the sentinels. they drank freely, and returned the bottle to gad. he had not finished it before he began to be overcome by drowsiness, its contents having been drugged for the occasion. he sat down on the stairs, and soon slid off upon the ground. carl, who had not in reality swallowed a drop, followed his example. their guns were then taken from them. penn stole softly up the stairs, and reconnoitred while grudd and his companions opened the passage in the wall. "all asleep!" penn whispered, descending. "carl!" carl opened one eye, with a droll expression. "are you asleep?" "wery!" said carl. "will you stay here, or go with us?" "you vill take me prisoner?" "if you wish it." "say you vill plow my brains out if i say vun vord, or make vun noise." "come, come! there's no time for fooling, carl!" "it ish no vooling!" and carl insisted on penn's making the threat. "veil, then, i vill vake up and go 'long mit you." mr. villars had been for some time sleeping soundly; for it was now long past midnight, and weariness had overcome him. penn awoke him; but the old man refused to escape. "go without me. i shall be too great a burden for you." but not one of his fellow-prisoners would consent to leave him behind; and, listening to their expostulations, he at length arose to accompany them. stackridge was in the passage, with the old man ellerton, whom penn had sent to warn him. they had brought a supply of ammunition for the guns, which they had loaded and placed ready for use. penn, supporting and guiding the old minister, was the first to pass through into the cellar under jim's shop. stackridge, preceding them with a lantern, greeted their escape with silent and grim exultation. carl came next. then, one by one, the others followed, each grasping his gun; the rays of the lantern lighting up their determined faces, as they emerged from the low passage, and stood erect, an eager, whispering group, around stackridge. brief the consultation. their plans were soon formed. leaving gad asleep in the cellar behind them; the guard asleep, the soldiers all asleep, in the room above; the sentinels outside the old storehouse keeping watch, pacing to and fro around the cellar, in which not a prisoner remained,--stackridge and his companions filed out noiselessly through jim's closed and silent shop, upon the other street, and took their way swiftly through the town. having appointed a place of meeting with his friends, penn left them, and hastened alone to mr. villars's house. the lights had long been out. but the sisters were awake; virginia had not even gone to bed. she was sitting by her window, gazing out on the hushed, gloomy, breathless summer night,--waiting, waiting, she scarce knew for what,--when she was aware of a figure approaching, and knew penn's light, quick tap at the door. she ran down to admit him. his story was quickly told. toby was roused up; blankets were rolled together, and all the available provisions that could be carried were thrust into baskets. "how shall we get news to you? you will want to hear from your father." penn hastily thought of a plan. "send toby to the round rock,--he knows where it is,--on the side of the mountain. between nine and ten o'clock to-morrow night. i will try to communicate with him there." and penn, bidding the young girl be of good cheer, departed as suddenly as he had arrived. the old negro accompanied him, assisting to carry the burdens. they found stackridge's horse where he had been fastened. penn made toby mount, take a basket in each hand, and hold the blankets before him on the neck of the horse; then, seizing the bridle, and running by his side, he trotted the beast away across the field in a manner that shook the old negro up in lively style. "o, massa penn! i can't stan' dis yere! i's gwine all to pieces! i shall drap some o' dese yer tings, shore!" "you must stand it! hold on to them!" said penn. "and now keep still, for we are near the road." the party had halted at the rendezvous. mr. villars, quite exhausted by his unusual exertions, was seated on the ground when penn came up with toby and the horse. toby dismounted; the old minister mounted in his place, and the negro was sent back. all this passed swiftly and silently; the fugitives were once more on the march, penn walking by the old man's side. scarce a word was spoken; the tramp of feet and the sound of the horse's hoofs alone broke the silence of the night. suddenly a voice hailed them:-"who goes there?" and they discovered some horsemen drawn up before them beside the road. it was the night-patrol. "friends," answered stackridge, marching straight on. "halt, and give an account of yourselves!" shouted the patrol. "we are peaceable citizens, if let alone," said stackridge. "you'd better not meddle with us." the horsemen waited for them to pass, then, firing their pistols at the fugitives, put spurs to their horses, and galloped away towards the village. "don't fire!" cried stackridge, as half a dozen pieces were levelled in the darkness. "we've no ammunition to throw away, and no time to lose. they'll give the alarm. take straight to the mountains!" nobody had been hit. turning aside from the road, they took their way across the broad pasture lands that sloped upwards to the rocky hills. the dark valley spread beneath them; on the other side rose the dim outlines of the shadowy mountain range; over all spread a still, cloudless sky, thick-strewn with glittering star-dust. in the village, the ringing of bells startled the night with a wild clamor. stackridge laughed. "they'll make noise enough now to wake gad himself! but noise won't hurt anybody. hear the drums!" "they are coming this way," said penn. "fools, to set out in pursuit of us with drums beating!" said captain grudd. "very kind in them to give us notice! they should bring lighted torches, too." "once in the mountains," said stackridge, "we are safe. there we can defend ourselves against a hundred. other union men will join us, or bring us supplies. we ought to have made this move before; and i'm glad we've been forced to it at last. if every union man in the south had made a bold stand in the beginning, this cursed rebellion never would have got such a start." suddenly bells and drums were silent. "the less noise the more danger," said stackridge. the way was growing difficult for the horse's feet. the cow-paths, which it had been easy to follow at first, disappeared among the thickets. at length, on the crest of a hill, the party halted to rest. "daylight!" said stackridge, turning his face to the east. the sky was brightening; the shadows in the valley melted slowly away; far off the cocks crew. "hark!" said the captain. "do you hear anything?" "i heard a woice!" said carl. "hist!" said penn. "look yonder! there they come! around those bushes at the foot of the oak!" "sure as fate, there they are!" said the captain. the fugitives crowded to his side, eager, grasping their gunstocks, and peering with intent eyes through the darkness in the direction in which he pointed. "take the horse," said stackridge to penn, "and lead him up through that gap out of the reach of the bullets. we'll stay and give these rascals a lesson. go along with him, carl, if you don't want to fight your friends." there were not guns enough for all; and grudd had stackridge's revolver. there was nothing better, then, for penn and carl to do than to consent to this arrangement. penn went before, leading the horse up the dry bed of a brook. carl followed, urging the animal from behind. mr. villars rode with the baggage, which had been lashed to the saddle. only the clashing of the iron hoofs on the stones broke the stillness of the morning in that mountain solitude. stackridge and his compatriots had suddenly become invisible, crouching among bushes and behind rocks. the retreat of penn and his companions was discovered by the pursuing party, who mistook it for a general flight of the fugitives. they rushed forward with a shout. they had a rugged and barren hill to ascend. half way up the slope they saw flashes of fire burst from the rocks above, heard the rapid "crack--crackle--crack!" of a dozen pieces, and retreated in confusion down the hill again. stackridge and his companions coolly proceeded to reload their guns. "they didn't know we had arms," said the farmer, with a grim smile. "they'll be more cautious now." "we've done for two or three of 'em!" said captain grudd. "there they lie; one is crawling off." "let him crawl!" said stackridge. "sorry to kill any of 'em; but it's about time for 'em to know we're in 'arnest." "they've gone to cover in the laurels," said grudd. "let's shift our ground, and watch their movements." penn and carl in the mean time made haste to get the horse and his burden beyond the reach of bullets. they toiled up the bed of the brook until it was no longer passable. huge bowlders lay jammed and crowded in clefts of the mountain before them. penn remembered the spot. he had been there in spring, when down over the rocks, now covered with lichens and dry scum, poured an impetuous torrent. "now i know where i am," he said. "i don't believe it is possible to get the horse any farther. we will wait here for our friends. mr. villars, if you will dismount, we will try to get you up on the bank." "i pity you, my children," said the old man. "you should never have encumbered yourselves with such a burden as i am. i can neither fight nor run. is it sunrise yet?" "it is sunrise, and a beautiful morning! the fresh rays come to us here, sifted through the dewy trees. sit down on this rock. find the luncheon, carl. ah, carl!"--penn regarded the boy affectionately,--"i am glad to have you with me again, but i can't forget that you are a rebel! and a deserter!" "i a deserter? you mishtake," said carl. "i am a prisoner." "you disobeyed me, carl! i told you not to enlist. you did wrong." "now shust listen," said carl, "and i vill tell you. i did right. cause vy. you are alive and vell now, ain't you?" penn smilingly admitted the fact. "and that is petter as being hung?" "i am not so very certain of that, carl!" "vell, i am certain for you. hanging ish no goot. hunderts of vellers that don't like the rebels no more as you do, wolunteer rather than to be hung. shows their goot sense." "but you have taken an oath--you are under a solemn engagement, carl, to fight against the government." "you mishtake unce more--two times. i make a pargain. i say to that man, 'you let mishter hapgoot go free, and not let him be hurt, and i vill be a rebel.' vell, he agrees. but he don't keep his vord. he lets 'em go for to hang you vunce more. now, if he preaks his part of the pargain, vy shouldn't i preak mine?" "well, carl," said penn, laughing, while his eyes glistened, "i trust thy conscience is clear in the matter. i can only say that, though i don't approve of thy being a rebel, i love thee all the better for it. what do you think, mr. villars?" "sometimes people do wrong from a motive so pure and disinterested that it sanctifies the action. this is carl's case, i think." "hello!" cried carl, jumping up from the bank on which they were seated. "guns! they are at it again! i vill go see!" the boy disappeared, scrambling down the dry bed of the torrent. the firing continued at irregular intervals for half an hour. carl did not return. penn grew anxious. he stood, intently listening, when he heard a noise behind him, and, turning quickly, saw the glimmer of musket-barrels over the rocks. "fire!" said a voice. and penn threw himself down under the bank just in time to avoid the discharge of half a dozen pieces aimed at his head. "what is the trouble?" asked the old man, who was lying on some blankets spread for him there in the shade. before penn could reply, silas ropes and six men came rushing down upon them. stackridge had been out-generalled. whilst he and his men were being diverted by a feigned attack in front, two different parties had been despatched by circuitous routes to get in his rear. in executing the part of the plan intrusted to him, ropes had unexpectedly come upon the schoolmaster and his companion. a minute later both were seized and dragged up from the bed of the torrent. "ye don't escape me this time!" said silas, with brutal exultation. "tie him up to the tree thar; serve the old one the same. we can't be bothered with prisoners." "what are you going to do to that helpless, blind old man?" cried penn. "do what you please with me; i expect no mercy,--i ask none. but i entreat you, respect his gray hair!" the appeal seemed to have some effect even on the savage-hearted silas. he glanced at his men: they were evidently of the opinion that the slaughter of the old clergyman was uncalled for. "wal, tie the old ranter, and leave him. quick work, boys. got the schoolmaster fast?" "all right," said the men. "wal, now stand back here, and les' have a little bayonet practice." penn knew very well what that meant. his clothes were stripped from him, in order to present a fair mark for the murderous steel; and he was bound to a tree. "one at a time," said silas. "try your hand, griffin. _charge--bayonet!_" in vain the old minister endeavored to make himself heard in his friend's behalf. he could only pray for him. penn saw the ferocious soldier springing towards him, the deadly bayonet thrust straight at his heart. in an instant the murder would have been done. but when within two paces of his victim, the steel almost touching his breast, griffin uttered a yell, dropped his gun, flung up his hands, and fell dead at penn's feet. at the same moment a light curl of smoke was wafted from the heaped bowlders in the chasm above, and the echoes of a rifle-crack reverberated among the rocks. the assassins were terror-struck. they looked all around; not a human being was in sight. distant firing proclaimed that stackridge and his men were still engaged. the death that struck down griffin seemed to have fallen from heaven. they waited but a moment, then fled precipitately, leaving penn still bound, but uninjured, with the dead rebel at his feet. then two figures came gliding swiftly down over the rocks. penn uttered a cry of joy. it was pomp and cudjo. xxiv. _the dead rebel's musket._ pomp came reloading his rifle, while cudjo, knife in hand, flew at the cords that confined the schoolmaster. in his gratitude to heaven and his deliverers, penn could have hugged that grotesque, half-savage creature to his heart. but no time was to be lost. snatching the knife, he hastened to release the bewildered clergyman. "pomp, my noble fellow!" the negro turned from looking after the retreating rebels, with a gleam of triumph on his proud and lofty features: penn wrung his hand. "you have twice saved my life--now let me ask one more favor of you! take mr. villars to your cave--do for him what you have done for me. he is a much better christian, and far more deserving of your kindness, than i ever was." "and you?" said pomp, quietly. "i will take my chance with the others." and penn in few words explained the occurrences of the night and morning. pomp shrugged his shoulders frowningly. the time was at hand when he and cudjo could no longer enjoy in freedom their wild mountain life; even they must soon be drawn into the great deadly struggle. this he foresaw, and his soul was darkened for a moment. "cudjo! shall we take this old man to our den?" "no, no! don't ye take nobody dar! on'y massa hapgood." "but he is blind!" said penn. "others will come after who are not blind," said pomp, his brow still stern and thoughtful. "my friends," interposed the old clergyman, mildly, "do nothing for me that will bring danger to yourselves, i entreat you!" these unselfish words, spoken with serious and benignant aspect, touched the generous chords in pomp's breast. "why should we blacks have anything to do with this quarrel?" he said with earnest feeling. "your friends down there"--meaning stackridge and his party--"are all slaveholders or pro-slavery men. why should we care which side destroys the other?" "there is a god," answered mr. villars, with a beaming light in his unterrified countenance, "who is not prejudiced against color; who loves equally his black and his white children; and who, by means of this war that seems so needless and so cruel, is working out the redemption, not of the misguided white masters only, but also of the slave. whether you will or not, this war concerns the black man, and he cannot long keep out of it. then will you side with your avowed enemies, or with those who are already fighting in your cause without knowing it?" these words probed the deep convictions of pomp's breast. he had from the first believed that the war meant death to slavery; although of late the persistent and almost universal cry of union men for the "union as it was,"--the union with the injustice of slavery at its core,--had somewhat wearied his patience and weakened his faith. "here, cudjo! help get this horse up--we can find a path for him." reluctantly cudjo obeyed; and almost by main strength the two athletic blacks lifted and pulled the animal up the bank, and out of the chasm. penn assisted his old friend to remount, then took leave of him. "i will be with you again soon!" he cried, hopefully, as the negroes urged the horse forward into the thickets. then the young quaker, left alone, turned to look at the dead rebel. for a moment horrible nausea and faintness made him lean against the tree for support. it was the first violent death of which he had ever been an eye-witness. he had known this man,--who was indeed the same griffin, who had assisted the unwilling pepperill to bring the tar-kettle to the wood-side on a certain memorable evening; ignorant, intemperate, too proud to work in a region where slavery made industry a disgrace, and yet a fierce champion of the system which was his greatest curse. now there he lay, in his dirt, and rags, and blood, his neck shot through; the same expression of ferocious hate with which he had rushed to bayonet the schoolmaster still distorting his visage;--an object of horror and loathing. was it not assuming a terrible responsibility to send this rampant sinner to his long account? yet the choice was between his life and penn's; and had not pomp done well? still penn could not help feeling remorse and commiseration for the wretch. "poor griffin! i have no murderous hatred for such as you! but if you come in the way of my country's safety, or of the welfare of my friends, you must take the penalty!" he picked up the musket that had fallen at his feet where he stood bound. then, stifling his disgust, he felt in the dead man's pockets for ammunition. cartridges there were none; but in their place he found some bullets and a powder-flask. then putting in practice the lessons he had learned of pomp when they hunted together on the mountain, he loaded the gun, resolutely setting his teeth and drawing his breath hard when he thought of the different kind of game it might now be his duty to shoot. while thus occupied he heard footsteps that gave him a sudden start. he turned quickly, catching up the gun. to his immense relief he saw pomp, approaching with a smile. "i thought you were with mr. villars!" "cudjo has gone with him. i am going with you." "o pomp!" cried penn, with a joyful sense of reliance upon his powerful and sagacious black friend. "but is mr. villars safe?" "cudjo is faithful," said pomp. "he believes the old man is your friend, and a friend of the slave. besides, i promised, if he would take him to the cave, that my next shot, if i have a chance, should be at his old acquaintance, sile ropes." pomp took the lead, guiding penn through hollows and among thickets to a ledge crowned with shrubs of savin, whose summit commanded a view of all that mountain-side. they crept among the bushes to the edge of the cliff. there they paused. neither friend nor foe was in sight. no sound of fire-arms was heard,--only the birds were singing. penn never forgot that scene. how fresh, and beautiful, and still the morning was! the sunlight flushed the craggy and wooded slopes. far off, dim with early mist, lay the lovely hills and valleys of east tennessee. on the north the peaks of the mountain range soared away, purple, rosy, glorious, in soft suffusing light. in the south-west other peaks receded, billowy and blue. and god's pure, deep sky was over all. touched by the divine beauty of the day, penn lay thinking with shame of the scenes of human folly and violence with which it had been desecrated, when the negro drew him softly by the sleeve. "look yonder! down in the edge of that little grove!" peering through an opening in the savins through which pomp had thrust his rifle, penn saw, stealing cautiously out of the grove, a man. "it is stackridge! he is reconnoitring." "it is a retreat," said pomp. "see, there they all come!" "carl with the rest, showing them the way!" added penn. he was watching with intense interest the movements of his friends, and rejoicing that no foe was in sight, when suddenly pomp uttered a warning whisper. "where? what?" said penn, eagerly looking in the direction in which the negro pointed. down at their left was a long line of dark thickets which marked the edge of a ravine; out of which he now saw emerging, one by one, a file of armed men. they climbed up a narrow and difficult pass, and halted on the skirts of the thicket. ten--twelve--fifteen, penn counted. it was the other party that had been sent out simultaneously with that under lieutenant ropes, to get in the rear of the fugitives. and they had succeeded. only a bushy ridge concealed them from stackridge's men, who were coming up under the shelter of the same ridge on the other side. penn trembled with excitement as he saw the rebels cross swiftly forward, skulking among the bushes, to the summit of the ridge. the negro's eyes blazed, but he was perfectly cool. on one knee, his left foot advanced,--holding his rifle with one hand, and parting the bushes with the other,--he smiled as he observed the situation. "here," said he to penn, "rest your gun in this little crotch. now can you see to take aim?" "yes," said penn, with his heart in his throat. "calm your nerves! everything depends on our first shot. wait till i give the word. see! they have discovered stackridge!" "we might shout, and warn him," said penn, whose nature still shrank from using any more deadly means of saving his friends. "and so discover ourselves! that never'll do. have you sighted your man?" "yes--the one lying on his belly behind that cedar." "very well! i'll take the fellow next him. the moment you have fired, keep perfectly still, only draw your gun back and load. now--fire!" just then stackridge and his men, in full view of their hidden friends on the ledge, were appearing to the fifteen ambushed rebels also. suddenly the loud bang of a musket, followed instantly by the sharp crack of a rifle, echoed down the mountain side. the rebel behind the cedar sprang to his feet, dropping his gun, and throwing up his hands, and rushed back down the ridge, screaming, "i'm hit! i'm hit!" while the man next him also attempted to rise, but fell again, pomp having discreetly aimed at an exposed leg. "i'm glad we've only wounded them!" whispered penn, very pale, his lips compressed, his eyes gleaming. "it has the effect!" said pomp. "your friends have discovered the ambush, thanks to that coward's uproar; and now the rascals are panic-struck! fire again as they go into the ravine--powder alone will do now--a little noise will send them tumbling!" they accordingly fired blank discharges; at the same time stackridge and his friends, recovering from their momentary astonishment, charged after the retreating rebels, who had barely time to carry off their wounded and escape into the ravine, when their pursuers scaled the ridge. "i'm off!" said pomp, creeping back through the savins. "these men are not my friends, though they are yours. i'll go and look after cudjo." and bounding down into a hollow, he was quickly out of sight. xxv. _black and white._ penn attached his handkerchief to the end of the musket, and standing upon the ledge, waved it over the bushes. carl, recognizing him, was the first to scramble up the height. the whole party followed, each sturdy patriot wringing the schoolmaster's hand with hearty congratulations when they learned what use he had made of the rebel musket. "but the whole credit of the manoeuvre belongs not to me, but to the negro pomp!" and he related the story of his own rescue and theirs. the patriots looked grave. "where is the fellow?" asked stackridge. "being a fugitive slave, he feared lest he should find little favor in the eyes of his master's neighbors," said penn. "that's where he was right!" said deslow, with a bigoted and unforgiving expression. "nothing under the sun shall make me give encouragement to a nigger's running away." two or three others nodded grim assent to this first principle of the slaveholder's discipline. penn was fired with exasperation and scorn, and would have separated himself from these narrow-minded patriots on the spot, had not stackridge jumped up from the ground upon which he had thrown himself, and, striking his gun barrel fiercely, exclaimed,-"now, that's what i call cursed foolishness, deslow! and every man that holds to that way of thinking had better go over to t'other side to oncet! if we can't make up our minds to sacrifice our property, and, what's more to some folks, our prejudices, in the cause we're fighting for, we may as well stop before we stir a step further. i'm a slaveholder, and always have been; but i swear, i can't say as i ever felt it was such a divine institution as some try to make it out, and i don't believe there's a man here that thinks in his heart that it's just right. and as for the niggers running away, my private sentiment is, that i don't blame 'em a mite. you or i, deslow, would run in their place; you know you would." and stackridge wiped his brow savagely. "and as for this particular case," said captain grudd, with a gleam of light in his lean and swarthy countenance, "don't le's be blind to our own interests; don't le's be downright fools. i've said from the first that slavery and the rebellion was brother and sister,--they go together; and i've made up my mind to stand by my country and the old flag, whatever comes of the institution." all, except the conservative deslow, applauded this resolution. "then consider," added the captain, his deliberate, impressive manner proving quite as effective as stackridge's more excited and fiery style,--"here we are fighting for our very lives and liberties; and if, as i say, slavery's the cause of this war, then we're fighting against slavery, the best we can fix it. how monstrous absurd 'twill be, then, for us to refuse the assistance of any nigger that has it to give! bythewood, pomp's owner, is one of the hottest secessionists i know; and d'ye think i want pomp sent back to him, to help that side, when he has shown that he can be of such mighty good service to us? i move that we send the professor to make a treaty with him. what do you say, mr. hapgood?" "i say," replied penn with enthusiasm, "that he and cudjo are in a condition to do infinitely more for us than we can do for them; and if their alliance can be secured, i say that we ought by all means to secure it." "that depends," said grudd, "upon what we intend to do. are we going to make a stand here, and see if the loyal part of old tennessee will rise up and sustain us? or are we going to fight our way over the mountains, and never come back till a union army comes with us to set things a little to rights here?" "wa'al," said withers, who concealed a hardy courage and earnest patriotism under a phlegmatic and droll exterior, "while we're discussin' that question, i reckon we may as well have breakfast. this is as good a place as any,--we can take turns keeping a lookout from that ledge." he proceeded to kindle a fire in the hollow. the fugitives, in passing a field of corn, had thrust into their pockets a plentiful supply of green ears, which they now husked and roasted. there was a spring in the rocks near by, from which they drank lying on their faces, and dipping in their beards. this was their breakfast; during which penn's mission to the blacks was fully discussed, and finally decided upon. the meal concluded, the refugees resumed their march, and entered an immense thick wood farther up the mountain. in a cool and shadowy spot they halted once more; and here penn took leave of them, setting out on his visit to the cave. he had a mile to travel over a rough, wild region, where the fires that had formerly devastated it had left the only visible marks of a near civilization. in a tranquil little dell that had grown up to wild grass, he came suddenly upon a horse feeding. it was stackridge's useful nag, which looked up from his lofty grove-shaded pasture with a low whinny of recognition as penn patted his neck and passed along. a furlong or two farther on the well-known ravine opened,--dark, silent, profound, with its shaggy sides, one in shadow and the other in the sun, and its little embowered brook trickling far down there amid mossy stones;--as lonesome, wild, and solitary as if no human eye had ever beheld it before. penn glided over the ledges, and descended along the narrow shelf of rock, behind the thickets that screened the entrance to the cave. sunlight, and mountain wind, and summer heat he left behind, and entered the cool, still, gloomy abode. cudjo ran to the mouth of the cave to meet him. "lef me frow dis yer blanket ober your shoulders, while ye cool off; cotch yer de'f cold, if ye don't. de ol' man's a 'speckin' ye." penn was relieved to learn that mr. villars had arrived in safety, and gratified to find him lying comfortably on the bed conversing with pomp. "by the blessing of god, i am very well indeed, my dear penn. these excellent fellow-christians have taken the best of care of me. the atmosphere of the cave, which i thought at first chilly, i now find deliciously pure and refreshing. and its gloom, you know, don't trouble me," added the blind old man with a smile. "have you had any more trouble since pomp left you?" "no," said penn; "thanks to him. pomp, our friends want to see you and thank you, and they have sent me to bring you to them." the negro merely shrugged his shoulders, and smiled. "what good der tanks do to we?" cried cudjo. "ain't one ob dem ar men but what would been glad to hab us cotched and licked for runnin' away, fur de 'xample to de tudder niggers." "if that was true of them once, it is not now," said penn. "yet, pomp, if you feel that there is the least danger in going to them, do not go." "danger?" the negro's proud and lofty look showed what he thought of that. "cudjo, make mr. hapgood a cup of coffee; he looks tired. you have had a hard time, i reckon, since you left us." "him stay wid us now till he chirk up again," said cudjo, running to his coffee-box. "him and de ol' gemman stay--nobody else." while the coffee was making, penn, sitting on one of the stone blocks which he had named giant's stools, repeated such parts of the late breakfast talk of stackridge and his friends as he thought would interest pomp and win his confidence. then he drank the strong, black beverage in silence, leaving the negro to his own reflections. "are you going again?" said pomp. "yes; i promised them i would return." "take some coffee and a kettle to boil it in; they will be glad of it, i should think." "o pomp! you know how to do good even to your enemies! what shall i say to them for you?" "what i have to say to them i will say myself," said pomp, taking his rifle in one hand, and the kettle in the other, to cudjo's great wrath and disgust. he set out with penn immediately. they found the patriots reposing themselves about the roots of the forest trees, on the banks of a stream that came gurgling and plashing down the mountain side. above them spread the beautiful green tops of maples, tinted with sunshine and softly rustling in the breeze. the curving banks formed here a little natural amphitheatre, carpeted with moss and old leaves, on which they sat or reclined, with their hats off and their guns at their sides. a sentry posted on the edge of the forest brought in penn and his companion. there was a stir of interest among the patriots, and some of them rose to their feet. stackridge, grudd, and two or three others cordially offered the negro their hands, and pledged him their gratitude and friendship. pomp accepted these tokens of esteem in silence,--his countenance maintaining a somewhat haughty expression, his lips firm, his eyes kindling with a strange light. penn took the kettle, and proceeded, with carl's help, to make a fire and prepare coffee for the company, intently listening the while to all that was said. jutting from one bank of the stream, which washed its base, was a huge, square block covered with dark-green moss. upon this pomp stepped, and rested his rifle upon it, and bared his massive and splendid head, and stood facing his auditors with a placid smile, under the canopy of leaves. there was not among them all so noble a figure of a man as he who stood upon the rock; and he seemed to have chosen this somewhat theatrical attitude in order to illustrate, by his own imposing personal presence, the words that rose to his lips. "you will excuse me, gentlemen, if i cannot forget that i am talking with those who buy and sell men like me!" men like him! the suggestion seemed for a moment to strike the slave-owning patriots dumb with surprise and embarrassment. "no, no, pomp," cried stackridge, "not men like you--there are few like you anywhere." "i wish there was more like him, and that i owned a good gang of 'em!" muttered the man deslow. "i don't," replied withers, with a drawl which had a deep meaning in it; "twould be too much like sleeping on a row of powder barrels, with lighted candles stuck in the bung holes. dangerous, them big knowin' niggers be." pomp did not answer for a minute, but stood as if gathering power into himself, with one long, deep breath inflating his chest, and casting a glance upward through the sun-lit summer foliage. "you buy and sell men, and women, and children of my race. if i am not like them, it is because circumstances have lifted me out of the wretched condition in which it is your constant policy and endeavor to keep us. by your laws--the laws you make and uphold--i am this day claimed as a slave; by your laws i am hunted as a slave;--yes, some of you here have joined your neighbor in the hunt for me, as if i was no more than a wild beast to be hounded and shot down if i could not be caught. now tell me what union or concord there can be between you and me!" "i own," said deslow,--for pomp's gleaming eyes had darted significant lightnings at him,--"i did once come up here with bythewood to see if we could find you. not that i had anything against you, pomp,--not a thing; and as for your quarrel with your master, i ain't sure but you had the right on't; but you know as well as we do that we can't countenance a nigger's running away, under any circumstances." "no!" said pomp, with sparkling sarcasm. "your secessionist neighbors revolt against the mildest government in the world, and resort to bloodshed on account of some fancied wrongs. you revolt against them because you prefer the old government to theirs. your forefathers went to war with the mother country on account of a few taxes. but a negro must not revolt, he must not even attempt to run away, although he feels the relentless heel of oppression grinding into the dust all his rights, all that is dear to him, all that he loves! a white man may take up arms to defend a bit of property; but a black man has no right to rise up and defend either his wife, or his child, or his liberty, or even his own life, against his master!" only the narrow-minded deslow had the confidence to meet this stunning argument, enforced as it was by the speaker's powerful manner, superb physical manhood, and superior intelligence. "you know, pomp, that your condition, to begin with, is very different from that of any white man. your relation to your master is not that of a man to his neighbor, or of a citizen to the government; it is that of property to its owner." "property!" there was something almost wicked in the wild, bright glance with which the negro repeated this word. "how came we property, sir?" "our laws make you so, and you have been acquired as property," said deslow, not unkindly, but in his bigoted, obstinate way. "so, really, pomp, you can't blame us for the view we take of it, though it does conflict a little with your choice in the matter." "but suppose i can show you that you are wrong, and that even by your own laws we are not, and cannot be, property?" said pomp, with a princely courtesy, looking down from the rock upon deslow, so evidently in every way his inferior. "i will admit your title to a lot of land you may purchase, or reclaim from nature; or to an animal you have captured, or bought, or raised. but a man's natural, original owner is--himself. now, i never sold myself. my father never sold himself. my father was stolen by pirates on the coast of africa, and brought to this country, and sold. the man who bought him bought what had been stolen. by your own laws you cannot hold stolen property. though it is bought and sold a thousand times, let the original owner appear, and it is his,--nobody else has the shadow of a claim. my father was stolen property, if he was property at all. he was his own rightful owner. though he had been robbed of himself, that made no difference with the justice of the case. it was so with my mother. it is so with me. it is the same with every black man on this continent. not one ever sold himself, or can be sold, or can be owned. for to say that what a man steals or takes by force is his, to dispose of as he chooses, is to go back to barbarism: it is not the law of any christian land. so much," added pomp, blowing the words from him, as if all the false arguments in favor of slavery were no more to the man's soul, and its eternal, god-given rights, than the breath he blew contemptuously forth into those mountain woods,--"so much for the claim of property!" penn was so delighted with this triumphant declaration of principles that he could have flung his hat into the maple boughs and shouted "bravo!" he deemed it discreet, however, to confine the expression of his enthusiasm to a tight grasp on carl's sympathetic hand, and to watch the effect of the speech on the rest. "deslow," laughed stackridge, himself not ill pleased with pomp's arguments, "what do you say to that?" "wal," said deslow, "i never thought on't in just that light before; and i own he makes out a pooty good show of a case. but yet--" he hesitated, scratching for an idea among the stiff black hair that grew on his low, wrinkled forehead. "but yet, but yet, but yet!" said pomp, ironically. "it's so hard, when our selfish interests are at stake, to confess our injustice or give up a bad cause! but i did not come here to argue my right to my own manhood. i take it without arguing. neither did i come to ask anything for myself. you can do nothing for me but get me into trouble. yet i believe in the cause in which you have taken up arms. i have served you this morning without being asked by you to do it; and i may assist you again when the time comes. in the mean while, if you want anything that i have, it is yours; for i recognize that we are brothers, though you do not. but i will not join you, for i am neither slave nor inferior, and i have no wish to be acknowledged an equal." and pomp stepped off the rock with an air that seemed to say, "_i_ know who is the equal of the best of you; and that is enough." if this man had any fault more prominent than another, it was pride; yet that haughty self-assertion which would have been offensive in a white man, was vastly becoming to the haughty and powerful black. "i, for one," said the impulsive stackridge, again grasping his hand, "honor the position you take. what i wanted was to thank you for what you have done, and to promise that you are safe from danger as far as regards us. i'm glad you've got your liberty. i hope you will keep it. you deserve it. every slave deserves the same that has the manliness to strike a blow for the good old government----" "that has kept him a slave," added pomp, with a bitter smile. "yes; and so much the more noble in him to fight for it!" said stackridge. "now, if you don't want to let us into the secrets of your way of life, i can't say i blame ye. we're glad to get the coffee; and if you've any game or potatoes on hand, that you can spare, we'll take 'em, and pay ye when we have a chance to forage for ourselves, which won't be long first." "i have some salted bear's meat that you'll be welcome to; and may be cudjo can spare a little meal." his eye rested on carl, whose fidelity he knew. "let that boy come with us! we will send the provisions by him." carl was delighted with the honor, for penn was likewise going back to mr. villars with the negro. xxvi. _why augustus did not propose._ the valiant confederates, returning from the pursuit of the escaped prisoners, proved themselves possessed of at least one important qualification for serving the rebel cause. they were able to give a marvellously good account of themselves. whatever the military authorities may have thought of it, the people believed that the little band of union men had been nearly annihilated. in the midst of the excitement, mr. augustus bythewood returned home, and went in the evening to call upon, counsel, and console the daughters of the old man villars. "o, massa bythewood!" cried toby, in great joy at sight of him, "dey been killin' ol' massa up on de mountain; and de young ladies--o, massa bythewood! ye must do sumfin' for de young ladies and ol' massa!" mr. augustus flattered himself that he had arrived at just the right time. "my dear virginia! you cannot conceive of my astonishment and grief on hearing what has happened to your family! i have but just this hour returned to town, or i should have hastened before to assure you that all i can do for you i will most gladly undertake. my very dear young lady, be comforted, i conjure you; for it grieves me to the heart to see how pale, how very pale and distressed, you look!" thus the amiable, the chivalrous, the friendly gus overflowed with eloquent sympathy and protestation, pressing affectionately the hand of the "very pale and distressed" fair one, and bowing low his dark, aristocratic southern curls over it; appearing, in short, the very courteous, noble, and devoted gentleman he wasn't. virginia breathed hard, compressed her lips, white with indignation as well as with suffering, and let him act his part. and the confident lover did not dream that those eyes, red with grief and surrounded by dark circles, saw through all his hypocritical professions, or that the cold, passive little hand, abandoned through the apathy of despair to his caresses, would have been thrust into the fire, before ever he would have been allowed to win it. "surely," she managed to say in a voice scarce above a whisper, "if ever we needed a true, disinterested friend, it is now. sit down; and be so kind as to excuse me a moment. i will call my sister." so she withdrew. and augustus smiled. "now is my time!" he said complacently to himself, resolved to make an offer of that valuable hand of his that very night: forlorn, friendless, wretched, was it possible that she could refuse such a prize? so he sat, and fondled his curls, and practised sweet smiles, and sympathized with salina when she came, and waited for virginia,--little knowing what was to happen to her, and to him, and to all, before ever he saw that vanished face again. for virginia had business on her hands that night. she remembered the hurried directions penn had given for communicating with her father, and she was already preparing to send off toby to the round rock. "gracious, missis!" said the old negro, returning hastily to the kitchen door where she stood watching his departure, "dar's a man out dar, a waitin'! did ye see him, missis?" she had indeed seen a human figure advance in the darkness, as if with intent to intercept or follow him. perplexed and indignant at the discovery, she suffered the old servant to return into the house, and remained herself to see what became of the figure. it moved off a little way in the darkness, and disappeared. "wha' sh'll we do?" toby rolled up his eyes in consternation. "do jes' speak to mr. bythewood, miss jinny; he's de bestist friend--he'll tell what to do." "no, no, toby!" said virginia, collecting herself, and speaking with decision. "he is the last person i would consult. toby, you must try again; for either you or i must be at the rock before ten o'clock." "you, miss jinny? who eber heern o' sich a ting!" "go yourself, then, good toby!" and she earnestly reminded him of the necessity. "o, yes, yes! i'll go! massa can't lib widout ol' toby, dat's a fac'!" but looking out again in the dark, his zeal was suddenly damped. "dey cotch me, dey sarve me wus 'n dey sarved ol' pete, shore! can't help tinkin' ob dat!" virginia saw what serious cause there was to dread such a catastrophe. but her resolution was unshaken. "toby, listen. that man out there is a spy. his object is to see if any of our friends come to the house, or if we send to them. he won't molest you; but he may follow to see where you go. if he does, then make a wide circuit, and return home, and i will find some other means of communication." thus encouraged, the negro set out a second time. virginia followed him at a distance. she saw, as she anticipated, the figure start up again, and move off in the direction he was going. toby accordingly commenced making a large detour through the fields, and both he and the shadow dogging him were soon out of sight. then virginia lost no time in executing the other plan at which she had hinted. instead of returning, to give up the undertaking in despair, and listen to matrimonial proposals from gus bythewood, she took a long breath, gathered up her skirts, and set out for the mountain. there was a new moon, but it was hidden by clouds. still the evening was not very dark. the long twilight of the summer day still lingered in the valley. here and there she could distinguish landmarks,--a knoll, a rock, or a tree,--which gave her confidence. i will not say that she feared nothing. she was by nature timid, imaginative, and she feared many things. her own footsteps were a terror to her. the moving of a bush in the wind, the starting of a rabbit from her path, caused her flesh to thrill. at sight of an object slowly and noiselessly emerging from the darkness and standing before her, motionless and spectral, she almost fainted, until she discovered that it was an old acquaintance, a tall pine stump. but all these childish terrors she resolutely overcame. her heart never faltered in its purpose. affection for her father, anxiety for his welfare, and, it may be, some little solicitude for her father's friend, who had appointed the tryst at the rock,--not with herself, indeed, but with toby,--kept her firm and unwavering in her course. and beneath all, deep in her soul, was a strong religious sense, a faith in a divine guidance and protection. what most she feared was neither ghost nor wild beast of the mountains. she felt that, if she could avoid encountering the brutal soldiers of secession, keeping watch along the mountain-side, she would willingly risk everything else. with the utmost caution, with breathless tread, she drew near the road she was to cross. her footsteps were less loud than her heart-beats. dogs barked in the distance. in a pool near by, some happy frogs were singing. the shrill cry of a katydid came from a poplar tree by the road--"katy did! katy didn't!" with vehement iteration and contradiction. no other sounds; she waited and listened long; then glided across the road. she had come far from the village in order to avoid meeting any one. her course now lay directly up the mountain-side. the round rock was a famous bowlder known to picnic parties that frequented the spot in summer to enjoy a view from its summit, and a luncheon under its shadow. she had been there a dozen times; but could she find it in the night? in vain, as she toiled upwards, she strained her eyes to see the huge dim stone jutting out from the shadowy rocks and bushes. at length a sudden light, faint and silvery, streamed down upon her. she looked and saw the clouds parted, and below them the crescent moon setting, like a cimeter of white flame withdrawn by an invisible hand behind the vast shadowy summit of the mountain. almost at the same moment she discovered the object she sought. the rock was close before her; and close upon her right was the grove which she herself had so often helped to fill with singing and laughter. how little she felt like either singing or laughing now! she remembered--indeed, had she not remembered all the way?--that the last time she visited the spot it was in company with penn. now she had come to meet him again--how unmaidenly the act! in darkness, in loneliness, far from the village and its twinkling lights, to meet an attractive and a very good looking young man! what would the world say? virginia did not care what the world would say. but now she began to question within herself, "what would penn think?" and almost to shrink from meeting him. strong, however, in her own conscious purity of heart, strong also in her confidence in him, she put behind her every unworthy thought, and sought the shelter of the rock. and there, after all her labors and fears, scratches in her flesh and rents in her clothes,--there she was alone. penn had not come. perhaps he would not come. it was by this time ten o'clock. what should she do? remain, hoping that he would yet fulfil his promise? or return the way she came, unsatisfied, disheartened, weary, her heart and strength sustained by no word of comfort from him, by no tidings from her father? she waited. it was not long before her eager ear caught the sound of footsteps. an active figure was coming along the edge of the grove. how joyously her heart bounded! in order that penn might not be too suddenly surprised at finding her in toby's place, she stepped out from the shadow of the bowlder, and advanced to meet him. she shrank back again as suddenly, fear curdling her blood. the comer was not penn. he wore the confederate uniform: this was what terrified her. she crouched down under the rock; but perceiving that the man did not pass by,--that he walked straight up to her,--she started forth again, in the vain hope to escape by flight. almost at the first step she tripped and fell; and the hand of the confederate soldier was on her arm. xxvii. _the men with the dark lantern._ the moon had now set, and it was dark. the frightened girl could not distinguish the features of him who bent over her; but through the trance of horror that was upon her, she recognized a voice. "wirginie! i tought it vas you! don't you know me, wirginie?" no voice had ever before brought such joy to her soul. "o carl! why didn't i know you?" "vy not? pecause maybe you vas looking for somepody else. mishter hapgoot came part vay mit me, but he vas so used up i made him shtop till i came to pring toby up vere he is." then virginia, recovering from her agitation, had a score of questions to ask about her father, about the fight, and about penn. "if you vill only go up, he vill tell you so much more as i can. then you vill go and see your fahder. that vill be petter as going back to-night, vere there is no goot shtout fellow in the house to prewail on them willains to keep their dishtance." even at the outset of her adventurous journey virginia had felt a vague hope that she should visit her father before she returned. what the boy said inspired her with courage to proceed. she would go up as far as where penn was waiting, at all events: then she would be guided by his advice. the two set out, carl leading her by the hand, and assisting her. it grew darker and darker. the stars were hidden: the sky was almost completely overcast by black clouds. slowly and with great difficulty they made their way among trees and bushes, through abrupt hollows, and over rocks. virginia felt that she could have done nothing without carl; and the thought of returning alone, in such darkness, down the mountain, made her shudder. but at length even carl began to sweat with something besides the physical exertion required in making the ascent. his mind had grown exceedingly perturbed, and virginia perceived that his course was wavering and uncertain. he stopped, blowing and wiping his face. "dish ish de all confoundedesht, meanesht, mosht dishgusting road for a dark night the prince of darkness himself ever inwented!" he exclaimed, speaking unusually thick in his heat and excitement. "i shouldn't be wery much surprised if i vas a leetle out of the right vay. you shtay right here till i look." she sat down and waited. intense darkness surrounded her; not a star was visible; she could not see her own hand. for a little while carl's footsteps could be heard feeling for more familiar ground; and then, occasionally, the crackling of a dry twig, as he trod upon it, showed that he was not far off. then he whistled; then he softly called, "hello!" in the woods; moving all the time farther and farther away. carl believed that penn could not be far distant, and, in order to get an answering signal, he kept whistling and calling louder and louder. at length came a response--a low warning whistle. so he plodded on, and had nearly reached the spot where he was confident penn was searching for him, when there came a rush of feet, and he was suddenly and violently seized by invisible assailants. "got him?" "yes! all right!" "hang on to him! it's the dutchman, ain't it? i thought i knew the brogue!" the last speaker was lieutenant silas ropes; and carl perceived that he had fallen into the hands of a squad of confederate soldiers. that he was vastly astonished and altogether disconcerted at first, we may well suppose. but carl was not a lad to remain long bereft of his wits when they were so necessary to him. "ho! vot for you choke a fellow so?" he indignantly demanded. "i vas treated petter as that ven i vas a prisoner." "what do you mean, you d--d deserter?" "haven't i just got avay from stackridge? and vasn't i running to find you as vast as ever a vellow could? and now you call me a deserter!" retorted carl, aggrieved. "running to find _us_!" "to be sure! didn't i say, 'is it you?' for they said you vas on the mountain. though i did not think i should find you so easy!" which was indeed the truth. carl persisted so earnestly in regarding the affair from this point of view, that his captors began to think it worth while to question him. "vun of them vellows just says to me, he says, 'shpeak vun vord, or make vun noise, and i vill plow your prains out!' i vasn't wery much in favor to have my prains plowed out, so i complied mit his wery urgent request. that's the vay they took me prisoner." "wal," remarked silas, "what he says may be true, but i don't believe nary word on't. got his hands tied? now lock arms with him, and bring him along." carl was in despair at this mode of treatment, for it rendered escape impossible,--and what would become of virginia? his anxiety for her safety became absolute terror when he discovered the errand on which these men were bound. by the light of a dark lantern they led him through the grove, across a brook that came tumbling down out of a wild black gorge, and up the mountain slope into the edge of the great forest above. here they stopped. "this yer's a good place, boys, to begin. kick the leaves together. that's the talk." they were in a leafy hollow of the dry woods. a blaze was soon kindled, which shot up in the darkness, and threw its ruddy glare upon the trunks and overhanging canopy of foliage, and upon the malignant, gleaming faces of the soldiers. little effort was needed to insure the spreading of the flames. they ran over the ground, licking up the dry leaves, crackling the twigs, catching at the bark of trees, and filling the forest, late so silent and black, with their glow and roar. "that's to smoke out your d--d union friends!" said silas to carl, with a hideous grin. yes, carl understood that well enough. in this same forest, on the banks of the brook above where it fell into the gorge, the patriots were encamped. and virginia? still believing that the worst that could happen to her would be to fall into the hands of these ruffians, the lad sweated in silent agony over the secret he was bound to keep. "what makes ye look so down-in-the-mouth, dutchy? 'fraid your friends will get scorched?" "i vas thinking the fire vill be apt to scorch us as much as it vill them. and i have my hands tied so i can't run." "don't be afraid; we'll look out for you. i swear, boys! the fire looks as though 'twas dying down! get out o' this yer holler and there ain't no leaves to feed it; and i be hanged if the wind ain't gitting contrary!" carl witnessed these effects with a gleam of hope. the soldiers fell to gathering bark and sticks, which they piled at the roots of trees. the lad was left almost alone. had his hands been free, he would have run. a soldier passed near him, dragging a dead bush. "dan pepperill! cut the cord!" dan shook his head, with a look of terror. "drop your knife, then!" "o lord!" said dan. "they'd hang me! i be durned if they wouldn't!" "dan, you must! i don't care vun cent for myself. but wirginie willars--she is just beyond vere you took me. vill you leave her to die? and mishter hapgoot is just a little vay up the mountain, and there is nopody to let him know!" a look of ghastly intelligence came into dan's face as he stopped to listen to this explanation. he seemed half inclined to set the boy's limbs free, and risk the consequences. but just then ropes shouted at him,-"what ye at thar, pepperill? why don't ye bring along that ar brush?" so the brief conference ended, and the cords remained uncut. and a great, dangerous fire was kindling in the woods. and now carl's only hope for virginia was, that she would take advantage of its light to make good her retreat from the mountain. xxviii. _beauty and the beast._ unfortunately the poor girl had no suspicion of the mischance that had overtaken her guide. she heard voices, and believed that he had fallen in with some friends. thus she waited, expecting momently that he would return to her. she saw a single gleam of light that vanished in the darkness. then the voices grew fainter and fainter, and at length died in the distance. and she was once more utterly alone. fearful doubt and uncertainty agitated her. in a moment of despair, yielding to the terrors of her situation, she wrung her hands and called on carl imploringly not to abandon her, but to come back--"o, dear, dear carl, come back!" suddenly she checked herself. why was she sitting there, wasting the time in tears and reproaches? "poor carl never meant to desert me in this way, i know. if i ever see him again, he will make me sorry that i have blamed him. no doubt he has done his best. but, whatever has become of him, i am sure he cannot find his way back to me now. i'll follow him; perhaps i may find him, or penn, or some of their friends." she arose accordingly, and groped her way in the direction in which she had seen the light and heard the voices. and soon another and very different light gladdened her eyes--a faint glow, far off, as of a fire kindled among the forest trees. it was the camp of the patriots, she thought. she came to the brook, which, invisible, mysterious, murmuring, rolled along in the midnight blackness, and seemed too formidable for her to ford. she felt the cold rush of the hurrying water, the slippery slime of the mossy and treacherous stones, and withdrew her appalled hands. to find a shallow place to cross, she followed up the bank; and as the light was still before her, higher on the mountain, she kept on, groping among trees, climbing over logs and rocks, falling often, but always resolutely rising again, until, to her dismay, the glow began to disappear. she had, without knowing it, followed the stream up into the deep gorge through which it poured; and now the precipitous wood-crowned wall, rising beside her, overhanging her, shut out the last glimpse of the fire. she was by this time exceedingly fatigued. it seemed useless to advance farther; she felt certain that she was only getting deeper and deeper into the entangling difficulties of that unknown, horrible place. neither had she the courage or strength to retrace her steps. nothing then remained for her but to pass the remainder of the night where she was, and wait patiently for the morning. little knowing that the light she had seen was the glare of the kindled forest, she endeavored to convince herself that she had nothing to fear. at all events, she knew that trembling and tears could avail her nothing. she had not ventured to call very loudly for help, fearing lest her voice might bring foe instead of friend. and now it occurred to her that perhaps carl had been taken by the soldiers: yes, it must be so: she explained it all to herself, and wondered why she had not thought of it before. it would therefore be folly in her now to scream for aid. comfortless, yet calm, she explored the ground for a resting-place. she cleared the twigs away from the roots of a tree, and laid herself down there on the moss and old leaves. everything seemed dank with the never-failing dews of the deep and sheltered gorge; but she did not mind the dampness of her couch. a strong wind was rising, and the great trees above her swayed and moaned. she was vexed by mosquitoes that bit as if they then for the first time tasted blood, and never expected to taste it again; but she was too weary to care much for them either. she rested her arm on the mossy root; she rested her head on her arm; she drew her handkerchief over her face; she shut out from her soul all the miseries and dangers of her situation, and quietly said her prayers. there is nothing that calms the perturbations of the mind like that inward looking for the light of god's peace which descends upon us when in silence and sweet trust we pray to him. a delicious sense of repose ensued, and her thoughts floated off in dreams. she dreamed she was flying with her father from the fury of armed men. she led him into a wilderness; and it was night; and great rocks rose up suddenly before them in the gloom, and awful chasms yawned. then she was wandering alone; she had lost her father, and was seeking him up and down. then it seemed that penn was by her side; and when she asked for her father he smilingly pointed upward at a wondrously beautiful light that shone from the summit of a hill. she sought to go up thither, but grew weary, and sat down to rest in a deep grove, with an ice-cold mountain stream dashing at her feet. then the light on the hill became a lake of fire, and it poured its waves into the stream, and the stream flowed past her a roaring river of flame. lightnings crackled in the air above her. thunderbolts fell. the heat was intolerable. the river had overflowed, and set the world on fire. and she could not fly, for terror chained her limbs. she struggled, screamed, awoke. she started up. her dream was a reality. either the fire set by the soldiers had spread, driven by the wind over the dry leaves, into the grove below her, or else they had fired the grove itself on their retreat. her eyes opened upon a vision of appalling brightness. for a moment she stood utterly dazzled and bewildered, not knowing where she was. memory and reason were paralyzed: she could not remember, she could not think: amazement and terror possessed her. instinctively shielding her eyes, she looked down. the ground where she had lain, the log, the sticks, the moss, and her handkerchief fallen upon it, were illumined with a glare brighter than noonday. at sight of the handkerchief came recollection. her terrible adventure, the glow she had seen in the woods, her bed on the earth,--she remembered everything. and now the actual perils of her position became apparent to her returning faculties. where all was blackness when she lay down, now all was preternatural light. every bush and jutting rock of the wild overhanging cliffs stood out in fearful distinctness. the saplings and trees on their summits, fifty feet above her head, seemed huddling together, and leaning forward terror-stricken, in an atmosphere of whirling flame and smoke. climb those cliffs she could not, though she were to die. she must then flee farther up into the deep and narrow gorge, or endeavor to escape by the way she had come. but the way she had come was fire. the conflagration already enveloped the mouth of the gorge, shutting her in. the trunks of near trees stood like the bars of a stupendous cage, through which she looked at the raging demons beyond. burning limbs fell, shooting through the air with trails of flame. every tree was a pillar of fire. here a bough, still untouched, hung, dark and impassive, against the lurid, surging chaos. then the whirlwind of heated air struck it, and you could see it writhe and twist, until its darkness burst into flame. there stood what was late a lordly maple, but now,--trunk, and limb, and branch,--a tree of living coal. and down under this gulf of fire flowed the brook, into which showers of sparks fell hissing, while over all, fearfully illumined clouds of smoke and cinders and leaves went rolling up into the sky. virginia approached near enough to be impressed with the dreadful certainty that there was no outlet whatever, for any mortal foot, in that direction. tortured by the heat, and pursued by lighted twigs, that fell like fiery darts around her, she fled back into the gorge. the conflagration was still spreading rapidly. the timber along both sides of the gorge, at its opening, began to burn upwards towards the summits of the cliffs. soon the very spot where she had slept, and where she now paused once more in her terrible perplexity and fear, would be an abyss of flame. again she took to flight, hasting along the edge of the stream, up into the heart of the gorge. over roots of trees, over old decaying trunks, over barricades of dead limbs brought down by freshets and left lodged, she climbed, she sprang, she ran. all too brightly her way was lighted now. a ghastly yellow radiance was on every object. the waters sparkled and gleamed as they poured over the dark brown stones. every slender, delicate fern, every poor little startled wild flower nestled in cool, dim nooks, was glaringly revealed. little the frightened girl heeded these darlings of the forest now. all the way she looked eagerly for some slant or cleft in the mountain walls where she might hope to ascend. here, over the accumulated soil of centuries, fastened by interwoven roots to the base of the cliff, she might have climbed a dozen feet or more. yonder, by the aid of shrubs and boughs, she might have drawn herself up a few feet farther. but, wherever her eye ranged along the ledges above, she beheld them dizzy-steep and unscalable. and so she kept on until even the way before her was closed up. on the brink of a rock-rimmed, flashing basin she stopped. down into this, from a shelf twenty feet in height, fell the brook in a bright, fire-tinted cascade. fear-inspired as she was, she could not but pause and wonder at the strange beauty of the scene,--the plashy pool before her, the flame-color on the veil of silver foam dropped from the brow of the ledge, and--for a wild background to the picture--the wooded, fire-lit, shadowy gorge, opening on a higher level above. during the moment that she stood there, a great bird, like an owl, that had probably been driven from his hollow tree or fissure in the rocks by the conflagration, flapped past her face, almost touching her with his wings, and dashed blindly against the waterfall. he was swept down into the pool. after some violent fluttering and floundering in the water, he extricated himself, perched on a stone at its edge, shook out his wet feathers, and stared at her with large cat-like eyes, without fear. she was near enough to reach him with her hand; but either he was so dazzled and stunned that he took no notice of her, or else the greater terror had rendered him tame to human approach. she believed the latter was the case, and saw something exceedingly awful in the incident. when even the wild winged creatures of the forest were stricken down with fear, what cause had she to apprehend danger to herself! on reaching the waterfall she had felt for a moment that all was over--that certain death awaited her. then, out of her very despair, came a gleam of hope. she might creep under the cascade, or behind it, and that would protect her. but when she looked up, and saw, around and above her, the forest trees with the frightful and ever-increasing glow upon them, and knew that they too soon must kindle, and thought of firebrands rained down upon her, and falling columns of fire filling the gorge with burning rubbish,--then her soul sickened: what protection would a little sheet of water prove against such furnace heat? no: she must escape, or perish. beside the cascade there was a broken angle of the rocks, by which, if she could reach it, she might at least, she thought, climb to the upper part of the gorge. but the nearest foothold she could discover was ten feet above the basin, in sheer ascent. the ledge was dank and slippery with the dashing spray. gain the top of it, however, she must. she ran up the embankment under the cliff. here a sapling gave her support; she clung to a crevice or projection there; a drooping bough saved her from falling when the soft earth slid from beneath her feet farther on. so she climbed along the side of the precipice, until the broken corner of the cliff was hardly two yards off before her. yes, a secure foothold was there, and above it rose irregular pointed stairs, leading steeply to the top of the cascade. o, to reach that shattered ledge! a space of perpendicular wall intervened. no shrub, no drooping bough, was there. here was only a slight projection, just enough to rest the edge of a foot upon. she placed her foot upon it. she found a crevice above, and thrust her fingers into it as if there was no such thing as pain. she clung, she took a step--she was half a yard nearer the angle. but what next could she do? she was hanging in the air above the basin, into which the slightest slip would precipitate her. to change hands--relieve the one advanced and insert the fingers of the other in its place,--was a perilous undertaking. but she did it. then she reached forward again with hand and foot, found another spot to cling to, and took another step. she was thankful for the great light that lighted the rocks before her. close by now was the fractured angle of the cliff: one more step, and she could set her foot upon the nethermost stair. her strength was almost gone; her hands, though insensible to pain, were conscious of slipping. to fall would be to lose all she had gained, and all the strength she had exhausted in the effort. her feet now--or rather one of them--had a tolerably secure hold on the rib of the ledge. she made one last effort with her hands, and, just as she was falling, gave a spring. she knew that all was staked upon that one dizzy instant of time. but for that knowledge she could never have accomplished what she did. she fell forwards towards the angle, caught a point of the rock with her hands, and clung there until she had safely placed her feet. this done, it was absolutely necessary to stop a moment to rest. she looked downwards and behind her, to see what she had done. the sight made her dizzy--it seemed such a miracle that she could ever have scaled that wall! nearer and louder roared the conflagration, and she had little time to delay. her labor was not ended, neither was the danger past. she cast a hurried glance upwards over the ridge she was to climb, and advanced cautiously, step by step. her soul kept saying within her, "i will not fall; i will not fall;" but she dared not look backwards again, lest even then she should grow giddy and miss her hold. as she ascended, the ridge inclined nearer and nearer to the side of the cascade, until she found the stones slimy and dripping. this was an unforeseen peril. still she resolutely advanced, taking the utmost precaution at each step against slipping. at length she was at the top of the waterfall. she could look up into the upper gorge, and see the water come rushing down. there was space beside the brook for her to continue her flight; and the sides of the gorge above were far less steep and rugged than below. she was thrilled with hope. she had but one steep, high stair to surmount. she was getting her knee upon it, when a crashing sound in the underbrush arrested her attention. the crashing was followed by a commotion in the water, and she saw a huge black object plunge into the stream, and come sweeping down towards her. on it came, straight at the rock on which she clung, and from which a motion, a touch, might suffice to hurl her back into the lower gorge. she saw what it was; and for a moment she was frozen with terror. she was directly in its path: it would not stop for her. the sight of the blazing woods below, however, brought it to a sudden halt. and there, close by the brink of the waterfall, facing her, not a yard distant, in the full glare of the fire, it rose slowly on its hind feet to look--a monster of the forest, an immense black bear. and now, but for the nightmare of horror that was upon her, virginia might have perceived that the forest _above_ the cascade was likewise wrapped in flames. the bear had been driven by the terror of them down the stream; and here, between the two fires, on the verge of the waterfall, the slight young girl and the great shaggy wild beast had met. she would have shrieked, but she had no voice. the bear also was silent; with his huge hairy bulk reared up before her, his paws pendant, and his jaws half open in a sort of stupid amazement, he stood and gazed, uttering never a growl. xxix. _in the burning woods._ the incessant excitement and fatigue of the past few days had caused penn to fall asleep almost immediately after carl left him. the rude ground on which he stretched himself proved a blissful couch of repose. virginia climbed the mountain to meet him, and no fine intuitive sense of her approach thrilled him with wakeful expectancy. carl was captured, and still he slept. the lost young girl wandered within fifty yards of where he lay steeped in forgetfulness, dreaming, perhaps, of her; and all the time they were as unconscious of each other's presence as were evangeline and her lover when they passed each other at night on the great river. penn was the first to wake; and still his stupid heart whispered to him no syllable of the strange secret of the beautiful sleeper whom he might have looked down upon from the edge of the cliff so near. the grove had been but recently fired, and it would have been easy enough then for him to rush into the gorge and rescue her. from what terrors, from what perils would she have been saved! but he wasted the precious moments in staring amazement; then, thinking of his own safety, he commenced running _away_ from her,--his escape lighted by the same fatal flames that were enclosing her within the gorge. she never knew whether, on awaking, she cried for help or remained dumb; nor did it matter much then: he was already too far off to hear. the glow on the clouds lighted all the broad mountain side. under the ruddy canopy he ran,--now through dimly illumined woods, and now over bare rocks faintly flushed by the glare of the sky. as he drew near the cave, he saw, on a rock high above him, a wild human figure making fantastic gestures, and prostrating itself towards the burning forests. he ran up to it, and, all out of breath, stood on the ledge. "cudjo! cudjo! what are you doing here?" the negro made no reply, but, folding his arms above his head, spread them forth towards the fire, bowing himself again and again, until his forehead touched the stone. penn shuddered with awe. for the first time in his life he found himself in the presence of an idolater. cudjo belonged to a tribe of african fire-worshippers, from whom he had been stolen in his youth; and, although the sentiment of the old barbarous religion had smouldered for years forgotten in his breast, this night it had burst forth again, kindled by the terrible splendors of the burning mountain. penn waited for him to rise, then grasped his arm. the negro, startled into a consciousness of his presence, stared at him wildly. "that is not god, cudjo!" "no, no, not your god, massa! my god!" and the african smote his breast. "me mos' forgit him; now me 'members! him comin' fur burn up de white folks, and set de brack man free!" penn stood silent, thinking the negro might not be altogether wrong. no doubt the dim, dark soul of him saw vaguely, with that prophetic sense which is in all races of men, a great truth. a fire was indeed coming--was already kindled--which was to set the bondman free: and god was in the fire. but of that mightier conflagration, the combustion of the forests was but a feeble type. penn turned from cudjo to watch the burning, and became aware of its threatening and rapidly increasing magnitude. the woods had been set in several places, but the different fires were fast growing into one, swept by a strong wind diagonally across and up the mountain. it seemed then as if nothing could prevent all the forest growths that lay to the southward and westward along the range from being consumed. as he gazed, he became extremely alarmed for the safety of stackridge and his friends: and where all this time was carl? in vain he questioned cudjo. he turned, and was hastening to the cave when he met pomp coming towards him. tall, majestic, naked to the waist, wearing a garment of panther-skins, with the red gleam of the fire on his dusky face and limbs, the negro looked like a native monarch of the hills. "o pomp! what a fire that is!" "what a fire it is going to be!" answered pomp, with a lurid smile. "our new neighbors have brought us bad luck. all those woods are gone. the fire is sweeping up directly towards us--it will pass over all the mountain--nothing will be left." yet he spoke with a lofty calmness that astonished penn. "and our friends!--carl!--have you heard from them?" "i have not seen carl since he left the cave with you, nor any of stackridge's people to-night." "then they are in the woods yet!" "yes; unless they have been wise enough to get out of them! i was just starting out to look for them.--who comes there?"--poising his rifle. "it's carl!" exclaimed penn, recognizing the confederate coat. but in an instant he saw his mistake. "it is one of ropes's men!" said pomp. "he has discovered us--he shall die for setting my mountains on fire!" "hold!" penn grasped his arm. "he is beckoning and calling!" pomp frowned as he lowered his rifle, and waited for the soldier to come up. "what! is it you? i didn't know you in that dress, and came near shooting you, as you deserve, for wearing it!" and pomp turned scornfully away. the comer was dan pepperill, breathless with haste, horror-struck, haggard. it was some time before he could reply to penn's impetuous demand--what had brought him up thither? "carl!" he gasped. "what has happened to carl?" "ben tuck! durned if he hain't! but that ar ain't the wust!" "what, then, is the worst?" for that seemed bad enough. "virginny--miss villars!" "virginia! what of her?" "she's down thar! in the fire!" "virginia in the fire!" "she ar,--durned if she ain't! carl said she war on the mountain, and wanted me to hurry up and help her or find you; and i'd a done it, but i couldn't git off till we was runnin' from the fires we'd sot; then i kinder got scattered a puppus; t'other ones hung on to carl, though, so i had to come alone." penn interrupted the loose and confused narrative--virginia: had he _seen_ her? "wal, i reckon i hev! ye see i war huntin' fur her thar, above the round rock; fur carl said,----" a short, sharp groan broke from the lips of penn. at first the idea of virginia being on the mountain had appeared to him incredible. but at the mention of the place of rendezvous the truth smote him: she had come up there with toby, or in his stead. with spasmodic grip he wrung pepperill's arm as if he would have wrung the truth out of him that way. "you saw her!--where?" his hoarse voice, his terrible look, bewildered the poor man more and more. "i war a tellin' ye! don't break my arm, and don't look so durned f'erce at me, and i'll out with the hull story. ye see, i warn't to blame, now, no how. they sot the fires; they sot the grove on our way back; and if i helped any, 'twas cause i had ter. but about _her_. wal, i begun to the big rock, and war a-huntin' up along, till the grove got all in a blaze, and the red limbs begun ter fall, and i see 'twas high time for me to put. says i ter myself, 'she hain't hyar; she ar off the mountain and safe ter hum afore this time, shore!' but jest then i heern a screech; it sounded right inter the grove, and i run up as clust ter the fire's i could, and looked, and thar i seen right in the middle on't, amongst the burnin' trees, a woman's gownd, and then a face: 'twas her face, i knowed it, fur she hadn't nary bunnit on, and the fire shone on it bright as lightnin'! but thar war half a acre o' blazin' timber atween her and me; and besides, i was so struck up all of a heap, i couldn't do nary thing fur nigh about a minute--i couldn't even holler ter let her know i war thar. and 'fore i knowed what i war about, durned if she hadn't gone!" penn afterwards understood that dan had actually had a glimpse of virginia when she ran out to the entrance of the gorge, and stood there a moment in the terrible heat and glare. "where--show me where!" he exclaimed with fierce vehemence, dragging pepperill after him down the rocks. "it war a considerable piece this side the round rock, nigh the upper eend o' the grove," said dan, in a jarred voice, clattering after him, as fast as he could. "i reckon i kin find it, if 'tain't too late." too late? it must not be too late! penn leaps down the ledges, and rushes through the thickets, as if he would overtake time itself. they reach the burning grove. pepperill points out as nearly as he can the spot where he stood when he saw virginia. great god! if she was in there, what a frightful end was hers! "daniel! are you sure?"--for penn cannot, will not believe--it is too terrible! daniel is very sure; and he withdraws from the insufferable heat, to which his companion appears insensible. "there is a gorge just above there; perhaps she escaped into the gorge. o, if i had known!" groans the half-distracted youth, thinking how near he must have been to her when the fire awoke him. he still hopes that dan's vision of her in the fire was but the hallucination of a bewildered brain. yet no effort will he spare, no danger will he shun. the entrance to the gorge is all a gulf of flame; and the woods are blazing upwards along the cliffs, and all the forest beyond is turning to a sea of fire. yet the gorge must be reached. back again up the steep slope they climb. penn flies to the verge of the cliff. he looks down: the chasm is all a glare of light. there runs the red-gleaming brook. he sees the logs, the stones, the mosses, all the wild entanglement, deep below. but no virginia. he runs almost into the crackling flames, in order to peer farther down the gorge. then he darts away in the opposite direction, along the very brink of the precipice, among the fire-lit trees,--pepperill stupidly following. he seizes hold of a sapling, and, with his foot braced against its root, swings his body forward over the chasm, the better to gaze into its depths. from that position he casts his eye up the gorge. he sees the cascade falling over the ledge in a sheet of ruddy foam. he discovers the upper gorge; sees a monster of the forest come plunging and plashing down to the fall, and there lift himself on his haunches to look;--and what is that other object, half hidden by a drooping bough? it is virginia clinging to the rocks. a moment before, had penn made the discovery of the young girl still unharmed by fire, his happiness would have been supreme. but now joy was checked by an appalling fear. the bear might seize her, or with a stroke of his paw hurl her from his path. penn caught hold of the bough that impeded his view, and saw how precarious was her hold. he dared not so much as call to her, or shout to frighten the monster away, lest, her attention being for an instant distracted, she might turn her head, lose her balance, and fall backwards from the rocks. "durned if she ain't thar!" said dan, excitedly. "but she's got a powerful slim chance with the bar!" "come with me!" said penn. he ran to the upper gorge, showed himself on the bank above the cascade, and shouted. the bear, as he anticipated, turned and looked up at him. virginia at the same time saw her deliverer. "hold on! i'll be with you in a minute!" he cried in a voice heard above the noise of the waterfall and the roar of the conflagration. she clung fast, hope and gladness thrilling her soul, and giving her new strength. to reach her, penn had a precipitous descent of near thirty feet to make. he did not pause to consider the difficulty of getting up again, or the peril of encountering the bear. he jumped down over a perpendicular ledge upon a projection ten feet below. beyond that was a rapid slope covered with moss and thin patches of soil, with here and there a shrub, and here and there a tree. striking his heels into the soil, and catching at whatever branch or stem presented itself, he took the plunge. clinging, sliding, falling, he arrived at the bottom. in a posture half sitting, half standing, and considerably jarred, he found himself face to face with bruin. the animal had settled down on all fours, and now, with his surly, depressed head turned sullenly to one side, he looked at penn, and growled. penn looked at him, and said nothing. he had heard of staring wild beasts out of countenance--an experiment that could be conducted strictly on peace principles, if the bear would only prove as good a quaker as himself. he resolved to try it: indeed, all unarmed as he was, what else could he do? he might at least, by diverting the brute's attention, give virginia time to get into a position of safety. so he stood up, and fixed his eyes on the red-blinking eyes of the ferocious beast. something bruin did not like: it might have been the youth's company and valiant bearing, but more probably his observation of the fire had satisfied him that he was out of his place. with another growl, that seemed to say, "all i ask is to be let alone," he seceded,--turning his head still more, twisting his body around, after it, and retreating up the gorge. in an instant penn was at the young girl's side: his hand clasped hers; he drew her up over the rock. not a word was uttered. he was too agitated to speak; and she, after the terror and the strain to which her nerves had been subjected so long, felt all her strength give way. but as he lifted her in his arms, a faint smile of happiness flitted over her white face, and her lips moved with a whisper of gratitude he did not hear. in spite of all the dangers behind them, and of the dangers still before, both felt, in that moment, a shock of mutual bliss. neither had ever known till then how dear the other was. pepperill had by this time leaped down upon the bulge of the bank. there he waited for them, shouting,-"hurry up! the bar'll meet the fire up thar, and be comin' down agin!" penn required no spur to his exertions: he knew too well the necessity of getting speedily beyond the reach, not of the bear only, but also of the fire, which threatened them now on three sides--below, above, and on the farther bank of the gorge. clasping the burden more precious to him than life, resolved in his soul to part with it only with life, he toiled heavily up the bank, down which he had descended with such tremendous swiftness a few minutes before. but it was not in virginia's nature to remain long a helpless encumbrance. seeing the labor and peril still before them, her will returned, and with it her strength. she grasped a branch by which he was trying in vain with one hand, holding her with the other, to draw them both up a steep place. her prompt action enabled him to seize the trunk of a young tree: she assisted still, and slipping from his hands, clung to it until he had reached the next tree above. he pulled her up after him, and then pushed her on still farther, until pepperill could reach her from where he stood. a minute later the three were together on the summit of the slope. but now they had above them the ten feet of sheer perpendicularity down which dan had indiscreetly jumped, following penn's lead. a single hand above them would now be worth several hands below. "what a fool i war! durned if i warn't!" said dan, endeavoring unsuccessfully to find a place by which he could reascend. "get on my shoulders!" and penn braced himself against the ledge. dan made the attempt, but fell, and rolled down the bank. just then a grinning black face appeared above. "gib me de gal! gib me de gal!" and a prodigiously long arm reached down. "o cudjo! you are an angel!" cried penn, "daniel! here!" pepperill was up the bank again in a minute, at penn's side. they lifted virginia above their heads. holding on by a sapling with one hand, the negro extended the other far down over the ledge. those miraculous arms of his seemed to have been made expressly for this service. he grasped a wrist of the girl; with the other hand she clung to his arm until he had drawn her up to the sapling; this she seized, and helped herself out. then once more penn gave daniel his shoulder, while cudjo gave him a hand from above; and daniel was safe. last of all, penn remained. "cotch holt hyar!" said cudjo, extending towards him the end of a branch he had broken from a tree. to this penn held fast, assisting himself with his feet against the ledge, while cudjo and dan hauled him up. "good cudjo! how came you here?" "me see you and pepperill a gwine inter de fire. so me foller." "this is the old man's daughter, cudjo." cudjo regarded the beautiful young girl with a look of vague wonder and admiration. "he remembers me," said virginia. "i saw him the night he climbed in at toby's window." she gave him her hand; it trembled with emotion. "i thank you, cudjo, for what you have done for my father--and for me." "now, cudjo! show us the nearest and easiest path. we must take her to the cave--there is no other way." "you must be right spry, den!" said cudjo. "de fire am a runnin' ober dat way powerful!" indeed, it had already crossed the upper end of the gorge, where the forest brook fell into it; and, getting into some beds of leaves, and thence into dense and inflammable thickets, it was now blazing directly across their line of retreat. penn would have carried virginia in his arms, but she would not suffer him. "i can go where you can!" she cried, once more full of spirit and daring. "just give me your hand--you shall see!" penn took one of her hands, pepperill the other, and with their aid, supporting her, lifting her, she sprang lightly up the ledges, and from rock to rock. cudjo, carrying dan's gun, ran on before, leading the way through hollows and among bushes, by a route known only to himself. so they reached a piece of woods, by the thin skirts of which he hoped to head off the fire. too late--it was there before them. it ran swiftly among the fallen leaves and twigs, and spread far into the woods. the negro turned back. there was a wild grimace in his face, and a glitter in his eyes, as he threw up his hand, by way of signal that their flight in that direction was cut off. "cudjo! what is to be done!" and penn drew virginia towards him with a look that showed his fears were all for her. "we can't git off down the mountain, nuther!" said dan. "it's gittin' into the woods down thar. it'll be all around us in no time!" "you let cudjo do what him pleases?" said the black. "i can trust you! can you, virginia?" "he should know what is best. yes, i will trust him." "take dat 'ar!" pepperill received his gun. "now you look out fur youselves. me tote de gal." and catching up virginia, before penn could stop him, or question him, he rushed with her into the fire. penn ran after him, perceiving at once the meaning of this bold act. the woods were not yet fairly kindled; only now and then the loose bark of a dry trunk was beginning to blaze. cudjo leaped over the line of flame that was running along the ground, and bore virginia high above it to the other side. penn followed, and dan came close behind. they then had before them a tract of blackened ground which the flames had swept, leaving here and there a dead limb or mat of leaves still burning. these little fires were easily avoided. but they soon came to another line of flame raging on the upper side of the burnt tract. they were almost out of the woods: only that red, crackling hedge fenced them in; but that they could not pass: the underbrush all along the forest edge was burning. and there they were, brought to a halt, half-stifled with smoke, in the midst of woods kindling and blazing all around them. "may as well pull up hyar, and take a bref," remarked cudjo, grimly, placing virginia on a log too dank with decay and moss to catch fire easily. "den we's try 'em agin." a horrible suspicion crossed penn's mind; the fanatical fire-worshipper had brought them there to destroy them--to sacrifice them to his god! "virginia!"--eagerly laying hold of her arm,--"we must retreat! it will soon be too late! we can get out of the woods where we came in, if we go at once!" "beg pardon, sar," said cudjo, stamping out fire in the leaves by the end of the log,--and he looked up through the smoke at penn, with the old malignant grin on his apish face. "what do you mean, cudjo?" said penn, in an agony of doubt. "can't get back dat way, sar!" "then you have led us here to destroy us!" "you's no longer trust cudjo!" was the negro's only reply. "didn't we trust you? haven't we come through fire, following you? o cudjo! more than once you have helped to save my life! you have helped to save this life, dearer than mine! why do you desert us now?" "'sert you? cudjo no 'sert you." but the negro spoke sullenly, and there was still a sparkle of malignancy in his look. "then why do you stop here?" "hugh! tink we's go trough dat fire like we done trough tudder?" "what then are we to do?" "you's no longer trust cudjo!" was once more the sullen response. virginia, with her quick perceptions, saw at once what penn was either too dull or too much excited to see. cudjo felt himself aggrieved; but he was not unfaithful. "_i_ trust you, cudjo!"--and she laid her hand frankly and confidingly on his shoulder. "did i tremble, did i shrink when you carried me through the fire? i shall never forget how brave, how good you are! he trusts you too,--only he is so afraid for me! you can forgive that, cudjo." "she is right," said penn, though still in doubt. "if you know a way to save her, don't lose a moment!" "he knows; on'y let him take his time," said pepperill, whose firm faith in the negro's good will shamed penn for his distrust. and yet pepperill did not love, as penn loved, the girl whose life was in danger; and he had not seen the evidences of cudjo's fire-worshipping fanaticism which penn had seen. under the influence of virginia's gentle and soothing words, the glitter of resentment died out of the negro's face. but his aspect was still morose. "de fire take his time to burn out; so we's take our time too," said he. "you try your chance wid cudjo agin, miss?" "certainly! for i am sure you will take us safely through yet!" said virginia, without a shadow of doubt or hesitation on her face, however dark may have been the shadow on her heart. the negro was evidently well pleased. he examined carefully the line of fire in the undergrowth. and now penn discovered, what cudjo had known very well from the first, that there were barren ledges above, and that the fire was rapidly burning itself out along their base. an opening through which a courageous and active man might dash unscathed soon presented itself. then cudjo waited no longer to "take bref." he caught virginia in his arms, and bore her through the second line of fire, as he had borne her through the first, and placed her in safety on the rocks above. "cudjo, my brave, my noble fellow!" said penn, deeply affected, "i have wronged you; i confess it with shame. forgive me!" "cudjo hab nuffin to forgib," replied the negro, with a laugh of pleasure "neber mention um, massa! all right now! reckon we's better be gitt'n out o' dis yer smudge!" he showed the way, and penn and daniel helped virginia up the rocks as before. they had reached a smooth and unsheltered ledge near the ravine, a little below the mouth of the cave, when a hideous and inhuman shriek rent the air. "what dat?" cried cudjo, stopping short; and his visage in the smoky and lurid light looked wild with superstitious alarm. the sound was repeated, louder, nearer, more hideous than before, seeming to make the very atmosphere shudder above their heads. "go on, cudjo! go on!" penn commanded. the terrified black crouched and gibbered, but would not stir. then straightway a sharp clatter, as of iron hoofs flying at a furious gallop, resounded along the mountain-side. by a simultaneous impulse the little party huddled together, and turned their faces towards the fire, and saw coming down towards them a horse with the speed of the wind. "stand close!" said penn; and he threw himself before virginia, to shield her, shouting and swinging his hat to frighten the animal from his course. "stackridge's hoss!" exclaimed cudjo, recovering from his fright, leaping up, and flinging abroad his long arms in the air. "wiv some poor debil onter him's back!" it was so. the little group stood motionless, chilled with horror. the beast came thundering on, with lips of terror parted, nostrils wide and snorting, mane and tail flying in the wild air, hoofs striking fire from the rocks. a human being--a man--was lying close to his neck, and clinging fast: the face hidden by the tossing and streaming mane: a fearful ride! the mystery surrounding him, and the awful glare and smoke, enhancing the horror of it. approaching the group on the ledge, the animal veered, and shot past them like a thunderbolt; clearing rocks, hollows, bushes, with incredible bounds; nearing the ravine, but halting not; dashing into the thickets there, missing suddenly the ground beneath his feet, striking only the air and yielding boughs with frantic hoofs; then plunging down with a dull, reverberant crash,--horse and unknown rider rolling together over rocks and spiked limbs to the bottom of the ravine. then all was still again: it had passed like a vision of fear. xxx. _refuge._ for a moment the little group stood dumb and motionless on the ledge, in the flare of the vast flame-curtains. they looked at each other. penn was the first to speak. "which of us goes down into the ravine?" "wha' fur?" said cudjo. "to find him!" and penn gazed anxiously towards the thickets into which the horse and horseman had gone down. "dat no good! deader 'n de debil, shore!" "o, may be he is not!" exclaimed virginia, full of compassion for the unfortunate unknown. "do go and see, cudjo!" "fire'll be dar in less'n no time. him nuffin to cudjo. we's best be gwine." and the negro started off, doggedly, towards the cave. then penn took the resolution which he would have taken at once but for virginia. "stay with her, daniel! i will go!" virginia turned pale; she had not thought of that. but immediately she controlled her fears: she would not be selfish: if he was brave and generous enough to descend into the ravine for one he did not know, she would be equally brave and generous, and let him go. she clasped her hands together so that they should not hold him back, and forced her lips to say,-"i will wait for you here." "no, i be durned if ye shall! hapgood, you stick to her: take this yer gun, and i'll slip down inter the holler, and see whuther the cuss's alive or dead, any how." "o, mr. pepperill, if you will!" said virginia, overjoyed. penn remonstrated,--rather feebly, it must be confessed, for the determination to part from her had cost him a struggle, and the privilege of keeping by her side till all danger was past, seemed too sweet to refuse. "i'll take her to her father, and hurry back, and meet you." "all right!" came the response from dan, already far down the rocks. "the cave is close by," said penn. "there is cudjo, waiting for us!" coming up with the black, and once more following his lead, they descended along the shelf of rocks, between the thickets and the overhanging ledge. so they came to the still dark jaws of the cavern. a grateful coolness breathed in their faces from within. but how dismal the entrance seemed to eyes lately dazzled by the blazing woods! virginia clung tightly to penn's hand, as they groped their way in. at first nothing was visible but a few smouldering embers, winking their sleepy eyes in the dark. out of these cudjo soon blew a little blaze, which he fed with sticks and bits of bark until it lighted up fitfully the dim interior and shadowy walls of his abode. penn hushed virginia with a finger on his lips, and restrained her from throwing herself forward upon the rude bed, where the blind old man was just awaking from a sound sleep. in that profound subterranean solitude the roar of the fiery breakers, dashing on the mountain side, was subdued to a faint murmur, less distinct than the dripping of water from roof to floor in the farther recesses of the cave. there, left alone, lulled by the dull, monotonous trickle,--thinking, if he heard the roar at all, that it was the mountain wind blowing among the pines,--mr. villars had slept tranquilly through all the horrors of that night. "is it you, penn? safe again!" and sitting up, he grasped the young man's hand. "what news from my dear girl?--from my two dear girls?" he added, remembering virginia was not his only child. "toby did not come to the rock," said penn, still holding virginia back. "o! did he not?" it seemed a heavy disappointment; but the patient old man rallied straightway, saying, with his accustomed cheerfulness, "no doubt something hindered him; no doubt he would have come if he could. my poor, dear girl, how i wish i could have got word to her that i am safe! but i thank you all the same; it was kind in you to give yourself all that trouble." "i believe all is for the best," said penn, his voice trembling. "no doubt, no doubt. it will be some time before i can have the consolation of my dear girl's presence again; i, who never knew till now how necessary she is to my happiness,--i may say, to my very life!" mr. villars wiped a tear he could not repress, and smiled. "yes, penn, god knows what is best for us all. his will be done!" but now virginia could restrain herself no longer; her sobs would burst forth. "father! father!"--throwing herself upon his neck. "o, my dear, dear father!" penn had feared the effect of the sudden surprise upon the old and feeble man, and had meant to break the good news to him softly. but human nature was too strong; his own emotions had baffled him, and the pious little artifice proved a complete failure. so now he could do nothing but stand by and make grim faces, struggling to keep down what was mastering him, and turning away blindly from the bed. even cudjo appeared deeply affected, staring stupidly, and winking something like a tear from the whites of his eyes at sight of the father embracing his child, and the white locks mingling with the wet, tangled curls on her cheek. he was a ludicrous, pathetic object, winking and staring thus; and penn laughed and cried too, at sight of him. "luk dar!" said cudjo, coming up to him, and pointing at the little walled chamber that served as his pantry. "she hab dat fur her dressum room. sleep dar, too, if she likes." "thank you, cudjo! it will be very acceptable, i am sure." "me clar it up fur her all scrumptious!" added the negro, with a grin. penn had thought of that. but now he had other business on his hands: he must hasten to find pepperill: nor could he keep anxious thoughts of stackridge and his friends out of his mind. and pomp--where all this time was pomp? he had hoped to find him and the patriots all safely arrived in the cave. virginia was seated on the bed by her father's side. penn threw a blanket over the dear young shoulders, to shield her from the sudden cold of the cave; then left her relating her adventures,--beckoning to cudjo, who followed him out. "cudjo!"--the black glided to his side as they emerged from the ravine,--"you must go and find pomp." cudjo laughed and shrugged. "no use't! reckon pomp take keer o' hisself heap better'n we's take keer on him!" true. pomp knew the woods. he was athletic, cautious, brave. but he had gone to extricate from peril others, in whose fate he himself might become involved. cudjo refused to take this view of the matter; and it was evident that, while he comforted himself with his deep convictions of pomp's ability to look out for his own safety, he was, to say the least, quite indifferent as to the welfare of the patriots. forgetting dan and the unknown horseman in his great solicitude for his absent friends, penn climbed the ledges, and gazed away in the direction of the camp, and beheld the forest there a raging gulf of fire. assuredly, they must have fled from it before this time; but whither had they gone? had pomp been able to find them? or might they not all have become entangled in the intricacies of the wilderness until encompassed by the fire and destroyed? penn watched in vain for their coming--in vain for some signal of their safety on the crags above the forest. had they reached the crags, he thought he might discover them somewhere with a glass, so vividly were those grim rock-foreheads of the hills lighted up beneath the red sky. he sent cudjo to find dan, ran to the cave for pomp's glass, and returned to the ledge. there he waited; there he watched; still in vain. wider and wider, spread the destroying sea; fiercer and fiercer leaped the billows of flame--the billows that did not fall again, but broke away in rent sheets, in red-rolling scrolls, and vanished upward in their own smoke. and now penn, lowering the glass, perceived what he must long since have been made aware of, had not the greater light concealed the less. it was morning; a dull and sunless dawn; the despairing daylight, filtered of all warmth and color, spreading dim and gray on the misty valleys, and on the sombre, far-off hills, under an interminable canopy of cloud. pepperill came clambering up the rocks. penn turned eagerly to meet and question him. "find him?" "wal, a piece on him." "killed?" "i reckon he ar that!" "who is it?" "durned if i kin tell! he's jammed in thar 'twixt two gre't stuns, and the hoss is piled on top, and you can't see nary featur' of his face, only the legs,--but durned if i know the legs!" "couldn't you move the horse?" "nary a bit. his neck is broke, and he lays wedged so clust, right on top o' the poor cuss, 'twould take a yoke o' oxen to drag him out." "are you sure the man is dead?" "shore? i reckon! he had one arm loose. i jest lifted it, and it drapped jest like a club when i let go; then i see 'twas broke square off jest above the elbow, about where the backbone o' the hoss comes. made me durned sick!" "what have you got in your hand?" "a boot--one o' his'n--thought i'd pull it off, his leg stuck up so kind o' handy; didn't know but some on ye might know the boot." and dan held it up for penn's inspection. "what is this on it? blood?" "it ar so! mebby it's the hoss's, and then agin mebby it's his'n; i hadn't noticed it afore." "i'll go back with you, daniel. together perhaps we can move the horse." "ye're behind time for that! the fire's thar. i hadn't only jest time to git cl'ar on't myself. the poor cuss is a br'ilin'!" "k-r-r-r! hi! don't ye har me callin'!" cudjo sprang up the ledge. "fire's a comin' to de cave! all in de brush dar! can't get in widout ye go now!" "and pomp and the rest! they will be shut out, if they are not lost already!" "pomp know well 'nuff what him 'bout, tell ye! gorry, massa! ye got to come, if cudjo hab to tote ye!" yielding to his importunity, penn quitted the ledge. on the shelf of rock cudjo paused to gnash his teeth at the flames sweeping up towards them. he had long since recovered from his fit of superstitious frenzy. he had seen the fire burning the woods that sheltered him in his mountain retreat, instead of going intelligently to work to destroy the dwellings of the whites; and he no longer regarded it as a deity worthy of his worship. "all dis yer brush be burnt up! den nuffin' to hide cudjo's house!" "don't despair, cudjo. we will trust in him who is god even of the fire." even as penn spoke, he felt a cool spatter on his hand. he looked up; sudden, plashy drops smote his face. "rain! it is coming! thank heaven for the rain!" at the same time, the wind shifted, and blew fitful gusts down the mountain. then it lulled; and the rain poured. "cudjo, your thickets are saved!" said penn, exultantly. then immediately he thought of the absent ones, for whom the rain might be too late; of the beautiful forests, whose burning not cataracts could quench; of the unknown corpse far below in the ravine there, and the swift soul gone to god. "what news?" asked the old man as he entered the cave. "it is morning, and it rains; but your friends are still away.--the man is dead," aside to virginia. "heaven grant they be safe somewhere!" said the old man. "and pomp?" "he is missing too." there was a long, deep silence. a painful suspense seemed to hold every heart still, while they listened. suddenly a strange noise was heard, as of a ghost walking. louder and louder it sounded, hollow, faint, far-off. was it on the rocks over their heads? or in caverns beneath their feet? "told ye so! told ye so!" said cudjo, laughing with wild glee. the fire had burnt low again, and he was in the act of kindling it, when a novel idea seemed to strike him, and, seizing a pan, he inverted it over the little remnant of a flame. in an instant the cave was dark. it was some seconds before the eyes of the inmates grew accustomed to the gloom, and perceived the glimmer of mingled daylight and firelight that shone in at the entrance. "luk a dar! luk a dar!" said cudjo. and turning their eyes in the opposite direction, they saw a faint golden glow in the recesses of the cave. the footsteps approached; the glow increased; then the superb dark form of pomp advanced in the light of his own torch. penn hastened to meet him, and to demand tidings of stackridge's party. pomp first saluted virginia, with somewhat lofty politeness, holding the torch above his head as he bowed. then turning to penn,-"your friends are all safe, i believe." "all?" penn eagerly asked, his thoughts on the luckless horseman. "none missing?" "there were three absent when i reached their camp. they had gone on a foraging expedition. i found the rest waiting for them, standing their ground against the fire, which was roaring up towards them at a tremendous rate. soon the foragers came in. they brought a basket of potatoes and a bag of meal, but no meat. withers had caught a pig, but it had got away from him before he could kill it, and he lost it in the dark. the others were cursing the rascals who had set the woods afire, but withers lamented the pig. "'gentlemen,' said i, 'you have not much time to mourn either for the woods or the pork. we must take care of ourselves.' and i offered to bring them here. but just then we heard a rushing noise; it sounded like some animal coming up the course of the brook; and the next minute it was amongst us--a big black bear, frightened out of his wits, singed by the fire, and furious." "your acquaintance of the gorge, virginia!" said penn. "you will readily believe that such an unexpected supply of fresh meat, sent by providence within their reach, proved a temptation to the hungry. withers, in his hurry to make up for the loss of the pig, ran to head the fellow off, and attempted to stop him with his musket after it had missed fire. in an instant the gun was lying on the ground several yards off, and withers was sprawling. the bear had done the little business for him with a single stroke of his paw; then he passed on, directly over withers's body, which happened to be in his way, but which he minded no more than as if it had been a bundle of rags. all this time we couldn't fire a shot; there was the risk, you see, of hitting withers instead of the bear. even after he was knocked down, he seemed to think he had nothing more formidable than his stray pig to deal with, and tried to catch the bear by the tail as he ran over him." "so ye lost de bar!" cried cudjo, greatly excited. "fool, tink o' cotchin' on him by de tail!" "still we couldn't fire, for he was on his legs again in a second, chasing the bear's tail directly before our muzzles," said pomp, quietly laughing. "but luckily a stick flew up under his feet. down he went again. that gave two or three of us a chance to send some lead after the beast. he got a wound--we tracked him by his blood on the ground--we could see it plain as day by the glare of light--it led straight towards the fire that was running up through the leaves and thickets on the north. i expected that when he met that he would turn again; but he did not: we were just in time to see him plough through it, and hear him growl and snarl at the flames that maddened him, and which he was foolish enough to stop and fight. then he went on again. we followed. nobody minded the scorching. we kept him in sight till he met the fire again--for it was now all around us. this time his heart failed him; he turned back only to meet us and get a handful of bullets in his head. that finished him, and he fell dead." "poor brute!" said mr. villars; "he found his human enemies more merciless than the fire!" "that's so," said pomp, with a smile. "but we had not much time to moralize on the subject then. the fire we had leaped through had become impassable behind us. the men hurried this way and that to find an outlet. they found only the fire--it was on every side of us like a sea--the spot where we were was only an island in the midst of it--that too would soon be covered. the bear was forgotten where he lay; the men grew wild with excitement, as again and again they attempted to break through different parts of the ring that was narrowing upon us, and failed. brave men they are, but death by fire, you know, is too horrible!" "how large was this spot, this island?" asked penn. "it might have comprised perhaps twenty acres when we first found ourselves enclosed in it. but every minute it was diminishing; and the heat there was something terrific. the men were rather surprised, after trying in vain on every side to discover a break in the circle of fire, to come back and find me calm. "'gentlemen,' said i, 'keep cool. i understand this ground perhaps better than you do. don't abandon your game; you have lost your meal and potatoes, and you will have need of the bear.' "'but what is the use of roast meat, if we are to be roasted too?' said withers, who will always be droll, whatever happens. "then stackridge spoke. he proposed that they should place themselves under my command; for i knew the woods, and while they had been running to and fro in disorder, i had been carefully observing the ground, and forming my plans. i laughed within myself to see deslow alone hang back; he was unwilling to owe his life to one of my complexion--one who had been a slave. for there are men, do you know," said pomp, with a smile of mingled haughtiness and pity, "who would rather that even their country should perish than owe in any measure its salvation to the race they have always hated and wronged!" "i trust," said mr. villars, "that you had the noble satisfaction of teaching these men the lesson which our country too must learn before it can be worthy to be saved." "i showed them that even the despised black may, under god's providence, be of some use to white men, besides being their slave: i had that satisfaction!" said pomp, proudly smiling. "stackridge was right: i had observed: i saw what i could do. on one side was a chasm which you know, mr. hapgood." "yes! i had thought of it! but i knew it was in the midst of the burning forest, and never supposed you could get to it." "the fire was beyond; and it also burned a little on the side nearest to us. but the vegetation there is thin, you remember. the chasm could be reached without difficulty. "'follow me who will!' said i. 'the rest are at liberty to shirk for themselves.' "'follow--where?' said deslow. i couldn't help smiling at the man's distress. all the rest were prepared to obey my directions; and it was hard for him to separate himself from them. but it seemed harder still for him to trust in me. i was not a moses; i could not take them through that red sea. what then? "i made for the chasm. all followed, even deslow,--dragging and lugging the bear. we came to the brink. the place, i must confess, had an awful look, in the light of the trees burning all around it! deslow was not the only one who shrank back then; for though the spot was known to some of them, they had never explored it, and could not guess what it led to. it was difficult, in the first place, to descend into it; it looked still more difficult ever to get out again; and there was nothing to prevent the burning limbs above from falling into it, or the trees that grew in it from catching fire. for this is the sink, mr. villars, which you have probably heard of,--where the woods have been undermined by the action of water in the limestone rocks, and an acre or more of the mountain has fallen in, with all its trees, so that what was once the roof of an immense cavern is now a little patch of the forest growing seventy feet below the surface of the earth. the sides are precipitous and projecting. only one tree throws a strong branch upwards to the edge of the sink. "'this way, gentlemen,' said i, 'and you are safe!' "it was a trial of their faith; for i waited to explain nothing. first, i tumbled the bear off the brink. we heard him go crashing down into the abyss, and strike the bottom with a sound full of awfulness to the uninitiated. then, with my rifle swung on my back, i seized the limb, and threw myself into the tree. "'where he can go, we can!' i heard stackridge say; and he followed me. i took his gun, and handed it to him again when he was safe in the tree. he did the same for another; and so all got into the branches, and climbed down after us. the trunk has no limbs within twenty feet of the bottom, but there is a smaller tree leaning into it which we got into, and so reached the ground. "'now, gentlemen,' said i, when all were down, 'i will show you where you are.' and opening the bushes, i discovered a path leading down the rocks into the caverns, of which this cave is only a branch. then i made them all take an oath never to betray the secret of what i had shown them. then i lighted one of the torches cudjo and i keep for our convenience when we come in that way, and gave it to them; lighted another for my own use; invited them to make themselves quite at home in my absence; left them to their reflections;--and here i am." still the mystery with regard to the unknown horseman was in no wise explained. pomp, informed of what had happened, arose hastily. penn followed him from the cave. pepperill accompanied them, to show the way. it was raining steadily; but the thickets in which lay the dead horse and his rider were burning still. "as i was going to stackridge's camp," said pomp, "i thought i saw a man crawling over the rocks above where the horse was tied. i ran up to find him, but he was gone. peace to his ashes, if it was he!" "won't be much o' the cuss left but ashes!" remarked pepperill. pomp ascended the ledges, and stood, silent and stern, gazing at the destruction of his beloved woods. the winds had died. the fires had evidently ceased to spread. portions of the forest that had been kindled and not consumed were burning now with slow, sullen combustion, like brands without flame. stripped of their foliage, shorn of their boughs, and seen in the dull and smoky daylight, through the rain, they looked like a forest of skeletons, all of glowing coal, brightening, darkening, and ever crumbling away. all at once pomp seemed to rouse himself, and direct his attention more particularly at the part of the woods in which the patriots' camp had been. "come with me, pepperill, if you would help do a good job!" they started off, and were soon out of sight. as penn turned from gazing after them, he heard a voice calling from the opposite side of the ravine. he looked, but could see no one. the figure to which the voice belonged was hidden by the bushes. the bushes moved, however; the figure was descending into the ravine. it arrived at the bottom, crossed, and began to ascend the steep side towards the cave. penn concealed himself, and waited until it had nearly emerged from the thickets beneath him, and he could distinctly hear the breath of a man panting and blowing with the toil of climbing. then a well-known voice said in a hoarse whisper,-"massa hapgood! dat you?" and peering over the bank, he saw, upturned in the rain and murky light, among the wet bushes, the black, grinning face of old toby. he responded by reaching down, grasping the negro's hand, and drawing him up. the grin on the old man's face was a ghastly one, and his eyes rolled as he stammered forth,-"miss jinny--ye seen miss jinny?" penn did not answer immediately; he was considering whether it would be safe to conduct toby into the cave. toby grew terrified. "don't say ye hain't seen her, massa penn! ye kill ol' toby if ye do! i done lost her!" and the poor old faithful fellow sobbed out his story,--how virginia had disappeared, and how, on discovering the woods to be on fire, he had set out in search of her, and been wandering he scarcely knew where ever since. "now don't say ye don't know nuffin' about her! don't say dat!" falling on his knees, and reaching up his hands beseechingly, as if he had only to prevail on penn to _say_ that all was well with "miss jinny," and that would make it so. such faith is in simple souls. "i'll say anything you wish me to, good old toby! only give me a chance." "den say you _has_ seen her." "i _has seen her_," repeated penn. "o, bress you, massa penn! and she ar safe--say dat too!" "_she ar safe_," said penn, laughing. "bress ye for dat!" and toby, weeping with joy, kissed the young man's hand again and again. "and ye knows whar she ar?" "yes, toby! so now get up: don't be kneeling on the rocks here in the rain!" "jes' one word more! say ye got her and ol' massa villars safe stowed away, and ye'll take me to see 'em; den dis ol' nigger'll bress you and de lord and dem, and be willin' fur to die! only say dat, massa!" "ah! did i promise to say all you wished?" "yes, you did, you did so, massa penn!" cried toby, triumphantly. "then i suppose i must say that, too. so come, you dear old simpleton! cudjo!" to the proprietor of the cave, who just then put out his head to reconnoitre, "cudjo! here is your friend toby, come to pay his master and mistress a visit!" "what business he got hyar?" said cudjo, crossly. "we's hab all de wuld, and creation besides, comin' bime-by!" "cudjo! you knows ol' toby, cudjo!" said toby, in the softest and most conciliatory tone imaginable. "nose ye!" cudjo snuffed disdainfully. "yes! and wish you'd keep fudder off!" "why, cudjo! don't you 'member toby? las' time i seed you! ye 'member dat, cudjo!" "don't 'member nuffin'!" "'twan't you, den, got inter my winder, and done skeert me mos' t' def 'fore i found out 'twas my ol' 'quaintance cudjo, come fur massa penn's clo'es! dat ar wan't you, hey?" and toby's honest indignation cropped out through the thin crust of deprecating obsequiousness which he still thought it politic to maintain. penn got under the shelter of the ledge, and waited for the dispute to end. it was evident to him that cudjo was not half so ill-natured as he appeared; but, feeling himself in a position of something like official importance, he had the human weakness to wish to make the most of it. "your massa and missis bery well off. dey in my house. no room dar for you. ain't wanted hyar, nohow!" turning his back very much like a personage of lighter complexion, clad in brief authority. "ain't wanted, cudjo? you don't know what you's sayin' now. whar my ol' massa and young missis is, dar ol' toby's wanted. can't lib widout me, dey can't! ol' massa wants me to nuss him. ye don't tink--you's a nigger widout no kind ob 'sideration, cudjo." "talk o' you nussin' him when him's got pomp!" "pomp! what can pomp do? wouldn't trust him to nuss a chick sicken!" toby talked backwards in his excitement. "ki! didn't him take massa hapgood and make him well? don't ye know nuffin'?" toby seemed staggered for a moment. but he rallied quickly, and said,-"he cure massa hapgood? he done jes' nuffin' 't all fur him. de fac's is, i had de nussin' on him for a spell at fust, and gib him a start. dar's ebery ting in a start, cudjo." "o, what a stupid nigger!" said cudjo. "hyar's massa hapgood hisself! leab it to him now!" "you are both right," said penn. "toby did nurse me, and give me a good start; for which i shall always thank him." "dar! tol' ye so, tol' ye so!" said toby. "but it was pomp who afterwards cured me," added penn. "dar! tol' you so!" cried cudjo, while toby's countenance fell. "for while toby is a capital nurse" (toby brightened), "pomp is a first-rate doctor" (cudjo grinned). "so don't dispute any more. shake hands with your old friend, cudjo, and show him into your house." cudjo was still reluctant; but just then occurred a pleasing incident, which made him feel good-natured towards everybody. pomp and pepperill arrived, bringing the bag of meal and the basket of potatoes which the bear-hunters had forsaken in the woods, and which the rain had preserved from the fire. xxxi. _lysander takes possession._ gad the "sleeper" (he had earned that title) had been himself placed under guard for drinking too much of the prisoners' liquor, and suffering them to escape. miserable, sullen, thirsty, he languished in confinement. "let 'em shoot me, and done with it, if that's the penalty," said this chivalrous son of the south; "only give a feller suthin' to drink!" but that policy of the confederates, which opened the jails of the country, and put arms in the hands of the convicts, and pardoned every felon that would fight, might be expected to find a better use for an able-bodied fellow, like gad, than to shoot him. the use they found for him was this: he had been a mighty hunter before the lord, ere he became too besotted and lazy for such sport; and he professed to know the mountains better than any other man. accordingly, on the recommendation of his friend lieutenant ropes, it was resolved to send him to spy out the position of the patriots. it was an enterprise of some danger, and, to encourage him in it, he was promised two things--pardon for his offence, and, what was of more importance to him, a bottle of old whiskey. "i'll see that you have light enough," said ropes, significantly. it was the evening of the firing of the forests. how well the lieutenant fulfilled his part of the engagement, we have seen. gad put the bottle in his pocket, and set off at dark by routes obscure and circuitous to get upon the trail of the patriots. how well _he_ succeeded will appear by and by. the burning of the forests caused a great excitement in the valley, especially among those families whose husbands and fathers were known to have taken refuge in them. who had committed the barbarous act? the confederates denounced it with virtuous indignation, charging the patriots with it, of course. there was in the village but one witness who could have disputed this charge, and he now occupied gad's place in the guard-house. it was the deserter carl. all the morning gad's return was anxiously awaited. no doubt there were good reasons why he did not come. so said his friend silas; and his friend silas was right: there were good reasons. "anyhow, i kep' my word--i giv him light enough, i reckon!" chuckled silas. that was true: gad had had light enough, and to spare. the rain continued all the morning. perhaps that was what detained the scout; for it was known that he had a great aversion to water. in the afternoon came one with tidings from the mountain. it was not gad. it was old toby. he was seized by some soldiers and taken before captain sprowl, at the school-house. "toby, you black devil, where have you been?" this was lysander's chivalrous way of addressing an inferior whom he wished to terrify. now, if there was a person in the world whom toby detested, it was this roving lysander, who had disgraced the villars family by marrying into it. however, he concealed his contempt with a politic hypocrisy worthy of a whiter skin. "please, sar," said the old negro, cap in hand, "i'se been lookin' for my ol' massa and my young missis." "well, what luck, you lying scoundrel?" "o, no luck 't all, i 'sure you, sar!" "what! couldn't you find 'em? don't you lie, you ----." (we may as well omit the captain's energetic epithets.) "o, sar!"--toby looked up earnestly with counterfeit grief in his wrinkled old face,--"dey ain't nowhars on de face ob de 'arth!" "not on the face of the earth!" "if dey is, den de fire's done burnt 'em all up. i seen, down in a big holler, a place whar somebody's been burnt, shore! dar's a man, and a hoss on top on him, and de hoss's har am all burnt off, and de man's trouse's-legs am all burnt off too, and one foot's got a fried boot onto it, and tudder han't got nuffin' on, but jes' de skin and bone all roasted to a crisp; and i 'specs dar's 'nuff sight more dead folks down in dar, on'y i didn't da's to look, it make me feel so skeerylike!" all which, and much more, toby related so circumstantially, that captain sprowl was strongly impressed with the truth of the story. great, therefore, was the joy of the captain. perhaps the patriots had been destroyed: he hoped so! still more ardently he hoped that virginia had perished with her father. for was he not the husband of salina? and the snug little villars property, did he not covet it? "can you show me that spot, toby?" "'don'o', sar: i specs i could, sar." "don't you forget about it! now, toby, go home to your mistress,--my wife's your mistress, you know,--and wait till you are wanted." "yes, sar,"--bowing, and pulling his foretop. captain sprowl did not overhear the irrepressible chuckle of satisfaction in which the old negro indulged as he retired, or he would have perceived that he had been trifled with. we are apt to be extremely credulous when listening to what we wish to believe; and lysander's delight left no room in his heart for suspicion. all he desired now was that gad should appear and confirm toby's report; for surely gad must know something about the dead horse and the dead man under him; and why did not the fellow return? as for toby, he hastened home as fast as his tired old legs could carry him, chuckling all the way over his lucky escape, and the cunning answers by which he had mystified the captain without telling a downright falsehood. "ob course, dey ain't on de face ob de 'arth, long as dey's inside on't! hi, hi, hi!" he did not greatly relish reporting himself to salina: nevertheless, he had been ordered to do so, not only by the captain, but by those whose authority he respected more. salina, though so bitter, was not without natural affection, and she had suffered much and waited anxiously ever since toby, terrified into the avowal of his belief that virginia was in the burning woods, had set out in search of her. she was not patient; she was wanting in religious trust. she had not slept. all night and all day she had tortured herself with terrible fancies. instead of calming her spirit with prayer, she had kept it irritated with spiteful thoughts against what she deemed her evil destiny. there are certain natures to which every misfortune brings a blessing; for, whatever it may take away, it is sure to leave that divine influence which comes from resignation and a deepened sense of reliance upon god. such a nature was the old clergyman's. every blow his heart had received had softened it; and a softened heart is a well of interior happiness; it is more precious to its possessor than all outward gifts of friends and fortune. such a nature, too, was virginia's. she too, through all things, kept warm in her bosom that holy instinct of faith, that blessed babe named love, ever humbly born, whose life within is a light that transfigures the world. to such, despair cannot come; for when the worst arrives, when all they cherished is gone, heaven is still left to them; and they look up and smile. to them sorrow is but a preparation for a diviner joy. all things indeed work together for their good; since, whether fair fortune comes, or ill, they possess the spiritual alchemy that transmutes it into blessing. this love, this faith, salina lacked. she fostered in their place that selfishness and discontent which sour the soul. every blow upon her heart had hardened it. every trial embittered and angered her. hence the swollen and flaming eyes, the impatient and scowling looks, with which she met the returning toby. "where is virginia?" "dat i can't bery well say, miss salina," replied toby, scratching his woolly head. he would never sacrifice his family pride so far as to call her mrs. sprowl. "how dare you come back without her?" and she heaped upon him the bitterest reproaches. it was he who, through his cowardice, had been the cause of virginia's night adventure. it was he who had ruined everything by concealing her departure until it was too late. then he might have found her, if he had so resolved. but if he could not, why had he remained absent all day? under this sharp fire of accusations toby stood with ludicrous indifference, grinning, and scratching his head. at length he scratched out of it a little roll of paper that had been confided to his wool for safe keeping, in case he should be seized and searched. it fell upon the floor. he hastily snatched it up, and gave it, with obsequious alacrity, to mrs. sprowl. she took, unrolled it, and read. it was a pencilled note in the handwriting of virginia. * * * * * "dear sister: thanks to a kind providence and to kind friends, we are safe. i was rescued last night from the most frightful dangers in the burning woods. i had come, without your knowledge, to get news of our dear father. i am now with him. he has excellent shelter, and devoted attendants; but the comforts of his home are wanting, and i have learned how much he is dependent upon us for his happiness. for this reason i shall remain with him as long as i can. to relieve your mind we send toby back to you. v." * * * * * that evening captain sprowl entered the house of the absent mr. villars with the air of one who had just come into possession of that little piece of property. he nodded with satisfaction at the walls, glanced approvingly at the furniture, curved his lip rather contemptuously at the books (as much as to say, "i'll sell off all that sort of rubbish"), and expressed decided pleasure at sight of old toby. "worth eight hundred dollars, that nigger is!" he had either forgotten that mr. villars had given toby his freedom, or he believed that, under the new order of things, in a confederacy founded on slavery, such gifts would not be held valid. "well, sallie, my girl,"--throwing himself into the old clergyman's easy chair,--"here we are at home! bring me the bootjack, toby." "i don't know about your being at home!" said salina, indignantly. and it was evident that toby did not know about bringing the bootjack. he looked as if he would have preferred to jerk the chair from beneath the sprawling lysander, and break it over him. "i suppose toby has told you the news? awful news! a fearful dispensation of providence! pepperill came in this afternoon and confirmed it. we thought he had deserted, but it appears he had only got lost in the woods. he reports some dead bodies in a ravine, and his account tallies very well with toby's. we'll wear mourning, of course, sallie." lysander stroked his chin. mrs. lysander tapped the floor with her impatient foot, gnawed her lip, and scowled. "come, my dear!" said the captain, coaxingly; "we may as well understand each other. times is changed. i tell ye, i'm going to be one of the big men under the new government. now, sal, see here. i'm your husband, and there's no getting away from it. and what's the use of getting away from it, even if we could? let's settle down, and be respectable. we've had quarrels enough, and i've got tired of 'em. toby, why don't you bring that bootjack?" lysander swung his chair around towards salina. she turned hers away from him, still knitting her brows and gnawing that disdainful lip. "now what's the use, sal? since the way is opened for us to live together again, why can't you make up your mind to it, let bygones be bygones, and begin life over again? when i was a poor devil, dodging the officers, and never daring to see you except in the dark, i couldn't blame you for feeling cross with me; for it was a cursed miserable state of things. but you're a captain's wife now. you'll be a general's wife by and by. i shall be off fighting the battles of my country, and you'll be proud to hear of my exploits." salina was touched. weary of the life she led, morbidly eager for change, she was a secessionist from the first, and had welcomed the war. moreover, strange as it may seem, she loved this worthless lysander. she hated him for the misery he had caused her; she was exceedingly bitter against him; yet love lurked under all. she was secretly proud to see him a captain. it was hard to forgive him for all the wrongs she had suffered; but her heart was lonely, and it yearned for reconciliation. her scornful lip quivered, and there was a convulsive movement in her throat. "go away!" she exclaimed, violently, as he approached to caress her. "i am as unhappy as i can be! o, if i had never seen you! why do you come to torture me now?" this passion pleased lysander: it was a sign that her spirit was breaking. he caught her in his arms, called her pet names, laughed, and kissed her. and this woman, after all, loved to be called pet names, and kissed. "toby! you devil!" roared lysander, "why don't you bring that bootjack?" the old negro stood behind the door, with the bootjack in his hand, furious, ready to hurl it at the captain's head. he hesitated a moment, then turned, discreetly, and flung it out of the kitchen window. "ain't a bootjack nowars in de house, sar!" "then come here yourself!" and the gay captain made a bootjack of the old negro. "now shut up the house and go to bed!" he said, dismissing him with a kick. after toby had retired, and salina had wiped her eyes, and lysander had got his feet comfortably installed in the old clergyman's slippers, the long-estranged couple grew affectionate and confidential. "law, sallie!" said the captain, caressingly, "we can be as happy as two pigs in clover!" and he proceeded to interpret, in plain prosaic detail, those blissful possibilities expressed by the choice poetic figure. it was evident to salina that all his domestic plans were founded on the supposition that the slippers he had on were the dead man's shoes he had been waiting for. was she shocked by this cold, atrocious spirit of calculation? at first she was; but since she had begun to pardon his faults, she could easily overlook that. she, who had lately been so spiteful and bitter, was now all charity towards this man. even the image of her blind and aged father faded from her mind; even the pure and beautiful image of her sister grew dim; and the old, revivified attachment became supreme. shall we condemn the weakness? or shall we pity it, rather? so long her affections had been thwarted! so long she had carried that lonely and hungry heart! so long, like a starved, sick child, it had fretted and cried, till now, at last, nurture and warmth made it grateful and glad! a babe is a sacred thing; and so is love. but if you starve and beat them? perhaps salina's unhappiness of temper owed its development chiefly to this cause. no wonder, then, that we find her melancholy, morbid, unreasonable, and now so ready to cling again to this wretch, this scamp, her husband, forgiving all, forgetting all (for the moment at least), in the wild flood of love and tears that drowned the past. "o, yes! i do think we can be happy!" she said--"if you will only be kind and good to me! if not here, why, then, somewhere else; for place is of no consequence; all i want is love." "ah!" said lysander, knocking the ashes from his cigar, "but i have a fancy for this place! and what should we leave it for?" "because--you know--there is no certainty--i believe father is alive yet, and well." "not unless toby lied to me!--did he?" "pshaw! you can't place any reliance on what toby says!"--evasively. "but i tell you pepperill confirms his report about the dead bodies in the ravine! now, what do you know to the contrary?" lysander appeared very much excited, and a quarrel was imminent. salina dreaded a quarrel. she broke into a laugh. "the truth is, toby did fool you. he couldn't help bragging to me about it." o toby, toby! that little innocent vanity of yours is destined to cost you, and others besides you, very dear! lysander sprang upon his feet; his eyes sparkled with rage. salina saw that it was now too late to keep the secret from him; there was no way but to tell him all. she showed virginia's note. virginia and her father alive and safe--that was what maddened lysander! but where were they? salina could not answer that question; for the most she had been able to get out of toby was only a vague hint that they were hidden somewhere in a cave. "no matter!" said lysander, with a diabolical laugh showing his clinched and tobacco-stained teeth. "i'll have the nigger licked! i'll have the truth out of him, or i'll have his life?" xxxii. _toby's reward._ filled with disgust and wrath, toby had obeyed the man who assumed to be his master, and gone to bed. but he was scarcely asleep, when he felt somebody shaking him, and awoke to see bending over him, with smiling countenance, lamp in hand, captain lysander. "what's wantin', sar?" "i want you to do an errand for me, toby," lysander kindly replied. "wal, sar, i don'o', sar," said toby, reluctant, sitting up in bed and rubbing his elbows. "you know i had a right smart tramp. i's a tuckered-out nigger, sar; dat's de troof." "yes, you had a hard time, toby. but you'll just run over to the school-house for me, i know. that's a good fellow!" toby hardly knew what to make of lysander's extraordinarily persuasive and indulgent manner. he didn't know before that a sprowl could smile so pleasantly, and behave so much like a gentleman. then, the captain had called him a good fellow, and his african soul was not above flattery. weary, sleepy as he was, he felt strongly inclined to get up out of his delicious bed, and go and do lysander's errand. "you've only to hand this note to lieutenant ropes. and i'll give you something when you come back--something you don't get every day, toby! something you've deserved, and ought to have had long ago!" and lysander, all smiles, patted the old servant's shoulder. this was too much for toby. he laughed with pleasure, got up, pulled on his clothes, took the note, and started off with alacrity, to convince the captain that he merited all the good that was said of him, and that indefinite "something" besides. what could that something be? he thought of many things by the way: a dollar; a knife; a new pair of boots with red tops, such as lysander himself wore;--which last item reminded him of the bootjack he had been used for, and the kick he had received. he stopped in the street, his wrath rising up again at the recollection. "good mind ter go back, and not do his old arrant." but then he thought of the smiles and compliments, and the promised reward. "somefin' kinder decent 'bout dat mis'ble sprowl, 'long wid a heap o' mean tings, arter all!" and he started on again. lysander's note was in these words:-"leiutent ropes send me with the bearrer of this 2 strappin felloes capble of doin a touhgh job." this letter was duly signed, and duly delivered, and it brought the "2 strappin felloes." the internal evidence it bore, that lysander had not pursued his studies at school half as earnestly as he had of late pursued the schoolmaster, made no difference with the result. the two strapping fellows returned with toby. they were raw recruits, who had travelled a long distance on foot in order to enlist in the confederate ranks. they had an unmistakable foreign air. they called themselves germans. they were brothers. "all right, toby!" said lysander, well pleased. "what are you bowing and grinning at me for? o, i was to give you something!" "if you please, sar," said toby--wretched, deceived, cajoled, devoted toby. "well, you go to the woodshed and bring the clothes line for these fellows--to make a swing for the ladies, you know--then i'll tell you what you're to have." "sartin, sar." and toby ran for the clothes line. "good old toby! now, what you have deserved so long, and what these stout dutchmen will proceed to give you, is the damnedest licking you ever had in your life!" toby almost fainted; falling upon his knees, and rolling up his eyes in consternation. sprowl smiled. the "dutchmen" grinned. just then salina darted into the room. "lysander! what are you going to do with that old man?" she put the demand sharply, her short upper lip quivering, cheeks flushed, eyes flaming. "i'm going to have him whipped." "no, you are not. you promised me you wouldn't. you told me that if he would go to the academy for you, and be respectful, you would forgive him. if i had known what you were sending for, he should never have left this house. now send those men back, and let him go." "not exactly, my lady. i am master in this house, whatever turns up. i am this nigger's master, too." "you are not; you never were. toby has his freedom. he shall not be whipped!" and with a gesture of authority, and with a stamp of her foot, salina placed herself between the kneeling old servant and the grinning brothers. alas! this woman's dream of love and happiness had been brief, as all such dreams, false in their very nature, must ever be. she loved him well enough to concede much. she was not going to quarrel with him any more. to avoid a threatened quarrel, she betrayed toby. but she was not heartless: she had a sense of justice, pride, temper, an impetuous will, not yet given over in perpetuity to the keeping of her husband. the captain laughed devilishly, and threw his arms about his wife (this time in no loving embrace), and seizing her wrists, held them, and nodded to the soldiers to begin their work. they laid hold of toby, still kneeling and pleading, bound his arms behind him with the cord, and then looked calmly at lysander for instructions. "take him to the shed," said the captain. "one of you carry this light. you can string him up to a crossbeam. if you don't understand how that's done, i'll go and show you. he's to have twenty lashes to begin with, for lying to me. then he's to be whipped till he tells where our escaped prisoners are hid in the mountains. you understand?" "ve unterstan," said the brothers, coldly. toby groaned. they took hold of him, and dragged him away. "now will you behave, my girl? a pretty row you're making! ye see it's no use. i am master. the nigger'll only get it the worse for your interference." lysander looked insolently in his wife's face. it was livid. "hey?" he said. "one of your tantrums?" he placed her on a chair. she was rigid; she did not speak; he would have thought she was in a fit but for the eyes which she never took off of him--eyes fixed with deep, unutterable, deadly, despairing hate. "i reckon you'll behave--you'd better!" he said, shaking his finger warningly at her as he retired backwards from the room. she saw the door close behind him. she did not move: her eyes were still fixed on that door: heavy and cold as stone, she sat there, and gazed, with that same look of unutterable hate. perhaps five minutes. then she heard blows and shrieks. toby's shrieks: he had no carl now to rush in and cut his bands. the twenty lashes for lying had been administered on the negro's bare back. then lysander put the question: was he prepared to tell all he knew about the fugitives and the cave? "o, pardon, sar! pardon, sar!" the old man implored; "i can't tell nuffin', dat am de troof!" "work away, boys," said lysander. was it supposed that the good old practice of applying torture to enforce confession had long since been done away with? a great mistake, my friend. driven from that ancient stronghold of conservatism, the spanish inquisition, it found refuge in this modern stronghold of conservatism, american slavery. here the records of its deeds are written on many a back. but toby was not a slave. no matter for that. for in the school of slavery, this is the lesson that soon or late is learned: not simply that there are two castes, freeman and slave; two races, white and black; but that there are two great classes, the rich and the poor, the strong and the weak, the lord and the laborer, one born to rule, and the other to be ruled. all, who are not masters, are, or ought to be, slaves: black or white, it makes no difference; and the slave has no rights. this is the first principle of human slavery. this every slave society tends directly to develop. it may be kept carefully out of sight, but there it lurks, in the hardened hearts of men, like water within rocks. it is forever gushing up in little springs of despotism. once it burst forth in a vast convulsive flood, and that was the rebellion. although lysander had never owned a slave, he had all his life breathed the atmosphere of the institution, and imbibed its spirit. he hated labor. he was ambitious. but he was poor. like a flying fish, he had forced himself out of the lower element of society, to which he naturally belonged, and had long desperately endeavored to soar. the struggle it had cost him to attain his present position rendered him all the more violent in his hatred of the inferior class, and all the more eager to enjoy the privileges of the aristocracy. do not blame this man too much. the injustice, the cruelty, the atrocious selfishness he displays, do not belong so much to the individual as to the institution. the milk of this wolf makes the child it nourishes wolfish. torture to the extent of ten lashes was applied; then once more the question was put. gashed, bleeding, strung up by his thumbs to the crossbeam; every blow of the extemporized whips extorting from him a howl of agony; no rescue at hand; lysander looking on with a merciless smile; the brothers doing their assigned work with merciless nonchalance; well might poor toby cry out, in the wild insanity of pain,-"yes, sar! i'll tell, i'll tell, sar!" "very good," said lysander. "let him breathe a minute, boys." but in that minute toby gathered up his soul again, dismissed the traitor, cowardice, and took counsel of his fidelity. betray his good old master to these ruffians? break his promise to virginia, his oath to cudjo and pomp? no, he couldn't do that. he thought of penn, who would certainly be hung if captured; and hung through his treachery! "now, out with it," said lysander. "all about the cave. and don't ye lie, for you'll have to go and show it to us when we're ready."' "i can't tell!" said toby. "dar ain't no cave! none't i knows about--dat's shore!" this was of course a downright lie; but it was told to save from ruin those he loved; and i do not think it stands charged against his soul on the books of the recording angel. "ten more, boys," said lysander. "o, wait, wait, sar!" shrieked toby. "des guv me time to tink!" he thought of ten lashes; ten more afterwards; and still another ten; for he knew that the whipping would not cease until either he betrayed the fugitives or died; and every lash was to him an agony. "think quick," said captain sprowl. just then the door, of the kitchen opened. toby grasped wildly at that straw of hope. it broke instantly. the comer was salina. she had had the power to betray him, but not the power to save. she stood with folded arms, and smiled. "i can't help you, toby, but i can be revenged." "hello!" cried lysander, with a start. "what smoke is that?" she had left the door open, and a draught of air wafted a strange smell of burning cloth and pine wood to his nostrils. "nothing," replied salina, "only the house is afire." xxxiii. _carl makes an engagement._ lysander looked in through the doors and saw flames. she had touched the lamp to the sitting-room curtains, and they had ignited the wood-work. "your own house," he said, furiously. "what a fiend!" "it was my father's house until you took possession of it," she answered. "now it shall burn." if he had not already considered that he had an interest at stake, that gentle remark reminded him. "boys! come quick! by----! we must put out the fire!" he rushed into the kitchen. the german brothers had come to execute his commands: whether to flay a negro or extinguish a fire, was to them a matter of indifference; and they followed him, seizing pails. salina was prepared for the emergency. she held a butcher-knife concealed under her folded arms. with this she cut the cords above toby's thumbs. it was done in an instant. "now, take this and run! if they go to take you, kill them!" she thrust the handle of the knife into his hand, and pushed him from the shed. terrified, bewildered, weak, he seemed moving in a kind of nightmare. but somehow he got around the corner of the shed, and disappeared in the darkness. the brothers saw him go. they were drawing water at the well, and handing it to lysander in the house. but they had been told to hand water, not to catch the negro. so they looked placidly at each other, and said nothing. the fire was soon extinguished; and lysander, with his coat off, pail in hand, excited, turned and saw his "fiend" of a wife seated composedly in a chair, regarding him with a smile sarcastic and triumphant. he uttered a frightful oath. "any more of your tantrums, and i'll kill you!" "any more of yours," she replied, "and i'll burn you up. i can set fires faster than you can put them out. i don't care for the house any more than i care for my life, and that's precious little." by the tone in which she said these words, level, determined, distinct, with that spice which compressed fury lends, captain lysander sprowl knew perfectly well that she meant them. the brothers looked at each other intelligently. one said something in german, which we may translate by the words "incompatibility of temper;" and he smiled with dry humor. the other responded in the same tongue, and with a sleepy nod, glancing phlegmatically at sprowl. what he said may be rendered by the phrase--"caught a tartar." although lysander did not understand the idiom, he seemed to be quite of the teutonic opinion. he regarded mrs. sprowl with a sort of impotent rage. if he was reckless, she had shown herself more reckless. though he was so desperate, she had outdone him in desperation. he saw plainly that if he touched her now, that touch must be kindness, or it must be death. "have you let toby go?" "yes," replied salina. "we can catch him," said lysander. "if you do you will be sorry. i warn you in season." since she said so, lysander did not doubt but that it would be so. he concluded, therefore, not to catch toby--that night. moreover, he resolved to go back to his quarters and sleep. he was afraid of that wildcat; he dreaded the thought of trusting himself in the house with her. he durst not kill her, and he durst not go to sleep, leaving her alive. the germans, perceiving his fear, looked at each other and grunted. that grunt was the german for "mean cuss." they saw through lysander. after all were gone, salina went out and called toby. the old negro had fled for his life, and did not hear. she returned into the house, the aspect of which was rendered all the more desolate and drear by the marks of fire, the water that drenched the floor, the smoky atmosphere, and the dim and bluish lamp-light. the unhappy woman sat down in the lonely apartment, and thought of her brief dream of happiness, of this last quarrel which could never be made up, and of the hopeless, loveless, miserable future, until it seemed that the last drop of womanly blood in her veins was turned to gall. at the same hour, not many miles away, on a rude couch in a mountain cave, by her father's side, virginia was tranquilly sleeping, and dreaming of angel visits. across the entrance of the cavern, like an ogre keeping guard, cudjo was stretched on a bed of skins. the fire, which rarely went out, illumined faintly the subterranean gloom. by its light came one, and looked at the old man and his child sleeping there, so peacefully, so innocently, side by side. the face of the father was solemn, white, and calm; that of the maiden, smiling and sweet. the heart of the young man yearned within him; his eyes, as they gazed, filled with tears; and his lips murmured with pure emotion,-"o lord, i thank thee for their sakes! o lord, preserve them and bless them!" and he moved softly away, his whole soul suffused with ineffable tenderness towards that good old man and the dear, beautiful girl. he had stolen thither to see that all was well. all was indeed well. and now he retired once more to a recess in the rock, where he and pomp had made their bed of blankets and dry moss. the footsteps on the solid floor of stone had not awakened her. and what was more remarkable, the lover's beating heart and worshipping gaze had not disturbed her slumber. but now the slightest movement on the part of her blind parent banishes sleep in an instant. "daughter, are you here?" "i am here, father!" "are you well, my child?" "o, very well! i have had such a sweet sleep! can i do anything for you?" "yes. let me feel that you are near me. that is all." she kissed him. "heaven is good to me!" he said. she watched him until he slept again. then, her soul filled with thankfulness and peace, she closed her eyes once more, and happy thoughts became happy dreams. at about that time salina threw herself despairingly upon her bed, at home, gnashing her teeth, and wishing she had never been born. and these two were sisters. and salina had the house and all its comforts left to her, while virginia had nothing of outward solace for her delicate nature but the rudest entertainment. so true it is that not place, and apparel, and pride make us happy, but piety, affection, and the disposition of the mind. the night passed, and morning dawned, and they who had slept awoke, and they who had not slept watched bitterly the quickening light which brought to them, not joy and refreshment, but only another phase of weariness and misery. captain lysander sprowl was observed to be in a savage mood that day. the cares of married life did not agree with him: they do not with some people. because salina had baffled him, and toby had escaped, his inferiors had to suffer. he was sharp even with lieutenant ropes, who came to report a fact of which he had received information. "stackridge was in the village last night!" "what's that to me?" said lysander. "the lieutenant-colonel--" whispered silas. sprowl grew attentive. by the lieutenant-colonel was meant no other person than augustus bythewood, who had received his commission the day before. well might lysander, at the mention of him to whom both these aspiring officers owed everything, bend a little and listen. ropes proceeded. "he feels a cussed sight badder now he believes the gal is in a cave somewhars with the schoolmaster, than he did when he thought she was burnt up in the woods. he entirely approves of your conduct last night, and says toby must be ketched, and the secret licked out of him. in the mean while he thinks sunthin' can be done with stackridge's family. stackridge was home last night, and of course his wife will know about the cave. the secret might be frightened out on her, or, i swear!" said silas, "i wouldn't object to using a little of the same sort of coercion you tried with toby; and bythewood wouldn't nuther. only, you understand, he musn't be supposed to know anything about it." lysander's eyes gleamed. he showed his tobacco-stained teeth in a way that boded no good to any of the name of stackridge. "good idee?" said silas, with a coarse and brutal grin. "damned good!" said lysander. indeed, it just suited his ferocious mood. "go yourself, lieutenant, and put it into execution." "there's one objection to that," replied silas, thrusting a quid into his cheek. "i know the old woman so well. it's best that none of us in authority should be supposed to have a hand in't. send somebody that don't know her, and that you can depend on to do the job up harnsome. how's them dutchmen?" "just the chaps!" said lysander, growing good-natured as the pleasant idea of whipping a woman developed itself more and more to his appreciative mind. from flogging a slave, to flogging a free negro, the step is short and easy. from the familiar and long-established usage of beating slave-women, to the novel fashion of whipping the patriotic wives of union men, the step is scarcely longer, or more difficult. even the chivalrous bythewood, who was certainly a gentleman in the common acceptation of the term, magnificently hospitable to his equals, gallant to excess among ladies worthy of his smiles,--yet who never interfered to prevent the flogging of slave-mothers on his estates,--saw nothing extraordinary or revolting in the idea of extorting a secret from a hated union woman by means of the lash. to such gross appetites for cruelty as ropes had cultivated, the thing relished hugely. the keen, malignant palate of lysander tasted the flavor of a good joke in it. the project was freely discussed, and in the hilarity of their hearts the two officers let fall certain words, like crumbs from their table, which a miserable dog chanced to pick up. that miserable dog was dan pepperill, whose heart was so much bigger than his wit. he knew that mischief was meant towards mrs. stackridge. how could he warn her? the drums were already beating for company drill, and he despaired of doing anything to save her, when by good fortune--or is there something besides good fortune in such things?--he saw one of his children approaching. the little pepperill came with a message from her mother. dan heard it unheedingly, then whispered in the girl's ear,-"go and tell mrs. stackridge her and the childern's invited over to our house this forenoon. right away now! partic'lar reasons, tell her!" added dan, reflecting that ladies in mrs. stackridge's station did not visit those in his wife's without particular reasons. the child ran away, and pepperill fell into the ranks, only to get repeatedly and severely reprimanded by the drill-officer for his heedlessness that morning. he did everything awkwardly, if not altogether wrong. his mind was on the child and the errand on which he had sent her, and he kept wondering within himself whether she would do it correctly (children are so apt to do errands amiss!), and whether mrs. stackridge would be wise enough, or humble enough, to go quietly and give mrs. p. a call. after company drill the brothers were summoned, and lysander gave them secret orders. they were to visit stackridge's house, seize mrs. stackridge and compel her, by blows if necessary, to tell where her husband was concealed. "you understand?" said the captain. "ve unterstan," said they, dryly. scarcely had the brothers departed, when a prisoner was brought in. it was toby, who had been caught endeavoring to make his way up into the mountains. "now we've got the nigger, mabby we'd better send and call the dutchmen back," said silas ropes. "no, no!" said lysander, through his teeth. "'twon't do any harm to give the jade a good dressing down. i wish every man, woman, and child, that shrieks for the old rotten union, could be served in the same way." having set his heart on this little indulgence, sprowl could not easily be persuaded to give it up. it was absolutely necessary to his peace of mind that somebody should be flogged. the interesting affair with toby, which had been so abruptly broken off,--left, like a novelette in the newspapers, to be continued,--must be concluded in some shape: it mattered little upon whose flesh the final chapters were struck off. in the mean time the recaptured negro was taken to the guard-house. there he found a sympathizing companion. it was carl. to him he told his story, and showed his wounds, the sight of which filled the heart of the lad with rage, and pity, and grief. "vot sort of tutchmen vos they?" toby described them. carl's eyes kindled. "i shouldn't be wery much susprised," said he, "if they vos--no matter!" lieutenant ropes arrived, bringing into the guard-house a formidable cat-o'-nine-tails. "string that nigger up," said silas. ropes was not the man to await patiently the issue of the woman-whipping, while here was a chance for a little private sport. he remembered how toby had got away from him once--that he too owed him a flogging. debts of this kind, if no others, silas delighted to pay; and accordingly the negro was strung up. it was well for the lieutenant that carl had irons on his wrists. the sound of the poor old man's groans,--the sight of his gashed, oozing, and inflamed back, bared again to the whip,--was to carl unendurable. but as it was not in his power to obey the impulse of his soul, to spring for a musket and slay that monster of cruelty, ropes, on the spot,--he must try other means, perhaps equally unwise and desperate, to save toby from torture. "vait, sir, if you please, vun leetle moment," he called out to silas. "i have a vord or two to shpeak." he had as yet, however, scarcely made up his mind what to propose. a moment's reflection convinced him that only one thing could purchase toby's reprieve; and perhaps even that would fail. regardless of consequences to himself, he resolved to try it. "i know petter as he does about the cave; i vos there," he cried out, boldly. "hey? you offer yourself to be whipped in this old nigger's place?" said ropes. "not wery much," replied carl. "i can go mit you or anypody you vill send, and show vair the cave is. i remember. but if you vill have me whipped, i shouldn't be wery much surprised if that vould make me to forget. whippins," he added, significantly, "is wery pad for the memory." "you mean to say, if you are licked, then you won't tell?" "that ish the idea i vished to conwey." "we'll see about that." silas laughed. "in the mean time we'll try what can be got out of this nigger." toby, who had had a gleam of hope, now fell again into despair. just then captain sprowl came in. "hold! what are you doing with that nigger?" silas explained, and carl repeated his proposal. lysander caught eagerly at it. he remembered salina's warning, and was glad of any excuse to liberate the old negro. "you promise to take me to the cave?" carl assented. "why, then, lieutenant, that's all we want, and i order this boy to be set free." "this boy" was toby, who was accordingly let off, to his own inexpressible joy and ropes's infinite disgust. "if carl he take de responsumbility to show de cave, dat ain't my fault. 'sides, dat boy am bright, he am; de secesh can't git much de start o' him!" thus the old negro congratulated himself on his way home. at the same time carl, still in irons, was saying to himself,-"so far so goot. if they had whipped toby, two things vould be wery pad--the whipping, for one, and he would have told, for another. but i have made vun promise. it vas a pad promise, and a pad promise is petter proken as kept. but if i preak it, they vill preak my head. vot shall i do? now let me see!" said carl. and he remained plunged in thought. xxxiv. _captain lysander's joke._ since the time when she lost her best feather-bed and her boarder, the worthy widow sprowl had suffered serious pecuniary embarrassment. she missed sadly the regular four dollars a week, and the irregular gratuities, she had received from penn. so much secession had cost her, without yielding as yet any of its promised benefits. the yankees had not stepped up with the alacrity expected of them, and thrust their servile necks into the yoke of their natural masters. the slave trade was not reopened. niggers were not yet so cheap that every poor widow could, at a trifling expense, provide herself with several, and grow rich on their labor. in the pride of seeing her son made what she called a "capting," and in the hope of enjoying some of the golden fruits of his valor, she had given him her last penny, and received up to the present time not a penny from him in return. in short, lysander was ungrateful, and the widow was a disappointed woman. so it happened that the sugar-bowl and tea-canister were often empty, and the poor widow had no legitimate means of replenishing them. in this extremity she resorted to borrowing. she borrowed of everybody, and never repaid. she borrowed even of the hated unionists in the neighborhood, and confessed with bitterness to her son that she found them more ready to lend to her than the families of secessionists. again, on the morning of the events related in the last chapter, she found herself in want of many things--tea, sugar, meal, beans, potatoes, snuff, and tobacco; for this excellent woman snuffed, "dipped," and smoked. "where shall i go and borry to-day?" said she, counting her patrons, and the number of times she had been to borrow of each, on her fingers. "thar's mis' stackridge. i hain't been to her but oncet. i'll go agin, and carry the big basket." with her basket on her arm, and an ancient brown bonnet (which had been black at the time of the demise of the late lamented sprowl,) on her head, and a multitude of excuses on her tongue, she set out, and walked to the farmer's house. this had one of those great, shed-like openings through it, so common in tennessee. a door on the left, as you entered this covered space, led to the kitchen and living-room of the family. here the widow knocked. there was no response. she knocked again, with the same result. then she pulled the latch-string--for the door even of this well-to-do farmer had a latch-string. she entered. the house was deserted. "ain't to home, none of 'em, hey?" said the widow, peering about her with a disagreeable scowl. "house wan't locked, nuther. wonder if mis' stackridge and the childern have gone to the mountains too? and whar's old aunt deb?" her first feeling was that of resentment. what right had mrs. stackridge to be absent when she came to borrow? as she explored the pantry and closets, however, and became convinced that she was absolutely alone in a well-provisioned farm-house, her countenance lighted up with a smile. "i can borry what i want jest exac'ly as well as if mis' stackridge war to home," thought the widow. and she proceeded to fill her basket. she helped herself to a pan of meal, borrowing the pan with it. "i'll fetch home the pan," said she, "when i do the meal,"--exposing her craggy teeth with a grim smile. "if i don't before, i'm a feared mis' stackridge'll haf to wait for't a considerable spell! what's in this box? coffee! may as well take box and all. bring back the box when i do the coffee. wish i could find some tobacky somewhars--wonder whar they keep their tobacky!" now, the excellent creature did not indulge in these liberties without some apprehension that mrs. stackridge might return suddenly and interrupt them. perhaps she had not followed mr. stackridge to the mountains. perhaps she had only gone into the village to buy shoes for her children, or to call on a neighbor. "if she should come back and ketch me at it,--why, then, i'll tell her i'm only jest a borryin', and see what she'll do about it. the prop'ty of these yer durned union-shriekers is all gwine to be confisticated, and i reckon i may as well take my sheer when i can git it. thar's a paper o' black pepper, and i'll take it jest as 'tis. thar's a jar o' lump butter,--wish i could tote jar and all!--have some of the lumps on a plate anyhow!" she had soon filled her basket, and was regretting she had not brought two, or a larger one, when a handsome, new tin pail, hanging in the pantry, caught her eye. "been wantin' jest sich a pail as that, this long while!" and she proceeded to fill that also. just as she was putting the cover on, she was very much startled by hearing footsteps at the door. "o, dear me! what shall i do? if it should be mr. stackridge! but it can't be him! if it's only mis' stackridge or one of the niggers, i'll face it out! they won't das' to make a fuss, for they're union-shriekers, and my son's a capting in the confederate army!" thump, thump, thump!--loud knocking at the door. "my, it's visitors! who can it be?" she set down her pail and basket. "i'll act jest as if i had a right here, anyhow!" she was hesitating, when the string was pulled, and two strangers, stout, square built, with foreign looking faces, carrying muskets, and dressed in confederate uniform, entered. "mrs. stackridge?" said they, in a heavy teutonic accent. "ye--ye--yes--" stammered the widow, trying to hide the guilty basket and pail behind her skirts. "what do you want of mis' stackridge?" one of the strangers said to the other, in german, indicating the plunder,-"this is the woman. she is getting provisions ready to send to her husband in the mountains." "let us see what there is good to eat," said the other. mrs. sprowl, although understanding no word that was spoken, perceived that the borrowed property formed the theme of their remarks. "have some?" she hastened to say, with extreme politeness, as the germans approached the provisions. "tank ye," said they, finding some bread and cold meat. and they ate with appetite, exchanging glances, and grunting with satisfaction. "o, take all you want!" said the widow. "you're welcome to anything there is in the house, i'm shore!"--adding, within herself, "i am so glad these soldiers have come! now, whatever is missing will be laid to them." "you de lady of de house?" said the foreigners, munching. "yes, help yourselves!" smiled the hospitable widow. "you mrs. stackridge?" they inquired, more particularly. "yes; take anything you like!" replied the widow. "where your husband?" "my husband! my poor dear husband! he has been dead these----" she checked herself, remembering that the soldiers took her for mrs. stackridge. if she undeceived them, then they would know she had been stealing. "dead?" the germans shook their heads and smiled. "no! he was here last night. he was seen. you take dese tings to him up in de mountain." "would you like some cheese?" said the embarrassed widow. "tank ye. dis is better as rations." mrs. sprowl returned to the pantry, in order to replace the provisions she had so generously given away, and prepared to depart with the basket and pail; inviting the guests repeatedly to make themselves quite at home, and to take whatever they could find. "wait!" said they. each had a knee on the floor, and one hand full of bread and cheese. they looked up at her with broad, complacent, unctuous faces, smiling, yet resolute. and one, with his unoccupied hand, laid hold of the handle of the basket, while the other detained the pail. "you will tell us where is your husband," said they. "o, dear me, i don't know! i'm a poor lone woman, and where my husband is i can't consaive, i'm shore!" "you will tell us where is your husband," repeated the men; and one of them, getting upon his feet, stood before her at the door. "he's on the mountain somewhars. i don't know whar, and i don't keer," cried the widow, excited. there was something in the stolid, determined looks of the brothers she did not like. "he's a bad man, mr. stackridge is! i'm a secessionist myself. you are welcome to everything in the house--only let me go now." "you will not go," said the soldier at the door, "till you tell us. we come for dat." on entering, they had placed their muskets in the corner. the speaker took them, and handed one to his comrade. and now the widow observed that out of the muzzle of each protruded the butt-end of a small cowhide. each soldier held his gun at his side, and laying hold of the said butt-end, drew out the long taper belly and dangling lash of the whip, like a black snake by the neck. the widow screamed. "it's all a mistake. let me go! i ain't mis' stackridge" nothing so natural as that the wife of the notorious unionist should deny her identity at sight of the whips. the soldiers looked at each other, muttered something in german, smiled, and replaced their muskets in the corner. "you tell us where is your husband. or else we whip you. dat is our orders." this they said in low tones, with mild looks, and with a calmness which was frightful. the widow saw that she had to do with men who obeyed orders literally, and knew no mercy. "i hain't got no husband. i ain't mis' stackridge. i'm a poor lone widder, that jest come over here to borry a few things, and that's all." "ve unterstan. you say shust now you are mrs. stackridge. now you say not. dat make no difruns. ve know. you tell us where is your husband, or ve string you up." this speech was pronounced by both the foreigners, a sentence by each, alternately. at the conclusion one drew a strong cord from his pocket, while the other looked with satisfaction at certain hooks in the plastering overhead, designed originally for the support of a kitchen pole, but now destined for another use. "don't you dast to tech me!" screamed the false mrs. stackridge. "i'm a secessionist myself, that hates the union-shriekers wus'n you do, and i've got a son that's a capting, and a poor lone widder at that!" "dat we don't know. what we know is, you tell what we say, or we whip you. dat's captain shprowl's orders." "capting sprowl! that's my son! my own son! if he sent you, then it's all right!" "so we tink. all right." and the soldiers, seizing her, tied her thumbs as lysander had taught them, passed the cords over the hook as they had passed the clothesline over the crossbeam the night before, and drew the shrieking woman's hands above her head, precisely as they had hauled up toby's. they then turned her skirts up over her head, and fastened them. this also they had been instructed to do by lysander. it was, you will say, shameful; for this woman was free and white. had she been a slave, with a different complexion, although perhaps quite as white, would it have been any the less shameful? answer, ye believers in the divine rights of slave-masters! "now you vill tell?" said the phlegmatic teutons, measuring out their whips. "go for my son! my son is capting sprowl!" gasped the stifled and terror-stricken widow. "dat trick won't do. you shpeak, or we shtrike." "it is true, it is true! i am mrs. sprowl, and my husband is dead, and my son is capting sprowl, and a poor lone widder, that if you strike her a single blow he'll have you took and hung!" "if he is your son, den by your own son's orders we whip you. he vill not hang us for dat. you vill not tell? den we give you ten lash." blow upon blow, shriek upon shriek, followed. the soldiers counted the strokes aloud, deliberately, conscientiously, as they gave them, "vun, two, tree," &c, up to ten. there they stopped. but the screams did not stop. this punishment, which it was sport to inflict upon a faithful old negro, which it would have been such a good joke to have bestowed upon the wife of a stanch unionist, was no sport, no joke, but altogether a tragic affair to thy mother, o lysander! then she, who had so often wished that she too owned slaves, that when she was angry she might have them strung up and flogged, knew by fearful experience what it was to be strung up and flogged. then she, who sympathized with her son in his desire to see every man, woman, and child, that loved the old union, served in this fashion, felt in her own writhing and bleeding flesh the stings of that inhuman vengeance. terrible blunder, for which she had only herself to thank! robbery of her neighbor's house--the dishonest "borrowing," not of these ill-gotten goods only, but also of her neighbor's name--had brought her, by what we call fatality, to this strait. fatality is but another name for providence. the soldiers waited for a lull in the shrieks, then put once more the question. "you tell now? where is your husband? no? den you git ten lash more. always ten lash till you tell." a storm of incoherent denial, angry threats, sobs, and screams, was the response. one of the soldiers drew her skirts over her head again, and gave another pull at the cords that hauled up her thumbs, while the other stood off and measured out his whip. just then the door opened, and captain sprowl looked in. "how are you getting on, boys?" the question was accompanied by an approving smile, which seemed to say, "i see you are getting on very well." "we whip her once. we give her ten lash. she not tell." "very well. give her ten more." the widow struggled and screamed. had she recognized her son's voice? muffled as she was, he did not recognize hers. nor was it surprising that, in the unusual posture in which he found her, he did not know her from mrs. stackridge. he stood in the door and smiled while the soldier laid on. "make it a dozen," he quietly remarked. "and smart ones, to wind up with!" so it happened that, thanks to her son's presence, the screeching victim got two "smart ones" additional. "now uncover her face. ease away on her thumbs a little. i'll question her mys--good lucifer!" exclaimed the captain, finding himself face to face with his own mother. twenty-two lashes and the torture of the strung-up thumbs had proved too much even for the strong nerves of widow sprowl. she fell down in a swoon. lysander, furious, whipped out his sword, and turned upon the soldiers. they quietly stepped back, and took their guns from the corner. he would certainly have killed one of them on the spot had he not seen by the glance of their eyes that the other would, at the same instant, as certainly have killed him. "you scoundrels! you have whipped my own mother!" "captain," they calmly answered, "we opey orders." "fools!"--and lysander ground his teeth,--"you should have known!" "captain," they replied, "if you not know, how should we know? we never see dis woman pefore. we come. we find her taking prowisions from de house. we say, 'she take dem to her husband in de mountains.' we say, 'you mrs. stackridge?' she say yes to everyting. we not know she lie. we not know she steal. we not say, 'you somepody else.' we opey orders. we take and we whip her. you come in and say, 'whip more.' we whip more. now you say to us, 'scoundrels!' you say, 'fools!' we say, 'captain, it was your orders; we opey.'" having by a joint effort at sententious english pronounced this speech, the brothers stood stolidly awaiting the result; while the captain, still gnashing his teeth, bent over the prostrate form of his mother. "bring some water and throw on her! you idiots!" he yelled at them. "would you see her die?" they looked at each other. "water?" yes, that was what was wanted. they remembered their practice of the previous evening. one found a wooden pail. the other emptied upon the floor the contents of the tin pail the widow had "borrowed." they went to the well. they brought water. "to throw on her?" yes, that was what he said. and together they dashed a sudden drenching flood over the poor woman, as if the swoon were another fire to be extinguished. these fellows obeyed orders literally--a merit which lysander now failed to appreciate. he swore at them terribly. but he did not countermand his last order. accordingly they proceeded stoically to bring more water. lysander had got his mothers head on his knee, and she had just opened her eyes to look and her mouth to gasp, when there came another double ice-cold wave, blinding, stifling, drowning her. too much of water hadst thou, poor lone widow! lysander let fall the maternal head, and bounded to his feet, roaring with wrath. the brothers, imperturbable, with the empty pails at their sides, stared at him with mute wonder. "captain, dat was your orders. you say, 'pring vasser and trow on.' we pring vasser and trow on. dat is all." "but i didn't tell you to fetch pailfuls!" this sentence rushed out of lysander's soul like a rocket, culminated in a loud, explosive oath, and was followed by a shower of fiery curses falling harmless on the heads of the unmoved teutons. they waited patiently until the pyrotechnic rain ceased, then answered, speaking alternately, each a sentence, as if with one mind, but with two organs. "captain, you hear. last night vas de house afire. you say, 'pring vasser.' we pring a little. den you say to us, 'tarn you! why in hell you shtop?' and you say, 'von i tell you pring vasser, pring till i say shtop.' vun time more to-day you say, 'pring vasser,' and you never say shtop. you say, 'trow on.' we trow on. vat you say we do. you not say vat you mean, dat is mishtake for you." it is not to be supposed that lysander listened meekly to the end of this speech. he had caught the sound of voices without that interested him more; and, looking, he saw mrs. stackridge returning, with her children. the pepperill young-one had faithfully done her errand; and the farmer's wife, believing something important was meant by it, had hastened to accept the singular and urgent invitation. but, arrived at the poor man's shanty, she was astonished to find mrs. pepperill astonished to see her. they talked the matter over, questioned the child, and finally concluded that daniel had said something quite different, which the child had misunderstood. "well," said mrs. stackridge, after sitting a-while, "i reckon i may as well be going back, for i've left only old aunt deb to home, and she's scar't to death to be left alone these times; thinks the secesh soldiers'll kill her. but i tell her not to be afeared of 'em. i ain't!" so this woman, little knowing how much real cause she had to be afraid, returned home with her family. when near the house she met gaff and jake, negroes belonging to the farm, who had been in the field at work, running towards her, in great terror, declaring that they heard somebody killing aunt deb. "nonsense!" said she; and in spite of their assurances and entreaties, she marched straight towards the door through which the captain saw her coming. "clear out!" said lysander to the soldiers. "go to your quarters. i'll have your case attended to!" this was spoken very threateningly. then, as soon as they were out of hearing, he said to mrs. stackridge, "i'm sorry to say a couple of my men have been plundering your house. them dutchmen you just saw go out. worse, than that, my mother was going by, and she came in to save your stuff, and they, it seems, took her for you, and beat her. you see, they have beat her most to death," said lysander. "lordy massy!" said mrs. stackridge. "do help me! do take off my clo'es! a poor lone widder!" faintly moaned mrs. sprowl. "when i got here," added the captain, "she had fainted, and they had used her basket to pack things in, as you see, and filled this pail, which they emptied afterwards, so as to bring water and fetch her to. scoundrels! i'm glad they ain't native-born southerners!" "and where is aunt deb?" said mrs. stackridge, hastening to raise the widow up. "i dono'; i hain't seen her. o, dear, them villains!" groaned mrs. sprowl. "i was just comin' over to borry a few things, you know." "going by; she wasn't coming here," said lysander. "going by," repeated the widow. "o, shall i ever git over it! o, dear me, i'm all cut to pieces! a poor forlorn widder, and my only son--o, dear!" "her only son," cried lysander in a loud voice, "couldn't get here in time to prevent the outrage. that's what she wants to say. i leave her in your care, mrs. stackridge. she was doing a neighborly thing for you when she came in to stop the pillaging, and i'm sure you'll do as much for her." and the captain retired, his appetite for woman-whipping cloyed for the present. "where is aunt deb?" repeated mrs. stackridge. "aunt deb!" she called, "where are you? i want you this minute!" "here i is!" answered a voice from heaven, or at least from that direction. it was the voice of the old negress, who had hid herself in the chambers, and now spoke through a stove-pipe hole from which she had observed all that was passing from the time when the widow entered with her empty basket. xxxv. _the moonlight expedition._ toby had been released. mrs. stackridge had been whipped by proxy, and had kept her husband's secret. gad, the spy, was still unaccountably absent. these three sources of information were, therefore, for the time, considered closed; and it was determined to have recourse to the fourth, namely, carl. here it should, perhaps, be explained that the confederate government, informed of the position of armed resistance assumed by the little band of patriots, had immediately telegraphed orders to recapture the insurgents. among the union-loving mountaineers of east tennessee the mutterings of a threatened rebellion against the new despotism had long been heard, and it was deemed expedient to suppress at once this outbreak. "try the ringleaders by drum-head court-martial, and, if guilty, hang them on the spot," said a second despatch. these instructions were purposely made public, in order to strike terror among the unionists. they were discussed by the soldiers, and reached the ears of carl. "hang them on the spot." that meant stackridge and penn, and he knew not how many more. "and i," said carl, "have agreed to show the vay to the cave." he was sweating fearfully over the dilemma in which he had placed himself, when a sergeant and two men came to conduct him to head-quarters. "now it begins," said carl to himself, drawing a deep breath. the irons remained on his wrists. in this plight he was brought into the presence of the red-faced colonel. "i hate a damned dutchman!" said lysander, who happened to be at head-quarters. he had had experience, and his prejudice was natural. the colonel poised his cigar, and regarded carl sternly. the boy's heart throbbed anxiously, and he was afraid that he looked pale. nevertheless, he stood calmly erect on his sturdy young legs, and answered the officer's frown with an expression of placid and innocent wonder. "your name is carl," said the colonel. "i sushpect that is true," replied carl, on his guard against making inadvertent admissions. "carl what?" "minnevich." "minny-fish? that's a scaly name. and they say you are a scaly fellow. what have you got those bracelets on for?" "that is vat i should pe wery much glad to find out," said carl, affectionately regarding his handcuffs. "you are the fellow that enlisted to save the schoolmaster's neck, ain't you?" "i suppose that is true too." "suppose? don't you know?" "i thought i knowed, for you told me so; but as they vas hunting for him aftervards to hang him, i vas conwinced i vas mishtaken." this quiet reply, delivered in the lad's quaint style, with perfect deliberation, and with a countenance shining with simplicity, was in effect a keen thrust at the perfidy of the confederate officers. the colonel's face became a shade redder, if possible, and he frowningly exclaimed,-"and so you deserted!" "that," said carl, "ish not quite so true." "what! you deny the fact?" "i peg your pardon, it ish not a fact. i vas took prisoner." "and do you maintain that you did not go willingly?" "i don't know just vat you mean by villingly. ven vun of them fellows puts his muzzle to my head and says, 'you come mit us, and make no noise or i plow out your prains,' i vas prewailed upon to go. i vas more villing to go as i vas to have my prains spilt. if that is vat you mean by villing, i vas villing." "why did they take you prisoner?" "pecause. i vill tell you. gad vas shleeping like thunder: you know vat i mean--shnoring. nothing could make him vake up; so they let him shnore. but i vake up, and they say, i suppose, they must kill me or take me off, for if i vas left pehind i vould raise the alarm too soon." "well, where did they take you?" carl was silent a moment, then looking colonel derring full in the face, he said earnestly,-"they make me shwear i vould not tell." "minny-fish," said the colonel, "this won't do. the secret is out, and it is too late for you to try to keep it back. toby betrayed it. mrs. stackridge has been arrested, and she has confessed that her husband and his friends are hid in a cave. we sent out a scout, who has come in and corroborated both their statements. gad discovered the cave; but he has sprained his ankle. he describes the spot accurately, but he's too lame to climb the hills again. what we want is a guide to go in his place. now, minny-fish, here's a chance for you to earn a pardon, and prove your loyalty. you promised captain sprowl, did you not, that you would conduct him to the cave?" carl, overwhelmed by the colonel's confident assertions, breathed a moment, then replied,-"i pelieve i vas making him some promise." "notwithstanding your oath that you would not tell?" said lysander, eager to cross and corner him. "to show the vay, that is not to tell," replied carl. "i shwore i vould not tell, and i shall not tell. but if you vill go mit me to the cave, i vill go mit you and take you. then i keep my promise to you and my oath to them. you see, i did not shwear not to take you," he added, with a smile. with a smile on his face, but with profound perturbations of the soul. for he saw himself sinking deeper and deeper into this miry difficulty, and how he was to extricate himself without dragging his friends down, was still a terrible enigma. "i believe the boy is honest," said derring. "sergeant, have those irons taken off. captain sprowl, you will manage the affair, and take this boy as your guide. i advise you to trust him. but until he has thoroughly proved his honesty, keep a careful eye on him, and if you become convinced that he is deceiving you, shoot him down on the spot. i say, shoot him on the spot," repeated the colonel, impressively. "you both understand that. do you, minny-fish?" "i vas never shot," said carl, "but i sushpect i know vat shooting is." and he smiled again, with trouble in his heart, that would have quite disconcerted a youth of less nerve and phlegm. "well," said captain sprowl, "if you don't, you will know, if you undertake to play any of your dutch tricks with me!" "o, sir!" said carl, humbly, "if i knowed any trick i vouldn't ever think of playing it on you, you are so wery shmart!" "how do you know i am?" said lysander, who felt flattered, and thought it would be interesting to hear the lad's reasons; for neither he, nor any one present, had perceived the craft and sarcasm concealed under that simple, earnest manner. "how do i know you are shmart? pecause," replied carl, "you have such a pig head. and such a pig nose. and such a pig mouth. that shows you are a pig man." this was said with an air of intense seriousness, which never changed amid the peals of laughter that followed. nobody suspected carl of an intentional joke; and the round-eyed innocent surprise with which he regarded the merriment added hugely to the humor of it. everybody laughed except lysander, who only grimaced a little to disguise his chagrin. this upstart officer was greatly disliked for his conceited ways, and it was not long before the "dutch boy's compliments" became the joke of the camp, and wherever lysander appeared some whisper was sure to be heard concerning either the "pig mouth," or "pig nose," of that truly "pig man." as for carl, he had something far more serious to do than to laugh. how to circumvent the designs of these men? that was the question. in the first place, it is necessary to state that his conscience acquitted him entirely of all obligations to them or their cause. he was no secessionist. he had enlisted to save his benefactor and friend. he had said, "i will give you my services if you will give that man his life." they had immediately afterwards broken the contract by seeking to kill his friend, and he felt that he no longer owed them anything. but they held _him_ by force, against which he had no weapon but his own good wit. this, therefore, he determined to use, if possible, to their discomfiture, and the salvation of those to whom he owed everything. but how? he had saved toby from torture and confession by promising what he never intended literally to perform. once more in the guard-house, retained a prisoner until wanted as a guide, he reasoned with himself thus:-"if i do not go, then they vill make gad go, lame or no lame, and he vill not be half so lucky to show the wrong road as i can be;"--for carl never suspected that what had been said with regard to mrs. stackridge's arrest and confession, and gad's successful reconnoissance and return, was all a lie framed to induce him to undertake this very thing. "and if i did not make pelieve i vas villing to go, then they vould not give me my hands free, and some chances for myself. i think there vill be some chances. but sprowl is to watch, and be ready to shoot me down?" he shook his head dubiously, and added, "that is vat i do not like quite so vell!" he remained in a deep study until dusk. then captain sprowl appeared, and said to him,-"come! you are to go with me." carl's heart gave a great bound; but he answered with an air of indifference,-"to-night?" "yes. at once. stir!" "i have not quite finished my supper; but i can put some of it in my pockets, and be eating on the road." and he added to himself, "i am glad it is in the night, for that vill be a wery good excuse if i should be so misfortunate as not to find the cave!" "here," said lysander, imperiously, giving him a twist and push,--"march before me! and fast! now, not a word unless you are spoken to; and don't you dodge unless you want a shot." thus instructed, carl led the way. he did not speak, and he did not dodge. one circumstance overjoyed him. he saw no signs of a military expedition on foot. was lysander going alone with him to the mountains? "i sushpect i can find some trick for him, shmart as he is!" thought carl. they left the town behind them. they took to the fields; they entered the shadow of the mountains, the western sky above whose tops was yet silvery bright with the shining wake of the sunset. a few faint stars were visible, and just a glimmer of moonlight was becoming apparent in the still twilight gloom. "we are going to have a quiet little adwenture together!" chuckled carl. one thing was singular, however. lysander did not tamely follow his lead: on the contrary, he directed him where to go; and carl saw, to his dismay, that they were proceeding in a very direct route towards the cave. "never mind! ven ve come to some conwenient place maybe something vill happen," he said consolingly to himself. then suddenly consternation met him, as it were face to face. the enigma was solved. from the crest of a knoll over which lysander drove him like a lamb, he saw, lying on the ground in a little glen before them, the dark forms of some forty men. one of these rose to his feet and advanced to meet lysander. it was silas ropes. "all ready?" said sprowl. "ready and waiting," said silas. "well, push on," said the captain. "we'll go to the dead bodies in the ravine first. where's pepperill?" "here," replied ropes; and at a summons dan appeared. carl's heart sank within him. toby in the guard-house had told him about the dead bodies, and he knew that they were not far from the cave. he was aware, too, that pepperill knew far more than one of such shallow mental resources and feeble will, wearing that uniform, and now in the power of these men, ought to know. there in the little moonlit glen they met and exchanged glances--the sturdy, calm-faced boy, and the weak-kneed, trembling man. pepperill had not recovered from the terror with which he had been inspired, when summoned to guide a reconnoitring party to the ravine. but he had not yet lisped a syllable of what he knew concerning the cave. carl gave him a look, and turned his eyes away again indifferently. that look said, "be wery careful, dan, and leave a good deal to me." and dan, man as he was, felt somehow encouraged and strengthened by the presence of this boy. "now, pepperill," said sprowl, "can you move ahead and make no mistake?" "i kin try," answered pepperill, dismally. "but it's a heap harder to find the way in the night so; durned if 'tain't!" "none o' that, now, dan," said ropes, "or you'll git sunthin' to put sperrit inter ye!" dan made no reply, but shivered. the mountain air was chill, the prospect dreary. close by, the woods, blackened by the recent fire, lay shadowy and spectral in the moon. far above, the dim summits towards which their course lay whitened silently. there was no noise but the low murmur of these men, bent on bloody purposes. no wonder dan's teeth chattered. as for carl, he killed a mosquito on his cheek, and smiled triumphantly. "you got a shlap, you warmint!" he said, as if he had no other care on his mind than the insect's slaughter. "who told you to speak?" said lysander sharply. "vas that shpeaking?" carl scratched his cheek complacently. "i vas only making a little obserwation to the mosquito." "well, keep your observations to yourself!" "that is vat i vill try to do." the order to march was given. lysander proceeded a few paces in advance, accompanied by ropes and the two guides. the troops followed in silence, with dull, irregular tramp, filing through obscure hollows, over barren ridges crowned by a few thistles and mulleins, and by the edges of thickets which the fires had not reached. at length they came to a tract of the burned woods. the word "halt!" was whispered. the sound of tramping feet was suddenly hushed, and the slender column of troops, winding like a dark serpent up the side of the mountain, became motionless. "all right so far, pepperill?" "wal, i hain't made nary mistake yet, cap'm." pepperill recognized the woods in which, when flying to the cave with virginia, penn, and cudjo, they had found themselves surrounded by fires. "how far is it now to your ravine?" "nigh on to half a mile, i reckon." "shall we go through these woods?" "it's the nighest to go through 'em. but i s'pose we can git around if we try." "the moon sets early. we'd better take the nearest way," said the captain. "well, dutchy,"--for the first time deigning to consult carl,--"this route is taking us to the cave, too, ain't it?" "wery certain," said carl, "prowided you go far enough, and turn often enough, and never lose the vay." "that'll be your risk, dutchy. look out for the landmarks, so that when pepperill stops you can keep on." "i vill look out, but if they have all been purnt up since i vas here, how wery wexing!" this wood had been but partially consumed when the flames were checked by the rain. many trunks were still standing, naked, charred, stretching their black despairing arms to the moon. the shadows of these ghostly trees slanted along the silent field of desolation, or lay entangled with the dark logs and limbs of trees which had fallen, and from which, at short distances, they were scarcely distinguishable. here and there smouldered a heap of rubbish, its pallid smoke rising noiselessly in the bluish light. there were heaps of ashes still hot; half-burned brands sparkled in the darkness; and now and then a stump or branch emitted a still bright flame. through this scene of blackness and ruin, rendered gloomily picturesque by the moonlight, the men picked their way. not a word was spoken; but occasionally a muttered curse told that some ill-protected foot had come in contact with live cinders, or that some unlucky leg had slumped down into one of those mines of fire, formed by roots of old dead stumps, eaten slowly away to ashes under ground. carl had hoped that the woods would prove impassable, and that the party would be compelled to turn back. that would gain for him time and opportunity. but the men pushed on. "vill nothing happen?" he said to himself, in despair at seeing how directly they were travelling towards the cave. the burned tract was not extensive, and he soon saw, glimmering through the blackened columns, the clear moonlight on the slopes above. pepperill, not daring to assume the responsibility of misleading the party, knew no better than to go stumbling straight on. "i vish he would shtumple and preak his shtupid neck!" thought carl. they emerged from the burned woods, and came out upon the ledges beyond; and now the lad saw plainly where they were. on the left, the deep and quiet gulf of shadow was the ravine. they had but to follow this up, he knew not just how far, to reach the cave. and still pepperill advanced. carl's heart contracted. he knew that the critical moment of the night, for him and for his fugitive friends, was now at hand. "do you see any landmarks yet?" sprowl whispered to him. "i can almost see some," answered carl, peering earnestly over a moonlit bushy space. "ve shall pe coming to them py and py." "do you know this ravine?" "i remember some rawines. i shouldn't be wery much surprised if this vas vun of 'em." "look here," said lysander. carl looked, and saw a pistol-barrel. "understand?"--significantly. "is it for me?"' and carl extended his hand ingenuously. "for you?--yes." but instead of giving the weapon to the boy, he returned it to his pocket, with a smile the boy did not like. "ah, yes! a goot joke!" and carl smiled too, his good-humored face beaming in the moon. at the same time he said to himself, "he hates me pecause i am hapgood's friend; and he vill be much pleased to have cause to shoot me." just then dan stopped. lysander put up his hand as a signal. the troops halted. "it's somewhars down in hyar, cap'm," pepperill whispered. "it's a horrid place!" muttered sprowl. "it ar so, durned if 'tain't!" said dan, discouragingly. before them yawned the ravine, bristling with half-burned saplings, and but partially illumined by the moon. the babble of the brook flowing through its hidden depths was faintly audible. "see the bodies anywhere?" said lysander. "can't see ary thing by this light," replied dan. "but we can go down and find 'em." sprowl did not much fancy the idea of descending. "it will be a waste of time to stop here," he said to silas. "the live traitors are of more consequence than the dead ones. supposing we go to the cave first, and come back and find the bodies afterwards. have you got your bearings yet, carl?" "i am peginning," said carl, staring about him, with his hands in his pockets. "i think i vill have 'em soon." sprowl looked at him with suppressed rage. "how cussed provoking!" he muttered. "it is--wery prowoking!" said carl, looking at the moon. "aggrawating!" "well, make up your mind quick! what will you do?" then it seemed as if a bright idea occurred to carl. "i vill tell you. you go down and find the podies, and i vill be looking. ven you come up again, i shouldn't be surprised if i could see vair the cave is." "ropes," said sprowl, "take a couple of men, and go down in there with pepperill. i think it's best to stay with this boy." this arrangement did not please carl at all; but, as he could not reasonably complain of it, he said, stoically, "yes, it vill be petter so." ropes selected his two men, and left the rest concealed in the shadows of the thickets. "if i could go up on the rocks there, i suppose i could see something," said carl. "well, i'll go with you. i mean to give you a fair chance." carl felt a secret hope. once more alone with this villain, would not some interesting thing occur? "wait, though!" said sprowl; and he called a corporal to his side. "come with us. keep close to this boy. at the first sign of his giving us the slip, put your bayonet through him." "i will," said the corporal. this was discouraging again. but carl looked up at the captain and smiled--his good-humored, placid smile. "you do right. but you vill see i shall not give you the shlip. now come, and be wery still." in the mean time, pepperill, with the three rebels, descended into the ravine. the spot where the dead man and horse had been was soon found. but now no dead man was to be seen. the horse had been removed from the rocks between which his back was wedged, and rolled down lower into the ravine. a broad, shallow hole had been dug there, as if to bury him. but the work had been interrupted. there was a shovel lying on the heap of earth. near by was another spot where the soil had been recently stirred--a little mound: it was shaped like a grave. "they've buried the poor cuss hyar," said dan. "we'll see." ropes took the shovel. "they can't have put him in very deep, fur they've struck the rock in this yer t'other hole." he threw up a little dirt, then gave the shovel to one of the soldiers. the moon shone full upon the place. the man dug a few minutes, and came to something which was neither rock nor soil. he pulled it up. it was a man's arm. "you didn't guess fur from right this time, dan! scrape off a little more dirt, and we'll haul up the carcass. needn't be partic'lar 'bout scrapin' very keerful, nuther. he's a mean shoat, whoever he is; one o' them cussed union-shriekers. wish they was all planted like he is! hope we shall find five or six more. ketch holt, dan!" dan caught hold. the body was dragged from the lonely resting-place to which it had been consigned. parts of it, which had not been protected by the superincumbent bulk of the horse, were hideously burned. ropes rolled it over on the back, and kicked it, to knock off the dirt. he turned up the face in the moonlight--a frightful face! one side was roasted; and what was left of the hair and beard was full of sand. "damn him!" said ropes, giving it a wipe with the spade. the eyes were open, and they too were full of sand. but the features were still recognizable. the men started back with horror. they knew their comrade. it was the spy who had been sent out to watch the fugitives. it was "the sleeper," whom nought could waken more. it was gad. "wal, if i ain't beat!" said silas, with a ghastly look. "fool! how did he come hyar?" this question has never been satisfactorily answered. the fatal leap of the terrified horse with his rider is known; but how came gad on the horse? those who knew the character of the man account for it in this way: he had been something of a horse-thief in his day; and it is supposed that, finding stackridge's horse on the mountain, he fell once more into temptation. he was probably a little drunk at the time; and he was a man who would never walk if he could ride, especially when he was tipsy. so he mounted. but he had no sooner commenced the descent of the mountain, than the fire, which had been previously concealed from the animal by the clump of trees behind which he was hampered, burst upon his sight, and filled him with uncontrollable frenzy. dan, who had witnessed the flight and plunge, could have contributed an item towards the solution of the mystery. but he opened not his mouth. "them cussed traitors shall pay fur this!" said ropes. this was the only consolatory thought that occurred to him. having uttered it, he looked remorsefully at the spade with which he had rudely wiped the face of his dead friend. "i thought 'twas one o' them rotten scoundrels, or i--but never mind! kiver him up agin, boys! we can't take him with us, and we've no time to lose." so they laid the corpse once more in the grave, and heaped the sand upon it. xxxvi. _carl finds a geological specimen._ in the mean time carl ascended the moonlit slope, with sprowl's pistol on one side of him, and the corporal's bayonet on the other. between the two he felt that he had little chance. but he did not despair. he reasoned thus with himself:-"these two men vill not think to take the cave alone. they must go back for reã«nforcements. that shall make a diwersion in my favor. if i show them some dark place, and make them think it is there, they vill not go wery near to examine." and he arrived at this conclusion: "i suppose i shall inwent a cave." they were advancing cautiously towards the summit of a bushy ridge. suddenly carl stopped. "anything?" said sprowl. carl nodded, with a pleased and confident smile. "what?" "you shall see wery soon. shtoop low." he himself crouched close to the ground. the men followed his example. "come a little more on. now you see that rock?" lysander saw it. "vell, it is not there." they crept forward a little farther. then carl stopped again, and said,-"you see that tree?" "which?" "all alone in the moonshine." lysander perceived it. "vell," said carl, "it is not there." again they advanced, and again he paused and pointed. "you see them little saplings?" lysander distinguished them revealed against the sky. "vell," said carl, "it is not there neither." he was crawling on again, when sprowl seized his collar. "what the devil do you mean?--if i see these things!" carl turned on his side, smiled intelligently, and, beckoning the captain to bring his ear close, put his lips to it, covered them with his hand, with an air of secrecy, and whispered hoarsely,-"landmarks!" "ah! well!" said lysander, suffering him to proceed. carl crept slowly, raising his head at every moment to observe. the bayonet came behind; the captain continued at his side. "the further i take these willains from the others, the petter," thought he. at length he came in view of the high ledge upon which penn had discovered cudjo at his idolatrous devotions, on the night of the fire. the moon was getting behind the mountain, and there were dark shadows beneath this ledge. though he should travel a mile, he might not find a more suitable spot to locate his fictitious cave. he hesitated; considered well; then gently tapped lysander's arm. "you see vair the rock comes down? and some pushes just under it? vell, the cave is pehind the pushes, ven you find it!" which was indeed true. lysander crept a few paces nearer, stealthily, flat on his belly, with his head slightly elevated, like a dark reptile gliding over the moonlit ground. "now is my time!" thought carl. his heart beat violently. he raised himself on his knees, preparing to spring. lysander was at least ten feet in advance of him, and he thought he would risk the pistol. "i run--he fires--he vill miss me--i shall get avay." but the corporal? just then he felt a piercing pressure in his side. it was the corporal, nudging him with the bayonet to make him lie down. "i vas shust going a little nearer." the corporal seemed satisfied with the explanation; but, as the boy advanced on his hands and knees, he advanced close behind him,--holding the bayoneted gun ready for a thrust. so carl succeeded only in getting a little nearer lysander, without increasing at all the distance between him and the corporal. it was a state of affairs that required serious consideration. he lay dawn again, and pretended to be anxiously looking for the mouth of the cave, whilst watching and reflecting. just then occurred a circumstance which seemed almost providentially designed to favor the boy's strategy. upon the ledge appeared two human figures, male and female, touched by the moonlight, and defined against the sky. they remained but a moment on the summit, then began to descend in the shadow of the ledge. their movements were slow, uncertain, mysterious. below the base of the rock they stood once more in the moonlight, and after appearing to consult together for a few seconds, disappeared behind the bushes where carl had placed his imaginary cave. if sprowl had any doubts on the subject before, he was now entirely satisfied. he believed the forms to be those of virginia and the schoolmaster; they had been out to enjoy solitude and sentiment in the moonlight; and now they were returning reluctantly to the cave. "wouldn't gus be edified if he was in my place!" lysander little thought that _he_ was the one to be edified,--as he would certainly have been, to an amazing degree, had he known the truth. "but we'll spoil their fun in a few minutes!" he said to himself, as he crept back towards his former position. as for carl, it was he who had been most astonished by the phenomenon. no sooner had he invented a cave, than two phantoms made their appearance, and walked into it! the illusion was so perfect, that he himself was almost deceived by it. only for an instant, however. continuing to gaze, he had another glimpse of the apparitions, when, having merely passed behind the bushes, they came out beyond them, in the direction of the real cave, and were lost once more in shadow. lysander, engaged in making his retrograde movement, did not notice this very important circumstance; and the corporal was too intently occupied in watching carl to observe anything else. the captain got behind the shelter of a cluster of thistles, and beckoned for the two to approach. "corporal," said he, "hurry back and tell ropes to bring up his men. i'll wait here." the corporal crawled off. carl heard the order, saw the movement, and felt thrilled to the heart's core with joy. he was now alone with the captain. and he was no longer unarmed. in creeping towards the thistles, he had laid his hand on a wonderful little stone. somehow, his fingers had closed upon it. it was about the size of an apple, slightly flattened, rough, and heavy. "i thought," he said afterwards, "if anything vas to happen, that stone might be waluable." and so it proved. lysander, considering that the cave was found, had become less suspicious. "these dutch are stupid, and that's all," he thought. "you vas going to shoot me," said carl, with an honest laugh at the ludicrousness of the idea. "and so i would," said sprowl, with an oath, "if you hadn't brought us to the cave." "that means," thought carl, "he vill kill me yet if he can, ven he finds out." he observed, also, that sprowl, lying on his left side, had his right hand free, and near the pocket where his pistol was. it was not yet too late for him to be shot if he attempted an escape without first attempting something else. the violent beating of his heart recommenced. he felt a strange tremor of excitement thrilling through every nerve. his hand still held the pebble, covering and concealing it as he leaned forward on the ground. he crept a little nearer lysander. "the vay they go into the cave," he said, "is wery queer." "how so?" asked the captain. they were facing each other. carl drew still a little nearer, and raised himself slightly on the hand that grasped the geological specimen. "i promised to take you in. i vill take you in on vun condition." "condition?" repeated lysander. "that is vat i said. vun leetle condition. let me whishper." carl put up his left hand as if to cover the communication he was about to breathe into lysander's ear. "the condition--is this!" as he uttered the last words, he seized lysander's wrist with his left hand, and at the same instant, with a stroke rapid as lightning, smote him on the temple with the stone. all this, being interpreted, meant, "i take you to the cave on condition that you go as my prisoner." thus carl designed to keep his promise. as he struck he sprang up, to be ready for any emergency. he had expected a struggle, an outcry. he never dreamed that he could strike a man dead with a single blow! without a shriek, without even a moan, lysander merely sunk back upon the ground, gasped, shuddered, and lay still. carl was stupefied. he looked at the prostrate man. then he cast his eye all around him on the moonlit mountain slope. no one was in sight. was this murder he had committed? he knelt down, bending over the horribly motionless form. he gazed on the ghastly-pale face, and saw issuing from the nostrils a dark stream. it was blood. was it not all a dream? he still held the stone in his hand. he looked at it, and mechanically placed it in his pocket. nothing now seemed left for him but to escape to the cave; and yet he remained fixed with horror to the spot, regarding what he had done. xxxvii. _carl keeps his engagement._ of the two forms that had been seen on the ledge, the female was not virginia, and the other was not penn. a word of explanation is necessary. filled with hatred for her husband,--filled with shame and disgust, too, on hearing how he had caused his own mother to be whipped (for the secret was out, thanks to aunt deb at the stove-pipe hole),--resolved in her soul never to forgive him, never even to see him again if she could help it, yet intolerably wretched in her loneliness,--salina had that afternoon taken toby into her counsel. "toby, what are we to do?" "dat's what i do'no' myself!" the sore old fellow confessed; even his superior wisdom, usually sufficient (in his own estimation) for the whole family, failing him now. "when it comes to lickin' white women and 'spec'able servants, ain't nobody safe. i's glad ol' massa and miss jinny's safe up dar in de cave; and i on'y wish we war safe up dar too." "toby," said salina, "we will go there. can you find the way?" "reckon i kin," said toby, delighted at the proposal. they set out early. they succeeded in reaching the woods without exciting suspicion. they kept well to the south, in order to approach the cave on the same side of the ravine from which toby had discovered it, or rather penn near the entrance of it, before. he thought he would be more sure to find it by that route. at the same time he avoided the burned woods, and, without knowing it, the soldiers. but, the best they could do, the daylight was gone when they came to the ravine; and toby could not find the place where he had previously crossed. he passed beyond it. then they crossed at random in the easiest place. once on the side where the cave was, toby decided that they were above it; and, owing to the steepness of the banks, it was necessary to go around over the rocks, at a short distance from the ravine, in order to reach the shelf behind the thickets. it was in making this movement that they had been seen to descend the ledge and pass behind the bushes at its base. "now," said toby, "you jes' wait while i makes a reckonoyster!" salina, weary, sat down in the shadow of a juniper-tree. toby made his reconnoissance, discovered nothing, and returned. she, sitting still there, had been more successful. she pointed. "what dar?" whispered toby, frightened. "there is somebody. don't you see? by those shrub-like things." "dey ain't nobody dar!"--with a shiver. "yes there is. i saw a man jump up. he is bending over something now, trying to lift it. it must be penn, or some of his friends. go softly, and see." toby, imaginative, superstitious, did not like to move. but salina urged him; and something must be done. "i--i's mos' afeard to! but dar's somebody, shore!" he advanced, with eyes strained wide and cold chills creeping over him. what was the man doing there? what was he trying to lift and drag along the ground? it was the body of another man. "who dar?" said toby. "be quiet. come here!" was the answer. "what! carl! carl! dat you? what you doin' dar? massy sakes!" said toby. "i've got a prisoner," said carl. "dead! o de debil!" said toby. "i've knocked him on the head a little, but he is not dead," said carl. "be still, for there's forty more vithin hearing!" toby, with mouth agape, and hands on knees, crouching, looked in the face of the lifeless man. that jaunty mustache, with the blood from the nostrils trickling into it, was unmistakable. "dat sprowl!" ejaculated the old negro, with horrified recoil. "he won't hurt you! take holt! i pelief ropes is coming, mit his men, now!" "le' 'm drap, den. wha' ye totin' on him fur?" carl had quite recovered from his stupefaction. his wits were clear again. why did he not leave the body? his reasons against such a course were too many to be enumerated on the spot to toby. in the first place, he had promised to take the captain to the cave; and he felt a stubborn pride in keeping his engagement. secondly, the man might die if he abandoned him. moreover, the troops arriving, and finding him, would know at once what had happened; while, on the contrary, if both carl and the captain should be missing, it would be supposed that they had gone to make observations in another quarter; they would be waited for, and thus much time would be gained. carl had all these arguments in his brain. but instead of stopping to explain anything, he once more, and alone, lifted the head and shoulders of the limp man, and recommenced bearing him along. "toby, who is that?" "dat am miss salina." carl asked no explanations. "vimmen scream sometimes. tell her she is not to scream. you get her handkersheaf. and do not say it is shprowl." "who--what is it?" salina inquired. "our carl! don't ye know?" said toby. "he's got one ob dem secesh he's knocked on de head." "has he killed him?" "part killed him, and part took him prisoner,--about six o' one and half a dozen o' tudder. he say you's specfully 'quested not to scream; and he wants your hank'cher." "what does he want of it?"--giving it. "dat he best know hisself; but if my 'pinion am axed, i should say, to wipe de fellah's nose wiv." having delivered this profound judgment, toby carried the handkerchief to carl, who spread it over the wounded man's face. "that prewents her seeing him, and prewents his seeing the vay to the cave." "who eber knowed you's sech a powerful smart chil'?" said old toby, amazed. a new perception of carl's character had burst suddenly, with a wonderful light, upon his dazzled understanding. in the terror of their first encounter, in this strange place, he had comprehended nothing of the situation. he had not even remembered that he last saw carl in the guard-house, with irons on his wrists. it was like a fragment of some dream to find him here, holding the lifeless lysander in his arms. but now he remembered; now he comprehended. carl had saved him from torture by engaging to bring this man to the cave; whom by some miracle of courage and valor, he had overcome and captured, and brought thus far over the lonely rocks. all was yet vague to the old negro's mind; but it was nevertheless strange, great, prodigious. and this lad, this carl, whom penn had brought, a sort of vagabond, a little hungry beggar, to mr. villars's house--that is to say, toby's; whom the vain, tender, pompous, affectionate old servant had had the immense satisfaction of adopting into the family, patronizing, scolding, tyrannizing over, and tenderly loving; who had always been to him "dat chil'!" "dat good-for-nuffin'!" "dat mis'ble carl!"--the same now loomed before his imagination a hero. the simple spreading of the handkerchief over the face appeared to him a master-stroke of cool sagacity. he himself, with all that stupendous wisdom of his, would not have thought of that! he actually found himself on the point of saying "massa carl!" ah, this foolish old negro is not the only person who, in these times of national trouble, has been thus astonished! carl is not the only hero who has suddenly emerged, to thrilled and wondering eyes, from the disguises of common life. how many a beloved "good-for-nothing" has gone from our streets and firesides, to reappear far off in a vision of glory! the school-fellows know not their comrade; the mother knows not her own son. the stripling, whose outgoing and incoming were so familiar to us,--impulsive, fun-loving, a little vain, a little selfish, apt to be cross when the supper was not ready, apt to come late and make you cross when the supper was ready and waiting,--who ever guessed what nobleness was in him! his country called, and he rose up a patriot. the fatigue of marches, the hardships of camp and bivouac, the hard fare, the injustice that must be submitted to, all the terrible trials of the body's strength and the soul's patient endurance,--these he bore with the superb buoyancy of spirit which denotes the hero. who was it that caught up the colors, and rushed forward with them into the thick of the battle, after the fifth man who attempted it had been shot down? not that village loafer, who used to go about the streets dressed so shabbily? yes, the same. he fell, covered with wounds and glory. the rusty, and seemingly useless instrument we saw hang so long idle on the walls of society, none dreamed to be a trumpet of sonorous note until the soul came and blew a blast. and what has become of that white-gloved, perfumed, handsome cousin of yours, devoted to his pleasures, weary even of those,--to whom life, with all its luxuries, had become a bore? he fell in the trenches at wagner. he had distinguished himself by his daring, his hardihood, his fiery love of liberty. when the nation's alarum beat, his manhood stood erect; he shook himself; all his past frivolities were no more than dust to the mane of this young lion. the war has proved useful if only in this, that it has developed the latent heroism in our young men, and taught us what is in humanity, in our fellows, in ourselves. because it has called into action all this generosity and courage, if for no other cause, let us forgive its cruelty, though the chair of the beloved one be vacant, the bed unslept in, and the hand cold that penned the letters in that sacred drawer, which cannot even now be opened without grief. as toby had never been conscious what stuff there was in carl, so he had never known how much he really loved, admired, and relied upon him. he stood staring at him there in the moonlight as if he then for the first time perceived what a little prodigy he was. "take holt, why don't you?" said carl. and this time toby obeyed: he secretly acknowledged the authority of a master. "sartin, sah!" he had checked himself when on the point of saying "massa carl;" but the respectful "sah" slipped from his tongue before he was aware of it. among the bushes, and in the shadows of the rocks, they bore the body in swiftness and silence. salina followed. in the cave the usual fire was burning; by the light of which only virginia and her father were to be seen. the sisters fell into each other's arms. salina was softened: here, after all her sufferings, was refuge at last: here, in the warmth of a father's and a sister's affection, was the only comfort she could hope for now, in the world she had found so bitter. "who is with you?" said the old man. "toby? and carl? what is the matter?" "i vants mr. hapgood, or pomp, or cudjo!" said carl, laying down his burden. "they have gone to bury the man in the rawine," said virginia. carl opened great eyes. "the man in the rawine? that's vair ropes and the soldiers have gone." "what soldiers?--who is this?" "this is their waliant captain! i am wery sorry, ladies, but i have given him a leetle nose-pleed. some vater, toby! your handkersheaf, ma'am, and wery much obliged." salina stooped to take the handkerchief. a flash of the fire shone upon the uncovered face. the eyes opened; they looked up, and met hers looking down. "lysander!" "sal, is it you? where am i, anyhow?" and the husband tried to raise himself. "carl, what's this?" "don't be wiolent!" said carl, gently laying him down again, "and i vill tell you. i vas your prisoner, and i vas showing you the cave. veil, this is the cave; but things is a little inwerted. you are my prisoner." "is that so?" said the astonished lysander. "wery much so," replied carl. "didn't somebody knock me on the head?" "i shouldn't be wastly surprised if somepody _did_ knock you on the head." "was it you?" "i rather sushpect it vas me." lysander rubbed his bruised temple feebly, looking amazed. "but how came _she_ here?" "it vas she and toby we saw going into the cave." "what's that?"--to toby, bringing a gourd. "it is vater; it vill improve your wysiognomy. you can trink a little. you feel pretty sound in your witals, don't you? i vas careful not to hurt your witals," said carl, kindly, raising sprowl's head and holding the water for him to drink. lysander, ungrateful, instead of drinking, started up with sudden fury, struck the gourd from him with one hand, and thrust the other into the pocket where his pistol was, at last accounts. "vat is vanting?" carl inquired, complacently. lysander, fumbling in vain for his weapon, muttered, "vengeance!" "wery good," said carl. "ve vill discuss the question of wengeance, if you like."' and drawing the pistol from _his_ pocket, he coolly presented it at sprowl's head. "vat for you dodge? you think, maybe, the discussion vould not be greatly to your adwantage?" lysander felt for his sword, found that gone also, and muttered again, "villain!" "did somepody say somepody is a willain?" remarked carl. "i should not be wery much surprised if that vas so. willains nowdays is cheap. i have known a great wariety since secesh times pegan. but as for your particular case, sir, i peg to give some adwice. there is some ladies present, and you must keep quiet. do you remember how i vas kept quiet ven i vas _your_ prisoner? i had pracelets on. and do you remember i vas putting some supper in my pocket ven you took me to show you the cave? veil, i make von great mishtake; instead of supper, vat i vas putting in my pocket vas them wery pracelets!" and carl produced the handcuffs. at that moment penn and cudjo arrived; and lysander, observing them, submitted to his fate with beautiful resignation. the irons were put on, and carl mounted guard over him with the pistol. xxxviii. _love in the wilderness._ cudjo was highly exasperated to find strangers in the cave. he became quickly reconciled to the presence of virginia's sister, but not to that of lysander. to pacify him, carl made him a present of the sword which he had removed from the captain's noble person on arriving. cudjo received the weapon with unbounded delight, and proceeded to adjust the belt to his own ethiopian waist. it mattered little with him that he got the scabbard on the wrong side of his body: a sword was a sword; and he wore it in awkward and ridiculous fashion, strutting up and down in the fire-lighted cave, to the envy and disgust of old toby, the rage of lysander, and the amusement of the rest. penn meanwhile related to his friends his evening's adventures. he had gone down to the ravine with the negroes to bury the horse and his dead rider. he was keeping watch while they worked; the man was interred, and they were digging a pit for the animal, when they discovered the approach of the soldiers, and retired to a hiding-place close by. there they lay concealed, whilst ropes and his men descended to the spot, exhumed the corpse with cudjo's shovel, made their comments upon it, and put it back into the ground. during this operation it had required all pomp's authority, and the restraint of his strong hand, to keep cudjo from pouncing upon his old enemy and former overseer, silas ropes. "there were three of us," said penn, "and only three of them, besides pepperill; and no doubt a struggle would have resulted in our favor. but we did not want to be troubled with prisoners; and pomp and i could not see that anything was to be gained by killing them. besides, we knew they had a strong reserve within call. so we waited patiently until they finished their work, and climbed up out of the ravine; then we climbed up after them. we thought their main object must be to find the cave, and pomp strongly suspected pepperill of treachery. we found a large number of soldiers lying under some bushes, and crept near enough to hear what they were saying. they were going to take the cave by surprise, and an order had just come for them to move farther up the mountain. they set off with scarcely any noise, reminding me of the 'forty thieves,' as they filed away in the moonlight, and disappeared among the bushes and shadows. pomp is on their trail now; he has his rifle with him, and it may be heard from if he sees them change their course and approach too near the cave." penn had come in for his musket. it was the same that had fallen from the hands of the man griffin at the moment when that unhappy rebel was in the act of charging bayonet at his breast. assuring virginia--who could not conceal her alarm at seeing him take it from its corner--that he was merely going out to reconnoitre, he left the cave. he was gone several hours. at length he and pomp returned together. the moon had long since set, but it was beautiful starlight; and, themselves unseen, they had watched carefully the movements of the soldiers. "you would have laughed to have been in my place, carl!" said penn, laying his hand affectionately on the shoulder of his beloved pupil. "they besieged the ledge where your imaginary cave is for full two hours after i went out, apparently without daring to go very near it." "i suppose," replied carl, "they vas vaiting for me and the captain. it vas really too pad now for us to make them lose so much waluable time! but they vill excuse mishter shprowl; his absence is unawoidable." and lifting his brows with a commiserating expression, he gave a comical side-glance from under them at the languishing lysander. all laughed at the lad's humor except the captain himself--and salina. after besieging the imaginary cave as penn had described, several of the confederates, he said, at last ventured with extreme caution to approach it. "and found," added carl, "they had been made the wictims of von leetle stratagem!" "i suppose so," said penn; "for immediately an unusual stir took place amongst them." "in searching for the entrance," laughed pomp, leaning on his rifle, "they came close under a juniper-tree i had climbed into, and i could hear them cursing the little dutchman----" "i suppose that vas me," smiled the good-natured carl. "and the 'pig-headed captain' who had gone off with him." "the pig-headed captain is this indiwidual"--indicating sprowl. "but it is wery unjust to be cursing him, for it vas not his fault. it vas my legs and toby's that conweyed him; and he had a handkersheaf over his face for a wail." "i suspected how it was, even before i met penn and learned what had happened. i am sorry to see this fellow in this place,"--pomp turned a frowning look at the corner where lysander lay,--"but now that he is here, he must stay." carl, upon whom the only noticeable effect produced by his exciting adventure was a lively disposition to talk, quite unusual with him, entered upon a full explanation of the circumstances which had led to lysander's capture. his narrative was altogether so simple, so honest, so droll, that even the bitter salina had to smile at it, while all the rest, the old clergyman included, joined in a hearty laugh of admiring approval at its conclusion. "i don't see but that you did the best that could be done," said pomp. "at all events, the villains seem to have been completely baffled. the last i saw of them they were retreating through the burned woods, as if afraid to have daylight find them on the mountain." the daylight had now come; and penn, who went out to take an observation, could discover no trace of the vanished rebels. the eastern sky was like a sheet of diaphanous silver, faintly crimsoned above the edges of the hills with streaks of the brightening dawn. all the valley below was inundated by a lake of level mist, whose subtle wave made islands of the hills, and shining inlets of the intervales. above this sea of white silence rose the mountain ranges, inexpressibly calm and beautiful, fresh from their bath of starlight and dew, and empurpled with softest tints of the early morning. penn heard a footstep, and felt a touch on his arm. was it the beauty of the earth and sky that made him shiver with so sudden and sweet a thrill? or was it the lovely presence at his side, in whom was incarnated, for him, all the beauty, all the light, all the joy of the universe? it was virginia, who leaned so gently on his arm, that not the slight pressure of her weight, but rather the impalpable shock of bliss her very nearness brought, made him aware of her approach. toby followed, supporting her along the shelf of rock--a dark cloud in the wake of that rosy and perfumed dawn. "o, how delicious it is out here!" said the voice, which, if we were to describe it from the lover's point of view, could be likened only to the songs of birds, the musical utterance of purest flutes, or the blowing of wild winds through those grand harp-strings, the mountain pines; for there was more of poetry and passion compressed in the heart of this quiet young quaker than we shall venture to give breath to in these pages. "it is--delicious!" he quiveringly answered, in his happy confusion blending _her_ with his perception of the daybreak. she inhaled deep draughts of the mountain air. "how i love it! the breath of trees, and grass, and flowers is in it,--those dear friends of mine, that i pine for, shut up here in prison!" "do you?" said penn, vaguely, half wishing that he was a flower, a blade of grass, or a tree, so that she might pine for him. "the air of the cave," she said, "is cold; it is odorless. the cave seems to me like the great, chill hearts of some of your profound philosophers! some of those tremendous books father makes me read to him came out of such hearts, i am sure; great hollow caverns, full of mystery and darkness, and so cold and dull they make me shudder to touch them;--but don't you, for the world, tell him i said so,--for, to please him, i let him think i am ever so much edified by everything that he likes." "what sort of books _do_ you like?" "o, i like books with daylight in them! i want them to be living, upper-air, joyous books. there must be sunshine, and birds, and brooks,--human nature, life, suffering, aspiration, and----" "and love?" "of course, there should be a little love in books, since there is sometimes a little, i believe, in real life." but she touched this subject with such airy lightness,--just hovering over it for an instant, and then away, like a butterfly not to be caught,--that penn felt a jealous trouble. "how long," she added immediately, "do you imagine we shall have to stay here?" "it is impossible to say," replied penn, turning with reluctance to the more practical topic. "one would think that the government cannot leave us much longer subject to this atrocious tyranny. an army may be already marching to our relief. but it may be weeks, it may be months, and i am not sure," he added seriously, "but it may be years, before tennessee is relieved." "why, that is terrible! toby says that poor old man, mr. ellerton, who assisted you to escape, was caught and hung by some of the soldiers yesterday." "i have no doubt but it is true. although he had returned to his home, he was known to be a unionist, and probably he was suspected of having aided us; in which case not even his white hairs could save him." "but it is horrible! they have commenced woman-whipping. and toby says a negro was hung six times a couple of days ago, and afterwards cut to pieces, for saying to another negro he met, 'good news; lincoln's army is coming!' what is going to become of us, if relief doesn't arrive soon? o, to look at the beautiful world we are driven from by these wicked, wicked men!" "and are you so very weary of the cave?" penn gave her a look full of electric tenderness, which seemed to say, "have not i been with you? and am i nothing to you?" she smiled, and her voice was tremulous as she answered,-"i wish i could go out into the sunshine again! but i have not been unhappy. indeed, i think i have been very happy." there was an indescribable pause; virginia's eyes modestly veiled, her face suffused with a blissful light, as if her soul saw some soft and exquisite dream; while penn's bosom swelled with the long undulations of hope and transport. toby still lingered in the entrance of the cave. "toby," said penn, such a radiance flashing from his brow as the negro had never seen before, "my good toby,"--and what ineffable human sympathy vibrated in his tones!--"i wish you would go in and tell our friends that the enemy has quite disappeared: will you?" "yes, massa!" said toby, a ray of that happiness penetrating even the old freedman's breast. for such is the beautiful law of our nature, that love cannot be concealed; it cannot be monopolized by one, nor yet by two; but when its divine glow is kindled in any soul, it beams forth from the eyes, it thrills in the tones of the voice, it breathes from all the invisible magnetic pores of being, and sheds sunshine and warmth on all. toby went. then an arm of manly strength, yet of all manly gentleness, stole about the waist of the girl, and drew her softly, close, closer; while something else, impalpable, ravishing, holy, drew her by a still more potent attraction; until, for the first time in her young and pure life, her mouth met another mouth with the soul's virgin kiss. her lips had kissed many times before, but her soul never. how long it lasted, that sweet perturbation, that fervent experience of a touch, neither, i suppose, ever knew; for at such times a moment is an eternity. as a lightning flash in a dark night reveals, for a dazzling instant, a world concealed before, so the electric interchange of two hearts charged with love's lightning seems to open the very doors of infinity; and it is the glory of heaven that shines upon them. not a word was spoken. then penn held virginia before him, and looked deep into her eyes, and said, with a strange tremor of lip and voice,--using the gentle speech of the friends, into which old familiar channel his thoughts flowed naturally in moments of strong feeling,-"wherever this dear face smiles upon me, there is my sunshine. i must be very selfish; for notwithstanding all the dangers and discomforts by which i see thee and thy father surrounded, the hours we have passed together here have been the happiest of my life. yea, and suffering and privation would be never anything to me, if i could always have thee with me, virginia!" how different, meanwhile, was the scene within the cave! how chafed the fiery lysander! how spitefully salina bit her lips ever at sight of him! and these two had once been lovers, and had seen rainbows span their future also! is it love that unites such, or is it only the yearning for love? for love, the reality, fuses all qualities, and brings into harmony all clashing chords. toby entered, the gleam of others' happiness still in his countenance. "de enemy hab dis'peared; all gone down in de frog." "the frog, toby?" said mr. villars. "yes, sar; right smart frog down 'ar in de volley!" "he means, a fog in the walley," said carl. xxxix. _a council of war._ owing to the disturbances of the night the old clergyman had slept little. he now lay down on the couch, and soon sank into a profound slumber. when he awoke he heard the hum of voices. the cave was filled with armed men. "it is mr. stackridge and his friends," said virginia. "they have come to hold a council of war; and they look upon you as their grand sachem." "i have brought them here," said pomp, "at their request--all except deslow." "where is he?" "deslow, i believe, has deserted!" said stackridge. "ah! what makes you think so?" "well, i've watched him right close, and i've seen a good deal of what's been working in his mind. he's one o' them fools that believe slavery is god; and he can't get over it. pomp, here, saved our lives in the fire the other night; and deslow couldn't stand it. to owe his life to a runaway slave--that was too dreadful!" said stackridge with savage sarcasm. "he's a man that would rather be roasted alive, and see his country ruined, i suppose, than do anything that might damage in the least degree his divine institution! there's the difference 'twixt him and me. sence slavery has made war agin' the union, and turned us out of our homes, i say, by the lord! let it go down to hell, as it desarves!" "you use strong language, neighbor!" "i do; and it's time, i reckon, when strong language, and strong actions too, are called fur. you hate a man that you've befriended, and that's turned traitor agin' ye, worse'n you hate an open inemy, don't ye? wal, i've befriended slavery, and it's turned traitor agin' me, and all i hold most sacred in this world, and i'm jest getting my eyes open to it; and so i say, let it go down! i've no patience with such men as deslow, and i'm glad, on the whole, he's gone. he don't belong with us anyhow. i say, any man that loves any kind of property, or any party, or institution, better than he loves the old union"--stackridge said this with tears of passion in his eyes,--"such a man belongs with the rebels, and the sooner we sift 'em out of our ranks the better." "when did he go?" "some of us were out foraging again last night; withers and deslow with the rest. tell what he said to you, withers." the group of fugitives had gathered about the bed on which the old clergyman sat. withers was scraping his long horny nails with a huge jackknife. "he says to me, says he, 'withers, we've got inter a bad scrape.' 'how so?' says i; for i thought we war gittin' out of a right bad scrape when we got out of that temp'rary jail. 'the wust hain't happened yet,' says he. 'that's bad,' says i, 'fur it's allus good fur a feller to know the wust has happened.' and so i told him a little story. says i, 'when i was a little boy 'bout that high, i was helping my daddy one day secure some hay. wal, it looked like rain, and we put in right smart till the fust sprinkles begun to fall,--great drops, big as ox-eyes,--and they skeert me, for i war awful 'fraid of gittin' wet. so what did i do but run and git under some boards. my daddy war so busy he didn't see me, till bime-by he come that way, rolling up the hay-cocks to kill, and looked, and thar i war under the pile o' boards, curled up like a hedgehog to keep dry. 'josh,' says he, 'what ye doin' thar? why ain't ye to work?' ''fraid o' gittin' wet!' says i. 'pon that he didn't say a word, but jest come and took me by the collar, and led me to a little run close by, and jest casoused me in the water, head over heels, and then jest pulled me out agin. 'now,' says he, 'ye can go to work, and you won't be the leastest mite afeard o' gittin' wet. wal, 'twas about so. i didn't mind the rain, arter that. 'wal, deslow,' says i, 'that larnt me a lesson; and ever sence i've always thought 'twas a good thing fur us, when trouble comes, to have the wust happen, and know it's the wust, fur then we'se prepared fur't, and ain't no longer to be skeert by a little shower.' that's what i said to deslow." and withers continued scraping his nails. "very good philosophy, indeed!" said mr. villars. "and what did he reply?" "he said, when the wust happened to us, we'd find we had no home, no property, and no country left; and fur his part he had been thinking we'd better go and give ourselves up, make peace with the authorities, and take the oath of allegiance. 'lincoln won't send no army to relieve us yet a-while,' says he, 'and even if he does, you know, victory for the federals means the death of our institootions! so i see where the shoe pinched with him; and i said, 'if that continners to be your ways of thinkin', i hain't the least objections to partin' comp'ny with ye, as the house dog said to the skunk; only,' says i, 'don't ye go to betrayin' us, if you conclude to go.' soon arter that we separated, and that's the last any on us have seen of him." "they've begun to whip women, too," said stackridge. "but, by right good luck, when this scamp here--" glowering upon lysander--"sent to have my wife whipped, he got his own mother whipped in her place! he's a connection o' your family, i know, mr. villars; but i never spile a story for relation's sake." "nor need you, friend stackridge. sorry i am for that deluded young man; but he reaps what he has sown, and he has only himself to blame." "'twas a regular secesh operation, that of having his own mother strung up," said captain grudd. "they are working against their own interests and families without knowing it. when they think they are destroying the union, they are destroying their own honor and influence; for so it 'ill be sure to turn out." "it was liberty they intended to have beaten," said penn; "but they will find that it is the back of their own mother, slavery, that receives the rods." "just what i meant to say; but it took the professor to put it into the right shape. by the way, neighbors, we owe the professor an apology. some of us found fault with his views of slavery and secession; but we've all come around to 'em pretty generally, i believe, by this time. here's my hand, professor, and let me say i think you was right enough in all but one thing--your plaguy non-resistance." "he has thought better of that," said mr. villars, pleasantly. "yes, zhentlemen," said carl, anxious to exonerate his friend, "he has been conwerted." "we have found that out, to his credit," said stackridge. and, one after another, all took penn cordially by the hand. "we are all brothers in one cause, our country," said penn. nor did he stop when the hand of the last patriot was shaken; he took the hand of pomp also. "we are all men in the sight of god!" his heart was full; there was a thrill of fervent emotion in his voice. his calm young face, his firm and finely-cut features, always noticeable for a certain massiveness and strength, were singularly illumined. he went on, the light of the cave-fire throwing its ruddy flash on the group. "we are all his children. he has brought us together here for a purpose. the work to be done is for all men, for humanity: it is god's work. to that we should be willing to give everything--even our lives; even our selfish prejudices, dearer to some than their lives. i believe that upon the success of our cause depends, not the prosperity of any class of men, or of any race of men, only, but of all men, and all races. for america marches in the van of human progress, and if she falters, if she ignobly turns back, woe is to the world! perhaps you do not see this yet; but never mind. one thing we all see--a path straight before us, our duty to our country. we must put every other consideration aside, forget all minor differences, and unite in this the defence of the nation's life." an involuntary burst of applause testified how ardently the hearts of the patriots responded to these words. some wrung penn's hand again. pomp meanwhile, erect, and proud as a prince, with his arms folded upon his massive and swelling chest, smiled with deep and quiet satisfaction at the scene. there was another who smiled, too, her face suffused with love and pride ineffable, as her eyes watched the young quaker, and her soul drank in his words. "that's the sentiment!" said stackridge. "and now, what is to be done? we have been disappointed in one thing. our friends don't join us. one reason is, no doubt, they hain't got arms. but the main reason is, they look upon our cause as desperate. desperate or not, it can't be helped, as i see. with or without help, we must fight it through, or go back, like that putty-head deslow, and take the oath of allegiance to the bogus government. mr. villars, you're wise, and we want your opinion." "that, i fear, will be worth little to you!" answered the old man, bowing his head with true humility. "it seems to me that you are not to rely upon any open assistance from your friends. and sorry i am to add, i think you should not rely, either, upon any immediate aid from the government. the government has its hands full. the time is coming when you who have eyes will see the old flag once more floating on the breezes of east tennessee. but it may be long first. and in the mean time it is your duty to look out for yourselves." "that is it," said stackridge. "but how?" "it seems to me that your retreat cannot remain long concealed. therefore, this is what i advise. make your preparations to disperse at any moment. you may be compelled to hide for months in the mountains and woods, hunted continually, and never permitted to sleep in safety twice in the same place. that will be the fate of hundreds. there is but one thing better for you to do. it is this. force your way over the mountains into kentucky, join the national army, and hasten its advance." "and you?" said captain grudd. the old man smiled with beautiful serenity. "perhaps i shall have my choice, after all. you remember what that was? to remain in the hands of our enemies. i ought never to have attempted to escape. i cannot help myself; i am only a burden to you. my daughters cannot continue to be with me here in this cave; and, if i am to be separated from them, i may as well be in a confederate prison as elsewhere. if the traitors seek my life, they are welcome to it." "o, father! what do you say!" exclaimed virginia, in terror at his words. "i advise what i feel to be best. i will give myself up to the military authorities. you, and salina, if she chooses, will, i am certain, be permitted to go to your friends in ohio. but before i take this step, let all here who have strong arms to lend their country be already on their way over the mountains. penn and carl must go with them. nor do i forget pomp and cudjo. they shall go too, and you will protect them." penn turned suddenly pale. it was the soundness of the good old man's counsel that terrified him. separation from virginia! she to be left at the mercy of the confederates! this was the one thing in the world he had personally to dread. "it may be good advice," he said. "it is certainly a noble self-sacrifice, mr. villars proposes. but i do not believe there is one here who will consent to it. i say, let us keep together. if necessary, we can die together. we cannot separate, if by so doing we must leave him behind." he spoke with intense feeling, yet his words were but feebly echoed by the patriots. the truth was, they were already convinced that they ought to be making their way out of the state, and had said so among themselves; but, being unwilling to abandon the old minister, and knowing well that he could never think of undertaking the terrible journey they saw before them, hither they had come to hear what he had to suggest. "what do you think, pomp?" penn asked, in despair. "i think that what mr. villars advises these men to do is the best thing." penn was stupefied. he saw that he stood alone, opposed to the general opinion. and something within himself said that he was selfish, that he was wrong. he did not venture to glance at virginia, but bent his eyes downward with a stunned expression at the floor of the cave. "but as for himself, and us, i am not so sure. there are recesses in this cave that cannot easily be discovered. he shall remain, and we will stay and take care of him, if he will." these calm words of the negro sounded like a reprieve to penn's soul. he caught eagerly at the suggestion. "yes, if there must be a separation, pomp is right. if many go, it will be believed that all are gone, and the rest can remain in safety." "you are all too generous towards me," said the old minister. "but i have nothing more to say. i am very patient. i am willing to accept whatever god sends, and to wait his own blessed time for it. when you, penn, were sick in my house, and the ruffians were coming to kill you, and i could not determine what to do, the question was decided for me: providence decided it by taking you, by what seemed a miracle, beyond the reach of all of us. so i believe this question, which troubles us now, will be decided for us soon. something is to happen that will show us plainly what must be done." so it was: something was indeed to happen, sooner even than he supposed. xl. _the wonders of the cave._ the other inmates of the cave had breakfasted whilst the old clergyman was asleep. toby was now occupied in preparing his dish of coffee, and mr. villars invited the patriots to remain and take a cup with him. penn noticed cudjo's discontent at seeing toby usurp his function. he remembered also a rare pleasure he had been promising himself whenever he should find cudjo at leisure and circumstances favorable for his purpose. "now is our time," he whispered virginia. "will salina come too?" "what to do?" salina asked. "to explore the cave," said penn, courteously, yet trembling lest the invitation should be accepted. she excused herself: she was feeling extremely fatigued; much to penn's relief--that is to say, regret, as he hypocritically gave her to understand. she smiled: though she had declined, virginia was going, and she thought he looked consoled. "what does anybody care for me?" she said bitterly to herself. it was to save her the pain of a slight that penn, always too honest to resort to dissimulation from selfish motives, had assumed towards her a regard he did not feel. but the little artifice failed. she saw she was not wanted, and was jealous--angry with him, with virginia, with herself. for thus it is with the discontented and envious. they cannot endure to see others happy without them. they gladly make the most of a slight, pressing it like a thistle to the breast, and embracing it all the more fiercely as it pierces and wounds. but he who has humility and love in his heart says consolingly at such times, "if they can be happy without me, why, heaven be thanked! if i am neglected, then i must draw upon the infinite resources within myself. and if i am unloved, whose fault is it but my own? i will cultivate that sweetness of soul, the grace, and goodness, and affection, which shall compel love!" something like this carl found occasion to say to himself; for if you think he saw the master he loved, and her who was dear to him as ever sister was to younger brother, depart with cudjo and the torches, without longing to go with them and share their pleasure, you know not the heart of the boy. he was almost choking with tears as he saw the torches go out of sight. but just as he had arrived at this philosophical conclusion, o joy! what did he see? penn returning! yes, and hastening straight to him! "carl, why don't you come too?" there was no mistaking the sincerity of penn's frank, animated face. again the tears came into carl's eyes; but this time they were tears of gratitude. "vould you really be pleased to have me?" "certainly, carl! virginia and i both spoke of it, and wondered why we had not thought to ask you before." "then i vill get my wery goot friend the captain to excuse me. i sushpect he vill be wexed to part from me; but i shall take care that the ties that bind us shall not be proken." in pursuance of this friendly design, carl produced a good strong cord which he had found in the cave. this he attached to the handcuffs by a knot in the middle; then, carrying the two ends in opposite directions around one of the giant's stools, he fastened them securely on the side farthest from the prisoner. this done, he gave the pistol to toby, and invested him with the important and highly gratifying office of guarding "dat shprowl." "if you see him too much unhappy for my absence, and trying for some diwersion by making himself free," said carl, instructing him in the use of the weapon, "you shall shust cock it _so_,--present it at his head or stomach, vichever is conwenient--_so_,--then pull the trigger as you please, till he is vunce more quiet. that is all. now i shall say goot pie to him till i come pack." "why don't you kill and eat him?" asked withers, watching the boy's operations with humorous enjoyment. "him?" said carl, dryly. "thank ye, sir; i am not fond of weal." as pomp and the patriots remained in the cave, it was not anticipated that lysander would give any trouble. with carl at his side, penn bore the torch above his head, and plunged into the darkness, which seemed to retreat before them only to reappear behind, surrounding and pursuing their little circle of light as it advanced. a gallery, tortuous, lofty, sculptured by the gnomes into grotesque and astonishing forms, led from the inhabited vestibule to the wonders beyond. they had gone but a few rods when they saw a faint glimmer before them, which increased to a mild yellowish radiance flickering on the walls. it was the light of cudjo's torch. they found cudjo and virginia waiting for them at the entrance of a long and spacious hall, whose floor was heaped with fragments of rock, some of huge size, which had evidently fallen from the roof. "de cave whar us lives, des' like dis yer when me find um in de fust place," the negro was saying to virginia. "right smart stuns dar." "what did you do with them?" "tuk all me could tote to make your little dressum-room wiv. lef' de big 'uns fur cheers when me hab comp'ny, hiah yah! when pomp come, him help me place 'em around scrumptious like. pomp bery strong--lif' like you neber see!" climbing over the stones, they reached, at the farther end of the hall, an abrupt termination of the floor. a black abyss yawned beyond. in its invisible depths the moan of waters could be heard. virginia, who had been thrilled with wonder and fear, standing in the hall of the stones, and thinking of those crushing masses showered from the roof, now found it impossible not to yield to the terrors of her excited imagination. "i cannot go any farther!" she said, recoiling from the gulf, and drawing penn back from it. "come right 'long!" cried cudjo; "no trouble, missis!" "see, he has piled stones in here and made some very good and safe stairs. take my torch, carl, and follow; cudjo will go before with his. now, one step at a time. i will not let thee fall." thus assured, she ventured to make the descent. a strong arm was about her waist; a strong and supporting spirit was at her side; and from that moment she felt no fear. the limestone, out of which the cave was formed, lay in nearly horizontal strata; and, at the bottom of cudjo's stairs, they came upon another level floor. it was smooth and free from rubbish. a gray vault glimmered above their heads in the torchlight. the walls showed strange and grotesque forms in bas-relief, similar to those of the first gallery: here a couchant lion, so distinctly outlined that it seemed as if it must have been chiselled by human art; an indian sitting in a posture of woe, with his face buried in his hands; an arctic hunter wrestling with a polar bear; the head of a turbaned turk; and, most wonderful of all, the semblance of a vine (penn named it "jonah's gourd"), which spread its massive branches on the wall, and, climbing under the arched roof, hung its heavy fruit above their heads. close by "jonah's gourd" a little stream gushed from the side of the rock, and fell into a fathomless well. the torches were held over it, and the visitors looked down. solid darkness was below. carl took from his pocket a stone. "it is the same," he said, "that mishter sprowl pumped his head against. i thought i should find some use for it; and now let's see." he dropped it into the well. it sunk without a sound, the noise of its distant fall being lost in the solemn and profound murmur of the descending water. "what make de cave, anyhow?" asked cudjo. "the wery question i vas going to ask," said carl. "it will take but a few words to tell you all i know about it," said penn. "water containing carbonic acid gas has the quality of dissolving such rock as this part of the mountain is made of. it is limestone; and the water, working its way through it, dissolves it as it would sugar, only very slowly. do you understand?" "o, yes, massa! de carbunkum asses tote it away!" penn smiled, and continued his explanation, addressing himself to carl. "so, little by little, the interior of the rock is worn, until these great cavities are formed." "but what comes o' de rock?" cried cudjo; "dat's de question!" "what becomes of the sugar that dissolves in your coffee?" "soaks up, i reckon; so ye can't see it widout it settles." "just so with the limestone, cudjo. it _soaks up_, as you say. and see!--i will show you where a little of it has settled. notice this long white spear hanging from the roof." "dat? dat ar a stun icicle. me broke de pint off oncet, but 'pears like it growed agin. times de water draps from it right smart." "a good idea--a stone icicle! it grew as an icicle grows downward from the eaves. it was formed by the particles of lime in the water, which have collected there and hardened into what is called _stalactite_. these curious smooth white folds of stone under it, which look so much like a cushion, were formed by the water as it dropped. this is called _stalagmite_." "heap o' dem 'ar sticktights furder 'long hyar," observed cudjo, anxious to be showing the wonders. they came into a vast chamber, from the floor of which rose against the darkness columns resembling a grove of petrified forest trees. the flaming torches, raised aloft in the midst of them, revealed, supported by them, a wonderful gothic roof, with cornice, and frieze, and groined arches, like the interior of a cathedral. a very distinct fresco could also be seen, formed by mineral incrustations, on the ceiling and walls. on a cloudy background could be traced forms of men and beasts, of forests and flowers, armies, castles, and ships, not sculptured like the figures before described, but designed by the subtile pencil of some sprite, who, virginia suggested, must have been the subterranean brother of the frost. "how wonderful!" she said. "and is it not strange how nature copies herself, reproducing silently here in the dark the very same forms we find in the world above! here is a rose, perfect!" "with petals of pure white gypsum," said penn. whilst they were talking, cudjo passed on. they followed a little distance, then halted. the light of his torch had gone out in the blackness, and the sound of his footsteps had died away. carl remained with the other torch; and there they stood together, without speaking, in the midst of immense darkness ingulfing their little isle of light, and silence the most intense. suddenly they heard a voice far off, singing; then two, then three voices; then a chorus filling the heart of the mountain with a strange spiritual melody. virginia was enraptured, and carl amazed. penn, who had known what was coming, looked upon them with pride and delight. at length the music, growing faint and fainter, melted and was lost in the mysterious vaults through which it had seemed to wander and soar away. it was a minute after all was still before either spoke. "certainly," virginia exclaimed, "if i had not heard of a similar effect produced in the mammoth cave, i should never have believed that marvellous chorus was sung by a single voice!" "a single woice!" repeated carl, incredulous. "there vas more as a dozen woices!" "right, carl!" laughed penn. "the first was cudjo's; and all the rest were those, of the nymph echo and her companions." they continued their course through the halls of the echoes, and soon came to an arched passage, at the entrance of which penn paused and placed the torch in a niche. a projection of the rock prevented the light from shining before them, yet their way was softly illumined from beyond, as by a dim phosphorescence. they advanced, and in a moment their eyes, grown accustomed to the obscurity, came upon a scene of surprising and magical beauty. "the grotto of undine," said penn. it was, to all appearances, a nearly spherical concavity, some thirty yards in length, and perhaps twenty in perpendicular diameter. carl's torch was concealed in the niche, and cudjo's was nowhere visible; yet the whole interior was luminous with a dim and silvery halo. a narrow corridor ran round the sides, and resembled a dark ring swimming in nebulous light, midway between the upper and nether hemispheres of the wondrous hollow globe. within this horizontal rim, floor there was none; and they stood upon its brink; and, looking up, they saw the marvellous vault all sparkling with stars and beaming with pale, pendent, taper, crystalline flames, noiseless and still; and, looking down, beheld beneath their feet, and shining with a yet more soft and dreamy lustre, the perfect counterpart of the vault above. penn held virginia upon the verge. a bewildering ecstasy captivated her reason as she gazed. they seemed to be really in the grotto of some nymph who had fled the instant she saw her privacy invaded, or veiled the immortal mystery and loveliness of her charms in some mesh of the glimmering nimbus that baffled and entangled the sight. save one or two stifled cries of rapture from virginia and carl, not a syllable was uttered: perfect stillness prevailed, until penn said, in a whisper,-"wouldst thou like to see the face of undine? bend forward. do not fear: i hold thee!" by gentle compulsion he induced her to comply. she bent over the brink, and looked down, when, lo! out of the hazy effulgence beneath, emerged a face looking up at her--a face dimly seen, yet full of vague wonder and surprise--a face of unrivalled sweetness and beauty, penn thought. what did virginia think?--for it was the reflection of her own. "o, penn! how it startled me!" "but isn't she a grace? isn't she loveliness itself?" "i hope you think so!" she whispered, with arch frankness, a sweet coquettish confidence ravishing to his soul. "i do!" and in the privacy of telling her so, his lips just brushed her ear. did you ever, in whispering some secret trifle, some all-important, heavenly nothing, just brush the dearest little ear in the world with your lips? or, in listening to the syllables of divine nonsense, feel the warm breath and light touch of the magnetic thrilling mouth? then you know something of what penn and virginia experienced for a brief moment in the grotto of undine. just then a duplicate glow, like a double sunrise, one part above and the other below the horizon, appeared at the farther end of the grotto. it increased, until they saw come forth from behind an upright rock an upright torch; and at the same time, from behind a suspended rock beneath, an inverted torch. immediately after two cudjoes came in sight; one standing erect on the rock above, and the other standing upside down on--or rather under--the rock below. "take your torch, carl," said penn, "and go around and meet him." the boy returned to the niche; and presently two carls, with two torches, were seen moving around the rim of the corridor, one upright above, the other walking miraculously, head downwards, below. the two carls had not reached the rock, when the two cudjoes stooped, and took up each a stone and threw them. one fell _upward_ (so to speak), as the other fell downward: they met in the centre: there was a strange clash, which echoed through the hollow halls; and in a moment the entire nether hemisphere of the enchanted grotto was shattered into numberless flashing and undulating fragments. virginia had already perceived that the appearance of a concave sphere was an illusion produced by the ceiling lighted by cudjo's hidden torch, and mirrored in a floor of glassy water. yet she was entirely unprepared for this astonishing result; and at sight of the cudjo beneath instantaneously annihilated by the plashing of a stone, she started back with a scream. fortunately, penn still held her close, no doubt in a fit of abstraction, forgetting that his arms were no longer necessary to prevent her falling, as when she leaned to look at the shadowy undine. "all those stalactites," said he, as the two torches were held towards the roof, "are of the most beautiful crystalline structure; and the spaces between are all studded with brilliant spars. the first time i was here, it was april; the mountain springs were full, and every one of these _stone icicles_ was dripping with water that percolated through the strata above. the effect was almost as surprising as what we saw before cudjo cast the stone. the surface of the pool seemed all leaping and alive with perpetual showers of dancing pearls. but now the springs are low, or the water has found another channel. yet this basin is always full." "why, so it is! i had no idea the water was so near!" and virginia, stooping, dipped her hand. the mirrored crystals were still coruscating and waving in the ripples, as they passed around the rim of rock, and followed cudjo into a scarcely less beautiful chamber beyond. here was no water; but in its place was a floor of alabaster, from which arose a great variety of pure white stalagmites, to meet each its twin stalactite pendent from above. in some cases they did actually meet and grow together in perfect pillars, reaching from floor to roof. "the stalagmites are very beautiful," said virginia; "but the stalactites are still more beautiful." "i think," said penn, "there is a moral truth symbolized by them. as the rock above gives forth its streaming life, it benefits and beautifies the rock below, while at the same time it adorns still more richly its own beautiful breast. so it always is with charity: it blesses him that receives, but it blesses far more richly him that gives." "o, must we pass on?" said virginia, casting longing eyes towards all those lovely forms. "we are to return the same way," replied penn. "but now cudjo seems to be in a hurry." "dat's de last ob de sticktights," cried the black, standing at the end of the colonnade, and waving his torch above his head. "now we's comin' to de run." "come," said penn, "and i will show thee what hood must have meant by the 'dark arch of the black flowing river.'" a stupendous cavern of seemingly endless extent opened before them. cudjo ran on ahead, shouting wildly under the hollow, reverberating dome, and waving his torch, which soon appeared far off, like a flaming star amid a night of darkness. then there were two stars, which separated, and, standing one above the other, remained stationary. "listen!" said penn. and they heard the liquid murmur of flowing water. he took the torch from carl, and advancing towards the right wall of the cavern, showed, flowing out of it, through a black, arched opening, a river of inky blackness. it rolled, with scarce a ripple, slow, and solemn, and still, out of that impenetrable mystery, and swept along between the wall on one side and a rocky bank on the other. by this bank they followed it, until they came to a natural bridge, formed by a limestone cliff, through which it had worn its channel, and under which it disappeared. on this bridge they found cudjo perched above the water with his torch. they passed the bridge without crossing,--for the farther end abutted high upon the cavern wall,--and found the river again flowing out on the lower side. few words were spoken. the vastness of the cave, the darkness, the mystery, the inky and solemn stream pursuing its noiseless course, impressed them all. suddenly virginia exclaimed,-"light ahead!" though carl was with her, and cudjo now walked behind. it was a gray glimmer, which rapidly grew to daylight as they advanced. "it is the chasm, or sink, where the roof of the cave has fallen in," said penn. while he spoke, a muffled rustling of wings was heard above their heads. they looked up, and saw numbers of large black bats, startled by the torches, darting hither and thither under the dismal vault. birds, too, flew out from their hiding-places as they advanced, and flapped and screamed in the awful gloom. to save the torches for their return, cudjo now extinguished them. they walked in the brightening twilight along the bank of the stream, and found, to the surprise and delight of virginia, some delicate ferns and pale green shrubs growing in the crevices of the rock. vegetation increased as they proceeded, until they arrived at the sink, and saw before them steep banks covered with vines, thickets, and forest trees. the river, whose former course had evidently been stopped by the falling in of the forest, here made a curve to the right around the banks, and half disappeared in a channel it had hollowed for itself under the cliff. here they left it, and climbed to the open day. "how strangely yellow the sunshine looks!" said virginia. "it seems as though i had colored glasses on. and how sultry the air!" she looked up at the towering rocks that walled the chasm, and at the trees upon whose roots she stood, and whose tops waved in the summer breeze and sunshine, at the level of the mountain slope so far above. she could also see, on the summit of the cliffs, the charred skeletons of trees the late fire had destroyed. "it was here," said penn, "that stackridge and his friends escaped. this leaning tree with its low branches forms a sort of ladder to the limbs of that larger one; and by these it is easy to climb----" as he was speaking, all eyes were turned upwards; when suddenly cudjo uttered a warning whistle, and dropped flat upon the ground. "a man!" said carl, crouching at the foot of the tree. penn did not fall or crouch, nor did virginia scream, although, looking up through the scant leafage, they saw, standing on the cliff, and looking down straight at them, at the same time waving his hand exultantly, one whom they well knew--their enemy, silas ropes. xli. _prometheus bound._ at the wave of the lieutenant's hand, a squad of soldiers rushed to the spot. in a minute their muskets were pointed downwards, and aimed. "fly!" said penn, thrusting virginia from him. "carl, take her away!" the boy drew her back down the rocks, following cudjo, who was descending on all fours, like an ape. she turned her face in terror to look after penn. there he stood, where she had left him, intrepid, his fine head uncovered, looking steadfastly up at the men on the cliff, and waving his hat, defiantly. at once she recognized his noble self-sacrifice. it was his object to attract their fire, and so shield her from the bullets as she fled. she struggled from carl's grasp. "o, penn," she cried, extending her hands beseechingly, and starting to return to him. "fire!" shouted silas ropes. crack! went a gun, immediately succeeded by an irregular volley, like a string of exploding fire-crackers. penn, expecting death, saw first the rapid flashes, then the soldiers half concealed by the smoke of their own guns. the smoke cleared, and there he still stood, smiling--for virginia was unhurt. "your practice is very poor!" he shouted up at the soldiers; and, putting on his hat, he walked calmly away. the bullets had struck the trees and flattened on the stones all around him; but he was untouched. and before the rebels could reload their pieces, he was safe with his companions in the cavern. he found cudjo hastily relighting his torch. virginia was sitting on a stone where carl had placed her; powerless with the reaction of fear; her countenance, white as that of a snow-image in the gloom, turned upon penn as if she knew not whether it was really he, or his apparition. she did not rise to meet him. she could not speak. her eyes were as the eyes of one that beholds a miracle of god's mercy. "is no guns here?" cried carl. "de men hab all urn's guns,"' said cudjo, over his kindlings. "me gwine fotch 'em!" and, his torch lighted, he darted away. in a minute he was out of sight and hearing; only the flame he bore could be seen dancing like an ignis fatuus in the darkness of the cavern. "o, if i had only that pistol, carl!" said penn. "i could manage to defend the chasm with it until they come. but wishes won't help us. virginia, deslow has turned traitor! he must have known his friends were going this morning to visit thy father, or else he could not so well have chosen his time for betraying them." he lighted his torch, and lifted virginia to her feet. "have no fear. even if the rebels get possession here, the subterranean passages can be held by a dozen men against a hundred." "i am not afraid now; i am quite strong." "that is well. carl, take the light and go with her." "and vat shall you do?" "i will stay and watch the movements of the soldiers." "wery goot. but i have vun little obshection." "what is it?" "you know the vay petter, and you vill take her safer as i can. but my eyes is wery wigorous, and i vill engage to vatch the cusses myself." "thou art right, my carl!" said penn, who indeed felt that it was for him, and for no other, to convey virginia back to her father and safety. he crept upon the rocks, and took a last observation of the cliffs. not a soldier was in sight. but that fact did not delight him much. "they fear a possible shot or two. no doubt they are making preparations, and when all is ready they will descend. i only hope they will delay long enough! farewell, carl!" "goot pie, penn! goot pie, wirginie!" cried carl, with stout heart and cheery voice. and as he saw them depart,--penn's arm supporting her,--listened for the last murmur of their voices, and watched for the last glimmer of the torch as it was swallowed by the darkness, and he was left alone, he continued to smile grimly; but his eyes were dim. "they are wery happy together! and i susphect the time vill come ven he vill marry her; and then they vill neither of 'em care much for me. veil, i shall love 'em, and wish 'em happy all the same!" with which thought he smiled still more resolutely than before, and squeezed the tears from his eyes very tenderly, in order, probably, to keep those useful organs as "wigorous" as possible for the work before him. * * * * * handcuffed and securely bound to the rock, that modern prometheus, captain lysander sprowl, like his mythical prototype, felt the vulture's beak in his vitals. chagrin devoured his liver. an overflow of southern bile was the result, and he turned yellow to the whites of his eyes. old toby noticed the phenomenon. poor old toby, with that foolish head and large tropical heart of his, knew no better than to feel a movement of compassion. "kin uh do any ting fur ye, sar?" the unfeigned sympathy of the question gave the wily prometheus his cue. he uttered a feeble moan, and studied to look as much sicker than he was as possible. pity at the sight made the old negro forget much which a white man would have been apt to remember--the disgrace this wretch had brought upon "the family;" and the recent cruel whipping, from which his own back was still sore. "ye pooty sick, sar?" "water!" gasped lysander. the patriots had finished their coffee and taken their guns. toby ran to them. "some on ye be so good as keep an eye skinned on de prisoner, while i's gittin' him a drink!" he hastened with the gourd to a dark interior niche where a little trickling spring dripped, drop by drop, into a basin hollowed in the rocky floor. as he bore it, cool and brimming, to his captive-patient, withers said,-"i don't keer! it's a sight to make most white folks ashamed of their christianity, to see that old nigger waiting on that rascal, 'fore his own back has done smarting!" "if, as i believe," said mr. villars, "men stand approved before god, not for their pride of intellect or of birth, but for the love that is in their hearts, who can doubt but there will be higher seats in heaven for many a poor black man than for their haughty masters?" "according to that," replied withers, "maybe some besides the haughty masters will be a little astonished if they ever git into heaven--nigger-haters that won't set in a car, or a meeting-house, or to see a theatre-play, if there's a nigger allowed the same privilege! now i never was any thing of an emancipationist; but by george! if there's anything i detest, it's this etarnal and unreasonable prejudice agin' niggers! how do you account for it, mr. villars?" "prejudice," said the old man, "is always a mark of narrowness and ignorance. you might almost, i think, decide the question of a man's christianity by his answer to this: 'what is your feeling towards the negro?' the larger his heart and mind, the more compassionate and generous will be his views. but where you find most bigotry and ignorance, there you will find the negro hated most violently. i think there are men in the free states whose sins of prejudice and blind passion against the unhappy race are greater than those of the slaveholders themselves." "our interest is in our property--that's nat'ral; but what possesses them to want to see the nigger's face held tight to the grindstone, and never let up?" said withers. "their howl now is, 'put down the rebellion! but don't tech slavery, and don't bring in the nigger!' as if, arter dogs had been killing my sheep, you should preach to me, 'save your sheep, neighbor, but don't agitate the dog question! you mustn't tech the dogs!' i say, if the dogs begin the trouble, they must take the consequences, even if my dog's one." "they maintain," said grudd, "that, no matter what slavery may have done, there is no power in the constitution to destroy it." "i am reminded of a story my daughter virginia was reading to me not long ago,--how the great polar bear is sometimes killed. the hunter has a spear, near the pointed end of which is securely fastened a strong cross-piece. the bear, you know, is aggressive; he advances, meets the levelled shaft, seizes the cross-piece with his powerful arms, and with a growl of rage hugs the spear-head into his heart. now, slavery is just such another great, stupid, ferocious monster. the constitution is the spear of liberty. the cross-piece, if you like, is the republican policy which has been nailed to it, and which has given the bear a hold upon it. he is hugging it into his heart. he is destroying himself." the story was scarcely ended when cudjo leaped into the circle, crying,-"de sogers! de sogers!" "where?" said pomp, instinctively springing to his rifle. "in de sink! dey fire onto we and de young lady!" "any one hurt?" "no. massa hapgood cotch de bullets in him's hat!" for this was the impression the negro had brought away with him. "hull passel sogers! sile ropes,--seed him fust ob all!" it was some moments before the patriots fully comprehended this alarming intelligence. but pomp understood it instantly. "gentlemen, will you fight? your side of the house is attacked!" there was a moment's confusion. then those who had not already taken their guns, sprang to them. they had brought lanterns, which were now burning. they plunged into the gallery, following pomp. cudjo ran for his sword, drew it from the scabbard, and ran yelling after them. the sudden tumult died in the depths of the cavern; and all was still again before those left behind had recovered from their astonishment. there was one whose astonishment was largely mixed with joy. a moment since he was lying like a man near the last gasp; but now he started up, singularly forgetful of his dying condition, until reminded of it by feeling the restraint of the rope and seeing toby. lysander sank back with a groan. "'pears like you's a little more chirk," said toby. "my head! my head!" said lysander. "my skull is fractured. can't you loose the rope a little? the strain on my wrists is--" ending the sentence with a faint moan. had toby forgotten the strain on _his_ wrists, and the anguish of the thumbs, when this same cruel lysander had him strung up? "bery sorry, 'deed, sar! but i can't unloosen de rope fur ye." and, full of pity as he was, the old negro resolutely remained faithful to his charge. sprowl tried complaints, coaxing, promises, but in vain. "well, then," said he, "i have only one request to make. let me see my wife, and ask her forgiveness before i die." "dat am bery reason'ble; i'll speak to her, sar." and, without losing sight of his prisoner, toby went to cudjo's pantry, now virginia's dressing-room, into which salina had retreated, and notified her of the dying request. salina was in one of her most discontented moods. what had she fled to the mountain for? she angrily asked herself. after the first gush of grateful emotion on meeting her father and sister, she had begun quickly to see that she was not wanted there. then she looked around despairingly on the dismal accommodations of the cave. she had not that sustaining affection, that nobleness of purpose, which enabled her father and sister to endure so cheerfully all the hardships of their present situation. the rude, coarse life up there, the inconveniences, the miseries, which provoked only smiles of patience from them, filled her with disgust and spleen. but there was one sorer sight to those irritated eyes than all else they saw--her captive husband. she could not forget that he _was_ her husband; and, whether she loved or hated him, she could not bear to witness his degradation. yet she could not keep her eyes off of him; and so she had shut herself up. "he wishes to speak with me? to ask my forgiveness? well! he shall have a chance!" she went and stood over the prisoner, looking down upon him coldly, but with compressed lips. "well, what do you want of me?" sprowl made a motion for toby to retire. humbly the old negro obeyed, feeling that he ought not to intrude upon the interview; yet keeping his eye still on the prisoner, and his hand on the pistol. "sal,"--in a low voice, looking up at her, and showing his manacled hands,--"are you pleased to see me in this condition?" "i'd rather see you dead! if i were you, i'd kill myself!" "there's a knife on the table behind you. give it to me, free my hands, and you won't have to repeat your advice." she merely glanced over her shoulder at the knife, then bent her scowling looks once more on him. "a captain in the confederate army! outwitted and taken prisoner by a boy! kept a prisoner by an old negro! this, then, is the military glory you bragged of in advance! and i was going to be so proud of being your wife! well, i am proud!" there was gall in her words. they made lysander writhe. "bad luck will happen, you know. once out of this scrape, you'll see what i'll do! come, sal, now be good to me." "good to you! i've tried that, and what did i get for it?" "i own i've given you good cause to hate me. i'm sorry for it. the truth is, we never understood each other, sal. you was always quick and sharp yourself; you'll confess that. you know how easy it is to irritate me; and i'm a devil when in a passion. but all that's past. hate me, if you will--i deserve it. but you don't want to see me eternally disgraced, i know." she laughed disdainfully. "if you will disgrace yourself, how can i help it?" "the other end of the cave is attacked, and it is sure to be carried. i shall soon be in the hands of my own men. if i don't succeed in doing something for myself first, it'll be impossible for me to regain the position i've lost." "well, do something for yourself! what hinders you?" "this cursed rope! i wouldn't mind the handcuffs if the rope was away. just a touch with that knife--that's all, sal." "yes! and then what would you do?" "run." "and lose no time in sending your men to attack this end of the cave, too! o, i know you!" "i swear to you, sal! i never will take advantage of it in that way, if you will do me just this little favor. it will be worth my life to me; and it shall cost you nothing, nor your friends." "hush! i know too well what your promises amount to. how can i depend even upon your oath? there's no truth or honor in you!" "well?" said lysander, despairingly. "well, i am going to help you, for all that. only it must not appear as if i did it. and you shall keep your oath,--or one of us shall die for it! now be still!" she walked back past the block that served as a table, and, when between it and toby, quietly took the knife from it, concealing it in her sleeve. "don't come for me to hear any more dying requests," she said to the old negro, with a sneer. "your prisoner will survive. only give him a little coffee, if there is any. here is some: i will wait upon him." and, carrying the coffee, she dropped the knife at lysander's side. xlii. _prometheus unbound._ five minutes later penn and virginia arrived. penn ran eagerly for his musket. at the same time, looking about the cave, he was surprised to see only the old clergyman sitting by the fire, and prometheus reclining by his rock. "where is salina? where is toby?" "toby has just left his charge to see what discovery salina has made outside. she went out previously and thought she saw soldiers." at that moment toby came running in. "dar's some men way down by the ravine! o, sar! i's bery glad you's come, sar!" having announced the discovery, and greeted penn and virginia, he went to look at his prisoner. he had been absent from him but a minute: he found him lying as he had left him, and did not reflect, simple old soul, how much may be secretly accomplished by a desperate villain in that brief space of time. penn took pomp's glass, climbed along the rocky shelf, peered over the thickets, and saw on the bank of the ravine, where salina pointed them out to him, several men. they were some distance below gad's leap (as he named the place where the spy met his death), and seemed to be occupied in extinguishing a fire. he levelled the glass. the recent burning of the trees and undergrowth had cleared the field for its operation. his eye sparkled as he lowered it. "i recognize one of our friends in a new uniform!"--handing the glass to salina. returning to the cave, he added, in virginia's ear,-"augustus bythewood!" the bright young brow contracted: "not coming here?" "i trust not. yet his proximity means mischief. pomp will be interested!" he took his torch and gun. there was no time for adieus. in a moment he was gone. there was one who had been waiting with anxious eyes and handcuffed hands to see him go. meanwhile mr. villars had called toby to him, and said, in a low voice,-"is all right with your prisoner?" "o, yes; he am bery quiet, 'pears like." "you must look out for him. he is crafty. i feel that all is not right. when you were out, i thought i heard something like the sawing or tearing of a cord. look to him, toby." "o, yes, sar, i shall!" and the confident old negro approached the rock. there lay the rope about the base of it, still firmly tied on the side opposite the prisoner. and there crouched he, in the same posture of durance as before, except that now he had his legs well under him. his handcuffed hands lay on the rope. "right glad ter see ye convanescent, sar!" toby was bending over, examining his captive with a grin of satisfaction; when the latter, in a weak voice, made a humble request. "i wish you would put on my cap." "wiv all de pleasure in de wuld, sar." the cap had been thrown off purposely. unsuspecting old toby! the pistol was in his pocket. he stooped to pick up the cap and place it on sprowl's head; when, like a jumping devil in a box when the cover is touched, up leaped lysander on his legs, knocking him down with the handcuffs, and springing over him. before the old man was fully aware of what had happened, and long before he had regained his feet, lysander was in the thickets. in his hurry he thrust his wife remorselessly from the ledge before him, and flung her rudely down upon the sharp boughs and stones, as he sped by her. there toby found her, when he came too late with his pistol. her hands were cut; but she did not care for her hands. ingratitude wounds more cruelly than sharp-edged rocks. penn had judged correctly in two particulars. deslow had turned traitor. and the personage in the new uniform down by the ravine was lieutenant-colonel bythewood. deslow had gone straight to head-quarters after quitting withers the previous night, given himself up, taken the oath of allegiance to the confederacy, and engaged to join the army or provide a substitute. as if this were not enough, he had also been required to expose the secret retreat of his late companions. to this, we know not whether reluctantly, he had consented; and it was this act of treachery that had brought silas ropes to the sink, and bythewood to the ravine. advantage had been taken of the fog in the morning to march back again, up the mountain, the men who had marched down, baffled and inglorious, after the wild-goose chase carl led them the night before. bythewood commanded the expedition at his own request, being particularly interested in two persons it was designed to capture--virginia and pomp. it is supposed that he took a sinister interest in penn also. but bythewood was not anxious to deprive ropes of his laurels; and perhaps he felt himself to be too fine a gentleman to mix in a vulgar fight. he accordingly sent ropes forward to surprise the patriots at the sink, while he moved with a small force cautiously up towards gad's leap, with two objects in view. one was, to make some discovery, if possible, with regard to the missing lysander; the other, to intercept the retreat of the fugitives, should they be driven from the cave through the opening unknown to deslow, but which he believed to be in this direction. the firing on the right apprised augustus that the attack had commenced. this was the signal for him to advance boldly up from the ravine, and establish himself on an elevation commanding a view of the slopes. here he had been discovered very opportunely by salina, who was seeking some pretext for calling toby from his prisoner. in the shade of some bushes that had escaped the fire, he sat comfortably smoking his cigar on one end of a log, which was smoking on its own account at the other end. "put out that fire, some of you," said augustus. this was scarcely done, when suddenly a man came leaping down the slope, holding his hands together in a very singular manner. bythewood started to his feet. "deuce take me!" said he, "if it ain't lysander! but what's the matter with his hands, sergeant?" "looks to me as though he had bracelets on," replied the experienced sergeant. some men were despatched to meet and bring the captain in. the sergeant found a key in his pocket to unlock the handcuffs. then lysander told the story of his capture, which, though modified to suit himself, excited bythewood's derision. this stung the proud captain, who, to wash the stain from his honor, proposed to take a squad of men and surprise the cave. fired by the prospect of seeing virginia in his power, augustus had but one important order to give: "bring your prisoners to me here!" instead of proceeding directly to the cave, lysander used strategy. he knew that if his movements were observed, and their object suspected, virginia would have ample time to escape with her father and old toby into the interior caverns, where it might be extremely difficult to discover them. he accordingly started in the direction of the sink, as if with intent to reã«nforce the soldiers fighting there; then, dropping suddenly into a hollow, he made a short turn to the left, and advanced swiftly, under cover of rocks and bushes, towards the ledge that concealed the cave. * * * * * "how _could_ you let him go, toby!" cried virginia, filled with consternation at the prisoner's escape. for she saw all the mischievous consequences that were likely to follow in the track of that fatal error: cudjo's secret, so long faithfully kept, now in evil hour betrayed; the cave attacked and captured, and the brave men fighting at the sink, believing their retreat secure, taken suddenly in the rear; and so disaster, if not death, resulting to her father, to penn, to all. the anguish of her tones pierced the poor old negro's soul. "dunno', missis, no more'n you do! 'pears like he done gnawed off de rope wiv his teef!" for lysander, having used the knife, had hidden it under the skins on which he sat. then salina spoke, and denounced herself. after all the pains she had taken to conceal her agency in sprowl's escape,--inconsistent, impetuous, filled with rage against herself and him,--she exclaimed,-"i did it! here is the knife i gave him!" virginia stood white and dumb, looking at her sister. toby could only tear his old white wool and groan. "salina," said her father, solemnly, "you have done a very treacherous and wicked thing! i pity you!" severest reproaches could not have stung her as these words, and the terrified look of her sister, stung the proud and sensitive salina. "i have done a damnable thing! i know it. do you ask what made me? the devil made me. i knew it was the devil at the time; but i did it." "o, what shall we do, father?" said virginia. "there is nothing you can do, my daughter, unless you can reach our friends and warn them." "o," she said, in despair, "there is not a lamp or a torch! all have been taken!" "and it is well! it would take you at least an hour to go and return; and that man--" mr. villars would never, if he could help it, speak lysander's name--"will be here again before that time, if he is coming." "he is not coming," said salina. "he swore to me that he would not take advantage of his escape to betray or injure any of you. he will keep his oath. if he does not----" she paused. there was a long, painful silence; the old man musing, virginia wringing her hands, toby keeping watch outside. "listen!" said salina. "i am a woman. but i will defend this place. i will stand there, and not a man shall enter till i am dead. as for you, jinny, take _him_, and go. you can hide somewhere in the caves. leave me and toby. i will not ask you to forgive me; but perhaps some time you will think differently of me from what you do now." "sister!" said virginia, with emotion, "i do forgive you! god will forgive you too; for he knows better than we do how unhappy you have been, and that you could not, perhaps, have done differently from what you have done." salina was touched. she threw her arms about virginia's neck. "o, i have been a bad, selfish girl! i have made both you and father very unhappy; and you have been only too kind to me always! now leave me alone--go! i hope i shall not trouble you much longer." she brushed back her hair from her large white forehead, and smiled a strange and vacant smile. virginia saw that her wish was to die. "sister," she said gently, "we will all stay together, if you stay. we must not give up this place! our friends are lost--we are lost--if we give it up! perhaps we can do something. indeed, i think we can! if we only had arms! women have used arms before now!" toby entered. "dey ain't comin' dis yer way, nohow! dey's gwine off to de norf, hull passel on 'em." "give me that pistol, toby," said salina. "you can use cudjo's axe, if we are attacked. place it where you can reach it, and then return to your lookout. don't be deceived; but warn us at once if there is danger." "my children," said the old man, "come near to me! i would i could look upon you once; for i feel that a separation is near. dear daughters!"--he took a hand of each,--"if i am to leave you, grieve not for me; but love one another. love one another. to you, salina, more especially, i say this; for though i know that deep down in your heart there is a fountain of affection, you are apt to repress your best feelings, and to cherish uncharitable thoughts. for your own good, o, do not do so any more! believe in god. be a child of god. then no misfortune can happen to you. my children, there is no great misfortune, other than this--to lose our faith in god, and our love for one another. i do not fear bodily harm, for that is comparatively nothing. for many years i have been blind; yet have i been blest with sight; for night and day i have seen god. and as there is a more precious sight than that of the eyes, so there is a more precious life than this of the body. the life of the spirit is love and faith. let me know that you have this, and i shall no longer fear for you. you will be happy, wherever you are. why is it i feel such trust that virginia will be provided for? salina, let your heart be like hers, and i shall no longer fear for you!" "i wish it was! i wish it was!" said salina, pouring out the anguish of her heart in those words. "but i cannot make it so. i cannot be good! i am--salina! is there fatality in a name?" "i know the infirmity of your natural disposition, my child. i know, too, what circumstances have done to embitter it. our heavenly father will take all that into account. yet there is no one who has not within himself faults and temptations to contend with. many have far greater than yours to combat, and yet they conquer gloriously. i cannot say more. my children, the hour has come which is to decide much for us all. remember my legacy to you,--have faith and love." they knelt before him. he laid his hands upon their heads, and in a brief and fervent prayer blessed them. both were sobbing. tears ran down his cheeks also; but his countenance was bright in its uplifted serenity, wearing a strange expression of grandeur and of joy. xliii. _the combat._ pomp, rifle in hand, bearing a torch, led the patriots on their rapid return through the caverns. "lights down!" he said, as they approached the vicinity of the sink. "we shall see them; but they must not see us." they halted at the natural bridge; the torch was extinguished, and the patriots placed their lanterns under a rock. they then advanced as swiftly as possible in the obscurity, along the bank of the stream. in the hall of the bats they met carl, who had seen their lights and come towards them. "hurry! hurry!" he said. "they are coming down the trees like the devil's monkeys! a whole carawan proke loose!" captain grudd commanded the patriots; but pomp commanded captain grudd. "quick, and make no noise! we have every advantage; the darkness is on our side--those loose rocks will shelter us." they advanced until within a hundred yards of where the shaft of daylight came down. there they could distinguish, in the shining cleft under the brow of the cavern, and above the rocky embankment, the forms of their assailants. some had already gained a footing. others were descending the tree-trunks in a dark chain, each link the body of a rebel. "we must stop that!" said pomp. the men were deployed forward rapidly, and a halt ordered, each choosing his position. "ready! aim!" at that moment, half a dozen men of the attacking party advanced, feeling their way over the rocks down which penn and his companions had been seen to escape. the leader, shielding his eyes with his hand, peered into the gloom of the cavern. coming from the light, he could see nothing distinctly. suddenly he paused: had he heard the words of command whispered? or was he impressed by the awful mystery and silence? "fire!" said captain grudd. instantly a jagged line of flashes leaped across the breast of the darkness, accompanied by a detonation truly terrible. each gun with its echoes, in those cavernous solitudes, thundered like a whole park of artillery: what, then, was the effect of the volley? the patriots were themselves appalled by it. the mountain trembled, and a gusty roar swept through its shuddering chambers, throbbing and pulsing long after the smoke of the discharge had cleared away. pomp laughed quietly, while withers exclaimed, "by the etarnal! if i didn't fancy the hull ruf of the mountain had caved in!" "load!" said captain grudd, sternly. the rebels advancing over the rocks had suddenly disappeared, having either fallen in the crevices or scrambled back up the bank while hidden from view by the smoke. the chain descending the tree had broken; those near the ground leaped down or slid, while those above seemed seized by a wild impulse to climb back with all haste to the summit of the wall. a few threw away their guns, which fell upon the heads of those below. at the same time those below might have been seen scampering to places of shelter behind rocks and trees. if ever panic were excusable, this surely was. since the patriots were terrified by their own firing, we need not wonder at the alarm of the rebels. some had seen the flashes sever the darkness, and their comrades fall; while all had felt the earthquake and the thundering. to those at the entrance it had seemed that these were the jaws and throat of a monster mountain-huge, which at their approach spat flame and bellowed. "now is our time! clear them out!" said grudd. "rush in and finish them with the bayonet!" said stackridge. six of the guns had bayonets, and his was one of them. "not yet!" said pomp. "they will fire on you from above. we must first attend to that. shall i show you? then do as i do!" instinctively they accepted his lead. loading his piece, he ran forward until, himself concealed under the brow of the cavern, he could see the rebels in the tree and on the cliff. "once more! all together!" he said, taking aim. "give the word, captain!" the men knelt among the loosely tumbled rocks, which served at once as a breastwork and as rests for their guns. the projecting roof of the cave was over them; through the obscure opening they pointed their pieces. above them, in the full light, were the frightened confederates, some on the tree, some on the cliff, some leaping from the tree to the cliff; while their comrades in the sink lurked on the side opposite that where the patriots were. "take the cusses on the top of the rocks!" said stackridge. "the rest are harmless." "it's all them in the tree can do to take keer of themselves," added withers. "reg'lar secesh! all they ax is to be let alone." grudd gave the word. flame from a dozen muzzles shot upwards from the edge of the pit. when the smoke rolled away, the cliff was cleared. not a rebel was to be seen, except those in the tree franticly scrambling to get out, and two others. one of these had fallen on the cliff: his head and one arm hung horribly over the brink. the other, in his too eager haste to escape from the tree, had slipped from the limb, and been saved from dashing to pieces on the rocks below only by a projection of the wall, to which he had caught, and where he now clung, a dozen feet from the top, and far above the river that rolled black and slow in its channel beneath the cliff. "now with your bayonets!" said pomp. "this way!" there were six bayonets before; now there were eight. "that carl is worth his weight in gold!" said the enthusiastic stackridge. while the patriots, preparing for their second volley, were getting positions among the rocks on the left, carl had crept up the embankment in front, and brought away two muskets from two dead rebels. these were they who had fallen at the first fire. both guns had bayonets. pomp took one; carl kept the other. cudjo with his sword accompanied the charging party; grudd and the rest remaining at their post, ready to pick off any rebel that should appear on the cliff. swift and stealthy as a panther, pomp crept around still farther to the left, under the projecting wall, raising his head cautiously now and then to look for the fugitives. "as i expected! they are over there, afraid to follow the stream into the cave, and hesitating whether to make a rush for the tree. all ready?" he looked around on his little force and smiled. instead of eight bayonets, there were now nine. penn had arrived. "all ready!" answered stackridge. pomp bounded upon the rocks and over them, with a yell which the rest took up as they followed, charging headlong after him. cudjo, brandishing his sword, leaped and yelled with the foremost--a figure fantastically terrible. penn, with the fiery stackridge on one side, and his beloved carl on the other, forgot that he had ever been a quaker, hating strife. not that he loved it now; but, remembering that these were the deadly foes of his country, and of those he loved, and feeling it a righteous duty to exterminate them, he went to the work, not like an apprentice, but a master,--without fear, self-possessed, impetuous, kindled with fierce excitement. the rebels in the sink, fifteen in number, had had time to rally from their panic; and they now seemed inclined to make resistance. they were behind a natural breastwork, similar to that which had sheltered the patriots on the other side. they levelled their guns hastily and fired. one of the patriots fell: it was withers. "give it to them!" shouted pomp. "every cussed scoundrel of 'em!" stackridge cried. "kill! kill! kill!" shrieked cudjo. "surrender! surrender!" thundered penn. with such cries they charged over the rocks, straight at the faces and breasts of the confederates. some turned to fly; but beyond them was the unknown darkness into which the river flowed: they recoiled aghast from that. a few stood their ground. the bayonet, which penn had first made acquaintance with when it was thrust at his own breast, he shoved through the shoulder of a rebel whose clubbed musket was descending on carl's head. three inches of the blade come out of his back; and, bearing him downwards in his irresistible onset, penn literally pinned him to the ground. cudjo slashed another hideously across the face with the sword. pomp took the first prisoner: it was dan pepperill. the rest soon followed dan's example, cried quarter, and threw down their arms. "quarter!" gasped the wretch penn had pinned. "you spoke too late--i am sorry!" said penn, with austere pity, as, placing his foot across the man's armpit to hold him while he pulled, he put forth his strength, and drew out the steel. a gush of blood followed, and, with a groan, the soldier swooned. "it is one of them wagabonds that gave you the tar and fedders!" said carl. "and assisted at my hanging afterwards!" added penn, remembering the ghastly face. thus retribution followed these men. gad and griffin he had seen dead. was it any satisfaction for him to feel that he was thus avenged? i think, not much. the devil of revenge had no place in his soul; and never for any personal wrong he had received would he have wished to see bloody violence done. the prisoners were disarmed, and ordered to remain where they were. "bring the wounded to me," said pomp, hastening back to the spot where withers had fallen. stackridge and another were lifting the fallen patriot and bearing him to the shelter of the cave. pomp assisted, skilfully and tenderly. then followed those who bore away the wounded prisoners and the guns that had been captured. pepperill had been ordered to help. he and carl carried the man whose face cudjo had slashed. this was the only rebel who had fought obstinately: he had not given up until an arm was broken, and he was blinded by his own blood. penn and devitt brought up the rear with the swooning soldier. when half way over they were fired upon by the rebels rallying to the edge of the cliff. grudd and his men responded sharply, covering their retreat. penn felt a bullet graze his shoulder. it made but a slight flesh wound there; but, passing down, it entered the heart of the wounded man, whose swoon became the swoon of death. this was the only serious result of the confederate fire. "i am glad i did not kill him!" said penn, as they laid the corpse beside the stream. then out of the mask of blood which covered the face of the stout fellow who had fought so well, there issued a voice that spoke, in a strange tongue, these words:-"_was hat man mir gethan? wo bin ich, mutter?_" but the words were not strange to carl; neither was the voice strange. "fritz! fritz!" he answered, in the same language, "is it you?" "i am fritz minnevich; that is true. and you, i think, are my cousin carl." they laid the wounded man near the stream, where pomp was examining withers's hurt. "o, fritz!" said carl, "how came you here?" "they said the yankees were coming to take our farm. so hans and i enlisted to fight. i got in here because i was ordered. we do as we are ordered. it was we who whipped the woman. we whipped her well. i hope my good looks will not be spoiled; for that would grieve our mother." thus the soldier talked in his native tongue, while carl, in sorrow and silence, washed the blood from his face. he remembered he was his father's brother's son; a good fellow, in his way; dull, but faithful; and he had not always treated him cruelly. indeed, carl thought not of his cruelty now at all, but only of the good times they had had together, in days when they were friends, and frau minnevich had not taught her boys to be as ill-natured as herself. "what for do you do this, carl?" said fritz. "there is no cause that you should be kind to me. i did you some ill turns. you did right to run away. but our father swears you shall have your share of the property if you ever come back for it, and the yankees do not take it." "it is all lies they tell you about the yankees!" said carl. "o pomp! this is my cousin--see what you can do for him." pomp had been reluctantly convinced that he could do nothing for withers: his wound was mortal. and withers had said to him, in cheerful, feeble tones, "i feel i'm about to the eend of my tether. so don't waste yer time on me." so pomp turned his attention to the minnevich. but penn and stackridge remained with the dying patriot. "wish ye had a union flag to wrap me in when i'm dead, boys! that's what i've fit fur; that's what i meant to die fur, if 'twas so ordered. it's all right, boys! jest look arter my family a little, won't ye? and don't give up old tennessee!" these were his last words. penn and stackridge rejoined their comrades in the fight. "shoot him! shoot him! shoot him!" cried cudjo, in a frenzy of excitement, pointing at the rebel who had fallen from the tree upon the projection of the chasm wall. "him dar! dat sile ropes!" "ropes?" said penn, looking up through the opening. "that he!"--raising his gun. "but he can do no harm there; and he can't get out." "don' ye see? dey's got a rope to help him wif! gib him a shot fust! o, gib him a shot!" the projection to which the lieutenant clung was a broken shelf less than half a yard in breadth. there he cowered in abject terror betwixt two dangers, that of falling if he attempted to move, and that of being picked off if he remained stationary and in sight. to avoid both, he got upon his hands and knees, and hid his face in the angle of the ledge, leaving the posterior part of his person prominent, no doubt thinking, like an ostrich, that if his head was in a hole, he was safe. the very ludicrousness of his situation saved him. the patriots reserved him to laugh at, and fired over him at the rebels on the cliff. at each shot, silas could be seen to root his nose still more industriously into the rock. at length, however, as cudjo had declared, a rope was brought and let down to him. "take hold there!" shouted the rebels on the cliff. ropes could feel the cord dangling on his back. "tie it around your waist!" silas, without daring to look up, put out his hand, which groped awkwardly and blindly for the rope as it swung to and fro all around it. finally, he seized it, but ran imminent risk of falling as he drew it under his body. at length he seemed to have it secured; but in his hurry and trepidation he had fastened it considerably nearer his hips than his arms. the result, when the rebels above began to haul, can be imagined. hips and heels were hoisted, while arms and head hung down, causing him to resemble very strikingly a frog hooked on for bait at the end of a fish-line. the affrighted face drawn out of its hole, looked down ridiculously hideous into the rocky and bristling gulf over which he swung. "fire!" said captain grudd. the volley was aimed, not at silas, but at those who were hauling him up. cudjo shrieked with frantic joy, expecting to see his old enemy plunge head foremost among the stones on the bank of the stream. such, no doubt, would have been the result, but for one sturdy and brave fellow at the rope. the rest, struck either with bullets or terror, fell back, loosing their hold. but this man clung fast, imperturbable. alone, slowly, hand over hand, he hauled and hauled; grim, unterrified, faithful. but it was a tedious and laborious task for one, even the stoutest. the man had but a precarious foothold, and the rope rubbed hard on the edge of the cliff. cudjo shrieked again, this time with despair at seeing his former overseer about to escape. "that's a plucky fellow!" said stackridge, with stern admiration of the soldier's courage. "i like his grit; but he must stop that!" he reached for a loaded gun. he took carl's. the boy turned pale, but said never a word, setting his lips firmly as he looked up at the cliff. silas was swinging. the soldier was pulling in the rope, hitch by hitch, over the ledge. stackridge took deliberate aim, and fired. for a moment no very surprising effect was perceptible, only the man stopped hauling. then he went down on one knee, paying out several inches of the rope, and letting the suspended silas dip accordingly. it became evident that he was hit; he still grasped the rope, but it began to glide through his hands. silas set up a howl. "hold me! hold me!"--at the same time extending all his fingers to grasp the rocks. the brave fellow made one last effort, and took a turn of the rope about his wrist. it did not slip through his hands any more. but soon _he_ began to slip--forward--forward--on both knees now--his head reeling like that of a drunken man, and at last pitching heavily over the cliff. some of the cowards who had deserted their post sprang to save him; but too late: the man was gone. it was fortunate for silas that he had been let down several feet thus gradually. he was near the ledge from which he had been lifted, and had just time to grasp it again and crawl upon it, when the man fell, turning a complete somerset over him, fearful to witness! revolving slowly in his swift descent through the air; still holding with tenacious grip the rope; plunging through the boughs like a mere log tumbled from the cliff, and striking the rocks below--dead. he had taken the rope with him; and silas had been preserved from sharing his fate only by a lucky accident. the knot at his hips loosened itself as he clutched the ledge, and let the coil fly off as the man shot down. not a gun was fired: rebels and patriots seemed struck dumb with horror at the brave fellow's fate. then carl whispered,-"that vas my other cousin! that vas hans!" "cudjo! cudjo! what are you about?" cried penn. the black did not answer. beside himself with excitement, he ran to the leaning tree and climbed it like an ape. the naked sword gleamed among the twigs. reaching the trunk of the tall tree he ascended that as nimbly, never stopping until he had reached the upper limbs. there was one that branched towards the ledge where silas clung. at a glance choosing that, cudjo ran out upon it, until it bent beneath his weight. there he tried in vain to reach his ancient enemy with the sword; the distance was too great, even for his long arms. "sile ropes! ye ol' oberseer! g'e know cudjo? me cudjo!" he yelled, slashing the end of the branch as if it had been his victim's flesh. "'member de lickins? 'member my gal ye got away? now ye git yer pay!" while he was raving thus, one of the soldiers above, sheltering himself from the fire of the patriots by lying almost flat on the ground, levelled his gun at the half-crazed negro's breast, and pulled the trigger. a flash--a report--the sword fell, and went clattering down upon the rocks. cudjo turned one wild look upward, clapping his hand to his breast. then, with a terrible grimace, he cast his eyes down again at ropes,--crept still farther out on the branch,--and leaped. silas had his nose in the angle of the ledge again, and scarcely knew what had happened until he felt the negro alight on his back and fling his arms about him. "cudjo shot! cudjo die! but you go too, sile ropes!" as he gibbered forth these words, his long hands found the lieutenant's throat, and tightened upon it. a fearfully quiet moment ensued; then living and dying rolled together from the ledge, and dropped into the chasm. they struck the body of the dead hans; that broke the fall; and cudjo was beneath his victim. ropes, stunned only, struggled to rise; but, held in that deadly embrace, he only succeeded in rolling himself down the embankment, cudjo accompanying. the stream flowed beneath, black, with scarce a murmur. silas neither saw nor heard it; but, continuing to struggle, and so continuing to roll, he reached the verge of the rocks, and fell with a splash into the current. penn ran to the spot just in time to see the two bodies disappear together; the dying cudjo and the drowning silas sinking as one, and drifting away into the cavernous darkness of the subterranean river. xliv. _how augustus finally proposed._ after this there was a lull; and penn, who had forgotten every thing else whilst the conflict was raging, remembered that he had seen bythewood at the ravine, and hastened to inform pomp of the circumstance. the death of cudjo had plunged pomp into a fit of stern, sad reverie. his surgical task performed, he stood leaning on his rifle, gazing abstractedly at the darkly gliding waves, when penn's communication roused him. "ha!" said he, with a slight start. "we must look to that! the danger here is over for the present, and two or three of us can be spared." "shall i go, too?" said carl. "it is time i vas seeing to my prisoner." "come," said pomp. and the three set out to return. having but slight anticipations of trouble from the side of the ravine, they came suddenly, wholly unprepared, upon a scene which filled them with horror and amazement. the prisoner, as we know, had fled. we left him on his way back to the cave with a squad of men. since which time, this is what had occurred. the assailants had approached so stealthily over the ledges, below which toby was stationed, looking intently for them in another direction, that he had no suspicions of their coming until they suddenly dropped upon him as from the clouds. he had no time to run for his axe; and he had scarcely given the alarm when he was overpowered, knocked down, and rolled out of the way off the rocks. the assailants then, with lysander at their head, rushed to the entrance of the cave. but there they encountered unexpected resistance: the two sisters--salina with the pistol, virginia with the axe. "hello! sal!" cried lysander, recoiling into the arms of his men; "what the devil do you mean?" "i mean to kill you, or any man that sets foot in this place! that is what i mean!" there could be no doubt about it: her eyes, her attitude, her whole form, from head to foot, looked what she said. she was flushed; a smile of wild and reckless scorn curved her mouth, and her countenance gleamed with a wicked light. by her side was virginia, with the uplifted axe, expressing no less determination by her posture and looks, though she did not speak, though there was no smile on her pale lips, and though her features were as white as death. "it's no use, gals!" said sprowl. "don't make fools of yourselves! you won't be hurt; but i'm bound to come in!"' "do not attempt it! you have broken your oath to me. but i have made an oath i shall not break!" what that oath was salina did not say; but lysander's changing color betrayed that he guessed it pretty well. "i don't care a d--n for you! virginia, drop that axe, and come out here with your father, and i pledge my sacred honor that neither of you shall receive the least harm." "your sacred honor!" sneered salina. but virginia said nothing. she stood like a clothed statue; only the eyes through which the fire of the excited spirit shone were not those of a statue; and the advanced white arm, beautiful and bare, from which the loose sleeve fell as it reared the axe, was of god's sculpture, not man's. she seemed not to hear lysander; for the promise of safety for herself was as nothing to her: she felt that she was there to defend, with her life, if needs were, the friends whom he had betrayed. only a holy and great purpose like this could have nerved that gentle nature for such work, and made those tender sinews firm as steel. there was something slightly devilish in the aspect of salina; but virginia was all the angel; yet it was the angel roused to strife. "call off your gals, mr. villars!" said sprowl. "lysander!" said the solemn voice of the old minister from within, "hear me! we are but three here, as you see: a blind and helpless old man and two girls. why do you follow to persecute us? go your way, and learn to be a man. the business you are engaged in is unworthy of a man. my daughters do right to defend this place, which you, false and ungrateful, have betrayed. attempt nothing farther; for we are not afraid to die!" "go in, boys!" shouted lysander, himself shrinking aside to let the soldiers pass. salina fired the pistol--not at the soldiers. "she has shot me!" said lysander, staggering back. "kill the fiend! kill her!" instantly two bayonets darted at her breast. one of them was struck down by virginia's axe, which half severed the soldier's wrist. but before the axe could rise and descend again, the other bayonet had done its work; and the soldiers rushed in. it was all over in a minute. the axe was seized and wrenched violently away. toby lay senseless on the rocks without. lysander was leaning dizzily, clutching at the ledge, a ghastly whiteness settling about the gay mustache, and a strange glassiness dimming his eyes. the soldiers had possession. virginia was a prisoner, and her father; but not salina. there was the body which had been hers, transfixed by the bayonet, and fallen upon the ground: that was palpable: but who shall capture the escaping soul? when penn and his companions arrived, not a living person was there; but alone, stretched upon the cold stone floor, where the gray light from the entrance fell,--pulseless, pallid, with pale hands crossed peacefully on her breast, hiding the wound, and features faintly smiling in their stony calm,--lay the corpse of her that was salina. the fair cup that had brimmed with the bitterness of life was shattered. the soul that drank thereat had fled away in haughtiness and scorn. toby, groaning on the stones outside, felt somebody shaking him, and heard the voice of carl asking how he was. "dunno'; sort o' common," said the old negro, trying to rise. he knew nothing of what had happened, except that he had been fallen upon and beaten down: for the rest, it was useless to question him: not even penn's agonies of doubt and fear could rouse his recollection. * * * * * lieutenant-colonel bythewood had committed the error of an officer green in his profession. the cave surprised, and the prisoners taken, the men retired in all haste, simply because they had received no orders to the contrary. thus no advantage whatever was taken of the very important position which had been gained. leaving the dead behind, and carrying off the wounded and the prisoners, the sergeant, upon whom the command devolved after his captain was disabled, lost no time in reporting to the lieutenant-colonel. augustus stood up to receive the report and the prisoners,--extremely pale, but appearing preternaturally courteous and composed. he bowed very low to the old clergyman (who, he forgot, could not witness and appreciate that graceful act of homage), and expressed infinite regret that "his duty had rendered it necessary," and so forth. then turning to virginia, whose look was scarcely less stony than that of her dead sister in the cave, he bowed low to her also, but without speaking, and without raising his eyes to her face. "have this old gentleman carried to his own house, and see that every attention is paid to him." "and my daughter?" said the blind old man, meekly. "she shall follow you. i will myself accompany her." "and my dead child up yonder?" "she shall be brought to you at the earliest possible moment." "and my faithful servant?" "he shall be cared for." "thank you." and mr. villars bowed his white head upon his breast. "take the captain immediately to the hospital! and you fellow with the hacked wrist, go with him." the number of men required to execute these orders (since both the old clergyman and the wounded captain had to be carried) left augustus almost alone with virginia. having previously sent off all his available force to ropes at the sink, in answer to a pressing call for reã«nforcements, he had now only the sergeant and two men at his beck. but perhaps this was as he wished it to be. he approached virginia, and, bowing formally, still without speaking, offered her his arm. "thank you. i can walk without assistance." like marble still, but with the same wild fire in her eyes. "the only favor i ask of you is to be permitted to leave you." bythewood made a motion to the sergeant, who removed his men farther off. "i wish to have a few words of conversation with you, miss villars. i beg you to be seated here in the shade." virginia remained standing, regarding him with features pale and firm as when she held the axe. it was evident to her that here was another struggle before her, scarcely less to be dreaded than the first. augustus looked at her, and smiled pallidly. "if eyes could kill, miss villars, i think yours would kill me!" "if polite cruelty can kill, you have killed my sister!" "o, i beg your pardon, dear miss villars, but it was not i!" "i beg no pardon, but i say it was you! and now you will murder my father--perhaps me." "o, my excellent young lady, how you have misunderstood me! by heaven, i swear!"--his voice shook with sincere emotion,--"if i have committed a fault, it has been for the love of you! such faults surely may be pardoned. virginia! will you accept my life as an atonement for all i have done amiss? you shall bear my name, possess my wealth, and, if you do not like the cause i am engaged in, i will throw up my commission to-morrow. i will take you to france--italy--switzerland--wherever you wish to go. nor do i forget your father. whatever you ask for him shall be granted. i have money--influence--position--every thing that can make you happy." there was a minute's pause, the intense glances of the girl piercing through and through that pale, polite mask to his soul. a selfish, chivalrous man; not a great villain, by any means; moved by a genuine, eager, unscrupulous passion for her--sincere at least in that; one who might be influenced to good, and made a most convenient and devoted husband: this she saw. "well, what more?" "what more? ah, you are thinking of your friends--i should say, of your friend! it is natural. i have no ill will against him. whatever you ask for him shall be granted. at a word from me, the fighting up there ceases; and he and the rest shall be permitted to go wherever they choose, unharmed." "well, and if i reject your generous offer?" augustus smiled as he answered, with a hard, inexorable purpose in his tones,-"then, much as i love you, i can do nothing!" "nothing for my father?" "nothing!" "nor for me?" "not even for you!" "why, then, god pity us all!" said virginia, calmly. "truly you may say, god pity you! for do you know what will happen? your father will die in prison: you will never see him again. your friends will be massacred to a man. i will be frank with you: to a man they will be given to the sword. they are but a dozen; we are fifty--a hundred--a thousand, if necessary. the sink has already been taken, and a force is on its way to occupy this end of the cave. if your friends hold out, they will be starved. if they fight, they will be bayoneted and shot. if they surrender, every living man of them shall be hung. there is no help for them. lincoln's army, that has been coming so long, is a chimera; it will never come. the power is all in our hands; and not even god can help them. that sounds blasphemous, i know; but it is true. they are doomed. but i can save them--and you can save them." "and what is to become of me?" asked virginia, calmly as before. "your future is entirely in your own hands. on the one side, what i have promised. on the other----" augustus thought he heard a crackling of sticks, and looked around. "on the other,"--virginia took up the unfinished speech,--"the fate of a friendless, fatherless, union-loving woman in this chivalrous south! i know how you treat such women. i know what awaits me on that side. and i accept it. my friends can die. my father can die; and i can. all this i accept; all the rest, you and your offers, i reject. i would not be your wife to save the world. because i not only do not love you, but because i detest you. you have my answer." with swelling breast and set teeth augustus kept his eyes upon her for full a minute, then replied, in a low voice shaken by passion,-"i hoped your decision would be different. but it is spoken. i cannot hope to change it?" "can you change these rocks under our feet with empty words?" she said, with a white smile. "all is over, then! without cause you hate me, miss villars. hitherto, in all that has happened to you and your friends, i have been blameless. if in the future i am not so, remember it is your own fault." then the fire flashed into virginia's cheeks, and indignation rang in her tones as she denounced the falsehood. "hitherto, in the wrong that has happened to me and my friends, you have not been blameless! in the future you cannot do more to injure us than you have already done, or meant to do. look at me, and listen while i prove what i say." again there was a slight noise in the thicket behind them, and he would have been glad to make that an excuse for leaving her a moment; but her spirit held him. "i listen," he said, inwardly quaking at he knew not what. "do you remember the night my father was arrested?" "i do." "and how you that day took a journey to be away from us in our trouble?" "i certainly took a short journey that day, but--" his eyes flickering with the uneasiness of guilt. "and do you remember a conversation you had with lysander under a bridge?" his face suddenly flushed purple. "the villain has betrayed me!" he thought. then he stammered, "i hope you have not been listening to any of that fellow's slanders!" "you talked with lysander under the bridge. your conversation was heard, every word of it, by a third person, who lay concealed under the planks, behind you." "a villanous spy!" articulated augustus. "no spy--but the man you two were at that moment seeking to kill: penn hapgood, the schoolmaster." it was a blow. poor bythewood, too luxurious and inert to be a great villain, was only a weak one; and, wounded in his most sensitive point, his pride, he writhed for a space with unutterable chagrin and rage. then he recovered himself. he had heard the worst; and now there was nothing left for him but to cast down and trample with his feet (so to speak) the mask that had been torn from his face. "very well! you think you know me, then!"--he seized her wrists.--"now hear me! i am not to be spurned like a dog, even by the foot of the woman i love. you reject, despise, insult me. as for me, i say this: all shall be as i have pronounced. your father, your lover,--not fate itself shall intervene to save them! and as for you----" again he heard a rustling by the ravine; this time so near that it startled him. he looked quickly around, and saw, slowly peering through the bushes, a dark human face. had it been the terrible front of the fate he had just defied, the soul of augustus bythewood could not have shrunk with a more sudden and appalling fear. it was the face of pomp. xlv. _master and slave change places._ the sergeant and his men were several rods distant: the bush through which that menacing visage peered was within as many feet. augustus reached for his revolver. "make a single move--speak a single word--and you are food for the buzzards!" came a whisper from the bush that well might chill his blood. "you know this rifle--and you know me!" and in the negro's face shone a persuasive glitter of the old, untamable, torrid ferocity of his tribe--not pleasing to augustus. "what do you want?" "give your revolver to that girl--instantly!" "i have men within call!" "so have i." through the bush, advancing noiselessly, came the straight steel barrel of a rifle that had never missed fire but once: that was when it had been aimed by augustus at the head of pomp. now it was aimed by pomp at the head of augustus; and it was hardly to be expected that it would be so obliging as to remember that one fault, and, for the sake of fairness, repeat it, now that positions were reversed. bythewood hesitated, in mortal fear. "obey me! i shall not speak again!" and there was heard in the bush another slight noise, too short, quick, and clicking, to be the crackle of a twig. neither was that pleasing to the mind of augustus. he turned, and with trembling hand made virginia a present of the revolver. "do you know how to use it?" pomp asked. she nodded, breathless. "and you will use it if necessary?" she nodded again, and held the weapon prepared. "now,"--to bythewood,--"send those men away." "what do you mean to do?" "i mean to spare their lives and yours, if you obey me. to kill you without much delay if you do not." "if you shoot,"--bythewood was beginning to regain his dignity,--"they will rush to the spot before you can escape, and avenge me well!" a superb, masterful smile mounted to the ebon visage, and the answer came from the bush,-"look where the bowlder lies, up there by the ravine. you will see a twinkle of steel among the leaves. there are guns aimed at your men. you understand." perhaps augustus did not distinguish the guns; but he understood. at a signal, his men would be shot down. "i would prefer not to shed blood. so decide and that quickly!" said pomp. "and if i comply?" "comply readily with all i shall demand of you, and not a hair of your head shall be harmed. now i count ten. at the word ten, i send a bullet through your heart if those men are still there." he commenced, like one telling the strokes of a tolling bell: "one----two----three----four----five----" "sergeant," called augustus, "take your men and report to lieutenant ropes at the sink." "a fine time to be taken up with a love affair!" growled the sergeant, as he obeyed. "now what?" said bythewood, under an air of bravado concealing the despair of his heart. "come!" said pomp, with savage impatience,--for he knew well that, if bythewood had not yet learned of ropes's death, messengers must be on the way to him, and therefore not a moment was to be lost. he opened the bushes. augustus crept into them: virginia followed. but then suddenly the negro seemed to change his plans, the spirit and firmness of the girl inspiring him with a fresh idea. "miss villars, we are going to the cave. look down the ravine there;--you see this path is rough." "o, i can go anywhere, you know!" "but haste is necessary. you shall return the way you came. take this man with you. if you are seen by his soldiers, they will think all is well. make him go before. shoot him if he turns his head. dare you?" "i will!" said virginia. "keep near the ravine. my rifle will be there. if you have any difficulty, i will end it. now march!"--thrusting bythewood out of the thicket.--"straight on!--carry your pistol cocked, young lady!" bitterly then did the noble augustus repent him of having sent his guard away: "i ought to have died first!" but it was too late to recall them; and there was no way left him but to yield--or appear to yield--implicit obedience. what a situation for a son of the chivalrous south! he had reviled lysander for having been made prisoner by a boy; and here was he, the haughty, the proud, the ambitious, overawed by a negro's threats, and carried away captive by a girl! however, he had a hope--a desperate one, indeed. he would watch for an opportunity, wheel suddenly upon virginia, seize the pistol, and escape,--risking a shot from it, which he knew she was firmly determined to deliver in case of need (for had he not seen the soldier's gashed wrist?)--and risking also (what was more serious still) a shot from the rifle in the ravine. but when they came to the bowlder, there the resolution he had taken fell back leaden and dead upon his heart. he had, on reflection, concluded that the twinkle of guns in the leaves there was but a fiction of the wily african brain. as he passed, however, he perceived two guns peeping through. he knew not what exultant hearts were behind them,--what eager eyes beneath the boughs were watching him, led thus tamely into captivity; but he was impressed with a wholesome respect for them, and from that moment thought no more of escape. as virginia approached the cave with her prisoner, the two guns, having followed them closely all the way, came up out of the ravine. they were accompanied by penn and carl. in the gladness of that sight virginia almost forgot her dead sister and her captive father. those two dear familiar faces beamed upon her with joy and triumph. but there was one who was not so glad. this quaker schoolmaster, turned fighting man, was the last person augustus (who was unpleasantly reminded of the conversation under the bridge) would have wished to see under such embarrassing circumstances. in the cave was toby, wailing over the dead body of salina. but at sight of the living sister he rose up and was comforted. pomp had remained to cover the retreat. when all were safely arrived, he came bounding into the cave, jubilant. his bold and sagacious plans were thus far successful; and it only remained to carry them out with the same inexorable energy. "sit here." augustus took one of the giant's stools. "i have a few words to say to this man: in the mean while, one of you"--turning to penn and carl--"hasten to the sink, and ask stackridge to send me as many men as he can spare. bring a couple of the prisoners--we shall need them." "i'll go!" carl cried with alacrity. "and," added pomp, "if there are any wounded needing my assistance, have them brought here. i shall not, probably, be able to go to them." while he was giving these directions, with the air of one who felt that he had a momentous task before him, bythewood sat on the rock, his head heavy and hot, his feet like clods of ice, and his heart collapsing with intolerable suspense. the gloom of the cave, and the strangeness of all things in it; the sight of the corpse near the entrance,--of toby, at virginia's suggestion, wiping up the pools of blood,--virginia herself perfectly calm; penn carefully untying and straightening the pieces of rope that had served to bind lysander,--all this impressed him powerfully. "i suppose," said he, "i am to be treated as a prisoner of war." pomp smiled. "answer me a question. if you had caught me, would you have treated me as a prisoner of war?--yes or no; we have no time for parley." "no," said augustus, frankly. "very well! i have caught you!" fearfully significant words to the prisoner, who remembered all his injustice to this man, and the tortures he had prepared for him when he should be taken! but he had not been taken. on the contrary, he, the slave, could stand there, calm and smiling, before him, the master, and say, with peculiar and compressed emphasis, "_very well! i have caught you!_" "you promised that not a hair of my head should be injured." "the hair of your head is not the flesh of your body. no, i will not injure _the hair_!"--pomp waited for his prisoner to take in all the horrible suggestiveness of this equivocation; then resumed. "is not that what you would have said to me if you had found me in your power after making me such a promise? the black man has no rights which the white man is bound to respect! the most solemn pledges made by one of your race to one of mine are to be heeded only so long as suits your convenience. did you not promise your dying brother in your presence to give me my freedom? answer,--yes or no." "yes," faltered augustus. "and did you give it me?" "no." and augustus felt that out of his own mouth he was condemned. "well, i shall keep my promise better than you kept yours. comply with all i demand of you (this is what i said), and no part of you, neither flesh nor hair, shall be harmed." "what do you demand of me?" "this. here are pen and ink. write as i dictate." "what?" "an order to have the fighting on your side discontinued, and your forces withdrawn." augustus hesitated to take the pen. "i have no words to waste. if you do not comply readily with what i require, it is no object for me that you should comply at all." penn came and stood by pomp, looking calm and determined as he. virginia came also, and looked upon the prisoner, without a smile, without a frown, but strangely serious and still. these were the three against whom he had sinned in the days of his power and pride; and now his shame was bare before them. he took the quill, bit the feather-end of it in supreme perplexity of soul, then wrote. "very well," said pomp, reading the order. "but you have forgotten to sign it." augustus signed. "now write again. a letter to your colonel. mr. hapgood, please dictate the terms." penn understood the whole scheme; he had consulted with virginia, and he was prepared. "a safe conduct for mr. villars, his daughter and servants, beyond the confederate lines. this is all i have to insist upon." "i," said pomp, "ask more. the man who betrayed us must be sent here." "if you mean sprowl," said bythewood, "his wife has no doubt saved the trouble." "not sprowl, but deslow." bythewood was terrified. pomp had spoken with the positiveness of clear knowledge and unalterable determination. but how was it possible to comply with his demand? deslow had been promised not only pardon, but protection from the very men he betrayed! therefore he could not be given up to them without the most cowardly and shameful perfidy. "i have no influence whatever with the military authorities," the prisoner said, after taking ample time for consideration. "you forget what you boasted to sprowl, under the bridge," said penn. "you forget what you just now boasted to me," said virginia. "call it boasting," said bythewood, doggedly. "absolutely, i have not the power to effect what you require." "it is your misfortune, then," said pomp. "to have boasted so, and now to fail to perform, will simply cost you your life. will you write? or not?" the prisoner remained sullen, abject, silent, for some seconds. then, with a deep breath which shook all his frame, and an expression of the most agonizing despair on his face, he took the pen. "i will write; but i assure you it will do no good." "so much the worse for you," was the grim response. mechanically and briefly bythewood drew up a paper, signed his name, and shoved it across the table. "does that suit you?" pomp did not offer to take it. "if it suits you, well. i shall not read it. it is not the letter that interests us; it is the result." bythewood suddenly drew back the paper, pondered its contents a moment, and cast it into the fire. "i think i had better write another." "i think so too. i fear you have not done what you might to impress upon the colonel's mind the importance of these simple terms--a safe conduct for mr. villars and family, the troops withdrawn entirely from the mountains, and deslow delivered here to-night. this is plain enough; and you see the rest of us ask nothing for ourselves. i advise you to write freely. open your mind to your friend. and beware,"--pomp perceived by a strange expression which had come into the prisoner's face that this counsel was necessary,--"beware that he does not misunderstand you, and send a force to rescue you from our hands. if such a thing is attempted, this cave will be found barricaded. with what, you wonder? with those stones? with your dead body, my friend!" after that hint, it was evident augustus did not choose to write what had first entered his mind on learning that his address to the colonel was not to be examined. penn handed him a fresh sheet, and he filled it--a long and confidential letter, of which we regret that no copy now exists. before it was finished, carl returned, accompanied by four of the patriots and two of the prisoners. one of these last was pepperill. he was immediately paroled, and sent off to the sink with the order that had been previously written. the letter completed, it was folded, sealed, and despatched by the other prisoner to colonel derring's head-quarters. "do you believe deslow will be delivered up?" said stackridge, in consultation with penn in a corner of the cave; the farmer's gray eye gleaming with anticipated vengeance. "i believe the confederate authorities, as a general thing, are capable of any meanness. their policy is fraud, their whole system is one of injustice and selfishness. if derring, who is bythewood's devoted friend, can find means to give up the traitor without too gross an exposure of his perfidy, he will do it. but i regret that pomp insisted on that hard condition. he was determined, and it was useless to reason with him." "and he is right!" said stackridge. "deslow, if guilty, must pay for this day's work!" "there is no doubt of his guilt. pepperill knew of it--he whispered it to pomp at the sink." "then deslow dies the death! he was sworn to us! he was sworn to pomp; and pomp had saved his life! the blood of withers, my best friend----" the farmer's voice was lost in a throe of rage and grief. "and the blood of cudjo, whom pomp loved!" said penn. "i feel all you feel--all pomp feels. but for me, i would leave vengeance with the lord." "so would i," said pomp, standing behind him, composed and grand. "and i would be the lord's instrument, when called. i am called. deslow comes to me, or i go to him." "then the lord have mercy on his soul!" xlvi. _the traitor._ the news of the disaster at the sink, and of the loss of prisoners, had reached colonel derring, and he was preparing to forward reã«nforcements, when bythewood's letter arrived. of the colonel's reflections on the receipt of that singular missive little is known. he was unwontedly cross and abstracted for an hour. at the end of that time he asked for the renegade deslow. at the end of another hour deslow had been found and brought to head-quarters. the colonel, having now quite recovered his equanimity of temper, received him with the most flattering attentions. "you have done an honorable and patriotic work, mr. deslow. your friends are coming to terms. bythewood is at this moment engaged in an amicable conference with them. your example has had a most salutary effect. they all desire to give themselves up on similar terms. but they will not believe as yet that you have been pardoned and received into favor." the dark brow of the traitor brightened. "and they have no suspicions?" "none whatever. they do not imagine you had anything to do with the discovery of their retreat. now, i've been thinking you might help along matters immensely, if you would go up and join bythewood, and represent to your friends the folly of holding out any longer, and show them the advantage of following your example." deslow felt strong misgivings about undertaking this delicate business. but persuasions, flatteries, and promises prevailed upon him at last. and at sundown he set out, accompanied by the man who had brought bythewood's letter. in consequence of the messenger's long absence, it was beginning to be feared, by those who had sent him, that he had gone on a fruitless errand. evening came. there was sadness on the faces of penn and virginia, as they sat by the corpse of salina. pomp was gloomy and silent. bythewood, bound to lysander's rock, sat waiting, with feelings we will not seek to penetrate, for the answer to his letter. in that letter he had mentioned, among other things, a certain pair of horses that were in his stable. had he known that the colonel, during his hour of moroseness, had gone over to look at these horses, and that he was now driving them about the village, well satisfied with the munificent bribe, he would, no doubt, have felt easier in his mind. "you will not go to your father to-night," said penn, having looked out into the gathering darkness, and returned to virginia's side. "we have one night more together. may be it is the last." carl was comforting his wounded cousin, who had been brought and placed on some skins on the floor. the patriots were holding a consultation. suddenly the sentinel at the door announced an arrival; and to the amazement of all, the messenger entered, followed by deslow. the traitor came in, smiling in most friendly fashion upon his late companions, even offering his hand to pomp, who did not accept it. then he saw in the faces that looked upon him a stern and terrible triumph. by the rock he beheld bythewood bound. and his heart sank. the messenger brought a letter for augustus. pomp took it. "this interests us!" he said, breaking the seal. "excuse me, sir!"--to bythewood.--"i was once your servant; and i had forgotten that circumstances have slightly changed! as your hands are confined, i will read it for you." he read aloud. "dear gus: this is an awful bad scrape you have got into; but i suppose i must get you out of it. villars shall have passports, and an escort, if he likes. i'll keep the soldiers from the mountains. the hardest thing to arrange is the deslow affair. i don't care a curse for the fellow but i don't want the name of giving him up. so, if i succeed in sending him, keep mum. probably _he_ never will come away to tell a tale." "yours, etc., derring." "p. s. thank you for the horses." then pomp turned and looked upon the traitor, who had been himself betrayed. his ghastly face was of the color of grayish yellow parchment. his hat was in his hand, and his short, stiff hair stood erect with terror. if up to this moment there had been any doubt of his guilt in pomp's mind, it vanished. the wretch had not the power to proclaim his innocence, or to plead for mercy. no explanations were needed: he understood all: with that vivid perception of truth which often comes with the approach of death, he knew that he was there to die. "have you anything to confess?" pomp said to him, with the solemnity of a priest preparing a sacrifice. "if so, speak, for your time is short." deslow said nothing: indeed, his organs of speech were paralyzed. "very well: then i will tell you, we know all. we trusted you. you have betrayed us. withers is dead: you killed him. cudjo is dead: his blood is upon your soul. for this you are now to die." there was another besides deslow whom these calm and terrible words appalled. it was bythewood, who feared lest, after all he had accomplished, his turn might come next. it was some time before the fear-stricken culprit could recover the power of speech. then, in a sudden, hoarse, and scarcely articulate shriek, his voice burst forth:-"save me! save me!" he rushed to where the patriots stood. but they thrust him back sternly. "this is pomp's business. deal with him!" "will no one save me? will no one speak for my life?" these words were ejaculated with the ghastly accent and volubility of terror. "your life is forfeited. pomp saved it once; now he takes it. it is just," said stackridge. "my god! my god! my god!" thrice the doomed man uttered that sacred name with wild despair, and with intervals of strange and silent horror between. "then i must die!" "_i_ will speak for you," said a voice of solemn compassion. and penn stepped forward. "you? you? you will?" "do not hope too much. pomp is inexorable as he is just. but i will plead for you." "o, do! do! there is something in his face--i cannot bear it--but you can move him!" pomp was leaning thoughtfully by one of the giant's stools. penn drew near to him. deslow crouched behind, his whole frame shaking visibly. "pomp, if you love me, grant me this one favor. leave this wretch to his god. what satisfaction can there be in taking the life of so degraded and abject a creature?" "there is satisfaction in justice," replied pomp, quietly smiling. "o, but the satisfaction there is in mercy is infinitely sweeter! forgiveness is a holy thing, pomp! it brings the blessing of heaven with it, and it is more effective than vengeance. this man has a wife; he has children; think of them!" these words, and many more to the same purpose, penn poured forth with all the earnestness of his soul. he pleaded; he argued; he left no means untried to melt that adamantine will. in vain all. when he finished, pomp took his hand in one of his, and laying the other kindly on his shoulder, said in his deepest, tenderest tones,-"i have heard you because i love you. what you say is just. but another thing is just--that this man should die. ask anything but this of me, and you will see how gladly i will grant all you desire." "i have done."--penn turned sadly away.--"it is as i feared. deslow, i will not flatter you. there is no hope." then deslow, regaining somewhat of his manhood, drew himself up, and prepared to meet his fate. "soon?" he asked, more firmly than he had yet spoken. "now," said pomp. he lighted a lantern. "you must go with me. there are eyes here that would not look upon your death." he took his rifle. "go before." and he conducted his victim into the recesses in the cave. they came to the well, into the unfathomable mystery of which carl had dropped the stone. there pomp stopped. "this is your grave. would you take a look at it?" he held the lantern over the fearful place. the falling waters made in those unimaginable depths the noise of far-off thunders. half dead with fear already, the wretch looked down into the hideous pit. "must i die?" he uttered in a ghastly whisper. "you must! i will shoot you first in mercy to you; for i am not cruel. have you prayers to make? i will wait." deslow sank upon his knees. he tried to confess himself to god, to commit his soul with decency into his hands. but the words of his petition stuck in his throat: the dread of immediate death absorbed all feeling else. pomp, who had retired a short distance, supposed he had made an end. "are you ready?" he asked, placing his lantern on the rock, and poising his rifle. "i cannot pray!" said deslow. "send for a minister--for mr. villars!--i cannot die so." "it is too late," answered pomp, sorrowful, yet stern. "mr. villars has been carried away by the soldiers you sent. if you cannot pray for yourself, then there is none to pray for you." scarce had he spoken, when out of the darkness behind him came a voice, saying with solemn sweetness, as if an angel responded from the invisible profound,-"i will pray for him!" he turned, and saw in the lantern's misty glimmer a spectral form advancing. it drew near. it was a female figure, shadowy, noiseless; the right hand raised with piteous entreaty; the countenance pale to whiteness,--its fresh and youthful beauty clothed with sadness and compassion as with a veil. it was virginia. all the way through the dismal galleries of the cave, and down cudjo's stairs, she had followed the executioner and his victim, in order to plead at the last moment for that mercy for which penn had pleaded in vain. struck with amazement, pomp gazed at her for a moment as if she had been really a spirit. "how came you here?" she laid one hand upon his arm; with the other she pointed upwards; her eyes all the while shining upon him with a wondrous brilliancy, which was of the spirit indeed, and not of the flesh. "heaven sent me to pray for him--and for you." "for me, miss villars?" "for you, pomp!"--her voice also had that strange melting quality which comes only from the soul. it was low, and full of love and sorrow. "for if you slay this man, then you will have more need of prayers than he." pomp was shaken. the touch on his arm, the tones of that voice, the electric light of those inspired eyes, moved him with a power that penetrated to his inmost soul. yet he retained his haughty firmness, and said coldly,-"if there had been mercy for this man, penn would have obtained it. the hardest thing i ever did was to deny him. what is there to be said which he did not say?" "o, he spoke earnestly and well!" replied virginia. "i wondered how you could listen to him and not yield. but he is a man; and as a man he gave up all hope when reason failed, and he saw you so implacable. but i would never have given up. i would have clung to your knees, and pleaded with you so long as there was breath in me to ask or heart to feel. i would not have let you go till you had shown mercy to this poor man!"--(deslow had crawled to her feet: there he knelt grovelling),--"and to yourself, pomp! if he dies repenting, and you kill him unrelenting, i would rather be he than you. when we shut the gate of mercy on others we shut it on ourselves. for all that you have done for my father and friends, and for me, i am filled with gratitude and friendship. your manly traits have inspired me with an admiration that was almost hero-worship. for this reason i would save you from a great crime. o, pomp, if only for my sake, do not annihilate the noble and grand image of you which has built itself up in my heart, and leave only the memory of a strange horror and dread in its place!" pomp had turned his eyes away from hers, knowing that if he continued to be fascinated by them, he must end by yielding. he drooped his head, leaning on his rifle, and looking down upon the wretch at their feet. a strong convulsion shook his whole frame, as she ceased speaking. there was silence for some seconds. then he spoke, still without raising his eyes, in a deep, subdued voice. "this man is the hater of my race. he is of those who rob us of our labor, our lives, our wives, and children, and happiness. they enslave both body and soul. they damn us with ignorance and vice. to take from us the profits of our toil is little; but they take from us our manhood also. yet here he came, and accepted life and safety at my hands. he made an oath, and i made an oath. his oath was never to betray my poor cudjo's secret. the oath i made was to kill him as i would a dog if his should be broken. it has been broken. my poor cudjo is dead. withers is dead. your sister is dead. i see it to be just that this traitor too should now die!" again he poised his rifle. but virginia threw herself upon the victim, covering with her own pure bosom his miserable, guilty breast. pomp smiled. "do not fear. for your sake i have pardoned him." "o, this is the noblest act of your life, pomp!" she exclaimed, clasping his hand with joy and gratitude. he looked in her face. a great weight was taken from his soul. his countenance was bright and glad. "do you think it was not a bitter cup for me? you have taken it from me, and i thank you. but bythewood must not know i have relented. we have yet a work to do with him." then those who had been left behind in the cave, listening for the death-signal, heard the report of a rifle ringing through the chambers of rock. not long after pomp and virginia returned; and deslow was not with them. augustus heard--augustus saw--nor knew he any reason why the fate of deslow should not presently be his own. "is justice done?" said stackridge, with stern eyes fixed on pomp. "is justice done?" said pomp, turning to virginia. "justice is done!" she answered, in a serious, firm voice. xlvii. _bread on the waters._ the next morning a singular procession set out from the cave. stretchers had been framed of the trunks and boughs of saplings, and upon these the dead and wounded of yesterday were placed. they were borne by the prisoners of yesterday, who had been paroled for the purpose. carl walked by the side of the litter that conveyed his cousin fritz, talking cheerfully to him in their native tongue. behind them was carried the dead body of salina, followed by old toby with uncovered head. with him went pepperill, charged with the important business of seeing that all was done for the villars family which had been stipulated, and of reporting to pomp at the cave afterwards. last of all came virginia, leaning on penn's arm. he was speaking to her earnestly, in low, quivering tones: she listened with downcast countenance, full of all tender and sad emotions; for they were about to part. pepperill was intrusted with a second letter from bythewood to the colonel, couched in these terms:-"_deslow was taken last night, and slaughtered in cold blood. the same will happen to me if all is not done as agreed. i am to be retained as a hostage until pepperill's return. for heaven's sake, help mr. villars and his family off with all convenient despatch, and oblige,_" &c. virginia was going to try her fortune with her father; but penn's lot was cast with his friends who remained at the cave. from these he could not honorably separate himself until all danger was over; and, much as he longed to accompany her, he knew well that, even if he should be permitted to do so, his presence would be productive of little good to either her or her father. moreover, it had been wisely resolved not to demand too much of the military authorities. a safe conduct could be granted with good grace to a blind old minister and his daughter, but not to men who had been in arms against the confederate government. nor was it thought best to trust or tempt too far these minions of the new slave despotism, whose recklessness of obligations which interest or revenge prompted them to evade, was so notorious. penn would have attended virginia to the base of the mountain, risking all things for the melancholy pleasure of prolonging these last moments. but this she would not permit. hard as it was to utter the word of separation,--to see him return to those solitary and dangerous rocks, not knowing that he would ever be able to leave them, or that she would ever see him again in this world;--still, her love was greater than her selfishness, and she had strength even for that. "no farther now! o, you must go no farther!" and, resolutely pausing, she called to carl,--for carl's lot too lay with his. toby and pepperill also stopped. "daniel," said penn, with impressive solemnity, "into thy hands i commit this precious charge. be faithful. good toby, i trust we shall meet again in god's good time. farewell! farewell!" and the procession went its way; only penn and carl remained gazing after it long, with hearts too full for words. when it was out of sight, and they were turning silently to retrace their steps, they saw a man come out of the woods, and beckon to them. it was a negro--it was barber jim. permitted to approach, he told his story. since the escape of the arrested unionists through his cellar, he had been an object of suspicion; and last night his house had been attacked by a mob. he had managed to escape, and was now hiding in the woods to save his life. "deslow betrayed you with the rest," said penn; "that explains it." "my wife--my two daughters: what will become of them?" said the wretched man. "and my property, that i have been all this while laying up for them!" "do not despair, my friend. your property is mostly real estate, and cannot be so easily appropriated to rebel uses, as the money deposited for me in the bank, from which i was never allowed to draw it! it will wait for you. a kind providence will care for your family, i am sure. as for you, i do not see what else you can do but share our fortunes. there is one comfort for you,--we are all about as badly off as yourself." "you shall have your pick of some muskets," said carl, gayly; "and you vill find us as jolly a set of wagabonds as ever you saw!" "have you plenty of arms?" "arms is more plenty as prowisions. vat is vanted is wittles. vat is vanted most is wegetables. bears and vild turkeys inwite themselves to be shot, but potatoes keep wery shy, and ve suffers for sour krout." barber jim mused. "i will go with you. i am glad," he added, as if to himself, "that i paid toby off as i did." what he meant by this last remark will be seen. * * * * * mr. villars had taken the precaution to invest his available funds in ohio railroad stock some time before. arrived in cincinnati, he would be able to reap the advantages of this timely forethought. but in the mean time the expenses of a long journey must be defrayed; and he found it impossible now to raise money on his house or household goods. all the ready cash he could command was barely sufficient to afford a decent burial to his daughter. he was discussing this serious difficulty with virginia, whilst preparations for salina's funeral and their own departure were going forward simultaneously, when toby came trotting in, jubilant and breathless, and laid a little dirty bag in his lap. "i's fotched 'em! dar ye got 'em, massa!" and the old negro wiped the sweat from his shining face. "what, toby! money!" (for the little bag was heavy). "where did you get it?" "gold, sar! gold, miss jinny! needn't look 'spicious! i neber got 'em by no underground means!" (he meant to say _underhand_.) "i'll jes' 'splain 'bout dat. ye see, massa villars, eber sence ye gib me my freedom, ye been payin' me right smart wages,--seben dollah a monf! dunno' how much dat ar fur a year, but i reckon it ar a heap! an' you rec'lec' you says to me, you says, 'hire it out to some honest man, toby, and ye kin draw inference on it,' you says. so what does i do but go and pay it all to barber jim fast as eber you pays me. 'pears like i neber knowed how much i was wuf, till tudder day he says to me, 'toby,' he says, 'times is so mighty skeery i's afeard to keep yer money for ye any longer; hyar 'tis fur ye, all in gold.' so he gibs it to me in dis yer little bag, an' i takes it, an' goes an' buries it 'hind de cow shed, whar 'twould keep sweet, ye know, fur de family. an' hyar it ar, shore enough, massa, jes' de ting fur dis yer 'casion!" "so you got it by _underground means_, after all!" said virginia, with mingled laughter and tears, opening the bag and pouring out the bright eagles. the old clergyman was silent for a space, overcome with emotion. "god bless you for a faithful servant, toby! and barber jim for an honest man." "dat's nuffin!" said toby, snuffing and winking ludicrously. "why shouldn't a cullud pusson hab de right to be honest, well as white folks? if you's gwine to tank anybody, ye better jes' tink and tank yersef! who gib ol' toby his freedom, an' den 'pose to pay him wages? reckon if 't hadn't been fur dat, massa, i neber should hab de bressed chance to do dis yer little ting fur de family!" "we will thank only our heavenly father, whose tender care we will never doubt, after this!" said the old minister, with deep and solemn joy. "wust on't is, jim hissef's got inter trouble now," said toby. "he hab to put fur de woods; an' his family wants to git to de norf, whar dey tinks he'll mabby be gwine to meet 'em; but dey can't seem to manage it." "o, father, i have an idea! you will have a right to take your _servants_ with you; and jim's wife and daughters might pass as servants." "i shall be rejoiced to help them in any way. go and find them, toby. thus the bread we cast on the water sometimes returns to us _before_ many days!" xlviii. _emancipation of the bondmen.--conclusion._ a week had elapsed since augustus became a captive; when, one cloudy afternoon, dan pepperill returned alone to the mountain cave. pomp met him at the entrance. "all safe?" "i be durned if they ain't!" said dan, exultant. "the ol' man, and the nigger, and the gal, and jim's wife and darters inter the bargain! went with 'em myself all the way, by stage and rail, till i seen 'em over the line inter ol' kentuck'. durned if i didn't wish i war gwine for good myself." "you shall go now if you will. i have been waiting only for you. cudjo is dead. all the rest are gone. there is nothing to keep me here. will you go back to the rebels, or make a push with us for the free states? speak quick!" pepperill only groaned. "nine more have joined since jim came. they make a strong party, all armed, and determined to fight their way through. they are already twenty miles away; but we will overtake them to-morrow. i am to guide them. i know every cave and defile. will you come?" "pomp, ye know i'd be plaguy glad ter; but 'tain't so ter be! i hain't no gre't fancy fur this secesh business, that ar' a fact. but i'm in fur't, and i reckon i sh'll haf' ter put it through;" and dan heaved a deep sigh of regret. without knowing it, he was a fatalist. being too weak or inert to resist the hand of despotism laid upon him, he yielded to its weight and accepted it as destiny. the rebel ranks have been filled with such. pomp smiled with mingled pity and derision. "good by, then! i hope this war will do something for your class as well as for mine--you need it as much! wait here, and you shall have company." he took a lantern, and entered the interior chamber of the cave. after the lapse of many minutes he returned, dragging, as from a dungeon, into the light of day, a wretch who could scarcely have expected ever to behold that blessed boon again,--he was so abject, so filled with joy and trembling. it was deslow. then turning to the corner where augustus sat confined, the negro cut his bonds and lifted him to his feet. poor bythewood, rheumatic, stiff in the joints, and terribly wasted by anxiety and chagrin, presented a scarcely less piteous spectacle than deslow; nor were his fallen spirits revived by the sight of this craven, whom he had supposed to be long since past the memory of the wrong he had done him, and the earthly passion for revenge. "my friends," said pomp, leading them to the entrance, and showing them to each other in the gray glimmer of that cloudy afternoon, "our little accounts are now closed for the present, and my business with you ends. you are at liberty to depart. deslow, do not hate too bitterly this man for betraying you into my hands. remember that you set the example of treachery, and that the cause to which you are both sworn is itself founded on treachery. as for you, mr. bythewood, i trust that you will pardon the inconvenience i have found it necessary to subject you to. i have restrained you of your liberty for some days. you restrained me of mine for nearly as many years. i have no longer any ill will towards either of you. go in peace. i emancipate you. i shall not hunt you with hounds, because i have been your master for a little while. i shall not put iron collars on your necks. i shall neither brand nor beat you. you are free! does the word sound pleasant to your ears? think then of those to whom it would sound just as sweet. has the rule of a hard master seemed grievous to you? remember those to whom it is no less grievous. if might makes right, then you have been as much my property as ever black man was yours. is there no law, no justice, but the power of the strongest? you have had a few days' experience of that power, and can judge what a life's experience of it might be. reflect upon it, my friends." he led them to the opening of the cave. then he pointed to the clouds. "you cannot see the sun; but the sun is there. you do not see god, through the troubled affairs of this world; but god is over all. he governs, although you have left him quite out of your plans. your plans are, no doubt, very great and mighty,--but see!"--passing over his knee the cord with which bythewood had been bound. "this is the chain with which you bind my brothers and sisters. it is strong. you have drawn it very tight about them. but you thought to draw it tighter still, to hold them fast forever; and look, you have broken it!" so saying, he displayed with a smile the two fragments of the rope that had snapped like a mere string in his hands. "so tyranny is made to defeat itself!"--trampling the ends under his feet. "i have said it. remember!" uttering these last words, he walked backwards slowly, resumed his rifle and lantern, and disappeared in the dark recesses of the cave. the freed prisoners then, joining pepperill, took their way slowly down the mountain, sadder if not wiser men. the reappearance of bythewood was a signal for sending immediately two full companies to capture the cave. they succeeded; but they captured nothing else. pomp, escaping through the sink, was already miles away on the trail of the refugees. * * * * * thus ends the story of cudjo's cave. other conclusion, to give it dramatic completeness, it ought, perhaps, to have; but the struggles, of which we have here witnessed the beginning, have not yet ended [nov., 1863]; and one can scarcely be expected to describe events before they transpire. we may add, however, that mr. villars, virginia, and toby, arrived safely at their destination,--a small town on the borders of ohio,--where they were cordially welcomed by relatives of the family. there, three weeks later, they were visited by two very suspicious looking characters,--one a bronzed and bearded young man, robust, rough, with an eye like an eagle's gleaming from under his old slouched hat, whom nobody, i am sure, would ever have taken for a quaker schoolmaster; the other a stout, ruddy, blue-eyed, laughing, ragged lad of sixteen, who certainly did not pass for a rebel deserter. strange to say, these pilgrims of the dusty roads and rocky wildernesses were welcomed (not to speak it profanely) like angels from heaven by the old man, his daughter, and toby,--their brown hands shaken, their coarse, torn clothes embraced, and their sunburnt faces kissed, with a rapture amazing to strangers of the household. they were travelling (as the younger remarked in an accent which betrayed his teutonic origin) to "pennsylwany," the home of the elder; and they had come thus far out of their way to make this angels' visit. with these two barber jim had journeyed as far as cincinnati, where he found his family comfortably provided for by persons to whose benevolence mr. villars had recommended them. the other refugees had also got safely over the mountains, after a march full of toils and dangers; and nearly all were now in the federal camps. a long history, full of deep and painful interest, might be written concerning the subsequent fortunes of these men, and of their families and neighbors left behind,--a history of hardships, of forced separations and ruined homes,--of starvation in woods and caves to which loyal citizens were driven by the rage of persecution,--and of terrible retribution. stackridge, grudd, and many of their brother refugees, had the joy of participating in those military movements of last summer, by which east tennessee was relieved; of beholding the tremendous ruin which the blind pride of their foes had pulled down upon itself; and of witnessing the jubilee of a patriotic people released from a remorseless and unsparing tyranny. a word of pomp. have you read the newspaper stories of a certain negro scout, who, by his intrepidity, intelligence, and wonderful celerity of movement, has rendered such important services to the army of the cumberland? he is the man. dan pepperill fell in the battle of stone river, fighting in a cause he never loved--the type of many such. bythewood, after losing his influence at home, and trying various fortunes, became attached to the staff of the notorious roger a. pryor, in whose disgrace he shared, when that long-haired rebel chief was reduced to the ranks for cowardice. as for carl, he is now a stalwart corporal in the --th pennsylvania regiment. he serves under a dear friend of his, known as the "fighting quaker," and distinguished for that rare combination of military and moral qualities which constitutes the true hero. i regret that i cannot brighten these prosaic last pages with the halo of a wedding. but penn had said, "our country first!" and virginia, heroic as he, had answered bravely, "go!" whether they will ever be happily united on earth, who can say? but this we know: the golden halo of the love that maketh one has crowned their united souls, and, with perfect patience and perfect trust, they wait. _l'envoy._ the foregoing pages are, as the writer sincerely believes, true to history and life in all important particulars. in order to give form and unity to the narrative, characters and incidents have been brought together within a much narrower compass, both of time and space, than they actually occupied: events have been described as occurring in the summer of 1861, many of which did not take place till some months later; and certain other liberties have been taken with facts. two separate and distinct caves have been connected, in the story, by expanding both into one, which is for the most part imaginary, but which, i trust, will not be considered as a too improbable fiction in a region where caves and "sinks" abound. lastly, is an apology needed for the scenes of violence here depicted?--neither do i, o gentle reader, delight in them. but the book that would be a mirror of evil times, must show some repulsive features. and this book was written, not to please merely, but for a sterner purpose. for peaceful days, a peaceful and sunny literature: and may heaven hasten the time when there shall be no more strife, and no more human bondage; when under the folds of the starry flag, from the lake chain to the gulf, and from sea to sea, freedom, and peace, and righteousness shall reign; when all men shall love each other, and the nations shall know god!